It was the stillness that woke her—Hermione was no longer accustomed to it. She didn't know how to handle the quietude of the morning, the absence of human activity. For so long she'd jumped from one problem to another, the specter of an impending threat always hovering in the back of her mind. Now the silence mocked her, loud enough to wake her from her troubled slumber.
That's the sound of your parents not remembering you, she thought glumly before her eyes drifted open. It's the sound of your monumental and irrevocable fuck-up in the face of impossible circumstances. Mum and Dad should be here, but they're not—because of you.
A few tears began to trail down her cheeks and onto her pillow as she lay paralyzed in the early morning sunlight, berating herself for the millionth time in the past few days. She could still smell hints of the fabric softener her parents liked to use in the soft pillowcase currently absorbing her tears. Indeed, remnants of their past lives still lay scattered all throughout her childhood home.
Despite her tears, Hermione still clung to the hope that staying in this house would help her find closure. She'd apparated here in a state of devastation and panic immediately after learning there was no longer any hope of recovering her parents' memories without damaging their minds. After spending so many months surrounded by people, all she had craved was solitude so she could openly grieve for everything and everyone she'd lost.
In the months leading up to her doomed trip to Australia, she'd helped with the rebuilding of Hogwarts after the Final Battle, had testified at a handful of trials, had fielded an insane amount of public relations requests, and had attended far too many funerals. She was at once sick of human company, and terrified of being alone after having spent so long being occupied with the aftermath of the war.
A sharp tapping on the window behind her interrupted her morbid thoughts. In an instant, she whipped her arm out from under her pillow and jumped on the opposite side of her bed, wand drawn. She quickly lowered it when she saw the imposing owl staring impassively at her from the other side of the glass, taking note of the large envelope tied to one of its legs.
Sheepishly, she crossed the room and opened the window. The owl hooted in greeting before presenting its leg to her, flying away moments after she'd untied the piece of mail.
She slid the window shut while curiously regarding the oddly specific address on a letter she never thought she'd receive again—the eighth of its kind, a letter from Hogwarts. Her melancholic mood temporarily forgotten, Hermione wandered back to her bed and took a seat, staring blankly at the thick envelope for another minute before moving to open it.
She gingerly unfolded the thicker of the two stacks of parchment it held, her face filled with confusion as she read its contents before morphing into an expression of surprise, and then consideration. She lowered the parchment to her lap, staring unseeingly ahead of her and processing what she'd just read before scanning over the other pieces of parchment in the stack.
She'd just received an invitation from Professor – no, Headmistress McGonagall to attend an unprecedented 8th year at Hogwarts in the Fall, a chance to officially complete her education after the shitshow of the previous year.
McGonagall's letter was accompanied by a book list, a supply list, some accommodation details, and an academic overview. Elated, Hermione set the first stack aside and unfolded the second stack of parchment, her eyes widening when a small badge fell onto her lap.
Is that what I think it is? Hermione sat stunned for a moment before reading McGonagall's heartfelt words with incredulity. The Headmistress fiercely believed that as the brightest witch of her age, Hermione deserved a chance to be Head Girl just as much as she deserved a chance to properly finish her education. It was the part after this that caused Hermione's brows to furrow.
Draco bloody Malfoy?! McGonagall asked him to be Head Boy?! Hermione's elation faltered as she read McGonagall's reasoning, her good mood ruined and veering towards petulant. The further she read, the more she begrudgingly agreed with the Headmistress' line of thinking, but she didn't have to like it.
It was one thing to have testified in Malfoy's defense last month, but it was altogether different to have to work in close quarters with him. Beyond his role as her childhood tormentor, he was one of the few people who'd been present for one of the lowest moments of her life. Her gaze was unwittingly drawn to the ugly scar on her arm.
Immediately, she slammed her mental walls down as a memory from that night threatened to resurface. She took deep breaths to ground herself in the present moment. While she'd gotten better at handling flashbacks from the war, she didn't feel capable of handling the loss of her parents on top of that trauma—especially not alone. So she was compartmentalizing for the time being. She took a deep breath and then exhaled.
"I could say no," she spoke aloud to herself after a moment, breaking the still morning silence.
She shook her head. But then I'd be admitting defeat. What did I fight for if not the right to be a part of magical society?
The last thing Hermione wanted to do was let the likes of Draco Malfoy deter her from doing what she loved now that the war was over. Redemption was indeed more important than revenge after all, especially now. She reached for the small badge that had fallen on her lap and ran her thumb over the 'H' embossed on its surface.
As excited as she was at the prospect of completing her education, there was also some hesitation. Hogwarts didn't exactly evoke the best memories anymore… not after the carnage that had taken place there only months earlier.
Yet even those terrible memories weren't strong enough to completely dispel the wonderful memories she'd formed over the course of 6 years as a student in the castle. Perhaps this 8th year could be an opportunity to say goodbye to her childhood on a better note.
Another thought slithered unbidden into her mind. What else are you going to do with your time? It's not like you have a family to catch up with. You Obliviated them.
Hermione's heart ached at the reminder, but she quickly chided herself for wallowing in self-pity, knowing it wouldn't get her anywhere. I did what I had to, and because of it my parents are alive, even if they don't remember me. It kept them safe—that's all that matters.
She gazed at the stacks of parchment in her lap, the immensity of that sacrifice weighing heavily on her. She was of age in muggle and wizarding societies alike now, legally an adult who was responsible for her own affairs. This would be the first of many big decisions she'd need to make for herself from now on, which wasn't that unusual at her age. She just wished her parents could be there with her for all these milestones. I miss them.
"I can do this," Hermione spoke resolutely.
She rose to her feet to begin getting ready for the day. She planned to inform McGonagall that she'd be accepting her offers – both to attend Hogwarts for one last year, and to be Head Girl—Draco Malfoy be damned.
In the meantime she had school books and supplies to purchase, and Diagon Alley would be a welcome distraction. She was glad for the excuse to take a break from this house which now felt more like a mausoleum entombing her previous life than a home.
Draco wanted so badly to despise her, to be disgusted by her—any variation of intense dislike would have sufficed, if only for the sense of familiarity it would have provided. But as he surreptitiously watched Hermione Granger pause in front of Obscurus Books to scrutinize what was undoubtedly her Hogwarts shopping list, all he could muster was annoyance at her predictability, and mild curiosity.
She looks unwell. He studied the drawn look on her thin face, the careful way she held herself, and wondered why she still looked like she held the weight of the world on her shoulders. The war had ended months ago, but she still looked as though she was in the midst of fighting some kind of battle.
This Granger was a far cry from the one he'd last gone to school with, still closer to the girl who'd been rendered helpless on his drawing room floor. He frowned slightly from behind the glass barrier and busy thoroughfare that separated them.
Given her obsession with books, he'd known she'd jump at the chance to attend Hogwarts again despite what had happened there only a few months ago. He'd been less sure whether she'd accept the Head Girl position once she learned he'd made Head Boy. He still wasn't sure about the latter, but her presence in Diagon Alley all but confirmed that like him, she'd be attending Hogwarts for their 8th year.
While she had the option of accepting or declining, Draco didn't have much of a choice unless he wanted to end up in Azkaban. He was required to complete 8th year as one of his probationary conditions. Frankly, he was just satisfied to have received a second chance at all.
Lost in thought, he moved away from the window display at Scribbulus to pay for the writing supplies he'd gathered while watching Granger deliberate.
He thought back to the day when McGonagall herself had taken the unusual step of meeting with him in person to talk about his forthcoming Hogwarts attendance and to offer him the Head Boy position. She'd sternly informed him that along with the Ministry's intense scrutiny of his school behavior, she had very high expectations of him for the upcoming year.
"This is above all a gift and a challenge, Mr. Malfoy," she'd told him gravely, "A chance to prove not just to the world, but to yourself that you're capable of rehabilitation in a society that would rather see you punished. Don't squander it."
Draco knew he was being handed a once in a lifetime opportunity (not that his grades didn't already prove he deserved it). He planned to take complete advantage of it, especially if it meant improving his odds of succeeding in magical society post-Voldemort.
He wasn't stupid—he knew McGonagall wanted to make an example of him, to show everyone that even someone with his notoriety could be reformed. Of course, he wasn't completely convinced it was possible, wasn't sure how much would be left of him once the trappings of his indoctrination disappeared, if they could even be eradicated. Yet he knew he had to try.
Short of stealing a time turner, there was nothing he could do to change what had happened in the past. And he was quite done with questionable magical artifacts for the time being, thank you very much. His only option was to look ahead and rebuild his reputation from the ground up for the sake of what was left of his family and his future.
McGonagall's words had been perfectly timed, delivered only hours after he and his mother had been pardoned of their crimes for the part they had played in helping the Order. It was also only hours after he'd become the head of the Malfoy estate once his father had received the Dementor's Kiss upon his conviction by the Wizenmagot. Lucius would now be spending the rest of his life in a lobotomized state in Azkaban, and it would be up to Draco to make something of his disgraced family name.
Can't say I'll miss him, Draco mused resentfully. He dug his grave, now he can lay in it.
He ruthlessly suppressed the parts of himself that wished things could have gone differently for his family, the parts that missed the man Lucius used to be.
My father is long gone, Draco reminded himself.
There was a persistent undercurrent of pain when he thought of his father's fate, but he refused to explore the feeling lest he feel any sympathy for the man who had jeopardized his family legacy in favor of a failed ideology.
Indeed, a stronger undercurrent of anger was all he would allow himself to feel towards the shadow of the man who'd raised him. Draco was ready to move on, ready to channel his anger and resentment in a more productive direction.
Which brought him back to Granger. She was already halfway to becoming an asset he could use to his advantage if she truly was returning to Hogwarts.
Finished with his purchase, he exited the shop while glancing at the empty spot she'd occupied a few minutes ago. He held no illusions about the reception he'd likely receive from the student body upon his return to school. He'd terrorized many from their ranks, and he and his family had made life miserable either directly or indirectly for an even larger number of them and their loved ones.
McGonagall's offer had been as much for his protection as for a chance at rehabilitation, but he knew it wouldn't be enough to get him through the year unscathed. Still, Draco had a plan. It was well-known that Granger was a bleeding heart who strove to defend the underdog in most situations.
Draco planned to use that to his advantage now that he was the one who would be exorciated for his bigoted, pureblood heritage. As Head Boy and Head Girl, they'd spend more time together than usual, which meant that just by doing her job she would be shielding him from the brunt of his detractors' antics while in each other's company. If she accepted the Head Girl position.
It was a stretch, but perhaps getting Granger on his side would help improve public perception of him amongst his peers. He'd take anything he could get at this point. Even if she initially rejected his olive branch, even if she fought him, he knew she'd eventually feel sorry for him if he was making an active effort to be better. She was just that predictable. Considering how she'd looked just now though, he doubted she had much fight left in her at all.
The only reason he was even entertaining the possibility was because of the knowledge he'd gleaned from the Prophet during breakfast a few weeks ago. He knew Potter and Weasley wouldn't be accompanying Granger back to school because they'd already accepted fast-track Auror positions at the Ministry.
They were slated to start their positions a week and a half before the start of term, which meant he'd have more opportunities than ever to interact with her without the interference of Idiot 1 and Idiot 2 to muck things up.
Smirking, Draco made his way towards a less crowded part of Diagon Alley, stopping in an alcove by an empty storefront. He could feel the recriminating stares that at least a quarter of the alleyway's inhabitants were directing towards him even now, but he paid them no mind. He'd quickly become accustomed to the accusation in people's gazes since the end of the war, and especially since he was pardoned.
It didn't bother him. In fact, he enjoyed knowing that his presence commanded any kind of attention, regardless if it was positive or negative. It was easier to redirect and mold attention than it was to earn it, and he had plenty of it to work with.
His smirk widening, he straightened his posture and disappeared into thin air with a sharp crack of apparition.
See you soon, Granger.
A/N: Warning, this story gets dark, and will include torture as well as sexual themes. Having said that, those dark facets only comprise around 50% of the story content. The rest is slow burn Dramione with more levity. Visit my website (linked in my profile) to find story playlists, additional cover artwork, and more!