A New Beginning

Draco Malfoy stared out the window at the passing countryside for perhaps the first time in all his years of riding the Hogwarts Express. He was positive he'd never bothered to look out the windows, unconcerned with scenery, more interested in attaining the attention of his classmates. He looked at the landscape now, surprised at how beautiful it was. And he had never noticed, not once.

So much had changed.

He glanced around the compartment, thoroughly diminished in population and deathly quiet. Pansy sat in the corner, reading the Prophet. Potter was on the front page again, standing in front of a newly-reconstructed Hogwarts. A large part of the wizarding community had spent the entire summer working tirelessly to have the school ready for students again in September.

Blaise was sitting opposite Pansy, reading a book Draco could not see the cover of from his position by the window. He had not spoken a word since arriving on the train; he'd simply stowed his trunk and taken his usual seat, nodding at them all before pulling out his book and engrossing himself in it.

Theodore Nott was sitting opposite Draco, also looking out the window, but by the glazed look in his eyes, Draco knew he wasn't actually seeing anything out there. He appeared to be deep in thought. Draco hadn't heard from or seen him since May; his family had stopped associating with the Malfoys.

The last returning Slytherin from their year was Daphne Greengrass. She sat beside Pansy, flipping through Witch Weekly apathetically, looking bored. Draco saw Granger was on the cover of the magazine. Again. Greengrass had greeted Pansy with her usual friendliness, but had not so much as acknowledged the presence of the three boys in the compartment.

Draco went back to staring out the window, contemplating the end of their journey.

Everyone who had attended Hogwarts last year had been invited to return to retake their courses. A personal letter from McGonagall had explained in depth the measures being taken to accommodate the extra year-group, including dormitory assignments, class schedules, and even Quidditch.

The first years would be joined by the would-be second years for classes, doubling the numbers and making scheduling and dormitory assignments a nightmare. The dormitories had had to be expanded, which had not been overly difficult, merely time-consuming, but there had been much debate about whether the "second" years would room with the first years or if the returning seventh years should room with the current seventh years.

McGonagall had then declared that everyone would still be considered moved up a year. So the kids taking second year classes were actually third years and as such were given Hogsmeade privileges but not the opportunity to take new classes.

So now instead of seven class years, there were eight. At least until this year's official first years got to their last year. It was all needlessly complicated in Draco's opinion. He would have been fine being called a seventh year. Everyone was behind a year; what was so awful about that? It wasn't as though everyone had failed their exams or anything. Exams had just been rather difficult to schedule around the war going on at the time, that was all.

To make things yet more confusing, the second years taking first year classes were allowed their own brooms, but their own classmates, the first years, were not. Draco was sure this was going to result in countless first years somehow having brooms snuck in by the end of first term. Who was going to bother to check anyway?

Quidditch try-outs were already scheduled by McGonagall to save time. Draco glanced around at the compartment. The Slytherin team was all but demolished. Blaise and Theodore were the only other two seventh years, and neither of them had seemed remotely interested when Draco had casually mentioned Quidditch an hour ago. He supposed that was the only reason McGonagall had asked him to be Captain; there weren't any other choices.

That didn't mean he wanted to do it. He'd been more than ready to send the badge back, explaining to McGonagall that she was mental if she thought putting him in a position of authority was a good idea.

"This is your second chance," his mother had scolded when he'd told her he was going to refuse. "Your chance to prove you've changed."

"This badge isn't going to make people respect me," he'd told her. "Badge or no badge, I'm still a Death Eater to them. And no one will ever believe I've changed."

[]-[]-[]

The train rolled into Hogsmeade just like it had for the last seven years of Draco's life. He sat in his seat as everyone else got up and started out into the corridor. He couldn't see out the window anymore as night had fallen. Now all he saw was his own reflection, pale, thin and expressionless.

"Aren't you coming?"

Draco jumped. Daphne Greengrass was the only other person in the compartment, standing uncertainly by the door, looking back at him. He hadn't expected her to speak to him.

"Yeah," he said, standing. "You go ahead."

Daphne frowned slightly before grabbing her bag and disappearing into the corridor. Draco felt the strangest desire to sit back down and ride the train straight back to London. Only the thought of his mother's disappointment kept him from doing so. He sighed and stepped out into the corridor.

The platform was mostly empty by now, and only a few Thestral-drawn carriages remained. Draco shuddered looking at them. They hadn't appeared last year, the carriages. The students had had to make the long journey up to the castle by foot. Draco suspected Hagrid's mysterious inability to harness them had a lot more to do his anger at Snape than the Thesterals' evading capture.

Draco got into one of the carriages - they still smelled musty and slightly moldy he noted with distaste - and it jolted into motion immediately.

"Wait!" someone called. Draco stuck his head out the window to see a girl with long dark hair break into a run as the carriage picked up speed.

A year ago Draco would have laughed and sat back to enjoy the ride. Now he threw the door open. The carriage stopped abruptly, throwing him forward into the seat across from him.

A moment later the girl caught up, out of breath. She climbed into the carriage wordlessly and slumped into the empty seat. "Thank you," she managed as Draco closed the door and the carriage started toward the castle once more.

He stared at her as her breathing slowly returned to normal. She still hadn't looked up at him, her gaze fixed on her knees as she focused on breathing regularly. After what seemed like ten minutes, but was probably less than two, she finally looked up at him with a grateful smile.

Her expression froze when she saw his face, her smile slipping away. "Oh," she uttered softly, averting her eyes at once.

"You're welcome," he said at long last. She looked familiar, he realized, though he couldn't place her. She was a Ravenclaw, he noted, seeing her robes. So he had no reason to recognize her. But the nagging feeling that he knew her would not leave him.

"Do I know you?" he asked after another painful silence. She glanced at him again, this time with ice in her gaze.

"No," she said coldly.

"It's just...you look familiar," he explained. One eyebrow quirked slightly at that, but she didn't respond. Draco felt a flash of anger at her silence. How dare she? Didn't she know who he was? Didn't she-

Stop. He gritted his teeth. Getting angry would not help. He took a deep breath through his nose and turned his eyes out the tiny window. They rode the rest of the way to the castle in frigid silence, and when at long last the carriage stopped at the bottom of the hill, the girl got out first without glancing at him again.

She paused as he exited the carriage however, looking torn. Finally she seemed to make some sort of decision, squared her shoulders, and jerked her chin up at him.

"Thanks again," she said stiffly. "For holding the carriage. It was ... decent of you." And then she turned and marched away.

Draco followed the masses into the Great Hall and automatically glanced up. The enchanted ceiling was there as it had always been, reflecting the cloudless starry night sky outside. New stone archways disappeared into the blackness and bright, almost painfully colorful new house banners adorned the walls. The new tables were dark, gleaming mahogany, not at all like the rough, scrubbed wood tables that had been there for so long, and the new benches were so smooth he felt like he would slide right off if he weren't careful. Draco found himself missing the old furniture he'd always thought was so homely.

The plates were the same though; he supposed the kitchens had remained mostly in tact during the battle. They shone as brightly as ever in the light from the thousands of floating candles overhead.

And - he almost laughed - that damn old three-legged stool McGonagall had carried in every year for as long as he could remember was still there as well. Only now it was carried by tiny old Flitwick, who had been named the new Deputy Headmaster. McGonagall sat in the center chair at the head table now.

The Sorting was as eventful as it ever was - noticeably fewer students went to Slytherin, he noted, and those that did mostly belonged to families whose names Draco recognized as having been either Death Eaters or supporters of them. Poor kids, he mused. Slytherins were going to have it tough the next few years.

McGonagall stood as Flitwick carried the Sorting Hat and stool away, and the room quieted.

"Welcome," she said, spreading her hands. "To all new students, I hope you will enjoy your time here. To all returning students, young and not-so-young, it is good to see you again," she said, and her voice was surprisingly soft, not carrying the usual harsh tone Draco was used to.

"A lot has happened in the last few years," she continued solemnly, "but we will persevere as always. As many of you know, certain scheduling and living quarters conflicts have arose in order to accommodate the marked lack of educating that happened here last year, and I, as well as my fellow faculty members, ask that you bear with us as we attempt to cater to everyone's needs.

"That said, a few rules must be put in place. No magic is allowed in the corridors at any time. The forest on the grounds is out of bounds to everyone. Only students in third year and above are permitted to leave school grounds for Hogsmeade trips. First years should note that they are not allowed their own brooms. Also, until further notice, because of the number of dangerous criminals still unaccounted for, a strict curfew will be upheld by all students. Anyone found outside the dormitories - including corridors, classrooms, areas common to all students, and grounds outside the castle - will be most severely punished."

Her gaze swept the entirety of the room, a severe look on her face once more. Her eyes paused on several older students - including Draco, who stared unflinchingly back until she looked away.

Then, the tiniest of smiles turned up the corners of her mouth. "Now that all the nasty stuff is out of the way, let's enjoy our feast, shall we? Welcome back, everyone!" She clapped her hands, and the trays lining the tables were immediately overflowing with food.

This was what Draco had missed - the food. Now that Granger was lobbying for house elf rights and Draco's father was in jail and it was just him and his mother at home, the two of them had to suffer through Narcissa's remarkably horrible cooking. She'd been getting better, he supposed, toward the end of the summer, but nothing compared to house elf food. He tucked in all too readily.

[]-[]-[]

Perhaps having anticipated fewer incoming first year Slytherins, nobody had changed the dormitories much. Two significantly smaller rooms for the returning "eighth years" had been added at the lowest possible level of the dormitories, which was just fine as far as Draco was concerned.

For the first time in seven years, Draco lay in complete and impenetrable darkness. The green lanterns that were present in every dormitory, casting their eerie light everywhere even while students slept, had been turned out after mutual agreement between the three inhabitants of the eighth year dorm.

It was oddly comforting, the darkness. He lay and contemplated what he had to look forward to for the next several months. He was sure it would be trying. "A test of your self-control," his mother had called it. Draco hated tests. He wanted to resent his mother for urging him to come back, but he couldn't find it within him to do so. He was doing this for her. For them.

"Hey Malfoy?

Draco jumped. No one had spoken to him since the girl in the carriage, other than when Theodore Nott had suggested they turn the lamps off, but even that had been directed away from him. Maybe he'd imagined it. He was probably drifting off. No way to tell of course in the inky darkness.

"Malfoy, you asleep?"

No, that was definitely Blaise Zabini from the bed across from his.

"No, I'm not asleep," he answered. "What do you want?"

"What do you think it's going to be like tomorrow?"

"Hell," Draco answered. "Absolute hell."

"Yeah? You think?"

"Maybe not for you," Draco assented.

"Still stuck on yourself, Malfoy?" Nott contributed from the next bed over. "All about you, eh? Even your suffering is worse than everyone else's."

Draco sat up indignantly. "Do you have a Dark Mark on your arm, Nott?" he snarled. "Did you try to murder Albus Dumbledore? Did the Dark Lord try to make you his little page?"

Nott was silent.

"No. I'm not saying this because I want to be a martyr or something. I'm saying it because it's true. I'm a Death Eater. That's all they'll see."

He lay back down and turned his back on Nott, even though the other boy couldn't see, so the gesture was basically useless. It felt good anyway.

"Do you regret it?" Blaise asked softly after a long, tense moment.

"Regret what?" Draco asked roughly.

"Everything."

Draco was quiet for awhile, thinking back on all the horrendous things he'd done in the Dark Lord's name. All the advanced magic he'd learned. The dark magic he'd learned. The people he'd tortured. The names he'd given. The people he'd hurt. The people whose deaths he'd contributed to. The families he'd torn apart indirectly.

It was a long time before he said anything. So by the time he said, in a small voice, "Yeah, I do," the other two boys had fallen asleep.

"I really do."

A/N: So, I wrote the majority of this a long time ago with the intent to eventually expand it to a 'look, Draco's starting over!/how Draco met Astoria' kind of story. I wrote the second half of it just now because I was all study-ed out (finals are just over two weeks away) but didn't want to go to bed and had some creative energy to let out. I was going to post it as a follow-up chapter in my current oneshot 'The Garden Wall,' but reading over both of them, they're too different stylistically to be posted together. So you can read this as a follow-up to that with an entirely different style if you want, or you can read this on its own (but because I'm a shameless self-promoter, you should go read that).

That said, I'm not planning on continuing this. It as just a little something I jotted down because Draco is always swimming around my mind, hovering at the edges of my creative thoughts. If I think of anything to add, then I may write more, but no promises. It all depends on what thoughts I absolutely can't get out of my head and just have to write down. Cheers.

-Megan