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One: Recrudesce

The halls of Hogwarts were decidedly more somber upon the return of students the summer after the war ended. Entering the Great Hall seemed to be a sobering reminder of the loss of loved ones than a cause for celebration at the return to school. So many lives had been taken all over the grounds of both Death Eaters and students alike. Most potent in the minds of those who returned to Hogwarts was the death of Fred Weasley, who had always brought such joy to the school with his twin brother, George. George had shut down the joke shop that he and Fred had been running at Diagon Alley, and the boarded up windows had served as just one more reminder of the loss of such a great personality when students had been buying their supplies before catching the train to the school.

The house tables were emptier as well, but none more so than Slytherin, though this was not because students of that house had chosen not to return. The reputation of Slytherin prior to the war had been correct in assuming that many of them would follow Lord Voldemort alongside their parents. This led to many of their deaths, as well as the imprisonment of those who had survived. A very small number of the older Slytherin students had returned to Hogwarts to finish their classes, one of whom was followed by a great hum of gossip: Draco Malfoy.

It was no secret that his family had been loyal to Lord Voldemort. And it was no secret, either, that they had been acquitted of all crimes and wrongdoings after the war. The Daily Prophet had made sure of that. Still, prior to the Sorting, almost every conversation in the Great Hall centered on his presence at Hogwarts. No house but Slytherin could sympathize with his situation, but in true Malfoy fashion, he wanted no sympathy. He sat at the table, his back straight and his head held high, waiting for the Sorting to commence with his fellow classmates.

Across the Great Hall, at the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley sat with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. He was staring across the room at the back of Draco's head, sneering at the glistening silver-blond hair. He hated the bastard. He couldn't believe that he had been allowed back at Hogwarts after all the things that he had done and said. Ron didn't care that he and his family had been acquitted. Draco was as foul as foul could get, and Ron didn't think he could stand being in the same room as him.

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione scolded him, following his gaze over her shoulder. She shook her hair, her long brown curls falling around her shoulders halfway down her back. The longer it had gotten, the more tame it had become. Hermione thought she should thank gravity for that, unsure of what else could have caused the change.

Ron's blue eyes shot to meet her dark brown eyes, the sneer never leaving his face. He shook his head at her, his disdain for Draco clearer than the sky on a perfect spring day. "I don't know how you're all right with spending the year in the same dormitory as that bugger. I don't care if he is Head Boy - which he doesn't deserve, by the way - wish they had chosen who was Head Boy by anything but grades - he's lower than low."

Hermione sighed, unsure herself of how she planned to make it through the year. As Head Girl and Head Boy, she and Draco would share a common room with separate bedrooms. This meant seeing each other on a daily basis. Hermione had thought the taunting she had received for the previous six years of school had been bad, and she had only had to deal with him a few days of the week. But to see him and be required to speak to him about duties on a daily basis? That seemed like the epitome of a punishment for something Hermione didn't even know she had done wrong. Her appeals to Professor McGonagall to bend the rules and allow her to stay in Gryffindor tower, as she had since her first year, had been denied.

Hermione glanced across the room at the back of Draco's head and contemplated what the next year had in store for her. Would he be a foul git? Would he even speak to her when it wasn't required for Head Girl and Head Boy duties? Hermione almost wanted him not to speak to her unless he had to. But then, living with someone, even if it was just sharing a common room, seemed like it would be extremely unpleasant if there wasn't at least some level of respect and - dare she even think it? - friendship between those living together. They couldn't very well pretend the other didn't exist except when they needed something. That was just preposterous.

Her mind returning to Ron, she shrugged. "I don't know either. I suppose we'll just have to learn to get along. That is what this rebuilding is all about now that the war is over, isn't it? Getting along with those we disagree with?"

Ron shook his head. Hermione had always been more of an optimist than he was, not to say she was a full-tilt optimist. When he thought about it, she was more of a realist than anything.

"Hermione is right," said Harry from across the table. He made it a point not to stare at Draco over his shoulder and kept his eyes fixed on Ron. "He may be a right foul git, but he was acquitted of the crimes committed during the war. We may not like him, but that doesn't change the fact that he's back at Hogwarts or that he's Head Boy."

Harry looked as though he had eaten something sour when he said those last two words. It seemed to pain him to say that they should try not to hate Draco. Ron shook his head again, his ears flaming red.

"It's because of people like him that my brother and father are dead," Ron growled, glaring at Draco's head again. "He doesn't deserve freedom. He deserves to rot in a cage at Azkaban while he waits for a Kiss from a Dementor."

It was Harry's turn to shake his head. But before he could speak, Professor McGonagall had burst through the doors of the Great Hall followed by a number of first years who looked scared and worried. Looking at them, Harry wondered if he had been that small and scared-looking when he had first entered the Great Hall for the Sorting. He chuckled to himself as he realized that he had probably looked even more terrified than those entering the room now.

As every eye in the room followed them to the front of the room to where a stool sat in front of the High Table, Draco was thankful for the relief of knowing that he was no longer the center of attention. Normally, he enjoyed being talked about whether it was good or bad. But since the war had ended and he had made his decision to return to Hogwarts, he had known that he would not receive a warm welcome from anyone within its halls. The fact that he was Head Boy would only exacerbate the gossip and the hate that he knew would be thrown his way that year. His authority would be questioned by everyone, and he wasn't sure he had the snark that he used to have to tell them off. It felt odd being the one everyone hated now. He knew that he had never been well-liked, but before the war he had his family's good name to use to scare those around him. Now, the Malfoy name was dirt. Yes, they were still rich, but the power they had once possessed was far gone.

Draco's eyes followed the first years to the front of the room and as the Sorting began, he zoned out. It wasn't unusual for him to zone out like this now. He often reminisced on the past, mostly the war and the terrible things that he had done. Those memories were getting easier to block out though, the bloody ones where he was killing people he had gone to school with. But one stuck with him no matter how he tried to push it to the back corner of his mind. The fangs, the pain, the howls of anger and suffering... That, coupled with the training he had received - and excelled in - as an animagus had created a very volatile combination. Draco was almost constantly on edge, straining to maintain control.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the tinkling of silverware against a glass. Professor McGonagall stood at the podium before the High Table, looking out at the students before her. Draco was surprised at how quickly the Sorting had gone by. Or had he lost track of time in his memories? Looking around him at the tables that were now almost full of students, he decided that he had simply lost track of time.

A hush fell over the room as Professor McGonagall took a breath before speaking. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Hogwarts. I hope you enjoy the food."

A smirk pulled at the edge of Draco's lips. The first speech that the Headmaster - or Headmistress, now - gave was always short. The more important speech was always saved for after the students had eaten their fill of the feast that was currently surfacing on the gold plates before them. The first years looked at one another, bewildered at not only the speech they had just heard but also at the food before them. Draco was sure that they had never seen anything like it.

Not saying a word, he filled his plate with everything he could get his hands on. He had found that his appetite was extremely large compared to what it had been in the past. He attributed it to his newly discovered...talent. He had filled out greatly since the war, as physical altercations and war will tend to do, but he was still sinewy - the perfect Seeker. He was slim, but by no means weak. He had grown quite a few inches over the past six months, now clocking in at around six-foot-three. His new appetite made it hard for him to get full and he had found himself eating five or six times a day to maintain the level of energy he deemed necessary to do all that he wanted to do with his day.

Draco sighed as he wondered how he would get in all those meals during the school year, what with classes and the Great Hall only serving three meals a day. I suppose I'll have to make a couple trips down to the kitchen, he thought. Most likely, I'll have to go between classes or during my free period.

He looked up, across the table. Blaise Zabini was eating the food before him as though he hadn't seen food in weeks. Draco and Blaise had never been close, but seeing as how they were two of the few remaining older Slytherins, Draco figured they would have to get to know each other if they were to make it out of the year alive and sane.

"How was your summer, Zabini?" asked Draco, opting for a safe opening line. He wasn't quite sure what Blaise's opinion of him was, as Blaise was one of the few Slytherin students who had no ties to Voldemort during the war.

Blaise continued to chew at the large bite of turkey in his mouth, but gave Draco a look that said, "Give me a moment."

Once Blaise had swallowed his bite, he said, "It was quiet, thankfully. It was nice to spend time at home with my mum and her newest husband. This is number seven. Hopefully he lasts more than two years. I'm getting tired of the funerals. How was yours?"

Draco cringed on the inside. He didn't really want to answer that question, as his summer had been quite interesting and full of self-discovery. Instead of getting into the gory details, he shrugged. "It was all right, I suppose. Father and mother wanted to 'bond' as a family, so we spent a lot of time out of town, away from everything."

It wasn't exactly a lie, but he wasn't being truthful either. He had spent most of his summer in random towns, doing his best to adapt to the changes he was undergoing. His father and mother, however, had stayed at Malfoy Manor, repairing the damage done there and attempting to regain their social standing by making appearances at all the right places and saying all the right things to the all the right people. Draco hadn't decided for sure that he would return to Hogwarts until the last day that he had to send the letter back, July thirty-first. When he had signed that he would be honored to take the position of Head Boy and return to Hogwarts and given it to his owl, Anders, he had felt an unusual apprehension for the coming year.

Blaise nodded as if he understood. "I can imagine that, after everything that happened this past year, you'd all want to get away."

Draco did his best not to sneer with contempt at the off-handedly rude comment. He knew Blaise meant no harm by saying it, but it hit a nerve in Malfoy. Though many things had changed for him, his pride in his family name remained intact. His mind screamed that Blaise had no right to bring that up, and his blood boiled. He took a deep breath though, composing himself, knowing that getting into any kind of argument would end badly, not only for himself and Blaise, but for everyone around him. And he wanted to set a good example for the younger students as Head Boy.

"Yes," said Malfoy, trying to smile, "they've had quite the year. We all have, really."

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted as the food on their plates disappeared, replaced almost immediately by desserts. Draco frowned down at the sweets in front of him. Oddly enough, he had found that he had lost all taste for candies and ice cream. It wasn't that he disliked them, per se. It was more that he didn't enjoy them. They all made his head and stomach hurt horribly for a couple of hours.

Blaise, on the other hand, was shoveling the candy into his mouth. Draco wondered how he did it. Even with his appetite, he couldn't eat that much that quickly.

He must have looked perplexed, because Blaise stopped for a moment, grinning. "I have a high metabolism and I'm pretty much a bottomless pit for food."

Draco nodded slightly. "I see."

They sat in silence then, Draco with his hands folded in his lap and Blaise with his hands in the sweets.

Professor McGonagall took the podium once more after the sweets had been on the table for fifteen minutes. The Great Hall quieted without the glass this time, and she smiled out at the students. "I trust you all enjoyed your dinner?" It was obviously a rhetorical question. "I can tell that you're definitely enjoying dessert. To those who are returning to Hogwarts, I'm glad to see you back again. My deepest condolences to those who lost loved ones this past year."

Her eyes seemed to fall on Harry, Hermione, and especially Ron as she spoke this last sentence. It almost seemed as though she was speaking only of Fred and Arthur Weasley, though Ron knew that many had lost people during the war.

"As always, I must make a few announcements before you're all off to bed," she continued. "The forest at the edge of the grounds is strictly off limits to students. Any student found wandering the halls after hours will be dealt severe punishment by their head of house." At this, she fixed Harry with a stern look. He smiled back at her sheepishly. "Quidditch try outs will be at the end of next week. First years are not allowed broomsticks, but you will begin flying lessons with Madam Hooch next Thursday. With this, I bid you all good night. First years, follow your house Prefects to your dormitories. I'll see you all at breakfast tomorrow."

The desserts vanished from the plates before the students, who all stood. The first years clambered over the bench-seats quickly, looking for the shiny badges with the "P" that denoted their Prefects.

"Hufflepuff first years!" Harry heard Hannah Abbott calling out. "Follow me, Hufflepuff first years!"

Harry sighed and stood. He and Ron were Prefects this year, which meant they were going to get to introduce the new Gryffindor students to the ghosts, the moving staircases, doorways, pictures, and, most importantly, the Fat Lady.

"D'you remember the password?" Ron murmured to Harry as they stood and waved, watching the swarm of first years headed their way. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, Ron," he said, "it isn't hard to remember. It's 'smores.'"

"Right," said Ron. "I knew that."

Hermione snickered from her seat at the table. As the group of first years assembled in front of the two boys, she stood. The eleven-year-olds looked at the three of them, awed to be in their presence. Harry had no doubt that their parents had told them all kinds of heroic stories about himself and his friends. He grinned down at their eager, awestruck faces.

"Ready?" he asked. They nodded eagerly. "Then away we go!" Hermione hung back, as Professor McGonagall had asked her to do. She waved as Ron and Harry disappeared from the Great Hall, then turned to face the High Table. All the teachers save Professor McGonagall had cleared out. Looking around the Great Hall, she saw that she and Draco were the only students left in the entire room.

Professor McGonagall waved for Hermione and Draco to follow her as she walked around the podium and headed for the exit.

"I trust you each had a relaxing summer?" she asked.

Draco merely grunted.

"Yes ma'am," said Hermione, walking quickly to keep up with Professor McGonagall's brisk pace. "Very much so."

"Good, good," said Professor McGonagall. "Now, the Head Boy and Head Girl dormitories are on the fourth floor of the castle, which is where I am taking you now. As you can imagine, your things have already been moved to your rooms."

They were already on the fourth floor, and Professor McGonagall was turning down corridor after corridor, leading them deeper into the labyrinth that was Hogwarts. Hermione worried that she wouldn't be able to find her way to her classes.

"There is a list in each of your rooms of your duties as Head Boy and Head Girl," continued Professor McGonagall, finally coming to a stop in front of a portrait of an old man smoking a pipe in a rocking char. Draco couldn't help but think that it was one of the more boring paintings at Hogwarts and wondered why they had chosen that particular one to guard the Head Boy and Head Girl's dormitory.

"The two of you may divide the duties up between yourselves," said Professor McGonagall, turning to look at them. Hermione and Draco stood in silence, staying as far away from each other as possible without looking too obvious. "There is also a list of the passwords to each of the house dormitories. The password for your dormitory is 'truffles.' The paintings seem to have an affinity for food this year, though I haven't the foggiest why. I'm calling a meeting with all of the Prefects, as well as the two of you, tomorrow morning at seven o'clock, so I'd recommend getting plenty of sleep. Good night."

With that, Professor McGonagall whisked herself down the corridor, back the way that they had just come from. Hermione and Draco looked at one another, unsure of what to say. Hermione felt like his steel grey eyes were boring into her soul as their eyes met. She had never really looked at his eyes before, or really him for that matter. Each time she had looked at him before the war, she had only seen a prideful git who hated her simply because her parents were Muggles. The way his eyes looked into her made her feel a little queasy.

"Er - I suppose we should go inside," Hermione finally said, feeling uncomfortable.

"I suppose so," Draco murmured, looking to the painting finally. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding as he said, "Truffles."

The Old Man swung open and Draco motioned for Hermione to enter before him. She hesitated, looking for some form of spite in the action, but, finding none, she stepped through the hole into a lavish common room. There was only one large, plush couch, black with crimson, yellow, green, and blue pillows on it. Hermione immediately recognized these as the house colors and smiled. There were two large armchairs on either side of the couch. All three of these surrounded a coffee table that sat in front of the biggest fireplace Hermione had seen in Hogwarts to date. The rug beneath the coffee table was soft beneath Hermione's feet, even through her shoes. The fire crackling within the fireplace was inviting and Hermione felt as though she were home almost immediately.

Draco entered behind her, taking in his surroundings and nodding, pleased. They looked to one another again, unsure of what to do now that they were in their common room. As their eyes met once more, it was Draco's turn to feel a bit uncomfortable. As Hermione's chocolate brown eyes met his, his blood seemed to catch on fire. He knew his eyes had begun to cloud over. He quickly looked away, trying to take discreet deep breaths to calm himself down.

It would do you no good to lose control your first night back at Hogwarts, he told himself. He had grown into the habit of talking to himself to calm himself down. Some might think it crazy of him, but logical thinking made him relax. If he was logical, he didn't feel. And if he didn't feel, his blood wouldn't boil, his heart wouldn't start to beat faster, and he would stay in control. That was the most important thing to him now. He didn't even wonder at that moment why his blood had started to boil when she looked at him.

Not to mention that a meltdown now would attract a great deal of attention to his whereabouts. His travels over the summer had also acted as a way to throw some of the Death Eaters still loyal to Lord Voldemort's ideals and not in Azkaban yet off of his trail. They were unaware that he was returning to Hogwarts this year and he liked it that way. They held quite a grudge against him and his family for being so "fair-weather" to the cause. If he hurt someone at Hogwarts, it would be all over the news and they would be sure to find him then. Draco liked being alive; he intended to stay that way as long as possible.

Hermione looked at the ground. "I assume my room is the one on the right."

Draco's eyes were drawn to the door farthest from him. A large, ornate wooden "H" decorated the door. He held in a chuckle.

"Well, obviously, Granger," he said, trying for his old snippy tone. "I don't recall having an 'H' in my name, so unless your friend Potter has something to tell the world, that would be the Head Girl's room."

Hermione scowled at the implication that Harry was a female. She wondered if she shouldn't have agreed with Ron at the feast about Draco rather than defending him now, remembering exactly why she had always disliked him so much.

"You haven't changed one bit, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, turning on her heel and walking to her room.

As he watched her walk away, he almost regretted saying what he had.

"You have no idea," Draco said under his breath, heading toward his own room across the common area from Hermione's. "Not the slightest clue."

Author's Note: Teaser, anyone?

He felt his blood go on fire again, as it had when they had made eye contact when they had first entered their common room. This grounded him back to reality, and he realized where this was headed and how unsafe it was for her right now.

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