Chapter Text
Hogwarts was just as he remembered it.
A stoned edifice hundreds of years old the colossal monument towered over Scotland’s rolling hills. Memories of thousands of wizards around the world filled its halls, held together by magic and mortar. Its towers and turrets making it a domineering presence within the night, while in the daylight made it seem gloriously dignified.
After its ruination, hundreds of volunteers had swarmed the school in an attempt to return the wreckage back to its former glory. Brick by brick and stone by stone wizards and witches worked together to patch up its previous history. A broken legend renewed once again. But alas, Hogwarts will always have scars. For nothing heals completely.
Even with the shape and reinforced wards the castle would never transform back to the place it once was. It's not just a school now, it's a post battleground. Its stones were now not only held together by mortar and magic, but blood and aching souls. Its towers and turrets now represent just how hard humanity tried to reach higher, to try and reach the sun, only to be burned by the very thing they desire. Its history, now, riddled with darkness and misery. Death and suffering. It shows no matter how powerful one may seem, formidability is only an illusion awning over the face of time. And time always takes.
Hogwarts has, and has always been, a reflection of its students. Where it had once thrived, it is now going through a stage of stitches and repair.
Harry looked back from the window of the train, taking another bite of his chocolate frog. The building slowly grew in the distance, still in his mind he turned to Hermione without thinking, “How was your summer?” Realizing his mistake, horrified, Harry tried to apologize, but she held up a hand.
Bearing a sad smile, she replied, “They are still in Australia.”
“Oh, Hermione.”
Harry knew it was hard for the entire wizarding world. The war had taken many, with little mercy. But Hermione was a special case. Her parents were still alive and well, living in arrogant bliss to who they were in another life. Hermione still never had the chance to meet up with them again and return to them their memories of her and their lives and the Grangers. And that was if their minds had not already healed over the lacerations from the removal. With every passing day it would prove to be more difficult to bring back their former selves.
Currently with their new identities, as Mr. and Mrs. Wilkens, they had taken base in Australia to live their lives. With a promise from Harry that they would get them back as soon as they could, they both drifted off into their own daydreams. He wondered if Hermione had ever planned on bringing her parents back. Even with the war being over, there were still enemies and still unseen confounding variables that could prove to be dangerous for the elder dentists. Hermione never wanted to let them get involved in the war, even at the expense of their relationship.
Harry did not think it was the right thing to do, it shouldn’t be up to Hermione to be making those decisions. Right now, he wanted to talk to Hermione about them but didn’t want to pry, knowing, like everyone else, that different people coped in different ways. He would give her a bit of time to process and to come to terms with what her end-all decision should be. But the clock was ticking and at some point it would have to be revisited.
He had not spoken with Hermione or Ron very much these past few months. Each living through their own version of healing. It felt a bit lonely, as if he was losing his friends, even now as he and Hermoine were talking.
Shaking the thought from his head he turned to look out the window. It wasn’t right to dwell on this.
He watched the country-side rush past them. Colors blurring into one another to create a muddled landscape of greens and blues. It was a bit hypnotizing. Larger structures quickly passed in and out of focus while the colors continued to swirl together. Over and over again. He thought of the war and Hermione and silver spoons for some reason. He thought of the wizarding world and how hard the fall had been. The people. The children. There was so much to think about. Maybe this year would be good for him. For all of them.
***
When the train did not pull up to the usual muddied trek, Harry stared a bit dumbly at the outcropping of trees that opened to a small path within. Upon seeing Harry’s confusion Hermione spoke up.
“The theserals. They figured that now since nearly all the upper years have now developed the ability to see them that it would probably be a better idea to just forgo the experience all together.”
Harry simply nodded. This was where the first years were usually dropped. It was a good decision. Seeing the large darkly cloaked beasts would only serve as a reminder to who they had lost. But also, a physical reminder that with loss, there is the possibility of gaining something more.
Leaving his luggage on the train like he was told he walked with the school across the plains of grass until they reached the entrance. There were far less students than were previously attending when he first started. Where they were once almost one thousand students strong, it has now dwindled with every year to leave half of what they were.
Parents have gotten more afraid to let their kids out of sight, especially with the constant dangers that Howarts seemed to let slip past their guard the past few years. It was understandable, but it still felt a bit lonely with the train feeling so big.
Less students were there to make noise and take up less space. Students also seemed to be less inclined with trying to get into trouble. That in itself was troubling.
Or maybe not, Harry thought as he saw what could only be a first year playing a small prank on a group of young Ravenclaws by jumping out of the thicket trees. The younger students wouldn’t fully understand the war. Though they grew up in the war and only knew the war, they never had to participate or see what veteran students had to see. They would never have to endure walking the halls of a building where students could visualize where they saw people die.
They were the new beginning that Hogwarts needed.
Harry spared himself a small smile.
The path to the boats was shorter than normal and more narrow than he remembered. He already knew that he would have to use a few mending charms on his outer cloak as it was able to snag every branch within reach. Hermione looked nonplussed, most likely paying enough attention to avoid any damage.
Making their way out of the wood Harry noticed it was much darker than it was before they entered. Tiny stars began to peek out of the sky.
Harry came to a stop, the people in front of him halting on the path. Looking in front of them he also was taken aback. Just like those in front of him, Harry couldn’t help but feel like a first year again. They could see the castle in much more detail now. It stood imposing, standing over them. Standing on a rocky face the waves on the lake seemed to be angrier, more volatile as they crashed into the sides of the castle.
Behind the castle he knew of the stretch of land that extended on to lead to the Forbidden Forest and the Quidditch pitch. Hagrid’s hut and the greenhouses that were dotted through the gardens. When winter comes, there would be snow, there would be a soft white blanket that covered everything.
Hermione shook him out of his musings as she brushed past him to get on a boat. Apparently the older students would get their own while the younger would share. Reaching his, he carefully tested its stability with his foot. Satisfied, he swung his other leg in. Sitting down on the bottom of the boat.
As if sensing his ease, the boat began to slowly make his way towards the castle.
It was so strange to be here again, even though it had only been a few months. So much has changed and kept changing.
Especially the castle.
The closer they got the more damage that could be seen. First years may not notice, but the once proudly shining castle has dimmed in glow and power. If a castle could be personified, where it once felt almost dominating, here it felt more… weary. Sapped of the energy it once emitted. Harry could feel the castle trying to function with its haphazardly glued back pieces. He could sense that many others felt the same way as they gazed at what they could only think of as an old friend.
Sinking lower into the boat Harry decided to relax even further and to put his feet up and allow his fingertips to trail in the water. Just then, as his eyes grew heavier, Harry could feel a pull. That strange pull that had been bothering him for weeks. But at this minute he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it.
With the warm yellow glow of the castle and the slow rock of the boat lulling him to sleep, he thought about his first time riding in the boats. Hagrid had been their guide, his booming voice would make the water tremble, and his laugh would cause your body to rattle. Now, there was no one guiding them, everyone was using muscle memory, and the first years were just following along.
He remembers squeezing into one boat with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. Unsure of what Hogwarts held for them. Excited, scared…..
That was when Harry realized, eyes opening wide, where was Ron?
***
He’ll be starting a bit later than us, Hermione had said as they walked through Hogwarts grand doors, feet clicking on the once empty floors. One could only think that it was amazing how school could still be up and running only months after hundreds of bodies littered its ruins. Blood staining its walls and screams filling its halls, it was the epitome of Harry’s worst nightmare. And he had some pretty messed up dreams.
“He had to help his mother, and McGonagall agreed to give him the time off,” she sighed. “For some reason I feel like he has been avoiding me lately. He hasn’t sent me letters or gotten in contact with me about what is going on, and I just kind of feel a bit in the dark, you know?”
Harry knew exactly what she felt. The past month he had been living on his own, renting a room at Three Broomsticks. Ms. Weasley said that the form of ostracizing people out of his life after major tragedy wasn’t healthy. They offered their home, but Harry couldn’t seem to look her in the eye. He still felt guilty about Fred. He would never not feel guilty because he couldn’t see how it was anyone other than his fault that he was gone.
Harry destroyed their family.
And he couldn’t deal with the thought of them actually caring for him after everything he had done to them. He would go over and visit on occasion, but mostly kept to himself.
Harry felt it was better for him to mourn alone.
After all, what did he deserve?
***
Opening the doors the Great Hall became exposed. Mahogany tables reached through the high-ceilinged hall, tables slowly being filled as students occupied its seats. Colors of the houses rose in flags above each of their respective tables. Fabric flowed down from the ceiling to the marbled floors in a flourish of colors. Shimmering green, red, yellow, and blue fabrics enfolded onto each other to create a representation of how the houses had united for the first time in hundreds of years. That it has been proven all houses could come together.
United under the aura of perturbation and peril, yet it still remained uncertain if the houses will continue to execute the act of camaraderie and civil colloquy.
The Great Hall was just as he remembered it, and as always, it was beautiful. During the school year he would often find himself in the hall at night. No one usually thought to check the Great Hall on their rounds, thinking that the vast emptiness would scare the children off. But it, in fact, did quite the opposite.
Harry was drawn to the hall, feeling as if it spoke to him. They were both empty, hollow, used without asking. It was there he had made a discovery his sixth year.
There were always rumors that Hogwarts was alive, that it had a soul. From time to time the rumors rose up to only be shot down with accusations of craziness. It was during that sixth year he found the hearsay to be true.
He had gone to the Great Hall one night shortly after school had just begun. Overwrought with regret and misery over Sirius he couldn’t do anything else other than allow the tears to fall.
Because it was all his fault.
His childish nature and complex with trying to do everything on his own led Sirius into the arms of death. Causing him to forever walk among the dead, no way to return.
Harry could still hear the voices. Whispers over the dead overlapping on one another. Calling. Begging. So many people, so many dead that he couldn’t make sense of any of them. Calling. Chanting. Screaming. Begging. Round and round the voices went. The insanity pushing through Harry’s mind causing him to gasp for air. He could still feel the chill of the dimly lit room. The smell of foreshadowed death. He couldn’t breathe, he didn’t know what to do.
In his mind he begged for someone, anyone, to save him from the nightmare. To make everything okay. To tell him what to do.
As Harry reached his breaking point he laughed, because every death, every family that had to live with losing their child, their husband, their father, their wife. Every single person that suffered was because of him. He was responsible, he was to blame. He couldn’t take it. But suddenly it was there.
Solace.
Suddenly, all of his feelings of self-loathing seemed to float away, only to be replaced with what felt like a blanket of protection. He felt warmth seep down into his body, cradling muscle and bone. The voices ceased. Once alone, he now felt a presence around him, filling him to his core.
That’s when a voice entered his mind.
Harry sank lower in his seat. Usually, he would be alarmed by strange voices entering his head. Failed occlumency lessons and memories of Voldemort’s haunting laugh taught him that in the least. This was a different voice. This voice made him feel complete. It was not the feeling of finding his missing half, it was as if a piece of himself broke off years ago, and he is only just now finding it again. It felt so familiar. His muscles warmed and stomach tightened.
The feeling of safety has always been hard to come by, at this point in his life it was almost a foreign concept. Hogwarts had once been his safe space. An untouchable place of magic, and friends, and happiness. Away from Voldemort and the Dursleys, as long as Dumbledore was alive he could always count of there being a tomorrow. Until he wasn’t.
At the Weasleys’ Mrs. Weasley took the place as his mother. Being the strongest woman he knew. Until she couldn’t.
He wanted to languish in the feeling. Not even trying to decipher what the voice was saying he tried to use his magic to reach out for it. It was then that McGonagall’s voice boomed through the hall, and as fast as the voice arrived, it vanished.
“Before beginning our normal proceedings, it has come to our attention that there are now students with higher superiority and seventh years. Due to this new classification, we have decided to make a new rank within these factors. Rather than a Head Boy and Girl, we will have one student marked as House Representative for each of the four houses. The students have been picked on the grounds that they are individuals that we have noticed their houses trust and who have shown exemplary academic accomplishments and performance. Students in these positions will be working closely with their Head of House. Please go to these individuals if need be for any counseling or issues that you may have within inter or intra-house relations.
“These stated individuals are as goes, Gryffindor: NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM. Slytherin:…”
After Gryffindor’s representative was announced Harry zoned out, mostly due to his irritation with the fleeting voice, but also because he was a bit confused. But not angry. He didn’t think that he would make the cut for this new position due to not having received Head Boy or Girl rank within the past, but it was interesting to him that the obvious choices of Ron and Hermione were overlooked.
Looking over to his friend he could see him proud, if not acting a bit strange.
Harry looked down the table, picking Neville out from the crowd. They were sitting close together, as all the eighth years were, but his vision was becoming increasingly more obscure as people began jumping after him in congratulations.
Managing to catch his eye, Neville looked at him only to look away. Seeming fairly nervous it was at that moment that Harry realized that Neville was searching for approval from him. So often was Harry the object of unwanted attention and the bearer of house deed that it always seemed odd for him not to be the Gryffindor in the limelight. This caused a sinking feeling in his stomach. How much has his housemates suffered from standing in his shadow?
He was always so absorbed in himself that he failed to notice how he affected those around him.
“Neville, that’s great,” Harry smiled brightly. And it was. Whereas when he was younger, he was quick to be jealous and to internally put down Ron out of jealousy, he now had the ability to genuinely be proud of his friends for their accomplishments even. “You are going to be brilliant.”
Neville’s small smile split into a wide grin that took up his full face. He lifted his head and let out a roar, one that the rest of their house was quick to echo.
Neville was so much more confident than he was years before, so much more sure of himself. So bright.
Merlin, he was such a git. Neville has always been this way. He just failed to see it until now.
After the announcements of the new student positions and of the positions of Head Boy, Head Girl, and prefects, the sorting occurred, and soon, they were told to finally dig in as Hogwarts’ finest food was laid across the grand tables.
Though Harry did not have a large appetite and was still feeling intestinal damage from the large amounts of food that he had to shove down his throat to keep out of awkward conversation at the Weasleys’, he still couldn’t help but eye the food with a renewed hunger. Hogwarts’ dinners, especially the day of the welcoming speech, always meant so much to him. For many years it was the first full meal he would have in months. This was his ambrosia.
Before Harry could even think of what to choose first, be at the chicken lathered in garlic and herbs or jumping straight into treacle tart, Professor McGonagall spoke once again, “Yes! Before it slips my mind once again, I would like to formally recognize the rumors saying that there will be a new Care of Magical Creatures professor joining us this year. Due to circumstances he will not arrive ready for classes for another week, and therefore, lessons will be taken over by the previous Magical Creatures professor, Rubeus Hagrid.”
Before she could continue many of the students cheered, excited to have Hagrid back working at Hogwarts.
“Settle down. Settle down. I am hoping that you will give our guest exemplary behavior for Professor Newt Goldstein. He comes with high recommendation for his performance and expertise in magical creatures.
“Now as to not hold you any longer, welcome to the Welcome Banquet, new students and old, and in the wise words of a wise man, ‘Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!’”
Those words caused a great deal of emotion to flow through Harry.
Many of the students may be nostalgic of the words from the previous headmaster who had once said long ago, it caused Harry's stomach to churns with the feeling of revulsion. For most of his life Harry had poured all of his hope and respect into Dumbledore. He thought of him as
the only man that could save him from his dire future, the main source of light in his world of dark. He believed him because so many others had.
But he was wrong.
He was nothing but the deceased man’s puppet. An object that was used in the right moments at the right times. Little did he know that so much of his life has been planned and laid out for him until it was too late. And even in death he still felt the compulsions to conform to Dumbledore.
But though Harry knew he could hate Dumbledore for sacrificing him, he could frustratingly understand Dumbledore for doing what he did. It was the train car experiment. Sacrifice one person, or lose thousands more. He didn’t know what made him more upset. Dumbledore’s actions, or his own brain’s complacency and acceptance. He just wanted to forget.
With that, Harry turned to Hermione; they had hardly spoken upon meeting on the train. It seemed almost too awkward after their short-lived conversation and too immersed in her books and supplementary texts.
Harry wasn’t alone, but he felt so lonely.
Nobody noticed the spiderwebs that began to splinter his glass.