The Invitation
The Invitation
Summer 1998
There was an elbow in her neck, a teacup nudging her in the cheek, Pigwidgeon zooming around the lanterns, but somehow the chaos of The Burrow soothed her. There was a rhythm to the madness. Sometimes it made Hermione ache a little over her parents, still living happily as Wendell and Monica Wilkins in Australia. The Weasleys were a fantastic adoptive family, but they also left her feeling a bit homesick. Harry and Hermione were squeezed onto a bench with the twins and Charlie, who had yet to return to Romania after The Battle of Hogwarts. Last Hermione had seen Ginny, she was buried under several layers of quilts, mouth wide.
Meanwhile, Ron was doing everything he could to avoid looking at Hermione. Things have been awkward between the two ever since Mrs. Weasley, who had learned about their brief kiss, had started to talk about a double wedding for Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron. All four had yelled no rather loudly at her.
The aftermath of the battle was hazy, but Hermione still remembered throwing her arms around Ron and their sure but awkward kiss. But then they discovered Percy, surrounded by a weeping clan of Weasleys, and everything else faded to the background as Ron started shouting in his grief, blaming the stupid git for coming back. Ron had collapsed in his mother’s arms, tears streaking his face. His strangled “he should have stayed out of it” still woke her up some nights when the dreams became too much.
“Hermione, dear, drink up. The cup is getting impatient.” Molly Weasley smiled, nodding towards the chipped tea cup that was now attempting to jam itself into Hermione’s lips.
“What’s that then? The Prophet? I thought we stopped getting that rag,” Fred hollered, reaching out and snatching the newspaper from the delivery owl. George shooed it away as he grabbed the paper from Fred’s hand.
“Oi! I was going to—” Fred did not finish his statement as he lunged at his twin, knocking Harry in the chin in the process. Hermione ducked out of the way before she was also a casualty of the wrestling match. “Get off me, mate!” one howled as the other pulled a fistful of ginger hair.
“I was… going… to… read that!” Fred’s volume matched George’s as they struggled. Mrs Weasley hummed by the sink, ignoring the infighting behind her as she finished breakfast.
Harry and Hermione shared a smile as Charlie snatched the paper from the bench where it had fallen. His eyes widened slightly, his mouth dropping open.
“Bloody hell!” He waved his hands and motioned for the twins to quit their squabble. They paused -- Fred still had a handful of George's hair while George's elbow pressed into Fred's side -- to read over his shoulder.
“Charles Prewett Weasley! Language!” Of course, chaos may reign at the Burrow, but Molly would never tolerate foul language.
Charlie mumbled an apology to his mother and showed everyone the front page.
The first thing that made Hermione pause was the group picture front and centre. In it stood a platinum blonde, hair swept back in his usual style. A tall black boy stood next to him while a petite girl with a raven bob sneered up at them. Hulking in the background were two more people, one of whom had been dead for weeks now. Hermione moved closer to Charlie, squeezing her body between Fred and George. She stared at the visage of Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe. The photograph looked to have been from 6th year. In the photo, Malfoy wasn’t sneering like the rest of the group but instead looked contemplative, as though he was staring at a riddle slightly out of frame.
In bold letters, the Prophet proclaimed them free. Hermione barely registered the outrage of the men surrounding her as she chewed her lip. Twins had released each other and George started reading aloud.
“Malfoy Heir to return to Hogwarts.” Fred attempted to interrupt, but Charlie wrapped a hand around his mouth and nodded for George to continue. The kitchen was deathly quiet.
“The infamous children who had taken the Dark Mark at the height of the war were released today under ‘strict monitoring and supervision’ according to a spokesperson for the DMLE. Notable releases include Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of incarcerated Lucius Abraxas Malfoy;, Blaise Emil Zabini, son of Heiress Jacquline Zabini (nee Rosier); Pansy Parkinson, daughter of incarcerated Death Eaters; and Gregory Douglas Goyle, son of Goyle Sr., who recently received the Kiss [see page 12 for details].
When approached for a comment, DMLE spokesperson Clearwater had this to say: ‘After weeks of deliberation, [the Wizengamot] spent this time reviewing memories willingly provided for the trial, eye witness accounts of the final battle, and court testimonies from both The Chosen One, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. They [Wizengamot] have decreed that under strict stipulations, these children are not to be sent to Azkaban.’
“After extensive research and no small amount of charm, this author has found the stipulation mentioned above.
“Each former child soldier will be held on house arrest until Sept. 1st, 1998 when they are expected to depart for a final year of schooling at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. There they will be expected to reintegrate with their fellow students and attend mandatory Muggle-related classes, including Muggle Studies, Muggle Politics and Governance, and Muggle Arts. It is Headmistress Minerva McGonagall’s hope that ‘with the introduction of more Muggle studies our students will not repeat the sins of their families.’” There were a few scoffs around the table at this remark, but George read louder, drowning them out.
“While this author finds this to be foolhardy, she has hope that the other students invited back for an 8th year at Hogwarts will possibly be able to refrain from hexes in those sacred halls. [See page 2 for more details on the first-ever 8th year at Hogwarts].”
George fell silent, and the quiet lasted a breath before everyone started talking over one another.
“Goyle’s dad? Didn’t realise he had one of those.”
“RELEASED? What do you mean released?!”
“I’m surprised they listened to my testimony.”
“Let me see that!” Fred lunged across George’s lap, attempting to reach for the paper.
“Malfoy’s lookin’ fit in that photo.” At Charlie’s comment, everyone stopped and turned to him. “What? Death Eater or not, doesn’t make him less attractive.” He shrugged like it wasn’t the most absurd take of the entire article. Charlie shot Hermione with a knowing smirk and a look that clearly said, "What would they know about fit-looking blokes, am I right?” She could feel her cheeks flush but gave a small smile in return. She had always begrudgingly acknowledged Malfoy’s good looks.
“What do you think they mean by 8th year?” Harry’s voice brought them back to the article. He turned towards Hermoine, because if it was a school question, of course she would know. Just as she was about to open her mouth, Crookshanks pawed at her denims, two red sealed envelopes in his maw. Reaching down and patting his ginger head, Hermione retrieved the letters and noticed a feather on the back. She eyed her cat who simply blinked slowly in return. Sending up a silent plea that he did not eat Erroll, the Weasley family owl, Hermione glanced at the elegant script on both envelopes, silently passing the second over to Harry.
To: Hermoine J Granger
The Burrow, First Floor Landing
Ottery St. Catchpole
England
Dear Miss Granger,
I am reaching out to formally invite you to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a final year. Due to the circumstances of the previous year, The Board of Governors and Headmistress McGonagall have decided it is in the best interest of our youth to provide a complete education. With your extenuating circumstances, we hope that you will meet the Hogwarts Express on Platform 9¾ at King’s Cross Station in London on September 1st, 1998.
We await your owl by no later than July 31st.
Included you will find a list of text that will further your studies as you prepare for your N.E.W.T.s.
Sincerely,
Filius Flitwick
Deputy Headmaster
She looked up, her brown eyes meeting emerald. Harry’s brow furrowed, his scar disappearing into his forehead wrinkles.
“They want us to come back for another year? Are they mad? Is the school even repaired yet? They are just going to continue like nothing happened there!”
The Weasleys all started at the outburst, but Hermione was not shocked. Harry grew up at Hogwarts, possibly more than any other student in its history. She had thought maybe the school would reopen sooner rather than later, but her heart constricted at the thought of stepping into the Great Hall once more. The last time she had been under that starry sky families were mourning, friends searching for friends through the white sheets, hoping to not find who they were looking for.
“Well, obviously, I am not going. I already sent my letter of application in with Ron’s for the Auror’s program.” Harry waved his wand quickly and his letter disintegrated into ash. Hermione slipped hers into the back pocket of her denims and picked up her chipped teacup for a second time, already lost in possibilities.
✧✧✧
The Chief Warlock’s voice still rang in Draco’s ears. The wooden chair beneath him digging into his spine was the only thing grounding him into this moment. Even sitting before the entire Wizengamot and their steely gazes, the chamber was a veritable sauna compared to his damp cell in Azkaban.
“Make no mistake, a strand of hair over the line into anything untoward, and I will have a detail of Aurors at your wards to drag you before this court again. We will not have the same judgment come down a second time. If it was solely up to me, the four of you would be facing the same fate as your parents. Fortunately for you, my… colleagues,” Chief Warlock Elphias Doge narrowed his eyes at a specific red-haired man at the edge of the tribunal, Draco immediately recognised him as the Weasley patriarch, “have ultimately decided that children have no place in war and cannot fully comprehend the world outside their manors when their predecessors are under duress. The Wizengamot also recognises that without specific acts made by the four of you, we may have had a higher casualty rate among our younger generation.” Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Of course, children don’t belong at the front lines of war, and yet that is exactly where the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore put them. Doge made sure his blue eyes touched each set of eyes before him.
“Do not misunderstand this governing body. This is not a pardon. This is not leniency. You will walk out of these doors forever marked.” His gaze dropped to Draco’s exposed forearm. “For the crimes you took part in. With that in mind, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is reconvening for the Fall term. The four of you will be returning to complete your N.E.W.T. level classes and become productive members of this society. Several new Muggle Study classes will be added to the curriculum, and they will be mandatory for you to attend. In addition to your attendance, we are also inviting back other students for their 8th year.” His voice raised over the commotion from the witness box. While it had been a closed trial, several members of the press had been present along with several witches and wizards directly affected by Death Eaters during the war.
Doge took a moment to address each of them.
“For Mister Gregory Goyle and Miss Pansy Parkinson, you both will be returned to your mothers’s care under house arrest until the start of the Hogwarts Fall term. When it is time for you both to go into Diagon Alley for your school supplies, you will be accompanied by an Auror of this court’s discretion. You are, under no circumstances, to leave the wards of your homes until this time. We will also expect you to use a substantial amount of gold from your vaults to give back to the communities you have destroyed. No less than 200,000 galleons each. You are free to go.”
And just like that, two of Draco’s co-conspirators were escorted from the trial chamber, Goyle dropped his meaty hand to Blaise’s shoulder, and Pansy dropped a kiss on Draco’s sallow cheek, offering what comfort she could before they were removed from the chamber.
“Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy.” Doge’s voice was harder now, drawing Draco’s eyes to the front of the chamber once more. “For your part of the destruction to the entire country, The Wizengamot has decided that the above terms will also apply to you both in as well as an additional 300,000 galleons indicative of your families’ vast holdings. We have also removed your family seat on our esteemed council and dedicated them to two muggleborn households.” Until this point in Doge’s diatribe, Draco had been impressed with himself holding back all the biting comments running through his head. Unfortunately, he could not repress the exasperated noise that escaped his lips.
“I am sure Granger will be pleased with the nomination.” His tone was indolent. Let the goody-two-shoes take up the mantle to save whatever manner of beasts she likes. There were other members indebted to the Malfoy and Black names. Two who had been excused for this trial in particular.
“What an excellent suggestion; we had decided on Mrs. Mary Cattermole and Mr. Delphus Boot. However, I will have my under-secretary owl Miss Granger this evening.” Doge narrowed his blue eyes at Draco, lips in a thin line. It was a look Draco was familiar with in part because he was raised by ever-proper Narcissa Malfoy, who could silence a newborn mandrake with this look. Draco took the hint. Let them think it was their idea to nominate Granger to the body solely to spite him.
Ten minutes later, Blaise and Draco were standing in the Ministry Atrium surrounded by reporters from The Prophet. Rita Skeeter and Juke Prescott let their quick quills do their work as a set of rowdy American reporters screamed at the newly released criminals. They vaguely made Draco think of the Weasley twins and he paused, catching a flash of curls disappearing into a floo.
“Mr. Malfoy, what was Azkaban like?” His attention was brought back to the reporters, the taller American forcing his attention back to the group pushing closer to them.
“Draco! Draco! Can you tell us why the Wizengamot let you go?”
“Mr. Malfoy, over here! Can you give us a smile for Witch Weekly!” A shrill witch with perfectly coiffed purple curls flashed a camera in his face.
From behind him, there was a feminine scoff. Pansy and Goyle seemed to have been hiding somewhere in the Atrium, materialising from the shadows. “Mister Malfoy, please use your new freedom to seduce the knickers off our audience.” Pansy’s voice was a note higher as she mocked the reporter, fanning herself. Looping her arm through his, she rolled her eyes.
“Why am I not surprised that these vapid simpletons are more than eager to still put you on the cover of Witch Weekly?”
“They could never tarnish our Draco, just look at him. Even in Azkaban rags, he stands as if presiding over his kingdom. A prince among us.” Blaise held no hostility in his tone, just fact. This was something Draco, too, had come to realise even while he rotted in that cell. He could have blasted a ring of muggles in Diagon Alley and still have a fan club.
“When you are obscenely rich and have good looks, you still have appeal. Even to those who think they are above you. Some even prefer to be above you.” Draco grinned lecherously at the Witch Weekly reporter before the foursome separated to their personal Auror detail, each guiding them into their hearth to await the start of term.