NOTES:

+ Begins in September of 1998 after the war where the school is already repaired.

+ Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Draco are all returning for their final year, while it's Ginny's as well, so they are all together in the same year now.

+ Students who would most likely have graduated the previous year are remaining at Hogwarts because a lot of the students in Ginny's year are unknown.

This began as a rewrite to my other Dramione fic Letters. That is still up on this account if you would like to read it, but my hope is that this one will be much better. The storyline is going to be changed too much to simply update my current chapters over there as I edit them, so I ultimately decided to start this new one. I hope you enjoy!

Intolerable, arrogant, self-absorbed prick.

That's all Hermione can see now as she glares across the table at the bane of her existence bottled up in one blonde boy. Hermione shamelessly peers at him, squinting as if she's trying to make him catch fire. Maybe if he's stuck in the burn ward all year, he won't be Head Boy, and she'll be able to avoid him for the entire year.

Malfoy is unaffected by her stares, jotting down patrolling schedules for the Prefects. His otherwise neat handwriting is affected by the occasional jerk of the train, and he mutters under his breath each time this causes his quill to make a stray line. "Do you and the weasel want to be on a shift together?" he asks, eyes still on the parchment. He only looks up when she doesn't answer him. His aluminium eyes meet her clouded almond ones, and he chuckles at her obvious anger. "Maybe that's not a smart idea. I'll put him with one of the Hufflepuff kids instead, yeah?"

He waits in vain for a response, returning to the schedule seconds later and scribbling down Ron's name next to some boy's she had never met before. "Maybe the Head Boy and Girl should do a shift together," he suggests, smirking as he writes it down. Hermione's jaw clenches as Malfoy brags once again about his position, as if she hadn't achieved the same thing.

The sliding of the compartment door brings her out of her loathing for the boy across from her. Prefects begin to file into the compartment, filling in the seats. Both heads stand, shuffling to the end of the table that lacks chairs. Hermione internally curses at the fact that the open space is so limited; she could already tell that the entire meeting would consist of trying not to bump into Malfoy every time the train shifted.

He crosses his arms while Hermione fumbles with the stack of paper in front of her, struggling to put it in order before she begins the meeting. "It's nice to see all of you again, and my congratulations on achieving the high honor of being a Prefect. I'm Hermione Granger, the Head Girl this year. This is Draco Malfoy, and he will be the Head Boy… miraculously," she adds under her breath. Malfoy scoffs, opening his mouth to jump in and return the insult. She quickly cuts him off. "As a Prefect, your responsibility, first and foremost, is to protect Hogwarts and the witches and wizards belonging to it. To do this, each of you will sacrifice a few hours of your week to patrol the castle." Some students groan to themselves or exchange knowing glances. Hermione pays no attention, used to her peers' incompetence. "If you have any preference as to when you are scheduled, hand in a written request to one of the Heads by tomorrow evening. If there are any changes, please hand in a request two weeks prior."

A fifth year raises their hand. "What about quidditch?"

Malfoy takes over before Hermione gets the chance, obviously already annoyed by the frequently asked question. "Like she said, hand in your request and we'll work around it." The fifth year slumps back, obviously embarrassed by the stares he's receiving from the older Prefects.

"Yes, thank you... Draco." She notices him raise an eyebrow at the unusual first name basis. "There are only eleven of us who are not participating in Quidditch this year. A thanks to Harry, however, who has volunteered his time despite not technically being appointed a Prefect."

Harry nods to Hermione, but his blank stare and laid-back posture tells her that he hadn't been paying attention to anything, save the mention of his name. "Not a seeker anymore, Potter?" Malfoy teases.

"Team's full," he answers. "Ginny is a great seeker though; she deserves the spot."

Malfoy snorts. "She's not here, you don't need to suck up."

Harry doesn't respond, much to Hermione's surprise. She shoots him a half smile to show her gratitude, and continues. "We'll be keeping this short today. Headmistress McGonagall would like to address the group tomorrow evening immediately following dinner. Until then, the Prefect bathroom on the fifth floor is open for your use. I will pass out the patrolling schedules for the next week. If possible, work out any scheduling conflicts amongst yourselves for now." Hermione begins to hand the students copies of the schedule she had made over the summer.

Malfoy chimes in to finish up. "You'll be working with your fellow house Prefects to show the first years around after dinner. Sixth and seventh years should know the drill, so you fifth years can follow along with them." Hermione rejoins him at the front as she finishes handing out schedules. "Anything else, Granger?" he asks, taking his own copy of the schedule she offers to him.

"No. Are there any questions?" Some students shake their heads, but most are too busy looking over the schedules. "Alright. For the time being, please keep an eye out for trouble on the train, and have a good trip." She concludes the meeting, dismissing the group. Harry and Ron remain seated amidst the scrape of chair legs on the floor to talk to her while Malfoy walks straight to the Slytherin group to speak to his friends.

"Hey 'Mione!" Ron greets, wrapping her in a hug.

"I didn't see you before the train left! I thought you were going to stay home this year," she winks.

"I woke up late this morning," he answers. Hermione laughs, rolling her eyes.

"I figured. Did the two of you abandon Ginny to come here?"

"I would never," Harry joins in. "She's got Neville, Luna, and Dean. Are you going to come join us?"

She shakes her head. "Not for a while. We have to finish going through details." Hermione glances over at Malfoy, followed by Ron and Harry. He's in an animated conversation with Blaise Zabini, while Pansy Parkinson sits next to them, looking quite left out. Ron chuckles to himself at the sight.

"Have fun with that," Harry nods, patting her on the shoulder. Ron gives her a sympathetic smile, following Harry out of the train compartment and leaving her to the Slytherins.

In an attempt to avoid unprovoked ridicule from the three students, she sits and begins to sort through the stacks of paper. Her action is to no avail as she senses eyes on her. The two boys are looking in her direction while Parkinson seems to be staring into space.

"How can I help you?" Hermione asks rhetorically, more so inquiring as to why they have a sudden interest in her.

Malfoy ignores her question. "How was your summer?"

The lighthearted question somehow takes a disconcerting tone. "It was fine," she answers, fidgeting with the papers.

"Did you see Weasel?"

"Yes I did."

She catches a glimpse of Malfoy sharing a smug look with Blaise from her peripheral vision. "Has he gotten through those thick robes yet?"

Hermione presses her lips together. "You're disgusting."

"You really are," Zabini agrees, but has far more humor in his voice than hers had.

Malfoy shrugs. "I need to stay updated on your personal life."

"Why in Merlin's name would you need to do that?" she asks, resting her head in one palm.

He grabs the back of the empty chair next to Zabini, leaning toward her lazily. "We're going to be sharing a room. I need to know if I'm going to have to wait outside the portrait for you two lovebirds to finish."

"First of all, we're sharing a common space, not a room. Second of all… you're still disgusting." He shakes his head, stifling a laugh. "Can we finish going through this work?" she questions, giving a pointed look toward Zabini and Parkinson.

"Might as well," Malfoy gives in, straightening himself up. His friends rise, saying their goodbyes. Zabini gives Hermione a civil nod as he leaves, while Parkinson actively avoids her gaze. As they slide the door closed behind them, Malfoy joins Hermione at the end of the table, taking the seat across from her once again.

"I was thinking we can write down all the names of the Prefects open for patrolling each night, then start making schedules off of that," Hermione suggests. Malfoy agrees quickly, so they begin sorting through the schedules already turned in by the older students.

"When are we adding Potter to this list?" Malfoy asks as they finish adding the last of the schedules.

Hermione shrugs. "He's open whenever, but we should save his time for Quidditch season."

"He's really giving up being a seeker for his girlfriend?" Malfoy questions skeptically.

She shrugs. "He's not trying out for it. There's no guarantee that he would get the position even if he did try out." Malfoy chuckles. "What?" Hermione pries, pushing the parchment to the side to focus on him.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm sure Weaselette could beat him." Hermione ignores his complacent tone. "At least Gryffindor won't be a threat this year," he adds, aiming to taunt her.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. Who said you'll get the seeker position either?"

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Who said that's what I'm trying out for?" Hermione continues to stare at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of asking what he's going for. "Team captain is open this year."

"You're forgetting something important," Hermione begins. Malfoy raises an eyebrow, beckoning her to continue. "Daddy isn't here to buy you a spot."

Malfoy's grey eyes instantly turn a coal black, his lips turning white as he presses them together. "Let's finish this shit later." He stands, nearly knocking his chair back in the process.

"Can't take a joke, Malfoy?" Hermione jeers. He doesn't even acknowledge that she had spoken as he slams the compartment door shut behind him, leaving her with a stack of work to finish.

Draco stalks through the long hall of the train, walking straight through anyone who doesn't immediately jump out of his way. He earns dirty looks from those roaming around, but he can't bring himself to care enough to do anything, including deduct house points. How dare Granger stick her opinion where it doesn't belong. She knows absolutely nothing about his father. If Draco had said anything about her family, she would have jumped across the table and bitten his head clean off. What gives her the right to pretend that not only does he not have talent, but that his father is gone?

He's not gone.

In what is probably a minute, but feels like twenty, Draco reaches the Slytherin-inhabited section of the train. Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne sit at a table together. He marches up to the side of the table, gripping Blaise by the collar before he even notices Draco's presence. A strong pull of the fabric sends his best friend's legs into the table as he is forced to stand. With limited grace, he scrambles off the booth and out from under the table. Draco doesn't give him a moment to compose himself as he continues to pull the boy closer to the back of the train, leaving the two girls in the opposite booth confused and annoyed.

"Hey, what the hell?" Blaise finally says after catching his footing enough to focus on not falling. His hand pries Malfoy's off of his collar and he attempts to fix the wrinkled fabric, to no avail.

"Walk faster," Draco hisses, nearly in a sprint to reach a private compartment in the back of the train. Blaise huffs, jogging for a moment to catch up before matching Draco's long strides.

"Where are we headed?" Draco doesn't answer. They approach one of the four compartments in the back. Each is full, so Draco narrows down on one filled with kids who look like they are second or third years. "Find another place to sit," Draco demands after throwing open the door. The children turn, intending to challenge him before they presumably notice the flaring of the Head Boy's nostrils. The group simultaneously rises and files out, glancing back at the pair.

"Sorry," Blaise mutters as they leave. As soon as the final kid has passed, Draco grabs Blaise and pulls him into the compartment, sliding the door closed behind them. "Wow, mate, I'm sorry but I'm not into you," Blaise attempts to joke.

Draco acts as if he hasn't spoken. "Fuck Granger. Fuck Granger! Fuck her."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

He peers at his friend. "Fuck you, too."

"Still not interested."

Draco pulls in a deep breath, attempting to force air into his lungs after having forgotten to for the past few minutes. "Merlin's fuck!" he yells, giving up on attempting to calm himself down and throwing his clenched fist into the thin wall. Blaise looks between him and the now-present dent, but figures it's best to stay silent. "Fuck Granger and all her muggle-loving friends."

Blaise pats the spot across from him, beckoning Draco to sit and calm down. "What happened, mate?"

Draco refuses the offer, crossing his arms and pacing the small compartment. "She said Father was gone."

"What do you mean? She said he's dead…?"

"No! She said he's not around to… buy me a spot on the Quidditch team."

Blaise frowns, trying to stifle a laugh at the witch's insult. "That's harsh. He isn't around though, is he?"

"He is." Draco eyes Blaise.

"He's not here, though."

"Well, he's not dead!"

Blaise nods. "I don't think that's what she meant, though."

Draco huffs, dropping his shoulders as if to admit defeat. "I know." He takes the spot across from Blaise, letting his arms fall to his sides as his muscles relax. He can't help but finally notice the stinging of his bloodied fist as the adrenaline pumping through his veins dissipates.

"You still don't know where he is?" Blaise asks, crossing one leg over the other.

Draco shakes his head. "There hasn't been anything in the paper about his trial yet. Not even a confirmation that it actually happened. Hell, not even a letter to my mother about it!"

"Maybe you should just chalk it up to an incompetent government for now. There's no use in focusing on it so much," Blaise suggests.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Draco cries rhetorically, though he begins to hope for an answer. "My father might be dead, or he might be serving a life sentence on an island occupied by soul-sucking ghosts. I don't even know which one I'd rather have be true. If he's dead, he won't have to live the rest of his life without a will to do anything besides wither away. But if he's alive," Draco pauses, willing the lump in his throat to disappear, "there's a chance he could get out…."

"Mate…" Blaise trails off.

Draco shakes his head. "I know. I know he won't, but it's all I can hope for." Blaise keeps staring at Draco with overly kind eyes, and he shifts in his seat, diverting his gaze to the hills sweeping by outside. "Yeah, well...maybe I overreacted. Sorry."

Blaise moves to the other side of the compartment, now seated inches from Draco. His hand rests on Draco's shoulder, forearm against his back as he comforts the blonde boy. "It's going to be tough. It's going to fucking suck, mate. But you're going to get through it, I promise you. And whatever happens… it'll be for the best."

Draco nods, leaning down to rest an elbow on his thigh. His thumb and middle finger press on his temples for a moment until rubbing his face, resting it in his palm. "Thanks. I appreciate you being here. You know...there's no one else I can talk to about him."

"I know." Blaise pats his shoulder, standing up. "Come on, let's get back out there. Maybe listening to Pansy complain about her entire summer will make you feel better."

"Probably worse...but yeah, maybe." Draco follows Blaise, leaving the compartment and heading toward the rest of their friends, exercising much more care for who is in the hallway than he had previously. It seems to be a much shorter trek than earlier as the backs of Pansy and Daphne roll into sight quickly. The two boys slide into the booth across from them, and the girls abruptly stop their conversation to eye the pair.

"Nice to see you, Draco," Daphne says.

"You too." The girls stare at Draco, seemingly expecting him to say something of his sudden, short-lived appearance earlier.

"So, what's new?" Blaise finally asks, taking the attention from his friend.

Pansy takes it upon herself to answer the question. "I was stranded in the middle of nowhere at my aunt's estate all summer because someone," she blatantly stares at Draco, "couldn't be arsed to answer my owls and let me stay with them instead." She waits for him to apologize or make up an excuse, or even act as if he had been paying attention to her in the slightest. Draco continues to blankly stare at her. Pansy furrows her brows and shakes her head. "I'll have you know I had to see family I hadn't seen in years. Let me tell you, there is a good reason I avoided them for so long, but all that effort has gone out the damn window." Draco rolls his eyes, causing Pansy to grow exasperated. "You know, Draco, you're truly a heartless git!"

"I'm very sorry, but I cannot express to you how much I do not care," he states flatly.

She shoots up, standing awkwardly with her knees bent against the booth and palms pressed to the table. Draco worries that she'll make a loud, angry speech with the amount of air she sucks into her lungs. Much to everyone's surprise, she only peers at him before storming off to nowhere in particular. Daphne sighs, lifting her eyebrows for a second before sliding off the booth and hurrying after Pansy.

Blaise turns to him. "I don't know how you made her shut up... but I need to learn."

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