Thanks to everyone for continuing reviewing, old and new names alike! And also for the longer reviews—thank you so much for taking extra time, and letting me know how you felt about the chapter in more detail! Here is the next, and things are still (unbelievably) on schedule. This is the largest amount of writing I've produced in years…depending on how much I plan to draw things out, I imagine this story to be around ten chapters, perhaps with Epilogue. So there's still a long way to go yet!

And somewhere in this chapter I've stolen a line from Captain Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean Two—it was possibly one of my most favorite lines in the film, and so Draco that I couldn't resist putting it in. 50 House Points to those of you who can pick it out!

Please keep the feedback up, and I hope you all enjoy this next part!

Chapter Four
"Well, you look like you've seen better days!"

Not for the first time, Draco wished magical mirrors didn't talk. It really was rather annoying—the last thing he needed was a running commentary on the state of his appearance. He did have eyes, thank you very much. He wouldn't be looking into the bloody mirror otherwise.

"If you don't shut up right now I'll shatter you into so many pieces that you won't even know what you're looking at anymore," he threatened with a slightly raised wand, aware of how ridiculous he'd look if anyone could see him. Taunting mirrors now, are you Malfoy? What's it going to be next, a blade of grass?

If mirrors could glower, Draco was fairly certain this one would, but all it did was mutter something unsavory and fall silent. He ignored it.

It was the morning of his first class, and Draco was sacrificing breakfast for his appearance. It was a very noble sacrifice, he thought, so what if he wouldn't have really eaten anyway? All right, so it dealt explicitly with the best ways to look out for Number One. He agreed that he hadn't been doing that very well lately—he could have fallen off a cliff, and he might not have noticed. Lucius' voice tried to make itself known in the back of his head, but he squashed it fiercely.

He frowned at himself in the full-length mirror in his bathroom. There were so many things that needed help, but he didn't know where to start. He knew that by pondering his reflection, he was avoiding the real problem, but maybe, if he fixed himself up physically, other things would mend too.

Ah.

He'd always been vain of his hair, a shimmering pale-blond soft as spun silk, and it was desperately in need of cutting.

That was as good a place to start as any.

"There will be no wand waving in this class," Draco warned by way of introduction, quoting Snape as he stood imperiously before a frightened looking class of third years, his first class of the day. "This is Potions, not Charms, Transfiguration, or Defense Against the Dark Arts. If I see anyone with a wand the moment you enter class, I will take off points, no questions asked. Not everyone will be able to master the art of Potions making, in fact I imagine that there will be only a select few who can. Even so, no matter how incompetent you are, I expect you to follow directions. One mistake, no matter how small, could cost someone their life. So it is imperative that you all listen to directions and not do anything stupid. Do I make myself clear?"

No one spoke, and Draco felt his old self falling back into place now that he was the center of attention. He'd thought this was going to be hard, but maybe he'd been wrong. It was clear the students were all a little afraid of him, but if that would strike obedience into their hearts, then he hardly cared how they felt about him.

At least these were third years, so he didn't need to spoon-feed them that much. He had instructions for a potion on the board so he could judge the brewing level of the class from the beginning, and once he'd explained it to them, he sat back and let them get to work.

He leaned back in his chair, deciding he'd stalk around the room and check up on everyone in a little bit. His exhaustion caught up with him, and as some of his mental shields dropped and his eyelids began to droop, the walls of the dungeon classroom started to close in on him like the walls of a prison cell…the murmuring of the students shifted to the taunting of Death Eaters…the fumes from the potions smelled like blood…he was trapped, trapped—couldn't get out…

"Professor?"

The tentative voice of one of his students snapped him back to awareness, and it was then that he realized how his hands were white as he clutched the side of his desk, how his heart rate and breathing had accelerated unnaturally, how the room was spinning slowly.

The entire class was staring at him, waiting for some kind of explanation.

Damn. Not this, not now…

"There's something I have to do quickly," he informed them, standing up quickly and reaching to grip the table as he felt his head spin with faint dizziness. "I shall be back shortly, and if I come return and find that there has been misbehavior in my absence, you all will get detention. I don't care if it's the first day of class."

Without waiting for a response, Draco pulled his robes tightly around him and walked stiffly out the door, only stopping when he was a good deal down the hallway to lean his back against the wall. His heart was beating as fast as hummingbird wings, and he felt slightly nauseous, the way he always did when he had one of his flashbacks.

Had he really just been thinking this wasn't going to be as hard as he thought?

Come on, Draco. Get a grip.

"Draco?"

The interruption was so unexpected that he jumped in surprise, and he tried to pull his cool exterior back on before swinging around to face the intruder.

He found himself staring at Tonks, who was wearing her hair long and brunette, streaked with purple. He remembered then that they were related, although the only times he had seen her had been at family reunions, and they'd exchanged a total of maybe four words in their lives. Stiffening involuntarily at the sight of her, he couldn't help but feel a detached sort of curiosity at her approach.

Tonks looked at him a little apprehensively, and shifted her feet nervously. The scrutiny was starting to make Draco uncomfortable, but before he could call her on it, she began, "I know I haven't been a very good cousin," she admitted, looking awkward, "and I confess I didn't really try very hard because I didn't want to. But I'd like to try now—there isn't much of our families left, and I'd like to get to know you, if you'll allow it."

He blinked at her. This was the first time anyone had said something like this to him, and he didn't really know what to do. He felt his throat tighten, and knew if he stood here much longer, with Tonks looking at him like that, looking like she actually cared, he would loose it. So he did what he'd always done when he was uncomfortable.

He gradually felt his lips twist into The Sneer. "How…touching. But you have a little problem with that—you mistook me for someone who cares." The words on their own weren't that bad—he'd certainly said worse. But it was the way in which he'd said them, laced them with derision, a derision he hadn't known he was capable of producing at this moment in his life. It startled him so much he couldn't find anything else to say to her.

A myriad of emotions crossed his cousin's face, finally settling for one that was a mix of disappointment and disgust. "How silly of me. Here I was, thinking that your ordeal might have changed you as a person. Granted, I don't really know how you are as a person firsthand, but I sure as hell have heard a lot, and I liked none of it. Yet here I was trying to reach out to you anyway, because you're family, because I actually know what compassion is and you wouldn't know it if it bit you in the face. And I'm sorry for that, I really am. But I won't stand for being treated like I'm some piece of dirt on the bottom of your trainer."

She stared at him, seeming to be waiting for him to say something, but although jumbled phrases were tumbling around in his mind, he couldn't seem to formulate a sentence, and what was worse, he couldn't seem to remove the sneer from his face, and he hadn't even known how it had gotten there.

His cousin's eyes hardened, and without another word Tonks turned and walked away.

No, come back, his mind screamed desperately. I didn't mean it, damnit!

But the words never left his mouth because he didn't know how to say them, and all he could do was watch as she walked away without looking back. His chest tightened with grim resolve.

Well, fine. If this was how things were going to be, this was how they'd always been, and he welcomed the familiarity. He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.

In name, he was still a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn't need help from others. Admitting you needed help was admitting weakness. Yes, Draco had forsaken this belief when he allowed Granger to aid him that night—the remembrance still made him cringe with disgust, and he wondered how much longer he'd be able to avoid her at Hogwarts.

But Draco would be damned if he ever showed weakness to anyone again, and especially not if it were going to be thrown back into his face.

Not if he could help it.

It was only the end of the first day, and Hermione already felt frazzled.

She'd had no idea teaching was so much work, so much preparation. She knew the material—well maybe that was an understatement. She more than knew the material, she was as close and familiar with it as she was with her parents, and Hermione had always thought that teaching was a simple profession as long as you knew your stuff.

Apparently not.

The end of her first class had Hermione wanting to bash her head against the wall like a House-Elf, and the end of the second had given her a strong urge to throw herself off a cliff. Now she understood Professor Snape's attitude so much more, and she found herself wishing he were still here so she could tell him how much she'd appreciated him, how much she empathized with him. Thankfully though, a mistake in Arithmancy couldn't kill you, give you boils, burn you, explode anything, or turn you into anything unnatural.

Still, her day had been full of the incompetence of first, second, and even some of the third years, and she felt like a caged animal.

There was only one place she could go to vent without having to worry about hurting any student's feelings, and her free period before dinner found her bursting into the Staff Room in a frenzy, lamenting, "If we were inclined to bash our heads against the walls like House-Elves, that is without a doubt what I would be doing right now."

As she collapsed into a chair by the door, Tonks, the room's only other occupant, looked at her sympathetically and questioned, "Are you sure you aren't perhaps being a little over dramatic, Hermione?"

"Unfortunately I do not think I am, Tonks," she said, leaning her head back against the chair and releasing a sigh of all her pent up frustration of the day. "I mean, there are only so many ways to explain Arithmancy problems. If you don't understand it the first time, chances are you won't understand it the second, and yet I have students who just can't wrap their brains around these problems when they're not even that mentally taxing yet! There's simply no other way I can help them, although I do everything I can. Thank Merlin I have my Advanced class tomorrow!"

"Don't worry dear, at least you're only dealing with numbers…Transfiguration is even more painful. I had one of my classes turn teacups into kittens today, and I had teacups with fur, a kitten with a spout for a head and handle for a tail, a teacup with ears…any kind of possible combination, you name it, was there. And to make it worse, I ran into Draco today."

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her tone casual. She couldn't help but be somewhat curious as to how his first day went, and wondered how close of cousins he and Tonks actually were. She couldn't imagine Malfoy being close with anyone.

"Oh yes," she said bitterly, "I don't know what I was thinking. I tried to reach out to him, because we are related, as I'm sure you know. But it was too little too late, I suppose. He treated me with suspicion and derision, naturally, and I felt guilty walking away, but I won't be talked to like that, cousins or not. I know he's been through a hard time, but despite all he's had to endure, it seems he's been around Lucius too long."

Hermione sighed, not knowing what to say. She didn't know what she felt for Malfoy anymore. She supposed, if she had to pick anything, she felt sorry for him. Had Malfoy been a different person, he might have accepted that, but he only saw it as pity and resented her for it. He didn't have to tell her—she could feel it.

"It's not your fault," she told the Metamorphmagus, "there's only so much you can do for someone, but the rest has to come from them. I just don't know about Malfoy. I feel like I should feel badly for him, but then he just opens his mouth…"

Tonks laughed, and turned to the door as the sound of footsteps entered the room. Her laughter died immediately and she stiffened, standing hastily.

"In walked in my cue to leave," Tonks murmured to her, getting up. "I'll see you later Hermione."

She was out the door so fast Hermione didn't even have time to say goodbye to her, and then, before she had the chance to follow Tonks out, she heard the voice of the newcomer behind her.

"Well, if it isn't goody-good Granger."

Oh, that wall looked so appealing.

Draco knew he was avoiding the dungeons because the last thing he needed right now was another flashback, but he really needed some place where he could go to relax. His feet led him to the Staff Room, and he regretted going there as soon as he opened the door.

He studiously avoided looking at Tonks as she left, and then that left him with Granger.

Perfect.

Why was this always happening to him? He wondered if Dumbledore's spirit was around here somewhere, meddling in people's lives after he was dead. The old man would love this, putting two people together who were once sworn enemies and now were…what? Not enemies, but old habits died hard.

"Malfoy." She said his name coolly, and for once he found himself unable to match a tone to her voice.

"Well don't you look happy to see me," he said, sarcasm dripping off his every word, wondering how on earth he was able to maintain his composure around her when he'd almost lost it in front of his class. "Just like everybody else in this bloody place—don't know what possessed me to come here anyway."

Why had he said that to her?

But then, why had he come here anyway, when he'd known the lukewarm reception he was going to receive? While no one showed open dislike anymore, they all avoided him, like he had some sort of plague. He supposed he did. If anyone touched him, they might become evil or something. But he'd suffered for them, hadn't he?

Hadn't he?

"So tell me, Malfoy," she said, "why did you switch sides? Did you finally realize that Daddy dearest didn't have all the answers?"

"You leave my fucking father out of this, Granger," he snarled. "I don't have to justify myself to you, to you or anyone else. I don't care what you think of my family, or what you think of me. You fucking Gryffindors are all the same. You think it actually looked like the Dark Lord was going to win, when bloody Potter escaped him every time? Those sort of marks add up, Granger, and they were well passed three strikes."

Then why hadn't he just told the Dark Lord and his father everything he knew about the Light and the Order when he was prisoner? That might have helped to turn the tide.

But he couldn't do it, no matter how hard he tried.

He couldn't kill for the sake of killing alone. The Dark Lord had known too, the sadistic bastard, and would have Muggles and Mudbloods brought to him, who were still alive—sometimes mothers and children too—for him to 'play' with. If he'd refused, it was the Imperius curse. The Dark Lord had been determined to break him.

And he'd almost succeeded.

"Oh how silly of me," she cried, laughing in astonishment, "and here I was thinking that for once in your miserable life, you'd chosen to do the right thing, that your moment of morality had finally come!"

"Ah, but that's where you're mistaken, Granger," he corrected her, unable to resist one more jab at the stick stuck so far up her ass it was a wonder she could even walk at all. "See, I love those kinds of moments—I live for them, actually. And do you know why? The best part about them is being able to smile and wave at them as they pass on by!"

"Oooh, you despicable, rotten…"

"Bloody Slytherin scum of a ferret?" he supplied helpfully, and at her stony glare knew he'd gotten it right, or at least pretty damn close. "Come now, Granger, if you're going to insult me, you're going to have to be a bit more creative about it. You Gryffindors are so predictable…you're basically a walking cliché of goodness and light. Well, surprise, Granger—not everyone fits your nice, pretty labels. You'd think after the War you'd have learned that there's more to defining a person than Good or Evil. I mean, think how boring the world would be if everyone were as uptight as you?"

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, and the expression was so unlike Granger that he laughed before he even knew what he was doing. Maybe it had been slightly scornful and mocking, but it had been a genuine noise of enjoyment. The sound surprised him so much he almost choked.

When was the last time he'd laughed openly like that?

He couldn't even remember.

"I'm not boring!" she exclaimed, apparently settling on the easiest part of his accusations to answer.

He smirked at her. "Really, Granger, your comebacks just get worse and worse. You're as boring as a dead rabbit, and that's saying something since rabbits are about as interesting dead as alive."

Her head held high, she turned to leave, and stopped when she was at the door to look at him and say quietly, "You know Malfoy, I'm sorry, I really am. I'm sorry you're like this now, and I'm sorry you don't know how to be another way. Not everyone could have stood what you went through, and I'm sorry you had to. But I can't give you sorry, because all you see is pity. I don't know why I'm even trying, but I'm going to tell you now and then I won't ever again. Let people help you, before you have no one left but yourself."

She left, leaving him blinking after her.

Where had that come from?

Had she just offered to…?

And was he actually thinking about…?

Damn it all to hell and back.

Things had just gotten a little more complicated.

TO BE CONTINUED

Finally some real D/Hr interaction! Hopefully the next chapter should be out within the next month, as usual. Thanks again to everyone, new and old, for continuing to take the time to review—it means so much to me to hear your opinion!

With that said, please keep up the reviewing!

Until next time!