1.
The Great Hall is abuzz with gossip and conversation coming from every direction. Every table, every pair, every group—there is not one eighth year returning student uninterested in the topic of the re-sorting.
Aside from Hermione Granger, that is.
Her curls sit on her shoulders and she sits at the Gryffindor table, jutting her bottom lip out to blow the occasional lock of hair out of her face. She’s surrounded by her familiars—Ginny, Harry, and Ron all huddle around one another and discuss who they think might actually be sorted into a different house.
“Bletchley might as well go to Hufflepuff this time around.” Ginny says, tone playful. “He always gave off that feeling to me. Right, Hermione?”
Ginny bumps her left shoulder with a small laugh and Harry and Ron await her remark, but she says nothing. “‘Mione? Are you alright?” Harry asks, dipping his chin down low to bring her gaze up to meet his. It snaps her out of her train of thought.
“What?” She says, looking up suddenly. “Oh, right.. Fletcher. Ravenclaw, really?”
“Bletchley. Hufflepuff,” Harry corrects, “...what’s on your mind?”
She blows a harsh breath out of her mouth and rubs her hands together. “I don’t know,” she says, taking a look around. “Doesn’t this feel... weird to you?”
“What?” Ron asks, picking up a drumstick and dropping it onto his plate. Ginny rolls her eyes at him.
“This. All of this,” she says, motioning her hands around the room. “How is everyone just acting so casual about being back here? The amount of time spent repairing the building… the battles fought in this room? And now we’re all just here, eating dinner and casually waiting to be sorted into our houses?” She finishes with a huff, noticing that she’s caught the attention of a few other students nearby, who all look uncomfortable.
Harry hesitates. “No.. it is odd. I know what you mean, Hermione. I just… I feel like the goal here is to try and make things as regular as possible. Especially with the first years coming in this year. It feels wrong to me too,” he says. His words seem to overrun his thoughts and he sort of spills the sentence out. It’s clear he doesn’t really know what to say. She regrets bringing it up. There’s an awkwardness that floats in the air now.
Ron opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a loud bang that comes from the bench at the front of the Great Hall. All eyes are drawn to it immediately. Hermione’s eyes have a heavy sting as she watches McGonagall—Headmistress McGonagall—lightly walk up the steps to the podium where Dumbledore once stood. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and she only realizes she’s been holding her breath when Harry rests his hand over hers from across the table.
“Students, if I may have your attention,” Minerva starts. Her eyes are set and she looks older, tired, and sad. It’s truly a hard sight to see, but Hermione can’t take her eyes off of her.
“I understand that many of you have questions and are feeling quite a large range of emotions about returning to Hogwarts this year. I received countless letters—ranging from supporting words to letters of protest, and everything in between. I would like you all to know that an eighth year of learning has been made mandatory.” She pauses, as if awaiting more groans or sighs in protest, having added a whole new year to their standard curriculum. But there’s nothing. The entire hall remains dead silent, to her surprise.
“Well then. Moving on,” she continues, “I am quite sure you all have heard either by owl or by word of mouth that there is a re-sorting process that has been put in place by the Ministry this year for returning eighth year students. I understand there are mixed feelings about this as well, but let me remind you, this is not optional.”
“A waste of time,” a voice hisses as McGonagall continues to explain the mandate, and Hermione’s head turns to her right to see a girl sitting further down along the table. Her breath hitches slightly. “It’s not as if our houses are going to change. This is completely unnecessary.” She says.
She looks back up at the stand.
“We’ll begin with Ravenclaw.” McGonagall says, plainly. It seems as though she is uninterested in this event.
Almost all of Ravenclaw gets sorted right back into Ravenclaw. Hermione barely bats an eye at the sound of the hat switching a student here or there into Gryffindor, or into Hufflepuff. It’s not surprising to see some specific students being added to different houses, after deeds completed during the war that changed their stance. But for the most part, everyone seems quite comfortable in their seats already.
The same process follows for both Hufflepuff and Slytherin.
“Ernie MacMillan…. HUFFLEPUFF!”
“Hannah Abbott… RAVENCLAW!”
“Zacharias Smith… HUFFLEPUFF!”
“Pansy Parkinson… SLYTHERIN!”
“Millicent Bulstrode… SLYTHERIN!”
“... Blaise Zabini… Theodore Nott… Gregory Goyle… Draco Malfoy… Daphne Greengrass… Astoria Greengrass… SLYTHERIN!”
A loud uproar of cheer erupts every time a Slytherin is sorted back into Slytherin. Hermione rubs her forehead with her forefinger and her thumb. Something between boredom or disinterest floats around her temples with sleep deprivation and exhaustion. Her head pounds. This is beyond ridiculous. Why are some students being forced to move into new dorms and unfamiliar common rooms when they are already uncomfortable about returning to Hogwarts? She can’t think of a single reason why this should have been a requirement for this year.
“And finally, Gryffindor. Let’s begin,” Minerva says, her tone even more tired as she adjusts the position of the Sorting Hat and dabs her forehead with a small handkerchief. “Neville Longbottom?”
She watches closely from her seat as Neville’s eyes shoot to Luna Lovegood, who is seated at her regular place at the Ravenclaw table and is sending him an encouraging smile. Hermione can see Neville’s old face in his new one. She remembers watching him get sorted into Gryffindor all those years ago, and although he looks far more solemn and much older now, his nervous manner is very much still there. He gets up and takes a seat on the stool, and the nervous expression on his face disappears after the hat takes no time at all to sort him back into Gryffindor.
Every student at the Gryffindor table stops holding their breath as soon as Neville takes his seat again. McGonagall works through a couple more students. Hermione watches as Dean Thomas gets sorted into Ravenclaw. His expression is slightly confused, and he looks a bit disappointed as he makes his way to the other table.
Hermione is the last to be called out of her friends. She watches as the boys get up from their seats and come sit down.
“Ron Weasley… GRYFFINDOR!”
“Harry Potter… GRYFFINDOR!”
“Hermione Granger?”
Ginny rubs her shoulder before she stands to walk up to the stool. She has almost no thoughts about it. She doesn’t think anything when she sits down on the bench, nor when Minerva sets the hat on her head. She stares out into the Great Hall, focusing on all the spots she could remember seeing bodies. She tries to remember who she saw where. She wonders what happened to their souls.
It takes a few moments for her to realize how long she’s actually been sitting up here, facing everyone. The hat is silent. Her glance shoots to Harry, and then Ron, and then Ginny, and then McGonagall—who looks slightly confused, but says nothing. She just gives her a small smile.
Hermione then chooses to look down at her hands while she waits. Why is this taking so long? She is truly a Gryffindor. There’s never been any doubt about it.
“Hmmm…” the Hat grumbles. “Interesting.” Hermione’s breath hitches. She feels her hands start to sweat and she looks around, awaiting her instruction. “Right.”
Gryffindor.
Obviously.
“SLYTHERIN!”
Hermione nearly chokes. Her eyes shoot right back to McGonagall, who looks absolutely dumbfounded, as well as every other professor sat up behind them. She looks at the Gryffindor table, and every single student wears the identical face. Harry and Ron’s jaws are practically on the floor, and she can see Ginny very deep in thought. She can feel her heart beating out of her chest. She feels sick. Her eyes travel to the Slytherin table, and she sees the students whispering to one another. She can feel their disapproval from all the way at the front of the room. The hall is silent. Hermione stands with shaky feet and begins making her way towards all the green ties. She has practically bit through the inside of her cheek now.
What the hell just happened?