Professor Pomona Sprout walked slowly along the length of one of her reconstructed greenhouses, inhaling the scent of the new wood and basking in the warmth of the bright sunlight streaming through the clear glass panels. It was over three months since the massive destruction during the Battle of Hogwarts, when her greenhouses had been shattered and splintered almost to ruin and the plants mangled and broken. Who would have guessed that simple greenhouses full of growing plants would have needed protective charms? Was nothing safe?
In those days after the battle, the damage had been heartbreaking to see; every dead plant was like a child lost, every broken branch like a leg amputated. The construction crew that had been called in had rightly concentrated its first efforts on the castle itself, and Professor Sprout had been left to start the cleanup of her area by herself. She had begun by conjuring a row of large wooden bins and using the Accio charm to fill them with broken shards of glass. When those bins were full, she had conjured more.
Eventually the greenhouses had all been rebuilt and the broken plants pruned into a shape that would hopefully grow back into a natural symmetry eventually. The plants that had been trampled or crushed to death, mainly by giants, had been replaced by little seedlings which would take a few years to achieve anything like mature size.
Professor Sprout leaned against one supporting post of the wall of the greenhouse, facing the afternoon sun. She closed her eyes and let the warmth soak into her tired body. She had been so busy, working non-stop since May to restore her Herbology teaching area and its stock of plants before the mid-August deadline when the graduating students took their NEWTS in Herbology. In a few days last year's fifth year students would be arriving to take their OWLS before the opening of the new school year.
The new school year. Life went relentlessly forward, even after so horrific a war with such terrible losses. Soon it would be 1999, then 2000, and 1998 would recede farther into the past, the anguish would shrink and fade, and a peaceful contentment would gradually reappear. In a year the fresh wood of the greenhouses would take on a more weathered appearance, the damaged plants would be grown back, and the seedlings and saplings would be larger. The green moss would be growing over the now bare surfaces.
I will be glad when life feels normal again, Professor Sprout thought, when we can wake up every morning feeling relaxed and safe. Will we reach that point in a year? Five years?
She heaved a deep sigh. There was a faculty meeting in the castle a little later in the afternoon, but it was difficult to feel any enthusiasm for it, not because she had lost her love for teaching, but because the war had drained her of everything she had to give.
We are all trying to keep going, forcing ourselves by sheer will power, but it feels like we're slogging knee-deep through a swamp and running out of energy. It's not something that even the best potion could cure. I want something to look forward to, not something that pushes me from behind by a sense of duty, but something that pulls me forward by a sense of anticipation and excitement.
She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead through the opposite glass wall of the greenhouse. Out there, somewhere in the future, was some concrete thing to look forward to.
Professor Sprout left the greenhouse and walked across the grass toward the castle. The scars on the lawn, burnt patches and areas of ploughed-up dirt, which had been so low on the priority list for repairs, bothered Professor Sprout more now. No one had done anything about them yet. I'll go around tomorrow and fix as many of them as I can, she thought. It should be done before autumn, before the students returned. She entered the castle by the big front doors and made her way up to the headmistress's office and knocked on the door, which swung open by itself.
"Come in, Pomona," Professor McGonagall greeted her. She was seated behind the desk, with papers spread out all over the surface. In their frames, the portraits of the school's previous headmasters were sitting in their chairs looking bored, some dozing. Everyone seemed tired.
"Excuse me for interrupting your work. I'll be brief," Professor Sprout began as she stepped into the room. "I came to ask if I could have ten minutes at the end of the faculty meeting to present an idea for next year."
"Oh?" responded Professor McGonagall. "Sit down, Pomona. Tell me, what's your idea? Merlin knows we need everyone's best thoughts these days."
The faculty meeting was held in one of the small rooms off the Great Hall. A heavy wooden table, like those in the library, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs. Throughout most of the year a fire burned in the fireplace when this room was used, but not at this time of summer. Professors McGonagall and Sprout arrived first, and then the others in ones and twos -- Flitwick, Sinestra, Vector, Slughorn, Hagrid, Binns, Babbingly, and three new professors who would be teaching Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Muggle Studies. Professor Sprout looked at the Muggle Studies teacher, a young woman named Amanda Hotchkiss, and reflected on her bravery in taking the job; there were still Death Eaters at large who would like to assassinate her purely out of spite. Firenze was absent, but the auxilliary staff, Madam Pince, Madam Pomfrey, and Madam Hooch, were all there.
After they had seated themselves around the table, Professor McGonagall distributed copies of the agenda, and they discussed the items on it one by one, There were alterations of school rules, logistics of classes, updates about repairs and equipment, and a rather lengthy discussion of the students' emotional well-being and particular adjustment problems that first year student might experience.
At ten minutes before six p.m. Professor McGonagall ceded the floor to Professor Sprout, who stood up and faced her fellow teachers nervously. She had no idea whether they would favor her proposal or dismiss it as too impractical, too inappropriate to the time, or just too much work. But the more she thought about her idea, the more she liked it. Can I convince them in just ten minutes? she wondered. She took a deep breath and began to speak in a firm voice.
"May 2, 1998, is a dividing point in history. There was everything that came before that date, and now there will be everything that comes after it. We are bruised and battered, but we have come through the fire and we are still alive. We can't let what has happened define the rest of our lives. We need to build our future to be what we want it to be."
She looked around the table. Everyone's eyes were fixed on her, and several people were nodding slowly.
"I'm sure that next year, on or around May 2, there will be ceremonies and recognitions of the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. They will probably be solemn, even somber. People will look back and remember the dead, and the huge sacrifices, and the effects of evil. And these ceremonies will probably happen year after year.
"But I also want to look forward to something completely positive, something that says that the world is inherently good and that we have a right to be happy.
"Now people say that Hogwarts School is about a thousand years old, although I don't know exactly. What I would love to see happen is that a year from now, after the first anniversary ceremonies of the Battle of Hogwarts, we should celebrate the one thousandth anniversary of Hogwarts. We could do it in July or August, when the weather is warm and the school is not being used for anything else. Invite all the alumni to come back for a weekend and have parties and tours and historical demonstrations, and, oh, I don't know what all, but make it be fun. Let everyone see how the school is in good shape, no damage left. Let our spirit show through."
She stopped speaking and looked around at her colleagues. Professor McGonagall said nothing, but a smile was beaming on her face. The other professors were quiet for a minute. Somebody say something, Professor Sprout pleaded silently.
Then Madam Pince asked, "Why do you think that this is something we should do?" The look on her face was even, guarded, neither positive nor negative.
I thought I just explained all that, Professor Sprout thought to herself, but apparently not well enough.
"It would demonstrate our survival over the devastation, and even more, our triumph. Lord Vol..that is, Tom Riddle...and his wretched followers can't reach their long arms out of the grave to keep us down. By next summer all the repairs will be complete and the plants will be grown back, and our mourning will be down to a level where we can celebrate again. Right now we can hardly rejoice because of our losses. I feel like a woman who just gave birth to twins, one of whom lived and one of whom died. So I feel joyful and sad at the same time, and it's very confusing. But I know that for the sake of the twin who lived, I must put a smile on my face and build a happy life for him."
"I think it's a grand idea," Professor Slughorn suddenly exclaimed heartily. "A giant party and an open house. Like a country fair and a circus all rolled into one."
"I can see it now," Professor Flitwick chimed in. "Beautiful placards posted all over, giving the history of the various features of the castle." Turning to Professor Binns, he asked, "Do we know exactly how old Hogwarts is? What year was it founded?"
"Well," Professor Binns began, "it depends on what point you start from. No one knows exactly when the first discussions started, or how long they lasted. Instruction probably began in humble and makeshift quarters, with a limited number of students. The exact year construction began on this present building, and when it achieved roughly its present configuration, or when the curriculum was completely developed... well, who cares anyway? What does it matter? It can be whatever we want it to be. It's the thousandth anniversary, give or take a few years, of some aspect of our founding, so it's high time to celebrate! Overdue, in fact!"
"We could have Quidditch matches..." began Professor Vector, and Professor Sprout was surprised, not having imagined Professor Vector to be a particular devotee of the game, but Professor Flitwick interrupted, "Would the students be here? Who would play the game?" and Professor Slughorn said, "The visiting alumni could make themselves into teams and relive their glory days. Wouldn't that be funny?"
"Funny? It would be disastrous! There'd be no end to injuries. My ward would be full!" Madam Pomfrey retorted indignantly, and several people laughed.
"Then you could give a good demonstration of your healing skills, Poppy," Slughorn answered back.
"I would like to see picnic lunches on the lawn," Professor Sinestra offered in her quiet voice.
"And a feast in the Great Hall for dinner, followed by a dance," suggested Madam Pince, who was apparently now understanding the rationale of the whole proposal.
Professor Sprout looked around happily. Her spur-of-the-moment idea seemed to have caught on with all the teachers. The suggestions were coming thick and fast -- demonstrations of magical creatures, a display of her own remarkable plants, exhibitions of the the most valuable library books, a fireworks display...
"Who will be our target audience?" Professor McGonagall interjected.
"Why, anyone who wants to come," Professor Sprout replied, "but I think that the older witches and wizards who haven't been on campus for many years might enjoy returning."
"And the parents of young children who would be enrolling in the future. They would want to see for themselves that the school is safe and functional again." It was the first time that Professor Hotchkiss had spoken up, and Professor Sprout was happy to see that. New professors, new blood, new ideas, she thought. It's what we need.
"Will they stay overnight? Where will they stay?"
"Would the Hogwarts Express be running?"
"The residents of Hogsmeade would like this. They would get a lot of extra business and would make a tidy profit."
"Speaking of money, how much would this cost? Where's the money coming from?"
"It's past six o'clock," Professor McGonagall finally reminded everyone. "Our meeting has already run overtime. Pomona's suggestion seems to have caught everyone's fancy. Maybe it will prove to be just what we need."
"Yes, let's not let this notion die," Professor Flitwick urged. "Let's all think about it tonight and make lists of suggestions and questions. Then we can get together tomorrow and begin to block something out."
"I don't know," protested Professor Morehouse, the new Transfiguration teacher. "I'm pretty busy getting ready for the start of the school year. The new term begins in about ten days. I won't have time for another meeting."
"Come on, man," Slughorn countered. "You have to eat dinner, don't you? Why can't we all eat dinner together tomorrow?"
"Fine, it's all decided then," Professor McGonagall declared. "We'll all eat dinner together in the Great Hall tomorrow evening at six and discuss Pomona's proposal." There was a tone of finality in her voice that allowed for no disagreements. She stood up, gathered her papers in a little pile in front of her, and announced that the faculty meeting was adjourned.
"Did that just happen?" Madam Pince remarked to Madam Pomfrey as they all filed out of the room. "We've just been ordered to have fun?"
"Well, yes," Madam Pomfry answered. "And it's a good idea. I think we must have forgotten how, during the past few years."
The next evening, when the faculty members arrived at the Great Hall for their dinner, they were greeted by streamers, floating balloons, and flowers decorating the small table where they would eat. In the center of the table was a large sheet cake decorated with a simple rendition of the castle, made of sparkling icing, and the words "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" on one side of the castle image and the words "The Happy Place To Be" on the other side. Little yellow birds were fluttering around the table chirping, and colorful butterflies sat here and there on the table, waving their iridescent wings back and forth.
"How charming! Who did all this?" exclaimed Professor Hotchkiss.
"Is it someone's birthday?" asked Professor Vector, who had noticed the cake but hadn't looked closely at its decoration.
"We did it, Minerva and I," Professor Sprout announced merrily. "We decided not to wait a whole year to bring back some cheer and laughter to these walls. So we will start the process in our own small way tonight, while we begin to map out our big celebration for next year. This is a party for us."
Madam Hooch shook her head slowly, as her eyes took in the flowers, the birds and butterflies, the decorations , and the cake. "It's hard to believe that in four short months, no, less than that, we have come from the most terrible horror we will ever see in our lifetimes, to this, a party. My mind can scarcely wrap around it."
Professor Sinestra approached the table and rested both hands on the back of a chair, staring at the tabletop, as if she could not bring herself to actually get any closer, or occupy the chair. "Maybe it sounds strange, but I feel, in a way, guilty to sit down and enjoy this meal, as if I don't have permission to smile again. How can I forget what happened, and all the people who died?"
"I think we all feel that way, more or less," Professor McGonagall said, speaking to everyone in the room, "and that is why we must do this anyway, starting now. The students who are coming back are just children, and they scarcely know how to understand or respond to the events of the past few years. Children are not supposed to ever experience such things, but they did, and now they will be looking to us to show them how to put it all in perspective. We need to demonstrate to them that good is greater than evil and that happiness is longer-lasting than grief. Tonight is just the beginning."
"You express things so clearly, as usual, Minerva," Professor Flitwick said. "Let's all sit down now, and after dinner we can get to work."
There was a general scraping of chairs as they all sat down, and food-laden dishes appeared on the table, along with some bottles of wine, already uncorked and ready to pour. Those sitting closest to the bottles poured for their companions, and as one they raised their glasses. "To the future," Professor McGonagall said, and they all echoed, "To the future."
Renewal by Oregonian
Story Notes:
The recognizable characters, places, and events are all the property of J. K. Rowling. The shortcomings are all mine.
Chapter Endnotes: This story is partly inspired by the yearly commemoration, here in America, of the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and the deaths of almost 3,000 people, including the heroic passengers and crew of United Flight 93, who fought back.