"Minerva." Narcissa Malfoy took the older woman's hands in her and smiled with genuine pleasure. "Shouldn't you be up at Hogwarts getting ready for the students' arrival?"
Minerva McGonagall sniffed where she stood on the Malfoy's doorstep. She could do the Sorting Hat nonsense in her sleep by now. 90% of the time she didn't even need the hat to know which children would go into which House. Thirty seconds of observation and knowledge of their parents was all it took. Yes, sometimes there were surprises. Sirius Black had been a surprise. If she hadn't known the things she knew, Draco Malfoy would have been another one. "I assure you, Narcissa, the train trip takes long enough. The children won't be there for hours. I assume you won't mind my using your floo, but if you do – "
"Don't be ridiculous," Narcissa said. "Since you can't apparate onto Hogwart's grounds, you absolutely must use our floo." She stepped aside so Minerva could enter, and, with a sharp-eyed look around, Minerva stepped into the Malfoy's foyer.
"Where's Lucius," she asked. "Are you quite alone."
"He has been busy with friends all summer," Narcissa said. "And I've been planning a charity event for the Ministry. Poor Draco has been practically orphaned."
"Merlin forbid." She waited for Narcissa to confirm they were not likely to interrupted by one of Voldemort's foul crew. Not that Minerva didn't trust her, but until she was absolutely sure they were alone, she wasn't proceeding.
"And today I might as well be a widow," Narcissa said. "Rattling through this big house all alone. I'm delighted to have a little company, even if I think I might be stealing you from more important tasks."
There was no task more important than this one, Minerva thought grimly. She opened her sensible handbag and pulled out a small diadem. The blue stone shone in the light from the door, which Narcissa hurriedly closed. "Is that…?" she asked.
"It took all the summer holiday to find," Minerva said. She still had trouble believing anyone would be so mad as to make a Horcrux, even with all the evidence. She was offended he'd used one of the Founder's relics. "It's the Ravenclaw diadem."
Narcissa took it, and a small moue of distaste twisted her lips for a moment before they smoothed out into their usual bland society hostess smile. Minerva knew why. The crown had a miserable, slimy feel to it. She'd no sooner picked it up than she'd wanted to wash her hands. "Well," said Narcissa. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"
A few short steps and she tossed it down into the flames of the oh-so-convenient Malfoy incinerator. The fire leaped up and with it whispers. Minerva had heard them all before. The diadem had been more than chatty when she'd picked it up, and she stood, not a muscle on her face twitching, as the Horcrux burned and another bit of Tom Riddle's soul dissolved into ash.
Well, from ashes all people came, and to ashes all must return. She'd sleep easier when she and Narcissa had none left to destroy. "How many more?" she asked. No point in beating around that bush.
"Ring, Snake, Harry."
"Right." Minerva rubbed her hands briskly together as if that would get rid of the lingering feel of evil. "Any idea how…" She trailed off. She had no problem whacking a giant snake into bits. Killing a boy was not the same.
"None," Narcissa admitted.
"Well, we're smart women, we'll think of something," Minerva said. "We've got time."
She wished she was sure that was true.
. . . . . . . . . .
"Who the fuck is that?" Harry demanded.
Draco barely looked up at the Head Table. For all that he and Hermione had been together almost every day of the summer holiday, almost every day wasn't the same as living in the same school, being in the same House, eating every meal together. He didn't care about new teachers there were, or how much homework they were going to give, or about anything as trivial as his education. What Draco cared about was putting his chin on Hermione's shoulder. What he gleaned in his quick glance was a new teacher, female, wearing pink.
Hermione gave her a bit of a longer inspection. "Probably Defense," she said. "Can't be Potions. Snape's still here."
"Un-fucking-fortunately," Harry said.
"Jesus, do you ever get in trouble for that mouth?" Dean asked, with more than a little admiration in his tone.
"Nope," Harry said. He popped a piece of toast in his mouth and was reaching down the table for more when the new teacher rose, clapped her hands together as if they were toddlers, and waited for their attention. Draco turned his head to her but kept one hand on Hermione's lower back.
The new teacher had barely introduced herself as Dolores Umbridge when Lavender let out a low whistle only their section of the table could hear. "What?" Hermione asked.
"Professor M. hates her." Lavender tipped her head toward where Professor McGonagall sat and, almost as one, the whole fifth year Gryffindor class turned to look at her. Her mouth was pinched shut in a narrow line, and her eyes were focused on Professor Umbridge as if she could will the woman into not existing.
"Whoa," Ron said. "Wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that stare."
Draco agreed, and he'd seen more than a few disapproving looks from his own mother. None of them had made him want to crawl into a hole and hide the way Professor McGonagall's did, and her glare wasn't even directed at him.
"Eh, it'll be fine," Harry said. He slid a pot of marmalade toward himself and slathered some toast. "How bad can she be?"
. . . . . . . . . .
"It's outrageous." Hermione tapped her finger against the poster. "This is too far. This is a violation of our rights."
"What's Sad Under done now?" Pansy asked, pressing in behind her.
Dolores Umbridge had been rapidly christened "Sad Under" by students with a smidgeon of linguistic knowledge and a long explanation of how she was UNder a BRIDGE and who lived under bridges? Trolls.
Hermione waited for Pansy to read. It didn't take long. "Six inches," she shrieked. "How the hell am I supposed to snog Ronald if – "
"Eww," Hermione said.
"Oh, like you can talk," Pansy snapped. "You and Draco might as well be the victims of a Permanent Sticking Charm the way you're always all over one another."
"But Ron," Hermione said.
"I think the ginger thing is cute," Pansy said. "And it's not like you're interested, so butt out."
Pansy's shifting interests seemed exhausting to Hermione, but not nearly as exhausting as the Educational Decrees that kept coming out. You couldn't read this. Teachers couldn't say that. She might have forgiven it all if the woman had been a halfway decent teacher, but all she managed to do was make the others – even Lockhart - seem stellar. Read the chapter. Write an essay. Hermione was pretty sure she didn't even read them, which offended her sense of propriety. She'd included a deliberate misspelling and a run-on sentence in her last one, and there hadn't been a single mark on the parchment when she got it back other than the neat pink check in the upper left-hand corner. But even that she might have forgiven – other classes were starting to get hard, and a thing she could coast through wasn't the worst ever – but now, staring at this decree, all Hermione could think was that this was war.
How dare this woman try to tell her she couldn't kiss Draco. She couldn't lean on him. Couldn't even hold his hand.
Hold his hand. That line of thought sparked an idea in her head, and Hermione grabbed Pansy's hand.
"What the hell, Granger?" Pansy demanded.
"We're dating," Hermione.
"What?"
"Boys and girls," Hermione said. She poked at the decree so hard with her free hand two of the letters wiggled to get out of her way. "Heterosexist."
The smile that bloomed on Pansy's face was downright evil. She squeezed the hand holding hers and shifted so she was nestled up against Hermione. Snuggled, one might even say. "I like the way you think, Granger."
"Me too." Draco slid in behind them and wrapped his arms around Hermione, forcing one hand between Pansy and the object of his affection. "How is she being brilliant today?"
"Who will he date?" Pansy asked Hermione. "Theo?"
"I think Theo should take Blaise."
"That's not even nice."
"One for the team," Hermione said. "And he ditched us all summer."
Within three hours, at least a third of the students fifth year and up had found a new significant other. They walked arm in arm. More than a few positioned themselves outside Umbridge's office and snogged. Her face became as pink as her sweaters when she saw. "You are violating Educational Decree Twenty-Six," she hissed at Dean Thomas.
Seamus grinned at her. "No, ma'am," he said. "Dean here's a boy. No girls within six inches of us. No way. We're rule-abiding citizens, we are."
Dolores Umbridge closeted herself inside her office, slamming the door as she went.
. . . . . . . . . .
Minerva poured a spot of her whiskey into Pomona Sprout's teacup, and the two women clinked the china together before leaning back in the overstuffed armchairs of what had already become a de facto second staff room. "Here's to peace and quiet," Pomona said.
"To a castle brimming with unused rooms," Minerva said.
Severus Snape, head down behind the latest edition of Potions Monthly, said in a voice no one could miss, "Shouldn't you be toasting the sudden wave of student relationships."
"It is very sweet," Pomona said. Her eye had a bit of a twinkle in it, but she kept her voice sober. "I always enjoy seeing new love blossom when the students come back, a summer older and wiser."
"A summer more hormonal," was Severus Snape's dry response.
"It does seem to be upsetting Dolores," Minerva said. She took a sip of the whiskey from her teacup. "She was ranting on a bit at the last staff meeting." At the last staff meeting. Over meals. In the regular teacher's room. She was always unhappy about something, but this latest rebellion had her twisting herself into knots of rage. The students had no respect for authority. They were cheeky and thought they were far more clever than they were. And it wasn't as if she was an intolerant person – no one was more tolerant than she – but there was something simply not right about all the goings-on. Minerva gave her a week before she issued a decree forbidding same-sex contact. She assumed it would take the students less than an hour to find a new way to get under Dolores' skin. That was the problem with letting adolescent antics bother you: once they found a weak spot, they never gave up.
"Poor thing," Pomona said. "It's never easy to transition into a teaching position. Everyone thinks it will be easy until faced with a score of teenagers."
"I don't recall having any problems," Severus said. He turned a page of his magazine, then lowered it to peer over the top at Minerva as if daring her to contradict him. She just smiled placidly. Severus had, in truth, picked up the reins of teaching without so much as a missed beat. His students, by and large, hated him, but the casualty rate in the Potions classroom had gone down, and the O.W.L. scores up. She couldn't argue with results.
"You are one of a kind, Severus," she said. "I think we can hardly expect a bureaucrat to match you."
He raised his magazine again. "Be that as it may, if I catch Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott snogging over breakfast again, I may have to take points from my own house, and that would put in a foul mood for the entire day. I blame Umbridge and her absurd decrees. Even a government employee should have known better."
"Perhaps her pink jumpers cut off circulation to her brain," Minerva said. She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. She tried not to openly criticize fellow staff members even when they richly deserved it.
She immediately paid for her crime when Severus said, delight in his honeyed tone, "Why Minerva, how catty of you."
. . . . . . . . . .
Neville Longbottom flipped another page of the book over. He'd stayed away from antagonizing Umbridge. The whole thing was distasteful, he told himself. Feigning romantic interest in some boy might seem like some sort of brave rebellion, but it was petty and stupid.
And no one had asked him to participate.
Which was fine. He had better things to do. There was magic to be learned, and Hogwarts was a school. Learning was what he was supposed to be doing. Tom could only show him so much, but together they could learn it all. The Restricted Section had towering shelves filled with knowledge, knowledge so much more impressive than the dull, safe classroom exercises they did, repeating what dozen of generations of students before than had done. There was nothing new to learn in Fifth-year Transfiguration. Nothing experimental in Astronomy. Even Potions had become ho-hum.
There was nothing quite like having his own private tutor. Sometimes it seemed like Tom was in his head, feeding him the answers. It made every class easy and sent the two of them on regular quests to find new magic. Harder magic.
"Hey, Nev." Hermione poked her head around the corner and grinned at him.
Neville smiled back. "Where's Pansy?" he asked. "You've broken my heart by stealing my ex, you know."
Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Off letting Ron explain the finer points of chess strategy to her."
"Funny," Neville said. "I thought she knew how to play."
"Oh, she does." Hermione cocked her head to the side. "We're all going down to the Black Lake to hang out. Want to come?"
"I'm busy," he said, waving his hand toward the volume spread open on the table. If anyone were sympathetic to studying, he would have expected it to be Hermione. Instead, she pressed her lips together in what looked like worry.
"You never want to do anything," she said. "I know over the summer, what with your grandmother, but –"
"I don't want to," he said sharply. "Don't question me."
Hermione's eyes widened, and she held up both her hands as if warding him off. "All right," she said. "I was just asking."
She turned on one heel and stalked away from him. "He's fine," Neville could hear her say. "In some sort of shite mood, though. Let's go. We've only got an hour or so until your detention."
"Detention with Draco for inappropriate public displays of affection." Harry's laughter carried. "Do you think she'll have pixies we can set free?"
"I doubt you'll be that lucky." Hermione's voice faded as they went off to go to the lake, to waste time they could be spending learning, and Neville turned another page in Artes Moste Fowle. He had more important things to do than play around.
. . . . . . . . . .
A/N - Thank you for reading :)
This Thursday and Friday (January 30 & 31 2020) I will be doing an AMA on a dramione discord. You can get the link to join or submit questions ahead of time on my tumblr at colubrina DOT tumblr DOT com /tagged/ama