One of the first things Dumbledore did upon his return was make a series of announcements at dinner that Sunday.

The first was that the mandrakes were almost ready, and their classmates would be restored from their Petrified states soon. This provoked happy cheers and claps.

The second was that as a school-wide treat, exams had been cancelled, an announcement which was followed by loud cheering and hooting by the left side of the Great Hall, whereas the right side, where Ravenclaw and Slytherin were housed, looked more miffed rather than pleased.

The third was to call for Hermione to come to the front of the room.

It was a bit surreal, for Hermione; part of her could hear Dumbledore going on about how she had acted immediately to save another, how she had shown her bravery, how she had slain the monster terrorizing the school, but she was ultra-aware of herself in her own body at that moment. It was if she were watching something happening to her, not actually experiencing it happening to herself.

She could see everyone looking at her, she could read their expressions, and she could imagine how this looked to them all, an awkwardly-proportioned second year girl standing nervously in front of them all. She did her best to keep her head up and her shoulders back confidently, and she was glad it was happening on a Sunday, when she'd been wearing casual robes all day and not her uniform robes, but she felt horribly, horribly self-conscious.

Hermione tried to keep a small, modest smile on her face as Dumbledore went on to thank her on behalf of the school, her mind floating outside of her body.

Part of her wondered why. This was what she had wanted, wasn't it? Public recognition for her accomplishments? Even if she had set up the Draco rescue, she had rescued him, and she had killed the basilisk, at great personal risk to herself. So it wasn't as if she should feel guilty because it was disingenuous because it wasn't, not really.

So why did she feel so awkward and uncomfortable?

Why did she just long to sit back down?

As Dumbledore handed over a burnished gold shield engraved with her name, the year, and "Special Award for Services to the School", Hermione's mind slammed back into her body just in time for her to numbly reach out and take it, smiling embarrassedly out over the Great Hall, which had broken into cheers and applause.

Everyone seemed to be applauding, to her relief. All of the houses were clapping, the Weasley Twins letting loose loud whistles that pierced the air. Even the staff was applauding, she saw, glancing back at their table. McGonagall looked proud of her, and even Snape had a ghost of a smile touching his lips. Hermione looked up at Dumbledore, who gave her a benevolent smile and nodded to her, and Hermione thanked him before hurrying down the stairs and to her seat.

"Wicked," Blaise said, as Hermione reached her seat. He brushed a hand over the golden shield, reverent. "You reckon this is entirely gold?"

"There's no way it is," Hermione said, laughing. "I wouldn't have been able to lift it."

Draco scowled from across the table. "That's insulting. You should be given a real gold award."

"I was given the same sort of award everyone else who's ever gotten a Special Award for Services to the School has," Hermione said, talking over Dumbledore's next announcement, something regarding the sudden flood of spiders infesting the first through third floors. "I don't even get to keep it, you realize – they'll put it up in the Trophy Room with all the other awards."

Tracey made a face. "Then what's the point of it?"

"It's a public recognition of an accomplishment," Millie said. "Hermione's name will go down in history, now, as one of the few to ever earn such an award."

"Yes, but it's not as if anyone will notice, is it?" Pansy said, haughty. "The only people who ever go into the Trophy Room are students who have Filch for detention and have to polish the trophies by hand, or students conducting after-hours honor duels."

"That's true," Millie admitted.

"Wait a minute," Hermione said. "There are after-hours honor duels?"

"At least it's something," Blaise said. "And you'll still get your small fortune from the sale of the basilisk parts."

"If I get to sell the basilisk parts," Hermione said, making a face. "They're all just sitting in a chest right now, wrapped up in paper with preservation spells. The Ministry hasn't yet approved me for the sale of them as they're Class B Non-Tradeable Goods." She paused. "I did save part of the skin for myself, though. If basilisk scales deflect spells, I want to have a set of robes made from it."

"Bright green robes made from a giant deadly snake," Tracey said, grinning. "Is there anything more quintessentially Slytherin than that?"

"Being a giant green deadly snake, maybe," Millie quipped, and with a few laughs, the conversation eased, Hermione awkwardly tucking her award under the table so she could finish eating.

Hermione wondered at her reaction to receiving the award. Public recognition had been nice, when she'd gotten it in the Daily Prophet, but somehow, the Special Award for Services to the School felt different. She wondered if it was because it was Dumbledore giving it to her, who she still didn't trust, or if that wasn't quite it either.

The acknowledgment in the press had been nice, she supposed, but she hadn't enjoyed it because of the accolades it gave to her, but rather the attention. It gave her a way to push her name out there and further the story she was spinning about being a New Blood. It would make it harder for the Purebloods to erase her away. The award gave her none of that, really - just the recognition, without anything else.

Did she not crave public recognition for her deeds, then?

Hermione spent the meal quietly wondering how she'd feel if she'd kept her defeat of the basilisk entirely secret, and just left the corpse for them to find on Myrtle's bathroom floor.


Another thing Dumbledore did shortly after his return was bring Hagrid back. Hermione had no idea how he knew where to find him, but Hagrid was back Tuesday evening, a scant two days after Dumbledore's return. Neville had glimpsed him through a window returning to his hut, and Hermione soon found herself dragged along with Harry, Neville, and Ron to say hello and welcome him home.

Hagrid was ecstatic to see them, and apologetic that he didn't have any rock cakes to offer them with tea.

"I o'ny just got home, y'see," he said, beaming. "Dumbledore let me know it was safe ter come back. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Where were you living?" Ron wanted to know, but Hagrid waved him off.

"Oh, here and there," he said evasively. "I moved around a lot, y'know – couldn't let them find me by stayin' in any one place too long…"

"I'm glad they didn't catch you, Hagrid," Harry told him, grinning. "Even if you had to camp in the Forbidden Forest for months."

"Me too." Hagrid shuddered. "Azkaban, now that's an awful place. Anyone could go mad, there – Dementors suckin' up all yer good memories—"

He turned to Hermione abruptly.

"And it's 'cause o' you I escaped!" Hagrid said, beaming. "Yer warning was jus' enough that I'd made a bug-out bag, jus' in case, an' when I saw the Ministry comin', I knew, an' I ran!"

He engulfed her in a tight, grateful hug, one that knocked the breath from her chest and made her struggle to breathe.

"I'm glad, Hagrid," she gasped as he let her go. She rubbed at her pained sides. "It would have been awful if they'd taken you away for something you didn't do."

"What are they going to do now?" Neville asked. "If you were wrongfully expelled fifty years ago, do you get to come back to Hogwarts as a student again?"

"Nah," Hagrid dismissed. "Can't. Too late. I can't use much magic anymore, anyway. Wouldn't be able ter make much o' a spark."

"You can't use it anymore?" Harry said, alarmed, and Hagrid shrugged.

"If you don't use yer magic, it gets harder and harder to use it o'er time," he said. He tapped his pink umbrella. "There are some spells I remember and can do, 'cause I do them all the time, but other ones? I couldn't do a Transfiguration for yeh if my life depended on it."

He shrugged carelessly, before he turned to Hermione.

"So!" he said, his eyes alight. "A basilisk! A real-life basilisk, hundreds o' years old! What was she like? Was she a beaut?"

Hermione wondered if Hagrid had any sense of what danger really was.