Every time he walked, the sounds would echo. Even though the portraits would talk amongst themselves, everything was hollow and empty. He really hated walking down the corridors, remembering the tortures that would take place. Although he enjoyed his time at Hogwarts before the Death Eater nonsense, he found himself sickened looking at the ancient walls. It was a bittersweet reunion.

It was day two at Hogwarts, and Draco was the only student here, aside from some of the professors. Currently, he was going to meet Professor McGonagall at her new office. He didn't know what to expect, but he was scared nonetheless.

"Marple cloves," he said to the winding staircase. He was granted access, and with an agonizing wait, up, up, he went. Finally, Draco was standing in front of the door, nervous. Trying to muster up some courage, he timidly knocked on it.

"Come in," a soft but tough voice called.

It never ceased to amaze him how the Head study looked like. There was a certain magnificent feeling about this. As he stepped inside, he, yet again, admired what was in front of him.

Draco looked around, suddenly finding a series of differences. The bright phoenix was no longer perched near the desks, and Draco didn't fail to notice two new portraits staring right at him. He swallowed, feeling uneasy as the twinkling blue eyes and the pile of black hair watched every step he took.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy. Please, sit," said the Headmistress. As usual, her hair was in a tight bun, her glasses settled on the bridge of her nose. Her green robes seemed to have had a makeover, since they had a touch of gold here and there.

Quietly, he sat down, his mother and father's upbringing kicking in. In a simple motion, his back went in a composed manner, his right leg crossed over. Seeing that his trousers were revealing how old and unfitting they were on him, Draco dropped his leg, feeling uncomfortable. As he waited for McGonagall to say something, he fought hard not to look at the two most important people in his life.

"How are you feeling, Mister Malfoy?" McGonagall started off. She had a couple of papers in front of her, and a skinny wooden box.

"Wonderful," said Draco. His cold and arrogant manner had yet to improve.

Professor McGonagall ignored his statement and peered into the papers in front of her. She straightened herself several times and fixed the glasses on her nose.

"I have something to discuss with you," she said. "Some important matters."

Draco's heart began to beat in an erratic matter, and he forced himself to keep his calm. His hand tightened around the arm rest, and for one fleeting second, he looked up at the two people he dreaded to see. Dumbledore gave him a wink while Snape raised his head a little, but Draco could've sworn he saw him smirk.

"Mister Malfoy, are you paying any attention?"

He snapped out of his daze and stared back at McGonagall. He forgot how formidable she was.

"Yes, Professor."

"Good." A moment of silence passed. "Have a biscuit."

It took a minute for Draco to comprehend. He didn't even notice there was a plate of biscuits. "Sorry?"

"Eat a biscuit." Slowly, Draco brought his hand up and retrieved one, feelings its warmth covering his insides. It was delicious.

"As you know, Hogwarts has reopened, and we're eternally grateful for the amount of trust the parents have given us. However," she continued, "we - meaning the professors and I - are worried for your safety. Some students might feel a little hurt, and they might want to punish you."

"Professor, I'm . . . not part of that business anymore." Nervously, he started to toy with his half eaten biscuit.

Anyone who had common sense would have thought about that, but Draco seemed to have lost his mind. Not once did he think about the other students hating him so much that his safety might be a problem. Of course they would hate him enough to hurt him; after all, he was the one who was part of it, and not too long ago, he was proud of it.

Guilt started to creep in, and he wanted to run. Watching all his former classmates make fun of him and be mean to him was scary. It wasn't his fault, after all. He wasn't the madman who wanted to take over the world! He was just an innocent boy who was caught up in loyalty, honor, tradition, and fear.

"I understand that, Draco," Professor McGonagall said softly. "Therefore, if you feel anyone is bothering you or you feel your life is at stake, you must tell us immediately. And please, try not to be stupid enough to fight people on your own." Draco nodded his compliance.

"The Ministry has notified me of your, shall we say, predicament. After much persuasion, they have allowed you to use your wand, which Mister Potter has kindly given back." Draco mentally scoffed; he highly doubted that Potter gave his wand back for good intentions.

"Let me warn you Draco, once and for all - don't you dare use this wand for recreational purposes, good or bad. You might find it hard to adjust, but nonetheless, here it is."

"What do you mean, 'adjust'?" He was getting mighty impatient. After Potter had taken his wand, he was upset and completely angry at him. It was as if a part of him was gone. Now, his wand was within his grasp and his heart was aching to touch it.

"I don't know," the headmistress said. "But I do know that if you try any spells without the classroom's consent - meaning, the spells you can practice - you will be severely punished. Is that understood?"

Draco nodded. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Are you saying I can't even use Lumos whenever I want to?"

McGonagall sighed. "I don't want to come off as rude, but . . . I - Well, you can use simple spells, but any spells which are used offensively are prohibited."

Draco got it. The Ministry thought he was going to use one of the Three Unforgivable Curses, or any spell that directed harm. Draco wasn't stupid. Naturally he wouldn't use any of those; why would he? Considering it might take time for Draco to get adjusted to his wand, what else could he do?

"Anymore questions?" McGonagall asked.

Draco shook his head. "No, thank you."

"Well then," McGonagall said. "You'll need this for your classes."

His heart began hammering beneath his set of ribs, and when Professor McGonagall took out his wand, he almost died. Draco was certain he felt a tug, a certain spark when he touched his wand.

After Draco spent a considerable amount of time admiring his beloved, McGonagall said, "You're free to leave now."

"Thank you, Professor," he said breathlessly. Immediately, Draco sped off to the door, only to feel something hit him on the back. He turned around and saw his biscuit floating, waiting to be eaten. In a haste, he had forgotten about the warm biscuit. He looked up at McGonagall, baffled.

"Next time someone, preferably me, offers you some food, I'd suggest you take it. And eat it," she said, her eyes narrowing down while her lips formed the tiniest of smiles.

In record time, Draco got to his room. He might have slipped a step or two since he was in a hurry. He was now in his bedroom, breathing heavily, anticipation hanging in the air.

Gingerly, he picked up his wand, his hand shaking. Goodness, he was acting like an over-excited little boy; although, he had every reason to be. Several deep breaths later, Draco had calmed down enough and had his wand in a fixed position.

"Lumos!"

Never in his entire life did he feel such pain. It tore his heart, his muscles, his nerves until they were no more. His body burned and burned, burning it until it became crisps. To his horror, he saw his veins getting ready to pop out from the sheer force of the magic.

An hour later, after sweating buckets and nearly dying from exhaustion, Draco thought back to his experience. It appeared that his wand and devil's mark were connected somehow. He recalled how strong the magic was, and how utterly weak and tired he had become in less than a second. It was as if the wand got its magic from the devil's mark. Of course, these were just his theories. Perhaps he might find something in the library, in the restricted section.

Libraries and dusty books swirled around his fragile head as he fell into a deep slumber. But before Draco closed his eyes for the night, he had a suspicious feeling he saw a certain bushy haired Mudblood dawdling in the library, too.


Today, Draco was anxiously waiting for Hogwarts students to come. He had woken up early, feeling nervous, but thoroughly exhausted. Draco had been experimenting with his wand, trying simple spells, waiting for the day they wouldn't take a toll on him, practicing them over and over again.

Draco had managed to get his shirt over his head when suddenly, a large pale ghost swept over his room, scaring Draco.

He screamed out in fright, jumping on his bed. As he looked around, he saw that the Bloody Baron was carelessly floating in the middle of his room, his arms crossed. Draco's heart slowed down, but the incident reminded him of some very unpleasant dreams.

"Fuck, Bloody Baron, are you trying to scare me into death?" Draco slumped on his bed, willing for his heartbeat to decrease.

"You would not be the first to say that, but that is not why I am here. You have a parcel waiting for you," Bloody Baron said. "And watch your language, boy."

Draco scoffed. "You came here just to tell me there was a parcel waiting for me?" Languidly, Draco got up, slipping on a pair of trousers and putting on socks. Staring at his clothes made him feel sad. They barely fit him and they were old. His money income was being handled by the Ministry, and he really hated that part.

"Humph. If you do not want a friend, then so be it. I was merely trying to help you," said Bloody Baron. He sniffed and raised his head, turning around and floating away. Draco sighed, feeling uncomfortable and angry that he was even pitied among Hogwart's ghosts.

Damn ghosts. I don't need them to be nice to me. I can handle things on my own, thank you very much.

With renewed energy, Draco left his empty room and went to retrieve his parcel. It was his schedule, but to his horror, he realized he was retaking half of his classes from his sixth year. At the bottom of his schedule, there was a note from the Headmistress, telling him that he needed to complete these classes in order to graduate. Although he did not have to attend the classes, he had to do the work on his own time, completing them on the due date and turning it to the assigned professor.

How was he ever going to finish school? Having friends and a few allies seemed like a pretty good idea, now.


All the teachers were animatedly talking among themselves, chatting about their summer break, and how happy they were to see the kids. Once again, Draco was sitting on the edge of the Slytherin table, munching on his toast. Usually when he would sit there, he didn't care about McGonagall eating with a couple of teachers, but now that they all arrived, Draco didn't like being stared upon.

He gave little glances here and there, and every time he caught a professor staring at him, they would ostentatiously turn their head away. It was bothering him to no end. He knew that three years ago, he would have craved the attention, but times had changed. Three years ago, he was an idiot.

He left the hall, not even caring about the food. Immediately, Draco went to his room and tried to do something with his spare time. Practicing spells seemed like a good idea, but Draco didn't want to exhaust himself on the first day. So, instead, he resorted to sleeping, although it came at a very high price.

Eventually, Draco did fall asleep, tossing and turning. He never remembered any of his dreams, but he did remember someone shaking him nonstop.

"Blaise?"

Blaise gave a tight smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. His suit was buttoned up to perfection, and his old friend looked older, smarter, and more handsome. "Good evening."

Draco was still in shock. He and Blaise weren't the best of friends, but they were well acquainted with each other, sharing dorms and having much wealth. For a moment, Draco was happy to see Blaise, but he soon felt ashamed of his current situation. He looked down at his attire, bleakly glancing up at Blaise's.

"When did you get here?"

"About twenty minutes ago. All of the students are in the Great Hall, but I was allowed to come here and gather my things," Zabini explained.

Draco frowned. He was hoping for some kind of human contact for the rest of the school year. "Gather your things? Already hating the dungeons now, are we?"

"I'm Head Boy. I need to collect some things for the HCR. In case you are wondering, I will be sleeping here, and I'll have to deal with your annoying ass the whole time. And, as a bonus, I will be annoying yours," Blaise said, smirking as he did so.

Draco smiled forcefully, but he was thinking. Obviously, Draco wasn't going to be Head Boy. A pang of sorrow hit him, and he almost felt jealous of Zabini. This guy had nothing to worry about other than staying on top of his classes, and trying to be a model citizen for all of Hogwarts.

"Congratulations," Draco managed to say. "Who's the Head Girl?"

Blaise snorted and rolled his eyes. "Who else would it be besides Granger? My, she was in a shock when she found out." Blaise went to his suitcase and started taking out parchment and ink, along with some books.

Granger. He hadn't seen her since the battle, and he forgot he was going to have to see the annoying saviors of the world. He was certain that Potter pitied him for unknown reasons, and Draco didn't want to communicate with him by any means. Weasel was entirely another matter. As for Granger . . . he didn't know what to think.

How was he going to be able to go to class and act normal in front of her? Was Granger thankful? Did she forgive him after what he had done? Did she even care that Draco almost risked his safety trying to–

"Hey, are you going down to dinner?"

Draco snapped out of his thoughts and gazed back at a waiting Blaise. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure if he wanted to face all of the students. They would likely stare at him, and he would be the most unpopular man at Hogwarts. He was feeling guilty and humiliated enough already.

"In a bit," he ended up replying.

So, being the coward he was born to be, Draco Malfoy sat in his room for a whole two and a half hours all by himself, unsuccessfully calming down his hungry stomach.

He could get used to this. He could get used to being a coward.