Ever since James and Lily had left, life gradually settled back into routine.
The days that followed were simply a matter of waiting for the new term to begin.
Veratia did not return to Hogwarts. She chose instead to remain in the Muggle world, continuing her studies there to complete the next stage of her education.
As she put it, it was preparation for working at the Ministry of Magic after graduation.
"I'm just a weak and helpless little woman," Veratia had said. "If I don't arm my mind with knowledge, how could I possibly spar with those sly old foxes at the Ministry?"
Holiday syndrome was a problem every student suffered from. After all, except for the top achievers, no one truly liked going back to school. Most only wished they could happily laze about at home.
The start of term not only meant classes and the loss of freedom, but also the mad rush to finish the essays Professor Snape had assigned before the holidays.
So, once back at school, the very first thing students did was shut themselves in their dormitories to cram their homework.
Especially the Gryffindors—led by Fred and George, they had even organized a "homework group" in the common room, gathering everyone together to share ideas and patch up Snape's endless essays.
Since Poppy had disappeared during her sixth year, Dumbledore arranged a separate Sorting Ceremony for her after the term began.
The students of Hogwarts hardly batted an eye. After all, every year there were always a couple of transfer students, and they were always pretty girls.
"I bet a Galleon she's a Slytherin," Fred said, lounging at the Gryffindor table. "Maybe transfer students all prefer that house—or perhaps only those with Slytherin traits ever transfer here."
"I'm in," George grinned. "But I say she won't be a Slytherin. Just watch, Fred—last year two transfer students already went to Slytherin. I don't think the Sorting Hat will put her there too."
And George wasn't wrong. Veratia had transferred in after Harry's second-year Christmas break, in 1993. Cassandra had joined the following term in their third year, also in 1993.
"Yes, if every transfer went to Slytherin, it would start to look like foul play," Lee Jordan said, flashing his broad grin.
"So, have you two finished your essays yet?" Angelina asked in a low voice.
"Of course," Fred said, giving her a thumbs-up. "Trust my skills—after all, a little Potions homework is nothing…"
His thumb twisted into a gesture that, would have been absolutely forbidden.
"Handled," George supplied.
Angelina shook her head helplessly. She knew exactly what came next—
"So," George leaned forward with a fawning grin, "Angelina, would you mind letting us take a peek at your essay? Don't worry—we only want to compare, to see where ours might be a bit… lacking…"
"You two are impossible," Angelina sighed. "Fine—after the feast, I'll let you see it."
George turned back and flashed Fred a triumphant "V" sign.
Fred rolled his eyes and gave him the finger.
"Hufflepuff!"
The Sorting Hat's sharp voice rang out, full of genuine delight.
The Hufflepuff table went silent for a heartbeat, then erupted in cheers.
Even the usually shy Professor Scamander at the staff table lifted his head, clapping enthusiastically at Poppy.
His own little aunt, Sorted into Hufflepuff—if he didn't clap, who would?
As a proud Hufflepuff alumnus—though technically her junior rather than her senior—he had to show proper support.
And when Dumbledore went on to announce that Poppy Sweating was also a school governor, the Hufflepuffs' cheers only grew louder.
Of course, the students weren't foolish. They immediately connected the name Poppy with the unicorn of the same name.
"You're that Miss Poppy, aren't you?"
Hannah Abbott asked shyly at the Hufflepuff table.
"I mean, the unicorn Miss Poppy who was seen in the school not long ago—she was also a governor, and she was also called Poppy. You two… well…"
"Yes, that was me." Poppy gave Hannah a gentle smile. "At that time, I had a little accident practicing Animagus transformation. Things are much better now…"
"I knew it!" Hannah's eyes lit up as she seized Poppy's hand, peppering her with endless questions.
Cedric, sitting nearby, tried several times to interrupt but gave up in the end. Forget it—if Miss Sweating didn't mind their gossip, why should he?
Hufflepuff was far warmer than Slytherin—perhaps too warm. At least they didn't immediately pick fights with newcomers the way some Slytherins had done to Veratia.
But Hufflepuff tradition dictated that they escort a newcomer to dine together in the kitchens.
"I should tell you, Miss Sweating," Megan began, "to get into the kitchens, all you need to do is—"
But before she could finish, Poppy was already tickling the pear in the painting with practiced ease.
The pear gave a little giggle and transformed into a doorknob.
"Like this?" Poppy asked with a mischievous smile.
"Yes," Megan said, suddenly remembering that Miss Sweating wasn't a clueless new student. She had only withdrawn because of her failed Animagus attempt. In fact, she probably knew Hogwarts Castle better than her own mother did.
As Poppy stepped inside, she found herself struck by a wave of nostalgia. How many years had it been since she last walked into the Hogwarts kitchens?
She remembered clearly—it had been in their first year, when Harry got hungry late one night, and she had been the one to lead him down here to eat.
"Look how thin he is…"
The old head elf, Peppay, had wept the whole time, piling food high in front of Harry.
But years had passed, and those elves were gone now. Most had passed away or retired, and the ones bustling in the kitchen now were their descendants.
They didn't know Poppy, of course. They simply busied themselves preparing the next day's meals.
While Poppy dined happily in the kitchens, the Gryffindors were frantically catching up on homework.
Even Harry couldn't escape the nightmare of unfinished assignments. Who knew what tricks Snape might pull?
And indeed, come Friday's Potions lesson, Snape's expression was darker than ever.
No one knew why, but his mood was foul.
With Poppy Sweating no longer around as a governor to protect them, Gryffindor had been ruthlessly docked points. In just the first four days of term, they had lost over a hundred and ten.
"That greasy git!" Sirius slammed his book onto the table. "He's driving me mad!"
"What else did you expect?" Lupin replied calmly, sipping his tea. "You think hexing him would help? Even if you did, he'd never let up on Gryffindor. He'd only make it worse. You know that."
"So what, then?" Sirius growled. "We're supposed to just take it? Let him strut about unchecked? If only James were here—he always had a way to make that greasy git lose his temper…"
"Even if you threw him off the eighth-floor balcony, it wouldn't be half as effective as one word from Lily," Lupin sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He acts this way because he has no sense of decency. If we stoop to his level, we lose. Best to ignore it altogether."
"Or maybe he saw James during the holidays, and since he couldn't vent his frustration on him, he's taking it out on Gryffindor."
The more Sirius thought about it, the more convinced he became. And he was equally certain they had to do something about it. They couldn't just sit back and watch Snape bully Gryffindor.
And indeed, Snape seemed not to care about appearances. As long as he could torment Gryffindor, he would go all in. That Friday, he docked them another twenty points—thirteen of them from Harry alone.
I wish my dad could string you up by your ankles, greasy git!
Harry thought furiously. But the moment he looked up, his eyes locked with Snape's—and he lost another point for "thinking disrespectfully of the professor."
Serves you right to die single, greasy git!
"I think he's gone too far," Poppy said bluntly over dinner. "He's petty, that's what he is. He doesn't even know what it means to be human, does he?"
"I—"
Ron didn't get to finish before Harry clamped a hand over his mouth in a very physical version of a Silencing Charm.
They couldn't risk Ron blurting that out—otherwise Snape would appear behind them in a flash and dock more points.
The points weren't even the worst part—the scolding was.
"Better if you don't speak at all, Ron," Hermione said, giving him the look one usually reserved for the hopeless. "Everyone knows you're Snape's summoning charm. The moment you badmouth him, he materializes behind you."
As she said this, Hermione glanced back—Snape was still seated at the staff table, murmuring something to Dumbledore.
"See? Dumbledore's probably warning him right now," Hermione said smugly.
"Even Dumbledore can't intervene much," Harry shrugged. "And to be fair, Snape's deductions are never baseless. He always has an excuse, however flimsy."
"But what, we're supposed to be flawless so he has nothing to pick at?" Ron asked with a scowl.
Harry shrugged again. Best to focus on themselves and give Snape as little ammunition as possible.
That night, as Harry approached the common room, he found Cassandra waiting at the entrance.
"Look, it's Miss Malfoy," Ron muttered to Hermione.
"I see her," Hermione whispered back, eyes glittering with anticipation as she watched Cassandra and Harry.
When Harry came closer, Cassandra strode over, her long legs carrying her quickly as she looked down at him. "Potter. Come with me."
"All right." Harry gestured to Ron that he'd be right back, then turned to Cassandra. "Where are we going?"
"Just follow me," Cassandra said flatly, walking briskly ahead.
Harry trailed after her, and from behind, he couldn't help but notice—her figure was… actually rather impressive.
They climbed the stairs until they reached an empty classroom on the fourth floor.
"You should remember," Cassandra said briskly, "we agreed to practice Occlumency together. Voldemort can influence your mind through unknown means. You need proper training. So—are you ready?"
"Wait, hold on—"
Harry quickly stopped her. "Why didn't you tell me beforehand? I could've prepared myself."
"What preparation do you need for spell practice?" Cassandra lowered her gaze. "Or… have you grown so arrogant you think you don't need it? If that's the case, I'll leave now and never bother again."
"Of course not, Cassandra," Harry said hurriedly. "It just caught me off guard, that's all. I wasn't expecting you to suddenly drag me off to practice Occlumency. But I'd be glad to work with you, Cass."
A flicker of satisfaction flashed through Cassandra's eyes—but Harry caught it.
At last, he was starting to understand how to handle her. Just keep saying the right things—there was no way that could go wrong.
"In that case…"
Cassandra began her explanation. "Occlumency is the prerequisite skill for resisting a Legilimens' probing. It involves avoiding direct eye contact or any suspicious behavior, while clearing the mind of thoughts and emotions so the Legilimens finds nothing to grasp. Resisting Legilimency requires skills similar to fighting the Imperius Curse."
"In its more advanced form, Occlumency allows one to suppress certain emotions and memories while presenting the opposite to the Legilimens—enabling the Occlumens to lie without exposing themselves."
She paused, letting Harry absorb the lesson.
When he finally looked up, she drew her wand from her robes.
"Ready?" she asked tonelessly. "Because I'm about to begin."
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