Chapter Text
1 - Eighth Year, Day 1
Hogwarts stood before her, looking so untouched from the battle she struggled to believe it. Squinting, she searched for the tell-tale signs of a glamour. A ripple here, a blurry bit there. She loved magic, and hated it at the same time. The war and the fallout from it had robbed the unwavering faith she used to have in her own senses.
It was still muscle memory to want to hide. She had spent the train ride in her own compartment, warding the door so no one could open it. She spent the ride clutching her wand, looking from the window to the door ready for an attack. Once the train made it to Hogwarts, she waited until everyone else had departed to unward the door.
There were no thestral drawn carriages waiting for her. She preferred to go on foot. The idea of the carriages and proximity and lack of control over other passengers was anxiety inducing. Besides, her trunk and all other worldly possessions were in her beaded bag. She kept a pantry’s worth of nonperishables, spare wands (not exactly legal to possess) and enough funds, muggle and magical, to run if she ever needed to.
Neither Harry or Ron noticed. With its weightless charm and illegal undetectable extension charm, it’s small enough to hide under her robes. Her plan is to always have it. If she bothered to see a mind healer, unhealthy coping mechanism would surely be part of her diagnosis. Hermione wasn’t delusional. Paranoid sure, but completely conscious of it.
Was she wrong in coming back here? Both Harry and Ron had thought she was mad for turning down a job at the ministry. Maybe she was. For as inseparable as the three of them were, Harry and Ron were always a pair inside their trio. Street smarts versus book smarts. A library full of musty old books lit her up the way flying did for them.
It wasn’t their fault their interests didn’t overlap. Even when their jokes about her wanting to take her NEWTS evolved into judgement. How easy they could forget all of the rules she had broken during their friendship when she needed to follow this one. Hermione couldn’t accept a ministry job without following the rules to earn it, but she also didn’t judge Harry or Ron for it.
“All right there?” Neville asked.
She jumped, turning to face him, her hand going to her wand.
His eyes were wary and also understanding as he tracked her movement.
Dropping her hand, she cringed. “Shit Nev. Sorry. You startled me.”
He looked past her to the castle. “This your first time back?”
She manages a nod. “You?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve been here most of the summer helping Professor Sprout clean up and salvage what we could from the greenhouses.” He hesitates before adding, “the first few days were the hardest. It gets easier.”
Sweet Neville.
Stiffening her shoulders, and looking away, she nods. His gentle empathy has her blinking away tears. He’d understand. Merlin, he’d probably hold her hand and let her soak his jumper with her tears.
She wasn’t going to fall apart. Absolutely not.
Her silence prompts him to fill it.
Gesturing toward the path, he says, “Shall we?”
Once inside, it’s muscle memory to take one of the side entrances to the Great Hall to avoid the gathering of first years waiting to be sorted.
There’s a hush when they enter.
Four rows of tables, one for each house. When she blinks the tables are gone, replaced by bodies. Everyone is looking at her. Heart galloping, the hushed whispers morph into a loud staticky white noise. The bodies are gone, and back to tables. Sad, half empty tables of blurry people shaped figures all looking at her.
Here’s your Golden Girl, your Gryffindor Princess, one third of the Golden bloody Trio, ready to lose her lunch.
She’s moving, propelled by Neville, she assumes. One moment she’s standing in an entry way, the next she’s seated between Ginny and Neville at the Gryffindor table. It’s possible spellwork was involved. Side-along apparition, or perhaps Neville said fuck it and imperioused her there. It would be a perfectly forgivable use of an unforgivable.
Ginny takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. Shame creeps in, replacing the mental choking panic. Ginny who lost a brother in this very castle was comforting her. She wanted to pull her hand away and hide. There were lions on either side of her, true Gryffindors. They were brave. She was broken.
Professor, er, Headmistress McGonagall was speaking. Whatever she said was lost to the white noise still blocking out all other sounds. She once read a book detailing spells with side effects of astral projection. They were all complicated with precise rune work and wand movements. Wordless casting was possible but the runes or wand movements would still be needed. Focusing on the grip and warmth of Ginny’s hand, and the hard bench beneath her, she tried to convince herself she wasn’t somehow outside of her body, watching without being attached.
The first years came in, led by Professor Flitwick. They were so little. Had she ever been that small? Could she imagine any of those children facing a troll, a Cerberus, or a homicidal possessed professor like they had?
Her scar started itching. Before she could even scratch it through her robes, Ginny stopped her. The white noise stopped.
For the millionth time, she questioned staying as part of the magical world. Were Neville and Ginny better prepared to survive magical trauma since they were raised not knowing anything different? Over the summer, she had portkeyed to Melbourne to undo the memory charm she had done to her parents. They were (rightfully) furious. She spent two weeks with them and told them the complete and actual truth about her entire time in the magical world.
The multiple times she almost died, the discrimination based on her blood status, her torture, and the things she had done to protect herself. Was magic worth it? Or better, was magic in Europe worth it? Discrimination existed everywhere, but the whole Pure Blood, Half Blood, Mudblood was decidedly more of a European issue.
From the minimal research she had done, Australians tended to group by type of magic. They were traditionalists, and revolutionists. The statute of secrecy existed here, but was more of a try not to end up on the evening news variety. Despite that, something still drew her home. She didn’t want to start all over somewhere new, not after literally bleeding to stake her place here. Her parents had elected to stay in Australia. They had also elected to forgive but not forget what she had done to them.
For them, her return to Hogwarts was a trial run. They both got the fact that their little girl had looked behind the curtain and wondered if all of the fighting and self doubt had been worth it. In their eyes, there was a fifty/fifty chance Hermione would return to them to live fully in the muggle world. Fifteen minutes in the castle, and Hermione was leaning towards agreeing with them.
Her first words in this room had been how the ceiling was charmed to look like the night sky. The wonder she experienced in seeing it firsthand after reading about it in Hogwarts, a History. The ceiling was still charmed, and beautiful as it was, it didn’t erase the horrific things she had also experienced in this room.
After the first years were sorted, Headmistress McGonagall spoke again. “Welcome students. While the dormitories and quidditch teams will stay separated by house, we invite you to starting tomorrow eat at any table for meals. For too long, there has been division in our world and we hope moving forward we can come together as a school to put those ideas behind us. This castle is for learning and not just transfiguration and potions. It is a place where we also learn who we are as witches and wizards.”
She clapped her hands, and the banners above each of the long row of tables changed into a banner for Hogwarts, with all of the houses represented.
“We will continue to award and take house points based off of behavior, but we have plans for some optional classes and seminars open depending on grade to members of all houses. More to come. For now, I’d like to introduce our professors for this year, some of them are new to Hogwarts and some you may already recognize.”
The only professors who were new to Hermione were Bill Weasley, who was taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts, Aida Higgleston, who was taking over Muggle Studies, and Cassius Warrington, who was taking over Transfiguration since Professor McGonagall was now Headmistress.
“Did you know Bill was teaching this year?” Hermione asked Ginny.
She grinned. “Yep, isn’t it brill?”
Hermione could think of few people better. Besides, with a growing family, it made sense he’d want to do something safer than curse breaking.
“Dad worked with Aida Higgleston in the Miss-use of Muggle Artifacts department at the ministry. He said she would do great here. Don’t know much about that Warrington.”
“He was Slytherin, four or five years ahead of Neville and me. He was on their quidditch team.”
Ginny squints at him. “He’s fit, even if he was a Slytherin.”
“Ginny Weasley, he’s a professor.”
She shrugs. “Come on, even with your questionable judgement of fancying my brother, you have to admit he’s fit.”
“I don’t fancy Ron.”
She left off the anymore.
Ginny snorted. “Thank Merlin. He’s my brother, and I love him, but you could do so much better. Seriously, if you’re desperate to be my sister by marriage, at least pick Charlie.”
Now was not the time to admit if Charlie didn’t live in Romania, she’d probably have a crush on him. Instead, she paused to actually consider Cassius Warrington. There was no denying he was attractive, if you were into the whole tall (a guess since he was sitting) dark, and handsome thing. It was safer to change the subject.
“What are you doing looking at other wizards. What about Harry?”
The Welcoming feast appeared in front of them, and Ginny began to serve herself. “I have eyes. Harry and I have the same rule. We can look, but we can’t touch. I might even send him an owl tonight and tell him all about our dreamy new professor. I gotta keep him on his toes. He might be The Chosen One, but it won’t hurt to remind him I expect wooing even with the distance.”
She turns to Neville, “what about you. Last I heard you and Luna were going to go out on a date.”
Neville blushes. “Luna is lovely, but not interested in anything serious at the moment.”
Ginny leans over Hermione and wiggles her brows. “I heard all about your date. Well done Nev. She said they should call you the Trouser Snake Charmer instead of the Snake Slayer.”
Hermione blinks, and pushes her plate away as Neville reddens further.
Ginny leans back and looks at each of the tables. “You’ll probably have your pick of the witches here. There are slim pickings of attractive wizards this year. Shame most of them are Slytherin, and they’re already likely betrothed. Malfoy looks loads better since his trial. Blaise Zabini has never looked better, and even Theodore Nott got hot. Ravenclaw’s got Boot and Goldstein. Hufflepuff’s only really got Smith since Finch-Fletchley didn’t come back this year.”
As another muggleborn, Hermione was surprised. “Justin isn’t coming back? Did you hear why?”
Neville answers, “his family moved to Canada. He’s going to Ilvermorny.”
“Did they have relatives over there, or do you think it was because of the war?” Hermione asks.
“A bit of both I suppose. I plan to owl him to stay in touch if you’d like to include a letter.”
The main course dishes are cleared and replaced by dessert. Absentmindedly, she reaches for a pumpkin cookie shaped like a dragon and nibbles on it. After they were both petrified by the basilisk in second year, they were on friendly terms. She would write Justin. For one, she always liked him, and two, she had never considered North America as an option since she didn’t know anyone there.
After the feast, Professor Weasley was waiting for them in the Gryffindor common room. “I am your new head of house for Gryffindor. Don’t hesitate to come to me with any concerns. There will be a post box to schedule time, or feel free to walk in before or after classes. I won’t be living in the castle, so if you need me after hours, Professor Flitwick can reach me. Prefects please show the first years their dormitories. Everyone else, why don’t you go unpack your trunks. You are welcome to return to the common room once you’re done. Eighth year students please stay back for a moment.”
He waited till the room was clear to address them.
“Don’t expect special treatment,” she said to Ginny, ruffling her hair.
“Fine, as long as you’re not a spy for mum,” she shot back, smoothing her hair back into place.
He holds up his hands. “I plan to treat you like any other Gryffindor.”
He looks at the small group of us, and says. “During reconstruction, the castle made some adjustments to the dormitories. Instead of grouped dorms, there’s a new wing just for eighth years where you’ll each have your own room. Sadly, the baths are still shared, one for witches and another for wizards.”
Seamus glances at Dean before asking, “do we have to sleep in our assigned room?”
Bill inspects the ceiling and coughs, before replying, “I have no intentions of checking beds, but please stay in the dormitory. I recognize many of you are technically adults, but it will make my life easier if you’re sleeping here. If you, ahem, have an overnight guest from another house, please attempt discretion.”
Ginny raises her hand. “Not asking for myself, but what if one of us would rather be an overnight guest of another house?”
Bill drags his hand over his face. “How’s this, everyone keeps their grades up, attends the classes they’re supposed to and doesn’t get called into the Headmistress’s office for troublemaking, and I’ll not worry about where you’re sleeping.”
With that, their small group went in search of their new rooms for the year. The rooms appeared to be on a level of their own in the tower, with the previously mentioned witches and wizards bathrooms on either side of the entry, and then one room after another making a circle until reaching the bathroom on the other side.
The rooms weren’t labeled, but trunks were waiting beside the doorway of each minus one. Since her trunk was still shrunk and tucked inside her beaded bag, Hermione made the educated guess the room was hers. Like at the feast, she was situated between Ginny and Neville. Dean, Seamus, and Cormac’s rooms were on the other side of Neville. Parvati, Romilda, and Katie were on the other side of Ginny.
With Colin from Ginny’s year, and Lavender from her year both dying in the final battle, and Harry and Ron not returning, it was sad seeing there were only nine of them. Hermione chanced a glance toward Parvati. They had never been close. If anything, she got on better with her Ravenclaw twin, Padma. Still, it was hard to picture, or even imagine Parvati without Lavender. Hopefully, having Padma to lean on was helping her cope.
Stepping into her room, she closed the door behind her and warded it. At this point, it was a comforting habit she had no desire to stop. Crossing her room to her window, she warded it as well. Next she cast spell after spell to uncover hidden objects or listening devices. She also tested the furniture to ensure everything was as it seemed. You could never be too safe. Lastly, she then cast a muffliato over the room.
For the first time since she got onto the train, she sagged with relief. Placing her palm to one of the stone walls, she silently thanked the castle for deciding to give them individual rooms. It eliminated one of her primary concerns over shared communal living spaces. She had nightmares, not every night, but frequently enough for it to be an inconvenience. Now if she needed to get up for whatever reason, she’d be less likely to bother anyone. She only needed to silence her room every night, which she was already used to doing.
There were other perks to her own space. Mainly potions. She had multiple caldrons and could easily have a brewing set up here. Her potion stash was abysmal and buying potions outright was both expensive and not discreet. It was one thing if they were potions no one cared about like dittany, contraception, or hangover cure. She wanted poly juice and dreamless sleep, among other monitored potions.
She’d need a table and a burner, but those could be sourced from the room of lost things if it had recovered from the fiendfyre or from Hogsmeade. Otherwise, she had a lovely overstuffed chair perfect for reading in, a bookshelf, a smallish desk and chair, a wardrobe with mirrors on the inside doors, a lovely four poster bed decked out in Gryffindor red and gold, and a bedside table. Setting her wand on her bed, she shrugged off her robes, draping them over the back of her desk chair, and retrieved her trunk from her beaded bag.
Unpacking her course materials, toiletries, some clothes, spare uniforms, and school supplies took little time. She’d leave everything else in her bag for the thing being. Taking in her space, she second guessed leaving Crookshanks with her parents. He was safe and happy where he was, and if she ever needed to run at a moment’s notice, it would be easier not to have to worry where he was. Those truths didn’t stop her from missing his smushed face or wishing he was here to cuddle.
Steeling her spine, she put on her bathrobe, making sure her beaded bag was hidden, grabbed her bath things, and went to wash the day away.