Silence settled over the Great Hall as the final child to be Sorted scurried to his table.
"As some of the less dim-witted amongst you may have already noticed, there have been certain changes to the school management," Professor Snape began. "I realise some of you might not agree with some of these changes—"
Professor Snape's voice trailed off, as though he expected murmurs of dissent to rise from the students, yet the entire hall remained as quiet as a church mouse. Satisfied by the petrified silence, he resumed his speech.
"—but that being said, there will be no tolerance for deviations from the school's rules and regulations while I remain headmaster," he went on. "Be assured that any infraction, no matter how small, will be punished far more severely than it ever was under the previous headmaster."
Once again, Professor Snape was met with terrified silence.
Oleandra glanced over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table, hoping to glimpse the troublemakers from the R. C. Club who had ambushed her on the train. They had probably earned themselves detention before the school year had even begun, which would explain why she could not spot them now.
"As you may or may not have noticed, the Ministry has dispatched a number of Azkaban's Dementors to the school to help guard you lot from…" Professor Snape's lips thinned as he sneered at his captive audience, sweeping his gaze down one table after another, "…undesirable influences. They are stationed at every entrance to the school and will patrol the grounds after curfew. Be warned: no disguise is capable of deceiving them, and they are under strict instructions to incapacitate any who stray into their territory… though personally, I would not place much faith in their ability to show restraint."
Oleandra was untroubled by this, for the presence of Dementors on the school grounds hardly concerned her. She had no intention of leaving the castle until she had finished what she had come here to do.
"A number of additional regulations and prohibited items have been added to the school's list," Professor Snape added, indicating Filch with a careless flick of his hand as the caretaker hurried forwards, clutching a thick, leatherbound book as though it were a treasure. "I shall not trouble you with the details— there are far too many for your limited attention spans to endure— but do understand that ignorance of these new rules will not serve as a defence when you inevitably break them."
The Carrow siblings shot Filch a look of utterly undisguised disdain. The caretaker shrank back fearfully, retreating to his place behind the staff table.
"Now, onto staff changes," Professor Snape continued, unperturbed. "Hogwarts welcomes two new teachers this year, for I have ascended to a greater calling, and Professor Burbage has moved on to other pursuits. Please welcome Professors Carrow and Carrow, who will be taking up the positions of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Muggle Studies teacher, respectively."
A few students at the Slytherin table erupted into applause as the Carrow siblings stood up and bowed slightly, but Oleandra's House seemed to be the only one pleased at the prospect of a pair of Death Eaters teaching at Hogwarts. The Carrows' fellow teachers looked utterly repulsed by the very idea, and Professor Slughorn, the new Head of Slytherin, appeared on the verge of being sick.
Or maybe he had an upset stomach, there was no way of being certain.
"Thank you for the kind introduction, Severus," Alecto Carrow said smoothly. "I am overjoyed to have been granted the precious opportunity to teach the young, fresh minds of the Wizarding World… for, indeed, Muggle Studies will henceforth be counted amongst the school's core subjects, and, as such, attendance will be mandatory… for students of all years."
A ripple of disgruntled groans spread through the hall.
"I hear you, I hear you," Professor Carrow said pleasantly. "I know some of you may find the subject tedious and dull, but I promise you that my lessons will be far more entertaining than you might expect… if not enlightening! And fear not— I don't intend on assigning much homework!"
Oleandra had a bad feeling about this.
Having finished her own self-introduction, Alecto sat back down, leaving her brother standing by himself.
"The name's Amycus Carrow, but the only way you'll be referring to me is Professor Carrow," said the other Professor Carrow brusquely. "I'll be teaching you the Dark Arts. Attendance is also compulsory."
Oleandra raised an eyebrow as she watched him sit back down. That was certainly one way to abbreviate Defence Against the Dark Arts, wasn't it?
"And that concludes introductions," said Professor Snape. "The Start-of-Term Feast may now begin."
With a snap of his fingers, platters laden with roast meats and pies, chalices brimming with gravy, and mountains of mashed potatoes and assorted boiled vegetables appeared on the four tables. Oleandra served herself a generous portion, and after muttering a quiet incantation to detect poison, she dug in, feeling utterly famished.
"Enjoying ourselves, are we?" said Loki, grinning at her from a few seats away across the table, with Draco's infuriating face. "I recommend the turkey; it isn't dry at all. We never had that sort of bird in my day, you know."
Oleandra peered at him suspiciously. She could never tell when he was just playing around, or playing around with the express purpose of making her think there was something deeper going on. Did he genuinely think she ought to try some? Was the turkey tampered with in some way?
"Wha' 'oo 'ean?" asked Crabbe, speaking with his mouth full.
A flash of pain exploded behind Oleandra's eyes. She stifled a groan and set down her fork, closed her eyes and massaged her temples. She had been seeing double, and now, voices were buzzing in her ear. Oleandra opened her eyes. She was still attending a feast… but she was no longer in the Great Hall.
"Three cheers for Sir Lancelot!" a voice rang out. "For none but the Knight-Errant of the Lake could have slain Sir Tarquin, that cursed Half-Giant who took our comrades of the Round Table hostage! Hip, hip— hurrah!"
Sir Lancelot was trying in vain to catch her eye, but from Oleandra's viewpoint, she was looking at another knight, this one dressed in red. He was speaking to his neighbour at the banquet with his mouth full.
"A great and wondrous destiny awaits you, Sir Perceval," Oleandra's lips moved on their own, her voice pitched low so that none beside him might hear. "Had you been less thick of wit, you might have stood a chance of saving your kin…"
Oleandra blinked and the vision vanished. She found herself once more in the Great Hall, staring at her plate. A thin thread of blood slid from her nostril and dropped into her food, tingeing the mashed potatoes with crimson.