The Head of House Quarters comprised of separate living units for each occupant; a bedroom, living room, and kitchen, connected by a lavish lounge which segued into an impressive library. The two units were arranged around the semicircle, in a way that would ensure that each individual have equal distance to the shared resources.

The Quarters were plainly furnished, something that encouraged the creative use of Transfiguration by the House Heads, and each occupant usually transformed the bedrooms into their ideal home environment.

Hermione yawned silently, stretching her limbs as she turned yet again. The crack of dawn was peering through her curtains, despite her efforts to sleep almost immediately when she stepped into the Quarters. Her unit was beautifully furnished, vivid red and browns arranged through the darkness. She had Transfigured the stone floor to a plush carpet, firm but yielding against her tired feet. The four-poster bed was comfortable and soft, her sore muscles resting for the first time that day.

Despite all of this, she felt an intense prickling, dancing on her chest, that prevented her from sleeping. There were random bolts of energy shooting up and down her body, causing her to stay up. Every time her mind drifted and her eyes began to close, she felt a sense of urgency and would be awoken immediately.

Frustrated, she threw her pillow across the room, knocking over a sleeping portrait. Ignoring the image's protests, Hermione decided to crack open her books to get some studying started instead of continuing to waste time.

As the sunrise turned to a full and dewy morning, Hermione leaned back, cracking her back, blinking her eyes furiously.

The words wouldn't stop blurring together. Groaning into her hands, she threw herself out of her bed and stared, unimpressed, at her bedside mirror.

Her hair was incredibly messy, as she hadn't bothered to tie it up or put any creams in it before she slept. In the fall and winter, her frizziness returned with a vigour, and the chill of the British weather wasn't helping either.

Grabbing her wand, she muttered a few charms, untangling and flattening it enough for her to tie it in a slick ponytail with a voluminous mane of curls cascading down her upper back.

Deciding to take advantage of her kitchen, she set out to make some coffee for the crisp fall morning.

Grabbing one of her favourite books, she settled into the couch to wait as the espresso machine started up.

—

Draco gulped down vial after vial of suppressants.

He had an entire potions set in his own personal living area, the cauldron almost bubbling over with the amount of potion he was brewing.

The perks of having his own living space was that his family secret was well protected. That, and the fact that he could change his surroundings to anything he wanted. True to his name, he Transfigured the unit into a small version of an upgraded but luxurious Malfoy Manor. The floors were black marble and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling at every room. He had installed portraits of his mother and father in the living room, the two nodding in approval at their surroundings.

Upon arriving to Hogwarts last night, he sent out a letter of confirmation to his parents that he had arrived without incident, and was preparing to ingest the potion the next morning, which would make the typical coming of age symptoms much less obvious.

Enough Malfoy vulnerabilities were exposed and he had no intention of revealing his weaknesses to the general public, many of his had active death wishes upon him or his family. He had barely managed to escape the war without letting anyone know of his budding maturity into a full-blown Veela.

In order to keep the changes partially contained, he had to take several potions throughout the day. His pheromone, mood, and magic suppressant had to be taken three times through the day, and on top of that, he needed to set glamours on himself to cover the temperamental appearance of his teeth, as one would immediately notice that over the summer, he no longer possessed blunt teeth like a regular human, but his were rather pointed, in particular his incisors.

Small details such as his clothes mattered as well, and they had dual importance. He had already been tall, but as other students had slowed their growth after Sixth Year, over the summer, he had only grown broader and taller. His clothes had to balance between nobility to show respect for his family's continued elite status, and humility, in order to not promote gossip about the family fortune.

The Ministry had, in fact, confiscated many family heirlooms and had them under lock and key under pretense of investigating the traces of Dark Magic, as well as a good quarter of the family inheritance, in order to ensure good behavior and to prevent them from fleeing the country and going into hiding. Unfortunately for the Magical Government, they only had control over what wealth was placed under the Gringotts institution.

The Malfoys were true to their nature and always had an out, there was no way their vast fortunes could have been placed under only one bank. However, they needed to seem less flashy, and Lucius ordered Draco to dress plainly and Narcissa to repeat some of her outfits in public, for the first time in her life. Draco felt bad for her mother, as Rita Skeeter had had a field day documenting that the esteemed Narcissa Malfoy had had to dip her feet into poverty. No more balls or flashy semi-public events were to held at the Manor anymore, not until Lucius' assessment by the Ministry was over.

While he was at the Manor, he usually didn't eat or exercise much, his appetite flattened with stress and his exercise levels were a result of the stabilizing potion he often took while around his parents. They had grown tired of him accidentally smashing rooms to pieces in fits of anger. He had been weaned off of it in the past few months, his father assisting him in keeping his anger under the surface, as all respectable Malfoys ought to be able to do.

However, this meant that he had to keep up a strict exercising regime. He already had Quidditch, and while the practices had been enough for him in the previous years, he knew he had to have a personal training routine as well. Otherwise, as his father put it, his temper would be 'out of sorts'.

Regularly, he would have some tea and fresh fruit for breakfast, but he found his appetite had been revised to revolve almost entirely out of meat, and at least at his current stage, he could barely stomach any fruit or dairy. Today, he had awoken two hours before his earliest class to take his potions.

Grimacing at the bitter taste, he opened his window, collecting an agitated owl from the ledge. His eagle owl, Apollo, glared at him reproachfully.

"Come in then," he frowned irritably. The owl was perched on the ledge resentfully, letting the rain pour through the window. "Apollo."

Letting out an opinionated screech, the owl shook its wings, water spraying everywhere. It had a letter on its leg, obviously charmed against the elements, as Draco failed to find any patches of rain marring the envelope when he untied it.

Looking at the seal, he rolled his eyes. Of course Blaise was lazy enough to send an owl to him when they were in the same building.

Tearing it open, he unfolded the paper.

Malfoy,

I need my beauty sleep and this is stressing me out. I've found a third party to complete what you've requested of me. I will bring her to your quarters in the morning. I've gone to plead my case to the house elves in the kitchen in hopes of cake.

Don't worry, I'll bring some when I show up.

Please dress semi-casual. We don't want her to think I fraternize with homeless wizards. If you've still got those horrid dark circles, do me a favour and cast a glamour charm. Just because I don't want you to seduce her doesn't mean she has to be subject to such horrors so early in the day.

See you soon,

Blaise Zabini

Draco set the letter and envelope on fire, using nonverbal magic as he gave Apollo a treat for his unnecessary journey.

While he awaited Blaise and his unknown friend, he carefully placed cushioning charms on all his potions, waving his wand to begin an assembly line of bottling the contents of the cauldron.

He charmed his next dose of suppressant potions to stick together and he placed them inside his book bag, carefully cushioning them. If his professors were to get a hint as to what he was hiding, he was sure the information would be public to the rest of the school.

His pheromone suppressant was the most essential. The minute he was late on his dosage, he would draw too much attention to himself. His magic suppressant was as essential as his mood suppressant, but he could usually keep himself contained, and in the event of an emergency, he knew he could control his abilities well enough to brew another batch.

There was the distant sound of loud rapping, indicating Blaise's arrival. Springing to his feet, Draco stepped out of his room and locked the door, turning to cross the lounge.

"Good morning." Hermione Granger's voice was soft in the morning, and he froze.

Of course she was Head Girl. Who else could be entrusted to being in charge of a magical student body post-war?

"Hello," Draco Malfoy's first words of the day were a low rumble across the lounge. "did he wake you? Its Blaise at the door."

"Oh." Hermione blinked, her eyes darting back and forth. Between the irritating pounding on the door and a shirtless Draco Malfoy, taller and far more impressive than she could ever remember. "No, I've been up. Couldn't sleep."

"Could be the nerves." Draco cleared his throat, eyes sliding away from her as he walked towards the entrance.

His eyes. Hermione felt uncharacteristically befuddled. They were silver and caught the light of the early dawn like diamonds. She didn't know what to say.

"Congratulations on making Head Girl. You deserve it."

"Thank you. I... I'm glad you came back." Hermione said courteously, before slipping into the library, heart pounding.

Draco froze again, his hand clenching the handle of the door as he watched her disappear into the aisles. Hermione Granger had changed. She wasn't much taller, though she did look stronger, more put together and proud. He supposed winning a war could do that to someone. Her curls were slicked back into a ponytail and her skin was glowing, bronzed freckles highlighting her high, aristocratic features.

He wondered, briefly, if her parents were of societal importance in the Muggle World. Then he realized what he was thinking and who he was thinking about. That train of thought was for prospective political alignments in the pureblood world; friends, business partners, war-time allies, romantic prospects.

Mentally berating himself, he threw open the door and Blaise came barreling in. Behind him, stood Cara Bianchi with a steaming cup — no, it could only be described as a bowl of coffee in her hands. Her dark eyes were muted with exhaustion and her hair was stuck in a bun, opposed to her dramatic old-school curls at the Welcoming Feast.

"Come on, Draco." Blaise rolled his eyes. "Have some decency. That's no way to dress with a beautiful lady around."

Draco ignored him and waved Cara in, shutting the door firmly behind them.

"Be quiet. It's early in the morning. I don't want you to disturb the Head Girl."

Hermione felt her skin flush as she heard Malfoy refer to her in passing. What was wrong with her? She had hated him up until the year before the war, where her hatred had passed into a mix of pity and dislike. His situation was incredibly difficult, but he seemed to have matured since the days of calling her a Mudblood. The entire time she spoke to him, she recited disarming and shield spells, clutching her wand, certain he would attack her for overthrowing his Dark Lord.

She didn't know what surprised her more, his cordiality, or the fact that he didn't seem to care who she was or what had happened. It appeared as though he expected this, and she wondered if the rumours of the Malfoy family's slipping influence were true or just another manipulation tactic to get people to lower their guard.

"Who is it anyways? I've heard it's Hermione Granger." Blaise enquired.

"Hermione Granger?" Cara perked up. "I saw her leaving the Great Hall after the Welcoming Feast. I couldn't believe she chose to come back after receiving all those Ministry offers. She really could have picked any field she wanted."

Draco snorted. Everyone knew Hermione could do whatever she wanted. In older times, she may have been limited due to her bloodline, but now? Nothing was off-limits. A studious member of the Golden Trio who had beyond excellent marks through all her years of Magical learning was unstoppable.

"Probably back for the parties I'm going to throw." Blaise grinned, settling into a loveseat in the lounge. "Come on, Cara, why don't you have a seat."

"Don't get comfortable." Draco yanked his friend up. "We need to go to my room. This isn't private enough."

"Private enough for you to wander around naked." Cara muttered into her coffee.

Again, Hermione blushed, embarrassed at the idea of seeing Malfoy naked.

"I've got pants on." Draco glared at her.

Hermione wondered what the trio were up so early for. Blaise certainly wasn't a Prefect and Cara Bianchi was a secretive Slytherin girl in their year who had decided to not return for the suggested Eighth Year. She had attended Hogwarts briefly, before transferring to a different institution. The last thing she had heard about her was that Blaise was interested in her. If true, the interest appeared to be resurfacing during her short visit to Hogwarts.

"Tactless, Malfoy." Blaise shook his head. "Couldn't have put on a shirt for this? Is an Unbreakable Vow not formal enough of an occasion for His Majesty?"

Hermione had almost begun dozing off, but her entire body shot up at the phrase Unbreakable Vow. She nearly dropped the book in her hands in shock.

"Get inside. Now." Malfoy barked, ushering Cara into his open suite door.

"Don't see why this is necessary." Blaise muttered. "You can trust me."

Draco didn't bother to look at his friend, his wand clenched in his hand. As much as he hated to admit, he didn't want to lose his longest and closest friend. But this was nonnegotiable. He needed confirmation— he needed magic to bond his word. As much as he wanted to trust him, this was far too big a secret to share, unsecured.

As soon as the door was shut, he turned to the pair in his living room.

"Let's get started."