Inconsistency

I'd like to give thanks to my Beta, Pinxter.

I hope the first chapter is a nice read -- reviews are always appreciated!

Auburn Curls

There was always comfort in familiarity. Even more so in consistency. Perhaps it was these two factors that provoked a swelling in a young man's heart as he approached a certain stone castle.

Harry Potter knew no home but the one hidden behind those castle walls; the dormitory at the pinnacle of a winding staircase, where throngs of identical four-poster beds were ornamented with red and golden comforters. And as the immense train groaned to an abrupt halt, he once more felt that sense of true contentment.

Pulling himself from his sentimental stupor, Harry yanked his messenger bag from beneath his seat and swung it over his head. He was already grinning.

"Harry," came the feminine voice of Hermione, who was gathering her own possessions, "would you mind handing me that book over there? It's on the edge of the seat." And though he did reach for the slender textbook, a larger and freckled hand arrived there first. Ron pivoted on his heels and held the book out to Hermione.

"Here you go," he murmured a bit breathlessly, smiling an obviously nervous smile. Over Ron's shoulder, Harry and Hermione exchanged an understanding glance. Ron had been behaving this way since the very moment he and Hermione had been reunited after the summer break. He was speaking in a polite and unusually tolerant tone, and volunteering to perform any task she asked, even if she did not directly ask it of him. It was as though Ron meant to mend every disagreement between himself and Hermione. His sudden want for reconciliation was certainly not unexpected, however. His liking to Hermione was blatant. Harry shifted past his good friends with that same grin, leaving Ron and Hermione to collect the remainder of their belongings.

It was nearly half an hour later when Harry found himself seated comfortably in the Great Hall. Ron sat to his left while Hermione had selected the place across the table from them both. A sea of black robes and elaborate table settings surrounded the three, just as they had surrounded the trio every year previous. And in this consistency, there was comfort.

Straining his ears, Harry could faintly detect the chattering of the newest students of Hogwarts. The class was just beyond the Hall doors, squirming and biting their lips in nervous anticipation. He smiled in fond recollection of his own first night. His first true friendship was made upon that night, with a red-haired boy who needed a friend just as desperately as Harry did.

Suddenly quite nostalgic, and eager to see the young first-years, he leaned back and glanced down the enormous table towards the doors. However, there was another sight that commanded his attention even before his irises could find the sealed doors. A slender girl was sliding onto the very brim of the bench, a mess of auburn curls concealing the upper portion of her back. She certainly was not unique in appearance, save for the fact that Harry could not place her face to a name. His eyebrows furrowed.

"... Not that you weren't wonderful with the DA, Harry." Harry jerked at the sound of his own name, his gaze shifting to Hermione, whose voice he had just heard.

"Sorry?" He murmured. Hermione paused in light suspicion, surprised to find that Harry had not been listening.

"I was telling Ron that I hope Dumbledore hired someone stable for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, of course. After last year, we really need a thorough education, you know?" Harry nodded in agreement, his curiosity concerning the unfamiliar redhead abandoned for the time being. Instead, thoughts of stealthily practiced magic and his godfather placed themselves at the front of his consciousness. However, he did not spare a moment to further mourn Sirius. All summer he had spent in grieving for the lost man. His heart, though still victim to a wanting ache for his godfather, simply did not deserve another minute of remorse. Having sorted through these emotions in less than a moment, Harry responded to Hermione without hesitation.

"Absolutely. I mean, it seems like ages since we've actually had someone honest and intelligent in the classroom. I think Lupin was the last to fill the post properly." Beside him, Ron leaned toward the table to include himself in the discussion.

"The bloody--"

"Language, Ron." Ron glanced at Hermione, his cheeks revealing a fresh Weasley flush.

"Right. Er..." he shifted his gaze as he attempted to regain his thoughts. "The post. It's just as good as cursed -- we haven't kept a teacher for more than a year. It's a bit sketchy, if you ask me."

"It's terribly disappointing," Hermione interjected. "Especially since it's been Dumbledore himself who's been hiring the professors every year. Aside from Umbridge, obviously. The Ministry couldn't have given him much choice in her teaching here."

"He's hired everyone else, though. You'd reckon someone as brilliant as Dumbledore would see straight through these people," said Ron.

"Let's just hope he's done well this year," Harry murmured, his gaze straying to the staff table. The chair reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was predictably bare of any wizard or witch. He or she was either tardy, or Dumbledore was purposely keeping him or her from the Great Hall. His eyes flitted to the Headmaster himself, as though to seek out an answer to his curiosity. However, Dumbledore was already stepping up to the grand podium to begin his annual speech. Harry shifted in his seat as Professor McGonagall tapped her goblet with one of her utensils, observing with subtle awe how the entirety of the Hall was quieted with that single motion.

"Welcome."

Just as the tone of the glass silenced every student, that single word drew every pair of irises to Albus Dumbledore. It was not a powerful word, nor one of greatness. But when spoken by the aging wizard standing at the front of the Hall, Harry could not name a word more glorious. For Dumbledore spoke with a serenity that could not be defined. It was firm and gentle in the same instance. It was the very manner in which he spoke that presented the illusion of omnipotence. Or perhaps it was no longer an illusion.

Following a rich and compelling welcome to the fresh school term, Dumbledore revealed to his students an approving smile. He gestured toward the single empty seat at the staff table and continued. "I can assure everyone that it is my great privilege to welcome Mister Remus Lupin back to Hogwarts. He will be, once again, taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts for this year. And, hopefully, many following this one. He is unable to join us tonight, but you will all have the opportunity to see him tomorrow in classes."

Harry's heart, quite simply, could have burst from his chest. Remus was returning. He was to be their professor, just as he was in Harry's third year at Hogwarts. He tilted his head to glance at Hermione and Ron with a grin that was seemingly too large for his face. Both of his friends stared back with equal enthusiasm, Ron sporting a similar smile and Hermione bearing wide eyes of excitement. "Did you know?" Hermione asked him in a false whisper, to which he gleefully shook his head.

The remainder of the night consisted of merry discussion and the consumption of an extravagant Hogwarts feast. The newly-sorted first-years were escorted to their respective dormitories by the house Prefects just about an hour before Dumbledore was to dismiss the remaining students. Hermione excused herself at that time, the Prefects' badge clinging to her robes her reasoning for leaving the feast. Harry and Ron both bid her farewell for the night, though Ron's impassioned wave surely overwhelmed Harry's quiet "good night."

"Y'know, mate, it wouldn't hurt to be a bit more subtle," Harry murmured to Ron as Hermione stepped away from the table. To this comment, he received the initiation of a blush and a sharp request for silence from Ron. Harry grinned in response.

His emerald orbs wandering from his reddening friend, they found Hermione nearby the Great Hall entrance. She was attempting to gather the youngest Gryffindor students about herself, with the assistance of Dean Thomas, the male Prefect of their house. For a girl of such passive demeanor, she commanded attention quite expertly. Observing the children's attempt to press themselves into somewhat of a line, he noticed one student far taller than the rest. She was standing nearest Hermione, tucking a curl behind her ear. His eyes widened in recognition, and he tossed his head to glance at the opposite edge of the table. It was bare of the auburn-haired girl.

"You alright, Harry?"

He nodded distractedly at Neville, who had been sitting beside Hermione during the feast. This mystery was too fresh upon his mind to allow him to converse coherently. It was not possible for this girl to be in her first year of magical education. Her features revealed a maturing teenager, not a prepubescent child. Who was this girl?

Unfortunately for Harry, his unrelenting curiosity was not satisfied that night. His eyes trailed loyally after this unfamiliar girl until she vanished behind the doors, and she remained at the front of his consciousness for the entirety of the night.

This was certainly not consistent.