He awoke the next morning to a small light coming through the gap in the curtains. He slept soundly for the first time in so long and was so surprised that he laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. He had felt so exhausted that he collapsed on his bed still wrapped in the cloak he wore yesterday and had slept through the night. Normally, his dreams were so plagued with memories that sleep evaded him. He'd wake up gasping for breath, in a panicked state until his senses reminded him of where he was. Last night was the first time that he slept soundly without his subconscious playing tricks on him.

'Ugh, I need to get up…'

He reluctantly raised up and undressed. He headed to his wardrobe, picking out his old pair of black slacks. He buttoned up a white long sleeved shirt and pulled his Slytherin sweater vest over his head. Looking in the mirror, he brushed his hair down with his fingers before throwing his cloak back over his shoulders. He grabbed his wand and placed it in his cloak pocket and headed out the door, descending the steps into the living room. His footsteps echoed throughout the open room as he hurried to the front door and threw it open. Slamming the door behind him, he ran down the long drive to the gates of Malfoy Manor. Once outside the gates, he stopped to catch his breath before apparating with a loud pop.

Draco stood on the platform, looking at the train in front of him, somehow still massively intimidating even after all these years. Platform 9 ¾ was busy today, children of all ages being herded onto the Hogwarts Express. He looked around, noticing a severely decreased number of Slytherin housemates. He had lost a lot of those that he considered friend in the war, either to death or to incarceration. It was a sad thought, one that he tried desperately to not think of very often. He hung his head and walked up the steps onto the train.

He briefly lifted his head, looking into each compartment that he passed. Every face that gazed upon his turned into one of surprise and then anger, even faces of first years that shouldn't even know him. He quickly looked down, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, and walked past. He finally found an empty compartment and ducked in, collapsing on the bench. He sighed, laying his head against the window as the horn of the Hogwarts Express sounded, alerting the last chance to board before departure. The coolness of the window seeped into his skin as he sighed, the window fogging up from his breath.

People passed by his compartment, looking in before moving on after noticing who occupied it. He was alone. And that was just fine with him. Most of his friends and fellow Slytherins were nowhere to be found and even if they were there, they'd probably avoid him, too.

The horn sounded off twice before the train jerked forward. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, letting his mind wander to reminisce about what brought him to this point.

After the war, the wizarding world was in a chaotic mess of anger, sorrow, and grief. Many witches and wizards were lost to the DeathEaters' reign of terror. St. Mungo's had invited in several healers from around the globe in order to help in the aftermath. Voldemort had recruited so many followers that Azkaban was damn near overflowing with those caught and awaiting trial after numerous attacks and murders throughout their rampage. It was all-out chaos.

Draco Malfoy watched as Aurors carried his father away. He watched as his mother collapsed in the walkway outside of Malfoy Manor. He stood wide eyed and dumbfounded as an Auror grabbed his arm to carry him away, too. Narcissa went berserk. She screamed and ran for him, cursing those hands that touched him. The Auror jerked him and Draco felt tears in his eyes. He didn't want to go to Azkaban. He didn't want a dementor's kiss…no matter how much he deserved it.

Draco could vaguely hear another voice in the background of all the screaming between his mother and the Auror holding him captive. He heard something resembling, "...not enough evidence…"

The Auror holding him sighed and released him, pushing him away in disgust before he rounded on Narcissa. He lifted a hand and pointed at her, finger so close to her face.

"We've got your DeathEater husband. We'll be back for you and your traitor son one day soon." He spit between clenched teeth.

Narcissa hugged his shoulders and held onto him with a death grip. A numbness enveloped Draco's body as he watched the one person he had feared and admired his whole life strut down the walkway of the Manor before apparating with the Aurors without ever looking back.

It's been two months since his father was taken. Narcissa had holed herself in their room and Draco had barely even seen her. He spent his days around the Manor, alone. He tried to go out, once. He had went to Diagon Alley to do some shopping and maybe grab a butterbeer in the pub there but it went horribly wrong as soon as he stepped foot into the wizarding world.

The stares were his first sign. He saw mothers grab their children and run in the opposite direction. He saw men palm their wands, cutting their eyes at him in apprehension. Then the words started. A drunk, angry, old wizard stumbled out of a nearby pub Draco was walking toward. He held a glass of ale in one hand. He eyed Draco in contemplation before surprise and recognition sparked. He started cursing Draco, calling him a 'traitor' and an 'abomination to the wizard community'. Draco's cheeks heated in shame as others around them stared on and some were nodding and raising their voices in agreement.

He hung his head and took several steps back, starting to turn to leave. That was before the old wizard threw his glass. Draco winced as the glass of ale hit his chest and ale splashed over his coat and face. It soaked into his hair, plastering it to his face. Draco paused his steps as others started shouting louder and throwing whatever they could get their hands on. He bit the inside of his cheek as different liquids and food hit him over and over again.

Then he ran. He ran as everyone shouted insult after insult in his direction. Some followed while threatening harm. Wands were brandished but spells weren't flown to avoid harm to passersby as well to avoid Aurors being called. He ran until he could see a small alleyway to his right. He ducked in and kneeled down in shadow until the chasers passed by. His breathing was coming in rasps and with every breath, the stench of the rotten food and stale ale assaulted his senses.

His eyes watered as he stood, carefully keeping watch for his assailants. Then he apparated back to the Manor. He stood at the end of the walkway, staring up at the huge house. It was raining and it fell in relentless showers, soaking his clothes. Draco closed his eyes and looked to the sky.

'Was it really worth all this?' He thought. 'The promise of fame? Of recognition? Of power?'

He dropped his head, letting the cold rain seep into his bones. It washed away the ale and food covering his skin but his clothes were ruined. He couldn't use magic to fix it. He was technically still a student and hadn't been given the permission from the Ministry to use magic outside of Hogwarts. At this point, he'd probably never be able to. Would he even have the chance to go back? Did he want to?

He walked slowly into the Manor contemplating these questions. He walked to his bathroom and ran a hot bath. As he undressed and sunk down into the scalding water, the questions intensified.

What would happen if he did go back? The way people treated me today, would that be what he faced when he entered that school? Would it be worth returning?

He abruptly sat up, water splashing over the sides of the large tub. To hell with if it was worth it. To hell with what would happen. He had decided. He was going back to Hogwarts.

He quickly washed and exited the tub. He dried and dressed and ran to his room. Draco sat down at his desk, grabbing a piece of parchment, a quill, and a vial of ink. Then he wrote.

'Professor McGonagall,

I would like an audience with you concerning my lack of letter to return to Hogwarts…'

He wrote and wrote, being careful to avoid sounding too pleading. His heart was racing and conflicted feelings he had no desire to contemplate flooded through his system but he wrote. He was a Malfoy. They had to let him come back, regardless of what transpired.

Draco signed his name and then summoned his owl. He handed the letter to it and sent it on its way. It was then that he sagged against his chair. It was done. Now he would just wait for the response.

It was now the week before the year restarted at Hogwarts and he had not received a response. He was pacing around his room now, trying to come up with some sort of solution. He walked to his open window, looking to the sky to see if he could see an owl anywhere. No form of the winged creature was visible in the gray, overcast sky. He sighed and turned away. He had sent multiple letters over the course of the past few months to no avail. An anxious feeling had taken place in the pit of his stomach. Why did he care so much? What did it matter if he didn't receive a letter? He sat at the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands.

If only his father could see how far his son had fallen. Resound to waiting for responses rather than demanding answers. Draco took a deep breath and stood.

Draco squared his shoulders and fled the room, racing down the stairs. If she wouldn't answer his letters, he would just have to go and confront her face-to-face. He was a bloody Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. He would make her see reason. He had to. He needed to.

Draco jerked free of his thoughts to the sound of a commotion outside his train car. Several first-year students were scrambling to find and change into their robes, laughing and yelling at each other. One of them caught his eye and they froze. A look of fear crossed their face. He tried to give a small smile and wave, but the first year yelped and ran before he had even lifted his hand. The other first years turned to look, confused by what could have caused such a reaction from their friend. All their faces showed the same emotions: fear, disgust, anger. They all turned and disappeared down the car, some dragging others away. Draco sneered and turned back to the window.

There it was, looming in the distance, towering over its surroundings. It looked the same as it used to. He stood and gathered his belongings, making sure his hood was secure. The anxiety returned but he squashed it down and took a deep breath; though, he couldn't help the questions that he entered his mind. The same one that had plagued him since he sent that first letter months ago.

Why did he care so much?