Prologue
I Still Have Those Sweet Memories
It certainly has been quite a while since my last visit to Hogwarts. And as I walked slowly through the now quiet stone halls, I grudgingly remembered all the adventures that my friends and I had had here. Turning a corner, I saw a small broom cupboard that I could distinctly remember Tinsley and some random guy of the week, getting caught in. It was strange enough being back in the castle, but it was even stranger to me, being back as a teacher. I never thought that this would be the career I would choose, but I found something fulfilling in enlightening the next generation.
"Good morning, Miss McCafferty," Professor McGonagall greeted, as I took a seat next to her at the head table in the Great Hall.
"Good morning Professor," I smiled. "It really is a lovely one."
"That is it," she agreed, taking a small bite of the omelette that was laying on her plate.
I took a few strips of bacon from a plate in front of me, and taking a bite, I scanned the Great Hall. I very quickly picked out thirteen-year old, Ron Weasley, my boyfriend's younger brother, chatting carelessly with his friends, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Just a few seats down, was Ginny talking with some Gryffindor girls. [i]To be so young and carefree[/i], I thought to myself.
Now that I thought about it, the last few years that I spent at Hogwarts as a student, were probably some of the best years of my life. With all the people I cared about together, and happy. Those were the times I missed.
But those days were long gone, what with three of my old friends dead, and another two that I knew I was never to see again. It broke my heart to think of this, but I also knew that I had a bright and promising future with Charlie Weasley, and now as a teacher at Hogwarts.
As we finished breakfast, I watched Professor McGonagall and the rest of the house heads pass out the students' new timetables. I smiled as I remembered a time not too long ago, when me and all my friends, were going through that exact same process.
