"Richie, you see, Ron invited me to stay at his house towards the end of the summer. If I'd known it would turn out like this... Anyway, the Weasley household is absolute chaos. First one person forgot something, then another, and in the end we were late."
"Harry, how exactly are you planning to get to Hogwarts?"
"Oh, we're already here," Potter replied. "Mr Weasley decided that, since this had happened, we'd have to get to school by Floo. He arranged it with Headmaster Dumbledore, and we Flooed from the Leaky Cauldron straight into the Headmaster's office. Oh, you should've seen how furious Snape was when he found out how we'd got into the castle..."
"Harry, you could have called and let me know so I wouldn't worry," Richard said disapprovingly.
"Richie, sorry," Potter apologised. "I just didn't think of it."
"All right, Harry. I'm glad you're all fine. I'll see you at school."
The carriages, reeking of manure, carried the students up to the castle. Although Hermione had slept for the entire journey, she still looked far from well.
"I'm going to sit at my House table," she told Richard.
"Hermione, you ought to pay a visit to the hospital wing."
"If I still feel like this tomorrow, I'll go," Granger replied carelessly.
"Oh no you don't, Hermione. We're going to the hospital wing now," Grosvenor insisted.
Richard practically dragged the feebly resisting Hermione along with him.
"Ah, it's you!" Madam Pomfrey said, noticing the visitors to her domain.
Bending down, she peered closely at Richard.
"Have you managed to hurt yourself again?"
"Ma'am, I'm perfectly fine," Richard replied. "Take a look at Hermione. She's been taking Wit-Sharpening Potion all summer and barely sleeping."
Frowning, Madam Pomfrey began examining Hermione closely.
"Richie!" Granger hissed indignantly. "Who asked you to—"
"My dear, you mustn't take too many potions," Madam Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly, brushing Hermione's hair aside and touching her forehead. "A disrupted sleep schedule won't be the end of it. Why, you're burning up! Dear, Wit-Sharpening Potion may be good for the memory, but in large quantities it has adverse effects on those of delicate health..."
"My health isn't delicate!" Hermione flared.
"Of course it isn't," Madam Pomfrey said distractedly as she felt her pulse.
"Madam, what would you recommend for Hermione?" Richard's voice was firm.
"I strongly recommend that she stop abusing potions," Madam Pomfrey said. "Wit-Sharpening Potion no more than twice a week. And right now, young lady, you need about a week of bed rest. So you'll be staying here."
"A week?!" Granger exclaimed in horror. "I'll miss so many lessons!"
"Right, Hermione," Richard said firmly. "Calm down. Your health is the most precious thing you have. I'll bring you the lecture notes and your homework."
"Madam Pomfrey," Granger looked pleadingly at the healer, "do I really have to stay in the hospital wing?"
"You do, dear. You certainly do!" Madam Pomfrey declared as she examined her eyes. "Listen to your friend. He did the right thing by bringing you here. He always seeks help promptly, and I strongly recommend that you learn to do the same."
"All right," Granger said sadly. "Richie, you will come and visit me, won't you?"
"Of course, Hermione. Rest, get treated and get well." Richard gave the healer a deep bow. "Madam Pomfrey, please accept my sincere gratitude."
After leaving the hospital wing, Grosvenor headed for the Great Hall. He was greeted by a veritable sea of pointed black hats; thousands of candles floated in mid-air, casting their light over the faces of the pupils seated at the long tables. Professor Flitwick, a tiny wizard with a great shock of white hair, was carrying the old Hat and three-legged stool out of the Great Hall. The Sorting was already over.
New pupils at Hogwarts were still being Sorted into their Houses by the magical Hat.
Richard noted that Hufflepuff had gained very few pupils this year. Gryffindor and Slytherin, on the other hand, had received considerably larger intakes.
Professor McGonagall hurried towards her place at the staff table. Richie went in the opposite direction, towards the Hufflepuff table. He walked quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself. Even so, many people followed him with curious eyes, while Draco Malfoy glared at him with hatred from the Slytherin table.
Richard realised that the Malfoys had worked out where their recent troubles had come from. In response to Draco's hateful stare, he saluted Malfoy with his cane and bestowed a broad, fox-like grin upon him. Malfoy's face twisted with impotent fury.
Among the familiar faces at the staff table, one professor stood out: a short, stocky wizard with long ginger hair. He had bloodshot, baggy brown eyes and a week's worth of stubble. As Richard passed the table, he caught a powerful reek of tobacco and cheap alcohol from the new professor. The man's appearance hardly inspired confidence; he looked more like a pimp, dressed in a black shirt with a pointed collar and a brown jacket patterned with darker, jagged waves. But what unsettled Richard most was the professor's gaze: shifty and furtive, his eyes constantly darting about.
Richie sat down beside Justin, who had saved seats for them.
"Where did you go?" he asked Richard.
Grosvenor began whispering an explanation, but at that moment the Headmaster rose to his feet.
Old though Dumbledore was, he seemed to brim with energy.
"Welcome, everyone!" said the Headmaster. "Welcome, and congratulations on the beginning of another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
Dumbledore coughed and continued:
"I am delighted to introduce our new member of staff. Professor Mundungus Fletcher, who has kindly agreed to take up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
The same short, ginger-haired man with the shifty eyes rose from his seat. He waved to the pupils.
A sparse scattering of applause followed; the announcement was received without much enthusiasm.
Professor Fletcher looked decidedly shabby among the other teachers, all dressed in their finest robes.
Professor Snape stared across the length of the table at Professor Fletcher. The Slytherin Head of House's thin, sallow face contorted into an expression of profound disgust.
Dumbledore swept an attentive gaze over those assembled. No one stirred or said a word.
"Well, I think that's everything," Dumbledore concluded. "Everything important, at any rate. And now, let the feast begin!"
(End of Chapter)
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