A/N: Editing all my old stuff makes me feel productive. I should be writing a new chapter, to either one of my FanFics, but I chose the easy route and edited an old chapter again. Sigh. Little Me wanted to send a quick thanks "Super-Mega-Foxy-Awesome-Hot-and-totally-in-love-with-my-story" cousin, who is rereading this story as I retype it! How coincidental!

More Draco memories in this chapter. Character formation, you know. Fun shiz right dur. Sorry for the cursing. There's a reason this story is rated T... And, well, you know... It's Malfoy. It's kind of his thing.

Laadaa dee daa. I feel like my author's notes tell an interesting tale themselves. You should see how long my Percy Jackson FanFic author's notes are... I think the people who bother to read it already know more about me than half of my friends (despite what you may think, I'm not a total loser). On to the story!

Disclaimer: I own everything. HAHAHAHA I TOTALLY GOT YOU, of course I don't own anything! That's one original joke right there.

You don't know me,
Don't ignore me,
You don't want me there,
You just shut me out.
You don't know me,
Don't ignore me,
If you had your way,
You'd just shut me up,
Make me go away.
~Unwanted by Avril Lavigne

After taking a few moments to recompose herself (and the wits she was sure she'd need), Hermione trudged back to the Head Compartment. Malfoy's lean body was stretched leisurely across the fine plush seats, his mercury colored eyes shut closed. Hermione noted how different the sleeping Malfoy heir seemed to look without his trademark scowl, or ever-irritating sneer. It occurred to Hermione that this was probably the first time she had ever seen him without one or the other plastered on his face.

Maybe the train ride won't be as bad as I thought it would be, Hermione thought as she slid the compartment door closed carefully behind her. If he's asleep, he won't be much trouble.

Hermione's rising hopes were quickly diminished, however, when a familiar voice snarled, "Back so soon, Granger?"

"Malfoy," Hermione said bitterly, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she turned to face him. His eyes were half opened and his face had settled into a look of mild annoyance. "I liked it better when you were asleep."

"And I liked it better when you were gone," Malfoy retorted as he readjusted himself into a sitting position. "We don't all get what we want."

"Well, obviously," Hermione murmured as she sat across from him stiffly, crossing her arms. "If I got what I wanted, you'd still be a ferret."

"If I got what I wanted," Malfoy snarled, "you'd be dead."

Hermione tried to ignore the pang in her chest when he said that. To be fair, she didn't expect anything less from the Slytherin, but even so, it hurt to be wished dead. "Well, it sure is a shame, isn't it, Malfoy," Hermione said without thinking, "If Voldemort had won the war, you'd have gotten your wish. You bloody traitor!"

Malfoy regarded her with a stony expression on his face. "I wouldn't go there, Granger," he hissed.

Hermione chose to ignore his warning. "Too prideful to admit you were the Dark Lord's right hand soldier because you lost the war? If you had known we were going to win, you would've stayed on the Light Side. But that's just you, isn't it, Malfoy? Changing sides because you only wanted to be the victor; you didn't want your fancy robes to dirty up in jail when you ended up on the losing side. Merlin forbid the ferret got his pride hurt!"

"You have no idea what you're talking about, you filthy witch," Draco growled, his voice low and eerily calm despite his obvious, growing rage. His knuckles were paling and his jaw was clenched so tightly that Hermione could see the muscles bulging on the sides of his head.

"No," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I suppose I don't know what I'm talking about. But I do know enough to conclude that you, Draco Malfoy, are no better than your father."

Too late, Hermione realized she had gone just a tad bit too far.

Before she could comprehend what was going on, Malfoy shot up, closed the distance between them, and loomed over her threateningly, their foreheads nearly touching. His eyes were an ever-raging silver fire that bore into her own. But Hermione, like the observant Gryffindor she was, noticed something completely un-Malfoy-like in his mercurial eyes. Hermione had thought that she was the kindle to his rage, but, looking carefully, she cautiously wondered if his sudden anger was caused by another emotion. Was it sadness? Regret?

Or, dare she think it, loneliness?

But before Hermione could analyze it further, it was gone. "Listen here, Granger," Malfoy said, his dangerously low voice drawing Hermione's mind back. "You don't like this arrangement and I sure all hell don't either- Merlin knows I didn't come back just to be stuck sharing a common room with a mudblood. I'm going to make this simple, alright? You don't bother me, I won't bother you. But, for some reason, if you do decide to open that bloody mouth of yours around me one more time, I guarantee that I will do everything in my willpower to make this year bloody-fucking-hell for you. Do we understand each other?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort back angrily, but she found that no words would come out. She looked at him again, his intense silver eyes looking every bit serious. Pressing her lips together, she decided against it and simply nodded.

"Good," Malfoy said curtly, then returned to his seat. He closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples in circles with two long, skinny fingers as if to soothe a developing headache.

Hermione's watched him, her thoughts making their way to that emotion she thought she had seen. Surely she didn't imagine it? And if she had, what could the Malfoy heir ever possibly be upset about? Couldn't be money problems; Malfoy was rich. Couldn't be parental problems; Malfoy was proud of his heritage. Couldn't be relationship problems; Malfoy didn't have a heart. No matter what theories Hermione would draw, none would ever make any sense.

Hermione sighed and slumped back into her chair. The girl from the Golden Trio could solve anything, anything: from the horcrux riddles to the most complicated trig problem. But, for once in her life, Hermione was stumped. And if anyone knew Hermione, they knew she wouldn't give up until she had found a solution. That was exactly what the Gryffindor genius was going to do.

Damn that mudblood.

The single thought repeated itself in Draco's head rhythmically as he attempted to soothe his pounding head. The damn Gryffindor was giving him a migraine.

She didn't have a clue -a bloody fucking clue!- how hard his life was. She didn't know a thing about him, how dare she accuse him of such shallow actions! How could she ever understand what he had gone through? She was a star, part of the bloody Golden Trio, someone who was rewarded for the things she had never done.

It was all about those three, wasn't it? How they defeated Voldemort. How they brought the war to an end. How they deserved all the credit. But was any of that true? Why, not the least bit!

Nobody thought about Draco. Nobody gave him credit for the things he did; hell, Potter got credit for those things too! They didn't understand, they couldn't understand, what sacrifices Draco had given. The Dark Lord had lived with him. He poured out what information he could gather to the Order, sacrificing his life to people he barely knew for the hopes of escape. Potter didn't know what it was like, to sleep under the same roof as an evil legend. He didn't know what it was like to keep yourself awake for days, living in fear of the Death Eaters who roamed the hallways.

So much. He had risked so much.

But after the Order had sucked all the information from him, they left him for dead. To give a Slytherin credit for a good deed was far too below their kind.

They didn't bother to recognize Narcissa, whom without, Potter would be dead. It was she who deceived the Dark Lord and told him that The-Boy-Who-Couldn't-Seem-To-Die finally had.

And it was she who got punished for it as well.

"I don't understand," Lucius Malfoy cried angrily as he paced across the fine Persian rug. "Potter is alive! How is this possible?"

"I seen Potter die!" One of the Death Eaters agreed. "He can't have come back to life in such a short amount of time."

"Maybe the Dark Lord missed?" Another suggested weakly.

"Don't be stupid," Lucius snarled. "The Dark Lord never misses his mark!"

"Even a blind man couldn't miss that large head of Potter's," Draco, who had been silent during the argument, muttered bitterly. He was seated beside his mother, who was stiff beside her son, and he discreetly reached for her hand. She took it instantly and squeezed it.

"No," Lucius agreed, glancing in Draco's direction. "I don't believe anyone could argue with that."

"After he died," one of the -brighter- Death Eaters said slowly, thoughtfully, "That hairy oaf -what's his name, Haggard?- carried him back. The boy had to have been revived during the trip by him. But, the question is, how?"

Silence followed the Death Eater's question. Suddenly, Lucius's head jerked up. His face was alight with cold recognition as a new idea hit him. He looked around, meeting each Death Eater's eyes challengingly as he spoke. "But what if," he said slowly. "Potter never died?"

"We went over that already, chief," the first Death Eater replied impatiently. "We all seen him die."

"Yes," Lucius said slowly. "But tell me, Kebede, do you remember what our old friend at the ministry told us about the talk of Harry being a Horcrux?"

"Yeah," Kebede said uncertainly.

"What if Voldemort never killed all of Harry?" Lucius suggested.

"I don't see where you're going with this," another Death Eater said.

"Quiet, and I'll tell you!" Lucius snapped. "Now, as I was saying... What if, some how, the Dark Lord only killed the evil in Harry?" When no one said anything, Lucius explained more thoroughly, "What if Voldemort only killed the part of himself that resided in the boy?"

"So he never really died...," one of the Death Eaters said in awe.

"Exactly, you idiot!" Lucius growled.

"But that's not possible," Kebede cried, "we checked his pulse and confirmed he was dead!"

"There is a traitor among us!" Lucius said, his voice raising. He sought out everyone's eyes until it rested upon Narcissa. "And she is here with us tonight."

Draco felt his mother stiffen as all the Death Eater's eyes looked upon the woman with newfound hate. "Narcissa," Lucius snarled. "You lied to us. If not for you, our Dark Lord would live. I think you know the penalty."

Not a word was spoken as Narcissa met her husband's eyes. He waited -they all waited- for her to break, eyes hungry for her distraught and weakness. Finally, the silence broke.

"I never wanted to be a Death Eater," she said, her voice surprisingly strong. Her head was raised high with what little pride a blood-traitor could posses. "You knew that, Lucius. I never wanted to get my son involved in this war and yet you involved him anyway. This war broke our family apart, and you let it. You shouldn't have expected anything less from me."

"I did what was best for our family," Lucius snarled. "I wanted nothing but to please you."

"What's best for our family?" Draco echoed in disbelief. "Is that what you think you've done?"

"Draco...," Narcissa spoke softly to her son, her tone warning, but he waved her off.

"You never thought twice about us," Draco hissed. "You only did what you thought would make your Dark Lord proud. You almost killed me just to please him!"

"Now, Draco," Lucius said dangerously. "You've no idea what your talking about. Come and sit..."

"No," Draco snarled. "I know exactly what I'm talking about. You betrayed your family for your own sake. Look where that got you! Your lord is dead, and you have nowhere to run to!"

The Death Eaters who occupied the room visibly flinched at Draco's last few words. To say that Lucius was enraged would be a dramatic understatement.

"That's why I betrayed you, Lucius," Narcissa's voice was surprisingly gentle in the tense atmosphere. "Because you never were the husband or the father you aught to have been."

Lucius withdrew his wand from his pocket and aimed it at his wife. "Then you are no wife of mine."

Hermione looked up from her book as the train drew to a stop.

Hogwarts had been fully restored to its former glory over the summer, and no battle scars remained on the building. Hermione could say that she was somewhat impressed with how quickly it had been repaired.

She stood up, tucking her book carefully into her robes, and began to exit the compartment. She glanced over at Malfoy, who's eyes were shut closed and was still rubbing his temples. He seemed too lost in thought to notice their arrival. Hermione sighed quietly. Curse my inability to hold grudges, she thought. "Malfoy!" she barked at him.

He looked up at her sharply. His surprise faded into his usual glare quickly. "What do you want, Granger?"

"We're here," Hermione said briskly. "You can thank me later." And with that, she walked off.

"'Mione!" Ginny said as Hermione stepped off the train. "You two haven't killed each other yet!"

"Yet," Hermione said with a small sigh. Ginny gave her a questioning look. "I'll tell you later. Let's get to the carriages."

The two made their way quickly through the crowd to find the two boys they usually accompanied, but upon discovering that Harry and Ron had already left, they settled for a carriage with Luna and Neville instead.

"Hello Hermione, Ginny," Luna said airily. "How're the catropalogots treating you?"

"Er, good," Hermione said uncertainly.

"Luna was just telling me about Dager Dust," Neville said cheerfully.

"It's the best way to repel vampires," Luna informed. "I didn't bring any with me, but I'm fairly certain it wouldn't be hard to make some if you ever need any."

"Thanks," Hermione said, though she doubted she would ever need something of the sort. "I'll keep that in mind."

"So, I hear you're Head Girl," Neville said. "Congrats."

"It's not exactly as great as I thought it would be," Hermione murmured.

"Why not?" Neville asked. "You've always wanted to be Head Girl. You've talked about it since first year."

"Malfoy is Head Boy," Ginny filled him in.

"I'm sorry to hear," Neville said. "That's just bad luck."

"You must be attracting the solmagons to get luck like that," Luna agreed.

"What are solmagons?" Neville asked. Hermione toned the two out as they carried on a discussion about solmagons and their tendencies to bring bad luck upon those that invaded their homes.

Finally, the carriage pulled to a stop, and the four exited the carriage. Ginny began to pull Hermione to the Great Hall, but Hermione shook her head. "You go ahead," Hermione said, smiling at her friend. "I've got to meet Professor McGonagall to discuss my Head duties."

"Okay," Ginny said cheerfully. "I'll make sure to save a little food for you. But you know how Ron is, so no promises."

"Thanks," Hermione said, the corners of her mouth twitching into an amused smile. Ginny, finally spotting her boyfriend, waved at Hermione before running off to catch up with him.

Hermione walked to the portrait that lead to McGonagall's new office and muttered the password, "Caramel Creams". She stepped in and observed the Headmaster's (erm, headmistress's) office, preparing herself for the nostalgia she was sure to feel. It had changed a lot since Hermione had last been in here, when Dumbledore was alive. On the desk rested piles of neatly organized files and scattered notes instead of Dumbledore's bright and curious trinkets. Fawkes the Phoenix no longer lit up the room; instead, a large, sleek owl took its place. The old chandelier above her no longer filled the room with warmth, but instead seemed to cast a sad glow on everything it touched.

"Miss Granger," Headmistress McGonagall said cheerfully. "Do sit down."

Hermione did as she was told, still surveying the gloomy office.

"Yes," McGonagall murmured, watching Hermione. "Things just haven't been the same in here since Albus died." A small sigh escaped the old woman's lips and Hermione noticed that she had dark circles under her eyes. "I've tried my best to liven up the old office, but I suppose it will never be quite like it used to be."

"The password...," Hermione said.

A small smile graced McGonagall's lips. "He insisted on it," she gestured to the empty portrait behind her.

"Where is Dumbledore?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.

"The man might be dead, Miss Granger," McGonagall said vaguely. "But he still has plenty of unfinished business to attend to."

Hermione wanted to question the Headmistress further, but she was interrupted by another visitor.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said. "Take a seat." Malfoy did so, and McGonagall continued, "I know you must be wondering why you're here..."

"It isn't customary to call us in from the Great Hall on the first day," Hermione nodded.

"Shut up, Granger," Malfoy snapped.

"Make me, Malfoy," Hermione replied.

"Mr. Malfoy! Miss Granger!" McGonagall scolded. Both fell silent and McGonagall shook her head. "Oh dear, this might be harder than I thought..."

"What might be harder?" Hermione couldn't stop herself from asking. She ignored the glare she got from Malfoy and the mumbled, "nosy mudblood" that followed.

"You two have been chosen as the Head Boy and Girl for a reason," McGonagall began.

"What reason?" Hermione said again.

"I'm getting to that, Miss Granger," McGonagall said gently. Hermione pressed her lips together and murmured a quick apology. "You two have been chosen to end the house wars between Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"What?" Hermione and Malfoy both shouted.

"Headmistress, I can't put up with that ferret, let alone get along with him!"

"And I can't be kind to a mudblood! What would my father say?"

"Both of you, sit down!" McGonagall ordered. Both did as they were told. "I believe, Mr. Malfoy, by what I was told last time, that your father..."

"I know," Malfoy interrupted in a clipped tone, clearly not open to discussion on the topic.

"I am aware of how sudden this request may seem," McGonagall amended, "but I only ask you to hear me out. Since the war, many have chosen to push the blames away from the ministry, and to Hogwarts instead. They blame it on the inner house rivalries. If such rivalries did not exist, the Slytherin and Hufflepuff families who were involved in Death Eater activities would have been persuaded otherwise by the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor houses."

"That's insane!" Hermione cried.

"Yeah," Malfoy muttered, "who would ever listen to a Gryffindor?"

McGonagall sighed. "I agree, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, the community does not. I don't expect much from either of you, just enough to prove to the Ministry that house rivalries are nothing short of mere childish bickering, and can be fixed."

"'Don't expect much'," Malfoy quoted, a disbelieving sneer on his face.

"You're asking a lot of us, Headmistress," Hermione said, albeit politely.

"I realize that," McGonagall said. "But our school depends on it. We haven't gotten the best reputation in the last ten years, and so the number of students who attend are rapidly decreasing. If we do not act soon, the school may face termination."

Hermione's eyes widened. Shut down the school! She glanced at Malfoy. Well, she thought, it sure as heck won't be easy. But it's for the sake of Hogwarts! "I'll do it!"

McGonagall turned to Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy?"

He took a moment to ponder. "Fine," he said bitterly. He glanced at Hermione, his nose wrinkling. "But I won't enjoy it."

McGonagall clapped her hands together. "Perfect. Now go enjoy your meals."

Hermione stood and walked back to the Great Hall, her mind whirring. She was going to save the school! She glanced at Malfoy, who still didn't seem too happy about the idea. Hermione knew the difficulties she was going to face in acting civilized towards the Slytherin prince, but maybe -just maybe- in doing so, she would come to solve the mysterious look in Malfoy's eyes on the train ride down. And besides, she was saving Hogwarts in the process.

With this in mind, she strode off to the Great Hall, new determination alighting her steps.