CONTEXT: Story takes place post-Battle of Hogwarts, and is not compatible with the epilogue. It is mandatory for all students to return to Hogwarts to complete their final year of education. Bellatrix is not dead. She and the rest of the surviving Death Eaters are in Azkaban, serving a life sentence. Voldemort is dead, the war is over.

SUMMARY: Hermione and her friends return to Hogwarts to complete their seventh year after being informed by the new headmistress that it is mandatory. Upon arriving there, she realizes nothing is the same. Suffering from post-war trauma, she, like many other survivors, has recurring nightmares about the events that took place mere months ago at the hands of a deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. But that is not all that changes. She and the rest of the "Eighth years" are paired randomly with members of other houses to promote inter house unity, which is deemed a priority in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. What will she do when she is paired with Draco Malfoy, a figure that dominates her nightmares after the recent traumatic events at Malfoy Manor? Will the two, opposite in everything they represent, be able to coexist? And will a guilt-stricken Draco be able to find redemption after the war? A story of love and redemption between two lifelong foes who come to find solace in each other's arms.

Meet new love,

Forget the old,

One is Silver,

One is Gold

HERMIONE

Smoke rises from the scarlet train, into the brisk London air. I pull my jacket tighter around me to ward off the early August chill, and lug my trolley up onto the Hogwarts Express. A strange rush of nostalgia washes over me as the witch with the trolley shuffles down the aisles, grumbling about the cold weather.

I never thought I would board this train again.

The war had long wiped out any sense of hope I had that I would return to a normal life. With all the killing, and the gore, and all the people we had lost… I took a few months off, after everything was over, to go track my parents down. And though the war had taken some vital part of me—seeing my parents again had eased some of that.

I settle into a seat by the frosted window in an empty compartment, and my hand slips inside my coat pocket to where my Hogwarts letter is folded in a neat square. I had received the owl from the new Headmistress last week, but I wasn't quite surprised. Even after everything, Hogwarts still feels like my home. It feels right that I should finish my last year here before saying my final farewell to it.

But even so, I'd hugged Mum a little longer this time, had lingered a bit longer by the station with Dad, perhaps unwilling to let go. To leave again, after everything, seemed foolish. But perhaps a part of me was selfish, for not wanting them to see how changed I was by the war, how wounded and damaged it had made me. Perhaps it made me a bad daughter for not wanting to explain to them that I had endured horrors beyond their imagine—to save them, and save others. Because in these last few weeks at home, I had been pleasant, warm, because I had not wanted things to change for us. Because it hadn't—not for them. They had lived peaceful lives, happy and joyful, while I suffered fighting for the lives of thousands. And I am glad I spared them from the horrors of the war, but I can't ever talk to them about it, because they don't understand. And even if they could, I don't want them to. I don't want them to see that dark, twisted part of me—the part of me that broke in the war and was never the same after.

The compartment door slides open, interrupting my thoughts, and Ron, Harry, and Ginny all file in. Their faces look as I imagine mine must: A mixture of sorrow, longing, relief, and bittersweet joy.

"The weather's a bit down," Ron says, voice muffled from his scarf which is strewn hastily around his neck. He tugs it down, loosening it, and plops into the seat beside me. His nose is pink from the cold, and his cheeks are wind-flushed.

Harry is wrestling with his bag, trying in vain to zip it shut.

"What is that?" Ron asks warily, voicing the question I had been about to ask.

"Nothing," he grunts, finally pulling the zipper shut. "It's one of Fred and George's—" He cuts himself off, his face going taut. The compartment goes silent, and he finishes hoarsely, "Fred and George made them for their shop before the war."

Ron is utterly silent, his face closed off. Next to him, Ginny is shaking as if she is going to be sick out the window.

"I'm sorry," she mutters, before jumping to her feet and leaving, a quiet sob wracking out of her.

Harry sighs, his eyes shuttering as he watches her leave. He rises to his feet, "I should go," he says, but he doesn't wait before sliding the compartment door open and leaving.

"Ron," I whisper, feeling my eyes prickle with unshed tears. He doesn't move, but a tear slips past his cheek, and I wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly.

"He's gone," he says, his voice hollow and rough with tears.

I had let Ron fall asleep on my shoulder, and with Harry and Ginny still gone, I savor the silence of the compartment and the gentle lulling of the engine. My own eyes are fluttering shut, heavy from the weariness and exhaustion of today, but just as I drift off, the compartment door slides open once again.

It's Ernie Macmillan, looking as though he's just seen a ghost.

"What is it?" I ask, my head immediately jerking up. Ron grumbles in his sleep, but shifts his head off me to lean against the wall of the compartment.

"It's really you," he breathes. "I can't believe we're all here again."

I give him a sad smile, and say quietly, "Me neither. But it's good to see you." It's good to see everyone, I think. Because it means you all lived through the war.

He nods once as if he understands, and then he says, "The prefects are supposed to go to the front of the train."

I give him a half-smile, "We're eighth years. Are we still prefects?"

He grins, "We better be."

I glance towards Ron, and then back towards Ernie, who merely shrugs.

A few minutes later, we're all gathered at the front of the train,—Ron, still bleary eyed from his nap,—in the largest compartment. I see familiar faces, and greet some of them, but the general atmosphere is quiet, subdued, and bittersweet. I've retreated back into a corner with a set of armchairs with Ron when a flash of blonde silver catches my eye. My heart stumbles for a beat. Not in surprise, but in fear.

And like a dam being unleashed, the memories come rushing back. My head being pressed against the stiff marble, my back twisting and arching underneath that cruel face, and the raven black hair that brushed my cheeks. I lay there on the floor, screaming until I was numb from terror, until my body couldn't stop shaking from the pain. But through it all, I had glimpsed his face. And now, it was part of the nightmare.

I turn my head to look for him again, if only to see if I perhaps merely imagined it, but he's nowhere to be found. A small mercy, I suppose.

The Great Hall is packed with students, even more so this year. We had greeted Hagrid at the door just as he was hauling another table through the large double doors. The room had been magically altered to accommodate more people, but it was still a tight fit. Harry, Ron, and I find three empty seats at the Gryffindor table and claim them, Ginny and Luna having left to find their own friends.

"There are so many missing faces," I say quietly.

"Hermione," Ron begins, but I flush and shake my head.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—we should talk about something else."

But Harry was looking behind me, and Ron had followed his gaze. I whirl, my lips parting in surprise as I saw who they were gaping at.

"Malfoy?" Ron says incredulously.

"Was he on the train?" Harry asks.

My throat tightens. No—

"I didn't see him in the prefects compartment," Ron says, still staring at Malfoy in disbelief, angry lines beginning to take form on his face.

"How could McGonagall let him come back?" Harry asks angrily.

"I saw him on the train," I say finally, keeping my eyes firmly averted from the Slytherin table where he's sitting alone—without Crabbe and Goyle at his side for once. With a sudden pang, I remember that Crabbe had died in that final battle. One more face we would never see, no matter that we were never on the same side. Even if he had helped Voldemort, he was a student—we had gone to school with him for years.

"I'm going to speak to McGonagall," Harry declares, his face resolute.

"Harry—" I begin, warning him.

But he's already swept up his robes and left the table.

"Where's he going?" Ron demands. "McGonagall's at the professor's table."

I turn my head and see that Ron is right; Harry isn't headed for McGonagall. A moment later, he's left the Great Hall, and a brief silence falls between me and Ron.

The unspoken words hang between us, and I shift in my seat, not quite sure what to say.

"Both of his parents are in Azkaban," I say quietly.

"Hermione, don't start feeling sorry for him. He and his family got everything they deserved. He shouldn't be here, and once McGonagall realizes it's a mistake, he'll be boarding the next train back to London."

I swallow. "I don't think McGonagall made a mistake."

"Hermione—"

"Do you?"

He falters, and then starts again, "Hermione, we'll figure this out. He won't be sticking around for the whole year with the students he was happy to kill just a few months ago."

I draw my cloak tighter around me as I shiver. The temperature feels like it has dropped a dozen degrees. Ron notices, his hands reaching for the cloak around his own shoulders as he unclasps it. He hands it to me, frowning slightly.

"Here. You're cold."

I shake my head, "I'm fine.

He retreats his hand, awkwardly stuffing it into a crumpled heap into his bag.

"Ron, we should talk," I say, my brows lowering as I gauge his face as it closes off at the mention of this topic.

"I'm fine, Hermione."

"I know you are," I assure, "I just want to tell you—" I cut off, because I don't know what to say. Nothing will make him feel better, and certainly not anything from me. I had broken up with him in the Burrow, in that cramped attic bedroom of his. I had been horrible, leaving him just months after he lost Fred, but I couldn't do it anymore. I don't regret it, but everytime we're alone together, it feels different.

Thankfully, I am spared from having to say something, because Professor McGonagall—Headmistress McGonagall—clears the tables and gathers everyone's attention for her start of the term speech.

"Welcome everyone, to a new year at Hogwarts," she says, smiling as everyone claps and a few cheers can be heard from the other end of the Gryffindor table.

"These past few months of rebuilding have been difficult, but we have repaired the castle in time for our first term this year. I know many of you were at the battle in this very castle a few months ago. I know many of you lost parents, friends, family, and fellow classmates. I would like to take a moment of silence to honor every witch and wizard who fought bravely with us, and died to protect the wizarding world from the threat of Voldemort."

The Great Hall goes silent, every face solemn and haunted with memories that still chase me from my sleep every night.

After a moment, she continues, her voice hoarser than it had been before, "I have decided to reopen this school and take on the burden of Headmistress for the sole reason that I feel it is my responsibility to keep this school open for those who want to learn. For those who have nowhere else to go, who have lost their homes and families, and who have always found a place here.

"As you all know," she continued, "There remain a significant portion of students who missed their final year at Hogwarts due to the war. They will be joining us this term, and sharing our dorms and classes. Some rooming arrangements have changed, so if you are a student returning as an eighth year, please come see me after the feast in my office for more details. Now, I expect we're all tired after a long day, so I won't keep you any longer. Here's to a great year at Hogwarts," she finishes, raising her glass as everyone in the room echoes the movement.

"Rooming arrangements have changed?" I ask, turning to Ron. All across the hall, whispers are spreading.

Ron gives me an unconcerned look, and says, "Who knows? Maybe we'll get bigger bunks."

A/N: That's it for chapter one! Chapter two will be up next week (and will feature a Draco POV) :))