Gryphus: Voldemort's 'busted' comment was more of a joke than anything. As for the Four-Point Spell potentially being created by Hermione, I have two major problems with that: one, smart she may be, but I doubt she could come up with a brand new spell after only two years of Arithmancy; and two, if she were capable of making new spells that early, why the hell didn't she arm the D.A. with some in fifth year, or even just Harry and her during the camping trip? It wasn't like she didn't have the time.
Disclaimer: Did Dumbledore keep Binns on staff, even though his being a ghost meant that he probably didn't keep track of historical developments that had occurred after his death? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.
Chapter 14
Modern History
"Just once, I'd like to have a bit of a break," Sirius growled as he vanished a rotten crossbeam and levitated its replacement into position. "No sicknesses, no kidnappings, no covering up illegal adoptions, no fifteen-year-olds dressing up like bloody Morgana in front of the entire Wizengamot…
"And definitely no mass-murdering psychos breaking out of prison!"
"That's ironic. We said almost the same thing when the Prophet reported that you had escaped Azkaban," retorted Andi with a snort. A wave of her wand had the wood secured in place, and they continued on to the next thing that needed to be fixed.
He sighed. "I'm all for a good joke, but even I know when to be serious. And no, that wasn't a pun," he quickly added before his cousin could say anything. "If you have any useful suggestions, please tell me. I just can't figure out what we're going to do about all this."
Today was already shaping up to be a bad day. The morning's Prophet had sent the three Blacks into horrified silence; finding out that the entirely of the thirteenth floor of Azkaban prison, the same level he had spent a dozen years in and that held the most vile of offenders, had somehow been emptied was enough to induce nightmares in anyone who had lived through the War. The disappearance of nearly all of the guards made it look like an inside job, and the DMLE had already said that they were conducting an investigation into the whereabouts of the eight missing wizards, but Dumbledore was sure that this had actually been the official opening volley of the new war with Voldemort.
I can't disagree with him on that point, either. It makes perfect sense; eleven Death Eaters were locked up on that floor, and if we discount Wormtail, all of them were his most dangerous and most fanatical. Bellatrix, the Lestranges, Rookwood, Rowle, Travers… Any one of them would drastically increase his firepower, but all of them? And then at the meeting this morning, Dumbledore said that Arthur was stunned by an invisible enemy while he was guarding the Department of Mysteries. Was it an Unspeakable, noticing that he was there when he shouldn't have been? A guard making his rounds? Or was it really Voldemort hitting his second target of the day? A shiver ran down his back at that thought. If it truly was the Dark Lord, it meant that all the Order's time spent guarding the prophecy was for naught.
Voldemort now knew the entire truth.
"The war's heating up, the Death Eaters are as strong as they ever were, and I'm here fixing up a dance hall for a party I don't even want to host!"
"And you think we did?" Narcissa asked in a droll tone as she came down the hall from the other end. "Letting every member of the Wizengamot, their heirs – most of whom are uncouth little beasts, I'll have you know – and the heads of the Ministry departments into our house so they might go where they wished because the 'random' lottery chose us to host the Solstice Ball that particular year? At least Black Hall is separate from Grimmauld Place; three different times I caught wizards pawing through my bedroom in Malfoy Manor."
Ugh. I suppose she does have a point. There's no way anyone can use this place to sneak into our real home. The Blacks had not always lived in their townhouse in the heart of London; in fact, that was actually a relatively recent development. Before then, they had an actual castle as their place of residence, and when the family grew too large for everyone to fit, they had expanded into the neighboring countryside. Unfortunately, not even that had been enough protection; in 1666, their feud with the now-extinct House Maddox had boiled over to the point that the sons of Lord Adam Maddox, one of whom had been a curse-breaker, had led an attack on their estate that cost them nearly half of their family before the rest had been able to escape, and not even the centuries-old fortress had survived.
That was not to say that the Maddox held the upper hand for very long. The Lord Black at the time, Procyon Black, had invited their enemies to a warehouse on the shores of the River Thames for a parley, and once all the adult Maddox wizards and witches were present, the Blacks, none of whom were actually inside the building, had thrown up the anti-Apparation wards and set off the Gubraithian fire-pits hidden inside, roasting their enemies alive. Unfortunately, the conflagration spread beyond their ability to control, and it wound up destroying several hundred acres of London before the Muggles had managed to put it out.
After getting rid of their enemies, the Blacks had then decided to turn the situation to their advantage. Diagon Alley had thankfully been spared from the destruction they had accidentally set loose, so it was no trouble to purchase large tracts of land and build another home in the midst of the Muggle reconstruction. The country estate was not entirely abandoned; though it had been made clear that living in the middle of nowhere made security more difficult, they were able to use it to house the new Black Hall, a building that was designed very much like a contemporary manor house except for its utter lack of living facilities.
This building, the same one Sirius, Andi, and Narcissa were currently repairing, was purely for social functions.
"Disgusting," Andromeda remarked, oblivious to his mental detour. "I am normally a forgiving person, but I hope you taught them the error of their ways, sister dear."
The piebald witch smirked cruelly. "Oh, most certainly. The last I heard, one of them was still so afraid of the thought of a naked woman that he has refused to send any marriage contracts in favor of staying with his cute little boy toy."
"You don't mean Scion Lindsay by any chance, do you?" Andi clarified with a raised eyebrow. "I had wondered what happened to him. According to the rumors, practically overnight he changed from a consummate playboy to… well, the way he is now."
"Yes, thank you, please continue this conversation once I'm no longer in earshot." Shaking his head, Sirius then asked, "What are we going to do about Bellatrix? Now that Voldemort has her back in his grasp, she can lead him straight to us. I was… tempted to go to Dumbledore and ask for help setting up a Fidelius Charm," he admitted sheepishly, "but I wanted to get your input before I did anything. This affects all of us, after all."
"I wouldn't worry about Bella mounting an attack on us," Narcissa said with a sad smile. "She can't do that."
He quirked one eyebrow. "Oh? Do explain."
"I don't know if it was supposed to be a punishment or a security measure or what, but Great-Uncle Arcturus went to see her not long after she was sentenced to Azkaban. When I asked him why he was there, he told me that he had Obliviated any memories that someone could potentially use against us. Addresses, connections, secret alliances, basically everything from the way he put it." The youngest of the Black Sisters shrugged. "While she may still remember what Grimmauld looks like inside and our childhood trips there, she shouldn't be able to return."
"That's… better, I suppose," he admitted eventually. It was a much colder move than he would have ever made against a member of the family, but considering the kind of person the prior Lord Black had been, Bellatrix probably should have counted her lucky stars that his grandfather had not wiped out her memory in its entirety. "If only we could do that to Cuff and Skeeter."
"Don't worry. We'll find something we can use against them."
Unfortunately, he was not quite as optimistic as Narcissa was. He wanted, needed, to make sure the Daily Prophet understood that their House's business was off-limits for Skeeter and her gossiping ilk, but no matter how much he tried, he could not think of a way to do that. The Black family owned the actual land a large section of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were built on – in fact, the rents from those properties made up a hefty chunk of their income – but the Prophet's office was not in that section of the Alley. He had checked the laws multiple times, but since Skeeter had not said anything untrue, he could not sic Ted on her for libel. Nor could he buy the paper's favor; their subsidy from the Ministry meant they weren't exactly hurting for money. Whatever weakness they had was, at least for the moment, unknown to him.
Much as I hate to admit it, this would be so much easier if I were Dark, he mentally sighed. He had a good idea how Arcturus would have dealt with the situation. Implied threats against both the business itself and the people running it; subtle reminders that in any legal battle the Prophet tried to wage, the Blacks had enough money to outlast them; buying their way into Fudge's good graces so that the Minister would pass on their message for them. Such things were not the Light way, however, and despite how tempting those easy and effective methods would be, Sirius was wary of stepping onto that slippery slope. His worst nightmare, at least from a philosophical perspective, was waking up one morning and discovering that rather than changing their House, the history of their family had changed him.
He refused to be like his father and grandfather before him. No, he would bring the House of Black out of the darkness that had corrupted them for so long. If only it were not so easy to see why their ancestors had become Dark in the first place…
Searching for something to lighten the now extremely depressing mood that had fallen over them, he commented, "I just wish he could have spent that much care making sure that this place wasn't falling apart."
"That's… actually a good point," Andi said, glancing back down the hallway they had been working on. "When was the last time anyone used this place, anyway?"
There was silence for a moment as the three Blacks glanced at each other, each hoping someone else had the answer. Finally, Narcissa said, "Well, I suppose that explains why Great-Uncle didn't have Kreacher care for Black Hall, too."
"Trust me, that's a good thing," Sirius said with a bark-like laugh. "I had to clean out Grimmauld. If Kreacher had been here, it would be even worse."
This truly is a nice spot, Jen thought with a nod. I should come out here more often, while there are still sunny days to look forward to.
The particular location she was considering was a small depression on the castle grounds, on the opposite side of the Black Lake and at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Trees and a few small boulders created a natural wall to afford her privacy, not to mention framing a corridor to channel a cool breeze. In winter, she was sure that it would be dreadful, filled with snow and at the mercy of biting winds, but she had until October before she needed to worry about that.
Besides, that's what magic for. It shouldn't be too hard to adjust an umbrella charm to keep snow out as well as rain; tie that and a warming charm to a couple of runes to keep them going, and this wouldn't be a bad retreat all year round.
Okay Jen, focus. That's not why you're out here. Realizing that she needed to get back to work, she once again raised a finger into the air. She huffed a bit as she concentrated on her desire, and then her hand descended and the natural magical currents of the planet swirled in her finger's wake. Her movements were exceedingly carefully as she sketched a rune not into stone or flesh or even air, but in the very fabric of reality itself.
This alone was enough to convince her that finagling Ingrid Eberhardt's notes from a proper Dark Arts class was the right decision. Some of the topics discussed in the lectures were simple enough: lawful applications of dark magic, a few dueling tactics that could only work when one had spells that could pass through shield charms, and a detailed breakdown on various dark creatures. Then there were the interesting topics, of which runic casting was only one example. By 'carving' the rune into the streams of power that traversed the globe, a clever witch could lay down charms anywhere she wanted without devoting her mind – and more importantly, her wand – to maintaining it. With enough time to prepare, someone could erect powerful shields and still be able to attack at will.
There was some tradeoff, of course. Unlike traditional runes, runic casting still required power from the witch herself rather than leaching off the planet's infinite reserve, and sketching arcane symbols into the air could only produce the effects one could expect of regular runes rather than the vast array of true spells, but nevertheless the multitasking one could then employ with this little bit of 'dark magic' more than made up for its deficits. Jen did not benefit as much from this as a normal wand-waving witch would – she could already launch two spells at once, one from each hand, and with effort she could maintain a third through sheer concentration – but still she saw numerous applications opening up before her.
"Hey, Jen? Why are the—" Behind her, Luna poked her head out from between the trees and stopped to stare at the rune floating in the air. "Wow. That's really pretty."
Was it? The dark witch turned her eyes to look at the translucent symbol as it shimmered in a multitude of colors. "I suppose it is." A chittering sound heralded a squirrel leaping into the clearing. "And it works as it's supposed to, too."
The mannaz rune was a rather odd duck in comparison to the rest of the Futhark. Rather than radiating magic outwards like the other Norse runes, it focused its energy and effect inwards. For the vast majority of spells, that property was a hindrance, but for charms targeting the caster, such as the magical beacon she had cast, the so-called 'self' or 'inner world' rune worked perfectly.
The blonde sucked daintily on her bottom lip as her eyes flicked between Jen and the animal. "Why do I get the feeling that you're gathering woodland creatures for a decidedly less than child-friendly purpose?"
"Because you know me better than that?"
"Oh. I actually kind of hoped I was wrong." Luna entered the depression fully and flopped down next to her. The squirrel, strangely acting without any kind of fear whatsoever, scurried closer until it was only a couple of feet away from them. "Okay, I have to ask. What are you going to do with him?"
"What I'm hoping to do is get this spell to work," she groused, waving one hand at the sheets of parchment laying in her lap. "It was in one of the books in the library at home, but while the incantation and wand motions are useless to me, it did have the arithmancy formula written down. That's why I was in the library most of yesterday; I was going through spells I already know to see if I could match up portions of their formulae with this one so I could at least have some idea about how it's supposed to be structured."
That was without a doubt the worst part about being the only true wandless caster she had ever heard of. Since every single other person used a different method than she did, she normally either had to observe someone casting a spell and learn from that, modify an existing spell to suit her circumstances, or come up with something completely new on her own. She had used all three of those strategies throughout her life, but with a spell this finicky and delicate, she did not want to try any more experimentation than she was already doing.
"That doesn't sound too hard," the younger girl said. "What's been happening when you've tried casting it so far?"
"All sorts of things, none of which are what I wanted. I can now definitively say that a melting squirrel smells worse than a burning rabbit, though," she replied in a deadpan tone.
Luna opened and closed her mouth wordlessly a few times in surprise. Finally, she managed, "And just what is this spell supposed to do?"
"Instantly tame wild animals." That was a lie, but as far as Jen could see, Luna really did not need to know the actual purpose of the curse. What she was attempting was not technically black magic, but it wasn't far off, either. "After Tracey brought up restarting my little 'introduction club' from last year, I thought I could give the new first-year Ravenclaws and Slytherins a class pet of sorts." She flicked her fingers to weave the magic and sent the jet of pale pink, almost white, light at the squirrel. "Unfortunately, it isn't working as I hoped."
After watching the creature stiffen for a moment before relaxing again, the blonde turned back to her. "I thought you said everything you tried killed them."
"I didn't say that, though it is true," she muttered back. Holding out her hand, she crooned, "Come on. Come here." The squirrel stared at her for a moment before scampering over and jumping onto her outstretched hand.
Well, I'd call that spell structure a success. And about time, too.
"Ah, he's cute," Luna cheered as she stuck out her finger. Rather than bite as it would have been wont to do not a minute earlier, the squirrel latched on to the proffered digit with its tiny forepaws. "Hey, if the kids don't want him, can I keep him?"
"Sure. I won't have any use for him." Sending the woodland creature to perch on Luna's shoulder, Jen frowned. "What was it you were saying when you got here? You were asking a question."
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. That. I was just wondering why you had the Weasley twins hanging up in midair by their ankles, not to mention why they were blind and deaf," Luna answered distractedly.
"They tried to sneak up on me. Considering the glares I've been getting from the Lions and that they had their wands out, not to mention yesterday's news about the Azkaban breakout, I decided not to take any chances." Thankfully, it was only the Gryffindors who were causing problems; the Hufflepuffs were by and large wary but otherwise treated her the same, and she had noticed more than a few Slytherins watching her at meals, but otherwise things were basically the same they had been before everyone left for the summer. And once again I'm filled with joy that I had a whole year to let people form their opinions about me before the identity of my new mother had the chance to sway their thinking.
Gathering her notes, she stood and helped her friend up. The pair picked their way through the trees, coincidentally ending up next to the topic of their conversation. The redheads were dangling as if from invisible ropes, their outstretched hands not even half a foot from the ground, and judging by their matching frowns, neither brother was happy with their current circumstances. At least they were quiet now; when she first hoisted them up, they had made such a racket that she silenced them both so she could concentrate on her casting.
"You probably should let them down," Luna suggested. "I think being upside down is just attracting more wrackspurts."
Wrackspurts… Those are the insect-like things that represent confusion, right? I suppose all the blood rushing to their head would cause a few problems. She waved her hand at the pair, snipping a few threads of the spells enmeshing them. "There, it should wear off in five, ten minutes. Plenty of time for us to leave the scene of the crime.
"I need to find a cage for that little guy, too, I guess," she muttered to herself. As vital as hiding the truth about her experiment was, she could not help but think that it had just backfired on her.
"So what does today look like?" Jen asked as she and Luna took seats at the Ravenclaw table. She could have simply summoned a schedule for herself – unlike Gryffindor and Slytherin, where McGonagall and Snape passed out each student's personal schedule individually, Flitwick and Sprout set the forms out in stacks for each year and expected them to figure out when their classes were for themselves – but breakfast, and more importantly the hot pots of tea, were calling her. The previous night had not been for sleeping; instead she had waited until her roommate was asleep and slipped out through the window to double check that the dark magic she had been busily recreating worked as it was supposed to.
Morag shook her head. "It's a full day, unfortunately. Snape and that Umbridge woman in the morning, then after lunch it's Divination or Runes, your dad, and McGonagall."
"Don't call him my 'dad'," she snarled quietly over the lip of her newly drained teacup, though judging by the Scottish girl's flinch, the amount of venom in her voice more than made up for the lack of volume. "He is my father, as his seed was necessary for my conception, but 'dad' implies a far closer relationship than I have or want to have with him."
Padma and Morag shared confused and concerned glances, and Luna watched her in unashamed curiosity. Finally, Padma broached, "I have a feeling I'm going to regret this, but what exactly happened between you two? Because for you to be that angry with him… This sounds pretty serious, not just you being brassed off because he wasn't there to—"
"Padma, you're a good friend, so I'm warning you. You do not want to finish that sentence." Jen took a deep breath and let it out slowly; the only one of her friends who knew the truth of her parentage was Tracey, so for the others, she was sure she was displaying an uncalled-for degree of hatred. There was no way she would reveal that to them, especially not at the breakfast table where anyone could overhear, but was there a way to deflect their curiosity instead? "The details of the situation are going to stay private, but suffice it to say that shortly after finding out that I was around, he expressed some opinions that cannot be taken back and that I cannot find it in my heart to forgive. That is all I have to say on the subject," she finished, taking a large bite of egg to give herself something to do as much as to reinforce her proclamation.
"Was it about you being like your— Shutting up now," Morag hastily amended when she flicked her eyes to the girl.
She swallowed and thought carefully about what to say next. "Morag, Padma, Luna," she added, shooting a look to the blonde who had thankfully remained silent thus far, "I really, really don't want to start our first week back with a fight. Can we please drop this now? Preferably down a twenty-foot hole that we all immediately and completely forget about?"
The two other fifteen-year-olds hesitated a beat before nodding. She then turned to Luna, who was watching the space over her left shoulder rather intently. "Anything interesting that you're looking at?"
"Your twillcks are quite agitated at the moment, snapping at the conskilps on your head," the blonde replied in the airy voice that they had all come to realize over the previous year was her attempt at a disinterested tone. "They also have a rather broad vocabulary, though I believe little of it is fit for polite conversation."
Ah, I had completely forgotten that she can see and listen to my mental probes, even when they aren't digging into people's heads. Luna rarely mentioned those particular manifestations, and once again she was thankful that the younger witch still did not realize what her family's gift really was. While Legilimency was not illegal or even restricted, few people were comfortable with the idea that someone they knew could peruse their memories and thoughts at a whim. Conskilps are a new one, though. Anger, perhaps?
"I'll try to teach them to watch their mouths around impressionable youth, then," she answered before dedicating her attention back to the meal. Once that was done, it was time to depart for the first class of their very full day. Potions.
On their way down to the dungeons where the Potions classroom awaited, Jen could not help but wonder what this morning would hold. The previous September, Snape had at first been extremely antagonistic when he thought she was Sirius's daughter. Once she assured him that that was not the case, he had treated her with the kind of basic courtesy she would normally expect from a professor addressing a student who took his class seriously. He had warmed up to her over the year, however, as evidenced by him brewing the scar-reducing potion that had given her back her sight.
How far would her progress be set back now that it had been revealed that while she was not Sirius's flesh and blood, she was still the progeny of one of his childhood tormentors?
The Ravenclaws entered the room, and right behind them followed the Hufflepuffs. Once they had all taken their places and the clock chimed half past the hour, the dour Potions Master entered the room and slammed the door.
"Settle down," he said unnecessarily. The assembled students, already totally silent, focused even harder. "For any of you who somehow doesn't know this already, at the end of this year you will take a very important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition, production, and application of magical potions. For most, this means that we will soon be saying goodbye to each other, but for the very best of you"—Snape's black eyes flicked across the room at specific people, and unless Jen was very much mistaken, they rested on her for an instant—"there will be a seat waiting in my NEWT class that I expect to be filled.
"Now, I am aware that I am not considered the most… accommodating of teachers," he ground out, "but for the past eleven years, I have not had a single class where more than a quarter of the students failed to pass their Potions OWL. I expect the same or better from this class, or you can be assured that you will suffer my… displeasure."
He turned to the blackboard and waved his wand, chalk dust from years of use coalescing into words. "For today's assignment, you will be brewing Morrison's Draft. Though it is not on the OWL syllabus, it will serve as a useful measure of your current skills. Instructions are on the board; ingredients are in the cabinets. You have until the end of the period."
At their table, Jen, Susan, and Justin laid out their ingredients and began the tedious process of chopping, dicing, and skinning. Morrison's Draft, huh?, she thought after she had organized the various components. Seeing Snape passing by, she quietly asked, "Professor? I'm not familiar with this potion. What does it do?"
Over the previous year, she had noticed that while the wizard was quick to curtail pointless chatter, he would answer intelligent questions provided they were quiet enough that they did not disturb anyone else. She hoped that would continue to be the case.
Sure enough, he stopped to sweep his gaze over the entire room before turning back to answer her at the same soft volume. "Morrison's Draft has no practical purpose; it is purely a teaching tool. Each stage of the potion has a specific color and consistency, and the various ways each stage can be compromised, as well as how multiple errors affect one another, are well documented. This allows for you to determine where, and from there why, you made any mistakes." His explanation finished, he resumed his circuit through the room.
By the time Snape called time, Jen was less than entirely pleased. At step fourteen of the twenty-step process, she realized that her potion had not lightened to the orange shade Susan's had taken, instead remaining stubbornly red. The color had disappeared gradually as she continued working, but there was still a visible tinge to the otherwise clear concoction. Mean as it was, she took a little comfort that it was at least not the black tar that had congealed in Justin's cauldron, nor was it spitting multicolored sparks like Luna's.
"At this point, your potions should be indistinguishable from water, with a fine silver sand at the bottom. Whose potion looks like this?" Only three students raised their hands, but to their surprise, the ordinarily demanding teacher did not immediately lambast the rest of them. "I hoped for better, but I suppose this is acceptable at the moment. Last year's class did not have a single person from all four houses succeed. For the rest of you, your homework is to look up your potion's appearance in the Morrison's Draft result table – you can find it in Advanced Potion-Making, several copies of which are in the library – and then write a report about what stage you messed up on, what that mistake was, and what your potion looked like at the end. There is not a defined length, but I will be grading for appropriate detail."
He waved his wand again, calling vials out of the cabinet and distributing them amongst the students. "Bottle and label your potions, then get out."
Great, she mentally griped, her mood not helped by Susan's playful smirk as the Badger ladled out a perfect potion. At least I don't have to answer to Elsie about this. She'd have my head for screwing up. Possibly literally.
The History of Magic class had changed rooms, Jen noted while they trudged their way up to the third floor, a floor above where the rest of her year was used to. As they walked, the congregated Ravens and Badgers speculated about what their newest professor would be like. Some said Umbridge would be just as boring as Binns but would not allow them to sleep in class; others insisted that no one could be as bad as the ghost.
Honestly, she hoped the latter group were right. The previous year she had simply not bothered going after the first class, and by June, only half of their combined houses, mostly the Hufflepuffs, still attended at all.
Abbott was the first one to reach the door, and she peaked in carefully before opening the door and letting others in before her. Jen glanced over at Susan, whom she knew was rather close to the blonde Puff, and the redhead explained, "Her father works at the Ministry, and Umbridge scared her when she was little. Now she can't stand to stay in the same room with her if she can help it, and definitely not alone."
She smiled mournfully. Ah, the joys of childhood trauma. Gotta love it.
True to Susan's impression, Umbridge sat primly behind the desk at the front of the room, her bright pink cardigan and broad smile doing little to distract from her girth. After everyone had taken a seat and pulled out their quills and parchment, she pushed herself out of the chair. "Good morning, class."
A few people gave muttered replies to that, but while the rotund witch's left eye twitched a bit, she did not voice her obvious frustration. "As Headmaster Dumbledore told you a couple of days ago, I am Dolores Umbridge, your new History of Magic professor. Some of you I already know from my previous position in the Ministry, but as a result of several discussions between Dumbledore and the Ministry, it was decided that the status quo of how History has been taught is no longer acceptable. As such, I will be doing my best to ensure that all of you leave my class with at least some knowledge of history beyond the wars that occurred in this country over the centuries.
"Before we begin today's lesson, does anyone have any questions? Yes, Mr. Hopkins."
"Just a bit of personal curiosity, but I was wondering what the qualifications were for teaching this class." The smile plastered on Umbridge's face slipped off, and Wayne Hopkins swiftly backtracked at the glare taking its place. "I-I mean, most of the professors here are Masters in their subject, but there isn't a Mastery in History, or even a NEWT, so…"
Umbridge resumed her somewhat pleasant expression, but Jen could not help but notice that the emotion did not reach her eyes. Not that I blame her for that; if some little shit had just tried to cast doubt on my credentials my first day at a new job, he'd regret it. "Ah, I think I see now. Tell me, do you know what the pass-rate is for the History of Magic OWL?"
"Er, maybe fifty percent?" he tentatively offered.
"Try thirty-five." The class muttered for a few moments at that flatly delivered proclamation, and Umbridge began pacing in front of them. "This is the only class that has fewer passes than Divination, which for your information does fail half its students. Ten percent of students score an E, and only two percent achieve an O." She looked directly at Hopkins again. "In case you were wondering, I was one of that top two percent, and unlike many of my fellows in that group, I have continued my studies in the subject. There are few in this entire country who are better equipped to teach this class than I am."
After a few moments, Michael Corner slowly raised his hand, and the squat witch nodded to him. "Not to say this is in any way your fault, Professor, but the letters this year did not mention what textbook you wanted us to buy. Will we still be using A History of Magic, or do we need to owl-order something else?"
"I do apologize for that inconvenience; the discussions over how to improve the course did not end until after the Hogwarts letters were sent out. That is a good question, however, and a useful segue into today's lecture." Umbridge pulled out a rather short wand and tapped the board behind the desk, causing shimmering green letters to write themselves on the black slate and list a number of objectives. "Because you all are already in your fifth year, we don't exactly have much time to better prepare you for the OWL. Therefore, we will be concentrating on what you will see most.
"By necessity, the biggest chunk of the exam pertains to war, specifically the assorted goblin wars, but I know you have all covered those ad nauseum, so please correct me if I'm wrong in assuming that you want to hear nothing more about them." The rest of the room chuckled at that. "I thought so. The next largest section, however, is the development of the modern Ministry of Magic, which is coincidentally my primary area of interest. For the next ten months, this is what you will be studying, and if you pay attention, my hope is that we can at least surpass Divination in passes.
"You asked about books, Mr. Corner," she continued, "and the simplest answer is that there won't be any. I practically guarantee that everything about the Ministry's rise that you will be asked about I will discuss in this class, and more besides. If you take detailed enough notes, you'll have everything you need." The class turned stunned expressions towards her; from what Jen understood, the other Ravens had spent the past four years learning history almost entirely from the assigned textbook. The loss of that security net obviously disconcerted several of them. Umbridge seemed to notice this and continued, "That said, if you still wish for a book with which to verify your notes and look up further information, speak with me after class and I will give you the titles I'm using as references. Anything else?"
An idea sprang to Jen's mind, and she raised her hand. "You said that our notes would be sufficient for the exam. To that end, are we permitted to use DictaQuills in this class?"
Umbridge blinked at that question before shrugging. "How you take your notes is your prerogative. As long as it does not disturb the class and you pay attention while it transcribes, I'll allow it."
"Thank you, Professor," she replied with a smile, replacing the eagle feather on her desk with the bronze quill she had in her bag. After being blind for so long and only just now readjusting to physically writing, recording everything Umbridge would say was well beyond what her current speed would allow. She was used to memorizing what she heard, but a backup copy would put her mind at ease.
"Now, if there's nothing else, we will begin our journey through history in the mid-fifth century, when King Arthur of Camelot approached Merlin for suggestions about how to avoid a revolt by the wizards living in the lands he had newly conquered…"
Silently Watches out.