A New Place To Stay
Chapter 26
Defence with Umbridge and Potions with Snape: Which was worse?
Neville walked with Harry towards the Defence classroom; he felt sorry for the teenager. There seemed to be a new burden on his shoulders, one that, even as clumsy as Neville was, he noticed. Could it really be the effect of his friends? It was probably Cedric's dying. He had paled earlier when he had seen Cho, though Ron had attacked her about her Quidditch team for some reason. Harry had hidden behind Neville, which wasn't an easy feat now. He was taller than the other boy, and had filled out quite nicely too. He wasn't any longer the short skinny boy he had been before he'd left for the summer. A lot of the girls had been gaping at him, although Neville wasn't sure if it was because of the whole Voldemort thing, or his looks. Neville decided not to tell Harry; his friend obviously had a lot on his shoulders right now.
When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the teacher was sitting at her table. She had that same gaudy pink cardigan on that she'd worn at the feast. Everyone quietly took their seats; Hermione had told everyone who would listen, exactly why Umbridge was here, or why she thought she was here. Hermione looked really angry, sitting there with her books and wand out as was usual for Defence class. Harry avoided sitting next to Hermione and Ron, instead choosing to sit next to Neville. Ron looked pretty depressed; Harry's falling out with him was obviously hitting him rather hard.
"Well, good morning!" Professor Umbridge said quite cheerfully, as if she was happy to have them all in her class.
A few people murmured 'good morning' right back; unfortunately they were still quite tired, too tired to really muster up a better reply. Not that it would have been different if they had been here in the afternoon. They weren't sure what to make of Professor Umbridge at all; she was a Ministry worker― why did she want to teach at Hogwarts?
"Tut, tut," Umbridge reproved them, "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good morning, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good morning, class!"
"Good morning, Professor Umbridge," chanted the students right back.
Harry was barely withholding a sneer, what did she think they were? Five-year-olds, back at primary school? He thought not. She obviously hadn't taught teenagers before; she hadn't even taught a class and he was beginning to hate her already.
"There, now," Umbridge said sweetly, "That wasn't too difficult was it? Wands away, quills out, please." Grimaces went all around; all classes requiring quills were boring, unless you were a Ravenclaw or Hermione. Harry hadn't even removed his wand, so he grabbed his writing implements from his bag, and waited impatiently for the class to be over. One thing he was glad for, Umbridge shouldn't want to kill him… well, he hoped so anyway. All his Defence teachers had wanted to kill him, apart from Remus Lupin, that was.
But Umbridge rapped the blackboard with her wand, and a message appeared.
Defence Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles.
"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" Professor Umbridge stated, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.
"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."
She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:
Course aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she said, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
"I think we'll try that again," Professor Umbridge said. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.
"Good," Professor Umbridge beamed. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."
Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all with those toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read. He was going to make Severus proud, he wasn't about to start anything. He would keep his eyes down, do what he was told, avoid detention or risk of suspension from her. The Minister wasn't exactly someone he wanted to cross, not right now, anyway.
It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absent-mindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked to his right and received a surprise to shake him out of his stupor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air. Harry shook his head; he wasn't going to get involved in this. If Hermione wanted to get in trouble, then so be it, it was her prerogative.
Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. He looked at her and shook his head in warning, but she merely shook her head at him slightly to indicate that she was not about to give in, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.
After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye than to struggle on with "Basics for Beginners."
When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.
"Not about the chapter, no," Hermione said.
"Well, we're reading just now," Professor Umbridge told her, showing her small, pointed teeth. "If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class."
"I've got a query about your course aims," Hermione responded.
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.
"And your name is —?"
"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.
"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," Professor Umbridge said in a voice of determined sweetness.
"Well, I don't," Hermione retorted bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."
There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.
"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
"We're not going to use magic?" Ron ejaculated loudly.
"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. —?"
"Weasley," Ron said, thrusting his hand into the air.
Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him.
"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"
"Yes," Hermione said determinedly. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" Professor Umbridge asked in her falsely sweet voice.
"No, but —"
"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way —"
"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to Dean.
"Dean Thomas."
"Well, Mr. Thomas?"
"If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free —" he argued.
"I repeat," Professor Umbridge said, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"
"No, but —"
Professor Umbridge talked over him.
"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."
"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean Thomas angrily, "he was the best we ever —"
"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —"
"No, we haven't," Hermione said, "we just —"
"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"
Hermione put up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her.
"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you —"
"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" Dean Thomas said hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads —"
"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" Professor Umbridge trilled. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.
"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter curses and things?"
"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," Professor Umbridge said dismissively.
"Without ever practicing them beforehand?" Parvati asked incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"
"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough —"
"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" Harry said quietly, his fist in the air. He was speaking for the first time, and he made sure his argument was going to be sound. He was also going to try to remain respectful to the disgusting little toad.
Professor Umbridge looked up.
"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said softly.
"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?" Harry asked in incredulity.
"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."
"Then may I ask how the Aurors manage to keep their jobs? If there aren't bad people out there?" said Harry.
"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" Professor Umbridge inquired in a horribly honeyed voice.
"So a school child has never been injured or hurt before? Not even at Hogwarts? No offence, Professor Umbridge, but have you met Moaning Myrtle? She was a girl who didn't get the chance to graduate from Hogwarts… she was killed mysteriously right here…" Harry said.
Ron and Hermione were giving Harry weird looks, considering they knew his temper. It was very unlike Harry to argue with such sound logic. Both of his ex-best friends didn't know what to make of this Harry. Plus there was the fact that he hadn't mentioned Voldemort, not even once. This wasn't the Harry they had known before Hogwarts finished up; he had been loud, opinionated, and angry with anyone who dared accuse him of bad things.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."
The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.
"Now, let me make a few things quite plain."
Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned toward them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.
"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead —"
Harry gave half a smirk as he sat there. He hadn't even mentioned his name, yet she was bringing him up. Stifling a yawn, he was surprised when Umbridge spoke again.
"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," Professor Umbridge said in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.
"The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.' "
The entire class was looking at Harry as if they expected him to start off on her, get angry. Harry was angry, in fact he was furious; what the hell did they think happened to Cedric Diggory, then? How could they ignore it? Oh, he knew the answer to that, Severus had told him at the beginning of the summer. People were scared, so scared they would rather believe him a liar. This wasn't doing them any good though; people were going to die if they didn't get their arses into gear and fight! But what could he do? They all believed him a liar… if there was something… someway that would prove to them all that he was telling the truth, he would do it. Breathing heavily through his nostrils, he clutched the book pretending to read, re-gathering his lost composure. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of letting her know she had gotten to him.
To say the rest of the class was in stunned silence was like saying Voldemort had walked in and said he liked her pink cardigan and wanted to marry her. Which was as likely as everyone believing him at lunch time, about Voldemort returning.
To make matters worse… he was going to be attending Potions and be forced to blow up his potions… again. He rather hoped Severus would grade him fairly now… it wasn't as if everyone saw his grade… and Severus knew how good he was at potions now. He held onto the miniature basilisk tooth and smiled slightly. He wasn't used to being treated so well… it was so brilliant and refreshing and great… he could say a million more things, he loved being treated like someone's son. Or as close as he would ever come to it really. He came first to Severus, or maybe second; he was a spy right now, after all. He wasn't sure what his status was, but it was further up than he had ever been on anyone's list. Well, except Dumbledore's, but that wasn't a list he wanted to be on. To be treated like an adult, someone that listened to him, looked after him and did things for him. Even something as small as shrinking a basilisk fang, made Harry feel over the moon. It was thinking like this that helped him keep silent throughout the rest of his Defence class, ignoring all the looks he was receiving, even from the Slytherin side.
Harry had noticed, though, that Draco Malfoy wouldn't even meet his eyes... not once since they had returned to Hogwarts.
He filed into the classroom behind Ron and Hermione and followed them to their usual table at the back, ignoring the huffy, irritable noises now issuing from both of them. They were either annoyed at him for ignoring them, or they had been arguing... again. He wasn't sure what it was about, but he wasn't interested in it. For once he wasn't the third wheel when they got into arguments, and that suited him just fine. Neville, of course, had to go to his usual seat too; Severus wouldn't be too happy if he played up too soon in the lesson.
"Settle down," Snape said coldly, shutting the door behind himself.
There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen, and all fidgeting had stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence.
"Before we begin today's lesson," Snape said, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "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 use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you all to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my … displeasure."
His gaze lingered this time upon Neville, who gulped. For once Harry had to stamp down the urge to defend Neville. Severus was really unnecessarily cruel to him; he actually would have preferred Severus to pick on him. At least he knew he wasn't doing it out of sheer malice… or at least he didn't think so. What could Severus have against Neville? Neither of his parents had bothered Severus in school, or at least, he didn't think so.
"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."
His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, with all the force he could muster. Meanwhile, a big measure of respect bloomed in Harry; Severus was good at what he did. Harry, if he hadn't spent the summer with him, or seen him down the chamber, wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. In fact, if Harry hadn't had such a good head on his shoulders, he would have thought it all a bizarre dream.
"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," Snape softly said, "so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass-level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students.
Harry withheld a smirk; he knew he would pass his O.W.L.s just fine, and maybe his N.E.W.T.s too. Although if this was going to continue, he wasn't sure how long he could remain unaffected by Severus' acid tongue. He was as he had said, very good at what he did. He was used to being treated like crap, he expected it... but he didn't know if he could take it. Not now that he finally had an adult who treated him the way he'd always imagined being treated all his life ― like a son, as if he mattered.
"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Levels: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients, you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing." On Harry's left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of the utmost attentiveness. "The ingredients and method" — Snape flicked his wand — "are on the blackboard" — the writing was exactly like Severus' as it appeared on the blackboard — "you will find everything you need" — he flicked his wand again — "in the store cupboard" — the door of the student cupboard sprang open — "you have an hour and a half. … Start."
The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in counter-clockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added. Harry had to think quickly about what ingredient not to add to screw it up. It truly was harder than he thought to get back into the whole 'Harry Potter' façade.
"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," Snape called, with ten minutes left to go.
Harry, who was, supposedly for show, sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. His own cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark gray steam; Ron's was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they had gone out. The surface of Hermione's potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapour (Harry envied Hermione then, at least she didn't have to hide how good she was), and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant that he could find nothing to criticize. At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, looking down at Harry with a horrible smirk on his face.
"Potter, what is this supposed to be?"
The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry. Draco though, surprisingly enough, merely continued on with his potion, not even glancing up at his godfather or his 'scar-headed' nemesis.
"The Draught of Peace," Harry tensely replied.
"Tell me, Potter," Snape asked softly, "can you read?"
"Yes, I can," Harry said, his eyes narrowed in anger, which was easy enough thinking about Umbridge.
"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."
"Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, and then add two drops of syrup of hellebore." He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes. He knew it would mess it up enough, without causing any real damage.
"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"
"No," Harry said very quietly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"No," Harry repeated, more loudly. "I forgot the hellebore. …"
"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco."
The contents of Harry's potion vanished; as he stood there visibly seething.
"Those of you who have managed to read the instructions correctly, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing," said Snape. "Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."
While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and had already started his lunch by the time Ron and Hermione joined him in the Great Hall. The ceiling had turned an even murkier gray during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows.
"That was really unfair," Hermione said consolingly, sitting down next to Harry and helping herself to shepherd's pie. "Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's; when he put it in his flagon, the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire."
"Yeah, well," Harry said, glowering at his plate, "since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"
Neither of the others answered; all three of them knew that Snape and Harry's mutual enmity had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts.
"I did think he might be a bit better this year," Hermione said in a disappointed voice. "I mean … you know …" She looked carefully around; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table. "… Now he's in the Order and everything."
"Are you completely out of your mind? Don't be so stupid as to mention that, of all things! Especially here in the Great Hall! And here I was, thinking you were the smart one!" Harry snapped viciously. Grabbing his school bag, he took off without even finishing his lunch. As he fled he heard one of the Gryffindor's commenting on the fact that Draco Malfoy had been forced to stay behind.
He didn't see Hermione's or Ron's stunned faces, or Hermione getting up and fleeing the hall with tears streaming down her face.
"Sir?" Draco asked in confusion when at long last the door of the classroom slammed shut.
"Have you managed to think about what you did this summer, Draco?" Severus asked softly; his voice if possible was more lethal when talking softly than when he was shouting. He was like a cobra lying in wait ― ready to strike at his next prey.
"Yes, sir," Draco said looking down, pale and shaken, he'd had nightmares every night about what he had done.
Severus felt relief flowing through him, he could tell by the state of his godson that he wasn't ever going to have the stomach to be a Death Eater. Perhaps Lucius hadn't managed to take the humanity out of his son after all. Perhaps Narcissa had been more of an influence than he imagined possible. It still didn't get Draco out of the consequences of his actions, though. He was furious with his godson's reckless behaviour and what he had done to his son. When Severus realized what he had thought, it took everything to stop it from showing on his face. He couldn't believe what he had just thought; forcing himself to put it to one side, he began speaking to his godson once more.
"It took every ounce of cunning I had to ensure that the boy did not go straight to Dumbledore; do you realize what would have happened then, Draco?" Severus asked, stalking around his godson. "Either expelled from Hogwarts or up in front of the Wizengamot. Despite the paper's claims, Dumbledore still holds a lot of influence in the world."
"I know," Draco said, trying to sound Malfoy-ish but it wasn't working.
"You have detention with me two times a week, cleaning cauldrons until I feel you have properly learned your lesson," Severus calmly stated. He had to stop himself from making it more; he truly wanted to punish Draco for what he did. Unfortunately, he didn't want Draco in detention every night; he wanted to be able to spend time with Harry whenever it was possible by giving him detention also.
"But what will I tell the others?" Draco protested hotly, sounding more like himself for the first time.
"You are cunning, Draco; I'm sure you will think of something. Now I will see you on Monday and Thursday evenings," Severus said dryly. He was glad Harry wasn't here to hear this, and he was also glad Draco wouldn't go around telling everyone what he had said. Otherwise Harry might just think the wrong thing, and believe he had helped him to get Draco out of trouble. Which wasn't the case; he had begun caring for Harry very deeply. He had tried, oh Merlin, he had tried to stay detached as usual when abused students came by. He had failed to realize, though, that none of the others had lived with him, and none of them had been Lily's son, a child he had sworn to protect, vowed to protect and ensure nothing happened to. Now, though, he wouldn't change a damn thing.
"Yes, sir," Draco acquiesced quietly. Considering he could have ended up in Azkaban, he supposed detention wasn't all that bad.
"Good, now get out of here and get some lunch before your next class," Severus said impatiently. He too needed something to eat, before the next round with Potions students. The next class was first-years - the worst of the lot.
"Yes, sir, goodbye, sir," Draco said, quickly gathering his bag before practically doing a Harry and running from the classroom. He was quite happy to be away from his godfather right now, who wasn't in the best of moods ― not with him, anyway.
Edited by the great Jake and Jordre thanks so much for all your effort to turn this into an amazing story :) thanks guys!