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It started on the Platform. Harry, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley clan come to see her and Ginny off for their final year. Hugs were being passed around, wells wished. It was quite a bizarre feeling, returning to Hogwarts after all that had happened in the previous year. Voldemort was gone, yes, but the losses that came in his wake still scarred many of the students. The mood at the platform was apprehensively joyful, Hermione thought, she wondered if it would really be possible to go back, would it feel like the home she had known for six years? Was that a complete pipe dream? Harry and Ron seemed to think so, of course she couldn’t hold it against them, especially Harry, for not wanting to return. After all, they got the ok from the Ministry to start practical Auror training, there was nothing tying them to Hogwarts anymore. It would just be her and Ginny then.

“Well, see you then.” Ron said to her, his face reddening, while leaning into an awkward side hug. Their flirtation turned fling was put to an abrupt stop shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Hermione, trying very hard to make the physical side of their blossoming relationship work, never felt that lust that was so sought after, the spark, if it had been there, had died. Ron had felt it too, they could not get through their block, and ended amicably. She had cried of course. So had he. It was just another thing they had thought they had, but lost.

Turning around to give Harry a hug, she noticed them. The dark green eyes staring into her like a deer into the headlights. From this distance, she couldn’t tell if the look she was attempting to ignore was filled with the usual brutality that came from the gaze of one Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione lifted her eyes towards Pansy, and her eyes were still on her. Not to be intimidated, no matter how much the prodding eyes unnerved her, Hermione looked back, making the eye contact Pansy had been so intent to make. She held it for a minute, before the dark haired witch turned away, trudging her trunk towards the end of the steam engine. Hermione couldn’t help but notice that Pansy Parkinson was alone.

She broke the hug with Harry. “Weird”, Hermione muttered.

“What? Bothered, we won't be on the train to cause you all the usual trouble?” Harry said, elbowing Ron warmly.

“Yes, I will miss your antics dearly, almost as much as I will miss the risk of in-climate death raining down from Lord Voldemort.” Hermione replied, with an air of humor, tinged with truth. Harry chuckled with her. It almost felt too soon to laugh, but if they didn’t they would surely cry over all they had lost. “That, and Pansy Parkinson was just staring daggers at me, what do you think that is about?”

“Dunno, I think Mr. Weasley said something about the Parkinsons' awaiting trial in Azkaban, I guess she got the pass for being underaged.” Harry said, shrugging.

“D’ya reckon she's out for revenge because we won” Ron said gruffly.

She looked at him as if he had ten heads, really like she had looked at fluffy all those years ago, with confusion and a tinge of fear at what had been her knee jerk conclusion. Parkinson had managed to terrorize her with the ferocity of a vengeful bowtruckle. She had, over the past seven years, insulted everything from Hermione's teeth to her intelligence, to her lineage. She seemed to have lost everything in the war. Not to mention she was the student to insist that they should give Harry over to Voldemort. Hermione gulped.

Before she could say how ludicrous she hoped Ron’s accusations were, Ginny swept in next to her, from where she was telling her mother for the last time, that yes she would be fine, no she didn’t need anything else, yes she will send them an owl the minute she got back to Hogwarts.

“Let’s get out of here, before I get smothered.” Ginny spoke slyly. Hermione and Ginny had kept close over the summer, Ginny seemed to have been determined to hide from Harry, and the rest of her emotions, she had hardly cried since Fred’s death. She had turned to Hermione for her point of emotional contact. It wasn’t something she had a problem with, though she wondered how long she could bear the brunt, before Ginny realized that she was really just hiding. But who was she?

Hermione gave Harry and Ron her final hug goodbye, “You boys better behave yourselves while I’m gone. I love you both.” Ever since they had gone through the most traumatic days of their young lives, the three of them had made a pact to be completely honest and open, and being sure to say they loved each other whenever they would be leaving, whether it was to go to the grocery store, or in this case, departing until Christmas.

“Love you too.” they responded, the sincerity reverberated.

They hopped into the first compartment available, and shortly joined by Neville and Luna. As they pulled out of Kings Cross Station, she felt a wave of sadness overtake her. She waved at Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys through the window. As they pulled through out of sight, a tear rolled down her face.

A few hours adjusting to life without her two best friends, she took a stroll through the train, feeling the familiar rumble under her feet. She let herself be taken by that feeling that used to bring her so much comfort. It was this train that brought her independence. She closed her eyes, she heard a game of exploding snap being played three compartments down. Peace.

She walked down and down the train corridors looking for some familiar faces, she certainly encountered some fourth years she had seen around the halls before, when she had been a prefect, and they, little second year babies. She found herself looking for those whose faces she would never see again. She picked up her pace.

Eventually she made it to her destination. She had scarcely realized the final train car had a caboose balcony which looked over the tracks, not many people had. Hermione was sure that she had a place to be alone. She had only found it in her fifth year prefect rounds, always eager to please, she swept the whole train, as far up and back as she could get. She needed to adjust. It felt like she had spend the whole summer 'adjusting', to a world finally at peace, and to a world deeply scarred from lost.

When she got there, however, she was not alone. She instead was met with dark green eyes.

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She had not been surprised, or, well, she should not have been. She did not jump back, she did not flinch, Hermione just went on, pretending those eyes weren’t attempting contact. And why should she? She didn’t owe her, she didn’t care, not about Pansy. Hermione Granger, was not in the mood to deal with anyone, particularly someone who seemed to direly want her attention. She just wanted to be alone on this bloody train for five minutes.

She looked into those sharp, dark green eyes. Apparently spurred on now out of the public lens, the raven haired woman looked back. From here, Hermione could definitely say the glare was not the brutal, uncaring, cold one which she was accustomed to. Pansy seemed a more reserved version of herself, less icy. A word that could be used to describe it, was vulnerable. Her dark green eyes were soft, there wasn’t an angry or vengeful arched eyebrow, if anything her eyebrows were knit together, worried.

But Hermione didn’t see any of this, all she saw was the fact that the eyes were not threatening, that was enough, as long as no one was trying to kill her on this balcony, train tracks of Scotland running beneath them, she could breathe. Hermione did her best to ignore the other woman’s presence, she put her arms on the rail and bent down, resting her head between her hands. The cool of the bar brought her back to some sense of reality. Life really wasn’t the same. She missed Harry and Ron. What would the castle look like? It's crumpled visage still marred her nightmares. She shuddered as the wind swept through her ears, creating a sensation as if the world were running at thousands of miles an hour. She was hurtling through space, unable to stop.

“Er, Hermione,” a quiet voice came from somewhere behind her. She noticed two things out of this, one, she had never heard this tone used in her direction by this voice, and two, she had never heard her first name come out of that mouth. The cold metallic railing had her bones chill, she felt it wind up her wrist like a snake. Before it was always ‘Granger’ or ‘Mudblood’. She thought down to the scar on her left arm.

“Parkinson.” Hermione said through gritted teeth. She couldn’t. She was on her way back to where she had seen the most horrible images, she was standing next to her. It all felt too much. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to breathe. She lowered herself to the floor, the rumbling of the train becoming steadily more distressing, less steady. She put a hand to her chest. Her vision blurred, she couldn’t focus on anything around her. It felt like her world was coming crashing in, again. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she was cursing herself for breaking down for what felt like the hundredth time this summer.

Dark hair came into view, pale face, sharp features. She felt a hand on hers, there was a voice coming from the face.

“Breathe”, it sounded worried. “Look at me, can you look at me?” She scanned and found green eyes.

“That's good, yea.” The voice paused “umm, follow my breathing, yes, ok. One, two, three, one, two three, in and out. Steady now, steady”. Listening to the voice, which had a surprising level of calm, she followed, one, two, three, one, two, three. For what must have been at least ten minutes of guided breathing, based on how the cold of the metal ground had seeped through to the back of her legs, Pansy sat with her. The world came back into view, she could breathe. She had air in her lungs, it had occurred to her that she was, in fact, on the floor of the train’s balcony. So all in all Hermione’s overwhelmed, oxygen momentarily deprived mind successfully put together the following: she was on the floor, she had air in her lungs, and Pansy Parkinson was holding her hands, calming her down? Had her nose always had those faint freckles? Breathe, one, two, three.

As Hermione was coming out of her panic, muddled footsteps were bustling towards the end of the car. Pansy, for her part, seemed to be ignoring the sound, which was surely becoming more of a ruckus. She maintained her focus on Hermione, still quietly counting, maintaining the pattern.

“Hey! Leave her alone.” a flash of red hair was upon Pansy. Tall, muscular, Ginny Weasley. She must have come looking for Hermione. With the finesse of a chaser, she shoved Pansy’s smaller frame out of the way, knocking her clear to the other side of the balcony. “What did you do to her?” Ginny said, pulling out her wand, pointing it at the dark haired witch.

Hermione, who had caught up to the events transpiring around her, got to her feet, hoisting herself up with the railing. Still stressed, and slightly confused at the fact that Pansy Parkinson had actually helped her through a panic, this jump to combat was decidedly not helping,

“Ginny, leave her alone! She wasn’t doing anything!” Hermione said, effectively calling off the wand holding Pansy at bay, for whatever that meant. “I think I should head back to the compartment. I need to be quiet for a minute.”

Ginny, taking that as her cue, sneered at Pansy, who at that moment was looking rather confused and upset.

“Is there anything I can do?” Pansy asked, her voice maintaining that level of calm Hermione had recognized as she was on the floor, though the familiar viciousness she sent with her gaze towards Ginny was apparent.

“I’ve got her, you have done enough, Parkinson.”

And with that, Ginny unceremoniously appointed herself to be Hermione’s protector. She didn’t know how she felt about that. Well, actually, come to think of it, she disliked it quite a lot. The unpacking could wait. She looked over her shoulder, gazing back at her, viscousness softened once more, was Pansy.

It had just occurred to her, in her own Murder on the Orient Express melodrama, that Pansy seemed to have wanted to talk to Hermione, and the fact that, evidently, this did not extend to Ginny. She was glad to be somewhat certain, however, that Pansy didn’t seem like she was out to get her. It could only be a few things, she assumed that she would want to say. Maybe she wanted to tell Hermione that it was her fault, that she had, with the help of Dumbledore, her best friends, the staff of Hogwarts, the students of Hogwarts, many of whom gave their lives, ruined her life. Maybe she just wanted to move on and needed some self pitying closure. Hermione could feel herself being cold, could feel herself leaning away for her consistent compassion. No, she thought, I will not come out of this thing bittered. Maybe Pansy just wanted some peace and quiet, just like her.

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The rest of the train ride had Hermione quite out of it. Her compartment mates seemed far too worried about her well-being. She was pretty worried about it herself. She wasn’t expecting the return to be this hard. She, of course, was excited to go back to Hogwarts. It had meant so much to her when she was a kid. Where she was expecting the feeling of homecoming to overwhelm her, instead it felt like she was ripping open recently closed scars. She settled it within herself, that would be the last time she panicked on the train, or this term.

She gazed out the train window, fields of lush green sped past, dotted with the occasional cow. She had the vague notion she may have pitched a tent just past that hill soaring by. Her mind wandered back to Pansy. Why had she treated Hermione with such kindness? Where had the person who Hermione knew to be rather vile? Not that she was complaining at the change in disposition, of course. War must change people, she concluded, I mean look at me. A fluffy cumulus cloud that had been blocking the sun moved out of the way, immersing her face in warmth. Another thing of note, Pansy had dealt with her state of panic quite well, better, if fact, than Ron or even Harry who, until this afternoon, had been the only ones to witness her occasional state. As well intentioned as they were, they didn’t really know how to handle it. They took a rather passive approach of letting her know they were there, but mostly letting her ride it out on her own. It was nice to not be alone for that moment. But how did Pansy know what would help? Did she panic too? Dusk was falling outside her window, she picked at her fingernails.

At long last, the train slowed to a halt at Hogsmeade station. Finally, still, fresh, mountain air would hit her face, familiar landscapes and homely fires would soon have her taken back to a more peaceful time, it would be as if she had never even left, or as if the war hadn’t happened.

She opted to urge Luna and Ginny ahead of her, she was rather weirded out by the behavior Ginny had shown in the caboose. It was oddly possessive. Hermione once again left exploration of those thoughts for another time.

Neville was one of the students in her year who had decided to continue their education, it made sense considering Neville was forced into hiding in the last months of what should have been his final year. He was always kind, and though he still didn’t seem to have a consistently steady hold on his toad, Trevor. At that moment he was looking under the train seats for him. Hermione was happy to have the company, she noticed Trevor had, incredibly, made a home atop her luggage, far above their heads.

“Neville, Trevor’s up here!” Hermione said, brought back to the very first time she was on the train, where she and Neville, too, had been searching for the frisky toad. This was the sensation Hermione was looking for, the happy nostalgia.

“Thank you!” He said enthusiastically, “when are you going to be cool and stay with me?” He directed at the toad. “I really don’t know what to make of it at this point, it's been eight years of him scampering away, at least when we get to the castle he’ll be tucked safely in the dormitory.” Hermione nodded along in a warm and friendly manner, she was just glad that Crookshanks continuously made it his business to hunt outside and not in the castle.

Together they made their way off the train, cat and toad in arm respectively. The crowds were subsiding, the first years were gathered around the large figure she knew to be Hagrid. They made their way through the crowd of first years, most of which were at least a head shorter than the two of them, towards the booming voice, “First years with me please”. Hagrid looked in their direction, all focus lost, he immediately beamed. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” He said, his massive eyes already brimming with tears. Closing the distance, the two Gryffindors were swept up in an iconic back cracking hug, another bout of happy nostalgia hit Hermione, maybe she would live up to her promise to herself, the breakdowns left on the train.

She was gently put down, taking in the world around her, she was not surprised as she felt heavy tears hit the top of her head. “Hagrid, I am so happy to see you! We must have tea, perhaps Saturday?” She truly meant every word, seeing Hagrid, it was as if nothing had changed, for the time being she could push away her placid nerves for the sake of being here, in the present. Neville nodded along, it seemed over the year she had been absent from the castle, Neville and Hagrid had struck up a closer friendship, Neville also was one of the few in their year who continued Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid’s subject.

“Ya can bet I will have the kettle waiting and plenty of rock cakes,” He was still smiling with steady tears streaming down his beard, he looked around at the students gathered around the three of them, some having clear recognition of Hermione, looking on her with awe, and some looking like they hadn’t the faintest idea of what was going on, looking at the three of them with the distinct expression of confusion. Hagrid, getting swept away in the moment said “These are some of the bravest two at this school, and some of the biggest reasons we are still even here, aside from Harry o’course” he nodded his head towards Hermione, as if to ensure he wouldn’t forget the Boy Who Lived, and continued on tears and all, “All you firs years should count yourselves as lucky to share the halls with these two!” His delivery was filled with warmth and pride, he spoke so gently about them to the first years.

Hermione and Neville were in full flush, speechless at the unexpected announcement of their experience from last year. Hermione’s happy nostalgia was gone now, she did not know how to act with all these eyes on her. This was something she should have been good at, considering her, Harry, and Ron, had been mobbed every time they went out into the wizarding world. It had made her more and more uncomfortable as time went on.

Neville, pink eared, spoke, “er, yea. Well we best be getting to our carriage. See you later Hagrid! Oh, and welcome to Hogwarts!” He, to Hermione’s surprise, took that outing of sorts quite well. He did not seem terribly daunted by the prospect of being ogled at, though he didn’t seem exactly eager at it either. Together they made their way to the opposite end of the platform, and loaded into one of the last carriages up to the castle. She noticed, for the first time as a student, she saw the dark horse-like creatures pulling their cart.

Without the presence of prying ears, Neville asked, “so how are you holding up, really?”

She let out a long breath. “It has been harder than I thought, coming back. I was expecting to feel like home, like it used to whenever we took the Express up, I remember being downright giddy. But now, I don’t know, I feel like it was wishful thinking.” She peered out her window to see the castle, looking the same as it ever was. “Doesn’t it feel totally bizarre, coming back and acting like it wasn’t four months tomorrow that this castle was literally blown apart? And some of our friends died? I mean they literally tried to burn you at the stake.” She couldn’t help but feign humor, giggling as the last part came out.

It seemed to break some sort of tension Neville had been holding in, because he gave her a weak smile. “Yea they did, and it does. I don’t know though, I don’t think that people are forgetting, I doubt people are trying to move on without mourning, I think it has to be the idea of resilience. If we let the world freeze in that grief, I don’t know if we will ever move on. It's a tough balance. I think, for me, it’s at least a little easier, because in a way, I have avenged my mum and dad.” Hermione noticed this is one of the few times he had spoken of his parents, and this time, he seemed at peace. “Anyway, I think we have to hold on to both mourning and moving forward, we can’t rush either.” They were pulling up to the castle now, there was no rubble or holes blown into the embattlements. “Totally bizarre, though” he told her with a meek smile.

They disembarked and made their way to the Great Hall, there was an addition to the entrance of the grand room. A gleaming plaque, under which candles burned, along with wreaths of white roses, rosemary, and poppies, a bushel of lavender, boxes of what Hermione recognized to be puking pasties and dungbombs, along with stacks of letters, all in very neat piles, moving photos of students laughing were plastered to the wall, unfinished books sat flipped open to specific pages. Dennis Creevey was standing there, still, holding a camera in quivering hands. Above the sign read:

The Fallen Fifty. All who tread these halls, know, remember, the Fallen Fifty, who gave their lives, so we could live another day. The last enemy to be destroyed is Death.
Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, Remus Lupin, Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown…
It went on listing all fifty names.

Hermione and Neville stood, statuesque in the face of the plaque. She felt hot tears fall from her eyes. She didn’t know what to expect, how they would enshrine their collective loss. She felt in her gut, she had a choice, either be stuck in this spot, or keep moving, she promised herself she wouldn’t break down again. With all her might, she turned away from the plaque, and head down, drying her tears, walked briskly into the Great Hall. Behind her she heard Neville say, “He’ll be glad to have it I’m sure, and I know he’d be glad you’re here Dennis, Colin fought so bravely.” She kept going, hands shaking.

She sat down at the Gryffindor table, next to Parvati Patil, who too had a tear stained face. The ceiling showed a beautiful, clear starry sky, not a single cloud could be seen. The feeling, just like everything else, was a bizarre combination of sadness and joy, much like those first days after the war. Place, after all, is undeniably tied with the memories associated. Hermione found herself looking around, trying to get her head out of the pattern she had become so familiar with treading. She looked across the hall, towards the emerald and silver of the Slytherin table. There she found herself staring, searching for contact, with those great green eyes. Pansy, for the moment, didn’t seem to be in the Hall at all. Students still must be making their way from the memorial, Hermione thought, she tried closing her eyes, counting her breath. When she opened them again, there she was, the Slytherin she had been looking for. Pansy had managed to get a spot with direct eye line, and seemed to be attempting to not glance in her direction for what could be deemed suspiciously long. Once, they made eye contact, though she seemed a goner. Hermione found her breathing pattern from that distance, as she heard the distinct clang from a knife hitting a goblet. Headmaster McGonagall was about to speak.

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“Welcome Students, to another year at Hogwarts!” McGonagall said, with a rapture of applause which she didn't seem to expect. “Ah, well I am happy to hear that you are happy to have come back, and I know I speak for the rest of the staff, ghosts, and even Peeves” she gestured to the rest of the table, and the poltergeist currently attempting to hit the infinite ceiling with a turkey, sending it to greater heights than any turkey had gone before it, “when I say we are wildly lucky and grateful for the ability to be in eachothers company once more. Now before any order of business, I request that we, the grateful and the lucky, hold a moment of silent remembrance for those just as brave as, whose sacrifice let us be here.”

The room switched from the jovial tone of moments before to the stark heaviness provided by this shift. In this silence, Hermione couldn't help but open her eyes to see if she could find Pansy once more, curiosity was getting the better of her. When she found her among the crowd, however, she was surprised to see her eyes closed, head tilted down. Hadn’t this been the person who suggested they grab Harry and turn him over to Voldemort? As she struggled to wrap her brain around this shift in character, McGonagall began to speak once more.

“I know, silence, for many of us, is not enough to encompass our grief or our loss, though the castle doesn’t bare physical scars, and we have recovered those places which had been rubble following the great battle, that does not mean we have already let the cruel sands of time wash our memory free of what we have lost so freshly.

“Around the castle you will find new statues, new places of remembrance, and if you ever wish to, me and the other professors will make ourselves available to speak of whatever burdens your hearts, and please forgive us as we, too, are navigating this new place we find ourselves in. Let us not forget, that we have found ourselves, for the first time in many long years, free from threat, free to be, free to learn and to teach as we see fit. What you do with this freedom is up to you.” Hermione, for all she could, could not bring herself to fully listen to the whole speech, instead focusing on food she was poking out on her place. It seemed to her that focusing on anything that had to do with the year she had just completed was a surefire way for her to fall into panic, best not to dwell then, she shifted awkwardly around, but jolted a bit when she finally heard McGonagall say “And as for you eighth years, if you could stay behind as the rest of the students go to their dormitories.” Their dormitories, she couldn’t help but notice the verbiage, she had a feeling that she wouldn’t be staying in Gryffindor Tower this year at all.

The rumbling of students leaving the long mahogany tables began, as the students Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin left the Great Hall for their respective towers and dungeons. Ginny attempted a closed mouth grin at Hermione, as she passed she let her hand stray across the sitting woman’s back, stopping at her shoulder. “I’ll see you later?” She said with a sense of confidence Hermione was so accustomed.

“Sure”, she nodded back to the ginger. She simultaneously longed for the comfort of the familiarity of the Weasley’s company, but was discomforted with this unwelcome amount of attention, was this what Ginny had been like over the summer? Had she been blind to it? Her mind was fixed on this train for a moment before her eyes strayed once more across the Great Hall, expecting to meet with Parkinson’s, but to no avail. The dark haired bob wasn’t looking up at all, instead it looked as though her head was in her hands, elbows resting on the table. Hermione, who had no right or need to expect this contact from her bully slash panic attack coach, she reasoned with herself, was mildly put off by her gaze remaining unreturned.

Peeling her eyes from where they had been glued, Hermione, for the first time, took in the faces of her peers who both survived, and made the decision to return. The more she thought about it the more it seemed a brazen decision, she wondered if her fellow eighth years and students felt as much like they were pulling at a freshly grown scab. Still sitting, scattered around the great Hall were: herself, Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom, Parvati Patil, Padma Patil, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zambini, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbot, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, Mary Brocklehurst, and Lisa Turnpin. So nineteen in total, less than half of what they had started with. It was a bizarre grief that she had felt at the moment of finishing the head count. What would her class makeup look like now? For so long they had consisted of the same faces, even setting aside Harry and Ron, over half her classmates were absent either dead, or voiding their classes. At this moment Headmaster McGonagall, meeting them at their level, walked down the few steps to the head of all the tables, urging the eighth years to come closer to her. She had stopped right in front of Hermione, so she could remain where she was.

McGonagall looked upon her, her stare was one filled with warmth, Hermione would even liken it to the look Hagrid had given her and Neville back in Hogsmeade, her eyes were even misty. “Hello Ms. Granger, I am so happy to see you back.”, the older witch said. For a moment her heart glowed with pride, it was good to see Professor McGonnagal as headmaster, it suited her. She had always been Hermione’s favorite professor, she had a much better rapport with her than she had even with the old headmaster. Hermione looked back at her, giving her as much of an enthusiastic nod as she could muster. Maybe some of her experiences this year could be the same?

The rest of her peers had closed in now, sitting along the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, which the headmaster had strode between. “Hello all, I suppose, to you all, I should start with a welcome back, though that doesn't feel quite right. I will instead start with praise.” A look of confusion crossed many of her classmates' faces as praise was never given lightly by Minerva McGonagall. “I am extraordinarily proud of each and everyone of you for coming back and continuing your education here, some of you were here that night. To you especially, as the old head of Gryffindor house, I want to exude my pride in your bravery. It does not matter what side you were on. That is the past. We now are at a juncture where we can decide to stay in our ways, stuck in old beliefs, old habits, or we can change. To those who had sided with-” she cleared her throat and steeled her gaze to the back wall “-Voldemort, you, by virtue of returning, are walking down that path now, explicitly, by returning, you are in the action of change, but you are not the only ones. For all of you, I hope you find it within yourselves to lean on each other. This year, you eighth years, may have the hardest collective go of it this year.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle on the group.

“On a more logistical note, you all will be staying in an eighth year collective dormitory on the seventh floor. Your houses were not built to accommodate an eighth class, and the castle has been rather resistant to any changes following quick repairs and the stress of being the focal point of the battle.” Hermione felt camaraderie with the castle at that description. “As everyone’s education in both Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts was compromised last year, those classes you will take with your peers around you, the rest your classes you will take with the seventh years, all of whom are at the same level, are there any questions?”

There was an uproar of whys and whats in response to this housing revelation. The class was unhappy at the prospect of yet another change. Ernie MacMillian exclaimed “Why not just house the first years there?!” Justin Finch-Fletchley murmured “I don't want to live near them”, while glaring at the group of Slytherins huddled in the back of the group. After all concerns were dismissed and McGonagall’s stance reaffirmed, the group grudgingly made their way to their new shared space.

Hermione was walking next to Neville, walking as though in a dream, unaware of her surroundings, taking in nothing. She would simply have to make peace that this year will be immensely more difficult than she had suspected this morning. She was so lost wandering in her own thoughts, that it wasn’t until they had made it to the seventh floor landing that Pansy Parkinson, in her robes of black and tie of green, was walking next to her, all the while with a wide berth of three feet. She looked steadfast in her walk, taking great action to be near, but not look at, Hermione. It was odd, considering the groups in front and behind her and Neville were distinctly made of Gryffindor and Hufflepuffs, while the Slytherins trailed behind, not unwelcome, but certainly odd.

Finally, they had made their way to their new dormitory. It was, as Hermione suspected, the Room of Requirement, though it seemed to have some modifications. It had taken similar form to what she had recalled when she had come in through the Hogs Head not six months ago. Banners of each house hung down on the walls, though this time Slytherin was included. The hammocks she remembered were replaced with a common room that seemed to be a cozy yet haphazard mishmash of all four houses. In the center of the back wall was a fireplace, embers already crackling, with the Hogwarts crest emblazoned above, it seemed to be one made of white marble, she suspected replicating the Slytherin common room. To the right was a heavy looking bookshelf filled with tomes and fiction alike, taken from Ravenclaw. On the left was a cozy looking nook draped with hanging plants, and windows looking as if they were formed of casks looked out over the forbidden forest, heavy blankets were draped along the bench, the warmth must be from Hufflepuff House. The rugs were familiar, they looked as though they had been pulled directly out of the common room she had spent so many nights of so many years, the couches and chairs by the fire too. She even recognized the chair that had been the most sought after place to get some work done. Under each banner there was a door marked with the crest of each house respectively, behind which led to a hallway with two doors, the boys and girls dormitories.

Several of the eighth years decided to make themselves comfortable in their new home for the year. Neville was leaning by the fire speaking with Terry Boot, while Pansy Parkinson, Hermione couldn’t help but keep tabs on this new enigmatic figure, who seemed to have been brought into a conversation with her fellow slytherins by the bookcase. Hermione, on the other hand, completely spent by the day, embarked towards the Gryffindor banner, taking one last brief glance over her shoulder, to find those damned green eyes staring back. She looked as though she was desperate to talk. If she wanted to, though, she would have to come to Hermione. There were very few things she wanted more in that very moment than laying her head on her pillow and finding some sweet escapism in whatever her dreams brought her.

It seemed Hermione was placing her bets on bed too soon. She had scarcely walked in the door to the Gryffindor girls dormitory, which had remarkable resemblance to the one sitting atop Gryffindor Tower (with a first year now laying in her old bed, she imagined), save for the fact that there were only two beds. One for her and one for the other party, who was openly weeping on the floor. Parvati Patil had turned into a puddle of tears upon seeing the two beds instead of five.

“Hey, hey, hey, Parvati, it's ok.” Hermione didn’t have to ask. Lavender Brown, who had died at the battle, was Parvati’s best friend, and if she had heard correctly, her lover upon her death.

“She”-gasp- “should '' -gasp- “be here”, she threw out as if it were only one word. Hermione did the only thing she could think, she got on the ground and scooped the other woman into her arms in a tight embrace and sat them on a bed. She held her and cooed after her as she sobbed into Hermione’s sweater. What Parvati could not see were the silent tears streaming down Hermione’s face as she gently stroked her dark hair.

That was how the first nights of term went, Hermione would sit with Parvati as the night grew long and comforted her loss. Hermione decided she ought to stay together for her friend, who was in such deep pain, after all Hermione hadn’t lost a lover, her pain didn’t need this tending to. This thought pattern is what kept her going.

The third day of classes however, took a turn Hermione had been waiting for. Her and Pansy had yet to speak, though she would often find herself at the end of the green eyed gaze. When that would happen, though, Hermione would make a b-line in the opposite direction. She was avoiding whatever was going to happen. She had committed to the vow she made on the train, no more breakdowns. She had the distinct feeling that if Parkinson got her word in, that is exactly what would befall her. Those damned eyes had yet to say anything nasty to anyone, instead she had heard from her fellow classmates that Pansy had undergone some transformation, she was not the poison tongued purveyor of misery she once had been, she had even been kind enough to bring Neville the dragon hide gloves he had forgotten down to the greenhouses on their first misty herbology class, not that Hermione had noticed (she absolutely had).

In her hiding place, the Gryffindor was in the back of the library, two rows before the restricted section, sitting by the window which had the best view of the black lake with the rolling green mountains, not yet snowcapped, behind it. She seemed to daydream more now, her mind would drift to what the world would look like if there never had been a war, if Ron and Harry were sitting next to her, badgering her for her notes, or if she had decided to stay home, pursue a career, and not finish this year. History of Magic vol. 33 laid open in front of her as she was away, out working for elvish welfare, meeting with House Elf coalitions attempting to unionize when she heard a deep yet meek voice, “Um, excuse me, Hermione do you have a moment?” Her trance was broken, and standing in front of her was the Slytherin woman she feared.

“Ah, Parkinson, um, I mean Pansy? Can I call you Pansy? I was just about to go.” She stuttered through, though the table laid in front of her betrayed her, her belongings were scattered hither and thither, it was clear she had been prepared to camp out for the day. Coming back to herself, she saw those dark green eyes, which were looking at the mess of the table with an air of hurt. For some reason, unknown to Hermione, gods willing, she heard her own voice follow up, “actually, that is a total lie, sorry, I do yes.” She was kicking herself as she gestured to the seat across from hers.

“Oh no, I don’t mean to bother you.” Pansy began wringing her hands, she seemed to be a bit relieved in Hermione’s reparation, but now seemed more distressed. “I,uh” she paused. “Damn,” she let out a huff, and raised her hand to wipe away tears that seemed to be welling in her eyes. She bolstered herself once more, “Hermione, you owe me no forgiveness, but I am so deeply, deeply sorry.” Another tear to be wiped away “for all I have done to you over the past, for being a bitch to you” a huff between a laugh and a sob came out of her, “and for being an absolute coward when it mattered.” The damn seemed to break, and tears were openly falling down Pansy’s pale face now.

Hermione stared back at her watery eyes for a moment or longer, speechless and unsure of how she wanted to or was going to react. Before she had the chance though, Pansy gave a little shrug with a watery half smile.

“That’s all”, she turned on her heels and made her way out of the library.