I do not own the characters.
This chapter starts a little slow. Enjoy
Hermione loaded her trunk on her broom. Traveling had become considerably easier, now that she had mastered the Disillusionment Charm. It was night and everyone seemed asleep. Her parents also slept. She'd left them a letter, this time. She re-checked the leather straps one last time and got up and nearly jumped when a light was switched on. Next door, on the porch, Mrs. Withmore waved her goodbye, one hand petting her sixth cat, Mr. Whiskers. Hermione smiled, thinking her Muggle neighbors would, no doubt, find such a scene strange, especially since Mrs. Withmore was as blind as a bat. She was also a witch who had gotten into the habit of 'borrowing' other living things around her to see. So Hermione wasn't very startled when Mr. Whiskers winked at her. Waving back, Hermione took off.
She'd always intended to return to school and finish her last year. Harry and Ron had thought it useless, but Ron's mother had insisted that he return. Harry had already passed his Auror exams by this point and, besides, no one would question his skills in that particular area, so he'd fit well with the others. He was very talented. If you leave out potions, that is, she thought, amused. Ron, on the other hand, was still very immature sometimes and school would probably do him good.
She had no idea what to do after her last year finished and had no intention to miss on the experience. In all fairness, Hermione was forced to admit Hogwarts was also a refuge of sorts. After she had removed the Obliviate curse, her parents had been furious. They'd understood her reasons, of course, but didn't want to accept the risk she had taken and had attempted at every turn to keep her in sight, going as far as to suggest that she cut all ties with the wizarding world. The situation was no less stressful there, since whenever she'd went to visit Ron she'd found him talking to the reporters, especially Rita Skeeter, giving grandiose accounts of their previous adventures. Not to mention, no one missed a chance to interview "The Couple". She'd cancelled her subscription to the Daily Prophet, but the newspaper and its reporters kept returning. For some people the world just kept spinning, she thought.
Alone under the skies, she felt herself relax
... and people ask how I am able to look at myself in the mirror. In Hogwarts one can escape the mirror, but hardly the paintings.
Besides, I always look good.
Many things were different now. Potter was again the Chosen One, "the Couple" had returned to Hogwarts, Crabbe was dead. I remember his having and oddly soft voice for his bulk and a first name that nobody used. Vincent. I heard it for the first time at the funeral.
Pansy and Goyle had chosen to cut ties with this place. To graduate we were told we had to repeat the last year or forever give up using advanced magic. I wondered how they could swallow taking us in. Pansy and Goyle might not have lost much, truth be told, but I, on the other hand, was pure-blooded. Magic defined me. I would graduate out of this stupid school and remind the world how the Malfoys achieved greatness. I was the last one.
How the world has changed.
Now, I had to do my homework, since I was failing, which is why I was currently studying with Mihail Green. The new kid, a transfer from Durmstrang, was apparently a genius in Transfiguration, which I needed, and in Charms. I irked me that I needed his help, but no one else would tutor me and he needed me to keep the rest away. So I chalked protecting a half-blood (probably even Mudblood) to the list of disappointments and resolved to pay them back with interest.
It was decidedly odd that he'd come here, since it was a well-known fact that the Sorting Hat had a predilection for picking only Purebloods for Slytherin, and the Greens, whoever they were, were not that. As a result he was as marginalized as me, probably more so. Myself, I had acquired a decent hand at dueling. The fact that Potter had bested me that night at the manor had been hard to swallow. And my particular position did give me a lot of was a time, people would swarm when I called, now they ganged-up on me for different reasons. Being on the wrong side of Voldemort's supporters - as an embarrassment - and of the law, was not an 'achievement' I was proud of nor was one I was let to forget.
I'd also developed a knack for tinkering with magical objects. Truth be told, fixing that bloody Vanishing Cabinet had required more studying than I've done in all the previous five years. The Ministry had confiscated it was currently working to duplicate it for use in difficult situations. It was considerably easier than building a hearth to use Floo Powder with. And not even a 'thank you'.
The good part is that I also learned how to modify the paintings in my room so I could get some shut-eye. The rest were understandably angered, and didn't miss the chance to observe that this road generally lead to nutcases like Arthur Weasley. Mihail did pay attention while I hexed the plonker in the picture six ways to Sunday, but he was probably trying to curry favours with me. I did feel rather good when - like any good Muggle image - it stopped moving.
'That's some high-level magic', he'd said
Snape had come in at that point. If not for me saving him from Nagini's venom he would have died. He didn't make me turn it back, though I doubt I could. Understandably, his displays of affection came in the form of 'Ten points from Slytherin, courtesy of Draco's decoration skills.' That's gratitude for you.
This was the third time the house was losing points because of me. Behind his back the lower-years students were already drawing their wands.
Busy, busy, busy.
She scrambled to get her books and run up the stairs. The press might be forbidden to enter Hogwarts, but Ron sure wasn't. Last class she'd had Transfiguration, which was getting difficult. They also had a new student from Durmstrang, Mihail, and he also knew Viktor. He'd been put into Slytherin, but didn't really seem the tipe. He was quiet and very good at Transfiguration, both a pleasant change from Ron's recent badgering.
'They want us to write our own column in the Daily Prophet'
'I don't want more media attention, really. You should also focus on studying.'
'You're exaggerate, Hermione. It's not about always about you. This could be a big break for me. You don't even have to write in, if you don't want to. Can't you tear yourself away for several minutes and just, I don't know, give and interview once in a while? Everybody wants to see us, not just me.' Ron had always been jealous of being in Harry's shadow and feared returning there more than he feared... spiders. Rita and her pack of sharks hadn't been able to get their hands on Harry yet, not that they had any chance. He'd spent one year of his life being hunted by most of the country and the Dark Lord. She and Ron, on the other hand, were sitting ducks. And they served, as a second best, which is why she preferred to retreat to the library as often as possible.
Ron had never understood the pleasure she took in books, and they really hadn't had much to talk about now that Voldemort was defeated. This disturbed and annoyed her by turns. As a result, when Mihail had suggested they practice and study together and she'd jumped at the chance. Normally, she wouldn't have been so quick to agree to meet a Slytherin alone, but he had come from Durmstrang and had theoretically been out of the conflict zone. Also, he'd said there is someone else he was studying with, but she didn't think it would be too much of a problem, if any. In two it could get a little boring, even for her.
My mother was dead, my father on a quick road to madness and despair, the stupid casualties of another pointless war. After his plans succeeded, there would be no one like Voldemort ever again.