The Houses Competition

Ravenclaw

Charms

Standard

[Word] Empty and [Dialogue] "I know you."

1455 words

AN Very slight AU; deals with life post-war and moving forward

Empty. That was the word for it. The Great Hall felt empty to Minerva on a day when it should have been filled. Many had died during the Battle of Hogwarts; many more taken away as parents chose alternative accommodations for their children than grounds so stained by innocent blood.

Alas, the sorting had been completed, speeches had been given, and only the somber clink of silver against silver acted to remind her that the hall wasn't in fact completely empty.

Casting her eyes to the House tables, it was difficult not to wince. The numbers were so small that even the most populated Ravenclaw table could have easily seated double its students comfortably. Things hadn't even been this bad during the first reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

And the Head Table felt almost worse. Due to the injuries and losses that they had had, it had become necessary to fill some of the gaps with recent graduates who hadn't even gotten their masteries yet. It wasn't difficult to understand why the once illustrious school needed to earn back the trust of many families.

A large hand covered her own. "It'll be okay, Headmistress," her former lion, Ronald Weasley, whispered. The young man had agreed to cover the first-years' broom lessons as well as referee Quidditch games this year. Seeing how his eyes drifted to the Gryffindor table where the first-year Jesker twins were sitting, she thought she could guess where his thoughts lay.

Her heart ached to know that she'd asked him to face such a reminder of his family's personal loss. Still, she couldn't help but ask, "How do you know, Mr Weasley? Where does your optimism come from in the wake of such…"

"Such emptiness? Bleakness? Insurmountable odds?" Ronald closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair before offering a quirky smile. "I ran with Harry and 'Mione for seven years, professor. I'd have to be suicidal to do that if I didn't believe just a little in beating the odds. As to the rest? I know you, Headmistress, and I believe you can bring us to the other side of this."

Minerva felt her cheeks warm, and slapped his arm with a napkin in retribution. "Really now, Mr Weasley, brown nosing from some of my own staff! What is this world coming to?"

Ronald smiled as some students could be heard chuckling at the sight of their prim and proper headmistress acting so childish with the flying instructor.

"What are you smiling about, young man?" Minerva insisted.

"It's a beautiful sound, is all. Laughter. It makes me think of better times," His eyes closed as if to enjoy the sound, and for a moment, Minerva did the same. It seemed like their antics at the Head Table had broken the solemn air that had previously covered the hall. Where once, there had only been quiet whispers amid the occasional shriek of silverware against the plates, now a dozen conversations seemed the rise and fall like an ocean. The sounds of laughter and conversation acted as a balm to Minerva's soul.

For a moment, dozens of meals just like this flashed before her eyes. She saw her flight instructor as a first-year surrounded by friends and anxious to prove himself. She saw his prankster-loving brothers pulling the most absurd pranks in this same hall, earning themselves detentions while at the same time proving that, contrary to grades, they actually did listen in class.

Older memories of other pranksters came to mind. Stalwart companions who would be destined to die before their time. In her mind's eye, they were simply boys being boys with the recently mastered colour-changing charm.

How many first kisses had she witnessed in this very hall during her course as Transfiguration professor?

How many heartbreaks?

How often had she seen the first-years question if they were ready while simultaneously refusing to show weakness to their peers?

"Can spells use more modern languages as their basis?" asked a dozen voices whose owners had spanned generations.

In the cacophony of noise provided by both present and past events, it was too easy to forget the emptiness of the Great Hall, and the allure of holding onto that past was all too real.

Alas, every dream must come to an end, and a sudden cry broke Minerva out of her memories. Eyes as sharp as her Animagus form honed in on the small fire that had caused half the Hufflepuffs to leap away from their table.

A quick Aguamenti took care of the flames, and third-year Jimmy Morris' innocent explanation of wanting to show a Muggleborn friend of his how wizards cook their food earned him the first detention of the year. Unfortunately, while Aguamenti fixed the flame issue, it did little to save the succulent offerings made by Hogwarts' house-elf population.

The eldest students took control of the situation quickly. Minerva watched as Hannah Abbott, who had elected to return after a long hiatus thanks to her mother's death, met eyes with Ginevra Weasley. The two subsequently herded the Hufflepuffs to Gryffindor's table, the lack of numbers meaning there was plenty of room for the two to share. On the other side of the room, the Ravenclaws and Slytherins looked on enviously at the now-full table before electing to do the same, no fire required. The two tables made for a much happier and fuller-looking student situation, and Minerva happily banished the two empty tables with a laugh, grateful that the house-elves always made far more food than was required.

Still chuckling, she walked over to the front before once more adopting her stern demeanour.

"Well, well. This certainly solves a few things, doesn't it? Over the next few weeks, the staff and I will work on modifying the tables so that they may be more comfortable for our smaller numbers. Until then, I think this set up of mixing tables ought to suit everyone fine. Mind you, if anyone would seek to use this change in circumstances to bully another house, I've no problem whatsoever bringing back one or both of the tables as a place for troublemakers to go. Do you understand?"

A chorus of resounding yes's rang out, only to be stopped when a single hand rose in question.

"Headmistress, once you fix the tables to fit us better, will we have to stop sitting with our friends from other Houses?"

Minerva frowned. Always in the past, the majority of strong friendships existed within one's own house, and any friendships outside of that took place in neutral territory like the library or outside. Still, there wasn't anything inherently wrong with the idea, she supposed.

"I believe that that would be acceptable, Ms Winthrope, for lunch and supper. It is not uncommon for Heads of House to hand out important announcements during breakfast, however, so I would ask that you sit in your designated section for that meal at least. Further, during certain events, there may be required seating. The faculty and I will discuss which events would necessitate such, but for now, that is my decision."

"Thank you, Headmistress!" the second-year exclaimed happily before quickly moving to the other table in the room to be with a friend.

For a moment, Minerva thought about saying something. The beginning of year feast surely qualified as one where it was important to be with your house. Then she looked at how the House banners had temporarily been swapped out for the more neutral Hogwarts crest in deference to the strange seating arrangements. There were other battles to be fought, and the dreadful emptiness that had felt like an insurmountable problem in the beginning had been transfigured into a kitten thanks to a little fire.

Minerva turned to her flying instructor. "Don't think I don't know what you did."

Ronald's eyebrow raised in feigned innocence.

"I know damn good and well that Jimmy Morris could not care less about how food is prepared. Your sister and friends helped set up that whole situation, and I'd be willing to bet that they had a certain degree of teacher approval. Am I wrong?"

The innocence turned into sheepishness. "How'd you know?"

"Mr Weasley, I have known you since you were eleven. How could I not know you?"

"I…"

"If I ever hear about a member of my staff being involved in such a stunt again, you may take it for granted that they will be joining the troublemakers at their table, ostensibly to keep them in line. Do I make myself clear?"

"I—yes, ma'am."

"And Mr Weasley?"

"Y-yes?"

"Thank you for helping me to see those who are here rather than the emptiness caused by those who are absent."