Chapter Text
The war was over and Hogwarts was on the mend. The entirety of the British Wizarding World had come to a full and complete stop, many had traveled up to Scotland to help with the Hogwarts rebuild, completing within weeks. The outpouring of support from alumni was incredible. Several of the braver few had even worked to help capture the surviving Death Eaters who had tried to flee, even Ministries from other countries helped.
Kinglsey Shaklebolt stepped into the role of Minister for Magic and had more or less ‘cleaned house’. He was even pushing the Death Eater trials through rather quickly, making them the Ministry's utmost priority. Those within the Ministry that helped facilitate Voldemort’s return were more or less shunned out of their positions and replaced with newer, up and coming names; witches and wizards alike who fought back from within the Ministry, even if only in the smallest of ways. Wizarding Britain was weary and tired but willing to change.
When immediately contacted for interviews Hermione had Luna and her father publish a six page rant about children having to fight a war the adults had created generations prior. Her scathing dismantling of the Ministry and Wizengamot was enough to sway the entirety of the Wizarding population and bring the ‘old ways’, as it were, crumbling down. Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, had ushered in great reform by simply lecturing Wizarding Britain into shame no less than three weeks post-war.
Harry, the ‘Saviour’ as he was loath to be called, had made it a point to attend each Death Eater trial. His friends Ron and Hermione, always steadfastly seated on either side of him. Though silent and stone faced throughout most trials, it was clear to all involved that if things were not resolved and wrapped up correctly, then the trio would finish it themselves, just as they had Voldemort. Under Kingsley’s control, however, the trials and convictions were efficient and swift. No one dared defend the convicted, however Harry had offered his testimony, only on three occasions.
The first time Harry spoke, he stood from his seat, effectively silencing the entirety of the courtroom in seconds. Lucius Malfoy was the convicted on trial, chained to the chair in the center of the room looking withered and haggard. Harry recounted aloud the events of his second year at Hogwarts, going into great detail about Tom Riddle’s diary and the house elf that had come to his rescue. He then spoke of the time in his fifth year when he and his friends encountered Voldemort's core group of Death Eaters in the Ministry, the battle that ensued and resulting death. That story certainly held more shock value with the Wizengamot; it hadn’t been common knowledge just how far into the Ministry Voldemort’s reach was at the time. Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to life in Azkaban.
The second time Harry stood to speak during one of the trials, was during the trial of Narcissa Malfoy. He fiercely defended her and even likened her to his own mother, a woman who was willing to do anything for the safety of her son, even lie to Voldemort, the most powerful legilimens in Wizarding history. Harry admitted even he couldn’t do as much. It was a mother’s love that had ended the battle the first time, Harry explained, his hand absently rubbing at his scar. And it was a mother’s love that had effectively ended the war as well. Harry easily convinced the Wizengamot that she was simply a mother stuck on the wrong side of the war trying to survive. Narcissa was given her freedom, albeit with a year's probation.
The last time Harry spoke during the trials, was for none other than Draco Malfoy. Harry detailed their history at Hogwarts, their boyhood rivalry, then he spoke in earnest of that fateful night on the Astronomy Tower. He explained the events at Malfoy Manor when Harry had been captured and he was certain the war would end there, unfavorably so, if it had not been for Malfoy’s lie. He spoke of the fiendfyre he pulled Malfoy from at Hogwarts then of Malfoy’s participation in the final battle. Harry told the Wizengamot, facing them down just as he had faced down countless other fights in the past years, that they would be making a mistake if they convicted him as a Death Eater. Draco Malfoy was just a boy protecting the ones he loved most the best he could, just as Harry had been. He even admitted that he would have done the same if in Malfoy’s position, without a second thought.
“There are all kinds of courage.” Harry said firmly, as Dumbledore’s voice resonated in the back of his mind. “Draco Malfoy made all the wrong choices, but he had the courage to do what was necessary to protect his mother. You can’t leave children to fight a war then punish them for making wrong choices.” Harry could feel Hermione brim at the use of her own words. “Albus Dumbledore was prepared to give Draco Malfoy and his mother protection, a way out. But time was not on his side.” The Wizengamot took an excruciatingly long time to deliberate but Harry was confident they would make the right decision.
When the trial returned to session, Draco Malfoy was cleared of the charges against him. And upon the final smack of the gavel Harry immediately followed Malfoy from the courtroom, finding him in the corridor hugging his mother tightly. When the moment had passed, Harry cleared his throat causing Malfoy to turn on his heel to face Harry. Without a word Harry drew a wand from his pocket and held it out to Malfoy who had only paused slightly before taking the wand, his cold and shaking hand encompassing Harry’s own on the handle of the wand for the briefest of moments. “Thank you Malfoy, without you I would’ve died. It was your wand that ended everything.”
“Thank you.” Malfoy whispered, before turning away from Harry and leaving with his mother.
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When all the trials had finally ended and with the news that repairs on Hogwarts had concluded, Harry and his friends all received notice from Professor McGonagall that they were welcome to return back as so-called ‘Eighth Years’ in order to properly finish their schooling and complete their N.E.W.T’s. Hermione, of course, had been ecstatic and told Ron and Harry they would be returning with her and that they simply had no choice on the matter. Harry had just shrugged but Ron made a fuss about it for three days before giving in.
The trio spent their summer between The Burrow and Grimmauld Place. Harry confided in his friends that, even though Sirius wasn’t there, he still wanted to make the old Black Family house his home. It took Molly Weasley weeks to get over random bouts of tears after Ron, Hermione, and Harry all stood at the fireplace, prepared meals tucked up under their arms, and said their ‘ goodbyes ’ and ‘ I love yous ’ and ‘ We’ll be back for Sunday dinner, mum. Stop crying ’.
Hermione and Harry were content to clean out and refurbish Grimmauld Place. Early on in the process Ron suggested they get in contact with Bill for help with removing the various cursed objects they kept stumbling upon, which then ended up Ron and Bill’s sole project. Hermione was far too easily distracted with the multitude of books lurking in just about every corner of the house but her cleaning charms were top notch and while she cleaned she read. Harry enjoyed doing things the more manual way. He sorted through whatever was left that wasn’t cursed or broken. He kept most of Sirius and Regulus’ things, reorganizing everything into Sirius’ room which he claimed for himself and giving a fair bit of Regulus’ possession to Kreacher to keep for himself. Anything else was packed and stashed in the attic or the cellar.
In the end, Grimmauld Place was slowly brought back to life. The walls and floors and furniture were all cleaned, repaired, and refurbished and most of the dank remnants of dark magic vanished. The second floor landing was now wide open and redecorated to look suspiciously similar to the Grynffindor common room after Harry, having gotten quickly annoyed with old Walburga’s shouting, simply just took out the whole wall. Kreacher was none too happy with that development but Harry promised him he could keep the portrait as long as it stayed in the back of the basement cellar. And so in total they managed to completely redo the entire house, claiming it as their own. In total there were two floors comprising of fourteen bedrooms total and three bathrooms per floor. The main floor had a sitting room, library, a drawing room, two bathrooms, a potions store, the kitchen and dining room, and access to the back courtyard, wine cellar, food cellar, back mud room, and basement cellar.
It was August by the time the trio had finished, Neville and Luna had taken to dropping by nearly weekly to help with the gardens, Dean and Seamus visited frequently as well although less to help and more to just socialize. Even the Patil twins, Terry, Justin, Susan, and Hannah had all dropped in over the weeks. Some came to visit, others to talk and few to cry. Hermione set the wards making a careful list of names of those who can visit Grimmauld whenever they pleased. Harry, surprising even himself, offered beds to those that needed away or rather to be with others that understood. When Hermione asked about it he simply shrugged and replied “ What else would I use the bedrooms for? ”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione, may have finished picking up the pieces of Grimmauld but everyone else was still busy picking up the pieces of themselves.
When September finally rolled around, they found themselves on Platform 9 ¾ surrounded by their friends and family. All the others of their year had been there as well; Neville, Dean, Seamus, Parvati and Padma, Ernie, Justin, Hannah, and Susan, Terry, Mandy, Anthony, Lisa, and even in the far off corner of the platform Harry had noticed Malfoy, Blaise, Pansy, Greg, and Millicent. Harry watched on silently as parents and students bustled about the platform, tears and laughter abound. He couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with the feeling of it all. He fought a war and even faced death to make sure that other witches and wizards could have this, no matter blood status or otherwise.
Dutifully, Harry’s friends surrounded him, warning off anyone who tried to get near and just as the first whistle blew, they all boarded the train en masse .
Upon their arrival at Hogwarts, there was a moment of shocking silence amongst the returning students as many stood in fear in the clearing just past the train station. It was dark, but there, attached to each black carriage as an equally dark creature. Some stood eerily still while others stomped about or stretched out their wings. The silence was broken when Luna’s gentle voice carried across the crowd, explaining how thestrals have always been the creatures pulling the carriages, but that they can only be seen by those who have witnessed death firsthand. The collective gasps startled the youngest students who were confused at the sudden shift in mood as they were unable to see the thestrals themselves. Harry simply boarded one of the carriages, holding his hand out to help pull Luna up with him. Thereafter, it was a somber and quiet ride for the seventh and eighth years to the castle. Many of whom just simply sat in the back of their carriages, staring at the leathery creatures with wide eyes and heavy hearts. Once they made it to the castle Harry had spared a moment after hopping down from the carriage to stroke the muzzle of one of the thestrals, offering a small thanks before catching up with Ron and Hermione.
Before the sorting of the first years, Headmistress McGonagall made a grand and sweeping speech about the war, about hope and remembrance. Harry, regrettably, had barely listened. The moment he entered the Great Hall he felt weightless, almost non-existent. It was as though he was on autopilot. Harry could feel his heart ache in his chest but before it had become too much he left himself shut down. It was a habit Hermione noticed he had picked up just after the trials. She tried to talk to him about it but he would only brush her off. Several weeks just before their return to Hogwarts, Hermione had approached him gently with several muggle pamphlets clutched in her hands, all detailing PTSD and depression. Harry, not wanting to hurt his dearest friend, quietly pocket the pamphlets with a mumbled thanks. He had shoved them to the far back of his trunk and never looked at them again.
The din of applause broke Harry from his thoughts and he righted himself and began to clap as well, trying his best to look as though he was actually present for the entirety of McGonagall’s speech. Looking around the Great Hall he noticed there were considerably less students who had returned. He supposed that having been only but a few months post-war that that was just the new reality of things.
Once the hat concluded its sorting of the first years, McGonagall placed it on the chair in front of the entirety of the hall so that it may sing its song, but when that had not come much of the hall began to whisper and shift uncomfortably in their seats. Even the Headmistress looked unnerved.
The hat finally spoke loud and clear, silencing the hall and even pulling Harry from his own thoughts. “ It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be. It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. ” Harry felt his heart sink into his stomach at the hat’s recitation of Dumbledore’s words. “You all have been sorted based on the magic within you, placed together with like-minded witches and wizards. But what you grow into will far surpass what you are now.”
And with that, Harry thought, as the hall erupted in chatter and conjecture over the hat’s words, his final year at Hogwarts had begun.