Draco Malfoy had found a new way to spend his evenings. He stared at himself in the mirror until the night seeped in through his window and engulfed him, so much so that he couldn’t see his reflection anymore. Draco was vain, but that was not the reason he spent so long gazing at himself in awe. He did it because in the last seven years, his appearance had changed to such a great extent he was almost unrecognisable. His astonishingly white-blonde hair had lost its slicked back, greasy touch. It was now chin length and floppy, his shaggy fringe nearly obscuring his granite eyes. His skin was as pale and translucent as ever, but it was now coated with milky, healed scars that ranged from his forehead to his ankles. They were long, thin and jagged - as if someone with piercing nails had dug them deep into his skin and roamed freely around his body. He was no longer skinny and frail-looking; his long, lithe limbs had bulked up significantly and his arms were muscular and toned. Draco also now stood at a towering six feet and appeared, if possible, even more intimidating.

This evening, he had been staring into the looking-glass for at least two hours. It was steadily growing darker, and he could barely make out his faint silhouette. This was Draco's favourite time of day; the time where he could stare at himself and not be repulsed by his appearance. Pity was not one of Draco’s favourite feelings, and yet that was how he had spent the weeks of his summer; indulging himself in self-pity, vulnerability and broodiness. He silently traced the offending scars, wincing slightly as his long fingers grazed the cool, raised wounds. Sighing bitterly, he sank down onto the chaise-lounge and covered his face in his hands. He had been sitting in this position for a few moments when there was a gentle knock on the door. He did not move.

“Draco, are you in there?” Narcissa Malfoy’s cool voice came from outside. Draco lifted his head out of his hands, but he did not reply. He sat there, waiting. He knew his mother would come in anyway.

“Draco, answer me!” Narcissa’s voice bore impatience. After a spilt second of silence, she flung open the door, her wand aloft. She stopped when she took in Draco’s susceptible appearance, and slowly lowered her wand. Without another word, she swept gracefully over to the chaise-lounge and sat herself down next to her son. They both sat in silence, carefully gazing in different directions. Eventually, she slowly draped her arm around Draco’s shoulders. He flinched slightly, but did not attempt to remove her arm. There was another billowing silence, but this time it was interrupted.

“Draco, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Narcissa said softly. He didn’t trust himself to answer with an even voice, so he didn’t. Instead, he examined quite thoroughly a deep grove in his palm that had not healed like the others, but remained an angry red. She sighed and ran her fingers through her long, glossy hair.

“You’re going to have to talk about it someday, Draco.”

When he did not reply, Narcissa took a deep breath.

“Your father wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this.”

She instantly knew that she had crossed the line. Draco’s eyes flashed dangerously as he stood up so suddenly she nearly fell off the chaise-lounge.

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT HE WOULD HAVE WANTED!” he bellowed furiously, but his eyes were glazed over with a web of unshed tears.

“Draco, no, shush, please, I didn’t mean…” Narcissa tried desperately.

“DON’T TELL ME TO BLOODY SHUSH! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HE WOULD HAVE WANTED!”

“Draco, he would have wanted you to be happy!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to steady his heavy breathing; he had completely lost control, and it couldn’t happen again. He stared at his mother, who had tears pouring silently down her cheeks and felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt in his abdomen. But he had no time for remorse. He considered resuming his previous position on the chaise-lounge but decided against it and stood.

“Mother, he spent most of my life trying and unfortunately succeeding to make me miserable. He made me do things I really didn’t want to do,” he said resentfully, absently rubbing his left arm. He looked straight into her eyes. “Please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending he wanted me happy.”

Narcissa wiped away the stem of tears with the cuff of her robes.

“Draco, I’m not going to lie. Your father wasn’t a great many things, but he was a good man when it came to his family.”

Draco snorted derisively. “Yes, forcing your family to join The Dark Lord's forces does make you a prize family man.”

Narcissa shook her head sadly.

“Please, Draco. I can’t argue about him. I just can’t.”

He sighed and sat down next to his mother. She gave a great, shuddering sob and leant against his shoulder. He patted her head gently, making soft soothing sounds. They stayed like this for a few moments until Narcissa raised her head gingerly.

“Well, Draco.” She smiled in a brave attempt at cheerfulness. “It doesn’t matter; Hogwarts in September.”

For the second time, he jumped up so abruptly she nearly fell.

“You can’t be serious, Mother?” he asked in astonishment.

Narcissa looked puzzled.

“Of course I am! Last year certainly didn’t count.”

Draco shook his head vehemently.

“I’m not going back there, Mother.”

Narcissa stood up too.

“Draco, don’t be ridiculous! Of course you’re going back! You need to finish your education!” she snapped, her hands waving dramatically.

“I did finish my education!” Draco hissed.

“Did you do your N.E.W.T.S?”

“Well, no, but…” he trailed off.

“What are you going to do without your N.E.W.T.S, Draco? Open a joke shop like the Weasley double-act?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Draco, please think about this. Money’s not going to get you everywhere.”

“I know, Mother,” Draco snapped. “I’m not an imbecile.”

Narcissa shook her head. “I never said you were, Draco. You’re incredibly intelligent, actually. That is why I don’t want you to waste your life.”

Draco moved away from her and stared out of the window, but he couldn’t see anything outside. He heard Narcissa gently walk up behind him. She placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Please, Draco. You’re all I have left.”

He recoiled as if burned from her touch.

“Always the blackmail, Mother.”

He left the room without a backwards glance, shutting the door deftly behind him. He heard his mother succumb freely to tears and felt the familiar guilty ache in his stomach. After all his mother had done for him, he hated to repay her this way. But he couldn’t go back to Hogwarts. There was nothing for him there. Absolutely nothing.

The letter had come at nine o’clock the next morning, and if Draco had known what was going to be inside of it, he probably wouldn’t have opened it at all. He was asleep; his night had been filled with an all night showing of his favourite nightmare, and he was exhausted from it. He had woken up through the night many times in a cold sweat, and in his opinion, frankly, it was quite ridiculous. A Malfoy wasn’t afraid of a dream; a figment of his imagination, replaying in his mind night after night after night. His father’s pallid face and dead grey eyes, eyes that were so like his, that so easily could have been his. It was wearing; reliving that moment every time he shut his eyes and dared to rest.

So when he was rudely awaken at a godforsaken hour by an impatient rap-rap-rap on his window, Draco was less than pleased. He struggled out from underneath his quilt and peered into the darkness. The window in his room was smothered by a thick black curtain; Draco could never sleep unless it was pitch black. He stumbled over to the source of the racket and tugged open the curtain to reveal an irritated looking tawny owl, complete with letter safely attached to its chest. Draco instantly recognised the glittering emerald green writing.

“Nu-uh. No way. Didn’t anyone tell you I wasn’t going back? You can bring that letter right back where you came from.”

The owl glared at him. It knocked on the window again.

“No, shoo! Go away, you stupid bird.” Draco flapped his arms in attempt to rid himself of the undisturbed owl, who continued to glower at him.

“I’m not going back, okay? You don’t need to give me the letter! Go away!”

He tugged the curtain back into place and stormed back to bed. The drumming continued. He sighed and pulled the blanket over his head. Then he added the pillow. The bird didn’t stop.

He swore loudly as he jumped out of the bed and stomped back over to the window. He pulled the curtain away. The bird narrowed its amber eyes. As Draco found himself tapping furiously at the window, he realised that he was getting into an argument with a bird. He opened the window reluctantly and swiped the letter.

“Fine, now you can go bugger off.”

With the letter scrunched in his fist, he went back to bed. He threw the letter onto his bedside locker.

“Stupid owl. Stupid letter. Stupid Hogwarts.”

He rolled over onto his side, facing away from the letter. He stared at the wall. There was a burning curiosity bubbling in his abdomen now. What could they possibly say in the letter? They couldn’t honestly want him back, could they? It was ridiculous. With Dumbledore gone… Dumbledore. Even the thought of that name made him want to vomit. He was one of the only people besides his mother that thought there was something good in him, something more. And now, now he was gone. Hogwarts wouldn’t be the same without him. Minerva McGonagall would now be Headmistress. Would she be fair? Would she think the same way Dumbledore did? He had to know. He sat up and reached for the letter, tearing off the envelope.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WTICHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Dear Mr Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been newly appointed as Head Boy. This is a great honour that we are bestowing upon you, and we hope you have every success with it. Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King’s Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o’clock. You will meet your fellow Head Girl at five minutes to eleven in the closest carriage to the driver. We await your confirmation of your return by owl no later than 31 July. A list of books for next year is enclosed.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress

Draco dropped the letter in shock. It had to be some sort of mistake. Or a joke, maybe? Yes, a joke, that was it! Maybe Potter, or Weasley… It was a stupid joke. Draco began to laugh. It was a good one. Him, Head Boy! Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin, Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! It was unthinkable. It was laughable. It wasn’t true. Draco sighed in relief. Who wanted to be Head Boy, anyway? The stress, the responsibility… It wasn’t worth it. Yet, even as he thought this, he was having an inner battle with himself. Because now, well, being Head Boy didn’t sound all that bad. He was a Malfoy, after all, and what Malfoy didn’t love power? There was something more to it, though. A chance to redeem himself, to start all over. To show the wizarding world he wasn’t his father, he was Draco Malfoy, and Draco wasn’t as twisted and evil as he might have appeared to be. It was a pity it was all a joke. He hopped off the bed and bent down to pick up the letter. He examined it carefully. The familiar writing, the scarlet Hogwarts stamp, the badge reading Head Boy… It couldn’t be genuine, could it? After all he had done, who in their right mind would make him Head Boy?

“Accio parchment!”

A piece of parchment flew out from underneath his bed and into his outstretched hand.

“Accio quill!”

A ruffled, eagle feather quill zoomed out from underneath a pile of school books.

“This better not be a joke, Potter,” he muttered as he scribbled a reply.

“Accio envelope!”

Draco looked up to find the tawny owl scrutinizing him from the window sill.

“So you knew this was going to happen, eh? Outsmarted by a bloody owl… Well, you can make yourself useful.”

He shoved the piece of parchment into the envelope and threw it at the owl. The owl cocked its head to the side, gave him one last boring look and took flight. Draco watched it fly away and continued to stare out at the sky, even when the bird was long gone. He didn’t understand the burning desire he felt to return. He knew it wouldn’t be an easy year. He had no friends to go back to. There was no Snape there to take it easy on him. It was inexplicable, yet he had to do it. He had to prove that he had changed. He was a Slytherin, after all, and Slytherins didn’t just run away at the slightest sight of trouble. Draco heaved a sigh and tore his gaze away from the window. He’d have to go tell Narcissa now. She’d be delighted, at least. He never did like making his mother unhappy. After all, she was all he had now. As he trod lightly down the stairs, he wondered who the Head Girl would be. He just hoped it wasn’t Granger. He didn’t know if he’d changed enough for that.

Draco had decided to venture in Diagon Alley for a day of idle shopping, peaceful people watching and general time-wasting. It had been some time since he had left Malfoy Manor, and he didn't want people to start talking, which he knew they would anyway. The longer he left it, the more people would talk, and the more they'd through side-long glances at him and whisper behind their hands to companions. They'd create elaborate fabrications as to why he wasn't out, and he couldn't have that. A Malfoy never showed weakness.

Draco was in Flourish and Blotts when he saw a familiar, bushy head of hair beside the bookshelf next to him. He hesitated, reluctant to have to confront her. He snapped Quidditch Through The Ages shut and prepared to leave the shop without being noticed, but it was too late. Hermione had heard the book close and turned around. Giving him a small smile, she put her book back on the shelf.

“Granger.” He nodded curtly and placed the book in the crook of his elbow, hoisting the strap of his bag onto his shoulder and attempted to dodge the stunned figure of Hermione Granger.

Realising who he was, her mouth dropped open in shock.

“Malfoy?”

He cursed silently. So she hadn’t recognised him at all. No wonder she had smiled. He chatised himself for greeting her. He would have got away with it.

“Yes.” He continued to flick idly through the shelves, occasionally selecting a book, pulling it out, examining the back, opening it onto a random page, giving it a quick read through, and returning it to its position.

“How - how have you been?” she choked out.

He scrutinised her face. Why should she care how he had been? Draco shrugged. “Oh, you know, the usual.”

He turned to face her. She looked flushed and awkward, yet there was some other emotion, one that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Her hands were shoved deep in her pockets and she chewed her lip nervously.

“Where’s Potty and Weasel King, then? Didn’t think they let the little Mudblood out of their sights," he asked scathingly. She looked surprised and hurt at the old taunts, but regained herself immediately; any remaining vulnerability vanished from her face instantly.

“Where’s your mother, Malfoy? Didn’t think she let her slimy git of a son shop on his own.”

He bared his white teeth into a smile. “Times change, Granger.”

She gave him a furious glare and threw a couple of books into her bag. One missed its aim and fell to the floor.

“Doesn’t seem like you have.”

He bent down to pick up the book as she extended her arm at the same time. Their hands grazed for only the briefest of seconds, yet Hermione recoiled in shock. He picked up the book and leant in towards her, so close his breath tickled her ear.

“Granger, you’d be surprised.” He flashed her a quick smirk. “See you at Hogwarts.”

Hermione stood up suddenly. “You’re going back?”

He stood up as well. “Yes, I am.” Handing her back the book, he asked coolly, "Do you have a problem with that?"
She shook her head in disgust.

She grabbed the book off him. “They’d never let you go back.”

Draco shrugged. “I always said they were crackpots. Didn’t expect it out of McGonagall, though.”

“You’re a liar,” Hermione hissed.

He casually flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Have it your way, then. See you on the train, Granger.”

Draco left before she could retaliate.

* * *

The rest of Draco’s morning past without much occurring. He sat outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice-cream Parlour for an early lunch, and searched the crowd for familiar faces. Theodore Nott, who had been an old Slytherin alliance of his, resignedly sat down opposite him with Draco’s ex-girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson in tow. Pansy had an ostentatious engagement ring on her pudgy hand; a flamboyant show of the Slytherin colours and her new-found wealth in her fiancé. Draco and Nott nodded at each other, while Pansy made a point of crooning, whispering in Nott's ear and playing with her hair.

“I confess I’m surprised to see you here, Draco. It’s been said you haven’t been seen in public since the Great Battle.”

Draco shrugged artlessly and stirred his coffee.

“There’s been nothing to entice me away from home.”

Pansy gave a bitter laugh.

“What? No pure-blood witches good enough for you these days?”

Draco stared at her coolly.

“I’m afraid if you can’t keep her under control, Nott, she’ll have to go. You see, they expect pets to be well-behaved when they’re in public.”

Nott didn’t appear to be overly concerned by the comparison of his wife-to-be to a house-hold animal. Pansy, however, swearing loudly, angrily reached for her wand, stood up suddenly, succeeding in knocking over the table. The cutlery and ware knocked to the ground with a resounding crash. There were mutterings as people strained to turn around in their seats, dying to get a good look at the disturbance.

“How - dare - you!”

He cocked an eye-brow.

“Is this the only kind of publicity you can get these days, Pansy? I must say it’s ever so classy of you.”

“You… you….”

Nott, with a bored look on his face, as if he was used to his fiancées outbursts, placed a cool hand on hers. She at once lowered the wand and sat down, breathing heavily.

Draco smirked and raised his hand. A waiter was by his side immediately.

“My friend had a bit of an accident here, nothing to worry about. Could you perhaps refill our drinks for us when you’re finished cleaning up here? We’ll lay off the Fire-Whisky, I promise.”

He nonchalantly slipped a couple of Galleons into the waiter’s hand.

“For the inconvenience.”

“Yes, sir!” the waiter said eagerly.

Draco returned his focus to Nott and Pansy and resumed the conversation. “So when is the happy day?”

Nott looked confused. Draco was sure Pansy would have told him all the sordid details if she wasn’t so busy sulking. Draco waited while Nott digested this question. He knew Pansy would explode soon if he didn’t answer. And he was right. Pansy smacked him hard on the fore-arm and looked about ready to cry.

“The wedding, Theo! He’s asking about the wedding!”

“Oh.”

Comprehension slowly dawned on Nott's snooty face. There was another billowing silence.

“The eh… the eh…the twenty-third…”

“It’s the eighteenth, Blaise! Our wedding is on the eighteenth of February!” she hissed threateningly.

Nott shrugged uncomfortably.

“I knew that," he insisted.

Pansy burst into tears.

“I’m going shopping for my wedding robes, Blaise! You know what that is? It’s what I’m going to wear on our wedding day on the eighteenth of February! And it will be a happy day!”

She gathered up her things off the table and stormed down the street. The two men watched in her silence.

“She's a keeper, Nott,” Draco said, smirking.

“Cheers.”

They both sighed and turned back into the table.

“I don’t suppose you do have any lady friends you haven’t told us about?” Nott asked, a lot more enthusiastically now that Pansy was gone.

Draco laughed.

“Not a chance, Nott, not a chance. And I don’t think I’ll be finding any at Hogwarts, either.”

Nott looked surprised.

“You’re going back to Hogwarts?”

“Got the letter this very morning. I suppose you’re working?”

“Magical Law Enforcement.”

Draco nodded.

“Know anyone who’s going back too?” he asked hopefully.

Nott grinned. “You’ll love this. Our favourite Mudblood’s going back…”

“Well of course.”

“…without Potter and Weasely."

Draco stood by the Hogwarts Express at half past ten in the morning on the first of September. He had been there since ten fifteen, and had finally succeeded in dissuading Narcissa from staying with him until the train left. He watched as the other Hogwarts students began to file around Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He remembered when Hogwarts was the only place he had ever wanted to be; it was a secret that he had kept to himself, after all, he was a Malfoy and was above enjoying the time he spent at Hogwarts. But now, now he could imagine anywhere in the world he would rather be.

Draco sat alone in a compartment as he waited for the Head Girl to arrive. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists. It was all a hoax, wasn’t it? He just knew it. No one in their right mind would make him Head Boy. He stood up angrily to make a dash for the door. He had better get off this train before anyone recognised him. Just as he reached the sliding glass door, a bushy head of hair appeared in front of him, a shiny Head Girl badge pinned to her chest.


He abruptly sat back down on the seat, as if a great force had knocked him down. Hermione Granger was standing threateningly in front of him, poised with her hands on her hips. He stared at her wand suspiciously, half expecting it to betray signs of spells that might be used against him. She eyed him up and down for a moment and then safely stuffed her wand in her pocket. They stayed silent as they waited until it seemed safe to speak. Draco cleared his throat nervously; sometimes he was more afraid of Hermione Granger than he was Lord Voldemort. She tapped her foot impatiently.

“Granger, surprised to see you here,” Draco said silkily.

Her eyes flashed dangerously.

“I could say the same about you.” She glanced at his badge. “What is this, some sort of Slytherin joke?”

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He smirked.

“Who did you pay to get that title, huh Malfoy? I didn’t think anyone in Hogwarts took bribes,” she said, as she circled him menacingly.

He crossed his arms and sank into the seat comfortably.

“Things change, Granger. I believe we had this discussion not too long ago.”

Spark seemed to emit from her eyes, causing Draco to sit back up.

“Seriously, Granger, I was just as surprised as you are about this whole ordeal.”

They spent another few minutes in stony silence, staring in opposite directions.

Draco sighed in defeat.

“Granger, this is ridiculous. We are mature people and we have some sort of responsibility here. Shouldn’t we get past our differences and try to work together?” he suggested.

Hermione scoffed disbelievingly. “Please, Malfoy. You don’t mean a single word you say.”

He smiled brilliantly, flashing his white teeth.

“Suit yourself. But don’t you think a person can change?”

She eyed him doubtfully.

“Yes, I do. Of course I do. But you have to want to change. That’s the difference.”

“Who says I don’t want to change?” he asked seriously.

Hermione looked as though she were about to retort, but stopped herself. She continued to observe him critically, as if she were expecting him to give up the façade.

“Yes, Granger? Is there a problem?”

“No, no, not at all.”

Hermione didn’t seem to realise she was staring unabashedly at him.

“Granger, are you sure there’s not a problem?” he probed.

She shook her head idly, and then shook herself out of it.

“No, really, let’s just go patrol.”

She brushed past him quickly, and for some obscure reason, hiding her face with her wild mane of hair. Draco found himself gazing after her as she left. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was a strange sensation in his abdomen. Something had changed between them. He didn’t know what it was, but he was sure it was for the better.

Draco shook his head. He was acting like an idiot; absolutely nothing had been shared between them. Granger was still Granger, with her wild bushy hair and annoying voice; and he was still Malfoy, and he hated Granger. That would never change.

He took a deep breath and followed her out of the compartment, willing himself not to curse some first years to let off some steam.

* * *

Draco sat alone in the dark compartment and gazed out of the window. Hogwarts was only a few minutes away and he dreaded every moment it grew closer. He was alone, utterly alone, and that was all he could think about. He would be alone at mealtime, during classes, at Hogsmeade. The only letters he would receive would be from his mother. He could not imagine a more terrible year at Hogwarts. How would he survive? He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. It was too much. Draco sighed and sunk his head into his hands. He would allow himself one moment of weakness, one single moment of weakness; then he would have to be strong.

A split second later, the compartment door slid open to reveal Hermione, clad in her robes. She looked shocked to see tears uninhibitedly leaking out of Draco’s eyes. He wiped them away furiously with the cuff of his shirt and cleared his throat.

“We should be arriving at Hogwarts soon,” Hermione said awkwardly, carefully avoiding his gaze.

Draco stared at the floor. “Right, thanks.”

She dithered helplessly for a moment.

“Could I just have a moment to change, please?” he asked, his voice shaking. Draco stood up and walked over to the window, trying in vain to inhale and exhale slowly and steadily. He shuddered with the effort; now he had started he couldn’t stop. It was the first and worst time he had shown the effects of his grief, and he couldn’t find it in himself to control it. He tried to calm himself; breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. He attempted to breathe at a slow and steady pace, but to no avail. Draco hadn’t changed enough for this, he hadn’t grown up at all, and he just wasn’t able to handle this.

Suddenly, he felt a small, warm hand on his shoulder. He jumped, startled, and the hand was removed as if it were hexed off. Draco spun around to find Hermione Granger approximately three centimetres away from, and in all his life he was sure his heart had never pummelled so fast.

The silence seemed to billow around the compartment; it was so intense it was as if it had caught Draco by throat and was attempting to suffocate him. The erratic, shallow breathing was the only prominent sound as it was issued at a ridiculous rate from both him and Hermione. Their close proximity was causing Draco's skin to tingle and he could feel a pinkish hue gracing his usually pale cheeks. Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved; neither of them looked anyway ready to say or do anything at all. They simply acted as if they were in a bizarre staring contest; the gaze being held between them was relentless and unbroken. It was a sacred but inevitably dangerous moment in which neither Draco nor Hermione were prepared to end.

Of course, such a tender and significant moment had to end in the most undignified method possible. The train hurtled to an abrupt and resounding halt, causing both Draco and Hermione to crash to the floor in a rather inappropriate manner. Their previous intimacy was nothing compared to this; in shock, Draco found himself lying on top of a rather flustered, squished Hermione. They shared a moment of blatant surprise, then he swiftly scrambled off her. She sat up slowly and gingerly patted her head, wincing as she felt several bruises beginning to form.

"Okay, ow."

They glanced at each other, then succumbed to awkward giggles. Draco heaved himself up and extended his hand towards her. Hermione glanced at it warily and hesitated, but accepted it graciously and allowed herself to be pulled back up to the safety and dignity of her own two feet. Uneasily, they stared at each other for another few seconds as they brushed the dust off their clothes and flattened their hair. Draco made a point of straightening his Head Boy badge. Hermione, ever the cleverest witch Hogwarts had seen, cottoned on in record time.

"We'd better get the students to the carriages." She decided, trying to instil calmness and normality to the situation.

Draco nodded in agreement. "A wise choice. Now, after you." He slid open the door and gestured for Hermione to go before him.

She stopped in her steps. Draco looked at her inquiringly.

"Yes? Is there something wrong?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

"Not exactly, but..." She trailed off rather pathetically and glanced at him.

He grinned sheepishly.

WToo much too soon?"

She sighed in relief.

"Yeah. Kind of."

"In that case, I'll go first. Respect your betters and all that lark."

He strode casually out the door, but turned back to wink cheekily at her to let her know he was joking. Well, half joking.

* * *

They succeeded in instructing the students to the carriages without much difficulty, albeit mutterings and suspicious eyeing up-and-downs. Draco and Hermione were well known faces by now and their histories were also. Everyone knew the trials those two had went through in the last eight years; their strong disdain for each other was never attempted to be kept a secret. Surprise was the general feeling that was shared between the students who witnessed them doing their herding as Head Boy and Head Girl; not only that both of them had been appointed such positions, but the affable way in which they carried it out. Draco noticed one or two formidable glares from his fellow Slytherin pupils; he suspected they were not in the least bit happy about Hermione and his conduct. He, however, was quite proud of it; though to be truthful he did not fully understand why he was behaving so and why she responded so well. Draco knew he had never given Hermione any reason to behave in such a amiable manner and it puzzled him. Although he hated to admit it to himself, he supposed it was simply because she was a far better person then he would ever be.

They were now sitting in a carriage on the way to Hogwarts. Neither were entirely comfortable to converse easily so settled to sit in a somewhat companionable silence. However, Draco was simmering in confusion and a pinch of revulsion. He did so desperately want to change; he wanted to make his own identity but Draco couldn't entirely rid himself of his past. His previous prejudices had been so violent and passionate that he simply couldn't just erase them no matter how much he wanted to. Possibly the most perplexing of his feelings were those concerning the bushy haired girl sitting opposite him. In prior years Draco wouldn't even have sat in the same carriage as her but now he felt this inexplicable urge for closeness. Yet he was ashamed to feel it. He was betraying everything he was ever taught by everyone who ever mattered to him. Guilt washed over him in a series of tidal waves as he resisted the urge to just run. Run away from here, from her, from everything. Running was just so easy to do. But he was tired of running. He was quickly running out of places to run to.

Draco found himself standing and staring at Hogwarts in awe as the students began to file behind him. He couldn't believe he was back. Somehow he had always figured his life had been set in stone and there was no changing it. He had believed he had a path that he had to follow with absolutely no meandering from it whatsoever. But now, here he stood, repeating his seventh year at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was free to do whatever he wanted in life without anyone telling him what to do and the feeling of liberation was exhilarating. It was something he felt he could get accustomed to. Draco took a deep breath and glanced at Hermione. She nodded at him swiftly and they both swung open the heavy, solid doors to Hogwarts. Draco closed his eyes and exhaled in blissful elation. He was home at last.

Draco had never shied away from attention before; as an only, spoilt, child he had basked in it. His mother had doted on him and while there was some distance between him and his father, he had always revelled in showing his father what he could do. This longing for attention had carried with him into his teenage years; he never passed up an opportunity to show off or have all eyes on him. Whether he was simply boasting in the Great Hall about the large care package Narcissa had sent him or in the air as the revered Slytherin Seeker, Draco loved the feeling of being the focus of people’s interest. Now, however, he’d give his right arm to be invisible.

The Sorting was awful; without sounding self centred, Draco felt like everyone’s eyes were on him rather than the first years at the top of the Great Hall. He tried to act natural as he clapped along with the rest of the table when there was a new Slytherin sorted and almost cheered when it was time for the feast. Surely then they’d stop staring at him? But maybe he was just being paranoid. He couldn’t be that interesting to look at when there was a sumptuous feast in front of them. However, he was painfully aware that the hairs on the back of his neck were tingling and yet every time he turned around to see who was looking at him, all eyes were carefully averted. Everyone seemed duly focused on their food, or were sufficiently involved in conversations. He moodily stirred his stew; rescuing the vegetables from their thick, gravy confines and plopping them back into the bowl. His appetite had abandoned him at the door. He didn’t need to perform Occlumency to work out what every single person thought of him; their faces said enough. They didn’t want him here. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t deserve to be here, but that was alright; he agreed with them. Draco snuck a look out of the corner of his eyes at his fellow Slytherin pupils. The first years stared avidly at his peculiar appearance; most of them who had older brothers or sisters had probably heard stories about Draco, and everyone had heard stories about the Malfoys in general. The older students were more subtle; they satisfied themselves with dirty, contemptuous looks in his direction. Last year, he had been almost been like a hero to them. Now, in their eyes, he was a traitor. His year had only just begun and he had already made some dangerous enemies.

Draco raised his eyes from his bowl of stew; the bowl had been sitting there for quite some time now without being eaten, and the floating pieces of soggy vegetables were making him feel slightly nauseous. His eyes immediately locked with the large brown ones belonging to Hermione. Unlike him, she wasn’t sitting alone. Ginny Weasley was next to her, and appeared to be involved in what seemed to Draco to be a very important conversation. However, Hermione didn’t seem to be listening; on the contrary, she looked absorbed in her own little world. Her eyes looked slightly blank as they gazed absentmindedly into his. Feeling uncomfortable with the blatant though unintentional staring, he lowered his eyes to the his bowl.

Draco stayed like this for a few moments, scrutinizing the saturated lumps of beef that had sank to the murky depths of the bowl. When he trusted himself to look up again, Hermione was talking animatedly to Ginny. He glanced longingly at the empty spaces beside him. People were avoiding him as if he were infected with Spattergroit, and anyone who came within five feet of him would die horribly. He wasn’t used to this feeling of being alone. He’d always had someone; cronies like Crabbe and Goyle swarmed to him like a lost traveller attracted to the light of a Hinkypunk. No, he had never been particularly close to either one of them, but at least they were there.

Finally the discarded, leftover plates magically vanished and were replaced with mouth-watering desserts. Draco obligingly reached for a generous slice of chocolate cheesecake. He was anything but hungry but it was something to do. In all his years at Hogwarts, he had never not enjoyed the Sorting Feast. If this was a sign of the year to come, Draco decided he would have been better off not coming back at all. He tortured his dessert with his fork, ate a couple of mouthfuls, felt like he was going to vomit and put down the fork for good. He gazed around the Great Hall. The other students were happily eating their desserts and some were even reaching for second or third helpings. It would be a while until he could escape to the privacy of the Head Boy’s room. Draco transferred his gaze to the Staff Table. He found it odd to see Minerva McGonagall sitting in Dumbledore’s seat. He could tell she wasn’t completely comfortable with this seating arrangement; maybe she didn’t feel up to filling Dumbledore’s shoes? Draco hadn’t taken much notice when it was Snape sitting there but then again, Draco hadn’t taken much notice of anything that year. It had passed in a haze of fury, pain and anger. He wasn’t sure how different it would be to this year; this year, he’d be fighting his own personal war.

Draco hadn’t realised his plate had vanished along with the rest of the food and that the buzz of the Great Hall had simmered down to a reluctant silence. The students were watching the Staff Table expectantly.

Of course. It dawned on Draco. It was time for the Headmistress’ speech.

Minerva stood up and gave a small smile. Draco noted that while she didn’t have the same commanding charisma as Dumbledore, there was no denying she had presence. There was not one pupil in the Great Hall that refused to pay her the attention she deserved; there was a shared respect between them as they waited dutifully for her speech.

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts,” she declared, her voice calm but steady. Draco couldn’t help but notice the compelling ring to her voice that he hadn’t heard before. “To the new students; I hope you will be very happy here. To the old ones; it’s good to see you back. Now before we begin, let us have a moment of silence for the deceased Headmasters of Hogwarts; Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape. As always, they had the best intentions at heart. They will be very sorely missed.”

She bowed her head, her hands clasped and her eyes closed. The rest of the school followed suit. Draco hesitated for a split second but accordingly did the same.

Dumbledore, there. I’ve done it. See? You always said I could be good; well, here I am. I’m back. I’m not running away anymore. It’s not going to be easy. We both know that. But I’m here, aren’t I? That’s got to count for something. It has to. I’m not promising anything - I’m no Harry Potter. I won’t have the world bending down before me. But I can try. I’ll try.

He cracked open an eyelid. He didn’t feel comfortable being this vulnerable surrounded by so many people. The rest of the students sat with their eyes closed in silent contemplation. He wished they’d hurry up. He wanted to get out of here.

Minerva opened her eyes and with a drop in Draco’s stomach, he saw they were teary. He instantly felt uncomfortable; grief stricken people made Draco awkward. But Minerva pressed on.

“Thank you,” Minerva took a deep breath. “Moving on; I believe congratulations are in order for our newly appointed Head Girl and Head Boy, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. I hope that they will work together to make this year memorable for themselves and the rest of the school.”

An enthusiastic (though bemused) round of applause ensued. Draco caught sight of Hermione’s flushed face as the Gryffindors clapped harder than anyone. The Slytherin table clapped reluctantly as they shot disdainful glances at Draco. Draco directed his attention to his lap until the clapping died down. He didn’t pay attention to the rest of the speech, instead focusing on the scars on his hands until his eyes went blurry. Draco wasn’t a coward, but he felt like backing out now. How hard would it be to slip out of the Great Hall unnoticed? Would anyone really stop him? What would he do when he left? He couldn’t go home and face Narcissa; admitting failure was not one of Draco’s favourite things to do. No, he thought regretfully, he’d have to stay and stick it out.

Suddenly, there was a sound of scraping against stone as the masses of students stood up and began to file out of the Great Hall. It took a moment for Draco to register that they were leaving. He got up slowly, dazedly, as the first years stared at him expectantly. With a jolt, he realised they depended on him for instructions, directions and counsel. He couldn’t abuse this position like he did as a Prefect and a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. Draco would have to be fair and think about decisions before he made them and make sure they benefited not only him, but the rest of the school. He couldn’t suppress a shudder; he had seriously underestimated the position of Head Boy.

“Draco, come on. You need to show the first years where the common room is,” Hermione said, popping up suddenly beside him.

Draco nodded mutely and took a deep breath.

“First years, follow me! Slytherin first years, follow me to the common room!” he called, forcing his voice to be loud and authoritative. Hermione nodded swiftly at him.

“Remember, we have a meeting with Professor McGonagall once we’ve shown the first years to their common rooms, Draco.”

“Sure thing,” Draco mumbled.

The first years followed Draco obediently to the common room; either they were just a very quiet lot or they were terrified out of their wits. He showed them the boys and girls dormitory and told him that if they had any questions, they could always come to him. Draco hoped they detected the unwillingness in his voice at that promise.

He checked the clock on the black, marble mantelpiece; he had better get going to that meeting. Draco heaved himself off the black leather armchair and made his way out of the common room. He didn’t make it very far; he turned the corner at the end of the corridor and found himself face to face with a couple of fellow seventh year Slytherins. He recognised one of them; Harper, the reserve Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

“So, Malfoy. You’ve returned, like some sort of prodigal son. Last year not good enough for you?” Harper sneered. Draco couldn’t help but notice they were all tall, burly and a lot closer to him than they were a couple of seconds ago.

“Well Harper, I can’t say last year wasn’t fun. I mean, who doesn’t love being taught by trolls?” Draco said coolly. He sensed he was getting into dangerous territory here and his instincts told him to just back off, but a Malfoy never backed off. They always fought to the end, no matter how messy.

The group edged closer to him. Poor choice of words, Draco reflected. These guys bore more resemblance to trolls than human beings.

“You think you’re so clever don’t you, Malfoy?” hissed Harper. “Well watch out, that cleverness may see you ending up like your old man.”

Draco clenched his fists and attempted to barge past them. “If you’ll excuse me, fellows, I have somewhere to be. I look forward to continuing this conversation at a later date.”

However, one of the other cronies stuck out his huge arm in front of Draco.

“I don’t think so, Malfoy. You see, we’re not quite finished with you yet.”

Draco found himself being shoved back into the middle of the group. He thought he was strong, but these guys were on a highly superior level.

A siren seemed to flash in his mind. Get out, Draco. Get out.

“And another thing, Malfoy; we’ve heard that you’ve been getting quite friendly with that bushy haired Mudblood. Going to become a blood traitor like Weasel King?” Harper asked, a hard glint in his eye.

Draco noticed that somehow, they’d managed to surround him. He cursed mentally at the stupidity of this situation; he hated to admit it, but had the Dark Lord taught him nothing about the dangers of getting himself surrounded?

Draco glanced at his watch; he was very late. Hermione would be waiting for him in McGonagall’s office. It was his first chance to prove himself and he’d blown it. How would he explain?

“Got a date with the Mudblood, Malfoy? You know what; don’t need to answer us. I think that silence was answer enough.” Harper whispered.

They were very close now. If it wasn’t him in the situation, it would look almost comical. His wand was too deep in his pockets for him to defend himself and he was grossly outnumbered; there was about what, six to one? And he was wandless; he’d have to depend on brute strength against six magical trolls, as it were.

You fool, Draco. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Any last words, Malfoy?” Harper asked him, a cold smirk spreading across his harsh features.

Draco considered this.

“Yeah: go to hell.”

And with that, Draco sunk his fist into Harper’s stomach.

Draco opened his eyes blearily. A blur of neutral colours eventually formed shapes and sizes, and he realised with a jolt he was lying in a bed in the Hospital Wing. He gingerly felt his head and attempted to sit up.

“Lie down, Mr Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey called as she bustled past him. “You’re going to do yourself another injury.”

Draco obediently flopped back down onto the pillow. His head hurt. A lot.

Madam Pomfrey sank into the cold, metal chair next to his bed. She poured him some pumpkin juice out of the jug on his bedside locker. He took the glass gratefully.

“I have to hand it to you, Mr Malfoy, not many people end up in the Hospital Wing on the first day.”

Draco wasn’t sure, but he thought he could detect a hint of disdain in her voice.

“Thanks,” he muttered, placing the glass back onto the bedside locker. “What happened, anyway?”

She sniffed.

“Well, as you were late for your meeting with the Headmistress, Miss Granger was instructed to go search for the mislaid Head Boy. She consequently discovered you lying unconscious in a pool of blood in the dungeon corridor.” Madam Pomfrey recited this in a cool voice, almost as if she were reciting the day’s news.

He couldn’t help but wince at her obvious callousness. “Cheers.”

Madam Pomfrey drew her thin mouth into a small line as she smoothed the crinkles in Draco’s bed sheets. She tucked the sheets underneath the mattress and he felt as if he were being mummified.

“What’s the verdict, then? How long is my delectable presence required?” Draco asked her wearily.

“A couple of days, Mr Malfoy,” she told him. “Your injuries were rather serious.”

He laughed hollowly; he couldn’t help it. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and stared coldly at him.

“Yes, Mr Malfoy? Am I missing something?”

“Sorry, it’s not funny. I was just thinking - how pathetic is this? I survived Voldemort, for Merlin‘s sake; yet here I am in the Hospital Wing over something as stupid as a school time brawl. Who am I, Harry Potter?”

She winced at the mention of Voldemort and frowned at the jibe at Harry.

“Mr Malfoy, could you please tell me what is so pathetic about a cracked skull and two broken ribs?”

Draco’s stomach dropped ever so slightly.

“Well, I’m as right as rain regardless. So, when am I to be released?” he persisted, desperate not to be cooped up in the Hospital Wing because of some stupid trolls. He was determined to get revenge.

Madam Pomfrey opened a drawer of the bedside locker and retrieved a hand mirror. She passed it to him.

“What do you think, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco took the mirror curiously and stared at his reflection. He forced down a heave of disgust and revolt. The old scars were outshone by a brazen new black eye, a puffy lip and a vicious looking welt dashed across his cheek.
“Keep looking, Mr. Malfoy,” she insisted.

Draco dropped the mirror; he didn’t want to see anymore, but he couldn’t escape his injuries. He saw more angry looking welts zigzagging his arms, blatantly encompassing the healed scars. He could gingerly feel bandages wrapped around his chest and ribcage. His knees felt stiff and they ached. His toes throbbed. He was too afraid to lift the legs of his pyjamas and risk seeing more injuries.

Draco slumped heavily back down onto the comfort of his pillow, only to whack his bruised, bandaged head against the metal headboard.

He swore loudly and clutched his cracked skull.

“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere soon, Mr Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey told him loftily.

* * *

Draco pretended to be asleep for the rest of the day. He had few visitors, but when they did come he made sure he wasn’t facing them and faked a couple of snores. He paid particular attention to his deep, slow, rhythmic breathing pattern and hoped he’d nod off, but he couldn’t. The overwhelming shame made sure he stayed awake; it was disappointed in Draco’s behaviour, and it made sure he knew it. Draco stuck his fingers in his ears to drown out a sickly crunch of bones; he closed his eyes to block out a vision of flying punches and purpling, poppy bruises. His stomach lurched as he could smell the cold, metallic tang of his own blood.

Draco had experienced excruciating pain before - most notably at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He had gotten over that. In an odd sort of way, he had almost liked it. It was a way to prove to himself that he was strong; not many people could suffer at the cruel hands of Voldemort and still live to tell the tale. Many a time he had found himself doubled over in pain or rolling on the floor, only for him to shakily get back to his feet and stare into the Dark Lord’s red eyes. The Dark Lord liked that. Draco wasn’t afraid of pain: receiving it or giving it. He could endure it; he would suffer, but eventually he’d move on. The Dark Lord admired that. And so, Draco became a guinea pig; Voldemort allowed the Death Eaters to freely experiment with Draco’s pain tolerance. New curses were first tested on Draco, regardless of the results. It both delighted and vexed the Death Eaters: for them to give Draco all they had and to watch him writhe in agony, then slowly push himself to his feet.

Narcissa was horrified. She had a duty as a Death Eater’s wife, and as one so closely connected to the Dark Lord she was not permitted to interrupt these occasions. Instead, she was instructed to stand and watch along with the others as her only son thrashed in invisible cords as layers of his skin were slowly peeled off. Severus Snape could claim proud ownership of these new curses; Narcissa remembered he was always good at that sort of thing when they were in Hogwarts. However, she noticed that his voice was flat and his eyes were carefully averted when he made his reports to the Dark Lord in her presence. He always stood next to her as he casually flicked his wand in Draco’s direction and a new form of torture was displayed. She had regularly tried to run to her son’s aide but was stopped by Severus’ cool fingers nonchalantly clasped around hers. Narcissa forced herself to wait until they bored of torture and had left the chamber. Only then could she rush to Draco and tearfully dab at his wounds with a healing potion.

Draco hated his mother seeing him like that, but what would she make of this? Not heroically tortured by the Dark Lord, but carelessly beaten by a couple of Slytherin trolls? It was shameful; utterly shameful. A Malfoy; lying in the Hospital Wing because of some seventeen year old thugs. Frankly, it was mortifying. Therefore, Draco didn’t feel like a coward when the Headmistress paid a visit to the Hospital Wing and he was regretfully ‘asleep’.

His surge to do good evaporated as quickly as it arrived. He shivered in disgust as he realised who was responsible for this; the Mudblood, Granger. Harper and his cronies wouldn’t have dreamed of touching him if it wasn’t for her. He’d still be their hero. He’d be the Prince of Slytherin; crowded in the common room and swamped at meals. He wouldn’t allow her more than a mere second of his time. It’d be laughable to think of her as an equal, and that was the way it should be; the way it had always been. It worked that way. This alternate universe didn’t agree with him at all; he wanted his old life back. And if that meant disappointing Dumbledore and mocking Granger, then he supposed he’d have to do it.

* * *

Draco heard her come in and greet Madam Pomfrey. He froze and snapped his eyes shut; he didn’t want to talk to her right now - if ever.

“Mr Malfoy is unfortunately asleep. Would you like to come back later, Miss Granger?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was dripping in contempt and Draco would have bet his life that her lip curled as she spoke. She saw right through him, at least.

“Oh. I might just stay anyway; I’ll be too busy to come back later.” he heard Hermione say.

“All right, Miss Granger. I’ll be inside the office if you need anything,” Madam Pomfrey said as she bustled away.

Draco’s skin prickled as Hermione slowly approached his bed. He had turned deliberately on the opposite side so his face would not give him away. He heard her perch at the edge of the seat and mutter ‘Muffliato’. Draco didn’t know what effects that spell had; he could only hope it wasn’t anything that would show him in too bad a light. She sat in silence for a while and just when he was about to ask her what the hell she was doing, she cleared her throat.

“Draco… What happened? I mean, who would do this to you? Well, all right, a lot of people… But why now? What did you do?” She paused and took a deep breath. Draco noticed she was speaking very quickly and although he couldn’t see her face, he had a sneaky suspicion is was flushed.

“Not that I care. I don’t; I just can’t have the Head Boy getting beaten up every time I leave him alone for a few minutes! Did Professor McGonagall even think this through properly? She can’t have; and she certainly can’t let whoever do this to you get away with it! I’m not going to lie, Draco - maybe you did deserve it. You haven’t exactly been the best person recently but she must have thought you’d changed to make you Head Boy. Maybe you have. Who’s to say you haven’t? I just hope you have for your own sake. It’d be nice for you to do something for the school.” She stopped suddenly, as if she were reconsidering her next words. In the end, she must have decided to just say them because they spilled out in a jumbled mess.

“I know you want to change, Draco. I can see it, you know. Your willingness hasn‘t always been there, but I see it now. It’s there. And that surprises me, it really does. I just hope it lasts.”

Hermione went silent again. He could almost hear her mulling over the thoughts in her head when she stood up, the legs of the chair scraping against the cold tiles.

“Goodbye, Draco.” He heard her walk towards the door.

“I know you’re awake, by the way; it’s okay that you can’t face me right away, but you’ll have to soon. You’re Head Boy now - you can’t hide forever.”

Draco listened as her steps became quieter and died away. He waited until he was sure she had gone until he rolled onto his back and stared at the clean, white ceiling. He felt like a coward, because despite of Hermione’s warm words, he knew that once he left the Hospital Wing it would all have to change. Otherwise, he’d end up right back at the beginning.