Alright, allow me to fill in some details: Harry and Ron became Aurors without completing their seventh year at Hogwarts. Hermione returned for her seventh year after the war, along with Draco, and Theodore Nott. Ginny also finished her schooling and now plays for the Holyhead Harpies. Theo (b.1979) married Penelope Clearwater (b. 1976) and Harry is engaged to Ginny. I think I've made this fairly obvious, but just a heads up: Narcissa and Lucius are dead. Narcissa was murdered by Rudolphus Lestrange shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts for her betrayal, and Lucius died six months after with a broken heart. Lestrange rots in Azkaban for his crimes and Draco was pardoned after Harry's testimony at his trial. Slughorn continues to teach Potions, Penelope teaches Charms, Neville teaches Herbology and Harry is preparing to teach DADA on the side while McGonagall looks for a full-time professor. Hermione went back and found her parents, and after a few years of research, was able to restore their lost memories. She bought her own place and lives next door to her best friends (13 Grimmauld Place). There's a countdown - in days - to Hogwarts' opening day.

Rated M for language. also sex, violence, torture and major character death in the later chapters. (so yea, the whole shebang)

Like? Love? Hate? Don't care? Let me know! That Rowling woman owns everything.

Very nervous about this and currently sweating my way into dehydration,

Kore.

Chapter 1: Eight Years Later

The Ministry of Magic Atrium, Twenty Days Remaining.

Draco felt his breathing grow shallow as the ceremony ended. His fingers laced tightly around the scroll that Kingsley Shacklebottom had just handed him. If he was the sentimental type, he would have wept - not by shedding a stray tear here and there but by howling with an intensity that would have cracked his lungs. Instead, Draco's throat just burned with emotion and it hurt to swallow. Redemption tasted bitter on his tongue. More than anything in his life, more than the scroll in his hand that confirmed that he was a competent and employed Auror working for the Ministry, more than the approval he had sought after for eight years, Draco wanted - nay, needed - his parents to see him now. His mother would have been proud, she would have embraced him and kissed his cheek lightly. His father would have sneered, but he wouldn't have insulted him, and that alone would have been enough to show his pride. He felt them now, despite their deaths and their abusive judgment in the past, he felt their presence and their lingering ache for him to succeed.

As soon as the crowd began to dissipate, Draco struggled against the friends and family of his co-graduates, brushing shoulders with strangers, until he was a few feet away from the nearest fireplace. Behind him, the statue of the Golden Trio stood at a staggering height in the Atrium and served as the background for all the celebratory pictures. With a wave of his wand, Kinglsey had sent the stage, microphone, and speakers packing, replacing the formal decorations with colorful silver confetti and banners. The Minister of Magic still lacked Dumbledore's ompf, but not the Headmaster's love for Potter and his gang. Despite all his reforms, Draco found the Minister's efforts half-hearted. Yes, he had passed many laws in favor of purebloods, while still respecting the growing muggle-born population. Yes, his new regulation that allowed half-guilty Death Eaters, much like Draco, himself, to apply to the Auror program had helped to cease a lot of the tension. But still, as soon as the names Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott had been read out loud today and they had been heralded as the brand-new graduates from the Auror training program, the Minister of Magic had hesitated as if deciding at the last minute to withhold their certificates. The small crowd had clapped with suspicion and rather unenthusiastically. Only Penelope, sweet Penelope, had cheered with a loud hoot, after rising to her feet with an alarming urgency.

Somewhere between meeting Penelope Clearwater as a friend of Theo's, to the last time he had seen her before today (when she had gifted him a plain manilla envelope with the sonogram of the developing baby Nott), Draco had accepted her as the often bothersome yet maternal sister who he could not escape. Sister, only because Theo was his brother, not by blood but because of their mutual absence of real family. They shared similar passions in Quidditch, and politics and the two Slytherin alums had navigated through the post-war days relying on each other's support. When they had returned to Hogwarts to complete their seventh year, even the bloody wind seemed estranged against them. The bullies were bullied, and relentlessly too, for the loss of good people, truly innocent people, rang loud around the castle walls.

If there had been any doubt in Draco's mind that he was against all the blood purity bullshit, and Salazar's undying agenda to rid the wizarding world of all muggle-borns, it had been erased the day Granger had saved him and Nott from a group of fifth-year Gryffindors who had attacked them near the Great Lake with only the worst of hexes. The Head Girl had marched in, with her nose still rising towards the sky, but with a stern look on her face that she only served to her housemates.

She had yanked a lanky boy by his ear, as he was attempting to hide in nearby shrubbery.

"Bennet, you and your friends will come with me to the Headmistresses office, at once. Do not" - Granger had pointed her dainty finger at the group, who had all dropped their eyes to stare at the dead winter grass - "repeat this mistake, or I will personally have you expelled!"

When she had addressed the Slytherin boys, her features had softened with pity, of all things. Draco had detested that look so much.

"Nott, Malfoy, can I have a word?"

The clouds hung low that day and it was a known fact that tomorrow morning would be shrouded in fog. It was the kind of weather that would have otherwise inspired lovebirds to nuzzle into each other's arms by the fireplaces, whispering wishful promises of infatuation, only for them to break in heartache by the next rainy day. Instead, the avenging team of Gryffindors was out in the cold, picking on half-innocent parties to quench their hurt.

The three of them had barely shuffled a few feet away from the attackers before Granger had muttered a Muffliato.

"You didn't stop them. All you did was cast Shield Charms," she had said, managing to make even that sound like an accusation.

When he had met her questioning gaze, the pity had intensified ten-fold. It gnawed at Draco's stomach, forcing him to answer back with a bite.

"Tell me, Granger, if I had even disarmed one of these fools, would you take me to see McGonagall?" Hermione had shifted her weight from her left hip to the right and moved her eyes to stare at the spot just above the boys' heads. Draco had stepped towards her then, accusing her in return. "No. You would throw me in Azkaban without so much as a doubt in your empty little head."

"There was no point," Theo had echoed the sentiments. Granger had saved them that one time at Hogwarts but not many people came to their support thereafter. Their trails at the Wizengamot, their training at the Auror headquarters, even their banking with the goblins of Gringotts - all their endeavors in the adult wizarding world had been infused with subtle remarks about their past association with the Dark Lord. It never let the two men forget that no one, save for maybe their close friends (most of whom were in the same boat as them), trusted them.

As Draco reached for the Floo powder above the fireplace, a firm grasp around his right arm drew his attention back to the emptying hall.

"Not so fast, Draco! You're not running away today of all days. The three of us have to have a picture taken, and then, if you could, take a picture of us, alright?" Penelope gestured to her husband and herself, before finishing, "The mums will hound us for it as soon as we owl them!"

Theo shot Draco a bemused look before wrapping a protective arm around his wife's waist and pulling the woman to his side. He pecked her cheek, which was blushed as she was out of breath, and whispered something about slowing down, especially with the new pregnancy taking a toll on her. She swatted his arm away, dismissed his warnings and handed Draco the Magic!ick camera.

When the three of them got their picture taken, Penelope tsked at Draco and demanded that he smile.

"Oh, come on! The least you could do is be happy," she scolded him in a teasing tone with a twinkle in her eye that kept him from making a snide remark. He scowled back but managed to replace the tight line of his lips into an upward curve.

"Leave him be, Penny, the bloke's dead inside," Nott chuckled, shaking his head and catching the look of disinterest on his best mate's face. The resulting photograph, which Penelope would share with her children years after the incident, was comical at best - Draco glancing towards Penelope and then pressing his lips together to form his signature smirk as he faced the camera, Theo laughing effortlessly as he looked over his wife and onto his best friend and Penelope rolling her eyes at her two Slytherin boys who had her sandwiched in the middle, before supporting her round belly with her left hand. When he saw that polaroid for the first time, Theo could not get over the striking similarity between Lucius and his son. The dimensional limitations of photography accentuated Draco's features and Nott knew that if a passerby misconstrued the hardness of his mate's face and attributed it to the smugness that plagued the senior Malfoy, he could not blame them. Draco was undeniably smug, but Theo understood him well enough to chalk it up to a defense mechanism at best. The hardness, Theo credited to postwar guilt and the loss of both the Malfoy patriarch and Narcissa.

Draco Malfoy's Apartment. Nineteen Days Remaining.

The owl was waiting outside his window, pecking away. Amusing little thing with brown feathers, a bit of white here and there. A Hogwarts tag hung from his left wing, which made him reluctant to receive the letter altogether.

It was addressed to him, obviously. From McGonagall, obviously. But what was far from obvious was the actual purpose of the letter, the contents between "To" and "From" were just blurred words pooled together. She had mentioned within it that she had a vacant post at the school. A post that sodding Potter had been prepping for all summer but because of "urgent distractions" he would not be able to fill his hours. Maybe tomorrow he could sneak into the Ministries records to see which case was challenging the famous Auror Potter so much. How typical of the Chosen One, Draco thought - he was to be excused from yet another inexcusable expectation.

So, she was asking an ex-Death Eater to replace the Golden Boy? Ha! This woman had surely had too much brandy for one night or finally, parts of her brain were dissolving. Draco's reply was as gentle as he could manage: No. At least he had added the full stop at the end, it would douse all hoping fires in the old bat's heart. He would not entertain her by taking on the post and he certainly would not leave the doors open for discussion.

He should have left the door open for discussion, though. He realized this two days after sending in his refusal because that very day he began work at the Auror Headquarters. From new recruits to senior Aurors to hot secretaries - everyone, for Merlin's sake - eyed him and Nott with a glaring suspicion. He managed to ignore it for the first two days, but the third day was unbearable. The news of Nott's departure came at noon, which put him in the foulest mood.

"No one willing takes on the Hogwarts watch, Theo," Draco commented. He was trying to be casual, but disappointment drenched his every syllable.

"Penelope is teaching Charms this year, mate - since Flitwick retired and the Patil girl left after a year. The Hogwarts watch only makes sense. If the Ministry's paying me to be with my wife while doing a few security checks here and there, I'm taking it." Theo picked at the lobe of his right ear, a thing he did often when he spoke the truth. While most deceivers subconsciously compensated for their thievery by fidgeting, blinking or resorting to some nervous tick, Nott could not mask his honesty. "Plus, she's due in January and I want to be there along the way, you know?"

"No, I don't know actually. Haven't knocked anyone up yet." Draco let another smile slip, one that didn't quite touch his silver eyes.

"Yet." was all Nott said, cocking his head to one side suggestively before he grabbed his files and headed for his desk. He left for Hogwarts later that evening.

That night, Draco mauled over the letter he had received from McGonagall. Why him? Why now, after so many years? Why not Weasley or Granger or even the Weaslette or any of the Order members that the Headmistress clearly preferred? The woman detested him the same way Snape had detested the Gryffindor try-hards. Even in the adult world where inconsequential school favorites and politics carried no weight, Minerva acted curt with him. Once he had seen her during the Auror training and once before that in Diagon Alley, on a random Sunday. Both times, he had been greeted with narrowed eyes and a very subtle nod that he thought he had imagined.

13 Grimmauld Place. Sixteen Days Remaining.

Hermione woke with a start at the sound of an owl pecking at her window. The wine glass slumped, about to tip over from her relaxed fingers and the deserted food had cooled to an inedible temperature. The TV ran along with hushed sounds. Sleep mocked her and she mocked back by staying up until the nights lightened into mornings. Just in the past week, the witch had spent three out of the six nights huddled under a soft, yellow lamp, reviewing and redrafting her propositions for better treatment of house-elves. While she had herself requested the position at The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she had come to resent her employment for her peers' sheer lack of motivation and common sense. The only two minds who engaged her, often stayed out of the office entirely - Mr. Diggory at home with his ailing health and Grimblehawk in the field, gathering research data.

Against the telly's constant hum, sleep finally graced her and she found herself feeling a twang of annoyance at the tapping - three raps sounded, then silence, then three repeated again.

She rose from her post on the couch and cracked open her window to the crisp August air. The owl was unrecognizable, although exceptionally cute with brown feathers and traces of white mixed in - a tag hung with the Hogwarts crest from its wing. Its beady eyes perked at the sight of the offering that she held in her right palm. She opened the letter with one hand as the owl ate from her other. Leaning against the windowsill, she skimmed over the words before the pecking of the bird's beak on her empty hand brought her back to reality.

Hermione contemplated going next door to check if Ginny was present but realized that the only reason she was sulking in the confines of her own home was because the red-head, newly engaged witch was helping Ron fix the plumbing at his apartment. Hermione said her goodbye to the owl, closed the crack and bounded to the fireplace before Flooing to her favorite place and to one of her favorite people.

Hogwarts: Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom, A Few Moments Later.

Hermione arrived through the fireplace and immediately hit her head on the low ceiling of the Floo entrance, following it with a rub to her left forehead with a very Ron-like "Bloody hell!"

"Hermione? Is that you?" Harry asked from somewhere within the dimmed room.

"Who else?" she breathed out in a light laugh as she ran up to him and greeted her best friend with a tight embrace.

"I knew you'd come, I just thought it would be tomorrow, or over the weekend sometime," the man said, adjusting his glasses that the witch had tipped during their hug.

"Oh hush, I'm here now. What'd you have to ask me that couldn't be owled?" Hermione walked past Harry and looked around the classroom. So many memories invaded her mind, she couldn't help but smile. All the teachers' names muddled together - there had been so many through the years - but one wolfish professor appeared in her mind instantly. She lamented the Lupins many a time but now when she remembered the Marauder, it dawned on her just how much Teddy was turning out like his father.

"Actually, I don't know how to say it yet. I was going to practice because I thought I had more time before you showed up."

The veracity in Harry's voice concerned Hermione because the three of them never conversed with such formality. Even in the six strenuous months that Ron and she had shared immediately after their breakup, there was never a sense of obligation.

"Out with it, Harry," she said, turning around to face the spectacled man and tapping her foot with impatience.

"Something's happened. Here, at Hogwarts. McGonagall asked me to come in to see if it was a real threat. Possibly, one that warranted postponing the school's opening next month." Harry's voice dropped and he began to fidget with the buttons on his robes, "I thought...well, I thought, I could use your advice."

"Have you told Ron?" Hermione's face fell as she considered her best friend's words. Hogwarts never postponed its opening. The school stayed open, even during times it should have been closed. These very walls had suffered through Umbridge, the Carrows and even during the rebuilding efforts after the war, only a few wings had been temporarily shut. Hogwarts, however, was always open to all its students.

"I haven't told anybody. I don't know if we should worry him yet," as Harry explained, the wizard moved towards the large wooden desk which was covered with loose parchment, three dried inkwells, a few dying candles and an owl stand sans an actual owl. A snitch rested on a golden, ornate pedestal, with the familiar I open at the close inscription. There were books stacked too, reaching almost the height of Harry's messy hair but from their dust-collecting covers, Hermione presumed that not one book had been opened since last semester's end.

"The school's been changing. It started with the stairs - one night, they were fine but, by morning, every single one of them would only lead to the dungeons." The wizard continued staring at the mess on his desk as he spoke, his head hung low as his fingers picked at the loose parchment.

"Then a week later, McGonagall said the portraits began whispering, sort of like Walburga's back home. In the beginning, they were harmless nothings, really, but now I've been hearing some of the nastiest things out of them," Harry said.

Hermione tried to stop the immediate recoil that shivered through her body at the mention of the Black portrait. Of all the foul things in 12 Grimmauld Place, that painting was her least favorite. Despite the very many restoration efforts, the painting remained stuck on the wall and quite resentful of all muggle-affiliated things and people. Walburga still yelled wretched insults and while Hermione ignored it well enough, she had heard Ginny arguing with it on several occasions.

"Nott's noticed it too and he just arrived from the Ministry a few days ago! McGonagall was hoping it was just the lack of students haunting the school but this morning one of the headmasters' paintings spoke to her. It was Phineas Nigellus Black - he said the school was finally fighting against all the impurity, antagonizing all blood traitors and muggle-borns. He said Hogwarts would attack and purge all who did not fit Slytherin's blood status requirements." Finally, Harry's gaze lifted to meet hers, as if this was all his fault and he resented himself.

Hermione ignored his wallowing self-pity and calculated the evidence.

"I suppose this has something to do with the change in the student population last year?" she said. After the war and the start of the new millennium, when enrollment, admission, and graduation numbers had decreased to an abysmal count, the Hogwarts' Governors had initiated the most intensive recruitment program in the history of the school - the fruits of which were seen only last year when muggle-borns and half-bloods had accounted for more than sixty percent of the growing student body.

"I'd presume so," huffed Harry, shrugging his shoulders for punctuation. "Listen, Mione, I know this is hard for you. Reliving all the prejudice, especially after-" he stopped, walked to stand in front of his best friend, reached for her shoulders and held her gaze firmly. "You do not have to help, do you understand? In fact, I wasn't going to write to you at-"

She raised a doubtful eyebrow that silenced him mid-thought.

"Right," the wizard reasoned, shaking his head and smiling. There was no denying Hermione sodding Granger.

"Let's start with the Headmaster's portrait, shall we?" she said, already springing with anticipation towards the door. It took the duo more than twenty-five minutes to reach the Headmistress' office, even longer to get any fruitful information out of the conniving Slytherin's painting and a whole half hour to return to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The stairs led them to the dungeons a total of twelve times. On her way out, Hermione minded her head as she entered the fireplace - already thriving with green Floo flames - but still, the ceiling caught her scalp and blurred her vision.

It wasn't until she was enveloped by the warmth of the bathwater and the musk smell of night jasmines in the sanctuary of her own home that a thought slipped into her bruised head and caused her to jerk up, eyes wide open, heart humming speedily in its cage - the castle had attacked her, only twice on the side of her left forehead, and just enough for it to be passed off as mere coincidence or clumsiness on her own part. But she knew she wasn't clumsy, and she scoffed at fools who believed in coincidences.

12 Grimmauld Place, Fifteen Days Remaining.

"No, no, no. Absolutely not, Harry. It's a no from me, and honestly, it's a no from Ginny too," Ron said, as soon as Harry had finished explaining to the siblings and ended with a proposition for their help. The wizard had withheld the information from his best friend and fiancé for he feared this exact response.

After the second wizarding war, the Weasley's had prospered considerably from the profits of George and Ron's business. But even Ron had known that his name did not belong anywhere near the shop; 'Ron and George' didn't have the same ring to it as 'Fred and George'. But in the postwar haze, the joke shop provided Ron with a sense of normalcy and so it had been his best option. Instead of calling him a coward - as many others had, George included - for leaving his Auror's post in exchange for something milder, Harry had supported his mate's decision without much protest. Harry knew this the best: normal and mild were prized luxuries, and yet, there was nothing braver than choosing to live an uneventful life - nothing took more courage than ignoring the call for heroics that seduced most wizards.

Ron's lack of interest in cleaning up the mess after the Battle of Hogwarts had been the first nail in the coffin for their tedious relationship for Hermione. Everyone had stayed to undo the physical mess, to bury the dead and to take shifts at St. Mungo's because of a lack of staff. But not many lingered around to iron out the smaller wrinkles in the wizarding world that threatened to become greater chasms. Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and a few other Order members pulled long hours, researched, and inspected every last detail. The Malfoy Manor, shops in Knockturn Alley and the Gaunt shack in Little Hangleton were all thoroughly stripped of their dark magic. Ron's absence through all these efforts had irked Hermione the most.

All their childhood they had spent chasing after answers, risked their lives for a better world, a less prejudiced world, and yet Ron was gullible enough, tired enough to believe that killing Voldemort would just end their troubles. Unlike her ex-boyfriend, Hermione still found herself chasing after leads, finding leftover dark magic from Tom Riddle's time that she spent hours expunging. It had been eight years. Eight years after the war, she still woke startled at night, clenching the scar on her stomach. She looked at him now and saw the way his blue eyes dulled at the mention of another adventure. Yet, his smile was genuine. An innocent smile, Hermione thought, just like Molly's. His maroon jumper had a peachy R weaved in the middle and he tugged at the sleeves with his fingers, occasionally running those same fingers through his trademark Weasley hair.

Before he could reach for his hair again, though, Ginny sent her palm hurling towards the back of his head with a resounding thwack.

"Ronald do not speak for me!" she bellowed. The woman was not subdued by any means. She was the youngest in the room, and Hermione was the brightest witch of her age, but Ginevra Weasley had the sharpest tongue. She began again, this time, her attention turned to Harry, "What did the Black portrait say again?"

Harry's jaw tensed as he looked over at his witch, toying with the quill in his hand. "Just that the school would work to hurt those who were not purebloods until it managed to push them out."

"How are we supposed to reason with a bloody castle? Even for you, these are steep expectations, Harry!" For someone who did not want to be involved in the mystery, Ron was contributing well enough.

"The Sorting Hat! It would know, it's old as the school. It would have to know, right? I'll owl Professor McGonagall. Gin, did you bring the ink? I've run out." The excitement that had been simmering at the edge a few minutes before was now overflowing through Harry's every word.

"If it is an older curse, then yes, The Sorting Hat will help. But if it is cast by someone recently then perhaps, we could find them and force its reversal? I have researched a few wizards apart from Voldemort who could have left this kind of Dark Magic, but haven't found actual leads just yet," Hermione wondered out loud as she slid off from her stool to pace the length of the room. It came as a relief to Ron, partly because her epiphanies were almost always right and partly because this was the first burst of energy from the witch this evening, who was otherwise always eager to share something or the other.

Hermione, on the other hand, felt defeated. How in the world had she not been able to work this out for the past 72 hours? She had practically memorized Hogwarts: A History to a point where she was sure she knew it better than Bagshot herself. Her mind was growing weak, she decided, refusing to even think about the more logical reason that she was simply overworked. Trying to pass thirteen new legislative drafts for the betterment of house-elves while spending most of the nights in the secluded rows of the Ministry library had made her numb and quite immune to her normal bursts of genius.

Harry, who had found the ink, snapped up his head so fast while his letter to the Headmistress that he was sure it would nag him while he tried to sleep later. In a rush, he scratched out what he had written previously, jotted down the new revelations and went to the upstairs bedroom to send his owl.

The bushy-haired witch ignored the Weasleys' banter that followed. She needed to be alone, to read and take notes, she needed to fix this before it threatened any more innocent muggle-borns. Grabbing her coat, she made her way out the House of Black and to her own home next door. Brilliant, Hermione thought, as she slumped to the floor at the foot of her bed and let her head hang in between her knees, fucking brilliant!

Ministry of Magic: DMLE, Fifteen Days Remaining.

The stares penetrated his bones and found his soul for breakfast. For the first few days, Draco and Theo had a good distraction technique - as soon as the eyes would begin to linger on their presence, both the men would talk amongst each other about something, anything. Without Nott to shield him from the intensity of these looks, Draco felt annoyed - as if he had passed Auror training but not become an Auror just yet. He discovered at lunchtime that Potter was relieved of all his senior duties at the DMLE and had taken up an undisclosed security position at their old school.

That evening he entered his apartment late after spending a few lonesome hours at The Leaky, walked thirteen steps to the fireplace and Flooed to his least favorite Scottish Castle.

Hogwarts: The Headmistress' Office, Fifteen Days Remaining.

Minerva did not expect to find a band of seven Hogwarts alumni posing uncomfortably in her office occupying whatever little space Albus' clutter did not already take up. All her belongings were neatly folded, organized and tucked safely in the depths of her trunk that lay in her dorm. The Headmistress' office was a museum dedicated to her famous and much-loved predecessor. She had given a few of the antiques to Harry for safekeeping but the larger pieces still gathered dust. When Clearwater's Patronus had awoken her for an urgent meeting with the Aurors, she had expected that Harry and Theodore would have accompanied the Charms professor, but to find Ms. Granger, the Malfoy heir she had corresponded with only a few days ago, and the Weasley siblings lingering about in her office almost made her wish she had just told Penelope to wait until the morning. The greying hair from her top knot bun let a few waves escape so that they framed her face with the utmost elegance. Her lips pulled firmly together as she entered her office and she addressed everyone by their surname and a firm nod before looking at them expectedly.

Harry had decided to sit. Ginny stood near the pensive, looking curiously at the portraits and she waved to the only one that was awake: Professor Mordicus Egg. Arthur talked about the wizard endlessly, oh how he was the most wonderful Muggle Studies professor and how he managed to revolutionize the muggle perception before You-Know-Who destroyed his legacy. On and on, her father would rant about this wizard, who in Ginny's opinion, should have been in Azkaban for his dressing sense.

Ron sat to Harry's right and Penelope to his left. Hermione stood leaning on the bookcases, directly opposite and farthest away from Malfoy. He, too, leaned on the bookshelves across the room and having found a work of interest, he had already picked it out and was skimming through it. Draco had no intention of being part of this monthly Potter Fan Club meeting, but he had walked out of Penelope's fireplace and quite literally into Theo's arse. All six of his old classmates had already been in a fiery discussion before his unannounced entrance but Theo had filled him in on the details. Draco had been an inch away from excusing himself from the chaos, when his best friend of all people, had suggested that they should all move to the Headmistresses' office for further discussion with McGonagall herself. Draco had decided that he would see her, say his bit about being interested in the teaching position and leave before any more nonsense about Hogwarts being cursed or spontaneously exploding bathrooms entered his head. But seeing now how Theo paced between Hermione and Draco, his forehead creasing with worry every so often, muttering things to himself as if he was taking mental notes on a lecture, Draco knew that his bit would have to wait until after the Fan Club meeting ended. Penelope had looked back at Nott three times and cajoled him to calm down. Even after Minerva's entrance, the pacing slowed but did not cease completely.

"Professor, I think you were right. The school should delay opening until we can make sure that it is absolutely safe for the students," Harry said.

"Why the sudden change of heart, Mr. Potter? Just last week, you and Ms. Granger insisted that I let the school year commence at its scheduled date, did you not? I even began to look for staff at your request, as you are aware." The professor's eyes danced between Harry, and Hermione when she spoke.

"Minerva, the reason we called this meeting is because Theo found one of the bathrooms destroyed. The second-floor girl's lavatory, to be specific," Penelope explained. She looked at her husband and this time, it was her forehead that wore creases of concern.

Draco's attention swam back to the meeting at the sound of Granger's deep sigh. She looked like she had just wrestled a troll single-handedly to the ground, on two hours of sleep. She had grown taller or maybe the hunch on her back had just straightened out to a better posture. Unlike the Notts', who expressed concerns more obviously, Granger's worry was etched minutely into the lines of her face. Draco could tell, from his own inspections in the mirror, that she didn't let those lines of worry slip even when she laughed or smiled. They simply stayed. His fingers around the book clasped it shut and at the sound of the pages ruffling, Hermione's eyes shot up to meet his. She saw him.

The shallow breathing that troubled him back at the graduation ceremony returned with ferocity. She saw him. She saw how he didn't fit in with this group, or any group for that matter. She saw how he had a book in his hands to control his nervous fidgeting. She saw how he was trying to deflect as much attention as possible by letting the books swallow him in their shadows. Averting her gaze, he looked at Theo, instead. But he could still feel her eyes lingering on him, just as his had lingered on her moments before. Oh, for fuck's sake, she could even see him using Theo as an excuse to look away.

Narcissa saw through Draco like that. She knew it when he had agreed to the Dark Lord's demand for him to kill Dumbledore that he would not be able to do it in the end. She had seen him when he had taken the Dark Mark. She had seen under Draco's mask, even when the Dark Lord couldn't, despite his exceptional torture techniques through Legilimency.

Hermione, on the other hand, was sure that her eyes were playing tricks on her. That or her mind's train had finally arrived at Breaking Point Station. Despite doubting her own ethos, she continued to watch Malfoy with trepidation. Not a single thread of his robes was of another color than black, in stark contrast to the white silver of his eyes. Under the dark shadows, she could tell that his pupils had dilated. His sharp nose had been angled towards her just a second before but now he was watching Nott. The rest of his ferret features remained: same blond hair, same aristocratic air about him, a hint of his famous smirk playing at the edge of his mouth.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" Her eyes snapped away from Malfoy's silhouette and rested on Ginny who gave her a quizzical look.

"You agree with Harry, right?" Ginny questioned her again. Wide-eyed, Hermione stared at the witch and tried to form coherent words. Her lips parted, then closed then opened again to make her case but nothing came out.

"Yes, Weasellete," Draco cut in, "Granger agrees with Potter and you agree with Granger and Potter agrees with you. All of Godric's godforsaken children agree, can't we move on, already?" His seething voice demanded.

"Move on? I'm sorry, did you just say, 'move on'?" Hermione countered, "The Second Floor Girls' Lavatory happens to be the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, Malfoy! Not something people can just 'move on' from now, is it?" Her voice started small but grew shrill as she gathered more fury. He had not changed after all. Hermione could mull over how his looks had refined and how his voice had lost that annoying high-pitched edge, but deep-down Draco Malfoy was the same. Turning back to her friends, she wondered out loud, "Who invited him, anyway?"

He ignored her completely. Moving towards the Headmistress, he added in a wary tone, "Professor, about the letter you sent me the other day-"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, the one to which you replied, simply 'no' and the one which I suppose I have no use of discussing with you since the school's immediate opening seems postponed," Minerva interrupted. She peered at him with great skepticism from over her glasses that rested on the tip of her slightly crooked nose.

"If and when the school opens, Minerva, and if and when you have a teaching position open, owl me the details." Draco could tell he had unnerved every single person in the room by using the esteemed professor's given name for leverage, but all the mundanity and squabbling was driving him fucking insane. As he prepared to exist, Granger caught his arm and forced him to face her. Her thin fingers wrapped around his forearm and even through the embroidered silk, he could feel her warmth.

"The book, Malfoy. Give it to me."

He couldn't have cared less for the book still in his hands, but Draco took up the challenge regardless. His curiosity sparked when she didn't cower like most people under the weight of his glare. He kept the book protected behind his back, and he realized as he was doing it just how childish he looked but it irritated Granger and that made his day.

"What made you pick that book?" Her voice was no more than a dim whisper. If he had been flipping through the pages of the book, he would have missed her question, easily. His stomach burned as if he had just downed a liter of cheap vodka at the sound of how softly she spoke. The bile rose high in his throat before he croaked out a response, "I don't know."

Hermione wanted to ask him many more things but before she could get another syllable out, Draco Malfoy had already turned on his heel and left, shoving the book he had picked from Dumbledore's collection into her hands.

She glanced at the title, knowing exactly what it read, but still gasped as her fears were confirmed. Her fingers traced the silver paint that formed the words in the leather covering as Harry came to stand beside her and read the titular words to everyone else,

"The Founders' Feud: A Never-Ending Curse on Hogwarts."

That's all for now. Cya in March!