OBSERVED
PART I
Professor Severus Snape congratulated himself at 12:10, Tuesday morning, on having the patience of a Saint and slumped into his chair with pious misery.
Then he saw it.
A pink scroll, tied with ribbon, was dancing on his desk. Blinking, he sat up straight. Who had entered his classroom whilst he was gone? Evidently, somebody who cared little for Spray Shower Hexes, designed to keep Dark Wizards from pilfering his Potion stores. Somebody who had either forgotten or didn't know how Barty Crouch Jr. hoodwinked an entire school last year…
His eyes flicked from left to right. Nobody was there. Potions brewing in various cauldrons hissed and gurgled in their vials, cobwebs hung off bookshelves… Yes, nothing had been moved. Through force of habit, he grabbed his Potions book and ruffled the pages until he reached the end. Something there, two scraps of paper to the untrained eye, made him nod. His fingers grazed over the worn ages, before he snapped the book shut.
Since a Dark Wizard would have stolen his Potions book, this intrusion must be the work of a mediocre intruder- with a pitiful sense of humour.
With a quiet snarl, he pulled out his wand and the scroll flew into a wastepaper basket.
But it jumped out again, landing on his desk. And, he could have sworn that it laughed.
"Evanesco."
No, the scroll definitely laughed that time and showered pink glitter everywhere. All the essays he had so carefully marked were now drowned.
It took a moment to come to his senses, but when he did, any hidden observer might never have known he had been sitting comfortably just minutes beforehand. For in a matter of minutes, he had pushed open the Staff Room door to find all but one of his colleagues halfway through tea. Despite mountains of biscuits and comfy sofas, barely anybody spoke.
One Professor, bedecked in fluffy pink, put down her teacup.
"Severus," she said, opening her handbag and pulling out lipstick between finger and thumb. "I had a feeling we might be hearing from you."
Her lips, smeared afresh in pink, glowed in the candlelight.
"Something pink lay on my desk, Professor: I assume you had better things to do than contact me directly."
Professor McGonagall coughed and quickly picked up her teacup. Her shoulders were shaking.
"Well, I did knock. And I must say, showers of water are not quite the way in which he should welcome a new Professor to the school- particularly not when he has an upcoming observation."
He blinked. "What?"
"Oh dear, I see you neglected to read my note after all." She didn't look surprised; rather, her smile had turned to steel.
"I'll be observing your class in 45 minutes time. Please move everything you need to the Western Toad Room: I don't want to trudge around your gruesome dungeon again. Oh- and inform the students, too."
Given that Professor Snape spent so much time looking either grave or enraged, he had not encountered the effort of surprise in years, let alone the art of pretending not to be surprised. From the silence of his colleagues, he could only assume they had been aware of this mission. On the table in front of Umbridge stood an inkpot, surrounded by a crowd of eager scrolls awaiting inscription.
A 300 year old bronze clock was mounted above Umbridge's head, its silver hands creeping along with dull ticks. Should it just slip… He shook his head. A quick glance at Professor McGonagall might have confirmed his suspicions, had she not quickly looked another way.
Professor Sprout stared out of the window, muttering something.
"Well, Severus?"
"You know the way."
And he swept out of the Staff Room.
Observed. He, Severus Snape, was to be observed. The word made him shudder as he raced back to his beloved dungeon. For how many years had he erected wards against prying eyes? Now he had not even darkness to mask those thoughts that must surely lie silent as the grave. The Western Toad Room had floor to ceiling windows, French windows, sky windows- everything that magnified whispering, mocking, plotting eyes…
He paused on a cold stone step, an unsteady hand clutching the wall. A knight in his frame stared at him in contempt and marched off.
Dumbledore didn't trust him. Lord Voldemort barely trusted him. Umbridge wanted to observe him, and didn't fear his wards.
Clump, clump, clump. Reaching his classroom, he took one last look around. Once again, he had failed to appreciate something precious until it was lost altogether. Unlike before, he would see the room again, yet… The worn benches huddles together, splashed with chemicals and no less scorched, the bookshelves adorned in cobwebs… His stomach twinged.
Well, this was no time for reminiscing. Pulling out his wand, he drew an arc in the air.
Three dozen Potion books, cauldrons, candles, utensils, vials, and other paraphernalia flew past his head towards the Western Toad Room, seven floors above. Had he been paying attention, he would have noticed the pink scroll join them, but he was too busy renewing his shields and wards.
Only after he had issued 3 dozen messages notifying both houses of the change in location did he notice the scroll once again dancing and laughing on the new desk.
What did the damn thing say, anyway?
"Good Morning, Professor Severus Snape:
You cannot fail to have noticed the severe decline in standards at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neither might you have noticed your own potential culpability in the aforementioned decline, given your unsatisfactory answers to my preliminary review. I will remind you that Section 56.8 of the Ministerial Professor's Code warns against sarcasm. Be that as it may, you have one hour to absolve yourself of any blame. You may also report your concerns about other staff. All such comments will be taken into the strictest confidence. Please move the necessary materials into the Western Toad Room before 1pm. I will expect an overview of the lesson before then.
Cordially,
Professor Dolores Umbridge.
The bloody cheek! As his fingers crushed the scroll, it squealed. Smoke seeped out from between his fingers. With a strangled cry, he dropped the parchment.
An overview of the lesson? Umbridge would have to pry one out of his cold, dead hands.
Something rustled in the corner. It was just a mound of parchment, unsettled by an open window. Nothing to worry about. After all, the observation didn't begin until 1pm.
Unless it had already begun.
hr /
Ignoring Gryffindor's recalcitrant looks, Snape turned to the chalkboard and flicked his wand. First, to dispense with this odious smell of pondweed mixed with lavender. It was a pity he could not Evaporate Professor Umbridge, ensconced in a valuable wicker chair to his right. She had generously performed a room-freshening spell and opened every single window so that everyone's parchment was now in danger of blowing clean away.
At the very least, he could subtly adjust the scent from lavender to lilies- fresh lilies.
With a another flick, the word Vitalis appeared on the chalkboard.
He turned around, arms folded. "Today, we shall examine Potions that improve the function of the mind- a gift that might not, perhaps, be unwelcome to some in this class. Vitalis is one such concoction, though I doubt many of you have come across-"
Hermione Granger's hand shot into the air. After carefully examining every other blank face for some sign of intelligence, he sighed.
"Yes?"
"Please, Sir: Vitalis is actually the best-known of 15th century Potions, along with Nocturnalia, Hyperactivus, and Trichea."
"I am well aware of that," he said, and Draco Malfoy laughed.
"As I was saying, Vitalis may keep the user awake for a specified length of time, proportionate to how much they have taken. The following graph-" He swished his wand at the chalkboard, "-demonstrates this effect. Nevertheless, Vitalis can unleash several unpleasant side-effects and is thus restricted."
Malfoy looked delighted, oblivious to Crabbe and Goyle's rather alarmed expressions.
"Hem, hem."
"The instructions," Snape said, ignoring that intrusion, "are on page 529. Ingredients are here… Cauldrons and utensils there… You have-"
"Hem, hem. Excuse me, Severus."
Professor Umbridge stood, clipboard in hand. Her steel smile had returned as she paced between the desks, gazing down on each student as though they were a particularly fascinating breed of fungi. Clack, clack, went her high heels on the polished wooden floor. They were chimes of doom, and everybody shrank back further and further into their chairs.
Snape allowed himself a brief smile, long gone before Umbridge turned to him again.
"As the students appear awake, Severus, I rather wonder at the choice of potion being brewed." She tapped a peacock quill against her clipboard.
"Page 529," he said, glaring at Neville Longbottom. The boy blanched and ruffled his pages in the wrong direction until Dean Thomas took pity on him. Incorrigible fool. "10 points from Gryffindor for failing to follow instructions. Problem, Potter?"
Potter didn't answer, of course. Everyone else took this as a queue to rush for their ingredients, almost knocking Umbridge over. Clinking tubes and soft hisses as fires materialised under cauldrons obscured whatever sugary nonsense she might have spewed next. Even Potter looked industrious, only the top of his tousled hair visible as he poured water into his cauldron. Not even Crabbe and Goyle wasted any time sharing the one brain cell between them: their cauldron stood the right way up, at least.
In the midst of such rebellion, Snape could have allowed himself to believe that Umbridge would shut her mouth and sit back down.
"Class?" Her shrill voice rose above the clatters, clangs, and scrapings. "I believe I was in the midst of discussing something important."
Several pretended not to hear until Umbridge whisked out her wand. Every single ingredient, cauldron, utensil, and book flew neatly onto Snape's desk. For his part, he merely took a deep breath and said nothing.
"That's better," said Umbridge, slipping her wand into her handbag, "Now you can all listen. As I was saying to Severus, the choice of potion seems rash and unnecessary. Neither were the course guidelines clearly explained beforehand, but perhaps… that is because I wasn't given the lesson overview as requested…"
He had the distinct impression of being confronted by a viper.
"Perhaps the class will need Vitalis after this Progress Review," he said, once he had recovered his wits. The usual laughter from Slytherin, though greatly subdued, helped him remain calm. "As it is, the Ministry itself approved Vitalis, not to mention the entire course. Any complaints should be directed to Fudge."
Umbridge had no response. With another grim smile therefore, Snape returned everyone's materials back to their proper owners. 6 minutes had gone. His thudding heartbeat was drowned in the rhythmic chopping of dried caterpillars: everybody knew what lay at stake now. Even the usual dunderheads watched with narrowed eyes as Umbridge scribbled something onto her clipboard with a flourish.
Nonetheless, she settled down again, leaving him to do his usual rounds among the desks. In between his usual censure of Gryffindor and praise of Slytherin, he thought little of their overall progress. As such, it took him an additional 5 minutes of glaring at Neville, snorting at Parvati, and tutting at Ron before he realised that everybody had barely made any.
Salvatore da Flamenco, who invented this potion in 1472, had not the refined skill of legend; if followed to the letter, these instructions would take nearly two hours!
Why had he not considered this beforehand? Well, Umbridge hadn't given him much time. Furthermore, he had forgotten to bring his catalogue of Potion improvements: it still lay at the back of his store cupboard, seven floors below. One of these days, he would resume the search for his Advanced Potion-Making, which had contained far greater improvements, but... Time escaped him, as always.
What to do, what to do…? He peered over Malfoy's shoulder at the instructions. Add dried caterpillars. He snorted quietly. In what quantity? How quickly? Did one stir alongside, or stir afterwards? Da Flamenco did not deserve to grace a napkin, let alone Hogwarts textbooks.
Clearing his throat, he said, "Add a handful of dried caterpillar at a time, stirring five times anti-clockwise. Will dissolve quicker."
"Thank you, Sir," Draco said, smirking at Hermione.
But Hermione had heard every word and now was reviewing Da Flamenco's instructions, frowning. She raised her hand.
"But Sir, it says here that-"
"Miss Granger, if you know better than the Potions Master at Hogwarts, by all means, continue brewing as you see fit."
Slytherin laughed, even though by his estimation, most had clogged their cauldrons with caterpillars and would probably end up with a weak potion.
Astonishingly, Potter had decided to take this advice and was now progressing past his brighter classmate. Ron copied too, and his eyes widened at the predicted results. Frowning at the pair, Hermione relented, though not before muttering something under her breath about "official instructions".
From the corner, Professor Umbridge cleared her throat.
"An interesting change to the instructions, Severus. Forgive me for asking…" She giggled and cleared her throat. "Is that- Ministry-approved?"
"By all means, ask Mr. Fudge."
16 minutes gone. The peacock quill was busy, no doubt brimming with rage and vengeance. But as he returned to his desk, all he received from Umbridge was a lipsticked smile and giggle. She would no doubt contact Fudge, and the fool would bluster his way into a corner before finally confessing his ignorance and asking her to check with Snape instead. After all, what did education matter to Fudge when he was busy pretending Voldemort hadn't returned?
Personally, he had never betrayed his true thoughts on the matter, simply offering Draco vague answers whenever the boy asked. Dumbledore had warned him to remain diplomatic throughout the whole until it was time to strike. When would such a time come? Dumbledore said he would know when it came. Oh- and he was to anticipate teaching additional classes later in the year.
What on earth did that mean? Since Dumbledore never responded to frustration, let alone threats, he had left the Headmaster's Office muttering with a thousand choice insults.
Well, whilst Dumbledore kept him in limbo, Umbridge only gave him an hour, and so far he had nothing to show for it.
But perhaps she had expected that already.
hr /
"Less force with the Enormulus Charm, Draco," he said in a quieter tone.
Umbridge was leafing through the Potions book, her nose in the air. It was impossible to ignore this, though he refused to answer any more questions on whether his changes had been approved by the Ministry. Nobody else cared either, copying his amended instructions without question. This meant that Potter was turning in a far more respectable performance than expected, but even that bothered him far less than whatever method Umbridge might employ next to further derail his lesson.
"Neville- what have you-?"
The boy was cowering under the shadow of an enormous caterpillar that had arisen from his cauldron, leaving Ron Weasley flabbergasted.
Parvati screamed and staggered into Dean Thomas, who, in the middle of the Enormulus Charm, then set fire to his robes. Seamus tried to beat down the flames with his Potions book, but only succeeded in setting that alight.
Well, then: no marks for Mr. Finnigan today.
"Silence!"
He pulled out his wand- but Hermione got there first.
With nothing more than a whistle of sparks, the fire disappeared, Dean Thomas' robes could have been plucked from Madam Malkin's, and Seamus had his book back. Parvati sheepishly smoothed back her hair and returned to her desk.
Neville's caterpillar twisted and then shrivelled back into nothing before Snape could so much as deduct 10 points from Gryffindor.
Not everyone had fallen silent when asked, but they certainly did at the sight of a fifth-year who could perform De-Scorching and Shrinking Spells simultaneously. That was N.E.W.T level work- not that many knew this.
Fighting for something to say, Snape stuffed his wand back into his pocket. Unfortunately, nobody was so generous as to offer him a chance for criticism, so he sniffed and returned to his desk.
"Thanks, Hermione," Neville said, his voice shaking.
"Silence, Longbottom. Your lack of concentration, not to mention sheer incompetence, has lost you another 10 points for Gryffindor. Silence, Potter- unless of course you wish to sink your benighted House ever further downwards...?"
Professor Umbridge was still leafing through the Potions book. What was she up to? Nothing inside a Ministry-approved text could incur any further questions. He very much doubted she knew anything of the subject beyond whatever illiterate regulations Fudge had concocted. Surely nothing inside-
"Salvatore Da Flamenco," she said, her voice tinkling. Everybody again ignored her, peeling caterpillar skins from their cauldrons and performing rather botched Shrinking Spells. 23 minutes had gone- evidently, his editions weren't working as fast as he would like.
"I believe he was wanted in 1472 for embezzlement."
What the bloody hell did that have to do with Potion-making? Cursing himself for not knowing this crucial piece of information, he plucked his quill from its inkwell and began marking an essay he had already graded.
"Of course," Umbridge said in a louder voice, "Section 67.4.5 of the Ministry-approved Wizard and Witch Integrity Charter clearly states that Professors must not promote the work of those with, shall we say, questionable backgrounds."
Her serpentine eyes bored into his head. Well, he would not give her the dignity of a response, preferring instead to excoriate Amanda Pottingcrew from Hufflepuff for forgetting that frogspawn could not be influenced by Shrinking Spells. After deducting a few more marks, he carefully replaced his quill, folded his hands, and glanced at Umbridge.
"You were saying?"
"Oh come now, Severus: it won't do to ignore a Hogwarts Professor and member of the Ministry, will it?"
27 minutes gone. She giggled, as though aware of this alarming fact. A few students began dunking cornflour into their cauldrons and then frowning as it reacted with their mixture, spurting out thick clouds.
"You may want to measure that, Doppelganger," he said, glaring at Slytherin painted in cornflour.
"But, Sir, the instructions don't say-?"
"540 ounces."
Everybody rushed to the store cupboard for scales.
"Over 530 thousand Galleons disappeared from Gringotts during Flamenco's tenure there," said Umbridge, her voice once again rising over the shoving, curses, and clangs at the cupboard, "for which he never provided any satisfactory response."
Before Snape could answer, another voice intruded.
"Actually, Professor, anyone who has done any serious reading into the case knows that all its key premises are in doubt."
Who else thought they had read more than anyone else? This time, Snape could not hide his astonishment at Hermione's lofty interruption. Indeed, her hair seemed to crackle with static and there was no mistaking the sheer contempt in her eyes, levelled not at him, but Umbridge.
Interesting.
"I'm sorry, dear?"
"Da Flamenco's guilt was never actually proven, which, of course, is the foundation of justice. Hence why he never went to Azkaban. And, it may interest you to note that he invented Vitalis when the Ministry deliberately tried to exhaust him with interrogation so as to extract a confession."
Ron stared at Hermione in a mixture of fascination and exasperation.
"And, when Da Flamenco offered documents that proved his innocence, his office was raided a day later. Before he could name the thieves, the Ministry dropped all charges. Personally, I think the implications are clear."
Umbridge laughed. "My dear, you speak so confidently, you must have been there yourself! I expect you'll be telling us what Da Flamenco had for dinner next."
Draco laughed, but fell silent when Snape glared at him.
"Unfortunately, the Ministry does not deal in conspiracy theories. Furthermore, given the question mark over Da Flamenco, I must call this entire lesson into question."
"Why?"
"Well, well, Severus: it might be said you were, shall we say, promoting the questionable work of a wizard who left Gringotts 530 thousand Galleons lighter."
"That's unproven," Hermione said, frowning.
"It's Verdict Number 456, dated July 5th 1473," she said, her lips going very thin.
"A verdict from an unofficial court where the accused was not present, two weeks after an unexplained raid and missing documents." Hermione seemed to have grown an inch. "Which violates Ministry decree 89.6, paragraph 56, prohibiting courts from convening without the accused present!"
Ron was nudging his friend, and Snape didn't need to get closer to see him mouth the words, "Shut up."
Instead, Umbridge was silenced in the face of her beloved regulations and mocking grins from Gryffindors. In his heart of hearts, Snape felt for the first time that he might just have joined in their victory…
But 32 minutes had gone now, and Umbridge's quill now cut a jagged path across her parchment with scratches and squeaks.
This was no time for elation.
hr /
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