Summary: Set after the Battle of Hogwarts; Draco returns to Hogwarts for his seventh year, along with Hermione, Blaise and those continuing their education to the next year - including Muggle-born Aurora Stone. But something new threatens the school, and letting go of the past is easier said than done, especially as secrets heighten and discarded rivalries are unearthed once again.

A N.: Hi guys! It has been an especially long time since I uploaded anything - and I'd just like to apologise to anyone who'd started to read my Sherlock fanfic Was It Worth It? and just to let you know that it has been officially placed on hiatus due to severe writer's block and plain old boredom.
I had, however, started to feel inspired about a Draco Malfoy story in the mean time, and this is basically what I came up with.
Obviously, a lot of the characters belong to JKR etc but there are a few new ones that are my own Original Characters, just so you know. This is a Draco M/OC fanfic and please be aware that there will be mature themes and content, including swearing, smut and psychological problems (I have next to none experience in this area so please be kind with criticising if I've misunderstood anything.. I have done research and it won't be in too much detail, just so you know).
Anyway, I hope you like it! And don't forget to drop me a review - absolutely anything and absolutely everything is appreciated from my dear readers xx

Chapter One
Forgetting is Easier Said than Done

September 1 had always arrived slowly for Aurora Stone and this summer had been no exception. As she sat at the window seat in her attic bedroom, she looked on over the roofs of her hometown silent under the starless night. Actually, in reality, she could put this summer down on the table as the slowest one of them all, purely because she hadn't had any indication on whether she would be continuing her education at Hogwarts. The anticipation had built and built throughout the weeks – she knew the letters wouldn't arrive, if they would, until the last couple of weeks, but she just couldn't help it. She had seen the damage the Battle had had on the castle; she'd seen the endless oceans of rubble, the shards of glass splintered across the corridors. The physical damage of her favourite place was enough to break her heart and deter any continuation of, well, of anything, even if it had been mostly cleared by the start of the holidays. And that's not even thinking about the other damage. Aurora shuddered and pressed her forehead against the shield of glass. She had watched her professors, her Housemates, and her friends suffer as she had fought alongside them. She watched as Fenrir Greyback devoured Lavender Brown. She watched as her friend Ginny grieved for her brother with her family. She read in the Prophet afterwards that there had been at least 50 students and teachers died that night, not to mention the members of that Order of the Phoenix she'd also read about.

She sighed and turned away from the window, her eyes falling on the square of parchment lying on her bed. As it happens, however, she would be returning for another year: her final year. Professor McGonagall – or rather, Headmistress McGonagall – invited her to either repeat her sixth or continue to her seventh and, despite everything, she couldn't turn the offer down. She loved Hogwarts, with its labyrinthine corridors and its breath-taking grounds. If magic could materialise, it would be that castle. She gave herself a scintilla smile. She definitely couldn't deny how different she felt about Hogwarts than what she did during the holidays at home. After living there, of course the Muggle world was going to be… incredibly boring. Her mother tried to keep it exciting, but Cadbury's didn't have the same excitement as a Chocolate Frog or Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and television didn't interest her at all. As the weeks passed, she found herself going on a daily walk, delving into the Scottish countryside surrounding the village simply because it reminded her of Hogwarts' backdrops.

Maybe she shouldn't leave her mum at home alone for hours on end, but the walks took her mind of things. She had even accumulated a tiny bit of a tan on her stereotypically pale skin, with the faint lines from her t-shirts visible in the best lights. As well as being the slowest, it had also been the hottest with an unbearable heat wave.

A pipe creaking snapped her head up to the clock on her bedside table: 3:56am. Her groan was almost inaudible. In four hours, she would be on her way to the train station to catch the 8:30 train to London for her annual Diagon Alley visit; four more hours until she was back in the wizarding world. Four damn hours. She pulled herself from her window seat and stood in the middle of her bedroom, bored. With being in the attic, it was one of the biggest in the house, fitting a double bed, two bedside tables, a bookcase, a desk, a window seat and her wardrobe, and still has wall-space for shelves and wall art. Her mother had decorated it last summer to cheer her daughter up, and replaced the posters from when she was eleven with framed butterfly samples and canvased photography. Aurora had been grateful, of course, but why bother for a room that's only lived in for about eight weeks of the year?

The she had to admit that it was nice to be back and actually have breathing space after living in the Gryffindor Tower with three of her closest friends. With only four in a dorm, it was cramped – Aurora couldn't think of how bad it would be if there were a fifth.

Four hours.

Her bed was still made from the morning before, the bedding neatly tucked under the excessive amount of pillows and cushions. Aurora flopped herself down diagonally across the white duvet and reached for her bedside table. A small pharmaceutical bottle stood behind the lamp, half in shadow, hidden from the rest of the room. She'd had to get her prescription renewed at the beginning of the summer, along with her first therapy session since the summer before. It was the worst timing. She'd forgotten to take her anti-depressives during the Battle and her anxiety and dizziness were just two things that were flagged in those two hours. Of course, when Aurora was at her worst just under two years before, her parents were forced to seek out a psychiatrist from the wizarding community – and that wasn't the easiest of tasks. Eventually, they discovered Healers at St. Mungo's who had experience with Muggle psychiatry, and one Medi-witch kindly offered to give Aurora the treatment she needed.

And she, of course, knew about the Battle. And she asked questions. And Aurora had let it all out. She'd cried for those who had died. She'd cried for those who had lived. She'd cried for not dying too. She'd cried because of guilt, because of terror, because it had built and built ever since Harry Potter had eventually defeated Lord Voldemort. Then she'd cried in happiness. It sounds silly as she looked back, but they were the tears that she hadn't been able to let out since that night in May.

She flicked the lid and jolted out a single pill and swallowed it with a sip of stagnant water. It tasted stale as she stared at the ceiling. Her eyes flicked over to the clock again. 4:07am. Sighing, she turned on her side and picked up the nearest book.

...

The Malfoy Manor was still, and as soundless as a cemetery. Even the fire made no crackles as Draco Malfoy stood before it, fingering the glass of Firewhiskey in his hand, his gaze transfixed on the flickering flames. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been standing there – an hour? Two hours? Maybe it had been the entire day. His bedroom was the only place in the entire manor that he could convince himself to enter. Everywhere else just reminded him – and it wasn't like he needed reminding. The memories, the nightmares, were there constantly, festering away. Torturing him. Every corner of every room had some kind of indent or mark from the past year carved into the air, and Draco shuddered every single time they caught his eye. It was all over, but he was still a prisoner in his own home.

He let out a heavy sigh and took a drink, finding unique solace in the burning sensation. It was his father's best bottle, but he figured he wouldn't have need for it for a while. It hadn't taken long for the Aurors to catch up to them, and the trio were taken into custody. Draco, still a student, wasn't convicted for anything. He'd stood, his face blank, before the Wizengamot, secretly pleading that his true story would come into light. And to his surprise, his case was thrown out the window almost immediately. But the other Malfoy trials were still on going – and, much to Draco's dismay, the outcome was obvious. They might as well have been sentenced to life in Azkaban already, what with the articles spieled in Prophet every day. There was no denying that the Malfoy name had been severely tarnished – if it hadn't been already. Draco let out a bitter laugh. They say the outside world can be as bad as the inside world. Whoever first said that had it spot on.

His mother was in absolute pieces, of course, though she hardly showed it to anyone. During those dreaded visiting hours, Draco could see how worn down Narcissa Malfoy had truly become. Also labelled as an "accessory", sympathy was just as scarce for them as it was for Lucius. And Draco wasn't surprised. He supposed that he'd always known, deep down, that this would happen sooner or later. He swigged back another mouthful.

"I should have known better than to just… go along with it all," he muttered. But how could he have just turned his back to the only family he had? He had grown up listening to the prejudiced preaching of his father, and even his Aunt Bellatrix. And his mother certainly didn't say anything to disagree with them. He had been indoctrinated into believing that the Malfoys were superior to all, especially Mud– Muggle-borns. His lips pursed into a thin line. It always had come down to bloodlines.

Draco clicked his neck, his eyes still on the orange and red blur in front. Realistically, he deserved to go down along with his father, and his mother deserved to walk free – she just did what she thought would impress Lucius, and The Dark Lord himself when he had decided to take Malfoy Manor for his own.

An involuntary shiver ran through Draco's bones as he replayed those months. Those insufferably agonising months that didn't seem to want to end. Always under Voldemort's snake-like eyes, any change of heart was useless and instantly punished with excruciating pain or a flash of green light. If you were lucky, it was the latter. Death was better than the searing torture from the Cruciatus Curse.

The amount of pained eyes Draco had been forced to look into was unbearable to think of. If The Dark Lord was the tiniest bit irritated, he didn't think twice about hexing – or threatening someone else to hex the unlucky ones instead. It seemed that Draco had been his favourite to force, and Draco's cowardice had cost so many minds, so many lives.

He finished his drink and reached to place it on the mantelpiece. His sleeve rode up his arm, the faint charcoal curve of the snake tattoo glaring at him in the fiery light. He couldn't even look at it, but he knew it was there. He'd tried everything to get it removed, even resorting to Muggle laser tattoo removal but, of course, that didn't work. True, it had faded considerably, but the magic was embedded into his skin.

His fist tightened, still grasping onto the whiskey glass. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, his anger coursing through his veins. Coward. Narrowed eyes. They died because of you. Whitened knuckles. Because of your sheer cowardice. He couldn't even remember throwing the glass across the room. It cut through the air and collided with the wall with pure force. Shards of glass scattered across the floor.

"I should have fucking known better," he spat. His fist met the hearth - again, and again, and again until he collapsed with exhaust and strangled sobs. Pale skin speckled raw with blood with only the glass fragments glimmering in the empty darkness behind him watching.