Hermione didn't speak to Erin for a few days.

The Slytherin somewhat understood why but she felt a need to talk about it, about what happened at Madam Pudifoot's. Erin could be a bit oblivious sometimes but she knew that Hermione could possibly feel the same.

She didn't tell Daphne at first but when Daphne started noticing the lack of Hermione's presence around her, she started asking Erin who ended up telling her.

Erin tried many times to catch Hermione alone and talk to her but the Gryffindor always said she had a class, homework and even detention. The last one made Erin realize that Hermione didn't want to talk to her. Erin was not sure if only about that or Hermione planned to avoid her forever. She was sure about one thing. She missed her friend dearly.

"Look who's here," Daphne whispered and nodded her head to the right.

"Who's where?" Astoria immediately asked and looked around her. When her eyes landed on Hermione, who was sitting at one of the library tables, she let out an "ooh" and grinned like mad at Erin. Even Luna smiled slightly at her.

Erin glared at her best friend. "You could not keep your mouth shut, could you?"

Daphne put her hands up in defence. "I did, I swear. It was her," she pointed out at her sister, "Turns out Astoria can be observant when she wants to."

The brunette rolled her eyes but said, "It's true."

"Why don't you go and talk to her?" asked Luna.

"I tried!" Erin groaned. "I really did, Luna, but she's avoiding me?"

"Then say that you won't go away if she won't talk to you," Astoria shrugged. Daphne nodded in agreement.

"Isn't that some kind of haras—"

The youngest Slytherin clapped her hand over Luna's mouth.

Erin looked at Hermione, sighed and stood up, earning a clap from her friends.

Erin slowly made her way over to the table where the Golden Trio was sitting and cleared her throat, earning attention from them all. She watched as Hermione's eyes go wide because she knew there was no way of excusing herself now. Ron and Harry would probably drag her back anyway.

"Hello, Ron, Harry," Erin greeted and looked at the girl. "Hermione, can we talk?"

Hermione opened her mouth but Harry interrupted, saying, "Erin, I'm sorry, but we something important to do."

"This is important too!" The Slytherin said through gritted teeth. "It'll be just a minute!"

"Well. . . " But the deathly look Erin was sending Harry made him say, "Hermione, why don't you go and talk to your dear friend?"

Ron snorted loudly as he heard Hermione cursing Harry quietly.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Erin asked once they were behind a bookshelf, out of Daphne, Luna, Astoria, Ron, and Harry's sight.

"I am no—"

"Yes, you are!" Erin cut her off. "I just wanted to talk about what happened. I understand that maybe you hate me or you're not comfortable being around me anymore—"

"I don't hate you," Hermione said quietly. "I could never hate you."

"Then why?"

Hermione sighed. "I just need time to figure out who I truly am. Being with you made me question myself more than ever before and I'm just confused, you know?"

Erin nodded and grabbed the Gryffindor's hand. "Yeah, and I respect it but is it terribly selfish of me to say that I miss you?"

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "No, I miss you too."

"So, no more ignoring?" Erin asked hopefully.

"No more ignoring."

***

"What is happening?" Daphne asked Erin as she, Astoria, and Luna arrived to the Entrance Hall.

Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her in-numerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them up-side down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something Erin could not see but that seemed to be standing at the foot of the stairs.

“No!” Trelawney shrieked. “NO! This cannot be happening. . . . It cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!”

“You didn’t realize this was coming?” said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused. It wasProfessor Umbridge. “Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow’s weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?”

"What the hell," gasped Daphne. Nor her, nor Erin and nor Astoria liked divination but Trelawney, who may appeared quite crazy and strange, was a kind woman and they liked her in this way.

“You c-can’t!” howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, “you c-can’t sack me! I’ve b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!”

“It was your home,” said Professor Umbridge, “until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us.” But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backward and forward on her trunk in paroxysms of grief.

Erin heard a sob to his left and looked around. Lavender and Parvati were both crying silently, their arms around each other. Then she heard footsteps.

Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.

“There, there, Sibyll . . . Calm down. . . . Blow your nose on this. . . . It’s not as bad as you think, now. . . . You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts. . . .”

“Oh really, Professor McGonagall?” said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. “And your authority for that statement is . . . ?”

“That would be mine,” said a deep voice.

The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scut-tled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. Leaving the doors wide behind him, he strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Professor Trelawney sat, tearstained and trembling, upon her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.

“Yours, Professor Dumbledore?” said Umbridge with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. “I’m afraid you do not understand the position. I have here” — she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes — “an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.”

To everyone’s very great surprise, Dumbledore continued to smile. “You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid,” he went on, with a courteous little bow, “that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts.” At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden.

“No — no, I’ll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts—"

“No,” said Dumbledore sharply. “It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll.” He turned to Professor McGonagall. “Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?”

“Of course,” said McGonagall. “Up you get, Sibyll. . . .”

Professor Sprout came hurrying forward out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney’s other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scur-rying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked, “Locomotor trunks!” and Professor Trelawney’s luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.

Professor Umbridge was standing stock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.

“And what,” she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance hall, “are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” said Dumbledore pleasantly. “You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor.”

“You’ve found — ?” said Umbridge shrilly. “You’ve found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-two —”

“— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one,” said Dumbledore. “And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded.

May I introduce you?”

He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Erin heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even farther backward, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.

All students gaped when a white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes, the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse appeared.

“This is Firenze,” said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. “I think you’ll find him suitable.”