Headmistress McGonagall sighed and with a flick of her wand turned her stiff backed chair into a comfy armchair. Might as be comfortable for this. She thought to herself. With firmly pursed lips she grabbed the stack of homework papers and a mug of tea. After The Great War it was decided that all grades would repeat; most 7th Years were nowhere near ready for their NEWTs and even fewer 5th Years were prepared for their OWLs. A few, of course, were going to attempt them midterm, but she highly doubted there would be a single passing mark amongst the lot, except perhaps Hermione Granger. The Carrows had done little in the way of education. Despite assuming the role of Headmaster, which everyone knew would never belong to anyone but the late Dumbledore, McGonagall continued to teach. She kept the 7th Year Transfiguration students, and was honestly relieved when her class size this year dropped to a simple 6 students. Her workload as Headmistress was exhausting—she doubted she could handle anymore than those serious about taking their NEWTS. From Gryffindor, she had the bright Granger child, the infamous Potter, and his ever-faithful sidekick, Ron Weasley. She also had Longbottom, despite his Grandmother's protests. Surprisingly she had a Slytherin. She had noticed over the years that most Slytherins pursued law, or business, and usually did not need Transfiguration. This year, though, she had the Malfoy lad. Had not Dumbledore gone to great lengths to protect and save him, she would have dismissed him out of hand. She had Luna Lovegood, who, in McGonagall's opinion was a clear danger to herself while attempting transfiguration. The girl was bright, as a Ravenclaw obviously, but she lacked the necessary focus. At least Lovegood made up for it with her sheer determination. Her final student, and probably the one with the best natural talent next to Granger, was Cho Chang. Unfortunately, her drive was lacking.

When Headmistress McGonagall gave the class homework on their first day back in class, she had joked that it was to uphold her reputation as the meanest professor. But, really, she wanted them to write a short essay to explain to her why each student wanted to continue this particular course of study. Potter had simply written, "After this year, I feel the only career choice available to me is Auror" Grinning, McGonagall write in tight, neat script, "Thank you for the honesty, let's correct the brevity." She grabbed the next roll and had she not immediately recognized the handwriting, the simple fact that the parchment was filled front and back in tiny, neat print, was a dead giveaway that the author was Granger. She read with mild amusement, noting that Granger had, as usual, done a complete analysis of how Transfiguration was helpful in all career fronts, how that applied to her career choices specifically, how it would be useful in the home and urban environments, and finally, how she had seen the practical implementation of transfiguration bear out in school and in war. "Granger, I wanted to know why you wanted to continue in Transfiguration, not why everyone should continue. Excellent points, nonetheless. I will grant credit for citing specific references to how you have benefitted from my favorite subject. This is not a requirement for Law, however, and I fully understand if you do not wish to test at the end of the year. It is optional. Please, let's not have a repeat of 5th year's OWLs induced stress levels! I have confidence in you." She added the last with a slight eye-roll. She knew how insecure Granger was about her grades and education. She continued through the essays: the rest were short, a few sentences, and much like Harry Potter's. She was about to pick up Draco Malfoy's, the last parchment, when she heard a tentative knock on the door. Phineus began yelling through his painting about the gall of someone to dare interrupt such an important witch at so late an hour. "Silence, Phineus. That is quite enough." Then, loudly, "Enter."

"Good evening, Headmistress. My apologies for interrupting your evening." The student stood still, his eyes on his feet. All irritation at being interrupted quickly vanished when McGonagall peered over the parchment and recognized the white-blonde hair—really, that's all she could see of the kid—that and his disheveled black schoolrobes. Her lips tightened into an even thinner line when she took in his unkempt, gaunt appearance. "Come, Master Malfoy. What may I help you with this evening?"

Draco Malfoy edged closer to her desk, still not meeting her eyes. She rose, a paperweight in her hand. She walked to the front of her desk and tossed it to the ground. Simultaneously she flicked her wrist and transfigured it into fluffy armchair to match her own. "Sit down, Master Malfoy. Would you like coffee or tea?"

"Neither, ma'am. I'm really very sorry for bothering you." Draco hunched down in the chair. His slender fingers picked a thread in his wrinkled robes. McGonagall noted that he hadn't shaved, and his hair appeared greasy—this was not the proud and haughty student of two years ago. Normally, McGonagall would have brusquely demanded that any interrupting student get to the point. However, Dumbledore had made her take The Unbreakable Vow to protect this wayward child as her son. He and Severus had both left her vivid memories that she often replayed through the Pensieve. They had filled her in, entirely, on how he'd been forced to take the Dark Mark, the untenable positions Voldemort had repeatedly forced upon him, the desperation that filled him, and how the last year had nearly destroyed him. He was a broken young man, and society was not forgiving. She was certain that the other students were bullying him; most still blamed him for the deaths of Dumbledore and Snape. He regularly sported a few bruises. No doubt the other students were exacting revenge for the last year of The Great War, but until she caught them or he gave her a name there was relatively little she could do. Lucius Malfoy had taught his son to define himself by wealth, power, and societal standing, and with the end of the Great War his sense of identity had been shattered. The other Slytherins would not even allow him to sit at their table in the Great Hall. McGonagall now felt pity, instead of her usual irritation with a student she deemed irresponsible.

"It's no problem. I was about to read your letter to me on why you wish to continue with my class. Would you prefer to tell me, or should I read it?" She flicked her wand and silently sent a message to the kitchens for a house elf to kindly bring refreshments.

"I thought it was just an essay?" Draco lifted his gaze up for a split second.

"I just wanted to see why you all are in my class, so I can tailor my curriculum to each student. I actually don't grade my senior students. It is simply a preparation for the NEWTS. At this point in your education, that's all that matters.

"Oh." The Headmistress raised her eyebrows and decided to wait him out. The child was obviously troubled, and would eventually tell her why he came. Malfoy was, if nothing else, determined. If he plucked up the courage to disturb her at, a quick glance at the clock confirmed it was almost midnight, then she knew he'd eventually get around to talking. Either that, or she was going to dock points from Slytherin for his prowling the halls after curfew. The silence between them was broken as the house elves showed up with scones and cookies, tea and coffee, and some mints.

McGonagall grabbed a fresh cup of tea and sat down behind her desk. She picked up his parchment and adjusted her eyeglasses. She noticed Draco finally looked up at her, dark circles under his eyes, and she tried to suppress a smile. She was right to wait for him.

She read his essay. It was moderate in length, and well written. He had obviously put a lot of thought into this paper. However, the content surprised her so much that she had to reread it, twice, and verify for a third time that it was in fact Draco's name at the top of the essay and not Lovegood's or Longbottom's. The elegant green calligraphy had been a trademark of the Malfoy family, though; she remembered the emerald script from grading Lucius' papers, and studying with Abraxas Malfoy in the library when she was a 4th Year.

She set the essay down on her desk and picked up her quill. There was a long moment of deliberation, while she ignored Malfoy's anxious shifting in front of her. She wrote with purposeful care, "Of course you may switch your career path to Healer. Your scores in OWLS were outstanding across the board. Would you like for me to arrange extra lessons with Professor Sprout, and speak with Madam Pomfrey about assisting her in the Medical clinic? The only other concern for Healers happens to be potions, and I feel you're more than prepared for that NEWT, although another year of study, which you're already taking, wouldn't hurt." She turned the essay over and folded her hands serenely in her lap. She still refused to speak. Malfoy had tried desperately to read what she had written on his essay, and that made her smile.

The silence was starting to overwhelm Malfoy. He finally blurted out, "That's why I'm here, Headmistress. I want to know if I can change from Law to Healer. My father—" Malfoy made a small choking noise and cut himself off mid sentence.

"What about dear Master Lucius?" McGonagall reached for her tea.

"He expects me to take a posting in the ministry, to replace him. He feels it is how we are to overcome the past year. His instructions to me were explicit. But, he's, he's…He's in Askaban, now." Malfoy said the last very quietly, as if Lucius Malfoy's public sentencing was not common knowledge.

"And your mother?"

"Headmistress, after the past year, I'm not really overly concerned with obeying my parents. That ended me up with the Dark Mark, got Uncle Sev killed, and lost my family most of our fortune, and were it not for Potter's everlasting savior complex and his testimony at my trial, I would have received the Dementor's kiss. I still don't quite understand how I walked away from that trial with a completely clean slate." Now that Malfoy was getting worked up, and emotional, his voice was filled with the confidence she recognized from his youth. He even had that slight sneer on his lips.

"Before I give you back your essay, and my answer, Malfoy, I wish to know why you want to be a Healer? Your essay, I believe," she picked it up and quickly scanned it, "only indicated you wanted to take Transfiguration so that you could become a Healer. You didn't go into depth explaining why the career path change."

"Isn't it obvious, Headmistress? Maybe I could've saved Uncle Sev, if I had known. What a terrible way to die, that poison, he was in so much agony…Headmistress, I mean, I have hurt so many people. Maybe this way-" Draco cut himself off again, and stared down at his hands clenched tightly in his lap.

McGonagall furrowed her eyebrows and regarded Draco over her spectacles. "You aren't responsible for Severus' death, dear child. I think that your reasons are noble. I will give you a week to decide if this is really what you want to do, and I am willing to address the issue with your mother, should you want me bring her to the point of reason. She never qualified in any of her NEWTS, so she should be quite proud of you, no matter your career field, as you've already surpassed her academic knowledge."

Malfoy straightened in the fluffy armchair with a start. "Really?"

McGonagall gave him a wicked little grin. "Oh, I have stories about both your parents, and your grandparents, in fact, that would make you look at them in a whole new light. Here, let me write you a pass so Filch doesn't harass you." And with that, she handed him back his essay and dismissed him from her office.

Draco Malfoy stopped at the door. "Headmistress?"

She set down her tea and gave him her undivided attention once more.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. And thanks. Thanks for this chance."

McGonagall nodded once. "Malfoy, perhaps next week sometime you could stop by, again. I would like to make sure this new course load is suitable to you. I'll give you a new class schedule tomorrow after Transfiguration."

For the first time since The Sorting, the Headmistress saw him smile.