CHAPTER 6: THE DECISION TO RETURN TO HOGWARTS

Flashback:

It had been eight months since the Second Wizarding War had ended, leaving the wizarding world in a state of cautious optimism. The once-ruined Hogwarts was slowly but surely rising from the ashes, the castle's ancient stones echoing with the sounds of construction mingling with the familiar hum of students' chatter. The school was not yet fully restored, but the essentials were in place—enough to accommodate students and hold classes amidst the ongoing repairs.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and now the man who had vanquished the darkest wizard of all time, found himself back at Hogwarts, not as a hero, but as a student. The Ministry of Magic, led by Kingsley Shacklebolt—who was both the Minister for Magic and head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—had offered Harry a position as an Auror, bypassing the need for him to complete his final year at Hogwarts. It was an extraordinary offer, a testament to Harry's role in the war, and a recognition of his bravery.

Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and other key defenders of Hogwarts had received similar offers. For many, especially Ron, the prospect of skipping another year of schooling was nothing short of a dream come true. "Blimey, Harry, can you imagine? No more classes, no more exams—straight to being Aurors!" Ron had exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the idea of diving straight into the thick of action.

But it was Hermione Granger who, as always, provided the voice of reason. She had been the first to turn down the offer, her determination unwavering. "We fought so hard to protect this school, to protect what it stands for," she had said, her tone firm but caring as she addressed Harry and Ron. "Skipping our final year, taking shortcuts—that's not what we fought for. We owe it to ourselves, and to everyone who didn't make it, to finish properly."

Harry had known deep down that she was right. The decision to return to Hogwarts wasn't just about finishing school; it was about honoring the legacy of his parents, James and Lily Potter, who had been among the brightest students of their time. They had never been school dropouts, and Harry felt a deep need to emulate them, to walk in their footsteps and complete what he had started. More than that, he wanted a year where he could simply be a student—a normal teenager, learning magic without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Ron had been less enthusiastic, grumbling, "But we've already done more than enough, haven't we? We should get to take it easy now!" Yet, after a lot of back-and-forth, and perhaps a few pleading looks from Hermione, Ron had reluctantly agreed. "Fine, fine! But if McGonagall starts giving us essays on top of all this rebuilding, I'm blaming you two!"

And so, September 1st came, and Harry found himself on the Hogwarts Express once more, the familiar sights and sounds of the journey bringing a sense of comfort and nostalgia. The first three months had gone by smoothly, and for the first time, Harry felt like he could finally enjoy being at Hogwarts without the looming threat of Voldemort or his followers. He even found himself reveling in the mundane aspects of school life—Potions homework, Quidditch practice, and even the occasional detentions from Professor McGonagall for sneaking into the kitchens late at night with Ron.

But just as he was beginning to relax, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could have a peaceful year at Hogwarts, something happened that would change everything once again.

It was a seemingly ordinary morning, the chill of early December hanging in the air as students shuffled into the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table, Ron and Hermione on either side of him, the three of them laughing about something inconsequential. But the laughter died on his lips as he noticed a strange tension in the air, a feeling of unease that he couldn't quite place.

"Harry," Hermione said suddenly, her voice tight with worry as she looked past him. "Look."

He followed her gaze and felt his heart skip a beat. At the entrance to the Great Hall stood a figure he hadn't seen in a long time—a figure he never thought he'd see again.

Ron was on his feet, his chair clattering to the floor, his face as pale as a ghost. "It can't be…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Harry's mind raced, a thousand questions flooding his thoughts. Who was this figure, and what did their sudden appearance mean? He had a sinking feeling that this peaceful year at Hogwarts was about to take a very dark turn.

But he wasn't ready to face that just yet. Not without answers. And so, the tranquility of the past three months shattered in an instant, leaving Harry to wonder what new challenges awaited him in the shadowed halls of Hogwarts.

It was just a week before the holiday break, and the castle was abuzz with excitement. For the first time in his life, Harry was genuinely looking forward to Christmas. The prospect of a peaceful holiday, free from the shadow of Voldemort, filled him with a warmth he hadn't known before. It was going to be his first proper Christmas, one where he could simply enjoy the festivities without the weight of impending doom.

During the last Hogsmeade outing, Harry had gone all out, spending a small fortune on gifts for the Weasley family, including Fleur. Bill and Fleur would be spending Christmas Day at the Burrow before heading to France to visit her family. Harry had even bought Ron a specialized broom servicing kit, something Ron had been eyeing for ages at Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley. It was meant to be a surprise, but somehow, Ron had found out. Harry still didn't know how Ron managed to uncover the secret, but he was adamant that Ron wouldn't get his hands on it until Christmas morning.

Their plans for the holiday were grand—visiting Hermione's house and spending time with friends who had become like family. Hermione's parents had returned from Australia, where she had sent them to protect them from the war. Though their memories were still a bit patchy, they remembered their daughter, and that was enough for now. It would take time for them to fully recover, but at least they were home.

That day, Potions was their second class, following Charms. Professor Horace Slughorn was still at the helm, having agreed to stay on despite his earlier intentions to retire. The students were in the middle of learning how to brew Polyjuice Potion. Harry couldn't help but notice Hermione's smug expression; she had mastered this potion long ago and was clearly enjoying the lesson.

Suddenly, the door to the Potions classroom burst open, and Headmistress McGonagall swept in, her usually composed face etched with concern. She made a beeline for Professor Slughorn, and the two engaged in a hushed, urgent conversation.

Ron leaned over to Harry, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you think that's about?"

Harry shook his head, his brow furrowed. "No idea, but it doesn't look good."

After a few tense minutes, McGonagall turned to face the class, her expression grave. "Mr. Weasley," she called out, her gaze settling on Ron. "Pack your things and come with me." She paused, as if considering her next words carefully. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, you should come as well."

The three exchanged worried glances as they hurriedly packed their bags. McGonagall's tone left no room for argument, and the seriousness in her eyes made Harry's stomach twist with unease.

Before they could leave, McGonagall turned to Professor Slughorn. "I apologize for interrupting your class, Horace, but thank you for your understanding."

Slughorn waved her off, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a somber one. "No need to apologize, Minerva. I understand completely. Please, send my regards and condolences to the family."

McGonagall nodded solemnly. "Of course."

As they followed McGonagall out of the classroom, Harry's mind raced. Condolences? Family? Who could they be talking about? He exchanged a worried glance with Hermione, who looked just as puzzled and concerned as he felt.

The walk through the corridors was a blur. Students moved aside, whispering among themselves as they passed, sensing that something serious was afoot. Harry's heart pounded in his chest, his earlier excitement about Christmas now overshadowed by a gnawing dread.

The trio's curiosity peaked as they hastily packed their belongings. Swinging their backpacks over their shoulders, they followed Professor McGonagall out of the classroom. Just outside the door, they found Ginny waiting, her expression a mixture of worry and confusion. It seemed McGonagall had already pulled her out of her class before coming for them.

"What is it, Professor?" Harry asked as soon as they were far enough from the Potions classroom to speak without being overheard. "What happened?"

"There has been an incident," McGonagall replied curtly, her pace quickening as she led them toward the headmaster's office.

Harry's concern deepened. "What kind of incident?" he pressed, hoping for some clue.

But McGonagall didn't respond, only speeding up her stride. The urgency in her movements made Harry's heart race even faster. He glanced at Ginny, who looked just as anxious as he felt.

"Ginny, do you know what's going on?" he asked, hoping she might have some insight.

Ginny shook her head, her voice tight with worry. "I don't know, Harry. I asked, but all they told me was to wait. Oh, Harry, I hope nothing really bad has happened."

Without thinking, Harry reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "Whatever it is, Ginny, I'm here. I'll always be here."

Ginny gave him a thin smile, her fingers intertwining with his. "I know you will. Thank you, Harry," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

As they hurried along, Hermione cast a sidelong glance at Ron. His face had gone pale, and she could see the worry etched into his features. She knew Ron well enough to understand that his thoughts had already turned to his family. The fact that Slughorn had mentioned condolences made it all the more concerning. Silently, she reached out and grasped his hand, offering a quiet but firm reassurance that she was there for him, no matter what.

They finally reached the third floor, where the entrance to the headmaster's office was guarded by the familiar stone gargoyle. "Sugar drop," McGonagall said crisply, and the gargoyle immediately shifted aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind it. Harry noticed the password, a subtle nod to Dumbledore's fondness for sweets, which tugged at his heart with a pang of nostalgia.

The staircase began to rotate, and they stepped onto it, the circular motion carrying them upward to the headmaster's office. The usual sense of awe that Harry felt when entering this room was overshadowed by the heavy sense of foreboding that had settled in his chest.

As they stepped into the office, the first thing Harry noticed was the solemn atmosphere. The portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses seemed to be unusually quiet, their painted eyes following the group as they entered. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, and Harry felt his pulse quicken as he tried to prepare himself for whatever news awaited them.

Professor McGonagall motioned for them to take a seat, but Harry couldn't bring himself to sit. He stood next to Ginny, his hand still holding hers, drawing strength from her presence.

McGonagall took a deep breath, her stern demeanor softening just slightly as she prepared to deliver whatever news had caused such a disruption. "I'm afraid there's been a terrible accident," she began, her voice steady but laced with sorrow. "It concerns your family, Mr. Weasley."

Ron's hand tightened around Hermione's, his knuckles turning white as he braced himself for what was to come. Harry's mind raced, trying to prepare for the worst while hoping for anything but that.

McGonagall turned sharply, facing them the moment they were all inside her office. The atmosphere was tense, the air heavy with the weight of what was about to be said. "What I'm about to tell you won't be easy to hear," she began, her gaze softening as it settled on the Weasley siblings. "Your family has endured so much already, the loss of loved ones and the pain of the past year—"

"Professor," Harry interrupted, his voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside him. "It would be better if you just told us straight. We're all anxious enough as it is."

McGonagall's eyes flashed with a hint of irritation at the interruption, but she quickly saw the resolve in Harry's gaze. He wasn't a student in this moment; he was a friend, a member of the Weasley family in all but name, and he deserved the truth.

"Very well," she said, her voice heavy with reluctance. Turning back to the Weasleys, she continued, "Early this morning, there was an incident at Gringotts. It came under attack. We haven't yet identified the assailants, but I must tell you that it was severe. The Ministry sent Aurors to respond, and a fierce battle ensued. There were casualties on both sides." She paused, her expression pained. "One of those who fell… was your brother, William."

"BILL!"

"NO!"

Ginny's cry was a raw, guttural sound as she crumpled into Harry's arms, her sobs wracking her body. Harry held her tightly, his own heart breaking as he felt her pain. Ron, meanwhile, looked as though he had been struck by a physical blow. His knees buckled, and he slumped into the nearest chair, his face drained of color. Hermione immediately moved to his side, wrapping her arms around him, her own tears falling freely as she tried to offer what little comfort she could.

McGonagall's own eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she watched them. "I am so sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. "I know this is unimaginable, especially after everything you've all been through."

She turned away for a moment, collecting herself before she moved toward the fireplace. Reaching for a small pot beside it, she grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the grate, causing the flames to burst into a bright green. "You must hurry. Your family is at St. Mungo's now."

The urgency in her tone cut through the fog of shock that had settled over them. Harry gently lifted Ginny's face, wiping away her tears as he whispered, "We need to go. Your family needs you."

Ginny nodded, her hands trembling as she clung to him for support. Ron stood shakily, his face set in a grim mask of determination despite the tears still streaming down his cheeks. Hermione held his hand tightly, her own resolve solidifying as they faced this new wave of grief together.

One by one, they stepped into the green flames, disappearing from the headmaster's office and reappearing in the bustling, chaotic halls of St. Mungo's. The world around them felt like a blur—healers rushing past, concerned whispers filling the air—but all Harry could focus on was the heart-wrenching sight of the Weasley family huddled together in grief.

Molly Weasley's anguished cries cut through the din, her sobs echoing in Harry's ears as he watched Arthur Weasley hold her, his own face etched with sorrow. The twins, usually so full of life, stood silently beside their parents, their faces pale and drawn.

Ginny broke away from Harry, rushing to her mother's side, while Ron moved to stand next to his father, his arm around him as they all tried to find some semblance of comfort in each other's presence.

Harry stood back, his own grief mingling with a deep sense of helplessness. He had faced so much—had defeated Voldemort himself—but there was nothing he could do to protect his friends from this. No spell, no act of bravery could bring back the dead.

Hermione, sensing his turmoil, took his hand. "We're here for them, Harry," she whispered, her voice shaky but filled with determination. "That's all we can do."

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