After

Minerva appeared just inside the gates at Hogwarts, having left St. Mungo’s not two minutes before. She almost felt bad about lying to Therese, but it simply had to be done. She closed the gates and put all of the complicated locks, both physical and magical, in place, another thing that just had to be done. She then repaired the large hole in the stone wall just immediately to the left of the gate, which rendered all of her locks useless if unrepaired. 

“That should keep them all out for a while,” She muttered to herself, turning to look at the still-broken facade of her beloved castle. She had too much work to do to be dealing with any interruptions, no matter how well-meaning. 

She could feel that the wards were damaged, she didn’t know how she knew that, but she had, for years, felt when things were wrong within the walls of her school. It was always like a pricking sensation at the back of her neck, and a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She read once that places with as much magic as Hogwarts, places where magic goes to grow, with wards strong enough to keep out almost any threat, places where magic is soaked into the ground, become almost sentient. 

Many a Headteacher at Hogwarts had written about feeling more and knowing more than they should while inside the walls of the school; as if they had become as integral to it as the stone from which it was built. Albus had mentioned that feeling to her once, at the beginning of their terms as Headmaster and Deputy Head. She felt it then too, and before, but she didn’t mention that to him. It was as if the place had reached out and chosen her long before she was really given any power over it. That was the feeling that had her coming back to this place every time she wanted nothing but to run and hide from the world. That was the feeling that drew her back now. 

Now the feeling was much stronger, perhaps because the damage was so much more extensive, or perhaps because she had been officially conferred the title that put her in tune with the grounds around her. She couldn’t be sure, but she could be sure that the wards and spells that had been placed around the school at its inception, and all of the ones added since were weakened now. She felt that very clearly.

But it was more work than she was willing to put in right now, more power than she felt she had at the moment. That feeling would simply have to sit in her chest with the rest of the pain and guilt that was crushing her slowly. 

Passing by the burned shell of Hagrid’s house, she walked out to the lake. It was marvelously untouched by what had happened on those grounds behind her, the water was placid and clear as if this were any other summer day. There was some peace to be found in that. She turned away from it again, to face her troubles head-on. Hagrid, her dear friend and colleague, was not going to come home to this, on that she was set. She wasn’t quite sure where to begin, as it appeared to her that there was nothing there to save. Tears sprang to her eyes quite involuntarily. Her personal things had been completely untouched, her rooms were tucked safely enough in the stone of the castle that she had lost little in the way of material things. Hagrid had not only lost so much in friends and students but almost every material thing he had owned. She added that to her guilt. 

She cleared away the burned remains of wood and fabric and clay and all of the things that make a home and left only the stone foundation, half scattered across the once well-maintained garden. It was someplace to start, at least. She crossed the space between where she stood and the smashed seedlings in the garden. She picked up one of the stones that belonged to the foundation of her scorned colleague’s home.

“Merlin,” She whispered to herself, feeling further the guilt she’d felt for years about how their world treated dear Hagrid. 

He was far too kind a soul to have been shunned and mistreated as he was. Innocent of every crime he was ever accused of, his education stolen, the course of his life changed irreparably by lies that she had once been too stupid to see for what they were. She was ashamed to admit that she hadn’t seen through Tom Riddle when he was a student, she didn’t trust him, no, she never trusted him, but she didn’t stand up to defend Hagrid either. No, she let the Aurors drag him, a fourth-year student who had never so much as talked back to her, out of the school and off to break his wand and essentially banish him from their world. Thankfully Albus, in a rare moment where his compassion and foresight exceeded her own, took him on as an apprentice groundskeeper. She had sought out his forgiveness more than a decade later, in a fit of drunken grief, and found that, as usual, he bore no ill will and held no grudges. From then on they had gravitated towards each other whenever times were hard, they were better friends than most. 

So as she stood before what remained of the home he had made for himself, she felt a growing resolve that she would make up for what was taken from him. As much of it as she could. Starting with this house, she was going to give him something back, even though she knew it could never be the same, it had to be done. She used magic to gather and replace the scattered stones, leaving the foundation whole at least. Unsure how to proceed with the house she turned to the garden, seeking to save whatever she could. 

She thought nothing of her skirts as she knelt in the damp garden, summoning up her dragonhide gardening gloves. She spent a strangely peaceful hour straightening up seedlings and replanting uprooted perennials. Perhaps it wasn’t the most productive use of her time, but someone had to do it, it might as well be her. Some things couldn’t be saved, and the harvest would never be as good as it might have been, but it was better than never trying. 

She thought also of how no one could know what the trajectory of Hagrid’s life would have been if he had not been expelled. That was another thing that could never be the same as it was, but she could try something now. With her newfound power as headmistress the rules were hers to make up as she went along and she had just decided that expulsions could be reversed, and she was going to reverse Hagrid’s. That would allow him to have a wand that wouldn’t have to hide in an umbrella. She would readily accept him in remedial courses, during the school year or summer breaks if he wanted them. Yes, that was a wrong she could make right, and it simply had to be done. 

She stood up stiffly from the garden, aching all over, but feeling rather well accomplished. She summoned up a stream of water and finely misted all of the replants, though it did look like there was rain on the horizon. She turned back to the house, rolled her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and started in again. It had to be done.