Chapter Forty-Eight

Playing With Fire

It took some convincing, but Sirius eventually caved and permitted Alex to use the Black library at her disposal, granted he went through its reserves first in case there was anything off-limits, either because they were too dangerous to read or even come into contact with. Even with some of the books confiscated, Alex was learning more regarding Dark magic in the handful of days she dropped by Grimmauld Place than she had the entirety of her life. Not only was the House of Black a magical edifice, it was Unplottable, and so any underage magic performed within those walls would be fly completely beneath the Ministry's radar. It was liberating.

Alex abused this privilege eagerly and repeatedly. Her wandless ability improved dramatically so that she could summon a small flame in the palm of her hand and sustain it for seven whole minutes before she grew lightheaded. The length of time grew in increments day by day so that by August 31st she could hold it for a quarter of an hour.

To challenge herself further, Alex progressed from illumination via fire to a simple lumos. Wandless magic and elemental magic went hand-in-hand (pun intended) due to the raw nature of the spells. Back before magic was a science or even an art, to some people it was an unquestionable facet of life that was as necessary and instinctive as breathing. The first spell ever cast was rumoured to be incendio, the Fire-Making Charm, but others—Dark wizards and witches much like the previous owners of the house she was presently lingering in—argued it was the Killing Curse. Alex liked to believe it was the former, personally.

Oddly enough, conjuring and controlling fire was a good deal more accomplishable without her wand than with it. Wands were a core tool for modern wizards due to its efficacy as a conductor. When casting a volatile spell, for example, it'd be much more preferable for one's wand to blow up instead of their hands. Alex learnt that the hard way when her first attempt at summoning flames in her palm left her with second-degree burns that had her biting back a scream.

It took more time that she'd have liked, but by the end of the holidays Alex determined her ability to control fire was sufficient enough to do away with the monstrous portrait who wailed at least once every two days. Alex waited for a time when most people left the house — the adults either busy with their jobs or on Order business, the teens off to purchase their school supplies (Alex's dad was buying hers thanks to his bargaining skills). Aside from herself, the only other person left in the house was Sirius, who was spending the day in recovery after having a panic attack during breakfast.

Hopefully this will act as a pick-me-up, thought Alex as she approached the curtained-off portrait, provided it works.

Predictably, the curtains flew open the second Alex's flames licked the painting. It did nothing to help her concentration even with her earplugs muffling most of the screeching but it did wonders for her motivation. Wanting to get this over and done with as soon as possible, Alex curled and uncurled her hand quickly, and her fire responded by swelling at a rapid pace. At last, Walburga Black's voice was silenced for good. Her presence would no longer haunt these walls, and maybe some of the shadows would recede from Sirius's eyes.

Alex had just extinguished the last of the flames with a flashy flick of her wrist when an invisible force blew her off her feet and sent her careening into the rickety staircase. It remained intact, fortunately, despite the damage it dealt to her head and back. That was currently the least of her problems.

Kreacher wailed like a dying beast as he took in the charred spot on the wall that used to be his master's portrait. The Black house-elf was unlike any Alex had ever met, hostile and unhelpful, especially to Sirius himself. More than once he'd insulted Hermione right to her face, and Alex had almost choked him out then and there. He was saved thanks to Hermione's intervention, unable to bear ill will towards a house-elf even if they were malevolent.

Hermione wasn't here now, though, and Kreacher wasn't going to limit himself to sharp words. "This half-breed dares harm poor Mistress!" he howled as if he himself had seen set alight. "Kreacher has had enough of these half-breeds and mudbloods and blood traitors spoiling Mistress' home!"

Kreacher glared at her fiercely. For the past few months and for the foreseeable future, his home of several decades had been invaded by the very people his masters had loathed, but because Sirius was his new owner, he was bound by old magic to serve them. As much as he tried to circumvent his orders, Kreacher couldn't lay a hand on them – except for now. Alex had pushed him too far by destroying his last real thread connecting him to his better days.

So when he raised another claw-like hand in his direction, Alex—fatigued from the flames and guilty to boot—was slow to react. All the air rushed out of her lungs within half a second. Deprived of oxygen with no obvious way to regain it, Alex panicked. Spots danced in her eyes as she clawed fruitlessly at her throat.

I don't want to die.

"Kreacher!" Sirius roared from somewhere above – atop the staircase, probably, but the thunderous footsteps Alex could barely hear indicated he was running down the stairs. He sounded crosser than ever; she could only wonder what kind of expression he was wearing as he leapt down the remaining steps and backhanded Kreacher across the hall, disrupting the house-elf's concentration.

Alex gasped as her airways were unblocked once more. Unaccustomed to the sudden change, she spent the next several seconds coughing up a storm while Sirius chewed out Kreacher.

"Never harm anyone who sets foot in this house ever again!" commanded Sirius, his clenched fists trembling at his sides. "Return to your den at once!"

Wheezing, Alex tried to regain her breath, a feat made more difficult while her heart fought to escape the confines of her chest.

Sirius rushed to her side, no doubt alarmed by the death-like rattles she was emitting. "Are you all right?" he asked, kneeling so he could help her sit up. "Can you breathe?"

Unable to speak just yet, Alex settled for a nod. "My fault," she coughed out a minute later when her lungs no longer stung. "I provoked him."

Sirius followed her line of sight to the blackened wall. Despite himself, he seemed impressed. "Should've thought of that," he muttered beneath his breath.

His comment drew a weak smile from her. "Thanks for saving me. I dunno what would've happened if you were out."

That was a lie and they both knew it. Overcome with the spite he'd bottled up the past few months, Kreacher surely would've killed her then and there. Even now the thought of her close brush with death made Alex break out into a cold sweat. To think she could've died in this dingy house months before the war had officially even begun. She needed to be more careful.

Sirius swore. "Bloody Kreacher," he groused. "Gremlin in elf's clothing, more like it. I've been wanting an excuse to get rid of him for ages, even with Dumbledore's insistence to treat him with kindness."

As much as Kreacher loathed them all, at the end of the day, he didn't want to be freed, because that meant being forced out of the only home he had known all his life. Not for the first time, Alex marveled at how messed up elf-wizard relations were in magical society.

Besides, providing Kreacher with the freedom to go wherever he wanted and do whatever he pleased was bad news for everyone in the Order. There was no doubt he'd betray them for the Dark side in a heartbeat, which he barely refrained from doing so due to Sirius's explicit instructions.

On any other day, Alex would be the first in line to suggest simply killing Kreacher off. His existence was one of sheer misery and he was threat to them all, especially Hermione. If anything, it would be both cruel and senseless not to kill him.

The memory of Kreacher's incensed expression and heartbroken cries stopped her short. Although Sirius may have been grateful for her blood-soaked hands, her friends would never forgive her. Worse, Dumbledore might no longer see her as just a suspicious individual, but a downright dangerous one.

"Can you stand?" Sirius asked, breaking her out of her reverie. Judging by the furrow in his brow, he was probably worried she had hit her head too hard.

"Yeah." Alex pulled herself to her feet with the grace of a three-legged cat. She stumbled and righted herself before Sirius could catch her. "I'm fine," she assured him, straightening.

For some reason, Sirius didn't seem too confident in her ability to walk in a straight line. He hovered behind her as she slowly made her way up the stairs and into her temporary room. "Let me know if you need anything," he told her before he shut the door.

Alex glanced around the room once her head stopped spinning. Everything looked to be in place, which meant Kreacher hadn't been poking around – he liked doing that. Cleaning, he called it, when it was really just snooping. There wasn't much to tidy up since this was neither hers nor an actual bedroom. It had been a spare room full of artefacts too broken and grubby to be desired by anyone, even Kreacher, who was known to hoard mouldy bread crusts. After Vanishing most of the rubbish and transfiguring the rest, Alex was provided with a room that could be considered more or less livable. She used it only when she was desperate or too lazy to bother driving back home, much to her parents' consternation.

With nothing better to do, Alex closed her eyes and meditated. On the outside it looked as though she was merely taking a nap. In reality, she was feeding the flames of her magical core in order to increase its capacity. Since she first began this regular practice years ago, her reserves had almost doubled. It was a shame her casting control and strength were still garbage.

A harsh knock on the door forced her back to the real world. "Come in," she croaked out once she could sit up.

Mad-Eye Moody of all people pried the door open. His infamous nickname was going to have to be changed, however, for his magical eye was no longer freaky-looking. Since Crouch Jr had never bothered to return Alastor's fake eye, the grizzly auror had been forced to collect a replacement. This one actually fit into his gaping socket so that it easily could've been his real eye – except, y'know, the fact that it glowed an ethereal shade of blue not unlike his previous fake. This one at least didn't whirl about like it had a mind of its own, which Alex considered a vast improvement.

"I love your new eye," she said before Alastor could even greet her. "Mum told me about it. Can it do anything cool?"

Alastor bore his teeth in a grin that was hopefully less feral than it seemed. "Everything my old eye could do, and more." His expression sobered. "Sirius told me what happened. Asked me to check up on you."

"You know healing magic?" she asked, surprised. There was no doubt Alastor was capable of many things, but healing? That was like the antithesis of his entire reputation.

"Some," he admitted, sounding amused. He could probably trace her line of thought so effortlessly she might as well have said it all aloud. "Any half-decent auror should know the basics."

Without further ado, Alastor closed some of the distance between them and performed what Alex recognised as a diagnostic spell. It was one she had attempted a year ago with little success. Alastor was faring better, as his wand emitted a soft green light which he used to scan her head.

"No concussion," he muttered, extinguishing the light with a shake of his gnarled hand. "No head trauma, either. Any pain from where you landed?"

She shook her head. "My friends always did say my head was full of rocks," she said by way of explanation.

Alastor's mouth twitched. "If you say so."

Alex's smile withered once she remembered why Alastor was in 12 Grimmauld Place in the first place. "Have there been any significant developments yet?"

"The Ministry employees in charge of the dementors have been behaving suspiciously," reported Alastor. "After some poking around it's become clear that the dementor you spotted in Surrey was out not on Voldemort's orders but the Ministry itself – or at least a person of high rank."

Her eyes widened at the implications of his remark. "Fudge?" she gasped.

"Unlikely. He doesn't have the spine for such a blatant tactic. Wouldn't rule him out, though."

"Constant vigilance?" she supplied, smirking.

Alastor nodded, a small grin lighting up his face. "Exactly."

Before he turned to go, Alex said, "You were part of the original Order, right? That means you can vouch for me to join your super secret meetings."

Back when she first arrived at HQ, the Orders had readily agreed with her arguments. After dinner, they gathered their wits and decided it was not up to them but Dumbledore to decide whether she and the other students were permitted to join the Order. The thing was, Dumbledore had yet to show his face around these parts for the entire month.

Alastor's grimace had the ability to make infants weep. "S'not my call," he grunted, and Alex wondered if she was just imagining the rueful tone colouring his words, "but there are plenty of other methods of gathering information."

And with that cryptic sentence, Alastor made his leave. "I have a boggart to get rid of," he told her.

Cool metaphor though it could've been, sadly in this case he was being literal. Mrs Weasley had been waiting all month for Alastor to return so he could confirm and then deal with the boggart confined to a locked cabinet in the drawing room.

Alex scrambled out of her bed to join him. When dealing with boggarts, the more hands on deck, the better. It wasn't so much as that they were powerful as it was that they were easily confused when faced with more than one opponent; uncertain of who to target, they transformed repeatedly into the greatest fear of whoever was in the room. The only people in the house were herself, Alastor and Sirius, and since she didn't want to expose the ex-con to any more trauma, Alex figured it was up to her to help Alastor out. Besides, how many people had the opportunity to face a boggart in controlled circumstances? Like with countless other spells, Alex was confident in the theory behind the Boggart-Banishing Spell, but had yet to apply it in real-life situations – until today.

Alastor accepted her reasoning with a curt nod and nothing more. There was no well-meaning by unbearable concern or judgement; he got her. Unlike other adults—parents, now that she thought about it—Alastor didn't underestimate her because of her age. Perhaps that was just how he was raised, but it didn't hurt that he'd seen what she could do back when… well.

"What's your greatest fear, Fortescue?" Alastor asked, breaking the terse silence as they watched the cabinet tremble.

A bit of a personal question. Alastor wasn't being nosy, though. Evidently he was trying to get her to prepare herself. Alex pondered for a moment.

To be honest, she had many fears. She was scared that, one day, when she went to use the bathroom adjacent to her dorm, there would be a snake beneath the toilet seat, and it would leap out and attack her. It wasn't a baseless fear, either; it had happened once to a sixth-year Slytherin before Alex had even stepped foot in Hogwarts. Apparently it was payback for shagging her roommate's best friend's boyfriend or something.

She also feared the death of her pet. Statistically, Spitfire was more likely to get himself killed than any of Alex's human friends, whether it be by car, by another animal, or someone who had no qualms murdering a cat.

But, if she had to narrow it down, her answer would be…

"Dementors," she whispered, shivering despite the humidity in the house.

Alastor grunted in acknowledgement. "Try to spin it into something you can laugh at. I'll unlock the cabinet on the count of three."

They unsheathed their wands.

"One."

Over and over, Alex murmured riddikulus and practised the appropriate wand movement.

"Two."

The muscles in her back clenched.

"Three."

A wordless flick of Alastor's wand released the boggart from the confines of the cabinet. Alex was fully prepared to see a dementor come swooping towards her, her lips raised into a small smirk as she pictured a shrunken down and thus powerless version of itself as part of the defensive tactic used for boggart-repelling. She was so confident in her ability that when a man stepped out of the cabinet instead, her mind went blank.

It was almost funny how completely blind-sided she was when Bartemius Crouch Jr locked eyes with her. Oh, sure, it wasn't him, but it was exactly the way she'd envisaged him based on the few photos she could scrounge up – pale, thin, with unkempt brown locks and similarly scruffy facial hair. Prominent lines dug deep into his lightly freckled face, but his most notable feature were his crazed eyes. In most of the photos of him, Crouch Jr managed to hide the unhinged side of him well. It wasn't until his true identity as a Death Eater was uncovered after the war during Karkaroff's trial that he discarded his facade along with his sanity when they carted him off to Azkaban.

Now those very eyes were keeping her rooted to the spot as he approached her. The fingers of his unarmed hand flexed slowly, as though he couldn't wait to rip out strands of her hair and use it to masquerade as her with the help of some polyjuice.

The vile memory of what he had done to her brought Alex back to her senses with a flinch. She took half a step back, wanting to put at least some distance between herself and not-Crouch even if it wasn't much. Her wand trembled in her shaky grip as she pointed it at the space between the boggart's eyes.

"Riddikulus," she croaked.

Nothing happened.

The boggart retaliated. A Stunner came shooting out from his wand – her wand! The boggart had given Crouch Jr her wand.

Alex saw red, and it had nothing to do with the charm she was currently evading. A snarl tore itself from her throat as her wand-tip sliced through the air as if she was writing a flatter version of the letter U. "Riddikulus!" she roared.

Humour was an effective counter against boggarts because it was considered the antithesis of terror. Moreover, it was the easiest emotion to summon when faced with one. Back when she had first learnt about the predatory creatures, Alex had theorised that almost any emotion would suffice as long as it precluded an absence of fear.

Her years-old hypothesis was realised at last when the boggart shifted forms with a sound reminiscent of a whip being cracked. It still maintained the visage of Crouch Jr, but gone was his cocky smirk and stolen wand. The manic light in his eyes died as he laid parallel to the floor, his corpse cooling before them. The cause of his death was a dagger to the heart.

Alex very carefully did not feel for the weapon in her pocket. All too aware of Alastor's gaze on her, she smoothed out her expression so none of the vicious satisfaction she felt could eek out and make itself known.

Rather than comment on the body by their feet, Alastor withdrew—of all things—a piggy bank from his robes. It was bright pink and shockingly childish, no bigger than his hand, but apparently the perfect fit for the boggart. He stuffed the Dark creature into the box with a complicated spell, ramming it shut and securing it with a charm that glowed so luminously it almost seared Alex's corneas.

"Never know when this'll come in handy," he explained to her as he shoved the ceramic pig into one of his pockets. Logically, it shouldn't have fit, but that was magic for you.

He clapped a hand to her shoulder, disturbing her balance. "You did well. Too bad the boggart wasn't as confused as we thought it'd be."

It took a moment for her to decipher the meaning behind his words, but when she did, Alex's eyes widened dramatically. Alastor feared Crouch Jr too, at least subconsciously. After all, the Death Eater did abuse and imprison him for almost an entire year. Not to mention he had stolen his identity and duped the auror's friends and confidants, effectively shattering what little sense of security he had left.

Alex bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. It was a bad habit she fell into whenever she could feel her magic begin to go haywire in response to her hysteria. The image of a Crouch Jr, dead by her hands, flashed into her mind, calming her down with a swiftness that self-harm could never achieve.

Alastor raised a patchy eyebrow at her reaction. Alex turned her back to him, raising her hand to both wipe the blood from her mouth and seal the wound shut with a wandless episkey.

Just in time, too, as Tonks bumped her head into the doorframe. She swore, loudly, and then once more at a lower volume as she cast a fearful look to the place where her great aunt's portrait sat.

"Merlin's pants!" she cried, using an idiom Alex never understood; in all the illustrations she'd come across depicting the legendary wizard, not once had she seen him in trousers. "What the bloody hell happened here?"

Alex shot Alastor a meaningful glance. He exhaled noisily through his nose like an enraged bull but accepted her request nonetheless.

"That's my doing," he declared, hobbling out into the entrance hall. "I got sick and tired of that banshee and got rid of her for good."

Tonks rejoiced with an obnoxiously cheerful whoop. "About time, Mad-Eye."

Bullet dodged – at least for now.

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, Gryffindor.

Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, Slytherin.

Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein, Ravenclaw.

Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan, Hufflepuff.

Alex leaned back in her seat and watched as the newly inaugurated prefects introduced themselves with varying levels of politeness. They were all so shiny-eyed and eager to please in their own individual ways.

Zubair leaned close and whispered, "Ten sickles they'll be at each other's throats by Christmas."

She smirked. "Deal."

This year's Head Boy cleared his throat pointedly. "Thank you, Alex, for volunteering," Cedric said, his eyebrow arched. "You may start patrolling now."

Rolling her eyes, Alex got up and left the prefects' carriage. As much as she despised patrolling the train, these meetings were a special kind of hell – an opinion Cedric was well aware of.

When he showed up at Kings Cross with the telltale badge pinned to his robes, Alex couldn't say she was surprised. She had been as certain of his new role as had been of her O.W.L.s results. Most of her subjects had landed her an Outstanding, while her Potions marks had Exceeded Expectations. Transfiguration, predictably, landed her an Acceptable, which was why she wasn't proceeding with it this year. It was the only subject she was dropping, having kept Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Charms, and Care of Magical Creatures. The sixth-year curriculum marked the beginning of non-verbal spells, and by the end of their seventh year they were all expected to cast almost everything wordlessly. Alex could hardly wait.

Her patrols went much more quietly than they had last time she had walked through these cars. Most of the new students appeared to recognise her, embarrassingly enough, and one girl even asked for her autograph. More than a little weirded out, Alex had declined. She did, however, hand her a coupon for the ice cream parlour.

The only real conundrum she faced was in Harry's compartment. It was weird, seeing him without Ron or Hermione. Unlike him, they were made prefects - a revelation that shocked all of them, especially Ron. A strange decision, but perhaps a safe one. Harry was under enough scrutiny already, and putting him in a position that made him walk around the halls of Hogwarts at night would do nothing but paint a tempting target on his back. She said as much to Harry, which helped cool him down and divert him from the notion that Dumbledore hated him. An irrational conclusion, but Harry hadn't exactly been level-headed ever since the graveyard.

Keeping him company were Ginny, Neville and-oddly enough-Stephen. All three Gryffindors greeted her when she slid open the door, but Stephen merely flicked his gaze towards her before returning to the book he was invested in.

"I didn't know you guys were acquainted," she said, leaning against the doorway.

"We're not," Stephen replied without looking up. "I was here first and they couldn't find an empty carriage."

"Guys, we literally got to the station a half-hour early."

Harry shrugged, a strangely aggressive gesture considering the conversation. "We ran into trouble."

Alex heaved a resigned sigh. "A Slytherin, right?"

Ginny sneered. "The silver prince himself. Malfoy."

"Firstly, that's my rightful title. Secondly, what did he do? Spew the usual insults?"

"He, uh, noticed Ron and Hermione are prefects," Ginny said, shooting her a meaningful look.

Alex pressed her eyes closed for a brief moment. "So, did you jinx him?" she asked, glancing at Harry and the anger simmering in his eyes.

"Sure did," Ginny chirped, her head raised.

Alex grinned. "That's my girl." Feeling bad for excluding Neville, she turned to the quiet boy and asked, "What's that in your hands?"

Poor Neville appeared terribly surprised to be drawn into conversation. "Oh, this?" he said, holding out his potted plant for them to peer at. It was like a cactus, but instead of spikes it was covered with what seemed like pus-filled warts. Blech.

"My great-uncle got this for me for my birthday," Neville continued enthusiastically, oblivious to their visible discomfort. "It's called the mimbulus mimbletonia and it's really, really rare. I don't know if there's one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout; I'm going to see if I can breed from it."

"Why?" asked Alex, bewildered. It looked like a pulsing, plague-infested organ to her.

"Does it, er, do anything?" Harry asked.

"Loads of stuff!" said Neville proudly. "It's got an amazing defensive mechanism – here." Without further warning, he dug out his wand from his robes and prodded his plant with it.

Alex stepped outside just in time. Exclamations of surprise and disgust from her friends proved her instincts correct. Squeezing her nose shut, Alex peered into the compartment, which was now liberally covered with a viscous green liquid, as was everyone else. Hedwig squawked indignantly from her cage.

Stephen lowered his book. His face was spared, unlike everyone else's. "This is why everyone hates your House," he informed them calmly.

"S-Sorry," gasped Neville. "I haven't tried that before. Didn't think it'd be so…"

"Explosive?" prompted Alex.

"Putrid?" spat Ginny. Some of it had actually gotten into her mouth. "Ugh, I'm gonna be tasting stinksap all week."

"I'd love to stay and help you clean," said Alex, her voice nasally as she continued to pinch her nostrils shut, "but I've gotta patrol. See you."

"Coward!" Ginny screeched, but Alex was already power-walking away from the danger zone.

By the time they reached Hogsmeade and boarded the supposedly autonomous carriages up to the castle, the others smelt only faintly of sap. Their thestral didn't seem to mind, fortunately, but Alex did. She made sure to avoid them by sitting with her Housemates.

"How was your romance-filled summer?" Agatha asked her as soon as she sat down.

Alex shot her a wry look. "Good. We ate a lot of fish and chips."

The blonde frowned. "Is that some sort of muggle dating ritual?"

I'm not a muggle, Alex thought with a sigh. Sometimes purebloods equated living in the muggle world as the same as actually being a muggle. Agatha didn't mean any harm by it (presumably) so Alex let it slide with a roll of her eyes.

Katherine shook her head in wonder. "I can't believe you're seeing the most desirable wizard here. What would fifth-year you say?"

"Probably the same thing Stephen said," she replied.

"Which was?"

"'Did he slip you a Love Potion?'"

Katherine smothered a smile.

Agatha considered her comment with a frown. "You should be careful. Cedric Diggory is rather popular. I wouldn't put it past some witches to steal him from your clutches using unsavoury means."

Her concern was both touching and all-too real. "Honestly, the thought has occurred to me," admitted Alex. It had been a cause for anxiety for years, which was why she asked one of her best—if dodgiest—regulars to find something for her to assuage that fear. It took a while, as well as a handsome fee, but she returned with a Love Potion detector that Alex fashioned in the form of a pendant. It was presently hanging around Cedric's neck in the form of an early birthday present. He'd been thrilled even before she explained the practicality of the trinket.

The atmosphere for the Sorting Feast this year was awkward, to put it mildly. More than one pair of eyes was pointed at Harry with a laser sort of focus, and those who were observant enough would have noticed the change in staffing this year. Gone was Hagrid, replaced by his predecessor, Professor Grubbly-Plank. The woman beside her was most likely their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the year. She was decked in pink from head to toe, which was either a play on her teaching area or a sign of sociopathy.

When she voiced that last thought aloud, Jacob frowned and said, "I thought you liked pink."

"I do. But only neutral colours should be worn so…excessively." It was one thing for your robes to be pink, but your hat and shoes and stockings as well? Absolute madness. "The exception to this rule is when you're dressing up as Barbie for Halloween."

"Who the hell is Barbie?"

Agatha shushed them. The Sorting was about to begin.

Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat and its stool in front of the hall, stepped back, and waited for it to sing. The whole school with bated breath, but when the Hat finished, more than a few people were puzzled.

Rather than its typical song distinguishing the four Houses this year, it waxed poetry about coming together, lest Hogwarts fall just as the Founders did. It was a warning, clear as day, and the Slytherins around her definitely knew it. They exchanged glances with each other – some wary, some disdainful. Lines were already being drawn.

"A house divided against itself cannot stand," Alex murmured to herself.

Professor McGonagall scanned the long list in her hands. "Abercrombie, Euan."

The terrified boy was sorted into Gryffindor, and Alex clapped politely, disregarding the sneers of her Housemates as per usual. Unlike them, she applauded every student, regardless of House.

Her stomach began growling by the end, and she was all too relieved when "Zeller, Rose" walked briskly away to the Hufflepuff table. As Professor McGonagall took away the Hat and stool, Dumbledore rose to greet them.

"To our newcomers," said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, "welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

It was great having a headmaster with his priorities straight.

A variety of food and drink appeared on the tables, startling a few first-years. Alex kept an eye on them even as she dug in.

Occasionally she glanced at the older students. There was no doubt in her mind that a fair few of the older students knew at least something about Voldemort's affairs. Unfortunately, they were smart enough to keep mum at the table, where anyone could easily overhear them.

When the feast was over, the dishes gone, Dumbledore finally got around to his welcome speech. He went through the usual—the Forbidden Forest is actually forbidden, contrary to what some students believed, as well as an extensive list of rules Filch implemented but no one actually followed—but it was his final point that caused the hall to explode into a noise of protest.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year," continued Dumbledore. "We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Hem hem."

At first, no one could pinpoint where that sound had come from. It wasn't until she cleared her throat again that Alex realised the perpetrator was none other than their new Defense professor. Dumbledore turned to peer at the expectant woman, not with indignation but with a look of wonder on his wrinkly face. Other members of the staff did not react as pleasantly.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Umbridge said in a high, breathy voice, "for those kind words of welcome."

For the first time ever, Alex had to sit through an introductory speech made by the new professor. Long-winded and roundabout, it dragged on and on until absolutely no one even bothered to pretend to listen. Alex didn't need to pay attention; she got the gist of things: Umbridge was a Ministry plant here to spy on Dumbledore and his movement, as well as anyone else she suspected of defiant behaviour.

Alex grimaced. She sensed this year was going to be her worst yet.