Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. I recieve no profit from this work.
Chapter One: A Brief Beginning
The portrait of Albus Dumbledore paced the length of his frame in the empty Headmistress's office of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was the August 1998, three months after the Final Battle of the Second Wizarding War and the fall of Voldemort. Soon, students would be returning to the nearly rebuilt school either for the first time or to repeat their previous year's education, hopefully with more success than was had under the Dark Lord's regime. To any witnesses, the painted figure stalking from corner to corner of the picture frame would seem unusually restless, eyes lacking their usual jovial twinkle and instead sharp with impatience. He had firmly requested the absence of the other portraits and Minerva McGonagall herself for this meeting, and now it would seem the former student in question was late.
Yes, things had changed at Hogwarts and in the wizarding world at large. The community had suffered many deaths in the final battle, perhaps too many to ever properly recover. Fatalities on every side, Light and Dark alike. Of the Death Eaters and their affiliates, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Marcus Flint, Antonin Dolhov, Bellatrix Lestrange, and many others, though a sizable remainder were left to be sentenced to lifetime internment in Azkaban. Of the faculty, Septima Vector and Aurora Sinistra were both lost, and Albus had overheard Minerva was having a devil of a time replacing them. Recently graduated and students –Lavender Brown, Penelope Clearwater, Ritchie Coote, Colin Creevey, Tracey Davis, Helen Dawlish, Marietta Edgecombe, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Parvati Patil, Cormac McLaggen—little more than children who were not supposed to have been present, had fought bravely and paid with their lives. Of the Order and its allies, Gabrielle Delacour, Viktor Krum, Nymphadora Lupin, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Charlie Weasley, and Fred Weasley all perished, as well as countless others in innumerable battles beforehand. Including Albus Dumbledore himself, though the portrait of Albus Dumbledore chose not to dwell on the fact.
A knock on the office door pulled the old Headmaster from his thoughts. "Enter," he commanded in a facsimile of his usual cheer, though he felt anything but.
The door was drawn open by a young woman, who shut it firmly behind her the second she was inside. Skinny, trembling, and nearly unrecognizable in muggle attire, she clutched a thread worn utilitarian winter cloak in her thin hands, clearly meant to conceal her over large jumper—which was so ugly that it could have been a Weasley castoff—and stained jeans tucked into beaten, brown leather hiking boots. She dressed for warmth though it was a seasonable and pleasant summer, and the dirt caked on her shoes spoke of rough living. The woman herself had a long straggle of pale blonde hair, unkempt and limp. Her face was lined well beyond her years, stamped with the sort of tiredness usually reserved for the sick and elderly. Despite the deep purple shadows surrounding them and the gauntness of her features, her eyes were an icy blue and haughty. They also burned with a barely concealed rage.
"Ah! Welcome," Dumbledore did his best to twinkle at her while directing her to a seat next to the Headmistress's desk and facing his portrait, "As you are aware, I have quite the proposal for you, Miss Greengrass."