Chapter Text
Oh, hush, my dear, it's been a difficult year
And terrors don't prey on innocent victims
[Bad Liar - Imagine Dragons]
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Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The soothing rhythm of the fat raindrops against the window did nothing to soothe Hermione’s nerves.
Absentmindedly she drew random patterns on the glass with her finger, staring at nothing in particular while the Scottish landscape flew by.
It was September 1st, the start of a new Hogwarts year, and for the very first time, Hermione Granger had mixed feeling about this. She’d always looked forward to returning to school, even the last years when she knew nothing would be normal when you were Harry Potter’s best friend. And a Muggleborn.
But for the first time since her very first train ride, Hermione felt lonely.
After the war had ended, she’d felt lost. Sure, she celebrated their victory just as much as the others, and mourned the lives lost. But for the first time, she had no clear goal, no clear direction in which she wanted to go.
Her trip to Australia had been a disaster. With the help of the Australian Ministry of Magic and after weeks of travelling around, she had been able to track down her parents. She’d always known she’d taken an immense – but necessary – risk by wiping their memories and giving them new identities, but somehow she’d always believed that as the Brightest Witch of her Age, she’d be able to restore those memories as well. Whenever Hermione Granger set her mind to something, she succeeded. Everyone knew that. And that made her failed mission to Australia so unbearable. There was no way to reverse the carefully performed Obliviation, no way to get her family back. It left Hermione devastated and heartbroken. She was 17 and felt lost and alone.
Harry and Ron had taken it upon them to take care of her, cheer her up, get her back on her feet like good friends do. And while they could not take away all the pain, they did remind her that she wasn’t entirely without family after all, and for their sake, she put on a brave face and carried on.
And as the boys enthusiastically discussed their plans to join the Ministry as Aurors, Hermione smiled her fake smile and nodded along.
But the closer the deadline for the start of Auror training got and the more job offers from the Ministry Hermione received, the more nervous she became. She wasn’t ready to make any big decisions right now. She didn’t know whether she wanted to choose a Ministry job now and plan her whole career at once. She didn’t know, and she was not used to dealing with that feeling.
But the real relief came in the form of an official Hogwarts letter: the school offered everyone who would or should have been a seventh year student the past year the chance to return to school and finish an exceptional eight year.
Hermione could have cried – she would be able to return to the safe and familiar have that was Hogwarts and to postpone making big decisions for another year. Really, would anyone expect anything else from her than wanting to finish her education the proper way?
Apparently, Ron had expected differently.
Even though things had been unclear after their kiss on the battle ground, Ron clearly still held hope that one day Hermione would see how perfect them being together could be. He’d been patient with her, and between mourning with his own family, Hermione taking off to Australia and everything else going on in the aftermath of the war, they hadn’t really taken their time to make a clear decision. Thinking back, Hermione wondered whether she’d postponed that uncomfortable conversation on purpose after all. While she loved Ron, she did not love him like that. She would never ever make any concessions when it would come to her own aspirations and life, and she couldn’t say for certain he would always respect that. He needed a partner that could provide him with a warm home, stability and a family. She needed to spread her wings and choose her own direction. And the numerous discussions they’d been having over the past few months alone, were indication enough that Ron was not the kind of man who could give Hermione that freedom.
“Mione, I just don’t get why you would want to return to attending classes and examinations! The three of us can get any job in the Ministry we want without having to take any N.E.W.T.S.!” Ron cried out, trying to start up a discussion that had been held too many times already in the past few days.
“Just think about it: the three of us together, the Golden Trio, becoming Aurors and ridding the Wizarding world of any fugitive Death Eaters for good! It’s us, it’s always been us, together. Why would you want to ruin that?”
There was a dreamy shine to Ron’s eyes whenever he spoke of his Auror career plans, something Hermione hadn’t seen in a long while. And while she really wanted Ron to find his place in the world and make a name for himself, she couldn’t bring herself to join her two friends.
“Ron…” Hermione sighed, shooting Harry a pleading look. They’d gone over this already a few times, and every time it ended with either Ron or Hermione storming off.
Harry gave her a sad but understanding smile and distracted Ron by asking him questions about the forms they needed to fill out to start their Auror training. While Harry did prefer Hermione join them, he also understood that once his friend had made up her mind, there was no way she would be convinced otherwise. And that maybe, just maybe joining the Aurors after fighting a Dark Lord for the past few years and never having had a normal school year was all a bit too much for his favourite bookworm friend.
And so Hermione had gone to King’s Cross station this morning, all alone.
Harry and Ron had left to start their careers a few days earlier, but even if that hadn’t been the case, Hermione was not sure whether Ron would have wanted to see her off. He’d really taken her choice to return to Hogwarts as a personal insult. Hermione could only hope that with a bit of time and distance, he would get over it and try to respect her choice.
Not in the mood to socialize with the other returning students, Hermione had quickly boarded the train and occupied a small compartment at the back. She knew most students preferred the other carriages and hoped that they would leave her alone for the ride. And with a sad pang to her heart, she also realised that after the war, the train would not be as occupied as usual.
***
Draco shifted in his seat and stretched out his long legs on the bench. Knowing it was going to be a long and blessedly quiet train ride, he made himself more comfortable with his book.
It felt strange to sit in this train after the year he’d had, and even more so without his usual companions. Crabbe – dead. Goyle – imprisoned. Parkinson, Zabini – not returning. Nott – ignoring him. Not that he’d expected his fellow Slytherins to act any differently. People were still wary around him, even after his trial.
It felt like yesterday, even though it had been well over two months.
“Next: Draco Malfoy.” the voice of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot boomed, so that even Draco, who was waiting in one of the dark corridors leading to the court room, could clearly hear the summons.
With a quick glance over his shoulder at his mother, who gave him an encouraging nod, Draco followed his guards. Even though he was quite certain that Azakaban was off the table for him – he had after all defected and aided the Order at the end of the war – he was still nervous. But he kept his face neutral and hid any emotions firmly behind his Occlumency walls. Draco silently thanked uncle Severus for that particular skill.
As he entered the court room, he refused to look around. Most attendees were probably reporters, wanting to witness the trials of all arrested and surviving Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters. He knew his family would be front page news, especially if he’d receive the judgment he was expecting. He kept his eyes firmly on the massive wooden desk behind which several witches and wizards – his judges – sat. They looked tired, which wasn’t a surprise knowing with which persons and files they’d had to deal the past weeks.
After Draco had taken a seat on the lone seat in the middle of the room, the Chief Warlock cleared his throat and began to sum up his crimes. Draco barely registered what was being said – there was no reason why he should, as he knew that very list by heart and had recounted it in his head over and over again during the long lonely hours at home during the war. Gone over and over it until he couldn’t take it anymore. Until that fateful night they’d brought her to the Manor and everything had changed.
The Chief Warlock now had come to the part where he was listing everything Draco had done in order to accelerate the end of the war and how he’d defected. Again, Draco did not listen to the details.
Instead, his eyes started skimming the room. He knew some people were in attendance to testify in defense of his case. Potter – of course, always doing the right thing. No redheads – which was not a surprise. Shacklebolt – temporary Minister of Magic himself. A few other Order members. Not her.
Even though that knowledge did not surprise Draco, he somehow, deep down had hoped to catch a glimpse of her at this trial. To know that she cared enough by being here today. It stung more than he liked to admit to himself.
When the Chief Warlock finally pronounced his judgment, Draco knew he should be grateful for the second chance he was offered. Even if one of the conditions was to return to Hogwarts to complete his education.
And he should be even more grateful for the knowledge that his mother would make it out relatively unscathed as well – she’d joined the Order not long after Draco and would no doubt receive a similar light and symbolical punishment.
As for his father… Draco knew there was little hope there. Lucius Malfoy had been and remained a loyal supporter of Voldemort and the blood purity beliefs, something Draco knew would not be easily forgiven. Or forgotten. Together with other arrested Death Eaters, his father would be locked up and isolated in Azkaban. It seemed that all the money in the wizarding world – of which the Malfoys owned a considerable share – would not be enough this time around.
Draco just hoped he did not have to see his father before they took him away. After everything, there was nothing left to say.
As the Wizengamot finished wrapping up his case, one of the guards released Draco’s hands and gestured to a small door at the back of the court room.
As Draco stepped through it, he slowly breathed in and out. Freedom had never tasted so good. And who knew, being sequestered away at Hogwarts for a year might be just the thing he needed to get back on his feet and ready to decide upon the direction House Malfoy would take.