Chapter 106: The New Term, Undercurrents
The platform at Hogsmeade was chaos disguised as order. The usual happy clamour of reunion was replaced by hushed whispers and sidelong glances as students streamed off the train. At the forefront, a grim delegation of professors awaited.
Elian, Hermione, Harry, and Ron tried to melt into the crowd, but Professor McGonagall's laser-sharp gaze found them instantly.
"Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley! Do not pretend you are invisible. The Head of House wishes to see you. All of you." Her voice brooked no argument.
Nearby, Severus Snape descended upon the dishevelled Slytherins like a furious bat. He took in Draco Malfoy's pallor, the foul odour clinging to his robes, and the general air of humiliation surrounding Crabbe and Goyle. His lip curled.
"A disgrace," he hissed, his voice low enough to freeze the blood. "You represent your House, and this is the spectacle you present? Detention. With me. Every evening this week. Now, get to the carriages before you further offend the senses."
His black eyes flicked past his own students, landing for a fraction of a second on Elian. There was no warmth there, but neither was there the protective fury he showed Malfoy. It was a cold, calculating look that seemed to say, 'So, the game is truly on.'
Malfoy shot a look of pure, venomous hatred towards Elian before stumbling away, supported by his cronies.
The 'offending' students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff were shepherded by their respective Heads—McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout—away from the main crowd and up towards the castle, bypassing the welcoming feast entirely.
In Professor McGonagall's office, a line of Gryffindors stood against the wall. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Elian, Ginny, the Weasley twins, Seamus, Neville… it was a significant portion of the D.A.'s core.
Professor McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. "Would it be too much to ask," she began, her voice taut, "for a single term to pass without a significant portion of my house being delivered to me for disciplinary reasons? Mr. and Miss Weasley, your father is recovering in hospital. Must he also worry about you facing expulsion?"
She sighed, the anger seeming to drain out of her, replaced by weary exasperation. She waved her wand. A stack of heavy parchment, a pot of ink, and a quiver of quills appeared on her desk, followed by a towering, leather-bound tome: Hogwarts: A History of Rules and Bylaws.
"You will each copy," she said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation, "Section Seven: 'Conduct on School Transport and the Preservation of Inter-House Decorum'. Twice. You may return to your common room when you are finished. And not a moment before."
It wasn't a severe punishment. It was, in fact, a slap on the wrist. The students exchanged hidden, relieved smiles. McGonagall's display of anger on the platform had been for Snape's benefit—a necessary piece of theatre.
Indeed, while Snape's fury was genuine, the other Heads had been quietly complicit. They all loathed Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad. A public humiliation of Malfoy's little band, away from school grounds? It was inconvenient, but not entirely regrettable. By dealing with it internally, they kept Umbridge's talons out of the affair.
By the time the last line of decorum was copied ("…students shall not use locomotive corridors for the purpose of unauthorised duelling or the casting of jinxes designed to induce gastrointestinal distress…"), it was late. The feast in the Great Hall was long over.
Yet, when the chastened group finally trudged into the Gryffindor common room, they were met not with silence, but with a subdued, triumphant celebration. Older students had smuggled out pasties, pumpkin juice, and cakes. They were greeted with grins and pats on the back.
"Heard you lot gave Malfoy the runs!" crowed a seventh-year.
"Served the little git right!"
"Three cheers for the train brigade!"
For a moment, they were heroes. Elian found himself hoisted onto the shoulders of Fred and George Weasley, the room spinning with laughing faces.
Later, as they settled into armchairs, Harry, chewing on a chicken leg, frowned. "Hey… did anyone see Hagrid at the feast?"
The chatter died. Students who had attended looked at each other and shook their heads.
"No sign of him," said a sixth-year prefect.
"Come to think of it, the gamekeeper's hut was dark as we passed," added another.
"Maybe he's off finding another 'cuddly' Blast-Ended Skrewt," Ron muttered, earning a swat from Hermione.
But the mood had shifted. Hagrid's absence was a palpable hole. His classes were chaotic and often terrifying, but his presence was a constant, a warm, grounding piece of Hogwarts itself. His absence felt ominous.
Elian's mind worked. Hagrid's mission to the giants… it had taken longer than expected. In his memory of Harry's world, Hagrid returned later in the term, and he did not return alone. His absence now was a ticking clock, signalling that Dumbledore's plans were in motion, and Voldemort's response would be coming.
"When he gets back," Harry said, turning to Elian with forced cheer, "I'll introduce you. You'll like him. He's brilliant."
"If you don't mind being drowned in slobber and smelling of dog for a week," Ron grumbled through a mouthful of pie.
The following days settled into the familiar, tense rhythm of Umbridge's Hogwarts. Classes were a drudgery of theory without practice. The High Inquisitor's decrees papered the walls. The Inquisitorial Squad, now nursing a very public grudge, stalked the corridors with renewed spite, their eyes constantly searching.
D.A. meetings continued in the Room of Requirement, the practices now sharper, more serious. The success on the train had bonded them, but it had also painted a target on their backs. They were careful, paranoid, using every secret passage and disillusionment charm they knew.
Life seemed to return to a strained normalcy. But Elian could feel it, like a change in atmospheric pressure before a storm. The undercurrents were swirling. Hagrid was missing. Snape was watching. Umbridge was waiting. And somewhere, in the shadows of the castle and beyond, their enemies were not idle. The calm was an illusion. The hunt for the D.A. had begun in earnest.
(End of Chapter)
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