One for sorrow, two for mirth

'Hello, Hogwarts,' Hermione thinks, giving out a small smile to these familiar ancient walls that adorn the view in the train window. The castle greets her back, she can swear it. It’s tough. Her best friend and her boyfriend have both decided to ditch their last year in favour of Auror-training. The Ministry offered them a unique opportunity to start there right after the war without graduating or passing the N.E.W.T.s. She has been offered a couple of tempting jobs too, but… After carefully thinking it over, Hermione declined. She is aiming for a highest possible position in the Ministry, and being a war hero is an asset, but not as impressive as a graduated war hero with impeccable N.E.W.T. grades. But it’s tough — returning to Hogwarts, her wizarding home, full of sacred happy memories, now when every stone of it makes her see fire, blood and dead friends. She has been steeled and freed by the war in many ways, but in just as many ways, she has been broken. All of them have been. And each one processes it differently. In particular, Ron prefers facing everything about the war head-on. He stopped replacing Voldemort’s name with common secretive aliases, eagerly recites tales of Order’s heroism and practically lives for news about Death Eaters being captured and persecuted each day. All that is griffindorishly brave, of course, but she worries for him even more than for Harry. Somehow, Harry seems more serene, like his life has started anew. Well, in a sense, it really has. Hermione closes her eyes and practically begs her mind to come up with nice memories and not… the other kind. She succeeds with her first spell in the Charms lesson. Harry and Ron burst into the girls' restroom when she has already braced herself for a future as a troll snack. Damn. Even the best of her memories are often about some near-death experience. She scoffs, her eyes still closed. Harry is back from the hospital ward after facing Quirrel. This… This is one of her favourites. This is when she realised that they are indeed friends… Then… The day in Diagon Alley right before their second year. She is so giddy to meet Lockhart (ugh, nasty man), but even more — to dive again into her magical school life together with her friends. And Mr Weasley is so nice to her overwhelmed parents that Hermione wants to hug him with all her twelve-year-old might. A green-faced Ron with a bucket full of slugs… No-no, that was, of course, ghastly, but the way he stood up for her without a second thought made her feel… Warm. All of a sudden, a strange memory crams into her safe haven of treasured reveries: a flaming letter, a lovers' portrait on the third floor, Draco with his eyebrows raised in amusement. Hermione doesn’t know what to make of it. The stupid love note prank which Malfoy’s clique pulled early in the third year definitely isn’t on her list of therapeutic memories. But it’s not particularly unpleasant either. It’s just a thing she happens to remember very vividly for no reason. A fragment of the past when Draco could still be carefree enough to occupy his days and thoughts with petty escapades and the three of them had the privilege to care for his nastiness. Draco is also here, on the train. She has noticed his monochromatic figure among the crowd at the platform earlier. When she, Harry and Ron have talked about the upcoming last year of school, they have sometimes wondered if any of the Death Eaters' children were going to return. And it has always ended with Ron barking something along the lines of: 'Mark my bloody words, if any of them as much as show their bastard faces at King’s Cross, they are dead meat! Well, at least Malfoy won’t be there, he’s too much of a coward. Hope his family will just rot in their wretched manor! ' She would just sigh and exchange a worried glance with Harry. Neither he nor she harbour any hatred towards Draco these days. He did what he did out of love for his family, and at the end of the day this love even helped to save Harry. For Ron, that isn’t an excuse, and she gets him, of course. Ron loves his family no less, yet he’s never wavered, none of them have, and for that they had to pay with Fred’s life. She gets why Ron is like this. But she cannot understand how he wants to build a world without hatred… on hatred reversed. Hermione opens her eyes with a sigh. Maybe she has made a mistake leaving Ron in Harry’s care. Maybe she had to stay by his side and help him recuperate. There is not much she, even as his girlfriend, can do over distance. 'Have you seen him?! What a shameless tosser! ' a short but beefy Ravenclaw whispers loudly, joining his friends in the next compartment. 'For what it’s worth, the other bigoted kids had the decency to stay at home with their sadistic parents! ' Well, at least Ron is without a doubt in tune with the majority on this matter… When the giant doors to the Great Hall open, everybody gasps in shock. The beloved view of four large House tables, groaning with food, is no more. Well, the tables are still there, but they are arched now and form a giant circle. 'The Round Table,' Hermione thinks instantly. The tales of King Arthur and his valiant knights has been one of her favourite books since early childhood, even before she discovered her magic. The students cram in front of the table, not sure where they should sit. Professor McGonagall is preoccupied with meeting the first-years (apparently she loves this ceremony too much to delegate it even now, when she is the school’s Headmistress), and the other teachers are also absent for some reason. Suddenly, Hermione realises that in a situation like this, it is her, the Head Girl, who is responsible for the students. 'Please, everyone, take your seats! ' she instructs, her voice volumed up with the tip of her wand. 'Be patient, don’t rush in front of others.' The crowd becomes even more agitated, but nobody sits down. 'We have to act organised, please, ' Hermione continues. 'But, Miss Granger, ma’am, which seats are ours? ' a second-year Hufflepuff timidly asks, averting his eyes. Hermione is surprised that none of them are familiar with the idea of the round table while Merlin is the single greatest wizard in all of the history books. And for the love of Godric, did he just call her 'ma’am'?! 'Why, any and all, ' she replies to him — and to everyone. 'Please sit wherever you prefer, regardless of your year and House. Professor McGonagall will explain everything later today. Now sit at ease! ' And she sits down on the nearest bench to set an example. Gradually, the benches fill up with students. Of course, most of them still flock by their Houses, but she sees a bunch of interhouse friendships and romances and can’t help but smile. This is a start. Maybe the news McGonagall prepared for today won’t ignite a riot after all. The teachers are still not present, and Hermione tries to brush off her paranoid thoughts. Everything is fine, no one is attacking the castle, none of the teachers is secretly a disguised Death Eater and the Ministry is not interfering with the school’s policies. They are safe. The students around her also grow more and more nervous. Luckily, Hermione knows a trick to calm down almost anyone: she calls for a head kitchen House-Elf, Bibbie, and asks her to apparate the food now, with or without their academic staff. A blink — and the food is everywhere. The whole table breathes a sigh of relief, and the students dig in right away. Almost all the tension is now gone. Hermione snickers. This strategy has always worked like a charm with Ron. She fills her plate with potatoes, a ladle of stew, and some black pudding. Her eyes wander around the table. This year, the students are a patchy crowd — those who attended Hogwarts the previous year have been given two options: take the same year program again, this time with a becoming curriculum, or start the next year if they are confident in their abilities. As for Hermione’s peers, the second option turned for them into a graduation without exams. Certain individuals jumped at the opportunity: Finnegan, of course, both Patil sisters, Ernie McMillan, several others, and the majority of the Slytherins. The Ravenclaw boy she overheard in Hogwarts Express was right — none of the Death Eaters' children returned to graduate properly. Except for Draco. Draco sits to the far left from her, the last in the Slytherin row. Everyone at the table is sitting practically skin-to-skin, but around Draco there is some deliberately empty space, like an exclusion area. He seems to be absolutely unbothered by it. His plate is untouched, his back is perfectly straight, his eyes register nothing. Hermione can’t help but to feel her heart sink. What could possibly make him come back to a place where he is hated even by his housemates? Well, she probably knows the answer (and not even because she happens to be a know-it-all) — Lucius Malfoy must be, as always, the reason Draco does anything. ‘Good evening and welcome back to Hogwarts! ’ a cushioned voice cuts off Hermione’s train of thought. 'I apologise for the delay, it was an absolute necessity as you are going to see. Besides, I understand that all of you have managed to make yourselves at home even in our absence! Not without the help of the school’s new Head Girl Miss Granger, I suppose.' Professor McGonagall gives her a stern smile, and suddenly everyone at the table starts to applaud. Hermione feels terribly awkward. Of course, she understands this ovation has nothing to do with her getting them to sit and organising a dinner. They thank her for the war. They thank her in lieu of Harry. 'Now-now, I understand your eagerness, but let’s not make Miss Granger blush. Please return your undivided attention to the matter at hand.’ She raises her voice just slightly, but the students calm down in a flash. ‘As you have probably noticed, this year’s start-of-term banquet is visibly different from usual. There are no House tables, and the Sorting Ceremony hasn’t yet taken place… The reason is, starting today, the Sorting Hat will be enjoying its retirement.' She chuckles stiffly at her own joke. 'As of now, all four Hogwarts Houses are permanently disbanded.' The immediate uproar at the table nearly deafens Hermione, and she covers her ears, suddenly hearing painful screams, explosions and crumbling stones.