A/N: Thanks a million to my beta, Keryn!

The wheels of the trolley rattled briskly along the uneven ground as Hermione pushed her luggage towards the platform. People milled about, jostling her as she struggled to steer the vehicle, which seemed to have acquired a mind of its own. To distract herself from the nervousness that always precedes a new job, she tried to discern the Muggles from the magical folk in the crowd. A man in a dark suit, striding along while talking on his mobile phone…almost certainly a Muggle. A scared eleven-year-old, clutching a black kitten in one arm and dragging a large trunk with the other: most likely one of her new students. She studied the girl with interest when a high, piercing voice cut through her like a knife.

"Look at that lady's face, Mummy!"

Hermione froze and stopped dead in her tracks, causing a minor traffic jam. Slowly, she turned her head to see a small, pudgy child regarding her with a mixture of awe and revulsion. Her flustered mother, tottering along in her high heels and business-like suit, gasped in horror and snatched the child's hand.

"Nancy! You don't say things like that! It's not nice!" Her eyes flickered to Hermione, evidently intending to apologise, but instead they too widened at the sight of her face.

"But Mummy—," the child tugged at her hand "—look, Mummy, half her face is gone!" The mother's face was a mask of mortification. Her mouth opened and shut, unable to react to the cruel, destructive words her child so easily threw out.

Nancy hadn't finished yet. "Do you think a tiger tried to eat her, Mummy?" she asked in fascination.

Hermione finally got a grip on herself. She grabbed the trolley and continued on, bumping others out of the way indifferently as her vision blurred with unshed tears. She could still hear the child's voice protesting plaintively at her mother's remonstrations. However, within moments she had recovered her composure. She strode on, the picture of complete self-possession.

Only her whitened knuckles gave any evidence of the emotional turmoil within.

Draco opened his eyes blearily and immediately had to fight the impulse to shut them again. Dim, dark shapes swam nauseatingly in and out of focus. His stomach heaved, protesting violent outrage to the potion that had been forced down his throat. He closed his eyes once more and lay perfectly still, willing his body to submit to his control.

After a few moments, his head settled and he began to return to his normal state – or at least what had now become his normal state. He forced his heavy eyelids open and peered around him.

His first impression was that of darkness. Darkness, and walls.

The cell!

The walls loomed over him, shutting him in this place of terror and gloom, moving closer, leaning in, enclosing him, ensnaring him,killing him. No! I won't go back in! He thrashed on the floor, struggling against the invisible bonds that held him tightly.

"Hey, Ed! This one's up!" A thin face appeared suddenly in front of Draco's wide, terrified eyes, and he relaxed a little. There were no people in solitary confinement. "Should I give him some more of that stuff?"

"Nah." This voice was older, hoarser. Draco twisted his head, trying to locate the speaker. His eyes, out of practice from so long in disuse, could only dimly make out a shape on one of the boxes. "One thing you'll learn, boy, in this line o' work, is that it never pays to put yourself in danger if you don't have to."

"What d'you mean?" The young fellow on a small box, his knees almost reaching his cheeks. Draco blinked slowly, his vision returning as he looked around him.

"Take them lads, now." Ed indicated Draco with an expansive sweep of a thick hand. "The only reason," he lit his pipe, slipping it in through a gap in his teeth, "the only reason they are here right now is because they committed 'crimes against the state'.b" He nodded knowledgeably, his pipe wobbling.

"You serious?" whispered the boy in fascination. He edged his box closer. "What sort of things?"

"Now, Mick," Ed said reprovingly, "you don't think they'd be tellin' the likes of us? Have some sense."

Mick's face wrinkled in confusion. "But how do we know they done anythin', then?"

"Well o' course they done something, otherwise they wouldn't be reformers, would they? You sayin' our government is just pickin' 'em out randomly?" His voice grew heated, and the pipe fell out of his mouth. He picked it up with stubby fingers, mumbling angrily about the impertinence of youth, lack of respect to elders, and general degradation of moral standards.

"Oh, no, Ed, nothin' like tha'," said Mick quickly, hands spread out in a silent plea for forgiveness. "I was jus' wonderin' what kind of things, y' know, that they done. I know our governments all right. Sure didn't I vote for that Creevey, and never looked back."

"Ah, well," Ed grunted, looking slightly mollified. "Where was I?"

"You was just tellin' me about the things that lot did," Mick supplied encouragingly, jerking his thumb at Draco.

"Oh, yeah. See, after the War, all them Death Eaters was rounded up and executed–"

"Served 'em bloody right," interrupted Mick fervently.

"Yeah, yeah. But anyways, there was still those left as weren't no good. You know who I'm talkin' about. People who'd helped Him. Spies. Them that gave money." He spat on the ground in disgust.

"Bleedin' turncoats," Mick agreed.

"So there you have it. That's why we have all them lot around the place." They both turned to stare at Draco.

"Gives me the creeps, a little, the way they just stare and never say nothin'," Mick muttered. "I know they can't talk, and that you can't see their face," he added, seeing the look his elder was giving him. "But it's still weird. You can feel their eyes."

Ed shrugged unconcernedly, and hauled his heavy body to its feet. "I'm off to grab something to eat from the trolley before we start movin'. You want anythin'?" Mick shook his head. "Suit yourself. But the train's leavin' in a few minutes."

Train, Draco though. Trolley. The pieces began to come together. Small, wooden rooms. Not rooms: compartments.. Realisation dawned.

I'm on the Hogwarts Express!

"Would you like anything, dear?" asked a cheery voice.

Hermione didn't lift her head from the book she was perusing. "No, thank you." She listened to the sounds of the trolley wheels' rattling until they died away. Silence descended once more upon the compartment. She set her book down carefully, feeling a strange reluctance to disturb the quiet atmosphere.

Sighing softly, she leaned her forehead against the cool, misty glass. The motion of the train sent vibrations through her skull, blissfully driving away all thought as her head drummed against the window.

Hermione lifted her head at the sound of hesitant footsteps coming from the corridor. Two students walked past, whispering and glancing nervously about them. It was a sign of the times that the sight of them was a surprise. How many students had Neville said there were – was it forty? That seemed about right, from the number she had seen so far on the platform and the train.

She leaned back in her seat, relaxing her stiff posture for once. She had the compartment to herself, thankfully; she didn't think she could have dealt with having to share it with whispering, giggling, goggle-eyed students. Her eyes itched from reading, and she allowed the lids to slide smoothly down. No harm in a quick rest, she told herself.

The train rattled onwards, bumping Draco uncomfortably against the hard wooden planks. He would have groaned in discomfort, but the Silencing Charm prevented even the slightest vocal noise. He contented himself with digging his fingernails into the floorboards until they broke. He was still unable to relax; all his muscles remained tense, nervous. The size of the compartment and the lack of proper light reminded him uncomfortably of his cell.

The sound of movement from the far corner took him completely by surprise. He started, turning his head with difficulty to peer into its dim depths. He realised that there was another occupant of this carriage, one apparently in the same plight as him. The boy – or at least, he was pretty sure it was male – was obviously only just coming around from whatever potion they had both ingested. He watched as the boy raised his head with its closely cropped brown hair –like we all have, he realised suddenly – and looked straight at him. At least, as far as Draco could tell. The damned spell made it impossible to see any expression or feature. Eyes simply slipped past, as though the area around the face had been cut from visible reality.

Hogwarts. How ironic. He could pinpoint the exact moment when his life had started down the track that had led him to where he was now. He hadn't been there since that night on the Astronomy Tower. Leaning back a little, trying to ease his bonds slightly, he could still see every detail in his mind's eye. He had thought, then, that he would never see or do anything as horrible as that day, the day he saw an old man murdered in front of his eyes. Because of him, and what he had done. He smiled humourlessly; how innocent he had been back then. The horrors he had seen and committed since then would make that idealistic sixteen-year-old retch. They were not comfortable memories to live with.

He wondered idly who would be Headmaster, or perhaps Headmistress. McGonagall? No; Aunt Bellatrix got her two months before the final battle. Flitwick? Sprout? He racked his brains, trying to remember what had become of them. They died in the Atrocity, didn't they? Or did Flitwick escape? No; Draco could remember now. He was one of the last teachers to die.

Whoever it was, it probably wouldn't make much difference. He could now look forward to year upon year of demeaning servitude, probably under some upstart house-elf that he could have bought ten times over back in the day. Better than the cell, a thought whispered. He shuddered in agreement. Anything was better than that.

Voices rose in excitement and confusion, rousing Hermione from her slumber. She blinked sleepily, for a moment confused as to where she was. The narrow, empty compartment brought it back to her. She stretched, her book slipping from her lap. She picked it up absently, and prepared to leave, shaking her head to remove the cobwebs of sleep.

The students hushed a little as she stepped from the train. She walked in a pocket of silence among them, with curious whispers. She ignored it out of habit; her attention was now on her once-familiar surroundings. The lake glittered darkly before her eyes, the traditional boats floating on its flat surface. She could almost hear Hagrid's voice: 'Firs'-years, o'er here!'. But there was no more Hagrid. There was only her.

She turned around sharply, driving the thoughts from her mind. "First-years, over here," she snapped, her voice made taut by painful memories. Roughly twenty students scuttled over. White faces looked up at her with a mixture of awe and fear.

"All others, the carriages are waiting." Hermione gestured at the dark shapes behind her, and out of the corner of her eye saw the thestrals trot around. Gasps echoed from the assembled students, most of whom had their eyes fixed on the skeletal horses. Of course, she thought bitterly, in these days, who hasn't seen death?

"Come along, come along!" She herded the first years down the path, her robes snagging on the brambles and bushes that now grew there She could feel her old control coming back, or bossiness, as Ro–

"I said into the boats! You there, get in!" she snapped.

"I've lost my toad!" the girl wailed. Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly. So history does repeat itself.

"It will turn up. They always do. Now, on!"

They sailed serenely over the glassy lake, ripples oozing out in their wake. Hermione tried to settle her nerves; taking it out on students would not help. She glanced back at the two students sharing her boat. One cowered back, meeting her stern gaze with large, frightened eyes. The boy, however, had a look of sullen defiance about him. She turned back to look ahead, waiting for the first glimpse of the cave which would lead them to Hogwarts Castle.

She heard a breathed 'Wow,' from behind her as the castle loomed above them. She sat up a little straighter in the prow. Hogwarts, centre of learning, place of memories, site of tragedy. Tiny dots of candlelight studded its dark bulk. Hermione looked away quickly, choosing instead to look at the water. It evoked fewer harrowing memories.

Her own reflection was clearly visible at the back of the boat, sitting ramrod straight, followed by a smaller shape huddled towards the back. Something seemed not to fit; she frowned, feeling her scarred face contort still further. Why–

She jerked forward as the boat ground to a halt in the rough sand of the shore. Looking up, she realised they had reached the cave. She led the first-years, whispering nervously, slowly up the winding path. At each step, she grew more convinced that this was a bad idea. Every glance reminded her of happy times, now tinged with pain because she knew what happened later.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode up to the great wooden doors. As she placed her hand on the rough surface, she tried to think positively. After all, after everything that had happened to her already in her short but traumatic life, what tremendous shocks could teaching bring?

Later on, she would come to think that never had she been as wrong as at that moment.