Day 1: Homecoming
"There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." -Nelson Mandela
A Hogwarts without Dumbledore. The idea seemed unfathomable, almost indecent, yet there the castle stood, freshly repaired from the tumultuous war that Hermione remembered so vividly. Yes, there it stood, with its proud turrets tall and its sparkling windows alive with grandeur—but it will never be the same without Dumbledore, thought Hermione fiercely.
As she gazed towards the Forbidden Forest and found the marble monument to the old bearded man she so admired, she recalled the recently learned facts about his childhood. Yes, he had dabbled in the Dark Arts. Yes, he had once dreamt of enslaving Muggles 'for the greater good.' But these shocking facts made Hermione even more fond of Dumbledore, because they made him incontrovertible proof of her most iron-clad belief: that there is no one who is beyond redemption. That it is never too late to do the right thing. And Dumbledore had done the right thing. He had championed Muggle rights tirelessly. He had taught, by example, the power of truth, friendship, and love. And he had provided her best friend with the tools he needed to defeat Lord Voldemort.
It was September 2000. It had been one year and four months since the fateful Battle of Hogwarts and the fall of the most Dark and dangerous wizard the world had ever seen. Yet, all was far from perfect. Even without Voldemort, the Ministry of Magic continued its sick vendetta against Muggle-born wizards and witches, now spearheaded by its new Minister, Dolores Umbridge. Even without Voldemort, the most loyal of the remaining Death Eaters were scrambling to reform, ripe with vindictive rage at the defeat of their Dark Lord. In short, thought Hermione, even without Voldemort, the world is still a dark and bigoted place.
Draco Malfoy entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with an arrogant smirk and a triumphant snigger. The new Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, had welcomed Slytherin House back into the school following the War, despite the many protests of dubious Board members, with, thought Draco derisively, typically stupid Gryffindorian tolerance.
It was that ridiculous desire to see the good in everyone that had led to the fool Dumbledore's death at the hands of Severus Snape, despite whatever ill-woven stories had been fabricated to ease the mind of Harry Potter. And it was that same desire that had gained Draco re-admittance to Hogwarts with a simple promise to McGonagall that he regretted his allegiance to Voldemort. No Veritaseum was used. No Unbreakable Vow was made. The silly old woman had simply trusted him.
Well, thought Draco snidely, that was her mistake. At this very moment, the remnants of the Death Eaters were taking up board in the many guest wings of the luxurious Malfoy Manor, plotting tirelessly for the second infiltration of Hogwarts. Hogwarts was second only the The Boy Who Refused To Die in its role as a bastion of hope for the nauseating Muggle-borns and their despicably noble supporters, and the best way to wreck their morale was a calculated attack on the castle and—Draco forced down the bile that rose in his throat and reminded himself that this is what was right—the slaughter of the Mudbloods that dared to set foot in Hogwarts.
He pushed back the terror he felt when he considered the murder of the Hogwarts students he had grown up with. Though the fierce desire to cleanse the Wizarding World of the unworthy pulsed through his veins as surely as the noble Malfoy blood, he was still nauseated by the actual practice of murder, and still—though he would never admit it—haunted by nightmares of the night on the tower where he had almost murdered a defenseless old man. He shook his head vigorously, enraged with his traitorous thoughts. If there was anything to be ashamed of about that night, it was that he had failed the mission the Dark Lord set for him. He was the secret weapon, and he had failed. Well, he was back at Hogwarts now, and he was their secret weapon, just like last time. Only this time, he thought, his handsome jaw set, I will not fail.
The Head Girl badge was gleaming on Hermione's chest, a testament to the hard work and dedication of the last six years at Hogwarts. As she wound through the grounds towards the Headmistress' office, she took in the stubbornly rusted suits of armor, the gaily chattering animated portraits, and the vast lofted ceilings. With her parents still Confunded for their own safety and—Hermione gulped back tears—blissfully unaware that they ever had a daughter, Hogwarts was the closest thing to home she had. Hermione finally understood how Harry felt.
Through the tireless effort of the professors, the castle had been painstakingly restored to its former glory over the past year, during which the school had been closed. The Ministry of Magic, under the strict orders of Dolores Umbridge, had provided no help. A stab of vindictive satisfaction swept through Hermione. Hogwarts didn't require the help of the still-corrupt Ministry, and, furthermore, she thought rather nastily, Dolores Umbridge knows better than to try to interfere at Hogwarts. So yes, it was without the help of the Ministry that the castle had been repaired, but it had been done beautifully so, and now the halls gleamed so brightly that even Argus Filch seemed appeased.
As enticed as she was by the warm familiarity of the castle, Hermione could not quite suppress a twinge of loneliness for her best friends. Harry and Ron, now that they were of age, were working as full-fledged members of the Order of the Phoenix. The Order, now led by Kingsley Shacklebolt, had taken up temporary headquarters at The Burrow. Though the Horcruxes had been destroyed and Voldemort had been defeated, the work of the Order was far from over. The remaining Death Eaters were mobile and vicious, staging meticulously planned mass Muggle murders and smuggling Dark artifacts amongst their ranks. Furthermore, they seemed to be increasingly intent upon seizing something from the Department of Mysteries. Therefore, the Order was in constant combat with the Death Eaters, attempting to both thwart and make sense of their enemies' goals. In between raids and missions, Harry and Ron were undergoing training similar to that required of Aurors.
Suddenly pulled from her thoughts, Hermione realized she had reached the gargoyles that guarded the Headmistress' quarters. "Catnip?" she offered to the particularly grotesque gargoyle closest to her, feeling utterly ridiculous. "Too right you are!" exclaimed the suddenly animated stone beast, inclining its head jovially as the great gilded door slid open to reveal a winding staircase. Checking her watch to ensure she was neither too early in her eagerness or—Godric forbid—too late, Hermione ascended the marble staircase until she reached the large oval office belonging to Minerva McGonagall.
"Ah, Miss Granger," McGonagall greeted her with a kind nod of the head and a rare smile. Hermione absolutely beamed in response. Professor McGonagall was her favorite of the Hogwarts professors, and a personal idol of hers. "We now await the Head Boy so that we can begin our meeting," said McGonagall. "Please make yourself at home." With a swish of her wand, the elder Gryffindor levitated a tin of biscuits off the shelf behind her and set it hovering before Hermione, then returned to the book she was reading. With nothing else to do, Hermione examined the office.
The office was a roomy oblong circle carved from gleaming white marble. Three alcoves were forged into the marble walls. In the largest alcove, there was a noble lion sculpted from what appeared to be pure gold—no doubt, an homage to McGonagall's Gryffindor roots. The second alcove held the Pensieve, silent in its disuse, but surrounded by the unmistakable aura of the power that comes with knowledge. In the final alcove, atop a knobbly stool, stood the shabby Sorting Hat. Two shelves ran the lengths of the circular walls, and were occupied by numerous tomes with titles ranging from Inventive Transfiguration for the Advanced Wizard to Principles of Antidote-Brewing. With a rush of affection, Hermione noticed a tattered copy of Hogwarts: A History amongst their midst. Above the shelves hung the portraits of past Headmasters. The wise bearded face of Albus Dumbledore slumbered peacefully in one frame, and the sallow visage of Severus Snape peered down at them from another.
Hermione's reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door, to which Professor McGonagall responded "Come in!" and carefully marked her place before closing her book.
Draco Malfoy was not surprised to see Hermione Granger seated before him. He had, of course, hoped for a more suitable Head Girl to work with, but had never truly expected anyone to surpass the qualifications of Gryffindor's golden bloody princess. He sneered at her coldly as he took the seat beside her.
"Now," began McGonagall, and Draco had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes at the old lady's pompous tone. "I know that the two of you have a history of animosity, but it is my hope that you will be able to overcome this in order to serve your school well." Not bloody likely, thought Draco snidely as he kept his face blank. "Here"—McGonagall tapped two sheets of parchment, which immediately filled—"are the lists of the Prefects from each House"—she handed one leaf of identical parchment to each of them—"and"—she summoned two small booklets, which zoomed towards Draco and Hermione—"a list of your duties."
Hermione immediately opened the booklet and began poring over its pages. Draco let out a disgusted snort of laughter at her pathetic enthusiasm, earning him a reproachful look from McGonagall, who found it necessary to add: "If either of you finds him or herself incapable of overcoming the childish prejudices of the past, you will be immediately removed from your post. Is that understood?" "Yes, Professor," chirped Hermione annoyingly. Draco merely provided a curt nod. "Very well," said McGonagall. "You will need to organize a patrol schedule for the upcoming month by tomorrow night. You will also need to hold a meeting for the Prefects as soon as possible, to explain the patrolling duties, which are outlined in your booklets. The password to your quarters is 'gillyweed.' You are dismissed."
A/N: I know this was a very slow and rather short chapter, but it was necessary to set the post-war atmosphere before delving into the story. Thanks for your patience!
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