[Castling] Chapter 74

The morning of our departure was cold and gloomy, but at least it wasn’t raining—small mercies. Not that it mattered much; I was in an excellent mood. I was already looking forward to the year ahead—classes with Flitwick, trying out for the team, training sessions I’d planned out down to the last rep. I’d even packed a couple of basic enchanted weights and portable exercise gear—shrunk down and tucked neatly into my sports bag.

Percy Flooed me to the station about an hour before the train, then dashed off to Hogwarts himself. I nabbed a compartment and went out to meet the Lovegoods. They showed up about ten minutes later—Xeno was clearly in a rush too. Luna and I had time for a proper chat and a cup of tea, and then, spotting Moody arriving through the window with the luggage, I left her with her magazine and went to meet the others—running late, as usual.

Turned out they’d walked to the station from Grimmauld Place—about twenty minutes at a leisurely pace.

Mum smothered me with kisses, Ginny wrapped me up in a hug, the twins and Harry gave me a round of friendly bruises, and even Hermione looked a bit flustered but relieved to see me—nice to have someone to share nerves and duties with.

Harry had a full-on entourage this time, even Lupin and Tonks had turned up—Tonks disguised as an old woman, for some reason. Honestly, he looked a bit of a sad sight surrounded by all these people—not a relative in the lot, just ex-teachers and Order members. They kept clapping him on the back and handing out advice like he was heading off to war.

Moody was lurking nearby, giving everyone the once-over with his magical eye while he and Mum took turns cursing out some bloke named Sturgis who hadn’t shown up. A big black dog was bouncing around our group, wagging his tail and trying to lick everyone’s hands, and for a moment I had to suppress a shudder—couldn’t help but remember him devouring a rat with the same enthusiasm. The owls, cats, and whatnot milling about didn’t help.

I said my goodbyes and helped Ginny lug her things into her mates’ compartment, just as the train whistle blew and the crowd began to scatter.

“Right, we’re off to find Lee,” the twins announced, then vanished into the next carriage.

“Ooh, I should probably go too—Amanda’s waiting for me,” Ginny chirped, tossing Harry a quick, cheeky smile as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Come on, I’ve got us a compartment,” I said, hoisting the cat carrier and leading the way.

“Ron, you do remember we’ve got to report to the prefects’ carriage?” came Hermione’s businesslike voice behind me.

“I know,” I called back without looking. “We’ll sort Harry out and drop your bags, then we’ll go.”

Neville caught up with us puffing, dragging his trunk in one hand and a mesh bag in the other—with poor Trevor in a jar, looking miserable. He also had a scraggly cactus in a pot, missing most of its spines like it’d been through the wars.

Luna glanced up from her magazine with a soft smile, pushing her glasses up as she greeted the boys with a little nod. I’d introduced them all the previous winter when we were practising dancing. They might’ve found her a bit odd, but they kept it to themselves—if we ever talked about Hogwarts girls, it was mostly about looks anyway, and older girls at that. Hermione, though, pursed her lips at the sight of Luna in a way that reminded me far too much of Harry’s aunt.

“Luna, you already know the lads, and this is Hermione Granger—my friend and Gryffindor prefect,” I said, leaving out anything else. “Neville, stow Trevor and that Mimbletonia of yours on the luggage rack—and don’t poke it,” I added before he could start rambling. “Harry, stuff the cat carrier under the seat, and you lot get those owl cages up top. Right. Don’t get into trouble—we’ll be back soon.”

We were gone for nearly an hour. This year’s new prefects were Eddie Attwood from Ravenclaw and Millie Lehman from Hufflepuff. I didn’t know them well—they seemed alright, and hey, not being Slytherins was a plus.

After getting our rundown of duties and doing a patrol of the first years’ carriage, we finally made it back. Harry was chatting with Cho Chang by the window outside our compartment. He looked flustered when he spotted us, and Cho gave us a polite smile before clearly making her exit.

“Fancy some tea with us, Chang?” I offered, mostly for Harry’s sake. I still thought she was a cow—albeit a fit one—but he was my mate, and I figured it was time to play nice. She gave me a look like she appreciated the gesture, but with a quick glance toward Luna, she declined.

“Thanks, Weasley, maybe another time. Just popped by to say hello. See you at school, Harry.”

Harry watched her walk away with a wistful look and followed me back into the compartment, where Hermione was mid-rant about the Slytherin prefect picks.

“…And that horrible cow Pansy Parkinson,” she snapped, shredding a cupcake onto her napkin. “How is she a prefect? She’s fat and slow like a troll that’s been walloped in the head!”

“Maybe prefects need other qualities,” I said, raising an eyebrow in my best Snape impression. I remembered Parkinson being a bit thick around the edges, sure—but she had curves, and those big brown eyes weren’t half bad. “You’re not expecting us to go running after rule-breakers, are you? And let’s be honest, Slytherins’ll always find a reason to dock points from Gryffindor without needing to break a sweat. Tea, anyone? Luna? Neville?”

Hermione gave me a sour look, but Harry finally snapped out of his daze and joined the conversation, while Neville helpfully changed the subject.

“Good thing you lot can legally put the squeeze on Crabbe and Goyle now,” he said cheerfully, biting into a bun. Poor bloke had taken his fair share of grief from those two, though thankfully it had never come to blows.

"You shouldn’t abuse your position as a prefect, Ron!" Hermione jumped in before I could even open my mouth. "Malfoy’s obviously going to abuse his, but that doesn’t mean we have to stoop to his level."

"Hermione, I’ve read the rulebook and listened to the briefing same as you," I said with a tight smile, pouring her some tea before turning to Neville.

Merlin, she was getting on my nerves today with all her preaching. But I didn’t want to start an argument on the first day back. I figured it was just nerves—her fear of messing something up. With how obsessed she is about doing everything right, she must be stressing to keep it all perfect.

Meanwhile, Harry had spotted something interesting in the magazine next to him and asked Luna if he could have a look. She nodded without a word, still nibbling on a biscuit, and passed it over.

As Harry read, his expression morphed from surprised to downright gobsmacked, and by the end he was clearly holding back laughter as he carefully set the magazine back down. Luna had just taken a sip of tea and we shared a knowing glance. We weren’t about to let on about The Quibbler's secrets. Maybe I’d explain it to Harry later, quietly.

“Something good in there?” Neville asked, mid-sip, but before anyone could answer, Hermione cut in:

“Of course not,” she said with a huff, slamming her cup onto the saucer. “Everyone knows that magazine’s absolute rubbish.”

“I beg your pardon,” Luna said before I could, her dreamy springtime eyes turning frosty like a frozen pond. “My father publishes that magazine.”

“I… er…” Hermione stammered, clearly flustered. “I mean, there’s… some interesting bits… for entertainment, I suppose…”

Luna set her cup down, ignored Hermione’s attempt to backpedal, and calmly disappeared behind her magazine. The cosy vibe in the compartment vanished in a puff of awkward silence. Everyone looked uncomfortable, and I had to fight the urge to shake Hermione by the shoulders and tell her to snap out of it.

Luckily—or unluckily—Malfoy showed up.

“What do you want?” Harry barked at him the moment he appeared in the doorway, not even letting him speak.

“Mind your manners, Potter, or I’ll dock points,” Malfoy drawled, his sneer sweeping over the compartment. “See, unlike you, I am a prefect, which means I have every right to discipline people. So, tell me, Potter—what’s it like, being second to Weasley?”

“Shut it, Malfoy!” Hermione snapped, shooting to her feet before Harry could even react. I could see he was ready to lunge, and Malfoy’s goons were getting twitchy too.

“You tell us, Malfoy,” I said lazily, with a smirk. “You’re used to coming second. Potter’s always beat you at Quidditch, and Granger wipes the floor with you in class. Got any tips on how to keep a stiff upper lip while choking on your own mediocrity? Poor sod—bet the only thing you can write to Daddy about is how hard your life is.”

Well. That was probably the first time in Hogwarts history two prefects got into a brawl before even reaching the castle.

Good thing I managed to shove Malfoy out into the corridor—no one was around to see it happen. We got pulled apart pretty quickly, and none of the other prefects got wind of it. Outwardly, we walked away with just a couple of matching shiners, and a bloody scratch down my cheek from his ridiculous ring. I aimed for his stomach, trying not to leave a mark. His goons didn’t even help him—in fact, they helped Harry and Hermione break us up.

Still, it helped clear the air. Later, Luna quietly and meticulously dabbed some potion on my black eye and the cut, while the boys excitedly rehashed the details of the fight, and Hermione lectured me so hard I swear my ears were ringing. Made for a lively ride to the castle. By the time we arrived, the bruises had mostly faded.

By twilight, we spilled onto the platform—first-years long gone. We chucked our bags and pets into the carriages, which started rolling off. Hermione, who’d fallen behind, barely made it onto the step.

“Where’ve you been?” Harry asked grumpily, pinned beneath two owl cages and someone’s oversized trunk.

“Malfoy just treated a second-year like absolute rubbish,” she huffed, looking completely frazzled, and we weren’t even at school yet. “I’m definitely bringing it up at the first prefect meeting. Where’s my cat?”

“Under the seat,” I replied, nudging Trevor’s jar further from Luna so it didn’t tip and smack her on the next bump.

“Guys, looks like Hagrid’s not at the castle,” Ginny chimed in, appearing out of nowhere. “Professor Grubbly-Plank took the first-years. Maybe he’s quit?”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely,” Luna said dreamily. “We in Ravenclaw think he’s a good soul, but a rubbish teacher.”

“He is not rubbish!” Hermione, Neville, and Ginny cried at once. Harry, meanwhile, had wriggled past the owl cages and was peering out the window.

“Yeah… no lights in the hut,” he murmured. But we were already pulling up to the castle, and getting out of the carriages with all our gear was just as much of a struggle as getting in.

The Great Hall was nearly full. We barely found three seats next to Lavender and Parvati. Opposite us were Kellah and Seamus with Dean. Neville had vanished somewhere—probably off to stash his dodgy cactus in the dorm.

“Hi,” the girls giggled when they saw us, exchanging glances.

I gave them a smile and said hello, while Hermione muttered a greeting without even looking at them, scanning the room like a hawk for rule violations. Harry, of course, was still scanning for Hagrid and barely noticed anything else. Ginny had been right, though—sitting at the staff table was an older witch in his place. So maybe he had been sent to the giants after all? But why now? Voldemort hadn’t come back yet… or had he? I caught myself glancing toward Snape—he looked as permanently irritated as ever.

“How was your summer, Ron?” Lavender giggled, casting a flirty glance over at me with Kellah and Parvati snickering beside her. “Trying out for the team this year?”

And I noticed that over the summer, Lavender had filled out rather nicely in all the right places—or maybe she’d just learned how to show it off better. Either way, I threw caution (and secrets) to the wind and didn’t miss my chance for a bit of harmless flirting.

“Looks like our new Defence teacher hasn’t got the slightest clue about style,” Lavender said with a mock pout, nodding toward the staff table. That’s when we finally noticed the middle-aged woman in pink with a frilly bow stuck in her curls, sitting next to the Headmaster. Blimey—Umbridge.

“I know her. That’s Dolores Umbridge—Fudge’s undersecretary. I saw her once when I visited Dad at work. Word of advice, girls—never work for the Ministry,” I said playfully, trying to steer their attention elsewhere. “Clearly no one there will appreciate your excellent fashion sense.”

Everyone laughed softly, and thankfully, the girls shifted their focus to discussing Umbridge and her ridiculous outfit. Gave me a moment to think. In the book, Umbridge was sent after Diggory died. But Snape had warned me the Headmaster and Fudge weren’t exactly on good terms right now. So the Minister probably jumped at the chance to plant someone here—keep Dumbledore in check, stop us from raising an army under his nose. Pity… looks like we’re stuck with rubbish Defence lessons after all. I’d need to talk Hermione out of the DA idea—no point in drawing the Ministry’s attention.

After the Sorting—nothing new from the Hat this year—Dumbledore stood to speak. Turned out Hagrid hadn’t been sacked, just on leave, and would be back by October. He then introduced our new teacher. I couldn’t remember her exact speech from the book, but it was just as dull, and the woman herself came off like a sugary, simpering type who looked like she’d pinch your cheek, pat your bum, and giggle like she was sixteen. No one really listened to her speech—everyone was more focused on her pink cardigan and that daft bow. Only Hermione, of course, picked up on some grand conspiracy in Umbridge’s words and muttered away under her breath, looking terribly concerned.

Finally, the food arrived. I did proper justice to the cutlets and potato bake—and I didn’t skip the apple pie, either.

By the time dinner ended, everyone was full and slouching at the tables. Only Hermione kept her serious look, sitting there until Harry nudged her.

“Hermione, wake up,” I teased. “We’ve still got to show the first-years where they’re sleeping.”

“Oh—right,” she gasped, jolting upright and giving me a look like it was my fault. “First-years!” she called in her best authoritative voice. “Over here!”

We led the tiny lot up to the tower. Didn’t bother pointing out landmarks—they were all half asleep and terrified anyway. Hermione launched into a long-winded welcome speech, during which the rest of us nearly nodded off, and I wrapped things up by saying if they ever needed help, just ask. The familiar words seemed to cheer them a bit, and Hermione, looking mildly annoyed, split them off into their dorms.

Back in ours, we found a five-litre keg of ale waiting, along with a pile of snacks and some dodgy holiday souvenirs. Dean and Seamus had spent the summer with Seamus’s mum on the Spanish coast and brought back a bunch of weird little charm stones they hung on the walls next to the new posters.

By about one in the morning, tipsy and content, we finally passed out. I lay back with my drink, thinking how good it felt that no one was calling Harry mad this year. Just imagine—if he hadn’t been protected during the tournament, would we be sitting here now, laughing, drinking, talking about girls like normal lads? Maybe I wasn’t as close to Dean and Seamus as I was to Harry, but we got on. And none of that would’ve lasted if someone hadn’t stepped in to stop that bloody Cup mess. So yeah—I'm properly glad things turned out this way.

To hell with canon if it wrecks people’s lives.