Chapter Text
It was September 1st and autumn was just beginning to grace the majestic Scottish countryside. A scarlet steam engine with its matching carriages chugged through the green of the hills and fields, slowly making its way to the Highlands and their destination.
Hermione couldn’t believe she was going back.
The war was barely over, a mere five months ago. Her and Ron had tried, but he and Harry both opted to go through Auror training and she couldn’t find it in herself to follow them...to follow him. They parted ways amicably enough; Ron may have the emotional range of a teaspoon, but he understood that they were in two different places, and that a relationship would probably never work out very long. He’d only ever wanted her to be happy, and the bitter pill of happiness possibly not meaning being with him was something he swallowed with more maturity than she’d expected of him.
So she’d chosen to attend the optional eighth year being provided at Hogwarts. Well, optional for her and a few others; it wasn’t optional for anyone who’d been on the other side of things and she’d seen some sullen Slytherin faces on the platform alone that morning. She wasn’t alright, probably would never be fully alright, but she just wanted the semblance of normalcy before she had to face the added stress of adulthood and life as the third member of the Golden Trio. She’d not returned by herself though, as Ginny had boarded the train with her after tearful goodbyes to Harry and her family.
McGonagall had allowed her to retain her former Prefect status, and she determined from the time the train began to leave the platform to throw herself into her studies and her responsibilities. Searching out the prefect’s carriage, her head throbbed at the laughter and frivolity she met at every turn. It set her teeth on edge that people could ever be happy after what they’d all lived through. Near the middle of the train she’d found the first compartment, the curtains shut and door closed. She raised her hand to knock, only for the compartment to slide open before she could.
She nearly vomited on her shoes when she saw who it was.
“It’s only Granger,” his voice drawled, stepping aside to allow her in. She swallowed thickly, desperately trying to quell the churning in her stomach as a familiar blonde head turned away from her into the compartment. She stood still as stone while a pale hand with spidery fingers moved to shove Parkinson’s polished black leather shoes off his chair, and nearly dropped her cat carrier until she broke her gaze away to a friendly smile from Padma Patil.
“How’d’ya do, Granger,” said Ernie Macmillan. He sat across from his fellow Hufflepuff Hannah, who patted the empty space next to her and Padma invitingly. “Please do sit.”
Clenching her jaw, she walked in. A flick of her wand levitated Crookshanks and her trunk into the luggage rack, and she hesitantly took her place. The seat across from her remained empty; she didn’t know who had been appointed when Ron had turned down the offer to return.
Trying her best not to look towards the door, towards him , she instead glanced up at the luggage rack above her. One was decorated with gilded fittings, stamped with Parkinson’s monogram. Another was honey leather with black finishes. Yet another had a leather strap for attaching an owl, who sat in a covered cage next to it. Puzzlingly, there was a black leather guitar case as well. She wondered who of the returning prefects could possibly be the owner, before a sharp rapping on the compartment door broke her concentration.
“The final member of our group, no doubt,” Macmillan murmured. “Malfoy, get the door if you please.”
The newcomer turned out to be Neville, who briefly looked taken aback before pushing past everyone and plopping down in front of Hermione. Instead of a quip or nasty bit of snark, Malfoy merely shut the door again and returned to his seat, fiddling with the string of the curtains and looking bored. Hermione felt a wash of thankfulness at Neville being her Gryffindor partner and tried to steady her breathing.
“Alright there, Hermione?”
Well clearly she wasn’t doing a good enough job, if even Neville was concerned and less perturbed than she. Focus.
She cracked a smile she knew didn’t reach her eyes, and nodded. “I’m fine, Neville.”
Ernie, as it turned out, was to share Head Boy privileges with his seventh year counterpart, as was Padma with hers. As he boasted of this fact, Hermione firmly tamped down the screaming under her skin and barely listened to Padma explaining to the rest of them their duties. She could feel the glances at her, Neville, and the two Slytherins in the compartment and scratched at the collar of her robes. She couldn’t look anywhere but at her shaking hands in her lap.
After an eternity, the train finally pulled into the station at Hogsmede, and Hermione could have wept at the sound she heard on the platform.
“Firs’ years! Firs’ years here now!”
She was back. But all was not well.