Disclaimer: for entertainment purposes only.
yes... I tried my hand at disheartened!Hermione. This does have some direction but heh. my mind does what it wants tbh.
Translation: I have no clue what i'm doing.
Enjoy.
When she was five, she could remember a magician coming to town. He swooped in with no sense of subtlety, yet his flashy stars and sparkles had amused her then. He'd pulled a rabbit from a hat and made a bouquet of roses appear from a pile of kerchiefs, and she'd nearly lost her breath from the impossibility of it all. And then she'd read, and read, and read again, until she learned that there was no real mystery to it at all and she'd just been fooled.
And now, gazing up at the spires and towers that had been hastily reconstructed over the year, Hermione realized that no amount of rebuilding spells and shields and shiny new buildings would conceal the terror that cloaked the castle's every wall and tainted its very core. The grounds were now seeping with latent magic; she could feel it tugging at her soul. She wondered how many new ghosts would haunt the school walls now that their resting place was reopened for service.
Eighth year he called it. They were to be Eighth years at Hogwarts. Kingsley had glossed over this part of the discussion when they'd met him last. The thing about adults was that they were sure it was their world entirely and everyone else in it existed to serve a purpose at their whims. Sure they had laws and such to prevent them from being utter arseholes about it but if you thought hard enough those things didn't help one bit when someone else decided they didn't want to fit in the framework and proceeded to fuck shit up. There were no rules in war- no playbook. They had been child soldiers really. It should have been wrong. Back then all they'd wanted to do was finish the fight and end the suffering. But now… now all Hermione could think about was how wrong it all was. They'd been used. The war was won and their part had been played. Now they were teenagers again; celebrated war heroes, but teenagers nonetheless. The Order couldn't have them; they were technically too young to join, but necessity, determined by adults, had demanded they be able to engage. They weren't of age to become Aurors and do any real good to the world and Hermione had soon begun to realize that her hopes of rescuing the administrative bodies of the magical world had been fostered in a realm of her own making. A twelve year old girl's world- one where people like Kingsley Shackelbot didn't look down at her a fucking laugh when she attempted to pitch an idea to him about reformation and reconciliation.
"You're thinking about it again."
Ginny sidled up in the periphery of her vision and seemed to be grinning wanly.
"Don't laugh," Hermione warned. "It was a shit thing for a Minister to do."
"I know, I know! Goodness 'Mione, I'm not laughing about that- I'm not even laughing," Ginny lied, biting her lip to conceal a smile. "It's just that it's been weeks and you're still thinking about it and getting teary eyed."
The brown haired witch jerked in response, narrowing her eyes, body tense and ready. Ready for what? She couldn't loosen her stance even with the knowledge that she didn't have to fight anymore.
"What she means is," Harry swooped in, school robes tucked under one arm. "Shouldn't you be planning ways to depose him by now?"
"Yeah," Ron piped in expectantly, running a hand through his hair. "Or figuring out how to strangle him without leaving a trace?"
"What like an Incarcerous, but aimed for his neck?" Ginny interrupted.
Ron paused. "Woah am I the new Granger?" he asked with a grin.
"Magic leaves a trace," Hermione offered, relenting to their efforts to make her loosen up.
Harry beamed at her input and nodded effusively, before agreeing to her statement with a few loose facts he'd learned off a Magitech magazine. Ah Harry, always the glue of the team. She hung back as the other three marched towards the carriages that would take them to the large oak doors, to the steps they'd once bled upon. She knew for a fact she wasn't the only one secretly harboring morbid thoughts, especially on this day. But she also knew that everyone else was ready for this, ready to move on- or so it seemed. Harry had taken the effective role of Keeper of the Mood. He'd dance around everyone's emotions until they were too confused to be sad or too distracted to think about anything else. Almost like a snitch, Hermione had once observed while they'd stayed over at the burrow. He took everything upon himself and as much as she hated it, she couldn't really do much to help. He had Ginny, she figured, and although they all heard her cry at night, it was ok because she had him too. Ron she'd been worried about. He'd locked himself away for most part of the calm after the end and they'd rarely seen his face for a month and a half. True enough the Weasleys had much to grieve over, but Ron grieved alone unlike the others and found solace in a cup. Or two. Or several. Or the Patils. She didn't think he knew that they'd noticed and she wasn't sure if anyone else had, but she knew. Of course she knew. She was Hermione fucking Granger and she'd be damned if she didn't know the symptoms of depression, addiction and sex. Because it was just sex wasn't it? It wasn't like he was cheating. Their kiss had meant nothing, and even if it had meant something back then, it didn't anymore. A potential rose that had bloomed too early- in terrible conditions.
But weren't roses meant to thrive in thorns?
Merlin, if only she wasn't so goddamn poetic maybe her mind would let her sleep once in a while. Or talk to somebody.
But no. Hermione Granger went through shit on her own and she'd rather die than drag someone else through her own mess. She was a silent warrior. She had her own battles to face and she'd fight them alone. She vehemently clung to this mantra as if it was a lifeline, and sometimes she thought it was the only thing keeping her afloat in the tides and other times it was useful as a thread in a stormy ocean.
The carriages shone in the dusky morning glow and beckoned them with doors swung open to reveal its cushioned interior. Hagrid beamed proudly at the forefront, arms wide open to embrace anyone who dared venture close to him which would have been everyone there if their attention hadn't been riveted to the dark creatures that stood restlessly, grazing near the carriages.
Thestrals, Hermione remembered, and her eyes widened at the sheer amount of reptilian horses before her.
And then wider at the sheer amount of people that acknowledged the animals. A fair amount of their earlier batch of students had turned up this spring and yet it still felt awfully alien. The train ride had been stuffy- the atmosphere tense and thick no matter what jokes they cracked and smiles they shared. The herd of Thestrals, visible and noticeable, made everything worse. Luna of course, was the only one to venture near them. The others moved over to Hagrid to greet him, and in the slow crowd, Hermione caught sight of Neville and Dean Thomas, weaving their way along. A handful of Ravenclaws had made their way to the carriages and were currently tugging Luna away from the Thestrals and after them. A small minority of Hufflepuffs were clustered a way off from the main body of returning pupils, large bumblebee striped scarves covering their features despite it being near spring. Oh yes, if there hadn't been enough reason for this year to feel more wrong and incentive for the administration to fuck up more shit, it was the fact that school was starting mid-January, 1999. If there was ever a feeling of wrongness, it was when your whole world and the workings of your life were swept out from under you, tossed around in a chaos of bloodshed and disaster, and when everything settled nothing was in the right place anymore.
And to add insult to injury there was Gregory Goyle, standing alone like a rock that parted a river, letting people avoid him with an unconscious wide berth as they rushed to Hagrid. Nobody had noticed him yet, and he looked happy with it.
He also looked perplexed, for some reason, as if he wasn't sure how he'd got here, and Hermione opened her mouth to alert her friends of his presence. He was slouching more, she noticed, and his forlorn expression made her snap her lips shut and grind the molars at the back of her mouth against each other. How dare he. How dare he be here. How dare he look so sad. So broken.
How dare he stand there breathing.
"What is HE doing here?!" a voice thundered and suddenly Hermione was thankful for Ron.
His rage called Hagrid's attention and the giant was hurtling towards them almost instantly. He looked worried above all else and as much as Hermione was sure Goyle wasn't a threat, she was glad Hagrid felt that way. She could barely contain her glee. Maybe coming back to school wasn't such a bad idea after all. Maybe she could find her healing in rare moments like these- watching school staff beat up escapee Slytheri- Death Eaters.
And beat him up Hagrid did not do.
The lull in conversation caused her to drag herself out of her thoughts and bear witness to Hagrid, their beloved Half giant friend, kneel carefully before Gregory fucking Goyle and clasp his arms and shake him gently as if he were a lost child.
"What are you doing 'ere lad?"
"Chase him!" Dean Thomas piped in suddenly. "Kick him into the Lake!"
"Are you crazy?! Burn the bloody fucker!"
Ah, Ron, always the crowd favourite, she thought, as his agitated words caused a ragged, antagonistic cheer. Amidst the roiling hateful chants, Hermione found herself hearing other words from a time long lost to them.
Weasley for king, the voices chimed in her memory, and she had to agree.
"Weren't you t' come early, boy?" she heard Hagrid query quietly, piquing her interest.
"I -I forgot, sir."
Goyle sounded like shit.
She couldn't tell the last time she'd heard his voice, but the memories of his incessant bullying rang clear in her mind. It almost slipped by, as she let herself be consumed by the flashbacks, but the tiny detail caught hold of her attention just before it was lost forever. He'd called Hagrid sir?!
The crowd seemed to have also noticed something was amiss- no beating had taken place and Hagrid was far too calm for their liking.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, stepping closer. "Hagrid?"
The Half giant shot up hastily, moving forward with an arm flung out behind him, shielding the offensive intruder from sight.
Hermione paused.
"I've got t' handle this 'ere boy, kids. Why don't ya go ahead, eh? The Thestrals know where t' take ya," he grinned cheerily, before turning around and Apparating without another word.
A second later they realised he'd taken Goyle with him, and after a few grumbles the crowd of Eighth years separated into their own carriages.
"The bloody nerve!" Ron exclaimed, looking thoroughly miffed as he climbed in.
His face was blotchy from shouting and it brought out the lattice of scars across the right side of his face that stayed white against his flushed skin.
Hermione eyed them and made no comment on his outburst.
"How'd he get here anyway?" Ginny asked suspiciously. "Weren't they dumped in Azkaban some time ago?"
Harry nodded slowly. "I don't think it was for very long- they're too young."
At this Hermione snorted. "They're eighteen, that's old enough in the eyes of the law."
The others turned to look at her, probably surprised she'd even put into the conversation.
"This is the Wizengamot though, 'Mione," Harry pointed out, slipping an arm into his robes while he spoke.
"True," she conceded. "But these families have clear ties to Voldemort. And their parents were in the Main Circle! They can't have got off easy. They shouldn't have. There's too much against them that holds in court."
Ginny scoffed in acquiescence and Ron agreed enthusiastically.
"Yeah, Harry. He probably broke out or something! We should talk to McGonagall about this!"
"It's ridiculous," his sister added, sneering.
Harry looked a touch uncomfortable at the heated tension. He struggled into the robes and nodded at them.
"I'm sure she knows already. Plus, it's Headmistress McGonagall now."
The others sighed and sat quietly for the rest of the ride.
It was ridiculous how the Great Hall looked exactly how she remembered it and at the same time, not at all. The walls arched high above their heads, sheltering the student body that streamed in through its doors with its blanket of clouds resembling a clear sky in spring. Candles twinkled as they floated in place in mid-air. The banners hung behind the teachers table at the very front of the hall, heavy with history and drapery. The four long tables sat empty as the twenty odd students took seats at their respective houses, looking around for any staff. Hermione slumped into her place at the bench, immediately followed by Ginny and Harry. Ron and Neville sat opposite them and Dean sat further along the table with Seamus, Lee and Parvati. Hermione narrowed her eyes at the other girl and rolled them as she turned to face her friends. She couldn't lower herself so as to hate her fellow Gryffindor- and it's not even like she did truly. She just had nothing better to do if she was being honest, and emotions had to be let out somehow.
Once everyone from their year had settled down, Hermione realised they were the only ones there, excluding Ginny. Were they the only ones who'd returned in the whole school? That would be ridiculous- why start a school year with no students? Did no one want to come back?
"Psst Harry," she ventured. "Do you think people wouldn't come back to Hogwarts?"
Ron snorted before Harry could reply. "Why ever not?"
"Because Ronald, maybe their parents don't want them back here for some reason. Maybe it's because... because of everything that happened- oh goodness I haven't thought about it that way."
"I didn't think anyone would have thought about it at all," Harry deadpanned.
Ron seemed to agree. The issue was brushed aside then and they resumed taking in the Great Hall, eyes darting to places they'd laid bleeding, or in a state of similar distress. Hermione could swear she could hear the wails of the forlorn haunting the arching walls. She let her eyes wander, glaring at pillars that should've been crumbled to dust, blasted to smithereens- narrowing her eyes at the corners which should've been piled with debris and dead bodies, smeared with dried blood. The echoes of that night stirred a thumping in her head that was thankfully cut short by a door slamming open to their left.
Professor McGonagall swept into the Hall, surveying them with a kind smile that hid her obvious discomfort behind a carefully practiced veil of softness.
"Greetings, students," she began, addressing them as she made her way to the staff table.
She nodded at the other professors who moved past her to take their seats and the entire hall waited patiently for her to resume her speech.
McGonagall, Headmistress now, looked tired yet staunch. Her weary features ere strangely more somnolent that ever before, but her smile held resilience to it.
It was strangely comforting. Inspiring. Hermione found herself wanted to hate it. It was easier being bitter.
"Welcome, Eighth Years," the Headmistress began, and her voice rang around the near empty hall.
"As you all know, Hogwarts has reopened and has already welcomed students back into its halls. You may have concerns regarding the time, and how soon the school year has begun after the events of last May. However, I urge you to understand- the magical community of England needs healing. We need to come together as one body to overcome the darkness that has been unleashed upon us. We may have won the war, but the darkness will not have lost if we succumb to its consequences. Unity… is something we must strive to achieve this year. This is why," and at this she paused and inhaled deeply.
"This is why you, as Eighth years, will belong to no house- so as to fully bring the school together, and show the rest of Wizarding England that boundaries can be overcome and peace can be found even in differences."
The resulting silence was almost comical.
"That being said- oh my, Ginny Weasley is that you?"
Hermione, and everyone else in the Great Hall, shot around to look at the youngest Weasley, who'd coloured a deep shade of crimson at the mention of her name.
Meekly, the witch nodded and rose to her feet.
"Why, all normal students were requested to come earlier, were they not?" the Headmistress asked, directing her question to the staff behind her.
The teachers looked appalled, and after great discussion one of them came hurrying down to escort Ginny away.
"Well I suppose you didn't get your Prefects badge then, dear?"
"My WHAT?" Ginny exclaimed, glancing around in a panic as Professor Sprout guided her out of her seat by the forearm.
Ron and Harry looked equally surprised.
"Early?" Ginny asked hastily, whipping her head around so much her hair flipped in a red frenzy. "I was to come early?"
Professor Sprout only nodded while ushering her out of the Hall.
Silence, while lacking sound, could sometimes be deafening and this moment was testimony to that fact.
Headmistress McGonagall sighed heavily, and the façade fell, drawing everyone's attention back to the golden podium.
"Students," she said, with a wry smile, looking older than time itself. "The pressure to carry on with normalcy is high. The Minister and his new administration have insisted that Hogwarts be open to students, not only to guide them and help them heal, but to prove that the Wizarding community can carry on.
"You as Eighth years will work to add to this. You won't have positions of power as Prefects…"
"What was that about," Ron whispered over McGonagall's words, shooting glances towards where Ginny had been dragged off.
"Shhh, Ronald," Hermione hushed, while Harry shrugged indifferently.
"Sounded rather shoddy if you ask me," Ron continued, undaunted. "Was it just me or is Ginny really a Prefect?"
"… and thus you, of all our returning students should be the ones most welcome to change and development…"
Harry perked up at the redhead's words and grinned at him, joining in on the whispering, much to Hermione's distaste.
"Bloody splendid, eh?" he chimed. "But what's with her not getting a letter?"
"Awfully careless, I'd say."
"None of us did Harry," Hermione muttered under her breath. "That announcement remember? Last December?"
"Yes but-,"
"Gin's not in our Year!" Ron near-exclaimed. "Golly, how'd we forget that?"
"Well today is the official opening day," Harry recalled, pushing his glasses up his nose and squinting. "And we got no other instructions apart from Kingsely's speech."
For a blessed second the two stopped investigating and Hermione strained to catch McGonagall's words.
"She was to come early, 'Mione- what does that mean?"
"Ron!"
"…don't expect this to be as easy as planned, but the Ministry of Education is hopeful that this plan works, as well as the Minister of Magic- and I myself am prompted to say I strongly believe in its potential…"
"Prompted? More like legally bound," Hermione snorted.
"Whassat?" Ron asked, whipping his head around from Harry to face the Headmistress' podium. "What's she on about?"
"The Eighth Year Initiative," Harry figured. "Right 'Mione?"
"I'd know if you two shut up."
"…and we are fully open to any suggestions from the student body to further expand the reformative advances adopted by the school…"
"Reformative?"
"Ronald!"
"'Mione," Harry chided, fiddling with his cuffs. "Relax."
"Wonder what early meant. Perhaps everyone else had their first assembly already?"
Harry frowned at Ron's observation and turned to ask Hermione for input, and as soon as she saw the flash of his dark features in her periphery, the witch shot out an answer.
"Speak and you will face vehement damage to your person," she threatened with only a little force. "I'm trying to listen-,"
The slamming of the door Ginny had disappeared behind shocked Hermione mid-sentence and the trio glanced around in mild panic to catch up to the happenings around them.
People seemed to be striding out to meet them, and Hermione relaxed gently as she caught sight of their school uniforms. Their gait was slow, but she supposed the new students might be a little intimidated what with the stories that circled around most of the Eighth Years. Hermione wasn't proud of what the news had spewed that last year, but she did understand how people would be equally in awe and wary of them. But then she realized how deathly silent the Hall really was, and looking around at her fellow batch-mates she could tell everyone had tensed up.
Their postures screamed hostile, and Hermione was almost too afraid to turn back around and face whoever was coming towards them.
"What the bloody hell? Is that Goyle?!"
Ah Ron. Under different circumstances she would mockingly call him her saviour for having spared her in several situations with his loud mouth, but the words he gasped out required fury and not humour.
Then Hermione really did look and what she saw nearly made her wish she hadn't.
Slytherins.
A horde of them were making their way into the Hall and before she could think to jump to everyone's defense, McGonagall had begun to speak- probably having anticipated a negative reception to the children of the very people who'd tried to kill everyone in the fucking room.
Death Eaters.
At least all of them were marked by that lunatic, and they'd all spent at least a week in Azkaban even without it.
Hermione breathed in through her nose, feeling her blood thunder through her veins as it made its new agenda to over oxygenate her entire being. She strongly felt she might implode any moment.
Parkinson. Goyle. Nott.
She was definitely going to implode. She watched their stiff spines and calculated steps and wondered whether it would be better if they were walking corpses or corpses that couldn't walk at all. Her breathing shuttered.
Zabini. Bulstrode. Malfoy.
Her vision swam awfully and the whitened knuckles clutching at the edge of the table was the only thing keeping her upright.
"Holy," she heard someone say raggedly.
"…and that is why the Ministry deemed it best that we integrate these young students with our Eighth years so that the reformation plans could work over smoothly."
The pause in the Headmistress' speech did nothing to ease the thick tension in the room. The Slytherins lined up near their House table.
"With this effort we not only hope to unite all our students- both the ones we lost and those who have returned- we also aim to dismiss the prejudice that clouds our perception of others, in order to truly heal our community. I thank you all for your cooperation."
And with that Professor McGonagall took in a shuddering deep breath and glanced at the sparse amount of students standing at what used to be their table.
No one had reacted in any way but for the sound of their ragged, angry breathing, and the deafening silence threatened to choke them all if nothing happened. For some reason Hermione found herself flicking her gaze to Ron's face, half expecting a well-timed outburst and strangely finding none. The Weasley was turning purple in silent disbelief, glaring across the hall, and she followed his piercing stare to where the Slytherins stood.
A blond head singled itself out as she vacantly took in the cluster of students, and she was violently shoved into a memory of another place, another time, where another blond head had watched her squirm and scream and die over and over on their expensive carpet. Hermione had to choke for air.
"On that note, thanks Minerva," Slughorn cheered, moving from the staff table and down to the main body of the hall to gesture at the stunned students.
"Well now, if you'll follow me."
"YOU!" someone screeched, and a quick turn in the right direction allowed Hermione to witness one Patil twin launch herself across the room, in sudden bursts of movement as if she were stuck in some slow motion jinx.
The scene unfolded almost beautifully- Parvati coming to a sudden halt, wand arm jerking forward, tears streaming down her face.
"You!" she cried, voice raspy as bright colour shot out her wand before anyone could think to move, think to act.
Red streamed across the room in an angry streak, as angry as the twin that had cast it; and Hermione followed its trajectory, watching it catch Draco Malfoy clean in the chest and send him crashing into the wall far behind him with a sickening crunch that should've been music to her ears.
When he fell to the ground in convulsions, she held her breath. Maybe he would die.
When the professors stormed down to where they sat, rushing to Parvati, rushing to Malfoy- she held her breath. They'd let him die. They had to.
Her breathing hammered in her eyes, each breath louder than her heart. Parvati was screaming about something that was lost in her tearful sobbing. McGonagall was hauling her to her feet while ordering the others to stay put. Someone was casting a counter-curse on Malfoy and his awful screams subsided leaving a horrid echo in its place.
He hadn't died, she gathered from the relief etched into Professor Binns' features. She wanted to feel disgusted but all she could muster was a vague sick feeling. All she could see was the curse hitting him squarely and the blond doing nothing to stop it. The fucking acceptance in his posture made her sick to her stomach and that made her hate him even more.
When Professor Sprout called for them to follow her to their new dorms, Hermione all but ran behind the witch.
A/N: I did a thing.