hapter 1: Consequences.

Hermione awakened with cold sweat dripping down her forehead. Her heart was raging uncontrollably, her trembling hand resting over her chest. Her eyes shifted to the window on her right, and she noticed that the autumnal dawn was just beginning to creep up. The sky was dotted with grey clouds, though a purple taint could suddenly be noticed as the minutes went by. Hermione couldn't help but stare at the wondrous view.

Every morning she would awaken before the sun rose, despite all her best efforts to sleep in. Ever since the war, nightmares taunted her brain, vigorously and repetitively, making her nights miserable with a short-lived sleep. A new dawn was the only sure way to calm her down, to help her remember it was all over. Her stare remained focused on the world in front of her, making her heart slow down noticeably, which relieved the pounding pain in her head. Wind was hushing, making the dense trees dance slightly, and birds were carelessly flying by, wings wide open as they drifted across the open sky.

How she missed the sound of the wind, how she missed hearing birds chirping.

It was the end of September, almost five months since she had lost all her hearing. Though most things did return to normal, Hermione never felt the same again. Her existence was completely different now, silent and haunting. Time went by slowly, agonisingly so, and soon enough, she was back at Hogwarts, after spending a painful, strange summer in the company of her two best friends.

Professor McGonagall was the new headmistress, and intended for the entire prior seventh year to return and properly wrap their time at the Wizarding School. Hermione was conflicted about her return: a part of her dreaded coming back to the hollow castle, terrified of reliving memories that she was longing to forget; but another part of her was expecting for a sense of normality. Maybe the school routine would do her well; maybe it would help her feel all right again.

Yet it didn't.

Almost a month had passed since their return, and nothing inside her changed. Being a deaf witch was much greater of a challenge than Hermione first hoped for. Silent spells were harder to cast, and required practice, patience and motivation, none of which she longer did or possessed. Classes were exhausting, draining all her already low energy. It took twice as much work to study and to understand every class. The only really helpful thing professors could do was cast a charm on their quill, making it write everything they would say during classes, which meant Hermione would have much more to read than anybody else. Usually this wouldn't come as a problem for her, but lately, her tired eyes couldn't focus as well as before, and she lacked the determination to pick up her old study and reading habits.

Professor McGonagall was one of the only reasons why Hermione hadn't completely given up yet. She was a great support figure to the student, and offered tremendous help, both mentally and practically. She would tutor Hermione once a week to help her practice casting spells non-verbally, without forgetting to practice with her all the charms and spells she had always known, just to make sure she could remain as great as witch as always. Though Hermione still spoke, with was with less confidence, and quite less often. It just wasn't very rewarding to speak when you couldn't hear yourself, or anybody else for that matter. Even so, her professor would always push for her to talk, trying to help her improve her lip-reading skills as well. Hermione felt eternally in debt to Professor McGonagall, who weekly reminded her she wasn't less of a person or less of a witch because of her new disability.

Even so, times were hard. Every day was a challenge, and every day, her limits were tested.

Hermione slowly rolled out of bed, knowing she would fail to fall back asleep if she stayed wrapped in her white sheets. She turned to the bathroom and decided to take a shower, sighing with relief and relaxation as the hot water poured down her tired body. It was a Thursday, a lonesome day with only three classes: Potions, Transfiguration and Charms. She ran her hands through her thick hair; massaging her scalp to relieve some of the pressure her headache was causing her.

She glanced down at her body, now slimmer, with a few scars craved on her silky, pale skin, and sighed.

On her left arm, the most horrifying word she knew could still be seen, as no amount of magic was able to completely erase it. Mudblood. Every time she looked at it, her stomach twisted in tight knots, images flooding her overworked mind. The events of the day at the Malfoy Manor replayed themselves mercilessly in her head, again and again, bringing tears to Hermione's eyes.

Oh, the Malfoys: ruthless, cunning, but ultimately cowards. Harry had told her over the summer that, despite avoiding prison time in Askaban, the senior couple was killed in a revenge attack, not long after the war came to an end. None of them knew what had happened to Draco Malfoy though. The last Hermione had seen him was after saving him from the uncontrollable fire in the Room of Requirement. Before she could see him again, the death eaters attacked her, and by the time she recovered from her black out and the shock, nobody knew where he was. The word around was that he might be dead, just like his parents, or that he might've run away to escape his fate.

To Hermione it was all the same. Dead, alive, near or far away- she didn't care. It was all absolute bollocks. She hated him, a burning hatred, as deep as the scars that marked her body. He would always be the same cunning, sly bastard he always was: a betrayer and a fucking coward just like his hellish father. Would be a shame if he really were dead though, because that meant she could never scream in his face to tell him just how much she despised him and his insignificant life. All the darkest moments in the last years could all be traced to him and his menace, and for that, Hermione could never forgive him, even now that Voldemort was gone and peace was finally installed.

She glanced over at her arm again and released a frustrated, tearful groan. Mudblood. That's what he always called her; that was the spiteful insult he always attacked her with. Yes, Hermione was glad he was gone, maybe even dead. At least this way he didn't have the satisfaction to see just how much she had suffered because of him and because of the war.

Hermione closed the water and wrapped a towel around herself, exiting the shower with care. Her wet hair dripped down her back, as the bathroom filled up with steam, and Hermione tried to dry herself quickly, before the cold air engulfed her, sending chills down her spine. Though she could have used a drying charm to make things easier, and though Professor McGonagall would always incentive her to do so, lately Hermione had gone back to doing things the hard, muggle way. For some reason, it made her feel like the young Hermione again, the Hermione before Hogwarts, a version of her she desperately missed.

Also, because it frustrated her to no end when she couldn't pronounce the charm correctly and it wouldn't work properly. Like with almost everything else, it was taking her time to get used to this new life, and most times, much like that end of September day, she wasn't motivated nor excited about the hours of school routine that awaited her.

"Hermione," Harry tapped on her shoulder, mouthing something to her when she turned to him "Are-you-okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded in response "Why?"

Harry picked up his parchment and quill.

Lately all their talks had been through writing, but only when Hermione was in the mood to talk, which was rare those days. He scribbled down something quite rapidly, handing to her without Professor Slughorn noticing.

"You look really tired." He wrote, and Hermione frowned when she read the note.

"I know, I haven't been sleeping well lately." She wrote back to him.

"Maybe we can brew some dreamless sleep potion for you?"

Hermione sighed. Any other time she would refuse such help, but this time her body ached at the thought of another sleepless night; she was in no position to refuse anything.

"Maybe." She replied, sliding the quill through the rough parchment paper "Thank you."

Harry gave her a warm, genuine smile, and Hermione couldn't help but do the same; Harry always made her feel so at ease.

"How's Ron?" Hermione wrote, worried about the answer.

"Adjusting." Was all Harry replied, shrugging, his green eyes sparkling with sadness.

Hermione closed her own eyes for a few seconds. Ron was adjusting… So was she. They had both lost something essential that dreadful day: she'd lost her ability to hear, and he had lost his brother.

And those events lead to an especially challenging, fucked up summer. After a brief conversation about their kiss, the best friends quickly moved on. They both agreed it was a pointless affair to pursue, since they had much greater things to mourn and think about. The friendship was mostly still the same, just more distant. Ron didn't react well to Hermione's deafness either, which brought him to a constant state of revolt and angriness. He swore he would hunt down every last living death eater, to either kill them or help the Ministry of Magic bring them to Askaban. There was so much new found bitterness in Ron- a façade he built to hide the tremendous pain he always felt over losing Fred. Hermione and Harry thanked Merlin repeatedly when their letter from Hogwarts came and Ron could finally let go of his revenge plot.

He was actually sitting a few tables over, alone, his head resting heavily on his hand. His eyes were glazed, a bored look splattered on his pale face, with his red hair clumsily brushed. Hermione felt her insides twist. It was obvious Ron hadn't been himself lately, and she understood that feeling all too well.

"Things are just strange now, aren't they?" Hermione wrote, feeling rather stupid for asking such a silly question.

"Yes, but it'll be okay." Harry assured, giving her a smile "It takes time but everything will back to normal."

"I hope so, I hate seeing Ron like this." She sighed, glancing over at him again. Ron turned to her and made awkward eye contact until Hermione looked away, unable to deal with the strangeness of the situation.

"I hate seeing both of you like this." Harry frowned "But I have hope. There's finally peace."

Hermione felt tears well up in her brown eyes, before blinking rapidly until she no longer felt like crying. Harry was right. There was peace. They no longer had to fight for their lives, or put themselves in impossibly deadly situations. Now there was nothing left to do except live every day, waiting for every thing to hurt a little less.

His feet dragged silently across the empty hallway.

It was Saturday, late night, and his body ached more and more with every step he took, absolutely ready to collapse at any given moment. He was exhausted. It felt like he was walking towards his impeding doom. There was no dignity left in him, and no vitality either. He looked as if all life had been sucked out of him.

He reached a large, wooden door and his heart slowed down. Why was he doing this? Why was he there? Lifting his right hand with hesitation, he knocked three times, anxiously waiting for something to happen.

As thoughts of regret raced through his mind, the door cracked open, and suddenly, his future and greatest fears were staring him down.

"Mr. Malfoy." Professor McGonagall greeted him sternly, clearing her throat.

"Hm…" Draco hummed, unable to say anything.

The old professor had her emerald eyes aimed at him, and Malfoy felt more threatened than ever.

"It's good to know you have finally accepted my offer." The witch nodded, uncrossing her arms "Please do come in."

He swallowed hard, weakly stepping into the new Headmistress' office. Humiliation. That's all he could think about. A few months ago he would've been cursing at everything in that bloody castle, declining any help the hypocrite wizards might've offered. Every one hated him, he was sure of it. He wasn't welcomed there. But the hurtful, raw truth was that he had no other place to go. He had been running in circles for too long, with no one by his side. Loneliness, hunger, and the longing for comfort and stability spoke louder than his old need to hate all Gryffindors and the righteous professors that infested Hogwarts.

"Sit down." McGonagall demanded, and Draco obliged, quiet. "Despite everything that has happened, it is good to have you back."

Malfoy didn't reply. Her voice sounded a little too hypocritical for his taste. What could he possibly say? He was in a new, totally foreigner position, defeated and fragile. Any other time he wouldn't have sat there, listening to the old witch talk to him like he was some kind of lost little boy; he would've probably hexed her any chance he could, ignoring her, and everybody in that hellish hole…

"Mr. Malfoy." The professor called, interrupting his thoughts "Do you want to return or not?"

"I…" He stuttered, running his trembling hand through his hair "No one wants me back. You know better than anyone how unwelcomed I am here."

"Be that as it may, I do not care how others feel about you." She replied dryly "I'm giving you an opportunity to stay safe, and finish your education. If that is something you are not interested in, so be it."

"But I am not safe!" Malfoy spit out, now slightly revolted "They'll kill me the minute they see me!"

"That's certainly not my problem." McGonagall sighed, her expression rigid and unbothered. "You will have to make a decision. You've already missed almost a month of classes."

"I don't have my wand." Malfoy chewed angrily on his tongue.

"That won't be a necessary worry for now." The professor assured him.

"Why are you doing this?" Malfoy wondered, still humiliated and repulsed "We both know this isn't where I should be, or where people want me to be."

"I'm not doing this for me. And Mr. Malfoy, I'm definitely not doing this for you." McGonagall replied in a crisp voice "I'm giving you this chance because, and only because of our late Albus Dumbledore." Draco felt his skin burn. "As you know, both him and Severus sacrificed themselves for the ultimate well-being of us all, including yours. If you don't do anything with it, I might as well assume it was a mission in vain."

Draco looked down, anger bubbling inside him. How dare she bribe him with guilt? The dark side called him, evoked him, and he didn't have a choice. Eighteen years of his life were spent being convinced of an evil concept. And for most of that time, he really did believe what was being tossed at him.

He thought he was evil; knew it even.

"If you would like to show you're revolted, I suggest you rest tonight. You'll do a much greater job with it when you've recovered all your lost energy." Minerva told him.

Great, now she was mocking him. What a sodding bitch. If he hadn't felt so god damn tired, he would've gotten up and told her just that. She made him feel so fucking stupid. He knew going back was a mistake, but if he left, where would he go? Months of hiding, running from place to place, without his wand, without his parents, without any money. He was in no position to refuse anything.

"By your silence, I assume you're deciding to stay." McGonagall nodded slowly "Don't ruin this opportunity, Mr. Malfoy. The war may be over; but you will soon take notice of all the consequences that came with it."

Words failed him once more.

"You may go. Everything you need is already in the dungeons." She explained, getting up from her chair "Try and rest. The days ahead won't be easy."

Draco got up slowly, battling his body to stay awake. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, and he knew she wasn't expecting a 'thank you' from him either. It was very clear she wasn't all that glad of his return.

Walking through Hogwarts' hallways for the first time since the battle brought him a strange sensation. He felt like a ghost of himself, returning to the scene of the crime. Malfoy couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen to him. He didn't want to be back, and nobody else wanted him back. It was the perfect recipe for disaster. Just imagining the glorious golden trio made him sick. They would hex him into oblivion the moment they saw him. Maybe they should; it wasn't like he didn't deserve it anyway.

He slyly entered the dungeons, the sight of green and silver making all his insides twist. He knew he was still a Slytherin, but he didn't feel like one. He didn't feel like anything really, not even human.

He crept into the dormitory, praying he wouldn't wake up anyone; praying no one would notice him. He took off his dirty white t-shirt, tossing it carelessly on the floor, and slid into his old bed, right by the window.

Draco's eyes shut just as he covered himself, exhaustion catching up to him rather quickly. Bloody hell, it felt good to have a bed again, even if it was in that shitty castle.

And for a slight moment, he couldn't give less fucks about what people would say about him. They would just have to fucking deal with him, right? Especially Potter, Weasley and Granger… Shit had probably been so easy and seamless for them since Voldemort died. He was the one who'd been through hell and back. Yeah, he had no reason to fear their reactions. Actually, he couldn't wait to look at them and watch their faces twitch in horror when they realised he was back… That would probably give him a good laugh; and, for fuck's sake, he desperately needed one.