The Return to Hogwarts
‘The story starts aeons ago-‘
‘James.’
‘Alright, alright! I’ll try to do this Siriously’
‘Pft- Good one Prongs!’
‘Cheers Padfoot. Anyways, the story actually started some seven years ago, but you all already know of the fate, the destiny, the-‘
‘James.’
‘Right- Ahem, you must already know of how these two young boys met, that fateful day inside Madam Malkin's getting their Hogwarts robes fitted. Of how the second ever wizard the famous Harry Potter, yes my son, my bloody amazi-‘
‘James!’
‘Yes, well, as I was saying – before I was rudely interrupted, Lily – this boy was the second wizard Harry Potter had ever talked to. The boy ended up squashing any chance he had of being Harry’s friend by insulting Harry’s only friend; which, if you ask me, is a weird and questionable friendship. But who am I to judge, right? Anyway, thus began the torturous bullying that weighed a bit too close to flirting. Quite frankly, despite loving my son unconditionally, I cannot fathom why Harry even bothered giving the boy so much of his attention because now he’s gone and mucked it all up by getting a sodding crush on the git.’
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Body’s rocked and swayed as the carriages pulled by thestrals carried returning students up the path towards the rebuilt castle. The air had erupted with gasps and cries of shock and horror. Many of the students had never laid eyes upon the thestrals in the past until after the war. What was the most disheartening was the smattering of gasps from the first years, as they passed on their ways to the boats that would transport them to the castle. They did not deserve to know or see such horrors that would grant them the ability to see the horrifying beauty that were such creatures.
Instead of getting caught up in the whispering of the younger years and the awed looks thrown his way, Harry had distracted himself by keeping his focus on Ron and Hermione. They sat in front of him, their hands clasped together in a tight grip, both of their knuckles turned pale from pressure. Harry knew, they did not have to say anything, but he knew that this was difficult for them too. At least Hermione seemed to be able to make sense of this whole mess of their, to Ron and Harry’s collective opinion, unnecessary return. She had gotten through to Harry during the summer holidays, however she was having a lot more difficulty with Ron. Where he was insistent that he had a place in the Auror’s waiting for him, and that returning to Hogwarts would be a waste of time where he could be building up experience on the field instead, Hermione was insistent that he would be able to learn and revise topics that being an Auror would not provide experience for. Harry could listen for hours, days, weeks, months, or even years, to the two of them bickering and being, well, them. It calmed him like no calming drought could, relaxed him and took the edge off of those harder days.
The war had not been easy on any of them.
Despite having the entire summer to rack his brain around what was being asked of them from their Professor – Headmaster, Harry was still getting used to the change - Harry still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that they were back to retake the year they’d missed fighting the war. He thought after all that he’d gone through he wouldn’t be expected to study school curriculum at eighteen. And although he saw no point, and that returning would set him back from being able to experience the world as a normal young adult, with no impending doom looming over him, he was determined to actually study. He had a sense of misplaced pride in him that said he had to prove himself worthy academically instead of being given everything on a silver platter, just because of who he was and what he did for the wizarding world.
But that didn’t make coming back any easier.
They were all struggling, in their own ways. Harry couldn’t pinpoint exactly how he’d been affected, but he just assumed that he was numb to it by now after having dealt with it for his whole life, starting at the bright old age of eleven.
What he didn’t expect however, was for the sight of the looming rebuilt castle to cause a sharp pain to strike his heart. It felt like a blade had made its home there and was slowly twisting the closer they got.
The sight brought forth a soft inhale, as though it would ease the pressure building up in his chest, help dull the pain in his heart.
The carriages came to a rattling stop, and Harry was jolted from his reverie as students of all years started to clamber out and towards the castle's front gates that were opened in warm welcome.
Harry guessed it was supposed to be a warm welcome. When he looked up at the dark oak wood doors with brass reinforcements all he saw was a mouth, gaping wide, ready to devour them all whole and keep them stuck in an endless memory of the summer gone.
An arm looped through his and, even without having to look, Harry knew it was Hermione linking the three of them together like a chain. Always stronger together, more sane together, suffering together.
“Well Ron, guess you can’t complain anymore,” Harry said over Hermione’s short stature. She hadn’t grown much whereas Ron had managed to grow even taller during the summer. Harry himself hadn’t grown much either, but he was able to look comfortably over Hermione’s head. “We’re here now, mate, might as well get used to it.”
With a resigned sigh, Ron rolled his eyes to the sky and then ducked his head, kicking the ground with the toe of his shoe. “Yeah, well, doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.”
“Oh, come off it, Ron.” Hermione said, “Believe me, one single year at Hogwarts will fly by. And it’s not even a full year, we’ll be done before we even know it.”
That seemed to quell Ron’s displeasure somewhat. He gave a huff of indignation and resolved to just simply kicking a few loose stones unearthed from the ground. Harry watched him, a ball of sympathy growing inside him as he watched Ron. It truly wasn’t fair, to be stuck with people around them who had been impacted by the war – many of their families impacted by their failure to save and protect them all. The feeling of lost time when they could be working and making something of themselves without the praise of being saviours of the wizarding world.
Before he could console Ron a curt cleaning of a throat cut through the air.
A sea of head’s turned and focused on the figure standing before them at the entrance of the hallway.
Despite the bitterness of the return, seeing and being in her presence brought Harry an otherworldly feeling of calmness. The feeling of coming back home after being gone for so long. A familiarity that could never be shaken off.
“Welcome back,” McGonagall was cut off by a smattering of groans, mostly from the returning eighth year, “this new school year, we wish to provide top academic teaching with a hundred percent transparency among students and teachers.
We want to ensure Hogwarts provides an environment where you feel comfortable to come to any of us with any concerns you may have. I do not doubt that many of you have been affected by the war last year, but we do not want this to impact your studies, so if you ever, ever, feel overwhelmed by workload, or if you feel your mental health is being affected by anything at all, you can come straight to me, or any other staff member.” She watched over the enraptured students, passed over the eighth years as many of them fell uninterested, too unhappy by their return.
“Now, all years except eighth years, please make your way to the Great Hall for dinner. We want a warm welcome for the first year students.”
McGonagall watched with a thin lipped smile as students swarmed past her and into the entrance hallway towards the Great Hall. The smile was small but bursting with fondness, a happiness only a teacher could feel at seeing how their students have grown over the summer, ready to start a new year. Once she had watched the final cluster of pupils stumble back into the castle, she turned her head back towards the lingering eighth years.
Apprehension was palpable in the air. Shoes scuffled against the ground as weight was shifted from one foot to the other.
Harry felt scrutinised under McGonagall’s gaze, and he had yet to set a foot into the building.
Her piercing green eyes flitted over each and every one of them over her square wire rimmed spectacles. They were a small group. Not many came back, too emotionally damaged by loss; some had gone to other wizarding schools such as Durmstrang or Beauxbatons, but McGonagall was just as pleased to see the ones that had returned.
“Welcome back.” She repeated, “I am aware of the controversy regarding the decision to send out an invitation to return to Hogwarts for a repeat of the year you all missed, or had interrupted. You were all encouraged to return, however under exceptional circumstances the invitations were rejected.” A squawk of indignation sounded from a couple of the people who had huddled closer towards McGonagall at the beginning of her return speech.
“Yes, yes, regardless, I expect you all to treat each other with nothing less than understanding, or at least be amicable with each other. We’ve all gone through a traumatic time, we need not have any disruptions during this school year. So please, please, keep your wands sheathed and if I hear even one complaint over non-inter house unity of any kind I will be seeing you in my office.”
Everyone shrunk under her sharp gaze.
Harry scanned the cluster of returning students, mentally checking off everyone with their name, his eyes flitting past until they halted on one figure who was too familiar, too ingrained in his memory to ever be able to ignore.
The shock of platinum white hair and the tall figure that now rose above almost everyone, save Zabini who stood next to him, had Harry frozen on the spot. He didn’t understand why he never thought to mentally prepare himself for coming face to face with the boy again after the trial, but Harry hadn’t entertained the idea that he would choose to return; seeing as return was not as compulsory as everyone had initially thought. Harry couldn’t return his gaze to McGonagall to listen to the rest of her welcoming speech. His blood had run cold, his right hand had closed into a fist as though he was holding his wand. His fight or flight response had been triggered all whilst standing at the entrance on the first day before even taking a step into the school building; which was saying quite a lot about how well ‘inter-house unity’ was going to go.
Harry hadn’t realised that McGonagall had finished her speech until Ron had jostled the three of them, who were still linked together at the elbows.
“Fuckin’ Christ mate, you’d think she wouldn’t have extended the invitation to them lot, would you?”
“Ronald.” Hermione reprimanded, “Just because they were… unsavoury towards us, does not mean they are any less deserving of their education.”
“’Unsavoury’, bloody ‘ell Hermione, you’re talking as if we’re discussing dinner menus, not backstabbing Slytherins who were on the dark side of the war!” Ron hissed back, his eyes tearing away from the miniscule group of Slytherins to look at Hermione incredulously.
Hermione pursed her lips into a thin line, scarily similar to that of their Headmistress’s disapproving glare. “You know as well a in s I do, Ron, that not all of them bare the dark mark. Zabini has been cleared, and you know this. It was all that was talked about in the Daily Prophet during Summer.”
Ron huffed out a breath of air, “Still doesn’t mean I’ve got to be buddy-buddy with them.”
“And I’m not asking you to!” Hermione replied sharply, her voice raising into a whispered shout. “Honestly Ron, we’re back for barely half an hour and you’re already complaining about something or other.”
Harry had been removed from his musings when he realised he wasn’t just imagining how silver-grey eyes used to glare at the mere mention of his name. In fact, those grey eyes are staring straight at him, however the glare was non-existent. Harry had never seen those once expressive eyes so… dull, so tired. It unnerved him so much it forced Harry to break the weird stand-off between the two of them.
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‘oooh, he's staring! He’s staring!’
‘Padfoot, I really can’t decide whether or not you are rooting for this anymore.’
‘Well, Moony, I’ll have you know that I will support my godson in anything he wants! Though I do agree with James, he definitely could’ve gone for absolutely anyone else.’
‘The heart wants what the heart wants.’
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Harry was pulled back into the conversation happening between Hermione and Ron and decided to break the building tension by tugging on his linked elbow connecting him to Hermione.
“Come on guys, there’s food in the Great Hall waiting for Ron to devour it.”
-#-#-
The first years had been sorted into their new houses and Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had been greatly celebrated, hats thrown in the air at the end with the older years clapping the eleven year olds' on their shoulders, backs, or ruffled their hair.
It was a joyous occasion, yet nobody dared to mention the silence that followed the youngsters who had been sorted into Slytherin. They had cowered under the intense gaze and deafening silence, their heads bent to watch their feet as they walked to the long table. The already sorted Slytherins crowded around them, clapped and invited them in in their own reserved way.
Harry had barely paid attention, entranced by the festivity, the lights, the cheers, the talking. He felt eleven again, his brain unable to comprehend the magic that was built into the very walls of the Great Hall. He couldn’t believe how masterfully the Hall had been repaired during the Summer. It was as if nothing had changed. The only thing that had changed was the doors and the ceiling that, since the very first day, Harry could never wrap his head around. It was intricately reinterpreted, not completely the same, something not quite right, but enchanting all the same.
The sky was a deep navy, speckled with stars, comets streaking their way across the night. Not a cloud in sight. An end of a chapter that will make way for a beautiful beginning that will be clear skies and fluffy clouds tomorrow morning.
Ron was chomping down on a chicken leg beside him, Hermione watching him with disgusted fondness opposite him, handing him a napkin when some of the garlic and herb sauce dripped onto his chin. He grunted his thanks and wiped it away before eyeing Harry’s plate.
Harry moved his plate away from Ron’s hungry gaze, “You’ve got your own plate mate, don’t dare try and steal my food.” He smirked. He didn’t think he could ever grow tired of their antics.
He looked back down at his plate and used his fork to push his sausage around, the gravy, mash potatoes and greens perfectly sectioned, ready for him to put them together in his own order on his fork. Only, he wasn’t as hungry as he thought he would be when he first walked in.
Harry couldn’t quite believe he was back. The thought was still so alien to him, and he knew it was going to take him a while to adjust.
The volume in the Hall increased causing Harry to glance up and around. Ron and Hermione had started to finish up their plate, which forced Harry to get up himself. He shoved the rest of the sausage in his mouth causing his cheeks to chub. Hermione rolled her eye’s good naturedly muttering ‘God there’s two of them’ as they made their way out of the Great Hall, following the sea of students.
Harry walked the unfamiliar-familiar halls, taking the moving staircases towards the Gryffindor dorms. He couldn’t wait to be back in the warmth and comfort of the red and gold common room.
Until a hand gripped his own and tugged him until he stopped walking.
Turning around towards the offensive limb, which was evidently attached to one Hermione Granger, a confused looking Ron standing by her side.
“Harry, where are you going?”
“Uh…” Harry stared longingly at the students who had continued to wander up the stairs. “To the Gryffindor dorms?”
“We’re not in the Gryffindor dorms this year Harry.” Ron replied tersely.
Harry was not following, and Hermione sagged, as though she was already tired of explaining everything. “Did you not listen to Professor McGonagall’s speech? The eighth years are sharing a dorm together, all the houses grouped together. ‘inter-house unity’ remember?”
“Why can’t we do ‘inter-house unity’ from the safety of our own houses? What’s going to happen to our house colours? Our points system? What about Quidditch?” Harry listed, unable to wrap his head around the whole situation.
“Been wondering the same, Professor McGonagall’s gone loony I reckon.” Ron said, his eyes darting around the hall to ensure that said Professor wasn’t anywhere near to hear his complaint.
“Well if either of you were listening you’d know!” Hermione whirled around to face both of them. With a huff and inhuman strength for such a small girl, she grabbed their biceps and lead them both down the correct corridors and stairs to get to the new wing that was built specifically for the eighth years, all whilst explaining.
“We all know that inter-house unity would not work if we were left in our original houses, we could just avoid them all like a plague. McGonagall said that our robes and ties and the like would be kept the same, to represent to the younger years that regardless of house colour and reputation we all can get along. Furthermore, the points system is still the same. Shared dorms does not mean we have one house between the lot of us. And you know as well as I do that Quidditch will not be accessible to the eighth years, we have to focus on our N.E.W.T.S and Quidditch would take up way too much of your time.” With a deep breath she concluded her reinterpretation of McGonagall’s speech, cut down and simplified for her two boys’ understanding. Bless them, but they tended to get quite muddled on a full stomach of warm food.
Harry and Ron followed after her, dragged slightly behind her as her confidence parted the waves of students scrambling to get to their dorms. They glanced at each other, shared a shrug and telepathically agreed to keep their opinions to themselves. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to challenge Hermione about this topic anymore than they already had seeing as this information came straight from McGonagall herself; and nobody crossed McGonagall when it came to her school’s rules.
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‘At least he still has some brain cells after the war.’
‘Good choice, good choice.’
‘Honestly wonder how we ever survived Hogwarts with how much we crossed Minnie.’
‘That was because she saw you lot as her mischievous sons she unwillingly adopted.’
‘Awh, Lily, you’re so sweet.’
‘Shut up, James.’
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It took them a couple more minutes to get onto the right staircase and move up towards the portrait entrance for the eighth year dormitory, but once they made it, all three came to the uncomfortable truth that they had no idea how to get in.
The trio looked at each other, all equally shamed at missing possibly the most important piece of information during the opening speech,
“Ambiance.” A cool voice echoed in the now eerily silence that fell upon the corridor.
Harry, Ron and Hermione’s heads turned to look at who had said the password that opened the door to the common room.
Malfoy barely spared them a glance, a look of disinterested weariness dragged down his face as his eyebrows pinched in and the corners of his lips turned downwards. He towered over Harry and Hermione, but battled against Ron over who was the inch taller. His hair had grown out, hanging limp but tied back in a loose bun. His cheeks had sunken in, not yet recovered from his short stay in Azkaban during and after his trial in the Summer. He wore his house colours, but not as proudly as he used to. Instead, he seemed to be itching to be rid of them. He walked forward without another word and entered the common room without a look back.
Ron gave an indignant noise, “Who in their right bloody mind thought to invite him back!”
“Professor, and Headmistress McGonagall, that’s who.” Hermione nudged them both and flicked her tightly coiled hair over her shoulder, “Now come on, before the portrait door closes again.”
They walked in, a wave of heat washing over them as the fire in the hearth blazed alight. There were hanging plants on the mantelpiece, small succulents on the tables dotted around the room. Tapestries with emblems of all the houses and significant figures encased in their own portraits were hung on the walls, sofas and high backed chairs in a semi-circle facing the fire, a coffee table situated perfectly in the middle. An ottoman sat at the side ready for use. The walls were the castle bricks, but insulated to keep out the cold Scottish wind.
It was homey, but not home.
It wasn’t the Gryffindor common room the three of them had come to love and call theirs. But it’d have to do. They’d be in it for just one year, then they’d get to leave and start a new life, a safer life, living for the first time since the return of Voldemort.
Harry only hoped he’d survive the year to experience it.