Taking the train to Hogwarts without Harry and Ron wasn't an entirely new experience. After all, the two mischievous boys did miss their ride during their second year. But Hermione still felt it strange, like the broken tradition somehow signaled an irreparable change. She had waved to her fellow "eighth years"-Neville, Luna, Dean, and a couple of Ravenclaws whose names escaped her-as she passed by their compartment, but she hadn't asked to join them. Ginny, having accepted the role of Head Girl, was off meeting the prefects and was unable to accompany Hermione in her search for an empty compartment.
Hermione didn't mind the solitude, and actually preferred it. She had spent the summer with the Weasleys and Harry following the war, and after months of trying to figure out ways to restore her parents' memories, the healers at St. Mungo's deemed the endeavor too risky. So Wendell and Monica Wilkins would stay in Australia, and Hermione sadly had to accept that her well-meaning decision to Obliviate them for their protection would be permanent.
She passed compartment after compartment of jolly underclassmen, most of them swapping stories of their exciting summers, speculating about who would become the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and wondering about the state of the school so soon after the war.
"I hear they're demolishing the Astronomy Tower. It's been over a year since Professor Dumbledore...you know. But they've finally decided," a young Gryffindor girl whispered to her friend just before their compartment door closed.
"Do you think we'll even have a Defense Against the Dark Arts class at all? You-Know-Who is gone. What's there to defend?" A fifth-year Hufflepuff asked his companions, who looked at him incredulously. Hermione stifled the urge to roll her eyes, and continued on her search for an empty, or at least a non-crowded, compartment.
Hermione was going to mind her business and stay out of trouble this year. After all, the point of returning to Hogwarts was to sit her NEWTS, which would then pave her way to a respectable job in the Ministry of Magic. She had her eyes on a few departments, and was hoping this year would help her narrow down her choices. Technically, her Order of Merlin, First Class, would have been enough recommendation to get her into whichever department she desired, but unlike Harry and Ron who had jumped at the offer by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she wanted to earn her position, whatever it may be. Not that risking her life hunting down Horcruxes wasn't admirable, but Hermione was never one to use and abuse her titles.
She peered into a compartment, briefly wondering why one was empty in the crowded train, but quickly realized why. Draco Malfoy, clad in a crisp, dark suit, was sitting still as a statue by the window and scowling at the blur of trees as they whizzed by. She hesitated—perhaps she should leave him alone? She hadn't seen him since she and Harry testified at the Malfoy trial two months ago. He had been just as pale, quiet, and stoic as he looked now. He hadn't so much as looked up at the Wizengamot when Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to twelve years in Azkaban, but she noticed that he had sighed in relief when Narcissa was sentenced to five years of house arrest.
She slowly slid the compartment door open, but he didn't move. If he had heard her, he didn't seem to mind the intrusion. She figured that if he didn't want company, he would shoo her away. When he didn't so much as glance in her direction, she stowed her backpack into the overhead bin and plopped herself down on the seat across him and closest to the door, far away from him.
She opened her mouth to say something, but found she was at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say? How was your summer? Looking forward to NEWTS? Why are you here? No, that was rude and intrusive. She didn't know the details of his sentence, only that he had avoided Azkaban and house arrest due to his age and the fact that he hadn't seemed at all willing to become a Death Eater. Harry and Hermione's testimonies in his and Narcissa's favor certainly helped. Perhaps he was ordered to return to Hogwarts. If a former—albeit unwilling—Death Eater was allowed back into the school, were other Slytherins in their year back, too?
As if on cue, Malfoy sharply turned his head and caused Hermione to jump in her seat. For a second, she thought she had voiced her last thought and he had heard. But he looked surprised to see her there, as if he had expected anyone, even Voldemort himself, but her.
"Hi," Hermione squeaked. Hi? She hadn't known what to say because he had caught her by surprise.
His brows knitted in bewilderment.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snuck in. Everywhere else was full," she continued after clearing her throat. She shouldn't be showing him fear. She wasn't afraid of him. If anything, he should be afraid of her. Or at least grateful, especially after what she did for him at his trial.
His eyes darted to the door, as if making sure no one was standing outside to block his escape. A gaggle of giggling Gryffindor girls skittered by, oblivious to the tension in the compartment. He relaxed and said softly, "It's fine. Just you?"
Hermione nodded. "Harry and Ron are in Auror training. I guess the Ministry can overlook NEWTS when it comes to them," she attempted to chuckle but it came out sounding like a cough. Why was she nervous? She fidgeted with her robes, suddenly wishing she hadn't put it on so early in the day.
He sneered at the mention of Harry and Ron but didn't say anything. Instead, he leaned back in his seat and resumed looking out the window. She took this as a sign that she was welcome to stay, but their conversation was over. At least he hadn't said or done anything hostile.
She opened her copy of Advanced Numerology and Grammatica and resolved to read in silence. They would arrive at Hogsmeade station in five hours. Plenty of time to get through half the textbook. For the next hour, she and Malfoy pointedly ignored each other. She read her book and he when he decided she could be trusted not to hex him when his guard was down, he closed his eyes for a quick nap. When the lunch trolley wheeled by, she was so focused on her book that he had to nudge her foot to get her attention. He asked her if she wanted anything, but she was so surprised that he was suddenly speaking to her that she had immediately said no and inwardly regretted it. The trolley witch asked if she was sure, and somehow Hermione thought to double down on her lie and insisted she wasn't hungry. Malfoy bought himself two beet, spinach, and goat cheese sandwiches and a bottle of pumpkin juice.
Hermione raised her textbook higher in an effort to avoid watching him scarf down his scrumptious sandwiches. She tried to ignore the sound of a sandwich wrapper being crumpled and the fizz of the pumpkin juice when he opened the bottle, but her treacherous stomach started to grumble. When she heard a snigger terribly disguised as a sniff and a snort, she was mortified. Still, she proceeded to read and hoped it would distract her long enough to make her forget she was hungry.
Soon, the silence of the compartment, the monotony of the textbook, and her nagging hunger took its toll. She had only meant to stretch out more comfortably on the seats, and it didn't look like Malfoy minded whatever she chose to do on her side of the compartment. But apparently she had drifted off to sleep because she was jolted awake when she felt herself rolling off the seats. She clutched the textbook lying open on her chest and looked around to make sure no one had seen her jerking. Malfoy was not in the compartment, but his cloak and bag were still in the overhead bin.
She slowly sat up and felt something soft plop on her lap. Looking down, she saw that it was one of Malfoy's wrapped sandwiches. She inexplicably felt a lump in her throat, but smiled as she started to unwrap the sandwich.
Draco hated Hogwarts, but not as much as he hated Malfoy Manor. It seemed that all the walls were tainted with Dark magic, because he couldn't find peace wherever he looked when he was at home. In fact, the Manor no longer felt like home.
When the Wizengamot decided that there was probably something worth redeeming in him, he had avoided Azkaban and house arrest. Instead, he was ordered to return to Hogwarts one last time. He welcomed this sentence, eager to put some distance between himself and the cursed house.
Renovations were still underway at Hogwarts, and a large portion of the Malfoy fortune, as well as his aid, was "offered" to the cause. NEWTS didn't matter, not really, for a former Death Eater. There was no expunging that record, and potential employers will always associate the Malfoy name with the Dark Lord. In essence, his future was shot, but that didn't mean he had given up entirely. Once the Ministry had gotten its fill of his family's vault, there would be nothing left for him and his mother. And he needed to make sure his mother was taken care of. So he had to try—try not to fuck up this time, try not to get on the bad side of the Ministry, try not to get expelled from Hogwarts until he completed his probation.
Draco had made many bad decisions in his youth, but this year would be different. He would keep his head low, do what was asked of him by McGonagall per the terms of his probation, and get through the year in one piece. Seemed easy enough. That was until he turned in his seat and met the warm brown eyes of Hermione Granger.
She had jumped like a scared dormouse, and when she told him that there would be no Golden Trio this year, he was relieved. He had expected Potter and Weasley to come barging into the compartment after her, and maybe beat him up for invading her space even though he was there first. Then again, Potter had actually testified in his favor, as did Granger, so perhaps they were past their childhood rivalry. He was still wary of Weasley, though.
He didn't know what to say to Granger. She was awfully quiet this time. Wasn't she usually chatty? She was always chattering about something to anyone who'd listen during meal times in the Great Hall. Not that he spent most of his time observing her, but it was hard not to notice a bushy-haired girl who chewed her food so fast just so she could talk more. Crabbe and Goyle had once placed bets on how fast she could eat her kippers during breakfast before she launched into a lecture about the effects of unprotected long-term exposure to mandrakes.
She pulled on her left sleeve. It was a subtle movement, but he noticed. He heard her screams in his head, remembered the sick way his Aunt Bella carved MUDBLOOD on her arm with a cursed knife. He wondered if she had scars, if her left arm was just as marred as his. The screams got louder. He leaned back and closed his eyes, willing himself to think of anything but that memory. I'm sorry, he should have said to her right there and then. He hadn't had the chance during the past four months. Not during the battle after the trio saved him from the Fiendfyre, not during the trial, or after. He could have sent an owl, but he was a coward. Still a coward.
He had a year to figure out how to thank her. It was the least he could do, and he knew it still wouldn't be enough. What did she even think of him? Was she pitying him right now, being the lone Slytherin in his year? Did she think he was disgusting for even daring to show his face in Hogwarts after what he had done? The nerve of him to set foot in the place where he had aided in the assassination of Albus Dumbledore.
After ignoring each other for hours, Granger eventually bored herself to sleep with her Arithmancy textbook. He hadn't even noticed that she had sprawled out across the seat until he heard her snore. Half her face was buried in her messy curls, but she managed to breathe through it somehow. She wasn't bad to look at. She had soft features, which surprised him because he had always thought she would be all hard lines and wrinkles. Wasn't she always frowning at Potter and Weasley? Her lashes were incredibly thick and long, and if he leaned forward a bit, he would be able to count the freckles across her button nose. Her plump pink lips were slightly opened…
Draco noticed his neck growing hot. The compartment was stifling, and he desperately needed to get fresh air. He placed his extra sandwich on her belly and hastily made his way out, making sure to escape as quietly as possible. Stupid girl should've ordered food off the lunch trolley. The entire train knew she was hungry with how loud her stomach gurgled. Now he had to look for a snack somewhere. Perhaps at the other end of the train.
He kept his eyes down as he traversed one end of the train to the other. He wasn't certain where he was aiming to go, really, just that he had to put some distance between himself and Granger. Perhaps he would bump into the trolley witch, but he realized that in his haste, he had forgotten to take his coin purse with him.
Boisterous laughter boomed from the compartment to his right, and he looked over just in time to see familiar faces stare back at him, laughter and smiles quickly extinguished from their faces. His eyes landed on the pale blonde girl's. Luna Lovegood, one of the prisoners of Malfoy Manor. He averted his gaze and recognized the others—Longbottom, the Thomas boy, and other eighth years. While Lovegood smiled, the others were scowling. He briskly fled, but not before he heard the compartment door slide open and a soft female voice call out to him. He ignored her and kept walking.
Hermione had long finished the sandwich before Malfoy returned to the compartment. She thought he looked forlorn, but he had schooled his features into a scowl in an instant. He sank back into his spot and resumed staring out the window.
She cleared her throat. "Er—thank you. For the sandwich," she said meekly. She knew she was blushing, but didn't know why. She thought perhaps it was the embarrassment of having been fed by a classmate whom she barely knew.
He waved his hand dismissively. "I thought you had passed out from starvation. You couldn't wait another few hours until Hogwarts?"
She had a sharp retort on her tongue, but she bit it back when she saw that his lips were slightly upturned and there was a mad glint in his eyes. "Dinner isn't for another six hours. I would be dead by then, Malfoy." She couldn't help but smile.
He still didn't meet her eyes, but he did allow himself to grin. "When we get to Hogwarts, could you tell McGonagall that I saved your life? That would go a long way towards my tally of good deeds this year."
"Is that why you're back? There are conditions?" Hermione couldn't help herself. Her curiosity overrode her manners too often and too fast. She hadn't thought about how aggressive her question had come across until Malfoy wiped the grin off his face. Instantly, she covered her hand with her mouth. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that. It's really none of my business."
Instead of hostility as she had expected, Malfoy shifted in his seat so his body was facing hers. Opening up to her. She perked up at the change in the mood, like she was about to be privy to a long-kept secret.
His face had softened, and she knew he had known to expect the question from her. He finally met her gaze, his steely blue gray eyes boring into her. Harry had mentioned that Malfoy was a skilled Occlumens, but was he a Legilimens, too?
"I assume you know that I am on probation." It was a declaration, but Hermione nodded at his words anyway. "One of the terms is that I return to Hogwarts and aid in the renovation any way I can. This means I am under the strict supervision of McGonagall." His brow quirked up at his last statement.
Hermione's lips formed an O. The implication wasn't lost on her but she didn't know why she was surprised. It seemed obvious that Malfoy would be put under surveillance while he was in Hogwarts. But just how strict?
As if to answer her unvoiced question, Malfoy continued, "Every night I am to submit my wand to a teacher for inspection. To make sure I haven't dabbled in Dark magic, you understand? This also means I am banned from Hogsmeade, which doesn't matter to me. I hardly think I'm allowed back at The Three Broomsticks." He bristled slightly at his confession.
Hermione understood why. She had almost forgotten that he had placed Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius curse and forced her to aid the Death Eaters. But submitting his wand for inspection every night seemed like overkill. Malfoy had made mistakes, but continuously punishing him every day was counterproductive.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Malfoy's voice broke through her train of thought. He was regarding her carefully now.
She shook her head, willing him to relax. "Sorry, it's not you. I was just thinking about your punishment. It doesn't sound fair, Malfoy."
He shrugged. "The Ministry doesn't care. Neither do I. You don't think I deserve this, Granger? I thought you of all people would protest my return. I can imagine the Howlers that McGonagall is going to get once the students alert their parents to the presence of a Death Eater in school with them—"
"But you're not!" Hermione interjected loudly and sharply that Malfoy went slack-jawed. She breathed in deeply before continuing, "You're not a Death Eater. At least not anymore. And if everyone paid attention, they'd know that Harry and I made sure you were acquitted."
Malfoy had dropped his gaze to the floor, and they sat in stunned silence for a bit. Hermione couldn't look at him either due to shame for her outburst. She hadn't meant to bring up his trial because she certainly hadn't meant to make him feel insecure or feel that he owed her anything. She did what was right and honest, and knew that he would have never deserved Azkaban.
"Thank you," he said. It was low, almost inaudible over the chugging of the Hogwarts Express and the chatter outside their compartment, but she heard it. She looked up and locked eyes with him once again. This time, his gaze was softer.
"Thank you, for what you did for me and my mother," he said with more conviction. "I understand that you and Potter didn't have to, but thank you for telling them."
"For telling the Wizengamot the truth? That you lied about not recognizing Harry when we were captured, and that your mum lied to Voldemort about Harry being dead? Ironically, both your lies saved our lives, Malfoy." Hermione wanted to hold his hand, or pat his back. He looked absolutely speechless and…sad. And she didn't want him to be sad. Just like the rest of them, he had gone through trauma, too. Being on the other side of the war didn't mean he deserved less humanity.
"I'm sorry that I wasn't able to do anything about Aunt Bella," he lamented. His eyes flew to her left arm, and she knew what he was referring to. The experience had left her permanently branded. Just like her parents' Obliviation, the healers at St. Mungo's were also unable to erase the scar that Bellatrix Lestrange had etched into her forearm with a cursed blade.
Hermione rubbed her arm gently. "What could you have done? Bellatrix was a madwoman. Had you shown an ounce of sympathy for a Mudblood, she would have killed me and put you under the Cruciatus." She shook her head sadly. "It's just a scar. I'm lucky to be alive."
She smiled tentatively at him, to show that forgiveness was not beneath her. That he hadn't needed to apologize in the first place. And she had accepted his thanks. He smiled back at her.