Chapter One
Ron and Harry had been chattering on for ages. Something about new recruits for the Chudley Cannons and how the Holyhead Harpies were going to kick their arses. Hermione sighed, a bit regretfully, and pulled out a book. She would've liked to know a bit about Quidditch, but she couldn't stand to read about, let alone remember, the names of all of those players. It wasn't as if she'd meet any of them.
At this, she shuddered, remembering her absolutely charming time with Viktor Krum and opened her book. It was an interesting nonfiction work – Delusions of Gender by a muggle named Cordelia Fine1. The bibliography alone was enough pages to be called a small chapter. Hermione settled into her seat near the window of their compartment of the Hogwarts Express and began to read.
A few hours later, with a finished book in hand, Hermione glanced at the time.
"I'd best be changing," she commented, "The Prefect's meeting is set to begin, and the train will be arriving soon."
"Right," agreed Harry, "Leave me in peace!"
"I guess I'd better be off, then," came Ginny's reply, "You aren't likely to get much peace if I stay."
Harry's ears went a bit red. "Shut up," he muttered.
Hermione rolled her eyes and got up to change. She didn't necessarily enjoy wearing her uniform, but it was always nice to put it back on. It set the mood, really. The uniform was just part of her return home to Hogwarts. But Hogwarts wouldn't be the same anymore. Entire halls had been demolished, people would be eerily absent, and nearly half of the school would not be returning to complete their education.
It's all gone to dust, thought Hermione, Dust and shadows, and memories, and people that should be here but aren't. People that should be alive but aren't.
A familiar weight settled on Hermione's chest. Tonks, strong and dedicated, floated across her vision. Then, a flash, followed by the hysterical cackles of Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione's forearm throbbed painfully and her throat felt thick with tears. Mudblood. The word slashed through her mind, bringing with it not shame, but pain, both physical and mental. But anger rose above it all.
Hermione dragged to mind the image of Mrs. Weasley, furious, standing over a mess of onyx coils – the body of Hermione's torturer. It's all over now, Hermione thought, Over. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease.
Hermione admired her reflection in the mirror. Gryffindor tie, with a nice combination of red and gold that she'd always thought brought color to her cheeks. Stark, crisp robes, adorned only with a silver badge reading Head Girl. Hermione felt a swell of pride rise in her chest. She had worked hard at magic, she had done all she could to prove that she wasn't just that Muggle-born. Hermione had gone on adventures, finished daring quests, and saved the world, both magical and otherwise. To top it all off, she had passed all her classes with flying colors. Here, finally, was her recognition.
Hermione licked her lips and set to the Prefects' compartment. She wanted to arrive early so that she could have a chat with the Head Boy. The identity of the Head Boy hadn't been revealed to her in the letter she'd received over the summer. It had just given her the basics - a brief description of her duties as Head Girl, a quick stab at her dormitory conditions (she'd be sharing a common room and bathroom with the Head Boy), and the list of Prefects.
Of course, Hermione had already drawn up a tentative patrol schedule and a few ideas for school spirit days, but the majority of her work would have to wait until she met with the Head Boy. With this thought, Hermione slid open the door of the Prefects' compartment and sat down, waiting for the Head Boy to arrive.
Not two minutes later, the door drifted open once more. Hermione caught a glimpse of elegant robes and a tall body before the figure stepped resolutely into the compartment and drew the door firmly shut.
Hermione was on her feet in a flash, wand in hand. She backed up against the window of the compartment and stared at the formidable character. A chiseled jawline and angular face were framed by a messy fringe of platinum blonde hair. Long eyelashes outlined slate grey eyes.
Gone was the young boy who Hermione used to exchange cold insults with. Gone was the innocent face and cunning smile. Standing in front of her was a pureblood whose aunt had done unspeakable things. Standing across from Hermione was a Death Eater, from a family of Death Eaters. Standing in the Prefects' compartment, 45 minutes early, was Draco Malfoy with a small, shining piece of silver pinned carefully to his robes..
Hermione could see more than feel her wand hand shaking as she put together the pieces. Draco Malfoy had always had extremely good marks. Draco Malfoy had always been dedicated to schoolwork. Draco Malfoy had done extremely well on the Quidditch pitch. Draco Malfoy had done things worthy of a hero during the war.
Hermione scoffed to herself. Malfoy? A hero? She knew better. Draco Malfoy had been just as prejudiced as any other Death Eater. He'd lied, cheated. He had let his Death Eater friends into Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy was solely responsible for the death of one of the most powerful wizards of all time. He was a far stretch from a hero.
"Ahem."
It was such a human noise that Hermione was momentarily taken aback. Almost immediately, angry heat rose back in her ribs. Her wand arm steadied as she looked the boy directly in the eyes.
"Malfoy," she snapped, her voice dripping in animosity, "How undeniably welcome it will be to have the enchanting experience of working beside you this year."
"A pleasure, I'm sure," Malfoy replied, the malice in his voice matching hers, "Now, we should discuss a few things before our charges arrive."
Hermione slowly and begrudgingly lowered her wand. There was work to be done, and as much as she hated to admit it, Malfoy was right. There was a lot to talk about. Hermione took a seat close to the window.
Malfoy sat down across from her and pulled out the table from the wall. He looked at her for a second, his eyes cold and calculating. Hermione tapped her wand once against the table to summon her papers, which appeared just under her wand. Not once did she break eye contact with Malfoy. All of a sudden, Hermione recalled a passage from a book about magical creatures.
"Hippogriffs are intensely proud creatures [...]. Eye contact should be maintained at all times, without a single blink. […] If offended, it may attack."
Hermione felt an unexpected stab of happiness at the memory of Buckbeak attacking Malfoy. She didn't let it show on her face. On the outside, she maintained a distantly intimidating look. I am not afraid, she reminded herself, I am stronger than he ever will be.
Hermione flipped through her small pile of papers until she found the one she was looking for.
"I've drawn up a tentative patrol schedule. We'll change it a month or two in, when we've identified the trouble spots this year," Hermione asserted.
Malfoy pulled a map from a pocket in his robes.
"Over the past few years, the trouble spots have been here, here, and in this hallway here," he said, "Of course, I wouldn't expect you to know that, as you've never been in trouble."
Hermione looked him dead in the eye.
"Check yourself, Malfoy," she replied, "I've been in more trouble than I care to remember. Even otherwise, I was a Prefect when I was younger. Or did you forget? I've already worked those spots into the schedule. You'd know that if you'd looked before you opened your daft mouth."
Thirty frustrating, unproductive, and tense minutes later, people started to arrive. Hermione put away her papers before pressing her wand to the finished Patrol Schedule. "Imitor multis," she whispered, creating copies of the sheet. As she handed out the schedules, she began to explain the duties of the Prefects.
"Here are your schedules. You will be expected to show up on time to each patrol. If you need to make a change, find someone to switch with you and give either me, or the Head Boy notice. By the way, I am Head Girl, Hermione Granger, and this is Draco Malfoy, your Head Boy.
"I'm sure you're all waiting to get back to your friends, so we'll keep this short. As Prefects, you must be on you best behavior at all times. We are counting on you to be role models as well as enforcers. When regulating house points, you will be fair but unyielding. There will be no unfair points given or taken.
"Oh, I've almost forgotten. The Prefects bathroom. There is only one for the all of us to share. It isn't gender-segregated, so I trust that there will be no breach of school rules. Or anyone's virginity. The password is Interhouse Unity. You can thank our kind Headmistress for that.
"That'll be all for today. If there aren't any questions, you're welcome to go. Otherwise, stay after to speak with us."
There was a bit of a murmur as people left the compartment. One boy, a fifth year by the looks of him, hesitated at the door. He looked as though he had something on his mind, but one glance at the other two redheaded Prefects who'd stayed back sent him bolting to his own compartment.
The two Prefects in question had matching looks of revulsion and a certain set to their shoulders as they stared Malfoy down. Malfoy, however, was looking straight at Hermione, a sort of unreadable look on his face. The tension in the room could have been cut like butter.
Hermione, her eyes fixed to Malfoy's, was suddenly tired. Her shoulders relaxed.
"Let's go," she told Ginny and Ron without drawing her gaze from Malfoy, "Harry will be wanting to hear all about this."
With that, she breezed out of the compartment without so much as a backwards glance to the boy standing alone in an empty compartment.