Not a single pair of hands came together.

Draco slowly got up. Pansy, Theo, and Blaise began clapping and were joined by the teachers, but Draco couldn't help noticing that the smiles of the staff members had become rather fixed. The claps echoed in the hall. Most of the school gaped, wondering what had gotten into McGonagall to make her choose Draco Malfoy of all people as Head Boy.

Draco sat down again, his face hot and his eyes stinging with angry tears, but he pushed them back. Here was a live demonstration of what he should expect throughout the year. Damn it, could no one see that what he'd done was not his choice? Everyone saw the actions, but why did no one see the compulsion and urgency behind them? Voldemort would have killed his parents, for heaven's sake!

However, one thing was certain. He was definitely not keeping the badge. He'd go straight to McGonagall right after the feast and tell her to take his badge from him - give it to that godforsaken Potter if no one else.

McGonagall sensed the extreme unease in the hall and cleared her throat. 

"So, moving on to the staffing changes this year," she announced into the silence. The unease gratefully returned to the usual chatter and eager attention. 

"Professor Verlosser Bescherming will be your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

A woman, probably in her late twenties, with short yellow hair and pretty blue eyes stood up from her seat to vigorous applause. She bowed good-naturedly, beaming to everyone, and Hermione got the impression of a jolly, kind, and cheerful personality. She suddenly felt that Professor Bescherming's classes would be very enjoyable indeed.

"As most of you have noticed," Professor McGonagall continued after Professor Bescherming had sat down, "I have assumed the position of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, I will also be continuing to teach Transfiguration to you all. The rest of the teachers are all the same as last year.

"Quidditch training will begin from the second week of term. Those interested, kindly contact your House Quidditch Captain or your Head of House.

"Now, some notices are particularly for seventh-years, so the rest of the students can return to their house dormitories. Will the Heads of Houses please escort the students back, Professor Bescherming can lead the Gryffindors whilst I'm here."

The sixth years and below got up, chattering cheerfully, and in many cases, yawning wide. They filed behind the teachers and sleepily dragged along out of the Hall. Hermione, Ron, and Harry exchanged looks. What was this about?

"So, students, as you all know, you will have your NEWT examinations this year."

Hermione's ears perked. She sat straighter, listening hard to every word. Harry and Ron grinned.

"The importance of these examinations cannot be over-emphasized because they are the examinations that you need to enter into your careers. So, this year's education will be the basis for evaluation for you all, and if you are serious about your careers, I suggest you take an efficient approach toward your studies from the beginning."

"Alright, so we need to arrange a bed for Hermione in the library," Harry whispered to Ron.

"Soon after the beginning of term, a Career Counselling Session will be held for all of you, to give you clarity for your goals and resolve any confusion. For those of you who have not decided yet, it is time to give the subject a serious thought now. I'd suggest you think through everything and come prepared with doubts for the Session."

Draco lay his head on the table. He had enough on his plate without having to think through this. He'd never given his career a thought before now, because of course, he'd had enough money for five generations next to him. Well, he thought bitterly, all that was history, wasn't it? Now he'd have to earn like a common worker, like those tattered Weasleys, and struggle for sickles and knuts. He felt publicly disgraced. 

As McGonagall asked them to return to their dormitories, he remembered his Head Boy badge. He rushed opposite the crowd towards the High Table and reached McGonagall, slightly panting. All this tension had definitely reduced his stamina, he realized.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Look, Professor, I don't know what you thought, making me Head Boy," Draco began, "but I cannot do this. I want to return my badge right now."

McGonagall peered at him over her spectacles amusedly. 

"And why is that so, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Professor, you saw what happened back there when you announced my name," Draco tried to explain, but he felt he was not doing a good job at all. "See, no one in this school likes me, all of them look at me like I'm some sick slug on the mud-"

He stopped abruptly. McGonagall raised an eyebrow. He felt he'd said too much. 

"But the point is, Professor, that I am not fit for this role. Please take this responsibility off me."

"If you are not the favorite student of the school, you must strive to be," McGonagall said. "Your impression is in your own hands, Mr. Malfoy. You need to make sure you behave courteously from now on to make others like you. You have been given a job; it is up to you as to how you will accomplish it."

Draco felt both irritated and desperate. Why didn't this fool understand?

"Professor, listen to me-"

"That's quite enough, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said crisply. "I cannot take this badge from you, so you must know that you are, and will remain, Head Boy for this year. I will not take excuses for your not performing your duties. Good night."

As McGonagall walked away, Draco felt frustrated beyond measure. He wanted to shout his lungs out and punch the walls till his fingers bled. Here he was, miserable and lonely, a boy whom everyone had segregated as unfit for normal conversation. And in such circumstances, he was a Head, and that too along with that stupid Mudblood Granger.

He walked away, head bent low, down towards the dungeons. He understood why the Slytherins had been given a residence on the lowest floor of Hogwarts.

***

Hermione reached the cozy Gryffindor common room but was so tired she went directly upstairs to the dormitory. Her trunk was already beside her four-poster. Too tired to talk to anyone, Hermione undressed sleepily and flopped down on the bed.

As she lay down, her gaze fell on her left arm, which still looked raw. What had that been all about?

In all her time among the library shelves at Hogwarts, she'd never read anything like this. Scars that cut themselves open months after they were carved? That just sounded stupid. But Hermione had been through it, and she didn't understand it either.

And that anger? What about it? She was the happiest person one second; the next second, she felt like killing everyone there with her bare hands. She remembered the way her ears had rang with rage. If this was a mood swing, it was quite an extreme one, and somehow Hermione thought it was more than that. 

The question that she pondered on, though, was whether she should tell Harry and Ron. Well, Harry had a scar, the scar - he might know something... Or would he? Nothing like this had ever happened to Harry, and she could almost imagine the looks of disbelief, bewilderment, and concern on both Harry's and Ron's faces. 

Concern... no thanks. She didn't want her best friends to pity her like that. And, she thought, who would believe her? If she herself had heard this from someone, she wouldn't have believed it. Whoever had heard of something like this before? And maybe that was just a one-time thing. It probably wasn't going to happen again.

So, was she telling anyone? No, she decided firmly, rolling over on the bed and almost instantly falling asleep. 

***

A/N: Another short filler chapter, I know. But good times lie ahead!

By the way, any guesses as to why Hermione's scar behaved like that? And did she take the right decision by not telling anyone about it?