The New Age – Chapter 1



The following covers the events which took place shortly after the war between He Who Must Not Be Named and the Wizarding world finally came to an end at the Battle of Hogwarts. The Ministry of Magic lay in ruins, corrupt officials now running for the hills as the news of the Dark Lord's demise spread like fiendfyre. The ranks of the aurors now almost depleted, and with Dementors still prowling around all over the country, rebuilding the world which that had kept secret from the Muggles for so long was indeed a daunting task. But there was now hope, where before they was none. Harry Potter, the Chosen One, had vanquished the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time, and the twenty year reign of terror which He Who Must Not Be Named had brought over them was finally over. Kingsley Shacklebolt was named temporary Minister for Magic after Pius Thicknesse was found to have been under the imperious curse. Minerva McGonagall became the headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry proceeding the climactic battle, and was charged with the duty of restoring the school to its original condition, which would require an army itself. There was massive structural damage to the castle, some fifty witches and wizards had been killed by the death eaters, who themselves had met their deaths at the hands of Hogwarts students, teachers, the Order of the Phoenix and enraged house elves. Many dozens funerals were arranged, but had to be temporarily postponed as the many dark wizards were rounded up. It is now nearing two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, and the Weasley family have returned to their home; the Burrow, accompanied by Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

10:37 - 12 Days ABOH – The Burrow

"You did that one purpose, Ronald," scowled Hermione, tearing over the threshold of the kitchen door and marching towards the dining table. She pulled out a chair with a vicious tug, and it slid across the floor with a squeal. Hermione sat down heavily, and scowled again.

"Hey, wait just a minute," panted Ron, running in through the door, his broomstick still in his hand, his cheeks flushed. "I did not. I didn't see you until you...," he trailed off as she looked at him. She didn't have to say anything, or even move. That look alone turned his insides to stone. The intensity of her gaze allowed him to momentarily see inside her mind, and what he saw wasn't good. He could feel his ego shrink inside of him. For all intensive purposes, it was like swatting a fly with an automobile.

After breakfast that morning Ron had suggested that they go out to the field and have a game of Quidditch between the two of them, to take their minds off things. She had warmed to the idea; with so many people in the small house, it was difficult to get any time to themselves at all. And time alone was what they all needed. The Weasley family had taken the death of Fred hard, and they were still in shock at his loss. It was commonplace for Mrs. Weasley to set the dinner table up for twelve people instead of eleven, and then break down when she saw the empty chair which would never be filled again.

The game had gone well for the most part. At least, for Hermione's standards. She was terrible on a broom, and even worse at Quidditch, but at least she hadn't fallen off this time. Ron had played as Keeper for half of the time, and waited patiently as Hermione used all of her concentration to fly towards him in a straight line and toss the quaffle at him. He had caught most of them without thinking, focusing more on being ready to swoop down and catch her if he fell, but he let some of them through to spare her feelings.

Then they had switched over, and Hermione had swerved from side to side in front of the goalposts, and did her best to catch Ron's faint hearted attempts at getting the quaffle past her, and had failed epically. Ron had to pretend to lapse into a coughing fit several times to hide the fact that he was giggling uncontrollably at the sight of her lunging wildly on her broomstick.

But that's when disaster had struck. Hermione had dropped the quaffle yet again, but this time it went plummeting towards the ground before Ron could retrieve it. He had put himself into a nose dive, soaring downwards, and had caught it just five feet above the grass. But what he hadn't 

noticed was that Hermione had done exactly the same thing, except that she failed to pull out of her dive. As he had pulled up she had screamed and swerved to the left to stop herself crashing into him. This caused her to lose control and fly straight into the ground, driving up a great mound of mud in front of her, creating a ten foot gouge as her body scraped along the ground.

Although unhurt, her robes, face and arms were completely covered in dirt and mud, and she had stood up spluttering, muttering angrily. Ron had landed immediately to see if she was okay, but she had already marched off towards the Burrow, throwing her broomstick and muttering angrily to herself.

And here he was now, struggling to find something to say to save himself from being pummelled into oblivion. After another few seconds of her staring at him with a cold set of eyes he muttered "I'm sorry." He didn't think about it, it happened automatically. He almost laughed at himself. So this is what it's going to be like from now on; I apologize for every mishap, my fault or not.

Nevertheless, the fire behind Hermione's eyes diminished ever so slightly at his words, and he was encouraged. He took a step towards her, and laid his broomstick on the kitchen counter absent-mindedly.

"Come on," he said, pulling out a chair next to her and sitting down, "You know I wouldn't do something like that to you. You're..." he hesitated for a moment, "You're blowing this out of proportion, a bit."

She flared up instantly. "Yes! Yes, maybe I am, Ron! But after a year of memories which I would very much like to be rid of I can't take anything else. I hate what had to happen to get rid of Him. I think I very well deserve to have a bit of a moment after what I've been through, thank you very much!"

Ron simply sat there, and let her vent on him. It was what she needed. In previous years he would never have stood for such treatment, least of all from her, but time has a way of changing things.

Hermione's cheeks had now become paler, and her eyes had turned an odd, almost mad sorrowful tone. "I see their faces," she whispered, looking down at the table cloth. "At night, I see their faces. Fred, Tonks, Lupin, everybody. I hear the noises of the battle. Screaming..." She shivered.

Ron felt a lump form in his throat at the mention of his brother, but forced himself to stay level-headed. He took a deep breath through his nose, and tried to clear his mind. After a moment he felt strong enough to speak. "I see them too," he said, nodding fractionally. "I think we all do. Now come on, let's get you cleaned up. You look like a mud pie."

She gave a small, watery laugh, and looked up at him. Ron couldn't help but smile at her chocolate coloured eyes, which now blended seamlessly with the rest of her face. Even after crashing during a game of Quidditch, she managed to remain as beautiful as ever.

"You," she said jeeringly, an infection grin creeping onto her face "clean me up? I'd like to see that. You have yet to master the most basic of spells, Ronald."

"That's not true," said Ron in indignation, pulling out his wand from his waistband, "I've had a lot of practise. Taking out death eaters isn't easy, you know."

"True, but we're not fighting the dark arts at the moment; we're trying to get dirt off my face. Two distinctly different things which I predict you will handle abysmally. I can do it, don't worry."

Ron grabbed her wrist as she made to pull out her own wand. "No, no, I can do it." He was determined to do something right to make up for...well, he hadn't really done anything, but Hermione was a girl, and she'd never admit that she was wrong, so all he could do was try and get back into her good books.

Injecting more confidence than he felt into his movements, he pointed his want at the bridge of her nose and muttered, "Tergeo." There was a faint sucking sound, and a few flakes of mud and dirt were removed from her face, but not as nearly as much as he would have liked. He frowned in displeasure.

"Well at least I haven't turned into a frog," muttered Hermione, crossing her eyes to look at the tip of his wand, not looking at all comfortable.

"Maybe it'll work better if your face was wetter. The mud's all dry," said Ron. He thought for a moment, trying desperately to remember the right spell.



Hermione nodded, her eyes remaining on his wand-tip. "Well, why don't you wet a flannel from the tap—" She stopped abruptly as she realized what he was about to do. "Ron, NO—"

"Aguamenti!"

Hermione's face was suddenly lost in the jet of water which streamed from the end of Ron's wand, and he watched horror as it blasted across the room, splattering on the ceiling and all over the walls. "Bloody hell, Hermione," he shouted, pulling his want away from her face and throwing it to the floor.

She sat just as she had done before, and she hadn't moved at all. She simply sat there, staring forward at him blankly. She breathed deeply, as if trying not to be sick.

"Hermione, I am so sorry," said Ron, dropping down beside her and looking into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

She took another breath before answering him. "I'm fine," she said slowly, in a perfectly calm voice. Still, Ron shivered at the ice-like edge that her voice carried.

He looked at her face. Her hair ran in soaking wet dirty blond tendrils, lank and plastered to her head, quite a contrast from her usual bushy haired self. The mud was no gone from her face, but a few streaks of brown water trickled down her nose and dripped from her chin.

And then, against his will, a tiny smile appeared on his face. He fought himself, but his muscles continued to contract, until he was sure he must be making a painfully obvious grin. And then the giggles set in. Just one at first, a single contraction of his chest escaping him. But he quickly receded into a complete and utter breakdown of laughter.

For a moment she stared at him in utter disbelief, but then, at his relentless hoots of glee, she too collapsed into her cute, girlish giggle. And then both of them sat together, laughing at her soaked figure.

"What in the name of Merlin is going on here?" said a high, panic stricken voice.

Ron looked up just in time to see his mother bustle into the room, followed by Ginny, Harry, Bill and Fleur, all of whom were laden with bags of Mrs. Weasley's food shopping. She looked shocked at Hermione's appearance, and the state of her kitchen.

Ron and Hermione only laughed harder at the thought of trying to explain the situation to them, and the others simply watched for a few seconds as they rolled back and forth in their seats, trying to control themselves.

"We...had an accident," Ron finally managed to say. "But everything's fine, Mum."

"An accident was it? What did you do? Put her through one of those Muggle Dish-Cleaner things your father loves so much?"

"Looks like he's tried to use the water charm on her, but I thought he would have learned his lesson by now," said Ginny, unpacking the shopping from the bags with Harry.

Hermione looked at Ron, who felt the blood surge to his cheeks as he blushed his signature crimson colour. She had promised that she would never mention that.

"What's she on about?" said Bill, leaning against the doorframe beside Fleur, his scar ridden face creased into a smile. There was a knowing look in his eye, and Ron knew all too well that Bill knew exactly what she was referring to.

"Ah," said Fleur, sweeping across the room, "zhat must be ze time 'ee tried to clean ze chicken coup on 'is seventeenth birthday, no? Bill 'as told me several times." She looked amused at the look of shock and anger on Ron's face, and looked daggers at Bill, who simply bit his tongue and chuckled.

"What happened?" said Harry, rubbing his scar absently.

"He almost drowned two of the chickens and washed most of the eggs away," said Ginny, giggling slightly as the thought of it.

Ron sat back in his chair and was sure he was turning purple at the look of utter glee on Hermione's face as she collapsed into another fit of giggles.

"Well," said Molly, waving her wand casually and drying Hermione's face, robes and the kitchen walls instantly, "that's all water under the bridge now," she said.



Ron scowled, and everybody else doubled over in laughter. But couldn't help but smile at her for making a joke at long last. Of all of the Weasleys, she had taken Fred's death the hardest. She had been nothing short of a wreck for a full week, not eating or sleeping, simply crying.

Even now he could see dark red rings around her eyes, and she moved almost hesitantly, but her mood had lightened over the last few days, and now she was even lapsing into humour. He took is as a good sign, and was grinning like a fool within seconds.

"We'll see you later, Mum," said Ginny, who had finished unpacking, and made for the doorway, dragging Harry by the sleeve.

Ron frowned, and couldn't help but feel his fist tighten ever so slightly at the sight of them wandering out of the door together. But Hermione caught his eye, and immediately his anger dissipated. He smiled again, and she smiled back.

"We need to go to Diagon Alley later on, for the reopening of the shop," said Molly briskly, "can I trust you two to get cleaned up and ready in time?"

Hermione nodded, and then grinned again. "I believe you can. As long as I get to do it myself this time."