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┄┄ .•* 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟑 *•. ┄┄

𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏' 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍. . . .

────── *•. ⚡︎ .•*──────

Do you know, how when you read a book, you expect the grey areas, that are only briefly described in narrative or totally skipped over instead of having a full dialogue and details, to be fun or at least interesting? 

Well, Hermione expected the interview with the beetle and Harry to be like that, but no. 

It was boring and by the end of it, her eyes were drooping and Luna's soft humming of "Weasley is our King" was lulling her to sleep. Hence why she was glad when it was over and Harry, Luna and she made their way back to Hogwarts.

That night, a bit before dinner, Hermione decided to start getting ready for her date. After half an hour of desperate running around in underwear or a towel, or with jeans and topless, she finally got her outfit together, no missing clothes. Her short black skirt hugged her hips and flowed until above her midthigh; she had a white tank top with her leather jacket (and how she missed it) over it and it was finally paired with leather knee-high boots. She put on light makeup and some jewelry and made her way to the common room.

She and Fred had said that they would meet during dinner hour in the common room so they could sneak out. Fred was indeed there when she got to the common room; sitting on the sofa and staring at the fire. Hermione smiled at the enthralling look on his face, as his blue eyes swept over the fire, biting the inside of his bottom lip. Hermione shook her head and cleared her throat causing Fred to jump slightly and turn to her. As soon as his eyes swept over her, his lips slightly parted. Hermione watched as he bluntly and speechless stared her up and down making her raise an eyebrow and clear her throat.

"Um—You look ravishing, Mimi," said Fred with a smirk as he got up; Hermione felt her cheeks heat up slightly. "Really hot too."

"I know, darling," Hermione said poshly, making him chuckle, "You look ravishing too."

"Shall we?"

"We shall!"

Hermione was really disappointed that sneaking out of Hogwarts (without the map or cloak) wasn't as hard and thrilling as you would have thought. Maybe it was because it was dinner time, but they only passed through Filch once and he didn't even see them. Thus, passing through the One-Eyed Witch statue was easy.

When they did finally arrive in Hogsmeade and made it out of Honeydukes the both of them headed to Hogs Head and ordered some food—Hermione was starving; Fred too (a little)—and firewhiskey (because, why not?).

The couple of hours or few hours (she really didn't know) she spent with Fred were the best time she had since she arrived at Hogwarts from Christmas. For the first time, she felt mundane, with Fred she didn't have worries or pits in her stomach (and not because she had stuffed herself with food and alcohol). Her smiles were all genuine and maybe later on in the evening mainly due to her tipsiness. The point was, that Hermione felt at ease with Fred and maybe that was a good thing but it also got her thinking if it wasn't dangerous.

She always thought that when characters break up with their partners because they want to keep them safe was bullshit. But what if it was in order to save themselves? That was selfish and she knew it, she knew that cutting Fred off because she was starting to feel more for him was incredibly selfish of her. . . . That doing that, because she wanted to save herself from what might come, was stupid, but she never got along with feelings. They made her feel vulnerable. In her time in the orphanage, she learned not to care too much because then she would have had a miserable life —

"Mimi?"

Hermione's train of thought broke and she looked forward and saw a slightly blurred vision of Fred frowning at her.

"Huh?"

"Everything alright?" said Fred looking mildly concerned for Hermione she just nodded slightly and suddenly hiccuped making Fred laugh. "Come on, we better get back."

Hermione's head was spinning slightly and soon any negative thoughts she had were replaced by unicorns. Hence, why when she and Fred were walking through the tunnel back to Hogwarts from Honeydukes, she suddenly stopped and giggled.

"What happened?" Fred asked with a snort at seeing her laugh.

"Freddie," said Hermione between her giggles, "I'm a cornless."

"A what now?"

"A cornless! A unicorn with no corn is a cornless!" Hermione laughed hysterically making Fred start to cackle with her. "Here watch!"

Hermione then proceeded to turn into her Animagus form, thinking it was an awesome idea to show Fred. In retrospect, it wasn't that bad because the shock of seeing his girlfriend turn into a majestic white horse was enough to sober him up. Fred stood there gaping at the weighing white horse in front of him not being able to say words.

Hermione turned back after a while (not at all because she was having difficulties), though her hair stayed white and wavy, which in Fred's opinion looked hot on her.

"You-You're an Animagus?"

"Yeah!" Hermione grinned giggling, "Harry and Ron are too, you know. . . ."

"What? When?"

"That and then," said Hermione without skipping a beat and Fred smiled amusedly, "Oh my God!" Hermione gasped.

"What?"

"It was a secret, Freddie!" Hermione said shaking her head and Fred chuckled, "Promise not to tell anyone?" Hermione said putting a finger to her lips.

"I won't say a word."

"Do you pinky swear?" Hermione said raising her eyebrows and sticking up her pinky finger to him.

"What?" Fred frowned not aware of what was going on; it was fair though, he just saw his girlfriend shift into a horse.

"Pinky swear!" Hermione exclaimed with a giggle. "It's like the muggle version of a break—no— unbreakable bond. If you break the promise your hair will fall off, and everyone knows that's worse than dying."

"Sure it is, darling," Fred said amusingly and then wrapped his pinky around hers, "I pinky swear."

Hermione giggled then leaned forward and pecked his lips making the redhead smile.

"Come on, let's get you to bed, Mimi."

Morning classes were a no-go for Hermione that morning. She had spent the night in the bathroom, head in the toilet and emptying her stomach as he mom pulled her hair back. Around six in the morning, Hermione actually got some sleep and only woke up at around noon. She quickly got ready, trying not to move too fast wouldn't she throw up again and went down to lunch to get something into her system again. She gave her friends a half-arsed excuse about why she skipped classes, saying she was sick (which wasn't not true) and then was pulled aside from the group by Fred.

She had to explain to him the whole Animagi project thing and cringe as he retold her how she called herself a cornless. She found it amusing though that all Fred said in the end (besides teasing her) was that she looked hot with white hair and that he was baffled how she didn't include him in such a wicked project.

"Can't wait to see what Umbridge thinks of you going public," said Dean, sounding awestruck at dinner on Monday night. Seamus was shoveling down large amounts of chicken-and-ham pie on Dean's side, and Hermione was in front of him.

"It's the right thing to do, Harry," said Neville, who was sitting opposite him. He was rather pale, but went on in a low voice, "It must have been . . . tough . . . talking about it. . . . Was it?"

"Yeah," mumbled Harry, "but people have got to know what Voldemort's capable of, haven't they?"

"That's right," said Neville, nodding, "and his Death Eaters too . . . People should know. . . ."

Neville left his sentence hanging and returned to his baked potato. Seamus looked up, but when he caught Harry's eye, he looked quickly back at his plate, making Hermione roll her eyes. After a while Dean, Seamus, and Neville departed for the common room, leaving Harry and Hermione at the table waiting for Ron, who had not yet had dinner because of Quidditch practice.

Cho Chang walked into the hall with her friend Marietta. Harry's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, but she did not look over at the Gryffindor table and sat down with her back to him.

"Ooh, how was your date with Miss Cho Chang?" Hermione asked teasingly and he groaned.

"Er . . . well, it was . . ." said Harry, pulling a dish of rhubarb crumble toward him and helping himself to seconds, "a complete fiasco, now you mention it. But you know that already."

"I do but I wouldn't mind listening," Hermione teased and Harry sighed though he told her what had happened in Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.

". . . so then," he finished several minutes later, as the final bit of crumble disappeared, "she jumps up, right, and says 'I'll see you around, Harry,' and runs out of the place!" He put down his spoon and looked at Hermione. "I mean, what was all that about? What was going on?"

Hermione was crying tears of mirth by the time he ended. "You're such a guy!"

"What? It wasn't me!" Harry said outraged. "One minute we were getting on fine, next minute she was telling me that Roger Davies asked her out, and how she used to go and snog Cedric in that stupid tea shop—how was I supposed to feel about that?"

"Harry you told Cho you were cutting your date short because you were meeting your hot and gorgeous best friend."

"But, but," spluttered Harry, "but—you told me to meet you at twelve and to bring her along, how was I supposed to do that without telling her — ?"

"I dunno but you should have made me sound like a bitch" said Hermione. "You should have said that I made you go otherwise I would tear out your arm or something. And throw in there that you think I'm ugly," Hermione added as an afterthought.

"But I don't think you're ugly," said Harry, bemused.

"Duh," Hermione laughed. "I'm the hottest person you know."

"And the one with the bigger head too," Harry muttered and Hermione snorted.

"Am not! Prong has a bigger ego than me!" she said, "Dad too —"

"Prongs?" Harry asked frowning at her and Hermione's eyes went wide and she cleared her throat.

"Yeah, it's short for Prongslet. . . ."

"You mean to say I have a big ego?" Harry frowned and Hermione grimaced.

"No. . . Just. . . . a big head. . . ."

It was at that moment that she was saved by her redheaded best friend as Ron dropped onto the bench opposite them and pulled every dish within reach toward himself.

"Anyway, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?" asked Harry.

"Harry no one with a smidge of self-respect would ask their date—on their first date—if they like them better than his friend," said Hermione.

"Well, they should!" said Harry forcefully. "Then I could've just told her I fancy her—well, that I sort of do—, and she wouldn't have had to get herself all worked up again about Cedric breaking up with her!"

"I'm not defending Chang," said Hermione, as Ginny joined them, just as muddy as Ron and looking equally disgruntled. "Just trying to explain."

"You should write a book," Ron told Hermione as he cut up his potatoes, "translating mad things girls do so boys can understand them."

"Yeah," said Harry fervently, looking over at the Ravenclaw table. Feeling rather depressed, he looked back at Ron and Ginny. "So, how was Quidditch practice?"

"It was a nightmare," said Ron in a surly voice.

"Oh come on," said Hermione, looking at Ginny, "I'm sure it wasn't that —"

"Yes, it was," said Ginny. "It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it."

"Poor Angie. . . ."

Next Monday morning after a catastrophic game—which was fortunately quick as Ginny caught the Snitch twenty minutes in, saving Gryffindor from their suffering—they entered the Great Hall for breakfast at exactly the same moment as the post owls the next Monday morning. As they sat down an owl landed in front of Harry with a thud.

"Who're you after?" he asked it, languidly removing his orange juice from underneath its beak and leaning forward to see the recipient's name and address:

Harry Potter Great Hall Hogwarts School

Hermione watched as he frowned and made to take the letter from the owl, but before he could do so, three, four, five more owls had fluttered down beside it and were jockeying for position, treading in the butter, knocking over the salt, and each attempting to give him their letters first.

"What's going on?" Ron asked in amazement, as the whole of Gryffindor table leaned forward to watch as another seven owls landed amongst the first ones, screeching, hooting, and flapping their wings.

"Prongslet!" said Hermione excitingly, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylindrical package. "Open this one!"

Harry ripped off the brown packaging. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of March's edition of The Quibbler. He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly at him from the front cover. In large red letters across his picture were the words:

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:

THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN

"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself onto the bench between Fred and Ron. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these," she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, "are letters from readers."

"Can we read them?"

"Help yourself," said Harry, feeling slightly bemused.

Ron and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes.

"This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker," said Ron, glancing down his letter. "Ah well . . ."

"This one wants you to try shock therapy at St. Mungos," Hermione laughed crumpling the letter.

"This one looks okay, though," said Harry slowly, scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley. "Hey, she says she believes me!"

"This one's in two minds," said Fred, who had joined in the letter-opening with enthusiasm. "Says you don't come across as a mad person, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now. . . . Blimey, what a waste of parchment . . ."

"This one buys it!" said Hermione excitedly. " 'Having read your side of the story I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly. . . . Little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth. . . .' This is wicked!"

"Another one who thinks you're barking," said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder.

"You're barking," Hermione muttered and Ron went silent along with Harry and then busted out laughing much to the confusion of those around them—with exception of Fred who was chuckling under his breath as he watched Hermione laugh out loudly.

"Okay, bloody hell, Dame," Ron said after he had calmed down and went back to the letters, "This one says you've got her converted, and she now thinks you're a real hero—she's put in a photograph too—wow—"

"What is going on here?" said a falsely sweet, girlish voice.

Harry looked up with his hands full of envelopes. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry. Behind her, he saw many of the students watching them avidly.

"Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" she asked slowly.

"Is that a crime now?" said Fred loudly. "Getting mail?"

"Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention," said Umbridge. "Well, Mr. Potter?"

Harry hesitated, but he did not see how he could keep what he had done quiet; it was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge's attention.

"People have written to me because I gave an interview," said Harry. "About what happened to me last June."

For some reason, he glanced up at the staff table as he said this. He had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore had been watching him a second before, but when he looked, Dumbledore seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Professor Flitwick.

"An interview?" repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. "What do you mean?"

"I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them," said Harry. "Here—"

And he threw the copy of The Quibbler at her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.

"When did you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. 

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry.

She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers.

"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter," she whispered. "How you dare . . . how you could . . ." She took a deep breath. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions."

Hermione was about to shout at her in protest when she felt Fred kick her in the shin and giving her a pointed look which made Hermione huff and glare at the toad, who was stalking away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.

By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on House notice boards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.

— by order of —

The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.

Signed:

Dolores Umbridge
high inquisitor

For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.

"What exactly are you so happy about?" Harry asked her.

"Cause she's so dumb!" Hermione smiled. "Banning the Quibbler will just make the students want to read it more!"

And it seemed that Hermione was quite right. By the end of that day, the whole place seemed to be quoting the interview at each other; Hermione heard them whispering everywhere.

Meanwhile, Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets. She was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry's interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it.

The teachers were, of course, forbidden from mentioning the interview by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same. Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice on him at the end of Charms, said "Shh!" and hurried away. . . .

And unbelievably, no sooner had they arrived outside Transfiguration than something good happened: Seamus stepped out of the queue to face Harry—which Hermione thought was curious because she knew Seamus already believed in him (and obviously that he was going to do this), but even so he just had to suck in his pride and face Prongslet, he couldn't just casually start talking to him again.

"I just wanted to say," he mumbled, squinting at Harry's left knee, "I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam."

The thing that made Hermione's heart sink, though, was the sight of Theo along with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's, with their heads together later that afternoon in the library. They looked around at the trio as they browsed the shelves for the books they needed for their homework, and Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe. Theo however just sent a devastating look Hermione's way. So she stepped out of the shelf and walked up to him ignoring the glares from the Slytherins and her friends.

"Hey, Theo."

"Hey, Mimi," he answered with a slight smile.

"Come with me?" Hermione said returning the smile. The Slytherin nodded and silently packed his things, he too ignoring the looks on his "friends" faces and walked out of the library with her.

Hermione led him to an empty classroom and as soon as she had closed the door behind them she heard a thud from behind her and a sobbing noise. She turned on her heel to watch in heartbreak as Theo was sat on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and his face burning in them.

Hermione opted not to say anything as she sat beside him on the ground and brought him to her, wrapping her arms around him and rubbing his hair in comfort. They stayed like that until Hermione sensed Theo starting to calm down, as his breathing evened.

"Your family doesn't define you, honey. . . . It's the choices you make, okay?" Hermione whispered softly.

"I—you don't know how bad things are getting there. . . ." Theo whispered so lowly Hermione almost had difficulty in listening to what he said. Almost.

"You know my door is always opened," she told him, "If it ever gets unbearable or you just can't take it anymore, or any time really, you can come and live with me," she said softly and he immediately shook his head untangling himself from their embrace and whipping the tears off his eyes.

"I can't, Mione," he said desperately and Hermione nodded.

"Fine, not now, but you're always welcomed there, as well in Blaises's and Daphne's house. . . ."

"Thank you," he said lowly and then proceeded to get up and fix his appearance. "I—I'm going to go and find Daph."

"Fine," Hermione smiled also getting up before pulling him into a hug. "If you ever need anything I'm here, Teddy. We're family."

"I know," Theo smiled—genuinely this time—and left the classroom.

That day during supper Hermione wasn't in the best of moods. Firstly, because of what happened with Theo. Secondly, because she had to explain to two hot-headed lions why in hell she was still associated with Theo being that his father was a Death Eater. Hermione had promptly rolled her eyes at that comment and proceeded to give a speech. About how his dad was a Death Eater before and that now it was just more public. About how family doesn't define you—taking out the Sirius card—and whatnot. In the end, the two boys had their mouths clamped shut and their jaws clenched but didn't say anything else. Hermione was also feeling sucky because she had remembered what she was thinking about during Hogsmeade.

And in all honesty, she couldn't help but agree with her drunk self slightly. She was mulling over her feelings and thoughts and she knew she couldn't ignore them forever. Not this time. With everything that was going on, she knew the cap of her emotion bottle would come out eventually but for now, she would ignore it. Because even if those drunken thoughts of her were mulling over in the back of her brain she wanted to keep things how they were, and that was with Fred.

Hermione tried harder than ever to ignore crappy feelings the next few weeks. She made everything in her reach not to stop during the day; she would spend more time with Fred (which was the best thing to keep her mind at ease. . . .); flying with Angie and Ginny; discussing muggle movie theories and upgrades for their school with Dean, Seamus, and a really confused Neville; spending time with the Slytherins ignoring all of their life problems; mountains of homework; etc. All the while Harry's dream about Rockwood was going on.

Then came the day she was waiting for and Hermione made sure to have her camera as she and Ron walked over to the entrance hall to see what all the screaming was about (though Hermione knew already, hence the camera).

Students had come flooding out of the Great Hall, where dinner was still in progress, to see what was going on. Others had crammed themselves onto the marble staircase. Hermione urged Ron forward, pushing themselves through the herd of students. Professor McGonagall was a few feet away from them; she looked as though what she was watching made her feel faintly sick.

Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something—better yet someone—that seemed to be standing at the foot of the stairs.

"No!" she shrieked. "NO! This cannot be happening. . . . It cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realize this was coming?" said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and both her and Ron crammed their necks slightly and saw that Trelawney's terrifying vision was nothing other than Professor Umbridge. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?"

"You c-can't!" howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, "you c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It was your home," said Professor Umbridge, and Hermione and Ron shared a disgusted look as they saw the enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, onto one of her trunks, "until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us."

But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backward and forward on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Then they heard footsteps. Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney, and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.

"There, there, Sibyll . . . Calm down. . . . Blow your nose on this. . . . It's not as bad as you think, now. . . . You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts. . . ."

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. "And your authority for that statement is . . . ?"

"That would be mine," said a deep voice.

The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. Click! The first picture was taken much to the bafflement and confusion of those around Hermione. Leaving the doors wide behind him, Professor Dumbledore strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Professor Trelawney sat, tearstained and trembling, upon her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" said Umbridge with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here"—she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes—"an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she—that is to say, I— feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor, you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid," he went on, with a courteous little bow, "that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continues to live at Hogwarts."

At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden.

"No—no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere—"

"No," said Dumbledore sharply. "It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll."

He turned to Professor McGonagall.

"Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course," said McGonagall. "Up you get, Sibyll. . . ."

Professor Sprout came hurrying forward out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked, "Locomotor trunks!" and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear. Click! Team effort captured by Hermione Granger (again, much to the confusion of the others).

Professor Umbridge was standing shock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.

"And what," she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found—?" said Umbridge shrilly. "You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty- two—"

"—the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if—and only if—the headmaster is unable to find one," said Dumbledore. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"

He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Hermione and Ron heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even farther backward, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.

Through the mist came a face Hermione was oh, so excited to meet: white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes, the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse. Click!

"This is Firenze," said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him suitable."

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