August 27

His letter came on August 27. A thick, cream colored envelope with his name printed neatly on the back, delivered by none other than one of Hogwarts' many tawny owls.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We feel that it is our duty at Hogwarts to teach and enlighten the young generation of witches and wizards to our fullest capabilities. In light of last year's events, schooling was not completed. Thus, we extend our hand to you and other "8 Years" and invite you back to finish your learning experience as a proper young wizard. Your reply is needed by August 30. School will commence on September 2. Your book list is included.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Draco read the letter with a sour expression on his face. It had been almost six months since the war had ended, and the Malfoys had fallen from grace. He felt sure that Hogwarts had sent him this letter out of pity and not actual interest. And Malfoys did not except pity. Although, Draco wasn't entirely sure what it meant to be a Malfoy anymore. All his previous notions had flown out the window.

When the Dark Lord had perished, Draco had been elated with the fact. It gave him a sick, sweet satisfaction when Voldemort's body had slumped over, dead, cold and still. He rejoiced in silent celebration with his mother, the only person who he had truly ever loved and possibly the only person who had ever truly loved him. But it was as if they were walking on eggshells, because after the final battle, Lucius, the third party in the family of three, had never been the same.

He was an empty shell, a hollowed out body. His soul had seeped out through the years and the Dark Lord's death had finally caused him to snap like the brittle, fragile man he was. He walked around Malfoy Manor in a state of deep, complex depression. A mere ghost of his previously arrogant, crude, and haughty self. It was as if Lucius would have rather been sent to Azkaban then suffer a life without pent up fear and evil. He locks himself up in his study for hours on end, doing Merlin knows what, exiting only for meals. Even those trips are far and few between.

Draco, on the other hand, had seen his father's reclusive behaviour as an improvement. He was fully content to spend the day alone, or with his mother, sometimes playing the odd game of Quidditch with other boys from Slytherin. He felt like this was the way life was supposed to be; calm, cool and collected, with a little bit of Malfoy charm. He liked the way he felt when he woke up in the morning; not scared, well rested, maybe almost happy. Just almost.

Draco threw the letter onto the grand dining room table and walked upstairs, towards his room, taking the steps two at a time. He contemplated going back to Hogwarts for a minute, wondering what it would be like to walk its halls again. Would he feel nostalgic or perhaps maybe nauseous? Draco decided to go with the latter. Although, he thought snidely, he could do without Saint Potter, Granger and the Weasel. Surely the bushy haired one would make them all go back. Some things just never changed. He could imagine her now, her muggle nose high in the air, lecturing the lot of them about good education. If Draco was her – although he thanked the Gods he was not – he would spend his days under a rock, where he would have belonged.

He mentally reprimanded himself for wishing that she lived under a rock. It went against the morals he was trying to instil in himself; good graces, acceptance, love...oh, who was he kidding? He still wished that Granger lived under a rock. It made his life much simpler in the long run.

He arrived upstairs to the pleasant humming of his mother's voice. She was considerably happier these past few months and she had taken to wearing light, delicate colors nowadays. She popped her head out of her room when she heard Draco walking down the hall. Her white blond hair was piled atop her head in a bun and she was wearing a white, lacy dress. It made her features look softer when she smiled at him. The lines around her mouth crinkled. They were fresh and out of use, unlike the worry lines etched into her forehead.

"Did you see the letter?" she called towards him. She already knew the answer of course. Draco wouldn't have been surprised if she had read it herself and placed it back in the envelope. Obviously privacy wasn't a concept Narcissa Malfoy was accustomed to.

"Of course I did…" he answered, trailing off. Draco was inching his way towards his room. He hoped that he would make it there before she asked him the question he knew was coming, the one question he didn't want to answer.

Just as he reached the door, hand on the knob, Narcissa asked, "Well, who was it from and what did it say?" Damn. So close.

"Nothing really," said Draco nonchalantly, opening the door to his room fully. "Just Hogwarts asking all of last year's Seventh Years to come back to school to make up the lost year. Stupid if you ask me, a waste of time." He said this in a rush so it all sounded like one word.

Unfortunately, Narcissa's ears were as good as a bats' due to all her years of obsessive, compulsive gossiping. "Well, I didn't ask you your opinion, if I recall correctly." She paused, deep in thought, and then, "Hogwarts? Really? I think that's a splendid idea! I always hoped you would do something worthwhile."

"You can't be serious, mum. I am not going back to that damned school," He said with a roll of his eyes. He walked into his room and shut the door hoping she would get the message.

Not a moment later, she stepped into the room. "Why not?" she exclaimed rather shrilly. "You have every right to be there."

"Oh, Merlin, you really think so? I can just imagine it now; they'll be having welcome back parties in my name. Pothead will be delighted to see me. Why, they'll name me Head Boy, create an award in my honour, my face will be hung on tapestries throughout the school!" he said sarcastically, a very Malfoy edge slipping into his voice. He lay back on his bed, knowing he had won.

"Fine, Draco! I give up!" she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation, she had never been one for conflict. She turned around abruptly and exited the room, slamming the door childishly. Draco waited for her impending return.

"Promise me you'll think about it?" she asked when she did return. Women were so easy to figure out.

"Sure, whatever," he said waving his hand dismissively at his mother's retreating figure. He flipped over and snorted into his pillow. Lies he had promised. Him, back at Hogwarts? Never. He was still a Malfoy after all. He couldn't imagine sitting contently in bloody Potions class after everything that had happened. Draco was surprised that they even reopened the school, considering all the damage that was dealt to the ancient building. Not to mention the loss of teaching staff.

Draco felt a little pang of emotion somewhere in his chest. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was no emotion that he had ever felt in the last seventeen years of his life, and that revelation unnerved him.

One emotion he did feel, however, was worry. Worry that there was only three days left until the Hogwarts reply deadline.

August 29

For the next 48 hours, Draco was plagued with thoughts of Hogwarts. They buzzed around inside his head like an angry swarm of bees; annoying and incessant. On top of it all, Narcissa was dropping hints like bombs. She poked and prodded, nudged and suggested; she desperately wanted Draco to go, to gain some sense of normalcy, but he wouldn't hear anything of it. It's not like his years at Hogwarts had been normal. They were filled with plotting, scheming, death and a certain Vanishing Cabinet.

Yesterday, Blaise and Theodore had stopped by for a visit with their mothers. The three boys had talked about the prospect of returning to the school, at least to torment the first years. Then, they had laughed it off. Draco couldn't help but notice how hesitant Blaise sounded, how fake and nervous his laugh was. Theodore admitted outright that he would, in fact, be returning. Not by force, but by choice. Draco couldn't imagine why he would want to do that. He was already placing bets on how long Nott would last.

But Draco had more pressing matters to attend to. Not pressing by his account, but by his mothers. The first formal ball of the season was to be held at Greengrass Estate, and the event had thrown Narcissa into a panicked nosedive. The Greengrasses were a thoroughly pureblood wizard family who had managed to stay relatively out of the Dark Lord's affairs. How they had managed, Draco wasn't sure, but it would have involved a hefty amount of Galleons, maybe even the promise of their first born child. This was supposed to be a gathering to celebrate the entering of a new era; an era of tolerance, love, flowers and puppies. Draco thought it was all a little absurd.

His mother was slap happy at the thought of a social event, contrary to her son's attitude. Giddiness practically oozed off her and clung to Draco like some sticky, metaphorical slime. She had locked herself in her room, along with the house elf, Dottie, to prepare for the event.

That was two and a half hours ago.

This reason, amongst other factors, was exactly why Draco was seated alone, on a plush velvet couch, in the parlour. Waiting. And his irritation only grew with his relative body temperature. He began to sweat in his suit. His very expensive suit.

"Why is it so bloody hot in here?" he wondered out loud, tugging at his collar. His question was followed by a loud crack; it bounced off the marble floors and into Draco's ears.

"You called, sir? Dottie could turn the heat down, yes she could," said the house elf in a squeaky, eager voice. Her eyes were bulging, her hands outstretched. Draco flinched back to avoid contact.

"Never mind that," replied Draco impatiently. "Where's my mother?"

"Mrs. Narcissa will be down soon, yes she will be."

Draco rolled his eyes at the house elf with overly large ears. She was persistent, he'd give her that much, she was so eager to please. They'd hired her four months ago, and Narcissa absolutely adored her. Narcissa, oddly enough, loved her like the daughter she never had. This made Draco a little nauseous at times, especially when he would see the house elf parading around the house with Narcissa in a pink frilly dress, or donning lace gloves. But, it was proof of Narcissa's ability to love, her ability to except, and that made Draco feel good.

Before he could get any further with the thought, Narcissa Malfoy came sweeping down the stairs looking regal in a red silk ball gown. Her hair was splayed loosely over her shoulders in intricate curls, a pearl broach holding her cloak together.

She smiled as she reached the bottom of the stairs and extended her hand to Draco. He took it and stooped down to kiss his mother's forehead, she seemed so much smaller than him. "You look lovely."

"Thank you, dear. Oh, you look so handsome…Dottie, go get the masks please," said Narcissa as the house elf disapperated.

Draco's face was contorted in an expression of disgust. Masks? How very six months ago. He had never really understood the need for the ugly things, but he supposed they were rather necessary when waging war. Draco had always associated them with the most dreadful of emotions, and masks be damned if he had to put one on his face.

She saw his eyes flash and realization dawned on her face. "No, Draco, do you really think I would do that to you?" she asked. "It's a masquerade. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh," Draco nodded tersely and licked his dry lips. Of course not, never again. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, not sure what to say. Buck up, Draco, he scolded himself. Luckily, they were saved by Dottie who came scrambling into the room as if she sensed the tense air.

"Here you are, Madame," she handed two, ornate masks to Narcissa, placing them gently into her manicured hands.

"Thank you, Dottie. You've done very well tonight," Narcissa smiled widely and Dottie squealed in delight before disappearing, probably off to worship Narcissa at the shrine Draco had defiantly seen in that closet the house elf called a room.

Narcissa moved her hands nimbly to the back of her head to secure her mask. It was black satin dusted with tiny crystals and pearls. It covered half her face and gave her a mysterious look. She handed Draco his mask. It was a deep, rich green that matched his dress shirt. He tied it on and felt the smooth lines of it cover the top half of his angular face. He knew for a fact he looked sexy; tousled blond hair, smouldering grey eyes, sharp black suit and deep green shirt. What was not to love? He smirked coyly.

Narcissa stepped up to the fire place and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. But before she could toss it in to the roaring flames, Draco caught her wrist, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Father won't be joining us?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

His mother's body tensed visibly. "No, he has a previous engagement," she replied, and then threw the Floo Powder into the fire place, setting the flames a shocking green.

She stepped in. "Greengrass Estate!"

Draco seized a fistful of Powder and hurled it into the crackling fire. As he stepped in, he had one bitter thought on his mind; liar. The flames licked up his toned body, his family seemed to be lying a lot these days.

"Greengrass Estate!" he shouted.

And then he dissolved into nothingness.

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Also, Harry Potter is not mine, and this disclaimer holds until the end of this story.