Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do profit from this work produced here. I would also like to formally thank Ms. Rowling for allowing respectable fan writers, such as myself, to post derivative works such as this, and invite her to have tea at my place anytime she likes.

Warnings: brief mentions of self-harm. Also, Fred. :(

"Up. UP!"

Harry Potter groaned and rolled over in his bed, pulling his pillow over the top of his ears.

"I can't believe none of you are out of bed yet! Goodness gracious, it's almost eight! The train leaves in three hours!" Molly was clearly in a fright, dashing to and fro about Ron's room. "Are you packed? I do hope so, for goodness' sake, Merlin knows how you managed to survive living in a tent for a year if you can't even get yourselves up on time to catch a train!"

"Are they not up yet?" That was Hermione, standing in the doorway and already dressed in her uniform skirt and sweater, tying her red-and-gold striped tie around her neck.

"No, they're not up yet! Three hours! We've got to eat and finish packing and get to the station- Ronald Weasely! Your books aren't even out of their bags yet! Ooh, seventeen years of getting you lot up for the first day, and you'd think once, just once, we could catch the train without being in a rush!"

By this point, Ron was yawning and clambering out of bed; all the Weasely children knew that when Molly took that tone, it was time to follow orders. "C'mon, mate," he mumbled to Harry, "before she hexes us. Come on." He pulled the sleeping wizard up by the arm and handed him his glasses.

"What, are you two still asleep?"

Harry blinked through his glasses and flushed to see a certain redheaded witch leaning with a smile against the doorpost, likewise clad in her uniform, pale arms crossed in front of her crisp white blouse and a smirk on her freckle-flecked face. He grinned despite himself to see the little glint of gold off the band around her fourth finger. "We're getting up," he said tiredly, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Well you'd better get a move on; Mum's in a right state. Need a hand?"

He grinned and accepted it, taking her slender, pale palm in his larger own. Ginny pulled him to his feet with surprising strength and grinned up at him, linking her hands around his neck. Harry grinned back, his hands on her waist.

"Merlin's beard, you two, could you not act like that first thing in the morning?" Ron groaned.

"Jealous?" Ginny teased, glancing over.

"You're seventeen. You shouldn't be engaged so soon!"

"I'll be eighteen by the time of the wedding; really, Ronald, you act like I'm still some silly little twelve year old."

"And you," Ron scowled at Harry, "you're s'posed to be my best mate, aren't you? Marrying my sister!"

"You know you love us," Harry chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah. But I don't need to be reminded of it every fifteen effing seconds," he grumbled, stalking out of the room to the bathroom down the hall.

Harry sighed. "Still not comfortable with it, I guess."

"He'll be fine," Ginny said dismissively, "He's actually really pleased with the idea; he just wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Come July, he'll be glowing with pride."

"Hmm." The bespectacled eighteen-year-old leaned forward and pecked his fiance on the lips. Ginny grinned and kissed him back.

"Mer'in's- ge' a 'oom!" Ron bellowed from the bathroom, toothbrush stuck in his mouth.

"Alright, everyone, you know how this goes," Molly said briskly, shrugging on her coat. They were standing at the foot of the Burrow's hill, dressed in uniform with trunk-latches in hand (all except Hermione, who was carrying a small beaded bag and looking remarkably pleased with herself). Arthur had wanted to see them off, as well, but had been called into the office on some sort of emergency. "Once we get to King's Cross, you do not talk to anyone in a robe, especially not if they have a quill or a camera. Harry, Ginny, keep your hands in your pockets, if they catch sight of those rings we're all in for it, it's been enough work fending them off from the house- is everyone ready? Good. On three then; one- two- three!"

Harry closed his eyes and turned; for a brief second there was nothing, and the grayish darkness seemed to rush past his ears like a steady wind, before his feet hit solid pavement, and he opened his eyes.

They were standing in a small alleyway behind a dumpster in London; Molly straightened her hat primly. "Alright, you lot; we're taking the metro, so you'd best not say anything strange in front of the Muggles. Last thing we need is to break the Statute of Secrecy…"

They trudged after her, trunks rattling behind them. Harry thought forlornly that once, a small cage would have been held in the other hand, but shook off the grief. There had been grief enough for several months; between the funerals for their friends who had passed, and the members of the Order, and Fred-

He glanced over to Ron, who was blinking hard, cheeks a little red. Harry knew that he couldn't have been the only one thinking about the lost twin. "Hey," he murmured, and the ginger glanced over. "He would've been proud of you," Harry said quietly. "'Fact, I bet he is, wherever he is."

Ron managed a smile. "You think so?"

"I know so."

Ron glanced around to the rest of his family, as if not wanting to upset them, and then said lowly, "And- and you're sure there's really something up there? You're sure it wasn't all just in your head?"

Harry quirked a small, ironic smile. "Of course it was all in my head. Why should that mean it wasn't real?" At Ron's confused look, he reached out and clapped his friend's shoulder sympathetically. "Trust me, I'm sure."

Ron nodded, smiled again sadly. "Thanks, mate."

They made it through the metro ride without anyone mentioning anything stranger than a bit of charms homework (which earned them a few strange glances but not an overdue amount of attention), before getting off and walking the last few blocks to King's Cross. Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight of the station, though his happiness was tinged with melancholy; it was his seventh year, his last spent in the castle he had called "home" for so long… the best seven years of his life, however much hardship they may have held…

The station was crowded with an inordinate amount of students hauling trunks, mice, cats, toads, and broomstick-shaped cases; thankfully, term was starting for the muggle boarding schools the day after next, so even the ordinary platforms were filled with teenagers in uniform, waiting with their suitcases and bags. Two young men were kicking a football back and forth. Not for the first time, Harry couldn't help but notice the similarities between the two worlds, rarely meeting except in strange halfway-places like this, links between the wizard and muggle existences. Do you know that our war brushed against your doorstep, thought the wizards passing by, do you realize how close you were to finding out who and what we are? Do you know what we've sacrificed for you?

They didn't, thought Harry, and that, perhaps, was all for the better. No reason to cause a panic among the lives of ordinary, happy folk. No reason at all.

The barrier between platform nine and ten was congested; how the muggles didn't see all the students casually disappearing into the brick, Harry would never know- some sort of charm, he supposed, though it had never been explained to him. He saw a young girl, no older than eleven, staring at it with obvious trepidation, a white cat sitting atop her trunk. "Hey," Harry said, stopping beside her with a kindly smile, "you need help getting onto the platform?"

The girl looked up at him, startled; she glanced back and forth, and then whispered, "Are you a wizard?"

Clearly she was muggle-born; she didn't seem to have any idea who he was. "Yeah, I am," Harry agreed, kneeling down. "What's your name?"

"Mary," she answered timidly, "Mary O'Donnell. M-my parents dropped me off, I said I could find my way, but now…" She bit her lip, tears filling her eyes. "I don't want to miss the train…"

"You won't; I'll help you," he reassured her. "My name's Harry; I'm going to school, too. You're trying to get to nine and three-quarters, right?" She nodded, looking very small and afraid. "It's not hard. All you have to do is push your cart straight at the bricks. I promise, you won't hit them; it's magic. You'll pass right through."

"You're sure?" the girl said dubiously.

"I'm sure. You can watch my friends go first, if you're nervous."

She nodded. "I'd like that."

Harry looked to Ron, who grinned. "Watch how it's done, kid." He grabbed hold of his trunk- and ran straight for the barrier. A moment later, the bricks swallowed him up.

"See?" Harry said kindly. "Nothing to it."

"Oh." She bit her lip, squinted at the barrier, and then took a deep breath. A moment later, she was off and running. Harry grinned as she vanished from view, and then followed after. There was darkness for a moment, and then bright sunlight, and the sign reading, Platform 9 ¾, just above him.

Mary looked back at him, eyes lighting up. "I did it!" she exclaimed.

"Good job," Harry said, smiling. "Now all you have to do is get on the train; it'll bring you to Hogwarts. When you get there, a giant named Hagrid will bring you to the castle."

Her eyes went wide. "A giant?" she whispered.

"Well, half-giant," Ron corrected, pushing his cart over, "but he's friendly, believe me. He's a professor there; you'll like him."

"Not to mention the other teachers," added Hermione, who'd come up behind them, Ginny at her side. "Headmistress McGonagall- she's a brilliant witch, but you'd best not cross her-"

"Aw c'mon, everyone crosses McGonagall at some point. Filch is the one you have to worry about- or Binns, he's the most boring teacher there-"

"Ron, that's not nice to say!"

"Who's Binns?" Mary asked innocently.

"The history prof- he's a ghost, you'll know him when you meet him."

"A ghost!"

"Yeah, but he's not scary at all. Trust us," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Oh, and Professor Lupin, he's fantastic."

"He's teaching all seven classes, isn't he?" Ginny mentioned, as they started moving towards the train. "That's bound to be difficult."

"Why?" said Mary, surprised.

"His wife just had a baby," Hermione explained idly, "plus he has to take every full moon off- oh, right, you wouldn't know. Professor Lupin is a werewolf."

The girl stopped dead, her cart jerking backwards. "He's a what?"

"Oh, don't worry about that- he's the nicest man you'll ever meet," Hermione reassured her. "He's a very good friend of ours, actually; you'll like him a lot."

"But if he's a-"

"Only during the full moon; besides, he takes a potion to keep him tame. He's really quite harmless."

"Is he from Slytherin?" Mary asked curiously.

They all blinked, surprised. "No, he was in Gryffindor, like us," Ginny replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Well- that's where all the dark wizards come from, isn't it?"

The four glanced at each other; Harry decided he'd handle this one. "Mary," he said seriously, kneeling down again to look her in the eye, "I don't know where you've been getting your information, but I think you have a few misconceptions." She blinked, startled. "It's not your fault- a lot of people have them- but someone should tell you better before you go to school."

"Okay…?"

"First off: being a werewolf does not at all make someone a dark wizard. You'll understand once you meet Professor Lupin; he's a great man. Second: Slytherin house… it's got a bad reputation, I won't deny it, but that's just because of a few people, not everyone that comes out of it. One of the most courageous men I ever knew was from Slytherin."

"Really?"

"Really. I won't lie to you: originally, the house ideals were all about being a pureblood- that's a family that's all wizard, no muggle-borns, like yourself." The girl dropped her eyes. "But," Harry continued, "that doesn't mean that it has to keep being that way. A lot of what Slytherin house is about has to do with- with ambition, and using your opportunities- being a leader, if you will."

"Oh." She considered this. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, to get sorted there…"

"You seem like a nice young lady. No matter which house you get sorted into, they'll be lucky to have you."

She grinned. "Okay." She suddenly saw a number of other first-years, all huddled around with their parents, and gasped. "Oh, look!" She glanced back at them. "Do you mind…?"

"No, no, go on!" Hermione urged. Mary waved goodbye, and then hurried over to the rest of her class. The four grinned to watch her, each remembering their own first day, excitedly- and nervously- waiting for the year to begin.

"There you lot are!" They turned as Molly bustled up to them, looking a bit flustered. "I got caught behind; group of Muggles all passing in front of the barrier- well look, it's quarter-to; you'd best be… getting on the train…" She suddenly seemed to get a lump in her throat.

"Mum, it's okay," Ginny said gently.

"Oh- I know- I just-" She bit her lip hard, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm just… so proud of all of you," she said hoarsely, and then gave them each a tight, motherly hug in turn. "Be good. Write home. Say hi to George for me, and Lupin, and Minerva-"

"You just saw them last week!" Ron grunted, struggling for air.

"I know, but- oh- all of you, be safe!" She exclaimed this last one as she pulled Harry into a hug, and he laughed.

"Mrs. Weasely- it's fine- trust me, Riddle's not about to come looking for me this time!"

"I know, I just- oh, I just worry about you, all of you." She hugged Hermione. "You'll understand when you're parents." Her voice suddenly broke. "Oh, Ginny- Harry-" She flung her arms around her youngest again. "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it."

"Mum- Mum, we've got to go-" Ron stammered helplessly as Ginny made a vague choking sound.

"And you too!" She hugged Ron fiercely, kissing his cheek. "And don't you dare get involved in any more trouble!"

After several more tearful hugs and kisses, she let them go, waving goodbye as they made their way to the steaming scarlet engine. As the attendant helped them lift their bags on the train, a voice behind them called, "Harry Potter!"

All four turned. And groaned.

A head of blonde curls above an acid-green woman's business suit and a pair of winged glasses seemed to cut through the crowd. "Hurry," Harry muttered to the attendant, clambering up the latter.

"Is that a ring I see, Potter?" Rita Skeeter exclaimed, her quick-quotes-quill scribbling madly. He glanced to the hand holding the bar, and realized, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that it was his left.

"Class ring," he said quickly, "Come on, Ron-"

"Class ring made of solid gold?" the reporter said knowingly. "Come now, Harry, who's the lucky lady?"

"No comment."

"Really, Harry, you've caught the interest of the whole wizarding world!"

"Well, they can find some new celebrity to obsess over," he snapped, stepping on board the train. "C'mon, Hermione, Ginny, let's go-"

"One of these two, perhaps? I remember Miss Granger was quite fond of you during the Tournament-"

"You foul woman-" Hermione began, but she was cut off by Ginny's irritable, "Oh, bugger off before I hex you!"

Rita glanced between them; it was a second later that Ginny hastily shoved her hands in her pockets, but it was a second too late- Skeeter had seen the ring. "Ah-ha!" she exclaimed. "The best mate's sister!"

"Oy," Ron groaned. "C'mon, Gin, up you get." He hauled his sister aboard the train and then pulled Hermione's trunk up after her, offering his hand to the bushy-haired witch. "Go write a biography or something, Skeeter- and stop bugging my friend!"

The blonde witch scowled at the reference. Harry hurried to move along, but before he could get completely out of sight, he heard the distinct snap! of a camera.

"Well, looks like we'll be all over the front page tomorrow," Ginny sighed, hauling her trunk down the corridor after him. "C'mon, let's find a compartment- oh, hello Neville, Luna!"

"Hey!" Neville called, raising a hand. He and Luna seemed to have gotten a six-seater to themselves. "You looking for a compartment?"

"Yeah, can we sit with you?"

"Sure. Did Skeeter get you, too?"

"Like a blonde crocodile," Ron grumbled. "My sister's engagement is about to become the next news sensation."

"Your sister's- oh!" Neville had just noticed the rings on both Harry's and Ginny's fourth fingers; he quickly congratulated them, pumping their hands enthusiastically. "That's wonderful! Just wonderful! Well done, Harry!"

"Well, I had the easy part; she was the one who had to agreed to a lifetime of me," Harry chuckled. Ginny grinned and took his hand in hers.

Harry loved seeing her so happy; after the loss of her brother, she'd become far quieter by nature, and very often woke up crying in the middle of the night, not that she told anyone but him. On more than one occasion over the summer, she'd come gotten him up in the dark of the morning, and they'd had a cup of tea and talked about Fred for hours. Not for the first time, Harry was glad that the Weasely twin had been such an enthusiastic prankster; talking about the losses of the War was a sorrowful thing, but at least in the conversations about Fred, there was always much laughter with the tears.

"Well come on, sit down; can you believe it? Our last year at Hogwarts!" Neville said, laughing. "For real, I mean, not that rubbish we had to put up with last year."

"Didn't you want to test out?" Hermione inquired, taking a seat beside Luna.

"I considered it, but you need to complete your NEWTs to teach. That's what I'm looking at, by the way; I've been writing McGonagall, you see, and she says that Professor Sprout's looking to retire in a year or two. If I do well this year, she said she'll give me first consideration for the position."

"Neville, that's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed. "Oh, you'll do so well!"

"Thanks to you," he said gratefully. "I dunno how I would've survived school without your help, Hermione."

"Oh, rubbish- you would've done just fine-"

"And rubbish back on you! You think I would've passed potions without you?" They all laughed at that, remembering how poorly the stuttering, nervous boy had done in the class for years. "I'll pay you back for it someday, watch and see," Neville promised.

The train ride went along quite pleasantly after that; Luna and Neville seemed happy as could be, and as it turned out, Luna was intending to study to become a naturalist ("Perhaps I'll even find the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"), meaning she and Hermione would have similar NEWT requirements. The trolley witch came through about half an hour in, and everyone pitched in what they could to buy a little candy. After about an hour, Hermione and Ron- who'd been appointed Head Boy and Girl over the summer- got up to do their rounds, and then returned soon after.

The sun was just beginning to set when Harry realized his feet were falling asleep, stiff with pins and needles. "I think I'll take a walk around," he announced, stretching. "Be back in a bit."

The train corridor was largely empty; Harry walked down to one end, spoke a little to the trolley witch, and then turned again. As he did so, someone came out of the first compartment, shutting the door behind him and turning around.

Harry stopped dead. So did Malfoy. They stared at each other for a long second. Harry noticed, strangely, that Malfoy looked rather unwell- his face was gaunt, and there were dark circles under his eyes and a general weariness to his way of standing, as if he hadn't gotten much sleep at all in quite some time.

Quickly, the blond dropped his gaze. "Sorry," he muttered, brushing past. He retreated to the end of the car and quickly slipped through the door, shutting it sharply behind him.

"Poor fellow," the trolley witch commented sympathetically, "I don't think he's well at all."

"Isn't he? What's wrong with him?" Harry asked, curious despite himself.

"Couldn't say. But this is the third time he's gone to the back; I think he said once he wanted some fresh air. I do hope he's alright."

"Yeah," Harry echoed, "Yeah, I'm sure he'll be fine…"

He returned to his compartment, where Luna and Hermione were playing a game of wizard chess, and sat down, his thoughts whirling.

"Hey, mate? You've gone quiet; you alright?"

He glanced over. Ron was looking at him curiously.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head as if to get rid of an annoying fly. "Yeah, I'm fine." He looked out the window; was he imagining it, or was there a figure standing on the gated deck at the end of the train as it rounded the bend?

"Fine," he repeated, convincing himself it was just his imagination.

Draco Malfoy took a deep breath of the cold, rushing air and tried not to throw up.

The night was clear and starry; large, silver-lit Scottish moors in the light of the near-full moon flew past as the train rattled over the tracks. The numbing cold felt good, far better than the unbearable heat of the car he'd been sharing with Zabini, Goyle, Pansy and Millicent.

Maybe he could just stay back here. Maybe he wouldn't have to go back and listen to that- that revolting- that disgusting-

He took a sharp breath in through his nose, nausea turning in his stomach.

The truth was, he shouldn't have been shocked. How often had he himself said spoken such filth before, and with such confidence? But it was different now. It felt different now. Now, having seen so many people die… so many people suffer…

For a brief second, he wished bitterly that he were in Azkaban, where he belonged, but he and the other students had been pardoned due to their youth- under, with an irony that made him burn hot with shame, the impassioned pleading of newly-appointed Headmistress McGonagall's testimony before the Ministry. "They're students," she'd said, "And hardly more than children, at that. How many of them were impressionable minors when Riddle came to power? How many of them were cajoled into it by their families? Keep them under probation if you wish, Kingsley, but at least give them the benefit of the doubt."

Malfoy felt ill, thinking back to it. Impressionable minor? Certainly. Cajoled into it by his family? Undoubtedly. But still, he hated her pity, hated how she still looked at him like a foolish child who hadn't known any better, like he wasn't a torturer and a would-be murderer, with more blood on his hands than he liked to remember.

In his more honest moments, he supposed that it was not truly the Headmistress he hated, but himself.

With a shuddering sigh, he pulled up the sleeve of his robes. The skull and snake leered back at him, and he swallowed thickly. Tried as he might, the tattoo had refused to come off. He'd attacked it one night with muttered scourgifys, trying- ridiculously, he realized now- to scrub it off. Another desperate attempt had ended with him nearly killing himself by accident- cutting off the mark with a badly-misplaced sectumsempra had not, admittedly, been among his most intelligent ideas, but he'd been half out of his mind with self-loathing and disgust. He'd even sneaked out one night to a muggle clinic of some sort and had had them remove it, but to his horror, it had reappeared the next morning, as if the curse were burnt into his very blood.

He realized his cheeks were wet. Embarrassed, he mopped them with his sleeve, muttering to himself. He should have been pleased. He was getting away from that cursed manor for another year, heading to the one place he'd always, in his mind, called home.

But was Hogwarts really his home anymore?

He had no doubt of what he would find there. Certainly, it was no secret to him that most of his class (and likely most of the school) had never been his biggest fans- but he'd always had his small, close-knit group of friends, people who looked up to him as something of a leader. In years gone by, it had made him feel like some sort of prince.

Now it just made him feel sick.

He was a Death Eater. There was no getting around that. The tattoo alone was sufficient proof of who he had been: a supporter of the most foul dark wizard to have ever terrorized Great Britain. At first, it had been fun, when Riddle came to power. Back when everyone thought Potter was crazy. Back when he knew he wasn't, and was smug in the fact that soon, the world would all be set right. No more filthy mudbloods and half-breeds and blood-traitors, like the Weaselys. No more Potter, either. That would be nice.

Then, after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, everything had changed. It wasn't a game anymore. His father had failed, and he, Draco, was punished. He was given an impossible task, to do what no wizard had ever managed to do before. To do what even Tom Riddle himself was afraid to do: kill Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of the age. Or Draco, and his parents, would pay for it with their own lives.

That year had been a living hell. His grades had suffered horrendously. His health had deteriorated to the point where he was hardly sleeping, hardly eating, desperate to find some way of fixing the cabinet...

And he had. He'd managed the impossible, and his family had been spared.

And then last year… He swallowed harsh, but the tears still burned, and he closed his eyes tight. He could still see Professor Burbage's wet, pleading eyes. Could still hear Thorfinn's screams ringing in his ears, begging him to stop. And he hadn't. He hadn't stopped any of it, too terrified of becoming the next example.

Weasely was right, he thought bitterly. I'm a coward.

This last summer had been the worst. Everything he'd known and believed had been shattered that night… the last flew traces of hope he'd had in the world order of his parents had been destroyed, leaving him scared and sick with guilt. But his parents hadn't seen it so, or at least, his father hadn't. Though his parents had been spared Azkaban, largely on account of Narcissa's sudden shift in allegiance at the end of the battle, her husband was not supportive of the new order. Lucius had been adamantly insistent that life would continue on as always, that someone would eventually set the world aright again, that these "filth" could not really have won…

And Draco had barely had the courage to remain silent.

He couldn't go back to that house. Wouldn't. But where was there to go, after graduation? Who would ever hire a former Death Eater? He'd be on the streets, working odd jobs just to make ends meet. He'd be lucky to get work as an effing bartender, after what Riddle had done. He didn't know how to be poor. He sure didn't know how to handle growing a conscience, either.

Slowly, weakly, he sank to the floor of the deck and curled up against the bars of the gate-rail, pulling his knees in close and listening to the powerful thunder of the train wheels beneath him. The tears ran down his face, and he didn't stop them. He had nothing. He was nothing: just the shell of a boy whose childhood had come to a very abrupt and ugly end, the hollow husk of a man who had done things with these very hands that would give any sane person nightmares. Who did he think he was, pretending he could walk among normal students, like he wasn't the most detestable of creatures? Like he wasn't a monster?

He didn't know how long he sobbed there, the wheels thundering beneath him, the cold night air freezing his pale face numb. At last, he looked up as the train rounded a bend at the foot of a mountain. The silver-lit moors were gone, replaced by thick Scottish forests. Ahead of him, he saw a small, cheerily-lit village… and then, as they came around another corner, the castle came into view.

Hogwarts was lit from base to tower, every window blazing with golden light, reflecting on the waters of the loch like a thousand glowing torches. A sense of strange calm settled in his heart. Hogwarts, his school, his home. The only real home he'd ever known.

He sighed, low and weary, and pulled himself to his feet. One year. One last year of some form of certainty, of protection, before he was thrust out into the world and expected to make his way, knowing what he was. Well, he'd take it, with all the gratitude of a man without any other choice.

The train pulled to a stop at the Hogsmead station; he shuffled back into the train, ignoring the muttered curses and bustle of students retrieving their trunks and cages, and returned to the compartment where his friends still sat.

"Oy, Malfoy!" Zabini called, as he walked inside and reached for his trunk "Where'd you go?"

"Felt ill. Needed some air," he muttered, and left without another word. He climbed into a chariot with some third-years, who looked at him curiously but at least didn't try to make conversation with the surly young man. After what seemed like an eternity, the carries stopped in front of the castle, and everyone clambered out, leaving their luggage on the carts.

Despite his will, his spirits lifted considerably as he walked into the Great Hall, which was lit up with hundreds of glowing candles, prepared for the nearly three hundred students who annually graced its halls. Draco took his seat at the end of the Slytherin table and felt just the beginnings of a small half-smile touch his gaunt face, to look around at all the gathered students and teachers, ready for the beginning of a new year. The feast was about to begin.

A/N: Hello again everyone! Hope you liked the chapter, please review; it does make me happy. :)

As is my wont, I will be taking nine days off from my writing to renew my Marian Consecration (it's a Catholic thing which requires a sort of small sacrifice of personal pleasures to complete), which means I will not be writing the next chapter for a little more than a week, setting the next update not the coming Tuesday, but the Tuesday after that. Sorry 'bout that.

Like I said, please R&R! Pax et bonum to you all!

-FFcrazy15