He moved toward her, almost immediately curtailing to her left. She danced out of the way, striking his rib with a jab as she twisted. She heard him swear under his breath, turning toward her once more. They stood motionless for a moment as they sized each other up. Before he could make a move, she flew forward, making to deliver an undercut. He was too quick. He took a lithe hop backwards, just out of reach of the blow. His back was against the ring ropes now. She pursued the step, fists raised just below her chin.

Hermione struck out toward his jaw. Malfoy ducked quickly, not expecting the knee that came up to meet his nose. He cussed more loudly this time. Before she could offer another blow, he stumbled to her left, wiping the blood that had trickled down his mouth with the back of his wrist. His eyes had feverous quality as he stared her down.

Without warning, he raged forward, she moved, but no quickly enough. They traded ducks and blows, though none enough serious to do any real harm, before Malfoy managed to land a kick to her stomach that left her winded. As she went to double over, the heel of his hand found her shoulder and knocked her off balance. Pain surged through the bruised collar bone, and she went down on one knee, clutching the damage. Her face was pointed downwards. She watched the floor, pretending not to notice as he gained on her. A moment before he could strike the finishing blow, she spun out, her leg straightening to catch the back of his knee, and he went down. She gained her footing once more, rolling onto the balls of her feet without hesitation and executing a second kick, this time to his chest. He fell onto his back. She got a good look at him, then. His platinum perfect hair was matted with perspiration, blood and sweat sticking strands to his flushed cheeks. She approached slowly, reveling in her victory. He looked defeated, and she opened her mouth to make a quip.

She never got it out. Though on the floor not a moment prior, he managed to leap back onto his feet, and launched himself into an unchivalrous tackle. She was not braced for the impact, and was swept off her feet, landing square on her own back. The breath left her in a rush. Draco pulled back a fist but stopped short. He had her pinned to the floor, and had clearly won. Their chests were heaving, sweat soaking through their clothes and setting a glistening sheen over their skin. Their eyes met with an animalistic intensity, and it took a moment for both of them to remember where they were. Draco seemed to catch himself first. He realised his that fist was still poised and lowered it almost sheepishly.

That was when the class began to clap. It was like a bucket of cold water over their heads, and they jumped apart like the mere touch was an electric shock. Hermione fled, ducking under the ropes while Draco leapt over them, landing like a cat on the gym floor. I was supposed to be the lion. She thought, though she couldn't conjurer as much bitterness as usual, her mind elsewhere.

Seamus clapped her on the back, which made her wince. The ache overcame her body then, unbidden. The coach pulled out her wand and went to her, but she waved her on, "I'm pretty sure I broke his nose, miss. Best get on that first."

Maddy whistled, putting her hands on her hips. "Wow, you guys must really hate each other! What is it with you Griffindors and Slytherins?"

"Just nature, I guess." Hermione strained through her teeth, watching the man at the other end of room. The coach was working on his face and bruises, but every once in a while he would glance up at her, those steely grey eyes fixed with a war of emotions burning inside.

He was sitting in the great hall, his midday coffee in one hand and the Odyssey open in the other. It was a muggle story, from the ancient Greeks. He supposed the author could have been a wizard, given the lack of documentation back then. He told himself that to justify his curiosity when he picked it out of the library. The current chapter spoke of a place called Troy, and supposedly the most beautiful woman on earth, Helen. He was more curious about her daughter, though she was not much of a instrumental character.

He was snapped out the epic by the sound of fluttering paper. Looking up, he found himself face to face with a beige howler. Well, at least it wasn't a red one. It opened itself and spoke with the Head Mistress's Scottish articulation. "Mr. Malfoy, please report to my office at two o'clock. I would appreciate a punctual arrival." The piece of paper tore itself up. That might have been the most vanilla howler he'd ever received. He felt somewhat disappointed. Looking at the clock, he realised he had less than twenty minutes to get halfway across the castle. Packing up his bag and downing the remains of his caffeine fix, he set off.

The castle had an eerie beauty to it, now. It was full of life, yet scarred by so much death. In many ways it was the same place he grew up, and in other ways there was a world of difference. He passed where the Room of Requirement sometimes opened, and a nightmare came flooding back. Screaming. The sound of crackling flames and panicking cornwall pixies. Screaming. Goyle falling to his death, engulfed by a wildfire. The whistling of brooms. Screaming. The shattering of glass. Screaming.

He was a cruel child, and as an adult he was even more so. Nevertheless, Gregory had grown up with him, they'd learned to ride brooms together, shared their first chocolate frogs when they were six, swapped wizard trading cards at the age of nine. Went to Ollivanders to get their wands at ten. He remembered the excitement they had when they were at the sorting hat at eleven. Crabbe and him had drifted apart, and he only became friends Blaise at sixteen. But Goyle was there throughout. Flawed as he was.

His steps had taken him halfway across the castle, and most of the paintings on the walls there knew him. Mostly, they kept to themselves, occasionally he would be greeted by glares, but there were a few that were kind. The Lady in Red smiled as he passed, "Afternoon, Draco." He nodded back to her. A little further on, the Werechild gave him a wolfish grin, and the Three Maidens giggled. Eventually, he reached the Gargoyles that marked the Head Mistress's office. He wondered for a moment how he would get by without a password. He had an idea of what it would be, it was worth a try. He opened his mouth, "Albus Dumbledore."

But the words had not come from him. He started. Swinging around, he found himself face to face with Granger. She gave little indication of her emotions, giving him a stiff acknowledgement before climbing the stairs that had lowered themselves onto the ground. He had no choice but to follow.

They entered the office, where McGonagall sat behind a huge mahogany desk with a quill and parchment, though she looked up upon their arrival. The portraits of all the past headmasters decorated the walls, most of them pretending to doze off. He saw that Dumbledore was there, with his eyes drooping shut, as was Professor Snape, who looked on with an impassive expression, no pretence at fatigue.

"Ah, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy, have a seat." She gestured to the two chairs in front of her desk.

They did. Granger began before she could even start her reprimand, "It won't happen again, Professor. I shouldn't have reacted to him. It was childish an-"

McGonagall cut her off. "Miss Granger, we're not here to talk about the incident in your self defence class. You shouldn't have gotten into a verbal altercation, admittedly, but I can't very well punish you for that."

"But the fight-"

"Was by Madam Kurin's sanction. You're not here to answer for that."

"Then what are we here for?" He queried. Whatever it was, he just wanted it to be over with so he could go back to his book.

"As you both know, there have been a great many changes within the school over the last few months, the many alterations and changes under scrutiny have made it difficult to provide much order. With new classes, new students -both the first years and the exchanges- new teaches and new renovations, many aspects on the agenda have been left until a certain stability had been obtained. This includes the reprisal of some traditional roles. You two are here because we have decided to retain one of our oldest and most prestigious positions."

"Meaning...?" He was running out of patience, and there was only so long he could spend in a room with Hermione without letting himself look at her.

"She..." He finally looked over at Granger, who was staring at him with wide eyes, "She wants us to be Head Girl and Head Boy." It came out in a whisper.

His head spun round to McGonagall. Could it be? He'd assumed that Hogwarts wouldn't be renewing those roles this year. Heads were usually contacted during the summer months, and announced at the sorting hat with the first years. McGonagall made no answer, but to slide two badges across the desk toward them. One was shimmering silver and forest green, with the words "Head Boy" in gold glimmering under the enamel. The other was crimson red and a sandy gold, with "Head Girl" printed in the same way.

There was nothing but silence for a few moments. Head boy? Two years ago, he didn't even think he'd live to be in his last year here, never mind actually attend. But to be Head Boy? He'd always done well grade wise, sure. Yes, he'd been a prefect, but that was under Umbridge. He needed the extra credit at the time; his father had just been called out as a death eater by the boy wonder, and his home life had gone to shit. He'd had to be a constant crutch for his mother, who was bearing the brunt of his father's fury, and neither did she escape the gossip of the press. The stress had made an impact on his grades, and his attitude. Head Boy? He repeated to himself. He was the son of a death eater, the boy who'd almost killed Dumbledore. The teenager who'd let murders into the school. How McGonagall forgive him? He couldn't forgive himself.

He looked over to Hermione, her soft brown eyes were glistening with happiness. It was an expression of sheer wonder that graced her features. She looked to him, and in that moment forgot to scowl.

"Of course, you'll be moved to your new accommodation as soon as you gather your possessions."

"What?" He jumped, surprised. The old prefects dorms had been destroyed in one of the blasts. The last he'd seen, the rubble had been cleared and left no trace of it's existence. If he wasn't mistaken, Sprout had set up a new greenhouse over the grounds where it once stood. "I thought the prefects were living in their house dorms now?" His tone made it a question.

"The prefects are, Mr. Malfoy. The Heads, however, have had two rooms refurbished for them in the South Wing."

Before the battle, there had been a tower for the prefects and heads. They had all lived together, though in segregated levels according to gender. He'd sneaked in, once, though the Percy Weasel had found him and deducted thirty points from Slytherin.

"Mr Filch will escort you to them once you have packed." The Head Mistress said, with a dismissive wave of her hand, "Report back to me on Tuesday for a run down of your duties."

They stood up to go, as he reached the stairs, he took a glance back. McGonagall was looking back down at the parchment in front of her, and the portraits were either peering down at the paper or watching the two of them leave. The ones who were watching him averted their eyes, as if they hadn't been caught spying, all but one. Professor Snape kept his gaze, and with a slight nod, he expressed something that his own father had never given him. Pride.