Chapter Text
August 30, 1998
Damp. Soft. With a hint of coconut from the gorse still blooming on the hills. And chill, laced with a promise of autumn just round the corner.
Hermione Granger took another lungful of crisp air before opening her eyes.
What it tasted most like, was home.
Home.
The word floated through her mind like a bittersweet melody as her feet touched solid ground and her body swirled into solid existence, toes pointing at the stone viaduct that led to Hogwarts Castle: her only true home now—at least for one more year. She looked down and across the arching span. In May the bridge had been in ruins, but it looked solid and passable now.
She took another breath and a small step forward, an irrational fear clutching at her heart that at her touch, the castle would toss her backward or worse, disappear into myth and mist. Did she belong here anymore? Was it home still?
Her foot touched down and she felt the wards, stronger and more wary now, reach out and turn her over like a stone found on a riverbed, look inside her cracks and fissures to what she was. And in a split second she was found to belong, drawn in by the magic that called out from the ancient grounds to the same force that sang through her blood.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, of exultation, and stepped again, more confidently. She clutched the small leather bag at her side and started to walk, slowly at first and then briskly, across the bridge.
It was growing dark and a wispy fog hung about the middle of the span, obscuring the other side, but she could see light and sense warmth beyond, although she did wonder what her human welcome would be. Regular students wouldn't come for another two days, and the letter Hermione had received had said only that eighth-year students should arrive before the 1st by means other than the train.
She mulled over the idea, as she strode through the breaking mist, robes billowing behind her, that she was early. She laughed a little to herself. That would be in character. But she'd been so restless at Grimmauld since she'd returned from Australia…
A frown touched her brow as she finally cleared the fog and could see the castle for the first time. She squinted past the flying boar statues as a figure materialized in the dim, standing on the old stone steps, straight and proud, peaked hat cocked to one side.
"Ms. Granger! I thought it was you." Professor McGonagall's burred Scottish consonants rang out as she started down the steps.
"Professor!" Hermione surged forward, hands outstretched, quite forgetting herself. But McGonagall's warm clasp met hers and they shook awkwardly and enthusiastically for several moments. Hermione felt tears prick her eyes and noticed the headmistress dashing something from the corner of her own as well.
"It feels very fitting," McGonagall said, stepping away and looking Hermione up and down, "that you're the first student back."
Hermione smiled and warmth spread through her chest. "So I am early."
"Nonsense. Just on the right side of punctual." McGonagall turned with an ushering motion. "Now come inside and out of the wet. Dinner will be served soon. Is that your only bag?"
"Yes, I left my trunk with the Weasleys to put on the Express."
"Excellent." They turned through the doorway and into the entry hall, Hermione looking around to catalogue damage and repair, both of which were in evidence.
McGonagall's gaze followed hers. "Work has been constant," she said, looking up at a pillar which had clearly taken a blast from a spell. "But there is still much to be done."
Hermione nodded, realising she could feel a contraction of energy, the castle pulling in on itself. She pushed her magic out to feel the damage and trace the small tendrils of renewal.
McGonagall watched her. "These walls have seen a great deal in a thousand years." She reached out and touched a block of thick stone. "But it may take a good long while this time." She breathed in sharply, but then patted the wall. "Best thing for it is to have the students back, learning, doing magic. Free of fear."
"Absolutely. And when will the others arrive? The other eighth-years, I mean?"
"I expect tomorrow. Possibly early the next day."
Hermione saw that they were approaching the stairs to the Headmistress's Office and felt faint surprise, which McGonagall seemed to sense.
"I thought we'd have dinner together in my chambers," she said. "The Great Hall is… rather cavernous when the students aren't here. Unless you'd rather get settled in first?"
"No, dinner sounds lovely." Hermione couldn't imagine refusing. Also, she hadn't eaten in hours—too busy with packing and goodbyes—and she was suddenly famished, if a little intimidated at the idea of a tête-à-tête with Minerva McGonagall.
The headmistress again seemed to intuit Hermione's feelings because she stopped walking and faced Hermione, her habitually stern features softening. "You know, I don't intend to treat you like students, those of you who are returning. As far as I'm concerned, you're adults who are here for independent study. You've fought in a war. Let's start as we mean to go on."
"I'd like that," Hermione said slowly, willing to accept even if she felt very far from adulthood most days.
McGonagall nodded once, then turned up the stairs with a beckoning hand.
"You've been in Australia until recently, correct? I saw Arthur at the Ministry last week and he apprised me of everyone's news." The headmistress indicated a small, richly set table in the corner of her office and Hermione sat down, then picked up a snowy napkin and laid it in her lap.
"Yes," she said. "I went in June, after the funerals." She'd gone after the dust had settled—once Harry had moved from the Burrow to Grimmauld and told her he'd be OK on his own for a while. Once they'd talked Ron out of going to Norway and he'd arranged for Annika to come to London instead. Once Harry and Ron had decided to take the Ministry up on the offer to start Auror training early.
"And you were there for a while." McGonagall motioned and the bowl in front of Hermione filled with a clear, aromatic soup. Hermione's goblet also filled, with a dark, ruby red liquid. She reached for it and sipped delicately. Wine. She couldn't help the questioning glance she darted to the headmistress.
McGonagall smiled kindly. "As I said, you're an adult now."
Hermione nodded and drank more deeply. "Yes," she nodded. "I was in Sydney much longer than I'd intended." She'd meant to come back in July. She hadn't wanted to leave Harry for so long and she'd wanted to be in Britain in case Draco— "But the healers, the progress we were making, required my presence."
"And are your parents fully recovered?"
"Very nearly. It's really just a case of filling in gaps now. The most difficult times to reconstruct are those before I was cognisant."
"Of course. But there are methods for that. And when do the healers think they can return to England?"
"Ah." Hermione set down her spoon. The soup was onion; savoury and delicious. "They have, ah, decided to stay. In Sydney." She looked away.
McGonagall's "Oh?" was soft and sympathetic.
"Yes," Hermione continued, picking up her spoon once more. "They love it there and when they remembered their old life, they were saddened by the idea of going back to it. I think it was quite hard on them when I joined the magical world." She looked directly at McGonagall, who surprisingly broke the eye contact and looked down.
"Yes, I imagine it was," she said after a bit. "We should do better there. For our muggle families."
"Yes," Hermione nodded. "We should." She dipped her spoon in the soup. "Also, my mum is pregnant. They want to raise my brother-to-be in their new home."
"Oh! Well that's…"
"Quite," Hermione said, looking up with a tight smile. "I'm very happy for them. How many eighth-year students will there be total?"
McGonagall paused before answering. "Ahh, as of now, eight. But numbers may fluctuate with circumstances."
Hermione wanted very much to know if Draco was among the eight, but couldn't think of a way to ask. Despite thinking about him almost constantly, she hadn't seen or heard from him since the Manor. She closed her eyes against the memory of that, but then opened them again, watching her empty soup bowl exchange for a plate of salmon and new potatoes.
He'd done exactly as they'd promised each other, exactly as she'd wanted. He'd even managed to protect Harry without raising too much suspicion. But she knew he'd be devastated over what had happened and what he hadn't done. She wanted to see him so badly and for so many reasons, but foremost was to reassure him that he'd done right that day.
"Who?" Hermione cleared her throat. "Who are the eight?"
"Other than yourself currently the list is: Ms. Bones, Mr. Corner, Mr. Thomas, Ms. Greengrass, Ms. Parkinson, Mr. Nott and Ms. Padma Patil." McGonagall ticked along on her fingers.
Hermione's heart gave a glad little thump for Theo. It would be so good to see him. It was surreal somehow that the last time they'd been together they'd been dancing at the disco in San Cipriano. But her brain swerved quickly as McGonagall came to the end of the list without mentioning Draco. She tried to stay in the present but the headmistress's voice started to seem very far away.
Where was he and what he was doing? How was he? How were they? Well-worn thoughts. She knew only from whispered conversations overheard before she'd left for Australia that the Malfoys were in custody and that the Ministry was deciding how to reveal their contributions to the war effort. But she'd seen nothing so far. She'd thought by the time she returned there would be an announcement or a statement of some kind…
She was so desperate to see him.
Mcgonagall gave a little cough and Hermione realised she'd been staring at nothing. "A varied group," she managed to say.
"Yes. A good mix. All excellent students. I expect the pilot to be a success."
"Pilot?" Hermione sipped her wine, still only halfway attending.
"Yes, if this works as well as I expect, I intend to offer eighth-year studies to all interested students going forward."
"What a marvelous idea."
"Well." Mcgonall cut forcefully into a potato. "I've got to do something to shake things up. General enrollment is down forty percent in the regular student population."
"Forty percent?" Hermione's eyes went wide, her full attention back on the headmistress.
"Yes," McGonagall said, more than a hint of bitterness in her voice. "The first year class is reduced by a third and most of the muggle-born students from all years declined to return this term. Many non-muggle families pulled their students too. And there are hedge schools that have sprung up in some of the magical villages to meet demand." She sighed. "And of course some were just too traumatized after the battle to ever want to come back here."
"That's awful." Hermione shook her head. "I hope it's not permanent."
"I expect it will resolve itself as time goes by, but any student who experienced last year…" McGonagall pressed her lips together and looked away.
"I heard a little bit about it from Ginny and Neville," Hermione said softly. "But they didn't want to talk about it much."
"Unsurprising."
It was silent, but for the clink of cutlery, until McGonagall spoke again. "And I understand Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley have begun Auror training?"
"Yes." Hermione nodded. "They started over two months ago."
"And of course Mr. Longbottom is in New Zealand on that herbology apprenticeship."
Hermione nodded again. Neville had left right after the funerals too. He'd seemed happy to get away and go somewhere new. And having finally met his grandmother, Hermione could hardly blame him.
"And how is Ms. Brown? Have you seen her recently? I know you became quite close last summer. She told me about it last term."
"Yes!" Hermione smiled, happy to speak of a lighter topic. "She's out of St. Mungo's as of last week. All healed and they think no, ah, lasting lycanthropic effects."
"That's wonderful to hear." Warmth infused McGonagall's normally austere features. "And what will she be doing?"
"She's apprenticing with a dressmaker in Diagon Alley. Very excited about it. It's a wonderful fit for her."
McGonagall nodded. "And she and Mr. Zabini…?"
Hermione started and then remembered Lavender had told her that she and Blaise had made no secret of their relationship at school last year—and suffered quite a bit for it at the hands of the Carrows. Lavender had hinted at dark doings with Theo as well. Hermione hadn't wanted to pry into painful topics when Lavender was trying to heal, but she wondered about the extent of what had happened.
"Yes, they are still together. He's got no plans to come back, correct? I haven't actually seen him since the battle. We keep missing each other." A source of frustration since she wanted to ask Blaise about Draco and hadn't wanted to burden Lavender with it.
McGonagall shook her head. "No, I received a negative response from him. I believe he'll be doing something in a professional capacity for his mother. There are some efforts afoot to reveal his true role over the last year." She picked up her wine. "It's not a good time to be seen as neutral."
Hermione took a breath. Here was the chance to bring up Draco, but she'd have to be discreet. Their relationship was still a closely kept secret and she didn't want it out until she talked it over with Draco himself. "Anyone else... thinking of coming back, but undecided?"
"I'd hoped for Ms. Parvati Patil, but she couldn't be persuaded." McGonagall shook her head once. "And a few more Hufflepuffs—although we are trying to downplay house divisions with you eighth-years." Her gaze flicked up to Hermione, who nodded slowly, still focused on how to introduce the Malfoys as a topic.
"And the Ministry efforts," she said slowly, trying a different angle, "to rehabilitate certain people or names. How is the progress there?"
"Slow." McGonagall's mouth tightened and she blew out a breath. "As you know, there were some prominent double agents who did invaluable work—Severus, the Malfoys, Horace, Mr. Zabini and even Mr. Nott after his father died—but it will take time for people to accept, and I fear some will never garner sympathy no matter how much they did. There are those who will always say that it wasn't enough." She looked into Hermione's eyes "Old prejudices run deep and they run both ways."
Hermione nodded distractedly. She hadn't known about Theo and worried for the risks he'd taken.
McGonagall applied herself to the last of her salmon and Hermione took a deep breath. "The Malfoys," she said, toying with her fork. "I'd wondered particularly about them. I understand they took... tremendous risks. And of course I saw it, when Ron, Harry and I were captured and sent to Malfoy Manor. Draco helped us that day and I just wondered if… he might have been in the list of eighth-years. He was always such a strong student," she finished lamely.
"Second only to you. And of course." McGonagall looked at her swiftly. "You were in the same city last summer, weren't you?" She held Hermione's gaze, her eyes sharp. Hermione nodded, trying valiantly to give nothing away.
Finally McGonagall looked down as her dinner plate exchanged for a bowl of lemon syllabub.
"I'd hoped I'd see Draco here too," she said after a while, picking up her spoon. "I'd hoped all of the students who missed seventh year would return, although I knew Potter and Weasley would be a long shot." Her mouth quirked briefly and Hermione gave a little smile too.
"And I haven't given up on Mr. Malfoy," she said after a moment. Hermione's heart began to race. "Perhaps after whatever it is the Ministry is doing... I'm told very little up here, you know." She looked up with an exasperated light in her eye. "Even when it pertains to my students."
Hermione nodded, feeling suddenly buoyed by hope. Draco might still come. She let her mind wander over what an eighth year here together would be like and she felt herself lighten. Walks by the lake, nights in the astronomy tower, study dates in the library—everything they'd dreamed about when they'd lain in her bed in San Cipriano. Suddenly her heart took off and soared—it came to her all at once that they'd done it, made it through to peace and safety, and one way or another they'd be together without having to hide. And any obstacles they'd face now were nothing compared to what they'd already been through. They'd get through anything left together.
Hermione couldn't prevent the smile these thoughts brought to her lips, although she tried to hide it in her dessert bowl, quickly finishing the delicious concoction and looking up at the headmistress, who was watching her closely. Hermione tried to school her features but was suddenly overtaken by an enormous yawn.
"Oh, pardon me," she said sheepishly.
"No, no you must be exhausted," McGonagall said, rising to her feet. "Let's go and I'll show you the eighth-years' quarters. You'll be housed differently from the regular students."
"Right. You said something about deemphasising the House divisions?"
"Yes, you'll all live together in the lower floors of the North Tower. We've reserved three for you. Girls rooms on the third floor, boys on the second and a common space on the first."
Hermione nodded along as she followed the headmistress out of the main building. They crossed briskly into the back portion of the castle, an area Hermione had visited very little, since she'd never had an interest in Divination, which was housed there in the top floors.
Climbing the stairs from the North Tower's ground floor, they came to a large room dominated by a set of huge windows that looked out toward the Quidditch pitch—or would when it was light outside. Hermione had a quick impression of well-stocked bookshelves, large study tables, soft couches and squishy chairs tucked casually about. All were in deep, comforting colors, but carefully devoid of the distinctive Hogwarts House hues or symbols. She also noted an almost cafe-like area with round tables and upright chairs. McGonagall saw her looking and nodded toward it.
"You'll be of course welcome to take meals in the Great Hall, but we thought that it might be nice for you to have your own dining space as well."
Hermione nodded as they made their way to a staircase that branched off from the common space.
"Boys' rooms are here." McGonagall gestured to a corridor as they alighted on the second floor, then kept climbing. "And the girls' floor is here." They stopped at the top of the third floor steps. "Everyone has their own room and bathrooms are at the end of each corridor." McGonagall pointed down the high-ceilinged hall. "Since you're first here, you can choose which room you'd like. Although Ms. Parkinson and Ms. Greengrass asked to share, so don't take the larger one with two beds."
Hermione smiled, then poked her head into each of the remaining three rooms, all of which were equipped with a bed, wardrobe and large, sturdy desk. She finally ended up taking the third room down, mostly because she liked the wallpaper, which featured tiny purple thistles blooming on a cream background, and the blanket on the bed, which was a soft tartan in shades of mauve and sage.
"Lovely choice," McGonagall said, smiling at the tartan. She looked back up at Hermione. "Well, unless you have any questions, I suppose I'll leave you to it. Meals will be at the regular times and you can take them here or in the Hall. The Express will be arriving day after tomorrow, but I expect the other eighth-years will trickle in before then. Likely this wing will be full tomorrow evening."
Hermione nodded and frowned a little, realising how few friends she had in the crop of eighth-years. She found herself quite desperate to see Theo and wondered if he and Daphne had become close again. It would also be good to see Dean. And she'd always thought she'd get along with Padma Patil if given half a chance. Susan and Michael were enigmas, but Hermione hoped they'd turn out to be friends—or at least friendly.
And of course Ginny would be here soon.
Waving to the headmistress as she made her way back down the stairs, Hermione shut the door to her little room and lit the sweet brass lamp on her bedside table with a soft Lumos. She looked around, noting details she'd swept over before, like the cushioned window seat on the sill, the neat fireplace on one of the walls and the small white sink standing in the corner under an old-fashioned mirror.
These must have been staff rooms at some point—or maybe servants' quarters? Or perhaps McGonagall had just conjured them into being because they were needed. The Castle's mysteries never ceased to amaze.
Hermione yawned again and opened her leather bag, drawing out her pyjamas and toiletries, glad to have the little sink. After her ablutions, she sunk into the soft mattress of the bed, realising she could see out the window to the owlery from where she lay. She watched birds swooping back and forth in the moonlight as her eyes grew heavy, the long day and large meal robbing her of her usual need to read before sleep.
She let her eyes close and her thoughts went immediately, like footsteps on a well-worn path, to Draco. Would he come? Would he lay with her in this little bed and hold her in his arms? Kiss her until she couldn't breathe, touch her until she couldn't resist?
She had to believe he would; she hoped for it so desperately. But she hadn't heard from him, and it had been so long. She was worried deep down—about the Manor and what had happened there. About his ability to get past it.
But, she fisted her hands into her sheets, she'd just make him if she had to. Like she'd done in San Cipriano. She wouldn't stand for anything less, and she knew now that he couldn't resist her.
And if he didn't come to school, she'd track him down wherever he was as soon as she could. She wouldn't let a day go by once she knew how to get to him.
She took a deep breath and settled more deeply into her pillow, sleep overtaking the workings of her mind.
She loved him and she couldn't, wouldn't, let him slip away.