Hermione walked onto platform 9 ¾ with her head held high. She knew perfectly well that everyone was looking at her, but she ignored them with the air of someone who had better things to think about. She didn't hide from the photographers, nor did she pose for them. She simply went about her day. Inside, she seethed.

She levitated her trunk onto the Hogwarts Express and calmly boarded the train. She acknowledged the few hellos called out at her, and ignored the sea of stares and whispers. She'd endured notoriety before. True, in the past it had been for things she could be proud of, not for embarrassment, not for humiliation. Not for betrayal.

But she could cope. She had survived the war. What were heartbreak and disappointment beside that?

Survival, of course, was a relative term. She was still breathing, still moving, still had her wand. If she didn't sleep much anymore, if she woke to nightmares more often than not, if she dulled her senses as best she could when it all got to be too much . . . well, those were small prices to pay for victory.

She found an empty compartment and took a seat. She was returning for her seventh year, of course. Returning alone. She'd been furious, at first, when Harry and . . . When they had said they weren't coming back. But now, she counted it a blessing. She couldn't imagine seeing him, seeing them, every day. She needed a bit of time to lick her wounds before she pretended it didn't matter.

Forcefully, she turned her mind away from the abyss it was circling. She was entering her last year of Hogwarts. This should be a time of excitement, of joy, of exploration. She flipped open one of her school books and began reading. She had done all the reading already, of course, but there was no harm in brushing up.

She looked up when the compartment door opened. When Ginny and Dean slipped quietly inside, Hermione bit back a sigh. She wasn't in the mood for company, but it wouldn't do to be rude. Perhaps they'd be satisfied with a mere hello and go along on their merry way.

"Hey," Dean said, with a tentative smile.

Hermione returned it easily enough. "Hi, Dean. How was your summer?"

His smiled widened, relaxed. He'd been worried about his reception. "Good. A right lot better than last year, at any rate. How about you?" His face changed immediately. He obviously hadn't meant to ask. It was just one of those things that slips out.

"Ron," Ginny cut in, growling his name, "is a right bastard, and the whole family has told him so."

Hermione had to work harder to make this smile form. "I appreciate your support, but I'm alright, really. I'm just excited to start seventh year, finally." She lifted her book, hoping that they'd take the hint she wanted to read.

"How do you think it'll work?" Dean asked. Hermione was grateful that at least he'd had the sense to change the subject.

Still, she couldn't help the small sigh that escaped as she closed her book. "My understanding is that we'll be in private rooms within our house. The sizes of dormitories change based on the class size, and there's enough extra room to accommodate the few returning 8th years."

He nodded. "That's what I heard too. It'll be pretty class to have rooms to ourselves, I think."

Hermione agreed readily. She could not imagine sharing with the sixth . . . seventh year girls. She loved Ginny, of course, but the girl wasn't known for her tact. And she barely knew the rest of them. She might have had to reconsider returning, if it weren't for having a private room.

"I heard you'll have your classes with us, though," Ginny added.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, though there are a few options available only to the eighth years, if we want them."

"Oh?" Ginny asked. She seemed curious rather than jealous.

"I suppose Professor . . . I mean, Headmistress McGonagall wants there to be some way to differentiate us from you lot." She smiled slightly. "Plus, I think they're trying to take into account that all of our peers are being treated as full adults, and avoid treating us entirely as children."

"Count your blessings, that," Ginny commented. "I might be of age, now, but I'm being treated like I haven't fought in a bloody war."

Hermione offered a sympathetic smile. Her eyes drifted toward her book of their own accord. She dragged them back and found Dean watching her with amusement.

"Ginny," Dean said. "Don't you need to be up front, as head girl."

"Oh, bugger," Ginny cursed. "I forgot." She looked over at Hermione. "I tried to convince them it should be you-"

"It's fine," Hermione broke in. "Honestly. I rather like being free of responsibility."

Ginny nodded, obviously not quite believing her. "Well, I'd certainly prefer it." She rose somewhat gracelessly and made for the door. "Don't have too much fun without me," she said as she walked out.

"Never that," Dean muttered. He turned an easy smile on Hermione. "I was just going to do a bit of reading, but if you'd prefer I do it in another compartment . . ."

"No," Hermione stopped him as he began to rise. "You're fine. I was thinking of doing a bit of reading myself."

"Were you?" he teased. But true to his word, he merely flipped open a book and began reading. Hermione didn't miss the fact that it was a comic book rather than a textbook, but she appreciated the effort either way.

Hermione made her way up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, having got the password off Ginny on the train. For the first time in her life, she was consciously choosing to skip the Welcome Feast. She knew they'd planned a memorial to the fallen, an honor to the survivors. She couldn't bear either.

She found her dormitory without trouble. It was lovely. All in scarlet and gold, of course, the bed was massive, a king at least, with a down comforter and soft sheets. The walls had some hangings, but rather a lot of bare space. It would be up to Hermione to fill it. There was a beautiful old oak desk, slightly warn from use, but not the least marred. She wondered how old it was. She knew it was worth a fortune.

She set about unpacking, hanging all her clothes in the lovely cherry wardrobe. She trailed a hand down the door as she went to close it, and paused to look at herself in the mirror. She looked the same, she thought, but a little different too.

Her hair hadn't changed. It was as frizzy as always. She refused to smooth it out. It had been . . . suggested to her, that it might be more pleasant for a bloke to run his fingers through it if she did. But that wasn't at issue anymore, and this was how she looked, really. Anything else seemed just a bit false.

She studied her face. She knew it was where the difference lay, though it wasn't in anything tangible. Perhaps it was a bit thinner. She'd had nearly as much trouble eating as sleeping, over the past months. But in truth, she thought the change lay somewhere in her eyes, or the set of her mouth. Something sorrow had etched indelibly on her skin, something relief had smoothed out, to be almost invisible to any but the trained eye.

Her parents saw it. Her friends didn't.

She put the last of her possessions away and lay down. She thought perhaps this time she would fall quickly to sleep. Perhaps this time, she would wake gently in the morning, excited for classes. Perhaps this time, there wouldn't be any nightmares to drag her twisting and sweating from her sleep.

But this time was like all of the others, and she sat dressed and ready for her classes before the sun ever came up.

She ignored the whispers and stares as she made her way to her table. She spotted Dean and made a beeline for him, pretending not to notice Ginny waving to her from her seat with the other seventh years.

Hermione sat across from Dean, who smiled genuinely in welcome.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," she responded, annoyed that the sound came out half a sigh.

He looked surprisingly understanding. "We missed you last night."

She nodded slightly. "I'm sorry. I was just very tired."

"That's what I told everyone," he said. For a moment, she was unnerved by how he studied her, but then she was sure she had imagined it.

"Thanks for that," Hermione said, shaking off the feeling.

"Of course. What are friends for?"

Hermione smiled, but didn't respond. For some reason it was difficult for her to make polite conversation these days. She'd lost the knack, somehow.

Luckily, Dean didn't seem bothered by the lack. They ate companionably in silence until the post came.

Hermione had debated cancelling her subscription to the Daily Prophet, but decided it was better to know. Ignoring the stares didn't mean being ignorant to their motivation. She'd rather know what people were saying about her.

She glanced down at her paper, curtailing any possible reaction before it could reach her face. It had been at least a week since he'd been on the front page. But there he was again, red hair over long, arms around a pair of beautiful witches. She wondered witch of them he'd taken home that night. She couldn't suppress the snort. Probably both, if he could manage.

Dean looked concerned, but Hermione shook her head to avert any questions.

Hermione noted to change in volume in the hall, the change in pitch caused by a decrease in regular voices, an increase in whispers. She sensed hundreds of eyes on her, and continued about her breakfast like it was perfectly normal. The bacon turned to ash in her mouth.

She forced herself to stay for another fifteen minutes, choking down a few more bites. Then she politely excused herself and returned to her room, where she had the misfortune of seeing all those bites one more time. At least she had a private bathroom. It would have been a great deal more awkward to vomit in a shared lavatory.

Hermione cleaned herself up, feeling, as she so often did, the hurt turn to rage. She rode the violent, churning emotion all the way to her first lesson.

And - spotting Malfoy - formed a truly hideous plan.

Author's Note: If you're waiting for me to finish Better Angels, my sincerest apologies. I promise I'm still working on it, but I got distracted for such a long time that I forgot my plan, and it's been hard to get back into the swing of it. I've got maybe a chapter done, but I'm trying to wait until it's more substantial before posting again. I don't want to post a chapter and then take ages to post the next one. Nobody likes a tease.