Harry Potter had been called into the Ministry for a case of underage magic. My mother told me that his story involved dementors coming after his cousin and him.
Supposedly, he cast a corporal Patronus charm. Mum doubted this.
I didn't. I told Mum, if you wanted to do magic underage, why would you waste your time on a Patronus, for one thing. I mean, it's a useful spell, but pointless for use on anything other than a dementor or a Lethifold. I guessed you could send messages with it, but you'd have to be up to N.E.W.T. standard, and Hermione Granger and I were the only under sixth years at N.E.W.T. standard at that point, so therefore, Harry couldn't have been sending messages.
Mum worked for the Ministry. She was in the Department for International Magical Cooperation and was also a member of the Wizengamot. She claimed the only reason Potter got off, was that he had Dumbledore defending him, and no one's crazy enough to cross Dumbledore.
Mum said that we were finally going to "get a teacher who knows what she's talking about, in a Ministry-approved context." By that, she obviously meant, "Fudge is forcing Dumbledore to hire a Ministry hag who has zero experience teaching, and is probably going to not have any magic allowed in class." In other words, the Ministry of Magic was interfering at Hogwarts.
In other words, it was not going to be a great year.
My trip to Hogwarts was pretty uneventful. The two Gryffindor prefects, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger came in around lunch, and introduced themselves to my friends and me.
By the time I had finished my Chocolate Frogs, we had arrived at Hogsmeade station. The empty carriages stood waiting for us, and I climbed in, careful to pat the thestral pulling it twice on the top of its head, while miming shooing a fly.
I pulled my cloak closer to me. My friend, C.J. shivered and muttered something about the horrible cold, as we caught our first glimpse of the castle.
Taylor Freeds, the only Ravenclaw in our carriage, said, rather rudely, "Do any of you believe the rubbish Potter and Dumbledore have been saying?"
"Yes, I do, and if you call anything the Headmaster says 'rubbish' again, I'll hex you," C.J. said.
I hissed, "But it doesn't matter what Potter or the Headmaster say, it's what the Prophet says that counts, isn't it, Freeds?"
C.J. laughed. She alone understood the hiss and spitting noise that emendated from me, and only because I had taught her to recognize Parseltongue, for our own private conversations.
When we exited the carriages, Freeds had received several reasons to trust Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, all with threats of jinxes, if she didn't believe them.
We filed into the Great Hall, sitting, as we normally did, towards the middle of the Gryffindor Table.
Everyone was whispering and pointing toward Harry Potter, who was sitting opposite C.J. and I, with his friends.
"Miss Tayzlor, would you come with me please?" Professor McGonagall was standing behind C.J.
"Sure, Professor. See you later, C.J." I answered.
When we had reached the entrance hall, Professor McGonagall motioned toward an empty classroom.
"What d'you need, Professor?" I asked.
"Professor Snape wishes me to ask you to wait here until after the Sorting. He wishes to ask you a question about Legilimency. I will be back shortly. Wait here."
I stood, waiting for the Potions Master. I wondered why Professor Snape wanted to talk to me about Legilimency. I was missing the Sorting for no reason it seemed, because Professor Snape would not be coming until the Sorting was over.
When Professor McGonagall finally re-entered the classroom, she had Professor Snape trailing in her wake.
I stood, hurriedly, and said, "You wanted to ask me about my Legilimency, Professor?"
Snape frowned and said, "You seem to possess a skill far above most wizards and witches, Tayzlor. In fact, only two wizards are, to my knowledge, more skilled in the area of Legilimency than you are. Those wizards, as I'm sure you are aware, are Professor Dumbledore, and The Dark Lord."
"Yes, Professor?" I said.
"The headmaster wishes me to ask you if you would be so inclined as to help him with a few matters this year."
"Uh, I guess. But, why doesn't Professor Dumbledore just ask me himself? I mean, why are you asking me, sir?"
"The headmaster is a very busy man, Tayzlor. He does not have the time to ask thirteen year old witches to help him with a matter about which they would understand very little," Snape spat.
"Okay, Professor Snape, I was just asking. Can I go back to the feast now?" I asked, with what I hoped was an innocent look on my face.
Professor McGonagall nodded, and I set off, back toward the Great Hall.
When I sat down, C.J. immediately started talking my ear off, per usual, while I wolfed down my food.
Just as I finished my pudding, Professor Dumbledore stood.
"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start of term notices. First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students –and a few of our older students ought to know by now too," said Dumbledore. I glanced down the table, and caught Fred Weasley's eye. He and his brother had spent half their Hogwarts careers trying to get into the Forbidden Forest.
"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all, that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.
"We have two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Dumbledore clapped, and the rest of the hall followed his lead, very half-heartedly.
C.J. muttered, "Big prat. Look at that cardigan."
Dumbledore continued, "Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the –"
I wondered why he stopped talking, then heard a "Hem Hem" and noticed that Professor Umbridge, who was not a very tall woman, was standing, as though she wished to make a speech.
Dumbledore looked slightly surprised, but hid it well, sitting back down smartly and looking attentively at Professor Umbridge. The rest of teachers did not hide their surprise nearly as well. Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as I'd ever seen it, and Professor Sprout appeared, at a glance, to have no eyebrows, as they had disappeared into her flyaway hair.
"Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome," said Professor Umbridge.
"Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say," she gave a rather creepily forced smile, and continued, "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!"
C.J. sniggered, "It's like we're five! Happy? No one looks happy, idiot!"
"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends."
At this point, C.J. pulled out a quill and parchment, and we started playing tic-tac-toe, no longer paying any attention to the Professor.
Half way through her speech, I scribbled, I knew this is what the Ministry was going to do. They think Potter and Dumbledore are off their rockers.
Finally, the long winded speech was finished, and I had won all 41 games of hangman, and C.J. had won half of our 14 games of tic-tac-toe. We only stopped playing when Dumbledore rose from his seat.
"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," he gave a slight bow, and continued, "Now – as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held on November the eighth, see your House Captain for details. On Thursday the first of October, Professor Sprout wishes me to invite Third Years and above to the Herbology convention at the Three Broomsticks. Now, I am sure you are all very tired, and want to be well rested for tomorrow. Off you go!"
There was a great clattering, as all the students in the Great Hall stood, C.J. and I among them. I turned to a sixth year.
"What's the password?" I asked.
"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," she answered.
"Thanks," I replied. "Let's go, Ceej."
I led the way up the familiar seven flights of stairs, and arrived in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," C.J. said, and the picture swung open to reveal the cozy common room.
"I'll see you in a bit, I've got to go unpack," I said, as C.J. settled into an armchair.
As I climbed the stairs, I wondered what the year would have in store.