A/N: you guys have probably already figured this out, but there are flashbacks inserted into every chapter, probably always sandwiched by "present day" events. I hope I give enough detail to signify when it's a flashback (basically, anytime Draco's nice)(what an asshole, I know) but just wanted to be clear just in case! And thanks for reading and reviewing! You guys make this gig priceless.

Chapter 2

One Year Later

"It's utterly blasphemous that wanker gets to wear that badge. As if he wasn't bad enough without it, prancing around like a self-righteous git before," Ron was muttering, echoing their own thoughts about their new Head Boy. Hermione had only looked up for one second to catch the unholy glint of his badge – enough to catch the smirk he sent her way – before she rolled her eyes and turned back to her friends.

She had spent the latter part of last year trying to forget they had ever been friends – easy enough to do when he played the part of a tyrannical Muggleborn hater so well. But now to be forced together through school civic duty? To be expected to be a team? To be expected to get along in the face of a complicated, torrid history? These were among the thoughts that had raced through her mind when she'd received her letter during the summer, congratulating her on her achievements and qualifications as Head Girl. Because what shortly followed the joy and relief of being appointed was the dread that with a Head Girl always came a Head Boy. And she had a good idea of who they had sent that other letter to. That alone was enough to erase the luster of her new position.

"Well, it looks good on you, Hermione," Harry said, grinning boyishly. "Just as long as you don't go around telling us what to do."

"It's shiny though. Too shiny. Do they make it that way? Because it hardly encourages peer camaraderie when you've got to stand in front of you and fight the glare," Ron said.

"Shut up Ronald," Ginny piped in. "I think it looks smashing on her. It brings out the color of her eyes."

Ron gagged. "Women."

"Thanks guys, but I've got to meet Dumbledore in his office for the official Heads meeting," she said, already feeling the knot in her stomach as she mentally prepared herself to face Hogwarts' new Head Boy. She hated the thought of having to put up with his pompous smirking in her face all year, but she'd convinced herself that with great responsibility came great challenges. Maybe even impossible ones.

"If you're lucky, maybe Malfoy'll have a freak accident and die between here and Dumbledore's office," Harry suggested, shrugging his shoulders. Ginny snorted. "Hey, it can happen."

"I won't be holding my breath. Pure Evil doesn't just die that easily," she said, as she bid them goodbye for now, heading down the opposite way of the corridor.

"This is it, you know," she heard Ron call out at her, his voice echoing down the hall. "The beginning of the end."

The funny thing is that she couldn't help but think that he was right.

She was the first one to Dumbledore's office, and their eccentric Headmaster gave her a warm welcome as she entered his circular office. He offered her a lemon drop and she declined, and she found herself concentrating on the ticks of the clock as they waited and Dumbledore asked about her summer. Malfoy was late. Of course he was late. He was the sort of boy to think the entire world waited for him. She hated that they lived in a world that they actually did.

Dumbledore, however, didn't say one word about it. She had enormous respect for the great Albus Dumbledore but this she was quite annoyed with. Finally, she spoke up.

"It seems as if our new Head Boy is late. Should we get started and I can fill him in on what he missed later? I know your time is valuable, Headmaster," she said. But in her focus on trying to speak as courteously and unbiased as possible, she hadn't heard the door behind her open.

"Now hold onto your knickers, Blackwell," said a familiar drawl. She tensed. "Already trying to give me the boot, are we? On the first day, no less. You've got to be sly about trying to throw a coup, Head Girl. Though I doubt you'd know anything about that. That's only for the big boys."

His lanky body appeared on the seat next to her. Not even a minute being around him and already she wanted to strangle his pretty little neck. He smirked at her.

She felt her face get hot but firmly held her tongue. Let him look like the instigator. She was too mature to stoop to his level – in front of their Headmaster, no less. Malfoy really had no shame.

"Ah, our two Heads together at last," Dumbledore said. "May I suggest we attempt to tone down the tension and palpable hostility for the sake of inter-House unity? At least around your fellow peers. It is only the first day, of course – energy's running high, everybody's flustered and in quite a hurry. I trust you two will behave accordingly to your positions. That is why you two were appointed Head Boy and Head Girl above everyone else. We here at Hogwarts have utmost faith in you, Miss Blackwell and Mr. Malfoy."

She could hear the threat lying underneath layers of cordiality and professionalism. That if they couldn't fulfill their obligations – which included not killing or maiming each other during the course of the year – they would be dropped from their positions. Even Malfoy, who took the liberty of always looking bored and above it all, was sitting attentively.

"I don't believe I need to go through all of the speeches we reserve for our newly-appointed Heads. You two are serious students. I trust you know that with these badges come duties and obligations that are not to be taken lightly. Do not abuse them but do not make them your life. Study diligently but remember to laugh heartily from time to time. Enjoy yourselves in this last year, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Blackwell. Make it worth remembering."

They were dismissed with a thick student handbook and a parchment containing their itinerary for the first two weeks of school. She had no desire to do any bonding with Malfoy so she went the long way around to their rooms, savoring every moment she'd have clear sight of her sanity, taking her sweet precious time.

"Room's this way, Head Girl," he called out to her. "Or have you forgotten already?"

"I know this castle like the back of my hand," she said, not turning around. "I just don't want to spend a second more hanging around you than I need to."

"Careful, Blackwell. You heard Dumbledore. You might want to take that palpable hostility down a notch before you start an all-out inter-House war."

"I don't see any students around here but us, Malfoy. I can be as hostile as I like. So bugger off," she called over her shoulder.

"My pleasure," he spat out, as she turned the corner. She felt her spine relax when she knew he was gone but still kept her hands clenched into fists, ready to draw her wand at the shortest second's notice.

You can do this. You can be a professional, she chanted to herself as she lingered around the staircases. Whatever you do, don't remember a thing.

But that was the tricky thing about memories. They had an uncanny ability of popping up despite how far you'd buried them down. Like now, there was a distant voice in her head that reminded her of a time when she would have been pleased to be paired with Malfoy. That aside from Harry and Ron, there wasn't anyone else she would have preferred it to be.

But times changed. She knew this because she'd watched it happen, right in front of her. And she had been left staring after it, helpless, in the dust.

"All you have to do," she breathed to herself, as she stood in front of the entrance to their room, "is not kill him. At least not until we turn our badges in on the last day."

And if that seemed impossible, then she'd just have to take it one day at a time.

ooo

Life was easy enough when it had nothing to do with Head Duties with Draco. It was normal, even – time spent in classes, studying in the library, having meals with Harry and Ron, writing to her mum and dad. It was even surprising how little time she was required to spend with Draco as Heads. They chose to patrol separately and only met up in the beginning and at the end. For the most part, aside from the occasional sneer or smart remark, they stayed out of each other's way. If this was to be how the whole year was going to be, she thanked her stars for it.

And then came the fateful day when Dumbledore summoned the both of them to his office to let them know he had decided to throw a Welcome Back ball on a whim. "I was walking through the corridors the other day and I couldn't help but notice how dreary everything felt. The beginning of the term, as you know, is supposed to be inspiring and crackling with energy. Instead all I can sense is the growing fear over the fate of the Wizarding World and the grimness of the outside world seeping in. It can be quite a hindrance to the appeal of academia." He looked at the both of them, who were sitting silent in bewilderment. "What do you think? I find that dancing to live music has always been a bonafide fix for a dismal ambiance."

"Of course," Hermione found herself saying, albeit confused. "Dancing."

Meanwhile Malfoy beside her was wearing a scowl of disapproval. Then again, it was an expression he wore often. If he wasn't self-satisfied he was dissatisfied with everything around him.

"And you, Mr. Malfoy? I think I can recall you dancing at the Yule Ball in your fourth year. You're an experienced dancer, are you not?"

For a second Hermione remembered that Draco had learned how to dance from his mum, who loved it dearly. She shook that away.

Draco ignored this and said instead, "When, exactly, did you see this ball taking place?"

"In a month's time. I trust that's an adequate time frame for you and Miss Blackwell to finish preparations?"

"A month?" Hermione echoed. "But Professor, we haven't prepared for this at all – there wasn't a word about it in the itinerary—"

"Ah, but that's the beauty of life, Miss Blackwell. It does not always have to be written into the itinerary," he said, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Spontaneity! Embrace it. One mustn't always oblige the mundane. And remember: I have the utmost faith in you."

Hermione left Dumbledore's office feeling like her thoughts were in a tangle. Where were they even supposed to begin? She'd have to call a meeting with the Prefects right away. Dumbledore also mentioned live music – but who on earth would they be able to get on a short month's notice?

"Could it be? Our Know-it-all Head Girl ready to call it quits over our simpleton Headmaster fancying a ball just because he felt like trying on his dancing shoes?"

She turned around and glared at him. "If you could even comprehend the amount of work we have set out for us to make this happen in a month, you'd keep your mouth shut. Then again I know your mental processes can be a bit slow, so I'll give you a few minutes for your brain to catch up."

"Oh, my brain's just fine, Blackwell," he said, stepping closer to her. She stiffened but didn't back away, keeping his icy gaze. "But I do think your mouth's a little too quick for its own good. You're lucky I'm a patient man or else you'd have to make do without sniping at everyone for a good few days. Granted, I'm sure the rest of the world would thank me for such a generous deed."

She felt a rush of heat travel through her body. She figured that was just the physical manifestation of her utmost derision for him and his existence. Because as he stood there, sneering at her in all of his cruel regality, she found it hard to believe they had ever been close. Maybe they had never been. Maybe it had all just been a dream. It certainly felt like it – right now, with them glaring at each other with such crackling, palpable hate, their shared childhood must have been a dream. She remembered him in his gardens as he sucked the blood from her cut and she tried to find a semblance of him anywhere in the Draco that had left her to fend for herself when the news of her true birth had broken, just last year. But she couldn't. That Draco didn't exist anymore. It was no use looking. He died the same time the phony pureblood side of her did, and she had spent enough time in mourning.

"You never had the guts to draw your wand at me before," she only said to him. "I highly doubt you'd have mustered up the courage to do so now. You're forgetting something when you talk as if you're holding something above me, Malfoy. You forget that I know you. And that is exactly why I am not and could never be afraid of you."

"Maybe you're not scared of me now," he sneered at her. "But you're a fast learner, aren't you, Blackwell? And it'd bode well for you to learn to fear your superiors quickly."

"Don't make me laugh, Malfoy," she said, before she tore her eyes from his and began to walk away. "If anyone is anyone's superior here, it definitely isn't you. We've got a lot of work to do and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't waste my time."

Suddenly she felt a hard yank at her elbow, and she stumbled backwards, caught unaware. When she spun around Draco's sneering face was back in her view – so close, in fact, that she could feel his breath sharply grazing her face.

"Get your fucking hand off me," she hissed, her senses reeling from his contact. She could feel her blood pounding hotly everywhere inside her, scrambling her thoughts like spilled marbles across a wooden floor.

"You know who you are?" he snarled at her. "Nobody. A nobody so low they had to go around for the past seventeen years of their life parading around as somebody they weren't with blood they didn't even have."

She felt something jagged and dry appear in her throat but she didn't waver. She forced back the fog that threatened to veil her eyes. "Look at what they've done to you. They've warped you, Malfoy. You think I'm a nobody? Look in the mirror. You're a complete shell. You're just a shadow – totally unoriginal, folding to the whims of someone other than yourself. So go ahead and look down on me. It doesn't bother me one bit, because I can sleep easy at night knowing which one of us really deserves all the pity."

She tried to pull her arm away from his firm grip. "Now let me go or I won't hesitate to hex you straight into the next calendar year," she said lowly.

She couldn't deny the slow fear that was threading through her the more he stayed quiet and close. She could feel the waves of heat burning off of him like a fever. His eyes – formerly fondly remembered from her childhood as an ethereal gray, like brand new knives in sunlight – had grown dark like the sea before a storm, churning and icy. His face was so close and a part of her wanted to just reach out and try to rip the mask off to see if there was anything that she recognized underneath. The Draco that spent days in his family's library with her looking for books before taking them outside to read by his lake. The Draco that had pulled her out and dried her off from the freezing water after Pansy's initiation. The Draco that laughed at her when he always finished first but never turned down a challenge. The Draco that still laughed at simple things that didn't involve sucking out all of the joy in someone else's life. The Draco that wasn't a monster.

"Go ahead," he hissed at her. "Hex me, you tainted Muggle bitch."

His face was stony, impenetrable. It shocked her that he was being so forward with this challenge, but she kept her fingers around her wand in her robes pocket anyway, tempted in every way but paralyzed with indecision.

"Bet you've been waiting for this moment, haven't you, Hermione?" She flinched at the way he said her name – through his teeth like it was something repulsive. "Well here it is. Do it. Live the dream. See for yourself just how sweet it tastes."

He was breathing hard, as if just being around her was physically taxing. She was so close she breathed in every breath he breathed out. It smelled like mint and fuel and made her throat burn.

"No. You aren't worth it," she said, and tears began to prick her eyes. She took a sharp breath, trying to compose herself. "You aren't worth any of it."

He gave her one last look full of disgust before he let her go with such force that she stumbled backwards and had to struggle to maintain her balance.

"Typical. All talk and no backbone," he spat at her. "Next time, if you're going to bark threats, you ought to at least make sure you're up for the job. Mudblood." A slow, infuriating smirk of victory snaked across his face. "See you later then."

She watched him walk away, her hand still fisted around her wand, wanting to both scream and hurl herself at him as well as run the other way, convinced there was no distance far enough from him that she could possibly be. She could be oceans and time differences away and the way he'd looked at her, with such hate that seemed to simmer from the very marrow in his bones, would haunt her forever. I can't believe this is really you, her heart achingly wept. That this is the you, now.

They had taken such a beautiful flawed boy and turned him into an unfeeling man that talked to her as if he'd never seen the sun rise once in his life. Like he'd been born in darkness. Like being cruel was the only way he knew how to be.

She ran to the abandoned girls' bathroom and dunked her face into the icy water, trying to hold in the sobs that shook her insides. When she looked up, Moaning Myrtle was hovering behind her, sitting leisurely on one of the toilets.

"I know those sounds," she simpered. "Went and got your heart broken by a boy, have you?"

"No," Hermione said, sniffling and trying to compose herself. She looked in the mirror and watched her face – pale, with red-brimmed eyes and her white lips tautly pressed together.

"Now, now," Myrtle said, getting up and floating closer to her. "It's okay, Blackwell. I won't tell a soul. But there's no use denying it. Because it's the truth, isn't it? It's a thirsty little monster, it is, and it won't stay hidden for long." Myrtle giggled. "Though you'd know that better than anyone, wouldn't you, Hermione Blackwell? If that's even your real name."

ooo

The night her parents had sat her down and told her about her true heritage, she'd listened to their reassurances and returned their genuinely affectionate touches. But they also gave her some time alone to process the life-altering news they had just delivered, which she gladly took. She spent some time just sitting in her bedroom, staring out the window, asking the usual questions she reckoned adopted children often wondered. Things about her parents – who they were, whether they were alive, under what circumstances they had given her up, if they were happy, and if they ever wondered about her or missed her. She wondered who she looked like more, her mum or her dad, or whether she was a perfect mix of both. And whether they loved books as much as she did.

In the liberation of knowing, she now also felt the burden of having to hide the truth. She knew the importance of keeping this secret – at least, until she was no longer living with her parents. In her father's business, dealing with the people he dealt with, she knew outing her true identity would be catastrophic. Her family would be excommunicated. Not that her parents really even enjoyed the company they kept with the self-centered snobs of Pureblood High Society, but this had been their life for years. She didn't care about her life – Harry and Ron would understand, and so would the people she genuinely cared about – but the residue her false identity her parents' reputation would be implicated with worried her.

When the walls of Blackwell Manor finally felt as if they were closing in on her, she went outside and settled by the lake to get some air. The sky was blushing and fiery for the sunset. She watched it with a heavy feeling in her chest. When she felt a breeze she closed her eyes and swore she could feel the change happening – just sweeping over her and everything she loved.

"So?" said a familiar drawl behind her. "Figure out the meaning of life yet?"

He appeared on the grass next to her, dressed in a luxury navy sweater and black trousers. His skin was so pale and flawless that as she looked at him she noticed how the sky reflected off of his face just a little bit, making him look pink and even more alive.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, even though him dropping by at random intervals wasn't exactly unheard of. During the summer it became a habit. Owling to give notification before a visit became tedious and an unnecessary formality when they saw each other at least five times a week.

She almost wanted to tell him to go away – just for a little while, because she needed to think. But a part of her also thought this was good, to have company. Because finding out that you weren't who you thought you were always had a tendency of making you feel sort of unbearably alone.

"Just finished my flying lessons so I thought I'd drop by and see what you were up to," he explained nonchalantly. "Nothing, apparently. Beholding nature's beauty like a sappy poet. I never took you to be the sentimental type, Blackwell."

She managed a halfhearted chortle that fell about as flat as it came out. He must have noticed this because then he just looked at her, more closely this time, before speaking up.

"What's the matter? Run out of books to read again?"

She shook her head. "No. Books I've got plenty of."

"Then what is it? You're looking all pale and somber. It's not a good look on you, honestly. You look a bit ill."

She stayed quiet before taking a breath, turning her face to look at him. There he was, just ripely sixteen just like her, his gray eyes fixed on her in a mildly concerned expression. And it struck her again, just how beautiful he was in this light. Or any light. She'd known him so long it was something that often escaped her, but there were moments when she was able to just look at him and absorb him, this infuriatingly privileged beautiful boy with an amazingly fucked up tyrannical father, that could be both soft and hard at the same time, that was now just straddling the line between man and boy. She could see where the round edges were now just turning into rigid lines, young flesh melting off into mature muscle and stone. His eyes more piercing than they had been before; the color of shivers and rain.

And suddenly her heart felt so inflated just with him sitting next to her and looking increasingly concerned as time ticked by while she said nothing. But she felt so sad, too. Because she couldn't tell him, even though she wanted to. Because she knew that it would change things, and she wanted things not to change more. He wouldn't sit so close. He wouldn't look at her like he cared. Maybe he would have never even showed up.

She wanted to hold out her arms and cling onto everything she loved about this life. Her parents and this lake and the view of the sky from her window and Draco sitting beside her like a friend. She wanted to grab them and hold them close before they could slip past her and leave her to fend for herself all alone.

"Nothing," she finally said, breathing out to release a bit of the pressure that had begun mounting in her lungs. "Just – got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, I suppose."

And he stared at her for one moment more, unconvinced, before he let it go.

"Tell me about your flying lessons," she said, wanting to distract herself from such heavy thoughts. "Any improvements?"

"My trainer says I'm an exceptional flyer," he said, smirking victoriously at her. "Best in the country."

She rolled her eyes. "Your trainer is paid by the hour to lie to you."

Draco chuckled. "All right, maybe not the best. Yet. But I'm well on my way. Ask him yourself. He practically shakes with jealousy every time I ask him how I'm doing." He glanced back at her. "You should come for one lesson, you know. I think you'd like it. Scream like a girl, of course, but once you got the hang of it. . ."

"I'm terrified of heights. And you know it, so stop asking."

"I don't believe you, Hermione. Maybe you're scared, but I think you want to fly. You don't ever look at a bird and think, 'Merlin, if I could fly like that I would never even touch my feet back on the ground, ever?'"

"I quite like having something firm and steady underneath my feet, thanks," she said dryly.

"That's your problem, then. You lack imagination."

"This has nothing to do with imagination. You just want to fly away. I happen to like my life, thank you very much." After she said this she realized just how profound this statement could be, in the afterimage. She liked her life. She didn't want to fly away from it just as much as she didn't want her life to fly away from her.

He looked at her, furrowing his eyebrows. "You think I don't like my life?"

She didn't say anything, only raising one eyebrow at him. He sighed loudly, moving his gaze back up to the sky.

"You learn to be content with your life because you realize it's the only one you're ever going to have," he said. "Flying away – it's just a dream. It's never going to happen. That's why it's so nice to think of."

She watched him, closely. She could see it. Draco riding away on his broom to the eternal sunset. Poetic, sure, but plausible enough. "You could do it, you know. If you wanted."

He laughed. "Yeah, right." He turned to her, his face half-joking and half-serious. "Would you come with me?"

"Me?" she snorted. "On a broom? With you?"

"I'm an exceptional flyer. Just ask my trainer. Though I'm actually better than he lets on, jealous prick. What I mean is I'd never let you fall. Not by accident, anyway."

"It's not even about that. Even if I trusted you to help keep me in the air," she said, shaking her head, "I would never make it. The moment I looked down I'd be done for."

"It's settled, then," he said, smirking at her. "The moment you decide to get over your ridiculous fear of flying is the moment I'll get on my sodding broom and fly far away from reality." He held out his hand. "Now shake on it like a man, Blackwell."

She laughed but shook it anyway. His hand was cool and smooth and larger now, easily engulfing hers. They held on firmly before letting go. "You know this is never going to happen."

"Statistically, never is just another number," he said to her, drawing his hand back and grinning at her. "It's just as good as one."


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