The rain on Privet Drive lasted the entire day.
Heavy, leaden clouds pressed so low they seemed to smother the whole street in damp, chilly air.
Harry sat by the tiny cupboard window, listening to the raindrops tapping against the glass, his fingers absently picking at the window frame—
he knew Hagrid would come today.
Sure enough, by dusk, a banging loud enough to shake the doorframe thundered through the house, followed by Uncle Vernon's furious bellow:
"Who's there?! What kind of idiot bangs like that at this hour?!"
Harry's heartbeat quickened—half a beat too fast.
He steadied himself and stood up slowly—
He couldn't rush.
He had to behave exactly as he had the first time he met Hagrid.
In the living room, a storm of shouting erupted—Vernon's roar, Petunia's shrill screech, and then a deep, booming voice that rolled over both of them like thunder.
Hagrid.
Harry walked toward the living room, deliberately slowing his steps, letting a hint of nervousness show on his face.
And then he saw him—
the giant.
Even bigger than Harry remembered, wearing a massive, worn leather coat, beard wild and tangled, clutching a battered sack in one hand. He had to stoop low just to avoid hitting the ceiling.
The moment Hagrid spotted him, his eyes lit up, and he grinned broadly.
"Yeh're Harry Potter?"
Harry nodded, voice soft. "I am."
"Brilliant!" Hagrid slapped his thigh—hard enough to rattle the cups on the table.
"I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. 'M here tae bring yeh yer acceptance—guessin' these two didn't give yeh the letters?"
Uncle Vernon went purple beside them.
"We're NOT letting him go to that freak school! He's a normal boy and he'll stay RIGHT HERE!"
"Normal?" Hagrid snorted, his eyes darkening.
"He's a wizard. Born one. D'yeh think yeh can hide that forever?"
He pulled a letter from his pocket and held it out to Harry.
The Hogwarts crest glinted faintly on the envelope.
The address read: Harry Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs, Number Four, Privet Drive.
Harry took it.
The texture of the parchment under his fingertips was so real it made him dizzy—
This wasn't a dream.
He had truly come back.
He pretended to read a few lines, then looked up, wearing a carefully crafted confusion.
"A wizard? Hogwarts? Is… is this real?"
"'Course it is!" Hagrid beamed, digging into his bag again and producing a badly wrapped cake.
"Here—happy birthday! I remember it's today, yeah?"
Harry took the cake, throat prickling faintly.
In his previous life, this had been the first birthday present he'd ever received—he'd been moved to tears.
Now he understood Hagrid's kindness…
and the calculations hidden behind Dumbledore's benevolence.
He whispered, "Thank you," clutching the cake close to his chest.
Everything unfolded as before—
Vernon tried to interfere,
Hagrid turned Dudley's hair curly,
and the terrified Dursleys finally shut up.
Then Hagrid led Harry away from Privet Drive.
Walking under the city lights, Harry followed quietly, mind filled with images of Diagon Alley—
and Draco.
Would Draco be there?
Would he also be waiting for this long-delayed reunion?
Early the next morning, Hagrid brought Harry to the Leaky Cauldron.
When they pushed open the nondescript door, every witch and wizard inside turned to stare at him.
Harry pretended to shrink behind Hagrid, nervous and overwhelmed—
but his ears were sharply alert.
Hagrid guided him to the back courtyard and tapped the bricks.
The wall folded open to reveal the entrance to Diagon Alley—
vibrant shops, bustling witches and wizards, owls swooping overhead.
Exactly as he remembered.
"First stop's Gringotts. We'll get yeh some money yer folks left," Hagrid said, leading the way.
Harry followed, staring up at the towering goblin bank—but felt nothing.
After withdrawing his money, he headed for robes and textbooks.
They agreed to meet at noon in the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry nodded and watched Hagrid disappear into the crowd before turning toward Madam Malkin's.
He walked slowly, eyes sweeping through the people around him—
No flash of pale blond hair.
No familiar silhouette.
Maybe Draco hadn't arrived yet.
Or worse—maybe he hadn't been reborn at all.
A heavy knot formed in Harry's chest.
His steps slowed.
He reached the robe shop door, drew a breath, and pushed inside.
Warm air wrapped around him.
Robes of every kind filled the room, and a few witch and wizard children stood before mirrors being fitted.
Harry had barely taken two steps when he heard a familiar voice—soft, elegant, tinged with pride:
"Draco, what do you think of this one? The silk is the finest—much more comfortable than last year's."
Narcissa.
Harry's heart slammed against his ribs.
He snapped his head up—
And there he was.
A blond boy stood by the window, admiring his reflection in a black robe.
His pale hair was perfectly combed, his profile identical to the one Harry remembered.
Hearing Narcissa's voice, he turned slightly, lips curving into a faint, cool smile—
Draco.
Their eyes met.
And time stopped.
Draco's smile froze—
surprise flickered,
then settled—
like he had just confirmed a truth only the two of them shared.
Harry's fingers tightened around the edge of his shirt.
His hands trembled, just a little.
There he was—
the boy who had died for him.
Alive. Whole.
No blood. No wounds.
A weight Harry had carried for lifetimes finally lifted.
Narcissa noticed Harry too.
She paused, then smiled politely.
"Hello, dear. Buying your school robes as well?"
Harry nodded, voice slightly dry.
"Yes."
Draco stepped forward.
He was a little taller and tilted his head down to look Harry in the eye.
Gone was the arrogant sneer of their previous first meeting.
His gaze held something else entirely—something Harry couldn't name, but felt down to his bones.
Draco lifted a hand, palm up.
His voice was soft but clear:
"Draco Malfoy. I think we could be friends."
Not "So it's true then? Harry Potter?"
Not the cold pride from before.
Something different.
Something meant for Harry alone.
Harry looked at Draco's hand—
the neatly trimmed nails,
the elegant watch—
the unmistakable Malfoy refinement.
He didn't hesitate.
He reached out and took it.
Draco's hand was warm, slightly damp with nervous sweat.
Harry's own was cold.
The contrast made the touch startlingly real.
Draco's fingers tightened—just a little—
a silent confirmation.
Harry looked up at him and whispered:
"Harry Potter. And… I think you're right."
Just a few simple words—
but both boys visibly relaxed.
To everyone else, it was simply two boys meeting for the first time.
No one noticed the slight pressure of Harry's fingers—
the quiet, desperate relief of something lost and finally found.
"You should try on your robes too," Narcissa said warmly, waving a clerk over.
"Madam Malkin's work is always excellent."
The clerk measured Harry for size while Draco lingered nearby—
not leaving, not looking away.
Just watching him.
Harry pretended not to notice—
but he felt it.
He felt the weight of Draco's gaze the same way he watched Draco—
both quietly affirming their reunion across life and death.
Once the fitting was done, Harry needed to buy textbooks and a wand.
He turned to Draco, wanting to say something—anything—
but couldn't.
Too much risk.
Too many listening ears.
Draco seemed to understand.
He dipped his head slightly.
"We'll see each other again."
Harry nodded, stepped outside—
and couldn't resist glancing back as the door swung shut.
Draco was still standing by the mirror, looking straight at him—
eyes no longer calm,
but shimmering with a warmth so subtle only Harry would notice.
Harry inhaled deeply and walked into the bustling crowd of Diagon Alley.
Sunlight washed over him.
He knew this reunion was only the beginning.
There was still a long road ahead—
disguises to maintain,
strength to gain,
and debts that he and Draco would one day reclaim, piece by piece.
But for now, he knew one thing:
Draco had come back too.
And that was enough.