Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I do not own the **_**Harry Potter**_** series; that honor belongs to J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made from this story, nor do I intend any copyright infringement by posting this story. Also, a special thanks to poetintraining576 for taking the time to correct my atrocious grammar, spelling, and rewriting parts of the story that were in dire need of rewriting. Having said that, enjoy my story, **_**Forever After**_**. **

Four months. Four long months of mourning, and healing, and forgetting, and still every time Harry Potter came to the Burrow to visit his friend Ron Weasley, a cold heaviness pressed upon him. The death of Ron's brother, Fred, marked the cold absence in the house, and Harry felt himself shiver, though the day was warm, and the oven was on nearby. Glancing at his other good friend Hermione Granger who stood beside him, he could see that she felt the aching coldness too.

Harry could only imagine it would be worse at Hogwarts—death and loss marked every tower, every corridor, every face of every student and teacher. But, despite his fears, today he returned with Ron, Hermione, and his girlfriend (and Ron's younger sister), Ginny to complete their final year of Wizarding education. With a sigh, Harry checked his watch then watched silently as Mrs. Weasley straightened Ron's collar, pausing at a nasty scar on his neck from the Battle at Hogwarts. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione wince slightly.

"Ron, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, as she began smoothing and dusting off his robes, "if it's too much, just send and owl and we'll bring you home. The same goes for Ginny."

The ears of Harry's best mate turned pink. "Mum, we'll be fine. We're just going back to Hogwarts."

Mrs. Weasley frowned, pursing her lips as though she didn't agree. "Even so… I want letters from all of you to know you're safe. You too, Harry dear… and you as well, Hermione." She smiled at them a second before faltering, and she dashed into the other room. Harry could hear gentle sobs from the other room but pretended not to notice.

Harry sighed, checking his watch. "Right, well, I suppose we better apparate to Kings' Cross Station soon. It's about ten thirty. Where's Ginny, Ron?"

The red-head shrugged. "Dunno. She was packing last I knew. Mum doesn't want her to go—doesn't want any of us to go, really, after what happened to… but she doesn't really have any say, does she, mate?" Ron laughed humorlessly.

Nodding absently, Harry checked his watch again. "I'm going to go find Ginny. I don't want us to miss the train and have a repeat of our second year."

Ron and Hermione both nodded listlessly as he left the kitchen.

Walking up the old creaky stairs of the Burrow, Harry finally reached Ginny's room. The door was open, but he rapped on the side of the door frame, just in case. At the sound of his knocking, a beautiful, young, auburn-haired woman leapt from her bed.

"I forgot you said you'd be here," she breathed, as she wrapped him in a tight embrace. Harry returned the gesture, standing with her there for a long moment before letting go. Looking at his girlfriend's face, he could tell she'd been crying—red-rimmed eyes and dusty streaks down her cheeks marred her usually flawless complexion.

"Oh, Gin," he said, reaching to touch the dried tear-tracks, momentarily forgetting about their deadline, "what is it this time?"

Ginny looked at him and immediately tears began leaking out. Harry groaned inwardly; she never used to be this sensitive to _anything_. With a sigh, he wrapped her in another hug as she sobbed, trying to tell him what was wrong. Not that he caught much with her sniffling into his robes, but as he checked his watch again, they didn't really have time to discuss it thoroughly at the moment…

"Gin," Harry said suddenly, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking at her. "I really do want you to tell me all about this, but if we don't leave for Kings' Cross Station now, we're going to miss the train to Hogwarts."

Miraculously, her tears stopped almost immediately. Glaring at him crossly, she said, "You haven't listened to a single word, I've said, have you?"

Lie, or appear insensitive? Neither was an ideal choice. "Erm… would you look at that, we really should be going… I'll help you with your trunk if you want…"

Ginny simply rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, but she grabbed her trunk and followed him down the stairs, fuming, apparating by herself in a flash. The Golden Trio followed soon after, trying to keep up with the angry red-head on the busy Kings' Cross platforms. With another inward groan, Harry knew he'd have to pay for his evasion once they'd gotten on the Hogwarts Express. Sweet Merlin, help him.

HP*HP*HP

Meanwhile, on the train, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood sat next to each other—alone in a compartment. Luna stared at a Quibbler, holding it upside-down, and Neville gazed without interest at his Charms book. He promised himself he would read ahead, like Hermione always did, but Charms held little appeal for him. Well, Neville thought with a groan, it held less appeal than the girl who sat next to him did.

Neville couldn't remember when he'd first met her—had it really only been three years ago with Dumbledore's Army? He felt he'd known her a lifetime. Admittedly, they hadn't spent much time together until last school year when they received joint detentions from the Carrows, but he'd always been fascinated by her.

"Luna, why are you reading upside-down?" he asked, scooting closer to look at the article. He paused, confused. "This isn't even in English."

The Ravenclaw stared at him dreamily. "It keeps the Wrackspurts away, reading like this. And the article's in gibberish with an English dialect. It's rather simple to read."

"Could you show me?"

Luna looked up from the article again. "Show you what?" She looked truly confused.

"Could you show me how to read gibberish?" Neville asked. He felt the back of his neck heating up. Maybe this was a stupid idea.

"Certainly…see this is how you—"

But, at that very moment, the compartment doors slid open to reveal a flushed Ron and Hermione.

"Ron, I was not flirting with that man in Diagon Alley! I wish you wouldn't say such idiotic things…really! When you left last year, I cried for weeks!"

"Well, if you hadn't sided with Harry over me, I wouldn't have left! Besides, you got over it, remember?"

Hermione was shaking her head, tears now flowing down her cheeks. "You're such a prat, Ron Weasley," she spat. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder why we're dating."

"OH," he shouted, "YOU DO, DO YOU? Well, sometimes I wonder why I'm dating such a bossy know-it-all!"

"Fine," she sniffed, putting her nose in the air. "If that's really how you feel…"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione, you said it first…"

But the compartment door clicked shut behind her, leaving a very embarrassed Ron with an annoyed Neville and an unperturbed Luna.

HP*HP*HP

Further down the corridor, Harry and Ginny were having a very different kind of argument. Ginny was crying, screaming, shouting, and wailing, and Harry found himself counting to ten and biting the inside of his cheek. She just needed to vent. She was still upset about Fred. He was an understanding boyfriend. He would…

"_How can you just sit there and not scream at me? Don't you care at all?_" Ginny screeched, her face blotchy. Harry winced at the pitch of her voice and took a deep breath.

"Gin, I know you're still upset about Fred's death, but you've really got to try to move on. It's not healthy for you to have all this rage.

"And another thing," he said, standing up, his voice becoming very sharp, "I care about you a whole lot, otherwise I would have screamed back at you a long time ago, but I know that won't help anything.

"Gin, I want to help you, but you've got to stop using anger as a way to prevent me from helping you deal with the grief that you have, okay?"

Ginny just nodded at him, and he wrapped her in a tight hug. "It just hurts, so much… I cared about him so much… and George isn't the same… and… and…" She broke down completely in Harry's arms, sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, until she fell asleep.

Just as Harry saw her eyelids flutter closed, he heard the compartment door open and saw Hermione standing in the entrance. "May I come in?" she asked timidly.

Gesturing to the empty space, Harry nodded, and Hermione shut the door behind her.

"It seems like even with Voldemort gone, we've got an eventful year ahead of us," Hermione said with a weak chuckle. "First Ron and I get into a fight, and then Ginny goes off on you."

Harry looked at her crossly, but sighed. "We all have a lot of healing to do," he murmured, looking out the window at the grey clouds. "All of us."

HP*HP*HP

But perhaps nobody had more healing to do than Draco Malfoy.

After the war, he and his family had faced severe losses; many of their treasured heirlooms—including hundreds of books—had been confiscated since they involved Dark Magic, and his father faced six months in Azkaban for his crimes with two years house arrest after that.

He and his mother had gotten off lightly, the Wizengamot informed him. Since Draco and Narcissa both played instrumental roles in the defeat of the Dark Lord and neither one of them had done anything in particular to help his forces, Draco received a slap on the wrist with instructions to attend Hogwarts for another year of schooling—since his seventh year was haywire and no one took their N.E.W.T.s anyway—while his mother had to take care of the manor and his father's investments while he was imprisoned. Draco knew how fortunate he was that the Wizengamot had shown mercy…just like Potter had last year.

A rapping on the window distracted Draco's musings about Potter's noble behavior in rescuing him from what would have been a painful and dishonorable death. At first glance, it looked like an owl, but he realized it was a beautiful golden eagle with unusually bright blue eyes. Cracking the window open, he let the bird in. He shut the window carefully, so no rain would leak through, and turned to look at the bird. To his surprise though, a petite young woman with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes sat across from him.

"I presume you're an Animagus?" he drawled. Truth be told, he was impressed. From what he heard, even Granger hadn't been able to figure out the complicated Transfiguration that becoming an Animagus required.

"Clever bloke," the girl replied coolly. "Nothing gets by you, does it? Do you really think an eagle would tap on a window? They're not as intelligent as owls you know."

Draco frowned at the girl. She acted like a pure-blood, and a Slytherin no less… she had no disregard for the rules, and she had a superiority complex that rivaled his own, yet he had never seen her at Hogwarts. But, then again, he tended not to associate with anyone outside his own House, and if she was a few years younger, well, he wouldn't have paid her much mind. Wouldn't he have remembered seeing such a smirk and eyebrow raise, though?

"What, cat caught your tongue?" she asked. "Or should I ask if the eagle caught it between its talons?"

Narrowing his eyes at her, Draco replied coldly, "I didn't think your statement required a reply, you bloody bird."

She smiled. "That, I do have to admit, is clever. Now that we've both insulted each other, you might as well tell me your name."

"Are you pure-blood?" he asked, pretending to examine his fingernails.

The girl leaned in, the smirk on her face growing. "Why?" she asked innocently. "Will you refuse to tell me your name unless I'm a wealthy pure-blood? That seems rather petty, don't you think?"

Draco ignored her question. "So, you're an Animagus. Why didn't you catch the train at Kings' Cross like the rest of us?"

Raising an eyebrow in amusement she said, "Well, I can fly. I intended to fly the whole way to Hogwarts, but since it started raining"—she gestured outside—"I thought it would be…prudent to find the train and ride the rest of the way there so that I wouldn't look like a drowned rat once I reached the castle."

"And your bags?"

"_Merlin's beard_, you ask a lot of questions for not even telling me your name," she commented with an eye roll. "But yes, my bags are already at Hogwarts. Father asked Tipsy to take care of them so that I could fly there if I wanted."

Draco smirked. "So you are a pure-blood. You have a house-elf."

The girl gave him a wry smile. "Yes, I am a pure-blooded witch, and I imagine you're also a pure-blood… but unlike me, _you_ are a pure-blood supremacist, upon which I fail to look favorably."

A pause crept into their conversation. "What's your surname?"

With an indignant sigh, she crossed her legs. Draco noticed that the blue silk of her dress rode up to the middle of her thighs. Though he loathed admitting it, she had good legs. "Honestly, is that all you care about? You'd rather know my surname than my first name? Or why you've never seen me around Hogwarts before? Or perhaps how I've been faring now that the war has ended?"

"You know," he said dryly, "you're being awfully rude, barging into my compartment and insulting me."

Her eyes flashed. "I'm being rude? Oh, that's rich. First of all, you let me into your compartment, and second of all, _I'm_ keeping an open mind to the person sitting in front of me without regard to his lineage. That's more than I can say of you."

_Damn_, this girl was annoying. "Well," he said, irritably, "if I'm being so rude, perhaps you should find a different compartment with which to grace your presence. I wouldn't be at all opposed."

Turning her face sharply toward the door, nose lifted into the air, she exited the compartment and slammed the door shut. Draco could hear her loud and angry footsteps echo down the corridor, and though a smirk crossed his face, he felt rather lonely. It wasn't like Blaise or Nott or even Goyle had returned for this year… from what he heard Blaise and Nott were receiving their final instruction from their parents, and Goyle was probably in Azkaban or rotting in his own stupidity somewhere in Britain. Frankly, Draco didn't give a damn. But this girl, she cared about people—even Draco could see that, and oddly, he felt a desire to go find her and ask her to join him for the rest of the ride. He almost swallowed his pride to find her and apologize, but instead, he spent the rest of the train ride staring at the sky as it darkened.

There are some things that a Malfoy simply does not do.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Harry noticed as he entered the Great Hall was how sparse the tables were—only half the usual number of Gryffindors and Slytherins were there (for different reasons, he imagined), and even the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables held empty spaces for those who had died or those who were reluctant to return. Harry saw Ginny looking at their House Table where Colin Creevey's usual seat was unoccupied, and he squeezed her hand tightly.

Glancing up at him, she smiled, though her eyes seemed glazed with tears. He pulled her into a hug. "Ginny, if this is going to be too hard, I can find Professor McGonagall and tell her you're ill. She won't ask any questions, and you can go straight to the House dormitories."

Ginny shook her head vehemently. "No, I can do this," she said, and for the first time in four months, Harry heard the determination and resolve of the woman he fell in love with.

They walked to the Gryffindor table, fingers intertwined, to find Neville, Hermione, and Ron already sitting down. Poor Neville was lodged in between the feuding couple, and Hermione and Ron both had their heads turned pointedly away from each other. Ron was picking at his robe and Hermione's head was buried in a book.

"What stupid thing did Ron say this time?" Ginny murmured as they sat down next to each other. "I haven't seen Hermione so upset in a long time."

Harry looked at her, surprised. "She's reading. How can you tell she's upset?"

"Men," Ginny said with an eye roll. "You never notice anything. She's been crying."

Sure enough, when Harry looked more closely at his friend and saw that her eyes were rimmed with red. "Well, she was with us on the train for a bit, but then she left to sit elsewhere. I think she said something about Ron calling her a flirt?"

With a sigh, Ginny leaned over and kissed Harry on the temple. "Well, let's make sure this gets ironed out tonight… I don't want us to be the middle-men indefinitely."

Harry nodded and was about to say something to Ron when the hall went quiet, the roaring chatter now only excited whispers. The doors opened behind Professor McGonagall and hordes of first-years. At the end of the procession, however, there was a beautiful young woman about his age wearing a sky blue dress. Harry made sure he wasn't looking at her too long; Ginny was still fragile and bound to notice if he did.

The group processed toward the staff table at the front of the room. Right in front of the elevated table stood a dais with an old wooden stool and an even older, patched hat. As the last whispers in the Great Hall died, a large rip on the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat began to sing.

"Twelve centuries ago, according to wizard lore,

One founder took off his hat, that Gryffindor

And stuffed some brains into its head,

To sort the students when they were dead.

Now here am I to sort you all,

Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw

Each house with talents but without the other three

The school unbalanced, a lurking catastrophe.

In Gryffindor dwell the brave of heart,

In Slytherin, those of cunning and design,

In Hufflepuff, dwell those of loyalty,

And to Ravenclaw if you've a ready mind

So, step up, sit down and stuff me on

And I will tell you just where you belong!"

Although the older students had often heard songs from the Sorting Hat, they clapped; conversely, Harry noticed, the young first-years crowded around it seemed awe-struck at the singing hat. He waited for McGonagall to call the first first-year's name, but she paused and the hall fell silent once more.

"While it is customary for the Sorting Hat to place only first-year students into the Houses in which they will live while they are here, we have an extraordinary circumstance. This year we have a young woman, Eleanor Zianti, who will be joining us at Hogwarts as a seventh-year. Since Miss Zianti has no House to call her home, she will be sorted first, with the traditional sorting of first-years afterward.

"I ask that you make her feel welcome here in this castle. Thank you." Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Now, then, Miss Zianti…"

With a slight nod, the blonde-haired girl walked to the dais. She lifted the hat so that she could perch on the stool and gently let the hat fall onto her head. After a couple of moments, the hat cried, "RAVENCLAW!"

Loud cheers burst from the table directly behind Harry, and he turned to watch as with a pleased blush, Eleanor Zianti flounced over to the Ravenclaw table and sat down. Once the cheering had died down, McGonagall proceeded to sort the first years, and Harry allowed his attention to wander.

"That's rather unusual," Hermione said thoughtfully, as she looked at the Ravenclaw table directly behind Harry and Ginny, "I've never heard of a seventh-year being sorted into a house here. I wonder if it's ever happened in the history of Hogwarts."

"Look! She's talking to Luna," Ginny said, twisting around in her seat. She narrowed her eyes in concentration. "And it looks like she's laughing. Did Luna say something funny? If she's making fun of her for something she did… oh, she won't know what hit her…"

With a sigh, Harry put a hand on Ginny's back and gently guided her so that she was facing forward. "Gin, calm down. I'm sure that Zianti girl isn't making fun of her."

Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but instead, she tapped Harry on the forearm and pointed forward, gesturing at the Slytherin table. "Harry, look, it's Malfoy."

Ron faced forward immediately. "What, that little git is here? The one we all nearly died for last year?"

Hermione sighed and looked at Ron crossly. "Honestly, Ron… you could stand to be more sympathetic. He's had to go through things that we can't even…"

"So you're saying," Ron said loudly, "that you're not upset that he didn't help us when we were at the manor… when his barmy aunt was torturing you?"

"Ron," she hissed, "quiet. People will hear you. _Malfoy_ will hear you."

But her warning came too late, because Harry saw Malfoy make direct eye contact with him and glare at him. The hall seemed to have gone silent, yet Ron was still having his tirade.

"Dear Merlin, how do I shut him up?" Hermione muttered, and in answer, Ginny slapped her older brother across the face. He stopped talking at once.

"What was that for?" he asked incredulously. "What did I do?"

Ginny met his eyes, glowering. "I hope you're not actually that thick. And if you are, then you don't deserve to know anyway."

As Ron and Ginny began to argue, Hermione dug her nose back into her book, and Neville toyed around with his fork and plate, Harry sighed. He hoped the feast would begin soon; he needed something to occupy his mind besides this mindless row.

HP*HP*HP

As the first-years continued to be sorted—all blasted forty of them—Draco thought back to his train ride that afternoon. That girl had been _Eleanor Zianti_, not just a pure-blood, but the heir to the French Zianti fortune which rivaled the Malfoy estate, and might even be larger.

She would be a good one to marry, he mused. Mother would like the fact that she was beautiful, Father would like the fact that her father, Alexander Zianti, was the former French Minister of Magic and a successful inventor of charms, and Draco thought he could probably tolerate the girl. Pansy had always been so petty and so… vapid. By the end of their relationship (which had been physical more than anything, he'd admit), he was about ready to wring her neck. In a way, he was very glad she hadn't returned to Hogwarts.

Glancing up from the Slytherin table, he saw the Weaselette and Potter looking at him. _Gellert Grindelwald,_ what had he done this time? He hadn't even glanced their way tonight!

And now that Weasel was beginning to yell… most likely about him.

"…you're not upset that he didn't help us when we were at the manor… when his barmy aunt was torturing you?"

Trying to assuage his guilt, Draco glared sullenly in Ron's direction in hopes that he would shut his mouth, but met Harry's eyes instead. Fortunately, Potter's girlfriend slapped her brother across the face and he quieted. At once, the volume of the hall increased to its normal pitch, and Draco sighed. He'd always been one for attention, but now, any attention was bad attention it seemed; couldn't he just be invisible this year?

Food appeared on the table, and Draco allowed the feast to distract him from his thoughts. He shoveled shepherd's pie onto his plate and picked at it slowly, observing the other Slytherins around him. There was that Greengrass girl… Daphne, talking with her younger sister…Milicent Bulstrode hadn't returned…neither had that annoying little second-year…Avery? It seemed that only Slytherin students whose parents hadn't claimed loyalty to the Dark Lord were here…well, with the exception of him, of course. Draco smiled wryly: yet another reason for him to be an outcast within his house.

Eventually the food and the desserts disappeared, and Professor McGonagall stood up once more to address the entire school before her. Clearing her throat, the entire student body hushed to listen to the new Headmistress.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," she said, adjusting her spectacles. "I ask that this year, you remember the past, but do not dwell upon it. As we walk these halls we will forever remember the sacrifice given for the power of good, but it should give us strength to continue each day, not weaken us with morose thoughts.

"Before we head up to our dormitories, I would first like to welcome our new professors and introduce the Heads of Houses. Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is Auror Blake Proudfoot, who has generously given up his job at the Ministry to join us."

A tall brown-haired man with a pleasant face stood up and waved. Draco felt a faint sneer creep onto his face as the majority of the students clapped. Before the applause had gone too long though, McGonagall raised her hands and the room quieted, allowing her to continue.

"Unfortunately," she said, in a brisk voice, "we have not found an adequate Transfiguration teacher, so in the interim, I will both teach Transfiguration and act as Headmistress.

"And, now, for our Head of Houses," she announced. "Septima Vector, our professor of Aritmancy is the new Head of Gryffindor, and due to last years' circumstances, Professor Horace Slughorn will retain his post as the Head of Slytherin. As per usual, Filius Flitwick, our Charms professor, will be the Head of Ravenclaw, and Pomona Sprout, our professor of Herbology will be the Head of Hufflepuff House.

"I ask that Miss Zianti and any students who would have graduated last year barring the unusual circumstances remain in the Great Hall. Everyone else is excused and may follow the prefects up to their House common rooms. Tomorrow you will receive your schedules for the coming year. Thank you, and good night."

With a clap of her hands signaling their dismissal, the younger students began to chatter excitedly as the prefects ushered them out of the hall. Soon, it was relatively quiet, and Draco noticed that very few students remained. Among the ten or so that were left, he spotted Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Longbottom all crowded together. Zianti was over at the next table with Boot, and far away at the Hufflepuff table, Draco could see Hannah Abbot. Next to him stood Daphne Greengrass and another of Pansy's cronies whose name he didn't remember.

With a sigh, Draco began walking over toward Professor McGonagall where she stood on the dais. Soon, the ten students had formed a cluster around the older woman. Glancing around at them, she began to speak.

"Since you should have all graduated, with the exception of Miss Zianti, we have no room in the House dormitories for you. As such, we have set up a separate dormitory for the eighth-year students by casting an engorgement charm upon one of the empty classrooms. We have modified it for your use, and it includes two functional bathrooms, a common area with a kitchen, and two dormitories… one male, one female.

"Miss Zianti, as we do not have any room in our seventh-year Ravenclaw dormitory, we have arranged for you to live with the eighth-year female students. If you have no other questions, I will escort you to your dormitories."

Glancing around, Draco could tell that they did have questions, but he knew it would be pointless to say so. Judging by the looks on everyone's faces, they would keep their concerns to themselves. As it was, Professor McGonagall began walking, her emerald green robes swirling about her as she exited the Great Hall; Draco had to jog to keep up.

While they walked to their new dormitories, Draco couldn't help but look at Eleanor from the corner of his eye; her lips were slightly parted as she looked around her; she must be fascinated by the décor, he thought smugly. Once, she caught him looking at her, and he swiveled his head in the other direction so that she might think he had glanced at something else in her general direction.

At last, they reached the fourth floor where a painting of an armored knight on a fat gray pony sat looking at them.

Draco heard some groaning ahead of him where Potter and Weasley were.

"Professor, why do we have to have him? He's such a bloody pain."

The older witch pursed her lips at Weasley's language but only said, "Weasley, Sir Cadogan was the only portrait willing to take the job on such short notice. I am aware of his tendency to change passwords with unnecessary frequency, and I will look for a replacement as soon as possible. Until then, you will have to manage."

Longbottom looked horrified. "Professor, don't you remember our third year? I had to ask him the whole week's list of passwords, and then I lost the list and well… surely, you remember?"

With a sigh, Professor McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder. "Longbottom, everything will be fine. Miss Granger will be more than happy to help you out should you need it."

"Miss Granger, if I could speak with you for a moment… and the rest of you may head inside. The password is: Mandragora."

Glancing once more in Zianti's direction, Draco cleared his throat and tapped on the frame of the portrait. Sir Cadogan turned around and his eyes lit up with recognition.

"Fight, you bloody cowards! Fight!"

"Mandragora," Draco said in a bored drawl, and disappointed, Sir Cadogan's picture swung forward to show a doorway into a large, bright common room with several couches and stuffed armchairs covered in scarlet, royal, emerald, and gold fabrics. Once all of them had entered—minus Granger, that teacher's pet—Draco glanced around, only to find Eleanor standing behind him. She had her eyebrow raised infuriatingly, and he felt his eyes narrow.

"A little bit jumpy, are we?" she asked. Draco supposed she was amused, and he felt the condescension in her voice.

"No," he muttered. "I'm fine." He turned to enter the dormitory to his left, but Eleanor tapped his shoulder.

"I believe," she said innocently, "the men's part of the flat is that way." She pointed to where Potter and Weasley had gone. "After all, you really don't want to earn the reputation as the wizard who steals young women's virtue by sneaking in their rooms uninvited, do you?"

Draco gritted his teeth, trying to keep his temper in check, and smoothed his face before she could see his annoyance. "A Malfoy never steals," he said coolly before stalking off in the other direction. He knew his retort was weak, but he couldn't think of anything witty. Zianti just caught him so off-guard.

He entered the room that she had indicated only to find Potter, Weasley, Boot, and Longbottom already there. Three of the beds were decorated with gold and scarlet hangings, one with blue and bronze, and the other with green and silver. Draco took his place on the end next to Boot and found his trunk at the end of his bed. Leafing through it, he found a pair of satin pajamas and began to disrobe. While he did so, he heard the others talking about Zianti.

"It's so weird that she shows up as a seventh-year, right mate?" Weasley was saying. "I mean, who's ever heard of such a thing?"

"Dunno," Potter replied, "but I'm sure that Hermione will make her feel welcome."

"Hermione's the only Gryffindor in that dorm…"

"Ron, she'll be fine. Hermione's not one to start petty fights—"

"Oh, really? Could have fooled me with the row we had this afternoon on the train—"

Buttoning up his top, Draco tuned out. As amusing as it might be to hear Potty and the Weasel get into an argument, he really wasn't in the mood tonight. Pushing down the covers of his four-poster bed, he pulled the hangings around him and climbed into bed.

Shortly after, the voices of Potter and Weasley died down, and the lights in the room turned off, but Draco remained awake. Though he was trying hard to sleep, a certain smirk of the face of a certain blonde kept floating through his memory.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Draco__,__" a familiar voice called, and he shivered involuntarily. __B__reathing heavily__, Draco__ readjusted his grip on his wan__ only to feel a bony hand grip his shoulder. _

"_Now, Draco__,__" Voldemort hisse__d, gesturing to a young girl with dirty blonde hair and a scratched face, "punish her."_

_Draco glanced back at the girl__; she was huddled in the corner, crying, and he felt a twinge of sympathy. __ "Please," she whispered__ in between sobs__, "I'll do anything."_

_His father stared on without pity from his spot in the old, leather armchair.__ "Go on Draco," __he __said__, a slight tremor in his voice__,__ "__do not keep the Dark __L__ord waiting."_

_Closing his eyes, Draco raised his wand and uttered the Cruciatus Curse, only to hear her excruciating screams… _

Draco woke with a start, panting. Sweat coated his skin, giving it a grayish hue in the moonlight. Sitting up in his bed, he scanned the room—Potter was sleeping soundly, his mouth ajar and snoring lightly; Weasley was sprawled across his bed, with drool smudged across his face.

"Disgusting," he muttered, as he pushed himself out of bed. Padding quietly down to the common room, he paused as he reached the edge of the room—someone was already there. Draco saw a mane of golden hair, and two slender legs hanging off the side of a blue armchair. As he walked toward the front of the chair, he saw that it was Zianti, and she was sleeping, a book held in her grasp.

He slowly made his way to the chair out of curiosity letting his body do as it wished. Her mouth was ajar and in the flickering candlelight freckles that dotted along her cheeks and nose were visible. His eyes trailed hungrily to the book she was clutching. It was one of those muggle scrapbooks that could hold pictures. Draco hesitated a moment before gently pushing Eleanor's arm back, and slipping the book from her grasp. The book was pink with a picture on the front of Eleanor, and two other girls. Draco glanced up at Eleanor warily before sitting on a chair by the fireplace with the book in his lap. Most of the photos were of Eleanor and other girls, swimming, laughing, dancing, and posing with Muggles, but one photo caught his eye. Eleanor was sitting on a towel at a beach in France, he presumed from the signs behind her all written in French. Some boy was sitting next to her with messy copper colored hair with a long arm draped around her. They were smiling at each other with their faces inches apart. Draco felt the slightest bit of jealousy, before his thoughts were interrupted by the book being ripped out of his hands. Eleanor was standing there in pink pajama shorts and he could make out her chest heaving through her flimsy tank top. Her wand was pointed directly at him.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth, "I advise you to go back to the boys' dormitories before I hex you into the next millennium." Draco felt around for his wand frantically before remembering he left it by his bed. He put his arms up in surrender as he stood up and backed away. Eleanor's wand was still pointed directly at him as the fire reflected off her blue eyes. He dashed back into the boy's dormitories as soon as he was a safe distance away and crept back into bed.

Harry woke up the next morning to Ron's shouting and Draco's aggravating voice.

"What gives you the bloody right to give me dirty look, Malfoy?" Ron yelled shoving on his sweater.

"I have the right to do whatever I want, Weasley," he hissed in reply as he pulled on his shoes. Draco looked as if he hadn't slept much last night, and he didn't want to deal with Ron at the moment.

"You don't have Daddy here to help you fight your battle this time, Malfoy. Last time I checked he was in Azkaban," Ron said, twirling his wand in his hand. Draco gritted his teeth; stupid Weasley was obviously looking to start a fight.

Draco had his wand in his hand in a flash and was stepping towards Ron. "What did you just say, Weasley?" he growled.

Ron raised his wand, his expression just as dark. "You heard me, Malfoy."

Draco flicked his wrist viciously. "_Densaugeo!"_ he yelled and frowned as it narrowly missed Ron. Ron let out a cry of disbelief and pointed his wand at Draco, "_N__asus__I__ncrementum__!"_ Draco yelped, his robes singed by the greenish sparks. "That's it, Weasley," he growled as he raised his wand again.

Finally lifting himself from his four-poster, Harry grabbed his own wand from the nightstand. _"Expelliarmus_!" he cried, sending both of the boys flying backwards.

"Sweet Merlin," Ron muttered from his spot on the floor, as he rubbed his head. From his vantage point, Harry could see Malfoy glaring daggers at Ron across the room. Two, or rather three, could play this game, Harry thought.

"Malfoy," he said, lowering his wand, "the next time I see you try to curse Ron, you can expect a spell up your arse, and Ron, honestly, the war is over, so stop provoking Malfoy."

"You bloody sound like Hermione," Ron mumbled as he rose, brushing dirt off his robes.

"Speaking of which," Harry said, more quietly now, "she's really upset. Hannah Abbott said that Hermione was crying last night because of what you'd said to her yesterday. This has to stop—Gin and I are tired of being the bloody mediators."

Ron heard the finality in Harry's voice. With a resigned sigh—he didn't really want to apologize to either Hermione or Malfoy just now—he walked over to his trunk and pulled out some parchment. If he was going to apologize to Hermione properly, he needed to do it away from Harry, Neville and Ginny.

Neville watched them silently while shoving his socks on. Eager to break the thick silence he asked brightly, "Anyone excited for breakfast? Because I know _I'm_ starving." The boys just gave him dirty looks as they all filed out of the room leaving him alone.

From the common room, the girls heard a crash in the boys' dormitory and the sound of Ron's voice rising. Hermione bit her lip as she gathered her books and looked up at Luna who was staring absent absentmindedly at the wall. Ginny grabbed Luna's hand, "Luna, time to go."

Luna glanced at Ginny then to Hermione, "They're talking about you."

Hermione's eyes widened, "Me? How do you know?"

Luna reached down and grabbed her books, "You can hear them through the walls if you listen carefully."

Hermione opened her mouth to continue but shut it, "Oh."

"Hey, Luna?" Eleanor called looking at a parchment containing all her classes, "Can you help me with my schedule?"

As Luna began to explain the schedule to Eleanor, Ginny and Hermione walked ahead toward the Great Hall. "Speaking of schedules," Ginny asked, "what's up first for you today?"

Hermione glanced down at the piece of parchment she was holding and frowned. "It looks like I'm teaching Transfiguration first."

Ginny was holding open the door for Hermione, and her mouth dropped wide when she heard Hermione's news. "Teaching?" she asked. "You didn't tell me you were teaching any classes."

Hermione nodded her thanks as she walked through the door and continued up the stairs. "Well, I suppose I forgot to mention it last night, but McGonagall asked me last night to help her out with the first years." She bit her lip, "It's only two classes, and I'm still attending all my classes, except Transfiguration, and I'm missing a free period."

Ginny shook her head. "How could you forget to mention something so huge?"

Hermione gave her a look as she made her way down the stairs, "I have things on my mind."

The girls saw the boys heading their way and Ginny rolled her eyes, "Speak of the devil." Eleanor and Luna finally caught up to them, and Luna and Neville instantly intertwined arms. Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny and kissed her gently on the lips. Hermione glanced up at Ron who stood there with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Ron?" She asked hesitantly, but Ron had wrapped his arms around her enveloping her with his warm body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he kissed her.

Eleanor looked up at Draco who was walking past the couples with disinterest. She glanced over at them once more before falling into step with Draco. "Is it normal for you to go through other people's things while they're sleeping, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco ran a finger under his eye, "Is it a normal thing for you to fall asleep in arm chairs clutching a picture book like love sick school girl, Miss Zianti?" The comeback was weak, but it definitely stung, because he could see her jaw clench.

"Sorry I don't live up to your arrogant pure blood standards Mr. Malfoy, but at least I have some type of personality, unlike some people."

"Personality?" he spat; he could feel his temper rising, "I have plenty of personality."

She stopped walking and turned to face him, "Being a stupid prat is not a personality."

Pausing as well, Draco turned to glare at her, "You know nothing about me Miss Zianti." He clenched his fists avoiding the temptation to hex her.

The anger washed out of Eleanor's eyes and a look of pain was there instead, "I know more than you think Draco." She whispered before continuing her way to the Great Hall.

*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*

"So are you nervous about teaching the first years?" Ron asked as he walked Hermione to her first Transfiguration class. He was shocked when Hermione told everybody during breakfast, but he should have seen it coming, considering Hermione was the best in the class.

Hermione sighed, "Well, they are just first years, and few of them actually know magic. I'll probably get more frustrated at them then anything."

Ron shrugged his shoulders as they finally reached the classroom door. "We have astronomy together so I'll see you then." He said kissing her quickly, "Tell me how it goes!" he called from over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Oh Merlin help me." She whispered as she opened the door to the class room. The class was relatively small and the first years all looked nervous as she entered; she gave a small smile as she walked up to the desk.

"Hello, I'm Miss Granger," she said, using her wand to write it on the board, "And I will be your Transfiguration teacher."


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama, Romance