Disclaimer: I own none of the people listed in here. I own nothing at all except the plot. And even that was partly my friend's idea. So I still own nothing in this world of ours...
*~*
"It's over. Hogwarts is finished," Dumbledore said, his voice shaking. It was only a matter of time before he would die, but he would fight it to the end. His face was slick with blood, and his beard was matted red.
"Don't talk like that sir. It can be rebuilt," Hermione said, ripping part of her robes off and dipping it in a pool of water by her knee. Her own wounds could be taken care of later.
"The school could be rebuilt, but the spirit is dead," he replied, his breath growing steadily lighter. Hermione lay the damp cloth on his head and looked around her. People, teachers and students alike, were lying around her dead. She quickly turned back to her headmaster.
"As are other things," she said, shutting her eyes quickly to hide her tears. The image of Harry lying on the ground, Ron next to him, came quickly back to her. Something had been different about Harry though, and it had taken Hermione a minute to realize that his scar was gone. His forehead was pale, standing out against his raven hair.
"Promise me that you will carry on the dream," Dumbledore said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. His fingers twitched, and his arm collapsed back to his side. Holding her head in her hand, Hermione cried.
*~*
As Hermione's eyes opened, she could hear her own heart in her chest. Wiping the sweat from her damp face, she turned over to glance at the clock. It read that it was 4:10 am. Another twenty minutes of sleep till she had to get up. But she knew that she wouldn't sleep anymore.
She had had another of those dreams about what had happened her seventh year. Still today it brought tears to her eyes to think about it. And almost every night she would have these dreams. She thought of it often. Losing her two best friends was the hardest part, but she still thought about all the others who lost their lives.
Voldemort had come. She didn't mind saying the name now, but she still received looks from people when she did, even with who she was. Headmistress of Lestiline School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The school had been built over the remains of Hogwarts, on her request. She had wanted it, even though it pained her deeply.
Harry and Ron had gone to stop him, stop Voldemort from coming into the building. The had failed, and Dumbledore had given his life with a spell to save them all. It didn't quite work, because Voldemort got a spell off before Dumbledore could.
The spell destroyed the school completely, killing a good half of them. Harry Potter. Ronald Weasley. Neville Longbottom. Lavender Brown. Professor McGonagall. Hannah Abbot. Jennifer Chlan. Susan Bones. Professor Snape. Dean Thomas. Lisa Turpin. Crabbe. Goyle. Blaise Zabini. Katie Engquist. Professor Sprout. Colin Creevey. Ginny Weasley. Rachel Lennon. Patricia Tunrot. The list went on and on, but she made it her personal goal to remember each name.
The last name on her list always brought her to tears. Professor Dumbledore. He was the reason that she was here. His advice to keep the dream alive was what kept her going. The Ministry didn't want another school. She refused to give up. And she finally won.
A sudden knock at the door to her bedchambers drew Hermione's attention back to where she was. The first day of being Headmistress. She thought she was ready, but her mind kept flitting back to that horrible day.
"Miss, it's time," a man's voice called through the door. It was a fairly raspy voice, and Hermione could name the person right away.
"Thank you Tom. I will be down shortly," she said. She heard him cough as a reply, then his feet hitting stone steps. Tom had been hired to replace Filch, the old custodial man from her school years. He had also been killed on that day. So many teachers had needed to be replaced.
As she ran around the room, grabbing her robes off of the chair at her desk, she hummed a soft tune. She didn't realize what it was for some time, but when she did, she stopped dead. It was a tune that Harry had taught her. A sad tune from an opera, or something to that effect. Her heart ached, yet she stayed strong and walked out the door.
To anyone looking at her then, she would have looked calm, collected. But she really was a nervous wreck. And the year began.
The Great Hall, while not as grand as the one from Hogwarts, was still a spectacle. Great silver chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was a fine marble. She hadn't wanted it this fancy, but the Ministry of Magic did what it wanted with the school. She was only responsible for the students.
As she made her way through the almost empty hall, she smiled at the few teachers at the large table at the front. Some of them were seated, others standing, and even some still were missing completely, yet when they saw her, they all sat down. Well, the ones in the room anyway.
"So begins our first school year together. May it be a good one," she sighed. They all raised their goblets to her in a toast, then went on talking among themselves again. The students would be coming in soon, and she wanted to savor the peace of the moment, so she found her seat in the middle, and sat down.
"Hermione, you don't look well. Perhaps I should give you a sleeping potion," a voice next to her said into her ear. Her head turned slightly to face the person. He was smiling, and his blond hair was pulled back. He had grown it out over the summer. It was fitting for him.
"Draco, I wouldn't accept a sleeping potion from you if my life depended on it. Even though you are the potions teacher," she said, letting out a laugh. It really was the first time she had laughed in awhile.
"I'm hurt. And for the last time, I'm the potion master, not just a teacher," he said his eyes glinting for a second, like Snape's had done when he was a teacher. When he was alive.
"Oh, you act like Snape, but you aren't him. Give it up, potion teacher," she said, turning towards the back of the room, where five large tables stood. One for each house of the school. Pertingunk. Huthorn. Fingledigit. Lew. Weshlont. They were barren now, but soon they would be full of students, waiting to learn.
"Yes, Headmistress," he said, his voice filled with sarcasm. At any other time, she would have felt like slapping him, for old time's sake, but she couldn't do it here. Later. After the ceremony. The students had arrived. Now was her judgement time.
Standing up, she cleared her throat and looked out among the students. They were all looking at her. All eyes on her. It was really nerve wracking.
"Hello students. I am your Headmistress for the year, Professor Granger. Since you all need to be sorted into our five new houses, I would have you stand along the sidewall there. I take it you know what year you are?" she said. After a moment or so, the students slowly stood up and walked over to the wall she had motioned to, still watching her.
While the school was being built, all the students had been sent off to different schools around the world. It had been three years, but they were finally open.
"Now when I call your name, please sit on the chair and wait to be sorted," Professor Leslin said, pulling out a parchment. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun, just as McGonagall had always done. Fitting that Mary Leslin had become Transfiguration teacher.
Then she pulled out the sorting hat from a box behind the table. The whole hall looked at it, watching it carefully. How it had escaped on that day, without even a scratch, was beyond Hermione. But it had, and here it was, going on with a poem about the houses. The names had been special, builders of the school. Each with his or her own part.
And so it began.
*~*
"It's over. Hogwarts is finished," Dumbledore said, his voice shaking. It was only a matter of time before he would die, but he would fight it to the end. His face was slick with blood, and his beard was matted red.
"Don't talk like that sir. It can be rebuilt," Hermione said, ripping part of her robes off and dipping it in a pool of water by her knee. Her own wounds could be taken care of later.
"The school could be rebuilt, but the spirit is dead," he replied, his breath growing steadily lighter. Hermione lay the damp cloth on his head and looked around her. People, teachers and students alike, were lying around her dead. She quickly turned back to her headmaster.
"As are other things," she said, shutting her eyes quickly to hide her tears. The image of Harry lying on the ground, Ron next to him, came quickly back to her. Something had been different about Harry though, and it had taken Hermione a minute to realize that his scar was gone. His forehead was pale, standing out against his raven hair.
"Promise me that you will carry on the dream," Dumbledore said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. His fingers twitched, and his arm collapsed back to his side. Holding her head in her hand, Hermione cried.
*~*
As Hermione's eyes opened, she could hear her own heart in her chest. Wiping the sweat from her damp face, she turned over to glance at the clock. It read that it was 4:10 am. Another twenty minutes of sleep till she had to get up. But she knew that she wouldn't sleep anymore.
She had had another of those dreams about what had happened her seventh year. Still today it brought tears to her eyes to think about it. And almost every night she would have these dreams. She thought of it often. Losing her two best friends was the hardest part, but she still thought about all the others who lost their lives.
Voldemort had come. She didn't mind saying the name now, but she still received looks from people when she did, even with who she was. Headmistress of Lestiline School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The school had been built over the remains of Hogwarts, on her request. She had wanted it, even though it pained her deeply.
Harry and Ron had gone to stop him, stop Voldemort from coming into the building. The had failed, and Dumbledore had given his life with a spell to save them all. It didn't quite work, because Voldemort got a spell off before Dumbledore could.
The spell destroyed the school completely, killing a good half of them. Harry Potter. Ronald Weasley. Neville Longbottom. Lavender Brown. Professor McGonagall. Hannah Abbot. Jennifer Chlan. Susan Bones. Professor Snape. Dean Thomas. Lisa Turpin. Crabbe. Goyle. Blaise Zabini. Katie Engquist. Professor Sprout. Colin Creevey. Ginny Weasley. Rachel Lennon. Patricia Tunrot. The list went on and on, but she made it her personal goal to remember each name.
The last name on her list always brought her to tears. Professor Dumbledore. He was the reason that she was here. His advice to keep the dream alive was what kept her going. The Ministry didn't want another school. She refused to give up. And she finally won.
A sudden knock at the door to her bedchambers drew Hermione's attention back to where she was. The first day of being Headmistress. She thought she was ready, but her mind kept flitting back to that horrible day.
"Miss, it's time," a man's voice called through the door. It was a fairly raspy voice, and Hermione could name the person right away.
"Thank you Tom. I will be down shortly," she said. She heard him cough as a reply, then his feet hitting stone steps. Tom had been hired to replace Filch, the old custodial man from her school years. He had also been killed on that day. So many teachers had needed to be replaced.
As she ran around the room, grabbing her robes off of the chair at her desk, she hummed a soft tune. She didn't realize what it was for some time, but when she did, she stopped dead. It was a tune that Harry had taught her. A sad tune from an opera, or something to that effect. Her heart ached, yet she stayed strong and walked out the door.
To anyone looking at her then, she would have looked calm, collected. But she really was a nervous wreck. And the year began.
The Great Hall, while not as grand as the one from Hogwarts, was still a spectacle. Great silver chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was a fine marble. She hadn't wanted it this fancy, but the Ministry of Magic did what it wanted with the school. She was only responsible for the students.
As she made her way through the almost empty hall, she smiled at the few teachers at the large table at the front. Some of them were seated, others standing, and even some still were missing completely, yet when they saw her, they all sat down. Well, the ones in the room anyway.
"So begins our first school year together. May it be a good one," she sighed. They all raised their goblets to her in a toast, then went on talking among themselves again. The students would be coming in soon, and she wanted to savor the peace of the moment, so she found her seat in the middle, and sat down.
"Hermione, you don't look well. Perhaps I should give you a sleeping potion," a voice next to her said into her ear. Her head turned slightly to face the person. He was smiling, and his blond hair was pulled back. He had grown it out over the summer. It was fitting for him.
"Draco, I wouldn't accept a sleeping potion from you if my life depended on it. Even though you are the potions teacher," she said, letting out a laugh. It really was the first time she had laughed in awhile.
"I'm hurt. And for the last time, I'm the potion master, not just a teacher," he said his eyes glinting for a second, like Snape's had done when he was a teacher. When he was alive.
"Oh, you act like Snape, but you aren't him. Give it up, potion teacher," she said, turning towards the back of the room, where five large tables stood. One for each house of the school. Pertingunk. Huthorn. Fingledigit. Lew. Weshlont. They were barren now, but soon they would be full of students, waiting to learn.
"Yes, Headmistress," he said, his voice filled with sarcasm. At any other time, she would have felt like slapping him, for old time's sake, but she couldn't do it here. Later. After the ceremony. The students had arrived. Now was her judgement time.
Standing up, she cleared her throat and looked out among the students. They were all looking at her. All eyes on her. It was really nerve wracking.
"Hello students. I am your Headmistress for the year, Professor Granger. Since you all need to be sorted into our five new houses, I would have you stand along the sidewall there. I take it you know what year you are?" she said. After a moment or so, the students slowly stood up and walked over to the wall she had motioned to, still watching her.
While the school was being built, all the students had been sent off to different schools around the world. It had been three years, but they were finally open.
"Now when I call your name, please sit on the chair and wait to be sorted," Professor Leslin said, pulling out a parchment. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun, just as McGonagall had always done. Fitting that Mary Leslin had become Transfiguration teacher.
Then she pulled out the sorting hat from a box behind the table. The whole hall looked at it, watching it carefully. How it had escaped on that day, without even a scratch, was beyond Hermione. But it had, and here it was, going on with a poem about the houses. The names had been special, builders of the school. Each with his or her own part.
And so it began.