"Dear Gods, what were they thinking?" Dumbledore mumbled. "I guess fate has a sense of humor after all."

"Shall I prepare the owls?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Yes, I suppose that is the only thing to do," replied the headmaster.

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Hermione lay on her bed, dictating a letter, as a feather on her desk scribbled madly to keep up with her hurried speech.

Dear Ron and Harry,

I hope your summer is going well at the Burrow. I really wish that I could have been there. But vacation was wonderful. We traveled all over France and Spain. I have been at Howart's so long that I forgot about how interesting the Muggle world is. And frustrating too. You forget how difficult it is to do simple tasks without a wand. Oh, but I brought you both some wonderful souvenirs. But you will just have to wait till you get to Hogwart's. Look forward to seeing you both soon! Please tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hello for me. Your friend,

Hermoine Granger

No sooner had the wax seal dried on her letter, then Hermione was tying it to the foot of her fastest owl. It was only three weeks will the start of her seventh and final year at Hogwart's. She was excited and sad; the passed six years had been the best of her life. When she had entered the Hogwart's gates only 6 years ago, she had been a selfish, arrogant, bushy haired little girl. And now, she looked herself over in the mirror, well, at least she wasn't bushy haired any more, she laughed to herself. It was true, the last six years had taught her a lot about humility and friendship. And about the bigotry and hate that still filled the wizarding world.

It had only been a little more than a year since Voldemort had fallen and his band of Death Eaters with him. Things were so much better than they had been in her first year at Hogwart's. There were no more scowls down the hall; no one called her mudblood any more. No one that was except Draco Malfoy. But no one paid Draco much attention any more. After Voldemort fell, Lucious Malfoy had been sent to Azkaban. Draco was a mere shell of his former self. There was no fire in his steel gray eyes, only cold embers. But why dwell on Draco now, thought Hermione, he was out of her way.

Hermione opened her window to set her owl out on its mission to the Burrow. Hermione would have gone to visit herself, but since she had been gone all summer, she needed the remaining weeks of summer to cram for her final year. Her grades had to be perfect if she wanted to become an auror. The auror program in the wizarding world was like becoming a doctor or lawyer in the muggle world. Only the best students even bothered to apply to the program, and most of them were turned away. But Dumbledore encouraged her, tutored her, and even wrote her a letter of recommendation. She actually had a chance. But this year had to be perfect… no slip-ups.

Hermione was about to shut the window as she watched her owl fly out of sight, when a cold wind brushed passed her from the open window. She shook off the feeling as she shut the window. She turned around to finish unpacking before settling in to her studies.

She screamed so loud that her mother raced up the stairs to see what was the matter. Her father came running down the hall at the same time. What could be the matter?

It wasn't a snake or a bug, or some practical magic trick that had made Hermione scream. The cold wind that had hit her was now perched on top of the large stack of books on her desk. It was the largest snow owl that she had ever seen, it had large gray eyes and Hermione knew at once that it was Dumbledore's personal owl. She had seen the owl only once before during the battle with Voldemort when Dumbledore sent the most secret documents to the other schools.

Mother and Father burst in Hermione's door at the same moment that she let out another piercing screech. "What, what is it, dear?"

"I am head girl! I am the head girl! This is wonderful, oh wait, this is terrible. No time, no time at all." Hermione went on running about her room, sifting though stacks and piles. Her mother and father exchanged confused glances.

"Hermione!" exclaimed her mother, as she grabbed her frantic daughter by the shoulders, "Would you bother to explain to your father and I what you are ranting about?"

Hermione often took for granted that her parents didn't belong to the secret world that she did. That they didn't speak the lingo. That they didn't understand what it meant to be head girl at Hogwart's.

Hermione thrust the parchment letter that she had been clutching at her mother.

Dear Ms. Grainger,

It is my great honor to inform you that you have been chosen as the Head Girl for Hogwart's for the coming school year. This year at Hogwart's will be like no other. Hogwart's will be cooperating with the other wizarding schools to unify the next generation of wizards and witches as no other generation has been before. We will also be undertaking great measures to heal the wounds between the houses of Hogwart's. To these means, we have asked that the Head Boy and Girl report to Hogwart's two weeks early to begin preparation for the new school year. This is in one week. I am aware that this is short notice but I have postponed this owl as long as possible so that you would enjoy our family vacation. Please be at Platform 9 ¾ promptly and 10 a.m. one week from today. Best regards and well wishes,

Professor Dumbledore

"Well then," Mrs. Grainger nodded, "I suppose we need to start packing." She quickly turned away from Hermione and her husband. She remembered the Prophecy and she knew there would be a lot more to the year than Dumbledore had mentioned. She went down the steps quickly so that the rest of the family would not see the coy grin that had spread across her face or the glimmer of hope in her eyes.

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Professor Dumbledore sat with professors McGonagall and Snape in his office. They sipped on hot tea and ate scones. The atmosphere however, could be described as anything but festive.

Professor Dumbledore broke the silence, "Well, the students should have received their owls by now. We know this is not going to be pleasant at first, but lets remember that it is out of our hands. The Prophecy was written long before any of us were even born and it has never been wrong. If we want our world healed of the scars that Voldemort left, this is the only way."

"Well, lets hope for the sake of the whole wizarding world that the Prophecy is not wrong this time. Because if it is, the results would be catastrophic," sneered Snape as he left Dumbledore's office is a swirl of capes and rage.

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