Thank you for clicking next chapter!
Grimmauld Place wasn't just a house—it was a place filled with secrets. Dark corridors, heavy curtains, and dust-covered surfaces held onto memories better left forgotten. To Hermione, it felt like a maze of unresolved grief and tension, where the weight of the war they had barely survived pressed in from all sides. But it was the only place they had, the only refuge where she, Harry, and Ron could hide from the prying eyes of the wizarding world and try to make sense of everything that had happened.
The days after the Battle of Hogwarts blurred together. The wizarding world was moving on, but for Hermione, time felt frozen. Every morning she woke up in that cold, unfamiliar bedroom at Grimmauld Place, her thoughts immediately turning to everything they'd lost and the uncertainty of what came next. Coming back here with Harry had been the obvious choice—where else could they go? But Grimmauld Place was nothing like the Burrow; it was cold, silent, and only deepened her sense of isolation.
Ron had gone back to the Burrow, needing to be with his family as they mourned. Hermione understood that—respected it, even—but she missed him terribly. The Weasleys had become her family too, and the distance between them now felt like a physical ache. Without Ron, Grimmauld Place felt emptier, filled only with shadows and secrets that couldn't fill the void he left behind.
Harry seemed lost too, despite their victory. One evening, as they sat surrounded by stacks of Ministry documents in the drawing room, he finally spoke up, voicing what had clearly been weighing on him.
"The Ministry wants me to become an Auror," Harry said, breaking the heavy silence. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. "They've been pushing for it since the battle ended."
Hermione looked up from the document she was scanning, meeting Harry's troubled gaze. "What do you want?" she asked gently.
Harry shrugged, a frown creasing his brow. "I don't know. I always thought that's what I wanted—to be an Auror, to fight the Dark Arts. But now... I'm not so sure."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "You've been fighting for so long, Harry. Maybe it's time for something different. You could work within the Ministry, help with the reforms from the inside. You don't have to be on the front lines to make a difference."
"I just don't want to be their poster boy," Harry said, frustration lacing his voice. "I want to help rebuild, but on my own terms."
"That's perfectly reasonable," Hermione assured him. "And whatever you decide, we'll support you."
Harry offered her a small smile, the first real one she'd seen in days. "Thanks, Hermione. I just... I don't want to be stuck doing something that feels like it's just for show."
"You won't be," Hermione said confidently. "We'll make sure of that."
Ron visited often, usually arriving at odd hours with news from the Burrow or updates about Snape's upcoming trial. At first, his visits were brief, but gradually, he started staying longer, sometimes even spending the night in one of the musty spare rooms. It almost felt normal, like the days before everything changed, but Hermione sensed something different—something subtle, yet undeniable—in the way they interacted now.
One evening, after a particularly long day of sorting through endless Ministry documents, Ron found Hermione alone in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, staring into a cup of tea that had long gone cold, lost in her thoughts.
"You alright?" Ron asked, sliding into the seat beside her.
Hermione looked up, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. "Just thinking," she replied.
"About what?"
"Everything," Hermione sighed. "The future. What we're going to do now."
Ron nodded, understanding her unspoken fears. "It's hard to imagine, isn't it? Life without... well, without all the fighting."
"It is," Hermione agreed softly. "But we have to figure it out, don't we?"
"Yeah, we do." Ron reached out and took her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "We'll get through it, Hermione. We always do."
Hermione felt a rush of affection for Ron, the same warmth she'd felt during the war when his presence had been a constant source of strength. She squeezed his hand, grateful for the connection they shared, but as they sat there, she realised something had shifted between them. The bond forged in the crucible of battle had begun to cool, settling into something more enduring—something more like friendship.
Ron seemed to sense it too because he smiled at her, a soft, genuine smile that reminded her of the Ron she'd known before everything changed. "Friends, then?" he asked, his tone light but sincere.
"Friends," Hermione agreed, returning his smile. It was the right decision. They had been through so much together, but now it was time to let go of the romantic tension that had simmered between them and focus on rebuilding their lives—as friends.
But even as they made this silent agreement, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that something unresolved lingered between them—something neither of them was quite ready to confront. But for now, they would leave it be.
The following morning, they visited Severus Snape at Spinner's End. The house was as bleak and unwelcoming as ever, its walls seeming to close in around them as they stepped inside. Snape, still recovering from his injuries, lay in bed, his once sharp and imposing figure now gaunt and weakened. The sight of him, so diminished, stirred something deep within Hermione—a determination to see justice done.
"Professor," Hermione began cautiously as they settled into the room.
Snape's dark eyes flicked over them, his expression unreadable. "Granger. Potter. Weasley," he acknowledged, his voice rough, as though it hadn't been used much in days.
"We're here to help," Hermione said softly, her voice steady despite the emotions roiling inside her. "We're going to clear your name."
Snape's lips twisted into a faint sneer. "You think the Ministry will listen to a bunch of schoolchildren?"
"They'll listen," Harry said firmly, stepping forward. "We have your memories, and we'll make sure they see the truth."
Snape's gaze lingered on Harry for a moment before shifting back to Hermione. "You're wasting your time," he said, though his tone lacked its usual bite. "The wizarding world has never been kind to those who walk the gray line between light and dark."
"That's why we're doing this," Hermione insisted, her voice filled with conviction. "Because it's the right thing to do. You saved so many lives, Professor. They need to know that."
For a fleeting moment, something in Snape's expression softened—a brief glimmer of something almost like gratitude. But it quickly vanished, replaced by his usual stoic demeanour.
"Very well," he said finally, his voice tinged with resignation. "But I won't hold my breath."
As they left Spinner's End, Hermione's resolve only strengthened. She wouldn't let the wizarding world forget what Snape had done, what he had sacrificed. He had been their protector, their unsung hero, and she was determined to see his name cleared.
The next day, as she was poring over a pile of letters in the kitchen, Hermione's attention was caught by the day's edition of the Daily Prophet. The front page was dominated by a headline about Snape's upcoming trial, but it was the subheading that made Hermione's heart sink: "Former Death Eater Faces Justice: Will Hogwarts' Traitor Finally Pay for His Crimes?"
She frowned as she skimmed the article, her stomach twisting with anger. The piece was filled with half-truths and innuendo, painting Snape as a villain who had somehow escaped justice for far too long. It made her blood boil, but it also solidified her resolve to set the record straight.
Later that evening, Hermione found herself back in the Black family library, surrounded by books on ancient and dark magic. The knowledge she had uncovered was vast, powerful, and often dangerous, but she was more interested in understanding it than using it. Blood magic, in particular, fascinated her. The complexity and depth of the spells were unlike anything she had encountered before, and she found herself eagerly diving into the study of its mechanisms and history.
As she delved deeper into the pages of a particularly old tome, she felt the thrill of discovery that had always driven her. This was what she loved—the pursuit of knowledge, the unravelling of mysteries.
One afternoon, as she was deeply engrossed in her studies, Ron entered the library. He paused in the doorway, watching her with a mixture of amusement and concern.
"Still at it?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Hermione looked up, her eyes bright with excitement. "Ron, you wouldn't believe what I've found! There's a whole section on blood wards—spells and enchantments I've never even heard of before. And this—" she held up the thick, leather-bound tome she had been hunched over, her voice filled with awe "—this has a chapter on blood-binding rituals that could completely redefine how we view magical inheritance!"
Ron raised an eyebrow, clearly less enthusiastic than she was. "That sounds... intense. You're not thinking of using any of it, are you?"
"Oh, no," Hermione replied quickly. "I just want to understand it. There's so much we don't know about this type of magic, and understanding it could help us in the future. It's not about using it—it's about knowledge."
Ron frowned, his concern evident. "Just be careful, alright? Dark magic... it's not something to take lightly."
"I know," Hermione said, softening her tone. "But I think it's worth studying. We can't afford to be afraid of magic just because it's dark. We need to understand it, to know how to deal with it if it ever comes up again."
Ron sighed, clearly not convinced, but he didn't press the issue further. "Just... don't lose yourself in it, Hermione. We've all been through enough."
Hermione nodded, but her excitement for learning was undiminished. She had always been driven by a thirst for knowledge, and this was no different. She would be careful, of course, but the possibilities that blood magic presented were too fascinating to ignore.
A few days later, Ginny Weasley visited Grimmauld Place. Her presence was a welcome respite from the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the house, and Hermione was glad to see her friend.
They sat in the kitchen, sipping tea, when Harry brought up something that had been on his mind. "The Ministry's been making it harder to live among Muggles," he said, his brow furrowed in concern. "More regulations, more restrictions. It's like they think that's the answer to everything."
"It's not just the Ministry," Ginny added. "There's still a lot of fear. People are scared, and when they're scared, they cling to what they know."
"But it's the wrong direction," Harry argued, his tone frustrated. "We should be trying to bridge the gap, not widen it. We've got to push for change. We didn't fight a war just to go back to the way things were."
Hermione listened as they continued, her mind turning over everything she'd learned from her research. The dark magic, the blood wards, the ancient spells—it was all connected to pure-blood magic. But there was magic in Muggle-borns too, and if only she could see how it all connected, maybe she could convince the wizarding world of their value. All she needed was to understand blood magic more thoroughly, to see the origins, then she could make her case. She was sure of it.
Later that week, they visited Snape again. The house was as bleak and cold as before, but this time, Hermione had something specific she wanted to discuss.
"Professor," she began after a long silence had settled over the room, "I've been studying the blood ward you placed on your storeroom at Hogwarts."
Snape's eyes flicked up to meet hers, a glimmer of interest behind the guarded expression. "Is that so?" he said, his tone neutral.
"Yes," Hermione continued, feeling a surge of excitement at the prospect of discussing the subject with someone who truly understood it. "They were incredibly complex—far beyond anything we were taught at Hogwarts. I've been researching blood magic since then, trying to understand how it works, how it could be used..."
"Blood magic is not something to be trifled with, Granger," Snape interrupted, his voice sharp. "It requires a deep understanding, and even then, it demands more than most wizards are willing to give."
"I know," Hermione replied quickly. "But I think it's worth studying. There's so much potential in it—so much we could learn. Even if we never use it, understanding it could make us better prepared for the future."
Snape studied her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. "Knowledge is indeed power," he said finally. "But remember, Granger, power always comes with a price. The more knowledge you seek, the more you must be prepared to sacrifice."
Hermione nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. But her excitement wasn't dampened. She had always been driven by a thirst for knowledge, and this was no different. She would be careful, of course, but the possibilities that blood magic presented were too fascinating to ignore.
A few days later, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place after another exhausting meeting at the Ministry. He dropped into a chair, looking more tired than Hermione had ever seen him.
"They're stuck in the past, Hermione," he said, rubbing his eyes. "They want to go back to the way things were before the war. They don't understand that things have changed, that we can't just pretend none of it happened. They've started obliviating all the Muggle witnesses."
Hermione sat beside him, her hand resting on his arm in a gesture of support, despite her rising anger. "They'll come around, Harry. You're the one who saved them. They'll listen to you."
"I hope so," Harry muttered, his frustration evident. "Because if we don't change, we're going to end up right back where we started."
As if on cue, the next morning brought another visit from the Malfoys. This time, they were at Grimmauld Place to discuss Snape's trial, but it was clear that their own recent trials had left them shaken.
"Snape saved my life," Draco admitted quietly as they sat around the drawing room. "He took the Unbreakable Vow. I owe him."
Narcissa, more reserved as always, nodded in agreement. "We are deeply indebted to Severus," she said, her voice soft but firm. "He has done more for our family than we could ever repay."
Hermione could see the tension that hung over the Malfoys like a dark cloud. They were a family on the brink—clinging to what little they had left, yet haunted by the shadows of their past. Despite their precarious position, they offered their assistance in clearing Snape's name, and Hermione was grateful for their support, however reluctant it might be.
The Daily Prophet continued to report on Snape's trial, but the tone of the articles had begun to shift. Thanks to the testimony of the Malfoys and the memories Harry had provided, there was a growing acknowledgment that Snape's role in the war had been far more complex than initially believed. The headlines now spoke of the possibility of redemption, of a man who had walked a dangerous line between light and dark but who had ultimately chosen the side of good.
As the weeks passed, the atmosphere at Grimmauld Place began to change. The house, once filled with darkness and despair, started to feel more like a home—a place where plans were made, friendships were strengthened, and hope was slowly rekindled. But beneath the surface, the shadows of the past still lingered, and the challenges that lay ahead were daunting.
One evening, as they all gathered around the kitchen table, the conversation turned to the future of Hogwarts. The school had been their sanctuary, their battleground, and now it was time to consider what it would become in the new world they were trying to build.
"We need to change the house system," Harry said, his voice determined. "It's caused so much division, so much unnecessary rivalry. We should push for integration, for unity."
Hermione nodded in agreement. "And we need to address the way the Ministry treats Muggle-borns before they even arrive at Hogwarts. The fear and prejudice that fueled the war can't be allowed to continue, and the only way to fix it is to reduce the divide."
Ginny, Luna, and Neville all voiced their support, and the group spent hours discussing the changes they wanted to see. They talked about equality, about justice, about the kind of world they wanted to build for future generations. Only Ron held any doubts, uncertain that the change they spoke of was even possible.
In the days that followed, Hermione and Harry drafted letters to the Ministry and the Hogwarts Board of Governors, outlining their proposals for change. They argued passionately for the integration of the houses, for reforms to the curriculum that would emphasise unity rather than division, and for policies that would protect the rights of Muggle-borns and other marginalised groups.
But the responses they received were disheartening. The Ministry was resistant to change, and the Board of Governors was reluctant to alter the traditions that had defined Hogwarts for centuries. Despite their best efforts, Hermione and Harry found themselves facing an uphill battle, one that would require time, patience, and perseverance.
One morning, not long after their failed attempt to push for reforms, a bundle of letters arrived at Grimmauld Place. Hermione recognized the thick parchment and wax seals immediately—they were Hogwarts letters, their names scrawled in familiar emerald ink.
Hermione opened hers eagerly, a flood of memories rushing back as she unfolded the letter. It was just like the ones they had received every year since they were eleven, but this time, it felt different. This time, the letter represented a return to something they had lost, a chance to rebuild what had been broken.
Ron opened his letter with a grin. "Looks like we're going back," he said, his voice tinged with excitement. "It'll be good to finish what we started."
Hermione nodded, but her attention was on Harry, who was staring at his unopened letter with a troubled expression.
"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked, concerned.
Harry sighed and set the letter down. "I've already decided," he said quietly. "The Ministry offered me a place as an Auror, along with a NEWTS certificate so I don't have to take the exams. I know I should go back to Hogwarts, but... I feel like I have to take this job. I don't want to be their poster boy, but I can't ignore the chance to help rebuild. I can't do that hidden away at Hogwarts."
Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand. "Harry, you're not just a poster boy. You've already made such a difference—look at what's happened with Snape's trial. You can do so much good from within the Ministry. It's not about the title or the position; it's about what you do with it."
Harry looked up at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "I just don't want to let anyone down."
"You won't," Hermione assured him. "Whatever you decide, we'll be there to support you. And you'll always be making a difference, whether it's at Hogwarts or in the Ministry."
Harry nodded slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Thanks, Hermione. I guess I just needed to hear that."
Hermione traced her fingers over the ink of the letter. Hogwarts was the closest thing she had to a home now that her parents' memories of her were locked away. The thought of returning brought a warmth she thought she had lost.
She couldn't help the grin that pulled at the corners of her mouth as her fingertip followed the writing all the way to the final signature. Headmaster Severus Snape had been reinstated at the end of his trial.
