An unbearably hot, humid air descended upon London the next day. It made for a miserable night's sleep for Severus Snape on the top-floor bedroom of the old Victorian house, rendered all the more unpleasant since he'd been stripped of his ability to perform even a simple cooling charm. He resorted to lying nude on top of the covers, but that hadn't helped at all; not only was he completely unused to sleeping sans nightshirt, he couldn't shake the mortifying prospect of Granger appearing with his breakfast and him having to scramble for clothing while she tapped her foot impatiently on the other side of the door.

Then there was also the issue of the incident in Diagon Alley that Granger hadn't seen fit to tell him about. Despite his reaction during the interview, he was not really angry with her about the incident itself – how could he be? Frankly, he'd expected nothing less of the idiotic public. He only wished she'd told him about it. In fact, he almost found himself wishing he'd been there to witness her little display – it certainly sounded as though she'd put them in their place, though he found it hard to imagine the prim and proper Miss Granger losing her cool like that.

The damn Prophet article was another matter entirely – there was nothing amusing in the slightest about those accusations. The idea that he'd stoop to using Amortentia on anyone, let alone Hermione Granger, a student … that he'd lower himself to the childish and vile tactics of … but no, he would not think on that incident, long buried in his memories under years of rage and resentment. Anyone who knew him in any depth – which, come to think of it, was virtually no one, since he'd killed the one man who perhaps ever had – knew he abhorred love potions in all their forms. Years ago – back in his seventh year when he'd still had some faith in the Ministry – he'd even written to the Department for the Regulation of Magical Substances to tighten the laughably inadequate laws surrounding them, but to no avail.

He turned to his side and thumped the pillow angrily. It was a long time before he managed to finally drift off, and he was awoken barely three hours later by his own well-honed internal alarm with just enough time to slip on his dressing gown before Granger's perfunctory knock.

She was wearing a light skirt and strappy vest covered with a long-sleeved cardigan today. Odd, he thought, that even in this weather she seemed intent on covering her arms. Not that he could speak of course; he'd not willingly bared his forearms to the world since he was eighteen years old, and for very good reason. She, however, did not have his excuse. He watched her deposit the tray in its usual spot and resolved to uncover the mystery of Hermione Granger's covered arms.

Heavens, had he truly sunk so low that he was now reduced to concerning himself with the limbs of his ex-students for entertainment?

The heat had surely gone to the girl's head, for she took a seat in the chair next to his bed that for some reason she hadn't seen fit to vanish along with the others after yesterday's interview.

'Goodness, it's hot up here, isn't it?' she said, and pulled out her wand. She immediately performed a cooling charm upon herself and then, to his utter astonishment, upon him. He froze as the familiar tingle of magic washed over him, and he was hit with such a force of longing it left him almost breathless. He made a silent vow to never admonish anyone for "foolish wand waving" ever again.

'Presumptuous of you, Granger,' he said, accepting the cup of tea she offered him.

Her face went red. 'Sorry, I just assumed—'

'You're in luck in this case, I was going to ask you anyway.' In a way, he was strangely grateful. He despised being at the wrong end of anyone's wand, even if the caster was benevolent– the Marauders had caused that particular neurosis – but at least he'd been spared the ignominy of having to ask her to perform such a minor feat of magic for him.

'Next time I'll ask. It's that whole knowing what's best for other people thing again.'

He grunted. 'Well, this time at least, you have my gratitude.'

She didn't respond to that, thankfully. They fell into silence, and he sipped his tea, took a slice of toast, and contemplated what the girl was up to by continuing to sit there. A quick glance confirmed she was uneasy; she clearly had something on her mind, but seemed to be having trouble saying it.

'Listen,' she said eventually, hands twisting nervously in her lap, 'I wanted to say … I really am sorry for not telling you before about Diagon Alley.'

Ah – that was what she wished to talk about.

'Why didn't you?'

Her face twisted into a thoughtful frown. 'I suppose it was because I didn't want you to be disappointed in me. I know you think all of this is a waste of time anyway – don't deny it, I know you do,' she added quickly. 'And … well, I didn't want to give you the satisfaction of being able to say "I told you so".'

'I find no satisfaction in your being hounded by an angry mob on my behalf, Miss Granger,' he said darkly. 'You must think very little of me if you think I would.'

'Oh, I didn't mean it like that,' she said quickly. 'Just that I didn't want to admit to having failed. And I don't think little of you, sir,' she added quietly. 'Far from it.'

Well, he hadn't been expecting that. In his amazement, he scanned her face for evidence of deceit, but even after a lengthy scrutiny he found none. He could only conclude she was sincere. Foolish girl.

'Well, what's done is done. Let's speak no more of it.'

'Alright,' she said. The girl busied herself then with casting a refreshing spell upon the vase of white tulips, and drawing the curtains, then pulled out a few more phials of her vitamin potion from her pocket and placed them in his potions box. Severus watched her fussing with some amusement as he chewed on his toast. As he did, a question floated in his mind. It was a question he'd pondered before, but which had been brought to the surface again after yesterday's interview.

'I wondered if I might ask you something, Miss Granger?' he said abruptly, placing his teacup back on the tray.

She looked up, halfway through sorting through the empty phials in his medicine box. 'Of course.'

'You carried Phineas Black's portrait with you whilst you were on the run. From what Phineas told me, I gather it was not entirely intentional, but I confess, I often wondered whether you had another motive.'

'What do you mean?'

'I thought perhaps you might have wished to communicate with me.'

She stared at him, comprehension seeming to dawn. 'You hoped I'd figured out your true allegiance.'

'I thought Albus might have left some sort of clue for you to unravel. It would be the sort of absurd, convoluted thing he'd do.'

'He didn't. None that I found at least,' she said, and he noted she looked almost sad at that fact. 'I … I'm quite ashamed of myself for not contacting you, you know.'

'You suspected?' he said, surprised.

She gave a half shrug and looked down at her entwined hands in her lap. 'I always had my doubts about the official version of events. It just never fully added up. Dumbledore trusted you completely, and Hagrid told us about a conversation he'd overheard between you and the headmaster, about you not wanting to do something anymore. Everyone else immediately wrote you off as evil, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. We'd been wrong about you so many times before and there was obviously more going on than we knew about, but however hard I tried, I couldn't get the pieces to fit together. More than once, I thought about contacting you through the portrait, but I had no idea what to say and I couldn't risk it unless I was certain, the stakes were just too high. What if I had been wrong about you and I inadvertently handed Harry over to Voldemort?'

He'd thought he'd be relieved learning someone out there had still had a sense of faith in him, however small. All he felt now, though, was an overwhelming loss at what he might have had.

'You did the right thing,' he said softly.

She stared at him, dumbfounded. 'But I was wrong. You were on our side. Imagine how much easier things would have been if we'd been able to communicate. I should have trusted my gut, taken a leaf out of Harry's book. Instead, I did what I always do: overthink everything.'

He shook his head. 'You were cautious; that is to be applauded not lamented. Potter has always been a hothead, he acts before he thinks, if indeed he thinks at all. Sometimes it worked out, but most of the time it landed him in hot water.'

'Tell me about it,' she concurred with an amused huff. 'I've been his friend for seven years and I've lost count of the times I've been scalded along with him.'

So she had, he thought as he vividly recalled her injuries at Dolohov's hand at the end of her fifth year, and the half a dozen healing potions he'd stayed up all night to brew for her. He doubted Potter even understood the extent of the damage she'd incurred that night.

'Unfortunately caution and restraint aren't generally rewarded in the same way recklessness is,' he said. 'Especially by wizened headmasters with long white beards and half-moon spectacles.'

'So I've noticed,' she said with a hint of amusement. 'Still … I think I'll always regret not contacting you. You had no one.'

The concern in her voice made his stomach do a strange flip.

'It was safer for all involved that no one knew my true loyalties.'

He could feel her watching him so he poured himself another cup of tea as a distraction.

'Can I ask a question now?' she said.

He looked up in surprise. 'If you must.' Merlin, what was he getting himself into?

'You don't have to answer if you don't want to,' she said. 'It's just something I've wondered.'

She was hesitant to continue, but at his nod of assent she visibly steeled herself.

'I always wondered why you joined the Death Eaters in the first place? Did you ever really hate Muggles and Muggle-borns?'

About a dozen swear words flitted across his mind; of course the girl wanted to go there.

'What do you think?' he said.

She seemed unsurprised he'd thrown the question straight back at her, and she had an answer ready, as though she'd spent a great deal of time deliberating it. 'I think you hated your father. And I think you wanted to hate Lily, because it would have been so much less painful than loving her. But beyond that, I don't know.'

He couldn't help but be irritated at the casual way she referred to Lily and his loving her, like she was making light of it, like it was nothing. But then he supposed making light of it was quite a bit better than mocking him for it, and she hadn't done that at least.

She continued, 'I never got the impression you hated me for being Muggle-born.' She smirked. 'For being an insufferable know-it-all perhaps, but never for my heritage.'

He cocked an eyebrow as he tried to think of a way to answer her. At length, he spoke.

'I learned very early on in life that magic and Muggles don't mix well. My own mother kept her status as a witch a secret while my father was courting her. Later, once he realised what he'd married into, he turned against her. And when it became clear I took after her, he sought to stamp the magic out of me by any means possible.'

'Stamping it out how?' she said quietly.

'However he could,' he said in a tone that made it clear further probing would be unwelcome. 'My mother was terrified to use her magic around him, to the point where she only used it when he was out of the house. My father was a mill worker, and often out of work. For a while my mother was able to supplement his meagre income by magically mending our neighbour's clothing. In the summer after my fifth year, he discovered what she was doing, and he was furious. He didn't care that she was using her talents to bring in extra income, he hated magic so much that that didn't matter.' He took a deep breath. 'He snapped her wand.'

He recalled that day so vividly, as though it were only yesterday, and the memory dredged up feelings of intense loathing for the man who had sired him. If he had any sense, he would stop his story there, but some strange internal force was compelling him to continue. 'The one thing my mother took joy in, the one thing she could be proud of, and he stole it from her. Tobias Snape was a pathetic man with a fragile ego and couldn't stand the thought of her having even the slightest power over him. Even if all she used it for was darning jumpers.'

Granger was leaning forwards in her seat, hanging onto his every word.

'I don't have a simple answer to your question, I'm afraid. I would never say I hated Muggles, but I did hate the idea of being one. I thought I was better for being a wizard, and gladly admitted to it. And I thought Muggles and wizards would do best to stay separate.'

She wrinkled her nose. 'That sounds an awful lot like Muggle hatred to me.'

'That's because you're a Gryffindor and you don't understand subtlety.'

'Resorting to petty house stereotypes, sir? You're better than that,' she retorted, a cheeky glint in her eye. 'If it's not hatred, it's at least prejudice. You based your idea of Muggles on one person.'

'I knew other Muggles who were also not accepting.'

'Like who?'

He hesitated a moment, then said, 'Lily's sister, Petunia. She hated magic and hated Lily just because she was a witch.'

'Harry's told me about his aunt. It seems like she was just a horrible person in general; you can't judge all Muggles by a few horrible people and ignore all the times where Muggles and magic mix perfectly well. My parents for instance, they were never anything but supportive when they learned I was a witch.'

'Then you were one of the lucky ones,' he said. 'There are more than enough horrible people in the world who would not hesitate to wipe us out if given the chance. Muggles will always pose a threat to wizardkind, it's foolish to deny that reality.'

'Surely Muggles have far more to fear from us than we do from them.'

'We are far outnumbered.'

'But we have magic!'

He rolled his eyes. 'Most witches and wizards barely scrape a handful of NEWTs – believe me, I should know – and very few are practised duellers. Against an angry horde of determined Muggles, they wouldn't stand a chance. You've heard of the witch hunts, I presume?' he added sarcastically. 'It was rather a large chunk of the History of Magic curriculum.'

'But that was hundreds of years ago. People are different now; better educated, less quick to judge.'

'You forget wizards have longer lifespans than Muggles – what may seem several generations ago to them is still fresh in many wizards' minds. Only very recently the magical world watched the Muggle world descend into war and inflict unimaginable horrors upon minorities from within their own communities,' he said darkly. 'Can you imagine what the Nazi party would have done if they had discovered the witches and wizards living amongst them? It doesn't even bear thinking about. How much more devastation would have been caused if wizardkind had gotten caught up in that war? In the Muggle world as well as ours.'

'You expect me to believe that that Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy followed Voldemort because they cared about protecting Muggles?'

'Neither of them gave two shits about protecting Muggles,' he said, growing impatient. 'That wasn't my point. I'm trying to paint a picture of the kind of mindset that led to his rise to power. You have to understand, back then the Dark Lord wasn't the Dark Lord you knew. In the early days, he was simply a talented and magnetic orator. He addressed issues that the rest of the wizarding world were quite content to brush under the carpet. Of course he was bigoted, and there was plenty of bigotry amongst his followers, but they weren't so overt about it when they were on a recruitment drive, and many were willing to put it aside because they wanted reassurance or power. Most of his followers weren't out and out Death Eaters, and by the end he'd amassed a following far larger than the Ministry would care to admit. Did you know he attempted to run for Minister for Magic once?'

'Really?' she said, seemingly fascinated by this new piece of information. 'I've never heard about that. When?'

'In the early seventies,' he said. 'But the Ministry scuppered his chances – they paid off a Healer to declare him mentally unstable and unfit for office.'

'Thank god for that,' Granger breathed.

He smirked. 'Yes, that was the general opinion at the time. But it backfired, hugely. After that his support only increased – you can imagine how his followers saw it as an undemocratic conspiracy against him – and now he had been blocked from seeking power via the official channels, his only option was to increase it with more terror and coercion.'

'So which was it for you – were you terrified or coerced? Don't think I haven't noticed you've dodged my original question.'

Merlin, the girl was growing bolder by the day.

'Neither,' he said. 'My choices were entirely my own. I was a fool, to be sure, but I was also easy prey. I was drawn to the Dark Lord because he offered me everything I'd always craved; power, glory, acceptance.'

'And did you get it?'

He considered. 'For a time, yes,' he said honestly. 'The Dark Lord was remarkably generous to those he saw as useful to him. I was able to train under some of the greatest living Potions masters because of him, I was able to explore areas of magic I could have only dreamed of before.'

'Dark magic?'

He tilted his head. 'Define dark.'

'Magic used to cause harm to, exert control over, or kill the victim,' she recited, and for a second he was transported straight back into the classroom, to the bushy-haired, buck-toothed young girl frantically waving her hand in the air.

'Still quoting verbatim from textbooks, Granger?'

She seemed irritated by that – she drew back a little and frowned. 'Well, it's not wrong, is it?'

'It is woefully lacking. By that definition even a simple Lumos could be classed as dark if, for instance, it were used to deliberately and permanently blind one's opponent.'

She tilted her head, acceding his point. 'And a Killing Curse can be used for good,' she said. 'I suppose that would render it not dark.'

That caught him up short. In theory, he supposed she might be correct, but in practise it was another thing entirely. The Killing Curse required real intent to take a life – the sort of intent that, in his experience, could only be fuelled by hate, and hate was the thing that truly separated dark magic from light. He knew his mind had not been filled with compassion for Albus Dumbledore when he had cast the curse. Far from it; he'd been overflowing with years of bottled-up resentment and anger and loathing. He could not have cast it otherwise. Severus was not at all certain he was absolved because his act was for the "greater good". Taking a life was the darkest of all magics, it split the soul – that was the generally accepted truth of the matter. Although Severus was no longer so sure it was that simple – was it the taking of the life that split the soul or was it that the depths of hatred that one had to sink to in order to cast the spell that truly caused the damage?

It was the one question that had plagued him since that night on the Astronomy tower; had his soul remained intact or had the act of casting Avada Kedavra torn it irreparably? Dumbledore had seemed so certain his soul would be unmaimed, but he had not been inside Severus's mind that night, had not felt what he had felt …

'Sir?'

He looked up sharply; he had almost forgotten the girl was there.

'You seemed miles away,' she said.

'My apologies, Miss Granger. I am … quite tired. And I believe I've had quite enough introspection for one morning.'

'I'm sorry for dredging it up,' she said, again back to toying with the sleeve of her cardigan. 'I'll leave.' She made to rise.

'If you wish to understand more the Dark Lord's initial rise, I could recommend some books for you,' he said. The girl's eyes lit up as she sat back down. He knew that look well – the excitement, the allure of the prospect of new knowledge.

'Could you? I've read a few – The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts is quite good, and Magical History of the Twentieth Century touches on it, but neither of them go into any great detail about the political climate at the time.'

'No, they wouldn't. History is written by the victors, and there's a lot of uncomfortable truths that contemporary authors tend to leave out.'

'Such as?' she asked eagerly.

'Such as the fact that in 1961 the Ministry came very close to passing a law to take Muggleborn babies away from their families. The law was abandoned – Dumbledore had a large part to play in that, I believe. However, later when the Dark Lord proposed the same measure he was widely excoriated as cruel and inhumane by the very same Ministers who had proposed the identical law not five years earlier. It was hastily covered up, of course – all traces of the original paperwork proposing the legislation burned and the odd memory wiped.'

Her face displaced her horror. 'I knew the Ministry was corrupt, but that's awful. How could they even consider such a barbaric thing?'

'Wizards have been doing the same thing to Squibs for centuries under the guise of compassion – sending them to live with non-magical families – and those children would have been much older than newborns since usually children don't get diagnosed as Squibs until about seven or eight.'

'Oh, I know, don't get me started on that,' said Granger with a frown. 'But still, it would have been impossible to implement – how would you tell which babies were going to be wizards? Most don't start to exhibit magic until they're a few years old, and even if there was a way to do it, you couldn't go around testing every single Muggle baby that was born.'

'That was Dumbledore's argument – that the idea was impracticable and impossible to implement. I've no doubt he was horrified at the idea himself, but, social norms at the time being what they were, the practicality argument would have won more minds than the moral one. Little did he know that the Dark Lord had long since been working on a method of detecting magical potential in newborns.'

'But that's impossible! Loads of the greatest wizards have tried to find the secret of magic and failed.'

'Just because something hasn't yet been achieved doesn't make it impossible, Granger.'

'Well, how close did he get then?' she asked, a sceptical look on her face.

'Luckily, not very,' he concurred with a smirk. 'His research hit a dead end once he started bumping up against Muggle genetics. His deep loathing of anything non-magical stopped him exploring it too deeply. He refused to believe he'd find the answers he was looking for in lowly Muggle science.'

'Ironic,' said Granger with a satisfied smile. 'He'd probably have had a lot more luck there.'

'Perhaps,' he said. 'Although personally I've never been entirely convinced of the genetic argument. If it were that simple, Squibs wouldn't exist. But that's a debate for another day I think. I'm afraid I'm quite tired out.'

'Oh! I'm sorry, I'll really go this time.' And she rose from her chair and made for the door. 'I shouldn't have stayed so long in the first place – Ron'll be waiting for me – but I lost track of time. You know, you could probably teach History of Magic, that was much more interesting than any of Binns' lectures.'

Severus huffed, though secretly he was pleased.

'Well then, I expect three feet of parchment on the period running up to the Dark Lord's first rise and the factors that contributed to it,' he said dryly as he watched her cross the room to the door.

She turned back, a grin playing on her lips, her brown eyes dancing merrily. 'Careful,' she said. 'I might actually take you up on that.'

oOo

Later that morning, Hermione glanced out the library window into the garden where Harry, Ginny and Ron (who had apparently given up waiting for her and had joined the others) were engaged in a spontaneous two-on-one Quidditch game – Ginny and Ron teamed up against Harry, as the two redheads attempted to score penalties, with Harry guarding the makeshift goalposts. Hermione tapped her quill idly against her lips as she watched her friends enjoying the sunny day. She had a decision to make, one that she'd been putting off for a long time, but that she couldn't justify delaying any longer.

She turned back to the parchment before her, to the letter from Hogwarts' newly instated Headmistress. It had arrived several days ago, a generic letter bearing the news that Professor McGonagall was allowing all students whose education had been interrupted to return to redo their seventh year, and a short note reaching out to Hermione personally. Professor McGonagall had even gone so far as to offer Hermione her own private room in acknowledgement of her adult status. It certainly was a generous offer; Hermione had been hoping to take her NEWTs somehow, and while she could always sit them independently, she honestly couldn't imagine not returning to Hogwarts to complete her final year.

So why on earth did she keep putting off replying?

Part of it, she supposed, was the thought of going back without Harry and Ron beside her. They were the first friends she'd made in the magical world … her only true friends really, even now. A large part of her had assumed Ron and Harry would take up the offer as well, so it had been disappointing to learn that they both had chosen to go straight into work. She'd thought Harry of all people would have quite liked the novelty of one year at Hogwarts without the threat of being murdered by Voldemort hanging over his head. But then he'd always known he wanted to be an Auror, and she couldn't blame him for jumping at the chance when it was presented to him so neatly.

Ron was a different matter entirely. He'd never expressed any interest in becoming an Auror before – he'd never expressed much of an interest in any career to be honest – and she had a horrible feeling that her boyfriend was simply doing the same as Harry because that was what he had always done. He and Harry chosen exactly the same OWL subjects, and then NEWTs, joined the same Quidditch team … it was almost as if Ron didn't know how to be his own person. Probably a side-effect of being the youngest son in a large family and constantly living in the shadow of his elder brothers' achievements, but it was utterly alien to her.

The truth was she didn't think Ron was particularly suited to being an Auror. In any other time, he'd have had to achieve five NEWTs at Exceeds Expectations, and, although she had defended Ron to Snape when he'd attacked the younger man's intellect, she really wasn't certain he would be up to it. She had a distinct feeling Ron knew it, too.

She hadn't dared express any of her doubts to him of course. Experience told her he didn't react well to even the smallest of criticisms, so she'd kept quiet for now. Anyway, since Fred's death he needed something to look forward to, and she had no desire to take his excitement away from him. And, who knew, maybe it would work out, maybe he'd prove her wrong?

Besides, it was her own future she should be concerning herself with.

She sighed and ran a hand through her messy hair. She had always assumed she would join the Ministry – perhaps the Department for Magical Law Enforcement – and work from within to improve the lot of house elves and werewolves. It would be the work of a lifetime probably, given the slow nature of change in the wizarding world and the bigoted attitudes that still reigned supreme. Even without her NEWTs, she was certain she'd be able to find a decent entry-level position and work her way up, but did she want to get her foot in the door by virtue of her name only? She'd always been a vocal critic of the nepotistic nature of wizarding society – wouldn't she be the biggest hypocrite to ride the coattails of her hero status – she cringed at the word – straight into a cushy career at the Ministry?

Snape's warning rang in the back of her mind, too. Was he right to be so concerned about the knock-on effects on her job prospects of her helping him? Maybe in the short term, there would be many who would look down on her for it, but he was surely exaggerating the risks. But what if he were right? At least if she returned to Hogwarts it would at least buy her a year for any lingering tensions to dissolve …

She wondered whether Snape would return to Hogwarts to teach if – she stopped herself – when he was found innocent. The professor had never seemed to be particularly fond of teaching, and she knew he hadn't been in the profession by choice, but Hogwarts without Professor Snape prowling the dungeons and sweeping menacingly through the halls was unthinkable. If he did return, would he teach Potions or Defence? He was by far the best DADA teacher they'd had – even Lupin, though a wonderful teacher in his own right, hadn't been able to match Snape's depth of knowledge and understanding of the subject. But he clearly also had a passion and natural talent for Potions that was unrivalled – if it hadn't been obvious before, his sixth-year Potions book was clear proof of that – and he had been a good teacher of Potions, really, when one thought about it … well, apart from scaring Neville half to death so that he could barely hold a stirring rod for trembling. But he'd managed to keep there from being too many accidents in what was a highly volatile and dangerous subject. Looking back, it was a wonder there hadn't been any serious accidents in all her time there.

Hermione's mind drifted idly to their earlier conversation. Not only was it the longest they'd ever shared, but he'd revealed things about himself she'd never expected in a million years. It had been utterly fascinating, and something of a revelation. She wondered whether he'd been so open with his Slytherins at Hogwarts, or whether he'd kept this side of himself hidden even from them. She wondered what kind of teacher he might have been without the threat of Voldemort hanging over them all, without the weight of house prejudices forcing him to side with his own. Professor Snape had taught them so much, but Hermione knew she'd barely scratched the surface of the knowledge he had to impart – a small thrill went through her at the mere thought of it.

The clock struck midday. Hermione shook herself. Honestly, she was meant to be contemplating her own future, and she'd just spent the last ten minutes thinking about Snape's! She focused her mind back to the topic at hand; she knew she wanted to go back to Hogwarts, so why on earth was she so hesitant to accept?

The truth of it was that, even though a large part of her longed to return to the place that had been her magical home for six years, there was another part of her that felt she had already outgrown it. How did one go from saving the wizarding world one year to donning a school uniform the next? She was ready to enter the adult world – more than ready.

And yet on the other hand, there was a safety and a familiarity in returning to Hogwarts that was tempting to say the least. It would be a chance to decompress, to focus on what she loved best, to take stock of her life and decide where she wanted to go from here. And she needn't worry about being completely alone at Hogwarts – Ginny and Luna would be returning, too, and they'd all be in the same year now. It might even be good for Hermione. She'd always struggled to bond with other girls – for whatever reason they just never seemed to warm to her – but she was fond of both Ginny and Luna.

Mind finally made up, she brought her quill to a sheet of empty parchment and wrote a short letter of acceptance to McGonagall's offer, then went to join the others in the garden.

Next time: Snape is shaken, and everyone reacts to the Quibbler article.