September the first arrived, but Harry was in no mood for it.
Walking through King's Cross Station toward Platform 9 ¾, he could feel the heavy, lingering stares of the people around him.
The Prophet's smear campaign had done its job. Harry sighed, kept his head down, and boarded the Hogwarts Express.
He pushed open a compartment door and found Victor sitting inside with Luna Lovegood, casually flipping through a copy of The Quibbler she'd evidently just handed him.
"Nice to see you again, Harry," Victor said, glancing up. "Have a good summer?"
Harry slumped into the seat opposite him. "You'd know if you read the Daily Prophet. My summer was a mess."
"I saw. Good thing Dumbledore showed up, or you wouldn't be riding this train today."
Harry frowned, the unfairness of it all bubbling up again. "But why only me? You testified that Voldemort came back too. Why didn't the Ministry target you?"
"Because you're the Boy Who Lived," Victor said flatly.
"Compared to me, your word actually carries weight with the public. Fudge is terrified of that. Though I did have my fair share of trouble."
"Surviving the Killing Curse tends to attract the wrong kind of attention. I had a bunch of old, crazy witches trying to track me down. Sounded like they wanted to slice me open just to see how I survived it."
Harry let out a tired breath, some of his anger fading. "So both of us had a bad summer."
"Yeah," Victor agreed, eyes narrowing slightly as he stared out the window, clearly plotting something violent for the witches who'd bothered him.
Luna looked up, silvery eyes fixed on him, and puffed her cheeks in a sharp pout. "If you are thinking of doing what I think you're doing to those people, I will be very angry."
Victor blinked, pulled out of his dark thoughts. He looked at her stern face, then reached over and gently patted her on the head. "Sorry. I won't."
Harry, already used to Victor's strange dynamics with people, chose not to dwell on it, leaning his head against the rattling window and watching the scenery blur past.
"Victor, do you think we might actually have a quiet year for once?" Harry asked, sounding exhausted before the term had even begun.
"For the last four years there's been some kind of massive disaster. Surely we're due for a break."
Victor let out a short, cynical laugh. "No chance."
Harry groaned, closing his eyes. "Why? What do you know?"
"I already got some news out of the Ministry," Victor said, turning a page of the magazine.
"They're planting a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. And she is one hell of an annoying woman."
Harry thought of their track record with Defense teachers. "How annoying are we talking? Worse than Lockhart?"
Victor didn't look up, but his expression darkened slightly. "You'll know when you see her. Her mere presence is enough to give the entirety of Hogwarts a collective headache."
***
The Hogwarts Express finally screeched to a halt at the dark, freezing Hogsmeade station. Harry stepped out into the crisp night air, pulling his robes tighter as he followed Victor toward the line of carriages waiting to take them up to the castle.
As he stepped up to board the nearest one, he froze, eyes widening.
Standing between the shafts were skeletal, leathery-winged horses with blank, white, dragon-like eyes, black skin clinging tight to visible bones.
"What the hell are those?" Harry stumbled back a step.
Victor glanced over, unfazed. "Thestrals."
"Have they always been there?" Harry stared at the creature as it tossed its gaunt head. "I always thought the carriages pulled themselves."
"They've always been there," Victor said, climbing in and taking a seat. "But they're invisible to most people. Only someone who has witnessed death can see them."
Harry climbed in after him, unable to look away. "But—"
"You saw me take a Killing Curse to the chest, Harry," Victor said bluntly.
Harry went perfectly still. The memory of the graveyard flashed through his mind — the blinding green light, the sickening thud of Victor's body hitting the ground, the certainty in that moment that his friend was gone.
"Right," Harry muttered, his stomach twisting.
"I got better, obviously," Victor said, leaning back against the worn cushions. "But the magic still counts it as witnessing death. So, congratulations. Now you get to see the spooky horses."
The Great Hall was warm and crowded. After the Sorting Ceremony finished and the golden plates were cleared, Dumbledore stood to give his usual start-of-term speech.
He went through the standard warnings about the Forbidden Forest and magic in the corridors before moving on to the staff changes.
"Let us welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Dolores Umbridge—"
"Hem, hem."
Dumbledore stopped talking. The Great Hall fell completely, awkwardly silent as the stout, toad-like woman in the fluffy pink cardigan stood up from the staff table.
She smiled — a wide, sickeningly sweet expression that didn't reach her bulging eyes.
"Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome," she said in a high-pitched, breathy voice, then launched into her speech.
It was agonizing. She dragged on in a monotonous, singsong tone. "Progress for progress's sake must be discouraged," she simpered.
"Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected, and prune practices that ought to be prohibited."
Within minutes, almost the entire student body had zoned out — staring at the ceiling, heads on tables, whispering quietly.
At the staff table, McGonagall's lips pressed into a tight, thin line. Snape looked like he wanted to hex the woman outright.
Victor leaned across the table toward Harry. "Told you. Annoying."
Harry rubbed his forehead, staring at the pink woman at the front of the hall. The term hadn't even officially started, and he already had a headache.
When Umbridge finally sat down, Dumbledore gave a polite clap that only a few scattered students echoed.
"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge. That was most illuminating," Dumbledore said smoothly, then wrapped up the announcements and dismissed them to bed.
"Illuminating?" Ron muttered as they stood up. "It was a load of waffle. I stopped listening after a minute."
"It wasn't waffle," Hermione said sharply. Unlike the rest of them, she looked wide awake and deeply alarmed. "There was important stuff hidden in all that garbage."
"Like what?"
"Like the fact that the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts," Hermione whispered, glancing toward the staff table.
"Did you hear what she said? Pruning practices that ought to be prohibited. They're stepping in to control what we learn."
Victor fell into step beside them as they headed for the double doors. "She's right. Fudge is paranoid. He actually thinks Dumbledore is using Hogwarts to train a private student army to overthrow the Ministry."
Harry stopped walking. "An army? Us?"
"That speech wasn't an introduction," Victor said, glancing back at the pink cardigan disappearing through the side door.
"It was a declaration of martial law. Fudge didn't send a teacher. He sent a warden to make sure we stay defenseless."
*****
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