He's grown, Hermione thought dispassionately. Draco straightened up in his seat and sucked on the end of what she was sure to be a Sugar-Quill. Through slightly narrowed eyes, she watched as he pretended to write something down, feeling Professor McGonagall's cool gaze upon him. The woman glared at him for a moment more and then turned away to inspect Neville's guinea pig that was rapidly growing feathers.
Draco breathed a sigh of apparent relief and sent a smirk to no one in particular. He was certainly not popular with the professors anymore and lucky to get off without a detention. Come to think of it, he was not popular with anyone anymore. Not since the War.
Hermione shivered in her seat. The War had come to a close during the summer, the Deatheaters had fallen and good reined supreme. Unfortunately, however, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all three made out to be living legends.
But with fame comes a price, Hermione thought dryly. The trio was still friends of course, just not quite as close as they used to be. With the great foe vanquished and all the evil banished, they simply did not have much in common anymore.
Oh yes, it had been great fun recounting the events of that night and many others for everyone to hear. But then something curious happened. Hermione and Ron grew tired of kissing and eventually stopped. Harry was never seen anywhere without Ginny and rarely snuck down corridors anymore. The school year began without incident and continued on that way. It was completely and utterly boring.
Selfish little girl. Hermione scolded herself. Boring was safe. Voldemort was gone forever and no new threats hovered on the horizon. Her dreamy stare fell back again on Draco.
All the Dark witches and wizards, including the Malfoys, were locked up in Azkaban. But Azkaban wasn't nearly as bad due to the absence of the dementors. Hermione had even heard rumors about the prison being so lax that the prisoners were allowed to send owls! Draco had certainly been getting his usual amount (not that she purposefully noticed).
But many believed that he and the other Slytherins should have joined their parents once the Dark Lord fell. But, Hermione sighed, the Ministry was in such a disarray that a couple of teenager Deatheaters were scarcely worth a trial.
The new Minister was a young witch that had shook Herimone's hand so vigorously she was sure it had almost fallen off. Of course they were showered with awards and recognition. Ron ate it up, Harry could've cared less, and Hermione was somewhere in between. It was nice of the Wizarding world to show how grateful they were, but sometimes Hermione felt like tearing her hair out.
"Malfoy!" Professor snapped, causing every head to turn towards him. "You have not written a single word since you walked through the door. 20 points from Slytherin."
Draco opened his mouth in protest, but clearly thought better of it and sulked silently. Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for him. Having an ex-Deatheater reputation did not go over well.
Most of the professors bullied him every chance they got, hinting that he shouldn't be allowed in Hogwarts and sometimes, outright saying that a life time sentence in Azkaban would have been appropriate. Plotting to kill Dumbledore was not an offense taken lightly at the school. Everyone, by now, knew every facet of the truth. Even about Snape. So when Draco's story had spread, the once great Slytherin prince fell. Hard.
Hermione should have rejoiced.
But even now, as he glared at McGonagall, something new and malignant glittered in his frozen gray eyes that truthfully scared the hell out of her. He was no longer the gangly, annoying blonde boy that fought with Harry and called Hermione names. Oh no. Draco Malfoy had become a figure worthy of recognition. His very presence sent chills down her spine. And it wasn't just her.
Everyone was frightened of him.
Maybe that's why the teachers are so spiteful, the young witch thought curiously. He intimidated them and they didn't like it. The War had not broken him the slightest. Draco had hardened.
Hermione twisted a long curl around her finger and let it fall. He was now taller than his father and his hair was no longer slicked back, but messy and longish. The white blond tendrils were constantly curling around his ears. His face was sharper and his eyes shone with wisdom that Hermione knew was gained when Voldemort burned that retched mark into his skin forever. She wondered if it had disappeared when he died. She wondered if Draco wanted it to disappear.
She thought he would.
Draco was not the type of person to fancy taking orders. Hermione couldn't picture him kneeling before Voldemort and calling him 'Master'. It fit Lucius, but not him.
It was much easier to see Draco climbing to power on his own, stepping on anyone and everyone who stood in his way. She could virtually see the golden nameplate bearing 'Draco Malfoy: Minster of Magic.' It seemed inevitable in that moment, with him sitting so defiantly in his chair and the sunlight streaming the windows, outlining him in fire, that he was destined for greatness.
But not necessarily goodness.
He had grown.