The opening feast was as usual, at it's best, and each year the elves outdid themselves. They went on a full alert after having spent the entire summer cooking and cleaning for a comparatively empty castle. One would think they would be relieved when summer came, like all the occupants of the castle, but no; they tended to feel depressed and uncared for when not being under huge work loads.
Hermione was yet to understand why, but had abandoned her S.P.E.W efforts when Draco had, in extremely patronising tones, taught her the ideas in the heads of elves. They were, in his opinion, partially demented; why else would such a creature of pure power, far greater than humans, cower in fear and irrationally iron their hands, when they could much easily flatten their masters?
Initially, Hermione had, in her usual enthusiasm and naiveté, argued till he brought up a point she had no answers to: Why then, did they reject her extremely badly knitted scarves, hats and jumpers, if they were so in need of being rescued?
He also commented that he was disappointed in her unusual lack of partial competence.
Hermione wondered why it was, that Slytherins would never pay a compliment without tinging it with insult?
After the usual opening speech, that Minerva kept short and precise, a brief introduction about her was presented, and she waved on cue. Apparently, she was as much a hero as Harry was, and much whispering and star-struck gazes (she noted with a cringe) had ensued since her presence was duly noted at the table by arriving students.
The sorting was interesting, and she was surprised at the short but terse message that the hat sang about how houses were by abilities, not light or dark, and most certainly not by who you truly were. There were noticeably fewer Slytherins at the far table, and Hermione wondered why. Seeming to notice her line of gaze, Minerva explained to her that since the war, a lot of the Slytherin families involved with the Dark Lord, or families of Death Eaters who had enough money and connections left, had moved out of the country. It was almost like decimating the population. The remaining few families who could afford to send their children to school did, and this explained the fewer students in the past years.
Initially the ministry, before Arthur took over, in it's usual idiocy, had suggested that they do-away with the house of Slytherin, but Minerva and the order had certainly disabused them of the idea soon enough. They couldn't just ignore one of the founder's houses!
Hermione's face went through a series of emotions ranging exasperation, wariness, sympathy and even horror throughout Minerva's explanation. Such incompetence on the part of the Ministry! She was infinitely glad someone as fair (although decidedly eccentric) as Arthur was now in charge, armed with the help of the remaining Order members with a head for politics.
Some of the Death Eater families were even granted clemency, when their claims of being forced into the service of Voldemort, through fear, blackmail or otherwise, held true under thorough investigation. Many families were very grateful for the leniency; They even formed a sort of Geneva Code for prisoners, so that arrogant or otherwise prejudiced Aurors would not have the opportunity of treating their charges differently.
Although Ron admitted to the occasional unnecessary curse that hurt some of the more nasty DEs. It had horrified her then, and it did so now. She was never inclined to stoop to the level of childish revenge.
Until recently, I suppose, a small inconvenient part of her brain remembered her arguments with Snape and how her childish anger had hurt the other man immeasurably.
"You seem quite preoccupied, Hermione," the headmistress offered, gazing at her intently, but not unkindly.
"Just the usual," Hermione replied with a small smile, "It's such a big change for me."
"Hmm," Minerva inclined her head in agreement, "You do seem to be doing very well so far, handling so many things."
"Thank you."
Hermione went back to picking at her food while Minerva excused herself to take care of some matters.
Filch was long gone now, and so was Mrs. Norris. Pomona had told her that the cat didn't live much longer once her keeper hadn't returned. It was a known fact that loyal pets would be so bound to their masters, it was rather heart breaking.
Hermione sniffed a little and remembered Crookshanks. He had reminded her very much of the muggle cartoon Garfield, and had been her confidant and friend when she couldn't talk to anyone else. Being half Kneazle, he had sometimes protected her too. She missed him terribly sometimes, but it had been a long time since he had up and disappeared. She had eventually gotten over it, although she never replaced him with another pet. That seemed, somehow, disrespectful to Crookshanks' memory.
Forcing herself to eat a decent amount, she sat a little longer, watching the Great Hall slowly empty, sipping her tea a little. Victor had found it strange to drink tea after dinner, as was the usual habit in England.
"We drink a good measure of vodka," he had told her once in his thick Bulgarian accent, "Why would one want to drink tea before sleep?"
"Well, it's just a custom, not necessarily an unbreakable one," she had answered. Victor's only response was a shrug.
As she had once told Harry, Victor was not the one for conversation. He was more of a "physical" being; And Harry had related to her that Moody(as they had known Crouch Jr. then) had told her Victor's head was most probably filled with sawdust. She was inclined to agree.
Oh well, she thought, pushing back from the table; it had been a very interesting series of events and she was tired. Best get to bed early. It wouldn't do to have the new Professor fall face down into her porridge in the morning.
She was relieved to find Dumbledore noticeably absent from her quarters, and prepared for bed. It was going to be a new experience tomorrow, and she needed all her strength for it. Hermione snuggled into the covers and fell fast asleep, not noticing the sealed letter waiting for her on her desk.