Chapter Text
The Golden Trio Rumored to Return for their 8th and Final Year at Hogwarts!
Harry Potter , the Boy Who Lived to Defeat You-Know-Who, Ronald Weasley , the War Hero, and Hermione Granger , the Golden Girl and War Heroine, were recently spotted shopping in the newly restored Diagon Alley, preparing for their upcoming 8th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This comes in the wake of the Ministry of Magic’s controversial decision to require all recent 7th-year graduates to return for an additional year of schooling. The Ministry cited the incomplete or, in some cases, nonexistent education during the previous year due to the war, making this final year essential for those wishing to pursue careers within the Ministry.
In response to significant public backlash last month, the Ministry agreed to house the returning students separately from Hogwarts, with plans to lodge them in Hogsmeade for the school year. A deal was struck with a local hotel owner, securing the building for the full school year. While 45 students were mandated to return, only 19 have committed to finishing their education. It remains unclear whether the remaining 26 will be considered graduates or dropouts.
The decision to house the 8th years in Hogsmeade came after public outcry when the Ministry’s mandate was first announced. One parent, whose child is among the returning students, commented, “It’s ridiculous! My child is of age and has been through a bloody war, but now they need permission to go out on weekends like a first-year. The Ministry’s rules are utterly baffling.”
Another parent, whose child is an incoming first-year, expressed concern, “My eleven-year-old daughter is going to be living, sleeping, and hanging out around grown adults? How is that safe or appropriate? We don’t even know who’s returning! I don’t want my little girl forced to sleep just doors down from a former Death Eater!”
Given the many mixed reactions surrounding the Ministry’s decision, one can’t help but wonder: Will the fallen from grace, former Death Eater Draco Malfoy be among the 19 returning students? Stay tuned in the coming weeks to find out.
Article by Rita Skeeter.
September settled over Hogsmeade with irritating perfection. Window boxes overflowed with late-blooming flowers. Fresh paint gleamed across crooked storefronts. Children darted between witches carrying shopping bags twice their size, their laughter spilling into the cobbled streets as though the world had never stopped turning.
Everything had been repaired. That was the problem. Nothing looked broken anymore. You could almost believe a war had never marched through these streets. Almost believe there hadn't been ash in the gutters. Blood on the stones. Smoke so thick it had swallowed the mountains beyond the village. Time had scrubbed it all away.
People were remarkably good at pretending.
A trunk rolled over the uneven cobblestones, its wheels catching every few feet. The rhythmic clatter echoed through the otherwise cheerful afternoon. Hogsmeade House stood at the end of the lane, a polished three-story brick building with freshly cleaned windows reflecting the September sun.
Hermione Granger lifted her gaze to the building. It towered overhead, imposing despite its welcoming exterior. Freshly polished windows gleamed in the September sun, while climbing ivy framed the warm brick façade. McGonagall's letter had contained little more than an address, a date, and a list of required textbooks and supplies. Everything else waited behind the front door.
With a deep breath, Hermione wrapped her hand around the brass handle and pushed the door open. Warmth greeted her immediately.
She almost laughed.
Someone had clearly gone to great lengths to make the place feel inviting. Soft beige walls glowed beneath subtle enchantments that mimicked the changing daylight. Polished wooden floors reflected the firelight spilling from a large hearth at the far end of the lobby. Comfortable sofas were arranged around the fireplace, their upholstery untouched and perfectly straight.
To the left, an open doorway revealed a communal kitchen and dining room. A long wooden table stretched through the center of the room, waiting for nineteen students who'd already spent enough time together to last a lifetime.
Straight ahead, a wrought-iron spiral staircase wound upward to the second and third floors, where the students' rooms presumably were. Beside it, glass-paned doors opened onto a wide, covered veranda stretching across the back of the hotel. Shallow steps descended into a sprawling garden dotted with benches, flowering hedges, and a weathered stone path that disappeared into the tree line.
Laughter carried in through the open doors, drawing Hermione's attention. Ginny was the first to notice her. Mid-conversation, she broke off, her face immediately brightening with unmistakable relief.
The sight sent a dull ache through Hermione's chest.
Harry and Ron followed Ginny's gaze, both turning towards her.
Whatever warmth had stirred inside her only moments before quietly receded.
Ginny didn't hesitate. She crossed the lobby in four quick strides and wrapped Hermione in a hug. For a second, Hermione simply stood there. Then she returned it, her arms tightening just enough to count before pulling away.
"You came," Ginny said quietly.
Hermione managed a small nod.
Harry reached them a moment later, offering a tired but genuine smile. "Good to see you, Hermione."
"You too." The words felt painfully insufficient the moment they left her mouth.
Ron lingered a step behind, shifting the weight of his trunk before clearing his throat. "How've you been?"
Hermione offered the same answer she'd been giving everyone for months. "Fine."
None of them looked convinced. Silence settled over the four of them.
Hermione realized she no longer knew how to fill it.
Ginny tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "We're just glad you made it."
Hermione frowned. "Of course I was coming."
Ginny and Harry exchanged a quick glance.
"You weren't answering your owls," Harry said carefully.
"And every time we asked if you wanted to meet up," Ron added, "you had somewhere else to be."
Hermione looked away. She did have other places to be…mostly at home.
Alone.
It had been easier to sit in the half-empty house than pretend she still belonged anywhere else.
"I was busy."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Hermione—"
"I said I was busy." The words came out sharper than she'd intended.
Ginny's expression fell. No one spoke.
Heat crept up Hermione's neck. "I don't need checking up on," she muttered. "I'm not going to fall apart just because I didn't answer a few owls."
"We never said you were," Harry replied quietly.
Hermione let the words die in her throat. She no longer knew how to explain herself without sounding like she was picking a fight.
Ginny forced a small smile. "Want to come see the rooms before everyone else gets here?"
Hermione lifted one shoulder. "Might as well."
Ron reached for the handle of her trunk. "I've got—"
"Don't." Hermione's fingers tightened instinctively around the handle.
Ron withdrew his hand immediately. "...Right."
Without another word, Hermione turned towards the spiral staircase. She led the way upwards, the others following behind as their footsteps echoed softly through the wrought-iron stairwell.
On the first-floor landing, the staircase opened onto a broad corridor that stretched the length of the building before disappearing around a gentle bend. Polished oak floorboards ran beneath their feet, softened by a deep burgundy runner that muffled every footstep. Identical oak doors lined both sides of the hall, each set an equal distance apart and fitted with polished brass handles and matching nameplates. Framed landscapes hung between the rooms, their painted skies drifting lazily from morning to dusk beneath the glow of wrought-iron wall sconces. The air carried the faint scent of polished wood and fresh linen, and for a fleeting moment it felt more like an old country inn than student accommodation.
It felt like another thing she was expected to be grateful for.
Harry stopped at the first door, a crooked grin tugging at his lips as he read the polished brass nameplate. Harry Potter. Across the corridor sat Ronald Weasley.
Ron let out a dry chuckle, nudging Harry with his elbow. "Brilliant. No escape from you, then."
Harry snorted. "You wish you could escape me."
There had been a time when exchanges like that would have made her smile. Now, they barely registered.
They continued on. Dean Thomas. Opposite, Seamus Finnigan. Further along, Blaise Zabini, across from Pansy Parkinson.
Ron made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Oh, brilliant," he muttered. "We've got bloody Slytherins already."
Hermione shot him a tired look over her shoulder before continuing down the corridor.
The remaining doors passed beneath her gaze in quick succession: Tracey Davis opposite Zacharias Smith, then Mandy Brocklehurst across from Hannah Abbott.
Ginny slowed just enough to read the final pair of nameplates before falling back into step beside her. "I’m surprised they didn't split everyone by House," she murmured.
Hermione gave a noncommittal hum, pushing toward the spiral staircase to head to the top level.
There was only one floor left, and somewhere above was her room. The staircase suddenly felt steeper than it had a moment ago. Every step carried her closer to a door with her name on it, a room she'd be expected to sleep in, study in, live in.
It was only a year.
She repeated the thought to herself anyway, as though saying it often enough might make it feel shorter.
Beyond her own room, she had no idea who else she might find upstairs. She'd spent so much of the summer shutting everyone out that she'd barely given the other returning students a thought. Now, with only one flight of stairs left, she found herself wondering who had actually come back and who hadn't.
By the time they reached the second-floor landing, silence had settled over all four of them. The corridor was almost identical to the one below, the same polished floorboards and identical doors stretching in opposite directions.
Harry wandered towards the first room. Neville Longbottom. Across the corridor, Michael Corner.
A small smile tugged at Harry's mouth. "At least Nev's here."
Hermione had already moved on. Parvati Patil. Opposite, Padma Patil.
"Bet they're relieved," Ginny murmured.
Hermione kept walking, her eyes moving from one polished nameplate to the next. Every door that wasn't hers tightened something low in her chest.
Susan Bones. Opposite, Theodore Nott.
She didn't even finish reading the names before her gaze caught on the next plaque.
Draco Malfoy.
Everything else disappeared.
The corridor. The voices. Even the soft creak of footsteps behind her dissolved into nothing as her stomach lurched. Her chest tightened so suddenly she forgot how to breathe.
It shouldn't matter.
She forced herself to breathe.
In.
Out.
Across the corridor sat Daphne Greengrass.
"...You've got to be joking." Ron had stopped beside her. "Merlin forbid we get a break."
Hermione didn't hear him.
Her pulse was suddenly everywhere—behind her eyes, in her throat, hammering beneath her ribs.
In.
Out.
There were only two doors left. One belonged to Ginny. The other belonged to her.
Ginerva Weasley.
"Oh, brilliant," she sighed. "Just brilliant."
Hermione didn't move. Her eyes remained fixed on the final brass plaque, but she couldn't bring herself to read it. She already knew what it was going to say. Every heartbeat seemed to echo through the corridor, loud enough that she was certain everyone else could hear it too.
Hermione Granger.
Right beside Draco Malfoy.
A single wall separated them.
It was only a year.
In.
Out.
Ron stared between the two doors, his expression darkening. "This is ridiculous. You shouldn't have to live next to him after everything he did."
Harry frowned. "We'll talk to McGonagall."
"Talk to her?" Ron scoffed. "There shouldn't be anything to sort. Malfoy shouldn't be here."
Hermione stared at her name.
In.
Out.
"Honestly," Ron continued, "after everything he did—"
Her fingers tightened around the handle of her trunk until her knuckles turned white.
In.
Out.
"I mean, what were they thinking? Sticking you next to—"
Her jaw clenched.
Harry glanced at her. "Ron..."
Ron either didn't notice or didn't care. "He shouldn't be anywhere near you."
The words echoed through the corridor.
One after another.
Malfoy.
Him.
Him.
Him.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.
Breathe.
It wasn't working.
Another breath.
Still not enough.
Ron opened his mouth again. "They could've put—"
"WOULD YOU STOP!" The words tore out of her before she could stop them.
Three pairs of eyes snapped towards her.
Hermione dragged in another breath, her pulse still hammering against her ribs. "I'm standing right here, Ron."
Ron blinked, his mouth falling open. The irritation drained from his face, replaced by stunned confusion. "I'm trying to help."
"I don't—I don't need..." She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "Just stop."
Ron frowned, his brows pulling together. "I'm only saying—"
"I heard what you said!" Her voice cracked on the last word.
Ron stared at her. "...I'm on your side."
Hermione let out a short, breathless laugh. It held no humour, only frustration. "You don't get it."
Ron's confusion gave way to disbelief. "Get what?"
She opened her mouth.
Her jaw worked soundlessly as she searched for words that refused to come. Her throat felt too tight, her thoughts tangled somewhere behind the panic still clawing at her chest.
Harry stepped in before the silence could stretch any further. "Ron... leave it."
Ron looked between Harry and Hermione, his jaw tightening. "But—"
"Enough." Ginny's voice was quiet, but it stopped the conversation all the same. "...Let's just unpack first."
No one moved.
Hermione became vaguely aware of the ache in her hand. Her fingers had locked so tightly around the handle of her trunk that it took a conscious effort to loosen them. She didn't look at Harry. Or Ron. Or Ginny.
She took one unsteady step towards her door, then another. The wheels of her trunk rattled loudly over the runner behind her. Every step felt painfully slow, as though she were walking through water.
She could feel them watching her.
She didn't turn around.
The brass handle turned beneath her trembling fingers. She pushed the door open, dragged the trunk over the threshold, and shut the door behind her with a quiet click.
Alone.
The room blurred at the edges as she abandoned the trunk where it stood. The bed was only a few steps away. Somehow, it felt much farther.
By the time she reached it, her legs had begun to shake. She sank onto the edge of the mattress, elbows on her knees, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes as she fought to steady her breathing.
In.
Out.
It was only a year.