Chapter Text
1.
Eighth Year — September
Nine of them sat quietly.
She didn't look at their faces as they took their seats. None of them really looked anywhere but themselves, almost as if it was the only thing they could be certain wasn't a fabrication. A hoax or a desperate attempt at reviving the dead.
Across from her, Neville and Hermione bumped chairs. Granger apologized, but it was hardly a whisper. She'd sort of just mouthed an apology to Neville, who had shaken his head, as if his voice wouldn't allow him to speak it. The rest came in as careful, pulling out their chairs without scratching the floor. Only as far as they needed to slide in. Finley held her hands in her lap, listening to Michael Corner sit down beside her, his Ravenclaw robes brushing hers, his heavy breath as shaky as everyone else's.
Nobody had been far into Hogwarts, yet. Just the Great Hall, then here. Getting stabbed, putting a bandaid over it, and then ripping the skin around the hole as it was yanked off a moment later. There were still holes around Hogwarts.
Parvati Patil sat down beside Neville, Hannah Abbott and the Hufflepuff boy that nobody really liked beside her. Justin. On his side, farthest down the long, wooden table, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass took their seats. Discomfort seemed to seize their bodies more out of feeling like an imposter, and less like they were healing strangled, terrified voices around the corner, faded and foggy but stained on the stones.
One chair was empty. At the head. Nobody spoke, but Hannah glanced at Hermione once, wondering if she'd steer the evening. They waited for a professor to come in, pulling the skin around their nails, chewing the inside of their cheeks, or in Justin Finch-Fletchley's case, tapping the bottom of his shoe on the stone floor three times in a single second.
Hermione Granger opened her mouth after Justin's tapping quickened, ready to call the meeting to order without the professor, but McGonagall strode in just as Hermione began. Parvati flinched at the booming sound of the door as the second one unlatched from the floor and opened the space of the room. Finley rubbed her knuckles together in her lap, eyes lifting from the fabric. She held her breath, more on instinct, waiting for a loud bang, but she wasn't sure what.
McGonagall glanced over each of them, glasses sliding down her nose then as she looked down at the pendants cupped in her hands.
She stopped beside Hermione, whose chair was diagonal to the corner of the table, unaligned from the empty chair at the other end of the wooden slab. Professor McGonagall laid all the Prefect badges down and fixed each of them with a pointed look. Hermione moved first, sliding the Ravenclaw badges across the table before reaching for the two Slytherin pins, wanting to get those away as quickly as she could. Hermione passed the Hufflepuff pins down to Hannah and Justin.
Finley Dowely fixed hers on her robe, then passed the second Ravenclaw pin to Michael in time to catch Hermione hesitate to pass the last Gryffindor badge to Neville. Granger tried not to, but her attention lingered on Parvati's. Finley looked back down.
McGonagall then, very carefully, handed Hermione the Head Girl badge directly, a weathered smile on her lips. Her eyes though, were full of grief and something like an apology. She clapped then, leaving Hermione to sort through her emotions enough to find the strength to push the needle through her robe and clip the underside. She didn't acknowledge Neville, who was offering the most sincere, weak smile he could muster.
"Right. I want you all to know how selective we were, deciding on Prefects this year. It was not an easy decision, seeing as so many of your classmates were invaluable last..." She quieted, her eyes flickering upon their faces. "Well, we've decided to honor those of you who were most exceptional, courageous, and honorable-"
Across the table, Justin Finch-Fletchley scoffed. He shook his head, hiding his darkening eyes from the rest. Humor splayed across his lips but he wasn't laughing.
McGonagall tilted her head, thin lips pursed. "Something the matter, Mr. Flethcley?"
"Yes, Professor. Courageous? Honorable? Them?" Justin nodded at Blaise and Daphne, the former sitting back in his chair, watching with an amused smile, like he knew more than Justin ever could. Daphne Greengrass just adjusted herself, scouring down at her crossed legs. "What makes them deserving?"
Finley cast her eyes down. Across, Hermoine pulled at the cuffs of her sleeves, hiding her skin.
"What did they do to kill Voldemort? It was their parents we were protecting the castle from."
Blaise licked the corner of his lip, leaning forward. His voice was quiet, insightful. "What did you do, Finch? Take down a troll in the courtyard? Move rubble out of the way so Harry Potter could get to the real danger?"
Justin's lip twitched, cheeks flaming. He looked at McGonagall, then back to where Blaise Zabini was at the opposite end. Before he could sputter anything else, Professor McGonagall spoke. Loud. "Mr. Zabini's parents were not involved with Voldemort, nor were they in the country for the last twenty years," she snapped. "Extreme investigation went into the Greengrass family this summer. Lengthy, exhausting investigation that cleared their names as well as it cleared yours." She looked around the table, pausing on Michael and Hannah, whose faces depicted the same doubt Justin had voiced. She said, softer this time, "You will do well to recognize there are certain former Prefects missing from this table."
Discomfort coiled throughout the room. Finley's fingers tightened around her skirt, and somewhere under the table, Hermione's leg began to bounce. Neville lifted his chin and spoke. "Go on, Hermione. You're Head Girl."
Hermione's eyes met Neville's, slightly wide, face reserved. She worried her lip and shook her head. "I..."
"What do you think?"
Down the table, Justin, Hannah, and Parvati turned their heads. Finley expected that they were anticipating a protest from her, a plea to McGonagall to reason with them, to come to her senses and enact her authority over Hogwarts. Slytherins deserved discipline. Students deserved reconciliation. Hermione swallowed, the divot between her brows creasing deeper.
Across from her, Blaise watched intently. Finley wondered what he expected from Hermione, but she didn't let her gaze linger long enough for him to notice. She skipped her attention to the empty seat beside him, the bottom head of the table.
Finally, Hermione glanced up. Neville, who she was closest to, watched with fervency. "I believe that, within the summons of the Ministry and the carefully laid out guidelines for Witches and Wizards Under Inspection and Probation, which they are not apart of, they deserve to fulfill the same opportunities we've all earned."
There was a beat of silence in which nobody breathed. Finley might've been the only one who hadn't looked at Hermione after she'd said it, not needing to see the sincerity on her face to believe she wasn't playing a joke on them.
"How diplomatic," Justin exhaled, shaking his head. When he sat back in his chair, Blaise Zabini smirked.
Neville blinked, looking away in thought. Then, nodding twice, he said, "I agree."
Michael Corner glanced at Professor McGonagall, tense. Then he raised his hand. McGonagall blinked at him with apprehension, her head shaking slightly as she asked, "Yes?"
"Who's Head Boy, Professor?"
Clenching his jaw, Justin looked down. He'd been expecting it, honestly. Him or Neville. They all had suspected it, as soon as they realized Harry Potter wasn't in line behind them.
"I'd expected him to be here, but I see that-"
Professor Horace Slughorn walked in cheerily, his feathered, gray brows knitting at the sight of all the faces looking at him in the doorway. He paused. "Are we late?"
McGonagall flattened her lips and lowered her arms to the side of her body, her wand hand losing tension. She blinked at Slughorn, then waved her hand to motion him out of the way. Nott came in after, hands tight at the side of his body. He looked angry, like everyone else had walked in on him in the middle of an argument. He sat down beside Blaise, offering only a glance at the boy's fingers where they rested on the table. Nott didn't acknowledge Daphne Greengrass, let alone the rest of the room.
Hermione swallowed. Slughorn gripped Nott's shoulder tightly before stepping back and standing as McGonagall's opposite. The professor walked around the long table, her steady, wrinkled hands offering him the last badge.
"You've got to be kidding," Justin protested, throwing his arm and slumping back. Slughorn looked confused at the Hufflepuff.
McGonagall didn't even turn to him as she said, "Perhaps Ernie Macmillan would fare better under the weight of the Prefect badge, Mr. Fletchley. One more comment and I'll call him in here to find out if that's so." Her accent twinged her words, sharpening them, emphasizing them.
Justin Finch-Fletchley pressed his lips together and nodded. Beside him, Hannah Abbott shifted away. Finley's tongue dragged below the roof of her mouth, forming words behind her teeth, her jaw a cell where those words were locked. She wouldn't dare to voice them here, but she stared at Justin, her brows carving an angry slant outside the slopes of her eyes.
To avoid looking at Nott, who was, without a doubt, clenching his jaw so tight the sound of his shattering tooth wouldn't even lull her from her thoughts, Finley looked around the room. It wasn't one she'd seen before. A former office, maybe, if the small black squares on the stone were any indication. Old office chairs that hadn't been moved in forty years, carted out like rubble, like the cushions held the memories, not them. Nobody really looked at each other. Aside from their complaints, nobody spoke out of turn.
She wondered if they heard the voices, too, or saw the flashes of light behind closed eyes, catching them off guard like a sudden light in the dark would on eyes that'd been sleeping.
And even though McGonagall had let the silence fill the walls, waiting for somebody to speak, none of them did.
Finally, McGonagall gave up. "Professor," she whispered, motioning for Slughorn.
At the flick of his wrist, the heavy wooden door shut, private now. Parvati jumped again.
Slughorn stood between Blaise and Theodore, McGonagall right beside Hermione. Their chairs were all pointed slightly toward her.
"Let's begin," McGonagall pulled out a small, leather journal. She set it in front of Hermione. Slughorn also pulled a similar journal from his cloak and Nott took it lazily, angrily, jaw clicking once as he fingered through the pages, ignoring them all so well she thought Nott might've gone deaf. She wouldn't be surprised, not with everything she'd learned.
Finley glanced over at the journal in front of Hermione. Some of the pages had timetables in them, others had numbered lists-blank but the paper was starch, and Finley had a feeling each page was meant to be filled following a strict set of instructions.
"All I need you to do today is assign two people to a wing of the castle. No two people from the same House. Mr. Fletchley, how about you pick your partner first, since you have been so vocal about keeping the Prefect badges scrupulous."
Justin glanced sidelong at Hannah, whose shoulders curled inwards. She didn't look at him. Justin's eyes darted across the table and he nodded at Michael Corner. Hermione picked up the quill set beside the journal.
"What wing?" She asked, to McGonagall or Justin.
Michael leaned forward to watch, and Professor McGonagall said, "The kitchens and the first floor."
"But Professor," Michael started, "The kitchens are across the castle from Ravenclaw Tower."
Her sharp eyes landed on him and she smiled measuredly. "Good thing you will not be residing in Ravenclaw Tower, then. The Prefects will take the fifth floor of the North tower. Head Dorms on the seventh. Now," she continued, ignoring their shifts. Hermione and Neville glanced at each other, and Finley looked down the table at the three Slytherins. Nott, still, seemed not to have heard. Blaise smiled to himself, something secret, something dear. Daphne Greengrass hadn't looked away from her lap since she sat down. "The second and third floor will be done as a unit. The fourth and fifth floors, then sixth and seventh levels each to be patrolled by a pair. One pair will also need to patrol the Dungeons and the basement."
Parvati chewed her lip. After a moment of waiting, McGonagall urged, "Miss Patil?"
"May Hannah and I take...the fourth and fifth floors?"
Hermione nodded, reciting their names. Then she looked at McGonagall, and offered, "Perhaps Finley and I could-"
"I'll go with you, Granger," Blaise spoke loudly, nodding to the journal. Her eyes narrowed on the boy in green, shaking her head and mouthing something. Professor McGonagall hesitated, but Blaise added, "Dungeons and basement."
They stared at each other, but it wasn't violent. Everyone looked around, wondering when and how loud McGonagall would cut in. But, with an indignant sigh, Hermione wrote her name beside Blaise's. Her hand shook.
Finley's heart thudded, and she lifted her eyes just enough to feel the heated weight of both Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott's attention from around the table. Nott's eyes flickered downward. Blaise pressed his lips together, a cordial motion of his lips.
"Is this to be done each night, Professor?" asked Finley to McGonagall. The woman nodded, a sympathetic look on her face.
Finley looked across at Neville, who was eyeing her, nodding slightly, preparing to jump into agreement with her. Neither of them really cared, which floor they took. When Neville requested the sixth, McGonagall said, "I'm afraid that won't work. Miss Greengrass and Mr. Nott are both of the same House."
"What's that matter?"
Everyone looked down at Daphne. Her stringy hair was hiding the sides of her face, but they could see her eyes. Tired, sharp.
"We believe it would be best for Hogwarts to unite, and seeing as though you are leaders of your Houses, it would be most noble to set a new precedent for the rest of the year. As your classmates heal, it's imperative to demonstrate a coalition between old rivalries." Her voice hardened on that word. Finley thought of Draco Malfoy. Wondered if, even had things gone differently, him being in this room with Harry Potter instead of Neville and Blaise or Theo would stand to listen to the same objective.
It seemed a hard concept for Daphne Greengrass to understand. Though her parents weren't exactly Death Eaters, she wasn't known for bonding with Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors, never deflating or deafening Draco Malfoy's malice. Daphne looked down straight ahead at Finley. She swallowed. Then she said to Hermione, "Longbottom and I can take the second and third floor. That's where the Herbology archives are, after all."
Neville...Neville smiled.
Finley swallowed thickly. Hermione's hand shook as she wrote their names. She paused, not quite looking at Finley as she lowered the quill to the bottom slot of the timetable, but Finley nodded just enough for Hermione to see it anyway. Her hair was pinned behind her ear, her curls falling over her shoulder, the copper color shifting in the light of the sconces as Hermione breathed heavily.
Dowely & Nott was filled in between the black lines of the table. Sixth and seventh floors. Finley looked over Neville's head at the stone, the indents between each. The old holes where thick nails had been hammered in. She wondered which portraits belonged there, to the imprint against the wall that hadn't faded in color like the stones that weren't blocked by frames from the certainty of time. Beside the table and the chairs, the room was otherwise empty.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and looked through her thin glasses, and over Hermione's shoulder, she read the next page. "Right. You will meet here twice monthly, every other meeting to rotate your shifts and discuss the agenda outlined per day in the journal." She glanced up at Theodore, then paused to see that he was actually paying attention. Or, rather, flipping through the pages still and perhaps not listening to anything. "Professor Slughorn, will you please?"
Hannah, Parvati, and Justin turned to watch as Slughorn carried over a box. It was locked, not to be entered but only to file papers into. He set it down between Abbott and Nott. "Reports go here," he smiled at Hannah, dipping his head by way of greeting. She smiled something polite, nothing near as cheerful as his. But it was what she could muster, and Slughorn saw. Satisfied, he stepped back.
"Should things appear out of order in your patrols, add them to your report and file them here."
Hermione nodded. She flipped to the next page. "Professor?"
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"What are these?"
McGonagall looked down. Finley and Neville leaned in closer. Abbott, to Finley's surprise, looked toward Nott's journal without misgiving.
Prompts were written out, small lists, bulleted and neat and orderly. Space to write, to brainstorm, to plan. Professor McGonagall smiled carefully, looking across each of them. "It was...with much deliberation that we at Hogwarts decided to organize events. Or, have you organize events. Hogsmeade, the courtyard, the Great Hall. Routinely, strategically placed ceremonies to help," she paused, deciding on the right word, "Rouse students back to their former excitability."
"Parties?" Parvati sat a little straighter.
"In some cases. When appropriate," McGonagall stressed. "Halloween, Christmas, birthdays, should students initiate the request to you."
A soft comfort went around the room, unwrapping them a little, shoulders less tight, hips unclenched. Finley loosened her fingers from her skirt at the thought of students gleefully bounding through the corridors, planning parties for each other. It seemed like such a fleeting memory, like it had never happened. Like Hogwarts was a stagnate, sterile hall where they'd woken from cold beds and attended lessons like they were psychiatric patients visiting different forms of therapy. Electric shock, cold plunge. On and on.
She was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of Professor McGonagall's heavy voice. "I want Hogwarts to never know the touch of a child's discomfort again."
Stiff, probing silence replaced their slowly unfurling tension. Neville was looking down at the table. Justin was staring at a spot on the wall. Michael's eyes were closed. Down the table, Daphne Greengrass picked at a piece of splayed wood on the arm of her chair. Hermione began to nod then, swallowing her questions. She glanced up at McGonagall and said, "We can do that, Professor."
On their own time, in their own way, everyone agreed. Nods, verbal statements to comply, shy smiles. Blaise, even, moved his chin up and down. Theodore stared down at the journal. Finley wondered if there was something in his journal that Slughorn had written differently than McGonagall had. From the back of the room, Slughorn wiped a tear from his eye.
When the meeting concluded, Justin and Michael fled first, walking together briskly through the hall. Daphne darted out next. Slughorn followed between Blaise and Theodore, the three of them taking their conversation the opposite way. Slughorn paused paces away, smiling at them and shaking their hands, pride and expectation on his old face. Parvati, Hannah, and Neville left quietly, toward the North tower. Hermione and Finley left McGonagall to her thoughts.
"Just a month," Hermione whispered. Until they could change their patrol partners.
Finley bit her tongue. She nodded, told Hermione it would be alright. Played into Hermione's concerns. It was easier. Finley went down the corridor, ignoring the urge to look back at Nott, to see if he was watching her walk away, or if he turned around and cut her out entirely.