A/N: To all my ONE fan. . . here 'ya go! This chapter has a little more dialogue in it, for those of you who like that sort of thing. Shakes head Talking…who would want to do that?

((Insert Disclaimer here))

Chapter Two

Homecoming

The graduation ceremony lasted under an hour, feast and all. The students of all years filed onto the train after bidding their parents farewell. I sat in a compartment with the ever silent Crabbe, reading the paper. As usual, there was only mentioning of re-growth of the community, nothing about my father. He was the only Death Eater to escape, but no one expressed much concern for the lost Malfoy. Too many other events overshadowed it. Disappointed and disgusted, I threw the newspaper against the other wall of the compartment in frustration. Crabbe remained statue-like, not even flinching at the sudden movement and sound. Losing half your soul to a dementor will do that to a boy . . .

I gave a start as the compartment door opened and a confident voice announced her presence.

"Draco?"

Swallowing my pride, I looked up at the newcomer.

"Yes, Hermione?" I placed my feet up against the other bench and laid back, trying to act nonchalant. I would die before she would see me so distressed again.

"Talk to me, Draco," she almost pleaded, her eyes soft as she sat across from me. She shot a worried look to Crabbe, but he didn't even notice.

I remained silent, shaking my head, not in an answer, but in frustration. What could she want to talk about? Ron? Harry? That night in the forest when she had saved me?

Hermione sighed. It was clear that she hadn't really expected an answer. She absently ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame it. Her locks had, over the years, become curlier and not so frizzy. And so she had developed a nervous habit of attempting to make them lay flat. I brought my hand to hers and pulled it back down before releasing her. She looked at me quizzically.

"You shouldn't do that. It looks better when you just leave it be." I thought that I detected a blush, but I brushed it off. Who cared if she responded to a compliment? She was also the one who had kept me from avenging my mother. However, I could not force myself to feel anything bad about her. She had come like a golden saint, helping me when I needed her. I was in her debt, a place that I didn't like to be.

"Just a habit, I suppose . . ." she said idly, waving my hand further away, "Anyway, what I came to ask you was if you would be by yourself in your home?"

I looked at her patiently. She knew the answer to that. What did she really want from me? She seemed to wither under my hard eyes so I offered her a small smile. I was changed as well. I did not live to torment others.

"You know that I will be. Other than the house-elves." I laughed as she tried to keep herself from speaking out. Shaking her head in amusement at herself, the tension was broken. She leaned forward.

"Are you sure that you won't need anything?" I met her gaze evenly and kept my smile. When I nodded, she sighed a bit before leaning back once more.

"Where's Ron?" I asked about an hour later. She was the one taking care of him now that he had fallen into a depression. She looked out the window, seemingly entranced with the scenery.

"He's having one of his spells," she answered without looking at me. I knew at once what she meant. Ron's "spells" were his deepest bouts of depression. He would sit and stare at nothing, much as Crabbe. Not saying anything, he would stay that way for hours and no amount of talking could make him pay attention. As much as I wanted to think otherwise, there were no happy endings for the students of Hogwarts. Goyle was dead, Crabbe might as well be. Ron was surviving as if he had a dementor trailing after him. Hermione was living with the memory of thousands of her classmates dead or dying, not to mention her favorite teachers. And I . . . I was dreaming a nightmare and I would wake up alone.

The few hours of peace I had, sitting with Hermione, came to a harsh and unwelcome end. We hadn't said anything since the mention of Ron, nor did we say anything as we gathered our things. I had to help Crabbe find his parents on the station, since he didn't remember them, before I could find a place to Disapparate.

I opened my eyes and found myself on the grounds of my home. House elves surrounded me in a flash, taking my suitcases and telling me what they had done for the house and for supper. Holding up my hand, I silently ordered them to leave me be. They scattered, taking my suitcases along, and I was left by myself.

I didn't go up to the house first. Instead, I made my way to the stables, my only solace. The horses were taken care of, not by a house elf, but by a servant who lived on the grounds. His name was Camdin, but all my life I simply called him Cam. He was an older man, surpassing both my parents in years. But unlike them, Cam was a Squib and had no other means of supporting himself.

I wandered among the stalls of our five Arabian horses, giving them a few words of soothing before moving on to the next one. My favorite, a grey mare I called Aurora, whinnied as I approached. Smiling genuinely for the first time in ages, I stroked her muzzle, pulling a carrot that had suddenly "appeared" in my pocket. She snatched it greedily. The laugh I let out seemed harsher than I remembered, but it was a start.

Leaving my sanctuary, I took the long way to the house, only going inside because the clouds threatened rain. I could smell dinner on the table, a place set for one. It was then I realized that my family would not be joining me. I would no longer hear them fight at the table or make up at the table. My mother would never pressure me into asking about school while my father watched in either stony silence or with pride. I leaned against the doorframe and buried my head in my hands, the smell of pork invading my nose. I felt bile in my throat and feared I would be sick. I didn't want to move though. I just let my terrible tears flow. For the first time, I cried.

A/N: Please, please, please review! Those are what I thrive off of! So . . . will you review? Pretty please?