Black and Potter | H. Potter

51 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆ pink bitch.

Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. The moment they reached Gryffindor's, Ginny was hailed by some fellow fourth years and left to sit with them; Ara, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville found seats together about halfway down the table between Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the last two of whom gave Harry airy, overly friendly greetings that made him quite sure they had stopped talking about him a split second before. He had more important things to worry about, however: He was looking over the students' heads to the staff table that ran along the top wall of the Hall.

"He's not there."

Ron and Hermione scanned the staff table too, while Ara didn't bother, instead she searched for Atlas' annoying self, he was to be sorted in a few moments.

"He can't have left," said Ron, sounding slightly anxious.

"Of course he hasn't," said Harry firmly.

Ara gave him a look, had he not heard her when she said that he wasn't here?

Stubborn boy.

"You don't think he's . . . hurt, or anything, do you?" said Hermione uneasily.

"No," said Harry at once.

"But where is he, then?"

The three turned to look at Ara, who raised her hands defeatedly, she began to quietly whisper, so that Neville, Parvati, and Lavender could not hear, "He's not here, he has a—er—task for you know. . . ."

"What is it—?"

"Can't say, Ronnie," Ara clicked her tongue and began to look around once more.

"Who's that?" Hermione said sharply, pointing toward the middle of the staff table.

Ara's eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the centre of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore's head was inclined toward the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and he saw, with a shock of recognition, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.

"It's that Umbridge woman!" said Harry, making Ara look over at him.

"Who?" said Hermione.

"She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!"

"Nice cardigan," said Ron, smirking.

"Yeah, it makes me want to vomit," Ara said, a disgusted look on her face.

"She works for Fudge?" Hermione repeated, frowning. "What on earth's she doing here, then?"

"Dunno . . ."

Both Ara and Hermione scanned the staff table, their eyes narrowed.

"No," Hermione muttered, "no, surely not . . ."

"Just what we needed," Ara grumbled. She knew that if someone from the Ministry and someone close to Fudge was at Hogwarts it couldn't mean anything good, it was clear that Fudge was trying to indirectly manipulate Hogwarts' rules, and possibly even the staff.

Ara already hated the woman.

Harry did not understand what they were talking about but did not ask; his attention had just been caught by Professor Grubbly-Plank who had just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Hagrid's. That meant that the first years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the entrance hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first years entered, the one boy that stood out the most was Atlas, who was considerably taller than anyone else, they were being led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizard's hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim.