Chapter Text
The scent of lemon drops and parchment lingered in the air.
Hermione sat in the same chair she had so many times before as a student—though it no longer felt too big beneath her. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the headmistress’s office, casting soft golden rays over the shelves of magical instruments, portraits of past headmasters, and Minerva McGonagall herself, who looked... tired.
Not just tired—worn. The kind of tired that came not only with age, but with having borne witness to generations of students, two wizarding wars, and the long, slow rebuilding of a broken world.
“You’ve been working too much,” Hermione said, cradling a cup of tea between her hands. She leaned back slightly, allowing herself a rare moment of stillness.
Minerva gave her a pointed look over her square spectacles. “Says the witch who single-handedly pushed through the Centaur Land Rights Act while also rewriting half the Ministry’s policies on house-elf labor.”
Hermione smiled faintly, not bothering to deny it. “Touché.”
She was tired. Tired of debates that never ended. Tired of empty speeches and subtle prejudice hidden behind politeness. Some days, it felt like the war had only changed its shape. The Death Eaters were gone, but the resistance she faced now wore friendlier faces—well-dressed, well-spoken, and firmly opposed to change.
She took a sip of her tea, letting the warmth settle her nerves. It tasted faintly of honey and chamomile—Minerva’s favorite.
“It’s different,” she murmured. “Not worse, not better. Just… lonelier, maybe.”
Minerva raised an eyebrow. “Still not seeing anyone?”
Hermione laughed softly, the sound more wistful than amused. “No. Not since… well. I tried. Men. Women.”
She paused, swirling her tea slowly. “Eventually I realized I’m a lesbian. Which explained a lot, honestly.”
McGonagall gave a slow, thoughtful nod, then said with a glint of warmth in her eyes, “Well, about time you figured it out. I’m proud of you, Hermione. It takes courage to know yourself so deeply.”
She hesitated, then added more quietly, "It took me a long time as well… to accept my own love for women. In our time, it wasn’t something one could speak aloud without consequences."
Hermione blinked, surprised—not at the admission, but at how gently, how openly it was given. Her heart swelled with something like recognition.
“I suppose I’m still figuring it out,” she said. “My job takes so much of me. Fighting for creatures who still don’t have a voice, trying to undo centuries of injustice. It’s fulfilling, but… exhausting. And I don’t always know where I fit outside of it.”
Minerva’s voice softened. “You’ve always been good at creating space where there wasn’t any—even for yourself. Give it time.”
They sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Outside, the grounds of Hogwarts basked in the early summer light. The lake shimmered in the distance. A few third-years could be seen chasing enchanted paper dragons along the edge of the courtyard, their laughter echoing faintly into the office.
“You know,” Hermione said, watching them, “sometimes I think I left a part of myself here. Not just as a student. As… me.”
Minerva nodded. “We all do. That’s what makes this place what it is.”
Hermione glanced around the office. So much had changed, yet so much remained just as she remembered. The portraits of former headmasters murmured quietly in their frames, pretending not to listen.
“So,” Minerva said at last, her voice thoughtful, “how are the boys?”
Hermione’s smile returned, softer now. “Harry and Ron? They’re doing well. Best Auror duo in decades, according to Shacklebolt. You’d be proud.”
“I already am.”
“Harry and Ginny just had their third—little Lily. She’s got Ginny’s fire and Harry’s stubbornness. A terrifying combination.”
Minerva chuckled. “And Ronald?”
“He’s… good,” Hermione said after a brief pause. “He’s with Lavender again. Somehow, they found their way back to each other. And… they seem happy.”
“That surprises you?”
“A little. But maybe it shouldn’t. He always liked someone who could challenge him.”
“Life has strange magic,” Minerva said with a small nod.
Hermione’s gaze drifted back to the window. “It does.”
There was another pause. Then Minerva sighed and leaned back in her chair.
“You know… I miss them.”
Hermione tilted her head. “You see them all the time in the papers.”
“That’s not the same,” Minerva said, her voice suddenly quieter. “I miss them as they were. Young, reckless, brilliant, infuriating. I miss seeing all of you under one roof. I even miss the chaos.”
Hermione smiled faintly, but something flickered behind her eyes.
“You know,” Minerva added, half-laughing, “it wouldn’t be so awful to gather everyone. Maybe just once. A celebration. It’s nearly ten years since graduation, isn’t it?”
Hermione set her teacup down slowly.
“Yes… yes, it is.”
She looked toward the open window, where the sky was beginning to blush with the colors of sunset.
And just like that, the idea began to take root.
A reunion.
At Hogwarts.
Under the summer solstice sky.
A night to remember.
Hermione remained quiet for a moment longer, then asked softly, “Have you heard from Luna?”
Minerva smiled. “Only last week. She sent me a letter by moon moth—an actual one, mind you. She’s currently researching a newly discovered species of mist sprites in the Albanian mountains. She seems… happy. Still Luna. Still wonderfully herself.”
Hermione chuckled. “That sounds exactly like her. I miss her too.”
“She’ll come, if you invite her,” Minerva said with certainty. “She always had a fondness for reunions, even imaginary ones.”
Hermione nodded, already mentally adding Luna to the guest list.
“What about the others?” Minerva asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Well,” Hermione began, “Padma Patil runs a potions clinic in Mumbai, working closely with under-resourced magical communities. Seamus is back in Ireland teaching basic defensive magic to Muggle-born families, and Dean’s opened an art gallery in London—mostly magical realism, from what I hear, but with some bold political pieces too.”
She paused, then added with a smile, “Well, you know Neville—still here, of course. Teaching Herbology, and from what I hear, thriving in it. I think the students adore him more than he realizes.”
She leaned back slightly, thinking. “Parvati went into Divination and travels a lot, I think she’s in South America at the moment. And Terry Boot’s with the Department of Magical Research—he’s trying to develop safer magical technology for non-wizards. Even Zacharias Smith ended up doing something useful—he runs a wizarding wellness retreat in Cornwall, of all things. As for the Slytherins who stayed on the right side of the war… Blaise Zabini now works for Gringotts in their international affairs division. Astoria Greengrass became a magical historian—last I heard, she was lecturing on pre-modern cursework in Prague. And Daphne’s running a magical law firm with surprising integrity. None of them ever quite stayed in the spotlight… but they’ve made lives for themselves. Quiet ones. Honest ones.”
Hermione’s smile widened with each name, her voice filled with warmth and a touch of pride. But when Minerva asked, more gently this time, “And… Draco?”
Hermione exhaled slowly. “He joined the Auror program, not long after Harry and Ron. From what Harry told me, he worked hard. Really hard. Always on time, top marks in spellwork and investigation. But no one ever fully trusted him. Not really.”
Minerva’s expression darkened slightly. “The legacy of his name.”
“Exactly,” Hermione nodded. “Harry tried to vouch for him. He checked in when he could. Said Draco never really opened up, but he could tell… he wasn’t well. Depressed, probably. Withdrawn. He’d stay late in the offices, then vanish for days. And then… five years ago, he just disappeared.”
Minerva’s brows lifted. “Disappeared?”
“Packed up overnight. Left the Ministry. Left everything. No letter. No forwarding owl. Nothing. Harry says it was like he blinked out of existence.”
A silence fell over the room, heavy and a little aching.
Hermione stared down at her empty teacup. “Do you think he’d come? If we invited him?”
“I don’t know,” Minerva said quietly. “But perhaps… he needs it more than anyone.”
A moment of quiet stretched between them, thoughtful and heavy.
Minerva gently tapped her teacup with one finger, then said with a soft smile, “Strange, isn’t it? How the smallest moments linger. Do you remember that incident with the troll in the girls’ bathroom during your first year?”
Hermione chuckled, the sound warm with nostalgia. “How could I forget? If it hadn’t been for that troll, I might never have become friends with Harry and Ron. It was terrifying… but kind of perfect, in hindsight.”
“Terrifying seems to be the word for that entire year,” Minerva said dryly. “I think I aged a decade every time your names came up in a staff meeting.”
Hermione grinned. “Sorry about that. We really didn’t make things easy.”
“No,” Minerva agreed, her eyes twinkling. “But you made it memorable.”
The two women sat together in companionable silence, wrapped in the quiet hum of the castle’s magic. Far below, the faint sound of student laughter drifted up through the stone corridors—a distant echo of the past.
Hermione let out a soft sigh. “This place holds so much of us.”
Minerva nodded. “More than you know.”
The scent of tea and parchment, the shifting colors of the twilight sky, the soft tick of enchanted instruments—it was all so familiar, so deeply a part of them.
Outside, the sky deepened to lavender and rose. The castle stood still, timeless, bearing witness as it always had.
Neither of them spoke again.
Not yet.