AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, back again. This is probably my last one for tonight...computer troubles. Can't wait to hear from you, i you're interested. I miss all my fanfic reviewer buddies. Oh, GlassBroomstick, that Ginny-Blaise one is almost done, I just need to come up with a good ending. Chin up and cheers. This is a story about the changes that take place in Hogwarts. Like my other fics, they have little to do with the later books, and nothing to do with the sixth one, because Ginny-Draco was pretty much shot to hell and I started writing this before I'd read the fifth book. Bear with, if you want to. Also, there are many pairings in here; I'm not sure if there's any slash, but if it offends, I will give warning and nothing explicit. Otherwise, it's mainly Ginny-Draco and I hope you enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: Blah bla, not mine unless it is...and isn't J.K. Rowling's.

The Hogwarts Renaissance

Chapter Two: The Dragon's Lair

Draco Malfoy was storming his Head Boy rooms. His best friend, Blaise Zabini was lying impatiently on Draco's large, green four-poster bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Draco was always restless, but today (or rather, tonight) he seemed even more so.

Blaise noticed. Lifting his head up, he regarded Draco for a moment. His entire painfully thin body expressed discontentment. His stormy grey eyes were a cold silver, his pale blonde brows furrowed. For once, his perfectly gelled and combed white-blonde hair was mussed up, hanging rebelliously in front of his eyes from hands he'd run through it.

"Malfoy, mate. Honestly, are you that worried she's back?" Blaise asked, propping himself up on his side with his elbows, staring intently as Draco continued to pace back and forth.

Draco Malfoy stopped, staring straight ahead at the fire in front of him. The flames were dwindling, as it was rather late, and his cold eyes were nowhere near warmed by the dying light given by the weak glow.

Those cold eyes hardened as he recalled the evening he'd barely made it through without screaming furiously. His first night back at Hogwarts. His seventh and final year before he was free. It was supposed to be a time spent relaxing with his friends, perhaps picking on the occasional Gryffindor or Hufflepuff first year if he felt like it.

His father was somewhere in hiding along with his mother, the ridiculous Voldemort who was nothing more than a shadow, and that whiny rat of a man Pettigrew. Several of the other more loyal Death Eaters were also on the run from Ministry officials and Aurors alike. The absence of his parents left him in full charge of his family's finances and affairs. More importantly, it left him in charge of his own affairs. He had not had to attend a single boring Death Eater party or meeting in the two months since his parents had disappeared, and he was enjoying life.

The first thing he'd done when he'd found out that he was in charge of the Malfoy estate was to withdraw his betrothal to that menace Pansy Parkinson. He knew his parents would be furious if they found out and survived long enough to get to him. To be perfectly honest, he didn't really care. The betrothal wasn't very old…it wasn't a childhood betrothal. It had been in his fifth year that his parents had informed him of his future with the pug-faced nuisance.

He could not stand the girl. She'd been hopelessly infatuated with him from the second he'd stepped onto the Hogwarts Express and had made it her business to be around him every second of everyday, something she very nearly managed to do. It was the most annoying thing, and she simply never shut up. He would have endured sleeping with her (which he actually did) to listen to her simper and chatter on. Not an experience he cared for, though his parents had encouraged him to have relations with the girl.

So over the summer, he'd immediately (well, perhaps he'd gotten a bit drunk first) called off the engagement. He blessed every god and goddess he knew of that Pansy had managed to get herself knocked up just before summer had let out. Draco knew it couldn't be his, and therefore had a pillar to stand on against her to break off their engagement. With any luck, he wouldn't ever see Pansy again. The thought of her, stomach huge with child was revolting enough, but if it meant that she would be gone for Draco's entire last year, it made him practically cheerful. For a Malfoy.

He'd rejoiced in his freedom and cavorted liberally around Malfoy Manor, Zabini Place, and Diagon Alley as if he were the Dark Lord himself. Life actually looked as if it could be pleasant for once. And for the first year since his first year at Hogwarts, Draco actually eagerly anticipated the start of the school year.

Still staring at the fireplace, even though the fire was long dead, Draco winced internally, still seeming agitated, yet reposed to Blaise, who was staring at him expectantly.

He had been so free…until this evening. Recalling the few hours that seemed like years was painful.

"Hey Potter, enjoy your summer? I heard you stayed with the werewolf. Are you that desperate for a home? Or do you just fancy hairy men?" Draco had laughed at his own jagged, yet rather disgusting dig at his number one enemy at Hogwarts. Harry had simply sneered at him, and allowed his Mudblood witch to lead him away to the Gryffindor table where the elder Weasley was sitting, fists clenched angrily, looking as if he wanted very much to get up and punch Draco's face in.

In fact, the only thing that kept Ron from doing so was the small pale hand on his arm, attached to a rather small red-haired girl. Draco had to peer closely at her to realize that it was the younger Weasley, the girl one. She had filled out a bit over the summer. She was no longer gawky and skinny. She had some curves that hadn't been there before; small yet full bust, wide hips, and a gently rounded stomach…not to mention a fine bottom. But of course Draco wasn't looking.

Reminding himself of this, he turned away. His eyes landed on the doors to the Great Hall that had just opened, admitting a late arrival. Draco was about to let his interested eyes travel back to the Gryffindor table when he realized with a start just who was standing hesitantly in the doorway.

He nearly choked on his pumpkin juice as the rest of the hall went quiet.

Pansy Parkinson had grown quiet a bit heavier, though still not nearly as heavy as she should have been. She should be huge, five months along with child. Instead, she was most definitely not, and just barely rounded a bit more than she had been. She looked older and more womanly. Despite the silence that surrounded her and the extra pounds she sported, she strode purposefully into the Great Hall, holding herself with all the dignity of a true born Slytherin

Of course, Slytherin house was a little less than dignified this year; there were very few Slytherins actually there. So many had been killed or moved to another school, or fled from the Ministry. Really the only ones left were the ones who had joined with the light side, defied their parents, or were pledged to defeating Voldemort for their own reasons. Pansy had been among the latter two groups as far as Draco knew.

As if not noticing every pair of eyes in the Hall on her (the news of her condition, though confidential, had spread fast), Pansy walked briskly yet unhurriedly over to the teacher's table. Draco noticed suddenly that there was no DADA teacher for this year, though Snape was looking particularly livid. Pansy leaned forward and whispered a few words to (who else?) Snape, and with a slight bow, turned and walked unblinkingly back out of the Hall, letting the doors close behind her with a bang.

Chatter eventually started up again, this time louder as every table buzzed with talk and the wild speculations of youth about the strange appearance of Pansy. Draco closed his eyes to block out the idle noise around him. It was almost the end of dinner when the hall grew quiet again.

Draco's eyes flickered open, searching for the source of the deafening silence. He didn't have to look far. Professor McGonagall had gotten up from her seat and was now making her way between the tables, heading most definitely to either the Gryffindor or Slytherin table. Draco watched, as every other student was, as the strict Transfiguration teacher made her way over to the end of the Gryffindor table, stopping right in front of the Weasleys.

She leaned down and it took almost everyone a second to realize she wasn't talking to Ron, or Harry or Hermione who were sitting to either side of the siblings. She was speaking in hushed tones to the littlest weasel. Draco could feel more than hear the whispers that started all over the Hall. More wild speculations, no doubt. Even Draco was mildly curious as to why she was talking to little Weasley. She couldn't be in trouble…even though almost everyone knew that she was a minor rule-breaker, she never got caught. Ever. Of course she couldn't, she was in the same league as Potter and his pals.

Professor McGonagall straightened and turned back to her table, not glancing back once. Draco cast a disinterested look at the little weasel and wasn't surprised to find her looking a bit pale. Her git of a brother was whispering furiously in her ear, though she seemed to be ignoring him studiously.

Draco turned back to his plate. The little brat's problems weren't his worries. His worries lay with the unexpected and very unwelcome reappearance of another brat.

"Draco?"

Draco's blonde head snapped up at Blaise's unanticipated interruption. The tall, dark, mysterious boy was standing next to him. Draco hadn't even noticed his movements.

"What?" he asked wearily. Blaise blinked, his eyebrows reaching up in surprise. "Hey mate, are you alright? You've been staring into that thing for ages. Is it really that bad that she's back?"

"How can she be back, Blaise!" Draco suddenly asked, his stonily silent mask falling away. "HOW! She's supposed to be carrying a child right now! There's no way she can be here. Not unless she had it…well, you know…but she couldn't kill her own child, could she?"

Blaise shrugged his shoulders. "I really don't know. You knew her just as well as I did, but I did see how she was. Shallow, harsh, mean…usually. I just can't imagine her as a mother. All the same, I can't see how anyone could kill their own child. However, witches do it, and she is ruthless. Perhaps she just really wanted to finish her schooling. Who knows how much she would sacrifice?" He shrugged again.

"Look, if it's bothering you that much, just ask her yourself. She is still here, I talked to Snape. She's going to be going to school here this year." He tilted his head slightly. "Although…Snape did say something about missing a few of her classes. Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Divination…though I don't really know why." He shook his head.

Draco sighed. "Blaise, I called off our engagement. What makes you think the girl and I would be on speaking terms? Or that I would even want to be?" Sighing heavily, he stormed across the room and flung himself onto the now-empty bed. He nestled his face in the silky green pillow. "I'm tired. I trust you can see yourself out?"

He couldn't see Blaise's nod, but he heard his retreating footsteps and the soft click of the door closing. Draco sighed to himself, a habit he'd picked up from Snape, and rolled over. He never even bothered to change into his night clothes. He merely stared up at the ornately painted ceiling of his rooms for hours until sleep finally overtook him and closed his eyes gently for a slightly less-gentle night's sleep.