Chapter Text
Chapter One
The Head Boy Situation
The chill in the air wasn’t the normal sort of September cold.
Usually, early autumn at King’s Cross carried a familiar crispness—the promise of parchment, pumpkin juice, and the comforting rhythm of routine. But the air on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters felt different this year.
Heavier.
Like something lingering in the bones of the place.
Hermione Granger stood beside the Hogwarts Express, fingers clenched around the handle of her trunk. She had arrived far too early on purpose. Crowds had never frightened her before, but now… now they made her uneasy.
Not that there was much of a crowd anyway.
A handful of students dotted the platform. They moved quietly, speaking in hushed tones, their laughter subdued, as if the war might still hear them.
Hermione caught her reflection in the polished glass of the train window.
Her hair was still stubbornly bushy—though slightly more tamed than it had been during her earlier Hogwarts years. Her brown eyes looked sharper somehow. Older. Tired in ways sleep couldn’t fix.
Her features were the same.
But she wasn’t.
She hadn’t been on this platform last year.
No one had.
Last year she had been sleeping in forests, hiding in tents, breaking into vaults, and running from Death Eaters.
Now the war was over.
And the world was trying—awkwardly—to remember how to be normal.
Hermione boarded the train and chose an empty compartment near the front.
For a moment she just sat there, hands folded in her lap, listening to the strange quiet that filled the train.
Had it always been this silent?
She remembered corridors filled with laughter and arguments. Fred and George selling contraband sweets. Ron complaining about homework. Harry being dragged into some ridiculous situation before they even reached Hogsmeade.
Now the silence pressed in on her ears.
She pulled a book from her bag.
Magical Law Reform: From Goblin Rebellions to Grindelwald.
Normally she would have devoured it immediately.
Today the words blurred together.
Her mind drifted—uninvited—to the Battle of Hogwarts.
The Great Hall flooded with red light.
Spells screaming through the air.
The smell of smoke.
Harry shouting Voldemort’s name.
Her wand shaking in her hand.
Hermione snapped the book shut.
Right.
No.
That was precisely why she had come back.
Structure. Routine. Closure.
And maybe—if she was lucky—a year where nobody tried to kill them.
The compartment door slid open.
Hermione looked up, expecting Harry or Ron.
Instead—
“Neville,” she said, surprised.
Neville Longbottom stood in the doorway, looking both awkward and relieved.
“Hermione,” he said.
For a moment they simply stared at each other before Hermione stood and pulled him into a hug.
It was slightly awkward. Mostly because Neville had grown tall enough that she practically disappeared into his shoulder.
Still, it felt… comforting.
“You’re coming back?” she asked as they sat.
Neville nodded, dropping his bag with a quiet thump.
“McGonagall asked if I’d return for the Eighth Year. Said the castle could use some familiar faces.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
“That’s a polite way of saying traumatized survivors needed to reassure incoming students the school isn’t cursed.”
Neville snorted.
“Something like that.”
“How many are coming back?”
“Maybe twenty?” Neville shrugged. “The younger years arrive next week. For now it’s just us.”
He paused.
“The ones who… made it.”
Hermione nodded quietly.
Survivors.
They spent most of the ride in comfortable silence.
Occasionally students passed the compartment. Luna Lovegood drifted past at one point wearing radish earrings and humming something that sounded suspiciously like a funeral march played backwards.
Hermione waved.
Luna waved back dreamily and kept floating down the corridor.
When the train finally slowed, Hermione looked out the window.
And her breath caught.
Hogwarts stood on the hill like it always had.
But now the scars were visible.
One of the towers had been rebuilt with noticeably lighter stone. The Astronomy Tower was wrapped in scaffolding and floating planks held together by flickering spells. The magical wards shimmered faintly in the air like heat waves.
The castle had survived.
But it had not escaped unscathed.
“Bloody hell,” Neville murmured beside her.
“Language,” Hermione said automatically.
Neville blinked.
“Hermione. We fought in a war.”
“Still,” she said primly.
They stepped onto the platform in silence.
The thestral-drawn carriages waited nearby.
Hermione paused briefly to stroke the flank of one of the creatures.
Nearly everyone could see them now.
The thestral twitched its ears but didn’t move away.
“Well,” Hermione muttered. “You’ve certainly gained popularity.”
Neville climbed into the carriage beside her.
The ride to the castle was quiet.
Inside, the Entrance Hall felt colder than she remembered—even with fires blazing.
When they entered the Great Hall, Hermione blinked in surprise.
The house tables were gone.
Instead, one enormous semicircle filled the room.
A deliberate attempt at unity.
Hermione sat near Luna and Ernie Macmillan.
Her eyes drifted across the room.
That was when she saw him.
Draco Malfoy entered the hall alone.
His robes were black. His hair—longer than she remembered—was tied loosely at the nape of his neck.
But it was his posture that struck her.
He looked… smaller somehow.
Not physically.
Just… quieter.
His eyes stayed fixed on the floor as he sat at the edge of the semicircle.
Hermione stared longer than she meant to.
And then—
His eyes lifted.
They met hers.
For a brief moment something flickered between them.
Not hostility.
Not quite recognition either.
Something more complicated.
Hermione quickly looked away.
Professor McGonagall rose from the staff table.
“Welcome back,” she said.
Her voice carried easily across the room.
“This year will not be like others. Hogwarts stands because of your courage, and it is now our duty to rebuild it.”
She paused.
“And to lead that rebuilding, we have chosen two Head Students.”
Hermione straightened.
McGonagall continued.
“Miss Hermione Granger… and Mister Draco Malfoy.”
The silence was deafening.
Hermione stood slowly.
Across the hall—
Draco stood too.
He stared straight ahead like someone awaiting a sentencing.
“They will share the Head Students’ suite and assist in rebuilding student unity,” McGonagall continued. “I expect them to demonstrate what it means to rise above the past.”
Hermione sat down stiffly.
Her brain had stopped working.
She was going to live with Draco Malfoy.
For a year.
Fantastic.
Perfect.
Exactly what she needed for emotional stability.
---
Later, Hermione followed McGonagall through a quiet third-floor corridor.
Draco walked a few paces behind her.
Neither of them spoke.
McGonagall stopped in front of a portrait.
“This will be your suite.”
She tapped the frame.
“Two bedrooms. Shared living space.”
A beat passed.
“No enchantments preventing hexes,” she added briskly. “So I expect maturity.”
Hermione glanced sideways.
Draco looked unimpressed.
McGonagall left before either could protest.
The door creaked open.
Inside was a surprisingly comfortable sitting room—plush armchairs, a fireplace, shelves waiting to be filled.
Two doors led to separate bedrooms.
Draco headed for the right one without a word.
Hermione took the left.
No insults.
No snide comments.
Just silence.
Which was somehow worse.
After unpacking half her trunk and alphabetizing her books (because some traditions deserved to survive the apocalypse), Hermione returned to the sitting room.
Draco was already there.
Reading.
Of course he was reading.
She cleared her throat.
“We should discuss living arrangements.”
He didn’t look up.
“Don’t touch my things.”
“Reasonable.”
“Don’t knock unless it’s urgent.”
“Define urgent.”
“If the castle is on fire.”
Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
“And if Voldemort returns?”
A flinch. “That also qualifies.”
She folded her arms.
“Good to know.”
Draco turned a page.
“And you?” he asked.
“My rules?”
“Yes, Granger. Your inevitable list of seventeen regulations.”
“First of all, it’s twelve.”
He finally looked up.
She smirked.
“Secondly, don’t hex me in my sleep.”
“No promises.”
“And if you insult house-elves during breakfast I reserve the right to throw a book at you.”
“Only one?”
“We’ll see how the morning goes.”
Draco looked almost amused.
Almost.
Hermione pulled parchment toward her.
“We need to organize prefect meetings.”
“I’ll attend,” Draco said. “But if you suggest icebreaker activities I’m resigning.”
“I was thinking restorative dialogue.”
He groaned.
The clock ticked steadily.
After a while Hermione decided she should explore the rest of the suite.
She opened the final door.
And froze.
Bathroom.
Large bathroom.
With—
Two doors.
Her eyes slowly moved to the second door.
Which undoubtedly led to Draco’s room.
Hermione stared.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She placed her toiletries on the counter.
“Shared bathroom,” she muttered darkly.
“Brilliant.”
She quickly cast several privacy charms on both doors.
Just in case Malfoy had the bright idea of walking in unannounced.
After a long shower, Hermione returned to her room and climbed into bed.
She half expected nightmares.
Flashes of spells. Screams. Fire.
But for the first time in weeks—
Hermione Granger slept peacefully.
And for now…
That was enough.