Chapter 2
"Greetings Students!" cried Professor McGonagall joyously. A chorus of 'Hello!'s and 'Good morning!'s sang across the room, startling the teachers. Never had the Great Hall at the beginning of the year been filled with this much energy. "Yes, well. Hello. And welcome to the grand re-opening of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" The school cheered, and items were thrown in the air, including one small first year's bewildered frog.
"As you all know, the Great War has affected many. We still grieve, for there have been many casualties. But what we will not grieve for is Hogwarts. We will rebuild it!" Another round of cheers rose up, which McGonagall waved away. "Some of you may be wondering why last year's seventh years are present." At this, most students looked around for those in Hermione's year group, specifically Harry. He shifted uncomfortably. "The reason for this is that Carrow siblings, we feel, did not do a satisfactory job of teaching these students the – er – the curriculum. All members of year groups who skipped out a year or had to suffer through it at Hogwarts will be repeating said year of teaching. The Head boy and girl will be of the highest year group until the last displaced group who will share two Head students of each gender with the year below. I will now announce this year's Head Boy and Girl!" A murmur of excitement ran through the students. Eyes turned in the direction of the Gryffindor table. Hermione could hear people whispering Harry's name, but she knew better.
Harry hadn't been requested to take up the position of Head Boy, and he couldn't have been more relieved. Hermione suspected that it was for the same reason that Harry hadn't been offered prefect in their sixth year that he wasn't chosen – he didn't need any more pressure, responsibility, or another reason for people to treat him differently. He didn't like it when people stopped what they were doing to look at him when he entered the room, and being Head Boy would make that worse. Not as many people knew that Hermione had been a predominant figure in the Great War. She accepted her Head Girl's badge eagerly. Of course she had been offered it – all the seventh years knew that it was a given. The letter had told her about her responsibilities and who the Head Boy was: Terry Boot. He was a Ravenclaw and everything that came with it – clever, able to deal with responsibility and she hadn't had quarrels with him in the past. Hermione was glad that McGonagall hadn't made a Slytherin Head Boy. Or Ron for that matter. She sighed.
Ron had been a big mistake. Her parents had begun to tell Hermione stupid little rhymes when she had hit puberty; 'Choose only a date that would make a great mate!' or; 'Love from a friend will stick out to the end!' Hermione suspected that subconsciously these random, cheesy phrases had made her assume that she would find love in the friendships she had had at the time. Ginny was so obviously in love with Harry, and she didn't think Harry was her type anyway – she seemed to like tall, cheeky guys who annoyed her. Ron was one of these. They fell in like, unbeknownst to the other until the final battle when they had made out in front of a giant snake carcass in the underground lair of the enemy. Maybe it had been the adrenaline, the desperation that had made Hermione act that way, but now that she had experienced Ron she wasn't sure if she wanted anymore. However, she still held on to the hope that there was just one thing missing, and once they found it there would be a romantic future for Ron and herself. They were on a break. She couldn't put him through the period of waiting for her to make up her mind. They were still friends now, and despite the slight tension when they were alone together, a part of Hermione wished that everything would just stay the same.
As McGonagall called her and Terry's names, the young female Gryffindor slowly made her way to the stage, cheeks as red as if they were dyed with cranberry juice but still not as ecstatic as she thought that she would be upon being announced as Head Girl. They had lost too much. Anyone who looked into the faces of the young people who had fought in the Great War saw old eyes. Eyes that had seen death, that burned with the knowledge they unwillingly held and would rather not have. Hermione would handle her job with grace and dignity, and would make sure the younger students never had to experience what she and the other seniors had experienced. She made this promise firmly to herself as she stood in front of the sea of faces, holding up a confident smile but hiding a sad one.
