hogwarts

"The Ford Anglia Takes Flight, Astonishing Muggles Everywhere!"

Hermione exclaimed as she read the headline from the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. "Two Muggles in London claim they witnessed an antique car soaring past the Post Office Building... Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging laundry at Noon at Novotel, and Mr. Angus Fleet of Peebles reported the sighting to the police..."

"This car must belong to the Weasley family; I'm certain I've seen it before," Hermione said incredulously. "How could they..."

She pondered on who might be behind the wheel. The Weasleys were known for their respect for wizarding laws, so it seemed unlikely they'd engage in such recklessness. With the other Weasley children either abroad or safely aboard the Hogwarts Express, only Ron and Harry remained unaccounted for.

"Hey, Hermione, this is quite the event! It deserves documentation!" Fred's voice called out from the adjacent compartment. Peering over at the Daily Prophet, he remarked, "Ron and the others should've been here to capture this. We should've summoned them back."

George nodded in agreement, sharing Fred's frustration.

"What?" Hermione's ears perked up, sensing she might have misunderstood.

"Hermione, calm down," George reassured her with a smile. "Dad enchanted that car with utmost care. There won't be any issues."

"No, that's not what I meant..." Hermione started to retort, but Fred and George had already departed the compartment, eager to spread the news among their friends.

Ciaran Frémont quietly mused to himself, "Perhaps that's not entirely true."

He recalled how the Flying Car had caused quite a stir, leading Harry and Ron to a crash landing into the Whomping Willow near the Shrieking Shack at Hogwarts.

"Isn't that amazing?" Neville whispered in awe.

"Neville, really..."

"Don't worry so much, Hermione," Ciaran reassured her with a smile. "Harry and Ron will be fine. Besides, they're wizards. Even if something goes awry, they have their magic to rely on."

"Professor, that's not what concerns me," Hermione anxiously interjected. "They shouldn't be doing this. It's against the law."

"There must be a reason behind it. Harry and Ron aren't like Fred and George; they're not students bent on mischief," Ciaran reasoned. "The Restraint of Minor Wizards Act allows young wizards to use magic under certain circumstances."

Though Hermione remained apprehensive, a hint of discontent also lingered.

Neville's wistful gaze only served to further fuel Hermione's ire.

After receiving the Daily Prophet, the train soon pulled into the platform. Ciaran disembarked alone, leaving the house elves to handle his belongings.

In the chilly night breeze, a lantern swung overhead as a gruff voice called out, "First-year students! Over here!" It was Hagrid.

Ciaran exchanged greetings with Hagrid, their acquaintance dating back to their time at Hogwarts.

"Goodbye, Professor," Hermione and Neville bid their farewells as they disappeared into the night.

Perched on a high hillside across a black lake, Hogwarts Castle loomed with its myriad spires and twinkling windows under the starry sky.

Upon entering Hogwarts Castle, Ciaran encountered Professor McGonagall.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," Ciaran greeted.

"Good evening, Professor Frémont," McGonagall replied, waiting at the entrance to receive Hagrid's batch of first-year students.

Eight years had passed since Ciaran last set foot in Hogwarts Great Hall. Students from the four houses were already seated at their respective tables, their chatter filling the air. Candles floated, casting a warm glow, while gleaming gold plates adorned the tables. At the teachers' table, where Ciaran would sit, there was anticipation.

"Look, it's our new professor!"

"I wonder if he's the Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor or the combat professor?"

"Likely the combat professor. Gilderoy Lockhart teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"What? Lockhart is our professor?!"

Such discussions buzzed among a group of young witches as Ciaran passed by, suppressing a chuckle. Within a few months, they would likely discover that Lockhart wasn't quite the paragon of wisdom they imagined; for now, his dashing appearance held sway.

Lockhart, resplendent in his blue wizard robe, approached Ciaran with a winning smile. "Hello, Professor Frémont, I'm Gilderoy Lockhart. Surely you've heard of me. Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Anti-Dark Arts Alliance, and five-time recipient of Wizarding Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award!" Lockhart's grip was firm as he vigorously shook Ciaran's hand.

Other professors, though seemingly displeased with Lockhart's antics, greeted Ciaran warmly.

"Ciaran, I knew you'd return," Professor Flitwick exclaimed, standing atop a chair to shake Ciaran's hand. "I've kept all the letters you sent over the summer. I'm certain our Charms and Combat classes will complement each other splendidly."

"Yes, Professor Flitwick, I believe so too," Ciaran replied, taking his seat. Surveying his surroundings, he found Professor Trelawney of Divination on his left and the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor on his right. Lockhart, meanwhile, regaled young witches in the hall with his trademark charm, flashing his pearly whites.

Ciaran noticed the subtle disapproval etched on the faces of his fellow professors, particularly directed at Lockhart's behaviour.

Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, and others had yet to arrive.

Across the hall, a sombre-faced wizard cast a furtive glance before retreating into the shadows, his gaze lingering on the auditorium.

"Severus Snape..." Ciaran muttered, observing the Potions Master. A complex figure in his own right, Snape's fate in the original timeline had been both tragic and pivotal to the fight against Voldemort.

Snape, his hair greasy and demeanour dour, noticed Ciaran's gaze and reciprocated with a tight frown.

What thoughts crossed Ciaran's mind as he glimpsed Snape's expression?

But soon, Harry Potter's absence drew Ciaran's attention once more. Snape, fixated on the Great Hall, sought a glimpse of the green-eyed boy he both despised and was sworn to protect.

Yet, Harry Potter remained elusive, prompting Snape's departure from the hall.

Ciaran shook his head in mild bemusement. Concern, it seemed, was universal—even for someone as resolute as Snape.

His gaze then fell upon something intriguing, captivating his attention firmly.

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