The Seventh Year Itch

Hermione Granger had had mixed feelings about going home for Christmas this year. On one hand, she had spent all the previous recent winter holidays with her two best mates at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it had become her new tradition—one which she had come to value dearly. Some of her best newer memories had been formed during the lesson-free days, and to be fair, no place could beat the Gryffindor Common Room’s cozy atmosphere or the roaring logs in its massive fireplace (even though it was up to the poor house elves to tend it).

Yet on the other hand Ron and Harry were almost coming to replace her parents as her true family; the long separations were beginning to take a toll on their relationship. Hermione knew that her parents had sensed this during the past years’ summers since she had come to behave almost as if she were a guest in her own home. She had been extra-polite to her parents, and though she always had decent levels of respect for them, this had felt superficial, to all three of them. Her old room wasn’t even hers anymore, not really. It was frozen into place at age 11, with a few Hogwarts artefacts placed here and there, and looking extremely incongruous. So the Grangers had gently but vehemently insisted that Hermione come home this year. They had missed her terribly all year of every year, and had lost her to boarding school when she was just a child. She knew that they were extremely proud of her, but that they also secretly felt a bit obsolete since she could flourish so much nearly absent of their influence or guidance. These, and a lot of other various emotions added up to make being home now, seven years later, slightly difficult.

She couldn’t imagine how it would have been if they even knew the whole truth about what had passed the previous term. They had been nearly-overattentive as it was, but if they had intelligence on the danger in which she had been, it would have been infinitely worse. Hermione hadn’t had the heart to tell them, though, for personal and selfish reasons. First of all, she didn’t want to worry them. However, she also simply had to finish up her career in Hogwarts before they knew, or else they might not allow her to return, and that would have been completely unacceptable!

And she had missed out on so much! While she remained at home with her mum and dad because they decided that having their family together in their old house was better than going off to some other place on holiday, Ron had gotten his apparating license, and Harry was doing his training. Ron had actually met no problems at all since he’d watched it all life and was as common to Magic folks as driving. Only, he was waiting for his mum’s permission, who would grant it on the sole condition that his marks improve in Winter Term of Seventh year, which they actually had (which was remarkable considering all that was going on; Hermione took partial credit but gave Ron his where it was due).

Harry, meanwhile, was still struggling to get the concept, and he had warned Hermione through one letter that it might not come as easy to her as other magical subjects. Apparently she was really in for it from Ron too; he had been rubbing his accomplishment into Harry’s face, so he couldn’t imagine how bad it would with Hermione!

She wouldn’t mind though, honestly. She loved a good challenge and was admittedly a bit jealous for the fun times she had missed at the Burrow. (The challenge of the lessons, that is. . . And knowing her, she probably would let the gloating get on her nerves if it were coming from him) Also, Harry’s letters had been filled with a kind of lightness she hadn’t heard for a long time, and Ron’s were even more—well, she didn’t quite know—than usual.

Not that she resented her parents for wanting her home, she was just so damn torn. She wanted to have close relationships with all her loved ones, and she wanted to spend all her free time with them as well, but it was simply impossible. . .especially without that apparating license.

She gazed out the frosted window of her empty compartment and watched the barren wintry landscape chug past. She supposed this is what happened when one grew up, and it could only get worse next year, when she was off in one place (who knew where yet, though) making new friends, plus trying to remain close with Ron and Harry, plus still away from her parents! She rested her head on the icy glass and sighed.

It seemed that this year had been so stressful and full, and yet so lacking at the same time. While she had been extremely busy with her NEWTS, her lessons, and the duties of Head Girl, she had frankly expected herself to be in a different place now, in terms of. . .well, other things. For example, and she could only share this with herself, she had thought that by age 17 she would have had her first kiss. That is, she’d have her first real kiss, because she definitely did not count that one time that Ernie MacMillan had grabbed her in sixth year after one particularly late-running exams study meeting, taking her by utter surprise and creating a very awkward moment. To be fair, he said he had been nervous because he really liked her, but still, it did not count. Why not? Well she didn’t like him did she? Even though she felt bad about it, and admitted to him that yes, they probably would be good for each other (in a business partner kind of way), she couldn’t summon up a single warm fuzzy feeling over him.

She had been extremely flattered he’d shown interest though, because no one else had. . .
A little voice piped up “Except maybe—” but she squelched it immediately for self-preservation.
. . .and it had been a bit of a blow for developing young female esteem. She didn’t know what she had expected, but she’d thought that when her chest finally appeared, some more interest in her would also. Not that she expected to blossom into a social butterfly, but she did expect. . .something. Something which hadn’t yet happened. She wasn’t quite sure what that ‘something’ was, but she was sure that she’d recognize it when, if, it did.

She smelled the fragrant fires of dozens of wizard households before she actually spotted the snow-covered spires and rooftops of Hogsmead, but soon the whitened wooden sign came into view as the Hogwarts Express slid next to the platform. Immediately she let go of her reverie and became Head Girl, sitting up straight, arranging her robes, and already hearing the firm and instructive voice that would automatically come out if as soon as the younger students were piling out of the train.

She tossed back her ever-unmanageable hair and gathered up her wand and Crookshanks, who came awake with a complaining “Yowww.”

“Locomotor trunk!”

The platform was crowded, but over all the heads she saw her favorite half-giant Hagrid surrounded by young fans, and she immediately broke out into a big grin. Seeing him there made it real that she was back, and that meant that soon she’d see Harry and Ron again, and be back in what she thought of as her “real” room, the Head Girl’s Room in the top of the West Tower.

It won’t hurt to put off being Head Girl for just another minute, she thought with a smile and weaved through the the sea of black robes with her trunk floating above her head like a Muggle’s helium balloon.

“Hagrid!”

“Why look ‘o it is. . . ‘ermione! Yer lookin’ full o’ the ‘oliday spirit!” Hagrid boomed, peering down at her from below his scrubby black eyebrows. “Went ’ome, did you?”

“Yes and it was lovely, but it’s fantastic to be back. How was your holiday Hagrid?”

Hagrid immediately leaned back on his heels and looked away, and Hermione swore she could see a blush rising from the roots of his full beard. “Er,” he hemmed evasively. “Yes it was quite nice, quite nice. Did a little travelin’ you know and. . .” He sped up, changing subjects at the speed of a diving hippogriff. “Ron and ‘arry stay at Hogwarts, then?”

Stifling a giggle Hermione shook her head. “Lucky prats got to take apparating lessons in Ottery St. Catchpole. Not that it will help them around Hogwarts, but just knowing Ron Weasley has that ability is enough.”

“Irritates you, does it Hermione?” Hagrid said with a wink, but before Hermione could respond he had left her open mouth to start getting some order out of the building chaos.

She swirled around to save some face and hide her warm cheeks, immediately chastising a second year for trying to climb onto his friends’ floating owl cage as if it were a chainless swing.

“You are not on holiday anymore Liam Sicklewise!” she said sharply, but immediately felt guilty for snapping. No they weren’t, and she really was excited to be back. . .Hagrid just took her by surprise is all. Honestly, what could he mean by that wink?

She pretended to puzzle over that as she helped the faculty usher the returning students, losing her composure again momentarily to wave enthusiastically at Professor McGonagall, who nodded a greeting extremely warm for the teacher. Beaming, Hermione took in the scene. She knew that Harry felt that Hogwarts was his actual home, and that she had no right to feel similarly with two loving, supportive parents back at home, but there was just something about Hogwarts. It was the same thing that made her ache when she realized this was the very last time she would ever be stepping off of the Hogwarts Express as a student, or organizing young witches and wizards in the grades below her to make the trip up to the school.

There would be a lot of ‘lasts’ this term, she knew, and it would be tough on all of them. But it was also the beginning of a lot of ‘firsts’ too, and she tried to view these changes with optimism.

Optimism had been a lot easier to manage recently, along with the certainty that there would be a future of firsts. Two months ago she may not—all right, did not—have much of either. But Harry’s harrowing final struggle/full-out battle with Lord Voldemort had instilled great hope in the entire Wizard World, and Hermione definitely wasn’t immune to the feeling.

At first the relief had been mingled with frantic worry, with Harry in a feverish and comatose state for several days following the event, but he had recovered remarkably well. In fact, if Hermione had one inkling of suspicion, it was that Harry seemed to have gotten better almost too quickly. But judging from his happy holiday letters and testaments from several of the Weasleys, it was not too good to be true.

Ernie, Head Boy, elbowed her gently in the side and Hermione rose from her thoughts. The thestrals, which were still invisible to Hermione thank goodness, were about to draw the carriages around the snowy bend that would reveal the castle in its full magic-candle-lit glory. Suddenly Hermione felt her heart start to pound, which she found a bit disconcerting and odd. Yes, she was sentimental that this was the last time she would be coming around this curve as part of the Hogwarts student body, and yes, she was looking forward to seeing all her friends again, and get into the routine she had missed, and yes, she was even looking forward to having to unpack everything and lay it out in her (very own) room. But why was adrenaline pushing through her body as if she were sitting down for an exam for which she hadn’t sufficiently studied? And what had Hagrid mean by that wink?!

Crookshanks gave a low rumbling purr and wrapped his bottle brush tail around her wrist comfortingly, sensing that she was worked up, and she stroked his fur and felt herself beginning to calm down a little. She had no reason to feel nervous, and every reason to feel thrilled. This was her last term ever at Hogwarts, and she was bloody well going to make the most out of it.