James the Bartender

"We begin by releasing the memories of Severus Snape," he smirked as he watched his most favourite friend's eyes widen in horror.

"Felix!" Minerva said the name in fright. Yes, she had known the truth for quite some time, but had no plans in releasing the facts (not yet, at least) to the entire wizarding community—even if this meant clearing the good name of Albus Dumbledore's most trusted man, Severus Snape.

She understood that it was all too private; even Minerva herself had not seen the entirety of it. Harry Potter, may Merlin bless the boy, was the only person who had been privy to this said truth. It was only normal for the boy to confide in her these things. There was one night when she was transfiguring a couple of teacups into woollen socks and a sad Albus Dumbledore had come into her office.

"Albus! What a surprise. I was just transfiguring some teacups into woollen socks. You know that I have no time for knitting them."

"Minerva," Albus sat down on an empty chair and offered her a lemon drop before continuing, "I suppose you're quite aware that I will be killed soon."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"All I ask of you is to trust Severus Snape, my dear Minerva, for I trust him with my life," he said while unsticking two lemon drops from the can.

Looking back, what he had told her that night made a lot of sense now, especially after Harry had come running to her after the war with tears streaming down his face, asking her, "Did you know about this?" She didn't. She didn't know that Severus had sacrificed his life working as a double agent for the welfare of Lily Potter's only son.

She had suspected that once upon a time, a young Severus Snape had been smitten with a young Lily Evans. However, she did not expect him to have kept these feelings to his grave. And so, that night a couple of months ago just during the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Minerva cried with him. Gone was the demeanor of the courageous Golden Boy. Here was Harry Potter, the boy in her arms crying for the death of his family, his father's friends whom he considered family, his mentor, his friends, and the man who had sacrificed everything for him.

The most important question as of this very moment was how on earth did Felix Grimmauld find out about this crucial piece of information?

"How did you…" at a loss of words, she let her eyes do all the conveying.

"A man never tells, my friend. But I know everything. About Snape's feelings for Lily and how he protected the boy." Felix bowed his head as though to honor Severus Snape.

At this point, she believed, she should be alarmed. The paradox was that she left a sigh of relief—relief for she could finally discuss the "truth" with a friend. "It was a most heroic act that should never be forgotten."

"A civil war is coming, Minerva. If you disregard this, our beloved Hogwarts may never find unity for the next century. Everyone will judge the next few generations of Slytherins because of what their fathers and their fathers' fathers have done. In return, the Slytherins will uphold their fathers' ideals as a form of retaliation and submission to the judgment of the rest of the houses. The foundation of a society outside the household is in school. Take note of that." Felix finished his glass of Firewhiskey and straightened his tuxedo.

"Think about it, my friend. You know where I live." He stood up and called the bartender with his name. "James!" James the bartender never knew how Felix knew his name. He hasn't ever recalled a single conversation with the eccentric man.

"Yes, Sir?" he quickly strode towards his two customers, knees slightly shaking from the amount of information he had just heard—or misheard.

"I am terribly sorry about this!" Felix grabbed his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the poor bartender. "Obliviate," he casted. This wasn't Felix's first time to erase the poor boy's memories. In fact, he would do so whenever he would have magical folk around. The bartender had the most magnificent set of ears, made for eavesdropping.

Minerva looked around, checking for spectators. On an ordinary day, this should not have been acceptable. However, she decided that it was for the best and had let the man go about his business. After keeping his wand, Felix bowed his head in Minerva's direction and apparated, leaving a stunned Minerva McGonagall behind and a blank James the Bartender.

Hermione Granger paced around her room. Her parents hadn't been happy with her after finding out everything, being obliviated and sent to Australia for their safety. She had tried to convince them that she had no other choice but to erase their memories at the time.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger's faces resembled Voldemort's pale skin, drained of all colour after Hermione shared bits and pieces of details about the second wizarding war, how she had almost been killed in the process but championed the fact that they had won in the end and that their efforts had not been in vain.

Mr. Granger had not been as accommodating as Mrs. Granger. In fact, when an owl came with a letter with the Hogwarts seal on it, he had almost ripped the letter into pieces until Mrs. Granger sent him a scathing look.

Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dear Ms. Granger,

The reopening of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry requires all seventh year students from last term return in preparation for the N.E.W.T.s and graduation. The current administration would like to stress that all Hogwarts students enrolled in last year's term are required to repeat their year level as strict compliance to the Department of Education.

Should a student wish to cancel/defer his or her enrolment, a parent or guardian (unless the said student is of age) is advised to write a formal letter to the school stating a valid reason for the cancellation/deferment of enrolment.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress

After reading the letter aloud, another letter fell from the envelope. The second letter had used a different type of parchment; the scent of it was different, too. Instead of reading the letter out loud (as she did with the first one), she decided to scan the letter first before handing it over to her mother.

Dear Hermione,

I would have sent out a letter following the usual template but I felt that this request should be written personally.

First of all, I would like to thank you for your great sacrifice and the services you've offered to the welfare of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I suppose Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley wouldn't have survived out there without your ability to think and perform under pressure. For that, I thank you once more.

The current administration of Hogwarts has decided to appoint you as Head Girl and Draco Malfoy as Head Boy. (If you find this letter at all ridiculous or if it has induced any rage on your part so far, I understand this completely.) This may appear as a rash decision to you, but I'd like to assure you that we have thought about all possible consequences to this implementation—should you both agree to this year's proposed arrangement.

I will discuss with you the details soon after you've sent me your response. By then, I do hope that you've had given it much thought.

Sincerely,

Professor McGonagall

Hermione's jaw dropped. What on earth was Professor McGonagall thinking leaving the responsibility of the student body's welfare to the person whose actions of severe lapse of judgment had led to the killing of countless students and professors at Hogwarts? She needed to sit down; her happiness from the news regarding the Department of Education's decision to let all students repeat their year levels was completely washed away by this horrible turn of events. McGonagall must have gone bonkers, she concluded, muttering to herself.

"Dearest," Mrs. Granger said warily, "is this Draco Malfoy the same Malfoy boy you've been complaining about for the past seven years?" Complaining was an understatement; Hermione, Ron, and Harry had been plotting his demise since he first called her, mudblood.

She would have her doubts about him, of course, thinking he was just some confused boy following his father's footsteps. These doubts would completely wander off after being taunted for having buckteeth or for having bushy hair. Once, sometime around five years ago, she punched him square on the nose—not remembering the exact reason, though.

Before Hermione could respond to Mrs. Granger's question, Mr. Granger had taken the letter from Hermione's hand and crumpled it. "You are not going back to that bloody school. I am going to write that school of yours that they can bugger off and leave us alone. You've had quite-too-many near-death experiences since you first got that invitation to study there!"

"But it's different now, dad. Voldemort's dead. The only harm that I can ever come across is if I were daft enough to blow my own cauldron up!" She turned to her mother for support, but the way she averted her eyes means that there was no way Mrs. Granger would dare go against an angry Mr. Granger.

"Go to your room. No more discussions about magic or anything that has got to do with that world." The finality in her father's tone had said it all.

Hermione's eyes widened in panic; she couldn't bear the idea of not finishing her studies! "Mum, say something! You can't possibly do this to me. I'm of age!"

"Until you decide to live under someone else's roof and not mine, you will do as I say. Go to your room. Now." They spent a good whole minute glaring at each other, Hermione's tears welling up as her head spun in fury.

In the end, she had no choice but to comply. She was right, though, when she said she was of age. And the Hogwarts letter specifically stated that unless and until the student is of age, the parents are required to write the letter. The only hope she had now was that the letter—if ever her father would send one—would be considered nullified because of the age conditions.

The moment she shut her door, hot tears began streaming down her face. This was no time to cry. She had won the war alongside Harry Potter and winning against her father shouldn't be too much of an obstacle. For now, the wisest thing to do was to write her friends, hoping they could do something—anything to help.