As soon as the doors to the Hall opened and silence fell, every head turned toward him. Harry once again felt uneasy—though by now, after so many years, he really should have been used to it.
"Sorry I'm late, Professor," he said to the Headmaster, delivering his pre-prepared line. "I got a little carried away and…"
"I understand perfectly, Harry," said the Headmaster. If he smiled, it was well hidden beneath his beard. "I sometimes lose track of time myself. And you're not even late…"
Harry gave a grateful nod and made his way to his table. He immediately spotted Ron and Hermione sitting together—and, of course, an empty seat right beside them. Both his friends looked at him with clear relief. It seemed that, not seeing him among the greeters or even in the Hall, their imaginations had run wild... Harry smiled at them warmly and hurried to his seat amid the welcoming cheers of the Gryffindors, along with snickers and sneering whistles from behind—where the Slytherin table was.
"Mate, you gave us a right scare!" Ron greeted him as soon as he sat down.
"Harry, we were so worried…" Hermione added with a clear note of reproach.
"I'm fine," Harry cut her off quickly, sensing an incoming lecture. "I just got caught up reading…" As expected, the words didn't go unnoticed.
"Harry, don't tell me you've finally—"
"Hermione, give it a rest. We'll talk later," Ron interrupted. "Glad to have you back, mate. We thought you'd come stay with us this summer, but I guess it didn't work out…" There was some reproach in his tone too.
"Sorry, but I hardly left the school all summer—not surprising, considering what happened at the start of the holidays… I wrote to you about it, and it was all over the papers."
"Yeah, I get it… You missed quite a bit, though. Our house is basically a hub for the Order now, and the twins are going wild with their inventions. We didn't exactly have a boring summer," Ron said, clearly not eager to bring up anything serious—something Harry was sincerely grateful for.
He took a moment to glance around. Many heads were still turned toward him. Most students from the three Houses were watching with curiosity—some even with a hint of awe. The Slytherins, as usual, looked on with contempt. Harry briefly wondered what it would've been like had he taken the train—and was once again glad he'd spent the summer within the school's safe walls. It seemed Hermione had guessed his thoughts.
"We were bombarded with questions the whole way here—what happened at the Ministry, what it was like, what you did… Everyone's talking about you. Everyone wants to know what happened in the Department of Mysteries."
"You'd think I was the only one there," Harry snorted, still watching the Hall, though now his gaze shifted to the staff table.
Everything there was familiar. As expected, Professor McGonagall wasn't there—she was with the first-years. Hagrid was also missing for some reason, but Flitwick and the rest of the staff were present. And the Headmaster… And Snape—Harry quickly looked away. Everything looked as it always had, as though there weren't a war raging beyond the school walls. But the many empty seats at the House tables shattered that illusion. And then there was the new teacher.
Harry eyed him with some confusion. If someone had shown him a lineup of ten people and asked which one taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, this man would've been his last pick. An actual old man—though probably not quite Dumbledore's age—extremely overweight (no, not just overweight—fat), completely bald… He looked kind, maybe even a bit absent-minded.
"What could he possibly teach?" Harry wondered. "Then again, looks can be deceiving. And… he can't be worse than that Toad."
"Harry!" Hermione jabbed him sharply in the ribs—it was clear she'd been trying to get his attention for some time. "Are you even listening to me?"
"What? No—sorry, I was lost in thought."
"I figured as much. What do you think of our new teacher?"
"Oh, I was just thinking about him. He looks… odd. But I suppose the Headmaster knows what he's doing. The school books were ready almost immediately, so his appointment must've been decided long ago…" Harry shrugged.
"Did Dumbledore tell you anything about him?" Ron chimed in.
"No. Why would he? Why would you assume we had some special relationship?"
"Well, he did take you in—you spent the whole summer here…"
"Ron," Hermione interjected in her lecturing tone, "do you really think the Headmaster would discuss teaching appointments with a student?"
Ron opened his mouth to respond, but just then, the doors to the Great Hall swung open. Professor McGonagall entered first, followed by the new first-years. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted Hagrid now at the staff table—strange, he hadn't noticed when he arrived. Among the crowd of children was Flamia… Perhaps she'd tried to blend in. If so, her attempt was doomed from the start—she stood out immediately. Her figure, her face, her hair—everything… Once again, Harry thought she must have inherited some veela traits from Fleur.
Ron was left gaping, and Harry—feeling something very unfamiliar—glanced around the Hall with a sense of superiority. Ron wasn't the only one. Many, many boys were openly staring at the new arrival, jaws practically on the floor. Most girls were already scowling… And Flamia, after throwing Harry the briefest, almost invisible glance, was now intently studying the enchanted ceiling.
"She… she's a veela," Ron muttered, then flinched as Hermione jabbed him again.
"I don't know… That's Flamia. She's from America. We kept bumping into each other all summer," Harry said with forced indifference.
"You know her?"
"Didn't I just say? We were both here all summer—it was hard not to get acquainted. I gathered she's got some family issues, which is why she was transferred here… There's also another story—something dark, related to her previous school. Anyway, she has a room to herself."
"A room of her own?" Hermione repeated, eyebrows raised. "But that contradicts school regulations. Such exceptions are extremely rare—I read—"
"Hermione, I don't know! I'm just telling you what I heard. Anyway, let's pay attention—the Sorting Hat's here…"
The Hat had indeed arrived, and Hermione finally turned her attention away from Harry. Ron too was distracted now… The Hat began singing a new song, but Harry barely listened. He was watching the boys instead.
"Am I jealous? Yes!" Harry was honest with himself. Right now, he saw everyone around him as a potential rival—or not quite. Rivals with no chance, perhaps, but still worth watching. Just look at the way they were all staring. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who somehow looked even stupider than usual. That alone was a major feat.
Malfoy… less so. He looked like he had something else on his mind. But the rest? Practically drooling. Especially that one—what was his name again? McLaggen, maybe? Harry couldn't recall ever speaking to the hulking Gryffindor, who was a year older. But something about the way he was looking at Flamia really didn't sit well with Harry…
"Slytherin!" the Hat delivered its latest verdict, and Harry snapped out of his thoughts.
The crowd of first-years had thinned considerably, as Harry noted, and the Sorting seemed fairly balanced so far. Almost everyone appeared eager for the ceremony to end—not an unusual feeling, but this time the reason was different. Even Ron, usually insatiable, had seemingly forgotten about food, despite probably being very hungry. Like most of the boys, he was now openly ogling the new girl, completely ignoring the unmistakably pointed looks Hermione was throwing at him. Harry concluded immediately that, for the next few days, either the two of them wouldn't speak at all, or they'd be excessively polite. Ron, of course, would be left wondering what had upset her this time… and would probably end up muttering something about Krum again. Silly. Then again, who was he to talk, after the way he and Flamia had been messing around after...
"Welcome to Hogwarts!" The headmaster's voice rang out. Harry realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts again and missed the ending of the Sorting.
"I'm thrilled to see you all back within these walls. A festive feast awaits us, but first, I must test your patience with some of my elderly ramblings and a few announcements.
To begin with, allow me to introduce Miss Flamia Nightfolk! She joins us from the Magical Academy of the American Congress. In accordance with an ancient tradition between our schools, she has already been sorted and will join the house of Gryffindor!"
He had to pause—noise erupted through the hall. The Gryffindor table cheered. Ravenclaws made their displeasure known in both expression and voice. The Hufflepuffs whispered enviously, while the Slytherins didn't even try to hide their outrage.
"Furthermore," the headmaster continued more loudly, silencing the hall,
"due to certain special circumstances, Miss Nightfolk will be lodging in a private room!"
More murmurs followed—this time Gryffindor sounded clearly puzzled and disappointed, while the rest of the houses reacted with varying degrees of schadenfreude.
"Now, please join your house tables. I trust your new housemates will help you feel at home. And now..." He paused theatrically, "...eat."
Harry immediately turned his attention to the freshly filled plates, surprised by how ravenous he'd become. Flamia was already seated among the first-years, slightly apart but positioned so she could still see him—thus cleverly avoiding immediate interrogation. The newcomers were far too mesmerized by the grandeur of the Hall to pester her with questions. Still, a hyper-chatty third-year named Dennis Creevey had somehow managed to sit next to her. Harry could only sympathize.
For once at the start of term, he wasn't the center of attention.
"Unbelievable. She's barely shown up, and already they're all swooning over her..." Hermione said indignantly, eyes fixed on Flamia, who was struggling to get rid of Dennis.
"What's the problem?" Ron asked, nearly missing his mouth with his fork.
"Just look at her! Like a porcelain doll. But that smile—it's fake, cold... How did she even end up in Gryffindor?" Hermione muttered, returning to her meal.
Harry nearly choked. What fake smile? Flamia hadn't smiled once.
Dinner continued more familiarly after that. They chatted about current events; Ron and Hermione shared some Order-related news Harry hadn't heard—like the discovery of Igor Karkaroff's body, something The Prophet hadn't reported. Ron tried several times to bring up Flamia, but Hermione elbowed him into silence—something Harry silently thanked her for. She clearly wanted to bring up Sirius but couldn't quite bring herself to, perhaps recalling Harry's letter—again, something he appreciated.
When dessert ended, the headmaster rose once more.
"Well then, I wish you all a most pleasant evening!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms as if to embrace the whole Hall.
Only now did everyone notice his right arm. A wave of gasps rippled through the room.
"What's wrong with his hand?!" Hermione exclaimed. She wasn't alone.
"Nothing to worry about," the headmaster said airily, pulling his sleeve over the injury.
"Now then—to our new students, welcome; to our returning students, welcome back! You face another year—"
"I first saw his hand like that a month and a half ago," Harry murmured, just loudly enough for Ron and Hermione. "Three days after the new Minister was elected. He vanished for a few days, and when he returned… his hand was like that. Hasn't changed since. Must be something serious—if even Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix it…"
"Maybe it's necrosis. Some curses and ancient poisons are incurable..." Hermione offered quietly.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore continued, apparently unbothered by the students' concern. He mentioned Filch, Quidditch, and then the staff appointments.
"Professor Slughorn," the rotund man stood, his bald head shining under the candlelight, "an old colleague of mine, has agreed to return to teach Potions."
"Potions?"
"Potions?!" the word echoed across the Hall. Confused glances were exchanged.
"Meanwhile, Professor Snape will be taking over Defence Against the Dark Arts." Dumbledore confirmed their worst fears.
"Oh no..." Harry exhaled under his breath. In the past, he might have shouted it for the entire Hall to hear. "Well, Professor, good thing you didn't tell me earlier—I might have trashed your office on the spot..."
He cast a quick glance at Flamia. Their eyes met. Understanding passed silently between them.
"Didn't you say they'd found a new teacher?" Ron gestured vaguely toward the staff table.
"This one's hardly new."
"That's what I thought…" Harry replied, staring at a smug-looking Snape, who subtly waved at the Slytherin table.
"Well, this year we'll finally see how strong the Curse is."
"What do you mean?"
"Strong enough to get rid of him, I hope. No one's lasted more than a year. But with Snape… you never know," Harry said through clenched teeth.
Dumbledore coughed—so uncannily like Umbridge that the room fell silent again. He now spoke of Voldemort—whose return was no longer denied. He explained new safety measures, reminded them all to be vigilant, and ended with some words on unity.
Harry cast a brief glance toward the Slytherin table. The idea of unity, like with Sirius and Snape, felt hopeless. Snape had finally gotten what he wanted—though to be fair, he usually did.
"And now, let us all say to one another: 'Good night! Sleep well!'" the headmaster concluded in his signature style.
The students surged from the Hall. Harry lingered behind—he was advised to avoid discussing his move publicly. So, he crouched, pretending to tie his shoelace for the third time. Hermione initially waited but gave up, dashing off to fulfill her prefect duties.
As Harry glanced toward the doors, Flamia was just leaving. Their eyes met once more, briefly. Then she was gone.
He and Ron trailed the end of the crowd. By coincidence, Malfoy passed by as the Slytherins turned toward their dorm.
"Funny, Ferret spent the whole ride locked in his compartment. Didn't even show up to taunt the younger years."
"Didn't even claim his god-given right to bully the weak?"
"Wasn't even at the prefect meeting. Maybe he's pining for you—found out you weren't on the train and cried into his pillow the whole way."
Harry tried to picture that and chuckled with Ron.
They reached the Fat Lady's portrait.
"By the way, Mr. Prefect, what's our password?"
"'Clear Conscience.' Shall we?" Ron strode toward the portrait.
"Actually... wait."
"What now?"
"Did I forget to mention? I've been given a separate room. Some safety concern."
Harry shrugged. "They explained it to me—it sounded convincing enough."
"Wait—so…"
"I'm not staying here. Sorry, I thought I told you. Better I don't go in—too many questions. It's late, and I don't want to waste time explaining everything."
"Are you scared of the dangers Dumbledore warned us about?"
"No—this school holds far greater terrors..." Harry whispered.
"Cats... Filches... Snaaapes..."
"Understood," Ron snorted.
"Still, the others will worry."
"Tell them yourself—you're the prefect. Just imagine the attention."
Harry smirked and disappeared around the corner.
"There you are! I was starting to worry!" Flamia greeted him reproachfully as he entered.
"Sorry, saying goodbye took longer than expected."
"And I've been losing my calm while you were off saying goodbyes…" She pouted, then laughed and kissed his cheek.
"So? How did it go?" she asked, pulling off her cloak.
"Pretty well. Ron had other things on his mind. His thoughts kept drifting to a certain blond girl..."
Harry smirked, sitting on the bed and fiddling with his shoelaces again.
"Hermione saw Flamia as a Trojan horse..."
"That bad?" Flamia slid under the covers.
"Yeah. Understandable though... Snape got what he wanted."
"Maybe Dumbledore had no choice. And look at it another way..."
"There is another way?" Harry joined her but stared at the ceiling, ignoring the hand now tracing his chest.
"Maybe Potions will be easier now. Who knows? Slughorn seems sweet. And Snape might not ruin DADA. He always targeted you—this is your chance to deny him any reason. Take it as a challenge."
"You might be right," Harry admitted. Her warmth pressed close, and dark thoughts began to melt.
"Still..."
"Enough."
Flamia silenced him the surest way she knew—her lips. Within moments, Snape and everything else had disappeared from Harry's mind.
___
[Please leave a few reviews and Power Stones]
If you enjoy my work, you can Support me at:
patreon.com/cw/Phoenixfic