A/N: This story has been fermenting in my head for quite long enough!

I'm not a grammar expert. Constructive criticism always welcome.

Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Chapter 2

"As the emergency contacts listed were, unfortunately..."

"Deceased," Hermione provided.

The mumbling mediwitch in front of her hospital bed was rosy faced with embarrassment. "Yes, yes. Very sorry that."

Hermione threw her an obviously fake smile. She knew she was making the young witch uncomfortable, but she didn't care. She had been outright rude to the woman since she had regained consciousness the week prior. Patience and civility had been quickly replaced with frustration and anger, especially after meeting with the aurors.

Hermione suspected she would have been cleared for release sooner had she been more cooperative with the authorities.

"Miss Granger, I expected a little more from the 'brightest witch at Hogwarts.' Though I'm questioning the sincerity of that considering you expect me to believe that these injuries are the result of a muggle pub brawl."

The Auror Dobbs had been questioning her for an hour. The large, impressive wizard was clearly unhappy with the version of events Hermione had provided as to how she ended up in St. Mungo's in such a state.

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically. She reasoned it was better to come across an egotistical teenager than calculating adult. "I'm questioning the sincerity of your inquisition, Dobbs. I've given my statement, I refuse to press charges, and given that I am completely recovered, I see no reason for this discussion to continue."

"This is wartime, Ms. Granger! If something happened, you should report it. Surely with your connection to Potter, and the fact that your parents were recently-"

Dobbs looked uncomfortable, but held her gaze. "Surely you see the implausibility of your story."

Hermione drew a deep, steadying breath. "Auror Dobbs, this will be my final statement. I work at a muggle pub in London. I live in a flat above the pub. As I left the pub early Saturday morning, wandless, I had the unfortunate luck to walk right into a drunken brawl of muggles."

Lies.

Hermione continued. "The clearly intoxicated men did not immediately realize what they were doing-as soon as they did they fled the scene. In shock, I did not myself realize the extent of my injuries until I was back in my flat. I retrieved my trunk and apparated to St. Mungo's. Surely you can trust that if I had any suspicion that this was a targeted attack, I would say so."

Dobbs piercing blue eyes refused to leave hers. "The state of your flat tells a different story, Ms. Granger."

She knew she was on thin ice. He was right. Her lies were half-concocted vagaries with very little plausibility. It was the best she could do with such powerful healing potions still muddling her mind. She was thankful the impassioned auror was not an occlumens.

"What can I say? I'm busy. I don't care much for domesticity." Hermione leveled an icy look at Dobbs, willing him to challenge her.

He rolled up his sleeves in frustration and gathered his cloak from the chair. "It seems I have no choice but to leave this unresolved. Please contact me should you remember any other details that might help us understand what happened that night."

Exasperation coloured his entire demeanor. Hermione suspected that Dobbs would have pressed further had they not been in the middle of a war. He started through the doorway but paused with a last look at Hermione, his expression cautious.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Granger, but you shouldn't need reminding. You endanger us all with your recklessness. Your connection to Potter is known by the enemy. They will use you! You acted selfishly this summer with your negligent regard for your own safety. You should have been in Order housing, and you know it."

Hermione answered with silence, refusing to let her guilt show.

The auror gripped the door frame in frustration before disappearing into the hallway.

Hermione glared coldly as the young mediwitch continued her mumbling.

"Right, well...Headmistress McGonagall will be here this evening to collect you. Will this be an issue?"

All considered Hermione knew this was best case scenario. Still, she wasn't overly excited to face McGonagall after the shameful incident at Hogwarts for which Hermione last spoke to the professor.

"I hardly see why I need an escort. I may still be a student at Hogwarts, but I came of age almost a year ago," Hermione said.

The mediwitch, though awkward, seemed intuitive enough to sense resignation in Hermione's words and left her to be alone.

Despite her protests, Hermione doubted the arrangements would change. It was wartime after all, as everyone kept reminding her. She was still a member of the Order, even if it didn't mean much at the moment. She supposed her leash would become tighter now that she was willingly returning to Hogwarts.

Any sane person having had the summer Hermione had would run for the forest right now. The prospect of facing Blaise was overwhelming. She was stupid to have assumed he wouldn't be at Hogwarts this year. Even if she wanted to open up she doubted there would be a shoulder to cry on in all of Gryffindor. Harry and Ron wouldn't be returning, but there would still be no love lost between Hermione and her housemates come term. Her split from the 'Golden Trio' wasn't exactly a secret, nor the circumstances surrounding it.

Dobb's had insisted she was still a liability because of her connection to Harry, but she knew it was minimal now. She had seen Zabini's dark mark with her own eyes, yet she hadn't been abducted, hadn't been brought before the dark lord. Either Zabini was truly daft, or just cunning enough. She doubted the former. No, Zabini would have brought her in if he thought she could sway Potter.

Left to her thoughts, Hermione let herself slip into a place of pity and loathing, a place she found herself too often lately. A healthier mind could have resisted such self-indulgence. She longed for the bright, shiny Hermione that would have seen this as an opportunity to overcome hardship. That Hermione would have told Auror Dobbs what had happened. That Hermione would have fought back harder against Zabini. That Hermione wouldn't have let it happen so many times. That Hermione would have taken this bleak situation and tried to find some perplexingly positive silver lining.

That Hermione didn't exist anymore. Her optimism had been depleted, her Gryffindor courage hanging on by a single thread now. The best she could do was aggregate what little energy she had left to return to Hogwarts and complete her mission. Though lonely and thankless, it was the only thing that kept her going. She could not have anticipated such a life-altering summer, but Hermione knew she had brought it on herself. Dobbs was right about one thing, she had been recklessly selfish.

The door swung open abruptly, interrupting Hermione's dark thoughts.

Hermione squinted at the witch who had entered, eyes adjusting to green robes that were too bright for the bleak hospital room. She couldn't say she was surprised to see McGonagall there so soon. She was nothing if not punctual. The new Headmistress of Hogwarts looked as tired as Hermione felt.

"Good evening, professor," Hermione greeted her cautiously.

"Ms. Granger," said Professor McGonagall, her Scottish rogue thick with emotion.

The older witch wasted no time. "I regret to meet you under such circumstances, but as it stands we must dismiss with any pleasantries." McGonagall looked at Hermione seriously. "Were you attacked by Death Eaters?"

"No," Hermione responded emphatically. Lying was becoming easier for her.

Professor McGonagall eyed her warily, but seemed to accept Hermione's answer with a curt nod. She looked suddenly overcome, and Hermione cringed at the pity that flashed in her mentor's eyes.

"Chin up, dear," McGonagall said with uncharacteristic warmth. "I'm glad to have you back at Hogwarts this year. I dare say I could use the help."

Hermione was unsure if McGonagall was referring to Order business or her new role as Head Girl, but she seriously doubted she would be impressing anyone with her wits this year. For the first time in her six years at Hogwarts Hermione knew she wouldn't be on the edge of her seat in class, anxiously willing any professor to call on her for the right answer...

She had to focus on her task. The last bit of good she could give her friends...even if they would never know.

McGonagall gave her privacy while she dressed.

Hermione couldn't help but spend too long in the mirror, grossly fascinated by her stark reflection. Her angles were too sharp, cheekbones slightly sunken. Her bruises were gone, but not the dark circles under her eyes. Her long auburn curls hung loosely past her shoulders. Hermione was positive the blushing mediwitch whom she had harassed all week had charmed her wild hair into submission. She couldn't say she minded at the moment. It was the only feature saving her from a look of complete desperation.

Hermione waved her wand and muttered a quick charm. Her dark circles lessoned, cheeks brightened, and lashes darkened slightly. Parvati had taught her the handy bit of magic last year. It had taken Hermione days to mute the look into something that didn't resemble a clown. She didn't share her classmate's passion for femininity, but she'd be remiss not to admit that it helped to hide her exhaustion now.

She had used the charm daily working at the pub this past summer. It was simple arithmancy-the heavier the makeup, the more she was tipped. She had even started wearing tighter clothes. She had found men to be utterly basic, but predictable. Maybe if she hadn't-

No. Hermione scolded herself. There wasn't time now. She dressed quickly, levitating her trunk out of the room and meeting McGonagall in the hallway.

Clutching her cloak, Hermione stood pause at the entrance of Hogwarts, trying to take it all in. The green September lawn and muted purple twilight gave way to great oak doors which opened before them. Flaming torches inside lit the grand entrance, giving the illusion that the marble staircase was glowing.

The castle was satisfyingly quiet. Hermione was glad to have a night's rest before students arrived tomorrow evening. She had hoped being back here would stir something in her, but she knew the strange calmness she felt now was only transitory.

A new school year stretched before her, but all Hermione could feel was the end. The end of something great, something extraordinary. Something she wouldn't get back. This year at Hogwarts wasn't for making memories. She willed herself not to let the pain she felt now mar almost six years of happiness at Hogwarts.

She silently vowed to honor this deep chasm within herself. This was a different Hermione. She knew repression wasn't healthy, but she didn't care. Making a clear distinction between her past and present self allowed her to preserve the person she had been.

Professor McGonagall must have sensed that she was having a moment. Hermione knew her silence was a kindness, and she was grateful. They both stood quiet as twilight turned to chilly dusk, and the glow from inside grew brighter.

Finally Hermione turned to the woman next to her. "Thank you, professor," she said earnestly.

"I feel it too, you know," Professor McGonagall answered, surprising Hermione with the raw conviction in her voice.

"We stand at the precipice of war, and the end of many things" McGonagall continued. "Yet, Hogwarts has seen many eras and many wars. It shall endure long after we have gone. This is a comfort to me, Ms. Granger."

"Me too," Hermione whispered. She meant it.

The Headmistress made forward through the doors and Hermione followed.

McGonagall smiled with a faint trace of mischievousness that made Hermione uncomfortable. "Why don't you head to the kitchens for some hot tea and a meal? I believe you'll find a friend waiting for you."

Hermione could have sworn she saw a Dumbledore-esque twinkle in the older woman's calculating eyes. "Don't forget to tickle the pear. Good night, Ms. Granger."

Hermione tensed as Professor McGonagall walked away. Her stomach uneasy, she headed towards the kitchens. She thought it was obvious that she didn't have any friends right now. It was McGonagall herself who had discovered Hermione—

"Hermioneeeeeeeee!" A piercing shriek came from inside the kitchens as she pushed through the door.

Dobby bounded toward her, a great grin on his face. Relief washed through Hermione as she bent down and hugged the house-elf, fat tears brimming in her eyes. She let her anxiety slip away as she shared a genuine embrace with the kind creature. "It's so good to see you, Dobby. I wasn't sure you'd still be here."

"It's a pleasure, as always, Misses!" He practically vibrated with excitement. "Dobby keeps busy here at Hogwarts. Not many masters pay a house elf" he said proudly.

"That's excellent, Dobby," Hermione replied as she took a seat in a warm alcove next to the large fireplace at the back of the kitchen.

She stifled a giggle thinking about how a younger Hermione would have taken this opportunity to engage in a long-winded discussion on the rights of house-elves with perhaps the only house-elf who would agree. Maybe she still would have... she was tired now, though. Exhausted from the journey. Exhausted from the summer.

Dobby sensed her unease and began flitting animatedly about the kitchen as he chatted with her, completely unfazed by the company of dozens of other house-elves in the kitchen. She was grateful for his rambling, only throwing in the occasional response. It was a good distraction. She drank her tea and managed a few warm spoonful's of rich stew before her eyes began to droop.

It suddenly struck her that she was unsure where she would be sleeping tonight.

McGonagall hadn't mentioned anything. Hermione had been dreading her Head Girl duties for weeks. She didn't think she could handle the added responsibility. Some buried part of her cringed at that. She was supposed to be able to handle anything, yet here she was, feeling more fragile than ever.

Even so, it seemed Head Girl did have one perk Hermione was looking forward to-private rooms. She was relieved that she would have a place to escape to alone. The Head Girl and Head Boy quarters were rumoured to be the nicest dormitories at Hogwarts.

"Dobby," Hermione interrupted. "I don't suppose you know where the head dormitories are?"

"Oh yes, miss! Dobby is to be showing you to your rooms when you are ready." He scanned the room and then leaned in closer to Hermione. "Dobby is honored to be trusted with such a task," he whispered proudly.

Hermione smiled, relieved. "I'm quite tired from the journey. Could we head that way?" Hermione mustered all the sweetness she could manage but it still sounded flat. She felt foggy. Every single limb ached for sleep.

Dobby lead her out of the kitchens, still chatting. Hermione was surprised when they turned down the corridor in the opposite direction of the stairs that led back up to the main entrance and great hall. They walked past the barrels concealing the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.

At the end of the hallway Dobby lead her into a large alcove which hid a set of spiral stone steps. Her legs ached as they climbed upwards. Hermione's breathing was labored when they finally reached the top of the staircase and entered a dimly lit hallway with a single large painting at the end.

"Here you are, miss" Dobby said brightly, handing Hermione a small piece of folded parchment.

"Thank you, Dobby," she said sincerely. Hermione was grateful for his company. He had momentarily eased the deep, lonely ache within her.

Dobby bowed so low his nose touched the ground. He flashed her a quick grin before apparating.

She wished she had the ability to apparate within Hogwarts' grounds like the house-elves. Merlin knew she appreciated the privacy, but it was a steep climb up to her new dormitory.

She opened the parchment now clutched in her hands.

Ms. Granger,

The password to the head dormitory is Knotberry. You'll find your private quarters on the left side of the common room behind a painting of Godric Gryffindor. The password is Hawthorne. Please be advised that the Head Boy has already arrived. I trust you will represent Gryffindor well in this highly respected position which is only bestowed upon the most deserving students. It is an honor. I expect you will treat it as such.

We will meet tomorrow morning to discuss your position in more detail. Please meet me in my office at 9 am.

Minerva McGonagall

Hermione was a little taken back by the touch of harshness in McGonagall's note. Please treat it as such? It seemed she was being admonished for something in advance.

She stuffed the letter into her robes and looked up at the large painting in front of her.

It was a dark forest scene with beams of moonlight illuminating mossy rocks and a small stream. In the top left corner was a snowy owl perched on an aspen branch.

Hermione's heart panged at the creature's resemblance to Hedwig.

"Knotberry," she whispered, a shiver running down her spine. The owl fluttered slightly as the painting swung open.

Hermione stepped inside a quite expansive common room, lit brightly by a great chandelier in the center of the room. The stone walls were covered with fine tapestries and oil-paintings. Silver curtains framed four large arched windows which stretched from floor to ceiling on the wall directly in front of her. It was too dark to see out into the moonless night.

A fire crackled invitingly from a stone fireplace that was centered between the windows. A massive leather tufted couch faced the fireplace, flanked by two very comfy looking armchairs. One red, one green. Hermione noticed a steaming mug sitting on the large mahogany coffee table in front of the couch, which looked as if it could fit at least eight bodies comfortably.

To Hermione's left was an enormous wooden bookshelf which was already stuffed with her books. Upon closer inspection she noticed that about half of the shelves were filled with books she didn't recognize. She was mildly impressed that the Head Boy's collection rivaled the size of her own. She wagered he was a Ravenclaw.

Next to the bookshelf was a painting of Godric Gryffindor, who was currently sleeping. She was surprised that the painting was here in the head dormitories and not at its usual spot.

An ornately carved wooden table and chairs occupied most of the right side of the room, and behind it was a gigantic tapestry that appeared to be an intricate map of the Hogwarts grounds. To the left of the map was a portrait of Salazar Slytherin.

No.

Hermione's breath hitched. This wasn't happening. She furiously went through the names of any 7th year Slytherin male she could think of. Each option was dismal, but she prayed to Merlin it wasn't Zambini. She couldn't bear—

The founder of Slytherin's portrait swung open.

Hermione was frozen, caught somewhere between fury and relief. Her mouth hung open and she felt her throat dry up.

"Granger," came the chilly voice of Draco Malfoy. "Can't say I'm surprised to see you."

It always struck her how tall he was, easily a foot taller than she. He was wearing a tight fitted shirt and dark jeans, similar to when she had seen him in the waiting room at St. Mungos only a couple of weeks ago.

Pureblood Malfoy in expensive muggle clothes- fucking typical, she thought darkly.

His chiseled features were all angles. It really wasn't fair that someone with such a nasty inside had the good fortune to be so attractive…

"Can't say the same, Malfoy," Hermione accused hotly, regaining her senses and placing a hand on her hip. "Who did your father have to threaten to secure this position for you?"

Malfoy gave her a great grin. It was absolutely unnerving.

"Oh sod it, Granger. I know you're relieved to see me and not Zabini."

"So you did go through my things!" Hermione could feel rage flood through her body.

She hadn't felt such concentrated emotion in a long time. She took a few steps closer to him. "I can't believe you! There I am- clearly INJURED- and you have the balls to rummage through my-"

"YEAH LET'S TALK ABOUT THAT," he bellowed, clearly as frustrated as she felt. "What the fuck are you doing anywhere near Blaise Zabini?"

"That's none of your business!" Hermione screamed. She was losing control quickly.

"So he's not the one who did that to you?" Malfoy asked in a tone that suggested it wasn't a question at all.

"I can't-"

"He's an active Death Eater, Granger. What the hell were you thinking?"

"It's not like I wanted…" she trailed off.

What was happening? Why were they even having this conversation? It wasn't like Malfoy was without his dark past. In fact, this wasn't like Malfoy at all.

She had heard he'd started working for the Order this past summer. Still, what right did he have to judge or lecture her? He didn't even know what he was talking about, and she was not about to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

"Are you having some weird perverted kink thing with him?" Malfoy asked, a touch of cruelty in his voice.

"Yes, actually." Hermione replied flatly.

She knew he hadn't meant it seriously but what did she care? She wasn't going to talk to him and he couldn't make her. Any fire she had momentarily felt seeing Draco Malfoy was snuffed out now. This wasn't her anymore. She didn't want to argue.

"Listen, Malfoy," she said matter-of-factly, just as he was opening his mouth to reply. "I don't know what you're on about. My personal life is my business. If you would like to discuss our head duties, be my guest."

She waved her hand in invitation.

"I don't want him our dormitory," Malfoy said bluntly, running a hand through his platinum hair. His grey eyes were clear. She felt more honesty from him in that moment than she had their entire time at Hogwarts.

"Understood," Hermione responded with practiced detachment.

He looked like he wanted to say more.

Hermione watched Draco Malfoy's features grow callous, cold, and indifferent. This is familiar, she thought. This she could deal with.

She continued watching him as he turned away and moved toward the couch, ignoring her. His movements were sleek, almost predatory. He sunk deep into the leather, one foot propped up on his knee. He opened his book and grabbed the mug from the coffee table. The thick muscles in his left forearm were bulging. She suspected he would shatter the stoneware if his grip tightened any more.

If Malfoy was aware she was still watching him he was making a point not to show it.

The sound of thunder outside startled her.

Sleep. She needed sleep.

Hermione muttered her password to Godric Gryffindor, who was now wide awake. He was sporting an exaggerated quizzical look, no doubt from observing the heated exchange between herself and Malfoy. Thankfully the portrait opened without a word.

She waved her wand lazily, extinguishing every source of light in the room with one flick. She flopped down on the large bed, fumbling her way under the covers. She kept her robe on and shoved her wand under a pillow.

She would be living in close proximity to Draco Malfoy for the next nine months. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

A/N:

So it seems I've decided to pick this back up SIX. YEARS. LATER. Whatevs. I have a story to tell now.