The Reckless Academy

Ch 1: Of Love, War & Strife

"Many people believe that a persistent dream, in which the same incident is repeated, though the details may vary considerably, must be a warning of great importance. This is doubtful, however, if the dream recurs more than a few times and is really persistent, the cause is most likely a traumatic thing in the past", Narcissa closed the book, "Eh....given your history Mr. Potter, I think Rapháel, may re-write everything he thinks he knows if he met you", she sighed rubbing her eyes wearily.

Harry sighed in defeat, all but slumping over one of the many desks in the Malfoy Library. He nodded, tiredly, "Sorry for bothering you. I'd have asked Mrs. Weasley, but she tends to—"

"Turn everything into a catastrophic disaster", she commented cheerfully.

Harry winced, he wouldn't have used those exact words, but Mrs. Malfoy summed it up perfectly.

Mrs. Weasley would have definitely called Kingsley in, demanding he go through different Medi-wizards, and or the Psych-ward Medi-wizards, all the while shouting on an octave bats would cringe hearing, 'He's Being Possessed. Another Dark Lord must be taking over! WANDS AT THE READY!!!'

It had already happened, a month after the last funeral, and last wake had been held. He'd woken screaming, and clutching his head in pain.

The pain really was a result of banging his head, accidentally against Ron's bedside table when he slept at the foot of Ron's bed.

Ironically it hit his scar and bled.

Hermione ran in seconds after Ron shot up in bed, wands at the ready, before smirking at Harry's creative colorful curses and Ron's furniture. Ron had laughed once, just barely before barking in surprise as the Weasley Matriarch ran in Tartan Nightgown, barely fastened, before she took one look and fired orders left and right.

Harry still wasn't sure who had been more mortified, him or Mrs. Weasley, for dragging Kingsley all white gown and fluffy slippers, or Kingsley wearing the gown, only to realize he'd had a regular nightmare.

It had also been the week following that, that he'd contacted Narcissa and vented to the one person who, if judged him, would be a tad original.

Offering a tight smile, that felt every bit the grimace he knew he was sporting, he nodded again, "It's not that I'm ungrateful. She kind of raised me. Sort of, and I'd ask Mrs. Granger, but—"

"She wouldn't even try to understand given her apparent irritation with the Magical World ever since Ms. Granger used a memory charm on her", Narcissa repeated word to word.

Harry recalled the ranting tirade he'd performed last week.

"Sorry", he mumbled again.

"Oh, Harry", Narcissa ruffled his short and still ever untamable wild hair, "I don't mind, you know that. I enjoy every minute of your tirades and often strange problems. You've become quite the second son, I may have wanted", Narcissa placated easily, "You're the only company I have these days", and she smiled.

"Narcissa", he shrugged helplessly.

"Don't!" she warned sharply, ever regal, the Malfoy Queen, sat up, "I may grumble on occasion, but it's not like I don't deserve the House Arrest the Ministry has placed on me and my husband. Even if you cleared our names, somewhat", she smiled a sad broken smile. "I am infinitely glad it gives Draco the freedom to visit the few friends he has left", she whispered softly in gratitude.

Harry exhaled wearily, "I just felt like once I killed Voldemort, things would just be left alone. How naive", he sighed.

"It's not naïve, Harry", Narcissa pat him reassuringly.