CHAPTER FIVE

The Hogwarts Headmistress

Part One

HERMIONE

On September first, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny traipsed into the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley sobbing over a skilletful of scrambled eggs.

“Here, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione stepped in and began making breakfast, while Ron and Ginny hauled her over to the scrubbed wooden table.

“Mum,” Ron said worriedly. “What’s the matter?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ginny asked. “She’s worried about us going back to school.” She glanced over at Harry, who was hovering beside the stove looking uncomfortable.

* * * * *

Once they reached the train station, Mrs. Weasley had cried herself out. When it came time to bid her children, Harry, and Hermione goodbye, she merely clung to them, not daring to say a word. There were no admonishments to ‘be careful’ or ‘stay safe.’ There was nothing to be said.

Once onboard, Ron and Hermione set off for the prefects’ compartment. Ron flashed his Head Boy badge at the passing first and second year students, who quieted up at once. Hermione couldn’t help but notice how empty the train was…

When they arrived at the prefects’ compartment, they discovered that two among their number had vanished. Padma Patil, one of the Ravenclaw prefects, had not returned for her seventh year at Hogwarts. Neither had Draco Malfoy, but this proved no surprise to Ron and Hermione.

Hermione was assigned to patrol the train with Ernie Macmillan, who regaled her with tales of his summer internship at the Ministry of Magic. Hermione only half-listened to what he was saying.

“—Rufus Scrimgeour, you know, the Minister, said I’d make a stellar Minister myself one day. It’s good to be connected, start off on the right foot –”

Hermione wished that her life was so blasé; but as it was, she had no time or energy to look into her post-Hogwarts options.

“—I think the Minister is going about the right course in these difficult times –”

“Do you?” Hermione asked acidly. “The Minister doesn’t care what happens to Harry, does he? He wanted Harry to say he was the Chosen One just for publicity. He’s only concerned about keeping morale up and holding on to his office!”

Ernie looked startled by Hermione’s outburst, and blubbered meaninglessly for a few moments, before opting to remain quiet. They passed the rest of their patrol in silence.

* * * * *

Hermione, Harry, and Ron descended from the train, peering all the while over the first years for a glimpse of Hagrid. But before they could locate him, a small voice uttered her name.

“Hermione Granger?”

Hermione stopped in her tracks, and Ron smacked into her. A little wisp of a girl stood before them, smiling nervously up at Hermione and Harry. Behind them, Ron got gingerly to his feet.

“Headmistress McGonagall wishes to see you straight away. The password is Melancholia,” the girl said simply, fading into the dwindling stream of students before Hermione could ask any further questions.

After bidding Ron and Harry goodbye, Hermione set off for the Transfiguration corridor, before realizing that McGonagall most likely be using Dumbledore’s old office. She set off for the seventh floor corridor, towards the sly gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s quarters.

“Password?”

“Melancholia.”

It leapt nimbly aside, and Hermione ascended the slowly-spiraling staircase, coming to a halt at McGonagall’s door.

“Headmistress?” Hermione called tentatively, peeking through a crack in the door.

“Ah, Miss Granger. Please come in, have a seat.” McGonagall sat imperiously behind the desk. The office had changed drastically since Albus Dumbledore’s days as Headmaster. The once-whirring and spinning silver instruments stood stoically in a row, now silent and still. Hermione’s eyes darted along the row of portraits; a short, red-faced wizard winked at her and sidled out of his frame. Albus Dumbledore’s frame was empty.

McGonagall followed Hermione’s gaze. “Headmaster Dumbledore has other matters to attend to,” she said evenly. “You went to Godric’s Hollow, did you not?”

Hermione nodded, waiting for the telling off that was sure to come - she had almost let Harry discover the truth.

“I see,” McGonagall’s disappointment was audible.

“Headmistress, I – “

“I am not interested in your excuses, Miss Granger. As if Dumbledore’s death wasn’t warning enough…” McGonagall massaged her temples, looking pained. When she continued, her voice was softer, “I know it hasn’t been easy, Hermione, but if Harry discovers the truth the consequences will be dire for all involved.” She gave Hermione a meaningful look.

“Prof-, I mean, Headmistress? When we were in the graveyard…there was a tombstone for a little baby…”

McGonagall nodded.

“Mine?”

“Yes, Miss Granger. When James and Lily gave you up for adoption, Dumbledore thought it would be wise if they staged a small, private funeral. It pained your mother terribly…but babies don’t disappear of their own accord. I’m sure you understand.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“You must stay with Harry at all times,” McGonagall said finally. “No one knows who you truly are…and it must stay that way, no matter what happens.” She rummaged in the pocket of her robe and drew out a tartan handkerchief; she unfurled it and waved it before her face with a shaking hand, and Hermione understood herself to be dismissed.

* * * * *

HARRY

It was difficult to enjoy the feast – the first feast conducted without Dumbledore. After the Sorting Ceremony, McGonagall stood up to say a few words, but was so overcome with emotion that she sank back into her seat, mouthing wordlessly.

To cover the awkwardness of the moment, the feast magically materialized before their eyes. Ron began cramming his mouth full of Welsh rarebit and Yorkshire pudding, and Ginny regaled Harry with news of the latest attacks, but Hermione sat apart from the others looking strangely subdued. Twice, Harry tried (and failed) to catch her eye, and even a loud belch from Ron failed to draw any response.

The chattering voices echoed strangely in the Great Hall; Harry could never remember it looking so empty…so deflated. At moments, the entire Hall seemed to lapse into silence. It had been a long summer, marked by deaths and disappearances. The Patil twins had not returned for their seventh year. Parvati’s best friend, Lavender Brown, sat further down the table, flirting half-heartedly with Seamus Finnigan.

Harry chanced a glance at the Slytherin table, where large gaps separated the few students who had returned. Blaise Zabini sat alone, as strikingly handsome as ever, and Pansy Parkinson, surrounded by a gaggle of dark-haired girls, was eyeing him hopefully. The four other Slytherin boys in Harry’s grade were nowhere to be seen. Harry’s mind drifted to Draco Malfoy, and a bitter taste filled his mouth. The last time he’d seen Malfoy, he was being half-pulled across the Hogwarts grounds, urged along by Snape. Harry clenched the stem of his goblet so tightly that the finely embossed pattern copied itself onto his taut skin.

Slughorn sat at the Staff table, chatting amiably with a stone-faced Argus Filch as he downed tankard after tankard of pumpkin juice spiked with mulled mead. Slughorn alone appeared unaware of the gloomy atmosphere in the Great Hall. By the end of the meal, he was gesticulating with such jollity and gusto that even the good-natured Madam Sprout was casting him dirty looks.

At long last, the prefects rose from their seats and ambled up and down the aisles rounding up the dwindling number of first years for their first tour of the castle. With Ron and Hermione otherwise occupied, Harry slipped out of the Great Hall unseen and set off for the Gryffindor Common room alone. Only when he reached the Fat Lady did he realize that he did not know the password, but the Fat Lady gave him a sympathetic smile and swung open regardless.

Harry looked around the Common Room. The last time he’d seen it, it had been teeming with tearful students, the armchairs and poufs filled by sobbing girls and stoney-faced boys. Now it stood empty. Harry’s eyes came to rest on the fire, but he tore them away, thoughts of Sirius churning in his head. He glanced towards the windows, only to see that barricades had been erected, shielding the Common Room from prying eyes. Harry hastened up the boys’ dormitories, hoping that he could pretend to be asleep when Seamus, Dean, Ron, and Neville arrived. He flopped onto his four poster bed and stared at the ceiling. He felt useless. I should be out finding the Horcruxes…there’s no point – being here now…

* * * * *

“Harry!” Hermione said despairingly, as he trudged in for breakfast just as she and Ron were departing for their first class. “Harry, where were you?”

“Let him be, Hermione,” Ron steered her towards the door, but Hermione slipped out of his grasp and rushed to Harry’s side.

“Harry, I thought you – I thought you agreed it would be a good idea to come back…you know, maybe for a few classes—” Hermione was inordinately pale and she kept trailing her fingers nervously through her long brown hair.

“Look, Hermione, I came back – that’s what you wanted me to do, isn’t it?” Harry plunked down on the bench and helped himself to a bowl of porridge. Hermione looked exasperated.

“I’m not going to class,” he said sternly. “I’ll just…” His voice trailed off and Ron finally succeeded in dragging Hermione out of the Great Hall.

* * * * *

Half-an-hour later, Harry was still roaming the halls. For a time, Sir Cadogan had sprinted alongside him, proffering his one-dimensional hand for Harry to shake. Now, Harry was alone once more. As he passed the Staff room, a somber voice called out to him.

“Mr. Potter? In here, if you please.”

Harry turned to see McGonagall standing by the window in the rather dingy Staff room. Once inside, Harry was unsure what to say to her. He hadn’t seen or heard from McGonagall since Dumbledore’s funeral in late June.

 “Out of class, I see.”

That much was obvious. Harry said nothing.

“I am pleased to see that you decided to return for your seventh year.”

“Hermione thought it would be a good idea if I did,” Harry said, somewhat clumsily.

“I quite concur.”

McGonagall paused, on the pretense of straightening a pile of papers on her desk. Then said, “If the rumors are correct, you have relinquished the Gryffindor team captaincy?”

Harry nodded.

McGonagall studied his critically, “Severus always used to rub it in – ” She stopped abruptly, looking quite wrong-footed. “Perhaps it’s for the best. There are more important things these days.”

She turned her back on him and stared out the window at the distant Quidditch Pitch.

“Know that you can count on me, Mr. Potter. And I do hope to see you in class now and again this term. You may find that some of my lessons may come in handy. I’m no Albus Dumbledore, but you’ll find that I to can be of service.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

As Harry left, he could have sworn he saw McGonagall wipe a tear from her eye.

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