• Welcome To The Jungle

  That evening Professor Dumbledore met Willow at her rooms to walk her down to the feast. "I just wanted to take this chance to have a quick word with you, if I may?"
  
  Willow nodded, wondering what he'd forgotten to say when he'd stopped by in the morning. They'd discussed the children arriving, and the basics of what happened at the Welcoming Feast as well as whether she was settling in alright, and if there was anything she wanted. Robes had been at the top of the list as soon as Willow realised that the students and professors rarely wore muggle clothing around the school. It had been extended to include parchment, quills and ink, and after Dumbledore had left, Willow had added, "Familiar" as well. Shopping trips would have to be slotted in around her lessons in the first week of term, and Dumbledore promised to provide her with an escort whenever she wanted one.
  
  "When you arrived from America you knew nothing about our world, and it may relieve you to know that there are few people here who know anything of yours. We've had too much to deal with recenly to allow ourselves to become involved in activities in America and you can expect Harry, Hermione and Ron to be the only students to know anything of your past." Willow relaxed a little and Dumbledore continued, "This does come with a warning however. Due to Voldemort's efforts to amass an army of Dark wizards and creatures, should any students show knowledge of your uh, personal circumstances, you may wish to mention it to me. I would be quite interested to know how they came by that information."
  
  Willow nodded again, wondering if she should be expecting hatred or propositions for an alliance. "You don't think Voldemort would actually try to contact me, do you?"
  
  "I doubt it, not at this stage. I'd be surprised if he hadn't heard of you, and as a result we can expect his Deatheaters and their families to know who you are, as he has nothing to lose by making them aware of you. I haven't heard anything from my sources though, and I think he'll probably want to find out what I have in mind for you before revealing his intentions."
  
  Willow could see the Great Hall through the doorway ahead and tried to remember which seat was hers. *Now all I have to do is not make a fool of myself in the regular sense.*
  
  

  ---

  
  
  As the students filed into the Great Hall that evening the main topic of conversation was the pretty redhead sitting on the teacher's table. A couple of seventh year boys had tried to get bets going as to what course she would be taking, but the general consensus was that it would be Defence Against the Dark Arts, the only subject without a teacher at the moment. One of them managed to persuade a few second years who really should have known better that Snape would be taking over DADA, and the new teacher was a famous Irish potions mistress, and in a moment of inspiration started taking bets on which of the previous professors she'd be better than, but the student body as a whole seemed resigned to the fact that they were going to have one incompetant DADA professor after another.
  
  Willow herself was almost shaking at the thought of having to stand up and introduce herself to the whole school. *Hi, I'm Willow. My name is Willow Rosenberg. I am Professor Rosenberg.*
  
  All of the students looked smart in their school uniform, and Willow felt even more conspicuous in her muggle clothing. Shopping was a nice thought, but she still felt like a sore thumb and wondred why a place with moving staircases and talking pictures couldn't magically produce her some robes.
  
  When all the tables were full and the general hubbub had been silenced, the first years were called in and the sorting began. Willow was slightly mollified to see the confusion on Adams, Marie's face as she sat on the tall stool at the front of the hall.
  
  *I guess I'm not the only one that's never seen a sorting hat before.*
  
  "Gryffindor!" the hat called out, and Willow watched Marie walk shyly to the table that Ron, Harry and Hermione were sitting on. The realization that those three were in Gryffindor, the house she had least wanted to be sorted into, settled in her stomach like a lead weight.
  
  *I thought being in Gryffindor would be a bad thing! Professor Snape sure seemed to think so... and of course he'd think it was a bad thing, he's all moody and glowery and evil-like. Stupid Willow.*
  
  "Flint, Francis"
  
  "Slytherin!"
  
  *He's in my house,* Willow thought, *but he looks like a mini-Snape! He's got the scowl, the lank black hair, the pale skin… What have I gotten myself into?* Her worries came back full force, and she found herself dreading the moment when she would have to stand up and address the school. All of those people looking at her, and they'd know she'd been lumped in with his royal sliminess, and the scowling kid.
  
  Willow looked at the Slytherin table and inspected the children sitting on it. They could have been any other group of kids, if you were just looking over them. As she looked harder, however, she noticed that this group had a hierarchy to it. On the other tables the children tended to sit with others of their own age, but the Slytherins sat with those of the same class. For these children a family name was more important than age or gender, and was right up there with money and power. *I wonder where I fit in that pecking order,* Willow thought to herself.
  
  While Willow had been thinking, Dumbledore had been giving his welcoming speech. She caught her name, and tuned in to what he was saying just in time to catch her introduction.
  
  "I know you have noticed a new face among us this year. This is Professor Rosenberg," her stomach lurched, "who will be in Slytherin house, and will be taking you for Defence Against the Dark Arts."
  
  Willow gave a cheerful smile and wave to the assembled children before ducking her head and taking deep breaths, focussing on the table. Luckily for her, this meant she missed the looks on the faces of the Gryffindors she'd made friends with the day before. Hermione had frozen where she sat, looking scandalised, Harry just looked disappointed, and Ron looked positively smug.
  
  The Slytherin table were sharing a few looks amongst themselves too, and more than a few mutinous comments were passed about.
  
  "She looks like a Weasley!"
  
  "She looks like a muggle!"
  
  "I'm not listening to her!"
  
  "She'll be worse than Umbridge!"
  
  Blaise stretched, and leaned backwards in his seat, looking at Draco, to see what the unofficial prince of Slytherin would make of the latest addition to their house. Draco, however, was unusually silent. His attention was wholly directed at the reaction the news was having on a certain group of Gryffindors.
  
  

  ---

  
  
  After the welcoming feast was over the students ambled back to their respective dormitories, chattering amongst themselves and generally causing trouble for their Year 5 prefects. Harry and Hermione spent the walk bracing themselves for the venting they knew Ron was going to do when they got inside Gryffindor tower. Almost as soon as they got past the fat lady Ron turned round and took a deep breath, ready to begin his victory speech. The other two each grabbed one of his arms and hustled him over to the fireplace, plonking him firmly down in one of the arm chairs there.
  
  "Don't bother Ron! I know what you're about to say." Hermione sat next to him, and cut his rant off before it had begun; the safest approach when it came to dealing with Ron when he had made his mind up, a trait he had definitely inherited from his mother.
  
  "I was just going to ask if you believe me yet!" Ron muttered.
  
  "Ron, just because she's in Slytherin doesn't mean anything." Hermione countered, after a slight pause. "Not everyone in Slytherin is bad."
  
  "Yeah, well if she's that good, why isn't she in Gryffindor? Or if she's as clever as everyone's making out, why not put her in Ravenclaw? Hell Hermione, according to Dumbledore it was her best friend that stopped her from ending the world, so why not put her in Hufflepuff?"
  
  "I don't know!" Hermione snapped, looking to Harry for help. He just shrugged and went back to staring into the fire. This was something he'd been doing a lot over the summer, and neither Ron nor Hermione had needed to ask why. Aside from the battle in the Ministry of Magic, the last Harry had seen from Sirius was an angry head, ducking out of a fireplace.
  
  "I'm just saying there's gotta be a reason she's in Slytherin," Ron persisted, "and so maybe till we find out that reason we shouldn't be too friendly with her. She could just be trying to get close to us for some other reason than to be friendly and oh-so-sorry for nearly ending the world!"
  
  "She wouldn't…"
  
  "Luna thought Blaise wouldn't either" he cut in, and Hermione fell silent.
  
  Harry, watching the flames flicker in front of him, was thinking about Willow too. From what he'd seen of her he had no reason to believe she was anything other than what Dumbledore was saying she was; a very powerful young witch who had made a very serious mistake and was now trying to atone for it. Looking into her eyes, Harry had thought he'd seen a bit of himself reflected back.
  
  Willow had old eyes, like someone who had seen an awful lot while still very young. Harry could empathise with that, and he made up his mind to befriend her, and to find out what was being left unsaid. A young girl like her wouldn't just try to end the world on a whim, he decided, and if the driving force behind her destruction spree explained the look in her eyes, maybe he could prove to Ron that she wasn't the Death Eater he was convinced she was.
  
  

  ---

  
  
  The Slytherins were a lot less subtle about their feelings towards Willow. For a Slytherin, born and bred to be elitist and condescending, the insults came too easily. The fact that she had been given the position of teaching DADA, something they knew that their head of house wanted, just added fuel to the fire.
  
  "Of course," said Pansy Parkinson loftily, "I suppose if she is related to the Weasleys she won't have been able to afford any robes."
  
  Millicent Bulstrode laughed dutifully by her side. If you're not clever enough, pretty enough or rich enough to get to the top, prove yourself useful to someone who is. Pansy was all three of those things, and was rumoured to have already received the Dark Mark. She also knew that Millicent was just using her for her own advantage but it was a mutually beneficial relationship. Millicent could pretend that she actually mattered, and Pansy didn't have to get her own knuckles bruised.
  
  While Pansy's groupies were fawning over her, Draco and Blaise were sitting in their dorm room, also talking about Willow.
  
  "The Dream Team've met her before, they weren't expecting her to be in Slytherin."
  
  "So?" Blaise drawled lazily, "We get a push-over teacher for DADA. We'd have found that out in our first lesson, why's it matter?"
  
  "But why would they have met her before?" Draco was starting to get annoyed at Blaise. They'd only really started talking during the fifth year, and that had only been occasional. Although the events of the summer had led them both to seek each other's company and advice, Draco still wasn't used to Blaise's indifferent attitude to almost everything. The boy normally let life throw what it liked at him, and he just went with the flow. The only times Draco had ever really seen him flustered was once during the summer, and once on the Hogwarts Express, after they'd walked into the carriage with Ginny and Luna in it.
  
  The unconcerned manner in which Blaise was taking his conclusion about the Gryffindors having met the new DADA teacher before was irritating Draco. He'd thought it might have been a significant piece of news, and felt pleased to have been the only person to have noticed the looks on the faces of the Dream Team - Harry, Ron and Hermione. The fact that Blaise seemed so uninterested was making Draco question himself, something he didn't like doing.
  
  "I mean, if she's just an ordinary teacher, why would they have had a chance to meet before hand?"
  
  "Maybe she's related to the Weasleys. Maybe she's a friend of one of their families. Maybe she's Dumbledore's long lost lesbian niece, how should I know Drake?"
  
  "Don't call me that," snapped Draco tersely. He'd put up with the annoying nickname all summer, and now his patience was worn thin. "And don't be so bloody stupid either."
  
  He turned away from Blaise, and walked over to his desk. They were both prefects, and so they'd been given a dormitory to share since the start of the fifth year. It wasn't huge, but it had enough room for two beds, two desks, two wardrobes and an assortment of other possessions. The most important part was the fact that none of the prefects in other houses got the privacy of a two person dormitory, another bonus that came with the family name.
  
  Draco's half had a large trunk by the bed, and a few items of stationery on the desk. Just the bare essentials, Blaise had noted, no real way to know that that part of the room was the domain of Draco Malfoy, one of the most notorious people to grace the halls of Hogwarts. Nothing personal… with one, glaring exception.
  
  Not that Blaise was even meant to know about it. He'd woken in the middle of the night and rolled over in his bed, looking into the room. Draco had been sat up in bed, his wand faintly illuminating a small picture, which he'd shoved back under his pillow when he heard Blaise moving. Blaise had fallen asleep again almost immediately, but when he'd woken up the next day, curiosity had got the better of him, and he'd peeked under Draco's pillow. The picture was of Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother, and Blaise had hastily replaced the pillow, feeling as though he had just violated something very personal.
  
  "Come off it, Drake" he emphasised the nickname, and grinned as a small tic developed in Draco's jaw. "There could be hundreds of reasons for the Golden Trio looking all shocked when Dumbledore introduced her. Maybe they've never even met her. Maybe they just thought she was going to be in Gryffindor because she looks like a Weasley."
  
  Blaise lay back on his bed, his arms behind his head, happy he'd said his piece. He really didn't understand why Draco was making such a big deal out of the arrival of the new DADA teacher. They'd get to meet her soon enough, so why worry about who she was now, when it could all be explained come their first lesson with her. Blaise had bigger concerns, for all his calm exterior, concerns that focussed not on Slytherin or Gryffindor, but on one particular Ravenclaw.
  
  
  -: Chapter 4 -:- Chapter 6 :-
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