Back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, everyone was positively giddy with relief that Hermione and Harry had been fully acquitted after their trial.

Ron grinned hugely, spreading his hands wide. "Couldn't very well expel you after seeing those memories, now could they?"

Hermione tried to return his smile, managing only a rather lopsided grimace.

After lunch, Hermione joined Harry and Ron in their room, finding a small respite from the emotional toil of the day as they lay in a horizontal row atop Harry's bed, staring at the grungy ceiling. Harry filled Ron in about the door he'd recognised at the Ministry.

"Are you going to tell Dumbledore?" Ron asked from her left.

"Maybe," Harry answered on the other side of Ron. "I was thinking I'd ask Sirius first. Dumbledore wants to keep his distance, so I probably won't have a chance to speak with him directly."

Later, when Ron had run downstairs to see if there were any helpings of pudding leftover from lunch, Harry turned his head to look at her.

"So… what were those Memory Charms for?" he asked quietly.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She knew he'd been waiting to ask until they were alone. With a sigh, she pushed herself to a sitting position and contemplated her answer, swinging her legs back and forth where they dangled from the side of the bed. Harry sat up, too, studying her with a wrinkled brow.

A resigned breath pushed past her lips. "They were f—" Hermione broke off with a strangled sound, her tongue fixed firmly to the roof of her mouth. Lips writhing, she tried again. "I needed them t—" she cut off with a vexed sound this time as her tongue resisted, making comprehensive speech impossible.

Right. She'd forgotten about the curse.

Harry ran his knuckles under his chin, looking thoughtful. "Dumbledore said you couldn't say, right?" She nodded. "Is it something he asked you to do?" She shook her head.

Harry frowned. "Is it something to do with why you were staying with Mrs. Figg?"

Hermione met his eyes. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded.

"Two separate and complex Memory Charms…" Harry mouthed almost silently, repeating Fudge's words as he fit together the pieces. Through his eyes, she saw the precise moment that understanding dawned.

"Your parents?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she whispered, relieved to be able to confirm it out loud.

Harry passed a hand over his face, looking pained. "Merlin, Hermione. I'm so sorry. If I'd known…"

Hermione lifted the corner of her mouth. "If you'd known, you'd only have been giving me that horribly pitiful look a few weeks sooner."

He didn't respond to her jest, instead shaking his head slowly. "This is my fault, all of this. I shouldn't have let you—"

"Shouldn't have let me what, Harry? Be friends with you? Merely exist in a world bent on erasing me and others like me from it entirely? Don't be ridiculous. This is as much your fault as it is Ron's fault that the Churley Cannons finished at the bottom of their league again last year—"

Harry groaned miserably. "Chudley Cannons—"

Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, but the point remains. This is not your fault, Harry. It's Voldemort's. His and all the people that support him and his ideas. "

Harry gave a brief twist of his lips, then sighed. "Speaking of, I wonder what Malfoy and Nott were really doing down there at the Ministry. Yeah, maybe Fudge did ask to meet with them, but I doubt he takes his meetings down in those courtrooms." A look of horror washed over his features. "Hermione… what if they are planning to get through that door?"

Ron walked back in, then, pulling his thumb from his mouth with a pop. "Who's trying to get through it?"

Harry told Ron about their encounter with the elders Malfoy and Nott after the trial. Ron's eyes widened. "Mate, we need to tell Sirius right now."

In agreement, they thundered down the stairs, past a bewildered Ginny and Luna, looking for Sirius. They found him in the drawing room, attacking a particularly mouldy-looking sofa with a rag doused in Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover.

He didn't look up at their noisy entrance, but continued scrubbing at a spot that looked suspiciously like blood. "I tell you, this house gets more filthy every day," he grumbled. "Never thought I'd have to wallow in it again. I doubt it will ever be fit to—" he cut off, looking around as Ron kicked the door shut behind them.

"Sirius," Harry began, "after our hearing, Malfoy and Nott were hanging around the courtrooms."

Sirius set down the rag, dusting his hands as he took in their worried expressions. "Yes, Arthur mentioned that you ran into them."

Harry pressed on. "Remember what I told you about what Dumbledore said to me? About how I'm sometimes seeing stuff that Voldemort's thinking about?"

Sirius's face darkened. "I remember. And I still think it's a mistake to let Snape of all people teach you Occlumency—"

"Yeah," Harry cut in, "but while we were down there for the trial, I recognised a door. I'm certain that Voldemort wants something that's behind it."

Hermione held her breath, waiting for Sirius's reaction. To her surprise, Sirius didn't look surprised. He hooked his thumbs behind the loops on his trousers, studying the floor. When he looked up at Harry, his expression was torn.

"Yes," Sirius said finally.

"Yes?" Harry repeated incredulously. "That's it?"

Sirius sighed. "Yes. The Order is aware of that particular knowledge."

Harry spluttered indignantly. "So what does he want? What are we going to do about it?"

Sirius dropped to sit on the arm of the sofa, raising his hands to brush back the long strands of wavy dark hair that fell over his face. Then he crossed his arms, looking between the three of them.

"As you already know, Voldemort is keeping to the shadows right now. Not wanting to draw attention to himself. He's quietly gathering followers and trying to build himself an army again. And, by refusing to believe you and Dumbledore, the Ministry is certainly making Voldemort's job easier by keeping the whole thing under wraps for him. Apart from that, we only have suspicions about his motives."

Sirius hesitated before continuing. "We believe he's after something down there. Something like… a weapon. One that he didn't have last time."

Harry frowned. "Okay… but what if Malfoy and Nott are there to steal it?"

"We would know. Trust me, Harry, we aren't going to let him have it if we can help it. There are guards posted round-the-clock down there."

Hermione spoke up. "I didn't see anyone else down there apart from us."

"Well you wouldn't have, would you?" Sirius replied with a sly smile. "It'd look pretty suspicious to have people who didn't work in the Department hanging around all the time."

Hermione nodded slowly, wondering who they'd passed by en route to the trial without realising it.

"What's the weapon?" Ron asked curiously.

Sirius shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, Ron. Like I've said, we only have suspicions."

"I can help!" Harry exclaimed suddenly. "I'm the only one with direct access to Voldemort's mind. Maybe I can figure out what it is he's after."

"I don't think so, Harry," Sirius said. "While I agree that Dumbledore should have been more forthcoming with you about the state of things, it's a bad idea to willingly open yourself up to that connection. What if it backfires?"

Harry glowered, unable to argue with that.

Sirius, in any case, seemed eager to change the subject. "Ron, did you see that the Cannons will be kicking off the season against the Tornadoes tomorrow?"

Ron responded enthusiastically, moving to sit next to Sirius on the sofa and carefully avoiding the dark spot. "Yeah! Dad scored a copy of Seeker Weekly yesterday afternoon. I'd say their odds are pretty good this season…"

While Harry followed Ron over to talk Quidditch with Sirius, Hermione's eye caught on the giant, flowery tapestry hung on the far wall. She hadn't paid it much attention last time she'd been in here, helping Luna to declutter a pair of glass-fronted cabinets situated on either side of the mantel.

She floated over towards the tapestry, reaching out to run her fingers along the faded cloth. Her finger traced a few lines of shiny woven thread connecting small portraits and she realised it was an intricate family tree, dating all the way back to the Middle Ages. Her findings were confirmed by the writing at the top.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

"Toujours Pur"

Hermione snorted. She knew enough French to understand that. "Always pure." She wondered if Malfoy's family had something similar at home. Probably with the same dictum underneath their name.

As if guided by her thoughts, Hermione's eyes suddenly landed on a miniature portrait of Malfoy. She blinked. Yes, it was really him. Staring hard at the spot, she followed the line from his portrait up to where it converged with the line connecting Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black. Interesting, Malfoy was related to Sirius by his mother?

She traced Narcissa's line up, trying to connect it to Sirius's, but his name didn't appear anywhere on the tapestry. She noticed several small burn marks, though, eating through the fabric where names had clearly resided before. One of Narcissa's siblings had been removed entirely.

She was loath to admit it, but seeing Malfoy's and Theo's fathers that morning had actually brought her a measure of reassurance. Surely if anything had happened to either of them, their fathers wouldn't be out and about, putting on airs as usual?

Hermione turned when she heard the door to the drawing room swing open. Molly Weasley stood there, something akin to suspicion crossing her expression as she looked over Harry, Ron, and Sirius.

"What are you all talking about in here?" she asked.

"Quidditch," Ron replied. The innocent smile he put on showed far too many teeth.

Molly narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, come down to the kitchen everyone. It's an early dinner this evening." She gave Sirius a significant look. "Dumbledore's just called an emergency meeting tonight." Ron opened his mouth "And no, you will not be joining." With that, Molly disappeared back into the hallway.

Just before they left the drawing room, Hermione remembered something. "Sirius, how did you and Lupin and Harry's dad create the Marauder's Map?"

Harry and Ron looked back from the landing, watching with intrigue.

Sirius, who now had his wand pointed back at the spot on the sofa, laughed fondly. "Homonculous Charm."

Hermione frowned. She hadn't heard of it before. "That's it?"

Sirius muttered something and the spot disappeared entirely. He smiled in satisfaction, then turned back to her. "Well, it took a good deal of adventuring, and a fair amount of broken school rules, but… yes. We drew the map by hand, you see. I'd be surprised if anyone else has ever come close to discovering as many of Hogwarts' secrets. And once we had the map drawn, the charm did the trick."

Hermione tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, mulling that over. "And did you ever discover a huge room full of books and rubbish and the like? A room that only sometimes shows up on the seventh floor?"

His brows knit together. "No, I can't say we did."

Hermione nodded. As the Map didn't show whatever place Malfoy had stumbled into last year, she hadn't really expected Sirius to know of it, but it was best to check anyway.

Harry and Ron were giving her nearly-identical questioning looks. What? She'd told them about that room… hadn't she? Hermione scrunched her nose. It was getting hard to keep track of who knew what anymore.

The day before term was set to start, Hermione was delighted to finally receive her booklist from Hogwarts. She'd begun to worry that something had been miscommunicated at the trial and that it wasn't going to show at all. Sitting on her bed, she carefully ran a finger under the wax seal.

To both her shock and immense pleasure, a shiny gold and scarlet badge fell out of the envelope to land in her palm. A bold letter P was painted across the rearing Gryffindor lion, all surrounded by a delicate golden border. After discovering her Patronus, Hermione studied the lion with a touch more affection than she would have before.

Ginny looked up from her own letter, spotting the badge. "Hermione, congratulations! Prefect!"

Luna smiled, offering her own congratulations. "Maybe now you'll get to find out where they keep the underground Swivenhodge courts."

Returning Luna's smile, Hermione delivered some sort of vague response before hurrying off to find Harry and Ron, wondering if either of them had been chosen as her fifth year co-prefect. They were back in their room on the second floor, poring over their own letters. Hermione flushed with pleasure when they each offered their earnest congratulations, entirely unsurprised to learn that she had been chosen. Her good mood only soured a little when she nearly asked Harry to borrow Hedwig before remembering that she couldn't inform her parents.

"Honestly," Harry said, pushing his glasses back into place, "with everything going on, I'd completely forgotten prefects were being chosen this year."

Ron nodded his agreement. "Me too, mate. I wonder who the other prefect is from our year?" Ron scrunched his nose. "Ugh. I hope it's not Seamus."

"Ron, don't be mean," Hermione admonished, smacking his arm lightly. Although privately, she hoped it wasn't Seamus, either. Rounds with him would certainly be… interesting.

The following day began with all of the usual flurry of activity brought about by the first day of term. Footsteps crashed continuously up and down the stairs as everyone searched for belongings that had mysteriously ended up in other parts of the house, occasionally punctuated by loud cracks as Fred and George apparated haphazardly from room to room. Sirius spent the morning stationed in front of his mum's portrait, forcefully holding the curtains closed.

Molly, who had made the trip to Diagon Alley the night previous, stopped by just as Hermione finished folding her robes to drop off her new books for the coming year. There was only one: The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 by Miranda Goshawk. Hermione thanked her, slipping the book into her bag instead of her trunk. Maybe she'd have some downtime on the train to start reading.

With a surprising amount of time to spare, they set off from Grimmauld Place on foot, heading for King's Cross. They were joined by Molly, Moody, Tonks (who had affected an Arabella Figg-esque appearance today), and a strong-jawed fellow called Sturgis. Hermione noted the tightness in each of their expressions. Were they expecting something to go wrong?

Much to Molly's disapproval, Sirius also joined them in his Animagus form, trotting next to Harry and occasionally darting off to scatter flocks of pigeons. Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys laughed freely at Sirius's antics, but the mood remained strangely grim as the others continued to trade worried glances.

Hermione balanced Crookshanks's carrier on the top of her trunk as she rolled it down the path next to Luna and Ginny. It was only a twenty-minute walk to King's Cross, but despite the mild September weather, she'd broken out in a light sweat by the time the station came into view.

As she threaded through the mass of morning commuters, Hermione felt her stomach begin to twist. She'd actively tried not to dwell on it, but she couldn't help but to be a little nervous; it would be the first time she'd see Malfoy since their parting by the school gates. And since she'd sobbed in his arms, but that was beside the point.

What would she even say to him? Would he avoid speaking with her out in the open, where prying eyes might see and report? Or would he simply avoid speaking with her at all? Her heart sank at the thought.

When it was her turn, Hermione leaned casually against the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Crookshanks held snugly in her arms. She melted through easily, and platform nine and three quarters materialised around her. It was already packed with students and their families. She scanned the throng of milling people quickly, feeling a slight sting of disappointment when she didn't immediately pick out anyone in particular.

Her disappointment must have shown on her face, for Luna appeared at her shoulder, smiling serenely. "Don't worry, Hermione. Things always have a way of working out in the end."

Tilting her head, Hermione turned to face Luna. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, just a feeling, I suppose."

Hermione felt a strange rush of affection towards Luna. Searching for something else to say, she noticed that Luna had a new necklace laying overtop her usual string of butterbeer corks.

"That's pretty," Hermione said, pointing to the heavy locket and smiling. Luna had obviously taken the time to decorate it herself; alternating beads of some sort of clear crystal and jet black stone had been strung on either side, and the locket itself had been painted a vivid purple, though hints of gold peeked through a few flakes in the paint.

Luna reached up to touch her fingertips to the necklace. "Thank you," she said, her wide eyes filled with earnestness. "I found it a few weeks back when we…"

But Hermione had stopped listening, for at that moment, the countenance that had been visiting her dreams all summer appeared at the end of the platform. A small thrill shot through her as she watched him immediately scan the crowd, just as she had. Even from a distance, there was a tightness around his eyes that hadn't been there before. His mother appeared beside him, draped in robes of deep emerald with her sleek blonde hair twisted into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. Unaware that Luna had moved past her with a quiet smile, Hermione stood riveted, watching and waiting.

When Malfoy's eyes landed on her, he froze. Then his shoulders slumped slightly, as if he had let out a long breath. The second their gazes locked across the platform, the crowd between them gradually faded into the periphery, its clamour reduced to a muted buzz.

Out of her peripherals, Hermione saw his mother lay a hand on his arm. Malfoy bent to let her speak into his ear and his lips moved in response, but his eyes remained fastened on Hermione's. She wet her lips, feeling the anxiety that had been pooling within her drain slowly away. She couldn't say for certain why, but in that moment, counting the heartbeats that pounded against her ribs, Hermione knew that things between them hadn't changed as much as she'd feared.

A voice floated from the depths, calling for her attention. She blinked, awareness seeping in.

Another echo, sharper this time. "Hermione."

With immense effort, Hermione wrenched her gaze towards the voice. Already feeling disoriented by the abrupt re-entry to her consciousness, she was startled to see Neville Longbottom standing at her side, a placid smile on his lips. Had she had to crane her neck so much to look at him before?

"Oh. Hi, Neville. Um… yes, how are you?"

His smile widened, and he pointed to the red and gold badge already pinned neatly to the front of his jumper. "I'm great. Figured I'd come over to solve the mystery of your unknown co-prefect. I knew you would be mine, obviously." He let out a nervous chuckle.

"Oh, Neville, congratulations!" Hermione said, beaming at him. She was a little surprised, true, but she liked Neville well enough.

He seemed bolstered by her enthusiasm. "Thanks! I also wanted to let you know that we're gathering in the prefect carriage up front."

Hermione nodded. "Right. To get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl."

"Yeah. If you want, we could head in together?" Though he tried to hide it, a note of pleading entered his voice.

"Yes, of course," she replied with a reassuring smile. "I'll just let Harry and Ron know, then we can be off." Neville threw her a grateful look.

Hermione relished in the familiarity of the Hogwarts Express. With Neville trailing behind, she breathed in the incongruously comforting scents of coal fire and antique wood panelling, leading the way to the carriage at the very front of the train. Most helpfully, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Luna had divided hers and Neville's luggage between themselves to stow in whichever compartment they ended up choosing. Hermione appreciated not having to lug her trunk back and forth between carriages.

They entered the prefect carriage to find Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott, the fifth year Hufflepuff prefects, already seated along the window. Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein entered shortly after, each sporting shiny silver and blue badges for Ravenclaw. Before she'd even thought to wonder who might be on their way to represent the fifth year Slytherins, Malfoy was there, sweeping gracefully through the compartment on the heels of a rather soft-spoken girl known as Daphne Greengrass.

As with most of the fifth year boys, Harry and Ron included, Malfoy had shot up again over the summer. In fact, he looked startlingly close to the version of himself she'd seen in her vision on the Astronomy Tower. His lithe frame was already trimmed in silky black robes, and he, too, had his silver and emerald prefect badge pinned on his chest.

Malfoy didn't so much as look at her this time, passing by to settle next to Daphne on the opposite side of the carriage. His expression was a mask of hauteur, projecting all of his usual pride and contempt for those around him. The embodiment of what she'd come to associate with high-class deportment, he sat up quite properly, all clean lines and elegance. Where his right hand draped over the end of the armrest, she noticed a heavy gold ring adorning his little finger.

Despite his mannerisms being much the same as ever, Hermione felt that she hardly recognised him. A seed of doubt crept back inside, sprouting and winnowing through her veins until she felt cold. Had she misread things on the platform?

Only once the Head Boy and Girl had begun to talk did Malfoy shoot her a small, covert smirk. Warmth flooded back into her, and Hermione felt the last remaining knot of tension in her chest loosen as the corner of her mouth pulled up in response. Her Malfoy was there, underneath all of that carefully crafted exterior. Well, she quickly amended, not her Malfoy. That's not what she'd meant. She just didn't have another way to describe the version of him that had emerged over the course of the last year. She'd witnessed a side of him that he only… Oh, forget it. She didn't need to justify her errant, internal thoughts.

Mentally rolling her eyes, Hermione turned her attention back to the instructions she was receiving on performing prefect duties. In addition to biweekly patrols of the corridors after curfew, they were expected to attend scheduled meetings with all of the other prefects once every fortnight. They were able to reward and deduct House points within reason, including for their own Houses, and in severe cases, could refer rulebreakers to their Heads of House or even hand out detentions.

The balance to all of the added responsibility came in the form of access to a special prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor and, to Hermione's delight, a private study lounge. It was near the library, too, which meant she could easily transfer books back and forth. She nearly hummed in satisfaction — it would be nice to have a space where she didn't have to contend with chattering first-years and a covetous Madam Pince breathing down her neck.

When their meeting concluded, Hermione rose to follow Neville out, finding herself nearly running headlong into Malfoy, who was also making his way down the aisle. Only a hint of a crease around his eyes betrayed his even expression as he gestured curtly for her move out ahead of him. Very conscious of Malfoy's eyes on her back, Hermione walked rather stiffly down the corridor.

When they were sufficiently down the hallway, he spoke.

"Granger," he murmured in a low voice next to her ear, sending a shiver rolling down her spine. Neville, not realising she had fallen behind, had already crossed into the adjoining car. Daphne must have turned off into a compartment already.

She risked a furtive glance over her shoulder. Finding the corridor otherwise deserted, as soon as she passed the last compartment, Hermione stepped off into the cramped luggage overflow nook and spun around to face him. Or, she tried to spin around. To her horror, her toe caught on the foot of the metal rack instead and she went tumbling to the side.

Suddenly Malfoy's hands were on her waist, simultaneously keeping her upright while drawing her back against him for support. Her eyes widened at the sensation of his fingers pressing into the exposed skin where her t-shirt had risen above her jeans. Heat bloomed where they made contact, curling low in her middle and spreading steadily outward. The searing sensation was punctuated by a small band of cool metal resting over her right hip.

Regaining her footing, Hermione straightened, her shoulders grazing Malfoy's chest. Through a curtain of hair, she peeked over her shoulder.

"Malfoy," she breathed, part-greeting, part-thanks.

He drew an unsteady breath, mumbling something that sounded like, "Not even a day."

Before she could puzzle over whatever that meant, she pulled free of his grip, turning slowly this time. Cheeks burning, Hermione opened her mouth, vainly attempting to say something. Anything.

"Malfoy," she finally choked out, feeling ridiculous now that she'd just repeated herself. Not meeting his eyes, she focused on smoothing her shirt back over her hips.

He snorted softly. "Granger," he repeated again. Was he making fun of her?

Hermione looked up, finding not a trace of mockery in his gaze. Although, he did look as if he were fighting a smile. Unable to help herself, a grin of her own broke through and a bubble of laughter pushed past her lips.

She swept her hair back from her face using both hands. "Thanks," she said, still smiling openly. She cast around for something else to say. The badge on his chest was nearly at eye-level. "Congratulations. For making prefect," she added at his questioning look.

"You as well. I'm not surprised they chose you. Although, I must confess my surprise at finding Longbottom as your co. I suppose when the other options included Potter and Weasley, they did the best they could," he drawled.

Though she tried to level him with a look, Hermione smiled in spite of herself. She chose to ignore the jab.

"Well, I can't say I wasn't hoping for it, but I'd completely forgotten about prefects being chosen this year. And if I had remembered, I'd have worried that Dumbledore would have chosen someone else after this summer."

Malfoy's expression darkened. "I heard about that."

"You did?"

Jaw tight, he nodded once. "It was a source of some… discussion." She searched his expression for clues, trying to decipher his meaning. His lips twisted briefly, and she sensed his reluctance to elaborate.

"My father was there. The day of your hearing," he said stiffly.

"Ah, yes," she replied uneasily. "I recall… seeing him."

Scowling, Malfoy didn't say anything else.

"Was your summer…" She hesitated, unsure how to finish the thought. What had happened over summer to put that pallor to his skin, or the tightness around his eyes? She was half-afraid to find out.

Malfoy only shook his head. "I need to go."

Hermione nodded. Their respective friends would be waiting. "Perhaps we can talk… later?"

"Later," he agreed.

"Say hi to Theo for me, will you?" she added with a small smile. "I didn't see him on the platform."

At the mention of Theo, Malfoy's expression hardened. "I'll… pass along your regards. See you later, Granger." Inclining his head at her, he turned to leave.

Hermione frowned at Malfoy's back. Deciding there would be time enough later to decipher his cryptic remarks, she started for the next carriage.

"Granger, one more thing," Malfoy called from behind her. She halted, looking back over her shoulder. He was already halfway down the corridor. "Whatever happens over the next few days, just… keep your head down. Don't draw any more attention to yourself. Also… your friend? Tell him he might want to be more careful. If it were anyone else but me there, his steps would have been… dogged." And with that, he slid open a nearby compartment and disappeared inside.

Hermione stood staring at the spot where he'd disappeared, mouth hanging open. What in the name of Merlin did he mean by telling her to keep her head down? And had he meant to say he'd recognised Sirius? Couldn't he just say something outright for once?

Disgruntled, she found her way back to Harry, Ron, and the others, making vague excuses about the bathroom. She'd decide what to do about Sirius later. And as for tonight, she couldn't shake the ominous feeling that if Malfoy was worried, she should be terrified.

The rest of the journey was pleasant enough, though rain began to spatter the windows as they drew closer to Hogwarts. When darkness fell, Hermione left to change into her school robes, admiring the badge now pinned to her chest, too. As the train pulled into Hogsmeade station, she and Neville left early to supervise the deboarding process with the other prefects, meeting back up with everyone at the line of horseless coaches waiting to take them up to the castle.

The Great Hall was warm and inviting as ever; bright torches blazed in their brackets against the black, star-dusted sky, and the empty golden place settings spread upon the tables beckoned. Hermione relaxed in the cosy ambiance, feeling more herself than she had in ages. She hardly even noticed the whispers that followed Harry, and by proxy, her, all the way to Gryffindor table.

As soon as the House tables were filled, Hermione looked up expectantly towards the staff table. Ron's stomach had just rumbled quite loudly, and she was rather hungry herself. Most of the teachers and other staff had already taken their seats, though they all sat rigidly, varying degrees of bleakness in their expressions and not even bothering to talk amongst themselves. McGonagall looked as if she might be sick, and even Snape managed to look more dour than usual. Dumbledore hadn't yet arrived to take the high-backed golden chair in the centre.

Hermione bit her lip, nudging Harry and Ron. "What's going on, do you think? They all look as if they're attending a funeral."

Their eyes followed hers up to the staff table.

"I dunno," Harry said after a moment. "Something's definitely—"

Harry cut off and Hermione gasped sharply, eyes popping at the woman who had just appeared from the adjacent antechamber. Hermione felt numb with shock and recognition. She hadn't forgotten that face, or the rush of hatred she'd felt towards the woman for pressing on the subject of the Memory Charms during her trial. What was someone from the Ministry doing here? Ron looked between Hermione and Harry in bewilderment.

Short and stubby with a fluffy pink cardigan over her robes, the Ministry woman moved towards the staff table. Dread, heavy and churning, filled Hermione's stomach as the woman kept walking, drawing closer and closer to the centre of the table. The room had already grown quiet as everyone awaited the sorting and the start-of-term feast, and most of the hall watched her progress. Hermione's worst fears were confirmed when the woman sat in the high-backed golden chair that had, until this point, belonged to Albus Dumbledore.

With a thickly beringed hand, the woman raised a spoon to clink against her glass. The sound bounced resonantly around the already-silent Great Hall.

"A most warm welcome to everyone tonight," she said in a high-pitched, lilting voice. "Before we begin, I should like to take a brief moment to introduce myself. I am Dolores Jane Umbridge, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

A predatory smile stretched Umbridge's toad-like mouth.