The vastness of the Great Hall never ceased to amaze Hermione, no matter how many times she made her way to the Gryffindor table. The length of the room was amazing, and the floating candles and the dark, starry ceiling made the tips of her fingers tingle. Chatter always filled the room, though this year it was quieter. Everyone remembered what had happened here.
It made her upset to see the Thestrals when she got off the train, and she saw other people physically stop moving after they saw what was pulling the carriages. Most of them had now seen death. Some even began to cry at the sight.
Hermione had shaken her head, and helped everyone get on the carriages, pushing down her feelings of anxiety. They were all too young for this.
As Hermione neared her table, she noticed how few of her year group had returned. The only people left in Gryffindor were Dean, Neville and herself. Dean positively beamed when he saw her, offering her a strong-armed hug and a pat on the back. She sat down next to Neville who smiled at her.
She was happy that they were happy. Neville had grown so much during the war, and was now much taller than she was. In her last year of absence, it seemed, he had hit a growth spurt.
She didn't need to wonder why Seamus and Parvarti hadn't returned back. According to Dean, Seamus' mother was too worried to let him from her sight.
"He thinks she's gone mad," Dean said with a shrug.
"My grandmother must be, too, then," Neville chipped in. "She wouldn't let me leave the house to see Luna much."
Dean turned to Hermione, who was oddly quiet. Her eyes were not on this earth, and her head seemed to be in the clouds for once. Her mind had wandered to her parents, and thinking about how they were doing in Australia.
"What about your parents, Hermione? What did you tell them?" Dean inquired, trying to grapple her into the conversation.
At first, hearing his voice asking her these questions, she panicked. Would she admit using magic on her parents? Would she say that she didn't tell them anything? Did they die in the war?
Hermione, however, found herself needing to say nothing, as Professor McGonagall began.
"Welcome everybody, back to Hogwarts. I understand that this is not going to be an easy yea, as the school is undergoing re-construction from the war that has just happened. As we can all see, this year our numbers are few, even though I have informed last years students that they are all welcome to re-try the year again. I would like to extend an invitation of sorts from your heads of house to you, that should any of you need someone to talk to about what you're going through, we are all available here to talk.
For the younger years, you are also welcome to talk to your prefects, as I'm sure they won't mind.
I would also like to introduce inter-house mingling, so during breakfast and lunch, you are welcome to move tables but for formalities sake, dinner is to be sat with your house.
Now, let the sorting begin."
They gained nine new Gryffindors, five girls and four boys. Dean cheered for every one of them, as loud as ever, as they joined the table.
As soon as the sorting was over, the food appeared on the tables, and everyone dug into it, hungry from the journey. Neville was then the one to strike up conversation again.
"Is that a head girl badge, Hermione?" He squinted at the badge on her chest.
"Yeah," She grinned properly, for the first time that evening. "Isn't it wonderful?"
Dean and Neville looked impressed, though neither of them looked too surprised. It was something that you would be expecting of Hermione. She was clever, she was nice, she was a good leader. They would be more surprised if she came back with a tattoo, or if she decided not to come back at all.
Hermione caught a silver-blond's eye from across the room. He seemed lonely, no one daring to go near him as he mindlessly pushed the food around his plate, not seeming into anything, though not seeming out of it completely, either, as he gave Hermione a small wave.
"Congratulations!" Dean said to her, hugging her from across the table. Draco's eyes broke away from her. "I knew you would get it. If it was going to be anyone, it would have been you without a doubt."
The confidence and support Dean had for his friends was amazing, Hermione found. She had never really been on the receiving end of his support before, as when he was near, she was being overshadowed by Ron or Harry, as they all shared a room. It was nice, though, knowing someone had your back. Seamus was a lucky man, to have Dean as his best friend.
"Thanks," She beamed. "I think I'm going to introduce myself to the first-years."
She excused herself with a quick smile to the two friends. Making her way to the front of the table, she stood out. She had a few scars on her neck from the cruciatus curse that Bellatrix had used on her, that was peaking out from underneath her robes. Her hands were also littered with light scars. Some blended in, but others, like the carving in her arm of the word 'mudblood' stood out.
A first year with large ears and unruly hair like hers gasped. "You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" He gasped. The other kids sitting with him also turned their heads.
"Yes." She confirmed for him, sitting down in front of him in a spare seat. "I'm the head girl this year, so I just wanted to tell you that if any of you need any help with anything, or have any issues, you can come and talk to me and I'll do my best to help you."
They nodded, as McGonagall dismissed them to their dormitories. Hermione led the way to the Gryffindor dormitory, and shared the password of Wiggentree.
"Granger!" Someone shouted at her, from behind the hoard of Gryffindor students. Hermione excused herself, and fought through the crowd to get to the back, as the rest of the Gryffindors, including Dean and Neville, made their way into the common room.
She was greeted by the sight of a tall, pale, blond boy. His cheeks were flushed, like he had been running after her.
"What, Malfoy?" She snapped, wanting to see if she was rooming this year, as she was the only girl from her year group in Gryffindor.
"McGonagall wants to speak to us," He said stiffly. "Now."
"So, I assume you both know that the two of you are Head Boy and Head Girl, for this school year," McGonagall said, pacing the floor of her new office. It was immaculate, unlike the state Dumbledore kept his in. Hermione could see the books very clearly on the shelves. Forks was nowhere to be seen.
"Yes, Professor," Draco and Hermione said in synchronization.
"Well, then you are well aware of the duties you have in this role. And as the castle is undergoing major reconstruction, as I have informed the student body, the room of requirement is no more, so in place of that, the teachers and I have discussed and come to the conclusion that you both need a space for yourselves, where you can gather together, as you are from separate houses, and work around and with the prefects.
You will find it located on the third floor of the main building, in the fourth corridor to the left. I will show it to you now, and explain how you get into the room." Professor McGonagall told them expertly, leading them from her office. Draco held open the door for Hermione to pass through.
Once they got to the sight, they found the corridor empty of paintings, and much light. A musky smell hung around. Hermione could not see many students wanting to wander to this room often, which she thought was genius.
"Now, four steps into the corridor and to the right, you have to knock the amount of syllables your name is, so for Draco you knock twice on this piece of wood, and Hermione you knock four times. The door will show itself to you," McGonagall began to walk away from the pair, before thinking of something else to say to them. "The staff and I hope that the two of you are mature enough to not use the room and the separation to… pursue fellow classmates, if you understand what I'm talking about."
And with that, she disappeared from sight.
"Who does she think I am?" Draco muttered, knocking on the wood twice. As perfectly as McGonagall explained it, the outline of a door made itself present, and Draco pushed, letting the light flood into the corridor.
The first thing Hermione saw was a beige couch, draped over which was a black, fluffy, blanket, and over the wooden floors was a rug of the same shade, though this was much fluffier than the blanket. Hermione felt slightly tempted to go and lie down on the rug, and just sleep her worries away.
Hermione stepped into the common room, soaking in all the paintings and pictures that the previous head boys and girls had left behind. She also saw a lit fireplace in front of the couch, and two desks that were pushed together behind the couch, each with its own parchment sheets, quills and ink pots. There was another door behind the desks.
"Isn't this cozy?" Draco said, almost bitterly. The words dripped from his tongue like ice. "It's almost as though they think we're friends. I hope you know that I'm going to be pushing those desks to opposite ends of the room."
Hermione nodded, not really caring. Her throat seemed to close up a little bit, however, which made her confused. She didn't care about them not being friends. All she wanted was for them to not hate eachother for the sakes of their roles. She didn't necessarily think that they should be friends for the role, though they would be forced to spend some time together.
"I know," Hermione replied as nonchalantly as she could muster.
"I'm going to explore the room. Extinguish the fire when you leave," Draco said, turning around to leave. "I can't imagine I'll use this common room much, though I guess Mudbloods like yourself need somewhere to hide away, and steal more magic."
Hermione held back a flurry of angry words, as Draco stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him, making her jump. Hermione wasn't sure what she had done to anger him. She had been courteous, and as nice as she could be to someone that had seemed to dedicate his life's work thus far to hating people that were different to himself.
Letting her feet lead her, Hermione sat down tentatively on the couch and let the curse words fly out of her mouth, like they had minds of their own. She knew she hadn't stolen anyone's magic, she knew that her wand had chosen her, as Draco's had chosen him. She had as much right to this life as he did, but these things that she knew seemed to shake and his words still offended her none-the-less.
There were days in her first year, when she wished she fitted in somewhere. She was unwanted in the Muggle society because of the strange things she could do, that the other kids couldn't, and she was unwelcomed into the wizarding society because she grew up as a muggle. The only people that she could rely on were her parents, and evidently they were halfway across the globe, and had no clue as to who she was.
Sighing loudly, Hermione ran her hands through her knotted hair, tugging at the strands. No doubt, this made it even more untameable, but she didn't care at the moment.
Hermione sat there for a few moments, not moving an inch as she calmed herself down enough.
"These are dorms. My bags are in one, and I assume those are yours in the other." Draco stuck his head out of the door. He looked almost remorseful that he used that harsh name, earlier. That look wasn't on his face long, before it was wiped clean off, replaced by a sneer. "Why would McGonagall make us share a living space?"
"Because, you useless cockroach, we're supposed to get along, and the closeness is supposed to encourage that." Hermione snapped at him, mouthing off.
Draco took a step backwards, as though not anticipating her words. She could tell they were coming from a mile away, so she was confused as to why he didn't note it.
"Sorry your knickers are in a twist, Granger," Draco sneered, his silvery eyes narrowing into snake-like slits.
Hermione stood up abruptly. "Well… well…" Hermione couldn't think of anything to say. She had had a long day, as her friends didn't wake early enough to see her off, though she doubted any of them were really up for leaving the house much. Her fists curled and clenched, before unclenching. "Ugh!" She stormed off, shouldering past Malfoy, and into the room she assumed was hers. She slammed the door.
She heard him cackle, before heading into his room, too.
This room was red, and had a four-postered king single bed pressed in the corner of the wall that the door was on and the wall to Hermione's right. Next to that was a dressing table, and opposite was a wardrobe with her trunk sitting in front of it.
Hermione's eyelids suddenly felt like they were being weighed down by bricks, and as though her arms and legs had transfigured into bags of sand. Sleep was soon to follow her as she flopped down onto the bed in front of her.
Sweat trickled down the sleeping boy's face, as he tossed and turned in bed. It stuck to his skin like thick glue, making its path to the drenched bedsheets below the agonised boy. Incoherent mumbles came from his mouth, and from time to time cries flung off the end of his tongue as though they had a destination.
The blankets were pooled by the boy's cold feet, moved there by all the kicking and thrashing he was doing amidst his terror.
Sleep left the boy quickly as he bolted to sit upright, the sweat making itself known to his nose.
"Scourgify." The spell was quiet as it removed all the sweat and grime from his skin effectively, only leaving behind the mugginess of the night.
Draco looked around his room, reassuring himself that he was safe at Hogwarts, where he could trust the teachers, and where she would also be safe.
His nightmares had nothing to do with him at all. He wasn't subject to a silver knife that glistened in the wrong light or victim to the Unforgivables, in the nightmare. And it wasn't really even that- it was a memory, though he swore the screams of agony and the pleading that fell from the frizzy-haired witch's lips were deafening.
He had remembered the way that her skinny and, at the time, slightly malnourished body writhed in torment on the floor of his parlour, and the way that her arms were stretched out on either side of her, blood falling in large drops onto the floor from her delicate skin onto the polished floors. The only way for Draco to tell that she was alive when the torture was over, was the way that every now and again tears slipped from her eyes, followed by whimpers.
He didn't know how he would react if he ever saw the scars staining her arms, or what he would do.
Hermione Granger seemed to irk him, even in sleep.
Draco found no reason to go back to sleep, as he knew he would have to rise again not too much later. He grabbed a green towel from the neat stack in his wardrobe, and made a dash to the bathroom, to ponder on his thoughts before having to deal with the girl.
She made him sad in his dreams, yet frustrated in reality. What was it about her that lingered? He hadn't once thought of her through the break, so what was different?
Draco poured shampoo generously into his hands before scrubbing them through his hair violently.
That bloody Granger needs go get out of my life.
It wasn't until the bubbles of shampoo dropped to his nose, did Draco notice the brand. He definitely did not use Lushful Lavender scented shampoo, meant to 'tame crazy, frizzy hair'. A loud groan came from his mouth as he washed it out as fast as he could, before taking his shampoo to wash his har.
Bloody Granger girl…