Written for The Houses Competition

Slytherin, Year 3- Short

Word Count: 1802, per Word

Prompt: [Weather] Drought

July 1998

Two months, one week, and four days. Though no one verbally acknowledged it, all of Britain's magical community knew exactly how long had passed since the fateful final fight on Hogwarts' grounds. So many were lost, and many more were irreparably changed that day. Perhaps none were more changed than "The Ministry Six", as the Daily Prophet had dubbed them—six teenage friends who had fought longer, harder, and braver than pretty much anyone else involved in the Second Wizarding War.

All remembered when, the day after the final battle, the heavens opened and rain poured down in sheets, as though the sky itself was mourning such tragic loss of life and trying to wash the land clean. It had been a day of tears, laughter, and remembrance for all in the castle as they began the healing process, encouraged by the presence of The Ministry Six. The teens had individually weaved their way through pockets of survivors, telling stories and wiping away the tears of others, though none shed tears of their own. In fact, since the final battle, no one had seen any of The Ministry Six cry.

And it seemed that Mother Nature stood in solidarity with her brave children; since the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, not a drop of rain had fallen in all of Britain. Dust clouds choked the streets of Hogsmeade as patrons rushed into the Hogs Head and the Three Broomsticks to either drown their sorrows or celebrate the end of Voldemort's reign of terror. The oppressive heat in Diagon Alley made customers shuffle from shop to shop, hardly pausing to greet old friends in the street and thank Merlin they were all still alive. Hogwarts suffered most of all, her grounds nothing but swaths of deathly brown, the lawns dry and brittle, the trees withering in the relentless sun.

But even without the rain, life went on for the wizarding world and The Ministry Six.

In the weeks following the battle, Harry Potter spent most of his time traveling across the country. He attended every single funeral, memorial service, and monument dedication held in honor of anyone killed during the war. He made speech after speech at these events, fighting to bring a measure of peace and hope to those who heard him. He spoke at length to anyone who wanted to talk to him, giving them the reassurance of The Boy Who Lived, leaving none for himself. He spoke frequently with the Minister and his Department Heads, ensuring that things would be different this time around. He held the hands of those who mourned lost loved ones and promised to make sure their sacrifices were not in vain. He would put the wizarding world back to rights, even if it actually killed him this time; he wasn't sure if that would really be a bad thing.

Hermione Granger coped by throwing herself into the reconstruction of Hogwarts. She, along with Professor Flitwick and some help from Minerva, began drawing up plans to rebuild the castle and the school better and stronger than before. She supervised multiple teams as the project took off, starting sometimes literally from the ground up, staying busy enough to drown herself in work. She created new spaces for learning as well as recreation so that all students would feel welcome and happy at the new Hogwarts. She designed memorials on the sites of major skirmishes so that people would know, so that people would remember—so that people would never forget—what had happened there and what their victory had really cost. She was determined to lay a strong foundation for the next generation and bury her own grief, and possibly herself, deep beneath it.

In previous times of stress, Ron Weasley had found solace at the dinner table; after the final battle, he withdrew into his family and became their rock. He wrapped himself tightly in the comfort of the familiar sights and smells of the Burrow, grateful that some things really never changed. He tried his best to be the "same old Ron" for his parents, and Molly and Arthur lapped up the stability of their youngest son's attitude and appetite. He kept constant watch over George, making sure that he slept and washed and spoke and, of course, ate. He expended so much effort holding his family together that he was afraid the pressure would finally explode and tear him to shreds. Remembering his moment of cowardice during the war, he figured he probably deserved it and would welcome the relief.

Ginny Weasley had always been a doer rather than a talker, but after the war she found herself without any Death Eaters to fight or rebellions to lead. She had to find something to focus on, and when she was on her broom, the air always seemed a little lighter, less stifling. She threw herself into Quidditch training, determined to devote the life she had left to achieving her dream. She went up before dawn and stayed in the air for hours, drilling herself to exhaustion and staying out of the smothering grief that choked the Burrow. She caught hell from her brothers for pushing herself until she could hardly breathe and was lectured that she would pass out in the air and die in the air if she kept up this way. She didn't really see their point; she was going to suffocate either way.

Greenhouses had always been a happy place for Neville Longbottom; in the weeks following the battle, they became his sanctuary. He actually transfigured a bed in the corner of the one at Longbottom Manor, surrounded by colorful leaves and sweet-smelling blooms. He often slept out there to keep his gran from knowing just how horrifying his nightmares were. He had seen terrible evil in the past few years, and it was finally wearing away at his heart and mind to know just what malevolence some humans were capable of. He had fought so hard to rid the wizarding world of Voldemort's wickedness, but his nightmares reminded him that evil could never truly be eradicated. He didn't want to think of what that meant for his family, his friends, or his future. He stayed locked away in his greenhouse, trying to bring something good in the world and ignoring the painful past that ate away at his sanity.

Luna Lovegood had always been… different, and her oddity only grew more pronounced after the war. She stopped living in the tangible world around her; instead, she interacted only with the many strange, invisible creatures she claimed to see. She spent every day lying in the sun, talking to thin air and waiting for it to speak back to her. She refused to eat the food that her father brought out to her, carrying on as though it wasn't even there. She knew it was, though, and that confused her father when he realized it. She simply couldn't tell him that she hadn't felt any form of physical hunger since experiencing the blood lust of the Battle of Hogwarts. She only felt a thirst for the innocence of her child-like imagination and chose to indulge in it to the extreme, at the cost of her physical health. She had chosen to mentally vacate reality, and she didn't see any fault in doing it as many ways as possible.

The Ministry Six had not been together since the final battle, so it was a shock to them all when they found themselves ensconced in McGonagall's office that July morning. They trickled in slowly, quietly taking a seat and staring blankly at those they counted as their closest friends. At first a few tried to make small talk about people and places they all knew, but they quickly realized that many of those people and places were gone forever. Finally, Minerva opened the door from her private chambers.

"Ah, good, you're all here," she said briskly, taking a seat at her desk. She stared at her favorite students for a few long moments before snapping, "For the love of Merlin, look alive! You've just survived a bloody war! Act like it!"

The six teens stared at McGonagall as though she'd grown another head.

"We're still adjusting," Hermione started, her voice shaking a bit at the memory of horrors past bubbling up in her mind.

"The way you've all been living is not adjusting," the headmistress retorted. "I've heard from Kingsley, Filius, Molly, Charlie, Augusta, and Xeno, as well as several others, that each of you has in some way refused to grieve, cope, and move on. Now that you are here, I have altered the wards so that you cannot leave without my permission. You will not receive my permission until I have some proof that you have begun to deal with your various traumas. Given that they all revolve around a similar experience, I thought you might want to start sorting through them together. May I suggest starting your discussions at the Black Lake? I find the outdoors helps to clear my head, and it's rather private, keeping you out of earshot of any inquiring minds." She stood to dismiss them and, seeing none of them rise from their chairs, shooed them out of her office with a hard stare and a wave of her hand.

What Minerva didn't tell The Ministry Six is that Hogwarts could change the view outside her window to any part of the grounds. She watched as they trudged down to the far too dry lake and settled on the dusty shore, picking at newly revealed rocks and brittle grass while refusing to meet each other's eyes. Turning back to the reams of parchment on her desk, she gave them a bit of privacy for the next hour or so. When she checked on them again, they were talking, smiling, and even possibly laughing a bit as they began to open up to each other again. After several hours of paperwork, Minerva checked on her brave children once more; what she saw broke her heart and soothed her soul. Hands were held, tears were wiped, and hugs were given freely as six world-wearied, hard-fighting children finally allowed themselves to grieve.

As she sat back down at her desk, Minerva heard a strange plink, followed by another, and then several more in rapid succession. She looked up to see water trickling down the windows for the first time since she became headmistress, and she couldn't help but smile. The saviors of the wizarding world—all six of them—were beginning to heal, and Mother Nature was again following their lead. Neither the drought nor the healing process would be ended today, but Minerva thought this trading of tears for rain was certainly a good start.