Chapter Text
The Headmaster’s office looked much the same as it always had; every inch of wall covered in either bookshelves or portraits, the penseive and other complicated and mysterious magical objects sealed away in a large glass cabinet, and of course, the enormous desk dominating the room. Hermione tried to remember what it had looked like before, but apart from the fact that it was Minerva McGonagall sitting in the headmaster’s chair, Dumbledore peering down at them from his portrait behind her, the office seemed exactly the same as it had been the first time she'd stepped inside in first year, a room frozen in time. It was hard to believe that Hogwarts had been shut for a full year for repairs, and as she had walked through the familiar halls on her way up here, everything clean and fixed and pristine, Hermione had felt oddly torn. Part of her almost questioned that the final battle had even been real. It felt so long ago now, the flagstones were clear of bloodstains, the cracks and holes in the walls had been filled and the broken windows replaced. The whole place felt like a school again, a place for children to learn and grow. It was comforting, but part of her despised herself for preferring it this way, as if indulging in nostalgia for a simpler time was somehow an insult to everyone who had fallen here.
Still, it wasn’t all perfect; her beloved library had been devastated by the battle, and she knew for a fact that fiendfyre had rendered the Room of Requirement a twisted, surrealistic death trap that had almost cost the repair crew their sanity. She was just wondering how many parts of the castle were broken beyond repair, lost forever behind patched up walls and fresh new flagstones, when she realised that Professor McGonagall had been speaking, apparently oblivious to Hermione’s mind wandering off to darker places.
“-And I won’t deny that the Head Boy and Girl will have more responsibility than in previous years due to the- the current circumstances, which is part of the reason we have chosen both of you, rather than two seventh years as is traditional.”
“Of course,” said Ernie, nodding gravely next to her. Hermione nodded and hoped it looked as if she had been listening attentively the whole time.
“Regardless,” said Professor McGonagall, smiling warmly, “Ms Granger, Mr Macmillan, this is a great honor, one which has been thoroughly earnt by both of you. Congratulations.”
She gestured to the two brass pins on the desk in front of them, one with a red enamel shield, the other yellow. Ernie picked his up quickly, grinning, and Hermione followed suit.
Hermione let out a long, low breath and stared down at the small badge in her palm. It looked so tiny, insignificant. She’d been overjoyed to be chosen as Head Girl, of course she had. She’d been wanting it from pretty much the moment she’d learnt of the position, or maybe the moment she’d seen Percy Weasley’s shiny, official looking badge, but now it was here, her very own shiny, official looking badge glinting up at her… she wasn’t sure how she felt.
Besides her, Ernie Macmillan was beaming with pride, but Hermione felt strangely disconnected from all of this. She should feel proud, happy, excited, all those emotions that were clear as day on Ernie’s face, but she didn’t. The badge looked almost like a childhood toy that she had outgrown without realising it, and while intellectually she knew that being Head Girl was a good thing, the elation she had expected was conspicuously absent.
Professor McGonagall continued, laying down an overview of their responsibilities, explaining some new rules and going over the accomodations for the so-called 8th years, those who, as a result of the war had either missed or wished to repeat their 7th year.
“That brings me to a somewhat awkward topic,” said Professor McGonagall, steepling her fingers on the desk. “I’m sure you’re aware that several of the returning students had- shall we say, unclear loyalties, during the last school year?”
“I’m aware,” said Ernie darkly, while Hermione nodded silently, remembering that Ernie had actually been here to experience it all, while the three of them had been bickering and camping and pulling bank heists.
“And you are aware that Draco Malfoy will be among them?” she asked, raising one thin eyebrow.
“I’d say his loyalties were pretty bloody clear,” scoffed Hermione.
“The Wizengamot disagrees.” Said Professor McGonagall shortly. “And quite frankly, looking at the transcript of his trial, so do you, Ms Granger.”
Ernie grimaced, and Hermione scowled and folded her arms. It was no secret that a large portion of Wizarding Britain felt that Draco and Narcissa Malfoy deserved to be in Azkaban with Lucius, and while Hermione wasn’t sure she counted herself among them, she was sure that she wasn’t happy about Malfoy just sauntering back here as if nothing had happened. When she said at Malfoy’s trial that she didn’t believe he deserved life imprisonment, this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.
“Regardless, I assure you that Mr Malfoy’s return is not without conditions.” Professor McGonagall continued, “His magic use will be monitored, and his activities will be tightly curtailed. Unfortunately, for obvious reasons we are anticipating this coming year to be particularly taxing on both the staff and the students so we may have to occasionally rely on you two to be our eyes and ears where he is concerned. He will also be required to take on a few small prefects duties, for which he‘ll need supervision.”
“You can count on us,” said Ernie, puffing out his chest.
“And you, Ms Granger? I know that your history with Mr Malfoy is particularly-”
“Grim? Hateful?” Hermione offered bitterly, before she could stop herself, “Bloody?”
“-particularly difficult.” she said levelly, her face perfectly impassive, “I do not believe this coming year will be easy for anyone who attended Hogwarts during the Death Eaters’ rule, but I have no wish to make it more difficult than it needs to be for anyone, whether or not they are Head Girl. There are many areas in which your help would be most welcome, which require no extra contact with Mr Malfoy whatsoever.”
“I-” for a moment she was sorely tempted, but then she noticed Ernie looking at her with something close to sympathy, and her ego took over. “No. No, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, Professor.”
“Are you sure-?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She said firmly. “I could handle him then and I can handle him now.”
“Well said,” said Ernie, a little pompously.
“For the record, Ms Granger, that you could handle it was never in question.” Said Professor McGonagall gently, giving her a searching look, “I simply wanted to clarify that you do not have to, but if you say you can do this, then of course I trust your judgement.”
“I do say that,” said Hermione.
“Good. One more thing though; I feel it important to mention that although Mr Malfoy will be subject to tight restrictions, he will not be treated as a prisoner in this school.”
“But-” Hermione began, but Professor McGonagall silenced her with a look.
“His attendance is a part of his rehabilitation, not to mention a chance for him to prove that he is capable of moving beyond his past. A chance, I might add, that you yourself argued for, Ms Granger.”
“Yes, well- maybe, but-”
“No ‘buts’, Ms Granger. With the exception of the aforementioned restrictions, he will be a student like any other, and as such I will not tolerate bullying or discrimination, and I hope that you and the other prefects will take appropriate action should you encounter such behavior from any of the other students.”
Hermione knew better than to speak up again, but she folded her arms and scowled, internally seething at the idea of having to protect Draco Malfoy from bullies. It seemed like more than he deserved somehow.
“But, Professor,” piped up Ernie, his tone quite a lot more deferential than Hermione had been, “What if he- well, Malfoy isn’t exactly the nicest person, is he?”
Hermione might have imagined it, but she could have sworn that Professor McGonagall’s lip twitched upwards for a second, but then it was gone, and her face was unrelentingly impassive again.
“Let me be clear, both of you,” she said, “I believe that everyone who was forced into the war as a child deserves a chance to start their lives on better terms. I believe that throwing Mr Malfoy into Azkaban with his father and throwing away the key would be a cruel and ultimately pointless act, and I'm sure both of you will agree that all of us have had quite enough of pointless cruelty. However, giving someone that chance is not the same as giving them carte blanche. Ms Granger, Mr MacMillan, you have my assurance that if Draco Malfoy puts a single toe out of line I will personally ensure that the Wizengamot reconsider giving him such a lenient sentence.”
She said the last sentence with such grim determination that neither Hermione nor Ernie could respond, but Professor McGonagall just cleared her throat as if they were discussing the weather.
“Right,” she said breezily, “In that case unless either of you have any more questions, I don’t think there is anything else we need to cover today. Given the unusual nature of this coming year, with the larger intake of new first years and returning 8th years, we will be sending out a detailed overview of all the new changes along with the standard book lists before the start of term, but you are both welcome to owl me personally to raise any extra concerns.”
"Right,”
“Of course, Professor,”
“I suppose you’ll both be off to the Burrow then?”
Ernie made a small huff of surprise, but Hermione just smiled and nodded. Professor McGonagall smiled back.
“It really was terribly kind of Mr Potter to invite me to his birthday party,” she said, still smiling, and Hermione saw comprehension dawn on Ernie’s face out of the corner of her eye, “Of course it would be quite inappropriate for me to attend with so many current students in attendance, but a lovely thought nonetheless. Do send my love,”
Hermione nodded again. They said warm goodbyes, Professor McGonagall lingering for just a moment longer shaking Hermione’s hand than she had with Ernie. The look she gave her was neither pride nor sadness, but somehow Hermione felt in her bones everything her one-time mentor was trying to convey. Then, it was gone so quickly it was as if the moment had never happened at all. Hermione and Ernie said another quick goodbye, and made their way back down the spiral staircase. The halls were quiet and eerily clean as they approached the grand staircase, and somehow, hearing Ernie’s good-natured patter of small talk as they walked only made the emptiness seem more profound.
“It’s great though, isn’t it?” he said, pulling her out of her melancholy thoughts, “I was a bit worried that we’d miss out because technically we’re not seventh years,”
“Sorry?” said Hermione, blinking, “Oh, I’m sorry, Ernie, I was in my own little world for a second there. What were you saying?”
“Oh, just that I’m happy to get a chance to be Head Boy. I mean- it’s not as if I was going to get it last year…”
“No, I suppose not,” she said, frowning, “I doubt I’d have been in the running either. Actually, did they even have a Head Girl and Boy back then? I don’t think I’ve ever actually asked-”
“Oh yes,” said Ernie darkly “Sorry, I thought you knew… It was Malfoy- not that he was ever really around…”
Hermione balked, but only for a split second. When she gave it a moment’s thought it made perfect sense.
“Of course he was bloody Head Boy…” she muttered, a little bitterly.
“Yeah,” sighed Ernie, “Seems unfair, doesn’t it. McGonagall seemed to think it was more trouble than it was worth to try and get his name off the list of Head Boys and Girls in the trophy room though.”
“I mean- to be fair, isn’t Tom Riddle still on there?”
“Oh god, yeah, I think you’re right…”
“Malfoy’s an arsehole, but-”
“Yeah… yeah.”
Hermione nodded, and Ernie cleared his throat. They were halfway to the main entrance before either of them spoke.
“Who was Head Girl?” asked Hermione, realising too late that this topic was unlikely to be very much brighter.
“It was Parkinson for the first few weeks, but then she got squeamish about some of the more… hands on disciplinary measures that the Carrows insisted on, so she passed it to Millicent Bullstrode of all people.”
“Millicent Bullstrode?!”
“Yeah, I know,”
“I didn’t even know she was taking NEWTs…”
“Me neither, but she was all too happy to be the Carrows’ pitbull, let me tell you.”
Hermione hummed vaguely, trying not to imagine it.
“Didn’t she-?”
“Yeah, died in the Battle.” Murmured Ernie, “Not sure how.”
She nodded grimly, feeling a little nauseous, and they spent the rest of the journey to Hogsmeade in silence.
September approached with alarming speed, and for the first time in her life, Hermione found herself dreading her return to Hogwarts. The usual list of required books and equipment came a fortnight before term started, but this time there were two additional letters attached to it, penned in emerald green ink. It looked almost exactly like the one she’d got nearly ten years ago, but the nostalgia was bittersweet.
The letters were generic, the first sent to every student, or perhaps the parents, outlining changes to school rules, new teaching appointments, and reiterating the school’s ‘zero tolerance policy’ on bullying and discrimination. Hermione wasn’t sure where that policy had been in Snape’s classroom, or when Malfoy and his cronies took every possible opportunity to hurl abuse at her, but that was in the past now, and though she’d never admit it to Harry, she trusted Professor McGonagall a lot more than Dumbledore when it came to actually actively enforcing such matters. The second letter was probably sent just to the eighth years, explaining about how the new dormitory and common room would work, that as adults they would have some freedoms they hadn't enjoyed before, like being able to visit Hogsmeade any weekend, but would have other restrictions, like not being able to play on the house quidditch teams. Hermione already knew most of it, but she couldn’t help but see it all with new eyes, imagining how strange all of it would be with him there.
Hermione supposed she could have owled Professor McGonagall with any lingering questions about Malfoy, but she didn’t, somehow the thought of bringing him up while it was still the summer holidays was… tiring. She still had a whole week in which Draco Malfoy was safely lodged inside a box marked ‘not Hermione’s problem’, and she intended to enjoy it.
If only it were that easy. She was staying at Grimmauld Place until the start of term, and Harry and Ron insisted on endlessly supplying her with unsolicited advice on how to deal with him. They had only started their training to become aurors a few months previously, so everything was still new and exciting, apparently exciting enough forget that Hermione had already studied most of it for extra credit during sixth year, or picked it up out of necessity during the war. Annoyingly, the only thing that shut them up was her telling them that if anyone could handle Malfoy, it was Professor McGonagall.
“Yeah, that is true,” said Harry,
“Yeah,” snickered Ron, “She’d have his balls. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in McGonagall’s office if Malfoy fucked up,”
Hermione opened her mouth to irritably tell them that in case they had forgotten, she herself was entirely capable of handling Malfoy too, but the words died in her throat, and she just sighed. She was sick of thinking about Malfoy, and that included being angry at him, or watching Harry and Ron be angry at him
“Come on, you two,” she said wearily, “Don’t you think- I don’t know… don’t you think he’s suffered enough?”
They both balked at her. She might as well have said that Umbridge was her favorite teacher.
“No,” said Harry, his expression hardening, “I don’t think he has.” Ron nodded loyally.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said sharply, folding her arms, “You know I don’t think he should get off scot free, but if given a choice between sitting around snickering to myself at the prospect of him getting yelled at by a teacher, and using my time more productively, I would choose the latter.”
For a moment she worried that this was going to be the beginning of a bigger argument, but then Ron rolled his eyes and Harry smiled.
“You’re no fun,” said Ron affectionately.
“Yeah,” said Harry, “Thinking about Malfoy getting yelled at by teachers has brought me a lot of comfort over the years, you know.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She sniffed, but she was unable to keep herself from smiling back at them. She hadn’t yet managed to put into words how much she knew she would miss them in the coming year, but she was sure they knew anyway. That evening, as they were about to go to bed, Harry pulled her aside and shoved a familiar, ratty old piece of parchment into her hand.
“Just in case,” he muttered, “I know you can handle yourself and all, but-”
“Thanks, Harry,” said Hermione thickly, cutting him off with a hug.
“Wouldn’t have been much use to me back here anyway,” he said when she released him, shrugging one shoulder. “Just don’t lose it, yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Ginny, appearing at his shoulder as if from thin air, “I might need to borrow it once in a while,” Ginny grinned and shamelessly pinched Harry’s backside as she walked past him on her way to the bathroom. Hermione suppressed a laugh, and Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as they heard the bathroom door shut.
“I- uh- I said that Ginny could borrow it- you know, if she wanted-”
“Of course,” said Hermione, not bothering to conceal her smirk this time. Now that they were living in a house which contained neither Ginny’s parents nor an army of ever-watchful teachers and gossipy students, Ginny had become rather… bold, in her affection for Harry, and it was obvious he still wasn’t quite used to it. Ron would probably never get used to it. For her part, Hermione found it quite sweet, especially when Ginny managed to get Harry to blush, though she couldn’t deny that she was rather grateful that they weren’t coming back to Hogwarts together. It was all very sweet and endearing for a little while, but she was sure she’d be sick of it soon enough.
“So…” said Harry, shifting from one foot to the other.
“I’m going to bed, Harry,” she said firmly, pointing at him with the folded up Marauder’s Map, “You should too.”
“Yep,” he said, giving her a slightly sheepish but grateful smile before turning and pattering off to his room in Ginny's wake.
She spent the following day packing, and despite her yearning to return to Hogwarts, she couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of displacement, as if she was watching her life through someone else’s eyes. It was almost hypnotic, watching her belongings fit one by one into the trunk; clothes, shoes, uniform, textbooks, school supplies. All slotting into the heavy box the same way they had the very first time she had packed for Hogwarts, excited beyond reason to begin her new life. She sighed to herself, she envied that girl, the endless possibilities stretching out before her, with no clue what was to come…
She blinked and rapidly shook her head.
“For god’s sake, Hermione, stop being so depressing…” she muttered to herself, dropping her heavy winter coat into the trunk with a soft thump. She’d feel better once she got there. She had always hated the summer holidays, and now she felt she craved the structure and regularity of a normal school year even more, even if she was dreading some parts of it. Specifically, the Malfoy shaped parts of it.
Damn it, she’d managed to go this far without acknowledging his existence. They were still in ‘not Hermione’s problem’ territory, so she was determined not to waste mental energy on him until she absolutely had to. She tried to focus on packing again.
Since there were so few students returning from her year, and all of them would be turning twenty during the school year, the decision had been made to abandon the usual house dormitory structure for the eighth years. To Hermione’s knowledge there would only be nine of them including her and… him… so they would all be given their own rooms, along with a shared common room. It was going to be weird, no doubt about it, but at least this new arrangement meant she could afford to bring a few more personal items than she usually packed, if only to brighten up her room. A few framed photos of her and Harry and Ron, one at Bill’s wedding, one from last year with Ginny and Neville there too, one of her and her parents- that one was a bit painful to look at, but she packed it anyway, watching her parents smile up at her for a moment, their faces perfectly still besides the cheerfully moving magic photographs. She’d found them living in Melbourne, happy, maybe even happier than she’d seen them before, but the specialized team from St Mungo’s had told her that this would have to be a very slow, very careful operation, and it would be months, maybe even years before they would be able to recognize her, if it happened at all.
No, no this wouldn’t do at all. Now she was even more melancholy than she was before! She swore under her breath and stomped off downstairs to get started on dinner. The rest of the packing could wait.