simple

1. Introduction.

"It's not that I don't like her necessarily, she just seems out of touch..."
"...almost see her arse, mate! Look!"
"I could never look like that, it's just so much effort."

The usual 8 am comments.

You'd think people who'd just won a war would favour higher, less shallow concepts. It was becoming clearer to her that Hogwarts and - to an extent- their world, would keep on existing just as before. Perhaps a war was never really won, she thought for a moment. Or, rather, if everyone changes at the same time, is there really any change at all? A cold breeze blew through the halls. She could care less if her skirt lifted.

Hera huffed a strand of hair out of her face and walked with her habitual confidence. Today, Alchemy was absolutely not interesting to her in the slightest. Sometimes she felt she had already done her fair share of learning. However, appearing to be bored in an academic subject was not a good look. She hated when people fell asleep in class or when they failed to outsmart the teacher.

It was just...so ugly.

Failing, to her, was hideous.
Being smart, though, was a matter of appearance. And appearances had to be kept, even at 8am on the second Tuesday of the academic year.

Setting her coffee thermos down on the creaky wooden desks, she gave her hair a flip to the other side. Out of her purse, a sleek black A4 binder and an engraved silver fountain pen were laid on the table. Now sitting, Hera crossed her legs and straightened her back, then took a small sip out of her coconut iced coffee. Class proceeded, then ended. She left, then arrived to Defence Against The Dark Arts. Her demeanour gave the impression that class could not be had, under any circumstance, if she was not present. Somehow, she was never late. DADA ended when she strided out the door.

Every lesson seemed redundant now. They had seen real life manifest already, to the highest, most terrifying degree. Textbooks and new spells lacked the depth they once had.
Teachers were new, vapid and seemed almost frightened by the students (or of her, at least). Hera could feel them trying to keep everything light, but it was only a matter of time- and this was almost certain- until things would go back to normal.

She kept remembering Voldemort's ultimatum:
"I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts..."
Maybe this is why a small part of her had lost a sympathetic feeling towards people of this profession. They had not proved the most trustworthy of people, she pondered. And who were they, really, to teach?

She knew it was idiotic to judge any person by the standards of a noseless dead criminal. But once judgement is gingerly placed into one's head, letting go is nearly impossible.

While she dipped her sushi into soy sauce during lunch, she looked around the courtyard. She preferred this to the noisy, smelly Hall. It would reek of food grease during the lunch hours. She tended to eat from outside the school. Her parents had the means to fund these deliveries. She also did not appreciate the lack of health-concious meal choices.

Apart from some ancient stone debris nobody had yet moved (because it was probably too nostalgic to throw away) the courtyard had been restored to its initial condition. Five months had taken the school back to what it originally was. The first week, Mcgonagall held a speech and unveiled a memorial for the Fallen.

By Friday that week, meals were being had joyously again. Students could not bring themselves to linger in the sorrow that had transpired five months prior. Hera understood. The war was over. Continuing to be sad would be foolish. But not taking any lessons out of what had happened was downright stupid. Her perception of her own House, Slytherin, was also now forever altered.

~~~Flashback to the Second of May,
The Battle of Hogwarts,
A basement, somewhere. ~~~

"Just because we're Slytherin does not give her the right to keep us here! We should be out there, fighting! This is discrimination!"