The Malfoy Manor had quickly been restored to its former glory, the many gardens blooming despite the dismal clouds that hung overhead.

The same could not be said for the family name. The trial dragged on long after the events of the war had settled, and it had a visible impact on the Malfoy's.

Their once glamorous name had been written off by both sides. They had all been cast out of society. Their status as one of the Sacred Twenty Eight remained, and their elite position in society was in a precarious point, but slipped everyday.

Lucius Malfoy had been stripped of all his Ministry titles, and removed from the Wizengamot entirely.

Narcissa was no longer invited to most of high society's galas and parties, she had barely stepped out of the house for anything besides the necessary testimonies at the Ministry.

Draco was forced to return to school to represent his family name, to keep their place in society. Many of his former friends and eager followers had disassociated from him, as predicted, and Draco knew more than ever that he could not trust anyone.

Between the three Malfoy's, they had led to the death or imprisonment of hundreds on both sides of the War.

The air in the Manor had been heavy for years, but now it contested even the period of time Voldemort lived and walked in the halls.

The family's prospects were incredibly limited, and every single one of them knew it. Their trusted network of confidants and age-old aids were scattered and torn, majority imprisoned or rotting in the dirt.

Lucius and Narcissa didn't care much for that. They had only ever been able to trust one another. They had a much bigger concern on their minds.

Graceful as ever, Lucius moved his chess piece, dark eyes glazed over as he stared blindly ahead of him. It was the eighth month of his house arrest, a lenient sentence on behalf of the connections he still had with higher society, as well as some reluctant admissions of innocence on his family's part from the Golden Trio, who had backed Draco's claim that he had been essential for the Dark Lord's downfall. He had been lucky enough to escape the Dementor's Kiss, but at the price of many other lives. He had named almost all of the high profile Death Eaters who had escaped, and had been essential in imprisoning enough to make an army. Despite his house arrest ending just under a month, in time for his final assessment from the Ministry, he was not keen to reenter society.

Narcissa Malfoy automatically countered her husband's pawn, her bishop knocking it off the board. Her mind was elsewhere as well. Unlike her husband's reminiscing of the past, she fretted for the future.

Her son was one of the very few Slytherins returning to Hogwarts. She and her husband backed the decision, as they needed to put a strong foot forward as the wizarding society headed into a New Age. To have both Malfoy men cowering at home was not a good look.

Dot, their house-elf appeared with a subdued crack, carrying Draco's suitcase with her.

"Masters Mister and Missus Malfoy, Master Draco is about to leave to Hogwarts." The house-elf struggled with the weight of the bag. "He wishes to know if Sir and Madam have any last remarks before he takes his journey."

"Very well," Lucius nodded, foggy gaze clearing with seriousness as he thought of his son representing their family for his last year at Hogwarts. "Summon him."

Bowing, Dot Apparated from sight, returning in seconds with Draco.

He looked gaunt, his eyes sinking into his head, already regal cheekbones jutting out of his face. The past few months had been incredibly trying for the family, countless Ministry Raids, immeasurable amount of social ostracism. Regardless, something deep inside him insisted on returning to Hogwarts for the final year.

"Did you not drink the Sleeping Draught last night?" Narcissa asked disapprovingly, eyeing the grey tone of her son's skin.

Draco shook his head, jaw set in a firm line.

His thick white-blond hair was messy and his light eyes were surrounded by shadow. Already prominent cheekbones were emphasized by the hollowness of his cheeks, brought on by his lack of appetite through his family's trials.

Narcissa tore her gaze from her only son, heart clenching in sorrow.

"That's not what we called you here to talk about." Lucius stood, his hollow eyes matching his son's. "We spoke to you about this issue two years ago. Your inheritance."

Draco nodded grimly, muscled tensing at the idea of another challenge to get through.

"When your mother and I met, we were 18 and 19. Even at that age, we felt as though we were running out of time. It was a very difficult, very strenuous courting period, Draco. You are 19 this year. We fear your delay in finding your partner may prove fatal." Lucius urged. "I am only a quarter Veela, and your mother is half. She has stressed the discomfort she went through, her mother met her destined mate at 17. You must not push fate any longer."

Draco remained silent. He knew full well the implications of not finding his mate soon. The summer he turned 17, his parents had given him a stack of books and a long talk about the Malfoy lineage's more magical attributes. However, that was the same year that political tension increased and he soon found himself doing the Dark Lord's bidding and mastering Occlumency, both rather draining uses of his time. He had been repressing his Veela instincts through the war, unwilling to relinquish more control of his actions after being forced into his father's legacy within the Dark Lord's close circle.

"Draco, this may be your final year. Please do not waste it. We did not fight so hard to succeed for you to die over this." Narcissa pleaded with her son. She knew he had been having his own internal struggles with whether or not he should pursue the efforts of finding his mate.

Draco had expressed his concerns over his fate multiple times to his mother, and she understood his belief that he wasn't meant to find happiness, especially after the family's actions in the war. She didn't blame him. Very few families, pureblood or not, were willing to extend their names in marriage after the events that had come to light after the war.

"I understand." Draco's voice was monotone, eyes unblinking.

He personally did not care if he found his mate or not.

The Malfoy line was as close to disgrace as it had ever been, and he wasn't sure if continuing the cursed lineage was the right thing to do. He had purely lucked out by having his school-age enemies bear witness to his failure to carry through orders, and it was the only reason him and his father were still alive and had their souls intact.

"Remember not to trust anyone." Lucius warned him. "If you find your partner, do not write to us about it. Veela's are protected within the Ministry, but they are on the hunt for anything to hold against our family. I don't need anything getting intercepted. You're Head Boy this year. There is a portrait in your room, which you will use as your method of communication for this matter and this matter only. Everything else goes through common owl mail, in case anyone watching your correspondences grows suspicious."

"Of course." Draco cleared his throat. "Will that be all?"

Nodding, his father returned to the game.

Narcissa stood and walked towards her son, drawing him close and pulling him down, leaving a kiss on his forehead.

Draco had grown much taller, which made his lean shape appear stretched out. She patted his back as she embraced him, wishing she felt more flesh on his bones. The trials of the past two years had left her son as unkempt as a Malfoy could get, his face and physique looking malnourished and haunted.

"Don't worry, Mother." Draco's heavy lidded eyes made him seem barely responsive to the world around him, his strangely black eyelashes darkening his gaze.

His father didn't look at him, the pallor in his skin telling Draco more than enough about how successful he thought the young Malfoy heir would be. Narcissa, on the other hand, tearfully gazed at her son, unwilling to tear her eyes from him, lest he disappear before she knew it.

"We will miss you dearly, my Draco. One more month before your father is permitted to leave the property. After the assessment by the Ministry, he'll be given his wand back, and we will meet with you as many times as possible."

Draco wrapped his arm around his mother's thin frame, understanding her worries. He would not have advised them to leave the house without both of them having their wands on them either.

Just because his father's former Death Eater peers had been rounded up, didn't mean that there weren't other threats awaiting the Malfoy pair in the vast wizarding world.

"I'll do my best this year." Draco knew he couldn't promise his parents certain success.

The only thing he knew was that his mate had been at Hogwarts in the past, remembering the strange temptation to follow a scent through the crowds in the previous years.

He had chosen to follow his head and complete the Dark Lord's tasks instead, in order to preserve his family's ranking.

This was not a promising lead, as it was highly possible that his match could have chosen to not return due to the previous year's events.

"I'll be late if I keep dawdling."

Bidding farewell to his parents, he took his suitcase from Dot and stepped into the fireplace. With a flurry of Floo Powder, he found himself in the Ministry, where a portly man lead him to the nearest exit.

Ignoring the stares and whispers, Draco stepped into the sleek black car parked outside of the hidden doors.

As part of his family's agreement with the Ministry to remain out of prison and to have their solitude, despite Draco's age, he was not permitted to engage in magic use outside of Hogwarts until his father's final assessment, which was due in a month.

As such, he was not allowed to use his wand or any nonverbal spells, such Apparition, which meant the Ministry has had to arrange his transportation back to Hogwarts.

Staring at his reflection in the window, he rubbed at his temples.

His Veela transformation had been long subdued over the past two years, and after meeting with a couple species experts, he knew he was in for an incredibly painful year, as the less stressful months ahead would prove ideal for his overdue, accelerated growth to begin. He had felt it months ago in the slow but noticeable enhancement of his senses and his ravenous appetite.

In the beginning, it had been hell, a constant deluge of overstimulation, and his already frayed nerves were always on the verge of explosion. But now, he was finely tuned to his abilities and found them only slightly irritating as he tried to ignore the whispered conversations everywhere he walked in the wizarding world.

Besides his senses increasing, he found that his features had changed in the slightest sense.

His formerly gray eyes had paled to a liquid silver, his eyebrows had a higher arch, his lips were more defined, although they remained in their constant scornful position.

His hair had gotten thicker, his white-blond hair developing into a wave, the curl becoming more prominent at the ends.

He was broader and leaner, despite his on-and-off appetite and refusal to enjoy any extra-curricular activities. He had barely left the house since the trials had concluded last year, choosing to send the house-elves out for the necessary errands.

He stood taller than he had at the battle at Hogwarts, despising how his stature made him stand out more over a crowd, as if being the only Malfoy heir wasn't attention seeking enough.

This way, whoever managed to not notice the telltale features of the disgraced wizarding family would be able to see him over most magical creatures.

Opening his suitcase, he rifled through the unread letters he had received from his remaining friends. Taking them out and tucking them inside his cloak to read on the train ride, he closed his suitcase, readying himself as King's Crossing came into sight. The driver parked in front of the train station and Draco wordlessly got out, carrying his luggage with him.

As he made his way through the crowds, ignoring the gaping Muggles and the glaring wizards and witches, he seamlessly found his way onto the school platform and into the train, well before it due to leave, giving him plenty of time to settle into the compartment of his choice and lock the door, getting started on the stack of letters.

—

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, her brown hair gleaming in the dim candlelight. She was already dressed for her last year at Hogwarts, stomach burning with nerves as she contemplated her choice once again.

To be honest with herself, Hermione wasn't sure why she had decided to return.

Harry had decided to pursue a career in the Ministry, a shadowing position in the Defense sector, which was a promising lead into an Auror position.

Ron had joined a quidditch team in Scotland, training to impress his dream team, the Chudley Cannons.

They often wrote to each other, as their friendship wasn't one to fade over the distance, but they had begun to create their separate paths.

Harry and Ron had promised to visit Hogwarts as much as they could through the school year, as Ginny would be joining her in returning, but she knew they had their individual lives to navigate, and didn't expect them to be able to come by as often as she'd like.

She supposed she was tied to the school with a sense of responsibility; so many students and faculty had fallen in the battle, her position as Head Girl was more than essential in helping restore the usual atmosphere of Hogwarts.

A part of her didn't want to admit it, but she felt a nostalgic draw to the castle walls.

Her time there had been so influenced by Harry and Ron that she felt as though she had barely been able to finish school off in a satisfactory way.

She would never feel completely whole until she felt that she finished her magical education to the best of her benefit.

While her childhood Muggle friends were off attending post-secondary, she couldn't help but feel as though she was unprepared to be independent; stuck at a crossroads of knowledge between the Magical community and the Muggle.

The school would be changed, although physical reconstruction had already been completed, she wasn't sure how confident she was about her own ability to go back to the battlefield which had claimed so many lives. Her hand clenched around her brush, her palm growing clammy as she lifted it to ease the frizz that was already growing from the Australian humidity.

Her parents had gotten their memories back recently, as the last of the active Death Eaters had been round up three months ago. They had chosen to remain in Australia for now, unwilling to go back to their careers immediately when they've lost so much time with their only child. They had eaten every meal together, and gone on countless family trips through the continent during their time together, and they weren't pleased to hear that Hermione was heading back to her old school for her final year.

A rather large part was glad she wouldn't have to deal with the tense dynamic between her, Harry and Ron. During their Horcrux journey, she had made her fair share of mistakes. It had always been a juvenile habit of hers to seek out people who were different from her, but her taste in boyfriends were often too polarizing.

She cringed at the reminder that all of her ex-involvements had been with rather stubborn and insecure, brutish Quidditch players.

After the war, society was slowly righting itself, and Hermione found herself wanting to relate to many of her friends who had decided to not return to Hogwarts in favour of leaving the past behind.

Her trip to Diagon Alley had proved to be rather socially educational at the very least. Many of her former peers had firmly lodged themselves into the new higher elite as the Wizarding World was reorganizing itself.

Reflecting on her own needed maturity and restraint in romantic ventures, she smoothed down the wrinkles in her outfit and carefully put in her new earrings, dainty pearls that hung in a string from her earlobes.

As she steadied herself in front of the mirror, she tucked her wand away into her cloak pocket and busied herself with her luggage.

This year was going to be different. She was finally going to be able to focus on what she needed to; her studies. The additional year in Hogwarts would provide her with some much-needed educational closure after traipsing through the wilderness with her two friends for the better part of the past year.

Her parents, bleary eyed from the barely-there dawn, watched as their only daughter dragged her suitcase down the stairs.

"Honey, if anything happens, let us know, and we'll be there as soon as possible." Mr. Granger insisted, hating that he wouldn't be able to offer his daughter anything besides emotional comfort should anything dangerous occur.

"Don't worry about bothering us, dear." Her mother grasped her hand in earnest. "If we can't make it, we'll make sure to let Mr and Mrs Weasley know. If you make any new friends this year, make sure we meet them."

"Of course, Mum. Love you, Dad." Hermione's eyes teared up at the idea of leaving her parents so soon. "I'll write as much as possible."

"Oh, are you sure you have to go?" Mrs. Granger clutched her hands together, brown eyes creased in worry. "I just don't have such a good feeling about it."

Mr. Granger rolled his eyes playfully.

"It's just nerves, Mum." Hermione shared a mirthful look with her father. They had never believed in anything like premonitions or anything, but her mother was more prone to being swayed by fickle emotions.

"Oh, maybe we'll come by to visit you in the Spring!"

"Not for Christmas?" Hermione teased, knowing the Australian Christmases were something her parents had grown to look forward to, reclining in the sand while she was stuck in the snow.

"Oh… well, perhaps."

Her parents hemmed and hawed, smiling awkwardly before their daughter enveloped them in a hug and readied her wand. They gave her one last kiss and watched as she took a step back, a nervous smile gracing her features.

Her figure folded into itself infinitesimally as she Apparated.