Chapter I : An Unlikely White Knight
The Burrow buzzed with conversation and laughter for the first time in an entire year. The last occasion to have brought such cheer to the Weasley's humble abode had been Bill and Fleur's wedding, that fateful day on which the beginning of the end had come. Now, I smiled upon the scene before me: Ron and George encouraged an unwitting Percy to try a Canary Cream, while Mr Weasley grinned like Christmas had come early as he bombarded my parents with questions regarding the muggle world. Mrs Weasley, once again, commented on the length of her eldest son's hair, whose wife helped Charlie set the table for dinner. Little Teddy, now three and a half months old, was perched on his grinning godfather's knee, laughing at Ginny's tickles under the watchful eyes of his loving grandparents.
Since the fall of the Dark Lord, the wizarding community had seemed so much more united. Families were reforming, brushing themselves down and picking up the pieces. It had been an incredibly difficult three months for everyone, especially the Weasleys. Fred's death had been like a Dementor's kiss to George, who could, until just recently, be found most nights at the joke shop in Diagon Alley, wide awake at his late twin's desk.
My parents had been aghast at the knowledge of their memory alterations after Mr Weasley and Charlie had helped us track them down in Australia, but the magnitude of my actions were diffused somewhat by the news that Wendell and Monica Wilkins had apparently decided it was time to have children. Now here we were, together again, minus a few dearly missed faces but graced with the addition, and prospect, of others. Things that had previously been of great importance, such as education, now felt absurdly trivial. It was for this reason, therefore, that when a large tawny owl swooped in through the open kitchen window and scattered four familiar looking letters across the table, the room suddenly fell silent. Blinking, in shock, at the one bearing my own name, I reached forward and broke the scarlet wax seal, before pulling out the piece of parchment inside, which I felt sure would prove to be identical to the one Harry was already reading aloud.
"Dear Mr Potter,
In light of recent events, it has been decided that last year's academic session shall be repeated, as very little could have been learned amongst the tyranny which Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was forced to endure." Ron looked positively mutinous at the revelation, but I watched Harry's grin stretch wider and wider, mirroring my own as he read on. "Over the past few months, the castle has undergone intensive reconstruction, both physically and philosophically, truly marking the beginning of a new era. It is, therefore, with tremendous pleasure that I invite you to return for your seventh year of studies. Please find enclosed your list of required books and supplies for the coming year, and your ticket for the Hogwarts Express on the 1st of September."
My own letter, however, was actually slightly lengthier.
"Furthermore," I continued, immediately feeling the pressure of our audience's gaze upon me, "I would like to offer my earnest congratulations, as you have been unanimously selected for the position of Head Girl." My free, trembling hand tipped the envelope upside down, and a small, gleaming gold badge tumbled out. "This year shall undoubtedly prove more complicated than usual, owing to the necessary accommodation of two years worth of first year students, but I am confident in your ability to manage the role. I look forward to seeing you in my office after the Welcome Feast for your orientation.
Kind regards,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress."
"Well done, sweetheart!" My mother beamed as she waddled her way around the table to hug me, rather unsuccessfully due to her enormous baby bump. My father and several others reiterated her congratulations as Ron dived for his own envelope, presumably to determine whether he and I would be living together in the Heads' Quarters this year. Upon feeling the perfectly flat contents, he sulkily tossed it back down, unopened. To be quite honest, I was rather glad of this; the situation would have been awkward, to say the very least. After the brief moment we'd shared on the night of the battle back in May, Ron had gutlessly surrendered himself to a celebratory kiss from Lavender mere hours later. At the time, I was furious; heartbroken, even, but it didn't take me long to realise that he wasn't the one for me. I wanted someone willing to fight for me; someone who appreciated me, which Ron, despite his good intentions, clearly did not.
"Well," Harry marvelled, "certainly wasn't expecting that!"
"Just think... finally, a normal year at Hogwarts!" I mused, unable to contain my jubilation. It wasn't that I resented having to give up my final and most important year of education for Harry's mission, but leaving my schooling unfinished bothered me; I felt incomplete, like an encyclopaedia missing its X, Y and Z sections.
So the following morning, Harry, Ron, Ginny and I set off for Diagon Alley to buy our new books and supplies, stepping into the roaring green flames of the Floo Network one by one. After ensuring that our party had all arrived safely, I excused myself and headed off into the cobbled street alone. Now that Harry and Ginny were together, unhindered by any prophecies, I didn't much feel like getting stuck making small talk with Ron, and since Harry would be turning eighteen in a few days, I'd decided to make a secret visit to Eeylops Owl Emporium. He'd never quite gotten over the loss of his beloved snowy owl, Hedwig, and I thought I'd give him something new and positive to focus on, like he had done for the rest of the magical world.
Upon crossing the threshold of the little shop, I was welcomed by a chorus of screeches, and a tall, handsome man about Mr Weasley's age.
"Hello," I greeted him with a smile, "I'm looking-"
"Wha- 'Ere! You're 'Ermione Granger, ain'tcha?" I felt a flush of warmth spread across my cheeks at his recognition. So this is what it's like to be Harry, I thought.
"Oh... er, yes... I-"
"Merlin's Beard," he gushed, "Can't thank y'enough, y'know, fo'whatcha did."
"Well, it was mostly Harry..." I laughed bashfully.
"Tha's not wha' I 'eard!" He wagged a knowing finger at my modesty. "If there's anythin' I can ever do 'a be of service...!"
"Actually, I was rather hoping you could help me choose an owl for Harry's eighteenth birthday." Taking the opportunity to change the subject, I explained how poor Hedwig had met her end. The shop owner nodded sympathetically and began leading me around the shelves full of vigilant, jewel eyes, on a tour of the various species of owls he sold. There were tiny, fluffy ones barely bigger than my hand, large, sleek-feathered ones with flat, funny-looking faces, and even bigger russet-coloured ones with ear tufts like the frilly edges of a tricorn hat. Some had black eyes, though most had yellow, and some stared through great round orbs, while others glared under slanted eyelids. In the end, I picked a wide-eyed cinnamon-coloured screech owl with long, tufty brows and a white-speckled breast. I opened my purse as the man took the cage down from its shelf and placed it on the counter, but no sooner had I started pulling out galleons, he dropped them back into my purse with a flick of his wand.
"Absolutely not m'deah - consider it a token o' my appreciation." He grinned broadly as he tucked a few boxes of nuts into a small bag and pushed it towards me.
"Oh, well... that's very kind of you," I stuttered, and he waved his hand dismissively. "Thank you!"
"No, no! Thank you!"
I smiled at Harry's new owl, perched majestically in his cage, as I left the shop and made my way across the street towards Flourish and Blotts, where Harry, Ginny and Ron were purchasing their books. Pausing at the door, I held up the cage in front of me.
"Decoramicio." A wide, red and gold striped ribbon flew from the tip of my wand and wrapped itself around the lower half of the cage, before tying neatly at the front into a gleaming, bulbous bow. Considering it a job well done, I went inside to find Harry. It wasn't exactly an easy thing to hide, and now was as good a time as ever.
I found him on the upper floor, a few aisles from Ron and Ginny, flicking ruefully through a thick, wine-coloured book with silver corner guards.
"I'm not looking forward to Potions without the Prince's textbook," Harry sighed as I approached him, holding the cage behind me as best I could.
"I am," I retorted smugly, "now you'll be on an equal footing with the rest of us." He looked up at me with a playful, boyish grin and closed his new book.
"You can hardly call any class I take alongside you 'equal'." I felt that warmth creeping back into my cheeks and smiled. "On the bright side, though," he continued, still grinning, "at least I won't have to be in the Slug Club anymore." At this, I let out a shamelessly unladylike snort.
"Please! Not only are you still The Boy Who Lived, you're now also The Boy Who Came Back From The Dead! I don't think Slughorn's going to be relinquishing you from his collection anytime soon." He chuckled and nodded in agreement as he put one hand in his pocket, before leaning over a little and craning his neck for a better look at what I was concealing.
"What's that you've got?" He enquired.
"Oh, well..." I took the cage out from behind me, watching his face carefully. "I know it's early, but... Happy Birthday Harry." I held it out towards him, and just as I had expected, his grin faded. I chewed on my lip, wondering if I'd done the right thing. I didn't like to remind him of his loss, but I hoped that a new feathered little friend would help to ease his pain in time. He stared at the unfamiliar bird and my heart broke for him all over again, but just as I thought I'd made a big mistake, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Taking hold of the metal ring upon which the cage hung, he returned his gaze to mine, and suddenly he stepped forward and hugged me tightly. I smiled to myself against his shoulder and wrapped my arms around his middle.
"Thanks, Hermione," he whispered. Not trusting my voice, I just nodded, giving him an extra little squeeze to support what I couldn't say. Stepping back, I noticed red hair in my peripheral vision and turned to find Ron, looking oblivious to the emotion of the moment, as ever, and Ginny with her chocolate eyes sparkling just a little more than usual.
"Oh Hermione, it's beautiful," she whispered to me, as the boys headed for the stairs, "I'm glad you had the courage, because I certainly didn't."
"I wasn't sure," I admitted, watching our champion over the banister, "but he seems to have taken it okay." Harry and Ron wasted no time in befriending the little owl, who seemed to enjoy the attention, while they stood in the queue to make their purchases.
Ginny shifted her stack of books to one arm, winding her other around my elbow, and together we descended from the upper floor. Though she and the boys had needed to get their new textbook volumes, I already had all of the titles on this year's required reading list, and had read them each, cover to cover, at least half a dozen times.
By the time we'd finished at Flourish and Blotts, there were two precariously stacked piles of rather heavy, sharp-cornered books floating around our heads, but I curbed my irritation when Harry and Ron graciously offered to get the stationery and Potions supplies Ginny and I needed, to allow us an hour or so to ourselves. I knew exactly what they were up to, and was unable to prevent the smirk that stretched across my lips as Ginny and I departed for Twilfit and Tatting's. I had expected them to be less than amenable towards the idea of shopping for the last item on our list of supplies for the year, but I hadn't thought they'd bow out altogether.
After pausing outside the window for a moment to behold the exquisite robes it displayed, we entered the large, sunlit shop with a compelling hunger for more. The walls were lined from the high ceiling to the black, marble floor with enormous, ornately-framed photographs of stunningly handsome men and sickeningly beautiful women, posing this way and that in their fine attire. The room was spaciously arranged around a meandering path, punctuated by islands of square, leather pouffes. It lead towards the back of the shop, where two magnificently dressed but rather haughty-looking men awaited the emergence of, presumably, a customer, from behind a velvet curtain. The tall, fair-haired woman by whom they were accompanied made the identity of the hidden customer undeniably clear, and I allowed myself a quiet huff of exasperation.
"Fantastic," I muttered. The slimy little git stepped out from the fitting room just in time to catch my stare, and I surprised even myself when I quickly averted my gaze in the opposite direction, my cheeks burning.
Something wasn't quite right. There was something... different about Malfoy, but I couldn't quite place it. It felt invasive to see him in such a state, but my eyes wandered curiously back towards the rear of the shop, where I found his once steely eyes still upon me, now weary and sorrowful. His usually immaculate, combed-back hair fell freely across his forehead, having clearly been subject to many a raking by his overwrought fingers. The arrogant, sneering expression I'd come to know and expect had been replaced with an exhausted, impassive countenance, and I soon found myself unable to look at the broken boy any longer.
"Hermione?" I was shaken from my thoughts by Ginny's warm fingers on my wrist. I watched her bronze-encircled pupils track the Malfoys resentfully over my shoulder as they occupied themselves by browsing the other designs while their purchase was altered, before she dragged me towards a small cluster of daintily-robed mannequins and gave a dark, bitter laugh.
"Pathetic little worm. Quiet, now everybody knows he was a scumbag Death Eater, isn't he?"
"He looks stressed," I replied quietly. "I've never seen him so meek."
"I should think so, too! Besides, he's probably just miffed about his dad. I heard they didn't have enough evidence against Narcissa because she didn't bear the mark," she scoffed, "but Lucius got thrown right back into Azkaban to rot where he belongs... not that that's even nearly enough anymore." I knew she was referring to the Ministry's dismissal and incarceration of Azkaban's famous former guards, the Dementors. After the fall of the Dark Lord, it had been decided that they were far too fickle a species to rely upon for services requiring such loyalty. The Ministry imprisoned them at Nurmengard by means of a stronger, more permanent variation of the Patronus charm, on the grounds that they were a liability to the peace of the world and could not otherwise be controlled.
"He wasn't like this the last time his father was put in Azkaban, though. If anything, he was more vindictive than ever."
An irritated cough ended our discussion abruptly, as we turned to find one of the two shop owners little more than a few feet away. He towered over us in a rich, plum-coloured robe of velvet, fastened by a wide, black, satin sash around his middle, the ends of which hung from his front, flaunting a flourish of tiny diamonds.
"May I help you?" He drawled through his wiry, grey moustache, evidently reluctant to serve even a famous muggle-born and 'blood-traitor', but forced to abide by the recently-passed anti-discrimination laws laid out by our new Minister of Magic and fellow Order member, Kingsley Shacklebolt.
My delight had been irrepressible upon the announcement of these new laws. I knew Kingsley to be a very fair-minded, natural-born leader, but I hadn't even considered the possibility of changes in legislation. He'd truly paved the way for a new, revolutionary way of life, and for it he had earned my utmost respect. It was his innovative principles and dedication to peace among wizardkind and muggles alike that inspired me to decide I'd someday be Minister of Magic.
Drawing confidence from this new, level playing field, I looked the shopkeeper straight in the eye.
"You most certainly may," I replied with a polite smile but a smug, internal grin, "We're looking to buy some formal robes for the upcoming Equality Ball at Hogwarts." The man raised a bushy brow and glowered at me for a good few seconds before jutting his chin towards the other front corner of the shop, where a wide window with an intricate grille and square, bubbled panes cast a sunny glow over another collection of mannequins.
"Our monochrome designs are over there." With that, he strode purposefully over to his colleague and began muttering, undoubtedly, obscene insults and reproachful comments about me and 'my place', before setting about preparing Malfoy's commission. Ginny snickered at my audacity as we drew near the section to which he'd gestured.
"So, any ideas?" Ginny asked me as she reached out to touch the sleeve of a particularly delicate-looking robe.
"Actually," I confided, "I have it all planned out. Besides the outfit, of course, but I know what I'm after." At this, Ginny's eyes were immediately ablaze.
"Tell me," she bid in hushed excitement, "Tell me now!" I couldn't hold back my grin any longer and it flooded across my face, but didn't remain there long because, up ahead, my attention was seized by exactly what I was looking for.
It consisted of a white, silk undergarment with a modestly beaded, sweetheart-shaped bodice and a full, empire-waisted skirt that hung smoothly beneath a spectacular outer robe. The robe itself was black, iridescent taffeta, following the same high waist as the gown, with a round, upturned collar, slightly puffed shoulders and dainty, white lace cuffs. The length featured a few bubble-tiers as it fell to the floor in wide, rippling drapes, and it fastened by a small, silver clasp under the bust. Between its lower half, the hem of the gown atop which it sat, was adorned with a black, embroidered damask pattern, with curling leaves and entwining vines that became less dense the higher it climbed, until it disappeared entirely around the knee. Tied to the neck of the mannequin was a small, brown tag stating the ensemble to cost fifty-six Galleons.
Ginny caught on to the subject of my revered silence quickly, and gasped.
"Excu... Excuse me," I breathed, but realised it was barely audible. "Excuse me," I said, louder this time, but unwilling to turn my gaze upon the far less pretty sight of the shopkeepers, "I'd like this one."
"I believe this particular design may be a little... out of your price range, Miss." The scornful voice came from over my shoulder, and amid my sudden fury, I vaguely wondered how he'd gotten there so fast. My head whipped round to face the emerald-clothed shopkeeper we had not yet spoken to, and glared with all the authority I could muster. I would not be intimidated by a snooty, conservative old bigot in dire need of a toupée.
"That's an extremely rude assumption to make. I can clearly see the price tag for myself, thank you."
"It's been reserved for another client," he argued, clenching his bony fists. By this point, I was acutely aware of Malfoy's unsuccessfully surreptitious eavesdropping, which only fuelled my irritation.
"If that were the case, why is it on display and not labelled so?" I stepped closer, hoping to make my intolerance crystal clear. He appeared taken aback, but his scowl slid back into place not a moment later. "If you're refusing my custom, I'm sure our good friend, Minister Shacklebolt, would be very interested to hear of it."
"How dare you threaten me, you filthy little Mudblood!" His temper finally broke, and several things happened at once: the shopkeeper drew his wand, as did I, but Ginny, who had been anticipating such behaviour, got there first. None of us, though, were quite as quick as Malfoy. He crossed the room in barely more than three swift paces before the proud old fool had even finished his sentence, and the familiar, malevolent side of him I knew so well was back.
Astonishingly, however, it was not I, nor Ginny, at whom his obviously new, light-wooded wand was pointed. It was, in fact, jabbed into the back of our assailant's neck. Firmly in the grip of shock and his self-assurance faltering, the shopkeeper dropped his wand.
"Take it back," Malfoy commanded him. The man was slack-jawed and unable, as of yet, to answer. In response to his silence, Malfoy twisted his wand deeper into the hollow at the base of his skull. "I said take it back!" His hostage winced a little but kept his pond-water eyes trained on me.
"My apologies," he finally spat, and snatched up the mannequin to undress it at the desk.
Dumbfounded, I could merely gape at what had just happened. Had it happened? Had I perhaps, somehow, inhaled the vapour of a Befuddlement Draught? I struggled to comprehend the situation as my defender turned to walk away.
"Thank you," I blurted in an almost-whisper. Malfoy spun back to face me again for a moment, gave a small, courteous nod of acknowledgement, then returned to his mother, who looked just as stunned as I felt.
When I'd had my new robe shoved in a bag and flung at me and I'd emptied my payment out onto the countertop in an equally haphazard manner, Ginny loudly decided she'd prefer to buy her own dress robes elsewhere, apparently despite the liberal fortune I knew her family had acquired since the war ended. Harry had diverted most of the interviews towards them, and the magical media had paid handsomely in a frenzied race for an exclusive.
Odd as it felt to leave the shop alongside Draco Malfoy, I found an inexplicable, irrefutable comfort in his presence. I stole a sidelong glance at him as we stepped into the warm, August sun. He seemed taller than I remembered... or, no; perhaps just thinner. His naturally hollow cheeks were definitely more pronounced than back in March, when—
Banishing the thought from my mind, I switched my shopping bag from one anxious hand to the other. I heard a sigh escape my would-be protector, and returned my attention to his face. It really was a striking one; since he'd grown up and his shoulders had broadened, what had used to be pointed, bony features were now stunningly defined. I could only imagine what wonders a smile might do.
For the first time ever, I felt a real glimmer of hope for a fairer future. Draco Malfoy had just defended my honour as a Muggle-born. Though I hated to admit it, he was a highly influential individual: at school, as shepherd of all the Slytherin sheep, and in magical society, as a Malfoy. If this was possible, anything was. So, as Ginny came up from behind to occupy the space Malfoy had just vacated to head towards the Apothecary with his mother, while we made a beeline for Madame Malkin's, where we knew Ron would be purchasing some new, entirely un-frilly dress robes, I filed away a mental note to myself: to get to know the puzzling Slytherin Prince this year; to appeal to his better nature.
Our entrance to the shop was announced by the tinkling of a bell above us. It was little more than a box inside. With rails stuffed full of robes in every colour imaginable lining the walls, the room was rather claustrophobic, but had a very warm, homely atmosphere, however cramped. Madame Malkin herself, being only a dumpy little thing, was unhindered by the lack of floor space, but as we approached Harry and Ron, it proved to be a bit difficult manoeuvring around the place.
"Alright?" Harry smiled as Ginny wove her way through the throng of bodies towards him. He placed a small kiss on her hairline; that was one thing about Harry that I was grateful for: he was a rather private person. He wasn't the sort to make a big show of things, if he could help it.
"You will not believe what just happened," Ginny began. She recounted the events of our visit to Twilfit and Tatting's while Madam Malkin bustled around, retrieving all her best black and white robes for Ginny to see.
As she stepped into the fitting room to try one on, Harry folded his arms, pondering her peculiar tale. "I heard from Kingsley that he refused to give evidence in his father's defence at the trial."
"What?" Ginny's head popped out from behind the curtain. "Why not?" Harry merely shrugged in response.
"He didn't say. I honestly don't think he knows, himself."
After much deliberation, Ginny finally decided on an elegant, strapless black gown with a long, silvery-white, butterfly-sleeved robe. There were a few alterations to be made, so she arranged to have Madam Malkin send it to her by owl when it was ready, and the four of us set off to stop by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to say hello to George before returning home.