This is a sequel, which the title should hopefully have made pretty obvious, so if you don't have a clue what's going on then I reckon you know what to do ;)

Basically I got to the end of the original story and thought that Meg had a hell of a lot more to say and as she's a pretty persistent and vocal person this happened. Plus I'm still dealing with no more Harry Potter films ever...so this is all that's keeping me going!

But you didn't need/want to know any of that.

Onwards and upwards.

Wherein I am flooded in letters, and I think my neighbours are onto me.

Draco,

I know that you probably won't read this. Or if you do someone like Bellatrix Lestrange will read it first (which, by the way, you need some serious help, Bellatrix. Really.)

But, Draco, I wanted you to be the first to know that everything is your fault. I've probably told you this already, but I've forgotten. And that's how angry I am.

Normally I would have the guts to say this kind of thing to your face- as you probably know- but here I am deteriorating to the role of a coward, because I'm really not too sure if I can handle speaking to you at all this term.

Everything has changed, and everything I love has been destroyed because of you. I'm sure you have some sneering retort to that, but I'm hoping this actually makes you stop and think. I'm certainly hoping it makes you feel guilty.

From now on, I'm going back to be the girl who you ignored until that time by the boathouse. And you're going to be the boy who looked on and did nothing as that man tried to kill me that night you ruined Hogwarts. Thanks for that, by the way. (Because when could I ever be completely serious?)

Everything else, I'm going to forget.

You probably know me better as 'Forester'. But my name is Meg.

Sampson, the Eurasion Scops Owl who over summer and obtained the rather deluded impression that he was a bat gave a hoot from his upside-down perch on my wardrobe as I re-read the letter I had scrawled in my bad handwriting for what felt like the millionth time.

I didn't know why I was doing this to myself, as each time I read it I felt more and more miserable.

Around me; covering the plastic, flimsy desk my mum had bought for me during my childhood, was an impressive collection of heavy, thick parchment, all filled with letters from people I knew at school. And some, like the one in front of me now, that I had written to a certain someone, and never actually had the courage to send.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair that had grown longer these past few weeks as I tossed the draft down and instead picked up a letter written by one of my best friends,

Megan Something Forester.

Obviously you're playing hard to get. Terry says he hasn't heard a word from you all summer, except for one letter that was crammed with awful jokes, which, I have to say, sounds just like you.

But I must say I'm a little worried about you. I know what happened last term upset you, and apart from the obvious, I can't understand why. Please don't shut us out, it's seriously uncool. I have so much joke material for you that there's no way you can shut yourself away much longer.

Hugs and kisses and all that good stuff,

Antony

I had flopped down onto the bed by the time I finished reading, Sampson looking at me curiously through his yellow and (misleadingly) intelligent-looking eyes. I set the letter down and gazed straight back at him,

"We should probably reply, huh?" I said, rocking my foot against the bed. Sampson gave a small twitter which I took as agreement, flapping his wings madly in an attempt to stay the wrong way round.

Apart from the obvious, I can't understand why. I knew the 'obvious' Antony was referring to was the murder of our headmaster. And that would have been enough to derail me, regardless. But neither Antony nor Terry had quite clued in about Malfoy, and I certainly preferred to keep it that way. They had freaked out enough when I had briefly dated a nice Slytherin. I didn't want to think about how they would react if they knew I had fallen a little too head-over-heels for a nasty one. However literally you wished to view it, given that our first kiss had been when I had tripped over and fallen on him.

I grumbled under my breath, rolling over so I could distract myself by staring at my surroundings that had become even more familiar over these past few weeks.

My room, over what was had been without a doubt the best six years of my life, had turned into a sort of chaotic and cluttered shrine, harbouring the things from that other world that was barred from me now until the first of September. Train tickets to Platform 9 and ¾ were pinned with blue-tack to my walls, along with posters of Quidditch teams I really didn't support, but had purchased for the sake of their moving contents, or the odd handsome player waving at me. My Ravenclaw scarf was spread on my bed, where I fell asleep with my fingers winding through the trestles, like some kind of comfort blanket. I had a few flags from the Quidditch games at school pinned up too, and had even gone as far as to have stuck up a cluster of handwritten notes that I had collected over the years, passed between me, Terry and Antony during rather dull History of Magic lessons. The contents and inky drawings usually involved our own take of the giant wars Professor Binns kept forcing us to hear, but occasionally it varied to the resemblance between Draco Malfoy and a ferret, or how we were fairly certain Ron Weasley had fallen asleep. I stared fondly now at Terry's perfect writing, and all the inky fingerprints Antony and I had accidentally smudged the parchment with.

A few copies of the Daily Prophet were scattering the area around the floor; my rubbish aim never quite making any actually reach the bin. I had been scanning them for weeks; taking in all the bad news and letting all the hope accumulated in my heart dissolve each time my eyes raked the pages. The hope had been for Hogwarts being unchanging, but with each death, each new Ministry law or decree, I became certain the school I had loved since I was eleven was at the point of no return.

To tell the truth, I was scared. Dead scared. I knew that Hogwarts, and everything about it that I knew and loved, was going to change now. Now that You Know Who was back more than ever, and that Dumbledore; the one thing protecting the school from the dark shadows lingering outside its grounds, was dead.

And no matter how many times I lay awake at night, sifting through the circumstances that had made it change, I always arrived at the same conclusion. Malfoy. The conclusion that he had taken something beautiful, and destroyed it beyond repair. And that made me hate him so much it obliterated any of those weird feelings that had been amassing in my chest towards the end of last term. The kind of feelings that made my heart leap slightly when his grey eyes brushed mine, or that wonderful feeling that we shared secrets together, and I had been allowed in a part of his life that none of his friends had been. Or that time when I was immensely thankful for that ill-placed cobblestone my foot had met. But now, now I just felt like I had acted like a silly, love struck teenager who thought the world would end if love did. So after my decided hatred of Malfoy, I found that a lot of my pent up dislike was actually channelling towards myself.

"Meg!" My mum's voice carried up the stairs; sounding a little weary, "Mrs Jamieson is here! Come and say hello!"

I shot Sampson a raised eyebrow, who replied with a loud shriek. Mrs Jamieson was a Muggle, and our next-door neighbour, who had made a somewhat annoying habit of dropping round for dinner occasionally. I didn't know why, as she spent a lot of her time finding fault with our house in the politest manner possible. But my mum, who had moved to this town when I was five, worked in the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes at the Ministry of Magic, therefore loved having Mrs Jamieson over, owing to a rather unhealthy addiction to her job. Sadly, or luckily, it seemed I hadn't inherited that trait.

I met my sister Jade on the stairs; who seemed to have got lucky and was escaping in the other direction. I didn't really know if my younger sister, in her sixth year now, was as afraid as I was at the prospect of returning to Hogwarts. She had the annoying habit of cracking jokes instead of getting emotional or serious. Just like me, really.

"Have fun," She smirked, hopping the last stair, "She's in a particularly critical mood today."

"Jade!" My mum's voice sounded again, "Come and set the table! Dinner's nearly ready!"

It was my turn for the smirk, and Jade followed me downstairs again, muttering darkly about the International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy that meant she had to do chores the Muggle way. I left her intellectual mind to it, totally lost.

Mrs Jamieson was sipping tea from a mug when we came downstairs, though her attitude suggested that she would have preferred a teacup; her little finger was splayed out and she was eyeing her surroundings with what I was sure was mild disdain. She was wearing another of her silk scarves. I didn't know where they kept coming from.

I was quite amused at the attempt my mother had made of making the lower floor of the house look as Muggle-like as possible. All whizzing instruments and shouting picture frames had been swept aside; and the towering, almost gravity defying bookcase that took up the majority of one wall was cleared of most of its spellbooks and the Gilderoy Lockhart series that was still far too popular in this household for my taste. My sister still thought that Cornish Pixie story was me exaggerating.

"Hullo, Mrs Jamieson." I said in a deadpan voice, earning a glance from my mum who looked like she was currently having fun serving a casserole 'the Muggle way'.

"Hello, Maggie." Mrs Jamieson said, shifting in her seat to give me a quick look-over, "My, hasn't your hair grown...nicely."

"I'm fairly sure it was the same as it was two nights ago," I replied, moving over to the kitchen in the pretence of helping cook.

"I was just telling Mrs Jamieson about you lot starting school soon," My mum said, shooting me a warning glance as she handed me the casserole, pushing me in the direction of the table,

"Oh. That." I said darkly, deciding there was no place I could go to escape the prospect, even around a Muggle.

"So where is it you girls go to school?" Mrs Jamieson asked, setting down the mug with the littlest amount of skin touching the fake china as possible.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," I replied, setting the casserole down on the table with a loud 'thunk.'

"Meg," My mum hissed. She was used to me doing that, but it didn't stop her cringing each time I said it.

"We go to a boarding school up in Scotland," Jade supplied for us, sending my mother and me disapproving glances, "Term starts in two days, in fact."

"Oh, Matthew starts then too," Mrs Jamieson said, and given the ammunition to start talking about her son, she immediately began to talk about his fantastic exam results. Given that the only exams I was familiar with were OWLs or NEWTs, I had no idea what she was talking about. I hoped she didn't ask for our results. Something told me getting a T –for troll– in History of Magic was anything that she could relate to.

Unnoticed by anyone else, out of the corner of my eye I saw what could only be described as a hesitant ball of fluff edging into the kitchen from the hallway; looking around inquisitively. At least, I was fairly sure it was looking around. I had never worked out if it had eyes or not. Fitzwilliam the pygmy puff decidedly marched into the kitchen; heading straight for Jade, who had bought the ridiculous thing from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes last summer. Without a doubt one of the more regretted moments of my life. I had dropped the thing at least once out of the Divination Tower, and nearly cooked it in Potions class. All by accident, of course.

I dived at it before Mrs Jamieson could notice that a bright pink ball of fluff was walking of its own accord, scooping it up and lobbing it back into the hallway,

"Meg!" Jade exclaimed, looking scandalised,

"It's the draft from the door," I said loudly, to nobody in particular, "It causes dust to waft in."

"Well, I have been saying that door is wonky for ages." Mrs Jamieson added.

By the time I was able to escape to my room, Sampson had been hooting so loudly that I doubted Mrs Jamieson could put it down to noisy plumbing, and Fitzwilliam had decided to grace us with his presence several more times, so that it had got a little hard to keep passing him off as dust from a draft. In short, I was a bit worried for the state of our household's secret.

"Good lord!" Mrs Jamieson's voice drifted from downstairs, as I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, "Did that photograph just move?"

"A trick of the light, I'm sure." My mum said laughing in what was definitely a forced voice, and I was left with the conclusion, that even if Mrs Jamieson got nowhere near the truth, she would at least think we were completely insane. I decided she would probably be right.

I hit my leg on the edge of something hard, and shuffling forwards; I saw it was my school trunk. Considering term started in two days, I leant forwards curiously, with half a mind to clear it out.

After opening it I changed my mind completely. There had to be at least six years worth of rubbish in there that I had never cleaned out, that had simply built up to make the battered trunk heavier and messier with each year.

I instead used my time to look through it, laughing as I came across old Transfiguration homework from the first year, which, if anything, had got worse over the years, if I was honest. Sweets probably bought from one of my more earlier visits to Hogsmeade, such as Fizzing Whizbees and Levitating Sherbet Balls lay scattered in-between crumpled robes and old socks, and were humming slightly with their decaying sugar. I actually got a nasty surprise when I reached in to disentangle my dragon hide gloves from a much abused set of brass scales and was confronted by a miniature Chizpurfle leaf, that bit my finger then shot back into the folds of clothes, growling happily.

I was withdrawing all interest in the case when my hand brushed something silky and smooth. Not entirely certain if it wasn't just another creature that had somehow bred in there, I peered cautiously downwards, and gave a start as I realised it had been silken fabric. I let out a noise that was between a laugh and a weird choke of surprise as I pulled it free and saw it was Malfoy's tie, the one I had stolen all those months ago on the bridge when I had been hiding from Terry. And my possession of said tie had also led to Antony giving Pansy Parkinson antlers.

My bedroom door opened as Fitzwilliam trotted in. I didn't even bother to question the possibility of a miniature Puffskein having the ability to open doors. I had stopped questioning his anatomy ever since he had survived that drop off the Divination tower. Besides, I was more preoccupied with the tie in my hands, and trying to push back the memories it brought forth.

I think, well, I knew, that the reason I was so annoyed with Draco was not because of his links with people I had no desire to cross paths with, or how much I blamed him for Dumbledore's death. And I also think this same reason was why I couldn't quite bring myself to write back to anyone. What was there to say except to tell my friends that I think my heart had broken a little that night when everything had gone so wrong? I couldn't help my mind flashing back to the times when I had bridged the distance between our lips, or how much my heart had turned over whenever he had smiled at me. And then all those wonderful memories seemed to have been snuffed out when he had stood there, simply staring as Greyback had leant towards me, having been perfectly happy to tear my throat out. Now, I decided it would be a better idea all round if I just strangled Malfoy with said tie. I made a mental note.

Sampson brought me back to reality with a loud shriek, which I found quite a good thing. I was in danger of slipping into an even worse state of mind than had become the norm.

"I need you to send a letter." I said determinedly, grabbing him from his perch on the dresser and marching over to the desk.

It took me a while to sort out the clumps of parchment, finally selecting the penultimate letter I had just reread.

Straightening up, I hit my head on the ceiling; which was lowered to form a small alcove. I swore under my breath, not particularly surprised. Years of doing that had left me with little astonishment when it happened. I wondered idly if that was why my brain was so barely there. Sampson had fluttered out of my hands as checked for concussion, and was waiting on the sill; peering out through the open window.

"Wait just a second." I grumbled, rubbing my head with one hand and trying to attach the letter to him with the other, "Just be careful ok? I don't want you being zapped by any of the company Draco's keeping this summer. Goodness knows who they are."

Sampson gave a squawk, which plainly said, I'd like to see them try.

"Take care," I said, scooping him up and throwing him out into the gathering night air. I mentally swore as I realised one of my older neighbours was walking past, and had stopped to stare at me; not entirely politely.

"Nice evening." I said hastily, as if chucking an owl out of your window after having an intense conversation with it was totally normal, "What cats will bring in nowadays, huh?"

I slammed the window shut before she could comment, and when I drew the curtains I saw that she was still watching me with suspicious eyes.

"Muggles." I muttered, "So nosy."

Later, after debating for several moments with my reflection in the bathroom mirror that my course of action had actually been the right idea, I climbed under the duvet on my bed; pulling it up over my face so all sights of my bedroom were obliterated.

It felt odd to be dreading the return to Hogwarts, but it was a paranoia I couldn't shift. With Dumbledore gone, things could hardly remain good. I also felt strangely nervous about that letter I had just sent to Malfoy, and a little part of me was wondering, or perhaps even worrying, what he had been up to this summer. I'd read about a breakout from Azkaban at the beginning of July, and whilst the Daily Prophet were pretty vague in detailing, it had mentioned the escape of Lucius Malfoy among other Death Eaters. I conjured a rather ridiculous image in my mind's eye of all the Death Eaters in Malfoy's house, which was sure to be some castle or manor. Somehow, it was almost impossible to imagine Draco among them, unless he was pulling that desperate, ashen expression he had adopted so frequently last year.

Whilst at the beginning of the summer, that might have filled me with a vindictive pleasure, now, it left me feeling exceedingly pitiful towards him. But I was used to how often my mind changed about Draco Malfoy. I just wished my brain would stay put with my opinion of him.

But, hey, apparently that would just make life too easy.