Restraint
Chapter Six: Hallow Passage
by AngelQueen

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The Great Hall was filled with laughing, cheerful adolescents, many of them greeting one another and asking about their holidays. The ceiling was, as always, bewitched to appear like the night sky. Torches were lit all across the cavernous room, lighting it up and seemingly filling it with cheer.

Hermione surveyed the many people before her. She would admit later that, despite her initial preparations and bracings, she had been taken aback by the second through seventh years, several of whom she recognized. There was Amos Diggory, a sixth-year Hufflepuff, chatting with a pretty young lady she recognized to be the future Mrs. Diggory. Emmeline Vance, a fourth-year Ravenclaw, was sitting quietly at her House table, listening politely to her friend’s conversation with her hands folded demurely in her lap. Patrick Patil was sitting amongst his fellow third-year Gryffindors, showing them a something that looked suspiciously like a woman’s catalog. Either that or it was a Quidditch magazine. Hermione could even see Lucius Malfoy, in his seventh year as a Slytherin, surrounded by his fellows and with his future wife sitting at his side. Even at this particular time Narcissa, the eldest of the three Black sisters, was a remarkable beauty.

She gripped a handkerchief tightly beneath the table, struggling to resist the inclination to glare viciously at the handsome young man who would not only go on to father one of her most hated enemies, but also the one who would be responsible for her current difficult situation. When she saw him smile at something Narcissa said, all Hermione could hear were the death whimpers of his daughter-in-law and spy for the Order, Daphne Greengrass-Malfoy. To be truthful, Hermione was rather grateful to whoever had assigned her the seat next to Albus that Minerva would not be occupying after the Sorting. With him next to her, perhaps she would be able to keep herself from losing total control of her desire to hex Lucius Malfoy into the next world.

It was then that the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Minerva entered, walking up the aisle between the tables in her usual professional manner, carrying with her the rickety stool and the grubby-looking Sorting Hat. Only a few feet behind her, a large group of small, clumsy first-years sped after her, trying to keep up.

All sound faded from Hermione’s point of view when they finally came to a halt before the Head Table. She scrutinized them closely, barely acknowledging Albus’ start-of-term notices. But when Minerva placed the Sorting Hat on the stool in front of them, Hermione forced herself to pay attention to it, wrenching her gaze from the children.


“I may look old and silly to you
Like something not fit for a stew
I am old and have seen much
Old and young alike in such a rush

New faces have come again
Some from the mountain, some the fen.
Where shall thy path lead?
No need to beg and plead!
There’s room for all
None shall be left in a horse’s stall!

Will it be Gryffindor
Home of the brave and bold?
Much good can be done from there
Among those willing to do their fair share!

Or will you go to Hufflepuff
Where the determined often choose to dwell?
Not for the faint of heart
And underestimate them never!

Perhaps Ravenclaw
Resting place of the intelligent
A challenge there anyone can find
And an answer for those in a bind!

Then there is Slytherin
Home of the cunning and the ambitious!
Behind the scenes they work,
But theirs is a creed that is just as important!

Yes, new faces are before us all
All with a destiny of their own to befall
Knowledge is power in this game
But to knowledge often falls the blame

But no more!
Put me on your head
To see once and for all
Just where you shall stand!”


Hermione clapped along with everyone else, but inwardly rolled her eyes at the cryptic words. They had always vexed her, stating one thing while meaning another and all that. In her time, the words of the Sorting Hat had often contained an important message for those around it. But this time, there appeared to be nothing but the usual welcome to the first-years. Shaking her head, she cleared her mind and watched as Minerva pulled out the list of new students.

“Artemis, Guinevere.”

A slightly chubby blond-haired girl stepped hesitantly forward and, after sitting on the spindly stool, allowed the hat to be lowered onto her head.

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Avery, Claudius.”

A swarthy-looking boy with a sullen, insolent expression quickly joined the House of Slytherin. Hermione forced herself not to dwell on that particular future-Death Eater.

“Black, Bellatrix.”

Hermione could not restrain a tiny gasp and reflexive jerk of the handkerchief that was still gripped in her hands. She watched with something like sick fascination as the young girl seated herself carefully on the stool and crossed her legs beneath her, acting more like a young lady of her sister Narcissa’s age than of a slip of an eleven-year-old girl. Was this, she asked silently, really the madwoman who would one-day move on to murder her own cousin deep in the Department of Mysteries?

“SLYTHERIN!”

When the next name was called, Hermione was able to withhold her emotions far more adeptly. She watched Sirius walk up to the stool casually and allowed Minerva to place the hat on his head. For several moments, there was absolute silence. As she watched, Hermione wondered if anyone else noticed him shift uncomfortably, the only chink in his supposedly cool manner.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Hermione, of course, was totally unsurprised, but still felt a great pang of sorrowful loss when she spotted his familiar, delighted grin spreading across his face as he fairly ran down to join his new housemates. To distract herself, Hermione turned her head slightly to her colleagues, only to find shock and disbelief. Even Albus, she saw, looked pleasantly surprised.

Briefly, she felt confused at their reactions, but then she recalled just who had been Sorted. The Black family was a group of predominantly Pureblood supremacists and took great pride in the fact that they were nearly all of the House of Salazar Slytherin, the only House, in their opinion, worth being a part of. Sirius was, apparently, the second Black of his generation to break with that tradition, as his cousin, Andromeda Black, was currently a fifth-year Ravenclaw.

“Evans, Lily.”

That name brought Hermione crashing back to what was going on before her, another tug of her handkerchief happening beneath the table. She didn’t even notice Albus giving her a slightly anxious glance. Her murky brown eyes were glued to the spectacle in front of her. Nearly awed, Hermione watched as the gangly, freckle-faced child who would one-day give life to her dearest friend fairly bounced up to the Sorting Hat and crushed it to her red-haired head.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

More names followed, many of which she recognized. There were the Lestrange twins, both of whom went dutifully off to Slytherin and flanked Bellatrix Black at the table. Hermione shivered at the sight. Then Marlene Little went to join the ranks of Gryffindor, destined to become Marlene McKinnon, an Order member killed, along with her entire family, because of the treachery of another member. Frank Longbottom stumbled clumsily off to Hufflepuff, blissfully unaware that three of the people who would drive him and his future wife to madness and separate them from their young son were sitting just across the Great Hall. Luna Lovegood’s father, Jacob, serenely made his way to the Ravenclaw table.

“Lupin, Remus.”

Hermione watched, amazed, as the young boy she knew to be a burdened man, older than his years, cheerfully walked up to the stool to be Sorted. Never once had she seen Remus Lupin to be so carefree. The knowledge of his lycanthropy had always appeared to weigh him down, but now he bore it with the resilience unique to children.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

She smiled and applauded with the rest of the staff, watching him dart over to the table. He ended up sitting next to Sirius, who promptly involved him in a conversation he’d been having with a nearby prefect.

Following Remus were the McKinnon twins, Nathan and Rhiannon. Much like Hermione’s old schoolmates, Padma and Parvati Patil, the two ended up in two different houses, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively. After them came Dorcas Meadowes, a name she remembered belonged to the original Order of the Phoenix, a woman who was killed by Voldemort personally. The young girl watched everyone around her coolly, taking them all in a curiously detached manner, when she was given to Gryffindor and seated herself next to Marlene Little.

“Pettigrew, Peter.”

Hermione’s mood, which had lightened slightly since Remus’ sorting, instantly dropped and she tightly gripped her handkerchief, now sodden due to her sweaty palms. Biting her lip, she watched as the future betrayer of the future Lily and James Potter stepped forward timidly and attempted to climb onto the stool. He had some trouble keeping it still, until Minerva discreetly stepped forward and held it still while he managed to situate himself. As the Hat was placed onto his head, Hermione clenched her teeth, already knowing the outcome.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The requisite applause sounded throughout the Hall, though there was some slight snickering from the older Slytherins, including Lucius Malfoy and his entourage. But Hermione paid them little attention. Why, she shouted at the Hat silently, glaring at the magical object. How could someone who would betray his closest friends just to save his own pathetic hide, someone who would not have hesitated to kill the only son of his friends, be permitted into Gryffindor?! Why?

Her sense of outrage only grew as she watched James Potter be Sorted into Gryffindor, the last of the four Marauders. That face, that grin, both of them she knew so well. Just like Harry’s, though, according to what Remus and many others had told her, Harry, for the most part, favored Lily more in personality and sensitivity. But this was the boy who would be the father of her best friend, the father he never knew. All because of one man’s perfidy.


We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died…

He would have killed me, Sirius!

Then you should have died! Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!


Hermione forced her mind away from the memories of that night, the memories of three very different voices, all speaking, directly or indirectly, of the fate of a fourth and fifth voice that one of them had unjustly silenced. None of it would help her, would only serve to drive her further to madness. Gluing her eyes to the Sorting area, she found that Evan Rosier, another future Death Eater, had just been called.

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Rosten, Alice.”

Another face for her to recognize. Even at this age, she noted, the future Alice Longbottom and Evan Rosier’s cousin had a striking resemblance to her future son, Neville.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Sharpe, Richard.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Snape, Severus.”

The handkerchief was ripped apart in her hands, though Hermione knew her expression did not flicker. She did note that Albus had turned slightly in her direction, his eyes filled with concern. She ignored him, her attention focused solely on the skinny boy who stared out at the student body without any emotion on his pale face.

The Hat, as it did on occasion, did not immediately shout out a House. Silence reigned as everyone waited patiently for the Sorting device to decide. Hermione held her breath, already aware of what would come. And yet, she could not help but hope…

“SLYTHERIN!”

No… it did no good to hope. Nothing was going to change, nothing could change because of her presence. But she still watched him closely as he joined his housemates, sitting at the edge of the table, slightly away from everyone else. A loner, even in the beginning, she noted morosely.

She was about to look away, when he suddenly looked up towards the table. And met her gaze stolidly.

Severus… No! She thought violently, internally shaking her head. Not Severus! Not yet!

Inwardly berating herself for her momentary weakness, Hermione still managed a small nod of recognition to the young boy before returning her attention to the remaining children who had yet to be Sorted.

There were only four left, incidentally. Catherine Stags, who became a Hufflepuff, William Tarleton, a Ravenclaw, and Carlotta Trace and John Wilkes, both Slytherins.

But at last, it was finished. She breathed a small sigh of relief as Minerva took the stool and Sorting Hat out of her sight and Albus stood up to give his welcoming speech to the gathered students.

“To our returning students, I say welcome back to Hogwarts,” he said cheerfully. “And to our first-years, I say welcome in general! I would like to say a few things before we all dig into our spectacular feast. Now, many of you may have noticed a few changes in our staff this year. Our dear Headmaster, Professor Dippet, has chosen to retire this year in order spend more time with his family and his rooster, Egbert. I have consented to take his place as Headmaster-”

Albus was cut off by a great roar of applause from the students, many of them giving him a standing ovation. Hermione watched, amused, as his cheeks turned slightly pink and he smiled at them. “Thank you, my dears. Thank you,” he said gratefully. “To continue: Professor McGonagall has transferred to the position of Transfiguration Professor, as well as Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.” He paused yet again as the Gryffindors let out a grand cheer for their new Head of House, and then kept going. “As a result of these shifts in power, we now have a new person for the opening in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor H. Gragner.”

Hermione took a deep breath and stood up, receiving the polite applause of the students. She nodded courteously to them and even managed to give them a small smile before returning to her seat.

“Now, a few words to our first-years: please remember that the Dark Forest is absolutely forbidden to all students,” Albus said seriously, but then added with his usual twinkle as he looked towards the back of the Gryffindor table, “And some of our returning students would do well to recall this as well! Now that we have all that drudgery out of the way, I will say only this: Tuck in!”

The feast that followed afterwards was as scrumptious as it always had been when Hermione had been a student. She felt little hunger after watching the Sorting, but she did manage to eat a little of what was before her. As she did, she absently wondered just who Albus had been warning away from the Dark Forest. It was too early for the Marauders to be causing trouble, as they had just arrived.

As she ate, Hermione made a point of not looking again in the direction of the Slytherin table. Instead, she struck up a conversation with Linda Wilder, the Muggle Studies Professor, who had been seated on her left. It was the first true conversation that she’d had with the older woman, who seemed to blend into the stonework of the castle. Surprisingly, most of what Linda told her about herself Hermione found to be new information. A former Muggleborn Ravenclaw, she’d continued to study Wizard-Muggle Relations after leaving Hogwarts. After working nearly ten years at the Ministry, she’d taken up an offer to return to Hogwarts as the new Muggle Studies Professor.

“I literally jumped at the chance,” Linda said as she brushed her brown hair out of her face. “I remember taking Muggle Studies here and, well, let’s just say my Professor had little true understanding of Muggles. I thought it might be a good idea to come back here and show the future of the Wizarding World just what Muggles are really like.” She smiled wryly and added, “Though, I don’t think the students are too fond of me, as I ask them to do far more than the Professors have in the past. When I have them write two feet of parchment on the split between the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds and the effects it has on witches and wizards today, you would think I was asking them to write a college-level thesis paper!”

Their conversation ended with dinner as Albus rose up from his chair once more to lead them all in the school song. The noise was just as loud and chaotic as it always was, but Hermione noted that no one used a particularly unusual tune. There were obviously no Fred and George Weasley’s present within the ranks of the older years, she thought with a quiet giggle.

Albus sent the students off to bed soon after. Just as Hermione stood to leave, something caught her eye by the Slytherin table caught her eye.

The first-years were all standing in a small group, listening to the two fifth-year Prefects explain the way down to the dungeons. In the back of the small pack, however, she watched as Bellatrix Black attempted to link her arm through Severus.’ The boy looked down at her contemptuously and fluidly removed himself from her attempted embrace, a familiar sneer on his features as he turned back to the Prefects.

Hermione watched as Bellatrix’s pretty features twist slightly into a silent, infuriated snarl and looked for all the world as though she wished to stomp her foot. Radolphus and Rabastan Lestrange scowled from either side of her, neither looking too pleased at whatever goal Bellatrix had just botched.

She didn’t move, just watched as they left the Great Hall. She didn’t know what had just happened, exactly, but she resolved to keep an eye on Bellatrix and her two brotherly escorts. They seemed to have something in mind for Severus, as she sincerely doubted Bellatrix was just looking to make a friend.

“Hermione, my dear? Are you well?”

Hermione turned to find Albus standing just a few feet away, waiting for her. She didn’t answer immediately, having found that she needed to unclench her jaw before she could attempt to speak.

With difficulty, she answered stiffly, “I’m fine, Albus. Thank you. Just a little tired.”

He nodded, staring at her. “The Sorting seemed to disturb you,” he commented as they walked into the small chamber off the Great Hall. “Or, perhaps it was just a few certain individuals.”

Hermione shook her head. “Just tired, Albus. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll check over a few things in my office before turning in early.”

He looked over the top of his half-moon glasses at her for a moment, but said only, “Very well. Good evening, Hermione.”

As she walked out of the chamber, leaving him to stare at her back, Hermione marveled at herself. She’d half-expected to be in tears by the end of the Welcoming Feast. And indeed, she had felt wave after wave of misery for every familiar face she had spotted. Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix, Sirius, Lily Evans, Remus, James Potter, Peter… Severus… Instead, however, she felt only a tightening within her, but she remained dry-eyed.

Indeed, the only remaining physical indication of her discomfort was the handkerchief she had slipped into her robe pocket earlier that evening, torn in half.