Dark Defense

Professor Vergil

"Well now," Dumbledore called out, as it was apparent after a few seconds that there wasn't likely to be any fanfare for the new arrival "I can see a few of you are beginning to lag, so I dare say it's time for bed. Off you trot!"

The students, still reeling from the sudden arrival of their new DADA Professor, were hesitant to leave until the prefects began to round them up, though the Gryffindors had a bit of a late start, as Hermione had to remind a gob-smacked Ron that THEY were the prefects this year.

Harry, who was marveling at how small the first years were, refusing to believe, even in his malnourished past, that he'd ever been that small, felt his amusement wither and die as they gaped at him in something akin to horrified fascination, like he was some sort of rare, savage animal that had gotten off it's chain. Standing abruptly, he bid a dull farewell to the occupied Hermione and Ron, before making his way up to Gryffindor tower, wanting nothing more than to get into bed and go to sleep, too exhausted to care what others thought of him at that moment.

It appeared that even here, in one of the few places he'd felt at home, if not entirely safe, Fudge still managed to make his life hell. The rumors of his grand-standing, his so called 'cries for attention', regarding the return of Voldemort the year prior, had infected even the first years, jading their opinion of him and, undoubtedly, giving those back-stabbing serpents in Slytherin a right laugh.

As he got up to leave, he unintentionally looked up at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who was, surprisingly, sipping a goblet of what appeared to be wine with an air of elegance, thoroughly ignoring the looks of annoyance being sent his way from Dolores Umbridge, who was looking increasingly more Toad-like in comparison.

As if somehow sensing the eyes upon him, the white haired man's eyes snapped open, the steel-blue orbs locking onto Harry's brilliant green, the last Potter realizing with a start that he couldn't bring himself to look away.

Harry blinked and the moment passed, looking up only to find the blue-clad Professor turning to address Professor Dumbledore, who seemed to be in decidedly good spirits this evening, though judging by the reserved look on the man's face, it was apparent Dumbledore was doing most of the talking.

"Harry? You alright mate?" Ron asked, sidling up next to his friend with a horde of Gryffindor first years in tow, the little wizards and witches whispering amongst themselves as they looked up at the iconic 'Boy Who Lived' with mixed emotions.

"Just a little tired." Harry assured the redhead, looking the first years over and smiling tiredly despite his earlier disgust, earning a few shy smiles in return "Was just heading off."

"I'll come with you." Ron suggested, tilting his head towards the doors "Hermione's already led her group off, I'm just picking up the stragglers."

Harry would have refused had he not been struck with a sudden feeling of fatigue, and so was forced to tag along while Ron gave the First Years the tour of the path to Gryffindor tower, often pointing out a few oddities that he didn't remember Percy mentioning along the way. One of the first years, a short little girl in oversized robes, stumbled slightly over the hem and would have crashed face first into the staircase had Harry not gently grabbed her shoulder.

"Easy there." He offered, helping her back to her feet and dusting her down with a gentle, tired smile "Might want to turn your robes up a bit, ask Hermione, she'll sort you out."

The girl blushed and nodded, skipping off towards a group of her friends, who promptly began whispering excitedly amongst themselves.

'Well at least there's ONE thing Fudge hasn't been able to corrupt.' The last Potter muttered, watching in wry amusement as the girls ran off to catch up with the rest 'Fangirls.'