A/N: Essentially, what you recognize belongs to the goddess that is J.K. Rowling, and what you don't belongs to insignificant little me.
•~0~•
"I can't believe this," Genevieve said, still poring over the newspaper as though there was a typo. It still proudly displayed the words:
MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"
Hermione looked similarly furious, almost to the point of hyperventilating. "So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her to power to inspect other teachers! I can't believe this. It's outrageous . . . "
"I know it is," agreed Harry, glancing at his hand, on which was carved I must not tell lies. When Genevieve had first learned of what happened in Umbridge's detentions, it had taken all three fifth years to restrain her from marching up to the toad and murdering her right then.
"That slimy little frog," Genevieve muttered angrily.
Ron, to their surprise, was smiling.
"What?" they asked in unison.
"Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected," he said with glee. "Umbridge won't know what's hit her."
Genevieve's eyes widened with delight. "I hope that's during my class."
•~0~•
Genevieve, George, Fred, and Lee were heading toward the Gryffindor table for lunch when they overheard Harry, Hermione, and Ron talking about grading.
"I got a P," Ron admitted. "Happy?"
"Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of," Fred assured. "Nothing wrong with a good healthy P."
"But," Hermione said, "doesn't P stand for . . ."
" 'Poor,' yeah," Lee supplied. "Still, better than a D, isn't it? 'Dreadful'?"
Genevieve shuddered. She saw Harry try to hide his reaction in a sudden coughing fit.
"I wouldn't worry about it," she said quickly. "Snape always grades harshly, and it'll get easier over time."
"Easy for you to say," Fred snorted. "You always got E's and O's."
"So," Hermione said, looking for confirmation, "top grade's O for 'Outstanding,' and then there's A — "
"No, E," George said, "E for 'Exceeds Expectations.' And I've always thought Fred and I should've got E in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams."
They all laughed, except for Hermione, who, ignoring the lot of them, continued.
"So after E, it's A for 'Acceptable,' and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?"
"Yep," Fred confirmed, sloppily submerging his roll in his soup, stuffing the entire thing in his mouth, and swallowing without chewing.
"You're revolting, you know that, don't you?" Genevieve said conversationally.
"Then you get P for 'Poor' and D for 'Dreadful,' " Ron said.
"And then T," George completed.
"T?" Hermione asked, astonished there could be lesser grades. "Even lower than a D? What on earth does that stand for?"
" 'Troll,' " George answered.
"You lot had an inspected lesson yet?" Fred said.
"No," Hermione said instantly, "have you?"
"Just now, before lunch. Charms."
"What was it like?" both Harry and Hermione asked.
"Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it. Oh, and Genevieve ran into Umbridge," Fred added, smirking.
"What?" They all looked at her in surprise. Genevieve shrugged.
"You can't've thought I was just going to let that cow get away with everything, did you? I had to do something. And, well," Genevieve gestured to her limbs, which she had broken on several occasions, "I had a built-in excuse. So I just stumbled, dropped a couple books, and rammed straight into her. If I'm lucky, I broke one of her claws."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at her in awe. Fred, Lee, and George looked particularly pleased.
"I just said some rubbish like, 'I'm so sorry, I'm a complete klutz, this happens all the time,' grabbed my things, and walked out. She couldn't've done anything. Madam Pomfrey can prove my case a hundred times over."
Genevieve smiled almost evilly.
"You're — a — bloody — genius!" Ron said, applauding her. The others soon joined in.
"Anyway," Genevieve said, "I reckon Flitwick's going to be fine."
"Yeah," George concurred, "I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down, he usually gets everyone through their exams all right."
"Who've you got this afternoon?" Fred asked Harry.
"Trelawney — "
"A T if I ever saw one — "
" — and Umbridge herself."
Genevieve grimaced. "Good luck."
"Thanks," he said dryly.
"Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today," instructed George. "Angelina'll do her nut if you miss anymore Quidditch practices."
"And if you ever need to see Umbridge brought back down to earth," Genevieve said, "I figure my reputation precedes me."
•~0~•
Harry had gone and landed himself in detention with Umbridge again. Though she considered Angelina's rage (as Quidditch captain, there was a certain level of infuriation to be associated with one of your team in detention for two weeks and therefore unable to train with the rest of the team) to be punishment enough, Genevieve couldn't help regarding him a bit reproachfully when he returned from detention Tuesday night. At Genevieve's suggestion, Hermione had prepared a bowl of murtlap essence for his hand.
"Here," Hermione said, giving to bowl to him, "soak your hand in that, it's a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles, it should help."
Trusting the both of them and willing to try anything to make what could only be immense pain stop, Harry stuck his hand in the bowl. His face calmed in relief.
"Thanks," he said.
"You shouldn't've lost your temper with Umbridge," Genevieve admonished.
"You sound like McGonagall," Harry muttered.
"And she was right!" Genevieve said. "It's not only dangerous to do so, but it's only hurting you!"
She motioned to his hand pointedly.
"I still reckon you should complain about this," Ron said.
"No," said Harry defiantly.
"McGonagall would go nuts if she knew — " Ron pressed on when Genevieve nodding vigorously.
"Yeah, she probably would." Harry continued bitterly, "And how long d'you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?"
"She's an awful woman," Hermione said furiously. "Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron and Gen when you came in . . . we've got to do something about her."
"I suggested poison," Ron piped up.
Genevieve shook her head. "Far too peaceful. I say we set Peeves on her."
"No . . ." Hermione said, "I mean something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any defense from her at all."
Genevieve remembered their conversation from days prior and hoped Hermione would be able to persuade Harry.
"Well, what can we do about that?" Ron asked. " 'S too late, isn't it? She got the job, she's here to stay, Fudge'll make sure of that."
"Well," Hermione said, as though testing the waters. "You know, I was thinking today . . ." Genevieve shot her a look. "Okay, I've been thinking for several days that — ," she glanced at Harry, " — maybe the time's come when we should just — just do it ourselves."
"Do what ourselves?" Harry asked, a suspicious expression on his face.
"Well — learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves," Hermione clarified.
"Come off it," Ron moaned. "You want us to do extra work? D'you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?"
"But this is much more important than homework!" Hermione exclaimed.
The other two stared incredulously at her. Genevieve shook her head.
"I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework," Ron breathed.
"Don't be silly, of course there is!" Hermione said passionately. "It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting out there. It's about making sure we can really defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year — "
"We can't do much by ourselves," Ron said. "I mean, all right, we can go and look up jinxes in the library and try to practice them, I suppose — "
"There's only so much you can learn from a book," Genevieve said.
"No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books. We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."
"If you're talking about Lupin . . ." Harry said, getting entirely the wrong idea.
"Speed this along, Hermione," Genevieve urged.
"No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin. He's too busy with the Order and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough."
"Who, then?" Harry asked, looking puzzled.
"How can you be this thick?" Genevieve wondered aloud, staring at Harry.
Hermione sighed deeply. "Isn't it obvious? I'm talking about you, Harry."
No one spoke for a second. Everyone was watching for Harry's reaction.
"About me what?" Harry asked.
"I'm talking about you teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Harry simply looked at Hermione, baffled. He glanced at Ron, and Genevieve understood. It would be so much easier to sway Harry if Ron, his best mate, was on their side. Ron considered the proposal for a second, thinking hard.
"That's an idea." He finally said. Genevieve smiled.
"What's an idea?"
"You," Ron said simply. "Teaching us how to do it."
"But . . ."
Harry grinned, as though he were certain the three of them were tricking him somehow. It was a joke.
"But I'm not a teacher, I can't — "
"Harry, you're the best in our year at Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Who are you kidding, Hermione?" Genevieve asked. "He's the best in the school; the kids in my year couldn't do half the stuff he's done."
"Me?" Harry's grin widened. "No, I'm not, Genevieve, you're the brightest witch in the school, and Hermione, you've beaten me in every test — "
"Actually, I haven't." Hermione's voice had an unmistakable coolness in it. "You beat me in our third year — the only year we both took the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Look what you've done!"
"How d'you mean?"
"You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron told the others, smirking.
Genevieve snorted. "Agreed."
Ron went on. "Let's think. Uh . . . first year — you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who."
"But that was luck," Harry protested, "that wasn't skill — "
"Second year, you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle."
"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up I — "
"Third year," Ron said, continually raising his voice above's Harry's, "you fought off about a hundred dementors at once — "
"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't — "
"Last year," Ron pushed on, still more loudly, "you fought off You-Know-Who again — "
"Listen to me!" Harry cut in, frustrated. All three were snickering. "Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck – I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help — "
He broke off, looking agitated that they weren't taking him seriously.
"Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I? I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because — because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right — but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing — STOP LAUGHING!"
Harry knocked the bowl of murtlap essence to the floor as he stood up, and it shattered. They ceased laughing immediately.
"You don't know what it's like! You — none of you — you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — like you can think straight when you know you're about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die — they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that — and you three sit there acting like I'm a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don't get it, that could have just as easily been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me — "
"Harry, calm down," Genevieve said.
"We weren't saying anything like that, mate," Ron assured, though he looked shocked. "We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't — you've got the wrong end of the — "
Ron glanced at Hermione for help.
"Harry," she said in a small voice, "don't you see? This . . . this is exactly why we need you . . . We need to know what it's r-really like . . . facing him . . . facing Voldemort."
If Genevieve jumped, it was out of pure surprise. She'd never heard Hermione call Voldemort by his name before. Harry seemed to be soothed by this. He sat back down, at any rate.
"Well . . . think about it," Hermione said, barely audible. "Please?"
Harry nodded tensely. Genevieve turned to him.
"Look, I know I can't possibly understand what you've gone through, but it just scares me to know that Voldemort is out there, and my dad's out there, and my friends are out there — " Genevieve's voice cracked. " — a-and they're all ready to fight him, but I-I've just, I've lost enough people. You can understand that. And when I'm out there next year, I want to be by their side, ready to help them. I need to do something."
Harry looked her in the eye. He smiled slightly, as if to comfort her, to let her know he was thinking about it. Genevieve nodded, and she and Hermione stood up.
"Well, we're off to bed, I suppose," Hermione said. "Erm . . . 'night."
Genevieve gave them a forced smile and headed upstairs, her eyes wet.
