Draco swept his calculating gaze across the sparsely populated Platform 9¾, landing on the crimson exterior of the Hogwarts Express as it billowed steam into the early morning sunlight.
It wasn't nerves he was feeling—such weakness of character was beneath the head of the Malfoy estate, a flaw he could no longer afford to indulge. No, it was anticipation that was coursing through his veins now. After having spent so long confined to Malfoy Manor, he was relieved with the change of scenery, even if it meant he was walking into the lion's den.
His compulsory return to Hogwarts was the launching point for the comeback he and Narcissa had planned for their family name while still under house arrest. They'd accounted for a variety of scenarios depending on the reception he received upon returning to school.
He was expecting it to go badly, but his mother was a little more optimistic. No matter how it went, it would be the first stage in a prolonged game he was determined to win. He loathed the thought of remaining a social pariah.
Mother and son had arrived at King's Cross station early so Draco could get a headstart on his Head Boy duties on the train, and in a bid to avoid the crowds that would surely gawk at them if given the chance. As it was, they were receiving death glares from two different people on the platform.
Narcissa cooly raised an elegant eyebrow in their direction before refocusing her attention on her son. Her eyes softened as she looked up at his tall form, and she pulled him in for a tight hug.
"You can do this, my dragon. Be strong. Remember, I'm only an owl away," she murmured before releasing him reluctantly. Draco nodded and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaning down to kiss her cheek.
"I won't let you down. Take care, Mother. I'll be in touch."
Such a genuine public display of affection would have been unheard of from them before the war, but now it was a strategic move on both of their parts to humanize themselves and present a united front to wizarding society. Draco resisted the urge to sneer at the handful of people who dared to meet his eyes as he made his way to the Hogwarts Express and boarded it.
His expression remained stoic as he strode through the train's various cars, encountering no one along the way. He stopped at the Prefect's carriage near the back of the train, and made his way to the Heads' compartment on the side that didn't face the platform, feeling for all the world like he was preparing for battle.
For all he knew, that might be the case once this year's prefects and Head Girl showed up. No matter. Come what may, he was ready. Few things could be worse than what he'd already survived.
She could feel the gazes of too many students on her as she made her way down the cramped train corridors. It was unnerving, to say the least. She returned the occasional greeting that was thrown her way, but at the speed she was walking, it was hard for anyone to get a word in.
Hermione had grown accustomed to attention since the end of the war, but this was on a whole new level. It reminded her of the paparazzi that muggle celebrities regularly had to contend with. At the thought, Hermione's heart ached—the subject of photography reminded her of Colin Creevey and his penchant for it. He'll never get to photograph anything ever again.
Snapping herself out of that depressing train of thought, she refocused on the task at hand, grimly aware that there would be many opportunities for her to practice this act of mental re-centering once she returned to Hogwarts, the scene of so many of her nightmares and dreams lately.
There were still two carriages to go before she'd reach the one reserved for the Heads and Prefects. Despite knowing she'd arrive far too early for the Prefects meeting, she increased her speed in the hopes of escaping the claustrophobic atmosphere that was beginning to develop around her.
She should have known it would be like this. As the only member of the Golden Trio to return for 8th year, it made sense that she'd be the resident carnival attraction, at least during the start of term. Now she knew how Harry must feel being constantly ogled.
Things had been fine when she was on the platform saying her farewells to everyone. It was only now that intense anxiety was beginning to set in. She'd received a warm sendoff from Molly and Arthur, and had gotten long and tearful hugs from both of the boys, along with promises to stay in touch.
She understood why Harry and Ron had chosen not to return to Hogwarts. They were ready to move on with their lives and become Aurors. Despite having received the same opportunity, Hermione had declined to follow in their footsteps this time. Still, she would miss them dearly.
Throughout the summer Ron had tried plenty of times to solidify their romantic relationship, and each time Hermione had rebuffed his advances with excuses. At first, she hadn't even realized she'd been doing it, but after a few months it had been impossible to ignore. The loss of her parent's memories had further contributed to her inability to commit to a relationship that felt like it belonged in a different lifetime.
In this lifetime, while everyone was busy calling her a war hero, Hermione viewed herself as a villain for forsaking her parents. How could she make room in her heart for Ron when she could no longer even make room for herself? She was determined to resolve the rift in her heart before she went looking to anyone else to do it for her. She was just happy Ron had eventually come around to remaining friends when she'd told him once and for all that a romantic relationship wouldn't work between them.
Realistically speaking, she knew that she couldn't remain attached at the hip to her two best friends forever. Over the past few years they'd stuck together out of necessity and circumstance, but they were no longer fighting for their lives.
They'd won the right to live peacefully, and to grow as people, but Hermione was finding it hard to do something as simple as live. Attending Hogwarts for one last year felt like one of the few things she'd chosen to do just for herself lately, and it felt right. Now if only everyone would stop staring at her.
By the time she reached the Prefects' carriage she was practically jogging, her heart pounding as various threads of anxiety began to coalesce in her stomach in the form of swirling nausea. She'd assured Ginny she'd be fine when they parted ways upon boarding, but now she wasn't so sure. Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to calm her unsteady breathing and regain her bearings.
Noticing that the compartment directly to her left was empty, she stole inside, locking the door and Disillusioning herself to get a few minutes of silent reprieve. She focused on calming her breathing while simultaneously trying to still her trembling hands, dimly noting the sound of the train's horn outside as the conductor called out a last boarding call.
A few minutes later, the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station, and with the gentle rolling of its movement, Hermione's anxiety began to recede little by little.
As much as she wanted to hole up in an empty compartment for the majority of the train ride, she'd much rather fulfill her duties as Head Girl, which meant making her way to the compartment reserved for Head students and potentially facing the unpleasantness of Malfoy head-on. Strangely, the prospect of dealing with his downright terrible personality sounded marginally better than being stared at by the rest of the school right now.
She wondered what he would be like this year—if he'd be an outright arse like previous years, or if he'd turn over a new leaf. She almost felt naive for thinking this way, but Hermione wanted to believe that even someone like Malfoy could become a better person. Only time would tell, she supposed.
With that thought, she removed the Disillusionment on herself, heaved herself up laboriously, and reached into her bottomless satchel to pull out her school robes, making sure to shake the wrinkles out. As she draped their comforting weight over her shoulders and inhaled the scent of Molly's laundry detergent, she could feel the last vestiges of her anxiety attack disappearing.
"I can do this," she muttered, and with a determined nod hitched her bag high up on her shoulder.
She slid open the compartment door and stepped out into the hallway, finding it as empty as it had been a few minutes ago. With another determined nod to herself for encouragement, she walked purposefully towards the last compartment at the back of the Prefects carriage.
All too soon, she'd reached her destination. A quick peek confirmed her suspicions that Malfoy had indeed arrived before her. He was lounging on the seat to her left, staring pensively out the window at the muggle structures that were whizzing by.
The last time she'd seen him was when she'd testified in his defense at his trial last month, but it had been from afar. Even at that distance, he'd looked more self-assured and healthy, less like the terrified, malnourished teen from 6th year who'd nearly murdered a man.
Up close, Hermione could now see that the past few months had been good to Malfoy, at least physically. She wished she could say the same for herself. While he'd grown into the beginnings of a powerful-looking man, Hermione felt stuck in girlhood, unable to move very far beyond the slight physique she'd developed while on the run with Harry and Ron. She hated looking and feeling frail and weak.
With a reluctant sigh, she slid the door open and stepped inside. At the sound of Hermione's arrival, Malfoy languidly redirected his attention to her, greeting her with a raised eyebrow and suspiciously neutral words.
"Hello, Granger."
Surprised by his civility yet eternally wary, Hermione nearly stumbled with her response, "Yes, er, hello Malfoy."
What else am I supposed to say?! she asked herself frantically. It's not like it's good to see him. We have practically zero good history to draw upon! And anyway, I hate small talk!
"You're here early," she finished lamely, reaching behind her to slide the door closed. Malfoy didn't dignify her with an immediate response.
Way to go, she chided herself as she broke the awkward moment by dropping her satchel on the seat across from him and sliding in stiffly, suddenly thankful for the table that separated them, a privilege unique to the roomier compartments like theirs. She hesitated to outright provoke him, unsure if his polite greeting was a feint or an indication of things to come.
Malfoy regarded her with polite interest as she made herself comfortable, and the lack of malice emanating from him was disconcerting in and of itself. Once she was settled enough to meet his gaze, he handed her a neat stack of parchment.
"I took the liberty of organizing the materials we'll need for our upcoming meeting with the Prefects, including my suggestion for patrol schedules for the rest of the train ride. I'm open to any changes you might want to make."
Stunned, Hermione narrowed her eyes and wordlessly leafed through the pages he'd handed her, amazed at the person sitting across from her.
Who is this and what has he done with Draco Malfoy?! she asked herself quizzically, completely thrown by his behavior so far. Where were the insults? The antagonism? The self-importance?
It's pathetic that I'm so unaccustomed to being treated like a human being by Malfoy that this occasion of civility seems so momentous to me, she thought bitterly as she finished perusing his work. When she was done, she let her eyes lose focus and took a moment to reprimand herself.
Only a few minutes ago you were wondering whether Malfoy had the capacity to turn over a new leaf. Yet here you are, preparing to demonize him despite every indication that he's making an effort to become a better person. You'd be a hypocrite if you continued to punish Malfoy for behavior he's not currently exhibiting.
Still, she couldn't help but be suspicious of him and of his motives. There was too much empirical experience to draw upon—7 years or so of it, to be more precise. She shook those negative thoughts away for now.
"Thank you for doing this, you were thorough," Hermione said finally, hesitantly raising her eyes to meet his measured gaze. "There are one or two more things I think we should add, but I can get those written up quickly before the Prefects' meeting."
Malfoy nodded, taking the stack back from her while she reached into her bag for her quill and parchment. He leaned back in his seat with a purposeful expression once she'd lowered her eyes to the table and started writing.
"Let that serve as proof that I'm serious when I say I plan to do a good job as Head Boy this year," Malfoy spoke eventually, interrupting the sound of Hermione's quill scratching away on her piece of parchment.
She paused in her writing, keeping her gaze fixed on the table that separated them, unsure of the best way to respond to his declaration. After a moment of consideration, she decided to be frank.
"I'll let time be the judge of that, Malfoy," she responded firmly, raising her eyes to meet his with a grim expression that hinted at challenge.
He raised an eyebrow, seemingly unphased by the unspoken challenge between them, "Yes, I'm sure the Golden Girl is waiting on a lot of time's judgements these days. I can be patient, Granger."
His tone lacked any heat, and she was confused by it. Her eyebrows furrowed at the direction their conversation had taken. She was unsure what to make of his words and even less sure what to make of their encounter so far.
This Malfoy was almost too good to be true, so much so that Hermione was half convinced someone could be using Polyjuice to impersonate him. She regarded him quizzically before deciding to just go for it. Why not ask him the most pressing question currently on her mind?
"What gives? Why aren't you being a prat?" she asked suspiciously. Wait, that sounded way more terrible out loud than it had in her head. She started to correct herself, but quickly decided to just stick with her original, terribly-worded question so she wouldn't dig herself deeper. Her curiosity usually tended to win over pride, and this time was no exception.
Malfoy took her antagonism in stride, taking a moment to consider his words before giving her his answer, "I've done enough terrible things. I want to show the world that I'm capable of good things, too."
Hermione quirked her head in thought at his response, wordlessly returning to her writing. Instead of choosing to further acknowledge what he'd said, she spent the next few minutes finishing up the two pages she'd suggested for the Prefects packet. It was just as well, seeing as Malfoy didn't seem to expect her to provide a response.
As much as his words pleased her, she couldn't help but remain suspicious of his motives. This could all be an extended set-up for an epic gotcha moment.
She considered the many reasons why Malfoy would want to get back at her, and then refuted each of them when she remembered that he was probably on strict probation after his trial. He stood to lose a lot more than she did in this situation, and he would be an idiot if he threw his newfound freedom away so carelessly. Hermione was convinced he was more intelligent than that, however much of an odious oaf he'd been during the past 7 years.
Still, she reasoned with herself, If he were going to try getting back at me subtly and covertly (which would be par for the course for a Slytherin), this is exactly how I would expect him to do it. Butter me up, wait for me to put my guard down no matter how long it takes – and then strike!
The more rational part of her mind overpowered this paranoid train of thought. Based on those parameters, any act of kindness from a Slytherin could be treated as suspect.
What you view as buttering up in this situation is also what it looks like when someone treats you with basic decency, she reminded herself tartly. Get a grip. If you say you believe in rehabilitation, then give it a chance—or shut up once and for all!
When she was done writing, she handed the finished pages to Malfoy to add to his stack.
"Your word means little to me presently, Malfoy," she said frankly while meeting his gaze, and continued stolidly, "But I look forward to the day when your actions cumulatively show me you meant what you said just now."
At this, he smirked, "Don't worry Granger, I won't keep you waiting too long, if that's what you're worried about."
Hermione huffed incredulously at his cheek, exasperated yet relieved to see a glimmer of the Malfoy she was used to—at least his arrogance was something familiar in the face of his uncharacteristic consideration.
"You're incorrigible, Malfoy," she replied, rolling her eyes at him.
He went to work silently duplicating the stack of parchment in front of him so they'd have enough copies when the Prefects arrived, the ghost of his smirk remaining as he worked to magically replicate the pages. When he was done, he set the stacks of parchment aside with a satisfied nod and directed his full attention to her.
"I'm going to be straight with you Granger—you deserve that much," he said with no hint of humor in his voice anymore. "I've spent the better part of the last decade tormenting you, supporting an ideology that would have seen you dead if it had prevailed. Apologies won't be enough to make up for that, but it's what I'll start with. I'm sorry for making your life a living hell."
She ignored his apology in favor of a question she found far more pressing, "That's all well and good, Malfoy, but do you still prescribe to that ideology? Do you still detest my blood status?"
His response to her pointed question was immediate, "No, I don't. Not anymore. Not since—" He cut off abruptly as his eyes shifted to the side.
Hermione nodded slowly, "That's a start, I suppose. I accept your apology then, Malfoy. Merlin help you should you go back on your word."
The last thing she had been expecting when she boarded the Hogwarts Express today was an apology from Malfoy of all people, yet here they were less than half an hour into their train ride and he'd already gotten it out of the way.
It made her wonder what else the school year might have in store for her. Perhaps being Head Girl with Malfoy as Head Boy wouldn't be so bad after all. Still, Hermione couldn't help but remain paranoid. It would take a lot longer than the past four months to let old habits die.
What are you up to, Malfoy?