ACT2CH5 - The Welcoming Feast

Everything was changing.

Harry knew in his heart that Hogwarts would be different this year. After everything that had transpired during the eventful summer, he’d be stupid to think it’d be the same. That Hagrid was absent, replaced by Professor Grubbly-Plank only reinforced the idea. At least Ron and Hermione had gotten away with walking out with him, Ginny, Neville and Luna, leaving the job of getting the younger years to the stagecoaches to the seniors.

But the actual surprise had been something else.

The stagecoaches.

Or rather, what was pulling them.

Thestrals.

Quadruped, with intense reptilian features, it felt wrong to call them horses. Completely fleshless, their black hide clung to their skeletons, with every single bone visible. Easily the size of a budweiser, they looked like someone that raised an army of horse skeletons and clothed them with mists as black as the night sky. Large, bat-like, black, leathery wings sprouted out from either side of their body, their smooth, draconic heads and the blank spots where eye sockets should have been were eerie, and when one of them champed its jaws, it showed hard serrated ridges of bone in a jaw that could open wider than it ought. Its ears swivelled about alertly, moving too smoothly, like an exceedingly precise automaton, and a flicker of insight told him it… they were staring at him.

He hadn’t even known that he had frozen on his feet until Ron bumped him from behind.

“Hey! What’s the big idea?” Ron asked.

“Uh… that,” Harry said absently, too busy staring at the magical beasts before him. This was the creature whose hair lay at the core of his wand. He could feel the wand emanate a familiar coldness, the icy feeling sinking into his arm. A creature that was visible to only those who had seen death. He had known that there were thestrals in the forbidden forest, but…

Hogwarts has its students enter its halls on carriages pulled by horses of death. And Hagrid says it’s the safest place in the world.

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow at Ron.

“Uh, Harry, what are you lookin’ at?”

“The thestrals.” He said, pointing at the beasts that were still looking at it. Several people were already sitting in the carriages, wondering why they weren’t already moving yet.

“What thestrals?”

“The ones pulling the carriages.”

Ron looked seriously alarmed now. “Erm, Harry? You feeling alright?”

Harry barely suppressed a grin, seeing his reaction. Had he been in Ron’s place, he’d probably have reacted like that. Neither Ron nor Hermione could see the thestrals, and Neville was simply too shy to voice his opinion. Before he could respond, Hermione grabbed his arm, wheeled him about so that he was face to face with her, and gave him a perplexed look.

“Harry? No one’s pulling the carriages. They’re horseless. They’re charmed like that.”

“No,” said Luna out of nowhere. “I can see them too.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the eccentric girl.

Harry turned to Luna, seeing the thestrals reflected in her wide, silvery eyes. “How long have you been able to see them?”

“Since my first day here,” she said. “They’ve always pulled the carriages. Don’t worry. You’re just as sane as I am.”

Of that, I have no doubt.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, worried. From the corner of his eye, he could see several people carefully watching him. No doubt adding it to yet another proof of him gone round the bend. A year ago, he’d have been frustrated by the implication. Now? He only found it funny.

He turned to her and gave her a half-shrug. “It’s nothing. Come on, let’s go.”

…

…

…

The entrance hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with the relentless chatter of the student body seated across the four long House tables. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and already the news of him owning a vicious runespoor had travelled through the student body. Poor Neville had already been cornered twice, once by Colin Creevey, and the second time, by a Ravenclaw girl, something, something Edgecombe. The former for a photo of this notorious man-killing runespoor, and the latter, asking if he’d be a witness against Harry Potter. There was even something about her mother being high in the Ministry.

Some people.

But yea, the episode with Cho had left him wondering. Sirius and Joshua were reasonably certain that the trial went in his favour, painting him in glory. Even the Prophet had written nothing too scandalous about him. But given the way people were putting their heads together to whisper as he passed, it made him wonder if he’d get a repeat of the previous year.

At least this time around, it’s about something I’ve done.

He was still a little hesitant about wielding political power as Lord Potter. Between that and his rumoured magic-stealing power, like Pansy had called it, he’d be rid of the more annoying pests. It had certainly kept Malfoy away from his annual train visit, which was both surprising and ominous in its own way.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled.

Face your fears, Potter. You can’t hide from them.

He followed Hermione and Ginny and took a seat between them, with Ron on Hermione’s  left, while Neville sat with Seamus and Dean on the opposite side. Luna Lovegood had drifted to the Ravenclaw table with her fellow fourth-years, looking around airily at the ghosts flying all around. Part of him wondered if Hagrid had actually left Hogwarts, but he knew better than to voice those concerns aloud. Especially in the Great Hall. His gaze flickered towards the Slytherin table and found Daphne aggressively not looking in his direction in a manner that wouldn’t fool any competent observer. It didn’t help that both Tracey and Astoria were unrepentantly grinning at him like cherubs, as if compensating for Daphne’s lack of action.

Harry exhaled.

Slytherins.

“What’s going on, mate?’ asked Ron. Harry had yet to bring him up to date with the events on the Express and postponed it until they were in a more private setting. He gave him a half-shrug and looked up at the High Table, noticing several unfamiliar faces. Snape, unsurprisingly, was still there, complete with his disgruntled expression. Harry wondered if his private classes with the man would make any difference. Knowing Snape, he’d probably hand him detention and deduct points for having to teach him in private. His eyes turned to Septima Vector and Bathsheba Babbling — two professors he hadn’t ever cared about, but would have to attend classes from this year. Sirius had taught him the fundamentals of Arithmancy, but he’d have to sign up for Third-year Ancient Runes class. Maybe he could ask Hermione or… maybe Daphne for help? He knew the Slytherin would love to spend some time together, given the entire fiancee card she was playing earlier.

When did my life change so much?

His eyes shifted to the pink-clad, mousy-haired woman from the Wizengamot, and all existing thoughts escaped out of the window. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and seethed.

“What is she doing here?”

“Who?”Hermione asked, looking around.

He gestured towards the toad-faced woman. “Her. Dolores Umbridge.”

“No clue. Maybe she’s the new professor. Why? Do you know her?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his expression darkening into a scowl. “She was present at my trial, as Fudge’s senior undersecretary. She… she’s a piece of work.”

“You don’t even know her, Harry.”

“Trust me Hermione,” he asserted. “She’s worse than Snape, Parkinson and Malfoy put together. She’s going to be gunning for me. I just know it.”

“Nothing new there, mate,” said Ron, sniggering. “If she’s the DADA teacher, you know she’ll try to kill you before the end of the year. They always do.”

“Ron!” Hermione admonished.

It probably said something about his life that he wholeheartedly accepted that morbid statement. Quirrel had Voldemort shacking up behind his head. Lockhart had tried to obliviate him. Even Lupin, for all the good he did, missed his potion and tried to kill him and Hermione. The only year he hadn’t been attacked was last year, and even then, the professor, a veteran auror, had been found dead.

Sirius had told him all about it. Apparently, Alastor Moody was the man that put half the Death Eaters in Azkaban.

And now he was dead. Slashes to pieces using a dark curse. Left to rot inside his own trunk.

In that vein, he put it at ninety-ten odds he’d have a reckoning with Umbridge before the term ended. Umbridge was Fudge’s lackey, which meant the Ministry was interfering at Hogwarts. Whether it was still because of him remained to be seen.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron said, “I know her too. She’s a bigot. The worst kind. Dad hates her.”

Harry arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Because right then, Albus Dumbledore stood up.

“Welcome to a very new year at Hogwarts, students! Both to those who are new and returning, I have a couple of notices to give out before we begin the Welcome Feast. First, our gamekeeper and former Care of Magical Creatures Professor Hagrid will be unavailable for a considerable portion of the term, so we are glad that Professor Wilhemina Grubbly-Plank will substitute for him. Also, after several discussions with the Ministry of Magic, we have finally let out dear Professor Binns leave—”

“You’re joking!” Fred yelled.

Dumbledore chuckled. “I assure you, I’m not joking, Mr. Weasley. Cuthbert has been very passionate about his subject, having given the last twenty years of his life, and twenty-four more after his demise to the education of fellow witches and wizards in Magical History—”

A cacophony of hoots and jeers ran across the Hall.

“ — our newest History of Magic professor comes heavily recommended by the Ministry of Magic, so everyone please welcome Professor Albert Runcorn.”

The man that stood up was easily six feet tall and powerfully built, with a black beard and tiny eyes, reminding him of Goyle for whatever reason. He took one unimpressed look at the student audience before sitting down with the barest jerk of his head.

“...Professor Runcorn is a man of few words,” Dumbledore said after a moment, as if trying to save face. “Next on the list, we have our newest Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, again, recommended by the Ministry of Magic. Please welcome Madam Dolores Umbridge. Madam Umbridge has been tasked with —”

“Hem-hem!”

Dumbledore broke off, looking inquiringly at the pink-clad woman. Even Harry looked at her‌. In his entire time at Hogwarts, he had seen no one, even Lucius Malfoy, interrupt Dumbledore so crudely. The woman stood up, made another ‘hem-hem’ sound and moved towards the dais, intending to make a speech. Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, and then sat back down smartly as if he desired nothing better than to listen to the woman talk. Other members of the staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Sprout’s eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair, and McGonagall’s lips looked thin as ever.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” the woman simpered, tapping her wand to her throat to cast a non-verbal Sonorous. “—for those kind words of welcome.” Her voice was just as high-pitched and girlish as Harry remembered, and a powerful rush of dislike ran through him.

“Well, it’s lovely to be back at Hogwarts after all these years,” she smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. “And to see such happy little faces looking back at me.”

Harry glanced around. None of the faces looked happy. They all looked taken aback to be addressed like five-year-olds.

“I’m very much looking forward to getting to know all of you. I’m sure we’ll become excellent friends.”

Yeah? No. Harry decided.

Umbridge went on unabated. “The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. If you don't nurture and hone the rare gifts that you were born with, they may come to nothing. The ancient skills— "

Harry ignored her, unwilling to hear whatever Ministry-enforced propaganda this woman was showering upon everyone, and instead, scanned the table. His eyes met a figure with golden tresses, sitting right next to Professor Babbling. A long witch hat kept him from seeing her face as she engaged in conversation with the Ancient runes teacher. Harry couldn’t place a finger on it, but there was something so very familiar about her mannerisms. It almost reminded him of—

The woman lurched her head in his general direction, and Harry’s breath hitched.

It. Couldn’t. Be—

“...Fleur?”

Fleur Delacour met his eyes with an impish grin and then looked away.

… Damn! When did she…?

He paused that line of thought. No, it wasn’t surprising. Fleur was, after all the cake and watermelon, someone that didn’t do things by halves. When she hated, she was merciless. When she cared, she bared her heart open. She had brazenly stated that she’d have him and be his in return. Right off the bat. So Harry knew, on a fundamental level, that she would not let him out of her sight for nine months.

He had expected her to call him every night through the enchanted mirrors. Maybe meet during the Hogsmeade holidays.

He had not expected her to show up at Hogwarts as a freaking professor.

His gaze automatically crawled across the Great Hall and landed on Daphne who was, serendipitously perhaps, staring back at him. He couldn’t interpret her expression. There could have been anger in it, or suspicion or fear or scepticism. Whatever was going on in her head to make her face look like that, he couldn’t translate it. All he had was that gut instinct that told him she had witnessed that micro-interaction between himself and Fleur, and seeing the veela in school, in a professor’s garb no less, was running new gears inside her mind.

Gears that were likely an effect of whatever tripe Pansy was feeding her. Would feed her.

He was up for a very significant complication in his life.

“I remember when I was normal,” he said to no one. “It seems so long ago.”

“Huh?” asked Hermione. “You saying something?”

He shook his head and looked at Umbridge, who seemed to be completely oblivious to the restlessness of her audience. Harry had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have ploughed on with her speech. The teachers, however, were still listening attentively, so he tuned in once again.

"Some old habits will be kept, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward‌ into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability—”

Oh yes. It was official. The Ministry was interfering with Hogwarts. Last year, such a thing would have infuriated him. Now? He found he couldn't care less.

“—Intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

And then she took her wand away from her throat.

Dumbledore stood up. “Thank you, Professor Umbridge. That was most illuminating, and now back to the notices. “We have a third member joining the staff this year. Someone we were glad to serve host to during the Triwizard Tournament last year. Please, welcome the new Assistant Professor for Arithmancy, Miss Fleur Delacour.”

Fleur stood up and flashed a bright smile, but only Harry could catch the uneasiness in her expression. He didn’t miss the silent snarl on Umbridge’s face as she did, no doubt thinking of how Fleur had mocked and insulted her by unveiling her parentage in front of the entire Wizengamot.

“Professor Delacour has joined Hogwarts as an apprentice to Professors Babbling and Vector, and will educate the third and fourth years.”

“I thought she was working for Gringotts,” Hermione remarked.

“She did,” Harry replied absently, “but she quit her job last month.”

“I wonder why,” said Ginny airily. Harry was too well-acquainted with seeing a similar expression on Hermione’s face to know just how benign that smile was. No doubt Bill had told everything about what happened between him and Fleur and Griphook.

“Did you know she was coming here?” Hermione asked.

He shook his head.

“Harry?” said Neville, surprising him with his question. The shy Gryffindor gave a meaningful glance at him, and gestured towards the Slytherin table where Daphne, Astoria and Tracey were all but glaring at Fleur.

“Think it’ll be a problem?”

“I really don’t know, Neville,” said Harry. A small frown formed on his lips. He then spoke with a strange firmness that he didn’t feel, “I have a feeling we’ll get to know soon enough.”