A/N: I said I was going to start trying to make an update schedule then blew it out of the water. I'm sorry lol I'll do better tomorrow. I need to upload a few chapters so that if I get caught like I did today, I can do it from my phone. So without further ado!

-0-

When Albus stood up for the second time that evening in the Great Hall, Harry had a terrible feeling growing in his stomach. Minerva wouldn't look at him and Albus was downright avoiding the whole Gryffindor table. He was angry and upset and hurt but somehow, beyond all of that, Harry knew deep down that it was more to do with the woman in the pink cardigan sitting up there at the Head Table.

"That's Umbridge," Harry muttered. "She works for Fudge."

"Really?" Hermione asked, looking at him suddenly. "But, that would mean that -"

She broke off as Albus started his usual beginning of the year warnings about the Forest and Filch's request for contraband not to be used. He sat up promptly when Albus announced the staff changes and Hermione groaned as he announced the Umbridge woman was going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"This is bad," Harry muttered, unable to take his eyes off Minerva. "Máthair is really not happy."

"Would you be?" Ron shot back, nudging him and nodding up to the lectern where Umbridge had just interrupted Dumbledore to stand up and talk.

"No," Harry shook his head as the insipid woman started talking. "I mean this is really bad."

"Hem-Hem. Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome."

Harry sniggered, looking at the top table and feeling Minerva's annoyance at the interruption. He muttered to Hermione and Ron what Minerva was feeling, and they both giggled before tuning back in as the woman's tone of voice changed a little. Harry couldn't help but frown as she spoke.

"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."

Harry winced as a particularly strong stab of anger caught him in the chest. He rubbed the scar under his shirt while Umbridge went on, trying to catch his máthair's attention, but resolved simply to deal with it. She droned on and on until she lost the whole room and people started talking amongst themselves while she spoke, apparently oblivious to the lack of concentration. It was only her final words that registered with Harry and suddenly he began to understand Minerva's ire.

"Some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what must be preserved, perfecting what can be perfected and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited!"

"Well that was interesting," Hermione growled once the toad-like woman had sat down and Dumbledore started talking again.

"Was it?" Ron said, looking wary.

"Weren't you listening?" She shook her head. "Harry was, weren't you?"

"Progress for progress' sake must be discouraged?" Harry offered.

"Pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited," Hermione nodded.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, clearly not getting it at all.

"I'll tell you what it means," Hermione said, glancing around to see that quite a few other people were listening as well. "The Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts."

-0-

Harry yawned widely as he got ready for bed. The chance to see Minerva had not arisen and all he wanted to do was curl up in her arms and sleep for the next week. He'd tried not to be jealous, again, as Ron and Hermione went about their prefect duties, but seeing the other prefects in the hall had only made it harder. How had people like Ernie MacMillan managed to score a prefect badge when Albus hadn't deemed him worthy of one?

It was clear that Albus was punishing him. He had no idea what it was that he had done, perhaps something he couldn't remember doing. It was causing no end of hurt in his heart at the thought, but he couldn't see Albus to ask about it, even if he wanted to. The man was like smoke.

The whole atmosphere in the common room hadn't helped either. Seamus' mother's opinion of him gave him a very good idea of what he would face come class time. He understood better the looks he'd been getting since sitting down to dinner. It seemed as though Rita Skeeter's smear campaign had worked. The propaganda suggesting that he was crazy and that Voldemort had not returned had been very effective and he wondered how life was going to be from now on. The spat he and Seamus had over it hadn't been good and had only dissolved thanks to Neville taking his side and quoting his grandmother.

Thank Merlin for Mrs Longbottom.

"Hey," Ron said sometime later. "Alright?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding for Ron to join him behind the curtains around his bed. "Did you know about Albus?" he nodded towards the closed curtains of Seamus's bed. He'd said some pretty wild things about their headmaster.

"Nah," Ron shook his head. "Had no idea. He really only spoke to us to tell us not to write."

Harry let Ron squirm for a moment before letting him off the hook.

"I'm not crazy," he muttered.

"I know," Ron grinned. "Well, no crazier than Loony Lovegood."

They laughed and laughed until someone told them to shut it, and Harry punched Ron in the arm, the feelings of jealousy and betrayal evaporating in the wake of his friendship.

"Thanks, mate," he said roughly.

"'Night Harry."

He lay back down and sighed looking at the ceiling above him. The day had not gone as he'd planned and he hated the fact that he couldn't just race up to Minerva and say hello. The woman from the Ministry worried him, or more accurately, the anger Minerva felt while the woman was talking worried him. He stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours before he heard one of the stairs squeaking. He listened hard for more noise but frowned when he heard nothing else. Disappointed, he dropped his head back to the bed and settled in for a night of insomnia. A little while later, he felt the bed dip and he looked down to his feet. He beamed when a tabby cat sat up, shimmered before his eyes and transformed into his máthair. He hugged her tightly, and opened his mouth to speak, frowning when she cupped his face and shushed him gently.

"Later my love," she whispered. "There'll be time for this later. I have you." Snuggling down into her side, he breathed in her smell and revelled in her arms around him. "Tha gaol agam ort mo mhac [I love you my son]," she whispered, her voice following him into his dreams. "Cadal sàmhach [sweet dreams]."