Breakfast the next morning was an odd affair. It should have been a happy one, given that she and Harry had just achieved something monumental, something Hermione had been painstakingly working toward since she was a first year, but after that disaster of a row last night, she was almost surprised breakfast wasn't gloomier.
Hermione and the Longbottoms were doing their best to keep conversation going—Augusta was relaying tidbits of information from Rita's latest scathing article about Fudge, and Hermione chattered on about what they'd learned at Hannah's, while Neville updated them on his flitterblooms. They'd grown large enough to be repotted soon, and both Harry and Hermione agreed to help him with the job.
But Harry was subdued, moving the eggs around his plate without seeming to eat much, and Sirius was similarly quiet, yet also antsy. He kept drumming his fingers on the table and clearing his throat.
Hermione could scarcely believe what had transpired last night. She'd known Mrs. Weasley saw herself as Harry's mother figure, and she was sure the past few months must've been an adjustment for her as Sirius was able to step into the role Harry's parents had given him when Harry was just a baby. She'd also known that Mrs. Weasley, as lovely as she usually was, could be cold and cruel, given the frosty reception Hermione had received after Rita's article. But she'd never expected that fight with Sirius.
And honestly, it wasn't just Sirius. Hermione was the first to admit that she didn't usually find Fred and George's brand of humor particularly amusing, but there was no denying that some of their creations were quite inventive. And certainly, other people did find their products to be funny. Plus, it was quite clear that they'd worked hard on this dream of theirs for years — and it wasn't even a ridiculous dream! They weren't telling their mum that they wanted to tame dragons to be family vehicles for a living. They wanted to be shopkeepers. As dreams in the wizarding world went, their ambitions were perfectly normal — one could even say mundane.
Hermione couldn't imagine how terrible she'd feel if her parents had outright dismissed her like that just because she wasn't following their plan. My god — her parents had had to adjust to the idea that their daughter was a witch when they didn't even know magic existed. Whatever dreams they'd had for her had been turned upside down the day Professor McGonagall delivered her Hogwarts letter, but her parents had embraced the change with grace.
And that crack about Azkaban — that was just… reprehensible.
She studied Sirius, who kept flicking his eyes toward Harry. Harry didn't seem to notice, his furrowed brow focused on what must by now be very cold eggs. He looked tired — though not the sort of tired that came with one of his dreams. And yet, she couldn't help but feel like this was something more than just the fight last night. Had something else happened?
"Maybe later we can go for a swim?" Neville suggested, still trying for some normalcy. "It looks like it'll be sunny all day."
Harry shrugged noncommittally. Hermione smiled at Neville.
"That sounds great," she said, and he smiled back at her, shrugging his shoulders a little. He wasn't all that sure how to make Harry and Sirius feel better either.
Neville turned to his Gran. "I tried on some of my school robes this morning, and they're a bit short," he informed her. Neville had shot up a couple of inches over the summer.
"We'll add Madame Malkin's to the list for Diagon Alley," she said, glancing at Sirius. "We'll have to coordinate with the Order for Harry's protection when he goes."
"I'm allowed to go?" Harry asked, looking up, surprised.
"Neville's not the only one who's grown this year," Augusta said, looking Harry over appraisingly.
He hadn't shot up, but he was a bit taller. And he'd certainly eaten more this summer than he probably had the last three combined. Hermione didn't usually wish violence on people, but she'd make exception for Harry's aunt and uncle.
"Besides," Neville added, "we'll need all the help we can get carrying everything. Did you get a look at the book list?"
It was longer than usual. Hermione had noticed that the Potions book was from the same series Snape had always assigned them — although that didn't necessarily mean anything. Perhaps the Board hadn't decided anything yet, or perhaps it was the preferred book series for their new teacher, too. However, whomever the new Defense teacher was had assigned a lot of books.
A new school year always excited Hermione, but when she'd seen how thorough the book list had been, she'd felt a particular thrill rush through her. Parchment, ink, essays, the way the Library smelled late at night when the fires and candles were starting to burn down. Oh, she loved every minute of it.
"There was quite a lot for Defense, wasn't there?" Hermione nodded. "Personally, I'm glad. With everything going on, it's our most important class this year."
"Ron, Fred, and George were worried Dumbledore might have given Percy the job," Harry added, looking up from his plate. Sirius' fork stopped midway to his mouth.
"Is that so?" Augusta asked, her lips quirking.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Like Percy would ever leave the Ministry," she said authoritatively. "Although it would serve Fred and George right with the way they've always treated Percy."
"Somehow I don't think the professor title would do anything to change Fred or George's actions toward Percy," Harry responded. "If anything, it'd just inspire them to go bigger."
He was probably right.
"I'm just glad we've got someone who knows what they're doing," Hermione continued. "Did you read some of those titles?"
"Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against The Dark Arts, A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter Actions, A Ridiculously Thorough History of the Dark Lord's Rise to Power," Harry rattled off.
Neville shook his head. "I've seen that last one in Flourish & Blotts," he said. "What's a history textbook doing on a Defense class list?"
"Well, it's not like we'd learn it in Binns' class, would we?" Hermione pointed out. "He was a ghost long before You-Know-Who. It's not exactly history to him."
"Still, I hope we don't spend too much time in class on it," Harry grumbled. "I'd rather actually be learning spells we can use against Voldemort."
"No, don't you see?" Hermione enthused. "I think it's brilliant!"
"Do you?" Sirius asked curiously, watching her intently.
"Of course! With You-Know-Who back, studying how he came to power the first time is imperative," Hermione exclaimed. "The disappearances, the strange happenings, studying his patterns — understanding what he might do next is just as important for defending ourselves as any spellwork."
She looked pleadingly at Harry. Didn't he understand?
"I think I've already got a pretty good idea about understanding Voldemort and what he'll do next," he said, pointing to his head and clearly referencing his dreams, "but I see your point about it being good for everyone else. Maybe if people realize, 'Gee, that sort of thing is happening now,' they'll stop being idiots about believing he's back."
"Exactly!" Hermione beamed, glad that Harry understood. "Besides, all of the other books are about practical defensive spells. I'm sure we'll get plenty of practice in too."
She nodded confidently at Harry, and he smiled — a real smile for the first time that morning — making the pixies in her stomach dance.
"I don't know if I've seen you this excited about a teacher since Lockhart," Harry said teasingly, coming out of his mood for the first time all morning.
Neville snorted, Sirius choked on his pumpkin juice, Hermione glared at Harry, and the pixies all mysteriously fell asleep.
"Ha ha," Hermione muttered, her brain warring between being happy that Harry was feeling good enough to joke and annoyed that she'd been reminded of how easily she'd been fooled by Lockhart when both Harry and Ron had seen through him straightaway. She stabbed at her eggs and chewed a bit more forcefully than usual.
"We don't even know who the new professor is," she added briskly. "I'll reserve full excitement until then."
Sirius cleared his throat for the fiftieth time that morning. "Er, actually," he announced, "it's me."
Harry's head shot up. "What?" he asked.
"Really?" Neville asked excitedly, turning toward his gran, who looked thoroughly amused. (Well, her lips were turned up in a small smile, at any rate, which counted for thoroughly amused with her.)
"Since when?"
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry demanded.
"I got official word yesterday morning—right before your letters got sent out. And I was going to tell you last night, but then… well… Anyway, I didn't want to say anything until I knew for sure, and it took the Board awhile to approve me. Apparently, a decade in Azkaban and two years as a fugitive aren't the best qualifications for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. No clue why — I'm the world's leading expert on dementors, after all."
He grinned wryly, and said it all in a very casual manner that felt anything but casual.
"You won't mind, will you?" he asked Harry, and there was a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Me tagging along to Hogwarts?"
"Are you kidding?!" Harry exclaimed. "It's brilliant!"
Sirius' smile immediately turned more genuine.
"Besides," Harry grinned, "it's not exactly the first time you've followed me to Hogwarts, is it? At least now I'll actually get to see you."
"And I'll get to walk on two legs," Sirius agreed.
He and Harry laughed, grinning at each other, these ridiculously ecstatic smiles that made Hermione's heart hurt at how easy it was to make them both happy; neither of them had really experienced all that much happiness before.
They'd have the entire year to make up for lost time — and Sirius would still be able to give Harry his private lessons, something that filled Hermione with a great sense of relief.
"I can't believe it's you," she murmured softly, almost to herself.
"Why?" Sirius asked wryly. "Can't believe I'd assign so many books?"
Well, now that he'd said it…
"You do seem to be more of a do-er than a reader," Hermione admitted.
That elicited a bark of laughter from Sirius. "Do-ers have to read, too, Hermione," he said, shaking his head. "You don't exactly become an animagus by the age of 15 without doing a bit of reading. The difference is I just never read the books I was supposed to read."
Harry grinned. "I can't wait until Fred and George realize they thought you were Percy," he laughed.
Sirius frowned. "Yeah," he murmured. "Might have to give them a bit of detention for that."
"You can't—" Hermione started to chastise, but then Sirius raised his eyebrows at her, his lips turned up in a half-smile. She wasn't sure if it had been a joke or not—that happened quite a bit with Sirius—but he definitely found her reaction amusing.
"I didn't know you were interested in teaching, Sirius," Neville piped up.
Sirius shrugged. "Honestly, I never really was," he said, "but there are perks to the job. Harry, for one. You lot, as well. Continuing our lessons. The quarters aren't as good as they are here, but they're a bit better than Azkaban. And the look on Snape's face when McGonagall suggested it — that was pure perfection."
There was a maliciously gleeful look in his eye.
"How'd it all happen?" Harry asked eagerly.
Sirius grinned, sitting back in his chair. "Remus and I were at Hogwarts, working on the maps with Flitwick," he explained, "and we all took a break for lunch with McGonagall. Snape was there at the other end of the table, staring sullenly at us over his soup. You know — the usual."
"And Professor McGonagall just suggested you go into teaching?" Hermione asked.
"No," Sirius responded. "We were talking about Fudge's educational decree. It wasn't official yet, but it seemed obvious to all of us that Fudge wanted to get his hooks into Hogwarts. Well, the only way he could is if Dumbledore failed to find a suitable teacher for one of his posts."
"But finding a decent Defense teacher is a bit hard," Neville nodded.
"Try impossible," Sirius stressed. "McGonagall told us that absolutely no one had responded to the job posts and she was at the end of her rope thinking about having to deal with Delores Umbridge or one of Fudge's other sycophants for an entire year. Said she'd just as soon put one of the ghosts in charge of teaching Defense then let that happen."
Sirius took another bite of his eggs. "Then she started eyeing me," he added, "and I thought I was back in sixth year and she'd just discovered that I'd transfigured one of the boys' bathrooms into a horse stable."
"Why'd you do that?" Hermione asked, unable to stop herself.
Sirius shrugged. "Why not?" he asked. "I was bored.
"Anyway, she started asking me all of these questions: What are your plans, Black? Have you given any thought to your future? I seem to recall you got the highest marks on all of your NEWTS, isn't that right? That's how desperate she was — I looked like a good prospect to her."
"Her mind must be going," Augusta snarked, and Sirius smiled affectionately at her.
"I like you, too," he replied cheerfully, before turning back to his story. "I thought it was all a bit of a laugh, but Remus and Flitwick were taking her seriously. And then, well, Snape looked so murderous at the idea that I just had to consider it, didn't I?"
Snape had coveted the job for years. And now, not only was he in trouble with the Board, but the person he hated most in the world had gotten his dream job.
"Snape must be livid," Neville said in a terrified yet excited sort of whisper.
"I can only imagine," Sirius laughed. "I only wish I could have seen his face when Dumbledore told him it was official."
"What did Dumbledore say when McGonagall suggested it to him?" Harry asked, sounding a bit strange when he said Dumbledore's name. Hermione furrowed her brow — did Dumbledore have to do with his bad mood?
"He was fine with it," Sirius responded. "Told me to put together book lists even though the Board hadn't approved me yet. He seemed confident the Board would agree with whatever he wanted."
"And they did," Neville said happily.
Yes, they had. And, certainly, Hermione was glad of it in this case, but she couldn't help but think back to that day in Dumbledore's office when he'd been so sure that nothing she did about Snape would work. She hoped this wasn't a bad omen on that front.
Now that they had their letters, time seemed to speed up. They did manage to get to Diagon Alley — an extremely short trip with absolutely no detours, and about a dozen Order members watching over Harry — and Hermione excitedly packed (and repacked) her trunk about ten times over.
And yet, as much as she wanted to get back to school and learning and the rest of their friends, she knew she'd miss this place. She and Harry spent as much time as they could in the secret garden, and when they were in there, everything seemed to stand still.
There were times when there was no war, no You-Know-Who, no training, no house elf slaves, no rows with Mrs. Weasley, no worry about her parents. There was just Harry's arm solidly around her shoulder as they swung on the tree swing, and Harry's lips on hers urging her to just enjoy the moment for once in her life, and the sweet scent of him mixed with the aroma of flowers, fresh grass, and the aftermath of rain.
And when the real world did creep in, it felt a little less scary somehow. Harry cheered up a bit once he learned Sirius would be going back to Hogwarts with them, but over the next couple of days, it became apparent to Hermione that there was something wrong.
He didn't say anything — which was so infuriatingly like him — until one evening when they were in the garden. They were lying on a patch of grass amidst lavender bushes, gardenias, magnolias, and some bramble Hermione couldn't identify, staring up at the dusky sky through the branches of the Wiggentree. She felt the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the circles he was absentmindedly tracing on her forearm, but most of all, she felt the hesitation in him.
"What's wrong?" she asked, still looking up to the sky. She'd found that he found it easier to tell her things when he didn't have to look at her — or anyone.
"Nothing's wrong," Harry lied.
"Something's been off since the prefect party," she pushed. She could tell Harry had started to open his mouth to respond, and added, "And don't tell me it's that fight between Sirius and Mrs. Weasley because I know it's more than that."
Harry was quiet for a few minutes more, while Hermione silently held her breath, mentally urging him to confide in her.
"Dumbledore didn't want me to be prefect," he finally said.
Hermione stilled, unsure she'd heard him correctly. She shot up into a sitting position, looking down at him.
"That's ridiculous!" she said. "Where on earth did you ever get an idea like that?"
Harry sat up too, crossing his arms dejectedly across his bent knees, staring at the lavender bush as he spoke. He told her about the conversation he overheard at Grimmauld Place, and with every word, Hermione felt anger course through her veins.
"If Dumbledore really said that, he must've had reasons we don't understand, but it can't be that he doesn't think you can do it. You're obviously the best choice," she finally declared. "We must be missing something!"
"Like what?"
"Well…"
Hermione grasped for anything that made sense. "He knew that Sirius would be at Hogwarts and he knows about your lessons. Maybe he thought you'd want to focus on that instead of being prefect."
That certainly made more sense than Dumbledore thinking Ron or Neville or Seamus or Dean would make a better prefect than Harry.
"Maybe," Harry said, and she could hear a hint of hopefulness in his response. She wouldn't presume to know what was going through Dumbledore's mind, but she knew Harry was the right choice. He was certainly her choice.
"That must be it, Harry," she said confidently, laying her hand on his forearm and giving it a comforting squeeze.
"Your logic is very sound," he agreed. "It always is."
Hermione smiled and shifted closer, taking his hands in hers.
"Which is why you should tell me when things are bothering you, instead of letting them fester," she chided him softly.
Harry looked down. "I didn't want you to know," he admitted, his voice low.
"Why not?"
"I didn't want you thinking that… maybe Dumbledore was right."
It was getting dark now and she couldn't quite see his face, but she could hear the tremble — the slight fear — in his voice. It struck her how much her opinion meant to him. She knew she was important to him, but she'd never really considered that Harry wanted to impress her. It was flattering and endearing and all a bit mind blowing.
Hermione leaned in closer, taking Harry's face in her hands.
"I told you that you deserved to be prefect and I meant it," she said firmly. "Nothing anyone says or doesn't say or might have said — and that includes Dumbledore — will ever change how much I believe in you. You earned that."
Harry let out a breath.
"What are you thinking?" she asked hurriedly.
"That I've wasted the past few days worrying over what Dumbledore thought when it's not even his opinion that matters."
Hermione blushed. "Well, then, you'll just have to take my word for it that you'll be a brilliant prefect," she said decisively.
"You're right about just about everything else," Harry murmured, his face getting closer to hers.
Hermione raised her eyebrow. "Just about?"
"Well, there was that Lockhart business," Harry teased.
Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Harry captured her lips with his, his tongue making a persuasive argument of its own.
Well. Maybe it wasn't always important to get the last word.
As September 1 quickly approached, it became more and more apparent that change was coming. Augusta seemed to be pricklier than usual, and Hermione couldn't blame her. She and Neville had gotten used to having more people in the house, and with Sirius' new position, they'd all be leaving her and Diggy behind. Hermione imagined the house would feel even more isolated than usual after the summer they'd all had.
Diggy seemed to deal with her feelings about everyone leaving with excessive baking. Every morning, Neville, Harry and even Hermione, whom Diggy liked least, woke up to increasingly large cakes on their nightstands.
It's no wonder Neville had always been a bit overweight if this was Diggy's usual response to his impending absence. Of course, a summer of swimming and his recent growth spurt had helped out a bit with that. He was still sturdily built, but had lost some of his plumpness.
Neville seemed to relish the cakes and when Harry and Hermione returned from their routine visits to the garden, often found him in the kitchen with Diggy, rolling dough, mixing flour, and discussing the spells Sirius had taught them that day in the Auror room. Once, the day Neville had had a bit of trouble deflecting the Antler Jinx, Diggy regaled Neville with tales of the Christmas his father had spent entirely in antlers because he'd had a similar bit of trouble, and Neville's grandfather had thought it was a bit of a laugh and a good learning experience to leave him that way for a while.
Neville seemed positively delighted by the story. Hermione wondered if it was just because it gave him something in common with his dad, or because he rarely (if ever) heard a story that showed his dad was imperfect.
In anticipation of leaving the house for months, Neville took Harry and Hermione up to the attic to speak with Charles Longbottom, so Hermione could interrogate him about absolutely everything he knew about Magnus Smith and Tiberius Abbott. Charles Longbottom was a thin-faced man with an exceedingly bulbous nose who very clearly liked to hear himself talk, was annoyed he had been sent up to the attic for more than a decade, and was going to milk his newfound popularity for all it was worth.
Still, as self-important as he could be, he loved hearing his own voice and gave Hermione quite a bit of information about both men, whom Charles described as being "jovial, empty-headed fellows who lacked both bravery and the sense to serve their own best interests."
They were still discussing their conversation with Charles when they repotted the flitterblooms in the greenhouse.
"Did you hear what he was saying about how he came back from Easter break sixth year, and that's when Magnus Smith started bragging all about his new discovery? The timeline lines up with the part of the journal that was ripped out," Hermione said excitedly, as she scooped additional dirt into her pot, patting it down as she went.
"And Hannah wrote to me to let me know that she found Rosalind Abbott's journals," she continued. "She's Tiberius' cousin. They were quite close—he referenced her a lot in his earlier journals—and she's been going through them to see if Rosalind says anything."
"That's great," Harry said, nodding. "And once we get back to Hogwarts we can do the searching ourselves."
Neville moved one of his flitterblooms into a new pot, holding it in place as he added more soil. It occurred to Hermione that they could have just used magic to make the pots bigger, but Neville seemed to like the cyclical repetitive nature of the work.
"What happens when we find the office?" he asked quietly.
Hermione furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?" she asked. "We look to see if Helga Hufflepuff knew about the origins of the house elves so we can free them properly."
She thought they were very clear on this. Wasn't that why they started the whole quest in the first place?
"Right, but then what happens?" Neville asked, still not looking up from his pot.
Hermione looked helplessly toward Harry, but he appeared confused as well.
"Then… the elves are free and are no longer subject to reprehensible treatment and punishment they don't deserve," Hermione responded.
"But then what will the house elves do?" Neville asked. "Just go on doing the same work, only now for wages? Run off en masse because they're so disgusted by wizards and they don't want to be around any of us? Be so angry they start a war with us?"
"Well… I don't know," Hermione said slowly. "I imagine that would depend on what we find out about them. And once we know that, we'll know how to proceed. But finding out is the first step. Where is this coming from? I thought you wanted to free the elves?"
She couldn't help the slight accusing tone in her last question.
"I do," Neville said fiercely, blushing as he looked up at her and Harry. "I just… want to know what happens when we do."
There was no way they could possibly know what would happen. Hermione doubted very much they'd find out something that would make her not want to free the elves. Short of finding out they were all homicidal maniacs intent on destroying all life if left in their natural state—something she doubted very much given how sweet and good Dobby and Diggy were—she'd do what it took to free the elves. But they just didn't know anything yet. That was the point—they had to find out.
"You're not worried about what all of the house elves will do, are you?" Harry asked perceptively. "Just the one?"
Neville blushed.
Hermione felt like an idiot. Diggy was a part of Neville's family. She was his very first friend, and he didn't want to lose her. Hermione had been so focused on her mission and her excitement over Charles Longbottom that she hadn't seen the very obvious truth of what exactly Neville was worried about losing.
Harry knew precisely what it felt like to lose that first friend—even if his separation from Ron had only been a few months—so of course he understood.
"Diggy's not going anywhere," Harry said quietly, as he picked up his finished pot to move it to the other workstation. "If that's what you're worried about. Whatever we find out, we know the bond doesn't make someone your friend. Kreacher hates Sirius, and Dobby hated the Malfoys. So the reasons why Diggy's happy here with you—it's not the bond. Even without it, she'd stay."
"Harry's right," Hermione nodded vigorously. "I don't know how the world is going to change, I don't know if the house elves will be vengeful or forgiving or ambivalent, but I do know Diggy. She wants to be here. And if we convinced your gran to give her clothes today, she'd still be here tomorrow."
"Right," Neville nodded, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. "I was being a bit stupid, wasn't I?"
No, not stupid. Hermione had been so focused on the next step, that she hadn't really thought beyond that. Freeing the house elves did have the potential to completely upend wizarding society. And while she was perfectly fine with that in theory, there could be far-reaching consequences they couldn't even dream of.
She watered her plant, wondering if they'd ever just have normal problems.
The platform for the Hogwarts Express was its usual chaos on September 1. Augusta, Sirius, and Remus—who had arrived at the Manor before breakfast that morning to help bring them to Kings Cross—were all surveying the crowd closely. Hermione spotted a disguised Moody skulking around, and once, Tonks waved at her. Amos Diggory was also clearly part of Harry's guard. Cedric had already boarded, but his dad was lingering about the platform, looking around curiously.
Remus frowned as he swiveled around. "I don't see Sturgis anywhere," he murmured.
"Maybe he got held up?" Sirius offered. "It better be important or Moody will have his head."
"Even if he's lying on the ground, half-dead somewhere, Moody will still have his head," Remus remarked. Hermione didn't want to think about the fact that with You-Know-Who back, there was a very real possibility that that's exactly where Sturgis Podmore was.
"Be careful what you write," Augusta told Neville as she handed Trevor off to him. "Remember that anything can be intercepted."
"Right," Neville nodded.
"Now you lot better get on the train," Augusta ordered, handing off the ridiculously long scarf she had been knitting every time she'd spied Harry and Hermione alone in the house together to Sirius. It was folded now, but it was twice as tall as Neville.
Sirius eyed it curiously. "Just how long do you think my neck is?" he asked, his bewilderment obvious.
Augusta gave him the evil eye. "It gets cold in Scotland," she said gruffly. "Wrap it around a time or two."
"Or two dozen," Sirius muttered under his breath, but he smiled affectionately at her as they said goodbye.
As they approached the train, Hermione caught sight of the Weasleys. Frankly, they were a bit hard to miss.
"Don't forget to write!" Molly called. "And Ginny, don't forget the lunch I packed!"
She handed Ginny a package, and Hermione watched Ginny and Ron disappear onto the train. Fred and George were pulling their trunks onto the train, and Hermione couldn't help but notice that they'd put all of their family members between them and Molly. Bill caught sight of their group and waved them over.
"Hello," Mrs. Weasley said with a polite coldness toward Augusta and Sirius. Hermione imagined Order meetings hadn't been particularly pleasant since the Prefect Party.
"Hello," Augusta responded in similar fashion.
"Here, Harry, let me help you with those," Fred said, indicating that Harry should start passing up their trunks. Bill took Hermione's from her and passed it to George.
"Hang on," George said, looking down at their group. "You've got an extra."
"Sirius is coming with us," Harry grinned. "He's the new Defense teacher."
Fred's jaw dropped. So did Mrs. Weasley's, but for an entirely different reason.
"All those months sitting in that cursed house of yours, and you didn't think to give us this bit of good news?" Fred asked accusingly.
"Sorry," Sirius said, not sounding sorry at all. "But I had to tell Harry first."
"Look at that, Fred," George exclaimed. "Class might not be completely worthless after all!"
"You're teaching at Hogwarts?" Molly asked faintly.
"Yes," Sirius responded in a clipped tone, and he couldn't keep a hint of childish resentment out of his tone. "As it turns out, Dumbledore does think I'm trustworthy when it comes to some things. Imagine that."
It was a petulant, bitter retort that Mrs. Weasley responded to with a huffy sigh.
Neville and Hermione glanced at each other.
"Right, we'd better be off then," Neville said hurriedly. "Harry and Hermione shouldn't be late to the prefect meeting."
"Not the precious prefect meeting!" Fred gasped in mock horror.
"Leave them," Sirius warned, but there was no bite to it where the twins were concerned.
Soon enough, they'd all boarded the train. Sirius informed them he'd be up front with the trolley witch, but he'd be on patrol later. He seemed determined to make sure that, despite his presence, Harry had as normal a Hogwarts experience as possible.
As he walked away, a third year in an open compartment gasped. "What's Sirius Black doing on the train?" she cried, and two of her friends poked their head into the corridor to see his retreating back.
"Ignore them," Neville told Harry, who wasn't looking too charitably at the girls.
"I hear he likes to eat third years," Fred said loudly, and one of the third years turned to him, a terrified expression on her face, before ducking back in her compartment.
"You shouldn't have done that!" Hermione chastised. "Sirius will have a hard enough time with people adjusting to him being at Hogwarts."
Fred shrugged. "She was a duffer," he responded. "She'd have to be to believe that. What does she think he is, the Ogre of Giggleswick? But if you'd like to take points off, go ahead. I'm sure you'll make them all up by the time your first class is over."
"Oh, just go find a compartment," Hermione said irritably.
Fred, George, and Neville headed toward the back of the train, while Harry and Hermione headed in the opposite direction. They arrived at the prefects carriage just as the train started moving, and found it was already mostly full. Hermione saw the other Gryffindor prefects—Blakely, McPherson, Shah, and Ellis—as well as Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil. Davey Willis was holding court with some of the other seventh years, and Hermione felt immense satisfaction at not seeing the Head Boy badge on his robes.
"Hermione! Harry! Over here!" Hannah called, waving them over. Hermione smiled at the amiable blonde, who was sharing a table with Ernie.
"Congratulations!" he greeted them heartily.
"You too," Harry replied, setting Hedwig's cage down on the table and plopping in a chair next to Hermione. He ignored the whispers he'd garnered as soon as he walked into the carriage. Hermione was buoyed by the fact that she didn't hear "nutter" or "crazy" or anything similar.
"Hey, look!" Harry whispered in Hermione's ear, nudging her in the direction of some of the Slytherin prefects. Pansy Parkinson was sitting with the sixth year prefects, her usual sour look on her face. But sitting next to her was Theodore Nott.
"I know!" Hannah whispered excitedly. "We were shocked, too. I can't believe Snape didn't pick Malfoy."
"How did that happen?" Hermione whispered. When Harry overheard Hestia Jones talking about the heads of houses picking the prefects, she confirmed Snape was in the meeting. And Hannah was right—Malfoy was a favorite of Snape's.
The meeting was relatively short. Cedric and Rebecca Ellerby, the Ravenclaw seventh year who had been named Head Girl, told them about their duties—prefect rounds, do's and don'ts for giving out detentions, schedules. Hannah and Hermione both took copious notes in their planners, though it was mostly unnecessary, since Rebecca handed out guidelines after.
And once the meeting broke up and most of the prefects dispersed, Cedric was able to give them a bit more insight into the Malfoy situation.
"Do you think maybe the inquiry about Snape had something to do with it Ernie?" Hannah asked. "I just can't believe Snape went with Nott."
Cedric, who had come over to say hello, rubbed the back of his neck.
"Er, yeah, I might have had something to do with that," he said, looking quite pleased with himself. "I may have written to Professor Sprout at the beginning of the summer to tell her about that incident on the train."
He was referring, of course, to Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle triumphantly telling them how You-Know-Who would soon be coming after the mudbloods and blood traitors.
"I may have told her that I didn't see how anyone who held views like that could be expected to hold a position of authority at Hogwarts, and as Head Boy, I wouldn't want them as one of my prefects," Cedric said. "I know it doesn't really solve anything. Half those Slytherin prefects think the same way, but Malfoy's always shooting his mouth off."
"He's definitely the worst of the bunch," Harry agreed.
"Anyway, I wasn't sure it would do anything, but my dad says with all of this attention on Snape, he can't afford to put a toe out of line," Cedric added. "So I doubt he wanted to waste any effort that could go toward saving himself for the likes of Draco Malfoy."
"Nott's dad was one of the one's who claimed to be under the Imperius during the last war, wasn't he?" Ernie murmured.
"Yeah," Cedric nodded, "so I doubt Nott's much better than Malfoy. But he doesn't go around shouting those views the way Malfoy does, so maybe there's a chance he's a bit better."
Hermione wasn't certain she'd ever heard Nott say as many as a dozen words at a time. Regardless, she'd rather have to deal with him than Malfoy any day of the week.
Once Harry, Hermione, Hannah, and Ernie found Neville—he was sharing a compartment with Luna—they all agreed that their year would be much better indeed without Malfoy having any power at all.
The rest of the trip was uneventful and Hermione was glad for it. She and Harry patrolled the corridors a couple of times and Sirius stopped by to say hi once. Hannah, Ernie, and Luna were quite curious about that, and were surprised to learn he'd be teaching Defense.
Well, Hannah and Luna were surprised. Ernie got a very important look on his face, telling them his grandfather had told him Dumbledore had found them an exceptional teacher, and once Neville told the others the sorts of things Sirius had taught him this summer, both Ernie and Hannah looked relieved.
"We've actually had halfway decent teachers the past couple of years," Hannah said. "And with this year being an OWL year… I know there are more important things than that, but I was really hoping we wouldn't go back to duds."
Hermione wondered how Sirius would respond to being called "not a dud."
But Hannah and Luna weren't the only ones in for a surprise. When they sat down at the opening feast, the staff table looked quite different. Sirius was seated next to McGonagall, and the two were in what looked like a very serious conversation, completely oblivious to the hum in the Great Hall as everyone realized the notorious Sirius Black was among their number.
Snape was there, much to Harry and Hermione's disappointment, looking as though he'd rather be getting branded with hot pokers than sit at the same table as Sirius Black.
Hagrid was missing, which Hermione was not surprised by. Remus had told them that he was still on his mission, that a Professor Grubbly-Plank would be substituting for him, and they were not to ask any questions or publicly draw attention to Hagrid's absence.
It was a losing battle obviously. Everyone noticed the absence of a half-giant who'd been an institution at Hogwarts for more than 50 years.
But there was another new face at the staff table, aside from Grubbly-Plank and Sirius—a rather large man in lavish, old-fashioned robes, who was heartily regaling Professor Vector with some story as he drank copiously from his goblet.
"Who's that?" Hermione whispered to Harry and Neville, and they got their answer when Dumbledore made his speech after they'd eaten. First he'd told them about the Forbidden Forest, as he usually did, and then he told them about Filch's reminder that magic is not permitted in the corridors—their four-hundredth-and-sixty-second reminder—and then he'd turned to the staffing changes.
"I'm pleased to welcome Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be teaching Care of Magical Creatures, and Professor Black, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore announced.
There was a hushed whisper amongst the crowd, though quite a bit of enthusiastic clapping from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Neville all banged their goblets against the table, and George set off yellow and gold sparks in the air, earning an amused smile from Dumbledore and a scowl from Snape. Sirius surveyed the students with a bored, haughty sort of expression on his face, but when his gaze reached them, he winked.
"I'd also like to welcome back Professor Slughorn," Dumbledore continued, indicating the portly man who had been talking with Professor Vector. "He's an old colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post teaching Potions."
Hermione's heart nearly stopped. She felt victory surge in her veins, which only increased when Harry shot her a proud smile. But it still didn't really make sense—Snape was sitting up there, too, and he didn't look particularly bothered by Slughorn's presence.
"Professor Snape will also be continuing in the role of Potions Master as well as Head of Slytherin House," Dumbledore continued. "In recognition of the fact that Potions classes benefit from small class sizes, and the fact that each year brings more students to Hogwarts than the year before, I've decided that two professors were necessary. Those of you who have read Hogwarts, A History will know that this was a common practice here at Hogwarts when class sizes called for it."
That much was true. For years, each of the core subjects had multiple teachers, but that hadn't really been necessary in recent years. Most people held off on having kids during the first war, so during Hermione's first year at Hogwarts, class sizes had been at their lowest levels in centuries. With You-Know-Who's defeat the year Ginny's class was born, the wizarding world had gone back to having children, and that was reflected in the class sizes of the first, second, and third years.
Of course, it would be awhile before the population really recovered. And now the war had started all over again, so who knew what would happen to them all.
"I wonder how they're going to divide up the classes," Neville whispered.
"Well, they've got to give us Slughorn, haven't they?" Harry asked. "That was the whole point of this, wasn't it?"
"I just wish we'd actually gotten rid of Snape," Hermione muttered.
Harry and Neville stared at her in amazement.
"We won't have to have classes with him, Hermione," Neville pointed out. "That's huge."
"You won," Harry added. "Enjoy it."
And Hermione did—until she found herself alone with Lavender and Parvati in their dorm room. Lavender was busy unpacking her trunk, while Parvati sat in front of a large stack of maroon jumpers.
"Are those Ron's?" Hermione asked quizzically, recognizing Mrs. Weasley's handiwork.
"Yeah," Parvati explained, picking one up. "Last year, he asked me to do a color-switching spell on them. Apparently, Dean told him that I'm really good at them. Anyway, he asked me to switch them back at the end of the year, so his mother wouldn't see what he'd done, and now he wants me to reverse it again."
"That's sort of sweet, isn't it?" Lavender commented, sitting on her bed and clutching her pillow. "That he didn't want his mum to be hurt that he didn't like her gift?"
Hermione privately thought Ron had mostly been trying to save himself the headache of Mrs. Weasley's reaction, but certainly, a part of him likely wanted to spare her feelings.
"Yes," Hermione agreed.
And it all would have been fine if the conversation had ended there, but Lavender had then eyed Hermione hungrily. And then came the barrage of questions: How was your summer? Did you spend a lot of time with Harry? Has Harry told you anything more than what was in the article last June? What are your thoughts on this fight between Dumbledore and Fudge?
It was quite clear that Lavender had thoughts about the veracity of Harry and Dumbledore's story, which thoroughly annoyed Hermione.
"Do you honestly think Harry's lying about You-Know-Who?" she finally snapped. "You certainly seemed to believe him about everything at the end of last year!"
When Harry had returned to Gryffindor Tower after the Tournament, Dean had asked him about Rita Skeeter's article, and he, Seamus, Lavender, and Parvati had all seemed to accept what Harry said as true. They didn't call him a liar at any rate, but maybe they had still just been processing what they'd read. She hoped that didn't mean they all thought Harry was lying.
Lavender blinked owlishly at her. "Oh no, of course not lying," she exclaimed. "But, well, it's not like he knows what You-Know-Who looks like, does he? And that description he gave doesn't exactly fit the description of You-Know-Who back in the seventies. And, well, Harry did say that they used the Cruciatus Curse on him. After all that torture, he was probably confused and scared. Of course his memories might be a bit mixed up."
"And Dumbledore?" Hermione asked stonily. "Are his memories jumbled too?"
"Well, he's a bit off his rocker isn't he?" Lavender asked defensively.
Apparently, Fudge's propaganda machine was working.
"So your belief is that Dumbledore is some nutter who made up You-Know-Who's return and Harry was so emotionally and physically distraught, he just believed Dumbledore?" Hermione asked in disbelief.
"Well, it makes more sense than You-Know-Who being back!" Lavender snapped angrily.
Hermione whirled on Parvati. "And you? What do you think?"
Parvati continued turning one of Ron's maroon jumpers navy. "If I believed Harry killed a giant snake, why wouldn't I believe him about this?" Parvati asked mildly, not looking up from her work. "My parents think it's only a matter of time before Fudge is forced to resign."
Hermione shot Lavender a victorious sort of look.
"Besides," Parvati added, "the way I see it, if Hermione 'doesn't believe anything unbelievable can happen even though she goes to a school for magic' Granger can believe Dumbledore, it's got to be true, hasn't it?"
Hermione didn't think that was a particularly fair assessment of her, but Parvati and Lavender had really never gotten over Hermione's disdain for divination.
Lavender rolled her eyes. "That's not a particularly good argument. She always believes Harry and Dumbledore," she said, watching Parvati's spellwork. "You should really make that a lighter blue. It'll match his eyes better."
"Thanks, Lavender," Parvati murmured.
Hermione shook her head at their ability to just go back to talking about jumpers. At least Parvati supported Harry. But if even Lavender, who knew Harry for years, had her doubts, they were definitely in for a rough year.
Hermione sighed, pulling back the covers on her bed, suddenly not as enthused for the start of classes tomorrow.