Author's Note – Alright, here's another chapter. Before you go and read it, I need to explain the next two months or so. As many of you may know, NaNoWriMo is coming up in November and I will be absent for at least a month, which would mean no Fire Dragon updates. I hate doing that to you as much as you hate it. So, these past few weeks I've been writing like a freakazoid and I've written up through the end of fifth year (that's up to chapter 43) so I can keep posting during NaNo and after NaNo when I start planning the rest of Fire Dragon. The tentative schedule will be as such: Chapter 39 should be posted around October 31st and Chapter 40 should be posted around December 1st. Those dates are tentative; I'm not promising anything. As for Chapters 41-43, those will be determined at a later time. If you would like to follow along with my 2008 NaNoWriMo novel, information will be posted at the end of this chapter.
Another Note – The chapter title loosely means, "Second Wave Upon New Ground," in Latin. Oh, and there's some juicy foreshadowing at the end of this chapter!
Disclaimer – I own nothing except the concept of the Ignius.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
"Altera Fluctuatio Incumbo Novus Terra"
In the days that followed, Draco and Hermione were blessed, truly and fortunately blessed. The few days after twin proclamations of their love they were able to sink into the blissful and rose-colored existence of a new found flood of emotions. The pair spent more time together than they ever had, stealing moments between classes for a quick snog in the broom cupboards, glances exchanged in secret when they passed in the hallways, hands reaching out, fingers brushing together, evenings spent in the Room of Requirement, and mornings devoted to the thought of the other.
"I can't believe we're doing this," Hermione said one afternoon between Ancient Runes and Potions.
"Why?" Draco asked, taking a moment to pause in trailing kisses down the side of her neck.
"I don't know," she murmured, grinning as she angled her neck to the side. "I've never imagined myself snogging a boy in a broom cupboard."
He paused, a wry grin plastered across his face, a grin Hermione would have blushed at if either were able to see in the dark cupboard. "Until now," he said.
She giggled, leaning into his body. "Yes, until now," she said.
For a mere few days, time stood still for Draco and Hermione, the fates providing them kindness in a stretch of time void of chaos. The attraction between the two soared, emotions and desires mixing together. However, as with the nature of life, the good can't be had without the bad. And just as Draco and Hermione had begun to settle into the idea of a relationship, everything around them changed, threatening to crumble.
Sunday marked the first day of March, that Sunday being nearly two weeks since the DA Core had been interviewed by Jessa Jorkenson of the Quibbler. Breakfast commenced in it's usual fashion, a silent affair only broken by the intermittent clatter of silverware, thanks to Educational Decree #29, one of thirty decrees that was bent upon bringing about change. Halfway through the meal, as was customary, the post owls soared into the Great Hall, everything from letters and small packages to newspapers and magazines gripped in their beaks. And it was precisely that moment, in the whirlwind of post delivery, that everything erupted.
"WHAT IS THIS?"
Professor Umbridge stood from her chair, pushing away from the table, the chair clattering to the ground, a balled up newspaper clutched in her. The entirety of the student population stopped, turning to watch as Umbridge shook with rage as more owls, newspapers held in their beaks, streamed into the Great Hall. Hoards of owls, entire flocks appeared, newspapers dropping to the tables below. Stomping around the Head Table, Umbridge waddled between the tables, reaching up and attempting to snatch the papers falling midair.
"STOP! Stop this instant," she screeched, her fleshy face turning a deep shade of puce. "Stop!"
Students watched on, a mixture of amusement and horror showing on their faces. The newspapers landed on the tables, great piles of them gathering in dishes of porridge and platters of buttered toast. Reaching over, students went to read the front page, looking at the huge picture blazing beneath the headline, only to have Umbridge rip it out of their hands, her screeching voice deafening as she tore the papers to shreds.
"I order this to stop," she screamed.
At the Gryffindor table, the students grabbed a paper before they could be blasted away by Umbridge, her wand methodically vaporizing the papers still being delivered. Hermione unrolled her own paper, a grin quickly hidden behind her hand as she read the headline.
THE TRUTH BEHIND ALL THE LIES – What Really Has Been Going On At Hogwarts?
By: Jessa Jorkenson
Beneath the headline, an oversized photo of Professor Umbridge sat, her engorged body filling up the space. Though silent, the photo of their professor spouted and raged, spittle flying from her mouth. Hermione glanced down the table at Colin Creevy, the boy returning her glance, and slid him an appreciative smile for the photo.
"I want to know who's responsible," Umbridge went on. "I know it was one of you."
She paced between the tables, her beady eyes combing through the students. Reaching the Gryffindor table, she paused as she came across the DA Core, her eyes scrutinizing the innocent looks on their faces.
"I will find out."
Jaw clenched together, her massive double chins wobbling, she glanced up at the Head Table and the empty chair Professor Dumbledore typically occupied. A week ago, he had been urgently called away from Hogwarts, the professors and staff claiming he had personal business to attend to. However, when another article had appeared the next day on the back page of the Daily Prophet, its headline reporting of a rash of muggle killings, Hermione had put the pieces together.
"The Order," she had whispered to Harry. "I bet that's where he is."
However, currently, it seemed his presence was needed more at Hogwarts. Umbridge turned in a slow circle, eyeing the students and the professors, accusation in her eyes. Professor McGonagall, standing in for Dumbledore in his absence, stood from the table.
"Delores, calm down," she said.
Umbridge spun to face McGonagall. "Calm down?! You want me to calm down?"
"You are making a scene," she said. "Why don't you sit back down, finish your breakfast, and prepare for your first class?"
"I don't care if I'm making a scene," Umbridge shouted, her pink headband skewing to the side as she shook her head. "I want to know who is responsible for this." Holding up the crumpled paper, she wove it about, the shredded ends breaking apart and drifting to the ground.
"You do not know if a student is even responsible," McGonagall said, shaking her head, trying to sink any reasoning into Umbridge's head.
"Of course they're responsible."
"Delores…"
The bell rang, the students rising.
"NO," Umbridge shouted, casting her pointed finger out to them. "You sit back down. I am not finished."
The students froze, books halfway-crammed into bags and last bits of toast mid-chew.
"Delores, it is time for classes," McGonagall said. "You can not keep them."
"No…NO," she screamed, spinning around again, pointing her finger at random students. "Sit…back…down."
Slowly, the students complied, eyes shifting between Umbridge and McGonagall.
"Delores, why don't you take the morning off," she suggested. "We'll meet in my office and talk over tea."
"And how will that help in figuring out who is responsible for this filth?" The paper crunched in protest to her clamping fingers, ink smudging.
"We will discuss this in my office," McGonagall insisted, her voice harsh and insistent. Then, with a flick of her head, she nodded to the students, a nonverbal dismissal. "You may head to your next class."
Hesitantly, the students stood from the tables and headed for the doors, eyes glancing back at the scene that continued onward in hushed whispers.
All students who had DADA that morning were blessed with an open study period, celebration and cheers resonating up and down the corridors, Umbridge be damned. While the students rejoiced, a general uplifting feeling drifting through the school, something that had been sorely lacking in the past two months, the DA Core took note of other certain key factors throughout the day, the most notable being visitors to the school.
"That's the head of the education department," Hermione whispered on their way to Charms as a middle-aged man passed, his nose sticking straight up in the air.
Later that morning, after Charms, they caught sight of Professor McGonagall striding angrily through the halls, her pinched face turned into an irate scowl. After dinner, things became apparent that everything at Hogwarts would change when the Daily Prophet issued a special evening edition.
DUMBLEDORE'S ABSENSE SPURS STUDENT UPRISING: IMMINENT SUSPENSION ON THE HORIZON
Umbridge sat smugly in Dumbledore's chair, her eyes scrunched in satisfaction as the evening issue was distributed to all students. The head of the Education Department had issued a decree of his own, Umbridge personally overseeing its addition to the others hanging in the Entrance Hall. And there it hung, beside Educational Decree # 31 - The Quibbler is here by after banned from Hogwarts. Possession of The Quibbler is an expulsion offence.
Educational Decree #32 – As declared by the head of the Educational Department, Delores Umbridge is here by instated as Headmistress of Hogwarts in the absence of Albus Dumbledore.
It was after this last decree that things at Hogwarts began a steep decline into the depths of an existence ruled over by a Ministry tyrant. The very first thing Umbridge did after being appointed position as Headmistress was ransack Dumbledore's office, boxes and crates of whirly-gigging contraptions being confiscated as Umbridge watched on with a smug smile. And as this happened, McGonagall looked upon with a grim tightening of her lips.
After claiming Dumbledore's office as her own, a list of Rules and Regulations was posted in the Entrance Hall beside the wall of Educational Decrees, a list of required behaviors and practices required of the students of Hogwarts by the new Headmistress. This was her kingdom and she'd be damned if she allowed a bunch of children to run it. Delores Umbridge was going to show them who was in charge. They would obey; she would make sure of it.
"Alright," Hermione said. "The six uses for bubotuber pus."
Harry flipped through his Potions textbook, teeth nibbling on his lower lip. "Um…it's used in skin care potions, and…"
The six friends sat around the low table in front of the fire in their hidden room one Saturday afternoon a mere few days after Umbridge's instatement as Headmistress. Books and notes were spread out all around them, Hermione's OWLs study schedule front and center.
Grumbling to himself, Harry nearly tore the book apart.
Sitting on the other couch, Neville calmly paged through his Potions book. "Look on page sixteen, Harry," he said.
Flipping to the front of the book, Harry scanned the text on page sixteen, scowled, and tossed the book onto the table, it landing in a jumbled heap.
"Harry…" Hermione reached out and fixed the book, smoothing its pages.
Draco sat beside Hermione, his mind anywhere except on schoolwork, studying, or OWLs. His mind wound through the memories from a few days prior, a grin appearing on his face at the thought of a broom cupboard. Then, without warning, an arc of pain burned down his spine. Muffling a gasp, Draco shifted, reaching a hand back to massage his back, a grimace on his face. Hermione glanced over at him as she lectured Harry on the importance of studying and organized note taking. Meeting her look, he nodded slightly, the pain diminishing as he relaxed back into the couch.
The sight of the DA Core lounging in their hidden room in the Room of Requirement wasn't an unusual sight, the six friends typically making their way up to the seventh floor at some point each evening, seeking the stability and solace of each other and a place where Umbridge's pink painted claws hadn't reached. And like clockwork, one would find them each evening clustered around the tables or spread out on the couches in front of the fire.
However, on this particular evening, a message would bring not only relief but hope.
The hour bordered curfew, minds tired from studying but bodies still not ready to retire. An impromptu game of Exploding Snap between Luna and Neville was underway at one end of the table, Harry and Ginny watching on as Hermione and Draco occupied one of the chairs sitting before the fire, talking quietly with the other. Minds wrapped up in the present, when the flash of flames appeared above the door, Fawkes' trilling cry sailing through the room, six heads turned.
"It's Fawkes!" Ginny leapt up, Harry following.
"You think it's from Dumbledore?" Neville followed, Luna at his heels.
"He speaks from far away, but he's near, always near," Luna muttered.
"He has a note," Hermione said, grabbing Draco hand.
Harry reached up, Fawkes landing on his outstretched arm. Stroking the phoenix's head, he untied the note fixed to Fawkes' leg. Unrolling the parchment, he read.
To the DA Core,
I hope this letter finds all of you well and still fighting. My absence has been a pleasant surprise for the Ministry, but I assure you, all is well where I currently am. However, rest assured, Hogwarts will not fall for it is strong. Let it help you. I will be in touch. Fawkes has agreed to be of aid.
Sincerely,
AD
"Huh?" Ginny grabbed the note from Harry's hand. "That makes no sense."
"Let me see," Draco said, reaching out for the letter.
Ginny handed it over, Draco taking it, studying the parchment, turning it over as if looking for a secret message.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione took the letter from Draco. "Can't you see? There's a message," she said.
"Where?" Harry asked, looking over her shoulder.
"He wants us to fight," she said.
"Fight Umbridge?"
"Who else?" she said.
"We have to be strong," Neville spoke up. "He wants us to be strong…"
"And to trust in the school," Ginny said.
Harry nodded, a smile forming on his lips. "We're his army."
"At least until he gets back," Draco said.
At this, Luna smiled. "Oh, he'll be back."
One Wednesday evening, Draco received a letter. Arriving in the care of the black eagle owl that belonged to his father, Draco let out a sigh. Over the course of two months, Draco had been delivered exactly thirteen letters from his father, only three having been opened. That day, however, was to be different. Call it random, call it a testimony to torturing himself, or call it something entirely different due to the smirk currently upon Nott's face, but that day Draco opened it.
Upon opening, Draco merely scanned the letter, choosing to not pay enough attention for the written words to have any sort of effect upon him.
…your lack of subsequent responses to these letters…apparent you have been dismissing my words…
…Professor Umbridge and myself have been in contact…
…disrespectful…a disgrace to this family…
…Julius Nott has been sharing some interesting stories his son has been passing on…
…and I believe he's in your year…
…the Dark Lord still awaits, Draco…
…he is not a patient man…
And that was enough, just enough to get a general idea of the degree of rage to which ran through his father. Crumpling the letter in his hand, as he had done with the others, he let the heat consume the parchment until it no longer existed. Then, standing, Draco left the table, his strides quick and annoyed, all to aware of the snide comments coming from his table, the voice all to similar to Nott's.
"Draco Malfoy!"
He froze midstep at the voice coming from the Head Table, eyes going wide for a split second before consciously composing himself. Slowly, he turned.
"Where do you think you are going? This meal is not finished," Umbridge declared.
Draco gritted his teeth, damning the list of Rules and Regulations. "Nowhere, Headmistress," he bit out, turning to return to the table.
"I thought so," she said, sitting back down.
Grumbling to himself, he sat back down, picking at his plate of kidney pie as Nott whispered to Blaise, their paired laughter and sneering not only ignored by Draco but looked over by Umbridge as she carefully monitored the other three tables. She surveyed the students eating dinner, her carefully observant eyes roaming over the four tables, approval shining in her eyes when she passed over the Slytherin table while the other three tables caused her to narrow her eyes. She was sure they had been planning something, as sure of it as she was sure her next shipment of pink cardigans would arrive early next week. Black eyes scrutinized the Gryffindor table, searching for any hint that anything disruptive was in the process of happening. And then, in the middle of their table, she spotted it, the perfect opportunity!
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione, who had been leaning over the table to whisper something to Harry, froze, her eyes wide and trained upon the Headmistress.
"Stand up," Umbridge demanded.
She complied, her eyes darting through the Great Hall, pausing upon Draco before settling upon the Headmistress.
"State Educational Decree Number Twenty Nine," she said.
Hermione licked her lips. "Educational Decree Number Twenty Nine states that…that…" She trailed off, her heart jittering in her chest.
"Yes, go on, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, tilting her head and smiling condescendingly.
Taking a deep breath, she stared straight ahead. "It states that students are to maintain absolute silence during meals," she said.
"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" she asked slowly.
"Yes, Headmistress," she said, addressing Umbridge as Rule and Regulation #5 instructed her to.
"And what, precisely, were you doing just now?"
Fidgeting, Hermione glanced at Harry and then back at Umbridge. "Nothing," she said, the merest tinges of defiance appearing in her voice.
"Nothing? You were doing nothing?"
"Yes, Headmistress."
"So, you weren't just conversing with Mr. Potter during a meal?" she asked.
"No."
Umbridge raised her eyebrows, pleasure twisting a thin smile on her face. "No what?"
Hermione gritted her teeth. "No, Headmistress."
"Much better," she simpered.
Blinking, Hermione clenched her fists.
"Now, if you will, read Rule and Regulation Number Thirteen," she instructed, gesturing to the copy of the Rules and Regulations affixed to the wall behind the Head Table, a large and imposing portrait of Headmistress Umbridge sitting above it.
"Dishonesty is dishonorable," she read.
"Exactly, my dear," she said. "Now, is there a problem with the rules and decrees I have set into place?"
"No, Headmistress."
Umbridge paused, tilting her head to the side to study the girl. Hermione forced down the urge to fidget, standing ramrod-straight as she stared directly ahead. There had to be something she could do; she had to fight Umbridge's hold over the school. Dumbledore wanted them to fight. They were his army; the school was in their hands.
"I see," Umbridge said. "Well, then perhaps I'll just have to make an example out of you."
Hermione tensed.
"Approach the table, girl," she directed.
She hesitated, wracking her brain for something, anything she or anyone could do.
"Approach the table," Umbridge repeated loudly, her voice resonating through the Great Hall.
Jumping, Hermione obeyed.
Once Hermione stood before the Head Table, Umbridge addressed the rest of the students. "To disobey the rules is to be disruptive," she said. "Disruptive behavior brings shame not only upon your house but upon your family and the Wizarding Society as a whole."
Many students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging glances with the people sitting near them.
Hermione trembled inside, only the force by which her hands were clenched prevented the tremors from becoming visible. Umbridge was capable of anything, everything, and beyond. She wanted to turn around and search out the glances of her friends, of Draco, but instead, she stared at the crack running down the middle of the Head Table.
"Miss Granger," she said to the students, "is a disruption to the education process. She has a complete disregard for the rules that will impede how the rest of you will learn."
Hermione bit her bottom lip, anger coloring her cheeks.
"Therefore, to make sure the rest of you don't forget, she will remember for you." Pointing her wand at Hermione, she spoke a string of Latin words. A bright light leapt from the tip of her wand, hitting Hermione in the chest. Hermione gasped in expectation of pain. However, all she felt was a slight tingle. Curious, she glanced down at herself. In the center of her robes a large red "D" was stitched to the fabric.
"A "D" for disruption." Umbridge smiled. "You may return to your seat."
Cheeks a violent color of red, Hermione turned and shuffled back to her seat, unable to meet the gazes of her friends for any reason other than the sick swirling of emotions in her stomach.
Later that night Hermione sat curled in the chair before the fire.
"Hermione, it's not so bad," Draco said from the couch.
Frowning, she scowled into the fire. "You're not the one with a great big, bloody "D" fastened to your shirt." She plucked at the pajama shirt she had put on before heading to the seventh floor, the D transferring from her robes to her pajamas instantly.
Draco sighed. "It could have been worse," he said.
He was right; she knew that. However, the fact that things could have turned out drastically worse didn't lessen the shame, anger, or embarrassment she felt. "According to her, I'm a disruption," she bit out, folding her arms across her chest. Though anger radiated off her being, tears of shame pushed at the corners of her eyes. "A disruption," she repeated, her voice squeaking.
"Hermione, come here," Draco called gently, reaching out one hand.
Turning, she glanced at his hand. Then, sighing, she took it, allowing him to pull her into his lap.
"You're not a disruption," he said, wrapping his arms around her.
Curling up against him, she rested her head on his shoulder.
"You're the brightest witch in our year," he continued. "Actually, I bet you're smarter than most of the sixth and half of the seventh years."
She smiled at that, burying her nose in the crook of his neck.
"And you're certainly not a disruption," he said. "Everyone knows you're a stickler for the rules, such a stickler it used to annoy me." He laughed lightly.
"Really?" she mumbled.
"Yep."
Sighing, she stared at the D sitting on her shirt, curling in on herself moments later so it was out of her view.
"So," he said a moment or two later. "McGonagall couldn't get it off?"
"No," she said. "And, Merlin, was she angry."
"Really?"
"Yeah, she couldn't believe Umbridge had done this to me," she said. "But since Umbridge's Ministry-Issued, there's nothing she can do."
"Bloody cow," Draco muttered, and then said, "What about Flitwick?"
She shook her head. "He couldn't get it off either," she said. "Nearly the entire staff tried…even Snape."
"Really?" he said dryly.
"Yep," she said. "I got a feeling he didn't care for her all that well."
"Nobody does," he said.
"No, I suppose not," she said.
It was an indiscernible hour of the early morning that again found Draco and Hermione asleep on the couch in the Room of Requirement. While Draco slept deeply, mouth partially open, Hermione hovered on the border of deep sleep. Sighing, she turned over, resting her head on his chest, batting at her face when something soft drifted down to tickle her nose. Shifting, she resettled, arm slung over the edge of the couch as one of Draco's arms rested across her back, and fell back to sleep.
NaNoWriMo Information – As promised, if you'd like to follow along with my 2008 NaNo as I write it next month, you can do so through my writing Live Journal which can be found at: niftynovelist(dot)livejournal(dot)com There is no www included in the web address.
As for the novel, it is tentatively titled, "Remember Me," and it's about a young woman who gets a brain tumor. Knowing she's going to die, she makes a list of the ten things she wants to do before she dies.