A/N: Thank you all so much for reviewing, favoriting, and following! I'm so excited that someone out there likes my story. I hope to update as often as possible. As soon as I posted the first chapter last night I began working on the second chapter. I hope you all enjoy where I'm taking the story, but please let me know if you have any comments, questions, or concerns that need clarification. Enjoy chapter 2! And, of course, I do not own the Harry Potter world.

Hermione didn't see Malfoy again that night. She had looked for him at dinner, but was surprised at herself and proceeded to eat her dinner without staring at the Slytherin table every chance she got. It turns out not many Gryffindors returned for their eighth year and Hogwarts was already beginning to feel bizarre without Harry and Ron flanking her sides.

The school looked almost exactly as it had before, as if McGonagall had charmed an original blueprint of the school to reappear in the world. The Great Hall was as jubilant as ever as the first years walked in with excitement heavy in their voices. The conversations she was hearing were filling her with a melancholia that she recognized well. She missed the innocence of her first year at Hogwarts. Just seven years earlier she never would have guessed that she would be fighting to save the wizarding world from irrevocable danger. Seven years ago she never would have imagined feeling the emotions that swept over her on a daily basis. She didn't know this type of sadness existed in the world.

Hermione was sitting with a few seventh years that she recognized from years prior and was discussing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Her eyes instinctively looked up at the long table at the front of the hall where professors were seated and watching the students. McGonagall winked at Hermione from across the room and smiled, happy to see one of the most brilliant students to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts back and eager to learn. Four seats down sat a man with darker skin and curly hair taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. He was older, probably in his late forties, and had a tattoo on his face that shimmered in the light.

A short mousy woman sat beside him wearing bright emerald robes and a witch's hat. She was reading the same copy of the Daily Prophet that Hermione had been studying all day. She watched the small photo of Draco grinning on the cover even though she couldn't make out any of the details. His face had burned itself into her memory—she didn't even need to look at the cover to know how he was moving in the photograph. She closed her eyes and watched as he jumped into his mother's arms and turned towards he camera with a wide smile spread across his face.

McGonagall stood up and tapped her fork against her goblet. Hermione's eyes opened. "I would like to welcome all first years to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as all eighth year students that decided to continue their education here despite the terrible events that took place here just last term. As per tradition, we will begin tonight's festivities with the Sorting Hat, and then we will continue with the feast. Afterwards, I would like all prefects and honorary head students to escort first years to their common rooms. Please provide passwords and ensure that everyone has settled in nicely for their first night here.

"Before I continue on to the sorting of houses, I would like to introduce Mister Ulric Lofgoran and Althea Hildegaard as your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and your Potions professor, respectively. We look forward to working with them this year.

"Now, let's begin!"

Roughly twenty new students moved to each house table. Hermione and her fellow Gryffindors were cheering happily, and she wondered how she looked as her skin pulled tightly on each side of her face. The Burrow had been so buried with grief she couldn't remember the last time she showed her teeth. It felt foreign, like her muscles were frozen in a permanent frown. The cheering eventually ended and the feast began, and as Hermione felt her facial features return to normal she tried everything in her power to resist looking up at the Slytherin table. She still couldn't spot him.

~ { oOo } ~

Hermione was felt a twinge of excitement when she walked into the Potions classroom and spotted that blonde mass of hair sitting in the corner next to Blaise. Classes with Slytherins usually didn't bring her joy, but after her encounter with Malfoy the previous day, she thought perhaps things really could change. Still, she decided on a seat towards the back, away from Malfoy and any other Slytherins. She pulled her book out onto her desk but did not open it. She was thrilled to be in a classroom again, but she still felt a sharp inability to focus on her studies the way she used to. The information was there, stored in the lobes of her brain, but there was a fog that clouded her thoughts and kept her mind occupied.

She thought of Molly and Fred. Hermione looked up and caught Malfoy staring at her over Blaise's shoulder. He muttered something to Blaise, and Hermione saw him get up from his seat and move next to Hermione. She immediately straightened her back and placed her hand on her book. Why was he coming over? She looked straight ahead at the desk where Althea Hildegaard should have already been standing.

Malfoy sat down in the empty seat next to her but said nothing. Neither of them spoke as the class waited for Professor Hildegaard to show up to class, but they both felt the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. Moments later, Professor Hildegaard walked into the classroom holding a jar of black liquid in her hands. She set the jar on the desk and asked the class to name the liquid. Hermione scribbled the answer down on her sheet of paper but did not raise her hand to say it aloud.

Draco Malfoy, to her left, watched as she wrote "Motherwort Stew, made with motherwort, anise, and mint. When brewed together at low temperatures, the stew becomes thick and black, but when ingested feels as if you're swallowing nothing. Uses are relief brought on by grief and worry." He looked at her profile, waiting for her damned hand to shoot up in the air. Something was clearly wrong.

"Motherwort Stew," Professor Hildegaard answered her own question. "And can anyone tell me what it does?" She scanned the room waiting for a response. "Yes, um…"

"Draco Malfoy."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, what is Motherwort Stew used for?"

Malfoy glanced once at Hermione and then at the professor standing at the head of the class. "It's used to relieve symptoms of grief and worry."

"That is correct! Five points to Slytherin! You all will be brewing this potion today with the help of your partners. For today, simply work with the student next to you. Next class I will assign pairs for the term. Now, grab a cauldron and your necessary ingredients. Instructions are on page 27 of your textbooks."

As soon as the professor was done speaking, most of the students in the classroom stood up to retrieve materials for the day's lesson. Draco and Hermione remained seated in the back of the classroom. "Too scared to speak up in class without Potter and the Weasel sitting next to you, Granger?"

Hermione simply shrugged and muttered, "Sod off, Malfoy." She noticed he was using her last name again. "What does it matter anyway, it's not like anyone else in the class knows what kind of student I am."

"Has the war changed you that much? Why are you even here?" he asked her while shaking his head aggressively.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as her head snapped up to him. Her voice was a fierce whisper. "Of course the war changed me that much. Have you really bounced back so quickly, Malfoy, that you forgot all of the torture and loss the rest of us went through because of your side?" She reminded herself to breathe deeply. Hermione looked around to make sure no other students were listening in on their conversation, but they all seemed to be talking with their own partners and beginning to brew their potions.

"And I'm here because I want life to go back to normal." Hermione's voice had lost its anger and was floating lightly in the air. "Only I haven't gone back to normal yet." She stood up to retrieve a cauldron for her and Draco to share, as well as the numerous ingredients necessary to brew the Motherwort Stew.

When she got back to their desk Draco was already reading the instructions on how to brew the potion and was controlling the temperature of the flames he'd just ignited. He took the cauldron from Hermione's hands and set it on top of the fire. "Start stirring in the anise and chopped mint." Draco wouldn't even look at her, but his voice was different, less harsh. Less accusatory.

Hermione did as she was told without question, thinking their dynamic in Potions class might not be all that bad. Malfoy had always excelled at Potions and was questionably better at it than she. Not that she would ever admit it, especially to him, but they would make a dazzling pair in that class.

"I'm sorry for what I said, Hermione. I just never would have guessed that the Gryffindor Princess would hide away in class and resort to scribbling answers instead of calling them out."

"There you go again, using my first name as if we're friends. Just because I'm civil to you, Malfoy, doesn't mean we've formed a friendship." Hermione was stirring the potion and checking the temperature.

"But haven't we? We are the only two people in this building right now that know exactly what happened at the Manor that night. I think we formed a sort of friendship the moment I hid your identity at the Manor." Draco looked at Hermione with ferocity, begging silently for her to disagree. He knew she couldn't.

Hermione could smell the potion beginning to transform into its thick, bubbly state. She had made the potion over the summer as she waited for classes to resume. She knew the instructions forward and backward, but what she didn't know is that Draco was correct. She hadn't even thought of their circumstances that way, but he was right—they were the only two people there that had experienced that traumatic night. She couldn't tell if she was comforted or disturbed by that fact, but from the look Draco Malfoy was giving her, she was feeling the slightest sense of comfort.

"Is that why you did it? To make friends?" she said somewhat incredulously.

"Do you truly believe I lied to them just so one day, months later, you and I could become friends? You're bloody mad." Anger was once again laced into his voice. "I was on the Dark Side, Hermione, my top priority wasn't finding new friends in preparation for the end of the war."

"It's not an absurd question considering you left Blaise to sit next to me. Friendship may not have been your first priority, but evidently neither was being a Death Eater." Her eyes had been burning holes in the side of his face as he prepared the jars for the potion they had just brewed. Hermione looked away from him, unable to understand him.

Professor Hildegaard walked over to their table and dipped a ladle into the contents of the cauldron. She swirled the deep spoon in front of her nose before bringing it to her lips for a taste. "This is absolute perfection! I haven't seen this potion brewed this well since I created it for the first time. Ten points to Slytherin and Gryffindor! And I hope you'll enjoy the same pairing in the next class."

Draco grabbed his book and stood up to leave, once again leaving Hermione in the wake of his words. Were she and Draco friends of sorts?

~ { oOo } ~

Draco couldn't believe Hermione was sitting in the back of a classroom during a lesson maintaining silence. The girl was never silent during lessons! If she was doing something slightly more suspicious he might have considered checking if she was under an Imperius curse. It was like she was walking with a completely different body.

But Draco understood the ways in which the war had affected people. If he could sense the changes in himself, surely he could sense the ones in Hermione Granger. Her hair had grown longer and was wilder than ever, though the frizz was gone, leaving it in loose rings that moved with her body. She eyes were the same rich chocolate brown, but she looked more vacant these days, like her mind was constantly elsewhere. At dinner the first night, he noticed how empty she looked as she stared up at the bewitched ceiling. Was she looking for something or looking at nothing? He had to admit that a small part of him was worried if he looked up too many times he would eventually see the Dark Mark hovering above them during their meal.

He couldn't help but replay their conversation in their head. She said she was here because she wanted life to go back to normal. Life was never going to be "back to normal". Was life ever normal for them? Draco may not have been fighting trolls and entering the Chamber of Secrets in her younger years, but he was definitely facing his father's strict ideology regarding pureblood wizards and the Malfoy name. Up until now life had been completely planned out for him, and not in a woe-is-me sort of way. He knew how it looked, being the Malfoy heir and getting off easy on his charges. He knew that people wouldn't understand his innocence in the situation.

Draco was fighting for his life in a different way at 12 years old, and, more recently, at 17 years old. Disagreeing with his father, and more importantly the Dark Lord, was impossible without the consequence of death. So he said what he needed to say and do what he needed to do in order to perfect his performance as a heartless git. When it was announced that he wouldn't be sent to Azkaban like his father, the grin splayed across every copy of the Daily Prophet was a response to the massive amount of relief that filled his body. He was free. Free from everything that had once dictated his life and drained his body like a daily dementor's kiss. His requirement to finish school with near perfect grades and participation in school activities was welcomed with fervor.

While Hermione was there to get back to normal, he was there to start over. He knew students would recognize his name because of the amount of publicity and media coverage his family's trials had gotten, but they didn't know the version of him that had walked the halls of Hogwarts before the war.

When he spoke to Hermione he was truly speaking to Hermione. He was repenting, showing the few people that did bother to come back for their eighth year that he hadn't meant to harm anyone else in the process of saving himself. Hermione didn't know that, of course, nor did she know that Draco had been feeling emotions towards her since she testified on his behalf. He was feeling mostly gratitude, like he owed her something now. He owed her a chance to get back to normal.

Would it ever be possible for the two of them to be friends? Maybe their eighth year was a way for them to hit "reset" on their very first year at Hogwarts, and maybe this was his chance to start over with Hermione. This was his chance to prove to her that he never saw her as inferior. Quite the opposite, actually, he respected someone who made better grades than he did and had a mind as quick as his. Whenever he went home and his father asked about his grades he was more excited than angry to announce that Granger the muggleborn was scoring higher than he. The horrified look in his father's eyes filled Draco with a sense of defiance, of rebellion, knowing that his father might use him as a puppet, but deep down inside Draco Malfoy was his own person. And he was not put off by the Gryffindor Princess's ability to keep up with even the purest of wizards.

~ { oOo } ~

Potions was Hermione's last class of the day, and, as such, found herself sitting in the library looking for a book on plants and herbs found in the Forbidden Forest. She grabbed the book she was looking for and sat down at one of the tables. Just as she opened it she heard footsteps growing nearer. Refusing to break her concentration, Hermione continued reading her book, thinking if it was anyone of importance they would make themselves known.

And, as if reading her mind, Draco Malfoy cleared his throat and pulled a chair out from under the table. "Should've known I'd find you here," he said with a chuckle. He dropped his bag on the table and sat down opposite Hermione.

Hermione really didn't know what to say. She knew her relationship with Malfoy had been steadily changing, but didn't know how to approach this change. "Look," he began, "I want to call a truce. We don't have to be friends if the idea puts you off, but I would fancy a study partner if you're interested."

She glanced at him briefly but otherwise kept her eyes locked on the pages of her book. She looked skeptical, her eyes narrow, and her legs now crossed as she leaned back in her chair.

"Why in Merlin's name would I want to sit with the man who called me a 'mudblood' the first six years of schooling? Give me one good reason why I should help you, Malfoy." Hermione rolled her eyes and placed her now closed book on the table between them. She couldn't believe what he was asking of her. Had he really forgotten their past?

He leaned forward and met her gaze with a smirk. "Well, besides the fact that it seems you have no friends here right now, and without taking into consideration how bloody handsome I am, you should help me because you already have once before. You know as well as I do that none of us are the same as we were back then." At the end of his sentence he voice had gotten more serious. His smirk fell off his face.

"And, what, because the Dark Lord fell you suddenly aren't a pompous git anymore?" She helped him during his trials because she was doing what was right. Hermione could set her feelings aside for one day as she convinced the Ministry of Magic that Draco Malfoy didn't deserve Azkaban, but this? How could she suddenly be smitten with someone who fought to kill her and her friends, her family, her classmates? Then again, she knew his reasoning had been quite different.

"Look, I owe you… a lot for what you did. Just let me show you that it was worth something." Draco's eyes were filled with sincerity. Hermione wasn't heartless, she just didn't want to be taken advantage of. Sometimes she could be a bit too understanding of those around her.

"Fine, I'll help you with your classes. But seriously, Malfoy, don't cross me."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Hermione." He pulled out his Potions textbook and began reading. Hermione simply watched him, looking for signs of an Imperius.