Hi! Thanks for reading my first attempt at fan fiction! Any reviews or comments are greatly appreciated, would love some ideas to help me improve!

'To think it has come to this…' thought Draco irritably. He shifted position for the umpteenth time, trying to get comfortable against the jagged surface of the standing stone he was leaning against. Tossing down his parchment, he let his head fall back and sighed; this school year would not be over quick enough. He shifted again, still not comfortable, but knowing that being here was more pleasant than trying to find somewhere else in the castle without the whispering, staring or outright hostility that dogged his steps wherever he went.

He couldn't blame the other students though, not really. He understood why they felt as they did; for his first six years at Hogwarts he was a bully, a mean and arrogant little bastard. Then his part in murdering the headmaster hadn't helped, topped off with becoming a death eater had really garnered some dislike. He smiled grimly, no he understood why they hated him, and to be honest, he didn't really enjoy being around himself that much either!

He was pulled from his introspection by voices approaching his hidden spot. He was confident they wouldn't see him, but still it was a good idea to know who was nearby. Peering through a gap in the foliage that obscured his crouched form, he saw potter and the Weasley girl, followed by Granger and the Weasel, all chatting animatedly. Relaxing, Draco settled back against the stone. He picked up his potions essay again, glanced at it then tossed it back down with a sigh. He just couldn't concentrate today.

Instead, he watched the small group make their way down to the lakeside and sit in the late autumn sunshine. Potter lay back with his head in Ginny's lap, bringing back the memories of his previous term at Hogwarts when Pansy had taken great pleasure in stroking Draco's hair, and pretty much anything else of Draco's at every opportunity. Funny how things change, he thought, Pansy and he didn't even talk now. Turned out that she only liked him for his status and power, and he hadn't really liked her at all, save for the fact she practically worshipped him and still threw herself at him regardless of how he treated her. But, she had been his first, although he wasn't hers, and they had enjoyed themselves at times. Now he was unsure if any girls in the school would talk to him, let alone allow him to get them into bed!

He continued to watch the group; Granger pulled out a book and sat cross legged, head down, whilst Weasley casually slung his arm around her shoulders. Yes it was funny how things changed, how people changed. At one time Draco would have wanted to do nothing but hex the two couples into oblivion, and they do the same to him, but now since the battle they appeared to have a truce. They didn't acknowledge him as a friend, but nor would they advocate cruelty towards him. In fact, he knew he owed them for his and his mother's freedom, as reduced as that now was.

After the final battle, and death of Voldemort, the ministry rebuilt and were rounding up death eaters. His mother wanted them to give themselves up, throw themselves upon the ministry's mercy and tell the truth; that they had feared for their lives but had tried to help Harry in the end. His father has refused, saying that to do so was to betray their family name, and dishonour their ancestors. His mother had railed and pleaded, but his father was not to be swayed, so she and Draco had gone alone. Potter had vouched for their story, saying what had happened at the manor and then in the last battle so instead of being sent to Azkaban, they had been forced to forfeit property and pay reparations. This meant Draco could return to Hogwarts for his final year, and his mother could afford a small terraced house on a muggle street in London with the last of the wealth they had left. His father however, ran. They caught up with him eventually of course, no one was willing to harbour a known death eater, and he was killed in the ensuing battle, refusing to come quietly.

So everything had changed, he had changed. No longer rich, no longer sure of his place in the world, Draco had to get good NEWT's. His mother didn't have enough money to support them, so if he was to have any hope of getting a good job at the end of this year he would have to work harder than he ever had before.

The jealousy of Potter he harboured had changed too. It was no longer the juvenile anger that Potter was recognised as special, that he was the "chosen one" because let's face it, it turned out to be true. He was jealous of the scene down by the lake. Not the fact he was there with his girlfriend, but the fact those four were just relaxed in each other's company, no one expected anything from the others, no one was manipulating or controlling, they were just simply there enjoying the sun because they wanted to be.

Had anyone ever just enjoyed being with him? Draco wondered. Possibly not. This unpleasant thought was what made Draco jealous, and painfully aware of just how foolish he had been all these years. Realising he was wasting time, he picked up the parchment and re-read the assignment; he only had two days to finish.

Several hours passed and the light began to fade, forcing Draco back to the castle and into the great hall for supper. He ate as he usually did, alone at the end of the table closest to the teachers. He had found people were less likely to try anything right under McGonagall's nose, and rather ironically it was those from his own house who were the most vicious. With no Crabbe and Goyle to watch his back he was a vulnerable target. He didn't dare nor desired to use the many curses and spells he knew to defend himself with; killing or maiming his classmates was a little extreme in retaliation to a jelly legs curse. Poor Crabbe, killed by his own spell, and Goyle, too stupid to know when a cause is lost, he had fought the aurors and was currently in Azkaban with his family.

Eating swiftly, Draco finished his meal, and headed straight for his other refuge; the Library. He would stay there until curfew, and then head back to the dorm. Hopefully the common room would be fairly empty by then and he could go straight to bed without incident. Draco chose his usual spot in the corner and spread out his work, settling in for the evening. He did his transfiguration work; an essay detailing the method for transfiguring inanimate objects into animate ones, and then back to the potions essay. He really was stuck. Looking around he noticed that there were a few other students sitting doing the same as him, and a couple of tables away he saw that Granger was in her usual place, poring over a large textbook.

She was different too, Draco noted. This war had maybe changed her more than anyone: She was still bookish, often in the library but she had a new found confidence. A poise that was obvious but she seemed unconscious of it. It also helped that her figure had filled out, her face had matured, all high cheekbones and pointed chin, and her unruly hair looked to have calmed down into soft chestnut ringlets. However, she never seemed to notice the appreciative looks she got from half the student body, choosing to waste her time on Weasley.

Draco was unsure when he had started looking at her as a girl instead of a mudblood, but he recalled watching his aunt rending her skin upon the floor of his family's ballroom whilst she screamed that she didn't know anything about the sword of Godric Gryffindor and thought it may have begun then. She had been terrified, as would he have been, but she would not have told them anything. Would have died first. How shaming that a muggleborn girl was braver than a Malfoy. He watched her absently brush a curl behind her ear and turn a page of the text. He had thought about trying to speak to her, maybe apologise, but couldn't bring himself to do it. What if she laughed at him, scorned him? Or even worse, pitied him. He didn't think he could take any more humiliation at present.

He focused on potions again, but realised he just didn't know enough to finish it. He snuck another look over at Hermione and saw the book he wanted in the pile on her desk. He debated whether he should just wait until she put it back, but decided she may be there as long as he was. Ok, so he should just go over and ask if he could borrow it. He stood and made his way over to her, unsure of what to say. She was engrossed in her work, and didn't look up even as he got to her table.

"Herm...Granger" He began. He had never used her given name before, and thought she may take it the wrong way if he started now. Startled, she looked up, wide brown eyes meeting his. Her brow furrowed slightly when she saw who it was.

"Have you finished with Most Potente Potions?" He asked, quietly. "Could I borrow it?"

She looked at him for a moment as if expecting him to say something else before replying.

"Yes, that's fine. I don't need it back though."

"Thanks" He said, retrieving the book from her stack and giving her a small smile. As he sat back down at his desk he glanced over and saw her just staring at her parchment with a perplexed expression. He wondered for a moment if his behaviour was really that odd, and realised that he had never said anything to her before that wasn't an insult or threat. And yet she had still given him the book, when by rights she would be justified in telling him where to go.

Getting stuck into his potions essay, he worked until Madam Pince called curfew, then hurried off to the Slytherin dormitory. The common room was fairly empty as he had hoped, but there was still a group of fourth years who glared at him as he entered, muttering insults as he passed. The seventh year dorm was not as full as it had been other years; a lot of Slytherins has not bothered to come back. Either their parents had been death eaters, or they had family money so an education was not so important. He guessed that as a primarily pureblood house it was only to be expected.

So there were only four of them in the dorm this year; Theo Nott, his father had been killed in the final battle, and he was trying to carve a future for himself too. Malfoy had initially thought that they may become allies, but Nott wanted no association with him. Troilus Harper, never really had much to do with Draco, obviously wanted to keep it that way. The third occupant of the dorm was the most troublesome, Simeon Vaisey. Draco barely remembered him, but he certainly seemed to remember Draco. From the first day there had been sneers and nasty comments, but when a couple of acts of petty vandalism happened to the few bits of property that Draco still had, he decided he couldn't let it slide. A few booby traps later resulting in a visit to Madam Pomfrey had Vaisey's dislike limited to looks and occasional shoulder barges.

Still, it was conflict he would rather avoid, and having to sleep in close proximity to someone who obviously meant him harm was not enjoyable.

The other three boys were already in bed by the time he got to the dorm room with their curtains drawn. He could hear they weren't asleep, but that suited him fine. He stripped down to his boxers, taking off his muggle jeans and jumper, something he would never have worn before the death of Voldemort. It made him laugh that the muggle clothes were actually more comfortable and easier to move around in than wizard's robes, no wonder half the school wore them during their free time.

He got into bed and closed his curtains. Settling back, he recalled his occlumency training, clear your mind, let go of emotion. Maybe tonight it would work well enough to grant him a dreamless sleep.

Coming awake with a jolt, Draco stared around wildly before he shook off the last vestiges of the dream. A familiar one tonight, the scene in the ballroom. Draco stood by the fireplace, wanting to turn away but unable to stop watching. Granger struggled underneath the form of his aunt, who looked up with an insane grin, blood pouring down her chin where she had torn away a chunk of Grangers skin. He should stop it, had to stop it, but he still just stood watching, frozen with horror. The relief he had felt when Potter burst in was shaming, he should have been the one to do something. But he was a coward.

More than once he had thought of going to Madam Pomfrey to request a dreamless sleeping draught, but each time decided that it would be too easy. He felt somewhere deep down that he should remember these things, should have these dreams. It was a form of purgatory; his way of becoming a better man.

Knowing he would get no further sleep, he got up and headed to the showers. It was early, the sun's rays just creeping over the horizon, far too early for the other students to be up. He completed his morning ablutions without having to look over his shoulder, and was robed and on his way to the great hall for breakfast before the other boys were out of bed.

It was a good day today, no free periods. He handed in his Transfiguration essay, got some Defence Against the Dark Arts homework (practice wandless defence spells) managed the charms assignment easily (Obliviate: The memory modification charm was used as standard by Voldemort so he was already familiar with it) and Arithmancy was no more baffling than usual. All was going well for Draco, until he was on his way to the Library after supper.

By the time he heard the muffled steps behind him it was too late. He had just started to turn when;

"Petrificus Totalis!"

The curse hit him in the back, and he went down hard, straight on to his face. There was a sickening crunch, and sharp taste of blood in his mouth making him pretty certain his nose was broken. He heard derisive laughter and was then turned over so he could see his attackers. It was three Ravenclaws, two boys and a girl. Sixth years he thought, but didn't know their names.

"Death eater scum," she said. "How do you like a taste of your own medicine?"

The two boys manhandled him into the empty charms classroom nearby and slung him down behind the teacher's desk.

"Have a nice night Malfoy, enjoy charms tomorrow!" One of them gave him a half-hearted kick and they left the room sniggering. Draco lay there for a moment, relieved that the trio were rather amateur when it came to cruelty; At least he was fully dressed and would be found by a teacher in the morning.

He remembered a time when he would be burning with rage and humiliation at this attack, but he currently just felt tired, the coppery tang of blood in his both making him feel vaguely sick. At least he would get to practice his wandless magic he thought resignedly, and began concentrating 'Finite Incarnate'.

He had been laying there for about half an hour, trying in vain to free himself when he heard the door open and voices enter. For a moment he thought the Raven claws were back, that they had thought of something far more amusing to do with him; he didn't consider for more than a moment that they had an attack of conscience. He quickly disregarded that theory, it was a couple, he deduced, getting pretty heavy by the sounds of their breathing and soft groans.

Now this was humiliating. He really didn't want to listen to them getting it on, but equally didn't want to be discovered at this moment. 'Go away' He willed them futilely. After another couple of uncomfortable minutes,

"Wait… stop." Said a strangely familiar female voice. "No, Ron, I can't."

Draco realised with horror who it was, Granger and Weasley. His manta changed; 'don't find me, don't find me'. This was beyond humiliating.

"Please Ron, I'm not ready." She continued softly.

"But Hermione, I thought we could… you know," said Weasley, sounding rather put out.

"I'm sorry Ron, it's not that I don't want you, it's just this is our N.E.W.T. year, and we really don't need the distraction…"

He heard an annoyed huff, "Harry and Ginny did it ages ago," Ron said moodily.

"I don't care what Harry and Ginny have done!" snapped Hermione. "I'm just not ready..."

"Ok, well fine." Said Ron, his tone showing it was anything but. "I have homework to be getting on with."

Draco heard him walk over to the door and turn the handle.

"Ron wait!" said Hermione, sounding hurt, but the door had shut before she had finished.

Draco lay there, hoping she would follow, but instead he heard her shuffling about and a few small sniffs. 'Just go away!' He cried impotently in his head. Weasley was such an idiot, he mused. If you want someone to do something, you can either persuade them or threaten them, not whine at them like a petulant child. No wonder he just got turned down, where was the romance in that proposition? He really had no idea about women at all!

Draco was snapped out of his reverie when he heard Hermione approach the desk and utter a shrill scream when she caught sight of him prone on the floor.

"Oh gods," she exclaimed. "Finite Incantatem!"

Malfoy felt his body go slack and just lay for a moment in blessed relief.

"What happened to you?!" she cried, then gasped as he sat up.

"Malfoy?" she asked hesitantly, looking horrified.

"Yeah." He said, sitting up. Why had she not recognised him at once? He glanced down and saw that the front of his robes was dark with blood.

"Malfoy, your face…" said Hermione, distress plainly written on her features. He raised a hand to his cheek and it came away sticky.

"Shit!" He muttered; his nose was definitely broken.

"We have to get you to Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione, hastening to his side.

"No." He said quickly, "I don't need help. I can do it myself." He didn't want to walk through the halls to the hospital wing looking like this.

She stopped for a moment and then began to admonish him; "Don't be foolish, you can't…"

"Yes, Granger, I can" Draco cut her off. She watched him struggle to his feet, expression unfathomable.

"Sit down," she ordered suddenly, "I'll do it."

Bemused, he did as he was told, and lowered himself into the nearest chair.

"Episkey" With a neat flourish of her wand, Draco's nose crunched back into place.

"Shit," he swore again, reaching up to ensure his face was restored to its former appearance.

"That's better" she said. "We had better clean up that blood too, you look a fright! " She flicked her wand again "Scourgify!"

Now he was out of his immediate predicament, he started to feel the first sting of humiliation. She was still looking at him with concern, and more than a hint of pity.

"Who did this to you?" she demanded.

"None of your business!" he snapped, getting up from the chair; better her dislike than her pity. He was about to stalk from the room when he saw a flicker of hurt cross her face before she could control it. An unexpected prickle of guilt had him turning back to her. "I don't know who they were, OK. Three Ravenclaws. Sixth years I think. "

It was telling that she didn't ask why they had done it. Obviously the general feeling toward him had not gone unnoticed.

In the following silence, a soft flush crept across her cheeks, making it clear to Draco that she had just remembered that her exchange with Weasley had not been as private as she would have liked. She raised her chin and looked like she was going to say something, and Draco knew that was his cue to leave. He opened the door;

"Thanks granger," he said, glancing back at her. "Weasley's an idiot!"

He heard her gasp as the door swung shut. He shouldn't have said it, but couldn't help himself. Weasley was an idiot; she had become a very attractive woman, brilliant and kind-hearted, with tits and arse to die for. He smiled wryly at the lascivious turn his thoughts had taken, what would his father think? His son hot for a mudblood; then he recalled his father would never think anything again.

This often happened, he would be thinking of something random and he would be reminded of his father. He still wasn't sure how he felt about his father's fate. Of course he had loved him, but over the past two years he had watched with growing contempt as his father became more fearful and sycophantic to Voldemort and his lieutenants. He had a chance for redemption at the end with his family, but his pride would not allow it. He would never forgive his father for choosing death over a life with them, but at the same time he understood how his father felt. It was miserable to have so little, and to have fallen so far in the eyes of society, but he was alive. He and his mother had a chance to rebuild their lives, albeit in a tiny house on a muggle street. It was too difficult to examine it closely, and like Granger had said, it was N.E.W.T. year, and Draco could not afford the distraction.

'I hope Granger doesn't give in' he thought savagely. Weasley had done nothing to earn the right to claim Grangers innocence. Even Pansy with her overt sexuality had required compliments and the occasional gift to keep her happy; Weasley should be pulling out all the stops to get Granger into bed. What he would do…. He stopped himself there. He would do nothing, because he and Granger were not friends, most certainly not lovers, and never would be.

Feeling weary and rather dejected after the events of the evening, Draco decided to run the common room gauntlet and go straight to bed. Just before he reached the Slytherin dungeon he had an idea, and quickly performed an extendable shield charm on his signet ring, so should any other students get bright ideas of attacking him they would find it a little more difficult this time around. He never removed the heavy ring, engraved with the Malfoy family crest. It was a symbol of his previous life, and a reminder of how much had changed.

Next morning he was down at breakfast, ignoring the pointed stares from the Ravenclaw table, when the post arrived. He had become used to his lack of post, the care packages of food and money he used to get from home were but a distant dream now, but this morning he had a letter from his mother. He wrote to her every other week, mainly to make himself feel better more than her, but her replies were less frequent. He read the parchment with a heavy heart; she was being upbeat as usual but a lack of any real information told him the truth; she was miserable. Little wonder, she didn't know how to cope in the muggle world and was reluctant to go out. She had never had much practice at household spells, never having to perform them before and found cooking and cleaning difficult. She must be terribly lonely, he knew, but there was little he could do. He had to finish his education. Draco wondered if she was mourning his father. He could not be sure if there was much love left between them by the end, there were certainly no outward signs of affection between them, but maybe there was still something there? It was a question he didn't often ponder; it felt a little perverse to wonder about ones parents like that.

He looked over at the Gryffindor table where the chosen one and his followers usually sat, and was gratified to see a frosty silence between Weasley and Granger. No one looked his way, and he wondered if Granger had told anyone about how she had found him last night. And if not, why not?