Monday's Great Hall was thick with mist.
The students lined up for breakfast.
At a Prefect's command, they charged the dining tables.
Big chopsticks, little forks, and spoons flew everywhere.
A Prefect let out a fart that bounded a mile away.
The Centaurs a mile away were out hunting.
They smelled that fart and were most displeased.
They called in the High Priest to study the fart.
The fart's name was Weasley's Great Stinking Fart.
(The above was all nonsense.)
"Are the owls flying especially slowly today?"
Ron poked the fried egg on his plate with his fork and muttered listlessly.
Harry looked up at the enchanted ceiling, where the clouds churned and hung low.
"It's not just the owls,"
he said, lowering his voice.
"Haven't you noticed? At the staff table... the atmosphere is really strange."
Hermione did not join their discussion. Frowning, she swept her gaze back and forth between the four House tables.
"It's far too quiet."
She reached her conclusion.
"Fred and George being so well behaved at this time of day is very wrong. And look, hardly anyone's whispering to anyone else."
Harry followed her gaze. Sure enough, every student in the Great Hall had their mouth tightly shut. There was only the clink of cutlery against plates, monotonous and oppressive.
Just then, the oak doors of the Great Hall were thrust open.
It was not a late student, but a group of staff wearing Academic Affairs Office uniforms.
"They're from the Academic Affairs Office,"
a Ravenclaw said quietly.
"What are they carrying? Bundles of... parchment?"
"No, books. Look, they have covers."
Expressionless, the staff moved in perfect unison, taking strides of identical length as they carried bundles of booklets tightly bound with hemp rope to the front ends of the four long tables.
Each