Chapter 1
Two years had passed since the battle at Hogwarts. Two years since we nearly died.
Going back to school after that was harder than I expected. The corridors felt different. Quieter. There were counseling sessions, careful conversations, and too many reminders of who was missing. Still, we graduated. In the aftermath, the International Confederation of Wizards stepped in to support the Ministry. Too many recent graduates had been lost in the war. Sending us straight into the workforce was no longer an option. Their solution was the Ignotus Institute of Advanced Sorcery, a wizarding university. Tucked on the outskirts of London and disguised as a research facility, it was where our natural skills would be tested and honed, where they intended to shape us into a new generation of witches and wizards.
Chapter 1.
The courtyard is littered with students, and my stomach is in knots. I haven’t been around this many people for about five months, and I’m already over it. I pull out my mobile to check if Harry has responded with his location. I gifted both him and Ron a mobile before I left in May. They were utterly perplexed by the devices at first, but took to them rather quickly.
Harry: We are by the vending machines. Ron is having a moment.
I roll my eyes. He is, in fact, his father’s son.
I turn slowly in a circle, scanning the courtyard for anything that resembles a vending machine. I stop when I catch a flash of bright red hair.
My heart begins to pound the closer I get. I was not the best at keeping in touch after I decided to leave before our first term. I told myself I needed space after I ended things with Ron right before we graduated. He did not take it well. For a while, I was certain I had broken more than just us. I thought I might have fractured the three of us beyond repair.
But here we are.
Ron is staring at a vending machine as if it might attack him.
“It just… gives you food?” he asks, squinting at the illuminated buttons. “You don’t have to ask it?”
He looks genuinely troubled by the concept.
Harry notices me first and smiles. His hair is longer, and he is well past due for a shave, but he is still unmistakably Harry.
“You do ask it,” I say, unable to stop the smile tugging at my mouth. “You press the corresponding number.”
Ron jumps and spins around.
“Hermione.”
My name leaves him like he is not entirely certain it is real. His mouth falls open slightly as his eyes move over me, lingering for a moment before he seems to remember himself and snaps it shut.
“Blimey,” he mutters. “You look different.”
Harry punches his arm without looking away from me, then slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a tight squeeze.
“His manners didn’t improve,” he says lightly.
“I see that,” I reply, patting Harry’s hand where it rests against my shoulder. “I am still deciding whether to take offense.”
Ron’s not wrong. I am different.
After graduation, I went to Australia. I stood across the street from my parents’ home more than once, watching through the window as two familiar faces laughed over dinner in a house that held no memory of me.
They were happy.
Safe.
I wanted to restore their memories. To return the daughter they had lost without ever knowing I was gone.But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.This part of my life had already proved too dangerous for them, and even if the threat was gone, they were better off.
So I returned to London, rented a flat, and lived a semi magic free life. I made new friends and experienced what it was like to be a young adult in the Muggle world. I even got a job at a library.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Ron stuttered. “You look good, Hermione.”
“Thank you, Ron.” His eyes lingered on me a moment longer before he offered a soft smile.
“Were you having a hard time choosing? It’s really quite simple.” I was desperate to move the attention off me.
Ron suddenly turned, pressing his nose closer to the vending machine. “What’s a cereal bar, and what does it do?”
“It’s like breakfast cereal in bar form.”
“Is that right?” Ron pressed the number and then gasped with excitement as he watched the inner gears shift, waiting for it to release the bar.
Harry laughed under his breath. “He hasn’t changed that much, has he?”
I rubbed my forehead. “No, he hasn’t.”
Harry’s smile faltered slightly. “You didn’t see him the first month after you left. This is an improvement.”
Guilt tightened low in my chest.
Right. Another subject change.
“It’s brilliant,” I said, turning and taking in my surroundings, unable to keep the approval from my voice. “They’ve structured it like a Muggle university. Department heads, credit requirements, shared research projects.”
Ron blinked at me. “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something.”
“It means,” I replied, “that it’s organised.”
Harry glanced at me sideways, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Of course I am.”
The machine whirred loudly and dropped a packet with a sharpthunk.
Ron jumped back, spewing a line of curses.
Harry grinned. “Very brave, Ron. Very brave.”
Ron rolled his eyes and turned the packet over in his hands. “So if I press the wrong number, does it judge me or deduct points?”
“It gives you the wrong snack,” I giggled.
Harry snorted.
Ron straightened, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Right. Well, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t about to start a duel with a cereal bar. Not how I’d like to go. Especially after surviving You Know Who.”
I couldn’t contain my laughter. This felt normal. I had been nervous about seeing them again after being gone. We spent years glued to one another, making sure we all survived. Part of me worried they thought I had abandoned them.
This didn’t change, though; that part of us didn’t change.
Relief spread through my body as a bell chimes overhead.
Ron glances upward. “Right. That I understand.”
Students begin moving in a slow current towards the South hall.
Ron nudges me lightly. “So where are we going, then? I know you’ve already memorized the school map.”
“There’s a general orientation before departmental sorting,” I reply, pointing in the direction of the moving crowd.
Harry arches a brow. “Sorting?” Ron groans, sliding his hands down his face.
“By magical aptitude,” I clarify. “Not Houses.”
I look from one to the other. “Did neither of you read the letter that was sent?”
Both of them study the ground with sudden fascination. Of course, they didn’t.
Ron clears his throat. “Brilliant. I did not particularly fancy sitting under that bloody hat again while it shouted my traits to half the country.”
Harry huffs a laugh. “Pretty sure the hat needed a sit-down after you.”
“I’m serious. One public character assessment was enough for a lifetime.”
*******************************
The doors to the Assembly Hall are open, and students are filing in without much order. We follow the flow inside, moving past unknown faces.
The room is large and simple. High windows line the walls, letting in pale morning light that glints off polished floors. Long tables stretch across the space, chairs claimed in uneven clusters. A small stage sits at the front with a lectern and a wide screen behind it.
It’s modernised, unlike Hogwarts.
Groups cluster together wherever they like, introductions being made, smiles spreading across faces. A few heads turn when we enter, curiosity, recognition flickering, then fading just as quickly.
I send a silent thanks into the universe. I was worried about how we would be received. I couldn’t be more pleased with the lack of attention.
I spot three empty seats toward the middle.
“Come on,” I say. “Before we end up separated.”
We weave our way through the crowd toward the open seats, slipping between clusters of conversation and half-pulled chairs.
Ron slows suddenly.
He nudges Harry with his elbow and tilts his head toward the far side of the hall. “I pity that bloke,” he mutters. “With that hair, everyone’s going to think he’s related to Malfoy. Poor sod won’t get a moment’s peace.”
I follow his gaze.
My eyes land on a tall figure standing near the aisle, his white blond hair falling to the base of his neck. Lean, broad through the shoulders, pale skin faintly darkened by the sun. He’s engaged in conversation with someone beside him, expression animated in a way that I’d never seen before.
I can’t stop my stomach from turning. How on Earth is he here?
Not in Azkaban.
Here, in this room.
“That is Malfoy,” I whisper, as a thick laugh erupts from Draco.
As if he feels our eyes on him, he turns his head.
Silver eyes lock with mine, the remnants of his laugh still at the corner of his mouth.
The noise of the hall seems to dull.
My heart stutters for a moment.
I’ll revisit that later.
Draco Malfoy is HERE.
Irritated, I square my shoulders and hold his gaze. Seconds pass, and Draco’s mouth curves into a full lazy smile.
He’s amused.
That fucking arse.
