~Where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve and chivalry sets a Gryffindor apart~
What if there was another prophecy made? It talked about a girl destined to the with the chosen one.
Regulus Arcturus Black. His name was forgotten, his dee...
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Cordelia was sitting beside Neville at the table, the two talking but were comfortably quiet for the most part.
Cordelia's mind was racing, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Except for the subtle out of the ordinary thing.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs, The warning history shows, For our Hogwarts is in danger From external, deadly foes And we must unite inside her Or we’ll crumble from within. I have told you, I have warned you. . . . Let the Sorting now begin.
It wasn't the first time the sorting hat sung a song. But it was definitely the first time it had a very important but subtle meaning to it.
The young Black had a faint idea about what the hat was on about.
"You know my gran believes Harry, she always said that he would come back one day. She believes if Dumbledore says he's back, he's back" Neville told Lia, who was talking about if he had read the Daily Prophet recently, "She canceled out subscription."
"That's very good Neville. Don't tell him but I believe him too" Lia smiled at Neville.
As Dumbledore was on about the tryouts, which Lia wanted to hear about, he was interrupted by their new DADA Professor.
Professor Umbridge.
Lia was highly offended and disgusted when she first saw him. Thinking how uncle Lucius could've at least told the ministry to send someone decent enough and not a toad disguised as human.
“Thank you, Headmaster,” Professor Umbridge simpered, “for those kind words of welcome.” Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish and again.
She gave another little throat-clearing cough (“Hem, hem”) and continued: “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!” She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. “And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!”
Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again (“Hem, hem”), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by- heart sound to them. “The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”
Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back. Professor McGonagall’s dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Harry distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little “Hem, hem” and went on with her speech.
