Albus Dumbledore watched with delight as the final pieces of his dream were hoisted into position. The three buildings that comprised Hogwarts stretched out as wide as the budget that had paid for the geological manipulation that made it possible to fit all of this new architecture onto its hilltop perch. Albus did not feel guilty. Britain's wizarding society was formed here, in these hallowed halls and there could be no skirting of issues or scrimping of sickles.
Less than a decade of inattentive Professors and an unwise Headmaster had led to the conversion of a lonely Orphan into the most horrifying Dark Lord the wizarding world had ever seen. One banner could turn hundreds under another against a small boy for the colour of his tie. Pride turned its head and like Janus, showed another face, of hate. Too long, too long. All honesty of purpose had been twisted along with the mythology of their formation until there was nothing left but half-right Chinese whispers. Slytherin's stealth and forethought became trickery and lying, Hufflepuff's satisfaction became complacency and inaction, Ravenclaw's research became intellectual snobbery and Gryffindor's courage of conviction became reckless adventuring. All dressed in robes of lies and misinformation, in battle against one another. Too long, too long.
And too many. How many children had come to Hogwarts with no comprehension of the English language, let alone how to compose an essay. Essay writing was not taught at Muggle Junior schools, and yet it was demanded of them in their first week of Hogwarts with no further instruction for their betterment. The wizarding families home schooled their children according to their own mismatched theories and emotions. They could not locate the Muggle-borns at the age of three and admit them to the new Nursery and Infant schools, but they could introduce English classes and a summer acclimatization program before the start of term. They could not shield the wizard-borns from their parent's opinions and prejudices, but they could attempt to stilt their influence with early year's education and integration at and Primary levels.
The war may have brought Hogwarts down to its foundations, but Albus would see it back stronger, bigger, bolder and more influential than ever. The next generation of children would not see the world as their parents did, he would see to that. First as day pupils in the Nursery and Infant school where there would be no houses at all, then in the junior school where there would be only two houses – Bumblebees and Dragonflies. He hoped that the friendships formed throughout this early education process would spill over into their days in the founder houses and help to negate the antipathy between them.
The cornerstone of the turret above his office settled into place and glowed as it was assimilated into the restoration magic and the inherent magic of Hogwarts. It was an original stone; he could see that from here. It was the last piece of the main architecture and he could feel the magic settle in his bones as something became right with the world again. There was still much work to do. The magic of the castle would be forging passageways, seeking old structures and restoring the shattered sodden contents of the old building. The Department of Magical Buildings would sort out the greenhouses and the gamekeeper's hut and all of the other extremities that would need attention. Albus had to choose a Deputy Head for the Primary school and he had to seek out his staff, old and new, willing and resistant, first chance and last hope – he would bring them all home. Yes, he would bring them home.