Since most of you have no doubt already read the previous chapter in my Oneshot corner, I've gone ahead and put up chapter two.
In this, Hogwarts and Vergil get better acquainted, and Umbridge soon learns she has little to no leverage with the new DADA Professor.
Enjoy!
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.'
With Vergil...
"This is to be your room." Professor McGonagall stated primly, opening the room to a modest-sized bedchamber that doubled as an office "I apologize for the lack of décor, but with our running through Defense Professors on a yearly basis…"
"It is understandable." Vergil assured the Deputy Headmistress, casting an evaluative eye over the semi-bare, almost Spartan really, living quarters, his nostril twitching as he caught the faint scent of garlic and hair care products lingering in the air "I take it that each professor furnishes their quarters to their individual tastes?"
"Indeed." McGonagall agreed, scowling slightly in distaste at the memory of Gilderoy Lockhart's decidedly gaudy decorations when he'd roomed here "It is our privilege, but I must ask that you let us know before bringing anything that may prove dangerous onto school grounds."
Vergil didn't miss the look she cast towards Yamato but chose not to say anything on the manner. What did it matter to him if she disapproved of his carrying a weapon on his person? In the right hands, a wand could prove as deadly as any sword, and in truly capable hands even more so. Though in Vergil's opinion, there was nothing that could compare to the swift, silken death that Yamato could deliver in his hands.
'Nothing…except for HIS sword.' He corrected, his features darkening slightly as he recalled the texts he'd read in the book Dumbledore had offered as a down-payment that day 'The power of that blade…'
"Well then, I shall bid you good night." The woman, McGonagall he recalled, called out from the doorway "If you need anything, please feel free to contact the house elves with the bell on the mantle."
Vergil said nothing as she left him, apparently lost in thought as he looked over the semi-bare chamber, noting with interest that not only was it devoid of dust, but there was a fire blazing away in the hearth. "House elves, eh?" he muttered, walking towards the hearth and picking up the small, plain looking bell that had been placed on the mantle, giving it the smallest of rings.
"You called, sir?" a polite, submissive voice squeaked out from behind, only to shriek as Vergil whipped round, holding the edge of Yamato at the creature's throat "S-Sir?"
"You startled me." Vergil stated, looking down at the rather unimpressive, bat-eared creature with cold, merciless blue eyes "If you wish to keep your head in future, I suggest you refrain from doing so in the future."
"P-Pollux will keep that in m-mind, s-sir." The house elf stammered, trembling like a leaf under the man's cold stare, only to sigh in relief as the blade was withdrawn from his throat.
"Pollux, was it?" Vergil repeated, looking over the trembling elf as he sheathed Yamato, drawing it out deliberately to remind the elf he still hadn't completely done so "Are you the elf assigned to this room?"
"No sir." Pollux countered, shaking his head hurriedly, causing his ears to flap audibly against the sides of his head "We is always taking turns sir, if one of us is seeing a mess, we is tidying it, unless specifically ordered."
"Well from now on you are to consider yourself under my servitude." Vergil stated, his tone making it clear that there would be no refuting this order "Only you are to attend to this room, and you will come when I call you. Understood?"
"P-Pollux understands, sir." The elf agreed, bowing his head in submission, altogether not that surprised at the turn of events. Truth be told, this wasn't the first time in Hogwarts history that a professor had asked for a personal valet from amongst the house elves, the former Professor Slughorn had enlisted several to wait on him in days gone past, and even McGonagall often found some task for them to do when she was overworked.
The only notable exceptions, surprisingly, had been Remus Lupin and Severus Snape, the former because he was not the type that was comfortable having other people do his chores for him, and the other because he valued his privacy and trusted no-one in his personal quarters, not even the Headmaster. Alastor Moody would have also made the cut, had it not been for the fact the man had actually spent the entire year locked in his own trunk, whilst an imposter masqueraded around campus.
"Will sir be requiring anything this evening then?" Pollux asked, looking up at the blue-clad Professor respectfully, honestly a little excited at being selected as the man's PERSONAL attendant. It was considered quite an honor in house elf hierarchy.
"I require little at the moment." Vergil stated, turning his back on the elf as he paced towards a comfortable looking high-back chair near the fire, placing Yamato against the side and removing his blue coat "Have a clean razor and shaving bowl brought to my room when I wake, and a mirror too."
"Pollux is glad to be of service sir." Pollux offered, bowing low again, honestly surprised at the rather simple request. He'd expected the man to demand more frankly "Will there be anything else?"
"Nothing for now." Vergil muttered, placing the coat on the back of the armchair and settling into it, one leg crossed over the other, as he pulled out the book Dumbledore had given him "You may go."
Pollux did so, disappearing with an audible crack, leaving Vergil to resume his reading of the daemonic text, where he would remain until the clock struck midnight.
The morning after the opening banquet...
a night's rest hadn't done much to improve Harry's mood, as he'd no sooner set foot in Gryffindor common room than the whispering kicked off again. Admittedly the nights rest had done him some good, as he hadn't snapped at anyone yet, but he swore that if he caught one more person eyeballing him he was going to GIVE Fudge a reason to expel him.
Thankfully, Angelina, a fellow veteran of the Quidditch team, had turned up at the breakfast table to announce not only that she'd been appointed the new team captain, but also that try-outs for a replacement goalie were coming up.
Quidditch was one of the few things that Harry excelled at, other than making a general pest of himself wherever Voldemort was concerned, and the idea of getting back into the swing of things, and rubbing Malfoy's face into the dirt in the process, was like catching his second wind.
"Blimey! Look at this!" Ron whistled, holding up his timetable for Harry to see "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination AND double Defense Against the Dark Arts!" he shuddered, "Binns, Snape and Trelawney all in one day…I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those skiving Snackboxes sorted…"
Harry would have paid more attention to the sudden arrival of the twins, and their attempt to jade the golden trio's opinion of fifth year with their horror stories of breakdowns and trauma leading up to the OWL exams, but he was more interested in looking over his timetable, shooting covert looks towards the new DADA Professor as he calmly sipped what appeared to be wine from his goblet, a modest breakfast set before him. Professor McGonagall was eyeing the man's drink in distaste, clearly not thinking much of drinking so early in the morning, but of course did not voice her opinions in public.
Fortunately, the new professor didn't seem inclined to acknowledge Harry's prying this morning, so he was able to leave for Binn's class without incident. There, the spectral Professor promptly put the class to sleep as he droned on about the Giant Wars, a subject that only a ghost could succeed in making sound dull.
Though quite frankly Harry would have preferred being bored to tears to the gauntlet of wills he was about to go through as they approached the potion's dungeon. It hadn't helped that Ron had effectively cock-blocked the 'Boy Who Lived' by butting into his conversation with Ravenclaw Seeker Cho Chang over something as infantile as her supporting the Tutshill Tornadoes, putting Harry in a decidedly foul mood that Snape seemed to pick up on as he swooped into the dungeon like the oversized bat he was.
"Before we begin today's lesson," the Potion's Master muttered, sweeping over to his desk and staring at them all with obvious contempt "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and uses of magical potions." He narrowed his eyes at Neville Longbottom, who was quite possibly his Second least-favorite student, at least in potions class, right after Harry "Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape and 'Acceptable' in your OWL or suffer my…displeasure.'
Neville, who was apparently experiencing the brunt of Snape's patented 'glare of death' for the first time ever, let out an audible gulp that garnered a round of mocking sniggers from the Slytherins, whilst Snape calmly pointed out that while some may choose to forgo potions after this year, he would only accept those with the highest grades in his NEWT classes.
Harry, quite frankly, couldn't have cared less if Snape wanted them all to dress in drag and do the hula. Even if, and the odds of it happening were on the far side of 'no way in hell', he managed to score within Snape's accepted range, he was tossing Potions the first chance he got, as Five years of the greasy-git had been more than enough.
'Or maybe I'll stay on just to screw with his head?' he wondered, a hint of a smirk forming on his face as he pulled out the ingredients for the potion Snape had assigned them to work on 'Hermione's probably stick it out, so that'd be one classmate I could partner with…'
It wasn't until Snape's shadow loomed over him, ten minutes before the end of class, that the 'Boy-Who-Lived' snapped out of his daze, looking up to find the Potions Master standing over his cauldron with an unreadable expression on his face. "Well Potter…" he muttered, his lips pursing as if he'd sucked an entire crate of lemons "It would appear your not as dunderheaded as you've let on…TRY to keep it up, will you?"
Harry blinked, watching as the hook-nosed professor swooped away to terrify Neville, before turning his attention towards his cauldron, wherein lay a picture perfect Draught of Peace, down to the light silver vapor rising into the air.
Needless to say, Hermione had immediately started pestering him as soon as they left the dungeons behind, as he'd apparently finished his potion a good five minutes before her, and refused to believe that he hadn't been paying attention to what his hands had been doing the entire time.
The look on Malfoy's face as the git had stormed past them towards the Grand Hall had been priceless though. Apparently being made Prefect didn't save you from having your potion come out looking like the lovechild of moldy custard and troll bogeys.
With Vergil...
Vergil watched as his seventh year class made their escape, several of them sending him looks of horror, although a fair few of the girls were sending him looks of adoration. 'Children.' He scoffed, shaking his head in derisive amusement, making his way out of the classroom towards the main hall, eager to grab a light meal before returning to prep for his final classes.
Just as he was alighting off the steps, a redhead teen with a Gryffindor Prefect badge almost ran him over, only to wind up flat on his back, as if he'd run into a wall.
"Do watch where you're going." Vergil muttered, looking down his nose at the freckle-faced teen, looking up to find another Gryffindor prefect, this one a bushy-haired female, and a rather scruffy looking youth with green eyes he recalled from the night before "You could cause an accident."
"Sorry sir." The female offered, whilst the scruffy teen helped the mildly concussed redhead to his feet "Ron was simply in a hurry and…!"
Vergil didn't give her a chance to explain, merely turning on his heal and making for the Grand Hall at a steady, reserved pace, his footfalls echoing impressively in the massive hallways, leaving the brunette sputtering in indignation.
With the trio...
"Just perfect, another Snape." Ron muttered, shooting an annoyed glare towards the staff table, where the new DADA professor was dining with decidedly more decorum than the redhead glaring at him "Bad enough he looks like a grown-up Malfoy, you think he's a relative?"
"I doubt it." Hermione stated, looking up at the new professor carefully. It had irked her at first, how he'd brushed her aside so easily, as if she weren't worth his attention, but unlike Ron, who never let a grudge go out of sheer pig-headedness, Hermione wasn't one to let her emotions rule her. Unless it came to the liberation of house elves of course, then she was reduced to a desperate fanatic.
Harry, between bites of his shepherd's pie, divided his attention between casting looks towards Cho Chang, glaring at Malfoy, and answering the occasional question directed his way from his friends. Now that he got a good look, there was a disturbing likeness between the new professor and his long-time rival, but he supposed it was simply the way they carried themselves and their hair color. And even then there was a stark difference; Malfoy walked with the swagger of a rich boy whose father could make life very difficult for those who crossed his heir. Even though Lucius Malfoy had been stripped of his position on the board of governors, he was still the head of a VERY influential Pureblood family, who had amassed centuries worth of wealth and blackmail material.
Professor Vergil, on the other hand, walked with a regal grace that drew stares even from the males, a type of catlike air that spoke of nobility and power, all of which he'd earned for himself. Even the quality of their hair was different, Draco's white locks looking decidedly yellow when compared to the Professor's pale, almost silver spikes.
Draco could command authority and respect because of his family's wealth, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Professor Vergil could command an even GREATER amount of respect simply by quirking his eyebrow.
"C'mon Harry." Ron called out, shaking the boy out of his thoughts and nodding towards the door "We've got Trelawney next, wanna bet what kind of death she's 'predicted' for you this year?"
Harry snorted, shaking his head in derision as he climbed to his feet, abandoning his empty plate as the two of them made their way towards Trelawney's tower, leaving Hermione at the table. "Honestly." She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief as she finished her own meal with decidedly more decorum than Ron had "How they can continue to attend that farce of a class…"
She trailed off, her eyes widening as she turned to gape at the spot of table that Harry had just vacated, or more accurately, the spot of spilt pumpkin juice that Harry had been idly trailing his finger through.
It was a perfect circle.
On hour of complete and utter bullshitting later found Harry and Ron joining up with Hermione, as the trio made their way towards their double DADA class. Ron, as usual, was bemoaning the sheer amount of homework they'd received despite it being the first day back, something that actually excited Hermione, who loved nothing more than a good, educational challenge.
"You don't think that new guy's gonna give us any homework is he?" Ron asked, looking over at Harry in trepidation as they drew closer to the classroom "I mean just because he acts like Snape and Malfoy combined doesn't mean he's gonna be a right prick, right?"
"Fred and George DID warn you that fifth year was hectic." Hermione pointed out primly, having already gathered several notes for her own assignments during lunch break "You'll simply have to bite the bullet and actually put more effort into your studies this time round."
"What's a bullet?" Ron asked, earning an exasperated moan from Hermione as they walked into the class, only to find the Professor's desk occupied not by the reserved, noble form of the enigmatic Professor Vergil, but the toad-ish form of Dolores Umbridge, who was once again clad in a horrendous sweater.
"Good afternoon class!" the woman called out, smiling at the students as they got to their seats, a few making half-hearted replies to her greeting "Tut-tut," She countered, earning a grimace from Hermione at her SAYING the word, rather than simply 'tsk'-ing normally "That won't do now will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good Afternoon Professor Umbridge'."
Harry blinked, looking around the classroom to see if he'd heard right, only to find equally confused expressions on the faces of his fellow classmates. "What's wrong?" Umbridge asked, her tone sugar-sweet, but with a hint of growing unpleasantness at being kept waiting "Is there something the matter dears?"
"Pardon me Miss Umbridge…" Hermione called out, raising her hand politely in the air, though she made a point of stressing the 'Miss' in the horrible woman's title "Isn't Professor Vergil taking this class?"
Umbridge's lip twitched, the woman's toad-like eyes flashing with irritation as she leveled a glare towards the girl, only to smile sweetly "Oh it appears he's running a little late, so I'm sure he won't mind me taking you for a while. Wands away and Quills out pleas-!"
"That will not be necessary." A cold, reserved voice called out from the doorway, the class, and Umbridge, whipping round to find Professor Vergil standing there, his katana in his left hand, and his cold blue eyes glaring at Umbridge.
"Ah, Professor Vergil." Umbridge greeted sweetly, though anyone with half a brain in their head could have caught the inflection the toad-like woman placed on the man's title "I was just about to-!"
"I do not particularly care for your excuses, woman." The blue-clad professor stated flatly, cutting Umbridge off and earning gasps of surprise from the class at his tone "Nor do I need them. I am here to teach my class, so kindly go about your business."
Umbridge seemed to swell suddenly, like a toad trying to make itself look bigger, her eyes laced with anger as she turned a shade of puce that Harry had thought only his Uncle could accomplish naturally. She recovered quickly though, and smiled at the man, though it was obviously strained around the edges.
"Go about my business?" the ministry witch repeated, letting out a small, sugar-sweet laugh as she did so "Hem-hem, PROFESSOR Vergil, I do believe my 'business', as you so put it, is to ensure that these children are properly-!"
"Your business, you conniving toad, has nothing to do with me." Professor Vergil cut in, his tone filled with an underlying authority that could bring an enraged Hungarian Hornback to its knees, the class looking on in awe as Umbridge was once again cut-off, "I have asked you once to vacate my chair of your own power…" there was an audible click as he partially unsheathed his Katana with his thumb "I shall not ask you again."
By now, the class was literally on the edge of their seats, torn between laughing their arses off at the look on Umbridge's face, and terrified awe in the face of his open threat. Most of them had never seen a sword like that before, but it was painfully clear the weapon wasn't carried around for decoration.
Umbridge, who looked torn between outrage and mortal terror, made the mistake of daring to meet the professor's eyes, already readying a Legilimens to try and break into his mind, only to freeze, like a toad in the headlights of an oncoming tank at the cold, focused killing intent that pinned her where she stood.
"Well?" the blue clad professor called out, not moving a step from where he stood, his calm face a direct contrast to Umbridge's suddenly panicked expression "What shall it be?
Umbridge let out a choked squawk and staggered away from the desk, keeping her back against the wall as she drew closer to the door, her eyes never leaving the man's sword, unable to bring herself to look into those eyes again as she all but threw herself out of the classroom, tearing down the hallway as fast as her impractical shoes allowed her.
'Minister…' she stammered, her throat unable to process her thoughts as she stumbled towards the chamber she'd been allotted for the duration of her stay 'I have to alert the Minister!'
Few things could startle Dolores Umbridge, who in her time had done everything in her power to claw her way to her current position of power as part of Fudge's inner circle.
But the look in the spiky haired usurper that had robbed her of her place as a professor at Hogwarts was NOT something even she was wont to cross, not without the full backing of the Ministry's Auror force.
And, quite possibly, not even that.
And so Umbridge learns early on not to dick around with a son of Sparda…especially not the one with no respect for human life.
Next time, class is in session, as Vergil introduces the students of Hogwarts to the family business: Demon 101.
Also: As stated earlier, Umbridge is simply an 'Observer' from the Ministry to 'ensure things are running properly'. This basically means she's nothing more than a nosy freeloader, with no more authority than a guest/student.
She can sit in on lessons, but that's about it. She has no access privileges, nor does she have the right to access the school's fireplace for communication outside the castle walls.
She can still report to Fudge Via Owl post, but without the position as Professor, she cannot give detentions or deduct points of her own volition.
R&R for more Umbridge bashing!
