one | 01.
RETURN TO HOGWARTS.

    The Great Hall brimmed with energy on the first night of term, the low hum of conversation occasionally broken by bursts of laughter or the scrape of golden goblets against tables.

    Above, the enchanted ceiling mirrored the night sky, an inky black expanse dotted with stars that glimmered faintly.

    The long tables were packed, house banners hanging proudly overhead.

    Golden light from floating candles bathed the room in a warm glow, but the brightness did little to soften the undercurrent of unease that lingered in the air.

    Whispers of the Ministry's interference at Hogwarts had reached even the younger students, though few dared to speak openly about it.

    At the Ravenclaw table, Marietta Edgecombe sat beside Cho Chang, her closest friend, though the latter seemed only half-present.

    Cho's back was as straight as ever, the result of years of her mother's lessons on poise and propriety, but her dark eyes scanned the room with a kind of restless energy.

    Marietta shifted in her seat, picking idly at the gold-embroidered hem of her sleeve as Headmaster Dumbledore rose at the staff table, raising a hand for quiet.

    "I beg a few moments of your attention," he began, his voice steady and rich with wisdom, "as I have a few start-of-term announcements."

    The murmurs and clinking of goblets subsided, all eyes turning toward him.

   "Now," he started, "We have two staffing changes this year. Professor Grubbly-Plank will be taking the post of Care of Magical Creatures as Professor Hagrid is on... temporary leave."

    A ripple of whispers swept through the hall at this, soft and fleeting. Marietta raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Cho.

    "I hope Hagrid's alright." Cho whispered, her voice barely audible. Her face betrayed the concern she usually kept carefully hidden, and her gaze darted across the room.

    Marietta didn't need to follow it to know where it landed.

    At the Gryffindor table, the Boy Who Lived sat with his usual group, though his expression was noticeably tense as he whispered to his friends.

    His black hair, perpetually messy, cast shadows over his face in the flickering candlelight.

    He didn't appear to be listening to the announcements, his green eyes distant as if weighed down by thoughts only he could see.

    Marietta's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than she intended, her mind turning over the endless stories and whispers she'd heard about the boy.

    She didn't understand Cho's infatuation, nor did she care to.

    Harry Potter seemed to attract trouble like a moth to flame, and Marietta had no interest in being singed by the fallout.

    "Honestly, Cho, he's trouble." She said, turning back to her friend, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

    But Cho didn't reply, and Marietta found herself feeling, for reasons she couldn't quite name, unsettled.

    "Additionally, we have Professor Umbridge, who has kindly agreed to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts—"

    A soft, high-pitched clearing of the throat interrupted Dumbledore mid-sentence. The room fell into a momentary hush, the once lively murmurs of students pausing as eyes shifted toward the staff table.

    Dumbledore blinked, slightly taken aback, before turning toward the source of the disturbance.

    Standing at the end of the table was Dolores Umbridge. Marietta Edgecombe immediately recognized her—though she was more familiar with her from a distance.

    Her mother worked in the Department of Magical Transportation, a position that had placed her under Umbridge's radar more than once. And Marietta had learned to loathe the woman long before the school year had even started.

    The sight of her was a jarring one. Umbridge's figure was encased in a sickeningly pink ensemble, her robe blinding against the warm golden glow of the candles suspended above.

    But it wasn't the color of her clothing that stood out—it was the unsettling, innocent smile she wore, the one that Marietta had seen too many times before.

    Umbridge's small, pudgy hands were folded neatly before her as she gazed up at Dumbledore, her gaze expectant and too eager.

    "Headmaster, if I could address the school?" Her voice was endearing, though there was an undercurrent of command to it that made the request feel more like an order.

    Marietta's brows lifted in surprise, her lips pressing together in thin disapproval. Nobody, absolutely nobody, interrupted Dumbledore—not in such a brazen manner.

    Dumbledore, looking momentarily taken aback, paused for a beat before lowering himself back into his chair.

    A soft murmur ran through the students again, many of them watching the exchange with rapt attention. Professor McGonagall, seated at the far end of the staff table, narrowed her eyes at Umbridge, her expression one of unmistakable disdain.

    The normally composed Transfiguration professor's fingers tightened around her goblet.

    With an inclination of his head, Dumbledore silently granted permission, his face as measured as ever.

    "Thank you, Headmaster." Umbridge swept a hand across the room, surveying the sea of students with a chilling combination of success and condescension. "It is so lovely to see all of your bright, happy faces" Her tone was so sweet that Marietta almost felt a physical cringe.

    "I thought I would just say a few words. The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. Although each Headmaster has brought something new to this historic school..."

    She trailed off for effect, the room sinking into an uncomfortable silence as students exchanged glances. Some seemed curious, others skeptical.

    Dumbledore nodded slightly, his eyes twinkling in a way that almost seemed too kind for the situation.

    Umbridge, however, took this as a cue to continue, her voice now carrying a heavy weight that pressed down on the atmosphere.

    "But progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged." She explained, her gaze sweeping over the students with a predator's precision

    Around her, everyone shifted uncomfortably, and Marietta could almost hear the collective thought. This year was going to be worse than last.

    "Looks like the Ministry is gonna be up our arses this year." Catherine Grant, a fellow Ravenclaw, muttered from farther down the table.

    Marietta hummed quietly in response, her lips curving into a wry smile as she caught the small but distinct smirk on Umbridge's face, the kind of expression that seemed to take pleasure in others' discomfort.

    Marietta finished her meal in tense silence, the words of Professor Umbridge still hanging heavy in the air long after she had finished her speech.

    She barely tasted the food as she chewed, her mind too preoccupied with the unsettling presence of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

    Her gaze flickered absently over the long tables of students, noting how many had adopted a similar tightness in their faces.

    The students then slowly began to rise from their seats, some drifting toward their friends, others heading for the exit.

    Marietta stood as well, her movements precise as she and Cho slipped through the crowd and out the doors of the Great Hall, walking toward the familiar, welcoming warmth of their common room.

    As they stepped inside, the usual comfort of the Ravenclaw common room seemed distant. The space felt smaller.

    Cho's eyes flickered nervously to the small group of students sitting near the hearth, their voices low but unmistakable as they whispered about the pair.

    Marietta followed her best friend's gaze, her sharp eyes landing on a third-year boy who immediately leaned over to his companion, a copy of the Daily Prophet clutched tightly in his grasp.

    As soon as they spotted Cho and Marietta, their conversation faltered, and one of the boys awkwardly shoved the newspaper under his leg, attempting to mask their actions.

    Cho's throat bobbed as she swallowed thickly, her fingers fidgeting at her side. Marietta could see the unease washing over her friend's features, the faint flush creeping up her neck.

    Cho had never been one to shy away from attention, but something about the whispers now seemed more suffocating.

    Marietta's frustration bubbled over. She could feel the heat of her anger rising in her chest, burning away the cool composure she usually prided herself on.

    Her fists clenched at her sides as she marched toward the two boys, the clattering of her polished shoes against the stone floor loud in the stillness.

    "Give me that." She snapped, voice cold and commanding. Without waiting for a response, she snatched the Daily Prophet out from underneath the third-year, her fingers curling tightly around the paper as she unfolded it.

    The boy's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't protest. His friend sat frozen, eyes wide, unwilling to even meet her gaze.

    Marietta's eyes flicked over the headline: "Harry Potter: Boy Hero Uses Lies to Seek Attention." She frowned in confusion. She hadn't known the exact details of the gossip, but this was different.

    Why were they gossiping about Cho? What did this have to do with her?

    Her brows furrowed as she scanned the article, the words blurring for a moment in her growing frustration. Then, as the sentences fell into place, the truth hit her with a sudden clarity.

    The article focused heavily on Harry, claiming he had lied about Cedric Diggory's cause of death, claiming that he had fabricated the story of Voldemort's return.

    The Ministry's hands were all over it, of course, using their power to spin the narrative however they saw fit.

    She stopped reading for a moment, her mind racing. Cho's reputation— Cedric's memory—was being dragged through the mud because of what Harry said.

    "You two ought to keep your whispers to yourselves." Marietta shot at the boys. She tossed the Prophet back into the third-year's lap with a force that made the paper snap.

    The boys stared at her in stunned silence, mouths agape, unsure how to respond.

    Without waiting for an answer, Marietta spun on her heel and marched back toward Cho, who had been silently watching the exchange. Cho's pale face softened slightly, though the discomfort in her eyes remained.

    "Don't mind them." Marietta muttered, her voice low now, an edge of protectiveness in it. 

    Cho gave her a small, tight smile.

END OF CHAPTER I.