Writing History
Hermione sat on the edge of her chair in the Burrow's kitchen, clasping her letter so tightly in her hands that it crinkled the yellow paper. She wished she could borrow Pigwidgeon's wings for a minute to zoom excitedly around the room as he did every time he brought mail home; just as he was doing now, having just dropped the letter in her lap.
She was either too self-conscious or too rational to start bouncing around the kitchen with joy, but it seemed her self-imposed restriction only made her heart beat faster. This was something she had dreamt of ever since she had learned she was going to study at Hogwarts, but which she'd never dared to hope would actually happen one day.
Hogwarts.
The last time Hermione saw it, it was a fresh, smoking ruin. That day, she remembered the trip she took to France with her parents in the summer between her third and fourth year. All the crumpled castles and churches she visited then came into sharp focus in her memory, and she wondered what made them seem so beautifully romantic, when the Hogwarts ruins were so ugly and miserable.
Time, she mused, must be the main romanticising factor. That, and not having seen what the building had been like before it was torn apart. Or the people who had died there.
Hermione forced herself not to dwell on that thought.
The school was being rebuilt now. Professor McGonagall had wasted no time in assembling a team of able witches and wizards to begin the arduous reconstruction of the castle. They even had some giants to help them: the ones poor Hagrid had managed to turn to their side on his secret mission with Olympe Maxime. The giants had come too late to fight, but just in time to assist in pulling the badly shaken Wizarding world back on its feet.
When the repairs were finished and all the spells that kept the school hidden and safe were restored, then Hermione and her old classmates would return to school and finish their seventh year.
She read her letter for what must have been the hundredth time in about five minutes. It bore the Hogwarts crest - a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter H - as well as another crest Hermione had seen on many covers in the school library: two capital B's, one of them inverted, joined at the middle to form an open book.
We understand that you have not yet obtained your NEWTS and have not graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, said the loopy, emerald-green letters. But we have examined your student file as well as the recommendations we have been sent by your teachers, and we believe you possess all the special requirements for this task.
At the bottom were the signatures of Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and Artemis Rowan, who was the editor of Blooming Books.
Dumbledore was at St Mungo's now. Hermione was glad that he still retained his old responsibilities, even though he was dying from an incurable curse Voldemort had put on him, a variation of the Cruciatus Curse created especially for his old mentor. This showed the respect the aged wizard still commanded from the English Wizarding World, even on his deathbed.
She shuddered as she remembered how Dumbledore had screamed when his old student had put the curse on him. She couldn't think of anything more terrifying than that cry. Not the sight of an army of Death Eaters sweeping over the school grounds, or the hundred Dementors they had brought along, or even the Dark Lord's own presence. Dumbledore always seemed invincible to Hermione; it had rocked her to the foundations of her soul to find out that he was not.
Suddenly Hermione got up, racing to the bedroom she shared with Ginny for the last few weeks of the summer. She fumbled in her bag for a quill and some ink. Kindly send us your owl as soon as possible, the last line read. She didn't think five minutes after receiving the request was one minute too soon.
She paused for a second before touching the tip of the quill to the paper, taking in a deep breath to steady her hand. She hadn't been that nervous since Professor McGonagall had put the Sorting Hat on her head eight years ago.
Well. And then there had been that final showdown with Voldemort, although that had been more than a simple case of raw nerves. It had been like the inside of her skin was on fire.
The attack had been well planned. Lucius Malfoy had taken over the Ministry of Magic through bribery and violence, killing Fudge because he was the Minister and Percy Weasley because as the Minister's right hand, he would have taken the job by default until there was time enough for an election. The Death Eaters had put Hogwarts under siege. They had killed Hagrid, who lived right on the edge of the school grounds. Then Snape had taken his own life, rather than be subjected to Veritaserum and reveal Hogwarts' secrets.
Hermione, feeling very small with only her wand between herself and the most cruel being alive, had faced Voldemort with Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville and Luna, who was as dependable as she was strange.
In the end, it had been Harry, Ginny and Neville who had saved them all. Ron and Hermione and many other members of the Order of the Phoenix had stood by them to provide support and energy and protection from the rest of the enemy army, but the three of them had a connection to Voldemort that no one else had.
Ginny had been infused with his essence during the Tom Riddle episode in her first year, Harry had unwillingly provided his own blood to revive him, and Neville could have been the child of the prophecy. They had used that connection to destroy him from the inside; Voldemort had literally imploded from the three teenagers' joined efforts.
His most ardent supporters had also fallen that day. The Weasley family had been particularly efficient. Bill's curse-breaking expertise had come in very handy. Charlie and his dragon-riding friends had attacked the Dementors from above and driven them back with Patronus Charms. Molly had brought down Lucius Malfoy. Arthur had overpowered Bellatrix Lestrange. Ron and Hermione had disarmed many of their attackers and Petrified Macnair, then been forced to kill him as one of his allies Enervated him.
Mad-Eye Moody, rendered manic with so many Death Eaters around, had probably taken on more of them than any other Auror. Tonks, ever cheerful but her clumsiness evaporated, had tried to compete with him to see which one of them could bring down the greatest number of opponents, but she had lost. Dumbledore himself had beaten quite a few Death Eaters before he was stricken down and paralysed by the modified Cruciatus Curse.
And Lupin had made himself the last of the Marauders.
He had fought Peter Pettigrew with a ferocity borrowed from the wolf blood that coursed through his veins and took him over during the full moon. Pettigrew had been disarmed easily enough, but not so easily defeated, and he had lashed at Lupin with his silver hand, knowing that this was his once- friend's main weakness. But he had counted without Remus' sorrow over the loss of his last boyhood friend, sorrow that had bitterly turned to an anger and a desire for vengeance nobody would have thought the sweet werewolf capable of bearing.
They had done it. It had cost both sides more lives than Hermione cared to count, but they had done it.
Chilled to the bone from the memories, Hermione opened Ron's bedroom door and peered in. She wasn't afraid of sneaking up on him, or on Harry, who was sharing Ron's room for the last few weeks of the summer. She knew they were both out - they had fed her a story about a trip to Hogsmeade, but from their guilty grins and their recent talk of Harry's cousin Dudley, she suspected that them pulling a prank on the Dursleys was more likely.
It was the owls she was looking for.
All three of them were there, pecking at a bowl of food on a desk. It was rare to see them caged up at all in the summer, as they were during the school year. The Burrow required much less discipline from both its human and animal residents than Hogwarts did.
The birds looked up at her expectantly. It was surprising that all three of them were still alive. Both Hedwig and Pigwidgeon had been in the Owlery when Hogwarts had collapsed. Pig's small size had saved him: he had managed to zoom in between the crumbling stones and into the clear sky above. Hedwig's right wing had been broken by a falling rock, but she had already managed to manoeuvre her way to relative safety by the time the collision occurred. A broken wing was a much more enviable fate than what most of the owls - and the house-elves Dobby had not managed to evacuate on time - had suffered that day.
Errol had been at the Burrow and risked nothing that particular day, but when a party of Death Eaters had raided the house, his life, just like every other Weasley's life, had been in danger. And even more so when Fred and George had set off an incredible number of Filibuster's Fireworks to fend off their attackers. Mrs Weasley had been torn between gratefully hugging her sons to complete asphyxiation and killing them for nearly destroying the house with the forbidden rockets.
Hermione surveyed the owls one by one. This was an important letter. Old Errol had been known to collapse in the middle of a delivery trip. Pig, although he had never failed to bring mail to its intended destination, looked far too hyperactive to inspire Hermione's trust. This left Hedwig, white and calm and dignified, who had managed to bring letters even to Sirius Black while he had been in hiding.
The memory of Sirius made Hermione's stomach drop. Although she hadn't approved of everything he had done, mostly around the end, she was sad that he was no longer with them. He had been Harry's godfather and a good, if rash man, the next best thing to family for her friend, and an important member of the Order of the Phoenix.
And he had been a victim of the second war against Voldemort, the first after Cedric Diggory.
The war, again. Hermione sighed. If she accepted the task that Dumbledore, McGonagall and Rowan asked her to undertake, she would be forced to constantly relive it, from the first sneaky moves of both sides' spies to the final confrontation, until her job was done.
Hermione shook her head. Yes, Hedwig was perfect for this task.
With trembling hands, she tied the parchment to Hedwig's leg, much to Pig's disappointment. Errol simply buried his beak in the food dish again, probably relieved to have been spared the flight. Hedwig shuffled her wings importantly, apparently proud to have been considered the most reliable owl in the house.
But just as she started for the open window, Hermione called her back, taking the roll of parchment off her leg and receiving an outraged peck for it. She ignored the owl's injured pride; she was too busy checking her message for possible errors. She'd never had to send this kind of note. She'd never received such an offer.
Finding no mistakes in her text, she tied it back to Hedwig's leg, which somewhat soothed the owl's temper; she hopped out the window before Hermione could stop her again.
Suddenly Hermione bit her lip; she had forgotten to ask Harry.But Harry would understand.
Nothing could dampen the happy, excited pride in her heart: as a close witness to the fall of Voldemort, the nearly complete destruction of the school and its rebuilding, she had been requested to participate in the writing of the revisited Hogwarts: A History.
She had just sent her positive answer.
Hermione sat on the edge of her chair in the Burrow's kitchen, clasping her letter so tightly in her hands that it crinkled the yellow paper. She wished she could borrow Pigwidgeon's wings for a minute to zoom excitedly around the room as he did every time he brought mail home; just as he was doing now, having just dropped the letter in her lap.
She was either too self-conscious or too rational to start bouncing around the kitchen with joy, but it seemed her self-imposed restriction only made her heart beat faster. This was something she had dreamt of ever since she had learned she was going to study at Hogwarts, but which she'd never dared to hope would actually happen one day.
Hogwarts.
The last time Hermione saw it, it was a fresh, smoking ruin. That day, she remembered the trip she took to France with her parents in the summer between her third and fourth year. All the crumpled castles and churches she visited then came into sharp focus in her memory, and she wondered what made them seem so beautifully romantic, when the Hogwarts ruins were so ugly and miserable.
Time, she mused, must be the main romanticising factor. That, and not having seen what the building had been like before it was torn apart. Or the people who had died there.
Hermione forced herself not to dwell on that thought.
The school was being rebuilt now. Professor McGonagall had wasted no time in assembling a team of able witches and wizards to begin the arduous reconstruction of the castle. They even had some giants to help them: the ones poor Hagrid had managed to turn to their side on his secret mission with Olympe Maxime. The giants had come too late to fight, but just in time to assist in pulling the badly shaken Wizarding world back on its feet.
When the repairs were finished and all the spells that kept the school hidden and safe were restored, then Hermione and her old classmates would return to school and finish their seventh year.
She read her letter for what must have been the hundredth time in about five minutes. It bore the Hogwarts crest - a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter H - as well as another crest Hermione had seen on many covers in the school library: two capital B's, one of them inverted, joined at the middle to form an open book.
We understand that you have not yet obtained your NEWTS and have not graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, said the loopy, emerald-green letters. But we have examined your student file as well as the recommendations we have been sent by your teachers, and we believe you possess all the special requirements for this task.
At the bottom were the signatures of Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and Artemis Rowan, who was the editor of Blooming Books.
Dumbledore was at St Mungo's now. Hermione was glad that he still retained his old responsibilities, even though he was dying from an incurable curse Voldemort had put on him, a variation of the Cruciatus Curse created especially for his old mentor. This showed the respect the aged wizard still commanded from the English Wizarding World, even on his deathbed.
She shuddered as she remembered how Dumbledore had screamed when his old student had put the curse on him. She couldn't think of anything more terrifying than that cry. Not the sight of an army of Death Eaters sweeping over the school grounds, or the hundred Dementors they had brought along, or even the Dark Lord's own presence. Dumbledore always seemed invincible to Hermione; it had rocked her to the foundations of her soul to find out that he was not.
Suddenly Hermione got up, racing to the bedroom she shared with Ginny for the last few weeks of the summer. She fumbled in her bag for a quill and some ink. Kindly send us your owl as soon as possible, the last line read. She didn't think five minutes after receiving the request was one minute too soon.
She paused for a second before touching the tip of the quill to the paper, taking in a deep breath to steady her hand. She hadn't been that nervous since Professor McGonagall had put the Sorting Hat on her head eight years ago.
Well. And then there had been that final showdown with Voldemort, although that had been more than a simple case of raw nerves. It had been like the inside of her skin was on fire.
The attack had been well planned. Lucius Malfoy had taken over the Ministry of Magic through bribery and violence, killing Fudge because he was the Minister and Percy Weasley because as the Minister's right hand, he would have taken the job by default until there was time enough for an election. The Death Eaters had put Hogwarts under siege. They had killed Hagrid, who lived right on the edge of the school grounds. Then Snape had taken his own life, rather than be subjected to Veritaserum and reveal Hogwarts' secrets.
Hermione, feeling very small with only her wand between herself and the most cruel being alive, had faced Voldemort with Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville and Luna, who was as dependable as she was strange.
In the end, it had been Harry, Ginny and Neville who had saved them all. Ron and Hermione and many other members of the Order of the Phoenix had stood by them to provide support and energy and protection from the rest of the enemy army, but the three of them had a connection to Voldemort that no one else had.
Ginny had been infused with his essence during the Tom Riddle episode in her first year, Harry had unwillingly provided his own blood to revive him, and Neville could have been the child of the prophecy. They had used that connection to destroy him from the inside; Voldemort had literally imploded from the three teenagers' joined efforts.
His most ardent supporters had also fallen that day. The Weasley family had been particularly efficient. Bill's curse-breaking expertise had come in very handy. Charlie and his dragon-riding friends had attacked the Dementors from above and driven them back with Patronus Charms. Molly had brought down Lucius Malfoy. Arthur had overpowered Bellatrix Lestrange. Ron and Hermione had disarmed many of their attackers and Petrified Macnair, then been forced to kill him as one of his allies Enervated him.
Mad-Eye Moody, rendered manic with so many Death Eaters around, had probably taken on more of them than any other Auror. Tonks, ever cheerful but her clumsiness evaporated, had tried to compete with him to see which one of them could bring down the greatest number of opponents, but she had lost. Dumbledore himself had beaten quite a few Death Eaters before he was stricken down and paralysed by the modified Cruciatus Curse.
And Lupin had made himself the last of the Marauders.
He had fought Peter Pettigrew with a ferocity borrowed from the wolf blood that coursed through his veins and took him over during the full moon. Pettigrew had been disarmed easily enough, but not so easily defeated, and he had lashed at Lupin with his silver hand, knowing that this was his once- friend's main weakness. But he had counted without Remus' sorrow over the loss of his last boyhood friend, sorrow that had bitterly turned to an anger and a desire for vengeance nobody would have thought the sweet werewolf capable of bearing.
They had done it. It had cost both sides more lives than Hermione cared to count, but they had done it.
Chilled to the bone from the memories, Hermione opened Ron's bedroom door and peered in. She wasn't afraid of sneaking up on him, or on Harry, who was sharing Ron's room for the last few weeks of the summer. She knew they were both out - they had fed her a story about a trip to Hogsmeade, but from their guilty grins and their recent talk of Harry's cousin Dudley, she suspected that them pulling a prank on the Dursleys was more likely.
It was the owls she was looking for.
All three of them were there, pecking at a bowl of food on a desk. It was rare to see them caged up at all in the summer, as they were during the school year. The Burrow required much less discipline from both its human and animal residents than Hogwarts did.
The birds looked up at her expectantly. It was surprising that all three of them were still alive. Both Hedwig and Pigwidgeon had been in the Owlery when Hogwarts had collapsed. Pig's small size had saved him: he had managed to zoom in between the crumbling stones and into the clear sky above. Hedwig's right wing had been broken by a falling rock, but she had already managed to manoeuvre her way to relative safety by the time the collision occurred. A broken wing was a much more enviable fate than what most of the owls - and the house-elves Dobby had not managed to evacuate on time - had suffered that day.
Errol had been at the Burrow and risked nothing that particular day, but when a party of Death Eaters had raided the house, his life, just like every other Weasley's life, had been in danger. And even more so when Fred and George had set off an incredible number of Filibuster's Fireworks to fend off their attackers. Mrs Weasley had been torn between gratefully hugging her sons to complete asphyxiation and killing them for nearly destroying the house with the forbidden rockets.
Hermione surveyed the owls one by one. This was an important letter. Old Errol had been known to collapse in the middle of a delivery trip. Pig, although he had never failed to bring mail to its intended destination, looked far too hyperactive to inspire Hermione's trust. This left Hedwig, white and calm and dignified, who had managed to bring letters even to Sirius Black while he had been in hiding.
The memory of Sirius made Hermione's stomach drop. Although she hadn't approved of everything he had done, mostly around the end, she was sad that he was no longer with them. He had been Harry's godfather and a good, if rash man, the next best thing to family for her friend, and an important member of the Order of the Phoenix.
And he had been a victim of the second war against Voldemort, the first after Cedric Diggory.
The war, again. Hermione sighed. If she accepted the task that Dumbledore, McGonagall and Rowan asked her to undertake, she would be forced to constantly relive it, from the first sneaky moves of both sides' spies to the final confrontation, until her job was done.
Hermione shook her head. Yes, Hedwig was perfect for this task.
With trembling hands, she tied the parchment to Hedwig's leg, much to Pig's disappointment. Errol simply buried his beak in the food dish again, probably relieved to have been spared the flight. Hedwig shuffled her wings importantly, apparently proud to have been considered the most reliable owl in the house.
But just as she started for the open window, Hermione called her back, taking the roll of parchment off her leg and receiving an outraged peck for it. She ignored the owl's injured pride; she was too busy checking her message for possible errors. She'd never had to send this kind of note. She'd never received such an offer.
Finding no mistakes in her text, she tied it back to Hedwig's leg, which somewhat soothed the owl's temper; she hopped out the window before Hermione could stop her again.
Suddenly Hermione bit her lip; she had forgotten to ask Harry.But Harry would understand.
Nothing could dampen the happy, excited pride in her heart: as a close witness to the fall of Voldemort, the nearly complete destruction of the school and its rebuilding, she had been requested to participate in the writing of the revisited Hogwarts: A History.
She had just sent her positive answer.