A/N: So nice to see you guys enjoy this story! I've got a lot to update next week so bare with me.

"Really, Hermione. I am sorry."

"It's okay, Hagrid."

"Do you want a towel? A hot bath?"

"No, no. I'll just join the ceremony."

"Like that?"

"Yes… like this."

I was anything but ethical, though this really took the cake.

By the time I had braced myself for a carriage ride to the castle, everyone had swarmed off in a hurry– something about a wayward centaur in the enchanted forest.

My luck, of course.

I ended up walking, suitcase in tow and wand poised for attack, ready for a four-legged ambush or something of the Malfoy kind. Nothing but rain ensued– starting as a trickle and progressing to a full on thunderstorm, chuntering like a mini-tsunami down the cobbled path leading to Hogwarts, and showering the flowers that were sat grumpily by the doors.

"You look filthy." One of them had grumbled as I passed, sticking out its weedy tongue and flaring its rooty nostrils. I fought against my better judgment and ran over it with my bag as I passed, acting as if I didn't hear its squeal.

Hagrid was pasty white by the time I reached the main foyer, wringing his hands around a napkin that mimicked the size of a table-cloth. Apparently, Mcgonagall had threatened to make stew from his most beloved pumpkin if I wasn't to be found. Murder by vegetable was saved by the look of the relief on his face.

"Are you sure?" He now prompted, dabbing my soaking curls with that bedsheet hanky. "You'll catch a cold, Hermione."

"I'll be fine, Hagrid. Just show me where I'm sitting."

My bags had been escorted off to new chambers, and I stood toward the back entrance of the hall, eyeing the foreign heads of my teacher peers – bowing and lifting as they tucked into this evening's feast.

I could see the four large tables that manned all students, ranging from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin– their mix of royal coloured flags hanging proudly above each individual banquet.

Minerva was poised in Dumbledore's old chair, whilst the entourage of new professors ate soundly around her, mixing in conversation that sung of the new year, and what was to come.

Hagrid pointed his great finger over my shoulder and aimed it at the seat beside Professor Stinghorn– a new lady, with a sharp face and black hair. She looked too callous to be the head of Ravenclaw, though her personal capability for house points was the least of my worries - as beside her sat Malfoy, and his piercing blue stare.

That one cloudy eye snapping between each individual pupil.

Immediately, I grew possessive of all the innocent minds surrounding.

"Thank you, Hagrid." I whispered with a stiff upper lip, taking my first step into the dining hall.

I was wearing the lilac robes that Ginny and Harry had given me for Christmas, though now under the stream of rainwater, they looked a bruised black– sloshing heavily against the floor as my heels clicked ominously toward the top table.

There was an eerieness about being back in the castle, joining a sea of wiser witches and wizards, and not the curious onlookers that sat in years one through seven. I'd remembered feeling safe under the guidance of the professors, knowing they would slice an end to whatever enemy came our way.

Now, I would be one of these wiser adults.

Now, I would be the balance between a teacher and a protector -a task I didn't expect to be so daunting until now.

"Apologies, Professor." I whispered to Minerva as I approached the table, trying to avoid the headlight gaze of the room. A nervousness crept in that I hadn't felt before, and I avoided all the faces of my new peers as she rose from her chair, prompting others to follow.

The room stood with an ovation of smiles, and brought their hands together as Mcgonagall introduced me as the new Professor of Charms.

I bowed my head in appreciation and tried to strife off the burgundy hot blush, thanking her silently.

"Miss Granger will be the new head of Gryffindor House!"

My stomach became incredibly heavy, and I felt all the nerves in my body go jittery, grateful only for the emerald table in the center of the room that went ballistic with joy.

My sea of students.

"Which concludes our teacher announcement! Professor Stinghorn will be representing Ravenclaw–"

More cheering.

"-Professor Longbottom will represent Hufflepuff!-"

Louder cheering.

My eyes snapped immediately to the bottom of the table where a shy, older man sat– handsome, and soft in the face. He caught my stare and smiled warmly.

Neville… Neville…

How had I not noticed Neville in this room of strange faces?

I realized it was because of his new look– exchanging the sweater for a buttoned top, and his mop-haircut for a shaved one.

I was glad he was here, relief spreading through me like a summer's day.

"Miss Granger for Gryffindor!"

Happy cheering.

"And Mr Malfoy for Slytherin."

Draco's oddball stare narrowed as something of a smirk mused there, raising one hand to greet the students that didn't cheer or holler… but roared in solidarity.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise, though he was by far the most popular.

He glanced across the table and met my narrow glare, though didn't return it. He simply looked away, studying the room as Minerva began the sorting ceremony.

I clapped appropriately as each new year was sorted into one of the four houses, staring off in wonder at how only six years ago, sat in this very room, everything changed.

"Give it back, Deaser!"

"You don't mind, do you, worm-boy?"

"I said give it back!"

"Aw, he's going to cry."

Three boys stood in the dining hall just after lunch was served. It was a warm day, and most of the school was outside playing Quidditch, so it made no difference to the Slytherin 6th years whether anyone would hear. A professor wasn't around for miles.

The little round Hufflepuff boy was trying desperately to get his ferret back, though was getting kicked in the stomach every time he tried. Once again, he lifted a hand to swipe his beloved pet back, and another knee went to his ribs.

I slammed down my book and tore across the room, having just about enough of their incessant bullying. My robes whipped like leather at my heels, and I had my hand around that furry little creature before another fist could be thrown.

"I suggest you step back." I said to the one called Deaser, a dark-haired Slytherin boy. His red-haired accomplice, who surprisingly looked a lot like Ron, quickly listened.

"What are you going to do?" Deaser spat, his nose wrinkled. "I've heard stories about you."

"And I've heard nothing about you, which makes me the more important one. Back off."

"What are you going to do? Send one of your dead friends after me?"

I wrinkled my nose in disgust and sat the ferret back to its owner– his sniffling behind my shoulder mumbled between 'thank you' and 'oh no.'

"Get. Back. Now."

"Make me, mudblood."

My wand was out before I had time to process, all the rushing venom of the war surfacing from the ocean of my memory. I had a spell on the tip of my tongue, as forbidden as a piece of poisoned fruit– inflicting pain more than anything else.

"Cru–"

A pair of arms snared around my shoulders and disarmed me, my wand clattering to the ground.

I didn't kick or wrangle away, knowing what was about to ensue.

Shock locked my body, froze my tongue, and numbed my brain.

"Leave." A voice growled against my head, and I obeyed willingly.

The Slytherin boys scampered off, and at first, I thought I had been disarmed by Hagrid - as no one put the fear in anyone but the giant himself. Though as those arms led me away, I felt the strong muscle of a much defter body against me - dragging us from the dining hall and into a quieter corridor.

I regained my cool and shook off the hands that bound me, turning around with an incredulous look - one that only blossomed into anger, and then confusion.

"Draco."

"Have you lost the only salvageable part of your brain?"

"I…"

"You almost just damaged that boy for life."

"What happened to your face?"

He straightened his shoulders and stretched to the pinnacle of his height– a tall pedestal to stand on, as the only Malfoy boy to shun the likes of Voldemort.

Though the shadows he cast didn't disguise the broken angle of his nose and the bruises beneath his eyes.

"Did you hear me, Granger?"

I opened my mouth to talk, though nothing came.

I'd almost hurt someone… I'd almost wounded a child.

The Unforgivable Curse.

Crucio.

What was happening to me?

The tips of his fingers tapped my cheek– not in a slack, but in a prompt to wake up.

"You listening to me?" He argued.

"Leave me alone." I shoved, causing Draco to stumble back a few steps. I fled the corridor and fled to my quarters, not wanting to look back. Not wanting to deal with what I was so close to doing.

"Hermoine!" I heard him call, perhaps the first time he'd ever called me by my actual name.