@rvbeus || we talked about it once and i had a needâą
   The aftermath of war is not peace. Minerva knows this, has experienced it before - she thinks privately that peace does not begin until long after war ends. After the bodies have been pulled from the rubble, the fallen grieved, the ruins mended, the last enemies rounded up. After the fear fades. No, the aftermath of war is work.
   Hogwarts is in a state of barely-controlled chaos. It was initially uncertain whether the school would even be able to open for the next term, given that parts of the castle were half-demolished after the battle - it was uncertain, that is, until Minerva had put her foot down and insisted that the school would open, come hell or high water, because she already had an entire year of botched instructional time to make up for and she was not missing another one. The result, of course, is that the summer has been full of repairs, wizards and witches working tirelessly to fix the castle, herself among them. And of course there has been much else to do, and much of it unpleasant - tending to the injured, accounting for the fallen, countless meetings with the Ministry, trials of Death Eaters and those claiming to have been coerced by them to witness. Funerals to plan. Dead to grieve.
   Minerva has been approaching the whole ordeal with a cast-iron determination, because it is easier to ignore the grief of those theyâve lost, of what victory cost them, when sheâs always working. And some of the work, after all, has been pleasant. Seeing refugees returning, loved ones reunited, students in the arms of their parents for the first time in months, perhaps years. Watching as wizards from across the country donate money and goods to those, especially Muggleborns, whose homes were destroyed and families separated. (Minerva herself had made a sizable donation to the cause - a teacherâs salary wasnât high, but forty years of earnings and little to spend it on added up.)Â
   And, of course, this little detail. She signs the note sheâs just finished writing and looks over it, before nodding, rolling it up into a tight scroll, and attaching it to the leg of her screech owl, Archimedes. It would be quicker to send the message with a Patronus, but sheâs still reveling in the ability to send letters without having to worry about writing them in code, lest they be intercepted and read. Anyway, Archimedes needs the exercise.
   Hagrid, the letter says. If you arenât otherwise indisposed, Iâd like to see you in my office at your earliest convenience. There is a matter of some importance to discuss. All the best, Minerva. Vague, but, well - it is better as a surprise.
   It should have been done years ago, after the entire Chamber business was discovered, but, well, there are a good many things that Cornelius Fudgeâs administration never bothered to deal with. He may have been released from Azkaban and allowed to teach, but nobody ever thought to lift his ban on practicing magic even after his innocence was discovered. Luckily, however, acting Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt (and full Minister soon, if Minerva has anything to say about it) cares a good deal more than Fudge ever did, and with his help Minerva managed to pull some strings in the Wizengamot.
   She has the exoneration papers in front of her now, delivered just this morning from Kingsley himself. Minerva asked to be the one to receive them - perhaps itâs self-serving, but she wants to be the one to see Hagridâs reaction. So it is with eagerness and impatience in equal measure that she waits, sitting in the headmistressâs office, for him to arrive.
