Disclaimer
For this magical world and the entirety of Harry Potter - thanks to JKR
A/N
Apologies for the (huge) delay, guys; the work I was procrastinating from caught up with me.
And again, thank you to Ser Serendipity, still happy to point out my mistakes
;)
Silencio
The Hogwarts Express stood gleaming, bellowing thick steam into the cavernous structure of Kings Cross Station.
As Hermione admired it, standing amidst the student population, all clamouring to say their farewells and depart around her, the low rumble of the engines calmed her fraught nerves.
It was a familiar sound, and the additional chatter of peers, clatter of trolleys, and screech of owls struck a chord of nostalgia as she realised this was to be her final year at Hogwarts.
Slowly bringing herself out of her thoughts as the noise around her began to increase, Hermione turned to find Ron and Harry with similar expressions on their faces. A small smile graced her lips and she reached to grab their hands.
"Come on you two," she smiled, pulling them towards the train, "I want to find an empty compartment, and you know that's impossible if you leave it too late."
Harry nodded a response, taking Ginny's hand and waving to Molly Weasley, who had previously crushed him and Hermione in one of her famous hugs. She was currently tending to a small first year that had managed to lose his parents among the crowd.
"Stay safe, you four!" she called as she saw them depart, waving a yellow lace handkerchief before using it to dab away her tears.
Hermione almost grimaced, that handkerchief had definitely seen better days, and she was sure Mrs Wealsey had just used it to wipe the sniveling first year's nose. Raising her hand in farewell, Hermione turned to Ron, tugging his arm in the direction of the carriage door.
He resisted, and stood a second longer looking at the train, a frown on his face.
"We might not go back, you know," he said forlornly as he turned to Hermione and followed her to the nearest door.
"What do you mean?" she asked, pausing briefly and allowing Harry and Ginny to continue ahead. She turned to face the redhead, who had a half smirk on his face. To anyone else, the expression would look nonchalant, but after years of close friendship, she had learned to spot the pain he was trying to mask.
"What is it, Ron?" she asked more quietly, taking a step toward him and placing her hand on his arm.
He shrugged and looked away, his expression now clearly troubled.
"I'm just worried, 'Mione. I'm worried about mum and dad and Gin, and I'm worried about Harry and Hogwarts and all these kids, who have no idea…"
Hermione frowned; this wasn't like Ron.
"And I'm worried about you. Probably most of all. And what this could mean for -"
His eyes flicked to her face, and she found herself under his now intense gaze.
"Mean for what, Ron?" she gently prompted, squeezing his arm.
The piercing whistle of departure interrupted his next words, and as quickly as he had shown her his fear; he hid it.
"Nothing, 'Mione," he shrugged, guiding her onto the train and leading her down the corridor to look for Harry and Ginny, "It's nothing."
An hour later Hermione found herself sitting in the prefect's carriage, dressed in her robes, and holding a conversation with Horace Slughorn.
"So you see, Miss Granger," he surmised, in his baritone voice that wobbled along with his double – nay, triple- chin, "the letter was returned unopened, a first in Hogwarts history, if my facts are correct."
Despite feeling a whirl of conflicting emotions, Hermione still felt her mouth move in an automatic correction.
"In fact, sir, according to Hogwarts: A History, letters were frequently sent back unopened during the fourteenth century, when students and professors alike were under threat of muggle persecution. I suspect I placed a ward around my parent's home during the summer that foiled the owl's attempt at delivering my letter, I have been experimenting..."
She trailed off, her voice shaking with suppressed emotion, and her eyes beginning to mist over.
Her mum and dad would be so proud.
A faint flush crept up Slughorn's neck, and he looked around at the prefects talking among themselves, his expression almost helpless.
Sensing his discomfort, Hermione shook her head and drew herself out of her thoughts.
"Thank you, sir," she started, her voice sounding stronger, "It's an honour, I won't let Hogwarts down."
Slughorn's expression brightened.
"That's more like it, Miss Granger," he grinned, "I can't think of a more deserving student. Now if you don't mind, I must make an appearance at a little gathering I arranged before we arrive. Would you care to join me?"
Hermione blanched at the idea of sitting among students fawning over the awkward man before her, and shook her head quickly.
At Slughorn's mildly affronted, confused expression, she hastily amended.
"I think I just need a little time to digest this information, professor," she said, smiling gently and lowering her head, "It's such a huge achievement."
Mollified, Slughorn nodded and placed a pudgy hand on her shoulder, "We were all in agreement when the decision was made, Miss Granger. We're sure you'll excel in every challenge you may face."
So saying, he turned to address the prefects.
"I believe you all know now that Miss Granger is the new Head Girl."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat as he pronounced this.
This had been her ambition for the last four years.
"And as Mister Nott as Head Boy, I expect you are all in very capable hands. Should you have any problems, they will be your first port of call. Enjoy your welcome feast, and good luck for the coming year!"
The room was quieter when Slughorn left, conversations starting up slowly after his interruption.
Hermione, standing removed from the others, as Slughorn had left her, felt her emotions clamour down upon her once again.
Closing her eyes, she sighed softly, and made her way to sit down.
Before she could, however, Theodore Nott stepped in front of her, a smile on his lips.
"Granger," he greeted, with a nod.
"Nott," Hermione replied, her tone cold.
An awkward silence stretched between them before an exaggeratedly large sigh from the tall boy had her looking up at him, a little confused.
He shook his head, causing his thick black hair to fall infront of his eyes. He impatiently brushed it away in a familiar gesture that had her unexpectedly reminded of Harry. She frowned slightly.
"I'm not in the business of apologies, Granger," he started, "But I want us to work well this year, I won't forfeit my position for some rivalry between our houses, or because our respective friends can't see eye to eye."
Opening her mouth to interject, Hermione was silenced when Nott raised his hand.
Her mouth snapped shut audibly, and she waited for him to resume with a raised brow.
"With this in mind, I would like to propose a truce. I would rather just- "
He paused briefly, apparently searching for the right term, "- get along?"
After a second, once she was sure he was done, Hermione nodded.
"I understand and agree." she said, holding out her hand.
Visibly taken aback, Nott merely looked at her for a moment before quickly taking it in one of his own and shaking it.
He smiled "S'abit formal, don't you think?"
"You strike me as a formal kind of guy, Nott," she replied, shrugging and walking to the seat she had been about to sit down on when he had interrupted.
He muttered something beneath his breath before following and sitting beside her. Leaning back, he looked at the prefects in the carriage.
"Think we'll have any trouble on our hands with this lot?" he asked, his eyes scanning the fifth, sixth and seventh years in front of them.
"I'm not sure, but I know we'll all have our work cut out keeping everyone safe this year."
Nott nodded, his expression hardening ever so slightly.
They spent the rest of the journey in an almost companionable silence.
That night Hermione found herself unable to sleep.
Her new quarters, while impressively plush and comfortable, were just not relaxing her as the Gryffindor's dorms could.
In the back of her mind she was reluctant to admit it had nothing to do with her new living quarters, but all to do with seeing a certain Slytherin after the feast.
Her thoughts began to take seed and expand as sleep crept upon her.
Theodore Nott had been instructing two prefects how to most efficiently direct first years to their dorms, when his voice suddenly halted with an almost unperceivable intake of air.
His eyes were wide, following something over her shoulder.
Slightly alarmed, Hermione had begun to turn, but Nott placed a stilling hand on her shoulder.
He had told her to go ahead to their dormitory without him.
Which, of course, she ignored.
Rolling her eyes and pulling her shoulder from his light grip, she had turned to see the approaching figure of one Draco Malfoy.
Draco had arrived at Hogwarts in a state of disrepair.
Torn robes, a bloodied cuts, and a quickly swelling eye had him furtively checking around corners before hurrying toward the third floor girl's bathrooms.
This was not how he had imagined his first day at Hogwarts as a full-fledged Death Eater.
Well, he hadn't imagined he'd be returning at all.
It had been an unexpected request from The Dark Lord.
And you didn't question The Dark Lord.
Dear old aunt Bella had inflicted the injuries that currently marred his pale face, in another session of muggle torture.
Of course, the muggles were not the only ones to become injured within these sessions, and of the seven he had so far played witness to, there was only one in which Draco had remained unscathed.
That particular session had been his first foray into inflicting the torture himself, and apparently his capabilities had impressed his twisted aunt.
The screams of the muggles, both young and old, had begun seeping into his dreams, plaguing him with nightmares of the darkest kind.
His aunt had been furious with him when he told her he would be returning to Hogwarts.
The cuts and bruises were nothing compared to the agony he suffered under her Crucio.
But he had made it, and for now he was safe from his aunt's torture.
His mission would be revealed soon, and his excitement in serving The Dark Lord directly almost equaled that of the loathing he had for Bella.
It was worth all the pain and nightmares, for the honor of carrying out a mission he was uniquely able to complete for The Dark Lord.
Wondering if it was late enough to brave the main staircase, Draco quickly scanned his surroundings; most students had been ushered to bed by now. He would warrant a guess that every common room was filled with students catching up with one another, and that above them would be a group of nervous first years attempting to get acquainted with their new accommodation.
Choosing to proceed, he began to make his way deeper into the castle, keeping his head bowed and his posture straight; looking like he was confident that he had permission to be wandering through the corridors.
Hearing voices a way in front of him, he quickly raised his eyes, looking through the locks of white blonde hair that fell past his brow.
He whispered an expletive, somehow still sounding gentile as the word passed his lips, and ducked behind a tapestry, hoping he hadn't been spotted.
Standing not fifty feet before him were Nott and Granger, apparently scolding a pair of fifth years Draco didn't know.
It was typical that of all the corridors in the castle, they would choose this one to stop and moan in.
His breath caught when he heard a familiar voice call his name.
"Draco?" the deep voice rang out, echoing of the cold stone floors and walls of the corridor.
"Draco, I know you're there, mate,"
The voice was closer now and Draco was able to hear the faint footsteps of his housemate drawing closer.
With an angry sigh, Draco pulled the tapestry aside and stepped back into the corridor, his head held high.
"Theo," he greeted, raising his chin as his friend approached.
If he had any sense at all, Theo wouldn't question Draco's state, and would let him proceed without comment.
But Draco knew the boy had little common sense when he refused a position within the Death Eater's ranks over the summer.
Once he reached him, Theo's drawn out stare had Draco inwardly seething. Judgment was clear one the chiseled face of the older boy, and Draco clenched his wand beneath his robes.
"What happened, mate?" Theo asked, his brow furrowing slightly in what Draco presumed was false concern.
A huff was Draco's response, and he raised a single eyebrow.
After a second's pause, Theo shook his head.
"Can I help?" he asked, shrugging and throwing a glance over his shoulder to check that Hermione was waiting where he had left her.
Draco chuckled darkly, shaking his head and stepping closer to Theo.
"If I wanted your help Theo, I'd ask Dumbledore for your services, since it's obvious you work for him now."
Theo's slight frown deepened into a cold look of anger.
"Fuck you, Malfoy," he spat, "I don't work for anybody in this sodding war."
Draco shook his head and pushed past the older boy, proceeding to walk down the corridor.
"It won't last, Nott," he called back, not bothering to turn to address him directly.
"You'll come crawling soon enough."
His mind was quickly replaying what he knew about Theodore Nott, and whether he need be prepared against an attack from the boy over the next year.
No, Theo was an old friend, and although he thought ill of Draco's choices, he knew the sap would never hurt Draco for some misplaced sense of loyalty.
So thinking, Draco looked ahead to the small frame of Granger, standing in front of two fifth years who looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Her hazel eyes caught his attention first, speckled with gold and drawn into a fierce glare. He noted the way she didn't flinch or frown when she saw his condition, but maintained her expression.
His eyes travelled down to her lips, pursed and rosy red, still full even when pulled into a tight knit of dislike.
Her creamy skin contrasted those lips in the bright candlelight of the corridor, and he found himself unwilling to look away.
That was until she stepped forward and planted her feet firmly, her delicate hands on her hips.
"What are you doing, Malfoy?" she asked sternly, her eyes travelling up and down his battered attire, a faint curl of disgust twisting her lips.
Draco raised a single eyebrow yet again, refusing to answer.
Her slight huff of impatience smacked his trademark smirk straight onto his face, an expression he had forgotten he could make. There wasn't much room for smirking between torture and torturing others.
Turning her back to him, Hermione bid the two fifth years return to their house and get some sleep. She didn't turn to face Draco again until they had disappeared around the corner.
"We're taking you to Snape, Malfoy," she said resolutely, folding her arms across her chest.
"You weren't on the Hogwarts Express, you weren't at the welcome feast and you're in no state to return to your common room. I expect he'll tell you to take a trip to Madam Pomfrey."
Draco shook his head, "I'm not going to Snape, Granger," he said, his voice low.
"I'm capable of cleaning myself up, and the rest is none of your business."
Hermione quirked an eyebrow in a strikingly similar expression to his, and tapped her foot against the flagstones, "You really don't have a choice, Malfoy," she said in a superior tone.
Draco heard Theo's footsteps behind him and after turning to glare at him, realised both he and Granger were wearing head badges.
Inwardly he groaned; he couldn't refuse without resorting to magic, and he didn't like the idea of facing both of them at the same time.
Shrugging, he brushed past Granger.
"Will you be following me then, mudblood?" he asked, his casual use of the term bringing a tinge of angry red to Granger's cheeks.
He chuckled. "Need to get used to that, mudblood, you'll realise your place soon enough".
He rolled his eyes as he felt the sharp tip of her wand pressed threateningly against the back of his neck.
"An unprovoked attack on the first night, Granger?" he asked, "perhaps they chose the wrong mudblood to be head, I've heard you only won out over Padma Patil because you had a sob story; you were born to muggles. How very touching. Your childhood must have been unbearable… though not as wretched as living as a mudblood among purebloods, where you know what you are, and how little you're worth"
Draco could feel the pressure of the wand increase against his neck, the tip warming with suppressed rage.
"Shut up, Draco," he heard Nott suggest from behind them, "And Granger, unless you want to be stripped of your headship, I think you should lower your wand."
Draco felt the pressure disappear and smirked, "That's right, Granger," he taunted, willing her to embrace her anger, "listen to your superiors like a good little mudbl-"
"Silencio."
Draco stopped walking, turning to stare accusingly at Theo.
He couldn't speak, but he hardly needed to. His face said everything anyone would need to know.
'What the fuck, Theo?'
Shrugging, Theo walked ahead, "You were boring me," he muttered.
Smiling smugly, Granger motioned for Draco to walk ahead.
