The Brethren of Tyr

Chapter Five: Train of Consequences

The next morning found Harry trundling along Kings Cross Station, his trunk and owl in hand, lagging behind the Weasleys'. Having spent a rather nice evening with them and Hermione at The Leaky Cauldron, he was feeling a little reluctant to return to Hogwarts. The very thought of everything that had happened there last year filled him with a kind of dread. Would he have to face all that again? Or worse? He knew of the prophesy now, how he was the only one who could apparently vanquish Voldemort, how Voldemort was probably the only one who could vanquish him... Yet he still hadn't told his two best friends.

"Hey, come on, Harry!" Ron called as they reached the wall that lead to the platform. Harry picked up the slack, and nearly up-ended his trunk in the process. He positioned himself between platforms nine and ten and leaned casually against the wall- the first time he had ever achieved such a feat successfully, he noted, as he found himself looking up at the wrought-iron sign that read 'Platform 9 ¾'. He caught up with Ron and the others, who were a little further up the platform, to find Mrs. Weasley stood, giving her two children the usual pre-term talk.

"Now, I want you both to behave yourselves! Ginny- this is your O.W.L. year, so make sure you knuckle down. Ron, I know you've got another year to go before you start your N.E.W.T.s, but don't go gallivanting off into trouble- you might make Head Boy next year, just remember that!"

"Yes mum," Ron and Ginny groaned, in unison. Mrs. Weasley smiled in a sardonic manner.

"That's what I like to hear, dears- sweet enthusiasm!"

She turned towards Harry,

&lduo;And that goes for you too, dear. You take care of yourself, all right?"

Harry nodded, his throat a little dry.

The great red steam train pulled into the station, the words 'Hogwarts Express' clearly visible along the side in gilt lettering. It juddered and ground to a halt, and expelled a sharp burst of smoke into the air from its funnel upon doing so. Hermione, who was stood next to the front of the train, visibly jumped in surprise as the train made another unexpected noise, at which high-pressured steam escaped from the same funnel.

"Oh, have a great term, I'll see you all at Christmas," Mrs. Weasley gushed, as she gave Ron, Ginny Harry and Hermione each a huge hug before they ascended the step up to the train.

"Thanks for having us, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said, as she dragged her trunk onto the carriage. Mrs. Weasley waved her hand.

"Oh, it's always a pleasure, Hermione dear," she replied with a smile. Harry pulled the carriage door shut, and they all waved out of the window before trying to find seats.

A sharp, high-pitched whistle echoed in their ears, and the carriage began to shake as the train shunted out of the station, rapidly gaining momentum and rhythm. Hermione stuffed the last of her belongings into the luggage compartment, and carried a large plastic cage out with her. Ron stared at it in disbelief.

"What on earth is that?" he asked.

"It's a cat carrier, Ron," Hermione explained, "For Crookshanks."

The agitated hissing and scratching clearly audible from the inside of the carrier indicated to Harry that Crookshanks wasn't exactly approving of Hermione's novel mode of transport for him.

"Shhsh, Crookshanks, I'll let you out in a minute," she soothed. Ron stared at her aghast.

"You're going to let him out? He sounds furious! Just don't let him near me until he's calmed down," Ron warned. Hermione tutted at him and marched purposefully forward through to the student carriages, followed by Ginny, who Harry could see was suppressing giggles. He and Ron looked at each other, shrugged, and also followed.

By luck, they found an empty compartment and sat down. Hermione pulled out her copy of The Daily Prophet and began to read, huffing every so often about how much Fudge has 'changed his tune'. Ron raised his eyebrows slightly in response, and then turned to face Harry for a game of Exploding Snap to pass the time.

"Hey guys," a voice said in greeting. Harry looked up to see Neville Longbottom stood next to him, smiling.

"Hey Neville," Harry replied, nudging Hermione to budge up, then moving up himself in turn, creating a seat for him. Neville sat down, with what could only be described as a smug grin on his face.

"What are you looking so pleased for, Neville?" Ron asked, with a cheeky smile.

"Oh, my Gran got me a new wand today- she was pretty annoyed I broke the last one- well, until she found out exactly how..."

Harry smirked, although to do so he had to block out the rest of his memories from the Department of Mysteries.

"Let's see then!" he asked, enthusiastically. Neville pulled out his wand,

"12 inches, birch with a dragon heartstring core," he announced, proudly.

"Cool," Ron replied. Hermione finally broke away from her reading to glance at Neville.

"Hi, Neville, wow- new wand... Ooh- just listen to this!" she cried, indignantly, and began to read aloud from the paper. "It's from the letters page- somebody has written in to ask why Fudge kept information of Voldemort's return so quiet, '... the Ministry stands by its decision to ensure all avenues had been explored before announcing such devastating news. Long time readers may be aware of Miss. Skeeter's previous articles, which did cast doubt upon the primary witnesses...' they haven't even apologised!" she fumed. Neville looked cynically at her.

"Well, that's the Prophet for you; my Gran says it's a load of old crock- she still hasn't renewed her subscription... You'd be best not bothering with it, Hermione."

The girl in question smiled darkly.

"I like to know what they're printing, however fictional it may be."

Harry heard a faint humming sound, which increased in volume. He turned to see the source of the tuneful noise, and found himself looking straight into Luna Lovegood's silvery, unblinking eyes.

"Hello Harry," she said, nudging Ron to move up on his seat, which he did so a little grudgingly.

"Hello Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Neville... Oh dear- you're still reading the Prophet?" she asked Hermione, who shrugged.

"It keeps me in a suitably irritated state of mind."

Luna shrieked with laughter at this.

"And all this time I thought you took it seriously! Hmm," she looked straight at Ron.

"And I take it you're feeling better than you were last term?" she asked, referring to his accident in the Department of Mysteries. Ron shuffled uncomfortably.

"All right, thanks," he managed.

The witch who pushed the food trolley every year came past them and stopped.

"Do you want anything, boys and girls?" she asked, kindly, in a manner that suggested she recognised them. She asked Ron, Harry, Neville and Hermione how they did on their O.W.L.s, to which they answered in a positive manner, whilst purchasing a selection of every flavour beans, chocolate frogs and the newly released 'Rainbow Drops' which did, in fact, contain entire rainbow structures inside a clear drop-shaped boiled sweet.

"The idea is," Ron explained, "that you suck them, and they paint entire pictures on your tongue!"

"Really?" Harry asked, his eyes widening a little at the prospect.

"Oh yeah!"

"I got a copy of the 'Mona Lisa' the other day," Ginny added.

"Just don't chew them," Luna offered, "because you tend to get these really odd squiggles and splodges. Which I suppose is okay if you particularly enjoy modern art."

Hermione absently grabbed a chocolate frog, broke it in two between her teeth before it managed to escape, and looked at the card.

"Well," she smiled, "Dumbledore's still on the cards. Coupled with the Daily Prophet claiming his previous distinctions have been reinstated, I presume he, at least, is back in the Ministry's good books."

Harry glanced at her.

"Yeah, thanks Hermione!"

"I'm just saying," she replied, unrepentantly, "that the Ministry is terribly selective over who they offer their thanks to. Which seems laughable, as they're clearly running scared. I'm surprised anybody has any faith in them!"

"I don't think anyone really does, except those that work in the Ministry," Neville replied.

"And that's all that matters," Ron added. "Dad was saying that Fudge has officially got five more years until another election can be held. The only way we'll be shot of him is if twenty odd Ministry workers sign a petition to pass forward a motion of some sort; then the whole Ministry of Magic have a vote on whether they think him competent. Sadly, Dad reckons most of them do."

Harry glanced across at Hermione's copy of The Daily Prophet.

"That's a real shame," he said maliciously, "I'd feel happier knowing that all the Ministry were doing their bit to fight and capture Death Eaters, rather than being cowardly about it all."

Luna was staring dreamily out of the window, but appeared to have been listening quite intently.

"I don't think that's all their scared of- there's the Brethren to worry about too, so Dad says," she said, in an equally dreamy manner.

Ron looked at Luna incredulously.

"The Brethren?" he asked. Hermione, Harry noticed from her facial expressions, fought the urge to scoff, and instead managed a perfectly civilised, "Aren't they a myth?"

Luna laughed.

"Well, most myths are based in fact..."

"That's legends," Hermione corrected, quietly. Luna waved her hand across her face.

"Myth, legend, however you look at it, it's entirely possible they fear the Brethren and their actions."

Harry was puzzled, to say the least.

"What's the Brethren?" he asked. Ginny looked up.

"The Brethren of Tyr. Legend has it that they are comprised of muggles and muggle-born wizards who attack purebloods in much the same way Death Eaters attack muggles and muggle-born wizards. We learned about it briefly in History of Magic," she added, by way of explanation.

"I don't remember that!" Ron replied, scratching his head. Hermione smacked him on the arm with her rolled up copy of The Daily Prophet.

"That's because you never paid any attention in History of Magic!" she retorted.

"From fiery vengeance, we shed blood upon this land, for that which is taken from us, shall be repaid by our hand," Luna lilted, in a singsong voice.

"They sound like a bunch of nutters!" Ron exclaimed. Hermione looked at him darkly.

"'Nutters', as you so politely put it, are usually very dangerous- but Professor Binns made out that they were some kind of fairy tale told to young Witches and Wizards to scare them into tolerance towards each other during the First War," she mused aloud.

"A Fairy Tale, I think you'll find, that did little to allay anybody's opinions of your kind," a familiar voice snarled. It was Draco, and Luna seemed to find his arrival hysterically funny.

"You're a poet, and you didn't know it!" Luna giggled, pointing at him. Draco looked at her oddly, but said nothing. Harry and Ron looked glaringly at him. He was once again flanked by his cronies Crabbe and Goyle, but also joined by the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione paid little attention.

"Bored are we, Malfoy?" she asked nonchalantly, without bothering to look up. Draco snatched the newspaper out of her hand and prodded her in the area of her larynx with it.

"Oi, I'm talking to you, Granger!" he retorted, nastily, marking each new word with another sharp prod of the newspaper. Ron and Harry stood up simultaneously.

"Get your hands off her, Malfoy," Ron spat. Pansy giggled.

"Ooh, Weasley thinks he's hard!" she taunted. Draco pulled a face at Ron.

"Like I'd want to touch that," he hissed. Ron grabbed Draco by the front of his robes before Harry got the chance.

"Shut your mouth!" he forced through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, you're just jealous that Hermione got the highest O.W.L. grades of your year; despite her parents not being so friendly with the examiners as yours," Ginny said, breezily.

Draco scowled for a moment, then merely laughed, although only from the nose down; his eyes gave away his agitation.

"I'd start being appreciative of your muggle-loving bodyguards, Granger," he managed to hiss before a sudden hex hit him, and he was hiccupping uncontrollably, ejecting butterflies from his mouth every time his diaphragm convulsed. Harry glanced down, and saw Neville pointing his wand at Draco, a smirk on his face. Unfortunately, Draco noticed as well.

"Long- hic!- bottom!- hic!- I'll- hic!- do you- hic!..." He attempted to threaten Neville, but the effect was lost when Monarch butterflies and other Lepidoptera species came out instead of words.

"Oh, come on Draco," Pansy soothed, "They're really not worth wasting your time on. They're pathetic," she spat, glaring contemptuously at Hermione in particular.

He and Harry came face to face, and Draco did nothing more than glare at him, but the threat he couldn't actually say was evident. Harry glared back, but, as Draco and his gang stormed out of the carriage, Harry found he really couldn't get worked up over Draco anymore, as far as his threats went. Presumably Draco had found other buttons to press with alarming speed, he thought, looking across at Hermione, who appeared both a little shaken, and puzzled.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

"Yeah, it's just he's really looking to cause trouble this time... well, more trouble than usual," she added. Luna looked up at them both.

"Well, we did help put his father in Azkaban- maybe he's a bit narked about that?" she offered. Harry nodded slowly, remembering Draco's laughable 'You're dead, Potter' threat last term. Targeting Hermione did more damage than targeting him, he had to admit, looking across at a fuming Ron.

"I'll do for him one of these days, Harry, I really will," he seethed, balling his hands up into fists and looking as though he was about to get up. Hermione put a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh Ron, they're really not worth getting yourself into trouble over," she sighed. Ron seemed to relax a little at this, and sat back down.

"You're right," he replied. Hermione looked shocked.

"Since when have you ever admitted I'm right?" she asked. Ron grabbed hold of a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and emptied some into his hand.

"Just don't expect me to make a habit of it," he retorted, before putting the sweets into his mouth.

The train shuddered to a stop, and the six school friends were thrust forward against each other as a result.

"Well," Hermione gasped as she quickly threw her school robes over her muggle clothing, "Here's to a new year, I suppose!"

Harry and the others followed suit, as far as putting their school robes on went, and they all started to drag their belongings off the train, and head towards the Hogwarts grounds, Harry with a strange sense of foreboding digging at the pit of his stomach.

Chapter Six: Swallowing Pride

The Fat Lady looked down at Harry with contempt in her stare.

"I know you've been here for five years now, Mr. Potter," she huffed, "however, I don't know if you are actually standing in front of me, do I? You could be any old nutter transfigured or polyjuiced into Harry Potter. That's the whole point of having a password system, boy!"

Harry sighed. He had been told by Hagrid to take his trunk up to the Gryffindor common room and get signed in before heading down to the feast in the Great Hall.

"Security measures, yeh can' be too careful these days," he had said, with a knowing nod of his head.

Harry was puzzled by this, until he found McGonagall with a huge flask of some brown-coloured potion and a huge piece of parchment which, as Harry saw when he leant over for a sneaky look at its contents, had a list of all the Gryffindor students who had entered the Hogwarts building. She gave him a small vial of the potion, and told him to drink it, which he did. He felt an odd tingling surge through his boy, but nothing else happened. McGonagall nodded, smiled, and put a tick next to his name on the parchment. Then, all of a sudden, she looked concerned, and placed a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was doing all right. Not wanting to get involved in yet another discussion as to his well being, he quickly made his excuses and ran up to the common room. Sadly, or rather, stupidly, he had forgotten to find out the password first, and the Fat Lady was doing an admirable job of protecting the entranceway.

Fortunately, his embarrassment was to be lessened by the sight of the two year-six prefects jostling their way up the stairs.

"Okay, prefects- what's the password then?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione, after they had rushed back from their brief prefects' meeting, dragging their trunks alongside them.

"Alihotsy Leaves," Hermione panted, whilst trying not to trip over Crookshanks, who was busy winding himself around her legs in appreciation of being let out of the cat carrier. The portrait opened up and allowed the three into their common room. Ginny was already waiting there, talking to Dean Thomas, which judging from the look on Ron's face, he wasn't too impressed by.

"Hi, how were your hols?" Dean asked, cheerily. Harry shrugged, and continued to drag his trunk further into the room. Dean's smile faltered.

"That good, eh?" he asked, sympathetically.

"Yeah, well, what with Voldemort returning and all," Hermione replied. "It does put a bit of a damper on these things. It's one thing being ticked off on a register, but it's quite another to have the teachers check you haven't been using a potion or charm to disguise yourself!"

That at least explained to Harry why he had been told to drink that vial of potion before McGonagall ticked him off on that piece of parchment.

"S'pose," Dean replied, "What with Cedric... man, this is going to be bad. No wonder McGonagall was checking us all off..." He shook his head.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings," Harry commented, sarcastically. This caused Dean to laugh a little.

"Have you told your parents yet?" Hermione asked. Dean shook his head.

"Are you nuts! They'd pull me out of here for sure! What about you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing a little in curiosity. Hermione shrugged.

"Told them as little as possible, but I haven't been able to keep everything quiet; they're quite friendly with Ron's dad."

Ron had contributed little to the conversation, except to glare at Dean occasionally.

"Here, Dean," he finally offered. "Can we have a little chat?"

"Erm, sure," Dean replied, looking a little nervous as Ron put an arm around his shoulder and led him away from the others. Harry took an educated guess and assumed he was going to give him the 'don't hurt my sister' talk that big brothers seemed to feel obliged to do. Shrugging, he tugged his trunk up to the boys' dormitory, to find Neville quietly unpacking.

"Hi Harry," Neville offered, as he proudly placed his now rather large Mimbulus mimbletonia on his bedside table.

"Hey Neville," Harry returned, and quickly dumped his trunk next to his bed.

"Are you going down to the Feast already?" Neville asked. Harry shook his head.

"Later," he replied, "There's something I have to do first..."

Ascending the staircase to the second floor, Harry walked across until he reached the familiar gargoyle statue that indicated he was at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Steeling himself up for what he was about to do, he stood up straight, walked towards the gargoyle and whispered 'Rainbow Drops'.

The gargoyle moved to one side, exposing the wooden, spiral staircase within an alcove. The fact that the password had worked was of no surprise to Harry; he had asked Hermione for it after they had got off the train, when he had heard her mention brightly that their level of responsibility must have increased from last year, if Dumbledore was offering his password to them. After much pleading and reasoning that what with everything that happened last school year, he really would need to be able to get in contact with Dumbledore quickly, she had eventually given in and, after a short lecture about not misusing it, told him the password.

He stepped onto the staircase, and it revolved slowly, taking him up to Dumbledore's circular office.

The headmaster in question met him at the door.

"Ah, young Harry," he acknowledged, his hand on the door-handle. "I was about to join the Feast- I hope you were planning to attend it as well, seeing as you missed our farewell one last year."

Harry rocked a little on his haunches.

"Before you do, can I speak to you first, sir?" he asked, nervously. Dumbledore nodded, and opened the door to his office, inviting Harry to enter before him.

Harry sat down in a chair opposite Dumbledore's desk, and saw Fawkes, his phoenix, look quizzically at him (well, as quizzically as a bird can). Harry noticed, with some relief, that all of Dumbledore's possessions were intact and working perfectly after Harry's tantrum. If he weren't feeling so nervous, he would probably have asked him how he managed to repair all the damage.

"Well, what would you like to speak about?" Dumbledore asked, sitting down in his chair, holding his hands in such a position under his chin that each of his long fingers on one hand touched the other. The impression he gave was serene and impartial. Harry wondered whether it would stay that way.

"Well, sir," he began, "About last term..."

He trailed off, but Dumbledore made no motion.

"Yes?" he prodded, gently. Harry got the distinct feeling he was making this purposefully difficult.

"I'm sorry about, well, losing my temper. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

There, he'd said it. He felt better for saying it, too.

Dumbledore still did not reply, he simply looked a little more melancholic. Harry decided to force him into acknowledging his words.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked, knowing the old headmaster would have to reply one way or the other. Dumbledore's face cracked into a small smile.

"On one condition," he replied.

"What?"

"That you forgive me my folly of last year too," he answered. Harry managed a brief smile.

"I forgive you," he replied, and found that those words made his heart lift more than the former ones had. He truly meant it.

Fawkes suddenly flew off his perch and sat on Harry's shoulder, pecking gently at his robes. Harry patted him on the head and found the motion somewhat therapeutic.

"I trust the reading went well for you?" Dumbledore asked, in reference to Sirius' last reading on Harry's birthday. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, I mean, I think it did. I'd never been to one before," he replied.

"I rather hope it'll be a long time before you have to attend another," Dumbledore commented, kindly.

"Me too," Harry managed to reply. He was now inspecting the floor carefully, his shoelaces seeming endlessly fascinating. Better that that let out a tear, which he felt in terrible danger of doing. Dumbledore smiled kindly at him, though Harry didn't see.

"I'm glad you can see it in your heart to forgive me Harry," he said, serenely. "Perhaps, you should think of extending that sympathy to others..."

Harry bristled with anger. He knew where this was heading.

"If, sir, you're talking about Snape..."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

Harry shrugged in disinterest.

"No disrespect sir, but this very tower will crumble into nothing before I start Occlumency with him again. The only reason I'm taking Potions is because I want to become an Auror, and I'm fairly certain the only reason he's accepted me into the class is because he was forced to," he replied back, savagely. Dumbledore sat back in his chair.

"Well, young Harry, you're quite wrong on both counts. I don't wish for you to start Occlumency lessons again with Professor Snape, nor was he forced into taking you into his Potions class- though I must admit, he was rather grudging about the whole affair." He chuckled a little. Harry instantly felt wary about this new piece of information- why exactly had Snape not threatened to throw his toys out of the proverbial pram in order to get Harry ejected from his lessons? Whatever the reason, Harry didn't like it.

"Harry, Sirius left much to you in his legacy, I doubt very much he'd wish to leave you his grudges," Dumbledore added, in the same calm tone. Harry bit his tongue. He was about to retort that Dumbledore didn't know what Sirius wanted for him, until he remembered the reading, and realised he probably did.

This thought of the reading suddenly reminded him of a burning question he had.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly. "Did you know of any woman Sirius was in contact with?" he asked. Dumbledore looked surprised.

"No Harry, I did not. Why do you ask?"

Harry briefly related the discussion he had overheard about the reading workers and the owl that had gone 'halfway around the world' to find the woman to whom the last scroll belonged to. Dumbledore scratched his head.

"I can't say I'm aware of this," he replied, "But sometimes, these readings can contact people the deceased haven't spoken to, or of, for decades. This woman may be someone he knew before he met you, or even before he met me."

"Oh," Harry replied, slightly crestfallen. He had hoped Dumbledore, of all people, would know. Maybe he should ask Lupin? He sighed heavily as he realised there had been ample opportunity to do just that over the holidays. Oh well, there was always Christmas.

Dumbledore stood up behind his desk.

"We should make our way to the feast, Harry," he announced. Harry looked up at him and smiled.

"Yeah, I said I'd meet Ron and Hermione down there," he replied. Dumbledore peered unobtrusively at him.

"Ah, yes, the two sixth year Gryffindor prefects. They have been good friends to you, haven't they?" he asked. Harry nodded truthfully. They really had, having put up with Malfoy's stupid taunts, faced an alleged mass murderer with him, stood up for him when the rest of the school thought he was a killer and a crackpot, respectively, not to mention nearly getting themselves killed in June helping him fight off those Death Eaters...

"Sometimes," Dumbledore continued, interrupting Harry's train of thought, "it is good to talk to such friends about things that may be of great concern to you, and them," he finished, before opening the door to his office, and letting Harry descend the wooden steps to the second corridor before him.

Harry had been at Hogwarts for five years now, this being the start of his sixth, and subsequently had known Dumbledore for just as long. Long enough, he thought, to understand the wise headmaster's use of subtext. Yes, he knew Ron and Hermione were good friends, yet somehow, he wasn't sure he wanted to share the news of his prophesy with them. It was nice to hang out with them, with Ron talk animatedly about Quidditch, Hermione chiding them over homework, the three of them just being happy being friends, being able to get angry or upset or sulky with each other and knowing, deep down, that they were still as good friends as they had been before. Harry felt reluctant to ruin all of this by letting this stupid prophesy hang over them like a comedy anvil.

He made his way briskly to the Great Hall, blocking all thoughts of Voldemort and prophesies out of his head. On his way, he bumped into Hagrid, who was wiping his brow with a large handkerchief.

"Alrigh' 'arry?" he asked, affectionately giving Harry a bear hug in the process, which left Harry feeling rather winded.

"Yeah, I'm fine, how are you?" he managed to gasp. Hagrid beamed.

"Grawp's doin' great! He's bin learnin' a few full sen'ences and doesn' hit quite so hard anymore. Well," he consented, "He does a bi', but he's only playin', he doesn' mean anythin' by it."

"That's... That's good!" Harry replied, a little uncertainly. At least Hagrid didn't have to pack frozen meat onto his bruises, which had to be a sign of improvement in his half-brother Grawp's behaviour.

"Well, yeh' best get goin' teh' t'feast- else yeh' goin' teh' miss the sortin'," Hagrid said, and with a cheery goodbye wave, he set off towards the outside entrance that led to the Great Hall. Harry looked at his watch and realised he was going to be severely late if he didn't pick his feet up.

The Great Hall, as was the custom, as familiar as ever with its enchanted ceiling and rows of children sat at the four house tables. A small line of children were walking nervously up to a three-legged stool, whilst Professor McGonagall placed the black Sorting Hat upon each of their heads. Upon seeing this, Harry realised he had just caught the end of the sorting. He tiptoed surreptitiously into the hall and looked furtively around for Ron and Hermione, who soon caught his glance and moved up the table, motioning for him to sit with them.

"Did I miss much?" he whispered as he sat down.

"Not really- bunch of kids, hat, house- you know the drill," Ron whispered back in reply. Hermione glared at them.

"Shush!" she hissed, "They're about to do the speech!"

Harry and Ron glanced at each other and rolled their eyes with a smile, then turned to face the High Table. All the usual staff were sat there- tiny Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall too, once she had resumed her place after the sorting. Professor Snape, Harry noticed, looked as sour and greasy as ever, and was conversing with a young-looking woman whom Harry did not recognise. He assumed she must be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. She had a cynical, lop-sided smile on her face as she listened to whatever it was he was telling her, and occasionally raised her eyebrows at him before adding something to the discussion herself. He noticed Professor McGonagall nudge her gently; she turned to face her, smiled, then leant back into her chair, looking at Dumbledore, who stood up to address the school.

"Welcome! It's so nice to see all these new faces." He beamed down at the new intake of first years, who smiled timidly. "And, of course, all the old ones!" Harry felt sure he winked at him, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny, who were sat together; but he couldn't say for certain.

"I have a few announcements before we begin our meal. First of all, I'd like to introduce a new member of staff. Since the departure of Professor Umbridge, whom I'm sure you will be deeply sorry to see gone-" The entire school, save the first years, burst out laughing at this. "We have employed a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Beauchamp."

There was polite, curious applause, with a general murmur of "Isn't she a bit young?" going round the tables. Professor Beauchamp, however, seemed to take this in her stride; she stood up languidly and gave a relaxed half-wave to the students before sitting back down. She looked across at Dumbledore, who smiled at her.

"I would also like to add," Dumbledore continued, "That this year, we will not be having a formal Quidditch House Cup tournament..."

The entire school groaned, but Dumbledore smiled.

"Instead, to promote house unity, we are intending to have a series of Quidditch trials in order to pick a team comprising all house members, to be pitched against a staff team sometime in March."

This caused a sudden Mexican Wave of whispering to occur, the event clearly being of interest.

"A staff team?" Ron whispered excitedly, "That's ace! We could foul them and all sorts, and not get into trouble!"

"But what if they give us detentions for fouling them?" Harry asked. Ron thought about this.

"It'd be worth it to get Snape," he replied, with an evil grin painted on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, have you not even considered why they might be doing this?" she asked. On receiving no reply from either of them, she continued.

"They're trying to minimise inter house competition; they don't want us to be rivals when the War draws on. Which means they must be really worried," she ended, with a nervous sigh.

"Nonsense!" Ron exclaimed in a stage whisper. "They've got the Ministry against You-Know-Who now, plus the Order," he added. Hermione frowned.

"I think the Ministry is too scared to do anything proper, if you read between the lines of the Daily Prophet."

"How about just reading the lines?" Harry suggested with a smile. But he knew she had a good point.

"And on that note." Dumbledore raised his voice, to which all the students responded by falling silent. "Tuck in!"

The levels of chatter suddenly increased as though someone had just turned a volume control on the Great Hall up a quarter of a revolution. The Gryffindor table of students were no exception.

"Here, Harry," Dean Thomas asked, through a mouthful of cottage pie, "are you going to try out for the student Quidditch team them?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, I think so- what about you Ron?"

"S'pose," he grumbled, "but it's not like I've had that much experience compared to the other teams' Keepers."

"Still, you do get to play in the try-outs, whether you get on the main team or not- that may be all the experience you need," Hermione added. Ron brightened a little at this.

Neville was scrutinising the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Wow, we've never had a foreign professor teaching us before, have we?" he half-asked, half-stated. Ron shook his head.

"Nah mate, my twin brothers have met her. George says she's as English as, well, Bangers and Mash, I suppose," he replied, taking another mouthful of said meal. Harry glanced across at the table.

"She seems to be talking quite a bit to Snape," he commented, though at that point she switched her attention to Professor McGonagall and belied his original hypothesis. Hermione smiled darkly.

"You should have seen the look on his face when she walked in- I'm guessing he hadn't met her before, because Professor Flitwick appeared to be introducing them."

Harry laughed.

"Was he really angry?" he asked.

Hermione finished chewing on her carrot.

"No, he seemed a little incredulous that she'd got the job... Though I must admit, she does seem very young to be sufficiently skilled in Defence Against the Dark Arts," she added. Dean looked up at her.

"Hey, I'm not complaining about having a young female teacher," he commented, with a grin. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What about Tonks?" Ron offered. "She's pretty young, and she's a fully trained Auror..."

"Well, whoever ends up getting a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson first can let the rest of us know if she's a Lupin or an Umbridge," Ginny replied. The table of students laughed.

"She can't be that bad," Neville exclaimed, then his look of amusement snapped to one of terror. "What if she's a Snape?"

Ron laughed through a mouthful of food, and then subsequently began to cough.

"No way," he replied, once the coughing had subsided. "She can't be that bad, either!"

"She's odd, I can tell you that much," a familiar voice added. Judging from the cold feeling Harry had suddenly developed in his left hand side, he guessed correctly that 'Nearly Headless Nick', the Gryffindor ghost, had hovered beside him.

"How so, Sir Nicholas?" Hermione asked, whilst helping herself to an extra portion of mashed potato.

"Well, Miss Granger, I just so happened to bump into her in the corridor whilst on my way here," he replied. Ron looked puzzled.

"What happened?" he asked. "Did she say something?"

Sir Nicholas shook his head, and it wobbled precariously as he did so.

"Well, I bumped into her," he replied, in a tone that suggested the collective I.Q. of Gryffindor House had suddenly dropped by twenty points. To further demonstrate his point, he passed a transparent ghostly hand through Ron's face, which contorted in disgust.

"Oi, don't do that! It's cold!" he protested. Sir Nicholas smiled.

"You see, that's what ghosts do. We pass through living people like, well, ghosts, really. But I bumped right into Professor Beauchamp, made physical contact. On seeing my expression, which must have looked shocked to say the least, she simply smiled and said not to worry, it happened to all the ghosts she had met. Most perturbing," he finished, before wandering further up the table to frighten the first years by popping up through the soup tureen.

Hermione's eyes were on stalks.

"How fascinating!" she exclaimed.

"How creepy, more like," Ron retorted, "People don't just make physical contact with ghosts! It has never happened, ever!"

"How do you know?" Hermione asked.

"I just do! Mum or Dad have always said that people and ghosts can't touch, and so would any other witch or wizard you'd care to ask," he replied, folding his arms.

Harry continued to tuck into his food. Dumbledore was still headmaster, Snape was greasy and ill tempered, Hagrid was present and cheerful, and the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was odd. He felt almost everything was right with the world, and that he would consequently get a good night's sleep tonight.