Chapter 4

Eighth Year: Day One

It had been announced on the train that their bags and familiars would be brought to the castle separately. So, they were walking towards the carriages, unburdened.

As they came into view, Hermione gasped.

"Ooh Harry. I expected as much but... I can see them now, too."

Harry flashed Hermione a sad smile, both of them knowing the only reason she could was the same reason he had seen them the year after Sirius' death.

Ron had a different reaction.

"Bloody hellfire!" he exclaimed. He fell back and clutched at the front of Harry's robes. "What's the - What tha- Harry there are fucking monsters pulling the carriages!"

"Honestly," huffed Hermione. "Did neither of you EVER read Hogwarts: A History?" (Harry couldn't help thinking he was an innocent party here.)

"Oh h-here we go."

"They're the Thestrals," Harry said, trying to focus on a freckled face that was much too close. "Remember, Ron? Bill and Fleur were riding one when you were all polyjuiced?"

"It was bloody invisible then. And nobody thought to tell me they looked, well, they looked like that," Ron said, his fist still gripping Harry's collar. Harry pried the larger boy off with some difficulty. He shuffled to stand slightly behind him, crouching so they were the same height and putting both hands on Harry's right shoulder.

"Sorry, Harry. So, this is Another Thing I'm meant to know about, is it?" He glared accusingly at Hermione.

Hermione crossed her arms. "Well frankly - yes, Ronald."

He mimicked her voice in falsetto. "Yes Ronald, you're a pureblood wizard and ought to know every single thing about the wizarding world through some kind of osmosis, not like there's literally millions of creatures and traditions and fecking all sorts from thousands of years of history stretching back beyond the time of Merlin. OH YES obvious now I think about it, having massive bat-horses that look like a teenage Dementor's Christmas present from Father, that's a completely normal thing for a school to do when there are yummy bite-sized kids running around."

"Don't be so childish."

"I'm the main meal, Hermione! I swear that one's eying me up."

The Thestral's blank glittering eyes could have been looking at anything, honestly. It stamped its foot and gently stretched its black leathery wings as if rolling its shoulders in impatience.

"I'm going to find Ginny and Luna," said Hermione. "I'll ride with them, if you don't mind." She said the last bit with a fake low voice. She stormed off, her beaded bag swinging from her wrist.

The pair of them watched her retreating back. Harry sighed.

"She's not wrong, you know."

"Yeah well, that doesn't mean she's right. Do we really have to ride in the carriage?"

Neville, who had been staying quiet a few feet behind them, piped up. "You have every year since second year, honest, Ron. They're not so bad once you get to know them. Besides, I think everyone's getting used to the idea now."

"What do you mean?"

Neville gestured around them. Sure enough, half the school seemed to be having the same conversation they'd just had. Harry spotted a few girls crying in a huddle. The worst bit was seeing the young ones, the ones that we just twelve or thirteen, react to the Thestrals. They really were incredibly small. Incredibly innocent. That so many children had seen someone die in the last year made him shiver. Still, most of the students were allowing themselves to be ushered into the carriages by stiff looking prefects.

He pushed his glassed up his nose and, grimacing sympathetically at Ron, bundled himself into the carriage. After a pause, Ron followed, tentative, as if entering a lion's den. Harry felt his shoulders relax as soon as they were inside. Neville crowded in after them.

"Room for one more?" The voice was at once familiar and not. It was Dennis Creevey - there goes those heart strings again, twang, fuck, ouch - who'd clearly had a growth spurt over the summer. His voice had dropped an octave and he was even sporting a (patchy) beard. He had a smile that didn't reach his eyes. There was a camera around his neck.

"Sure!" Harry said, too loudly.

Dennis squeezed through the carriage door and Neville made room for him.

"Wasn't sure if I'd see you guys again. to be honest." The carriage rumbled into motion. Ron tensed. He continued by saying, "I'm having to repeat a year - I guess you are, too, but I think they're doing it a bit different, right? The eighth year thing? Sounds like a lot of you are returning if they're bothering to do that. Us Muggleborns are just mucked in with the lower years - not everyone's come back, of course, so there's room at a squeeze, I 'spose. Be weird going to class with the year below, though. Feels like remedials or something - like we've been held back cause we're thick and not cause we were banned from Hogwarts for a whole year. They all look way younger than I remember. Everything's changed, hasn't it?"

Harry nodded at the barrage of words.

"But it's also the same," Dennis went on. "Like in a way it's never been a normal year for me anyway, 'cause my first year was the Triwizard tournament and then it all just started to go topsy-turvy from there, didn't it? Then again I guess you guys have never had a normal year at school. I hope its normal. I've had enough of exciting, I think." His hand reached unconsciously towards the camera at his throat. Harry saw Neville's face close in on itself. He remembered when they'd stumbled on him and Oliver Wood, Colin Creevey's body dangling limply in their arms...

"Are you looking forward to it? This year?" Dennis asked him.

"Oh. Um. Yes. I think you've nailed it to be honest. I just want one ordinary year at Hogwarts. I know it's daft but..."

Ron picked up his sentence. "But it's like reclaiming the place, you know? After Death Eaters took over and half the buildings were wrecked. It's ours now. Even if only for one more year."

Neville nodded vigorously.

The rest of the journey turned to lighter topics. The new edition range of chocolate frogs had come out and there were different flavours: mint chocolate, orange and caramel. The caramel was a bit fishy. Hagrid was running Care of Magical Creatures again and he'd finally found a textbook for them all to buy that didn't bite. Apparently there was a pact - Dennis' doing - among a group of third and fourth years to pretend Harry wasn't a celebrity who had killed You-Know-Who, but was just another student. They'd sworn, on parchment, to no pictures, no staring and no gossiping. Harry thought this was rather sweet, but doubted the trend would take off. Especially when the news about him and Ginny spread round the castle. Hogwarts students love a rumour. Or twenty. He gave Dennis his enthusiastic approval for the idea, nevertheless.

When they arrived, they were met with the sight of Headmistress McGonagall standing austerely outside the Great Hall. Harry went to move past her, anticipating she was there to greet the first years, but she stopped him with a quick hand gesture.

"Eighth years, please!" she called. "Can I have all the eighth year students line up here, if you please. Weasley. Longbottom. Potter." Her eyes twinkled wickedly.

Harry grinned. Why did this feel like a game? Why did they all seem like actors pretending to be teachers and students when really they were bound by so many events that it was hard not to think of one another as... comrades? He relished the feeling. It was mad, to be back. Wonderful and crazy and... it was like visiting the house you grew up in to find the new owners have changed the curtains and the furniture and painted the walls. Not the same. But that was ok. He could handle not the same. It was still his home, in some way. And it always would be.

"To never going camping again," whispered Ron, bending towards his ear. He was clearly in a similar head-space.

"Here here."

They lined up in front of the tall witch. She wore a tartan green, blue and black shawl draped over one shoulder, with a matching ribbon pinned to her hat. She had her hands clasped in front of her.

To the right, Harry saw a teacher he didn't recognise calling out a similar message for the first years, who were doing their best to stand in two straight lines while also not falling over backwards in wonder. They looked half swamped in their robes, half swamped, in fact, in the grand stone hall with its guttering yellow lamps, creaking staircases and towering portraits and, far above, giant slit windows that let in the moonlight.

More people were piling in around them - Dean and Seamus, Luna and Hermione (who was rather pointedly talking to Luna about her recent one-eighty on the subject of Divination, until Luna split away to enter the Great Hall with Ginny). And then a whole host of familiar faces from the DA days, the Patil twins, Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones, all came up to say hello. Between the hugs and the laughter Harry was pretty sure he could live forever off the warm, fuzzy high of seeing so many of his friends gathered in one place, with no enemy to fight, no battle to win, no...

"Malfoy alert," Hermione dipped in beside Harry. She side-eyed Ron. "He won't go off on him again, will he?"

Harry looked around and spotted a platinum blonde head, several feet away from the other eighth years. He was alone, face impassive. Thankfully, Ron was looking in the opposite direction.

"Don't think so. Between the bag Lee Jordan gave him and the stuff he picked up from George's, I think he'll wait for, what is it? The 'opportune moment'."

She sighed and swept the bush of her mousey brown hair back from her face with two hands. "I wish he would just ignore him, but it beats the caveman with a club approach I grant you."

The doors to the Great Hall opened, letting in a flood of light and noise. The mysterious new teacher, an Asian woman with sleek black hair, led the first years into the Hall. After they'd filed in, the doors closed. In the ensuing silence, McGonagall clapped her hands.

"Now, everyone. You'll be able to join your schoolmates in just a few minutes but I wanted a few words with you before we get started."

She paused, laughed and buried her face in her hands in a very un-McGonagall-like manner. "Oh I feel like I've got first year jitters," she joked. The teenagers who'd fought alongside her only months before laughed, too. It was weird. It was nice. She composed herself. "I suppose in a way I have. You'll have to forgive me, it's been a rather trying summer and the school year's not yet begun - but already I fear this job has aged me. Finnigan, not a word."

The Irish boy closed his mouth.

"I think I'm not the first among you to say it I'm sure, but may I be the first to state in an official sense, as it were, it is very, very good to see you all here again. Under much happier circumstances. I expect I'll repeat myself in a few moments for the whole school, covering some of these points. However, many of you have a particular history of defending this school against the forces of darkness, each in your own capacities. I think I owe you to speak directly in this smaller setting.

"Now. We have known each other for a long time. Every one of you has my personal, lifelong gratitude for your bravery and resilience. The fact that you stand here today shows, most of all, that you have hope. Hope that we can rebuild what we lost, that we can reclaim what was stolen and that we can dismantle beliefs and ideologies that once tore us apart and lost us so many friends and family members."

She sniffled.

"We don't have a full roster for the year, but the twenty-seven of you returning students are more than our dorms can hold, given we have returning Muggleborn students plus the new years coming in. Not to mention you all have already demonstrated certain skills outside of school, for which you have been awarded your Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T.; half of you have a year of some sort of teaching, even if it wasn't up to the usual standard - frankly, you may have to unlearn a few things; half of you have no schoolwork from the last year at all and well, there's nothing quite like a war to put a few things into perspective, is there?

"In fact, I'm pleased to announce that Hogwarts is remaining open for an extra year from this year forward. The final year for yourselves will allow you to complete your N.E.W.T.s, of course. Thereafter, we will offer an optional eighth year for subsequent years, intended for more specialised classes dedicated entirely to student-led learning, with no final exams. The idea being that students get a better chance to find their passions beyond the core classes we offer. A better chance to learn about themselves, as well.

"We will endeavour to ensure you all don't miss out on these opportunities afforded by this change by providing, as part of your N.E.W.T. study, the chance to engage in specialised subjects either as an extra-curricular part-time study, or as a examinable subject. There will be a booklet describing your options handed out at the tables. So in a sense you will be the transitional year, a hybrid of new and old approaches - fitting, yes?"

The group of eighth years all looked at one another and some whispering broke out towards the back. Hermione frowned.

"Headmistress McGonagall? Where will we stay, then? If the House dorms are full?"

This question caused a wave of much louder whispering.

From inside the Great Hall, sporadic cheers could be heard as the Sorting Hat finished its song and began examining the minds of first years.

"Ah yes, Miss Granger. This has been discussed among the staff. At length. It has been decided the eighth year will be representative of our times. During the war, the best of ourselves were demonstrated only when we came together and worked as one against a common enemy. As such, you will form a new House, the first of its kind, bringing into one House the final year students from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin, shedding old affiliations and forming anew under one banner."

"WHAT?!" exclaimed Justin Finch-Fletchley, the loudest among a throng of shouting teenagers:

"You can't be serious, Miss-"

"With the Slytherins-"

"With the Hufflepuffs-"

"I will not ask for silence!"

She got it anyway.

"Ahem. Now I understand that you have strong affiliations with your old Houses" - winces from half the room - "however, you more than most have felt the effects of division. We must put collaboration and mutual understanding at the heart of our mission moving forward.

"It is the fault of the school, for which I am sorry, that we have seeded the rifts that grew to chasms among our young people. What started as merely administrative sorting of young people into suitable accommodation became an opportunity for enjoying like-minded friends and friendly competition, which in turn became bitter rivalry and, I think you'll agree, a mechanic of identity."

She flourished her wand and drew in coloured sparkles in the air, each of the four coats of arms. With a sweep she encircled them in gold.

"You are, each of you, exactly the same person you were when you were eleven, and quite entirely a different person - both, at once. You are not a sum of traits, but a realised adult person. You are always growing, always changing and always learning. We must acknowledge that fact, and we must heal the broken bonds between you. You have already done much of the work. I see many of you standing shoulder to shoulder." Her eyes flicked to the group of Slytherins huddled together at the back. To Draco Malfoy, separate, looking bored.

"And so you will form a new House. You will embrace change boldly, my lions. You will find strong allies, Slytherins. You will forge new friendships, Hufflepuffs. You will create new traditions, Ravenclaws."

She waved her wand through the shimmering image, scattering the particles like glitter. She drew a new shape. A banner, greenish blue, with a dark purple inlay. Soaring across the turquoise field was a Phoenix of red, orange and yellow, flecked gold and silver in the eyes and the tips of the wings.

"Welcome. Welcome to House Dumbledore."