Disclaimer: The characters, world and premise of Harry Potter belong to JKR. Sections of Goblet of Fire are lifted directly from the text and reproduced throughout this work for verisimilitude; they are not mine. Also, the characters and premise of the Chronicles of Narnia are the property of CS Lewis. As ever, my interpretations are my own.
A/N: Sequel to Ireland vs. Bulgaria, in the EC universe and on my profile. You might want to be familiar with that, though I applaud anyone who gives it a go on their own; however, I can almost guarantee it will be a tad confusing. Is concurrent with Sticks And Stones and To Question Why.
"Be courteous with all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence. True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation."
~ George Washington, 1732-1799.
BE WELL TRIED
"- can't justify taking more time off at the moment." Percy, straightening his robes and at his most pompous. Ron groaned loudly. Oh, come on! It's not going to take that long to see us off. He's already late. "Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me."
"Yeah, you know what, Percy?" said George seriously. "I reckon he'll know your name soon."
Ron sniggered. Pain burst against one ankle. "Ow!"
Hermione, standing beside him with her own trunk, glared and hissed, "Ron, be nice! You're not going to see him all year!"
"You didn't have to kick me!"
The look she shot him said clearly: Yes, I did.
"Bye, Percy!"
Smoothing his hair, their brother stooped to give Ginny a kiss, and waved vaguely, "Have a good year, everyone," before the door slammed shut. After a month of his Apparating downstairs for breakfast every morning, Mum said it was rude to Apparate in the house unless the weather was bad. It'll be raining by the time we get to Hogsmeade, Floo or not.
"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie. The second-oldest was trying to push through the lot of them toward a pile of sandwiches on the table.
"Why?" Fred's eyes had a keen gleam in them. George leant over his own trunk, upended to let them all fit by the fireplace. The Burrow's kitchen was filled with the twins, Ron, Harry and Hermione, with Ginny and Mum crowded by the hearth. Bill had already said his goodbyes and was watching the chaos with a smile as Charlie waded through all them.
Words were muffled by bread thickly layered with cheese and ham. "You'll see. Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it. . . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it', after all."
"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year." Bill's hands were stuffed in his pockets as he balanced his rickety chair back on two legs.
"Why?" George almost growled with impatience.
"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, blue eyes twinkling. It must be because he's oldest. None of his other brothers loved to tease as much as Bill. Or maybe none of them are as good at it as he is. He'd had so much longer to practice. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it. . ."
Ron couldn't keep quiet any longer. "A bit of what?"
"Oh, I do wish your father was here." Mum straightened her cloak, peering anxiously out at the darkening sky.
Bill mimed zipping his lips; Ron wasn't surprised to see Fred and George back him up as he leveled a scorching glare at their oldest brother.
"Where is Mr. Weasley?" Hermione hadn't been up when Dad had had to leave.
"He got called in to the Ministry," George overheard her question.
"Yeah," Ginny chimed in. "Mad-Eye Moody – he's an old friend of Dad's – had some magical dustbins go off, thought there was an intruder or something at his house, and the please-men -"
"Policemen," Hermione's correction was automatic.
"Whatever – Dad had to go help him out, get him off on a minor charge or something or he would have really gotten into trouble with the Improper Use of Magic Office."
Girls and gossip. They care about the stupidest things. But if he said that, Hermione really would hurt him. And then she'd start telling him why it was important, and a load of other stuff that had nothing to do with anything. Ron peered at the jar of Floo Powder instead. I wonder if we've got enough?
"Magical dustbins? 'Go off'?" Hermione poked gently for more details, the same way he would poke at food that had been in the twins' company.
"Exploded, didn't they?" Ron eyed the sandwiches for a minute, caught Fred carefully watching Bill out of the corner of his eye. Naah.
Alarm splashed over Hermione's face. "Isn't that dangerous? Someone could've been hurt! Why wouldn't the Ministry cite him -"
"Moody was a great wizard in his day," Bill shrugged.
Fred looked disappointed. Ron felt his eyes go round. Wonder what was supposed to happen.
Bill thumbed his nose at Fred, quick before Mum could see. George hissed in disappointment.
Second thought, I don't want to know. Mum had raised the ban on Weasley's Wizard Wheezes after the spell the twins had developed had kept everyone safe at the Cup, with the condition that no more food was tampered with. But I know Fred and George.
No Weasley would ever take candy from strangers. Or from family. When there are people like Fred and George out there, better safe than sorry!
"Yeah," Charlie added, managing to slip past the twins and around the overflowing sink. Circling the table, he yanked out a chair next to Bill. "He's retired, used to work at the Ministry. He was an Auror, one of the best," Charlie saw Hermione blink, and explained. "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though . . . the families of people he caught, mainly . . . and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere."
Freaky. Ron shivered. Maybe he's got the right idea, though. No one knew there were Dark wizards around at all anymore, until the Cup.
"But laws are there for a reason -" Still, Hermione looked unsure.
"This happens a lot," Bill grinned at her. "Don't worry, Hermione, it'll get noted and logged and Percy will hear about it too, probably. It's just that Moody's done so much for the Wizarding world – especially in the first war against You-Know-Who -"
The whole room flinched.
"- that he doesn't deserve the Ministry runaround on this," his oldest brother's voice was noticeably quieter.
"Well," Mum jumped into the silence, pulling the lid off the fat jar of Floo Powder. It was a nasty greenish color – Charlie had made the jar years ago and it'd been used for the Powder ever since. "It's almost time; everyone will be expecting us. Hermione?"
"Pevensie Mansion!"
Multiple flares of green light later, it was only Ron, Fred, and Charlie in the kitchen.
He pounced. "What's going on?"
Charlie grinned. "You'll find out later, Ron."
"Oh, come on!"
Charlie just held out the jar.
Sandy powder slipped against his skin; Ron snarled into the flames. "Pevensie Mansion!"
Picked up and whirled past the chimneys, he got a good shock against his funny bone for forgetting to tuck in his elbows, wrestling his trunk. "Ow!"
Then he was shooting over slick marble, unable to stop – Gonna hurt when I hit –
Softness, in all colors of the rainbow. He lifted his face out of fabric, feeling a flood of happiness that he hadn't slammed against something harder. Cushions?
"Alright there, Ron?"
"Hey, Harry." Shaking stinging fingers, Ron grinned at his best friend. "Forgot to keep my arms in."
"Better move before Fred and Charlie run you over," Hermione suggested. She was standing with her trunk off to the side, next to Ginny and Mum. The Pevensies, Mr. Black, and Professor Lupin all were talking quietly next to a row of trunks just behind them. That's . . . a lot of people. Sixteen? Wow.
"Yeah." Ron had used Floos loads of times, but never a Central Floo Station; whenever they'd had to travel that far, Mum and Dad had usually arranged something else. And most of the time all the Weasleys didn't all go together anywhere. Just too many people.
Charlie came through with Pigwidgeon's cage, the little bird coughing and hooting from the soot. Knew I should have covered him. He'd tried to drag out his awful dress robes to do it, but Mum had glared and told him to pack them right back up again.
"Everyone ready?" Professor Lupin stepped forward, addressing the crowd.
Ready as we'll ever be.
"The Floo's marked Hogsmeade Station," Lupin continued. "We'll get a few adults there first, and then all the students, and then the rest of the grown-ups. Sirius?"
With a wink at Harry, Mr. Black stepped forward, reaching for the jar of Floo Powder sitting on the Pevensies' mantle. "Hogsmeade Station!"
Fire roared up, and he was gone.
"So, Harry, d'you know what's going on at Hogwarts this year?" Ron kept his voice down.
Green eyes stared, puzzled. "What d'you mean, Ron?"
"There's something up, Bill and Charlie and Mum were all on about it, but they wouldn't tell us what's going on. Something's happening at Hogwarts this year. Something big." Two of the Pevensies were gone, the twins in line next. Ron dragged his trunk forward a bit.
"Wow," Harry frowned. "Sirius and Remus didn't say anything. I know Peter got a letter this summer from Dumbledore, but he didn't say anything either."
A letter! "I bet that's it!"
"Oh, honestly, you two," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Mrs. Weasley -" Mum disappeared into the Floo just at that moment, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron with Edmund and Lucy Pevensie at the back of the line. "- Mrs. Weasley said we'll probably find out at the Feast tonight. Why can't you wait?"
Ginny stepped into the flames, shouting their destination.
"I'll bet it's something huge, if Charlie was on about it too," Ron ignored her. Hermione's always like that. I bet we could find out before, get them to let something slip. "He always undertalks everything. He got burned by a dragon really awful, once, and couldn't move for days, and just told us that it was like a bad sunburn. Unbelievable."
Hermione disappeared into the Floo as Harry shrugged. "Your turn," he said.
"Hogsmeade Station!"
Ugh. Now I know why people don't use the Floo a bunch of times all at once. Ron's head had only just finished spinning from the first trip; his stomach groaned unhappily. Maybe I shouldn't've eaten so much lunch. . .
"Up you come." Calloused hands gripped him gently, and Ron blinked through shifting vision to find himself on his feet.
"Thanks, Mr. Black."
Harry's godfather – who Ron still didn't really know – just smiled. "Call me Sirius, Ron. You all right?"
Now that my lunch isn't going anywhere – "Yeah." His school robes had two layers of soot on them. Oh, just great. What a mess. What was that cleaning charm again?
"Your Mum's just over there."
Three more flashes of fire later, Harry and the last two Pevensies had arrived and Mum's quick spell had put all of them to rights. Thank Merlin for that! He wasn't going to put up with any of Malfoy's crap this year, and no way was he going to give the prat a reason to start up on the first day.
"Thanks for having me to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as they headed toward the doors outside the Floo Station, where the Hogwarts Express was pulling up through lashing rain. Gah – we're going to get soaked!
"Oh, it was my pleasure, dear," Mum smiled. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but . . . well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with . . . one thing and another."
Harry blinked, confused.
Ron gave him a significant look. There! See what I'm talking about? "Mum! What d'you lot know that we don't?"
Mum reached out to reorder his hair; Ron jerked back just in time. "Mu-um!"
"You'll find out this evening, I expect. It's going to be very exciting – mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"
"What rules?" Even Harry chimed in, though from the way the Pevensies were standing and the expressions on Sirius' and Professor Lupin's faces, Ron knew that this was the first Harry'd heard of anything happening at Hogwarts.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you . . . .Now behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?" Pleading morphed to the kind of stubborn fear he'd seen on his Mum nearly every day since the World Cup. Since we found out that You-Know-Who – "And you will be careful, won't you?"
"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," George pleaded instead, trying to make her smile.
Fred finished his twin's thought. "What rules are they changing?"
But Mum only sighed and gathered them all into a big hug. Ron could see Harry getting similar treatment from Sirius off to the side. "I love you," she sniffed. "Don't do anything foolish, and be careful!"
A gigantic silhouette at the far end was all he could make out as they left the shelter of the Central Floo Station for the train platform. "Hi, Hagrid!"
"All righ', Harry?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"
Harry grinned, turning a minute; Sirius had followed them out to the platform.
They were all soaked already, and the older Weasleys had already left, but his godfather was still there. Sirius gave him another hug. "You have everything? Trunk, Hogsmeade permission form?"
Harry nodded.
"Have a good year. I'll be writing you regularly, so if you have the time -"
"Yeah," Harry grinned eagerly, pushing wet bangs off his face.
"You know that you can go to Remus, Peter or Edmund right away if you need to," Sirius kept his voice soft. They sheltered under a slight overhang as first-years pushed by. "If you need me for anything, just contact me. Write, or Fire-call; Remus will let you use his office's. It might take me a little while, but I'll be there. I promise."
Something warm and a little scary swelled in his throat at that, coming from a place deep in his body. "Okay," Harry nodded a little. Nobody's ever. . .
"And let me know when some of the Hogsmeade weekends are. If you like, I'd enjoy coming out and treating you to lunch, and your friends too if they want to come. Unless, of course, you'd rather not -" Sounding a bit awkward for the first time, Sirius' eyes were unsure.
Harry didn't like the look; he pushed away the tiny voice inside whispering to stay clear, and grabbed Sirius in a hug. "That sounds great!" It sounded perfect.
A hand came down and ruffled his hair again; the other arm returned his embrace. Sirius was smiling when Harry stepped away, the smile that always made Harry want to grin back. "Go on, then, you have a carriage to catch. I'll see you soon."
"Bye, Sirius!"
Ron and Hermione had waited a little ways away, and they didn't say anything when he came up to them. A glance back showed Sirius pulling out his wand, and he waved and waited for Harry to go out of sight.
"Ooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," Hermione shivered. They were at the end of the crowd inching along the dark platform. Half of the carriages had pulled away.
"Come on!" Ron yanked a door to one open, jumping inside the carriage. Harry followed, Hermione and Neville rushing behind him to get out of the driving rain.
Snap!
Neville tugged at his cloak, but it was caught under the now-closed door. All four braced themselves, memories of prior trips preparing them for an abrupt jerk as the carriage began to move through the rain, toward the school. Glass was cool against his forehead as Harry's head rested against the window.
Hogwarts.
They were through the gates, statues of winged boars gleaming wetly in the light from the castle. The seat under him rocked; Neville chewed his bottom lip as the wind kicked even higher. The castle came nearer, lights from the windows blurred and shimmering through water-spattered glass.
Almost there.
Harry could see students holding robes over their heads, trying to shield themselves from the driving rain. Figures scampered from the carriages up a flight of stone steps to the great oak front doors.
"Ready?" Hermione looked unhappily at the rain as the carriage lurched to a stop.
"No." Neville tugged his cloak, futilely trying to pull it free.
"Here we go," Ron muttered, flinching back as water spattered the glass in front of his face.
Ahhh. . . . Wetness slicked down the back of Harry's neck as he grabbed Neville's arm; the other boy had almost fallen, tripping on his cloak coming out of the carriage. Hermione caught Neville up on the other side as the four of them dashed up the steps into the torch-lit entrance hall.
"Blimey." Water stung Harry's face as Ron shook his head, sending water everywhere. His best friend huffed. "If that keeps up, the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak – ARRGH!"
Splat!
More water – what the –
Red rubber speckled soaked orange hair; Ron staggered into Harry. Swooping motion from the ceiling – Watch it!
A second water balloon somehow managed to miss them. Almost in slow-motion, Harry watched it explode, jumping as a wave of water rolled over his sneakers and saturated both socks. Yow! Cold! Anger flared. Who –
Oh, no.
A floating and ghostly little man, with bright orange bowtie and a hat covered in bells, cackling madly twenty feet up. Concentration covered the wide, malicious face as he took aim again. Someone behind Harry shrieked; everyone was pushing to get out of the line of fire.
"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!" Professor McGonagall shot around the corner, dashing into the Great Gall. The Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House slipped on the slick floor, shooting out an arm and grabbing Hermione by the neck to keep from falling.
Ow! Harry winced; that looked like it hurt.
"Ouch – sorry, Miss Granger -"
"That's all right, Professor." Hermione's voice was a rasp. One hand went to her red throat.
"Peeves, get down here NOW!" Professor McGonagall straightened her pointed hat and square-rimmed spectacles, glaring up at the poltergeist.
Harry reached for a sopping swathe of cloth – his robes felt like they'd gained ten kilos. Let's get out of here. . . Being in the middle of a conflict between the formidable Deputy Headmistress and the castle's notorious poltergeist was definitely not where he wanted to be; but the ground between them and the doors to the Great Hall had Peeves malingering in the air above.
"Not doing nothing! Already wet, aren't they?" Another water bomb almost didn't miss a group of shrieking fifth-year girls. "Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!"
A steady stream of water poured from twisted cloth as Harry wrung it out. Green eyes stayed cautiously fixed on the poltergeist.
"I shall call the Headmaster! I'm warning you, Peeves -"
Peeves stuck out his tongue, lobbing the last of the water balloons into the air as he zoomed off up the marble staircase. Insane cackling howls echoed back to them.
"Well, move along then! Into the Great Hall, come on!" Professor McGonagall snapped to the bedraggled crowd.
"Can't believe this – completely soaked, arrgggh, Peeves -" Ron muttered.
Falling! Harry grabbed Ron's arm to keep from ending up on his butt on the stone; Ron slipped, and snagged Hermione by the back of her robes. By some miracle, they managed not to end up in a pile on muddy marble.
The Great Hall was brighter than the corridor outside it, lit from hundreds of hovering candles glinting off gold plates and goblets. Warmer, too. Harry squeezed out two fistfuls of black cloth as they squelched past the Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to the Gryffindor table at the far end.
"Good evening," Nearly Headless Nick beamed as they slipped up to the solid bench.
Hah! "Says who?" Harry yanked off a sneaker, holding it by the toe. His jaw dropped as water streamed from it.
Hermione already had her wand out, muttering a quick spell that left her dry, if still rumpled. Her hair had bushed out to twice its normal size.
A gurgling rumble caught his attention. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting." Harry cast a pleading look Hermione's way; her eyes rolled, but she was smiling as she turned the Drying Charm on him and Ron. "I'm hungry."
"Me too," Ron nodded. They'd both eaten an hour before Flooing, but that had been ages ago.
"Hiya, Harry!"
It was Colin Creevey. Oh, boy.
"Hi, Colin," said Harry warily.
"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"
"Er – good." Harry looked back at the dais where the Sorting Hat waited, hoping Colin would get the hint. The third-year thought he was something of a hero, and it was always strange talking to him.
"He's really excited!" Colin was practically bouncing up and down in his seat, rattling all the cups and dishes on the table near him. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"
Harry swallowed thickly. "Er – yeah, all right." I wonder . . . He turned to Hermione, Ron, and Sir Nick. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same houses, don't they?" All Ron's family's in Gryffindor.
"Not necessarily," Hermione was struggling to tie her hair back. "Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"
"Guess so," Harry shrugged. "Weird."
"Hey, Lupin's here," Ron nudged him, pointing to the staff table.
"And the Pevensies too," Hermione said warmly. She'd been wary of them at first, but after awhile had grown to like them. Harry was glad; they were the nicest people he'd ever met. "They're not wet. Did they take the carriages?"
"Dunno." Wow, the staff table looks really full this year. Hagrid was missing, of course, probably still fighting his way across the lake with the first years. Professor McGonagall was gone too, presumably overseeing the drying of the entrance hall floor.
"Who's that guy?" Ron blinked up at the table.
Harry looked.
The Pevensies were scattered in with the teachers, Susan sitting next to Snape at the end with Edmund on the Potion's professor's other side. Then Professors Sprout and Flitwick, with a new man that Harry had never seen sitting between the Charms Professor and the Headmaster.
No robes. "Is he a Muggle too?" Harry stared, making out straight brown hair and a serene face.
"I think so." Hermione looked interested. "I wonder why they've been bringing so many Muggles into Hogwarts recently." Her voice hushed, brown eyes darting to make sure no one else could hear. "Do you think it has anything to do with -"
"No," Ron said, too quickly. "Why would it? It's probably just something with the Ministry, or the School Governors."
But twinkling blue eyes and a long white beard caught Harry's attention. "Or Dumbledore."
The Headmaster's sweeping silver hair gleamed brightly against magnificent, deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of his long, thin fingers were pressed together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as if lost in thought. Harry glanced up at the enchanted ceiling too –
Ugh. I don't think I've ever seen it that stormy. Purple-black clouds loomed just under the arching stone of the Great Hall's ceiling, and lightning flashed over their heads as thunder sounded outside.
"Oh, hurry up." Ron rubbed his stomach, casting a pleading glance toward the doors of the Great Hall. "I could eat a -"
Oak slid soundlessly forward; the Great Hall went quiet, but there was a thrumming of expectation in the air. Harry glanced around; every eye was on McGonagall leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall.
They look like they all went swimming in the lake. It was true; and most were shivering, either from nerves or chill, as they came to a halt in front of the rest of the school.
Except the littlest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair wrapped in Hagrid's mole-skin greatcoat. 'I fell in the lake!' the boy mouthed, flashing a double thumbs-up at the Gryffindor table; at Colin Creevey, Harry saw. I guess that's his brother.
Then the Hat began to sing.
A thousand years and more ago,
When I was newly sewn
There lived four wizards of renown,
Whose names are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
They hatched a daring plan
To educate young sorcerers
Thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of these four founders
Formed their own house, but each
Knew Hogwarts School of Wizardry
Had something great to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw the cleverest
Would always be the best;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.
So different, they might seem to
You, but it was not so -
Together they would always stand,
Thus stronger we shall grow.
For in dark times we will have need
Of such diversity;
The Founders' magic, ages old,
Shall set all of us free.
Now slip me snug about your ears,
I've never yet been wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!
What was that? Hermione looked around nervously. Bewildered green and blue met her eyes as applause began to sound through the Great Hall. No one else seemed to be paying too much attention to the hidden words of the song. Then again, no one else knows what we know.
"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," Harry sounded definite. Well, of course it's not – oh, right. Harry doesn't know. This was the first Sorting he'd been to since theirs, three years ago.
"Sings a different one every year," Ron was staring, dazed, up at the dais. "I mean, it's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."
"Which doesn't explain how it knows – what it knows," Hermione hissed back, as the McGonagall began to speak. Darkness? Founders' magic? The last few years, the Hat's song had always been just about the Sorting. How does it know? More important, what does it know?
"Ackerly, Stewart!"
The boy looked like he was about to faint; all the poor first-years were definitely more frightened than they had been before. He trembled up the two steps to the stool, picking up the Hat in shaking hands.
"RAVENCLAW!"
Hermione followed the boy's progress to the blue-draped table, catching Harry staring too.
"Baddock, Malcom!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
The green table on the other side of the hall erupted as the Slytherins cheered their newest. Malfoy was clapping; Hermione frowned as she caught Fred and George hissing Malcolm as he sat. After the Hat just got done singing about unity and standing together. Boys.
"Cauldwell, Owen!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
A smile on the newest man's – professor's? – face at the staff table. What, does he know him?
"Creevey, Dennis!"
"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat shouted. Colin's little brother made it in then. First Gryffindor! Hermione clapped loudly as the small boy hurried over to his brother.
"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And then something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"
"Cool! It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"
Typical. Hermione shook her head, glancing back at the dais in time to see Emma Dobbs get Sorted into Ravenclaw.
But the Sorting seemed to go quickly after that; Hermione glanced back at Harry and Ron. "How d'you think the Hat knows about - You-Know-What?"
Ron went pale under his freckles. "Hermione -"
"McDonald, Natalie!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"It sits on a shelf in Dumbledore's office," Harry leant across the table, words almost lost to the cheering of the rest of the Gryffindors as a dark-haired girl came their way. "I saw it, second year."
"Well that would explain it," Hermione frowned a little.
"Explain what?" Ron snapped.
"Pritchard, Graham!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Dumbledore was supposed to be really involved in movements against You-Know-Who in the first war." She glanced at them; Ron sighed.
"Well, of course he -"
"Quirke, Orla!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"- of course he was," Ron finished as the Ravenclaws' cheering died down enough for words to find their destination.
Harry looked like he was about to say something.
"Whitby, Kevin!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"About time," Ron seized his knife and fork, glancing impatience up at the staff table. Wait a minute -
All students were seated, but McGonagall didn't move the stool and Hat from the dais. Looking expectantly at his golden plate, Ron didn't notice, but Harry did. "What's going on?"
"Shhh!" Hermione turned her eyes pointedly toward the teachers.
The Headmaster was standing, patiently waiting for all attention to turn his way. "Welcome, everyone, to the start of another year. Before we continue with Sorting, I'd like to introduce our new History of Magic instructor, Professor Stanton."
Continue with Sorting? But there aren't any first years left.
At his side, the man stood to a scattering of applause. No wizard robes, all Muggle clothes – is he a Muggle then? The first years from Wizarding families were whispering, but the rest of the school seemed to take this in stride. After all, the Pevensies were here last year.
"He is a Muggle, as are our returning guests. You all know Peter, Lucy and Edmund; I'd like to introduce you to Susan Pevensie, lately returned from America."
The professor was seated and a dark-haired woman next to Snape rose. Dumbledore could be heard clearly throughout the Hall. "If all the Pevensies would stand before the Hat, please."
But why would he want to –
"Pevensie, Edmund!"
Dark hair disappeared under the Sorting Hat's brim, but it didn't fall over his face. Hermione shivered at the blank expression that took up residence on familiar features. What's going –
"SLYTHERIN!"
"No way!" Harry gaped.
Thunderous cheering made Hermione stare. But – he's a Muggle! Slytherins hate – except she was hearing strong evidence that they didn't. Even Draco Malfoy was clapping. Hermione rubbed disbelieving eyes, but the strange sight didn't change.
"Pevensie, Lucy!"
She walked to the Hat with the same confidence as Edmund, and more eagerness. Tattered cloth traded hands before Edmund stepped next to his brother, mouth moving, words lost to the cheers.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The yellow-bedecked table disappeared in an explosion of clapping.
Bounding up, Lucy left the Hat on the stool and moved to Susan Pevensie's side.
"Pevensie, Peter!"
The hat barely touched gold strands before shouting out, "GRYFFINDOR!"
As the cheering from her own House quieted down, Dumbledore raised his voice one last time. "Pevensie, Susan!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
What's he up to? Dumbledore might be a doddering codger, but the wizard was cagey. Draco had learned last year that the old man didn't do anything without a good reason.
"Well," the Headmaster twinkled out at the school as the blue-and-bronze table's cheering died away. "The Pevensies agreed to be Sorted to provide each House with a Muggle advisor. They will take the evening meal at their respective House tables each day, and all students may feel free to speak with them on any subject. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I have only two words to say to you. Tuck in!"
"Hear, hear!" Potter and Weasley, from across the hall.
Draco sniffed as the plates filled. Idiots.
Mashed potatoes, steak, corn, and loads of other fantastic foods; maybe Potter and Weasley did have a point. A little one. He hadn't eaten this well all summer.
Shifting, on the bench at his side.
"Mind if I sit here?"
Not a request, and no Slytherin would mistake it for one. Draco looked up, keeping relief off his face. Edmund.
"If you must," he let the requisite sneer fade into a smile, there and gone too quickly for anyone else to see. Draco moved grudgingly over.
Dark eyes weren't fooled. "How was your summer?"
Hell. After the disaster at the Cup, Draco'd made the mistake of running afoul of his father. Once. The bruises were yellowing, but he'd kept to his room after that, his trunk packed and waiting a whole week for the Hogwarts Express. "Fine."
"You're a Muggle." Malcom Baddock, one of their newest. Draco snorted, quietly. That's what you think. The brat could learn about Aegis Sanguinis on his own.
Edmund neatly snatched a piece of bread almost from the first-year's grasp. "And you're a wizard. Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Baddock."
A drifting, silvery form stole whatever response was brewing behind the first-year's glowering features, turned it to fear. "Who's that?"
Draco dug his fork into a bite of salad, ignoring the boy.
"The Bloody Baron," Edmund's voice was soothing; or at least, as soothing as Slytherin pride would allow. "He's the Slytherin ghost. Don't be bothered by how he looks, he keeps Peeves in line." The man's voice was a bit dark at mention of the poltergeist.
A glance over the casserole dish full of vegetables revealed Edmund's scrutiny to Draco. Concern flowed toward him; Draco tried to send a message without changing his expression. I need to talk to you.
Tensing of fingers wielding fork over plate with the same skill that kept perfect control of a broadsword. I know, written in the tiny nod and set jaw.
It was all that kept Draco's mind on his food and off this summer, and his –
No. Talk to Edmund. He'll know what to do.
Another voice inside, his voice of caution, was just as loud. But if you fail – if you don't –
Stop it. Just breathe.
The potion; he would think of the potion. He had all the ingredients assembled in his trunk, every painstaking note secreted away in textbooks and new rolls of parchment, waiting for tonight.
I can start on Snape's potions cabinets as soon as the feast is over. Waiting until first class would be foolish, tipping off the Potions Master to possible culprits. And robbing me of a week's worth of work.
Food vanished off the plate he hadn't touched for a good five minutes, replacing platters of meats and vegetables with sweets. Treacle tart, chocolate gateau, pies and puddings . . . Draco's appetite had Disapparated.
Cr-ack!
Boom!
Glass shook in the window-frames with the force of the storm. Bloody miserable weather. I'm still damp from running through the storm.
He avoided Edmund's gaze, knowing from the words passing through the air over the table that it wouldn't be hard; his housemates were testing the 'Muggle' a good many of them had never met, though he'd been at Hogwarts all last year. And they were quickly finding out something Draco had long since accepted. Edmund was sharp.
When the last crumbs faded, leaving golden plates sparkling clean, motion from the staff table caught Draco's eye.
Albus Dumbledore was standing, smiling out at them. "So! Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch -"
Draco stopped listening. Edmund knows. The thought brought no comfort. Voldemort was back, and nothing would be all right ever again.
Dumbledore was still talking, "- remind you all that the Forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to all students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also -"
Ba-boom!
BANG!
The doors to the Great Hall slammed wide as thunder shook the air; Draco's hand was on his wand, panic setting his gut afire. It's –
But no.
The figure shadowed on the threshold was far too short, though Draco had never seen the Lord his father bowed to. And if Voldemort was here, he wouldn't just –
Clunk.
The hood lowered as the figure stepped forward. A gray mane was revealed; the wizard leant upon his long staff. Draco stared. His – his face!
It seemed almost carved from wood, by someone with no skill in the craft. His mouth was a gash, and scars rippled over harshly weathered skin. A chunk was missing from the wizard's nose, and his eye –
Neon blue, large as a coin and rolling around in his skull. Draco wasn't foolish enough to even try to meet the man's gaze. Don't look. Don't stare. He knew he looked enough like Father to attract this man's attention, even if he'd only heard him mentioned. Who else could it be? Mad-Eye Moody. What's he doing here?
Limping on every other step, the retired Auror had reached the head table.
Movement, in the corner of his eye. Edmund?
Each of the Pevensies was moving, he could see. Unobtrusively, not drawing any attention as every eye was fixed on the wizard who had now extending a hand to greet Dumbledore. In the deathly silence, Moody's every word rang clear.
"Headmaster."
"Alastor." A frown worked its way across Dumbledore's features.
Bay was solid in his grasp, reassuring. He didn't expect Moody. What's going on, here?
"I bring a message from the Ministry."
And you didn't owl it? If it was important enough to need a human – armed – messenger, why announce it in a hall full of students, all of whom would gossip or write home about it? The first-year Slytherins were already mumbling to each other. Something's not right.
"Ah, thank you, Alastor," Dumbledore smiled, and Draco caught twinkling blue scanning the entire room. Tense on his bench, he waited with Slytherin patience. The Pevensies were suddenly there, approaching the staff table.
Moody stiffened.
"Alastor. I'd like you to meet the Pevensie siblings. Muggles, here to assist in the Muggle Studies Program."
The rolling, insane eye twisted in its socket, inspecting the four at lightning speed. Draco saw it happen then; the assessment, the write-off. He thinks that just because they're Muggles, they're harmless.
That didn't sound like the paranoid Auror Father grumbled about occasionally.
"Pleased to meet you," Moody rumbled, reaching for Lucy's hand.
But the minute gnarled skin touched her fingers, Moody flickered. The image solidified as the man – blond hair, taller, smooth features – lifted her hand to kiss.
Draco dove beneath the table as the whole Hall gasped, seeing Snape lunge for his wand. Edmund jerked Lucy back; power blasted the air.
"Immobilus!" His Head of House, roaring over the sudden shouts and screams.
Blue shimmered into a thick wall separating the students from the staff table. Shield? Peering from under solid oak, Draco could hear the shouts and screams of the students as jets of light slammed between their professors and the imposter.
Polyjuice. Had to be.
Incantations were muffled by the sheen of power protecting them. What the -
"Slytherins!" roared a prefect. "Back to the table, and sit down!"
"Ravenclaws! To me! Sit!" Another prefect took their cue; in moments the shouting had almost abated, but it was nothing to the battle taking place at the staff table.
Dumbledore put up the shield. He's still holding it up. Draco could see that McGonagall and Sprout were protecting the Headmaster, who was in turn protecting the students. But that still left -
Where'd he go?
Not far.
The man, who once again looked like Moody, was crouching behind a chair on the far end of the dais, muscles tense with the need to break towards the unbarred access labeled 'Staff Only'. He's going for the door!
Edmund cut him off; then Lupin was there, and the imposter disappeared behind Peter and the advancing Snape.
A moment later, the blue wall fizzled and died.
"Hufflepuffs! Sit down!"
The prefect who had cast a drying spell on all the first-years in their House was shouting; the lady was headed for their table. Lucy Pevensie – she's our. . . what did they call it? Muggle advisor? What does that mean?
He'd find out in a minute, he guessed. What's going on? Voices called throughout the hall, ordering students back to their seats and calming the chaos that had exploded with the battle up at the teachers' table.
A familiar figure caught his attention; Owen looked hopefully at the man standing two steps from Dumbledore's side. Uncle Will?
Gray eyes caught his, sending a wave of soothing comfort toward Owen from across the Great Hall. I don't suppose this is what Mum and Dad meant when they told me to have a good time, but be careful. He'd never been on his own before. At least Uncle Will's here. Even if he wasn't really Owen's uncle, Will Stanton had been his dad's friend since they were kids and was close enough to be family.
Voices chattered around him.
"What's going on?"
"Who is it?
" – Mad-Eye Moody?"
"- but I think -"
"Did you see -"
"Unbelievable!"
They sure do talk a lot. Owen glanced around as his fellow-first years slid obediently back onto oak benches.
"Hufflepuffs!"
Owen jumped at the call; and looked. Blinked. She's standing on the table. In the corner of his vision, a few jaws had sagged. But I guess everyone can see her.
"I need you all to be quiet, now," she called. The woman's posture was open, and her glance shifted to the red-draped table on the left. "Gryffindors! Be seated, and be quiet!" For all the words were stern, there was no harshness to her.
Owen snuck a glance at the other side of the room as lips closed; the dark-haired lady had taken much the same control over the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, though her feet stayed on the Great Hall's stone floor.
But the professors -
An elbow nudged Owen's side. Huh?
Kevin Whitby's brown eyes were wide, both hands strangling a bit of his robe. "What d'you make of it?" His voice was very breathless.
Dunno. Owen lifted a shoulder, let it drop. Snuck a glance at the dais – two professors and the two men were still wrestling with the imposter, scattered shouts and the noises of a scuffle becoming clearer as the students found they could make out more from their seats. I can't even see what's going on, really. Why ask me? What did Kevin think he was going to say?
A swearword made Eleanor Branstone, across the table, turn red.
"If you wouldn't mind?" Both the men who had just been Sorted had their hands tight on the struggling wizard; the black-haired one jerked his head toward their captive as he spoke.
A spell from one of the professors muted the cursing spewing from the man's mouth. Mum's not going to like hearing about this!
Two professors, the two men, and the imposter were sweeping towards the doors to the Great Hall; Owen caught a glimpse filled with sneering features and venomous eyes and flinched back into the table. Dumbledore was speaking quickly with the Professors – he couldn't hear –
The teachers started to move, some toward the staff table, others out side doors by the dais that Owen hadn't seen before. Soon only four were left – Uncle Will, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the large man who had led all of them from the train and across the lake in the storm. Uncle Will bent, picking something up from smooth stone. The wooden leg. Owen swallowed hard. And magical eye . . .
Two hands raised, clothed in shimmering green robes speckled with silver stars and moons. He needn't have bothered, everyone's looking already –
The Headmaster's voice wound through the floating candles and echoed under the black sky reflected down from the ceiling. "Thank you for remaining calm. At this moment, the Aurors are being contacted and the intruder is well guarded. Please remain seated; although it is late, we must all remain for a short while longer. Accordingly, tomorrow morning's classes are canceled, but the afternoon classes will be held."
"Doesn't do us much good, does it?" Kevin Whitby had given up talking to Owen, and was leaning over the table toward Eleanor Branstone. "We don't even know what our classes are."
Pigtails swished as the girl tilted her head. "We're supposed to get our schedules tonight, from our Prefects."
"How d'you know that?" Another girl, hair a wispy blonde halo floating about her face. "Oh!" Her grin showed straight white teeth. "I'm Laura Madley."
"Mum told me. And my name's Eleanor," her nose wrinkled, "but everyone calls me Ella."
"Kevin," the dark-skinned boy at Owen's side stuck his hand over the table, shaking each girl's arm vigorously.
"What's your name?"
Me? Owen's whole body pulled in on itself a little as he realized all three were looking at him curiously. Moisture fled his mouth, leaving his tongue parchment-dry. I wish they'd left us water. "Owen," he croaked.
"Nice to meet you." Kevin stuck out his hand; Owen's was sweaty with nervousness, but he shook anyway. "I'm from Kent. What about you?"
"Buckinghamshire," Owen managed.
"Are you Muggle-born?" Laura grinned over the table at him, bold and kind at once. "It's okay to be scared."
"I'm not." Owen took a breath. Hot embarrassment twitched deep inside him, sucking warmth from his hands and leaving his skin nasty with chilled sweat. "Not Muggle-born."
"But that guy was creepy," Kevin bounced in, kneeling on the bench and half-sprawled over sparkling golden plates. "Did you see his face? All twisted up, and he was spitting -"
"He looked angry." Ella shivered, one hand tugging a pigtail.
"Is everything all right here?"
Owen stared up into kind eyes framed by reddish hair.
"Hello," the lady smiled. "I'm Lucy Pevensie. How was your trip across the lake?"
"Wet," Laura laughed.
Kevin snorted, pushing off the table to stretch up from his knees. "It was awesome -"
Owen looked up at the teachers' table as the others pulled on her attention. Uncle Will was standing next to the older woman, who was speaking to Dumbledore. I wonder if she's a teacher. She looks stern -
"Owen?" The lady - Miss Lucy – was seated beside him on the hard bench.
Blue-green eyes riveted to his plate, Owen whispered past the dryness in his mouth. "Yes?"
"Your friends are worried you might be afraid." A comforting smile beamed from light brown eyes, easing the fear's iron grip on his insides.
But they don't even know me! The words slipped out without him knowing how. "There's so many people here . . ."
"It'll be alright," Lucy put a hand on his shoulder. Her voice was soft enough that in the buzzing hall, this conversation was only between them. "Buckinghamshire's in the country, isn't it? Hogwarts may have more people than you're used to, but the grounds are a lot like the moors, in places."
"I don't know anyone, except Uncle Will." Owen kept his head down. And none of my friends from home are here, not Toby or Jake and I'm alone and I don't know how -
"Well, you know me."
Astonishment had him blinking into brown eyes, without noticing for a long moment that he'd moved at all.
"Not well," Lucy smiled, "but then we've only just met. And you know Kevin, and Ella, and Laura. I'm sure you could grow to be friends. You just need to get to know one another."
Scared. Can't – "Don't know how."
"That's why you're at Hogwarts, Owen. To learn. Do you think you can try?"
Did he dare? Air slipped shakily from his lungs, and Owen thought. Maybe. I just have to try; that's not so hard. The decision wasn't sure, but he made it anyway. "Okay."