A/N Nothing belongs to me, unfortunetly, all characters and places belong to J.K. Rowling, only the storyline belongs to me.
Please review, would love feedback on my work!
It was 1998, and Draco Malfoy had returned to Hogwarts with the mindset of redeeming his past actions, getting his education and starting a new life for himself. Nobody spoke to him anymore, the most part he received sneers in the hallway, some so vicious they could give the Malfoy boy a run for his money. Draco gave them no satisfaction, keeping his head down when he walked past the hordes of angry students, going only places that were necessary to his daily routine. He took meals in his room, one McGonagall has set up privately after the beatings he received from his fellow Slytherins who shunned him for failing their precious Dark Lord. They believed his actions led to the demise of their sacred leader, and punished him how they saw fit. Nobody showed him kindness, not that they ever did before, but this new Malfoy didn't use fear to control them like he used to, he slumped, head held lower than his pride and kept to himself.
It was Christmas time, a time for rejoicing and joy for the majority of students at Hogwarts, but not for Mr Malfoy. Whilst most teenagers have the memories of bright lights, Santa and gifts, Draco had flashbacks of beatings, coldness and loneliness. The Malfoy family did not believe in happiness, or having a childhood, and treated Draco accordingly to pureblood etiquette.
All this misery and emptiness led Malfoy to remain reluctant to join the festivities, and even with the pleading of McGonagall that he needed to bond with the other students, left him sat in his room alone, whilst the last few remaining students over Christmas break were in the Great Hall enjoying a feast a King would be jealous of.
A thin layer of snow had started to form over the grounds of Hogwarts, creating the impression of a woollen blanket that one Miss Hermione Granger always loved to wrap around herself. Sparkling snowflakes spiralled towards the ever building pile on top of the earth, ensnaring Hermione's nostalgia to her Christmases at home with her parents, and the traditions she shared in their cosy home for three.
Unfortunately Hermione had been unsuccessful in tracking down her parents in Australia, and although the Weasley's had offered the Burrow and Harry begged for her to stay at Grimauld Place for the holiday season, Hermione felt intrusive and stayed at the castle, wallowing in self pity. Not one for disappointing her peers though, the Head Girl made her way down to the Christmas feast hoping the cheer and glee would influence her sadness.
A mask of normality often appeared on Hermione's face, not wanting to dampen the mood, as she believed must set an example as head of the student body.
Hermione had managed to get through dinner, conversing with Neville on the healing powers of the Halcyon plant, and laughing with Seamus on his newest ploy for exploding the new DADA teachers personal supplies. After the war, Hermione found it hard to laugh without it sounding forced, but as she strolled back towards her head dorm, she realised that she bad actually enjoyed herself, and she relished in the idea of a stress free Christmas.
525,600 minutes. A year. It seemed an eternity to Draco since his childish days of tormenting younger students, back before his 'task'. He woke in a sweat, sheets drenched, as well as his body from head to foot. Nightmares gripped Draco every night. Padding gently from his dismantled bed, Draco found himself heading towards the kitchen for a drink, to quench the thirst that left his throat drier than the desert. He tried to swallow, finding it almost impossible, and quickened his pace.
Hermione shot up in her sheets, narrowly missing smacking her head into the beam above.
Mudblood.
She saw that word every night when she closed her eyes, the dark eyes of Bellatrix hovering over her limp body with the dagger in hand, carving into Hermione, mutilating her marble skin beyond repair. Hermione glanced down to the scar, but quickly looked away as the bile rose up her throat. Swiftly removing herself from the tangled covers, Hermione headed through the door and towards the kitchens, not feeling so tired anymore.
A loud crash startled Draco, as he avoided falling off the stool a young elf had brought him to sit on. He raised his wand in front of him, preparing for the anticipated attack from his peers.
"Who's there?" He shouted. "Show yourself, I can hear you approaching!"
A small face appeared from around the corner. A face clearly aged before its time, showing the horrors it had witnessed. Through the lines of worry, the eyes still remained 18 and innocent, startling Draco.
"Granger?"
p