A/N: Thank you Jessicada and WilsDragon for following/favoriting! To my guest reviewer, yes, there is definitely more to come! Hope you all like this next chapter. JKR owns all, as always. R&R, & enjoy! :)

Draco Malfoy sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the piece of parchment in his hands, rereading the letter for the fifteenth time – or quite possibly the fiftieth, he wasn't really sure:

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I believe it goes without saying that your graduating class experienced a severe disruption in magical education last year due to the events of the war. The Hogwarts Board of Governors, faculty, and staff have met extensively with the Ministry of Magic on how to remedy this situation, and we are pleased to offer the Hogwarts Class of 1998 the following options:

1. All members of the affected class are invited to return to Hogwarts as "eighth year" students. Those who choose to do so will combine with the Class of 1999 to pursue the typical seventh-year curriculum, with the ultimate goal of sitting the N.E.W.T. exams next spring. Students electing this option should expect an owl with further information later in the summer.

2. For students who do not wish to pursue Option One, the Hogwarts faculty have created a series of shortened examinations, which will be offered at the Ministry of Magic on the fifteenth of August. The Ministry will honor the scores of these exams in the same way as those of the N.E.W.T.s, and students will be free to enter the professional world as they please. Again, students electing this option will receive further details at a later date.

As time is of the essence, we request a response indicating your preferred choice no later than 31 July. Please direct your correspondence to Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress, Attn: Class of 1998. We wish you a pleasant holiday and offer our sincerest regards, whatever your choice may be.

Professor Filius Flitwick, Deputy Headmaster

Sweet Salazar, was this somebody's idea of a sick joke? Nobody would want him at Hogwarts, and the idea of anyone wanting to hire a Malfoy after all that had happened was just plain laughable. Not that he could get a job anyway – he was on house arrest, after all – but the thought of just sitting back and doing nothing for the rest of his life didn't appeal to him, not after the war. At the very least, a job would give him something to do, something to take his mind off everything. Unfortunately, his sentence meant that option two wasn't a viable one. That left him two choices: take the exam in August and then wait around the manor until he was free to even consider doing anything else, or return to Hogwarts and face the wrath of…well, everyone. Neither offer seemed appealing in the slightest.

When he'd first received the letter, Draco had actually laughed aloud at the mere thought of going back to Hogwarts. After all, who really knew all that had happened in the last two years? Potter had told the truth when he'd testified at Draco's trial, but how many people had believed him? The Prophet spouted rubbish so frequently, Draco figured that most people who'd read the coverage of his trial – which did not include him; he'd had more than enough during the actual event, thank you very much – either wrote it off as more useless drivel or took it merely for gossip. Even the fact that the words came from the Boy Wonder himself didn't help – too many people mistrusted the Prophet still, refusing to believe anything even semi-serious printed in its pages without confirmation from at least one unrelated source. Long story short, the chances that many students would still think him a heartless murderer were incredibly high.

However, the more he thought about it, the more Draco realized that option two would leave him miserable. It wasn't the exam – he'd always been near the top of his class and had no doubt he could manage a semi-respectable score – but rather what came after: nothing. It had barely been six weeks since his trial and he was already going stir crazy. He still had his wand, thank Merlin – his father's had been confiscated for the first six months of his sentence, and his magic would be closely tracked for the latter six to ensure good behavior – but Draco wasn't allowed visitors, and there were only so many times he could fly around the grounds or pace the rose garden. He really didn't want to think about how bored he'd get if he were forced to remain exclusively within the manor's confines for the next eleven months.

There were two other things that Draco's Malfoy pride kept him from admitting aloud, but he couldn't deny they were true – he was lonely, and he missed Hogwarts. Yes, he'd spent a great deal of time complaining about the place when he was younger, loudly voicing his displeasure with Dumbledore's administration, but the fact of the matter was that Hogwarts felt like home more than the manor ever had. Hogwarts was noisy and chaotic and full of morons, but it also offered Draco sanctuary from his oppressive father, the company of hundreds of people his own age, and the chance to indulge in Quidditch and other things he truly enjoyed. In short, Hogwarts gave Draco a chance to be himself, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd never really taken the school up on that chance. He'd spent the first five years of his time there parroting his father by taunting those "beneath" him, his sixth year breaking down every other day as his conscience struggled with an impossible task, and his seventh…no. Last year didn't count. He'd been at Hogwarts last year, but he hadn't been at Hogwarts.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Draco, darling? May I come in?"

"Yes, Mother." The door opened softly, and Narcissa Malfoy made her way into the room. She frowned at the troubled look on her son's face.

"What's wrong, my love?" He looked up at his mother – she really did look concerned. In spite of her cold exterior, Narcissa truly cared about her only child – when he'd asked her about what had happened in the Forbidden Forest, she hadn't hesitated to tell him the truth, even offering the memories in a Pensieve when he remained skeptical, and she'd broken down in uncharacteristic tears when he'd finally accepted what he'd seen.

"I don't know what to do about this," he replied, handing her the letter. She was silent for a moment as she read it, then she sighed and sank down on the bed next to her son.

"Oh, Draco…I'm so sorry, my darling. I'm so sorry." She pulled him close and held him tightly, brushing her delicate fingers through his hair.

"What are you sorry for, Mother?" he asked. He couldn't even say how long it had been since he'd experienced such an outward display of affection from her, but he didn't pull away. It felt strange, but it also felt…nice.

"Everything, dear." Gray eyes met blue, silently asking for more, and she continued. "I'm sorry you didn't grow up with the love you deserved – what normal little boy switches from 'Mummy' to 'Mother' at the age of six? I'm sorry you wasted your years at school trying to please your father and only received scorn and disdain in return. I'm sorry you had to go through all you did these last few years, and I'm sorry you're now facing an impossible decision because your parents failed you." Draco felt stray drops hitting his chest and realized she was crying quietly. He sat up and gently brushed away her tears with his fingers.

"Don't cry," he whispered. "Please don't cry." He cleared his throat and returned his voice to a more normal volume. "It's not an impossible decision, just a rather difficult one. I'm sure I'm not the only one having a tough time deciding, though. I've been thinking about it all morning, to be honest, and I know it won't be easy, but I think I know what I want to do."

"Which is?" Narcissa asked. Draco took a deep breath and told her his decision. She smiled softly and hugged him once more before looking him straight in the eye.

"You are so brave, my love, and I know I haven't said it nearly often enough, but I'm so very, very proud of you." He smiled then, something he hadn't done for real in far too long, and returned her embrace.

"Thank you, Mum."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. I'll leave you to your peace, but you know where to find me if you need me." A kiss to his forehead and several soft clicks of her heels later, she was gone.

Draco turned towards his desk and read the letter one last time. Could he really do this?

Yes. Yes, he could…and he would. He pulled out a blank sheet of parchment, selected his best quill, and began to write:

Dear Professor McGonagall…