Introduction/Prologue
It had been a month since what would be considered the official end date of the war. No one had their life together. How could they when lives were shattered, and the pieces were blown apart, trampled, and ground into dust? You could barely function, staying holed up in your best friend, Blake Dominguez's, bedroom in her family's house. She wasn't there. No one was. Her parents were collateral in the war, and she couldn't bear to stay in the home they had all once shared. Seeing how your current family affairs stood, you didn't want to spend your days in your own residence if you could help it, so you invited yourself to her space. You felt a bit uncomfortable occupying her bedroom, and the house of a demolished family, but besides the primary purpose of escaping your home life, you couldn't bear to let Blake's residence become abandoned. Plus, you had enough faith that she would've been kind enough to let you float around the house anyways. It wasn't like you were squatting here either, completely disregarding the pain and grief that was now woven into the walls. It wasn't really that much better for you here either. After all, you'd made your fair share of memories here too. This was your second home, a sanctuary from the life you had so desperately sought relief from, and a portal to the Muggle world you craved to indulge in. The ghosts of your past floated around these rooms; it was silhouettes of dancing in the front room with Blake, shadows of baking in the kitchen, and painted faces from late night makeovers. This house was safe for you, sure, but it still stood as a monument of something else you had to mourn. There was always your Muggle friend in the city you could run to, try to escape magic and wizarding altogether, but how could you even attempt to cover up your grief and misery from a war they didn't even know had happened in a world that, to them, didn't exist?
You were prepared to spend the rest of your days rotting away between the four walls of Blake's bedroom, contemplating how many ways you could throw the rest of your existence away, but life, being the cruel and unrelenting force it is, had other plans for you. It was some mild afternoon in the beginning of June, and you were sat on her bed, absentmindedly tracing the lines and curves of the tattoos on your thigh when a small grey owl settled on the ledge of the open windows above the headboard. In its beak, a plain beige envelope, your full name printed in thick black ink.
Without a sound, it dropped the envelope onto your pillow, flapping its wings for a few beats before taking off, coasting left out of view. Confusion and apprehension began to soar within you, but as you reached out to flip the envelope over, your stomach dropped, seeing the insignia of the Ministry of Magic. With tremoring hands, you tore apart the envelope feverishly, ripping out the paper inside. You clutched the parchment in your hands, choking on your breath as you read the text on the page.
To the addressed,
In accordance with the reformation program detailed in the Recovery and Retribution Act pertaining to post-war relief efforts, any current student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with direct or indirect involvement and/or affiliation, whether personal or familial, with the dark wizard, Voldemort, and his followers, the Death Eaters, will be required to adhere to an adjusted curriculum. Offending students from the most recent graduating class will attend an additional year at Hogwarts to complete their Year 7 courses in addition to the new curriculum. This additional year is mandatory, regardless of academic standing or any other outstanding factors. Failure to abide by this summons will result in arrest and detainment in Azkaban. Time served will be determined off a base sentence of 6 months, and will increase in severity after examination of the student by trial through the Wizengamot.
If you have received this letter, you are required by law to return to Hogwarts this upcoming year. Details of your term and curriculum will be determined based on your circumstances and involvement with the war, which shall be examined by case workers of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and delivered to you in a few months time.
Confirmation of receival of this notice has been sent to the Ministry of Magic.
Approved by Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic.
Nausea. Confusion. Apprehension. It all washed over you, crashing down on you like waves of lead. Your world seemed like it was somehow dismantling itself further at the thought of returning to a site of such immense pain, full of reminders of lives before tragedy, and souls before darkness creeped in. You were suffocating, screwing your eyes shut, trying to ignore how much this stung. It was salt in the still-gaping wounds of the war, left undressed and exposed. Though the sun's rays were warm on your back, you still shivered with the unshakable chill of dread.