Election results out- Britain has decided: Albus Dumbledore to take position as the Minister of Magic in landslide majority!

Lucius Malfoy appointed on the Wizengamot, in addition to being on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts!

The cold face of Lucius Malfoy blinked at Hermione, as she flipped the page. She was still at Andromeda's home, and had been under what she would technically call house arrest, apart from the little fact that it was not her house. Hermione didn't have a house or something she could even call a resemblance of home. The orphanage was just a place where she could stay at in the summer now. It had never been home in her mind.

The elections had taken place three days ago- apparently Wizarding Britain's electoral commission was much faster than its muggle counterpart, and today the newspapers had headlines only for this. Dumbledore had been offered the position out of merit thrice before the elections, and therefore his standing in the elections this time, was taken as a major point of interest. And then, there was of course, Fudge's funeral, which had dominated the newspapers for the last few days. All in all, Dumbledore was officially taking position as Minister from the second of September and as Hermione was realizing, Wizarding Britain's politics had never been dirtier.

She flipped another page.

Dumbledore's first action as minister should be investigating the murder of beloved, former, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge

-Article by Rita Skeeter.

Everyone had their own problems. Who was going to pay Rita for her very biased news stories now?

And in the midst of all this drama, there was the miraculous piece of news Millicent and Padma had written to her a few days ago-

The Triwizard Tournament was going to take place at Durmstrang this year.

The first of September arrived, and Hermione still did not see Sirius or even hear from him. She didn't know what to make of it. Sirius was a contradictory man- a Death Eater, a spy, a man who wanted his friends as much as he felt betrayed by them. But he had, by some manner, done a lot for her. He called it his penance, and she didn't know what mistake he was trying to atone for.

Besides no one was letting her know anything- and anyways with a political system like this, she doubted they understood half the shit they spewed form their mouths at all. She had spent most of her last week, scouting newspapers and trying to find some books in the Tonks library that would actually tell her about history that had actually occurred this century rather than the fifteenth century goblin wars. She had, obviously not found much, and had taken to practicing even more spells. The memory of being under the Cruciatus, all helpless, with every nerve burning in pain was stark in her mind. It was crippling.

So Hermione merely thanked Andromeda Tonks for letting her stay, and with the reassurance that she could reach Kings Cross through the Underground as she had done for the last two years, Hermione left the Tonks household.

As always, whenever Hermione used the Underground, or anywhere in Muggle London, she had the sense of being a stranger. It was fine in her neighbourhood, but she wasn't really sure. Maybe, in her heart, she had already made the transition.

Hermione had never really expected such a world. She had never believed in magic. When she was eight, Ashfaq had once taken her to see a magic show. Nothing gaudy, just another street magician. Hermione had been wide eyed, like all the other kids, but unlike all the other kids she didn't believe it was truly magic. She wanted to know the trick behind it, she wanted to pull that little trick apart and figure out how it all worked. She hadn't believed those displays or the fairytales Selene so liked.

Oh, the irony. It made her smile now.

Minerva McGonagall was now headmistress, and the Transfiguration job was now held by a foreigner called Feydor Zenik. He had a perfectly enunciated, posh British accent- at least in his speech.

Hermione was sitting at the Slytherin table beside Ron. As usual, Hermione had never made much of an effort to reconcile with her house mates on the train, and she and Ron had been mostly left alone, apart from an interjection by Millicent, who had barely popped in and left. It was her normal, and she wanted it that way.

The Sorting was going on, and she looked up when Snape, who had been made deputy, read out the name, Potter, Rose. Harry Potter's little sister.

"Gryffindor!'

There was a loud cheering from the other end of the Great Hall, and Minerva Mcgonagall, was looking both exasperated and proud at the high table. It was a curious expression Hermione had learnt from being friends with Ron. Ron was annoying and mean at times, sure, but so was Hermione. Everyone had their bad moments.

Across Ron, Draco Malfoy wrinkled his nose. 'Such a nuisance, those Potters.'

Hermione did half agree with this fact, and so didn't retort anything. She was waiting for more from the staff, in particular the whereabouts of the new DADA teacher, who had not been mentioned yet.

The Sorting ended, and McGonagall walked onto the podium.

'Before we begin the feast,' she said, and she wasn't looking very pleased. 'I shall like to inform you of your latest Defence professor, appointed on the mention of the Board of Governors - Professor Jacob Selwyn. Unfortunately,' She didn't seem to find this fact unfortunate at all.

'He is not able to join us today, and DADA classes shall continue from Wednesday onwards. Thank you, students and welcome back. Now, without further ado, let the feast begin!'

'Selwyn,' said Ron quietly, as he picked up his fork. 'Is one of the Sacred Twenty Eight.'

'Which means he's most probably a pureblood supremacist?' asked Hermione, now looking at Greengrass. She was thinner, and not in a fit way. Beside her, Tracey Davis was looking very sullen, and Blaise Zabini was sitting quietly. None of them seemed to be really invested in conversation, except Daphne and her sister, Astoria. It seemed it had not just been her with a depressing summer.

Hermione had expected Malfoy to be boasting- after all Lucius Malfoy was now guaranteed on the Wizengamot- with all the power of the pureblood faction, and with what Ron was saying, it was clear that Lucius Malfoy had influenced the appointment of someone like Selwyn. And yet, here he was, simply eating.

Perhaps he was simply waiting?

But patience and Draco Malfoy were two very far off things. It certainly wasn't a virtue Malfoy had ever demonstrated of possessing.

Beside her, Ron nodded stiffly.

'You heard the next big news?' asked Hermione now, as Feydor Zenik was deep in conversation with Snape at the staff table. 'The Triwizard Tournament is being held this year.'

'Yeah, at Durmstrang, I suppose.'

'Mmm, you have any idea why they're doing it now, in such an atmosphere? I mean, from what I've read, I've gathered that it probably means the Headmistress will be spending most of the year at Durmstrang. It isn't exactly the most desirable condition too leave Hogwarts in.'

Ron shrugged. 'I suppose it is unavoidable- international relations are weak at this time. Dad thinks it has to do with some overflow of antiques on the black market; trade is going weak- and besides I think Dumbledore will need more resources to stand up against You Know Who. So he's most probably gonna use such an opportunity to increase foreign relations; it won't do for him to face You Know Who without any backing. It certainly isn't best for Hogwarts sure, but sometimes, you have to let these little things slide by. Here, have a muffin, they're really good today.'

Hermione privately thought that in Dumbledore's mind, leaving Hogwarts undefended was a sacrifice. She didn't really blame him though- they couldn't afford even the slightest chance for a man like Lucius Malfoy being the Minister of Magic. The Muggle borns would stand no chance in such a regime. And her? Practically the most famous muggleborn in Britain at the moment?

The feast ended, the prefects were now leading the new first years to the dormitories. She saw Potter ruffling his sister's hair, a wide grin on his face. She tried to ignore the sick feeling of jealousy in her stomach. She was never going to get that.

Hermione and Ron made their way to the Common Room together, right behind Daphne and her sister, both of whom were in deep conversation. The familiar greenish hue of the light seemed to take away the shock of the sudden cold inside, and the two of them settled on an armchair somewhat near the fire. There was no use risking relations- the seats near the fire had always been seventh year territory and it wasn't going to be changing now.

Adrian Pucey glanced at her from across the room, giving her a slight nod, as the cold drawl of Malfoy reached her ears.

'She'll get what's coming to her, that filthy mudblood...'

Hermione did not need to turn to recognize the next voice.

'In some regards, I could almost say she's smart. The mudblood at least knows her position. Didn't make a sound at the end of last year, did she?'

'She was always a coward.' came the cold voice of Tracey Davis. Now that was something she hadn't really expected. Sure, Tracey Davis had always been a little tag along to Malfoy's gang, but she had never taken it so far. Being half blood herself, she had always craved to act like she was one of them. Despite this, Davis and Hermione hadn't really exchanged words in two years.

Then it meant only one thing- Davis was looking for an opportunity. She was milking it for all it was worth.

'Fucking pathetic, really.' Davis finished, as Parkinson and Malfoy entered the room first, her bringing up the rear of the little trio.

'The little-' That was Ron, but Hermione cut him off, standing up in full view of everyone, right in the middle of the huge hall with its ornate decor and long shadows in the green light. She had expected this.

In fact, with the reassuring solid of her wand, she could almost say she craved the opportunity.

With a slight flick of her wand, Davis was now frozen in mid air. Her hazel eyes were wide in panic, searching the crowd as her eyes finally landed on Hermione, who hadn't even raised her wand high. There was no noise in the crowd, as Hermione had expected it to be. On the contrary,if this thing didn't end with a little blood, she was pretty sure she would most probably get a nice detention for "disruption" or "setting bad examples".

Another non verbal silencing charm. Hermione didn't want to hear her voice anymore.

'You have your wand, Davis,' she said instead voice cold, emotionless. She wanted to be taunting, to laugh madly. She didn't. 'Get down yourself, c'mon. I haven't even done anything.' It was true- for the moment.

Davis certainly wasn't bad at magic, but she certainly wasn't advanced enough to perform non verbal charms. Hermione turned- now looking at Malfoy and Parkinson together. She crossed her arms together, forcing her face to not betray any anger.

'Now, Malfoy- you know I really am interested. What's coming for me?'

His face fluttered between fear and confusion, finally settling at an almost, cruel, proud look.

'You're telling me you don't know? The little mudblood, darling Girl Who Lived doesn't know?'

The use of the term Girl Who Lived seemed to have caught the attention of the sixth and seventh years, who had never shown interest in these matters. Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

'No, I don't or why in hell would I be asking you a question? Want me to say it twice?'

Malfoy exchanged a glance with Theodore Nott in the corner. The boy shook his head, but Malfoy opened his mouth anyway.

'The Dark Lord is back,' he started, actual excitement, mirth in his voice. It made Hermione feel sick.

The entire Common Room was holding its breath. Everyone knew this fact, some way or the other. And either way, Dumbledore was going to parade this news everywhere from tomorrow. And yet, she had never expected him to actively declare this.

'Your kind is done here, Granger. Didn't you hear who the new DADA professor was? Don't you understand what it means when the Triwizard will be taking place at Durmstrang? Did you know, muggle borns aren't allowed to study there? Wish Hogwarts had adopted that too...anyways, you were always said to be bright, Granger, or are you too scared to realize what's changing? I can make it simpler - You aren't welcome here anymore. No one's gonna save the mudblood, not Dumbledore, not McGonagall, seeing that she'll be at Durmstrang for the rest of the year, certainly not Snape, and your parents, well, you don't even have them. You'll be going the same way as your filthy muggle parents with their common, dirty blood-'

Everything had gone black in her mind, All she could hear was noise, clouding, feel the heat of flames, when she was standing in a room underneath a lake, with cold in its stones.

Her wand was forgotten and instead she pulled him up by the collar of his robes, anger and rage all in the cloud of pain in her chest. The noise was still there when she slammed him onto the wall, a sickening crunch meeting her ears. She wanted to hurt him, she wanted him to suffer, by God, she wanted to kill him now-

There was blood on her hands, red, red-, and she took a step backward, letting the collar of his robes slide from hers. Her eyes were wide, and the noise was still buzzing in her ears. She couldn't comprehend what she had just done, god no, they would expel her now, snap her wand, and then she really would be as helpless as a muggle-

Hermione took another step backward, blood rushing in her ears. The whole room was frozen, she couldn't meet anyone's eyes.

'You little-' That was Parkinson. Her feet moved on her own accord, back and back through the crowd of people, all of whom were moving away. She caught a last glimpse of Malfoy's pale face, blood running from the wound on his forehead, before rushing out of the Common Room, the stone wall sliding to the right like an invitation, and less like the escape route it was.

Hermione had never run faster in her life. She ran blindly, cold air of the night whooshing in her ears, only the sound of her footsteps echoing on the stone floors. She climbed up another flight of stairs, her heart beating in her chest like a trapped animal, till she finally collapsed on the stone floor, right beside some stupid tapestry of trolls attempting the ballet.

There was still blood on her hands. She couldn't breathe.

What had she done? If she hadn't been a target before, well, she was as good as giving them the gun in their hands. And that too, now. Now, when Malfoy's daddy was in full control of the Board of Governors, full control of Hogwarts, was probably rising higher and higher on the Wizengamot as the night went.

No one would help her. Malfoy had told the truth tonight. No one would help her. They would expel her. Snap her wand. Even perhaps, they would throw her in Azkaban., to rot with the cold of the dementors.

She stood up, pacing furiously, not caring that it was way past curfew and there was blood on her damn hands, she was suffocating in panic, on the same corridor. It was only on her fourth time that she noticed that there was now a black door instead of the blank wall.

Hermione walked in, wand in hand, heart racing. There was water. There was a bed. There was a whole damn library.

She washed off the blood, scrubbing so hard, it felt like she was trying to remove her own skin. She smoothed back her hair. No one should know I'm here, she thought, sitting on the bed. She would be safe for the night. Her wand was clutched tight in her hand, heart still racing madly. She would be safe for the night, Hermione repeated in her mind. There was tomorrow.

It happened as soon as Hermione thought she'd like a mirror. The room immediately provided it, even though she hadn't even said it out loud. She hadn't slept last night, and it clearly showed. Her face was pale, tired, and Hermione just looked so frightened. Nevertheless, she knew she couldn't stay here forever.

She slipped into the Great Hall, just as everyone was leaving, so that most of the house tables were nearly empty. Some of the Gryffindors were there, both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were empty, but it was the glimpse of red hair and white blonde at the same table that caught her eye first.

There was no one at the Slytherin table, apart from Ron and Malfoy. Hermione took a deep breath, walking towards them. A bandage was wrapped around Malfoy's forehead, already stained red. She didn't feel guilty. The horror and shock from yesterday had almost worn off, and for a second looking at it, she almost felt satisfied.

Hermione took another deep breath, finding the familiar blue of Ron's eyes. Malfoy was sitting a few seats away, deliberately not looking at Ron.

Ron had noticed her now, he stood up quickly. 'Where were you last night?'

Hermione twisted her hands together, considering. 'At the dorms.'

'Don't lie to me Hermione. You never came back to the Common Room. I was there all night, I should have known.'

His voice was hurt. She let her nails dig into her skin, not able to meet his eyes. 'I-'

Her voice broke. She cleared her throat, now glancing at Malfoy, who stared right back. He too, was paler than usual, face hard.

'I-well, you know what happened , Ron.'

'Just short of cracking open Malfoy's skull?'

'He's right here,' she mumbled. Ron stuck his hands into his pockets, not turning. 'I don't give a damn, sadly. But, Hermione, do you not realize what you've fucking done?'

She stood straighter. Malfoy's gaze locked with hers. Leverage. She was giving him leverage over her.

'Look, does...everyone in the school know?'

'I'm pretty sure Snape knows,' said Ron sourly. 'But I'm also pretty sure Malfoy likes to exaggerate things.'

'Weasley.' Came Malfoy's cold drawl suddenly. 'I need to talk with Granger. Alone.'

Hermione blinked, as Ron turned slowly to face Malfoy standing across them. 'Aren't you supposed to be crying in the Hospital Wing?'

Malfoy flushed slightly. 'A slight change in plans.'

Ron raised his eyebrows. 'Are you sure? I don't think you'd hold if Hermione decides to crack that thick head of yours again.'

'Ron.'

He held up a hand. 'Shut up, Hermione. Do you still not fucking realize what you've done?'

'You're not responsible for me, Ron.'

He turned, biting his lip as he looked at her, giving a long, searching look. 'Fine. I'm getting late for Transfiguration anyway.' he said coldly, turning in the direction of the hallway that led to the Transfiguration classroom.

'And don't look at the newspaper. I doubt you'll want to see the Dark Mark floating over your home the first thing in the morning.' He added without looking at her, only the sound of his loud footsteps in her ears.

He was gone. For a second it was like the blood was still there on her hands.

'Listen, mudblood. You nearly killed me last night.'

The usage of that word had never bothered her as much as it did now. She knew what was going to happen. Dumbledore might be able to save her from an Azkaban sentence, but he certainly couldn't save her from expulsion. She clutched her wand tight. Hermione wanted to scream till her throat was raw.

Instead, she merely tilted her head to the side, trying to think.

'But you know,' he started smugly. 'I'd like to do you a favour. You're after all, a Slytherin.'

'If you think it means that I am-'

He cut her off smoothly. 'Never mind what I think. The fact is this, you nearly killed me last night. All you'll have in your defence for harming the son of a Hogwarts Governor and lead Opposition in the Wizengamot is that I provoked you. And if you haven't realised yet, your word means nothing.'

The memory of meeting Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry suddenly hit her.

"This little golden time of yours won't last long, Mudblood."

She felt sick. Everything this boy was saying, every damn thing was the truth.

'As I was saying, I'm feeling oddly sentimental at the moment. I'm going to let this little incident slide by while writing to Father.'

'And what do you want in return?'

'You're sharp, Granger. It's just a curse that you're a mudblood.'

'If that's what passes as flattery in your cursed mind, well-'

'Take it as whatever you want, I don't want to waste my time trying to explain things to you. As for returns, well I'd first like some insurance.'

'You can just gut me out, Malfoy. I'd rather rot in Azkaban than help you.'

'Both can be easily arranged.'

The bell rang loudly. 'You know, I'm thinking McGonagall might let me slip away.' Malfoy sighed, looking at his watch with its stupid gold wrist links. 'Anyways, I just don't want you to think I'll let this slide off. You remember that time you sprouted a million lies about my father to the Prophet?'

'The reporter wrote it even with your family's money lining her wallet. And honestly, Malfoy, those weren't even lies. Your father is a pathetic, vile excuse of a human being-'

Malfoy had his wand out.

She did not flinch. He had no leverage over her in that department.

'And so, do you remember what I told you?'

'I seem to have forgotten,' she smirked, basking in the glow of satisfaction. Flashes of memory sparked in her mind. Malfoy's pale, scared face. The cold of her wand, the cold of the night. The feeling of power.

'I don't seem to remember you talking very much while floating in the air. More muffled screaming, I think.'

Malfoy's gaze remained cool. 'Yes, well, I told you I could give you a hundred more scars. I think it'll do you good to remember that.'

Hermione shrugged. 'Just gut me out Malfoy. Have your revenge, or whatever else you call it. Don't do this fake dance of being considerate and other bullshit.'

'Just remember what I said, mudblood.' He said darkly, and left, but not before tossing a furled up copy of the Daily Prophet in her direction.

Hermione knew she was running late for Transfiguration. She knew she shouldn't be bunking the very first class of the term, and especially not the class a new teacher, a foreigner was taking. As much as she knew most of the syllabus, she liked being in class, listening to the extra tidbits the teachers peppered their lectures with, learning new alternatives, the feeling that she was still doing something worthwhile. It was that niggling excitement of learning something new that had stayed in Hermione since she was young, a habit of being wide eyed and surprised and wanting to know how it all worked.

Yet, she stayed back, Malfoy's words echoing in her ears. She didn't really know Malfoy very well, but she could say very strongly, for one, that Malfoy had written to his father about this debacle and that Snape was certainly going to be involved. Whether Lucius Malfoy wanted it to escalate further, well, that she really didn't know. And there was Parkinson. There was Davis. Goddamn it when she had to be sharing a room with them.

And Ron. She could take anyone's betrayal, just not his. Hermione relied on him. She had started to lean on him without expecting to, started to rely on their friendship, started to think that it was permanent, started to believe that after Luke, she really did have a friend.

She exhaled loudly, turning to pick up the furled up copy of the newspaper.

("I doubt you'll want to see the Dark Mark floating over your home the first thing in the morning.")

The words registered in her mind firmly. Your home. Her home. The one her parents had lived in, a home where she had been happy and loved and true.

She smoothed the paper on the table, expecting to see eerie green light or pictures of her fallen parents, but was instead met with the mugshots of twelve people, and another image of Lucius Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore standing side by side.

The image of a familiar, sleek haired witch with heavily lidded eyes caught her eye.

She looked so much like Andromeda, it was unnerving. It reminded her of the cold of the dementors.

The bold headline caught her eye.