Thunder and torrential downpour rolled out all night against the stormy landscape as Harry Potter walked into the Great Hall of Hogwarts for the Welcoming Feast of his fifth year. The train ride from King's Cross Station was lacking, to say the least. Hermione and Ron had to attend a Prefects' meeting in a different compartment, leaving him alone for a while. At least Neville joined up with him to keep him company, but he was more concerned with the strange-looking cactus on his lap, leaving Harry mostly by himself to brood.

This summer had been one of the worst in his personal history, and he had had quite a few bad summers before. Not only was he dealing with the death of Cedric Diggory and return of Lord Voldemort, but he also had to deal with the Wizengamot and Fudge's unwillingness to accept that Voldemort was back. He did cast magic in front of a Muggle (namely, his pig cousin), but he had cause. Two Dementors coming to attack him? Anyone would have agreed with him at any other time, but now he was a 'lunatic' and an 'attention-seeking prat'; no one was on his side now. Fudge and the Daily Prophet saw to that, with their incessant smear campaigns against him and Dumbledore.

However, most of the Wizengamot seemed to side with him when he managed to tell his side of the story, at least once it was corroborated by Mrs. Figg. Madam Bones seemed fair, and did not seem to appreciate Fudge's slack-jawed laziness when it came to pursuing legal correctness. He saw her spine prickle at the slid in comment that Fudge could change the laws whenever he wanted to suit the Ministry. Dumbledore was not much help in the trial: he was in and out like a flash flood. He came in, spoke his piece, waited for the sentence, and then left without saying a word or even looking at Harry. He did not understand any of it.

At least there was some good this summer. He was introduced to the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's little gang of Light-sided wizards and witches that tried to fight against Voldemort and his cadre of Death Eaters. That was some hope: many of the members seemed to be Aurors or at least had some battle experience. And he got to see his dog-father again. Sirius was looking much better now that he had a home and a steady diet of something other than rats and the small things he could smuggle to Hogsmeade for him. Still, to be imprisoned in the same place without anywhere safe to flee into for the sake of being himself… Harry could relate to that most easily. He was still a prisoner to the Dursleys during the summer break. But at least here, he was free to be himself.

However, even that little good was tainted with strangeness. The behavior of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, when he was around them, made him ponder what exactly it was they were hiding from him. Mrs. Weasley, as per usual, smothered him in motherly love and food but she was still treating him like a child. Moody had tried to stop Sirius from telling him something about some kind of a weapon that Voldemort was after. Even Lupin, his most favorite ex-teacher from Hogwarts and former Marauder, was pushing him aside and telling him nothing. Only his dog-father treated him like his age, and like the one that had seen Voldemort return. Well, there was some good this summer, if little enough.

He looked up to the Head Table, watching Dumbledore sit there and let himself calm down a little. He still did not understand why he was not told anything during the summer. Dumbledore must have had some reason to conceal it from him, but it hurt him to be on the outside when he wanted to fight with everyone else. Professor McGonagall was missing as well, as per usual: she was with the first years in the entrance of the Great Hall, waiting for bring them in. Hagrid was missing; where was he? His face fell as he saw Umbridge sitting among the teachers, the same old toady from the Wizengamot that considered him guilty: that meant nothing good. Snape was his usual grumpy and surly self, glaring out at the crowd of students. At least, some things will never change.

As he sat down next to Hermione and Ron, it was like magic when McGonagall led the first years in. There was a big crowd this year: there were maybe forty-five or fifty little frightened children walking down the hall. They looked so vulnerable, so innocent. He barely paid attention to the Sorting Hat's Song, or the Sorting ceremony that followed; it never changed year after year. It was a new song, new students, and new reasons to keep up the discord between houses… It may be a new year, but it was the same old stuff.

However, this year, he was wrong. After the Sorting, Dumbledore stood up but he did not signal for the feast to begin. "Now that everyone is Sorted and seated, I have a special announcement before the feast can begin." Harry, and probably half the hall, heard Ron groan and his stomach grumble. Hermione jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

Dumbledore continued with his speech, that everlasting twinkle in his eye, as if he had not been interrupted. "This year, we are pleased to be host to a transfer student from the Aurorian Academy on the Isle of Man. This is the first such time that anything like this has happened in over a thousand years. It is the first step in beginning new relationships with our old friend, after decades of stagnation. The student will be considered a fifth-year and will study here as long as her professors deem it prudent. In addition, she will be Sorted tonight. Please, help me to welcome… Sir Airmed Wolfshead!"

The doors to the Great Hall opened, but there was no nervous student waiting to enter. Instead, a massive gray wolf ran into the hall between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. There were squeals of fear and confusion as the wolf ran past them, but even more as the wolf transformed flawlessly into a peregrine falcon and flew over the tables in lazy circles. Higher and higher it flew until it transformed once more.

Screams of fear filled the hall as a miniature Hebridean Black dragon flew close to the ceiling. The creature made a dive halfway above the tables, before pointing its maw above the students and roaring a stream of vivid sapphire fire. As the dragon flew lower, people saw that the fire was suspended above their heads in a crest of some kind: three armored legs connected at the hip, surrounded by a wolf, a falcon, and a dragon. Below the crest was a motto, but it was written in a different language than Latin: Cúr Treisht Ayn Ayd Wappin.

The dragon gave one final roar before falling towards the staff table. It transformed once more, this time into a girl. Performing a perfect somersault, she landed flawlessly on the stairs in front of the staff table on one knee, her head slightly bowed. There was no motion out of place, no wasted energy.

The whispers were in full force now as everyone tried to catch a look at the mysterious transfer student that knelt in front of them. Harry's eyes widened at the sight of her. From what he could see from his seat in the middle of the hall, she was dressed in some kind of armor. Her arms were covered in chain mail, like something out of the Middle Ages. The chain mail was covered by some kind of long tunic dyed blue-black belted around her waist. There was a silver wolf's head sewn on to the back, snarling at all that looked at it. From where he was sitting, he spied thick gloves tucked into the belt beside a leather pouch of sorts. The mail ended above her knees, where everyone saw some kind of thickly quilted cotton breeches above black leather boots. Her headpiece was pushed back to reveal pure-white hair braided tightly to her head and some kind of scar on her neck; he could not make it out from where he was sitting.

But it was what she was carrying that made the whispers increase as she simply knelt there. She was armed. On her belt near her hip was a quiver of arrows. At her side, her hand resting on the hilt, was a longsword sheathed in an obviously well used leather scabbard; across her back was a quarterstaff with a foot long blade at the end and a long leather tube showing an unstrung bow. From simply looking at her, Harry got the impression that she knew how to use these weapons, and had probably used them in the past.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, the strange new student stood up, hardly making a sound as the mail crinkled with her movements. A new thought crossed his mind: this girl was used to the chain mail that she wore. But why would she be? Considering how different the wizarding world was from the Muggle world, why would she be used to such an archaic method of protection, even by the standards of the wizarding world?

The new student, Airmed Wolfshead, bowed before the Head Table and walked towards Professor McGonagall as she stood by the stool and the Sorting Hat. She broke tradition at this point. Instead of sitting on the stool and letting Professor McGonagall place the Hat on her head, she simply grabbed the Hat from the stool and placed it on her head. Her back was facing the student body, not showing her expression or her facial features.

The Hall was quiet once more as they waited for the results of the transfer student's Sorting. It did not take long, at least not longer than most normal Sorting times. The Hat yelled out from its ripped seam, "GRYFFINDOR!" The tables began to cheer as she turned around, but the cheering soon died out as they got their first real look at the transfer student.

As Airmed Wolfshead walked down the stairs, she transformed her tunic with a simple motion of her hand, making it change from blue-black into red with a golden salient lion across her torso. But it was her face that caught them all by surprise. Marring the patrician features of her face was a massive scar running down from the middle of her hairline, through her left eyebrow and eye itself, and ending just below her cheekbone; the inside of her eye socket, Harry saw as she walked closer to him, looked like it had been scraped clean of all remnants of her eye, leaving her only a hollow cavity. It looked old and she did not seem to notice the staring, but it did not hide the fact that she was missing one of her eyes. Her other eye was a deep blue, almost the same color as the Ravenclaw banner. Her pink lips and small mouth were grinning as she walked without a care to the Gryffindor table and stood behind Harry.

"Is this seat taken?" She pointed to the spot next to him on his right. Her voice was deep, like listening to the roar of the ocean's waves. It was also heavily accented, but it was difficult to place where the accent came from. It could have been Irish, but there was more emphasis on the gruffness in her voice that could have been Scottish. The combination made for a no-nonsense tone and pitch.

"Not at all." Harry nodded to her as she sat between him and Neville. As soon as she sat down, Neville nodded to her and passed her a water-filled goblet, addressing her as "Milady". Accepting the goblet and taking a small sip from it, she nodded back to him and called him "Sir". No word was spoken as she looked back to the Head Table. Once more, the hall burst out into whispers. The new student sat next to Crazy Boy Potter and Longbottom? What was she thinking? And what was the deal with the goblet?

Dumbledore stood up once more, this time giving the signal for the feast. The tables groaned under the weight of the food, and the gleam in Airmed's eyes was clue enough that she was famished.

She was quiet for the rest of the meal, nodding as Harry introduced her to Ron and Hermione, but mostly eating her way through two full plates of food. She was hungry enough to eat a dragon by herself, but she reprimanded herself into using the utensils there and being polite as she ate. Some of the boys looked at her incredulously as she drank back an entire goblet of pumpkin juice without stop. What was wrong with her? They talked about her well within her hearing range, but they did not actually talk to her.

Neville took up quiet conversation with her, pointing discreetly at a few of his year mates. As Airmed took in the names and faces, she committed them all to memory as best as she could. No one understood why, but most of them good-naturedly ignored her for the time being.

Finally, one of the first years left their seat and walked up to her, his face turning all colours of red as he forced himself to keep walking. She saw him coming out of the corner of her eye; Euan Abercrombie was his name, if she remembered correctly. He tugged at her tunic and nearly wet himself as she turned and looked at him with a curious look on her face.

"Yes, little one?" She placed her utensils back on the table and knelt on one knee before him so that she was eye level with him.

"Why… why do you wear this?" He tugged on her tunic again. The Gryffindors around her heard something remarkable coming from her as she closed her eye and laughed, a smile decorating her face. It seemed so out of place: a hardened and scarred warrior laughing like Father Christmas.

"Because, little Euan, where I come from, we have a proud history of knights that fight for our country. I am one of them, but I also love to learn. That's why I'm here." No one saw how her face dropped for a moment, but she quickly pulled her composure back together before people took notice.

Again, everyone was surprised when she stood and, holding Euan's hand, walked him back to his seat. Once he was seated amongst his fellow first-years, she whispered something into his ear that made him smile so brightly and hug her. She was gentle as she wrapped her mail-covered arms around the little boy and let him relax. She would never let him come to harm; that much was obvious to all onlookers present. Letting go of the hug, she ruffled his hair and walked back to sit down amongst the fifth-years.

For herself, Airmed was glad to be sitting. The flight here from the Isle of Man was long enough for her in her dragon form in normal weather, but it was thundering and raining all over this accursed island. She landed at the Hosgmeade Station just as the last students were loaded onto Thestral-drawn carriages, the rain pouring down on her without any end in sight. Thankfully, she had, long ago, charmed her armor, her weapons, and her clothes to be weather-resistant; that simple runic charm had saved her purse many times from having to replace her armour constantly. Otherwise, she would have to spend hours getting all of the rust out of her chainmail. She had to run up the path, her trunk shrunken in the leather pouch on her belt, and had made it into the monstrosity of a castle just as the doors were closing. As such, she was hungry, she was thirsty, and she was tired.

However, young Euan, he whose name means 'little and swift one', made her smile with his young antics. He was innocent of all that she had had to face over the years. Hopefully, it would remain so for a few years yet. Dessert passed by, and she took nothing save a piece of fruit to nibble on. Master Conn had told her to expect a speech after the feast from Dumbledore, and he was not wrong in that sense.

Yet again, Dumbledore stood from his seat and began to speak. "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, and our new guest, should know that the Forbidden Forest in the grounds is out of bounds to all students- as should a few of our older students." Airmed frowned slightly: that could prove problematic for her training in the mornings. But she would solve that problem tomorrow, when she had time to explore the grounds.

"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, as well as a whole list of things which can be found nailed to Mr. Filch's door.

"We have had 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 until Hagrid returns from his leave; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Applause was nice and brief at this point; Airmed could see that most everyone was anxious to get into bed and go to sleep against the sounds of the rolling thunderstorm. However, that was not going to happen any time soon.

"Hem-hem." Someone had cleared her throat from the staff table. Airmed peered and saw that Professor Umbridge was standing up and had intended to make a speech of her own. Dumbledore looked perplexed, but only for a moment. Being a true gentleman, he sat down and motioned for Madam Umbridge to say her words.

Airmed lost all respect for her when she saw that god-awful pink cardigan that nearly burned her eyes out. Such a colour, never seen on the Isle of Man, was only worn by women so secure in their role as women that they never saw fit to defend their country; either that, or by women that tended to stay at home and cook and clean. Either way, she was no fighter.

Her voice was simpering and high-pitched as she went on about how they will all be friends by the end of the term, grating on Airmed's tired ears. Still, she put an attentive mask on her face and listened to the sale-pitch.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations, lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching." At that moment, Umbridge's cheery face fell for a moment as she glared at the newcomer, before perking up.

Well, that was good to know. This Umbridge character had it out for those not of British lines. It was ancient history for some, but the Isle of Man was not part of the United Kingdom. Instead, they were a small magical sovereignty unto their own self-governance. Many members of the magical world of Britain considered them to be under the purview of the British Ministry of Magic, but that was false. If that were true, in any case, she would have been dead long ago. She had seen much of the inefficiency of the British Ministry of Magic, especially under the most recent leader. Such a blundering fool was this Cornelius Fudge, constantly making foolish mistakes to the detriment of his people. It was lucky that they were a sovereign nation; for that much, she was thankful.

Airmed's eyes narrowed at the next part of the speech. "Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress' sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation must be found.

"While some changes may be for the better, others will, in the fullness of time, come to be recognized as errors in judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn (again, a glare at Airmed and her armor), must be abandoned. Let us move forwards, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting was needs to be perfected, and pruning whenever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

The hall was silent at the end of the speech. No one even noticed when Dumbledore stood up and began the announcements again. Harry looked beside him at the transfer student, wanting to tell her that this was not a normal year, but all he saw was the fist resting on the table, white-knuckled from tension. Harry decided against that course of action. He would prefer to remain whole, and that longsword at her side was not exactly the most encouraging response.

Airmed simply stared blankly at the staff table, listening with one ear to the rest of the announcements and trying not to show any reaction to Umbridge's speech. She knew that her fists were curled tightly, one on the table well within the reach of the slightly sharp eating knife and the other resting on her legs. She had to remind herself to breathe in and out, calmly and quietly, or else she would have thrown that knife right at the heart of that damned woman.

Well, one thing was for sure. This year was going to be interesting, to say the least.