A/N: Writing this story has been an emotional ride. This story focuses on human emotion, bringing light to weaknesses, heartache, and mental illness. If you have triggers for depression, this story may not be for you. The M rating is for adult themes, sexual acts, and strong language. Please let this serve as your warning and continue at your own discretion.

Strap in your seatbelts and get ready for some young adult angst! Reviews and constructive criticism greatly appreciated :')

-Nora

The Hogwarts Express would leave Platform 9 3/4 without fail September First at eleven o'clock in the morning and this year a young witch with unruly brown hair and a trunk full of books wasn't missing it. She'd come to the platform with her trolley pushed by a tall, lanky redheaded young man that argued with her the whole way there, his knuckles white as he gripped the handlebar. He talked of glory, of security, and fame. But mostly, he talked of a guaranteed job at the Ministry of Magic.

"Honestly, what is the point in going back, Hermione? What's there left to learn? We defeated the darkest wizard of our time! We're heroes!" he exclaimed, turning a little red as a group of First Years gaped at him. "We can be Aurors," he said, lowering his voice.

"That's just it, Ron! I don't want to be an Auror," Hermione snapped, skidding to a stop and giving him a push with her shoulder. She took the trolley from him, huffing over to the conductor who was charming trunks into the train.

He followed her, ducking his head as if it would help to mask his identity. Now that he was famous he had realized over the last few months that Harry had been right — there was nothing substantially appealing in being stared at everywhere he went. A group of girls pointed at him as he passed, oohing and ahhing as he groaned and quickened his step. Why had he ever envied this?

"Hermione," he called, watching as she stood with her scarf billowing in the wind, the train steam puffing around her, making her look quite like an angel. She turned and scowled at him.

"Right," he said to himself. "Definitely no angel."

He approached her, taking her gently by the elbow to pull her aside.

"I'm going, Ron. I've already made up my mind."

"Alright," he said, sighing. "I guess I just thought that now was our time, you know? We never got a chance to make this work, Hermione. A noseless evil git was constantly keeping us on our toes."

If Hermione found his comment funny, she did not seem to show it. She kept that frown, looking determined as ever. It hadn't surprised him when she'd announced her plans to return to Hogwarts — he expected nothing less from her. Still, some small part of him had hoped that she'd stay by his side to hunt dark wizards across the country. He'd let himself dream about a future that would never be — a future in which Hermione Granger would belong to him. But Ron had known it inside his heart since that first impassioned kiss during the battle of Hogwarts. She just wanted so much more than he could ever give her. She was too bright, too brilliant and ambitious to be tied down to a fool like him. Just as he knew that his work with the Ministry would take him to every corner of the country, he knew that Hermione's drive to discover the secrets of the universe would take her to the very ends of it.

"That's exactly why I need to go back," she said, her tone softer than he'd expected. "I can finally study in peace and pursue my dreams, Ron."

The conductor blew his whistle.

Ron felt as if he had a very hard sweet in his throat, one that he couldn't swallow away. "Am I in your dreams?" he asked her, his voice shakier than he'd intended.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, bringing a hand to touch his cheek. "Of course you are. We'll write every day. And you can Floo to Hogsemeade, just as we planned. We won't really be apart."

Ron brought up his hand to grip hers, closing his eyes to hide the wild terror that was spiking through him. He held back the tears, held back the feelings that were destroying him. This was goodbye. Neither wanted to admit it, but they both seemed to know.

Hermione shifted her weight to her toes, straining to press her lips to his. He sensed what she was trying to do and bent his knees, catching her lips with his in a kiss that seemed to make his chest ache. I'll miss you, he tried to show her. Stay. I love you.

The conductor blew his whistle again, a final notice.

"Right, Hermione," Ron said, pulling away and opening his eyes. Red rimmed his crystal blue irises. "Go on, chase your dreams," he said, releasing her hand and taking a step back.

The train began to move, chugging slowly to leave the station.

"I'll write," Hermione said, turning from him and making a run for the train. She climbed the steps quickly, gripped the doorway and turned to give Ron one last wave goodbye.

But he was already gone.

Hermione turned and sighed, taking a moment to breathe in the rushing air, cold as ice in her lungs. The wind seemed to jolt her to life, bringing to life the bittersweet feeling of returning to her seventh and final year of her magical education. Her mind had been made up long before McGonagall had written to her, requesting her as a pupil one final time. Though the castle had been mostly repaired, the school was still severely understaffed. Her Head Girl pin was deep in her pocket, fulfilling a personal goal she had had for as long as she could remember. Officially she would be Head Girl, but unofficially she would be McGonagall's right-hand woman. It was an empowering thought.

With only a handful of returning Seventh Years, her classes would be small, personalized and more difficult than any she had taken before. After a summer of grieving for the dead and doing altogether nothing else at all, she was ready to be challenged again. In fact, she'd looked forward to it so much that it had taken a great deal of restraint to hide her excitement from Ron.

"Auror indeed," she muttered, making her way slowly through the train to find an empty compartment. A door flew open as she passed it, the head of a familiar boy peeking out to greet her with a brilliant smile.

"Hermione, in here," he said, waving her over.

She turned, smiling at the face of a boy who had once been plump, shy and timid. Now he was taller, slimmed down and rather good-looking. He was, after all, a hero of his own class.

"Neville," she said, smiling warmly. "What are you doing here?"

"Redoing my Seventh Year," he said, stepping aside to let her in. "Couldn't've learned much hiding out in the Room of Requirement last year, could I?"

Hermione was sure that he wouldn't be the only one returning. She stepped into the compartment and was greeted by the dazed face of Luna Lovegood. A recent copy of the Quibbler was clutched in her hands, a familiar pair of silly earrings hung from her ears. To ward off the nargles, Hermione thought to herself, smirking as she sank into a seat by the window.

"I was sure you'd come," Luna said, licking a finger to turn a page on her magazine.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw," Hermione said, returning the wide smile that Luna gave her.

"Ginny's back too," Luna said thoughtfully. "I think she's in the Prefect's compartment."

Neville slid the door closed, turning with a small smile.

"Just saw Hannah pass by," he said, running a hand nervously through his hair.

"Hannah Abbott?" Luna asked, glancing at him. "She's sweet on you, you know."

Hermione turned to the window, resting her chin gingerly on her hand as she listened to her friends. The English countryside whizzed by, beautifully green and rich in the late summer sun. Her thoughts lingered on the quaint towns, the rural farmlands. How nice it must be to lead such a simple life, working only to get from one day to the next. Her life had always been complicated, partly because of her friendship with Harry Potter, but mostly because her spirit was always anxious, always itching to push her to be the best at all she pursued. This year would be no different. This was her seventh ride to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her seventh year of potions, magical creatures, ancient runes and midnight astronomy classes in which she could peer through a telescope to see the expanse of the undiscovered universe before her. She looked forward to long days in the library, taking in the musky smell of old books with dust motes floating all around her, visible only in the sunlight that shone through the windows. Everything about it all was so familiar that she knew she should feel a little comforted, as if things could finally return to normal. It certainly looked as if nothing had changed at all.

And yet, everything had changed. Her best friends were far away from her now, back in London where they would lead exciting lives as Aurors, all the while she would bury her nose in books at Hogwarts. Friends she had cherished, loved, and admired had died. Their absence left such an emptiness in her that it ached every single day. Her parents were still a world away, continuing on as childless dentists who had an uncanny joy in traveling the great Australian Outback. The memory charm had been too strong, irreversible without serious risk of damaging their minds forever. She'd visited them for a weekend, watching from afar and drinking in the sight of them — happy, alive. It had been worth it to protect them, but she could never go back to see them again. It hurt too much.

At that moment the compartment door jerked open, a tall wizard almost taking a step inside before jerking back, his white-blonde hair swishing as his gray eyes widened. Hermione stared into those eyes for a moment, plunging into the storm, taking her back to a moment when she'd been lying on a cold floor in a manor far, far away, her veins burning from the Cruciatus Curse…

Without comment, the wizard slammed the compartment door shut.

"Was that Draco Malfoy?" Luna asked, craning her neck. "He must've come in here by mistake."

Neville got up to turn the lock on the door.

"He'd be lucky not to make that mistake again," he muttered.

Hermione was trembling. She held out her hands, watching them shake. It had been nearly four months since the last battle, four months since Voldemort had perished at the hands of her best friend, but she still suffered in the aftermath of all the destruction she had witnessed and endured. When she looked into Draco Malfoy's strange gray eyes she was drowned in them, sinking into a memory that still made her soul scream. He had witnessed her at her lowest, had witnessed her beg for release, for death. She had stared into those stormy eyes for a brief moment so long ago, had pleaded with his aunt as she had tortured her again and again, ripping her very soul from her body. She had seen his pity, and that pity burned through her like Fiendfyre, consuming her in her own rage. Just one look from Draco Malfoy and she was there again, reliving it.

She pulled her wand and a tiny pocket-sized book from her robes, mumbling, "Engorgio" to bring the book back to it's normal size. Her hands still shook, but she was determined to distract herself. She would not think about Draco Malfoy's haunting eyes. She must not.

When the train neared Hogsmeade Station, Hermione pinned her Head Girl badge to her chest, right above her heart, and exited swiftly to begin her rounds of the compartments. She made her way through the train, aiding the First Years and snapping at a pair of rowdy Third Years that had tried smuggling a trunk full of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' fireworks into the school.

"Bring it here," she said, using her most commanding and bossy tone.

The boys snickered, elbowing each other as they pointed to her arm. Hermione felt her stomach lurch. They couldn't possibly know, could they?

"Is it true?" one of them boldly asked. "Do you really have a Mudblood scar on your arm?"

Before she could answer, before she could find a way to compose herself, a tall figure emerged from behind her, wand out.

"Watch your mouth," a deep voice snarled. "Want to see what I've got on my arm?"

The boys stood, mouths agape for a moment as the tall figure pulled up his sleeve, showing them something on his arm that seemed to scare them half to death.

"Do as she said. Do it now," he said, jerking his sleeve down.

The boys jumped, quickly scrambling to push the contents of the trunk at Hermione's feet. Then they turned and ran, rushing out of the train to the awaiting carriages outside of the station.

Hermione turned, the blood draining from her face as she looked up to find Draco Malfoy standing beside her. A green and silver Head Boy pin glinted on his chest. Wild anger coursed through her veins, igniting a fire that she was sure would burn until she could confront McGonagall. How could she do this? This boy, this insufferable cruel and cowardly boy was given the task of leading the school beside her? A Death Eater to represent their school, to influence young minds? McGonagall must have gone mad.

She forced herself to look away and tried to focus on taking breaths that would not alert Malfoy of her distress. She couldn't think of anything to say, and he seemed to suspect as much or didn't care. He stepped around her, continuing down the train, jerking open compartment doors to check for students. She stood for a moment, feeling a tingle of the scar on her arm. For the first time she truly understood what Harry must have felt, walking around with his pain and his loss as a scar right on his forehead. She tugged her sleeve, blinked away hot tears, and bent to gather the sparklers in her arms to dispose into a bin.

Ten minutes later, she'd finished overlooking a handful of house elves in getting trunks to the castle and Malfoy had finished his check of the train. Together, they'd completed their first tasks as Head Boy and Head Girl. This year's First Years huddled inside the station, looking so small that Hermione wondered if they were just getting smaller every year or if she'd never realized that she had once also been that small. House Prefects greeted her as they passed, making their way to their Prefect carriage. It nearly shook her to the bone when she saw what a thestral truly looked like. Had she really ridden that to the Ministry of Magic in her fifth year?

Malfoy at least seemed to take his job as Head Boy seriously. To her relief, he seemed rather happy to ignore her. She wondered what he was doing at Hogwarts. The Malfoys had conveniently escaped imprisonment by changing their allegiance in the last few hours of the war, though this time Lucius Malfoy hadn't the luxury of explaining away his nefarious actions by claiming to be under the Imperius Curse. Though the Malfoys had retained all of their wealth, the family's reputation within the wizarding community had been destroyed. Malfoy's family, along with the families of other Death Eaters, had been slandered all summer by the editors of The Daily Prophet. Surely his world had been shattered, and yet he was here, acting as if he wasn't easily the most hated student in all of Hogwarts.

She bit her lip. Her world had been torn apart too, and like him, she had returned as well. Malfoy had always been brilliantly gifted in his schoolwork, but as the thought crossed her mind she felt angry with herself. Tonks and Lupin were dead partly because of the actions of his family. Fred, so young, so full of life, had been murdered at the hands of people that Draco Malfoy probably called his friends. Her hatred for him ran so deep that it was turning her heart black, scorching the last of the good she had left in her. What she wanted to do was curse him, maybe even kill him, but made the sensible decision of restraining herself. There was, after all, a group of children waiting to be escorted to Hogwarts.

Malfoy was approaching the First Years now, a parchment in his hand that was nearly identical to the one she had in her pocket. She pulled hers out, made her way to the the First Years and watched silently as Malfoy made a quick headcount.

"Stop squirming, I'm trying to count," Malfoy snapped, whispering one, two, three, four, five under his breath. The group stilled immediately.

"All here," Malfoy said aloud.

Though Hermione knew that Hagrid had long since left his post as Groundskeeper to marry Madame Maxime, a part of her still couldn't help but look for him. It would have been nice to see a friendly face again.

But here she was, stuck looking at the dreadful face of one Draco Malfoy, Death Eater extraorindaire. She was half ready to march into the Headmistress's office and throw her Head Girl pin in McGonagall's face.

"Come along, we'll be late for the Sorting. Boats are this way," Hermione said, using the last of her patience to get to the castle. She led the way, taking the First Years down the steps of the station to a worn path. Malfoy, who was walking silently behind the group, made no effort to catch up to her. Together, they helped load the children into the boats as darkness swept over them like a thick blanket. They lit the lanterns with their wands and instructed the First Years to stay seated and be mindful of the Giant Squid. They did all this without exchanging a single word with one another.

Finally, Hermione climbed into a boat, clutching on for dear life as it swayed dangerously. Malfoy had already settled into another boat with two other First Years, looking bored and a little tired. The boats began the journey of their own accord, as they always had, and took them through the darkness, giving the children their first glance of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In Hermione's year, there had been ten students eager to begin their magical training. Only five new hopeful faces looked up Hogwarts tonight, the same wonderment in their eyes that she had experienced so many years ago. Just two measly boats, she thought. She was reminded again of how the war had devastated their world. So much death, so much destruction and loss. Only five children. She did not want to think about how many children had perished, how many boats there may have been if the world were not such a dark and deadly place.

Malfoy and his family had been so heavily responsible for so much that had happened in the war. It disgusted — no, infuriated — her that he was here, casually enjoying a nighttime boat ride to the castle. He'd helped Death Eaters into that very castle. Hogwarts, her school, her home, had been threatened, destroyed, and tainted by the likes of him. How could McGonagall do this?

So Hermione did something quite out of character — she sat back and let Malfoy lead for the night. She was sure, absolutely sure, that if she opened her mouth the first words out of it would likely be Avada Kedavra. So she clenched her fist, pursed her lips and walked silently behind the group when they made their way up to the castle. She let Malfoy prepare them for the Sorting, feeling rather annoyed that he was also acting rather out of character. Why wasn't he bullying them, mocking them and cackling maliciously at the sight of their nervous faces?

All through McGonagall's welcoming speech, the Sorting, and dinner, Hermione sat and fumed. She picked at her food, peering at the drumsticks in a dish in front of her that Ron surely would have diminished in seconds. Plates, silverware and goblets clinked around her.

"Are you alright?" Ginny Weasley asked her.

Hermione nodded, managing a small smile as she reluctantly lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes to her mouth. The food that she had looked forward to all summer tasted like ash in her mouth.

At the end of dinner, McGonagall made a final short speech and dismissed the students to bed. Hermione watched the Prefects begin to lead their respective Houses, raising their voices to be heard over the sounds of hundreds of moving feet and chattering voices.

This was the part of the night Hermione had dreaded the most. She pulled out a letter from her pocket, staring at her last task.

MEETING: HEAD BOY AND HEAD GIRL WITH HEADMISTRESS

"See you in a few," Hermione said to Ginny who was so busy lining up students that she didn't seem to hear her. She turned to see that Malfoy was already exiting the Great Hall, his back turned and his hands deep in his pockets. She'd have to look at his slimy back the whole walk to McGonagall's office.

A couple of minutes later when he spoke the password to the gargoyle and ascended the spiraling staircase, Hermione hung back. She needed to gather her wits for the fight she had been preparing for. If Malfoy tested her at all, she'd worked up in her mind that she would hex him from Hogwarts to hell.

She spoke the password and made her way up the stairs, smoothing her robes absently as she prepared the conversation in her mind. She knocked on the door to McGonagall's office.

"You may enter, Miss Granger," she heard Mcgonagall say.

Hermione opened the door and stepped inside slowly. She had only been in that office a handful of times. She looked up at the portrait of Dumbledore hopefully. He offered her an encouraging smile. She ignored Severus Snape's new portrait altogether.

"Have a seat," McGonagall said, summoning rolls of parchment from across the room with a wave of her wand. She took one and unfolded it, reviewing its contents through her spectacles.

Malfoy looked as if he was deciding which seat to take. Hermione took that as her moment to act.

"Headmistress, I need to speak with you," Hermione said, turning to McGonagall. "Alone."

McGonagall rolled up the parchment on her desk and folded her hands. It was obvious she had anticipated the conversation that was about to occur.

"If you'll step outside for just a moment, Mister Malfoy," McGonagall said, motioning to the door.

Malfoy gave her a curt nod and stepped quietly out of the office, closing the door behind him.

"Have a seat, Miss Granger," McGonagall said.

Hermione hesitated. She was burning with anger, but what she felt most was betrayal. McGonagall had betrayed everything Dumbledore and the Order had fought for by fraternizing with the enemy. Draco Malfoy, the worst person she had encountered at Hogwarts, the bully, the coward, the enemy to be rewarded with the esteemed position of Head Boy? No, she definitely needed to remain standing for this.

"Why is he here?" Hermione asked, her question coming out in such a sneer that she felt her face go red from using such a tone with her headmistress.

"He is here upon the request of his parents to complete his education. It would be wise for you to remember that it was Narcissa Malfoy's lie that spared Harry Potter's life," McGonagall said.

"But why make him Head Boy then? Why?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms to keep them from trembling.

"I do not owe you an explanation, Miss Granger, and mind that henceforth I will not be repeating myself. I have given Mister Malfoy the monumental task of rebuilding Slytherin's reputation. Not a single Slytherin student pledged allegiance to the Order's side during the battle last May. Why is that Miss Granger?"

"Because they're traitors," Hermione said quickly before she could stop herself.

"Whatever you may think, Miss Granger, those students were children. Children who chose to side with their families, as most children are expected to do. The other Houses will not tolerate nor forget this. A Slytherin as a leader of this school is what Hogwarts needs to reunite the Houses. You will be working very closely with Mr. Malfoy to restore all order."

"He's vile," Hermione said defiantly. "He's a coward. He fought against us!"

"Draco Malfoy is merely a victim of his own circumstances," McGonagall said, her voice even and collected. "And I'm surprised at you, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, giving Hermione a frown. "I did not know you to be one to lead with their emotions."

"I am also the victim of my circumstances," Hermione said, thinking of the Mudblood scar on her arm, of the parents that would never remember her, of the friends she had lost, of that day at Malfoy Manor when her very soul had been ripped from her body, all while Draco Malfoy had stood there and watched.

"Your ability to persevere in even the most difficult of situations has always been a quality that I have admired," McGonagall said, her knowing eyes softening as Hermione swiped at angry tears that fell from her eyes. McGonagall took a handkerchief from her robes and held it out.

"Thank you," Hermione said, taking it and making a rather unladylike sound as she blew into it. A moment of silence passed between the two of them as Hermione gathered her bearings. McGonagall looked at her expectantly, her expression carefully controlled.

"I apologize," Hermione said. "You are Headmistress of this school. I have no right to question any of your decisions."

"Apology accepted. Now, if you'll step out and retrieve Mr. Malfoy we can begin the discussion to review your duties this coming week."

"Yes, Headmistress," Hermione said.

Using Malfoy was purely strategic — logical, even — if he lived up to McGonagall's expectations. He'd been a Slytherin Prefect in their fifth year and had always been fairly intelligent, though always second to her, she thought smugly. He was a natural leader — a little manipulative and harsh, but firm. Dumbledore had seen good in him, had believed there was something in him worth saving. McGonagall seemed to see it too. What the hell was she missing then? An epiphany?

She opened the door and stepped outside, finding Malfoy leaning against the wall opposite the door. She had never noticed how tall he had grown to become, his body lean and willowy. The angular lines of his face and the deep hollows of his cheeks made him look... tortured, somehow. He used to have a boyish quality about him, a stupidly hideous charm in his immature behavior. Looking at him now she almost couldn't believe she was looking at the same person. He looked almost as dead as she felt, as if the war had changed him, too. Up until that moment it hadn't occurred to her that Draco Malfoy had also lost something in the war — something that she was sure she had lost, too. He had lost himself.

When he looked up at her, she was startled to find an expression that he was desperately trying to hide — sadness. Deep, endless, heartbreakingly familiar sadness.

Hermione sighed, biting back the insults she wanted to scream at him.

"Come on," she managed with a steady and even tone. It was the first words she had spoken to him all day.

"Listen," Malfoy said, approaching her slowly. "I didn't come here to fight."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "Neither did I!"

Malfoy stuck out his hand, just as he had in their first year. Only then he had been flushing with confidence that Harry Potter would be happy to accept his offer of friendship. This time, he did not look so sure.

"What — what are you doing?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"The right thing," he said, his gray eyes clouded with a darkness that seemed to fill them both. "Shake it, Granger."

This infuriated her even more. If she refused to shake his filthy hand then she'd prove once and for all that she was small-minded and cruel! In an instant she could absolve him of his sins, making it apparent that he was the bigger person for taking the first step. He would remember this moment; he would relish in it. No, she told herself. She wouldn't let him win. She just couldn't.

Hermione took his hand and shook it.

Safe in her bed later that evening, Hermione would remember that he'd offered her his left hand. Arms of Mudblood and the Dark Mark had, in that one fleeting moment, touched in a show of acceptance. Of peace.

A/N: Hermione is a bit flighty in my story. It may come across a bit OOC, but this is a story about a mentally ill person. Interpret that however you must.