AN: I don't mean to do this, but unfortunately, I feel it is necessary. Restoration; chapters 1-4 are currently being re-written due to the originals being completely abysmal. It is also something to note, that Restoration is quite a slow burning fic. It is at chapter 4 that something actually feels like it is starting to happen, but the first three are to give you an idea of what needs to be done, and what is to come. If you are a first time reader, I hope you can bare with me, if you're a follower; I suggest re-reading and deciding if it's worth sticking with from there on. Last of all, thank you all very much for taking the time to have a look at my first fic in way too many years. All my love to you and your kindness.
"It's over Albus," Minerva said, peering up at a portrait hanging in the Heads office of Hogwarts. The elderly gentleman in the picture, shifted in his chair slightly, untangling his hands from the depths of a beard as long as winter.
"Yes, I was…wondering," he said eventually, the blue hued eyes peering at Minerva with a sad, curious gaze, "your presence here means we won I assume." The statement wasn't a question, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a slight jovial smile.
"We won, but…there are losses." The deep, rich tones of Kinglsey Shacklebolt joined the fray, his tall stature turning to join McGonagall In her conversation.
"Naturally," Albus stated, leaning back into his chair as if to ease the conversation into an easier state. His old office was tainted with the sting of loss, anger and confusion, the living pair that stood below him both wore expressions of weariness. Dumbledore shifted in his chair once more, as he studied Minerva carefully. Her wiry grey hair was loose. Wild about her shoulders, matted with blood and the slightest hint of her severe bun sagged at the top of her head. Her tartan robes were torn, several patches of dust were indicative of a fall she had taken about her knees, and a rip in her sleeve revealed a sparkling patch of ruby. Her blood had trickled down her arm to the back of her hand, and a garnet stain was now there like a tattoo. Minerva paid it no heed, instead summoning two chairs for both herself and Shacklebolt. She sunk into one, seeming to become the fabric of the chair itself as her figure relaxed into the plush velvet armchair.
Shacklebolt was inspecting a cabinet to Dumbledore's left, his own figure marred by the efforts of a fight. His face was blood splattered; a graze gracing his left cheek; as though he had not been able to look away from an explosion fast enough, the tracks of shrapnel had left little paths of blood down his face. It gave any little motion of his mouth a grim shadow, an odd sense of foreboding that did not belong to him. Shacklebolt's deep red robes were missing a sleeve, and the lapels had been roughly removed at some point in the night, but it was the way he favoured putting his weight on his right foot that told Albus that Madam Pomfrey would be busy that night. The pair looked all for the world as if they had been caught in a hurricane with no notice. Dumbledore entwined his hands twirling his thumbs about one another as Shacklebolts hunt turned up successful.
A pair of goblets, and a bottle of wine were raised in triumph, and Minerva gave an amused glance to the delighted looking man.
"We both need it Madam," Kingsley said, a cheeky note to his voice as he placed the goblets down on the headmasters desk, tapping his wand on the neck of the bottle to release a red liquid that had no promise of pain associated with it. He poured them a goblet each, and the sound of the red wine flowing joined the oddly disjointed yet relaxing music of the office. Passing a goblet to Minerva, he settled himself down into the chair she had summoned for him as Albus took note they had chosen to sit the same side of his old desk. The chair the head would sit in empty, he smiled wistfully to himself, noting the unsaid mark of respect they still showed him.
"You are both aware the work is only just beginning again aren't you?" He said gently, an amused but sad twinkle seemed to glimmer in the oil of his painting. Minerva sighed, and leant back in to her chair, as Kingsley released a dark chuckle. The lullaby of the tinkling objects ruled the noise in the office for a minute more, as the pair relaxed to a song that would not build into a crescendo of pain, loss and agony. Eventually, Shacklebolt raised his untouched goblet to Dumbledore, and Minerva followed suit.
"A war well fought," he murmured, and took a long gulp of wine as Minerva sipped at hers; a look of bliss coming over her usually stern features. Eventually, Minerva placed her goblet down, and raised her wand. A concentrated expression flickered to life and her tabby cat patronus burst forward and fled the room without a second thought.
"I've told Filius to lift the ward on the admissions book, then to come here." She explained, settling back into the soft back of her arm-chair. "Although I suppose you'd like us to explain to you what has happened now?" She asked Albus, raising an eyebrow although she already knew the answer.
"I would," He replied, leaning forward ever so slightly as if he were hoping he could just fall out of his portrait into the world of the living to hear her tale.
"Voldemort is dead. Mr Potter managed to kill him;" she began, and her recounting of the evenings events began uninterrupted; bar the sip of wine once in a while for her courage, and to wet her throat. Dumbledore listened rapturously, a shrewd, proud smile spreading across his features. A low shudder suddenly shook the castle, and the echoes of alarmed screams and spells made the relaxing pair jump.
"That would be Filius," Minerva said, her sharp logical mind springing into action, as Shacklebolt looked ready to bolt out the office. A moment later, the magically enhanced voice of the charms professor wafted through their alarmed senses.
"Apologies to all who may be in Hogwarts at this very moment. I am Filius Flitwick, the charms professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; the disturbance you just felt was the removal of a ward placed on the admissions book to the school. It is the first step taken in repairing the school, and not something to be afraid of. Again. My sincerest apologies."
The voice died down, and a low chuckles from the three, added to the disjointed music of the room.
"Formal of Filius," Shacklebolt smiled, as Albus nodded jovially along.
"He was right though, it is the very first step in repairing Hogwarts." Minerva sighed, as she turned her gaze to the windows, watching the stream of letters fly past and then spread in many different directions before vanishing. "Next year's first year will be the largest we've had in a long time, but better we barred them from coming this year; lest the first impression the Muggleborns get of the Wizarding world is that we wish them dead." Minerva said, almost to herself as the reassuring hand of Kingsley came to rest comfortingly on her shoulder.
"You most definitely did the right thing." He assured her, his face strong and compassionate. "It does also bring up the subject of repairing the school; the world will need something normal to look forward to. What is more normal than school?" He asked, a spark of amusement glittering in the depths of his eyes.
"You are right, and Hogwarts will be repaired, but we just don't know how. Hogwarts isn't a normal school. The wards were centuries old. It isn't just a case of casting 'repairo', and being done with it."
"There is always a way Minerva," soothed Dumbledore, as his old friends distress became apparent; "For now, repair what you can."
"I can send Pomona to make a list of all the things that can be repaired, now I suppose, things like what needs to be restocked, damaged portraits, books…" she sighed, her silver tabby cat appearing and bounding out of the office for the second time that evening.
"It's a very good start," Albus said kindly, watching the tabby cat vanish.
"I think you are also forgetting we have Miss Granger on our side," Kingsley said pointedly, as Minerva raised a thoughtful eyebrow at him, mulling the idea over in her mind. She dipped her head slightly for a moment, acknowledging his point; and Shacklebolt took the gesture as an indication for him to continue.
"I have sent for Auror teams and for healing teams at St. Mungo's," Shacklebolt broke in, desperate to calm the witch known for her usually fair and calm mind. "There should be no bodies left by nightfall, and all the wounded should be either treated, or in St. Mungo's. Step three." He explained, hearing McGonagall breathe deeply, steeling herself for the work to come. Shacklebolt stepped back, revelling in the admiration for the woman.
"Ridiculous, I speak of this school as if it were mine." Minerva said eventually, throwing her hands up beside her head as she made to sit once more.
"Hogwarts will need a new Head, one that was voted in by the Governors," Albus said pointedly, raising a brow towards the transfiguration Professor.
"Oh I suppose…"She sighed, as Kingsley peered at the revealed pensieve with a slightly alarmed expression.
"I assume the Ministry will need a new Minister also, what with Thicknesse being imperioused all this time…" he said to himself as Minerva clicked her tongue in irritation at the thought. An amicable silence fell over the room once more, and Minerva poured Flitwick a goblet of wine into a fresh goblet as she realised he would be nearing soon.
A click at the door alerted the pair to another presence in the office, and Filius stood, dwarfed by the dual figures of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.
"Filius," Shacklebolt welcomed immediately, seemingly not noticing the two teenagers for a moment, until his eyes lifted; he nodded to Harry in respect, before offering Hermione the same gesture. A blush decorated the dull cheeks of Hermione as she stepped curiously into the office, her brown eyes roaming all over the books and objects with an undisguised expression of hunger and glee.
"I need to speak to all of you," Harry broke in to the silence that seemed to be so familiar to those gathered in the room.
"Of course Mr Potter," McGonagall said, falling into the role of deputy headmistress so effortlessly she surprised herself, but the interested expression that remained so neutral didn't shift from her face, and Shacklebolt summoned yet more chairs.
Harry's gaze seemed to have set upon Dumbledore's portrait, and a curious expression was plastered to his features. Albus on the other hand; looked as though he was torn between laughter and remaining impassive as he could.
"The stone?" Albus eventually asked, cocking a brow at the young man.
"Lost," Harry replied, ambiguously, but Albus seemed to have understood it and he nodded considering.
"Yes, that is best." He seemed to say to himself, before returning his gaze to Harry once more, a realistic sharpness seemed to linger in the oils that made up his eye and Minerva found herself studying the pair curiously. "The wand?" Albus continued, and Harry's features tightened for a moment before relaxing, Hermione had shifted her weight a little, her own eyes coming to a stop on the back of Harry's head, a disapproving expression looking as though it was about to be unleashed.
"What wand? Mine? It's absolutely fine; I just couldn't use it for a while." Harry replied, a lightness to his voice as he waved his grubby looking wand in the air, a few red and gold sparks shooting from the end as he seemed to realise it, and hastened to rub it with his t-shirt. Dumbledore chuckled as Hermione visibly relaxed.
"Good, good," Dumbledore mused, and Harry unleashed a grin at the portrait. "I suppose you better tell us everything." Dumbledore said, and the tone to his voice seemed to imply that Harry's previous answer to his question wouldn't suit the explanation he was to give. Harry nodded stiffly, but seemed to accept it, whilst Hermione began to hover warily again. Harry's voice was tumbling forth, spilling rivers of bloody tales and oceans of horrors into the mounting tension in the office despite everyone knowing the eventual outcome.
"Snape…he…he loved my mother." Harry eventually said, as he regaled them with the explanation of why he had gone to the shrieking shack. "His body! It's still there!" He said alarmed, and Minerva sat up dead straight.
"He didn't make it?" She asked him, desperately, shocked and surprised.
"No, Nagini…" Hermione answered for a surprised looking Harry who was staring at her with wide green eyes. Minerva fell back into her chair for what seemed like the millionth time that night, and draped her head in his hands.
"I never imagined he would die in all of this," she said quietly, to the sympathetic and surprised gazes of the room.
"He was a better man than we gave him credit for, even if he was a total bastard." Shacklebolt seemed to agree, nodding his head in sympathy as Flitwick spat out a mouthful of wine. Kinglsey's wand seemed to suddenly erupt, and his lynx patronus slipped forth, bounding out the room much like Minerva's had done not too long ago. "I've sent an auror team to collect him and to get any remaining bodies or death eaters that may be there. Everyone goes into custody, alive or dead." He explained, a hardened, battle-worthy exterior sliding into place as he nodded for Harry to continue. Harry did, until the words came to an exhausted stop. Without asking, he poured himself his own glass of wine, and gulped it down, seemingly not realising what it was. He placed the goblet back down as everyone's shocked expressions lingered on him.
"Merlin, didn't realise it was wine. Thought it was something else." He muttered, a revolted grimace revealing he'd told the truth. Hermione sighed, as Shacklebolt laughed quietly.
"Where is the wand now?" Dumbledore asked as Harry looked up at him.
"Where it belongs," he replied, and a weight seemed to lift of Hermione's shoulders.
"Every time you are asked that question Harry, I suggest you stick to that answer." Shacklebolt said seriously, his gaze appraising Harry, studiously taking in his appearance. Something seemed to be ticking in the back of Kingsley's mind, and Hermione was receiving the same treatment of Shacklebolt's lightning sharp gaze.
"So there is nothing that can be done to save Severus then?" Flitwick asked suddenly, swilling his wine about in his goblet as he watched it.
"No," Hermione responded, "Voldemort made sure…he…"
"I understand Miss Granger; it is just a surprise and a shame. I might agree with Shacklebolt, but he was a talented man who apparently did more for the order than I ever would have guessed." He sighed, his entire tiny stature seeming to grow and shrink with the action, "I suppose we ought to put his portrait up then?" Flitwick asked, looking to Minerva with an air of resignation.
"We can't," Minerva replied, surprised; "the only portraits that go on these walls are the Head's that were appointed by the governors, Snape wasn't voted in. I know the Death Eaters made him have a portrait made, but that was because they thought they would have permanent involvement in the school."
"Hang him in the potions classroom then," Flitwick said offhandedly, "It fits; one of the best potions masters the school has ever had where he belongs, and it always helps to have another set of eyes in a room that know what they're on about. In fact, I'll do it now." Flitwick slid off the chair he'd perched upon, and left the office, not waiting to hear anyone voice any disagreement. None was voiced however, and a silent agreement and acceptance blanketed them all for a short time.
"Miss Granger, you seem to be here, but not Mr Weasley, why is that?" Minerva said after a while, a kindly smile gracing her mouth, and Shacklebolt seemed to eagerly await her answer. Hermione jumped slightly at being addressed; tearing her gaze away from a book she could barely make out the title of and turned her blushing gaze to her teacher.
"I need to come back to school the next year." She blurted, looking relieved as she said it. "I need to get my N.E. , and…and I need something normal." Hermione sighed, an expression of disappointment fell into place on Shacklebolts features, and he turned, cursing quietly to himself. Dumbledore watched the man, with an amused upturn to the corners of his mouth.
"Aaaah, Hermione, I was going to offer yourself, Ron and Harry here jobs in the auror department. Start training in a month; give you some time to relax." Shacklebolt sighed, the disappointment rife.
"I'll accept." Harry said almost immediately, Shacklebolt gave him a wry smile.
"We shall talk about the terms of your employment at a later date then Mr Potter."
"I look forward to it." Harry replied, as he stood up to leave. Hermione threw him a surprised yet resigned glance, before looking to Shacklebolt, the picture of apologies.
"I'm sorry Kingsley…I can't, not yet. It feels wrong for me to drop out of school and then get a job in the ministry just because I helped defeat Voldemort…I can't." Her eyes were wide in her gaunt face, a patchwork of cuts, bruises and burns giving her skin a tone to her waxen pallor.
"Miss Granger, you will always be welcome in my department in the Ministry, N.E. or not. The offer will always stand." Shacklebolt smiled at her, his eyes warm, and she visibly relaxed as Harry grinned at her.
"I'm going to go to the Burrow, need to see Mrs Weasley." Harry informed the room, before his face seemed to change and his hand went to his back pocket. "Before I forget; Malfoy's wand. Better give it up now before he comes hexing me for it." He said, taking the wand of Hawthorn out and placing it on to Dumbledore's desk. He looked at it thoughtfully, his fingers seeming to linger over the wood fondly. A moment later, he turned and left, nodding to each of them as he passed. Shacklebolt had turned to Minerva with a slight start, his mouth opened as if he were to say something before remembering where he was and who he was with.
"See you all later, I promise." Harry said gruffly, somehow trying to squash the emotion he felt in his voice that he clearly hadn't expected, and closed the door to the office behind him as the staircase slipped into life again. Minerva had turned to Hermione again, who was tentatively running her fingers across a rather old looking copy of Hogwarts: A History, with a look of sheer adoration.
"Miss Granger, you will be welcomed back to Hogwarts with open arms, I will make sure of it." Minerva said, a steely edge to her tone as her eyes flashed.
"You will make sure of it?" Hermione asked curiously, tilting her head to the side as waves of messy, tangled brown hair fell over her shoulder. Minerva sighed, and placed a hand on the back of one of the chairs to steady her.
"The last official head of Hogwarts was Albus Dumbledore, and he has passed. A new one needs to be voted in by the board of governors; what I am saying to you Miss Granger, is that I will have you back in this school – and anyone else who wishes to repeat the year they missed weather the new head of Hogwarts, and the governors; like it or not." She explained, as a small round of applause came from the portraits, many nodding with approval.
"I shall send a letter to the governors urging them to make a fast decision,"Shacklebolt said, getting up to dig some parchment, quill and ink out of the desk, "the faster we have things rolling, the faster we can start fixing this school. Saying that, I ought to write to the Wizengamot…see what they are thinking about Thicknesse…" he trailed off as his quill scratched across the parchment, his brow furrowed as he thought to himself.
"So, you'll make sure I can come back?" Hermione asked again, desperation written in her stance like a cornered lion.
"The only way you will not return as a student of Hogwarts, is over my dead body." Minerva replied, "If this is what you want, it is what you shall have. As Shacklebolt said earlier, 'what is more normal than school?', if you need it, Hogwarts must be here for you." She implored, her stern eyes studying the girl before her with a surety in her eyes. Hermione sighed, and nodded, relief flooding her. A crack made the two women jump, and they spun to face Kingsley who was handing several pieces of parchment to a house-elf and muttering to him. Another crack and the house-elf vanished. Kingsley turned to look at them, a pleased expression on his face.
"I was hoping you hadn't left. Harry reminded me about something," he began, nodding to Hermione and turning to Minerva with a pained expression. "I can't detain Draco Malfoy, but I can his parents. It's an old technicality in the law to do with his age. He may have a Dark Mark, but it's more to do with when he took it."
"What do you mean?" Minerva said sharply, her eyes narrowing as Kingsley sighed and Hermione looked confused as to why she was there.
"If the boy had taken the Dark Mark at seventeen, I could have him in my holding cells, but he took at sixteen; according to what his mother said to me earlier when I was arresting her. It means I would be arresting a child, and I can't do that. I need to have him under house-arrest in until his trial. I can't have him at home, the Ministry is illegal, and here seems to be the only other logical option. Plenty of eyes on him at all times; right now he has no wand, little he can do." Shacklebolt explained, almost wishing he could sink through the floor under Minerva's intense gaze.
"The boy is better than you give him credit for," Albus's voice joined in the fray for the first time in a long time.
"You're the only one of us who saw something decent in him Albus, and forgive me for not being able to." Minerva replied stiffly, her lips white.
"I forgive you, but there was nothing to forgive you for." He said, a slight hint of sadness tainting his tone.
"I am sorry Minerva," Shacklebolt said quietly, "This is not my choice, and I'd have him elsewhere if it were up to me."
"Oh I know," She said, brushing off his apology with a weak smile, "just when you think it's all over…can we not place him with Molly?" She said suddenly, looking to Shacklebolt with a renewed sense of surety. Shacklebolt laughed as Minerva placed her palm over her face, Hermione spluttering with alarm behind him. "That was foolish, that would never go well. I just don't want to have him here whilst we're trying to repair the place." She reasoned, as several of the eavesdropping portraits muttered between themselves.
"I understand, and I do apologise, I will do my best to push the Malfoy trials though fast so he doesn't have to be here long." Shacklebolt appeased, peering at Minerva with concerned eyes.
"Oh, summon Mr Malfoy to this office then, let's tell him what will happen to him."
Shacklebolt's wand exploded again, and his Lynx fled once more, a now familiar scene to the office.
"Eeerrr…should I leave?" Hermione broke in, gesturing towards the door.
"Entirely up to you Miss Granger," Kingsley replied cryptically, a curious expression on his face. Realisation suddenly dawned on Hermione and her eyes widened as her comprehension startled her.
"You want me here because you want him to see a muggle-born. You want him to think I was here helping make the decision." She breathed, impressed with Shacklebolt's line of thought.
"Mr Malfoy's trial will be different to the other trials because we will have to figure out if he actually wanted to be a part of the Death Eaters, or if it was something he had no choice in. His age and actions will be examined far more than the others. Seeing that muggle-borns will always be in the wizarding world and quite possibly involved in his future will be a reminder he will need. Especially if his trial means he escapes Azkaban." Shacklebolt explained, his eyes hard as he faced the door, expecting the youngest Malfoy. His words seemed to surprise Hermione, and she thought desperately.
"What does his age have to do with it really?" She asked, "I mean, what does when he took the Dark Mark really matter?"
"You would have me send a bullied sixteen year old to Azkaban? A minor who has no legal choice over his actions?" His response was swift and sharp, almost scathing at Hermione's lack of use of her intelligence.
"What if he wanted it, if he believes in it?" She breathed turning Shacklebolts words over in her head, her brain screaming at the effort of thinking.
"Then he will be convicted, and to Azkaban he goes." The movement of the stairs made them all adopt far more official and serious stances, "say nothing Hermione," Kingsley told her quietly, affection dancing in his eyes before he turned to face the door again.
Moments later the door opened, and Draco Malfoy entered.
He seemed taller, Hermione considered, as she looked her childhood bully over; he was wearing a suit that was mottled in dust, blood stains, and several scuffs. One impressive rip was over his knee, but it didn't diminish from his graceful stature. He stood at the entrance of the room as if he were meant to be there, bruises were starting to bloom on his alabaster skin, his hair was darker than usual; a light coating of dust had faded his platinum locks to sunshine like gold, contrasting with the silver pools that were his eyes.
"Mr Malfoy," Kingsley said taking the lead, stepping forward with an elegant twist of his wrist gestured to the seat Flitwick had perched upon. "Sit."
"I'd rather stand," Malfoy replied instantly, his voice tired, and it was then that Hermione realised he was trembling ever so slightly.
"As you wish," Shacklebolt said, hardly phased by the response to his offer.
"Why am I here? Shouldn't I be at the Ministry?" He asked, his voice steady, but his arms folded over his chest, in an effort to disguise his terrified shakes. His poise seemed to belong in the room, as though he was made to rule Hogwarts, not stand being accused within its walls. His eyes never left Shacklebolt, his expression was measured, and carefully doled out into the perfect mix of respect, curiosity and derision at the situation.
"You are a difficult case Mr Malfoy, legally; I cannot detain you thanks to an archaic law. If it were up to me, you would be at the ministry this instant. As such, the only thing I can do is place you under house-arrest." The beginnings of a smirk was beginning to develop over the perfect angles of his face, his weight seeming to settle onto all of his feet instead of just his toes as he relaxed.
"Oh it's not a joke Mr Malfoy, one step out of line and I can and will have you arrested for even the smallest of things." Shacklebolt calmly reprimanded as he noticed the smirk come into bloom. The expression died as fast as it grew, and was replaced with of the perfectly created masks of uncaring at the situation Hermione had seen one too many times. His eyes scanned the room and met Hermione's. Instantly, he seemed to pale, as the silver pools widened with unrestrained shock. Hermione stared back brazenly, her expression neutral. His head snapped back to Shacklebolt, whose own eyes had narrowed, a harsh sparkle lingering behind them.
"Miss Granger here, was returning your wand." He said, answering the unspoken question in the beat of a heart. He gestured to the wand behind him on the desk, stepping to the side in a pose of permission. "You may take it."
Malfoy moved instantly, fast elegant strides towards the heads desk until his long pointed fingers had wrapped around the handle of his wand. A euphoric smile split across his face, and Hermione bit back a gasp as she realised it was the first real smile she had ever seen on his face. He looked carefree and…attractive, she realised, biting back a hint of curiosity that seemed to burn in her stomach; the subject being Draco Malfoy.
Draco however, looked for the entire world as though he had forgotten he had an audience, and made to leave the office, presuming all was over. He hadn't noticed that Shacklebolt had taken two swift silent steps to position himself behind him. Shacklebolts wand tapped Malfoy's shoulder, and a faint blue glow seemed to settle into his skin. Terror tore across the pale features and his eyes blazed with horror. Freezing completely, he swallowed, his lips parting coming together in a pale pink line.
"What was that?" He asked eventually, so quietly Hermione had to strain to hear him.
"The trace. On you; and your wand." Shacklebolt answered, looking Malfoy in the eyes, his unsympathetic gaze stern.
"Of course," Malfoy said to himself, mentally brushing himself off and looking at McGonagall, his posture hardening.
"If…If I don't end up going to Azkaban…I would like to come back to Hogwarts," he told her gruffly, looking as through the effort of saying the lone sentence had caused him acute physical pain.
"We shall see Mr Malfoy," Minerva replied sadly, the promise she had previously given Hermione seemed to linger in the air between them like a tangible wall of text.
He nodded stiffly; realising that that answer was the best he was going to get. Mentally brushing himself off, he left, not before throwing Hermione a last curious glance. The moment the door shut, Hermione had placed her wand to her temple, a silver thread attached to the end of it, and she wildly began looking about for a glass to put it in.
"Hermione!" Minerva gasped, surprised, summoning a phial for the memory. The glistening silver strand slipped into its new glass home as Hermione gathered up another one, and slipped it in before plugging up the top. She handed it to Shacklebolt who had watched her without a single wonder passing through his mind.
"I take it these are to be used in the trial of Draco Malfoy," he asked her, carefully placing the two swirling memories into her pocket.
"Hermione!" Minerva said again; a little stronger than before. "Why?"
"Something tells me Hogwarts, the Ministry and I aren't the only things in need of fixing." She said quietly, as Dumbledore smiled kindly down at her from his portrait.
"I'll submit this, you may have to speak however," he warned her.
"Not a problem," she lied, feeling the sudden terror well up in her chest, and turned to leave. Thoughts of Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts, and how dreadfully tired she was swirling about in her mind. She smiled at both Kingsley and Minerva before the door closed behind her.