A/N:

Things may be altered slightly from how they were in the books in order to better suit this fic. This includes, but is not limited to, characters, character personalities, minor plot events. It should also be noted that I have decided to change the timeline of the books so that they coincide with today – meaning that the story is taking place in 2015, this is for purposes that will become evident further along in the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or books, and all credit goes to JK Rowling.

It was surreal to be back on platform 9 ¾. After all that had happened, to be here felt like a jab of nostalgic sadness straight to the gut. Every color was glaring at Hermione with a dimness unbefitting of her memories at King's Cross Station. It seemed that everything was dim these days. The war had by no means left her unscathed. Sure, she was alive, and Voldemort was destroyed, but there was an injury deep in her soul that was just beginning to scab over.

The only thing that hadn't drastically changed was her classmates. Professor McGonagall – or, Hermione supposed, Headmistress, now – had declared the previous year as entirely inept, requiring that every student repeat the year. Of course, that meant the First Year's class was double that of any of the others – combining the First Years from last year with the incoming ones of this year. Still, there was a stillness in the air, as if everyone around her were merely pretending as if nothing had changed, even though the stark reality that everything had.

Hermione clutched Crookshanks's cage closer to her, and he hissed faintly at the jostling around. She knew she ought to get on the train, but her reluctance to do so lay in the two males beside her – who, for the second time in her life – would not be boarding with her.

The first had been a total accident, with Harry and Ron showing up late after crashing Mr. Weasley's flying car into the Whomping Willow. This time, though, she knew they wouldn't be arriving late, and she'd be void of her two best friends for the coming year.

Mulling this over, her heart seized painfully, causing her breath to hitch and tears to prickle at her eyes. She wrapped her hand tightly around the handle of her luggage, and glanced at the two men.

Harry was currently hugging Ginny, who looked equally distraught as Hermione about leaving him behind. Hermione heard her whisper one last time, asking Harry if he was certain he didn't want to attend his last year. He nodded solemnly, giving her a kiss intimate enough that Hermione darted her eyes away. Ron stood next to her, his hands awkwardly in his pockets. He gazed at Hermione, a guilty look plaguing him. She knew he felt bad about not going, and, if she asked him to, he would at the drop of a hat, but he didn't want to, and she wasn't the type of girlfriend to force him to.

"I'll miss you, Hermione." He said softly, looking as though he wanted to kiss her. Again. Hermione clenched her fists, peeling her gaze away from her fiery-headed boyfriend and to the train.

"I'll miss you, too, Ron." She said delicately, not wanting to break down in tears. Again. Harry and Ron were useless when it came to crying girls, so she avoided burdening them with that whenever possible.

She turned back to him, leaning up to give him a quick peck on the lips, before facing the train, a determined look engraved on her features. In her peripheral vision, she saw Ginny likewise pull away from Harry. Hermione had had enough sense to say her goodbye to Harry before allowing him near Ginny, knowing that, otherwise, she never would. Setting her jaw, she hoisted herself onto the train, Ginny right behind her.

"It's crazy – them not being here." Ginny commented as they reached their car. "It doesn't feel right." The two girls secured their luggage and took their seats. The vacant seats beside them screamed volumes in Hermione's mind.

"I know." Hermione replied, her throat beginning to close. She smiled sardonically when the train, at long last, began to chug forward. "Maybe this year I'll actually get to do all my bloody schoolwork without having to worry about one of our lives being in danger."

"I don't know 'Mione." Ginny grinned, "Wouldn't want to change tradition!"

They laughed lightly, but it was hollow. Hermione's mind was back on the platform, and she guessed Ginny's was, too. Every other first day had been one of her most exciting days – but this time, it was one of the most dreaded.

It would definitely take some getting used to, although, it would probably be a bonus not having to keep the boys out of trouble. Goodness knows, Gryffindor might actually win by something other than Dumbledore's not-so-subtle favoritism.

Hermione sighed, leaning back against her seat and staring out the window. This year was going to be different, she knew that much, but Hogwarts always seemed to find a way to take her expectations and amplify them by a hundred fold.

Draco Malfoy's nerves were at the end of their rope, and, unfortunately for him, the rope seemed to be fraying more and more with every passing second. Everyone – even the Slytherins – continually greeted him with wide, terrified eyes, or sharp glares.

It had been his mom's idea for him to come back for his final year. He'd pleaded and begged not to go, and he had even gone so far as to try to contract a deadly disease – he was Slytherin and, for a fact, not Gryffindor, after all – in order to get out of returning to Hogwarts.

Sitting in his usual car felt like torture – as if flames were literally bursting from everyone's eyes and Draco was being slowly but surely roasted. He fidgeted, his forearm burning with remembrance, where he was different; stained. Where there was a mark that set him apart.

The mark that caused everyone to see not Draco, but Voldemort.

He tore his eyes from the window, and met the gaze of Pansy Parkinson. She wore a look of thinly masked fear that made his skin crawl. Not six months ago, she had been all over him. Now that the Dark Lord had fallen, and he was blatantly known to have the Dark Mark, she could barely look him in the eyes.

Some part of him wanted to laugh bitterly. Strange how a person can support one side of a fight until it loses, and then switch to the other side so quickly and passionately that they convince themselves, either out of guilt or shame or fear, that they'd been on that side all along.

"Got a problem, Pansy?" He sneered, and she jolted, shaking her head and dropping her eyes.

His stomach clenched, a deep-seated pain pulling from deep within him. No one knew him, and they didn't know his motivations. They didn't know his situations and his choices. Hah, choices, oh how limited and dire every choice had been.

But, oh no, they thought they did. They knew Draco as well as anyone could – or so Rita Skeeter made them think. He felt a surge of hatred swell within him. He wanted to kill her, and not with something as simple as a killing curse, either. He wanted to make her feel pain. The sort of pain that he'd been subjected to. The sort of pain that he'd felt before the war, during the war, and, all thanks to her, after the war.

Draco grit his teeth, his fists clenched. He was magnificently aware of everyone's eyes skirting the room, and always making their way to him. They were all staring, even though their own skittishly irrational fear of eye contact convinced them otherwise.

He shot a glare upwards, directed at no one in particular.

It was going to be a long, long year for Draco Malfoy. He closed his eyes, hoping to drown out the flurry of guilt and hatred mingling in his mind long enough to get some rest, which was something he was sorely lacking lately.

Nothing, and he honestly knew that nothing, could ease the pain of the coming school year.