A/N: First time... all that jazz. Please review.

Warnings: language, lemons, violence. Also, this IS a Draco/Hermione fic, but don't expect it to get there anytime soon. But it will, oh will it ever.

Part One: Another Chance

Chapter One

"I've done the research. Beauxbatons has a ninety-five percent placement rate for their seventh years. I can transfer and earn an apprenticeship with one of the best potion masters on the Continent."

"Potions?"

"Yes, potions. It's… useful."

"Useful?" Narcissa Malfoy studied the boy, no, man who stood before her. Draco, her only son and her only family. He had grown much over the last two years, had shed most of his illusions and lost much of his hope, and nearly all of his pride. He was not the boy he had once been – now he was something better and yet worse. Draco had lived through the war, had fought on the wrong side, and had come out relatively unscathed. There had been a trial – for the both of them. And there had been exoneration. Lucius had also been tried - and incarcerated for his participation in the war. His finances had been seized and used as war reparations, leaving Narcissa and Draco without a home and forced to survive on the meager inheritance left her by her father. They had fallen far, but they were still Malfoys, still one of the most powerful wizarding families in Britain. Britain, the country her son was very clearly trying to escape.

"Draco, darling, I seem to remember that Beauxbatons potion master specializes in cosmetic potions. Is that really the field you wish to go into?"

Her son scowled, the implied slight hitting home.

"I can certainly specialize in a different field, Mother."

"But what? Beuaxbatons academics are hardly on par with Hogwarts – if you decide that cosmetic potions isn't in your future, what will you then do? Apprentice in fashion transfiguration and charms?"

"Mother."

"Draco, why not suggest that I allow you to attend Salem Academy in America – or Durmstrang. At least they have sufficiently challenging academics."

"Mother."

"Or better yet, why not remain at Hogwarts and attend your final year with students your own – students who will also be repeating the year. Your friends, your professors –"

"My enemies, mother. My enemies. What friends do I have left? What pureblood family even deigns to acknowledge us in public? I have no more friends. McGonagall runs Hogwarts now, and she would sooner see me crucified than allowed back on school property."

Narcissa was momentarily taken aback by the anger and despair in Draco's voice. She quickly marshaled her thoughts and buried her concern, as well as a fleeting desire to give in and allow her son to run away from his past.

"Hm. Cowardice, from you, Draco? You who have survived the Dark Lord? Afraid of an old witch and a handful of privileged brats who managed to escape service to the Death Eaters through duplicity and self-deceit? Your father would be ashamed. As am I."

"My father? My father – the man who couldn't protect his family? Couldn't protect you?" Unspoken went Draco's personal sense of betrayal. He had idolized his father and followed him blindly. It had been a mistake on Narcissa's part to bring him up now. As much as Draco had held Lucius in high regard, all of that had changed with the war, with Lucius' first incarceration. It had forced Draco to acknowledge the precarious position his family held at the top of British wizarding society, and it left him questioning his father, his beliefs, and even his own honor.

"Well, he can be ashamed. I can be called a coward – already I am called a coward and worse. Why do you deny me the chance to start over? Haven't I earned that much – the right to live free from you, from my father? From all the weight of our past?" There was real pain in his eyes now, and Narcissa felt an urge to cradle his fair head and soothe him. She restrained herself and forced a new edge into her voice.

"Draco, I have spent most of your life watching you and allowing your father to lead you along the path he thought best. I have watched as you have made one poor decision after another, all in an attempt to win your father's love and earn your peers admiration. I have watched you fail, Draco, I have watched you fall. And for the last seventeen years I have been powerless. But now your father is gone and you are my charge. I realize you are of age, I realize you are a grown man. But you are my son and you will do as I tell you. You will return to Hogwarts and finish your education or I will cut you off. You will not receive your inheritance for another two years – until that time you are dependent upon me. I will not allow you to run away from your past – simply because it isn't possible. Do you think that going to France will stop your nightmares? Do you think that you will repair the damage done to our reputation by creating exfoliation potions? If you run you will find yourself without family, without home, and without a future. I will not allow you to make any more poor choices, and I will not allow your father's mistakes to haunt your life any longer. Now go and finish packing. The train for Hogwarts leaves in four hours. When I return we will go to Diagon Alley and purchase your school supplies. Is that clear?"

Draco stood staring at her a moment longer, his gray eyes analyzing her for any weakness, and chance of getting his way. When he realized that her decision was final, he reluctantly nodded and left the room.

Narcissa released a shaky breath. Rarely had she raised her voice – and never without having to suffer severe consequences. She had not been exaggerating when she told Draco this was her first chance to decide her son's future. Yes, she had begged Snape to save her son – but that had been a course long ago decided by Lucius. She had been a mere pawn in that experience, much as Snape and Draco had been. They had all, she reflected, been pawns.

She turned to look at the painting of Lucius' father that hung over the mantle, the man's cold blue eyes looking down on her with disapproval.

"You ruined this family long ago, Sulla, now I will save it."

The painting refused to acknowledge her words, simply offered a bored yawn and turned away. Narcissa felt her spine stiffen at the insult. Sulla Malfoy have never approved of Narcissa, and she had never thought him to be more than a self-aggrandizing pompous ass. She crossed to the mantle and scooped a handful of floo powder from a crystal dish.

She drew a deep breath and steeled herself for one of the most difficult tasks she had ever faced. An instant later she threw the powder into the fire and shouted two words she never thought to say again.

"Grimmauld Place."

It was just a letter – a folded piece of parchment tied around the leg of an owl. It couldn't hurt her. It couldn't even give her much of a paper cut, the stationary was so fragile.

But Hermione sat at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place and stared at the paper, stared at the owl, too scared to move. It was morning, the last morning before she, Harry, and Ron would spend at Grimmauld before they boarded the Hogwarts Express and returned to school.

It was a dream that Hermione had nurtured all summer – the hope of returning to Hogwarts and completing her final year. In July she had received the letter that confirmed her hope – she was invited to return and complete her Seventh year. The letter contained the booklist for all seventh year courses, as well as a course schedule form for her to complete. The letter had not contained a congratulatory letter or a badge – something Hermione had received for her two years running. No mention of Head Girl. No mention even of returning as a Prefect. The news, or rather lack of news, had left Hermione curiously devoid of emotion. From her first year she had dreamed of being named Head Girl, had envisioned herself telling her parents. Later, after fifth year, those dreams had expanded to include the hope that Ron would be named Head Boy and that the shared responsibility would bring them closer together. That dream had been dashed by Voldemort – enough responsibility had been had by everyone during the last two years that Hermione was quite positive Ron would refuse the position even if it was offered to him.

So now, the day she would be returning to Hogwarts, a school owl sat in front of her porridge, bearing an envelope with the Hogwarts seal and patiently waiting for her to get over herself and untie it already.

With trembling hands she reached for the letter, wondering if it could be news expelling her – maybe Hogwarts simply didn't have the space for new first years and all of the other returning years. Or maybe McGonagall had found out her secret and – Hermione pushed that thought from her mind and finally untied the letter.

Dear Miss Hermione Granger,

I hope this letter finds you well rested and eager to complete your final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As you are aware, Hogwarts has accepted a new class of First Year students in addition to repeating last years classes for all years. With this new group of fifty students the school will be filled to capacity, even considering our losses earlier this year. This will be an added responsibility and burden – though a pleasurable one – for all of the faculty, and for the handful of students whose duty it is to safeguard the school and the students.

In light of recent events, the process for appointing Prefects and Heads has been rethought – and choices that would have been obvious before are now much more difficult to make. Hogwarts, indeed the wizarding world, lay at a crossroads. After Voldemort's defeat the worst is over, but our world is still filled with racism, with ancient grudges and new struggles. Now, more than ever, Hogwarts must teach its students to respect others and appreciate different ways of living. That is now the primary duty of the Prefects and the Heads – to preserve harmony and promote inter-house friendships. We can no longer allow school rivalry to form deep rifts in our society, we are strained enough as it is and this will be a difficult recovery, for all of the war's participants.

It has taken the faculty the majority of the summer to decide upon the Prefects, with these considerations in mind. Your appointment, in particular, was most difficult to decide upon.

From your first days at Hogwarts it has been clear that your sense of duty and responsibility are deeply ingrained. Your care and attention to your classmates is commendable. However, you, more than most, have suffered during the war – and at the hands of classmates, and their families. This puts you in the most difficult position of having to put your own life back together, and watch as others, previously your enemies, struggle to do the same.

The position of Head Girl is one of supreme importance: not only do the Head Boy and Girl liase with all of the Prefects, but the Heads are also invited to Staff Meetings, to discuss the well-being of the school and to provide insight. But now, more than ever, the position of Head Girl is a symbol: of trust, of good intentions, and of forgiveness. The Head Girl must be able to accept that the mistakes children make are merely that – and that only by offering an olive branch can a truce be formed.

Miss Granger, it would be my honor to offer you the position of Head Girl, but you must be sure that you can withstand all of the duties of that particular post. If you do not feel able, please accept the position of Prefect, which you have earned and might find more suitable.

Please respond by no later than noon.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Well, that hadn't been quite as bad as she feared. But still… McGonagall was offering her Head Girl, yet counseling her to take a lower position? Did McGonagall really feel that she couldn't handle being decent to the Slytherins? It was clear that was her implication – that she feared Hermione would hold a grudge against that particular house.

Hermione frowned as she considered the truth of McGonagall's assumption. Yes, from her first year she had suffered insults and injury from that house, and during the war she had been tortured by none other than Draco Malfoy's aunt – had been held hostage in Malfoy's home. But… but could she ever trust him? Them?

Her musings were interrupted by the entrance of Harry and Ron. The two boys were rubbing sleep from their eyes and dragging their heels. She bit back a smirk, knowing that they had mixed feelings about their imminent return to Hogwarts.

" Good morning, boys," she said, trying to sound as chipper as possible.

Ron winced at her tone.

"Morning," Harry mumbled as he slumped into the chair across from her.

Hermione rose from the table and placed her breakfast dishes into the sink. While up, she fetched both boys cups of coffee – a vice they had all picked up while on the run last year.

They drank the black liquid and only moments later started to look more human.

"Thanks," Harry said and saluted her with his now half empty mug.

Ron, however, was looking pensive as he cradled his mug and stared down at it.

"Ron, what's wrong?" She reached across the table and took one of his hands in her own.

He looked up reluctantly.

"Nothing. I just… it's our last year, but it's sort of our first, too, you know? No Voldemort. No Dumbledore. Everything's going to be different, isn't it?"

That silenced Hermione.

Then Harry snorted. "Not everything's going to be different. I'll bet Hermione already has half of her homework done AND she's got homework planners for the both of us, already half full."

That earned a smirk from Ron, but Hermione just shook her head.

"I'm afraid not, Harry. You two are on your own this year."

"What?!" That shocked outburst had come from Ron, who dropped her hand and finally sat up straight in his chair.

"I'm not going to monitor the two of you anymore. You are both adults. And without Voldemort lurking, there's nothing for you to concentrate on except for school. You shouldn't need my help."

"But –"

"She's right," Harry interjected. "But there IS more to concentrate on than just school. There's the future. We've got NEWTS this year, and it's our last year playing Quidditch. It's time to take some responsibility, I think."

Hermione beamed at Harry and he offered a small smile in return. Harry had done a great deal of maturing over the summer – without Voldemort or Dumbledore present to manipulate his life, Harry was, for once, left entirely to his own devices and able to decide his own fate. Hermione knew that he still thought about being an Auror, mostly because it was expected – and because he had already been promised a spot at the Academy – but it wasn't his dream. Harry, she knew, simply wanted to be his own man. And he had no idea how to go about it. She realized that Harry saw this next year as his chance to discover that. She started to tear up at the thought of how much he had lost over the years, and how long it had taken him to finally be free.

"Oh, don't start on that," Ron mumbled and awkwardly patted her back.

"I'm sorry. I'm just – Oh Harry, I'm so happy that you decided to come back this year."

"Oi, what about me? Aren't you happy for the chance to spend more time with your boyfriend too? After all, we get private rooms for Seventh Year…" He waggled his eyebrows, more in an attempt to be funny than seductive and Hermione laughed.

"That's my girl." He squeezed her shoulder briefly and kissed her cheek as he rose to serve himself breakfast.

"Say – who do you think they've found to replace all of the professors? 'S a lot of spots to fill."

Harry frowned as he considered the question.

"I hope they don't bring Slughorn back," he said at last, "one year was enough."

"I agree," Hermione was still sore about the fact that Harry had bested her in that class. "Did you ask Bill?"

Ron shook his head and sat back down, plate loaded with sausage and pancakes. "Nope. Fleur still isn't happy he took the Charms job, but, well, Mum's better with all of us closer to home. Shame Charlie's still in Romania…"

Hermione nodded. Personally, she was delighted to have Bill as their new charms professor – as one of Gringotts foremost curse breakers he had first hand experience with exotic and ancient charms. It was certain to be an interesting class this year.

But she too was curious – with McGonagall as the Headmistress they would have needed to replace her, as well as find a new potions master and defense professor. A lot of new faces, she concluded, and wondered how the returning students would react.

"If I was McGonagall I'd try to headhunt some of the younger Aurors – not many of them expected to fight an all out war just out of the Academy, and now that they've got all the experience, they're eager for more pay. But Dad says the Ministry is strapped for cash, so they aren't getting the raises they want."

"But Hogwarts can't be much better off," Harry pointed out.

Hermione shook her head. "Actually, most of the war reparations from the Trials were awarded to Hogwarts, as well as the victim's families. The school is a really important symbol, after all, and the only school in Britain of its caliber. So McGonagall probably CAN afford to woo some Aurors and other Ministry employees."

"I wonder –"

Harry was interrupted by a rush of green fire erupting from the fireplace. Instantly all three were on their feet, wands aimed at the intruder.

Narcissa Malfoy stood before them, delicately brushing soot from her immaculate robes and simultaneously shooting them all a look of superiority. It was almost comical, Hermione thought, that the witch could look so regal while dusting herself off.

"What do you want?" Harry asked through gritted teeth. She glanced over at him and realized that he wasn't just annoyed to have Narcissa in his kitchen, he was enraged.

Narcissa raised her chin as she took in the sharp edge of his voice.

"I have come with a request."

"Then get out and send an owl – or did the Ministry confiscate literally everything you own?"

Hermione blinked in confusion. Where was all of this rage coming from?

"Surely the great Harry Potter has a moment to spare for the woman who saved his life."

Harry snorted.

"I saved you and your pathetic son from rotting in Azkaban. We're even. I owe you nothing."

Narcissa's mask of indifference slipped and Hermione feared that something terrible was about to happen. She lowered her wand and glared at Ron until he did the same.

"Pardon our manners, Mrs. Malfoy, would you like some tea?"

Harry turned baleful eyes to Hermione.

"This is my house, Hermione. She isn't welcome. So, no, she doesn't want tea. She wants to leave RIGHT NOW before I do something I probably won't regret."

"I will leave, Harry Potter, but not before I say what I need to."

"Then hurry up, I've wasted enough of my life on your kind – I'm not going to waste any more time than I absolutely have to."

Narcissa's mask was firmly back in place by this point.

"I realize that all three of you have suffered greatly during the war. And I accept that some of that was my family's doing. I accept any blame, any vengeful thoughts you may have. But I… I beg you not to harbor such resentment for my son."

"Your son?!" Ron burst forward. "Your son who tried to kill us? Who tried to kill Dumbledore? That cowardly, sniveling bastard?"

"My son, who was a child raised by a… cruel man, in an unforgiving house with a long history of service to Dark Lords. My son, who had as little choice in his life as you, Harry Potter. My son, who truly regrets his actions. No, he is not innocent, but he is worthy of a second chance."

"Bullshit. He's a stain. He's completely worthless."

"I see." Narcissa drew herself to her full height. "It was a mistake to come here."

"Yeah, it was," Harry muttered.

"You, Harry Potter, are nothing more than a child of fortune. You are not a true and virtuous wizard, you just happened to be a victim of the Dark Lord instead of a victim of Dumbledore. You are narrow minded and conceited, and you will forever be cursed by your hatred and anger. I warn you – if you continue down your current path, you will turn out no better than the Dark Lord or Lucius, for you and your friends sound as unforgiving as the Death Eaters!" Her glare swept over all of them, landing on Hermione lastly. "I thought better of you than this." She said and then turned to floo away.

"Wait!" Hermione stepped forward and Narcissa turned.

"Please. We – I, I understand what you are asking. It's a fair request. All of us have committed acts we regret, and everyone deserves a second chance."

"What are you doing Hermione?" Ron grabbed her arm and pushed her behind him.

Narcissa's eyes, so cold and similar to her sons, held onto Hermione's for several heartbeats.

"Get out," Harry said, voice harsh.

Narcissa finally looked away from Hermione and sent one last glare in Harry's direction before she disappeared into the fireplace.

There was a moment of tense, thick silence. And then Harry and Ron turned on Hermione.

"What the hell were you thinking? You really expect us to be kind to that git? To accept him? He should be rotting in prison – he almost killed Katie Bell! He'd be a murderer if he wasn't such a coward!" Ron's face turned nearly purple as he continued to shout at her, his grip on her arm becoming painful.

"Hermione, you were tortured in his home."

"But not by him! Mrs. Malfoy is right – he didn't have any choice! You've met his father! Can you imagine Draco being anything but what he is, growing up with that? But he's free now. This is his chance to prove he's a decent person."

"He insulted and cursed us for seven years. Do you really think that was all to cover up his deep, sensitive side? Do you really think that with his father in prison and Voldemort dead he spent the summer rescuing puppies and volunteering at an orphanage?"

"I'm not saying he's a saint!" Hermione finally shook off Ron's arm. "But you are being just as prejudiced as he was!"

"As he is! As he IS, Hermione! Nothing has changed. When we get on the train this afternoon, he's going to be the same! He's going to call you a Mudblood and he's going to make some cut about Ron and then I'll have to fight him. Again." Harry shook his head. "No. I'm not going to give him a second chance. And the minute you lower your defenses, he'll crush you. And I won't defend you – it's time you accepted some responsibility as well, Hermione. You can't make the world into a utopia. Draco Malfoy isn't your next project. But watch out, or you just might become his. I'm going upstairs to finish packing. If we have any more visitors, kick them out, would you Ron?"

Harry stormed from the room, leaving Hermione rubbing her arm and Ron scowling.

After a moment Ron sighed.

"Mione, you shouldn't provoke him."

"Ronald he isn't a child. He's being just as bad as Malfoy ever was!"

"Don't say that," Ron hissed, grabbing her arms again. Hermione flinched away from his touch and he instantly dropped his hands back to his sides. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please, you've got to understand, it's hard for Harry."

"Hard for Harry? I was tortured in that woman's house – I was nearly murdered!" Hermione felt herself start to grow hysterical.

"I know. I know! But, Hermione, he blames Malfoy for Dumbledore's death. And that fact that both of them got off free – it's eating him up. He defeated Voldemort and he expected justice to be served, but those two bought their way out."

"But he just said – "

"Scrimgour made him testify. Said he'd bring you and I up on charges of using illegal magic if he didn't."

"But that's blackmail!"

"Hermione, its politics. No one's as nice as you think they are. The ministry is corrupt – you know that."

"But, Ron, they really are victims! Mrs. Malfoy only did what she had to too save her son. Your Mum would have done the same thing."

"My Mum didn't marry an evil git."

"Ron – where's your compassion?"

"Hermione – where's your damn brain? Draco Malfoy won't change."

"And if he does?"

"What?"

"If he does change? If he isn't still horrible? What will you do then?"

Ron frowned.

"Hermione –"

"What will you do THEN, Ronald?"

"I guess I'll give him another chance, then. But it isn't going to happen. Hermione, he's not a good person. He's Slytherin, for Merlin's sake."

"Houses aren't everything, Ron. They won't even mean anything after this year."

"Yeah, well. You shouldn't get your hopes up too high. You aren't wrong all that often, Hermione, but this is gonna be one of those times."

Hermione raised her chin.

"No, Ron, it won't be."

Hermione had used Pig to send her reply to McGonagall – that morning's confrontation with Mrs. Malfoy and the boys had decided the matter for her – and then gone to apologize to Harry. She resented doing it, but knew that he didn't regret his actions, and that having him angry with her wouldn't serve any purpose.

They met Ginny at the train platform, and her reunion with Harry was so embarrassingly affectionate that both Hermione and Ron had to turn away.

After several minutes Ginny released Harry and gave Hermione a hug.

"I missed being with you three this summer."

"Your Mum really wanted you home, though, and I know it was good for her – to have you there."

Ginny nodded.

"I know. But, it's not the same home it used to. " Hermione pulled Ginny in for another hug, heart aching for her and for Ron – they had lost so much in the war.

Ginny gave her a sad smile and then slipped free of Hermione to link hands with Harry. Hermione couldn't but smile herself as she saw Harry's face light up at Ginny's touch. He deserved to be happy – they both did.

The foursome went in search of an empty compartment, eventually finding one near the back of the train. Just as they had finished storing their luggage overhead Hermione looked out to see none other than Draco Malfoy walking past. His cold gaze swept the room, landing on each of them by turns.

"Hello, Malfoy," Hermione hesitantly greeted him, noticing that despite his usual immaculate appearance – gold hair brushed back, robes clean and pressed – he seemed ill at ease.

His face began to twist into its customary sneer, but he stopped himself. After a tense moment of silence he continued past their compartment.

"Git," Ginny muttered, already curled against Harry.

Hermione shared a look with Ron, but he only shrugged.

"That didn't prove anything," he said.

"Exactly," she agreed and sat down beside him, allowed him to put an arm around her shoulders and pull her close to him. He snorted and shook his head.

"You're impossible, Hermione Granger."

She smiled up at him and pushed all thoughts of Draco Malfoy from her mind. This was her last train ride with Ron, Harry, and Ginny, and she couldn't think of a more pleasant way to spend it than side by side with Ron, trading gossip with Ginny while the boys played chess.

Perhaps, Hermione thought as Ron whooped with laughter after besting Harry three games in a row, they all deserved some happiness.