Resistance: In a post- Voldemort world some people change, and some aren't willing to let old grudges die.
It was over. Certainly and without a doubt in the most rational person's mind, the battle had ended. Though there were whispers here and there, mostly from gossipy old hags or the unemployed who had nothing better to do than yap their conspiracy themes the final battle had ended with Voledmort's death. With the last of the death eaters rounded up. Hell who was he kidding? Old money still held up against the wild accusations and fears of this new post- voldemort world. Of course almost all of the well known players in the dark lord's army, the ones whose names had appeared almost in a daily occurence across the daily owl or some other low brand, high read wizarding newspaper during those darkest times as either high ranking officials or important enough persons to appear in any wizarding magazine. There were some who kept a low profile, Seraphine Neadra, the only other formal female death eater aside from the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange who had managed to escape the almost frantic roundup from the ministry during their rush to win points from the public after their near catastrophic downfall during the reign of he who must not be named. But he could be named now. No sooner had the light faded from the dark lords eyes that the cowardly had allowed his true name to fall from their filthy lips. Persons who had not dared speak his name in decades felt the need to state boldly Voldemort. Tom Riddle. He shivered in disgust. Cold rain tittered silently against the large window of the ancient pristine estate. Lightning slashed through the night sky like a sizzling cut through a dark sheet of paper. And it was his time. Sipping elegantly at a spotless wine glass filled with a warm wine as red as blood, Lucius Malfoy allowed a sneer to play on one side of his lip. He supposed he should have felt foolish,following blindly behind a half- breed for decades. He allowed a sigh to escape his persons. Though surely undignified the master of the house was in the comfort of his study. His wife and son long gone to bed. In the privacy of the master study Lucius could admit to himself that he did not know for sure what his dear family was doing. He had ignored his wife's slightly disapproving side stares as long as he could, though her eyes darted back elsewhere when he caught her gaze, he could not help but feel he had failed them somehow. He often wondered what her stare would have looked like if the dark lord had won. Would her eyes shine as brightly as they did when their son was born? Would they have held the same pride as they did when she presented them with their son? He would not know. As for his heir he could not help but feel a sting of regret. The roughness he had treated the boy since he had been born, preparing him for a lord who was as worthless as the very mudbloods he had preached against made him sick. He half smiled to himself. That would change. Never one to dwell on his mistakes Lucius's mind was already 2 steps ahead. After all he was a real pureblood. He had concluded that the dark lord had failed because of his half-tainted blood. He frowned. Potter had beaten him. Potter the half-blood. A half blood beating a half blood. Two unworthy stains of the earth trying to rid each other off existence. Lucius glared slightly. He supposed he owed some type of life debt to potter, him and his merry band of willing idiots. Gods he hated them all. Potter was a given, he had been hating the child since he was a small babe in his mudblood mother's womb. Weasley was also a given. He had hated every red headed brat that came out of poor and fertile Arthur weasley's seed. Every Weasely was immensely useless. And worst of all that mudblood. Eyebrows furrowing most undelicately he could not help the groan of annoyance slipping past his arrogant lips. The only thing that helped Potter win the war was a filthy mudblood. He had always wondered if Draco had been friends with Potter, and they were on a mission to defeat such insignificant creatures such as say, a giant would they have gotten as far as they had as with the mudblood helping potter defeat the dark lord? Admittedly, and most regrettably the answer was a big no. His pureblood son was no match in intellect to a filthy mudblood. How shameful. He pictured her there with them, giant uncontrollable light brown curls hanging at her waist, holding up some large book lecturing idiot potter and weasely about something they were probably too stupid to figure out on their own. He had last seen her at their manor, her filthy blood being the first in his home in the many centuries of the manor's existence. She had come with the rest of the trio, everyone of them filthy. She had worn some sort of dress, green leaves sticking to them at every crease, chest heaving erratically and large brown eyes set afire with defiance. He had wanted to be the one to break her. He had wanted her to submit to him her inferiority over his own persons. Wild hair windblown and long, probably from lack of a haircut during their year on the run. It stretched past her bottom as she writhed on the floor from Bellatrix's curses. Like an uncontrollable brown river spread around her head. And then she had sat up, her body at an odd angle, waist twisted as she pulled herself from the floor with all the strength she could muster, looking like a broken wood nymph and spat at them. He had been disgusted and intrigued at the same time. His mind had wandered back to the mudblood quite a few times since then. He had been indifferent and disgusted at her existence in his world at first. Now he was disgusted and furious. He felt that familiar fury boil up in his chest and then with a flash it was gone. Even if the dark pretender was dead this was not the end of his mission. As long as true pure bloods believed in the old ways, his morals would live on. Lucius Malfoy would make sure of that.
Draco Malfoy had wanted nothing more than to transfer, or to at least shrink from existence than to face the utter humiliation of returning back to Hogwarts. He had been defeated. Rather, his side had been defeated. After all the big talk during his many years as a resident student it had been all hot air. They had lost. But like a Malfoy he was here. Albeit mostly at the insistance of his mother, who had scolded him about being a coward. About having nothing to be ashamed of as he listened on dubiously. Malfoy's do not cower, she had told him firmly. And so he was back. He had to admit that Professor Mcgonagall being so accepting of his return had made him feel for lack of a better word, wanted. He did not think if she had coldly rebuked him that he would have walked in there with his head held high. It would not do to strut around with his head down, he was a Malfoy after all.
"What the hell is he doing here!" Hermione sighed loudly and put down her book. Glancing across the dinner table at one of her oldest friends, Ron Weasley, who had loudly slammed down his goblet and splashing pumpkin juice all over her parchments, she breathed in deeply. She knew she should not scold Ron. After all his brother had been killed in the final battle, and his little sister had almost joined him. Ron had been an emotional wreck, withdrawn and needy at the same time. Though she tired of constantly comforting him, a stab of guilt always flowed through her as she thought of avoiding him. He needed her now, he needed them all. So as politely as she could she ground out "What are you on about Ron?" But Ron was staring past her. Confused she glanced at Harry, who was sitting beside him. "Harry wha-?" Hermione's voice trailed off as she saw a fury settled on both of her friends faces. "I can't believe they let him back." Came a nasty voice beside her, and Hermione turned to look at the youngest weasley. Ginny had been increasingly bitter since the war and the death of her brother, Hermione could not believe so much meaness and hate could reside in such a tiny girl. Though she could understand her position, she did not like the change in any of her friends. Maybe hermione was trying to rush on progress. To try to forget it all. But bitter feelings still remained on both sides. Every day there was a fight between a slytherin and anyone of the other houses. After Dumbledore's death it seemed no other teacher or classmate could calm the undercurrent of hate that stemmed from decades of ill feelings between the houses and the bloodlines. "-Don't want your kind here Malfoy!" She had caught out of her ear. With a gasp and a speed so quick her hair hit ron sitting across from her, who uttered an angry "Oi!" Hermione's head whipped around to watch a scene unfold before her. Catching sight of a shock of White-blonde hair hermione did not hold back her own bitter words. "What the bloody hell is that inbred arse doing here this is our school. She may have preached moving on and tolerance but all of that went out the window when she set eyes on malfoy. He had been the bane of her existence since she had found out what a mudblood was. Oh and he had tried to kill them and her kind for many years. A shuffle and a glimpse of red pulled her eyes away from the top of malfoy's head. "Ron" she warned. But the red head was already gone. Not now. The war had ended and taken too many lives. Now was the time to move on. To heal. It was impossible to do with so many confrontations. The bitter and hurt side of her told her to let ron pummel the git. But the rational side of her broke through. "Harry." Hermione started to plead. But to her horror she saw striding through the crowd behind ron, an equally irrational and sadistic look played across his face. She knew what was about to happen before Draco did. With a sickening crack Ron's fist connected with Malfoy's face and Hermione groaned, though she could not help the satisfied feeling in the pit of her stomach at the sight of a malfoy being handled as he deserved. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a satisfied almost deviant look on Ginny Weasely's face and she shuddered. Pushing herself to her feet, Hermione rushed to her friends side before it could go any further, but before she could reach them all hell broke lose. It was slytherin against the world, spells flew out, sparks of yellow, purple, and gold lights streamed past her as she rushed and ducked, trying to reach Harry and Ron as they stood dueling with two of Malfoy's cronies. Malfoy was missing. Probably letting someone do his dirty work as always. She thought bitterly. "Look who it is." A voice hissed close by her ear. Hermione whipped around, coming face to face with a tanned dark haired Italian. Blaise Zabini. She had remembered the quiet yet intelligent boy from the many classes the griffindors were forced to take with slytherins. He had always seemed so different from the rest. Never bothering to get in the middle of frays, his dark coal eyes indifferent to every bit of drama around him. Bu that was before the war. The Blaise Zabibi before her now stood coldly, his posture almost as arrogant as Malfoy's a cruel glint in his eyes that hermione knew all too well. She had seen it on her friends faces when they had thought nobody was looking. But hermione had always been quite observant. "Zabini." She gasped, almost in warning. "I don't want to fight you." His responding laugh was like a bark. Short, cold and to the point. " Come now Granger, he purred, flipping his shoulder length dark hair out of his eyes with a toss of the head, there are lots of things we may not want to do." Her face twisted into confusion. And if she thought it was bad before, the situation had gotten even worse. A death eater garb was the first thing she saw before she heard other pops of appirations. And then the screams started. They were back, she thought frantically. With everything they had worked for hermione had never taken the time to think about any retaliations. Everything was supposed to have been perfect. Voldemort was gone. But she had been to fool to think the more radical among them would have it in them to forget. With another gasp hermione lurched forward to find her friends. "What do we have here?" A hiss beside her stopped her in her tracks. Blaise Zabini. She had remembered the boy and name from the numerous agonizing years that slytherins and griffondors were forced into classes together. He had always been a smart boy, though very quiet, refusing to get into the usual scuffles the houses had every year. He stood tall, his tanned skin glowing almost orange amid the many curses and spells. His eyes held a dark glint, so cold they would have shocked her if it had not been for the fact that she had seen the same look on her friends faces everytime she had looked at them when they had though no one was watching them. She instinctively pulled out her wand. " I don't want to have to hurt you." She warned. He grinned, a cold patronizing little mockery of a smile. "There's so many things that i'd like to do to you granger." He teased almost playfully, licking his lips almost seductively. And in that moment Hermione thought of Fenrir Greyback, disgusting beast. That look on Zabini's face had flashed her back into an almost panicked state. And in that moment Hermione did not see Blaise's wand raise to her, but she did feel a weight crushing into her side, sending her flying a few feet away. At first she thought she had been hit by a spell, until she forced her eyes open to see Malfoy staring down at her. "Get off me!" She screamed. "I just save your life you bint!" He yelled back defensively. And it was true, rolling away from him Hermione could see Zabini standing a few inches away with a contorted look of disbelief and hate on his face. He raised his wand to her again. And in that second she felt a tug at her naval, and malfoy and hermione were no more, as draco pulled her along into the familiar abyss that was side apparition.
A/N: I do not own the characters. Please R and R =)