A/N: Thanks for all your support.

Antonin arrived at Hogwarts late on Tuesday evening, escorted by a couple of aurors and the Minister himself.

He was very pleased to see that Shacklebolt looked as though he'd aged a lot since the day of the trial and he suspected that the Minister had managed little sleep since then.

Antonin blamed both Granger and Shacklebolt for this whole mess. It might have been Martin who had orchestrated the actual sentencing but Antonin almost admired the lengths she had gone to in order to get revenge for a slight against a family member – it was a very Slytherin-like move. He didn't know how exactly Shacklebolt was involved because the Minister had been careful not to voice it in Antonin's presence, but it was obviously serious enough for him to feel culpable. Antonin didn't understand what Dumbledore's Army was but there was no mistaking Granger's admission to cursing another student. He'd been a little surprised at the revelation and there was obviously more to the girl than the squeaky-clean image she presented, but that was why he blamed her so much for their predicament. She and Shacklebolt were supposed to be the 'good' guys but they were still guilty of pulling underhand shit and it had come back to bite them. Antonin would be very smug about that had he not been caught up in it all himself.

They flooed directly into McGonagall's office, where the Headmistress and Granger were waiting for him. If he'd thought that Shacklebolt looked bad, it was nothing compared to his new custodian. There were dark circles under her eyes and her skin looked pale and waxy. She was watching him apprehensively and he gazed stonily back at her for a while, before casting his eyes around the Headmistress' office. He had never been in the room before, having been sly enough to avoid ever being in enough trouble to require a trip to the office whilst a student at the school. There was little furniture in the room apart from a large desk but the walls were lined with portraits. He didn't recognise most of the subjects but a large painting behind her desk showed a pensive Albus Dumbledore. A ripple of anger curled through his stomach at the sight of the old fool and he moved his gaze towards the other portraits, though most of those occupants were much more open with their hostility.

A number of aggrieved voices erupted from the portraits but McGonagall held up a quelling hand. "I don't want to hear it," she snapped, glaring around at the paintings.

Shacklebolt stepped forwards and shook the Headmistress' hand and then gave Granger's shoulder a supportive squeeze. The three of them murmured low words to each other that Antonin couldn't hear and then they moved out of the office and into the castle proper.

The corridors looked much as he remembered them from his youth and there were only a few places where the spell damage from the Final Battle hadn't been completely repaired. Given the late hour, they came across no one else on their journey up to the fourth floor but Antonin could hear the whisperings of the portraits as he passed.

They stopped in front of a large portrait of a severe-looking witch in lavender robes. She eyed Antonin distastefully. "So, this is him, is it?" the portrait asked with a strong Welsh accent.

"Yes, Alys, this is Antonin," McGonagall replied briskly.

"I've got my eye on you, lad," Alys told him firmly but Antonin wasn't the slightest bit intimidated by what was nothing more than enchanted paint. "If you leave these rooms without Miss Granger's permission, I'll be reporting you straight to the Headmistress."

Antonin chose not to say anything in response and simply glowered back.

"Tantalus," Granger said and the portrait swung forwards so they could enter.

They emerged into what was, in essence, a common room. There were a couple of armchairs and a sofa around a fireplace, and two work tables set against the stone walls. Three doors led away from the room, which he correctly guessed led to separate bedrooms and a shared bathroom.

"The door to the bathroom will automatically lock once someone has entered it and the same is true of Miss Granger's bedroom," McGonagall informed him. "Yours doesn't," she added at his silent question but Antonin wasn't exactly surprised. From the look on her face, he doubted Granger would come anywhere near him if she could help it so he didn't really care.

"As I'm sure you can imagine, news of your impending presence here has caused much consternation amongst the parents, students and even some of the staff," McGonagall continued brusquely. "I know you're not stupid, Antonin – even if your previous choices to devote yourself to that despicable creature might suggest otherwise – so I know that you won't pose a threat to any of the castle's inhabitants if you seriously want to earn your ultimate freedom. However, the rest of the magical population need to see that you will cause no harm. Therefore, you will receive your meals in the Great Hall like everyone else and attend lessons with Miss Granger. If she needs to study in the library, you will go with her; if she needs to run a meeting with the prefects, you will be there. In short, you will be as visible as possible."

Antonin was appalled and he didn't try to hide his anger from his voice. "You want me to parade around like a beast on a leash," he snarled, "Like a neutered pup!"

McGonagall didn't even blink. "Yes, I'm glad you've caught on straight away."

"No," he said shortly.

"No?" the headmistress repeated. "This isn't a choice, Antonin."

"You don't get to dictate my life," he argued vehemently.

"You are a guest in my castle," she began but he cut her off.

"I'm a prisoner!" he corrected.

"Don't split hairs," McGonagall said coolly. "You are answerable to me whilst you reside in this school, Antonin."

"I'm not going to be some spectacle for you to put on show," he fiercely maintained.

"You always were proud," she sighed, and he had a feeling that she was picturing his younger self. "But I'm sure you know what they say about pride and falling; you and everything you held dear have very much fallen. Think of this year as something like a penance for your crimes – providing, of course, that you feel any remorse for your past actions."

Antonin clenched his jaw, not appreciating the way she was speaking down to him. But she was entitled to, really, because as much as he fucking hated it, she was right: the dark had fallen and the light reigned victorious. He had to remember that.

His previous hopes had died with the Dark Lord and they weren't going to be resurrected again. The Dark Lord was gone for good this time and he knew it. It was time for him to come up with new plans for the future – providing he got through the next two years, of course. Suffice to say that when he informed the aurors of his life-debt claim upon his arrest, he hadn't envisioned that the successful outcome would see him stuck in Hogwarts in the company of Potter's self-righteous mudblood. All he'd wanted was to live out the rest of his days in peaceful solitude but he should've known that the fates wouldn't be so kind to him – it wasn't like they'd ever looked on him favourably before.

He still wasn't done arguing his point though and he was prepared to use any angle to get his way. "Seeing me around school is hardly going to have a positive impact on your students," he sneered. "I thought that their welfare was your main priority, Headmistress."

She looked at him coldly but Shacklebolt was the one who actually spoke. "Don't pretend like you actually care about their well-being," he scoffed.

"They're stronger than you think," another voice said behind him and he resisted the urge to look at her. "How else could they have survived the horrors they were exposed to last year? It will be hard for them to see you at first, but hiding you away would only reinforce the idea that they should fear you and all you stood for. In the cold light of day, you will be seen for what you are."

"And what exactly is that?" he asked, a not insignificant level of menace in his voice as he turned to face her.

Granger lifted her chin into the air and looked defiantly at him. "A loser."

The word landed like a blow to his gut.

Loser.

A perfect encapsulation.

Part of him wanted to laugh but there was a much stronger urge to rage at her. How could that mudblood dare stand there and pass judgement on him?! Fury seeped through his veins and he fought to keep it from exploding out of him. He knew that Shacklebolt was looking for any excuse to rescind the power of the life debt and Antonin wasn't going to waste his one shot at a life away from Azkaban – anything was better than that hellhole.

A blush spread over Granger's cheeks at the malevolent way that he was staring at her and she shifted her eyes away from him.

"Well, if that brings your objections to a close, I suggest we leave you to it," McGonagall said. "You will find new robes and basic supplies in your bedroom."

The air was suddenly stilted, as though none of them could quite believe that this was actually happening. Antonin's simmering anger at the whole situation needed to find a release soon so he walked towards his bedroom door without a backwards glance.

He felt the previously impassive aurors stir but Shacklebolt murmured for them to stand down.

"Dolohov," the Minister called and Antonin paused at the door. "You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who thinks you deserve this opportunity and yet you have it within your grasp. Don't fuck up."

Antonin wanted to make a biting comment in reply but he thought it was better to say nothing. He was unable to resist shutting the door a little too loudly behind him though.

He enjoyed the sensation of a great weight being lifted off his shoulders at freeing himself from those sanctimonious bastards, but anger bubbled within him. He moved quickly to the bed and saw the excess of pillows, roughly grabbing one and tearing it apart with his bare hands as he muttered darkly about the people on the other side of the door. He was used to sating his anger through magical means; blasting something apart with a violent curse was extremely satisfying and topped only by using your magic directly on the person causing your ire. Unfortunately, using magic to soothe his anger wasn't going to be an option for the next twelve months and he was forced to punch, rip and kick like a fucking savage: like a filthy, common muggle.

White, fluffy feathers filled the air as the pillow split apart. He belted the nearest poster of his bed with the torn pillow and the feathers flew everywhere, which turned out to be a bad idea because he nearly swallowed a mouthful of them. Coughing and spluttering, he sank to the floor and put his head in his hands and tried to get a grip on his anger.

Loser.

Don't fuck up.

You always were proud.

Loser.

His fingernails bit sharply into his scalp as an all-too-familiar sensation of terror and hopelessness swept through him.

"You're not fucking there," he growled to himself, trying to fight off the echoes of over a decade in a living hell. "They're not doing this; you're doing it to yourself, you fucking idiot. It isn't real."

He forced his eyes open in an attempt to show himself that he wasn't back in his cell, and that those hellish creatures weren't coming for him. The floor was covered in a layer of soft white. He reached out for a handful of the feathers, trembling at the way they gently caressed his skin.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breathing still ragged. "Fuck."

This reaction wasn't exactly a new experience because it had happened a few times after both of his previous escapes from Azkaban. The cure wasn't a fancy potion or spell – he just needed a bottle of firewhiskey, though whether he'd be able to get acquire one or not was another matter.

"Elf!" his raspy voice called hopefully. "The Headmistress said I'm a guest in this castle and so you will treat me as such!" he growled with as much authority as he could muster from his slumped position. "Elf!"

There was a loud crack and an anxious house elf appeared before him. "How can I serve this guest of the castle?" it squeaked, inclining its head subserviently.

"A bottle of firewhiskey," he muttered brusquely. "Don't bother with a glass. Go."

The elf returned within a few seconds and Antonin fairly snatched the alcohol away from it. He took a large pull and relished the way it burned down his throat, cleansing him with its fiery relief. He briefly closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall with a low moan.

"Does you require anything else, sir?" the elf piped up nervously.

"Just make sure there's a bottle of this in my room every night," he commanded without even bothering to open his eyes. "And this room is always to be well-lit, even at night."

"Yes, sir. Nela will make sure your wishes are carried out, sir," it replied. "Does you wish Nela to clean up the feathers and light a fire, sir?"

Antonin nodded and took another long swig from the bottle. He hissed appreciatively as it went down and he could feel his breathing start to even out. The familiar crackling noise made him open his eyes and he watched the flames as they flickered and danced before him.

"Nela is all finished, sir."

Antonin made a vague, dismissive gesture with his hand and there was another crack, but he kept his gaze on the mesmerising movements of the fire, trying to keep his mind as empty as possible.

The next thing he knew was a loud pounding noise and he jerked awake at once, terrified. When he saw that he was sprawled on the floor of his new room at Hogwarts, he sagged in relief. His stomach and head both complained at him and he repressed a small groan.

The pounding started up again and he realised that someone was knocking on his door. He was very tempted to ignore them but he doubted that would be an option, and he really wanted the loud noises to stop. "What?" he snarled, disliking the taste and texture inside his mouth.

"We're leaving for breakfast in fifteen minutes," Granger's curt voice replied through the shut door. "The bathroom's free if you want to make use of it."

Antonin grunted in response, not particularly bothered whether she heard him or not. His eyelids drooped closed again. He felt like shit. All he wanted was to go back to sleep – preferably for the next few months. If only he could be so lucky…

Now that he was awake, the sunlight from the windows was almost blindingly bright even when his eyes were closed. He sat up with a groan, wiping his hand lethargically over his face to try and chase some of the weariness away.

He hadn't made it to the bed and his muscles were letting him know how unhappy they were about that, even though that was how he'd spent every night in Azkaban – they weren't so bothered with your comfort levels there.

As he unsteadily got to his feet and staggered over to the door, he accidentally kicked the empty firewhiskey bottle and it rolled noisily across the floor.

The face that greeted him in the mirror of the bathroom was unkempt, gaunt, pale and completely unrecognisable from the young man that had graduated from this school so many years before. It was a pitiful sight. He looked every inch the convicted murderer and dark wizard that he was and he had no desire to change that. If McGonagall wanted the students to see him, then see him they fucking would. If they couldn't handle it, maybe he'd get his wish of remaining shut up his room for the rest of the year.

Granger looked surprised and a little revolted when he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. Her eyes raked over his dishevelled appearance and her lips pressed together disapprovingly when she saw that he hadn't changed his robes. He was sure she was biting down some sort of comment about his lack of care for his appearance but, after staring for a few seconds, she turned away with her nose in the air and stalked out of their rooms.

Antonin followed grouchily after her, thinking hateful thoughts all the way. She checked over her shoulder a couple of times to make sure he was there but otherwise she didn't acknowledge him in any way, which suited him just fine. It wasn't until they reached the Grand Staircase that they met any other students. A couple of young Ravenclaw students stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of him emerging from the corridor and they watched him pass uneasily. He could feel their stares following him all the way down to the Marble Staircase and this time he could see the portraits as they hurried between frames to whisper to each other. Antonin just kept his malevolent scowl in place, which wasn't hard to do considering his mood and hangover. The students from Hufflepuff and Slytherin that were passing through the Entrance Hall on their way to breakfast also stared. Antonin supposed it was just something he'd have to get used to.

The Great Hall was only about a quarter full when he followed Granger through the large doors but there was a noticeable quieting in the noise level. Granger ignored it all and stalked over to the Gryffindor table to sit with some students who were staring at him hostilely. It was only at that moment that Antonin realised he had to take a seat of his own, but where? Was he supposed to sit by Granger at meal times? He knew he sure as hell wouldn't be welcome at the staff table.

Ignoring the stares tracking his every move, he walked over to Granger, who was probably the only person in the Hall resolutely not looking at him. The Gryffindors watched his approach with various shades of anger and caution.

"I'm not sitting here," he sneered lowly at Granger, her shoulders tensing at his word.

"Sit where you want, I don't give a damn," she replied tensely, not even sparing him a glance as she buttered some toast.

Well, there was only one place for it. Slytherin had always looked after him when he was a student here and it was the only place he would feel even remotely comfortable sitting at. Even here, the students watched him guardedly but he knew better than to expect a warm welcome because Slytherins were anything but stupid – there would be students in his old house that still shared similar beliefs about the Dark Lord and blood supremacy to him, but they wouldn't be foolish enough to show that under this new administration. He chose to sit at a part of the table that was devoid of any students and immediately reached for a mug to pour himself some coffee.

Conversation gradually started up again but Antonin just focused on the black liquid in front of him as it slowly began to sweep away the aftereffects of his night's drinking. After a few minutes, his

stomach felt settled enough to have some solid food and he helped himself to some bacon, noticing that the Great Hall was starting to fill up.

The post owls arrived soon afterwards and he watched them disinterestedly as he finished off his breakfast. But then he noticed just how many had landed on the Gryffindor table or, more accurately, by Granger. It was only as a magically-magnified voice started bellowing that he realised why she had received so much post.

" – UTTERLY DISGRACEFUL OF YOU TO DEFEND SUCH A DESPICABLE – "

More voices joined the maelstrom, making the words difficult to discern, which was probably for the best, but he couldn't help hearing a few snatches.

" – HORRIFIED BY YOUR ACTIONS – "

" – THOSE POOR STUDENTS – "

" – ASHAMED OF YOURSELF, YOU WICKED GIRL – "

Antonin was mildly surprised that there wasn't a greater reaction from the rest of the students and he realised that this wasn't the first time this had happened. One of Granger's Gryffindor friends stood up with fistfuls of howlers in his hands and walked over to chuck them in the fire. There was a horrendous screeching noise as the letters were consumed by the flames and then an eerie silence descended upon the Hall.

Granger was trying to pretend like nothing had happened but Antonin could see how stiff her posture was as she stared down at her breakfast. Antonin honestly couldn't bring himself to give a flying fuck. If he was suffering then it made him feel slightly better that she was too.

It was certainly going to be an interesting year.

A/N: Thanks for reading. We couldn't just have Antonin locked away somewhere - what would be the fun in that?!

Let me know what you think!

Red