THE MANOR
Chapter 3 – Return to Hogwarts
The week at the Burrow passed all too quickly and before long, they found that they were due to leave for school. They were to take the taxi to King's Cross Station, and there was again the usual confusion on the morning they were to leave.
'Where are they?' Ron moaned as he searched about his room.
'Where are what?' Hermione asked, coming into the room. It was typically messy, with both Harry and Ron's trunks thrown open as they desperately packed.
'My dress robes!' Ron said, startling Pig as he shifted the bird in an effort to see underneath him. 'Fred and George will kill me if they think I've lost them!'
'Well that's your fault isn't it,' Hermione said righteously as she helped Ron search. 'If you had packed everything away when you came back from Diagon Alley maybe you wouldn't be in this mess.'
'While you're looking,' Harry said sheepishly, from underneath his camp bed. 'Tell me if you see my spare quills.'
Hermione gave them both looks that told them they were hopeless, and then helped them discover the missing items. After about twenty minutes, punctuated by frequent calls from Mrs Weasley of 'where are you! Ronald Weasley!' they were finally ready to leave.
They hurriedly ran down the stairs, dragging their trunks along behind them, and landed with a thump on the bottom floor whereupon they dashed out, and loaded their luggage into the taxis. There were two taxis, and the taxi drivers looked more than a little bewildered to see the owls (after all, who has a pet owl?) as they all piled into the taxis. Bill came with them to help his mum see them off.
'Thank goodness we made it out of the house,' Hermione said, with a relieved sigh as she sank into the back seat of one of the taxis with Ron and Harry.
'We might be late,' Ron said worriedly, looking at the taxi's clock. His mother had rather shrilly scolded him for being so completely unorganised. 'And we don't have a flying car this time,' he said seriously.
Bill, catching his brother's comments, winked at them from his front-seat with the taxi driver, and Hermione could definitely make out some muttering as he gripped his wand in his pocket.
The taxi left the Burrow, and they settled back for the trip to the station. 'Mum's really getting nervy,' Ron observed quietly. That was true. Mrs Weasley was usually a nervous wreck when getting her kids out of the house and to Hogwarts, but this morning it seemed more excessive than usual. She had spilt her tea when drinking, and had come close to slicing her thumb off when making their packed lunches. In the past week, her nerves had been strung up.
'Why?' Harry asked curiously.
'Re-elections for Minister of Magic,' Ron answered.
'Haven't you read the Daily Prophet recently?' Hermione asked Harry in surprise.
Harry shook his head, cluelessly. He knew nothing about the wizarding world while he was with the Dursleys, and the paper, usually read during breakfast, was always taken by somebody else.
'Cornelius Fudge's term will be over in a month, and although everyone thought Fudge would be re-elected, it seems that Professor Dumbledore is encouraging Mr Weasley to run for it.'
'Good,' Harry said, pleased. 'Fudge was hopeless,' he added remembering what had happened in his fourth year. Fudge was a weak leader, easily swayed by the media and public desire.
'Yeah,' Ron said moodily. 'Dumbledore forced him to.'
'Forced?' Hermione asked doubtfully.
'Well, it was more like he told Dad he can return to his old job if he really wants after the whole mess has finished, but to think of the magic community in this time of stress, or something along those lines and to think of his duty and responsibility as a wizard,' Ron corrected a little vaguely. Under the gloominess, he sounded proud though that Albus Dumbledore had such trust in his father.
'Who else is running for Minister of Magic?' Harry enquired.
The other two made faces.
'Fudge, of course, but also Lucius Malfoy,' Hermione supplied Harry with the information.
'The git,' Ron said angrily.
'We could have a Death-Eater as the Minister of Magic?' Harry said alarmed.
'Lucius Malfoy would be tough to beat,' Hermione added, concerned. 'There are so many people in his pocket.'
'And he has the money,' Harry realised, with a sinking heart.
'Yeah, well we would too if it weren't for the fact that dad was so damn obsessed with those bloody Muggle artefacts,' Ron said furiously. Hermione didn't even bother scolding his language – she felt rather strongly about this as well.
'Well even if your dad had the money, he wouldn't use it like Malfoy's dad does,' Harry pointed out reasonably. 'Your dad's decent.'
Ron gave a weak grin. 'Thanks, mate.'
As Hermione had expected, the taxis arrived just on time at Kings Cross Station, with Bill's magical interference. They bolted out and burst through the barriers onto the crowded Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Swiftly, they stowed their trunks onto the train, and finding a compartment for themselves, went back out to say good bye.
'Take care of yourselves,' Mrs Weasley said, a tear in her eye, as she hugged her children, and Harry and Hermione goodbye.
'We will, mum,' Ginny assured her.
'Don't go looking for trouble!' Mrs Weasley said firmly. 'Just do your study and Quidditch and that's it!'
'We'll try not to,' Ron said, half a smile on his face. Mrs Weasley frowned enormously, but then gave her son another hug.
'Sometimes I don't know who I worry more about, you and Harry and Hermione, or Fred and George,' she muttered. Ron, Harry and Hermione gave each other guilty grins. They didn't mean to get into trouble, unlike Fred and George.
'I'll probably see you lot soon,' Bill said as a farewell.
'Why?' Ron asked surprised. 'You never mentioned it.'
'Dumbledore just wrote yesterday. It's as part of your Defense Against the Dark Arts course. As you may expect, they've increased the amount of time put into that particular area of study,' he said ironically. He gave them a smile. 'Have some fun,' he said, and Apparated from the station.
'What'd Bill be teaching us?' Ron mused as they boarded the train quickly.
'Curse-breaking, I expect,' Hermione replied matter-of-factly. Bill had worked as a curse-breaker for Gringotts.
'That should be useful,' Harry noted.
The train began to move and they sat down in their chosen compartment.
'Blimey, Hermione,' Ron suddenly realised. 'Shouldn't you be up the front with the prefects?'
Hermione blinked, she had completely forgotten. Earlier in the holidays she had received a letter from Hogwarts telling her she had been selected as one of the fifth year prefects. She had told Harry and Ron during her stay in the Burrow, and they had been delighted for her, although they warned her that she had not better report their modifications of the school rules.
'I suppose I should,' Hermione said, reluctant to leave her friends, yet eager to find out who were the other prefects. She left them, and went towards the Prefect compartments, which were always near the front of the train.
'Hermione!' a familiar voice greeted her.
'Neville!' Hermione said, with some surprise. The round-faced boy wore a silvery prefect badge on his black robes, and appeared to have grown somewhat taller. He did not seem quite so small now for some odd reason.
'Are you going up the front?' Neville asked nervously.
Hermione was still recovering from her shock. Neville, the other Gryffindor prefect? A moment of reflection made her realise though that this was probably a very good idea on the part of the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. Making Neville a prefect might give him the confidence that he so clearly lacked.
'Yes,' Hermione answered him, and they made it swiftly to the front of the train, her curiosity growing along the way. There were twenty-four prefects in total at Hogwarts, with eight in each year (fifth to seventh). Hermione wondered who the other prefects would be, as she would obviously be working with them during the year.
She looked around now.
'Hi, Hermione,' Justin Finch-Fletchley grinned at her. Hermione smiled. Justin was quite nice, although just a little stand-offish during the whole Hufflepuff-Gryffindor rivalry last year because of the Triwizard tournament. He had been chatting to Susan Bones, another fifth year Hufflepuff. Hermione nodded sagely. That choice was probably wise, although she did not know Susan very well. The Bones were a great wizarding family, although Susan's parents had been murdered by Voldemort. She had read about them in An Appraisal of Modern Magic.
Hermione cast her eyes away from the two Hufflepuffs. She noticed, with some surprise, that Chaser Katie Bell was a Gryffindor prefect, something she had never noticed before. She recognised the fifth year Ravenclaw prefects – Mandy Brocklehurst and Ralph Davies, both of whom she liked very much. Then, her jaw dropped, as she looked at the Slytherin prefects – one she knew only by name and sight, Blaise Zabini. The other, draped indolently over a compartment seat near her, was none other than Draco Malfoy.
Maybe the shock made her react rather strongly. That is, to overreact. 'How did you get to become a Prefect?' Hermione asked coldly, as he glanced over at her with derision. 'Your father's money?'
'I'm hurt. Didn't you even consider the fact that I might have been chosen because of my merits?' Malfoy drawled.
'You?' Hermione looked disbelieving. 'Have merits?'
'Just because I'm affluently well-off doesn't mean I am completely lacking in any brains or sense whatsoever, Granger,' he said coolly. 'I am wondering how you, a Mudblood could become a Prefect. I'm sure your selection will be a great shock to the entire school, and wizarding community.'
He looked deliberately away from Hermione, to see Neville coming in. 'Longbottom?' The expression of shock and disbelief that crossed his face made Hermione feel like chuckling. 'Are you quite sure you're on the right carriage?'
'Stand up to him,' Hermione muttered encouragingly.
Neville's face held struggling, conflicting emotions – of fear, and a determination to be brave, when he relaxed suddenly, to both Hermione and Malfoy's surprise. 'Quite sure, Malfoy,' Neville said easily, doing a very good job at being brave. He hadn't finished yet though. 'Are you sure you're on the right carriage?'
The surprise faded, and disdain settled onto Malfoy's face as he turned his back purposefully on them.
'Good on you, Neville,' Hermione said, overjoyed with the usually frightened boy's suddenly courage.
Malfoy didn't back away that quickly though. 'Granger, you might want to tell the Weasel that my father was voted the most likely future Minister in a popularity poll,' Malfoy hissed softly as she went past him.
'There's still a month,' Hermione snapped back at once, defensively. 'And where was that poll taken, Malfoy?' she asked scornfully. 'Knockturn Alley?'
Malfoy's pale eyes flashed. 'I thought I had already made it clear I do not frequent that place,' he said, voice low, yet intense with feeling.
'That doesn't mean your father doesn't,' Hermione retorted.
Malfoy's pale face turned even whiter, then red. 'How would you know what my father does, Mudblood?' he spat.
'Does it matter, Pureblood?' Hermione drew the word out into an insult. They glared at each other, not breaking their angry eye contact, until a sixth year Ravenclaw Prefect behind them coughed loudly, in an attempt to move past them.
Hermione and Neville went to sit near the Hufflepuffs.
'Mum was over the moon when I became a Prefect,' Justin told them, grinning. 'The only thing that annoyed her was that she couldn't really boast about it to the family and friends she knew, because they're all Muggles and if she even mentioned that her son were a Prefect, they would ask at once "what school?" '
Hermione laughed a little. Her mother had experienced the exact same problem – any pride in her daughter's achievements had to be kept quiet or it would arouse a certain undesirable interest. She remembered the time one holiday when her mother had boasted that Hermione had come top in her grade. Her mother's friend had asked what subjects Hermione did, and what school Hermione attended. It took a bit of lying on Hermione's part to cover that up, especially when Hermione first mentioned that she attended a school her mother's friend's niece apparently attended.
'My grandmother was really happy that I became a Prefect,' Neville admitted.
'Mine too,' Susan Bones said shyly. She was a fairly short girl with two long dark brown plaits.
'Your grandmother?' Neville asked, startled.
'Yes. I live with her,' Susan said, flushing slightly.
'Oh,' Neville nodded, but his attitude towards Susan changed considerably after this incident. It appeared they had some common ground.
At about noon, Hermione realised that Neville was perfectly comfortable chatting with the two Hufflepuffs, and that she wouldn't really be missed. Having had enough of the stuffy Prefect compartments, she left them and arrived at Harry and Ron's compartment just as they were purchasing food from the food witch.
' 'ermione!' Ron said through a mouthful of pumpkin pasty. ' 'ere, 'ave one of theesh,' he tossed her another pasty which she gratefully accepted.
Harry swallowed, before speaking. 'Who were the other prefects?'
Hermione took a bite of her pasty first before answering. 'Okay, the other Gryffindor prefect is Neville –'
Bits of pasty emanated from Ron's mouth as he attempted to stop himself from laughing.
'Neville?' Ron asked incredulously.
Hermione nodded, immediately coming to the shy boy's defence. 'It's good for him, I think,' she said at once. 'He's more confident.'
'If you say so,' Ron said doubtfully.
'And then, the other houses,' she said, taking another bite of pasty. 'For Hufflepuff there's Justin Finch-Fletchley and Susan Bones, for Ravenclaw Mandy Brocklehurst and Ralph Davies and for Slytherin, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy.'
She said the last name casually, anticipating the reaction from her audience.
'What?' Ron choked on his pasty, face going purple
'Malfoy?' Harry spluttered simultaneously on his cauldron cake. He recovered more quickly. 'Please say this is some sick joke,' Harry said pleadingly while Ron coughed.
Hermione grimaced. 'It's sad, but true,' she said gravely, at the expressions of outrage on her friend's faces. She wondered then, why Harry hadn't been chosen as a Prefect. He was smart (well, relatively), brave and good. An all-round hero filled with morals. Although Hermione didn't really let Harry know, she admired Harry very much. She knew though, that admiration put him off (as in the case of the Creevey brothers), and also knew it could potentially make him rather big-headed and arrogant, which she would rather prevent at all costs.
'Malfoy can take points off people,' Ron paled with the realisation.
'I can take points off people,' Hermione pointed out.
'But you won't, will you, unless they deserve it,' Ron argued. Hermione felt rather flattered at his trust in her. 'Malfoy won't have any scruples about reducing the Gryffindor point score to nil.'
'He'd lose his Prefect position, if he abused his duties,' Hermione protested. There had to be some sort of order in the world.
'No way. Lucius Malfoy would just buy his son's way in again,' Harry said, shaking his head gloomily as if doomsday had just been announced.
Hermione thought they were overdoing it. Sure, she was not happy that Malfoy was also a Prefect, but it couldn't be that bad. 'Hey, at least it's Blaise Zabini, not Pansy Parkinson for the other Slytherin prefect,' Hermione said jokingly.
The two boys looked rather green. 'Pansy would be way worse,' Harry said fervently.
'Although, I suppose poor Pansy is upset she won't be always around her boyfriend to keep him under control,' Ron smirked, grinning. It was no secret that Pansy Parkinson openly fancied Draco Malfoy, and had, after all, succeeded in taking him to the Yule Ball last year.
'I don't think I would have been able to stand Pansy Parkinson simpering at Malfoy all throughout Prefect meetings,' Hermione added. The very thought made her shudder. How anybody could even look with vacant-eyed admiration at Malfoy was beyond her.
The train trip was surprisingly peaceful, with no interruptions at all from Malfoy and his goonies – Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Hermione supposed the reason for this peacefulness was due to Malfoy being closeted off in the stuffy prefect compartments.
Pansy Parkinson did poke her head into their compartment, asking sulkily if anyone had seen Malfoy. Hermione had to kick both Harry and Ron to keep them from sniggering out loud in the pug-faced girl's face.
The other Gryffindors visited the compartment. Ginny stopped by for a while to play a game of Exploding Snap. Seamus and Dean came knocking a couple of hours after lunch with their girlfriends (Lavender and Parvati), whereupon they spent rather a long time groaning about Malfoy's prefect-hood, the possibilities for Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, whether Snape would finally get the job, and what was going to happen with Quidditch this year. Colin Creevey came past with his little brother Dennis, causing Harry to hide behind Ron and Hermione as he shrank into the corner, trying to avoid adoration from two of his admiring fans. Fred, George and Lee Jordan came by too, but failed to entice either Harry, Ron or Hermione to test their new products. They had learnt last year to regard anything given to them by the Weasley twins with caution.
Finally, the Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade Station, and the students all piled off the train.
'Firs' years! Firs' years!' the call of Hagrid made Harry, Ron and Hermione run towards him although none of them were first years.
'Hagrid!' Harry greeted the huge gamekeeper who was part giant.
'Well, it's the lot o' ye back again,' Hagrid boomed, pleased to see them. 'Alrigh' there, Harry?' he asked, voice gentler and quieter.
Harry nodded, although Hermione shot him a concerned look. Hermione hadn't forgotten Ginny's concern about the Boy-Who-Lived, and hadn't dared to ask him anything directly lately, knowing how he hated having people fussing over him.
'Well then, I'll meet yer all at th' feast,' Hagrid beamed. 'Have t' tell yer all abou' my summer!'
The three winked at each other. They knew Hagrid had gone of somewhere during the summer with 'his Olympe,' the part-giant headmistress of Beauxbatons, a French wizarding academy.
Taking the horseless carriages, they soon arrived at Hogwarts, and hurrying inside, settled themselves comfortably on the Gryffindor table in the brightly lit Great Hall.
'I'm hungry,' Ron said, massaging his stomach.
'Big surprise,' Hermione shot back. Ron had grown a lot during the holidays, and now was more than half a head taller than Harry, who wasn't exactly short either. However, Hermione didn't bother arguing with Ron – she was too busy scanning the head table where the staff sat.
'Sinistra, Flitwick, Vector –' she muttered.
'What's up?' Harry asked, surprised.
'I want to find out who's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,' Hermione explained shortly, as she resumed her observations. Harry and Ron turned to look too.
'Fleur!' Ron exclaimed in a more than delighted tone of voice.
'Fleur Delacour?' Hermione's tone of voice on the other hand was more than a little less delighted.
'She did say she wanted to take a job here,' Ron said, grinning enthusiastically.
'She's hardly qualified,' Hermione argued. 'She's pathetic at Defence Against the Dark Arts. Look at the way she dealt with the Grindylows last year – we learnt about them in third year!'
But sure enough, Fleur Delacour was there, a confident smile on her part-Veela face. Hermione shook her head.
'No. It can't be her, and put your eyes back in your face, Ronald Weasley,' she said tartly. 'You too, Harry.'
The two boys blinked.
'It must be that old lady at the end,' Hermione said in conclusion. 'Look,' she jerked her head in the direction of her gaze.
Harry and Ron turned to look.
'Mrs Figg!' Harry said, voice one of shock.
'What?' Hermione and Ron said simultaneously.
'That's her! Mrs Figg!' Harry said, confused. 'She lives near the Dursleys and owns too many cats. She looks after me sometimes when the Dursleys go away and don't want to leave me at their home by myself. I wonder what she's doing here.' Harry's face was confused and shocked.
'Maybe she's here to babysit ickle Harrykins,' Ron joked, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
'Shut up, Ron,' Harry said, embarrassed.
'Mrs Figg, Mrs Figg …' Hermione repeated the name to herself. For some reason, it nagged at her, and then it hit her. 'Arabella Figg!' she said triumphantly.
'What?' Harry gave her an odd look.
Hermione realised she had spoken the name rather loudly, having attracted the attention of more than a few Gryffindors near them, and flushed. 'Arabella Figg,' she repeated in a lower voice. 'Remember what Dumbledore told Sirius to do at the end of the term? He told him to gather the "old crowd." Like Remus Lupin, Mundungus Fletcher and Arabella Figg.'
'That's her?' Ron asked.
'Yes,' Hermione said, nodding her head vigorously. 'I looked them up after Dumbledore mentioned them – Mundungus Fletcher and Arabella Figg. She was a very famous Auror, you know, Harry. Although she retired a couple of years after Voldemort's defeat.'
Ron gave a low whistle, impressed. 'So you had this famous Auror guarding you in Privet Drive, Harry?'
Hermione nodded. 'It looks like it. That must be why Dumbledore keeps insisting on having you staying with the Dursleys.'
Harry looked more than a little awed.
At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall opened and the new first years trooped down the centre towards the front of the hall where the Sorting Hat had been taken out. The Sorting Ceremony was about to begin.
Hermione watched, noting with interest the new little Gryffindors who she welcomed warmly in her duty as a Prefect. She couldn't help noticing that, astonishingly, Draco Malfoy was also attempting to present a friendly face to the new Slytherin students. His face was still slightly sneering, yet without malice or ill intent, and, she reflected, was probably quite welcoming for a Slytherin.
The new first years chattered and giggled nervously, and seemed suitably impressed by their female prefect, and adequately frightened of Fred and George after one of them tried the twins' now famous Canary Creams.
The Ceremony finished, and Dumbledore rose for his opening speech.
'I would like to welcome you all back to a fresh year at Hogwarts,' Dumbledore announced, a benevolent look on his face. 'I would like to remind everybody to take care of themselves this year,' he said, a little gravely.
Everybody was momentarily silent as they remembered Cedric Diggory who had died last year.
'On matters of lighter note, I would remind you that the Forbidden Forrest is out of bounds,' Dumbledore said firmly. 'Hogsmeade is too, for those below third year.'
'What's Hogsmeade?' one of the first years whispered to Hermione.
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but Fred spoke first.
'It's a slaughter house. They kill hogs there, hence the name, and then they use the hogs' blood and brains to make this alcoholic beverage,' Fred said, voice serious, eyes laughing.
'This drink, aside from being capable of making you drunk in two seconds flat, will also cause the drinker to grow the tail of a pig,' George added, as solemn as his brother.
'But it's lots of fun,' Fred finished cheerfully.
The first year's eyes, which had widened progressively, turned, terrified, back to their Headmaster, while Hermione glared at the grinning twins.
'Quidditch tournament restarts this year,' Dumbledore noted, a twinkle in his eye when cheering came from all quarters of the Hall. 'Trials for those will be during this weekend, for more details see your Housemasters.'
He paused, then smiled. 'We have two new members of staff this year to introduce. Firstly, Miss Fleur Delacour.'
As everyone looked at her, Hermione noted the number of boys who dropped empty glasses, jaws dropped, fell of their seats etc.
'Miss Delacour, as you may have remembered, spent some time here last year as a Triwizard champion. She will be an assistant professor this year at Hogwarts. I hope you will all make her welcome.'
There was clapping (and catcalls).
'Our other new member of staff is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Could you all please welcome Professor Arabella Figg.'
The students clapped, some more vigorously than others as some recognised her as the famous Auror who had gone into retirement.
Arabella Figg stood up, and smiled. She was a fairly old lady, short, with snowy white hair that was tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck, and snapping black eyes that looked extremely energetic. Those black eyes glancing around the hall found Harry, and the old lady winked. Harry grinned back at the spry old Auror. For some reason, he felt even more comforted at her presence.
Dumbledore said a few more brief words and the food appeared on the tables as the Welcome Feast began. Their fifth year at Hogwarts had truly begun.
