Followed by Pansy, Draco made his way over to the Slytherin table and sat down next to a thin, pale boy, who was resting his head on his left hand, looking rather bored. He looked up when Draco sat down and nodded at him in acknowledgement. Pansy sat down next to Draco and looked a bit unsure of herself.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she said with clear reluctance.
Draco glanced at her with one raised eyebrow. "What for?"
"For being insensitive? I don't know, what do you want me to say?" she bit out, sounding desperate.
Several heads turned eagerly to see where the drama was coming from. When Draco didn't respond Pansy gave an exaggerated sigh and stood up, seating herself a bit further down the table between her dorm mates. The pale boy, Theodore Nott, turned around and faced Draco with a slight smirk playing on his lips. "What was all that about?"
"Pansy is annoyed because she can't see the Thestrals," Draco groaned.
"Ah," Nott replied softly. "Yeah, they caused quite the stir earlier."
Draco said nothing, remembering that the boy next to him had been able to see the creatures ever since they first arrived at Hogwarts. He was pulled from his thoughts when Nott greeted Blaise Zabini, who sat down on the bench across from them. "You're late," Nott observed aloud.
Zabini slightly raised his eyebrows in an arrogant manner. "Everyone else was simply early," he stated matter-of-factly. Draco snorted and the three boys all smirked in amusement.
The doors of the Great Hall opened and an unknown female Professor walked in, followed by a long queue of tiny first-years. When the Professor reached the staff table she turned around, explained the Sorting Ceremony to the new students, gestured to the old Sorting Hat and began reading names from the list in her hand.
The first new student to be Sorted was a nervous-looking girl with brown pigtails. She nearly tripped on her way up to the stool. Upon touching her head, the Sorting Hat immediately declared her a Ravenclaw, and the House table in question burst into applause.
Draco didn't pay much attention to the Sorting Ceremony, which he didn't find very interesting, but did—although unenthusiastically—join in with his House when the people around him started to applaud for new Slytherin students. Time passed, and Draco's stomach started to growl.
There were far more first-years than usual. No one—save a handful of Death Eater families—had wanted their children to start their education during the War, and as such there had not been a Sorting Ceremony last year. Since the year had been cut short due to the Battle of Hogwarts, and because the standard of education had been incredibly far below par, the decision was made to have everyone redo the past year. The few first-years that had started last year were given the opportunity to be Sorted again. While Draco appreciated that gesture, he hated that the Ceremony seemed to drag on forever.
When finally the last remaining student had stepped forward and been Sorted into Hufflepuff, the unknown Professor removed the stool and the Sorting Hat from sight and seated herself at the staff table while the students impatiently awaited McGonagall's speech.
"Good evening. A warm welcome to our new students, and an equally warm welcome back to the rest of you," she began in a strong, clear voice. "Before we start with our Welcoming Feast, I would like to make an announcement and introduce some new faces. It is with sadness and regret that I have to inform you that in the midst of the Battle, among many great witches and wizards, we lost our dear colleague Professor Selina Sapworthy. She will be remembered as an exceptionally skilled witch who taught with great passion, and for her undeniable bravery during the Battle of Hogwarts."
A few seats removed from her the Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney, let out a sad howl and then rested her forehead on the table, her shoulders shaking.
"Unfortunately, finding qualified witches and wizards in her field of expertise, who were also willing to take up her position, was such a difficult task that it is with regret that I have to inform you that Hogwarts will no longer be teaching Xylomancy."
Quite a few students made disappointed faces, which surprised Draco. He didn't know there was such interest in the subject, which was often described as an overlooked type of divination. It relied upon twigs, which seemed even more stupid to him than reading tea leaves.
"We have, however," McGonagall continued in a somewhat more positive manner, "managed to find a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Please welcome Professor Grimilda Merrythought."
The student body applauded politely and the middle-aged woman who sat beside McGonagall stood up and received the applause with a modest smile. Whispers sounded throughout the Great Hall, and Draco knew it was because people recognised her last name.
"She is indeed the granddaughter of the well-known Professor Galatea Merrythought, who taught the same subject here at Hogwarts from 1895 until 1945," the Headmistress clarified. "I would also like to introduce Professor Astrid Wilberforce, who will be teaching Muggle Studies."
An old woman seated on the far left of the staff table rose, nodded politely at the applause she received and sat back down again.
"And finally our new Transfiguration teacher, Professor Bernice Copperfield. She will also be taking over as the new Head of Gryffindor House."
The middle-aged female Professor that had Sorted the first-years rose. She gave a small nod with a stern look on her face and sat back down again, as did McGonagall. Out of nowhere food appeared on the tables, earning appreciative sounds from the students who started to fill their plates as if they hadn't eaten in months.
It was during the feast that Draco noticed how empty the Slytherin table was compared to the other Houses. Both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had a remotely full table, but the Gryffindor table was only filled about two-thirds, and Slytherin seemed to be missing about half of its students. Normally the loudest table, the Slytherins now seemed to be the quietest. However, Draco was painfully aware of the fact that most of the people were, at various points during the meal, talking about him. They weren't even being subtle about it.
The three seventh-year boys ate mostly in silence. Though they could get along just fine, they never hung out much before. Nott was a bit of a loner. He had made it clear early on that he only had one goal: graduate with good results and hope for a chance to prove his worth without being judged for his surname. He was a smart guy, and deep down Draco knew that Nott should have been prefect instead of him.
Zabini on the other hand, though quite intelligent, didn't care much for his education. His mother was incredibly rich and Zabini always seemed under the impression that he didn't need to graduate. After all, they had enough money for him to never have to work at all. His mother, though, didn't quite agree with that sentiment and she had forced him to go back to school to gain his N.E.W.T.s. Zabini generally acted like he was superior to everyone else—Draco suspected that he actually felt that he was—and he usually kept to himself as well.
Draco himself found that he was a bit of a mixture of his two dorm mates. He knew he was intelligent, and he was genuinely interested in the subjects he was taking. He knew that he would never have to work to support himself, but he also knew full well that his family no longer enjoyed the social standing they used to have. His name would get him nowhere, not anymore, except maybe Azkaban if he didn't watch himself. So if he wanted to achieve something in life, he needed to do well in his final exams, it really was that simple. He had no idea where he would end up, but he knew that he would have to work hard for it. His Head Boy appointment may have been suspicious and it may not have been for the right reasons, but if he could somehow make the best of it he could use it to his advantage. At least, he hoped so. Achieving that, however, would most probably prove to be quite the challenge.
"So, Head Boy, huh," Zabini commented haughtily, interrupting Draco's thoughts and once again voicing his disbelief as he had before on the train when he had first discovered it. His eyes trailed down to the badge and Draco grimaced in response. At least his father had been proud, but he had never told Lucius the real reason for becoming Head Boy, nor was he going to.
Lucius was on probation and house arrest, and he seemed to be quite depressed as a result. He was grateful that his family was unharmed, but the fact that he had lost his social standing and influence was hard for him. He had isolated himself from the world, and that included his family. It was strange, seeing as he had always liked to meddle with everything before.
On the other hand, his father's behaviour wasn't strange at all. Draco knew his father felt humiliated—as did he. He had always enjoyed the power that came with the name, and now his name would do nothing but the opposite. He would be judged in an entirely different manner. It made him feel powerless and hollow to realise that the Malfoys were but a fraction of what they used to be.
"Some Ravenclaw guy is probably sobbing himself to sleep tonight," Zabini continued his taunt with a smirk on his face.
"Whoever wants it can have it," Draco said softly as he glanced down at the badge on his robes in disgust. "I didn't even want to come back this year, let alone fulfil a bunch of duties."
"All that under the observant eye of the little Gryffindor Mudblood," Nott added with a soft and rather half-hearted sneer.
Draco closed his eyes in annoyance and tried to ignore the sound of his two dorm mates snickering with malicious pleasure. Yes, he would be under the observant eye of Granger, and if he would have dreaded that before, he dreaded it even more now. He knew he owed her; he owed all of them, Potter and Weasley, too. He would never say it out loud or admit it to anyone, but he knew it, and it killed him inside.
He knew she meant what she had said on the train; she would not let him misuse his title. He suspected that he would have to behave his very best, or she would be up in McGonagall's office before he knew it. It just couldn't work out well for him. Granger had a way of getting under his skin, seeing right through him and taking all of his control away. She was unpredictable. He hated it.
Without really noticing, his eyes wandered off to the Gryffindor table and found her quickly, surrounded by her friends and talking animatedly. He would never understand how things had turned out so well for her. All his life he had been taught that her kind was far below him, that he was better than her and that people like her would never achieve great things. Yet there she was, proving him wrong in everything and she didn't even know.
While Draco finished off his dessert—chocolate éclairs and some vanilla ice cream—McGonagall had gotten up again and started to explain the rules. The Forbidden Forest was still forbidden, as was using magic in the corridors. First-years were excluded from participating in Quidditch, and additionally, McGonagall announced that every student had to attend at least one mandatory meeting with a grief counsellor, to determine whether further counselling was needed. Draco wasn't surprised, but he absolutely dreaded that. If there was one thing he didn't do, it was talking about how he felt. He wasn't going to tell some counsellor that he had nightmares from different events, one of which was Crabbe's death. Hopefully he could bluff his way through the meeting and avoid further meetings.
The students around him started to leave the table, and Draco vaguely noticed Pansy shooting him a glare before she started pushing the fifth-year prefects towards the entrance of the Great Hall to gather the first-years. Nott and Zabini looked down at him, puzzled that he had remained seated. "I have to wait for McGonagall, we have a meeting," he said simply. The two boys shrugged and made their way over to the group of first-years that had gathered around Pansy who was grumpily ordering them to follow her.
As the Great Hall emptied, Draco's eyes found Granger again, now sitting alone at the Gryffindor table. She was looking back at him, frowning and looking slightly worried, and then sighed. She got to her feet and made her way to the staff table where McGonagall was talking to the new Transfiguration teacher. He decided to follow her lead and stood up as well.
When he neared the Professors and Granger he heard how McGonagall introduced Granger to Copperfield, who enthusiastically shook her hand, exclaiming that she had already heard all about the young witch. And of course she had; the papers had been full of stories about her and her friends.
"Good evening, Mr Malfoy, may I introduce you to Professor Copperfield?" McGonagall said when he reached them, pursing her lips with a disapproving frown on her face.
"Pleased to meet you," Draco said softly, shaking the woman's hand.
"Likewise, Mr Malfoy," answered the woman, briefly studying him before turning back to McGonagall. "Well, I better go finish unpacking my things. Good night, Minerva, Ms Granger, Mr Malfoy..."
As the professor strolled off McGonagall asked them to follow her. They made their way to the third floor in silence, and upon reaching an ugly stone gargoyle, McGonagall halted.
"Murilegus."
The gargoyle stepped aside, revealing a slowly ascending circular stone staircase. Draco followed McGonagall and Granger up the stairs, halting once more upon reaching the double oak doors that concealed the Headmistress' office. McGonagall opened them, and he and Granger followed her inside.
"Please have a seat," McGonagall said as she unrolled the Sorting Hat before putting it on a shelf behind the enormous desk that stood in front of them. The Hat moved a little—apparently getting comfortable—and then remained motionless again.
Draco sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk, feeling slightly nervous. He felt outnumbered, sitting here with two people he knew didn't particularly like him. He was determined to avoid looking at Granger, and somehow he had the feeling that she was doing the same thing with him.
McGonagall sat down behind her desk and took off her glasses to polish them with the hem of her robes. "The first true Hatstall in fifty-two years, how long did the poor girl sit on the stool?" she asked over her shoulder.
"Nearly six-and-a-half minutes, I ultimately decided to break the tie based on her personal preference," the Sorting Hat answered.
"Six-and-a-half minutes..." McGonagall shook her head, smiling. "I expect we will see great things from her." She looked up at Granger. "You had to remain seated for quite a while too, didn't you?"
Granger smiled back and nodded. "Nearly four minutes, I believe. A near Hatstall."
The Sorting Hat had barely touched his head before Sorting him in Slytherin. Draco would have been insulted if it had taken the old Hat any longer; he had known he was a Slytherin long before he had come to Hogwarts. He didn't fit anywhere else.
The room had gone silent again, apart from the sound of moving parchment as McGonagall was searching through a pile. When she found what she was apparently looking for she glanced up at them. "Now, Mr Malfoy, Ms Granger. I can imagine you are both quite unhappy with the arrangements of pairing you two. Ms Granger, I'm sure you have questions."
"I do," the girl said softly, suddenly sounding tired, staring straight at the Headmistress. "Why him?"
McGonagall glanced at Draco. She then turned around, facing the large portrait that hung directly behind her desk. "Albus, if you please," she said.
Draco felt the blood drain from his face and he shivered, even though it was comfortably warm in the office. He had avoided looking at the portrait, and he still was. He could not face the old wizard.
"Draco."
He couldn't.
"Draco, look at me," Dumbledore urged, though his voice remained gentle.
His heart pounded in his chest and he was sure that everyone could hear it. He inhaled sharply, and with the greatest effort he looked up, meeting the former Headmaster's blue eyes.
"I am sorry."
McGonagall gasped and Granger abruptly turned her head to him. He stared at Dumbledore, shaking, stunned, unable to speak, not understanding why the old man had just apologised to him.
"You may remember, that during our final conversation atop the Astronomy Tower, I mentioned that I was aware of your mission but did not dare to confront you for I did not want to endanger you any further," said the wizard, and Draco somehow managed to nod his head.
"By now I trust that you are aware that Severus Snape was indeed acting on my orders, and that he—how shall I put this—took care of your unfinished business to protect you because I had asked him to."
Another nod.
"I sincerely wish I had confronted you sooner. I should have. The Order of the Phoenix would have protected you and your family, and you would have been spared a great deal of unpleasantness. Please, forgive me for that."
He didn't know how to respond. What was he supposed to say? He had never, not even for a second, blamed Dumbledore for what happened to him. Draco gulped and took a deep breath, then nodded once more. Seemingly content with his response, Dumbledore turned his attention to Granger, who had a shocked expression on her face, and apparently couldn't process what had just happened. In all honesty, he couldn't blame her — he felt the same.
"Now, Ms Granger, on to your question as to why I have picked Mr Malfoy for the position of Head Boy, which, I realise, doesn't seem to be the most logical decision."
"I had always expected Harry, or at least Anthony..." Granger muttered softly. She shot him a sideways glance, looking slightly embarrassed for saying this in front of him. Again, he couldn't blame her. He had never asked for the bloody badge.
"Ah yes, Mr Goldstein seems perfect for the job, doesn't he?" Dumbledore mused. "I'm not sure whether Harry would have been a right fit, I didn't want to trouble him with prefect duties back in your fifth year, not immediately after what happened to Mr Diggory, and it doesn't seem fair to have done it now, does it? Of course, he decided against returning, and while Mr Goldstein would indeed have proven most competent, I decided to choose Mr Malfoy instead."
Draco stared at the claw-footed desk in front of him, his heart still pounding. So it wasn't just McGonagall's idea of punishment; it had been Dumbledore's decision. He wondered why.
"First and foremost, he simply is, and always has been, an excellent student," Dumbledore began, as though he had heard his inner curiosity. Draco smirked; he just couldn't help it. He noticed that Granger had opened her mouth to argue, but she was not given a chance to interject.
"I am aware, Ms Granger, that Mr Malfoy indeed lacks an outstanding and honest reputation, as am I aware that he enjoyed misusing his prefect title all too much. However, as I feel that I could have done more to keep Mr Malfoy out of harm's way, I thought this could perhaps be a motivating push in the right direction—a step towards a better future, should he decide to rise to the occasion."
Granger kept quiet, and Draco worked up the courage to look up and saw that the former Headmaster was giving him a piercing look over his half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore brought his hands together, looking at them over his fingertips.
"To try to motivate him further, Professor McGonagall has made the suggestion that we keep Mr Malfoy away from the Slytherin dungeons as much as possible—young men and peer pressure, I'm sure you understand what I mean, Ms Granger—and we would like you to keep an eye on him and monitor his progress," he concluded.
"Why me?"
"Ah, Ms Granger, you are the embodiment of Head Girl. In addition, you have proven to be able to deal with matters far worse than this. We believe you to be the right person for this task."
The girl next to him sighed in defeat. "So where is he going to stay? To what extent do I have to monitor his behaviour?"
And that's when he realised that she didn't know. For a split second Draco felt sorry for Granger. At least he had been able to prepare for this during the summer holidays, whereas she would be thrown into an undesirable position right away without time to wrap her head around it.
After a short silence, it was McGonagall who spoke. "I have arranged for a separate Head's Tower with a private common room and adjacent sleeping quarters," she said, her tone regretful.
Grander didn't respond. She stared at the Headmistress for a while and then glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait, giving him a pleading look. When she received no response, she stood up. "Please excuse me for a minute," she muttered before hurrying out of the office.
McGonagall sat back and rubbed her forehead. "We should have informed her beforehand," she sighed.
"Perhaps we should have, indeed," Dumbledore answered distantly.
"Why didn't you?" Draco immediately bit his tongue. "Professor," he added quickly.
"We wanted to give Ms Granger the most pleasant holidays possible, considering how she has spent most of last year and what she has been through." Apparently sensing that he was wondering why he hadn't been given the same thoughtfulness, she frowned at him. "You knew from the start that your actions would demand certain consequences, for Ms Granger this feels as though she's being punished without having done anything, and I can certainly understand that."
Draco folded his arms in front of his chest and huffed in indignation. He knew McGonagall had a point, but her words stung. Yes, he had been happy to join the Death Eaters at first, but he had regretted it the moment he was fully in. He genuinely wondered how his father had endured it for all those years.
"Let's discuss your timetable in the meantime, hopefully Ms Granger will return shortly so I can escort you two to your new accommodations," said McGonagall. She reached for a piece of parchment and quickly scanned it. "You have already attended your seventh year—well, for a while, at least—do you wish to go through with those classes?"
He nodded in response.
"Very well." She tapped her wand on a blank timetable, which now carried the details of his classes.
"You will notice that I have added one additional class—it's only one extra hour, Mr Malfoy, don't give me that look," she said sternly upon seeing his face, a warning edge to her voice. "I feel this is crucial for your personal development. You will have to catch up on the curriculum, so I recommend that you seek out the Professor to ask for extra assignments. You will not be taking N.E.W.T.s for this class, but there will be examinations at the end of every term." She handed him his timetable.
Draco felt a knot in his stomach when he took it and searched for the class he suspected she was referring to. He swallowed when he found it. Muggle Studies. He should have seen it coming.
"I trust you will give it your best effort," McGonagall concluded when a knock on the door interrupted her. "Enter."
Granger appeared in the office again, looking surprisingly composed. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," she apologised, sounding embarrassed.
"It's quite alright, Ms Granger, it happens to the best of us," Dumbledore reassured her.
McGonagall handed her a list of what appeared to be the classes she had been taking in her sixth year. Draco noticed that it was a rather long list. Granger took it, scanned it, and gave it back, agreeing. When she had received her timetable as well, McGonagall stood up.
"Time for me to escort you two to your quarters," she said, motioning for them to stand up as well. Granger bid Dumbledore goodnight, and Draco reluctantly nodded goodbye, receiving a polite nod in return. He followed McGonagall out of the office and down the stairs. When they reached the bottom of the stairs he caught Granger glaring at him. She wasn't happy, and neither was he.
Not only did he owe the Golden Gryffindor trio, he now owed Dumbledore as well and he felt strangely obligated to please the old fool. Draco had already realised that he could, potentially, use this Head Boy position as a means to meet positive ends. If he managed to behave well enough, he could, theoretically, receive a good recommendation. He just didn't know whether he was strong enough to keep reminding himself. While the girl that was walking beside him never was his school nemesis, he had always strongly disliked her for several different reasons, and he knew the feeling was mutual.
No, being trapped in a common room, together, would not be easy, but was going to be sure to make the bloody best of it.