He followed his headmistress in silence, striding past ministry officials with a dignity he didn't feel under their scrutinising glances, looks of recognition reshuffling their expressions; features becoming tinged with hatred and sympathy, curiosity and disgust. He held his head high, his suit kept clean as always, the straightness of his back keeping him confident as he settled his eyes on the greying bun of Minerva McGonagall, she held the skirt of her robes up; allowing her feet a more fluid, speedy movement, her feet deftly hopping over debris that hadn't been touched.
He tried to remember the last time he had seen her in a state he'd call calm, and blinked with astonishment as he realised it was his sixth year; ever since she'd moved in a harried state, swooping in where she was needed, an unconventional guardian angel. Now she seemed she moved in the same state out of habit, and the sheer amount of places she needed to be at once. Owls flew to her almost constantly; an ever growing wedge of parchment becoming a seemingly permanent fixture underneath her arm, a stressed mask over her normally stern features the only expression she could muster.
He smiled at the back of her head affectionately, taking him by surprise as he realised he respected his Headmistress more than he would have thought, her allowance, however pressed it may have been of him living here was taken to heart, she allowed him a freedom in the castle he hadn't expected. The court order of his house-arrest here had surprised him, but her own reaction to it had surprised him more, she'd treated him like an adult. Her words of welcome when he'd returned, flanked by two aurors to explain the situation and supervise him back had stuck with him, she hoped that he had learnt a lesson she could never give.
Eventually they came to the statue that hid the passage to the head's office, and he tried not to question her choice of password as the statue shifted, the marble staircase revealed. She stepped on to it, and he dutifully followed; nerves beginning to kick in as he questioned why she'd want to see him. He fiddled with the cuffs of his suit, attempting to appear nonchalant as they stepped into an office that was beginning to look like a mess.
Owls were lapping up water from several dishes about the room; stacks of parchment becoming unravelled and rolling across the rich red carpet as a flap of a wing disturbed it, books peeked out under more scrolls, broken quills and empty ink pots dotted about the room. A house-elf slowly picking through the mess as the breeze from the window revealed itself to be where the owls were able to enter and exit. The headmistresses desk was covered, not a bare inch of wood to be shown, the chairs either side of the desk the only flat surfaces not touched by ink and parchment. Draco concealed his shock, and McGonagall swished around the desk, almost throwing herself into the high backed chair of the head.
"Take a seat Mr Malfoy," she said, gesturing to the empty chair opposite her, and flicking her wand with the other hand, attempting to regain some sense of control of the room as the empty ink bottles gathered up on a table to be refilled, the broken quills flew to a bin, and the rolls of unravelled parchment defied gravity, rolling back up and settling once more on their precarious piles. "Please excuse the mess, putting a school back together proves more paper work than one would originally assume," she explained as Draco looked about, the unconcealed look of awe and surprise plain on his features.
"What is it all?" he asked, unaware it could have been rude.
"Letters from the ministry, confirming our finances, what we are able to get from them in terms of help putting the school back together, what they will supply us with. I'm asking for permission to hold several events over the school year for the good of the school. More letters from students begging to return, letters from parents asking if the school is safe, more letters from parents of muggle-borns with so many questions, letters from potential hires…" she trailed off, a great heaving sigh, and respect bloomed once more for the woman, his eyes glittered with admiration, and he turned in his seat, settling back; determining she deserved his full attention. "It's actually part of the reason I have asked to speak with you Mr Malfoy, I have just received permission; or more so a blessing to offer you something." She said, straightening up in her chair, picking up a letter with the emblem of the ministry at the top.
"Blessing to offer me something?" Draco asked, unable to mask the confusion again; the entire experience was becoming perplexing.
"I am going to offer you the position of Head Boy, Mr Malfoy; and I suggest you listen to my reasoning clearly before answering. I am sure you're aware we have just had a war, and while it seems like you would be the worst idea for Head Boy; it is actually why you are the best option I have. The wizarding world needs to demonstrate to its young that we can forgive and learn from our mistakes; that we can move on. This means both sides of the war Mr Malfoy; both sides. I am offering you the position of Head Boy because you are a Death Eater, cleared of any wrong doing by the ministry, and a Slytherin. If any house is going to come out of this suffering the most, it's Slytherin house. We need true house unity. If Slytherin feels like it can come out of the worst part of its history with a newly appointed Head Boy from their own house, it may change the opinions of those difficult members. If you can make the best out of your appointment of Head Boy, and I mean you do the job well, fairly, and the only complaints I hear about you are ones of people just not liking that you are Head Boy; then the message it will send the wizarding world will be a great one. It will show that Hogwarts sticks to its word of forgiving, trying to get the best out of people, that I trust the ministries decisions on things; and that they were right to clear you of your accused crimes." She explained, her steely eyes peering at him almost challengingly; he listened in shock, pinned to the back of his chair, astounded at the offer she was putting towards him. Her reasoning was solid, and the idea of true house unity intrigued him, memories of his house being cheated out of the cup a couple of years floating to the forefront of his mind. "I assume you have questions." McGonagall said, nudging him out of his thoughts.
"Of course," he replied, his brow furrowing, "do you really think offering me Head Boy is the best idea? You don't think I'll abuse the position, you don't think parents will hate it?" He asked, a sneer almost forming on his mouth, his silver eyes sparkling with upset.
"I think it is the best option I have." She told him truthfully, and Draco felt as if he'd been slapped, "you were a popular member of Slytherin house, and you were able to lead it's prefects effectively, even when that ridiculous inquisitorial squad was put in place by-" she shook her head, freeing herself of the tight lipped anger that was beginning to develop as Draco cringed inwardly, keeping his face a polite listening mask. "Slytherin will need someone capable to look to, someone who can demonstrate how best to behave after this war. Many children will be coming from families who are now broken by the court cases. Yours included; the way you have handled your own trial, your personal losses is admirable. You have also funded many repairs this school has desperately needed on top of your fine. If this is all a ploy by you for some unfathomable reason, it is working, but even if you aren't Head Boy, your actions are being watched. You need to think about how you will enter the wizarding world after Hogwarts. Either as a respected Head Boy, or as a lone Slytherin member. Or will you leave it as the Head Boy who was stupid enough to abuse his position after a devastating war; proving the ministry wrong, who won't take that kindly, and throw away any chance he had at being accepted into the world as a responsible adult who was forced into questionable acts. I think we both know you're not stupid enough to throw it away. I don't expect being Head Boy will be easy for you should you choose to accept, but the world will judge you whatever you do, it is this judgement that makes you my best choice for Head Boy. The Minister agrees with me." She finished, peering at him over the tops of her glasses, her gaze scorching.
Draco relaxed in his chair, thinking it over, his mind realised that Hermione was the Head Girl, and how it would look should he be Head Boy beside her. A member of the Golden Trio, leading with a former member of the opposition, clearly something must have happened to have him in such a trusted, respected position. Thoughts of Hermione's arrogance not even an hour ago flittered to the front of his mind, and he smirked slightly; wondering what she'd think should she discover what he'd just been offered now, and why he was being offered the position. He met McGonagall's gaze, and another jolt of shock shot down his spine. The head of a rival house was genuinely trying to help him. She was right about how he'd leave Hogwarts, the press was being frequently hexed by the teachers of the school, once they'd realised it was easy for them to get there, a constant dribble of photographers and eager reporters had been spotted sneaking about the school. If he was reported to be Head Boy, and a good Head Boy, people were going to be less likely to shun him, but as a normal student of the school, it would appear he couldn't be trusted ever again despite the clearance of his charges. He used to be a prefect, and losing that would send a message to the world again. He sighed, realising that in the post war world, everything was a message, and even though the fall would be harder should he fail, the understanding was clear; McGonagall actually trusted him.
"I accept the offer Professor, and thank you." He added at the end, recognising just how much fighting McGonagall had probably had to do to be allowed to offer him such a position. He closed his eyes, realising that if it were a year ago, he'd have had the position, no questions asked. Now, after a war, after his trial, he was a risk. A risk she thought was worth fighting for. Shame and pride burned together, a riot in his chest. "I ask that you let me tell Granger in my own time that I am now Head Boy, especially as I'll need some way to break the ice that we will be working and…living together this year."
"I think I can allow that," She agreed, her shoulders slumping in relief, her eyes looking over all the letters she would have to reply too. "Just do it by tomorrow as I will need the pair of you to help with the building of the eighth year dormitory and your own rooms."
"I will tell her by tomorrow."
"Thank you Mr Malfoy, you may leave, and I look forward to seeing how you will do as Head Boy." She dismissed him, a slight rare smile at the corners of her mouth; and Draco stood to leave, the desperation to do her proud burning bright within him.
He left the office, the gentle hooting of owls as they arrived and left vanishing as he closed the door, a sense of elation drifting over him and hurrying his feet as he rushed to find Hermione. Their bizarre conversation from earlier slowing him almost immediately, as his thoughts drifted over her. She was arrogant; more so than he'd expected, but the times when they'd managed to just sit together, or help put the castle back together had been highlights of his summer. When they worked together, he enjoyed being around her. The time she had fled to Andromeda's and had taught him how to hold the child properly had made him unnaturally happy, and the sight of her with her witty come backs was something he had come to enjoy; but the assumptions, the needing to be right, and her expectations began to put a dampener on his curious emotions. He sighed; a couple of portraits turning to look at him curiously as he passed, as the realisation he still wanted to get to know her, possibly be her friend rose over all her issues.
His feet took him to the library unbidden; the pathway familiar despite the rubble in the way, the lack of suits of armour, the hole where a damaged portrait should be. The oak double doors neared, swung open to allow for books to zoom in, a strong wind whipped up by the open windows he could see. The walls sparkled, the floor shone, and the varnish of the shelves and desks gleamed. He stepped in, to see Hermione up a ladder, her hair in a top knot, wisps of brown curls escaping and trailing down her neck. Her long, slender legs keeping her steady on a ladder as she read the title of a book, slotting it between another couple.
"Hermione," he called, walking further into the depths of the now half way finished library. "I'm impressed with the progress!" He continued as she dipped her head down to look at him, the conversation from earlier forgotten. She smiled, a warm, genuine smile that made her eyes sparkle and began to step down the ladder, she managed to reach the floor as he reached the bottom of the ladder, and they looked at each other awkwardly a moment, before the new familiarity of their brand of conversation settled upon them again.
"Yeah, I never would have guessed the cleaning would have been the fastest part; but all the walls, shelves, floor, desks, chairs…everything, all cleaned; even the books." She exclaimed in awe, tracing her finger over the spine of a leather bound tome that now seemed glossy with a reverence.
"Well house-elves are very thorough and efficient." He replied, about to tell her of his new position of Head Boy as her shoulders tightened, and an irritated expression passed over her features. A laugh, cold and dry burst from his lips before he could stop it, and she looked at him shocked; her brown eyes wide and confused.
"You're such a hypocrite." He began, feeling a whole well of emotion bustle to be free; her eyes widened further, and her mouth began to set in an insulted line, the familiar expression of her thinking wildly glimmering behind her eyes. "I've seen you use house-elves yourself, but you hate it when they're used by anyone else. Have you actually spoken to the house-elves here lately? They're beside themselves with joy. McGonagall treats them like she does anyone else; they're well homed, well fed, and happy. Yet here you are, being a complete hypocrite."
"I am not a-"
"You know what else? You're beyond ridiculous. You pissed me off so much earlier, just assuming that I meant my blood was better than yours. I said it was good using my blood because blood is supposed to be the stronger offering to give. The more blood, the better. That's how I meant it, but no. You went off on a whole pure-blood rant. I understand we're dying out by the way. I hadn't realised how many of us are now destroyed, but I do now thanks to you. I don't know if you've realised how incredibly prejudiced you are yourself, but you really are something else. You apparently want me to change Granger, which is great; honestly, thanks for having so much faith in me. Then you cling to the prejudiced ways yourself, assuming such things like I still believe my blood is better than yours. I stopped believing in that shit a long time ago. Not that you'd believe it or care; but don't you think it's funny how you can sit there lording over the fact you helped free me from Azkaban, but you think you're better than me because you're muggle-born, and 'your blood will save the wizarding world'. Don't demand change from me and not change yourself. Honestly, you're going to make a shit Head Girl if you don't change that way of thinking as soon as possible." He ranted, the freedom of those words forcing him to take in deep breaths, he could feel a snarl developing on his lips, his eyes narrowed as he stared at her ever growing angrier face. Her arms were crossed, and she seemed livid, her lips white.
"Slytherin house has a history of-"
"You are simply unbelievable." He interrupted her again, the sound of her voice adding fuel to the fire he was finding almost impossible to put out; he found he didn't want too. He stumbled backwards slightly taking in her expression, of arrogance, and sheer anger began to radiate from him. "I bet you think Slytherin House is going to be the worst house to deal with when school returns." He snarled at her, his eyes sparkling furiously, and she paled, regarding him with the first hints of fear. She opened her mouth and closed it again, and the cold laughter he'd spat at her before began to bubble out of his mouth again.
"I want you to do something for me Hermione," he sneered, watching her resist a tremble as he stepped closer, the action fuelling him on. "I want you to pretend you are a Slytherin, and we're back at the final battle. Slytherins have just been asked to choose their loyalties. You know what Slytherin did; the majority of us ran. Only a few of us stayed to fight, and those who did were stupid. Or we were trapped. We didn't have a choice. Think about why they ran Granger. Think real hard. Have you forgotten how many Slytherins were raised by Death Eaters? Lots of us. We were essentially being asked to choose between accidentally murdering our parents, or our aunts, or our uncles, cousins, our friend's parents; and murdering the people we grew up with. Shared lessons with. Sat next to in class, or was taught by them. You ever had to murder someone Granger? You ever been told you have to kill someone? It's not something I wanted to be. Not something anyone should chose to be. Especially when you know who you'll be killing. Especially when you don't even believe in what you're supposed to be killing them for. Lots of Slytherin house never believed in the pure-blood supremacy ideals. Lots more than you'd ever expect Granger, and it sickens me to think that someone like you, who still thinks you're above everything in the war will look down on people who fled so they didn't have to accidentally kill, or maim, or harm the people they loved. It's not going to be easy to be a Slytherin this year, and don't you dare think you can get away with continuing prejudices that you claimed to fight when you still hold them yourself. You're Head Girl, you're supposed to be the bastion of good, and show everyone else how to act. Yet here you are. Demanding I become better, scolding me about blood when, when was the last time I called you a mudblood Granger? Open your narrow minded eyes. The world isn't in books." He hissed, and her face had paled, her arms hung loosely at her sides, and her eyes were filled with unspoilt tears.
"I find your kind of attitude repulsive. I've suffered losses too. They might not have been the best people but I grew up with them. Now they're gone. I would have thought you wanted to honour your dead by trying to bring a new world into action like you said you would, not continue the old one. I may have believed in the pure-blood nonsense when I was younger, and you may believe I'm a spiteful, vicious bully still, but at least I can admit I was wrong; and at least I feel some remorse for what I did" He finished, feeling lighter, better; happier.
He peered at her, looking her over properly, to see her tremble. Her lower lip almost jutting out in a spoiled, upset pout; her face devoid of colour and her deep brown eyes dull behind the sparkle the tears gave. She wouldn't look at him, and something inside of him broke, a guilt he had felt so often recently developing, and starting to course through his veins. She nodded finally, moving her hand up to her cheek to wipe away the first tear that had spilt, and he swallowed, softening.
"I want you to be better." He echoed her words to him at her softly, his expression imploring. She turned to face him, and smiled weakly, an action he returned with all the kindness he could muster. She nodded again, as another tear fell, and Draco began to feel painfully awkward. Watching her cry, tears he'd just caused wasn't as entertaining as it once used to be; now it hurt.
"Look, you need to be here tomorrow, as McGonagall is building the eighth year dorm tomorrow with the heads rooms. I'll see you then." He said softly, turning on his heel and fleeing the Library as fast as he could, wishing his feet would take him outside to the lake as fast as they could, the desire to think everything over burning him dry; the wish for Hermione to do as she kept badgering him to do strong.
He wanted to get to know her. A kinder; better, her.
:: :: ::
Hermione watched him go silently; her whole body alight with pain and sheer humiliation. Spiteful anger had reared its ugly head first, but as he'd ranted at her, intimidating with his blizzard like eyes, the sharp edges of his features taking on murderous angles, and the elegant, lithe danger of his body leaning over her; she'd listened.
Shame now drenched her, and odd emptiness somehow managing to exist despite the agony she was in. His words had pulled at her, and she bit her lip, wiping away more tears as she thought over what he'd said.
She was a hypocrite, but not over house-elves, over her demanding he improve when she'd jumped to conclusions earlier. When she kept waiting for him to snap at her, insult her, humiliate her the way he had done years ago before a war had begun to ensnare them both. She'd stood at his trial, bleating words of how she thought he could do better, sat at a press conference saying how she wished he could be himself for once, and yet she hadn't learned as much as she thought she had from the war. The words of Luna's father Xenophilius swept through her, reminding her that he thought she was narrow minded, unwelcoming to the idea of anything that isn't in books. She shivered, hating hearing Draco repeat words she'd scorned months ago.
His words over Slytherin house alarmed her. She hadn't even considered half of what he'd snarled at her; how of all houses, Slytherin would be torn the most. She remembered modifying her parent's memories with a stab of horror and sobbed loudly, sinking against the shelf, her hands clutching above her heart as her face scrunched up, tears running rivers down her cheeks, and over her neck, soaking into the light cotton of her blouse. She'd never even considered the thought that they would be fighting against those who had raised them, which children would have been asked to harm people they'd loved and still did love. The history of a house didn't make the person who resided in it, she realised shamefully, thinking of Malfoy and how he'd admitted his choice had been completely removed from him when he became a Death Eater. She imagined having to fire stunning spells at people in hoods and masks, hoping that they weren't her mother or father, and realised she wanted more than anything to not think like that. Not have to imagine it.
Her brain sought out thoughts of Draco once more, and she cringed painfully, realising that he really was changing, seeking out a self that was more suited to him than she'd expected; his insults had tailed off a long time ago, and he was kind to her. He was already better, and he was right. He had suffered losses.
She remembered the picture of him following his raving father out of the court room, knowing that within a few hours the man who had raised him would be a shell, a heart beating, lungs inflating, but nothing else. She remembered Crabbe incinerating himself in the room of requirement, and she remembered that Narcissa was having to stay in a guest home on the Malfoy lands, the manor obliterated by an enraged Voldemort. He'd lost friends, family and his home. He'd almost lost his own freedom for an action he wanted no part of. Of course he'd change the moment he was free. The moment he was able. He couldn't lose anything else.
His words calling her a prejudiced hypocrite stung her, but learning that he was repulsed by her made her flesh wish it was inside out; the agony of it shocked her. She wanted him to like her, she wanted him to want to be friends with her, and she wanted to be someone he could like.
She'd work on herself; she'd be a great Head Girl, she'd be better.
With a final, heaving sob, she curled up on the floor of the library; crying for the first time in a while for all the losses she'd experienced in the war. She cried for the funerals she couldn't bring herself to tear up at, she cried for all the times she'd forced herself to be busy when she couldn't manage it, she cried for not crying earlier.
She grieved, and took the first tentative steps in being better.
Because she had to be better.
For herself.