A/N: Standard disclaimer; see chapter 1 for details.
"Professor Windsor, a few words, if I may."
"Yes, headmaster?" The beautiful blonde paused, and her eyes flickered to a pair of robed wizards who had stood against the wall during the recently concluded winter term staff meeting.
"While I accepted your appointment by the Board of Governors"–not with much graciousness, if he was of a mind to admit, which he was not–"it behooves me to check on your suitability for the position."
"So you intend to interview me without there being a need, and then encourage me to abandon the post after convincing me that I am unprepared and ill-equipped for the position."
"Well, my dear," his tone combined geniality and sorrow, "you are a muggle and the wizarding world takes some getting used to. You might find it a trifle off-putting at times."
The woman smiled innocently. "But I have been engaged as an advisor for Muggle Studies, is that not correct?"
"There is no precedent for a muggle residing in this castle."
"Just because you do not know of one does not mean it never happened."
The old man straightened. "I believe I am most conversant about this school's history and inhabitants."
"Then you are, of course, aware that I am a collateral descendant of a former Hogwarts teacher; furthermore, I have been examined and am close to being a 'squib': nasty-sounding word. And contrary to your stated belief in my circumstances, I am quite at ease in large drafty dwellings. Actually," she tilted her head so that she looked down her nose at the headmaster, "I find it a trifle...cramped. But I shall adjust."
She headed for the doorway, her security shadows trailing her, when Dumbledore spoke once more. "I find it highly irregular that you insist on this entourage. I shall not hesitate to disallow their presence should even one student find themselves uncomfortable with these hulking brutes."
"The Board has permitted their presence to ensure my protection. After all," she uttered mockingly, "I am but an easily intimidated muggle."
"Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain!"
"That argument grows thin, Headmaster." The power of generations of nobility shone from her blue eyes. "Shall I refresh your memory? Cerberus. Troll. Acromantula. Not to mention those moving staircases."
Startled by her considerable knowledge of past circumstances, he chose to focus on the least of them–and the most recent. "And I noticed that those stairs still themselves when you approach," he spat acidly.
"Unlike you, the castle recognizes that there is a higher authority than Albus Dumbledore."
"And you claim to be it?"
"No, there is one to whom I make obeisance as well. And she has approved my stay here. Now, whether you have tired of being an irritant or not, I shall make my way to my quarters and prepare for the students' arrival."
"Oh!" Hermione jumped before pulling a small notepad from a hidden pocket; interestingly enough, it was vibrating.
"Reorganizing the tutoring rota already?" Pansy asked. Several students had reported that they were caught up in their core classes and desired help in their electives instead.
"No," she replied absently, "this is a communications device."
"Like those bonded notebooks from last year?" Daphne's eyebrow raised in skepticism. "I've never seen them that small."
"It's based on the same idea but without the need to blood bond or for the holders to be magical."
"Ah!" Mandy's face lit up. "A way for you to talk to your parents."
"Yes, we use one as well, but this," she waved it, "allows me to correspond with one of our new teachers."
"The divination replacement?" Parvati asked.
"No, even better," Hermione replied with a mysterious smile.
"Er-hm," Dumbledore cleared his throat, "I would like to welcome you all back from the Yule Break. Several announcements need to be made before the beginning of term."
"Doesn't look too pleased, does he?" Draco muttered to Hermione.
"Your father didn't either when he was forced to let Trelawney stay here," she retorted.
"Those of you who have chosen Divination as one of your electives will now be meeting in a classroom on the ground floor. Professor Trelawney has requested a sabbatical from teaching in order to meditate on the, uh, fluidity of the future. She will still reside in her tower during this time, although when she is not in a contemplative state, she has indicated that she will issue invitations to those of her former students whom she felt showed the most promise for some personal advisement. These meetings will not be considered towards a grade, however.
"Her replacement will be Firenze of the Forbidden Forest Centaur Colony. As you have learned–or no doubt will learn–centaurs are naturally gifted in divination. While his style of teaching will most likely be quite different from the previous instructor, I am certain that all will be able to adapt to the changes."
"Not sure about that," Dean leaned towards Harry and Seamus, "Lav and Pav really liked her."
"Dunno," the Irish boy grinned, "they're checking out her replacement pretty closely. He's not hard on the eyes and I bet he's hung like a–mmph!"
"Sorry about that old bean"
"It was right humorous"
"But our little sister is within earshot."
Harry silently released the twins' gag on Seamus after the headmaster continued.
"We are also welcoming, as an Adjunct Professor of Muggle Studies, Diana Windsor. Professor Windsor, a squib descendant" (he couldn't bear the thought of a muggle taking up residence in his beloved Hogwarts and thus refused to admit to the fact) "of a former Hogwarts professor, has lived all her life in the non-magical world and is knowledgeable about contemporary manners, fashion and mores. We welcome her expertise in finalizing the revamp of our curriculum in that subject." He took a sip from his goblet and smiled benevolently. "I am confident that she and Professor Burbage will be able to kit you out in proper muggle style by the spring equinox.
"As to the event occurring then, retired Archbishop of Canterbury Coggan will conduct the muggle ceremony. The Archbishop has expressed his delight in the opportunity to visit our side of the Empire, as the office he held has always been aware of our society. Although he himself is a muggle, his maternal great-grandfather was the last of the Chubb line to exhibit magic.
"Immediately afterwards, a wedding breakfast will be held, followed by music and dancing. These amusements will continue until four in the afternoon, at which time all will be dismissed to prepare for the next portion of the day."
Dumbledore's expression soured slightly before he continued. "The magical ceremony will be performed by our newly inaugurated Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy, father of one of our students. Minister Malfoy has volunteered to provide portkeys sufficient to transport all students to Clava Cairns where the happy couple will pledge their troth. The bonding will begin at sunset, and, after the ritual, everyone will be provided a small glass of elf-made wine. Underage students who have not yet turned in their parental permission forms for its consumption should, as the muggles say, 'get on the ball'.
"As I am sure that all of you are sufficiently hungry and tired of listening to an old man, let the feast begin." He raised his hands, and food materialized on the tables.
It was not near time for dessert to be served, yet all of the students had either recognized or been informed of the identity of the attractive blonde woman seated between Professors Burbage and Thibodeaux. One might have almost thought the Great Hall was invaded by honeybees due to the buzzing of sotto voce conversations from one end of the tables to the other.
Hermione could only smirk later that evening. She had been inundated with questions as soon as she had entered the Ravenclaw common room, and it had taken three quarters of an hour to settle down most of the students. No doubt the same topic was being thrashed about in the other dorms, and she enjoyed imagining the boys fielding questions on conversational rules with members of the royal family. If her housemates were any indication, all of the male members of Hogwarts were going to be petitioning the Princess of Wales for personal dance instruction.
Professor McGonagall was forced to post a sign on her office door that the deadline for changing electives had long since passed and that, at any rate, the rosters for Muggle Studies were full. The students were pacified with the announcement that workshops with the specific goal of preparing students (and teachers, if desired) for the non-magical festivities would begin shortly. Professor Burbage and her assistant would assuredly find themselves busy during the next two months.
The girls appeared on the verge of a vicious tug-of-war over the fashion books for the upcoming season. Designers had almost fallen over themselves to provide those to Her Highness.
"For the love of Rowena," Hermione grumbled before she shot a firecracker spell towards the ceiling of the ballroom which McGonagall had opened for their meetings. "Ladies," she ordered sarcastically, "copying spells on each notebook, enough for each table. Spit spot!" She clapped her hands.
Thus chastened, the young witches quickly sorted themselves into groups while Diana offered suggestions based upon other 'inside information' she had acquired from her favourite couturiers.
After a half hour wandering between groups and monitoring their discussions, the princess confided in Hermione. "Granted that I have little experience with postal owls, but are you certain that they will be able to handle the weight of enough fabric to clothe half the school?"
Overhearing, Daphne spoke up, "With enough shrinking and weightless charms, owls can pretty much deliver anything. However, anything ordered through my family will be elf-popped."
"Do you think they will have all of the colours and patterns that we will need?"
She shrugged. "We are just the middleman, handling the delivery of already produced materials. As we do not manufacture any of the fabric, ribbons or laces ourselves, we are limited to what is available."
Morag offered, "My family specializes in wool. Not just yarns but weaves of all weight."
"Great. Luna," she spoke to the girl behind her, "pull out a fresh notebook from my bag." The younger girl handed one to her and pouted as the other began to make a new list.
Fiona Timms held up a hand shyly. "My great aunts started a lace business and have several shops. Maybe they could send some samples?"
Hermione saw Cho biting her lip. "Did you have something to share as well?" she asked.
"My grandfather has a silk farm. From magical silkworms, not acromantulas. He might be able to help, but with the distance…"
"Dobby!" The house elf popped up and made obeisance to both Diana and Hermione, to the latter's aggravation. "Would you please check if Gringott's has a way to transfer money between their locations here and those in China? And if so, can parcels be transported by that manner? For the proper fee, of course," she added.
"Oh, yes, Mistress Hermione Lady! You knows you cans call on Dobby anytime." He shook a finger at her. "And you and those Master Sirs has been doing too much yourselves. If you no stops, Dobby be getting fat and lazy!" he squeaked and quickly popped away.
"My Lady," Her Highness whispered, "was he really wearing a Beefeater uniform?"
Draco's arms windmilled as he barely managed to avoid tripping over his cousin. "Salazar, Luna," he complained, "why are you sitting on the stairs here?"
"This year's no fun," she sniffed.
"Whoa!" He lowered himself to her side and put an arm across her shoulders. "No one's picking on you, are they? 'Cause if they are, just say the word and they're toast."
"Well…" she bit her bottom lip.
"Spit it out," he urged.
"I still can't sneak up on Hermione," she almost wailed.
"That's damn unusual."
"Every time I think I have her, she turns around and speaks to me as if she knew where I was all along."
"You know," he began, "aggravating Hermione is not really the smartest thing to do. I mean, the boys and I decided that we pushed her far enough last year with our non-profanities, so we dropped the act this year."
"But I didn't drop mine," she almost growled. "I don't know how she does it!"
"Luna, you're a seer, aren't you? Haven't you...looked?"
She stared at him as if he only had two brain cells to his name. "Of course I have, and I found nothing. Maybe I'm losing my touch."
Draco stared ahead in consideration. "Probably not. Hermione's a genius, so she's bound to have discovered some way to track you. If you ask her directly, I bet she'll tell you."
"That would be admitting defeat."
"Then you may never know," he pointed out.
She sighed. "I'll give myself until the end of the year."