Against the Tide

Returning to Hogwarts had been much easier than Harry had thought. He merely kept his eyes averted when first-years were called, knowing that looking would make him miss Hagrid even more. It would also cause him to hate the new Groundskeeper, whom, Mrs. Weasley told him, was a very nice man named Willy. Indeed, his voice seemed cheerful as he called out for the first-year to follow him, but Harry kept his eyes averted and couldn't tell for sure.

Entering the Great Hall was a different matter all together. The crush of students all heading to their tables and the excitement of a new year caught Harry up. The chatter as friends reacquainted themselves and laughed over one thing or another was infective. Soon, Harry and Hermione were talking at great speed about the assortment of adults at the Head Table.

"So many!" Hermione said. "We can't possibly need them all. Dumbledore must be stocking the school for defense."

"But why take so many wizards and witches away from the fight against Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"Probably thinks that we're more important. And wherever you are, trouble is sure to follow."

"Ah, Hermione," Ron said, breaking into the conversation. "You can just admit you love me and get it over with. You don't need to be so coy."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione demanded.

"Don't know, actually. Parvati just informed me that Sally-Anne Perks won't speak with me because you're in love with me. Parvati heard it from Padma, who has it from Susan, who got it from someone- Hannah, I think."

"I never considered Sally-Anne particularly intelligent. Then she dated you, and now I know she is stupid," Hermione said acerbically. "As if any girl needs a reason to break up with you."

"Oh, Hermione, that pains me, really."

The first years were led in and sorted. They were quite a few this year, nearly a hundred, Harry thought (the grumbling in his stomach confirmed it). When the last, "Zarconic, Julian," was sent to the Hufflepuff table, Dumbledore stood.

"I trust you've all had a lovely summer..." Dumbledore droned on with his pre-feast speech. He welcomed them all back, implored them to do well, and asked them to try and get along. "But now, I suggest we eat!" And with a clap, wonderful, lovely food filled the plates in front of them.

"Finally!" Ron muttered, piling as much food as possible onto his plate.

"Ron, that's too much!" Hermione warned. "You'll get sick."

"What? Look at me, Hermione. I'm skin and bone since Fred and George poisoned me. I need to gain weight, else I'll float away." Hermione rolled her eyes, as if doubting greatly the validity of this statement. "Besides, you could stand to gain a few pounds, as well."

At that, Hermione puffed up. "There's nothing wrong with my weight, Ronald Weasley," she said with perfect disdain.

"Ahh, shove that potato in your mouth and hush up," Ron replied cheekily. Harry thought he was quite lucky not to be wearing the potato.

"Ron, you look fine," Hermione said. Then her grin turned deadly. "Finally your head is in proportion to your body."

"So, what do you think Ron, about so many adults," Harry changed the subject urgently, nodding towards the Head Table.

"I think it cuts down the ratio between supervisor and the supervised. I hope none of them know any of the secret passageways."

"Not reforming your wanton ways, then?" Hermione needled. Ron looked at her as if she were mad. "Who's the first lucky lady?"

"I already told you, Hermione. You. You're in love with me, there's no denying it. And if you ask nicely, I may let you tarnish my reputation."

"As if I'd go near that reputation. It's likely to catch fire and burn the entire castle down."

"Yes, well, I just need the right girl," Ron said, and his eyes trailed off across the Hall. Hermione's followed them.

"Who?" She asked, but Ron simply smiled and patted her head.

"Eat up, Mione," he said cheerfully.

Just then, Dumbledore stood. "Now that we've all eaten, allow me to introduce new Professors that have agreed to teach you this year. Due to rather large first and second-year classes, it has been necessary to employ several new teachers to handle things.

"Yolanda Firehorn will be teaching first to third-year Astronomy," he said as a short, old lady stood and acknowledge the school. "Professor Sinistra will continue with fourth to seventh-year Astronomy.

"Professor Horace Hardbottom will take on the fourth to seventh-year Defense Against the Dark Arts classes," a tall, harsh looking man inclined his head, "while Nancy Tonic will take first to third-year." A short, barmy-looking old woman stood and winked at the student body.

"Blimey!" Harry said, plastering himself so that only Ron, Hermione and Ginny could hear. "That's the barmy woman from next door! That's Tonks..."

"Ms. Linnea Logwomper will teach Herbology for those below fourth-year, while Professor Sprout will continue for those above fifth-year. Professor Ignatius Moore will teach first to third-year Potions, while Professor Snape will continue fourth to seventh-year Potions classes-" Harry's stomach drove into the ground. Damn.

"Professor Preservus Inchwood will take first to fourth-year Transfiguration, with Professor McGonagall maintaining the fifth to seventh-year classes." Dumbledore droned on, but a thought just occurred to Harry.

"Where's Gryffindor, do you think?" Harry asked. Ron and Hermione shrugged.

"We'll have to ask Professor O'Neill later. She really should be here," Hermione said. "After all, she's pregnant and everything. Where else would she be?"

"You don't think she's still tracking down Death Eaters, do you?" Ginny asked worriedly.

Ron shrugged. "So what if she is? That's her life, isn't it? Destroying the forces of evil, and all that."

"Yes, Ron," Hermione said, "but she's pregnant. She shouldn't be fighting, she should be resting and eating and... and stuff that pregnant women do," she finished lamely. It appeared Hermione had no actual idea what pregnant women should be doing with their time.

"Hermione, really!" Ron teased. "You, suggesting that women should be kept out of a situation simply because their female? Are you sure you should be Head Girl? I mean, the responsibility might stress you a bit and-"

"Ronald Weasley..." Hermione growled.

"For the time being, Professor Grubbly-Plank will take the Care of Magical Creatures portfolio, until such a time as a permanent candidate can be found," Professor Dumbledore finished.

"Did he mention a change for Divination?" Ron asked hopefully. Neville, sitting beside Ginny, shook his head. "Damn. Trelawney drives me mental, absolutely."

"Its pay back for when you drive us mental, Ron," Ginny snapped matter-of-factly, and Hermione nodded emphatically.

"That is all for tonight," Dumbledore continued, raising his voice a bit and peering pointedly at the noisy group at Gryffindor table. "I would, of course, like to present this years Head Boy and Girl, Hermione Granger-" she half stood, smiling pleasantly- "and Ronald Weasley." Ron stood to his full height- which wasn't really as giant-like as he liked to complain and smiled in a fashion that made several girls sigh. It was a smile Harry would never manage, mainly because he had a shred of dignity. "Now, to bed!" Dumbledore finished, clapping his hands excitedly.

Ron and Hermione scurried to the Entrance Hall to oversee the transport of students to their dormitories. Harry made his way up to the Common Room with the other seventh-years, as Ginny had to direct the first-years. They ended up waiting for a prefect anyways, to give them the password.

"You know," Seamus said once they entered the Common Room and had arranged themselves into their favourite chairs, "I don't think we should be at the mercy of lower-classmen. I mean, we are older. Why do we have to wait about for them?"

No one paid any attention though, because the first-years had entered. "Hello!" Parvati and Lavender called happily. "Welcome to Gryffindor Tower. Congratulations." The first-years smiled weakly and followed the instructions to their dormitories. "Poor lambs," Lavender said. "All tuckered out after such an exciting day."

A few minutes later, Ron and Hermione came into the Tower (although Ron actually bounded).

"Guess what I have!" he demanded.

"Oh, Ron," Parvati giggled. "Slutting around has caught up, has it?"

Ron looked bewildered, until it dawned on him. "Shut it, you, or I'll give you detention," he said, then wiggled his brows to receive the full force of Parvati's glare. "No, I've our timetables!"

Groans followed each timetable as it was handed out. "Its as bad as last year," Harry said glumly. "Do you figure I should drop something?" he asked Ginny, showing her his table.

"You can manage, I think," Ginny said sourly, having braved a look at her table.

"Course he can!" Ron said. "It's Hermione who needs to drop a class."

"Yeah, Hermione, are you going to drop anything?" Harry asked.

"For the last time, no!" Hermione replied. But she was staring at her timetable with a look of resignation. "This year isn't going to be much fun, is it?"

"Did you notice we've got Dueling Club with Tonks- sorry, Tonic? And she'll continue Ambush training as well," Ron said. "That's good, at least. I wonder what Hardbottom'll be like?"

The next afternoon, as they left Hardbottom's first class, they had their answer.

"I miss Gryffindor!" Ron whined.

"I miss Lupin," Morag pouted.

"Gryffindor? Lupin?" Harry asked. "That one makes me long for Umbridge!"

Professor Hardbottom had begun the class by telling them all to forget everything they'd been taught before- especially what Gryffindor had taught them. Hardbottom called Gryffindor 'unhinged', and insisted that nothing good could come from what she'd taught them.

"Not even the skills which allowed us to properly defend Hogwarts last June?" Harry had demanded angrily. After all, why was some Ministry stooge pissing on Gryffindor's reputation? It was the students who had that privilege.

"The Ministry would have dealt with the Death Eaters, certainly. We had nearly broken though the enemy lines," he sniffed. "The children should never have been put at risk."

"There was no other choice, though," Morag argued. She had jumped in just moments before Harry could clear his throat of rage. "We did what we had to, that's all."

"We will not discuss this," Hardbottom sneered. "Please open your texts to page..." The rest of the class he had pushed and prodded every nerve the class collectively held. Apparently, not a one of them could wave a wand properly. He decried the 'emphasis' placed on practical applications of the subject and the lack of research and academic study into the Dark Arts. He claimed they had spent too much time on curses and such, and not enough on what they would be tested on in June.

"Professor," Hermione had raised her hand. "Professor, I was just wondering about your experience?" It was clear, from the sharpness of her voice and the small pink splotches on her cheeks, that she too was angry. Several students gave quiet 'yeah!'s to her question.

"I've worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for forty-five years. Until the summer of '94, I administered the Auror's College, selecting the very best candidate's for the program," he said. Harry sat up a little straighter- he probably still had influence at the Department. "Recently, I moved to the Hit Wizards Bureau."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"There was an incident where your dear Professor Gryffindor tried to kill me," he continued, grumbling. "It was decided that I should be moved to a different branch. Apparently youth is more important than experience."

Harry had to bite back a laugh at that- this was the superior Gryffindor had nearly strangled. Cocking his head slightly, Harry could see the attraction to the neck- it was very wobbly.

Sitting for dinner, the Gryffindor's continued to gripe. "Wonder where Dumbledore found him?" Ron asked. "Did he search Snape's family tree just looking for the perfect compliment to make our lives hell?"

"Not quite, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall's voice sounded from behind them. Cringing, they turned towards her. "I've come to discuss Quidditch try-outs with you and Potter."

"Er- right, Professor," Harry said, taking the lead. "Well, Sloper and Kirke have graduated, so we need two new Beaters, as well as two new Chasers. So, we should have two separate try-outs, I suppose." Ron nodded his agreement, as did McGonagall.

"Very well, Potter, Weasley. This Saturday, you may have the Quidditch Pitch all after noon, from one to five. Good luck, boys," she said smiling. "And please, pick some good players."

Hermione came up just then, slamming a dozens books onto the table.

"Hermione, it's the first day of classes! That can wait," Harry said. Rudely, he took the books (which weighed a ton), and placed them on the floor beside him. "They'll wait until after dinner."

"No, they won't. After dinner, we have our first meeting of the Hornblower. I've got to go and tell the others, then I need to study," she said matter-of-factly and whipped off to the other House tables.

"Mad!" Ron muttered as he filled his plate with pork steaks.

**

If Hermione had heard Ron, she would have agreed. She felt mad, rushing about the Great Hall, trying to avoid the Slytherin table until Draco left. Morag or Blaise or someone would tell him about the meeting. But Draco didn't leave, seemingly happy to wile away the entire allotted dinnertime actually eating, something unheard of for a seventh-year. Even Ron had long ago stuffed himself to bursting and waddled out of the Hall.

She had already caught Morag and Blaise before they left the Hall, but they had been on their way to the Library, not the Slytherin Common Room. There was no choice, then. She bravely marched up to Draco and cleared her throat.

"Draco?"

"Yes?" he asked, his eyes narrowed, as if simply seeing her made him wary. "What is it, Hermione?"

"Er- Hornblower meeting, at eight, in the Press Room. Can you come?"

"Yes," Draco replied. "Can I speak to you after?"

Nervously, Hermione shook her head. "Too busy this evening. This week, in fact. Maybe next week, sometime?"

"No, it can't wait," he said. "It will have to be tonight." He quirked his head to the side, casting a judging look at her. "Oh, relax, Granger. I'm not going to bite."

Hermione managed to keep her nerves in place long enough to nod and say after the meeting would work after all. She was acting stupidly, really; she'd seen Draco every week during the summer, but she'd never been this afraid that he'd blurt out that she was a murderer. The only explanation she could think of for her fear was that during the summer, they'd been dealing with adults who'd hated Death Eaters, no matter. The adults hadn't cared how or why a Death Eater died, just that they were no longer trying to kill them.

But at Hogwarts, the students would be horrified. Here, Hermione was somebody important, not just some kid. The gossip mill would exaggerate the story to such an extent that concerned parents would organize a lynching.

Of course, she deserved that fate. She just didn't particularly fancy it, naturally. She still felt guilty, horrible really, but... she had decided on a sort of 'community service' program to make up for killing Lucius.

It wasn't hard to forget what she had done, really, when back at school with a dozen different things to do and a dozen friends to do them with. But when she saw Draco, even if it was just through the Great Hall, her stomach plummeted. He was always staring at her!

But others had bigger problems, and Hermione was determined to make everything better. Sitting in History, listening to Professor O'Neill's flat voice, had been misery. He was clearly terrified for Gryffindor; his face was set in a permanent frown and his eyes seemed to pull away from his face, as if they searched beyond the walls for her to materialize.

She had felt so sorry for him, and had wanted to help. But really, as only one girl, she knew her options were limited, and that was frustrating. But as always, there was a way to solve any problem, if you had the will.

Wherever Professor Gryffindor was in England, she would find a copy of the Hornblower- she had been the papers biggest fan (especially after she'd been interviewed for it). Hermione would place something in the paper that Gryffindor would understand, something that would get her to contact Professor O'Neill.

It felt so odd, playing matchmaker for her instructors- especially when she'd never had a 'successful' relationship. It was even odder that Gryffindor had disappeared without a word, while she was pregnant and never checked in. O'Neill was completely off the handle, worried for her and the baby and the world at large as well (Professor Gryffindor, unrestrained, could probably wreak more havoc then the Weasley twins).

At eight, the returning staff of the Hornblower was assembled in the Press Room. The features writers, Ron, Morag, Blaise, Neville, Draco, Padma and Zacharias, were sitting in a group, going over story ideas. The arts people, Dean, Parvati, Megan Jones, Hannah Abbot, Orla Quirk, Natalie McDonald and Regan Miller were loudly discussing the summer concerts they'd been to and the gossip they'd heard. The sports people, Harry included, were arguing over which House would win the cup. Luna and Ginny sat at center table, glancing out over the crowd with an unimpressed look to them.

Colin Creevey happily snapped photo after photo of the group.

"Hello," Hermione called as she re-entered the room grandly. "Thanks for coming on such short notice. Let's get on with it, hmm?" Everyone stopped talking and Hermione began her preplanned spiel about the good work and the import of their little paper. "Last year was absolutely fantastic, and this year can be better!"

She explained the focus that year would be the political changes the community was seeing, as well as the fight against Voldemort. There would, of course, be space for the researched articles that had won such renown the year before, as well as an expanded agenda for the opinions and editorials. She showed the political cartoons Dean had drawn over the summer, and announced that he'd discontinue his wildly popular "Adventures of a Young Merlin," in favour of continuing the new format.

She told the assembled group that Luna would be her assistant in all things, and Ginny would be Luna's. She assigned Morag as the Feature's Editor, Harry as the Sport Editor, Regan Miller as the Arts Editor, Kevin Entwhistle as the Opinions Editor and Susan Bones as the News Editor.

When she asked for new business, every hand went up. Everyone had ideas for the year, even people she'd spoken to just a few hours ago. Groaning inwardly, Hermione took a seat and dug in for the long haul.

Zacarias Smith spoke first. He was against focusing on politics, saying the paper would lose readers, because people found politics boring. He was also against covering the fight against Voldemort, saying that the press should be impartial.

Draco led the shouting. Neither of Zacarias's suggestions passed, and the group moved on.

Morag was concerned that the research side of the paper would need more writers and asked that it be announced in the House Common Room's that they were looking for intelligent, insightful people who could write a proper sentence. She reiterated that they must be able to spell.

Harry suggested that the paper, with the heavy issues it would cover, should be glossed up a bit, so that it didn't depress people. He suggested The Hogwarts Hornblower and pictures be printed in colour. Megan Jones amended the suggestion so that the title would be printed in the colour ink of the House that was leading in the House Cup at the time of publishing.

Ginny worried about cost, and the group elected Laura Madley, a Ravenclaw, as the Treasurer. She'd be in charge of the books and would report on the finances every meeting. They also elected Megan Jones to take notes at the meetings, so that there would be a record of what had taken place.

Hermione reminded the group that the money raised by the Hornblower was donated to S.P.E.W., which was looking for Headquarters in London for the next summer. She gave a report on the progress of S.P.E.W., which now included nearly seventy members, and had helped to relocate two House-Elves after they had been freed from captured Death Eater families. They, she said, now were paid for their work and had all sorts of benefits, like vacation, sick leave and were not restricted by their employers from using magic.

The meeting broke at eleven, which wasn't bad, considering the work they had done. Hermione, aware that Draco stood in the doorway, took her time clearing up.

"Hermione," he snapped. "We have House-Elves for a reason. And they're paid!"

"Some are, yes," she said with a bit of pride. Straightening, she turned. "Well, Draco? What is it?"

Draco looked about nervously. Closing the door he came towards her.

"I thought you wouldn't bite," she said. He didn't respond until he was inches away.

"I won't," he sighed. "I just want to know why you won't speak with me."

"I do speak to you!" Hermione exclaimed, but Draco's brow cocked and she knew he didn't accept it. Fine. "I just don't want you to get cross with me, and shout out that I- I killed your father."

Draco groaned. "Hermione, you didn't kill anyone! You can't accept that, but you did nothing wrong," he said. When she didn't respond, he exploded in a rage. "I wish it had been anyone else to cast that spell," he shouted, sweeping backwards into the room. "I wish it had been me!" He yelled at her.

"Don't say that," Hermione cried, but her throat caught. "Don't you ever, ever say that!" she warned, advancing on him. "You can't mean that, Draco! You couldn't want this guilt I have."

"That's the point, Hermione," Draco bit at her. "You're the only person stupid enough- no, I mean honest enough, to be bothered that you had anything to do with his death. Anybody else'd be dancing a jig, but not you!"

"I ruined your life!" Hermione shouted, spinning away from him and viciously began to gather her things.

"No, you didn't, Granger. You made my life."

Hermione couldn't look him in the eye as she passed him. She was blinking back tears, thinking what a horrible person Lucius must have been, if his very son was thankful he was dead. It almost made her feel... no. "Don't say that either, Draco. It's not right." As she hurried down the hall, she could hear Draco slam the door to the Press Room. Repeatedly.

**

Harry was exhausted by the time Saturday came about. Picking Beaters and Chasers was arduous. Half were horrible, the other half only barely good enough. In the end the team made the dispirited choices of Linus Gourd and Wilhemina Warten as Beaters and Hilde Hickle and Samantha Malfoy as Chasers.

The team- in reality, Ron, Ginny and he- had a short discussion about appointing Samantha. She was really quite good, but the idea of a Malfoy on the Gryffindor Quidditch team was hard to accept. If they needed any reminder of how seriously alumni took their House Quidditch, they merely thought of the Howlers Draco received when he put Catherine Nott on the Slytherin team.

In the end, they figured a good, if controversial player would garner less criticism than a horrible and uncontroversial player.

After Quidditch, Harry managed to finish his weekend work ahead of time, and without Hermione's help.

"Do you figure that this isn't as much work as it seems?" he asked Ron. "It seems like a lot, really, but I've finished already. Maybe they've just trained us to think this is really hard!" Ron glared at him over his Divination homework and growled. Apparently, Ron disagreed. "You know, I think I'll see if Ginny has any free time," Harry said hurriedly and got the hell out of Gryffindor Tower.

And immediately wished he hadn't.

"Potter," Snape's voice said from behind him. "Shouldn't you be doing your work? You can't possibly be finished yet."

"Just now, Professor. Going down to the Press Room to help with lay-out," he fabricated nicely.

"Yes, that little rag of Ms. Granger's," Snape sneered. "Well, hurry off, Potter. I'm sure Ms. Granger can't possibly do anything without you." With that the billowing of black robes clouded Harry's view of his target.

One day... I'll have graduated, and I can take it out... Harry marched down the flights and halls to the Press Room and swung in grumpily. He swept the room with his eyes, but saw no one to provoke into a fight, beyond Hermione and Ginny, and he wasn't about to let them have a go at him.

"Harry, good! Can you do the layout for the Sport section?" Luna asked, pushing a pile of papers at him.

"I finished this last night," Harry said, flipping through the pages, trying to find an addition or change.

"It's not good enough," Luna said.

Harry bit back an angry response and slapped the papers onto a desk. Rudely he pulled out set paper and began to redo a layout. He finished in five minutes. "There!" he said, handing Luna the pages.

"Harry, this is six pages. Your allotment is five. You'll have to redo it in five."

"But I can't, if you want the advertising in there. Honestly, you claim all my space for advertising, but none of Features!" Harry shouted. "I can't cut a page if you insist on half-page adverts everywhere throughout Sport."

"Well, we can't cut the adverts, so you'll have to cut an article," Luna said placidly, handing him the sheets. She wasn't even looking at him, just placidly scratching away at an order form. "Actually, I'd suggest your article. It's not very good, is it?"

Harry slammed the layout on to Luna's desk and spread his hands on either side of it. "This is my section. Nothing gets cut but the adverts!"

"The adverts stay, Harry," Luna said, looking up at the ceiling, as if counting the stones. "We need the revenue."

"Hermione!" Harry shouted.

"Honestly, you two. It's just a stupid advert," Hermione said, rushing over, "not the end of the world. Cut the advert from Sport and put it in Arts."

Unfortunately, Regan Miller, the Arts Editor heard them. "No you don't! I need all my space to cover the concerts and festivals and new disks! Besides, these adverts are for Quidditch, not culture!" the disgruntled Ravenclaw exclaimed.

Regan Miller was an odd person. Muggle-born, he reveled in Muggle clothes and 'decorations'. He had piercings all over his face and it was rumoured that he had more beneath his clothing. Snape refused to let him into NEWT Potions even though he was quite bright. In all, Harry didn't want to make him angry.

"Well, there has to be somewhere..." Hermione trailed off, looking desperately around at the other editors who were assembled. They all glared, shook their hands and prepared to defend their allotments. "Who isn't here, then?" Hermione asked.

"Morag," Susan Bones answered. "Whatever. She can't have many Features this edition, other than 'How I Spent My Summer Vacation.'"

Everyone nodded. Harry tore off two adverts and passed them to Hermione. Fixing his sheets, he handed them into Luna, who smiled as if they hadn't shouted at each other just moments ago.

Rolling his eyes, he propped himself up on Ginny's desk and watched her work for a minute before becoming bored. "Gin, you can't work all the time. Let's go for a walk?"

"Well, I'm done just now, so I'll let Luna have look at this and come with you. Fancy a walk to the lake?" Ginny asked as she headed toward Luna and had a quick chat with her. After they made a few changes to a boggling stack of papers, she returned to Harry and took his hand. "You know, Hermione is a perfectionist, but Luna is the next step."

"I've noticed. At least she explains things to you," he grumbled and she let out a peel of giggles.

"Hermione! Hermione!" Ginny mimicked in a far-too-high imitation of his voice. "It was so cute, you calling for her like that. I wanted to give you a hug."

"You should have," Harry smiled, wrapping his arm around her as they stepped into the late afternoon's sunshine. They meandered toward the lake, talking nothing and joking about everything. Ginny seemed totally relaxed, but Harry had a lump in his throat the size of a Snitch. He'd never really had a friend like Ginny.

When they reached the lake, they began to walk around it until they came to the edge of the forest and began to walk beside the forest. Shadows had become long by then, and they were missing the first part of dinner. But they knew where the kitchens were and Harry owed Dobby a visit, so they decided to eat with the House-Elves that evening.

When they came to Hagrid's cabin, Harry averted his eyes. The garden was in disarray and there was no equipment strewn about. Ginny squeezed his hand and suggested they walk back to the castle and indeed have dinner with their friends. Harry was just about to agree when Fang's bark bellowed out from the cabin.

Forgetting what was what, Harry ran up the stairs of the cabin and tore the door open- forcibly keeping Ginny behind him. Fang's head rolled towards Harry and the massive dog pulled himself from the floor to drool his way toward Harry.

"Hi, Fang. What are you doing here?" Harry asked the dog. Fang had become Grubbly-Plank's shadow since term had started, and no one had been at Hagrid's cabin since they'd been back at Hogwarts.

"Oi," a voice rang out from a newly closed off area of the interior. "Some people knock, you know." Charlie Weasley stepped out into the multi-purpose room and smiled.

Ginny squealed and launched herself at her brother, and they laughingly bussed each other under the chin. "What are you doing here?" Ginny demanded.

"Dumbledore asked if I wouldn't take over for Grubbly-Plank. Her husband's taken a bad turn," Charlie explained. "I thought it'd be nice, returning to Hogwarts and seeing my baby brother and sister and all their friends."

"You forgot to mentions Tonks," Ginny said sagely.

"Did I?" Charlie said with a wink. "Be a doll and don't mention that, eh, Gin? She's a rather chirpy bird." Charlie glanced at his watch. "Blimey, haven't you two better get up for dinner?" He looked at Harry suspiciously. "I'll come with you."

They walked into the Great Hall together, and Ginny immediately dashed towards the Gryffindor table, colliding into Ron's back to shout the news quietly into his ear. By the time Harry reached the table, Dumbledore was standing and announcing that Charlie would be relinquishing Grubbly-Plank of her duties. Charlie sat between O'Neill and 'Tonic' at the High Table, and from the looks of the effusive welcome he got- and they were less than professional from 'Tonic'- it was a good thing the next day was a Sunday.