Wanderer

Ashes

Hermione smiled. Tucked a curl behind her ear. "It's nice to be back. I forgot how much I missed it."

McGonagall hummed. Her eyes softened as they roamed the office, tracing the high alcoves, lingering on the empty perch. "I had hoped it wouldn't feel haunted. We wished it to feel like it used to, like the safest fortress in the world." There was a wistful sigh in her voice.

Hermione winced a little. "It's a difficult feat when you know the fortress was conquered."

"But rebuilt from the rubble," her professor's eyes shone, and Hermione was sure they were tears.

"I'm really grateful to be back, Professor," she said quietly. "I don't know what I would have done otherwise."

McGonagall's lips twisted in a secretive smile. When she spoke, it was so matter-of-factly that her thick Scottish accent clipped each of her words. "I have no doubt you would have taught the Ministry how to deal with the aftermath of war. Kingsley Shacklebolt might be a good Minister, but he can't seem to keep everyone and thing from spilling over. The new world is going to be built on inconsistencies and misfiled paperwork."

Hermione heard the irritability leak into her voice, and she remembered a headline she'd read a few days ago at breakfast:

Chaos at the Ministry: Reforms or Revolts?

"Conservative reactions always follow war. The fear never truly goes away," said Hermione. "If anything, it intensifies. Just think about Grindelwald. As soon as he was defeated, the Ministry had drafted restrictive laws and organised raids that ended up lasting years. The Wizarding World ended up more broken than repaired."

"And in opposition to conservatism, there are the liberals who advocate peace in the chasm," replied McGonagall. She pursed her lips.

Hermione laughed a little. "I think we could do with some peace right about now."

"Miss Granger, I'm inclined to agree with you."

She smiled.

Before she could say anything else, there was a cry and through the window, riding on the setting sun, soared a bird of the most brilliant orange, fire-soaked red, and gold. Hermione wasn't sure she could really believe it. Something light settled in her soul and she thought the last ray of hope might as well have just swept through the sky and landed on the pane.

Fawkes sat proudly on the windowsill.

"I thought-" Hermione stumbled for sense. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him. "I thought he was gone forever."

McGonagall's face softened and she rose from her chair and beckoned him onto his perch. He acquiesced, swooping over and offering the older woman his head to stroke.

Hermione blinked, remembering the last time she had seen him, hearing his final song in her head. She stood from the chair and moved over slowly, careful not to frighten him.

"Not gone," said McGonagall, running her finger over the plumes of the Phoenix's head. "He visits from time to time. Usually, he comes here to die."

Hermione looked at her, lips parted. Her eyes strayed back to the bird, and she held out her hand so he could press his forehead against her knuckle.

"He comes home," a deep voice said, and Hermione jumped. The Phoenix crooned gently. Dumbledore smiled from his portrait above the desk. "It is said, Miss Granger, in my family, that a Phoenix appears when a Dumbledore is in need. Fawkes came to me when I was desperate, when I didn't know how to save myself, never mind anyone else. Extraordinary things, Phoenixes. Exceptionally nuanced and tuned into human emotion."