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Chapter Three

Honey brown eyes surveyed the room around her.

People chatting, smiling and laughing as if the past few years hadn't occurred. Children, naïve to the war that had happened and the gory details stared in awe around the cavernous room that could only be Hogwarts Great Hall. She smiled ruefully, stirring her porridge once more as she had been doing for the past five minutes, indulging in her favourite pastime of thinking.

The war was over now; no Voldemort, no more threat to society. Her life had reverted to some kind of normalcy; as regular as it could get after the past seven years had been ruptured by the impending rise of the Dark Lord and his followers.

She had contemplated how it was these people, her peers and her tutors could return to this carefree attitude they were languishing in despite the vast devastation and loss that had occurred seldom three months before. How could it be that they could sit, simpering over the opposite sex, laughing at jokes, cossetting in gossip without realising how lucky they were to even be in Hogwarts castle once more- to be alive and breathing and not recognise the sacrifices that had got them to their seats where they sat?

War had changed her; there was no doubt about it. Her senses had been honed- attuned to jump at every noise, to wield her wand at every doubtful look or sign of danger. Her mind-set had changed too. To be fair, Hermione had never been a carefree young girl- she always, admittedly had her nose in a book or was far too enthralled with her work to be carefree enough like other children, even in first year. War however, had obliterated her carefree side for so long, that she found it hard to readjust to a mind-set that perhaps she had never attained in the first place. A logical thinker she was, and it was illogical to her to not appreciate the people who'd died in regaining this for the world.

Remus… Tonks… Dumbledore…Fred

So many names, so many fallen. She had cried countless nights, huddled around a rebuilt burrow table with the Weasley family, pain etched not only upon their faces but deep upon their souls as they thought of the ones they'd lost to the war. All for this, these people to sit in this hall.

Melancholy was what she'd become. Often in a world of her own, noticed by those closest to her. But then again, most of them there too- detached from the world that these children had known more than fighting death eaters and finding horcruxes, nights in the cold Forest of Dean and the Department of Mysteries. They'd lived a lifetime in a few short and sorrowful years, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the attitude of the others, almost that by their demeanour they weren't appreciating all that had been done for this world.

To her side, an elbow jolted her out of her reverie, the smiling face of her dark haired companion brightening her mood slightly. Despite all he'd been through, at least Harry managed to smile through the dark times and memories.

"Come on Hermione, I know that look too well by now" his voice was barely a whisper, his emerald eyes almost pleading with her.

"I just can't fathom it, Harry. I can't see how they see, you know it. How they can return to being so normal, when all that just happened is so fresh, such an open wound…" Her voice trailed off as she felt his arm wrap around her shoulder, squeezing her into his frame.

"But we're here, and it's over. We have much to think about, we do. We've been through so much, but we need to start looking forward and think about what will happen, rather than what could have been."

How could he be so wise and perceptive sometimes, and sometimes a complete idiot? She grinned at him, looking down at her now cold porridge as she contemplated his thoughts. Did she feel guilt if she were to act like the others in the room? Perhaps. But would it not cause her a grievance if she didn't at least try to live, for those that had sacrificed themselves to give people like her and Harry a chance in the wizarding world? It didn't seem right.

She moved away from him slightly, gulping down pumpkin juice as she lifted from the table with him, bag slung over her shoulder balancing the ungodly weight of the books in the bag. No extension charms in Hogwarts, she'd been told. Even for Head Girl with the workload of a work horse, she felt like she was going to either topple or have the muscles of a bodybuilder by the end of the semester.

Potions first, with the Slytherins. A class she had never looked forward to, but was much more intrigued by this year. They had arrived at Hogwarts the night before, and today would be the first time she would see many whose parents she had either fought in the war or had tried to kill her. She knew, by the rumours, which Malfoy and Parkinson were among those who returned, and were already being polarised by the rest of the school for their parents, and in Malfoy's case his own, involvement in the second wizarding war.

Sitting at the back, she observed the Slytherin's who walked in. Zabini had not expressed much involvement in the war, and remained with his almost cocky swagger as he walked into the room. Behind him were Parkinson and Malfoy, who seemed to be almost unaffected by the contemptuous glares many of the Gryffindor's were sending his way. Parkinson seemed to have a dent to her armour, arm laced tightly around that of her walking companion as she furtively glanced around the class before settling into a seat a couple of rows in front.

"Death Eaters…" A whisper sounded from the back of the class, a jeer coming from a table to her left that she recognised as the voice of Dean Thomas. A laugh went up in the class, the Slytherins sat stock still. Malfoy had the audacity to glare around the room, silencing a few who were quite aware what the young man was capable of.

Hermione studied him for a moment; wondering how his life was now. He had got off from Azkaban with his parents in return for information about death eaters, and the defence to the Wizengamont of duress. She supposed if you had to house Voldemort, the vile man he was, in your home, you could count your stars you were actually alive. That never meant his actions were forgivable. The thought of his home ran a shudder up her spine as she turned her attention to Slughorn, bounding in with a magical troupe of textbooks following him.

The lesson passed relatively smoothly, a few comments from Seamus and Dean about the unworthiness of the Slytherins to be at the castle they had almost destroyed marring the quiet of the classroom every now and again. Pansy was furiously scribbling away throughout, for once in her life, seeming to believe that if she kept her head down she would be forgotten about- nothing like the arrogant young girl of a year before who took it upon herself to open her mouth at every opportunity. How things had changed indeed.

The day passed in a flurry of activity, and Hermione found herself rubbing her temples as she eventually collapsed into her desk in the Head Girls office. She was only required to be available for an hour each night, in case students needed her assistance or had a problem that they would rather speak with her about than her head of house. As she had expected, no one was waiting for her when she had unlocked the door to the study and she imagined that no one would come to her this first night.

Her mind drifted to the summer, and the many nights she had spent grieving for lost loved ones. Then, to the happier times that they'd attempted to have- with the newfound lease of life for Harry, they'd tried to be as normal as possible despite the feelings that had erupted at the devastation of war affecting all of them. Then her mind turned to Ron.

It had not been, as it was foretold to be, a storybook romance. After the heat of the moment in the war, and for a couple of weeks afterwards, Hermione had been sure that she had feelings for Ron and their relationship would progress. Yet, the more Hermione saw of other people's feelings toward one another, such as Ginny and Harry, the more she became sure her feelings for Ron were more platonic than passionate. His lack of manners, for one, though something trivial to fret over had become an annoyance to her immediately. His lack of intelligence, second. Their general make up was different, and they had petered out their affections to her stating that perhaps they were better off as friends and that perhaps…

"Granger."

A voice startled her out of her thought process, a voice that she hadn't heard in almost three months, and a voice that she was sure she could hear when she dealt with her nightmares about one particular day in the war…

"Malfoy. What can I do for you?" Her tone was clipped, courteous to the bastard who had thrown so many to the wolves, who had almost redeemed himself at the manor by leaving them unidentified before chasing them for Ravenclaw's diadem. Then again, his mother was perhaps the reason they had won the war.

Her hand under the desk slipped to the cool wood of her wand, just in case the young man was out for some kind of twisted revenge.

His eyebrow curved up, yet the smirk that was trademark of his family was absent from his pale features. He no longer looked a harrowed young man, despite the abuse his family had received in the media over the months of aftermath. He looked clean, well shaven and cut, his features more filled out than scrawny… He looked more like a man. Yet his eyes, those grey orbs, held much more knowledge than he was keen to disclose, or she was keen to discover.

"I came to speak to you."

Her eyebrow rose this time, looking at him expectantly. Her mind was screaming with fatigue and she knew that whatever he had come to deal out, she already couldn't be bothered with the abuse.

"I understand that. This is my office. People come here to speak to me. If I were you I'd elaborate or leave. Or maybe just leave as I'm sure whatever trivial problem you're having you can buy your way out of too or go off to your death eater friends, even though they're probably not your friends anymore."

She hadn't meant to sound so harsh, she was sure. But in that moment, the words had tumbled out before she had chance to think them through as the years of torment resurfaced and refused to be quashed. She saw a dangerous glint flash through his eyes for a moment, angered by her tone and treatment of him. In her eyes, she saw no feasible reason that she should think any less of herself around him, yet she felt a slight trepidation as the words sunk into the silence between them.

"I actually came here, Granger, to call it quits with you this year. But I can see, you're ever the bitchy little Mudblood that you always were."

Her gasp cut through the room at the words he used. She had expected a flurry of cloak and him to stalk off, yet he stayed, leaning against the doorframe with his hands slung in his pockets as if this conversation were the most amicable in the world, a sneer slithering up his features.

"How dare you! You filthy little ferret! Get out of my office, I'll be reporting this behaviour to McGonagall first thing in the morning!" She stood, hands planted on her desk as she felt the fury course through her veins.

All this time.

All this ideology.

The Dark Lord had fallen, yet the young man in front of her still felt as if he had the right to say her blood was dirty, that she was below him in any sense made her feel furious and almost that she would burst into tears. She felt incensed, that he even dared use such a word anymore meant that even though Voldemort had fell, Malfoy, who had seen first-hand his reign of devastation would not rethink his values.

"Now now Granger, wouldn't want to do that would we, you never know what horrible death eaters might do to silly little girls like yourself would we?"

Hadn't he come to reconcile with her? This conversation was certainly no legitimate means to his aim if he had.

"What do you want Malfoy? Your threats have no weight here; in fact, they don't have weight anywhere anymore if I remember correctly."

She was stood tall, asserting herself. She looked ridiculous, she imagined. He had edged further through the doorway, hands now crossed in front of himself as she stood to her small height of 5"4", his six feet at least towering over her and casting a shadow from the lamp behind him.

"I said Granger, I came to speak to you. But you're being unreasonable. I thought the Head Girl was meant to be unbiased."

She shook her head at him, mouth open. Was he purposely trying to rile her? His conversation flow was disjointed, his insults scathing but nonetheless quite old.

"How dare you say I'm unreasonable? Get out! GET OUT!"

She screeched as his face recovered from the shock of her waving arms towards the doorway, finally stalking off out of the room and into the corridor with a click of dragonhide boots.

What was that all about? Why had Malfoy come to her room under the pretence of reconciling with her only to irritate her to the point where she wanted to scream at him? In the first instance, why on earth had Malfoy said that he wanted to make amends with her for the year? Perhaps she could understand, if he had some obvious about turn in his thinking, but that much was blatant to see he had not. What was Malfoy's game?

She contemplated a moment before thinking of her own diatribe. She had immediately jumped the gun and let the words out before she thought about them; she had been the abuser this time, conceivably he had just lashed out in retaliation. With a slight feeling of shame at her actions, she felt as if she had acted out of prejudice when she let her mouth act before her mind. Did that make her as bad as him? As bad as those whose views she had fought vehemently against over the past few years? Collapsing into the leather chair, she laid her head in her hands and let out a sob.

AN: Done! Short one this one as have a Dramione incident! REVIEWWW GUYS! This chapter was quite rushed to get things moving along but I would be grateful to hear from you! ANY OF YOU!