"You will like this better, Parvati, you'll see," her mother whispered, her hands smoothing gently up and down her back. "You'll have private tutors for this last year of schooling, and there are many, many careers in Britain and abroad that accept NEWTs taken privately, not in a magical school. It's certainly better than going back to a place so dangerous when there's a war on."
Parvati dared to roll her eyes, because her mother had her head buried in her shoulder and couldn't see her face. "Of course, Mother. It must have been habit that made me pack." She glanced at the neatly packed trunk that sat at the foot of her bed. She knew that one exactly like it sat in her sister's room. Padma was as determined to make her own decisions and go back to her girlfriend as Parvati was determined to go back to her boyfriend.
"Of course. Well, that's understandable. I know that you were looking forward to your seventh year at Hogwarts." Sita Patil pulled back and gave Parvati a fond smile, caressing her cheek now. "But you know that your father and I just couldn't bear it if one of you girls died in an attack on the school?"
Parvati spent a long moment staring into her mother's eyes, looking for some sign or glimmer of understanding. They were seventeen, now, she and Padma. Her mother must have been seventeen once. She would understand the currents of love and the desire to be courageous and dare many things that older wizards and witches would never do, wouldn't she?
But there was no such understanding in her mother's eyes. Reluctantly, Parvati told herself that it was time she stopped looking for it. Sita had already been out of school when the First War with Voldemort had become terrible, with a choice about whether or not to fight, and certainly with the option to remain quietly and peacefully within her home if she wanted. Her husband's family had been neutral in the war, courted by both sides, and her parents had left Britain for a time, so she hadn't felt a true connection to anyone in the larger world.
Parvati did, though. And she was not about to leave them to fight the war alone while she had private schooling behind expensive and obscure wards.
"I know that," she said. "I know that you and Father love us, and I love you." She kissed her mother's cheek.
"I'm glad that you see it that way, Parvati." Sita stepped back from her with a little smile. "Your father and I were certain that you were going to break our hearts someday when you were Sorted into Gryffindor. But I'm glad that you've decided to be a sensible girl like your sister."
Parvati gave her mother a dazzling smile, while silently reflecting that neither Sita nor Rama, their father, knew Padma at all. "I'll unpack," she said, and turned towards her trunk.
Her mother trusted her, and left the room, shutting the door. Parvati at once dropped the lid of her trunk and glanced around, looking for anything she'd forgotten to take.
The only thing remaining that she'd really wanted to find room for and couldn't make fit, though, was her full-length mirror, which stretched not only from floor to ceiling but also from one wall to another, showing the entire expanse of the quiet wooden bedroom where Parvati had spent most of her holidays for the last six years (she and Padma had both come back from their first year Hogwarts insisting on separate rooms). She couldn't be sure of carrying the mirror unbroken to Hogwarts, unfortunately, and trying to arrange for shipping would surely have alerted her mother that something was going on. She did go and trail her fingers over the mirror in farewell, making it wake up and purr its pleasure.
Someone knocked on her door, as her mother had just a few minutes ago, but this time the light knock was immediately followed by three heavy ones. Parvati relaxed and skipped across the room, opening the door to reveal her twin sister's face.
Padma had her trunk in the pocket of her robe already, with spells that Parvati wished she could perform as neatly, and a few textbooks in her arms with their covers Transfigured to look like those awful nineteenth-century romances that their mother read. Parvati rolled her eyes. Trust Padma to have had trouble fitting books into her trunk.
"Are you ready?"
Padma's eyes were huge and brown, like her own, but right now they were bigger than normal. Parvati supposed that was only to be expected, like the books. Padma was a Ravenclaw. She was brave—she'd trained in dueling with the rest of them, and helped to guard Harry when the rest of her House went mad in fifth year, and stood up against the people who thought she was mad for dating Luna—but she always would hesitate before she broke a rule, even a rule that deserved to be broken because it was so stupid.
"I am." Parvati shrank her trunk and tucked it into her pocket, glanced one more time at the mirror, which mewed after her, and then turned around and nodded at Padma. "Let's leave."
Predictably, of course, Padma hesitated then. "Are you sure that we shouldn't negotiate with Mother and Father one more time?" she whispered. "They're going to miss us. You know they are—"
"And we've tried that," said Parvati. "Both your negotiation and mine." Padma's had involved legal documents showing that, since they were seventeen now, and adults in the wizarding world, they could do what they liked. Parvati's had involved loud screams and thrown vases. Neither had worked. "They don't accept it, Padma. Circumstances were different when they were young. And that's fine for them, but it's wrong for us. We have to do something different. Unless you're backing out now?" She tossed her long braid of black hair over her shoulder and fixed her eyes on Padma's face.
"Of course not," said Padma, her voice softening. "I want to see Luna again."
Parvati just nodded. She would never understand what her sister saw in the Lovegood girl—Merlin, she didn't know why her sister wanted to date girls at all—but Padma was her sister, and Parvati loved her, and if Padma had wanted to stay behind or run off to Hogwarts all on her own, Parvati would still have supported her. That was what sisters did.
She reached out, and Padma entwined her fingers with hers. They both pulled their wands from their pockets and walked down the hallway together, then down the stairs towards the fireplace and their house's Floo connection.
Today was September first, and normally they would be at King's Cross already—Sita liked to arrive early so as to spend more time fussing over her daughters—and on the Hogwarts Express. But since their parents wouldn't take them and neither Parvati nor Padma could Apparate yet, they were taking the Floo into Hogwarts's hospital wing.
Parvati stood behind Padma as she tossed the Floo powder in and started the flames flaring green.
"Daughters? Where are you going?"
That was their father, Rama, who'd just emerged from his indoor garden behind the stairs. Parvati pointed her wand at him, and felt only a faint stirring of regret at the shock on his face.
"Daughters?" he whispered.
"We love you, Father," said Parvati. "But we're going to Hogwarts this year."
Surprisingly, her father smiled, but Parvati found out the reason a moment later. "They'll send you back," he said confidently. "If a parent objects and doesn't want his son or daughter to attend, then the Headmistress is legally obligated to pull the student out of school."
"Oh, dear," Parvati murmured. "Padma, do you want to tell him, or should I?"
"I didn't manage to do it last time," said Padma distractedly, who was trying to find some way to hold her books so they wouldn't bang her chest when they whirled through the Floo connection. "You try."
Parvati nodded, never taking her eyes from their father's face. She did love him, really she did, but he just didn't understand. "When the student is seventeen," said Parvati, "and files the right legal paperwork, then he or she can stay in school. And we're seventeen, and Padma's already filed the paperwork. She did try to tell you she'd do that if you said no, but you kept thinking of us as little children, and underestimated her." She leaned against her sister's back, eyes alert in case their father reached for his wand. After the intensive dueling training she'd undergone, Parvati was sure she'd be quick enough to blast it out of his hand with an Expelliarmus.
"What have we done?" Rama whispered, his voice full of mourning and his eyes full of tears. "Where did we fail you, that you thought you had to run away?"
"You didn't fail us," said Parvati. She was actually glad their father had caught them, now. She had wanted to say this, but she couldn't have done it during the arguments without alerting their parents to their plans. "You just didn't have to make the choices we did. So now we've made those choices. And we'll see you again someday." She paused, and then Gryffindor honesty compelled her to add, "Probably."
Rama lunged forward.
But Padma had finally figured out how she wanted to arrange her books, and she grabbed Parvati's hand, while shouting out, "Hogwarts hospital wing!"
They got whirled through the intense, dizzying motion that always made Parvati feel sick to her stomach, and left her on her knees when they tumbled out on the floor of the hospital wing, with soot all over her robes. She climbed back to her feet, coughing, while Padma rushed over to a shocked-looking Madam Pomfrey, already drawing out their copy of the paperwork they'd filed.
"Madam Pomfrey," she said, words tumbling over each other, "Parvati and I are seventeen, and we ask for sanctuary—"
Parvati rolled out of the way when her father came through the Floo connection then, and reacted as she'd been trained before she even thought about what she was doing. Her father sprawled on the floor in a Body-Bind, unable even to blink, and certainly unable to interfere as Madam Pomfrey, who counted as a teacher of the school for the purposes of this legal discussion, slowly listened to and then accepted Padma's plea for sanctuary.
Parvati smugly let her father go. Rama rubbed his jaw, which he'd hit on the floor, with a wince, and then shook his head.
"What am I going to tell your mother?" he murmured.
"The truth," said Parvati, and kissed him on the cheek. "We're doing this for love. I hope we can visit you over Christmas holidays, Father. Farewell."
She followed Padma out of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would carry their paperwork to the Headmistress, so they didn't have to see her. Parvati was glad. She had someone she wanted to find.
Even before she could use the Point Me spell, though, a familiar voice called, "Parvati?" The tone was one of both surprise and joy.
She smiled, and looked up, and then flung herself headlong into Connor's arms, clinging fiercely to him.
My parents made their choice, and we made ours.
SSSSSSSSSSSSS
Minerva shook her head, but in amusement, as she studied the Patil twins' request for sanctuary and to attend the school that term. It was the fifth one she'd received, the third one from the children of a Light pureblood family. Strange that so many children are less afraid than their parents are.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Poppy," she said, with a firm nod, and then put the parchment on her desk. Poppy hovered instead of leaving, however, and Minerva glanced at her, wondering what she wanted.
"Minerva," Poppy began in the voice that made her sound most like an interfering busybody, "have you been performing those spells I talked about, and taking the period of relaxation I mandated each day?"
Not this again. "I assure you," said Minerva, her voice much cooler because she couldn't help it, "my heart was only temporarily weakened as a result of Severus's unfortunate possession accident. I am not an invalid. Nor am I someone who needs to watch her heart, Poppy. I am only in my seventies. I could easily live eighty years more."
"You had a weak heart even before this," the interfering matron insisted. "I know you did, Minerva. I've seen the records from that time in your fifth year when you collapsed after stopping those Slytherin boys from torturing that Hufflepuff girl—"
Minerva snorted. "I was overexcited, and I'd cast twenty spells in swift succession. I think I'm excused some exhaustion." And if I'd managed to figure out that those boys were under Tom Riddle's control at the time, then certain mysteries might have been solved much more easily. She hadn't had the chance to figure it out, though, because she'd spent the next week in bed under Madam Balmbane's care, forced to endure spell after spell to heal her "weak heart." There had been a busybody.
Poppy refused to back down. "You're not as young as you used to be, and the students need you. I want you to promise me that you'll use those spells and take some time to relax each day, Minerva, or I swear to Merlin, you'll be sleeping in the hospital wing until you do."
Minerva leveled her best glare at Poppy. The other woman glared back, which Minerva had to admit impressed her more than a little. Her best stare had been known to stop Severus in full bark.
"I'll use them, then," she said. "But I still don't think there's anything wrong." That was as conciliating as she could be. She had tremendous sympathy for her Gryffindors, and Harry, who'd spent more than their fair share of time in the hospital wing under Poppy's tyranny. There were always more important things to be done than this endless worrying over one's health. Some worrying was good, of course, but it should not be incessant.
Poppy eyed her once, then nodded and left. Minerva defiantly changed into a cat and padded over to the wall of her office, staring up at the glass case that contained the Sword of Gryffindor.
They hadn't moved the Horcrux, and nothing had happened concerning it. When Minerva had handled it, it didn't burn her, and she felt nothing more than a faint tingle from the hilt, a tingle that told of immense magic—but that could have come from the age of the Sword. And of course they hadn't yet decided what they were going to do about it.
"I hate that he corrupted one of my mementoes," muttered a voice behind her.
Minerva lashed her tail in acknowledgment of Godric's presence, but didn't turn around. Sometimes she thought that she could melt the Sword to slag by the sheer force of her stare. It was worth a try, at least.
"Of course, it was either the Sword or the Sorting Hat," the shade of the Gryffindor Founder went on in a thoughtful voice, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. "Those are the only possessions of mine that survive. And, all things considered, I'd rather it was the Sword, which almost no one handles, than the Hat, which peers into thousands of impressionable young minds."
Minerva turned about, her head cocked. Though she couldn't speak aloud in this form, the connection between the Headmistress and the shades of the Founders ran deep, and Godric sensed what she wanted to ask without words.
"I think it's relics of the Founders that he wanted to corrupt," said Godric. He put out a hand in invitation, and Minerva bounded up, landing on the desk beside him. His hand felt like a cool breeze as it moved along her spine, just enough to tickle. "My Sword, Salazar's locket—and a ring that belongs to his descendants, too—and Helga's cup. And I would wager anything I still own, which admittedly isn't much, that the wand was Rowena's."
Minerva purred in consideration. It did make sense, though the diary that Harry had destroyed in his second year didn't fit the pattern. But possibly the diary had meant something to Tom in his childhood years.
"And Poppy's right, you know," Godric continued, so smoothly that Minerva actually arched her back against his hand before she realized what he was talking about. She drew back and stared at him in betrayal, but it seemed that her stare was losing its effectiveness all around. "You need to be more careful of your heart. Leading from the back isn't a bad thing, Minerva, as Rowena has told me on more than one occasion. You can still use your brains, even as you protect your body."
Minerva lashed her tail, and gave him another stare to convey what she thought of that. She was a Gryffindor. They were made to fight from the front. It was certainly what she'd done during the First War.
Godric chuckled and scooped her into his lap, concentrating hard to solidify his arms and legs so that he could. "But this is the Second War, and this is different," he whispered into her ear. "It's all right, Minerva, to admit that you have weaknesses and that you're human, too, you know."
Possible, but annoying. Minerva dug in her claws and leaped off the desk and his lap, landing on the floor. Then she changed back to her normal self, and folded her arms. "I kept the school open against the pressure of the governors and the Ministry wanting me to close it."
"You did," said Godric, a curious expression on his face, as if he didn't know where she was going.
"I've stood up for my students when Voldemort came, when Albus turned out to be a disgrace to the name of Gryffindor and the name of Light wizard, and when other students acted in a disgusting manner towards them."
"Of course you have."
"And you want me to back down and lead from behind now?" Minerva shook her head, unable to explain why this was so important to her, but knowing that it was. "When that works better, I may do it, but I won't do it all the time, merely to preserve my health. My health is fine." And it was. The war had given her back a sense of purpose and restlessness that kept her better-prepared to go forward than the apathy that she saw gripping many in the Ministry and general population.
Godric looked at her with soft eyes and a faint smile. Minerva found the expression on his face familiar, but she couldn't place it.
"Very well, Minerva," he said quietly. "As you need to."
It was only later, as she walked down the stairs towards the Great Hall with the Sorting Hat tucked firmly under her arm, snorting and mumbling as it tried out its new songs, that she realized it was the same expression that she had often worn when she looked at her more impetuous and rule-breaking Gryffindors.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Hermione looked down the table and rolled her eyes. Parvati and Connor hadn't stopped snogging since they entered the Great Hall. And of course that was all right, that was even to be expected since Connor hadn't seen her most of the summer, but really, more than a minute with tongue was as much as anyone needed. And now there were children present, the straggling group of first-years lined up expectantly before the Sorting Hat.
Never mind that there were only sixteen first-years there, since most of their parents were too frightened to send them to the school. That only made it all the more imperative, in Hermione's eyes, not to frighten them off now, or make them think the older students did nothing but snog. Their eyes were already wide, darting from every corner of the room back to the tables and the enchanted ceiling, and they kept swallowing as if to keep their mouths dry. Hermione smiled a little wistfully, remembering how she'd felt when she came here for the first time.
She'd been nervous, a bit, but she'd read all the books already, and she knew what Hogwarts was like. The biggest challenge had been arguing with the Sorting Hat, which wanted her to go into Ravenclaw, when Hermione had known she wanted to go into Gryffindor. The Hat had finally given up and put her where she wanted to go rather than where, it had insisted, she belonged. Hermione was not about to listen to a hat, though. Books were far smarter, and the way the books described Gryffindor House had made her know it was the one for her.
"They look frightened," a voice murmured from behind her, and Hermione leaned back into Zacharias's arms.
"They're young," she said.
Zacharias sat down next to her, one arm securely around her shoulders. "I was never that nervous."
Hermione had to shrug. "Neither was I."
Zacharias gave her a smug glance from the corner of his eye. "No competition in this group, then."
And that was so ridiculous that Hermione just had to laugh, which made Professor Snape glare at her as he led the first first-year, whose name Hermione thought was Amanda Bailey, up to the Sorting Hat. "I think we can find other people to be superior to besides a group of first-years, Zach," she whispered, using the nickname she knew he hated.
He drew back from her, nostrils flaring, but his attempt to say something was cut short by the Hat's shout of, "SLYTHERIN!"
Hermione turned back around, eyebrows raised, as the tiny Bailey girl pulled the Hat off her head and tottered towards the Slytherin table. The small group of older students sitting there welcomed her enthusiastically, even if the loudest clapping was Harry and Draco's. Bailey, Hermione knew, was not a pureblood name. The girl was either Muggleborn, or, at best, the daughter of a pureblood witch who'd married a Muggle.
From the look on Harry's face, he did realize that, and he was going to fight for Amanda Bailey's right to be treated like an equal if he had to.
The first-year after that, a boy named Gerald, went to the Ravenclaw table, and then came Lionel, who, appropriately enough, became a Gryffindor. Then Hufflepuff acquired two new Housemates, and there were two first-year Gryffindor girls, whom Hermione smiled welcomingly at as they sat down at the very end of the table.
The rest of the first-years went to Slytherin.
Hermione knew her own eyes were wide, but she had never heard of Slytherin dominating such a large share of the Sorting before. Of course, it was a small Sorting, but Slytherin was the smallest of the Houses. Many students in recent years had heard of the House's dark reputation and fought with the Hat if it wanted to put them there. Not to mention that the qualities necessary for Slytherin were less likely to exist in eleven-year-olds than in older children, Hermione thought, unless the children were purebloods.
And now—
Now that seemed to have changed.
Hermione wasn't deaf, and she'd cast a few listening charms out of curiosity. Two of the younger girls on whom the Hat wavered, unsure whether to put them in Slytherin or another House, begged to be Sorted into Slytherin. So did a boy Hermione was almost sure was Muggleborn, and one of the Hufflepuff boys was almost in tears when the Hat decided on that House, though he tried to smile bravely as the others welcomed him in with loud clapping.
Hermione looked at Professor Snape's face. It shone like the sun, at least if one knew the signs to look for. Hermione did, having seen him look like that over Harry, and sometimes when a Slytherin completed a potion in his class perfectly.
The tide's turned, Hermione thought. Slytherin looks better now, its reputation is rising, and there might even be people out there who are trying to emulate its qualities, or who are teaching their children to do that. They've had at least a few years now, from the time that they found out about Dumbledore's child abuse and Harry started becoming famous. And then there's the Grand Unified Theory, saying that families don't have to keep apart because of silly blood laws anymore.
She was sure that was what was happening. From the look on Draco's face, he'd decided the same thing, and he hunched over a few of the first-years like a dragon smugly brooding on eggs. Hermione was sure she detected some coolness in his manner towards the Muggleborn students, but not nearly as much as there would have been a very short time ago.
So many things are changing, Hermione thought in wonder. If we survive the War, if Voldemort doesn't win, then the wizarding world is going to change so much. For house elves, but for Muggleborns, too.
"Hermione?"
"Hmmm?" Hermione turned from her contemplations to find Zacharias leaning forward, his eyes fastened intently on her face.
"My mother sent me with a message for you," said Zacharias solemnly, and then drew out a wooden case from his robes and handed it over to her with a little bow. Hermione accepted it and uncapped it, rolling out the scroll that had been cooped up inside. When she studied it, she felt a sudden prickling at the back of her eyes that felt too much like tears for comfort.
September 1st, 1997
Dear Hermione:
I beg you to forgive a stubborn old woman for taking too long to see the truth. I raised my son. I should have known that his choice would not alight on an unworthy partner, however surprising she was at first glance. Zacharias has told me of your courage and your determination to make a difference at Hogwarts this summer, and I have heard other tales from the wider wizarding world. The wizards and witches who join the war effort and forsake the foolish things that the Ministry asks of them are as likely to be Muggleborn as pureblood. In fact, to my shame and sorrow, they are more likely to be Muggleborn than pureblood, because they do not see themselves as bound to an old and outworn definition of Light.
You are a fit partner for my son, in intelligence and in courage. If I still wish for a different family background for you, it must come from my own personal dreams for Zacharias and not because of a deficiency in you. Welcome to our family, Hermione, whenever you decide to join it.
Yours,
Miriam Smith.
Hermione tried to say something, and had to swallow first. "When she decides to apologize, she doesn't do it halfway, does she?" she murmured, leaning against Zacharias's chest.
"Does that mean that you accept the apology?" Zacharias asked, stroking her shoulders.
"Yes," Hermione whispered.
"Good," said Zacharias, and his voice grew pompous. "You'll need to write out the acceptance, though. That's the proper way to do such things."
Hermione punched him in the shoulder, and then turned to face the head table as McGonagall rose to her feet. Her face was stern, but she could not help sneaking glances at the Slytherin table, either, and Hermione could make out the pride and satisfaction in her eyes.
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts, new students and old, professors and staff," said McGonagall. "We are in the middle of a war now, and that will mean some changes. For example, stronger wards than normal have been established around the House common rooms. No student in first or second year is to go anywhere alone, and there are wards denying anyone but a few select people access to the Forbidden Forest." Her gaze touched Harry, then, and not by accident, Hermione thought. "In addition, defensive techniques will be taught in most classes, not simply Defense Against the Dark Arts, and all students are encouraged to learn the school's geography as soon as possible."
She leaned forward and put her hands on the table, drawing all attention irrevocably to her.
"We will win this war," she said. "And not solely for the sake of what will happen should we not. Because we must not allow fear to control our lives." She drew back and revealed that her wand had been lying under her palm. "Animales advoco!"
A stream of colored sparks sped out across the hall, touching the walls and rebounding from them, crisscrossing in midair and falling back together. Hermione gasped as she saw them forming into the shape of four beasts: a lion and badger walking side by side, a snake coiling around their feet and rearing upwards, an eagle descending from above to meet them. When they met, they opened their mouths and uttered a soundless cry before bleeding back into a storm of sparks that raced to the torches lighting the Great Hall and made them flare wildly.
"This war shall not strip our lives from us," said Headmistress McGonagall, her eyes narrow and her face shining with readiness to meet battle. At that moment, Hermione would have followed her into that battle. "Neither the more complex pleasures of House unity, nor—" she smiled "—the simpler ones of eating." She raised one hand, and the plates filled with food.
Hermione set about Transfiguring her own, noticing that Connor and Parvati, and, of course, Harry, were doing the same thing. Draco gave Harry's conjured food a few thoughtful glances, chewing solemnly on his, but didn't yet offer to forsake the services of house elves.
Hermione actually had to take a few calming breaths before she could eat. The excitement was twisting her stomach into a knot.
We're going to live. We're going to fight on a basis that Voldemort can't even comprehend.
And we're going to win.