Well, here is the next part, and the longest chapter yet! (I hope you're all not disappointed with the way I've begun it). Thank you to blackXxXblossom, SwayPippin, Emi-Bum, IrethMalfoy, YRAM, samhaincat, .Smart.Ass.Punk., and dracoisthesexiestmanalive for reviewing—and I'm glad you all liked the last part, even if it was one big ridiculous cliché. But the fun (in my opinion, I don't know how Draco and Hermione feel) has finally begun, although there's definitely more angst than humor. The only thing I can lay claim to in this chapter is the Sorting Hat song, and as trivial as it is I am quite proud of it! With that, I hope you enjoy this next chapter, which is out way sooner than expected!

Chapter Three

Hermione Fucking Granger.

Draco still couldn't believe that had actually happened. Of all the bloody people in the universe, she had to be the one to find him that night! Although he supposed it could've been worse. It could've been Potter, or Weasley. The whole thing had been immensely awkward, but he reasoned it would have been more awkward if he hadn't been drunk (but of course, if he hadn't been drunk, none of that fucked up mess would have happened). No, he'd been beyond drunk. He'd been blissfully asleep, even if it was on a sidewalk in the middle of London.

Malfoys do not get wasted. Malfoys especially do not get wasted in public. And Malfoys most definitely don't let Mudbloods find them wasted and accept their help.

While Draco didn't actually believe in all that Pureblood superiority bullshit anymore, it was still hard to kick old habits. In truth, he'd never seen what was inherently bad about the word 'Mudblood.' His entire family was always saying it, and he'd just assumed it was like referring to a Muggle as a Muggle and a Pureblood as a Pureblood. Because that's just what they were—what was so terrible about that? It wasn't until he'd gone to Hogwarts that he'd learned that wasn't exactly the case.

Draco scowled furiously. It didn't matter that Granger was a Mudblood. The simple fact was it had been Granger. Bloody hell. He hadn't even known it was her at first—well, he'd remembered that she looked familiar, but that was it—not until he'd woken up on her couch, thoroughly disoriented, sometime in the middle of the night. But the girl had been thoughtful enough to leave a note—and a headache-relieving potion—letting him know who she was and what had happened in case he woke up. He hadn't believed it at first, but he'd taken one look at the photograph of her, Weasel, and Pothead on the table beside the couch, and that had been enough. He'd gotten out of there as quickly as possible while she remained blissfully asleep.

It didn't help that he'd probably never see her again, unless by some stroke of sheer dumb luck. The problem was that he hadn't really been able to get her out of his head since then. It had only been a handful of days, and he was right this moment walking up to Hogwarts from where he'd Apparated just before the grounds, and he'd definitely have too much work to do once work started to think about much else. He was worrying enough about the welcoming feast tomorrow, and felt his stomach twist into unpleasant knots at the thought of eating in front of a sea of students, where the older ones would certainly remember him from when he'd been a student. But he shoved the image forcefully out of his head, and found himself thinking about Granger again.

The truth was he really didn't remember much of it. He had a vague memory of the walk to her flat, but all he could recall was the warmth of her body next to his as she dragged him along the sidewalks—it was too risky to use magic openly in Muggle neighborhoods—the strange feeling of her arm draped around his shoulders, and the shock and anger he'd felt when he'd recognized her. Yet he had no memory of what he said to her, only that somehow he'd Apparated back to his flat from her living room after a few hours of sleep on her couch.

It didn't help that she probably remembered every detail.

Granger.

Why had she helped him? He had almost—almost—forgotten about the Golden Trio who lived to add to the hell that was his life. Okay, so that was a lie, but he hadn't thought about them in a long time. Yes, Draco Malfoy had been a spy for the light, but that didn't make him a 'good guy.' He was equally vicious when he encountered Potter and his sidekicks in the hallways, if not more so, and while the act was even more important when he turned from Lucius, he genuinely hated them. He hated the way they laughed together, hated they way they never got punished for breaking rules, and hated the way they tried to spread sunshine and butterflies everywhere they went with their whole everything-will-be-alright-as-long-as-we-have-each-other philosophy. It was sickening, and made him want to vomit.

Someone else might have said he was jealous, but Malfoys didn't do jealousy because they had no reason to be jealous of anyone—they were Malfoys after all, and were therefore far superior to everyone else.

But still—somehow, no matter what the situation, it was always Big Bad Malfoy in the wrong and Goody-good Potter and his band of fellow do-gooders who were right, even if they had been the ones provoking him! He never even stood a chance. Such was the extent of their rivalry that by the end of his time at Hogwarts, everyone in the entire school hated him except for the Slytherins, even if they'd never even met him.

So what business did Granger have even messing with him? She should've just let him rot on the sidewalk, and would've saved him the trouble of worrying about how he was going to survive his new status as a Professor. He supposed it was her way of trying to spread sunshine and butterflies to him too. Well, she could keep her fucking sunshine and her fucking butterflies to herself and share them with people who actually deserved and wanted them.

If he were honest with himself, he almost welcomed the distractions Granger's unwelcome presence had brought upon him. It was something familiar, something he could cope with. During all the hardships and upheavals he faced, his hatred for Potter, Granger, Weasley and theirs for him had been the one constant in his life, the one thing he could depend on. Fighting and arguing with them had been his one true pleasure, and he always looked forward to it no matter what the repercussions would bring. It sounded pathetic even to him, but he almost needed them so he could continue to convince himself that everything was the same, that nothing had changed.

Death Eating had been destroying him, ruining him from the inside out and turning him colder and colder, even if he did think the Dark Lord was a crazy psychopath, who was so pathetic he couldn't even murder a fucking boy, no older than Draco himself. Each month, he lost a little more of himself, until by the end he could hardly tell the difference between what he was and what he wasn't. It had been Professor Snape who had saved him from himself, but Professor Snape couldn't anymore, could he?

Damn it all to hell and back.

Fuck Granger for making him remember everything again. He'd already lived the past, and would rather not see it again, but it kept on coming back, and he would never be able to run away fast enough to escape it. Maybe that was why he'd accepted McGonagall's offer, so he could confront the past head on and then never have to deal with it again. He supposed that was a little unrealistic—he would always have tremors, nightmares, and the occasional flashback he had in his waking hours. But maybe, just maybe, going back to Hogwarts again would help him learn to cope. He looked up at the front double doors looming before him, took a deep breath, and opened them. If he were really honest with himself, he didn't know how he was going to start coping with his past because he never had, but somehow he would find a way. Was he ready? Hell, he didn't know. He didn't feel ready.

But Malfoys were most definitely not cowards, and he was going to face this challenge.

Granger had awakened something in him. He was dimly aware that he'd bickered with her, and that brief taste of familiarity and human contact had made him feel more alive than he had in years.

It had almost been painful, the humiliation aside. He was tired of pain. He was just tired…so tired…

"Professor Malfoy!"

The voice jerked him out of his thoughts like a Portkey, and it took him a few seconds to realize that the approaching formidable figure of Minerva McGonagall was talking to him.

You'd better get used to that, Draco. Professor…professor, professor, professor…

Somehow, repeating the word in his head didn't seem to help.

"Er, hullo Headmistress," he greeted awkwardly, doing his best to school his features into something that resembled calm control.

"Please, Draco, you may call me Minerva now that you are on staff," she invited.

Draco felt his eyes widen. Calling McGonagall Minerva was just about as weird, if not more so, than his title of Professor. To make matters worse, he had the distinct impression that she found his discomfort slightly amusing. McGona—Minerva had never twinkled while a Professor, but he could have sworn he'd seen the telltale signs of one in her slate eyes just then. Perhaps The Twinkle was a prerequisite for being Headmaster or Headmistress. That would permanently end his chances for the post then—not that he wanted it in the least. Draco just didn't do twinkles. They weren't in the One Hundred Ways to Sneer and Smirk handbook.

"I'll try, Hea—Minerva."

Damn, this was going to be hard.

Hermione knew she could have easily Apparated to Hogwarts, but she had wanted to take the train.

It was silly, she supposed, but the Express had always been part of the magic for her, and she had wanted to ride the train knowing for that, for once, she didn't have to worry about the terrors Voldemort might bring. She could think of other things, like all the reviewing and studying she had to do for her Arithmancy classes, all the new people she might meet…

…and Malfoy.

She had been sorely tempted to tell Harry and Ron about her encounter with their former adversary, but she had decided to keep the information to herself. She didn't know why. She supposed it was because she still didn't know quite how she felt about the whole thing. He'd been so out of it on the arduous walk home, although they had bickered a little, and she'd rather expected that he was going to leave upon waking once he'd figured out where he was. But still, she couldn't help but wonder what had brought him to that low of a state in the first place.

"Sweet Merlin…Hermione?"

The unexpected exclamation drew her out of her ruminations, and turning from the window of the Express she let out a cry of delight as she saw who its owner was.

"Neville!"

Rising from her seat, she hurried to embrace him.

"I thought I was going to be the only member of the new faculty sentimental enough to take the train," Neville confessed, smiling at her. Out of all Hermione's friends at Hogwarts, Neville had probably grown the most. Looking at him now, there was no trace of the stuttering, accident prone boy of old—the Great War had drawn out confidence and bravery that had surprised even Neville himself, and if she hadn't watched him evolve during their school years, she probably wouldn't have recognized him.

"What a pleasant surprise to see you, Neville—you look wonderful!" Hermione gushed as they sat down across from each other. "How is Luna?" The last she time she had seen Neville several months ago the pair were engaged.

"You know," Neville said slowly, "for the longest time, I thought I'd never know the taste of true happiness. Even now, I feel selfish, knowing how many lost their lives in the War, knowing I'm still alive when they have lost their chance to experience the future, knowing that many who have survived will never be the same again. But Luna is such an amazing woman, Hermione—we really do love each other and I doubt that's ever going to fade."

"We fought so hard to defeat Voldemort so we could experience the future, Neville," Hermione said, eyes misting with sadness as she thought of all the friends they had lost. "We fought so that all these incoming first years will be able to come to Hogwarts knowing that they and their loved ones will be safe and secure, and not have to live in fear. We fought for the innocents, so they could have their childhood." She smiled then, and reached forward to clasp Neville's hands in hers. "I am only too happy that you have found what we fought for. You have no reason to be selfish. None at all—is that clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Neville acquiesced, lips tugging upward in a half-smile.

"So what position did the Headmistress offer you?" Hermione asked, trying to move the conversation to more lighthearted topics. She'd shed all her tears during the long months of mourning after the War and was pretty certain that she had none left to cry, but she was determined to remain upbeat for the start of this new chapter of her life.

"I'm to be the new Herbology Professor," Neville answered proudly, round face shining like a bright star in the night sky.

"Oh, I knew your penchant for plants would pay off," she said, aware that she was perhaps being too overenthusiastic for the sake of lightheartedness, but not quite knowing how to tune it down. Oh well—it was better than too much doom and gloom. To spare Neville the trouble of asking, she offered, "I'm teaching Arithmancy. I've always loved numbers."

Numbers were so logical. There was a right answer, or a wrong answer. No gray areas, no room for 'what ifs.'

"Is that so? When should I expect the wedding?" he joked.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Honestly!"

He merely smiled shyly at her, an innocent look in his compassionate eyes.

How she'd missed the easy banter of friendship! Being alone had started grating on her, like an itch she couldn't quite reach. Maybe now, now that she would be in the presence of constant company and drowning in work, she'd be able to forget about Malfoy.

Yes. She would.

She definitely wasn't attracted to him—he was just so…well…mysterious, and there was an aspect of him that had always fascinated her. What made Malfoy tick? How could he be that…well, cruel and malicious—and seem to take such pleasure in it?

But she couldn't think about this, knowing she'd run into him just by accident, that it wouldn't happen again. She wasn't going to be obsessed with him the way Harry was in school. The moment she stepped off this train, she would banish him from her mind as though she were using a mere Evanesco.

Yes.

She would.

Hogwarts looked exactly as Hermione remembered, although it had been a trial to ignore the ache in her heart at the absence of Hagrid's comforting presence and ritual call of "Firs' years over here!"

She and Neville had been lead to the side door leading to the staff table, and they found empty seats quickly and sat down just the Sorting Hat began its song:

"Spread before me lie the Houses Four,

Standing divided but with equal cores.

Whether you be Badger, Lion, Raven, or Snake

You all will have the same choices to make.

"In order for Hogwarts to rise, not fall,

Unity must be reached by all!"

With that, the Sorting Hat fell silent, and Hermione couldn't help but give it a quizzical look (maybe Dumbledore had tampered with it somehow before his death—unlikely, but an amusing thought all the same). Its song had never been that short before, that blunt, even during seventh year when the War was at its peak.

Even so, she understood. Now that all Houses were back on equal footing—all had produced heroes and villains of the War, and even Slytherin was deemed as worthy a House as Gryffindor once was—the Hat was correct in reminding the new generations of students and those about to depart of the importance of unity, of reaching out to those about to trespass the borders of the Dark instead of leaving them to their fate.

This, Hermione thought, was what the Founders would have wanted, despite their own differences and the unfortunate events surrounding their past.

She smiled fondly at Deputy Headmaster Remus Lupin as he took charge of the Sorting, and once all the new students had a House, Minerva McGonagall stood and, after two sharp claps, the noise in the hall quieted down respectfully.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, new and returning students alike! For those who do not yet know me, I am Headmistress Minerva McGonagall—" this introduction was met by rousing cheers from everyone, and after they had more or less died down, she continued, "and I am pleased to see Hogwarts reopen on schedule. The rules are more or less the same—the Forbidden Forest is still forbidden, there will be absolutely NO dueling or fighting of any kind in the corridors, curfew must be strictly adhered to, and House Heads will alert you to any others when you arrive at your common rooms. This year also brings us many new faculty members, although I am sure you will remember most of them. I know you are all hungry, so while I introduce the faculty and ask them to stand, I request that you kindly hold your applause and cheers for the end for time considerations.

"Remus Lupin you have already met as the new Deputy Headmaster, and he is also the Head of Gryffindor House and your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Nymphadora Tonks, Head of Slytherin House and Transfiguration Professor. Neville Longbottom, Herbology Professor. Anne Grubbly-Plank, whom many of you may remember from previous years, Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Hermione Granger, Arithmancy Professor—"

Hermione felt her heart flutter anxiously, and she gave a tentative smile to the array of students before her as she stood. Beside her, Neville touched her hand—a small gesture, but comforting all the same. He really had grown a great deal, and even though she knew this, she was astounded every time she was reminded of it.

"And last, but certainly not least—Draco Malfoy, Potions Professor."

With this final announcement, the hall erupted into whispers, and Hermione's expression froze as she risked a glance further down the table, where he was now standing stiffly, chin up almost defiantly. She felt Neville tense up beside her. His last encounter with Malfoy had been far from pleasant, but then again, so had hers.

Fortunately the awkward moment didn't last for long—the rest of the staff began to clap loudly, and soon the students joined in. It was then Hermione realized Minerva had put Malfoy last on purpose.

"Now let the feast begin!"

Hermione sat down numbly, but couldn't help but turn her eyes to Malfoy. So much for her master plan of not thinking about him. She knew she was openly staring at him, but she couldn't help it.

Of all the bloody things…

As though he felt her eyes fastened on him, Malfoy tilted his head in her direction, an unreadable expression on his features.

Now that she had a clear view of his face, she felt another gasp rise to her lips and viciously shoved it back down her throat. This Malfoy was nothing like the Malfoy she remembered from school. If she had thought his behavior was off when she found him drunk in the street, that just about rivaled the way he looked. His face was drawn and thin, paler than ever, and his blond hair hung long and loose—practically to his shoulders. Yet nothing shocked her more than his eyes. They were completely dull, listless, empty—she knew hers had been like that after the War, but she was certain she had moved on. On Malfoy…those eyes looked entirely out of place.

She wondered why she hadn't seen that before.

Oh Malfoy, she thought, what did they do to you?

He knew, even after he tore his eyes off hers, that she was still sneaking peeks at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

He could feel his cheeks swelling with the color of embarrassment, the memory of their last encounter a fresh imprint in his mind. The humiliation was still fresh, and the fact that she was now here, sitting next to him, didn't make it abate in the least. A part of him wondered why the hell he cared. He hadn't felt any strong emotion besides pain and anger in years—which had embedded itself so deeply in what was left of his heart (if he even had one by now) that he thought he'd become immune to it. The shame of his weakness in front of someone else was so acute it almost terrified him.

It was more the thought of emotion itself that frightened him than anything else.

Emotion.

The word almost made him shudder.

He stabbed angrily at the piece of steak on his plate as though it had done something to personally wrong him. The thought of eating it made him sick, so he was just moving his meat around his plate employing the standard playing-with-food-in-the-hope-that-it-will-disappear technique. It wasn't working, but then it never did.

He stiffened then, feeling her eyes tacked on him again. She wasn't very discreet, although she probably thought she was being enormously clever. But then she was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were as discreet as a hippogriff, which wasn't saying a lot.

Bugger it all.

He had to get out of here, although he was doing a valiant job of ignoring the sea of students spread out before him, knowing they were shooting him furtive glances and whispering about him. This was just too much. She was too much.

Figuring he'd put in enough of an appearance to put an end to any questioning that might commence over his exit, he pushed his chair back abruptly and left without saying a word, although he spared a courteous nod to the faculty.

He avoided looking at her.

But he knew she was watching.

TO BE CONTINUED

This was the necessary 'get Draco and Hermione to Hogwarts' chapter. I really, really hope this didn't drag—there was no good place to end it, and there were so many necessary things that needed to be done. I hope the long middle section didn't sound forced at all! If Draco's emotions seem to be contrary, that's good, because they're meant to be. He's very confused right now, but don't worry—his snarkiness will return in all its glory because he's feeling insecure and is going to try desperately to cover it up now that he's in public again. His past will continue to be explained—yes, my Draco turned spy, but he's not the clichéd good guy that many fics make redeemed!Draco to be. They will kiss soon—and I have a really good first kiss scene all planned out—but if you're here just for the smut, forget it! This is more of a long character study with some angsty plot curves thrown in, and seeing as how there are years of pent up tension between Draco and Hermione (and the drunken incident just made it worse, in a way), I expect we won't get to THE KISS until about Chapter 5 or so—but it'll be worth it, I promise!

I'm thrilled to see the feedback increasing… please do keep it up! Hopefully I should have the next chapter out by around Halloween depending on how much real life decides to interfere.

But in the meantime, please do review, review, review! And, just out of curiosity, seeing the events of HBP, what do you all think JKR is going to do with Draco? I know what I'd like her to do, but seeing as how my initials aren't going to change to JKR anytime soon, I suppose I don't get a say in it. wistful sigh

But I'm rambling now, so I'll stop. Grins

Until next time!