"Why is she here?!" Harry exclaimed, utterly bewildered.
Sitting there was a short, plump woman with curly, mousy-brown hair tied with a large, pink bow. She was wearing a fluffy, pink cardigan, and her pale, toad-like face, with its heavy-lidded, bulging eyes, was instantly recognizable.
"Bloody hell, the pink toad I mentioned on the train wasn't this kind of pink toad!" Ron gasped, horrified.
"All I remember is that she gave Cohen a 'one' last year," Harry said, clearly unimpressed. "Why does it have to be her teaching –"
"Guess Fudge really has a soft spot for pink, plump toads," Cohen remarked dryly.
They made their way to the Gryffindor table, settling down to wait for the Sorting Hat to be brought out for its song and to witness this year's Sorting Ceremony.
The first-years, led by Professor McGonagall, walked into the Great Hall and lined up in front of the staff table. The Sorting Hat was placed on the stool, opened its brim, and began to sing.
"A thousand years or more ago,
When I was newly sewn,
There lived four wizards of renown,
Whose names are still well known..."
...
"But now, our Hogwarts faces peril,
Foes outside are watching, hungry,
We must unite within these walls,
Or everything will crumble from within.
I have spoken plainly to you all,
I have sounded the alarm…
Now let the Sorting commence."
The Sorting Hat's song had taken on a rather gloomy tone; it seemed Dumbledore had filled it in on the current state of affairs.
"Has the Sorting Hat ever given a warning before?" Hermione asked, concerned.
"Yes, indeed," Nearly Headless Nick chimed in. "Whenever he feels it his moral duty to impart a suitable warning to the school..."
Nick's words were cut short by a stern look from Professor McGonagall; no whispering was allowed during the Sorting.
"Abercrombie, Euan!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
A frantic-looking little boy stumbled down from the stage, his face beet red amidst the applause from the Gryffindor students.
Cohen wasn't particularly interested in the other students' sorting, though he might pay attention to old Filch's grandson if he showed up. After a dozen or so students had been sorted, it was finally the timid boy's turn.
"Flick, Godfrey!"
Professor McGonagall read out his name. Little Flick took tiny steps, head down, and ran up. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and not long after –
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Well, fancy that," Cohen muttered.
"You know him?" Harry asked, curious.
"Met his granddad when I was traveling," Cohen whispered back to Harry. "Remember that old water snake in my trunk? His granddad was rather fond of it."
"Oh, right!" Harry said.
"You're in this house too!" Little Flick exclaimed, surprised, as he sat down opposite Cohen.
"I guess you forgot what I said on the train," Cohen said. "I told you, 'If you end up in Gryffindor, I'm definitely going to put you through your paces.'"
Little Flick's face instantly went pale – because Cohen had also mentioned feeding them to Dementors.
"Don't scare the new students, Cohen!" Hermione snapped, reminding him. "Don't mind him, Godfrey, Cohen's just got a dreadful personality – nothing he says is true."
"I'll probably still just call you 'Little Flick' anyway," Cohen said. "The name Godfrey always makes me think of other things, like a shirtless, muscular old man who's always trying to dunk a basketball..."
The Sorting quickly drew to a close. After the last girl was sorted into Hufflepuff, Dumbledore stood up to greet everyone and announced that dinner was served.
"Brilliant!" Ron wasted no time digging in.
"Does the Sorting Hat really think people from the four houses can get along now?" Harry pondered, recalling the Hat's new song.
"Highly unlikely, about as likely as humans and Dementors coexisting peacefully," Cohen commented.
"At least there's still a bit of hope for the second one," Harry said, shaking his head as he glanced towards the Slytherin table. "The first one, forget it. I don't think I'll ever have anything to say to anyone from Slytherin in my life."
"I'm recording this," Cohen patted the wand in his pocket. "I'll play this for your kids when they're born, if any of them end up in Slytherin."
"Never!" Harry stated firmly.
"You shouldn't have that attitude," Nearly Headless Nick said regretfully. "Peaceful coexistence, cooperation – that's the key. We ghosts, though from different houses, still maintain close friendships."
"The wizarding world is still too fragmented," Cohen said. "Centralized management would eliminate that kind of discrimination – because everyone would be equally miserable."
Once everyone had eaten their fill, Dumbledore began to introduce the new school rules and important notices, as well as the two new professors.
"This year, our teaching staff has two changes. We are delighted to welcome Professor Grubbly-Plank to teach Care of Magical Creatures. Likewise, we are also pleased to introduce Professor Umbridge, who will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
The applause in the Great Hall was polite, but not enthusiastic. Hermione's expression grew increasingly sour – Umbridge still wore an arrogant smirk during Dumbledore's speech, showing him no respect whatsoever. And as Dumbledore began his next sentence, she very pointedly cleared her throat twice.
"I've never seen anyone interrupt the Headmaster's speech like that," Hermione fumed. "It's utterly rude – or rather..." Hermione mouthed the word "provocation."
Dumbledore politely stepped aside, allowing Umbridge to come forward and speak.
"Thank you, Headmaster," Umbridge said with a fake smile. "Thank you for such a warm welcome." She smoothed down her cardigan and coughed delicately a few more times.
"Hem, hem. Well, I must say, it is simply wonderful to be back at Hogwarts!" Umbridge grinned, her voice shrill and sickly sweet, like an old woman trying to sound like a young girl. "It's so lovely to see all your happy little faces looking up at me!"
"How revolting," Cohen muttered. "Even a baby Basilisk would lose its appetite."
"So gross," Harry agreed with Cohen. "Does she think we're five years old?"
The whispers from below didn't reach Umbridge's ears, or perhaps she simply didn't care.
"On a more serious note, the Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. Your innate, precious gifts, if not cultivated and refined under careful and precise tutelage, may remain fruitless. The ancient techniques unique to the magical world..." Umbridge's voice became formal and dry, as if she were reciting a pre-prepared speech.
The dull platitudes made the students drowsy, but Hermione listened intently, her brow remaining deeply furrowed.
"...our traditions, forged through experience, rarely require clumsy amendment. A balance must be struck, between the old and the new, the enduring and the mutable, tradition and innovation..."
"The Qing Dynasty has fallen, you know..." Cohen yawned. He had hoped to hear about the Ministry's educational reform plans hidden within the speech, but the repetitive rhetoric was too distracting.
"...to preserve what must be preserved, to perfect what needs perfecting, and to prune away practices that we are right to forbid."
She sat down after her speech.
"What did she even say?" Harry jolted awake from his dazed state as Dumbledore began speaking again.
"Some very bad things," Cohen yawned. "Looks like we won't be learning anything interesting this semester."
"This isn't just about the curriculum anymore," Hermione said, gritting her teeth. "I originally thought the Ministry just wanted to monitor Dumbledore this way – but now it seems it's more than that. They want to interfere with all of Hogwarts's education, sideline Dumbledore, and strip him of any real power."
"A politician's delusion," Cohen scoffed. "Power and strength are inseparable. Power without strength is just a pile of sand, it'll scatter without even a breeze, just by walking a few steps – that sounds so familiar, I really want to douse that pink toad in red wine..."
"She's looking at you, Cohen," Harry suddenly whispered, nudging him.
Cohen followed Harry's gaze. Umbridge was indeed staring at him, without a hint of disguise, her eyes filled with disgust and hatred for filthy half-bloods.
"Challenging me, huh? Interesting," Cohen said. "Suddenly, I'm not sleepy anymore."