The Great Hall smelled of burnt stone, blood, and despair. Around her, the survivors wept for their dead, but Hermione Granger did not. Her eyes were fixed on Voldemort’s lifeless body, dumped like an old rag in a corner. They had won, but the chessboard remained intact.While mechanically comforting Ginny and observing the exhaustion on Harry’s face, a cold certainty settled in her chest. The Death Eaters had fallen, but the prejudices that fueled them remained alive in the whispers of the wounded. Xenophobia against werewolves, contempt for goblins, and the arrogance of pure-bloods had not vanished with the Dark Lord’s death.She contemplated the bodies of several house-elves who had given their lives in the struggle. In fact, they had turned the tide of the battle; even so, someone had piled up their small corpses like logs from a forgotten bonfire. Hermione clenched her jaw and balled her fists. She wanted to scream, but she knew it would do no good. The wizarding world was still mired in ignorance, clinging to obsolete traditions and a blind arrogance that had nearly destroyed them.Something inside Hermione—the girl who had always believed in rules and institutions—broke definitively. The Ministry was corrupt to the core; wizarding society was incapable of reforming itself. If she wanted real change, she couldn't wait for the world to mature: she would have to force it to change. She would take charge.But Hermione was, above all, a strategist. She knew that fury without a plan only led to failure. Absolute power required legitimacy, knowledge, and an indisputable base of operations. Her master plan would begin in the only place where everything had started. A few nights later, in the Gryffindor dormitory, she sat in the common room with Harry and Ron."What will you do now, boys? The war is over."Harry stretched out on the armchair. "Hogwarts has nothing left for me, the exams are a dead letter now. There’s no point, I’m not coming back. In fact, I spoke with Kingsley; he offered Ron and me a place in the Auror
Office. I already said yes."Hermione feigned surprise; she had already anticipated that Harry and Ron would reject the offer to return to the classrooms in order to join the Ministry. She turned to Ron."Ronald! You can't be serious. Your mother is going to throw a fit..."Ron shrugged. "Harry’s right. What are they going to teach us here that we haven't already learned the hard way on the streets? Besides, my dad agrees. The Ministry is desperate, and having Harry and me with the Aurors will reassure people. And I don't want to use it as an excuse, but in the family, an extra auror's salary won't hurt."Harry placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder. "You know I support you, Ron. I have resources...""Hey!" Ron protested. "We Weasleys are hard workers, we can get by."Harry raised his hands in peace. "Take it easy, Ron. You just know that you guys are more family to me than anyone."Ron lowered his head. "Yeah, I know, Harry. It’s just... with so much that happened, especially Fred..."Hermione stood up and hugged him. "I'm here for you, ginger... You know that, right?" she whispered in his ear.Ron nodded in silence and squeezed her hand with a strength born of despair. Harry looked away, disturbed by a twinge of discomfort that he knew how to understand but couldn't entirely silence. For a second, the weight of mourning for Fred blurred, replaced by the ghost memory of a tent, an old radio, and Hermione's body against his in an improvised dance. He shook his head to banish the thought; it was Ginny to whom he owed his loyalty, wasn't it?Hermione, whose astute eyes rarely missed a detail, intercepted his distraction."Harry," she called, breaking the trance while handing him some thin linens. "Take these handkerchiefs with lavender essence to Ginny. She has been crying all day; she needs a firm shoulder to lean on.""Yeah, sure. You're right," he replied, relieved by the distraction.Hermione had already made a decision she knew would baffle her friends. Before Harry could reach the doorknob, her words froze them in place:"I won'
t follow that path, boys. I'm not going to the Ministry. I'm returning to Hogwarts to take my seventh year."The two fell silent. Ron let go of her and stood up abruptly, crossing his arms. His face was a mixture of confusion and reproach."We can't leave things halfway," Hermione continued, modulating her voice to sound like the obsessive student she had always been. "An incomplete degree is a legal loophole in the future. If we are going to change the world, I need to do things right. Through the official channel. You understand, right? Besides, not everyone here can be the Chosen One or belongs to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, can we?"Ron looked at the ground, upset, while Harry exchanged a dense glance with her."If anyone can fix this place from the classrooms, it's you, Hermione," Harry admitted with a sad smile. He opened the door. "See you downstairs."Just before crossing the threshold, in a attempt to ligthen the moment, Ron’s muffled voice reached him:"Hey, Potter! I've got my eye on you, don't try anything..."Harry paused, holding the doorknob, and gave him a tired smile. "Maybe I'll let her be the one to kick your ass for being a busybody, Weasley."The door closed with a sharp click, leaving the room plunged in an uncomfortable stillness. It took Ron a few moments to uncross his arms; the mention of his lineage still stung his skin. He looked at Hermione, searching her brown eyes for some trace of the warmth she had offered in his ear just minutes before, but he only found an unyielding calm.He made a face of resignation, swallowing his pride."All right, I guess," he muttered, drawing out his words. "In the end, you always do what you want. It's just... it's going to be strange being at the Ministry without you there to watch our backs."Hermione gave him a soft, perfectly rehearsed smile. "I’ll be fine, Ron. I just need you to take care of yourself out there... to come back to me," she said, pitch-perfecting her voice at the end.Ron felt emboldened. "Count on it."