Chapter Text
There was only about a week after the Easter Holidays before the school was to be the setting for the one-year anniversary of the Final Battle, and it was the topic of much conversation around tables in the Great Hall and throughout the corridors between classes. With the exception of the Eighth Years, very few students currently enrolled at Hogwarts were actually present for the events of that day. While many of them had lost someone they knew, whether family member, friend, neighbor, or otherwise, there were lots of unanswered questions. As a result, the mentors found themselves on the receiving end of a barrage of queries regarding their experiences and recollections, and not just from their own First Years, but from other, random students.
Draco was on his way back from lunch with Olivia when he was approached in the hallway by a young Slytherin student whom he recalled seeing in years past, so the boy was not a First or Second Year. The dark-haired youth was walking in the opposite direction and stopped mid-stride when he noticed Draco strolling towards him. Draco, on the other hand, was immersed in thoughts of his latest Ancient Runes translations, wondering if he should have Anthony double-check that last answer before turning it in, and didn’t notice the other boy until he was almost face-to-face with him.
“Oh, sorry,” Draco stopped short and shook his head, clearing the academic fog and taking in the younger wizard, who was standing in the middle of the corridor, simply staring at him with curious, hazel eyes. “Can I help you?”
“You’re Draco Malfoy, correct?” the boy asked.
Draco nodded and gave a small smile, “Yes, that’s me.”
The other student continued to observe him for a moment, and it was just on the verge of becoming uncomfortable when he spoke again.
“You fought in the Battle, didn’t you?”
Draco felt his heart sink a little. He’d had several conversations like this over the past few days; one with Olivia, one with Christopher, one with Andrew who specifically sought him out in the library to ask him some hard questions, and one with Allison who, as a Slytherin herself, was struggling with the reputation her house held from the events of that tragic yet triumphant day.
“I did, yes,” he replied, although he didn’t really know if what he’d done that day was actually considered “fighting.” He did a lot of skulking and spying, a fair bit of running, even more hiding, and more screaming than he’d ever admit to. The whole thing was a blur of ear-splitting noise, fire, smoke, ground-shaking explosions, and overwhelming terror in his memory. He knew he’d cast a handful of hexes, and even more protective spells as he’d tried to make heads or tails of what was going on around him. He didn’t really think, though, that the wizard before him was looking for those kinds of answers.
“Is it true that most of the Slytherins left the castle? Even the ones who were of age?” There was no accusation in his tone, just genuine curiosity.
“Yes, that’s true. Professor McGonagall told all of the younger students from all of the houses to leave, and the majority of the older ones from Slytherin left, too.” He considered this for a moment, and studied the younger student, who looked to be a Fourth or even Fifth Year, based on his height and facial features. “I take it you weren’t here that day?”
“No,” the boy shook his head, “My parents didn’t let me return after the Christmas holidays. They, well, we really, are Purebloods, Selwyns to be precise, but we’ve never believed in blood-prejudice, and didn’t support Voldemort or his followers, so they were afraid I’d be targeted. My father’s cousin was a Death Eater.”
Draco nodded in understanding, knowing their fears were not unfounded, and remembering the unpleasant man that bore the name.
“I guess I’ve always wondered what I would have done, if I had been here. If I’d had a choice.”
Draco knew the weight of “what-ifs” and expressed as much, “Be thankful you weren’t. It was a bloody, violent, nightmarish day. It should never have happened, because the nose-less bastard shouldn’t have been allowed to carry his bigoted campaign that far. My father was one of his most devoted followers and it was the biggest mistake of his life.” He paused for a moment and then said in a quieter voice, “Mine, too.”
“So you don’t believe all that magical birthright toss?” the boy watched him carefully for his response.
“No,” his response was swift and sure, “I used to, in a vague way when I was younger, and then I was basically threatened into following suit, but by the time I was able to decide for myself, it was too late. I was in too deep.” He sighed deeply and looked at the floor, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Biggest load of thestral shite there ever was.”
Young Selwyn chuckled at that, causing Draco to look up and give an answering smirk.
“I’m glad you see it that way, now,” hazel eyes glinted with pride, “For so long, Slytherin house has had such a dark reputation, but if the son of one of the most prominent Death Eaters can admit to a change of heart, then there’s hope for the rest.” He smiled genuinely and added, “I don’t know if you know this, but you’re looked at as quite the role model in the dungeon.”
“What?” Draco was completely taken aback, his brows shooting up into his white-blonde fringe.
“Yeah,” Selwyn shrugged, still grinning, “At first some of the older students, I guess the ones who’d interacted with you the most, though it was just an act. That you were just on your best behavior or something. But as this year’s gone on, they’ve heard about you teaching the First Years to fly, and have watched how you treat others in the castle. And then, of course, there’s the fact that you’ve managed to land the Gryffindor Princess as your girlfriend.”
Draco sputtered and gaped and wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that, but he didn’t have to as the younger boy continued.
“I mean, it’s pretty safe to say that if Hermione Granger thinks you’re alright, you really must be,” his grin turned teasing and he arched a brow at the older wizard, whose cheeks had gone rather red.
Draco nodded and huffed a laugh, knowing that once again there was much truth to what Selwyn had just said.
“Thanks,” the dark-haired lad extended his hand in gesture, which Draco took and shook firmly but cocked his head in question.
“For what?”
“For answering my questions honestly. Not everyone does. Especially not everyone in our circles.”
“I won’t argue with you there,” Draco snorted, “What’s your name?”
“Frederick,” the boy grinned.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Frederick,” and Draco truly meant it. He had a feeling the wizard before him had a bright future ahead if he maintained his honest and sincere outlook.
“You too, Draco,” Frederick nodded and resumed his journey down the hall, leaving the tall blonde standing there, lost in thought while he watched him go.
It was mildly unnerving to know that students of all ages had apparently been keeping tabs on him this year, not that it was unexpected. He was used to a certain amount of notoriety, especially within the green and silver dungeons, but when he’d returned to the castle in the fall, he had done so with a great desire to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and had, for the most part, felt that he’d succeeded. Most of his interactions had been solely with those in his own house, or his First Years, but clearly the walls had eyes and ears if the things he’d been doing were the topic of much conversation.
He was pleased, however, with the results. He had changed and he was very glad that fact was recognized, even if it was based largely on the evidence that he was dating the Brightest Witch of the Age. He wholeheartedly agreed with Frederick, though. If Hermione Granger had found it in her heart to forgive him, accept him, trust him, and Merlin it still seemed insane, love him, then that was far more than he could have ever done to prove it himself.
ooOoo
“Did you really fly a dragon out of Gringotts?”
“Did the horcruxes really scream when you destroyed them?”
“Could the snake talk to you? Or did it just, you know, hiss?”
“Did the witch you pretended to be ever see you at the Ministry?”
“Does Harry Potter have a hippogriff tattooed on his…”
“Oh, honestly,” Hermione broke through the litany of questions, “Not that again!” She peered around the group that had converged on her over the last twenty minutes. What had started as a regular weekly dinner with her three First Years had turned into an inquisition she hadn’t exactly agreed to. As sometimes happens, students at nearby tables overheard the conversation she was having with her young charges which, unsurprisingly, was centered on the upcoming memorial service and the events that had taken place a year ago.
Malcolm had asked about the horcruxes, how they had learned about them and figured out what they all were. This, in turn, led to questions about all the planning and plotting it took to actually get them, and the danger involved in the whole process. One of Dean’s First Years at the next table heard her mention the goblins, and plopped down in an empty seat to share what his mentor had told him about his own experience the previous year, particularly when it came to his time on the run, and his stay at Shell Cottage. That information led to a whole new round of questioning from Hermione’s group, which drew the attention of two Second Year Hufflepuffs who were walking by. They, too, joined the table and as the discussion continued, the audience grew.
There were now no less than twenty students sitting at or standing around the table Hermione felt trapped at, and as soon as one question was answered, seven more were launched at her. She had been trying to answer them in some semblance of chronological order, trying to be honest without going into gory detail, trying to give truthful yet tactful responses to some of the more personal queries, but was really starting to feel quite overwhelmed. That last one about Harry’s tattoo was the final straw. She felt like it was Sixth Year all over again and was counting to ten in her head as a means to not start yelling at the gaggle of younger students surrounding her when she was mercifully saved by the headmistress.
“What are you all doing?” her sharp, clear voice rang out above the chorus of chatter. Her hawk-like gaze swept over them and landed on a clearly-frustrated witch whose normally chaotic curls were even frizzier than usual, and whose youthful face was pinched and wan. “Miss Granger, are you quite alright?”
At this, the buzz of conversation stopped and all eyes fell on her. She didn’t want to get any of them in trouble; she understood why they had so many questions, she just hadn’t been prepared for the toll it would take on her to have to sift through all those memories. She nodded and smiled weakly at her favorite teacher.
“Yes, Professor, we were just talking about the events of last year.”
Understanding dawned on the older witch’s face and her features softened slightly as she studied the young woman before her who had endured so much and yet still continued to be a beacon of hope for the Wizarding World. She could only imagine the imposing questions that had been asked, or the unwelcome images that had most likely crossed the brilliant girl’s mind. They all carried burdens they wished to forget.
She clapped her hands briskly and waved them in a shooing motion towards the door, “Enough of an interrogation for today, I should think. There will be plenty of opportunities for you to learn more about the Battle and the months leading up to it at the memorial service this weekend.” She pinned each student with a stern glare, “Please refrain from bombarding our Eighth Years with any more questions in the meantime.”
The previously-animated group shuffled around, looking sheepishly at the floor as some of them mumbled “thanks,” or “bye,” as they made their way to the doors. Hermione made sure to hug Allison, Darla, and Malcolm, who were all looking extremely guilty, as if it had all somehow been their fault.
“It’s fine,” she assured them, “No harm done.” The girls returned her embrace with small sniffles and whispered apologies, and Malcolm actually squeezed her with both arms instead of the side-hug he usually endured from her. As her little trio disappeared from sight, she turned to the headmistress who was still by her side.
“I’m sorry, Miss Granger. If I had realized what was going on, I would have interrupted sooner,” McGonagall looked truly distressed and Hermione wanted nothing more than to put her mind at ease.
“It really is alright, Professor. I’ve had other conversations about last year with younger students before. This one just happened to draw a larger audience, and was a little overwhelming in the sheer volume of questions. But it’s important that they know, that they understand, so they can make sure it never happens again.” She smiled then, a genuine smile, because she truly believed that if the stories were told and talked about, then people wouldn’t forget, and better choices could be made moving forward.
The headmistress shook her head in mild awe of the younger witch. She had no doubt that if Hermione, and others who thought like her, took their well-deserved positions of leadership in the world in the years to come, that the future was very bright, indeed.
In an uncharacteristic display of familiarity, she wrapped an arm around the petite brunette as they began to walk towards the Entrance Hall. As they passed through the doorway, she remembered something she’d wished to discuss with her star pupil.
“I need to begin scheduling exit interviews,” she stopped and turned to face Hermione. “We will wait until after the memorial service, of course. In fact, I don’t plan to start until the second week of May. Could you post this,” she withdrew her wand and gave it a swirl, and a scroll of parchment appeared in the air beside her, “In your dormitory, please?”
Hermione took it and unrolled it, scanning it quickly to find a basic announcement regarding the upcoming meetings the headmistress wished to have. At the bottom were about two dozen time slots with space next to them for the Eighth Years to write their names. She rolled it back up and nodded with a smile.
“Thank you. I have given more than enough opportunities, but if none of those times should work for a particular student, please tell them to stop by my office as soon as possible so that another option can be discussed.”
“Of course, Professor. Is there a deadline for when you want everyone to have signed up by?” Hermione asked, knowing her mentor disliked leaving things until last minute.
“By next Friday at the latest, though sooner would be preferable.”
Hermione nodded, “I’ll tell them.”
“Thank you, my dear,” McGonagall placed her hand on the other witch’s arm, “I hope the rest of your evening is much more relaxing.” And with that, she turned and swept off down the corridor, leaving Hermione to smile fondly after her.