Note: Posted once before but I disliked the plot, so I deleted the story and have rewritten the parts I disliked. English is not my first language, therefore I apologise for any mistakes. I am looking for a beta reader and if anyone would like to volunteer then please send me an inbox. Hope you enjoy.

Rating: T

Summary: Harmony Potter, The Girl Who Lived. God, she hated that self-righteous title. Suffering at the hands of terrible nightmares, and foiling the assassination attempts of rouge Death Eater's, Harmony ventures into her 'eight' year at Hogwarts with quite a full plate. Add some teenage angst, a complicated love life, and insane fame to that cauldron of problems ... What could possibly go wrong? Join Harmony as she attempts to lead a semi-normal life. Hogwarts, here she comes.

Pairing: Female!Harry x Draco.

ΣΣ

The storm had ebbed into nothingness, now the silence was as pure and vast as the cloak of Night eclipsing them. Harmony knew that she had kept him temporarily mesmerised and at bay, held back by the faintest possibility that she might indeed know of a final secret.

They had spoken in quips: of Snape, of Dumbledore, of The Elder Wand. Now a deed must be done, a prophecy must be fulfilled. They both tread along a tightrope, waiting desperately for a strong breeze to sway them one way or the other. Towards life. Towards death.

Harmony twitched the hawthorn wand in her hand, and she felt the eyes of everyone in the Hall upon it.

"It all comes down to this, does it?" A nearby fire enflamed Harmony's cheeks. Her tantalizing whisper claiming the breath of every person inside the hall. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does … I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

A golden haze erupted along the enchanted sky above them. Harmony could identify the uniqueness of each slither of light conveyed to Earth from the beautiful scarlet-tinged sky, acting as rose-tinted shafts gracefully sent from the heavens. The light hit both of their faces, so that all Harmony could see was an indistinguishable fiery blur. Voldemort's silhouette burning away with the first light of day.

She heard a high voice shriek as she, too, yelled her best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Three sharp knocks echoed off the wooden panels of Harmony's door. Adrenaline wracked through her body and she shot upright. Her eyes snapped open wide, feigning alertness, instinctively drawing her wand from underneath her pillow, and waving it blindly in the direction of the noise.

The light above her bed flickered on immediately, and Harmony sighed thankfully, taking in her empty bedroom.

"Calm down, Harmony." She whispered to herself. Wiping away the beads of sweat dancing on her forehead. "Bad dream."

Heavily panting, Harmony sat quiet and still for several moments, forcing her rapid heartbeat to normalize. She first became aware of the heat in the air and its stale fragrance. Unlike the Greek God Apollo, Harmony had not risen early, pushing the tangled duvet onto the floor with a resounding "Swish!", and glancing to an old rustic clock: 11:57 AM.

Aside from traffic outside, there was nothing to be heard and the room was simply too dark to see much at all, her only source of light belonging to a sliver of sunlight that had miraculously penetrated its way through a hole in the thick drapes. Another round of loud knocks had Harmony's body lock into place, her grip nice and firm on the wooden structure of her wand. Her breathing became erratic, before she realized the wards had not been broken. It could only be one person – or rather – creature.

"Come in."

The lack of a decent night sleep taunted Harmony as she managed small, weak steps closer to the door. The cool temperature of the floor tiles brought a temporary comfort as it contacted her scolding skin. The cold, however, did little to prevent Harmony's mind from racing. It had been only a week since Voldemort's demise. It had been only a week since Harmony became a murder.

Now, the dictionary defines murder as "the unlawful premeditated killing of one human being by another." One could certainly argue whether the remnants of Tom Riddle were, in fact, human or not. Nevertheless, Harmony had indeed taken a life-

"Mistress Potter!"

Her train of thought derailed, Harmony eyed the ugly, albeit bold house elf striving towards her. An arm outstretched, and a clean sheet of parchment clasped tightly between two fingers.

"You have received a letter from M-Mistress Granger."

"Thank you, Kreatcher." Harmony accepted the parchment apprehensively, then cast the house elf a smile. "Is that all?"

"'It'll be scrambled eggs for breakfast, Ma'am."

Kreatcher produced a low, swoonful bow, the tip of his croaked noise piercing the carpet. Harmony blinked. He disappeared.

Once again alone, Harmony cast a jaundice glance to the group of merry muggles frolicking unwittingly beneath her window. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was a dark place, unfit to serve as a home, but it was the only one Harmony had ever truly known.

Sighing, Harmony broke the seal on the envelope, unfolding the parchment delicately.

Dear Harmony,

Things aren't quite the same at The Burrow. You're not here. Fred's not here. Lupin and Tonks are not here. It's quite nearly all the time.

The Weasley's are grieving. I am, too. It has been a difficult time for us all. I believe the only thing that could perhaps make it easier is if you had come back with us. Alas, I understand your desire to be alone. We all do.

Since our letters arrived for Hogwarts things are beginning to look up. I'm thankful for that. Although I must admit, being an 'eighth year', as Ron has taken to calling it, will be quite strange. But I look forward to seeing you and finishing our education together. A fresh start will do us all good.

Perhaps you'll be able to meet up with Ron, Ginny and I? We can shop for supplies together.

We miss you. Don't do anything stupid.

All the best,

Hermione.

ΣΣ

Draco Malfoy stepped into the bathroom, locking the door silently behind him. He turned the dial to an engraved basin, an old metallic stub of silver, and released a thousand droplets of lukewarm water. He sighed, seizing a bottle of soap, desperate to massage the dirt and grease off his pale hands.

He hated Azkaban. He hated visiting Lucius. He hated the need to scrub the invisible blood off his hands every single time he left that forsaken place.

Part of Draco desired the potential everlasting imprisonment of Lucius. Part of him wanted the man to suffer – suffer as Draco had under the hand of The Dark Lord – to feel as hollow and empty as he when charged with killing the old man: Dumbledore. Though he had been spared the burden of performing such a soul-leeching task, curtsy of Professor Snape, Draco had not felt as vibrant as he once had. All he had done – however unwilling – in the name of Lord Voldemort had scarred him more than words could possibly describe. It had blackened his heart, his soul. And it was all Lucius's fault.

Draco unbuttoned the cufflink holding the velvet fabric together and folded up the sleeve of his right arm, until it embraced his elbow. The Dark Mark had become distorted, torn open wide as Tom Riddle perished, and in its place left behind a maze of pink damaged flesh, unbelievably bright next to the untouched porcelain skin.

"Dragon?" Narcissa called, loud but still gracious. "Where are you, dear? An owl has arrived. It brings news of your father."