The first thing Harry noticed as he entered the Great Hall was how sparse the tables were—only half the usual number of Gryffindors and Slytherins were there (for different reasons, he imagined), and even the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables held empty spaces for those who had died or those who were reluctant to return. Harry saw Ginny looking at their House Table where Colin Creevey's usual seat was unoccupied, and he squeezed her hand tightly.

Glancing up at him, she smiled, though her eyes seemed glazed with tears. He pulled her into a hug. "Ginny, if this is going to be too hard, I can find Professor McGonagall and tell her you're ill. She won't ask any questions, and you can go straight to the House dormitories."

Ginny shook her head vehemently. "No, I can do this," she said, and for the first time in four months, Harry heard the determination and resolve of the woman he fell in love with.

They walked to the Gryffindor table, fingers intertwined, to find Neville, Hermione, and Ron already sitting down. Poor Neville was lodged in between the feuding couple, and Hermione and Ron both had their heads turned pointedly away from each other. Ron was picking at his robe and Hermione's head was buried in a book.

"What stupid thing did Ron say this time?" Ginny murmured as they sat down next to each other. "I haven't seen Hermione so upset in a long time."

Harry looked at her, surprised. "She's reading. How can you tell she's upset?"

"Men," Ginny said with an eye roll. "You never notice anything. She's been crying."

Sure enough, when Harry looked more closely at his friend and saw that her eyes were rimmed with red. "Well, she was with us on the train for a bit, but then she left to sit elsewhere. I think she said something about Ron calling her a flirt?"

With a sigh, Ginny leaned over and kissed Harry on the temple. "Well, let's make sure this gets ironed out tonight… I don't want us to be the middle-men indefinitely."

Harry nodded and was about to say something to Ron when the hall went quiet, the roaring chatter now only excited whispers. The doors opened behind Professor McGonagall and hordes of first-years. At the end of the procession, however, there was a beautiful young woman about his age wearing a sky blue dress. Harry made sure he wasn't looking at her too long; Ginny was still fragile and bound to notice if he did.

The group processed toward the staff table at the front of the room. Right in front of the elevated table stood a dais with an old wooden stool and an even older, patched hat. As the last whispers in the Great Hall died, a large rip on the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat began to sing.

"Twelve centuries ago, according to wizard lore,

One founder took off his hat, that Gryffindor

And stuffed some brains into its head,

To sort the students when they were dead.

Now here am I to sort you all,

Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw

Each house with talents but without the other three

The school unbalanced, a lurking catastrophe.

In Gryffindor dwell the brave of heart,

In Slytherin, those of cunning and design,

In Hufflepuff, dwell those of loyalty,

And to Ravenclaw if you've a ready mind

So, step up, sit down and stuff me on

And I will tell you just where you belong!"

Although the older students had often heard songs from the Sorting Hat, they clapped; conversely, Harry noticed, the young first-years crowded around it seemed awe-struck at the singing hat. He waited for McGonagall to call the first first-year's name, but she paused and the hall fell silent once more.

"While it is customary for the Sorting Hat to place only first-year students into the Houses in which they will live while they are here, we have an extraordinary circumstance. This year we have a young woman, Eleanor Zianti, who will be joining us at Hogwarts as a seventh-year. Since Miss Zianti has no House to call her home, she will be sorted first, with the traditional sorting of first-years afterward.

"I ask that you make her feel welcome here in this castle. Thank you." Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Now, then, Miss Zianti…"

With a slight nod, the blonde-haired girl walked to the dais. She lifted the hat so that she could perch on the stool and gently let the hat fall onto her head. After a couple of moments, the hat cried, "RAVENCLAW!"

Loud cheers burst from the table directly behind Harry, and he turned to watch as with a pleased blush, Eleanor Zianti flounced over to the Ravenclaw table and sat down. Once the cheering had died down, McGonagall proceeded to sort the first years, and Harry allowed his attention to wander.

"That's rather unusual," Hermione said thoughtfully, as she looked at the Ravenclaw table directly behind Harry and Ginny, "I've never heard of a seventh-year being sorted into a house here. I wonder if it's ever happened in the history of Hogwarts."

"Look! She's talking to Luna," Ginny said, twisting around in her seat. She narrowed her eyes in concentration. "And it looks like she's laughing. Did Luna say something funny? If she's making fun of her for something she did… oh, she won't know what hit her…"

With a sigh, Harry put a hand on Ginny's back and gently guided her so that she was facing forward. "Gin, calm down. I'm sure that Zianti girl isn't making fun of her."

Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but instead, she tapped Harry on the forearm and pointed forward, gesturing at the Slytherin table. "Harry, look, it's Malfoy."

Ron faced forward immediately. "What, that little git is here? The one we all nearly died for last year?"

Hermione sighed and looked at Ron crossly. "Honestly, Ron… you could stand to be more sympathetic. He's had to go through things that we can't even…"

"So you're saying," Ron said loudly, "that you're not upset that he didn't help us when we were at the manor… when his barmy aunt was torturing you?"

"Ron," she hissed, "quiet. People will hear you. Malfoy will hear you."

But her warning came too late, because Harry saw Malfoy make direct eye contact with him and glare at him. The hall seemed to have gone silent, yet Ron was still having his tirade.

"Dear Merlin, how do I shut him up?" Hermione muttered, and in answer, Ginny slapped her older brother across the face. He stopped talking at once.

"What was that for?" he asked incredulously. "What did I do?"

Ginny met his eyes, glowering. "I hope you're not actually that thick. And if you are, then you don't deserve to know anyway."

As Ron and Ginny began to argue, Hermione dug her nose back into her book, and Neville toyed around with his fork and plate, Harry sighed. He hoped the feast would begin soon; he needed something to occupy his mind besides this mindless row.

HP*HP*HP

As the first-years continued to be sorted—all blasted forty of them—Draco thought back to his train ride that afternoon. That girl had been Eleanor Zianti, not just a pure-blood, but the heir to the French Zianti fortune which rivaled the Malfoy estate, and might even be larger.

She would be a good one to marry, he mused. Mother would like the fact that she was beautiful, Father would like the fact that her father, Alexander Zianti, was the former French Minister of Magic and a successful inventor of charms, and Draco thought he could probably tolerate the girl. Pansy had always been so petty and so… vapid. By the end of their relationship (which had been physical more than anything, he'd admit), he was about ready to wring her neck. In a way, he was very glad she hadn't returned to Hogwarts.

Glancing up from the Slytherin table, he saw the Weaselette and Potter looking at him. Gellert Grindelwald, what had he done this time? He hadn't even glanced their way tonight!

And now that Weasel was beginning to yell… most likely about him.

"…you're not upset that he didn't help us when we were at the manor… when his barmy aunt was torturing you?"

Trying to assuage his guilt, Draco glared sullenly in Ron's direction in hopes that he would shut his mouth, but met Harry's eyes instead. Fortunately, Potter's girlfriend slapped her brother across the face and he quieted. At once, the volume of the hall increased to its normal pitch, and Draco sighed. He'd always been one for attention, but now, any attention was bad attention it seemed; couldn't he just be invisible this year?

Food appeared on the table, and Draco allowed the feast to distract him from his thoughts. He shoveled shepherd's pie onto his plate and picked at it slowly, observing the other Slytherins around him. There was that Greengrass girl… Daphne, talking with her younger sister…Milicent Bulstrode hadn't returned…neither had that annoying little second-year…Avery? It seemed that only Slytherin students whose parents hadn't claimed loyalty to the Dark Lord were here…well, with the exception of him, of course. Draco smiled wryly: yet another reason for him to be an outcast within his house.

Eventually the food and the desserts disappeared, and Professor McGonagall stood up once more to address the entire school before her. Clearing her throat, the entire student body hushed to listen to the new Headmistress.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," she said, adjusting her spectacles. "I ask that this year, you remember the past, but do not dwell upon it. As we walk these halls we will forever remember the sacrifice given for the power of good, but it should give us strength to continue each day, not weaken us with morose thoughts.

"Before we head up to our dormitories, I would first like to welcome our new professors and introduce the Heads of Houses. Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is Auror Blake Proudfoot, who has generously given up his job at the Ministry to join us."

A tall brown-haired man with a pleasant face stood up and waved. Draco felt a faint sneer creep onto his face as the majority of the students clapped. Before the applause had gone too long though, McGonagall raised her hands and the room quieted, allowing her to continue.

"Unfortunately," she said, in a brisk voice, "we have not found an adequate Transfiguration teacher, so in the interim, I will both teach Transfiguration and act as Headmistress.

"And, now, for our Head of Houses," she announced. "Septima Vector, our professor of Aritmancy is the new Head of Gryffindor, and due to last years' circumstances, Professor Horace Slughorn will retain his post as the Head of Slytherin. As per usual, Filius Flitwick, our Charms professor, will be the Head of Ravenclaw, and Pomona Sprout, our professor of Herbology will be the Head of Hufflepuff House.

"I ask that Miss Zianti and any students who would have graduated last year barring the unusual circumstances remain in the Great Hall. Everyone else is excused and may follow the prefects up to their House common rooms. Tomorrow you will receive your schedules for the coming year. Thank you, and good night."

With a clap of her hands signaling their dismissal, the younger students began to chatter excitedly as the prefects ushered them out of the hall. Soon, it was relatively quiet, and Draco noticed that very few students remained. Among the ten or so that were left, he spotted Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Longbottom all crowded together. Zianti was over at the next table with Boot, and far away at the Hufflepuff table, Draco could see Hannah Abbot. Next to him stood Daphne Greengrass and another of Pansy's cronies whose name he didn't remember.

With a sigh, Draco began walking over toward Professor McGonagall where she stood on the dais. Soon, the ten students had formed a cluster around the older woman. Glancing around at them, she began to speak.

"Since you should have all graduated, with the exception of Miss Zianti, we have no room in the House dormitories for you. As such, we have set up a separate dormitory for the eighth-year students by casting an engorgement charm upon one of the empty classrooms. We have modified it for your use, and it includes two functional bathrooms, a common area with a kitchen, and two dormitories… one male, one female.

"Miss Zianti, as we do not have any room in our seventh-year Ravenclaw dormitory, we have arranged for you to live with the eighth-year female students. If you have no other questions, I will escort you to your dormitories."

Glancing around, Draco could tell that they did have questions, but he knew it would be pointless to say so. Judging by the looks on everyone's faces, they would keep their concerns to themselves. As it was, Professor McGonagall began walking, her emerald green robes swirling about her as she exited the Great Hall; Draco had to jog to keep up.

While they walked to their new dormitories, Draco couldn't help but look at Eleanor from the corner of his eye; her lips were slightly parted as she looked around her; she must be fascinated by the décor, he thought smugly. Once, she caught him looking at her, and he swiveled his head in the other direction so that she might think he had glanced at something else in her general direction.

At last, they reached the fourth floor where a painting of an armored knight on a fat gray pony sat looking at them.

Draco heard some groaning ahead of him where Potter and Weasley were.

"Professor, why do we have to have him? He's such a bloody pain."

The older witch pursed her lips at Weasley's language but only said, "Weasley, Sir Cadogan was the only portrait willing to take the job on such short notice. I am aware of his tendency to change passwords with unnecessary frequency, and I will look for a replacement as soon as possible. Until then, you will have to manage."

Longbottom looked horrified. "Professor, don't you remember our third year? I had to ask him the whole week's list of passwords, and then I lost the list and well… surely, you remember?"

With a sigh, Professor McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder. "Longbottom, everything will be fine. Miss Granger will be more than happy to help you out should you need it."

"Miss Granger, if I could speak with you for a moment… and the rest of you may head inside. The password is: Mandragora."

Glancing once more in Zianti's direction, Draco cleared his throat and tapped on the frame of the portrait. Sir Cadogan turned around and his eyes lit up with recognition.

"Fight, you bloody cowards! Fight!"

"Mandragora," Draco said in a bored drawl, and disappointed, Sir Cadogan's picture swung forward to show a doorway into a large, bright common room with several couches and stuffed armchairs covered in scarlet, royal, emerald, and gold fabrics. Once all of them had entered—minus Granger, that teacher's pet—Draco glanced around, only to find Eleanor standing behind him. She had her eyebrow raised infuriatingly, and he felt his eyes narrow.

"A little bit jumpy, are we?" she asked. Draco supposed she was amused, and he felt the condescension in her voice.

"No," he muttered. "I'm fine." He turned to enter the dormitory to his left, but Eleanor tapped his shoulder.

"I believe," she said innocently, "the men's part of the flat is that way." She pointed to where Potter and Weasley had gone. "After all, you really don't want to earn the reputation as the wizard who steals young women's virtue by sneaking in their rooms uninvited, do you?"

Draco gritted his teeth, trying to keep his temper in check, and smoothed his face before she could see his annoyance. "A Malfoy never steals," he said coolly before stalking off in the other direction. He knew his retort was weak, but he couldn't think of anything witty. Zianti just caught him so off-guard.

He entered the room that she had indicated only to find Potter, Weasley, Boot, and Longbottom already there. Three of the beds were decorated with gold and scarlet hangings, one with blue and bronze, and the other with green and silver. Draco took his place on the end next to Boot and found his trunk at the end of his bed. Leafing through it, he found a pair of satin pajamas and began to disrobe. While he did so, he heard the others talking about Zianti.

"It's so weird that she shows up as a seventh-year, right mate?" Weasley was saying. "I mean, who's ever heard of such a thing?"

"Dunno," Potter replied, "but I'm sure that Hermione will make her feel welcome."

"Hermione's the only Gryffindor in that dorm…"

"Ron, she'll be fine. Hermione's not one to start petty fights—"

"Oh, really? Could have fooled me with the row we had this afternoon on the train—"

Buttoning up his top, Draco tuned out. As amusing as it might be to hear Potty and the Weasel get into an argument, he really wasn't in the mood tonight. Pushing down the covers of his four-poster bed, he pulled the hangings around him and climbed into bed.

Shortly after, the voices of Potter and Weasley died down, and the lights in the room turned off, but Draco remained awake. Though he was trying hard to sleep, a certain smirk of the face of a certain blonde kept floating through his memory.