Chapter 45: The Future
The newfound alliance with Draco Malfoy turned out to be of great use in the continuation of the DA. Between his ability to keep the Inquisitorial Squad away and Umbridge's own distraction from the torment of pranks that had plagued the school since that first day, the DA flourished without impediment.
This news, coupled with the approaching Easter Holidays, should have made Harry rather cheerful indeed, but he continued to be plagued by thoughts of the Horcrux in his scar. It bothered him so much that he had even dreamed of the Department of Mysteries several nights, until Kate had helped him reinforce his Occlumency shields. At least he knew what Voldemort wanted him to focus on.
He could not escape the little voice in the back of his head that told him that as long as Voldemort lived to torment people, it was partially his fault that those people were hurt. Kate told him, repeatedly, that those thoughts were ridiculous, silly, untrue, illogical, and even walked him through, step by step, why it was so. Unfortunately, the days where he could simply take her word as fact had long gone. It was the same voice that reminded him that she would say it whether it was true or not. He was grateful, beyond grateful, that she had insisted on another way, but...what if it wasn't for the best? What if she was blinded by her love for him?
This seemed like the sort of thing he could've gone to her about. But what was he supposed to do when he needed reassurance she was right? The other Rogues were out for obvious reasons and Sirius, well, he didn't know anything about Horcruxes at all, according to Jake.
It didn't help that Hagrid's ministry replacement clearly knew nothing about magical creatures and was simply another ministry stooge who did whatever Umbridge told him. Fortunately, he wasn't very bright and spent most of his time on the grounds.
The weather grew breezier, brighter, and warmer as the Easter holidays passed, but Harry was stuck with the rest of the fifth and seventh years, who were all trapped inside, traipsing back and forth to the library (OWLs were only six weeks away, after all). Harry pretended that his bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams, and as his fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves, his excuse went unchallenged.
"Harry, I'm talking to you, can you hear me?"
"Huh?"
He looked around. Ginny Weasley, looking very windswept, had joined him at the library table where he had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening; Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to review Ancient Runes; Ron had Quidditch practice.
"Oh hi," said Harry, pulling his books back toward him. "How come you're not at practice?"
"It's over," said Ginny. "Ron had to take Jack Sloper up to the hospital wing."
"Why?"
"Well, we're not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat." She sighed heavily. The Gryffindor Team had begun training replacements for the Seventh Years just before the holidays because there were so many of them. Unfortunately, it was not going as well as they'd hoped.
"Anyway... a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process..."
She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper onto the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly rewrapped, and there was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading inspected and passed by the Hogwarts high inquisitor.
"It's Easter eggs from Mum," said Ginny. "There's one for you... There you go..."
She handed him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, to his horror, felt a hard lump rise in his throat.
"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Ginny quietly.
"Yeah, I'm fine," said Harry gruffly. The lump in his throat was painful. He did not understand why an Easter egg should have made him feel like this.
"You seem really down lately," Ginny persisted. "You know, I'm sure if you just talked to whoever it is..."
"There isn't anyone I can to talk to," said Harry brusquely.
"Surely there has to be someone?" asked Ginny.
"I..." He glanced around to make quite sure that nobody was listening; Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile of books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott.
"I wish I could talk to Dumbledore," he muttered. "But I know I can't." Dumbledore didn't like Kate, from what he'd heard, so if he was actually going along with this plan...if he thought it was safe, then...
More to give himself something to do than because he really wanted any, Harry unwrapped his Easter egg, broke off a large bit, and put it into his mouth.
"Well," said Ginny slowly, helping herself to a bit of egg too, "if you really want to talk to him, I expect we could think of a way to do it..."
"Come on," said Harry hopelessly. "With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail? We don't even know where he is!"
"The thing about growing up with Fred and George," said Ginny thoughtfully, "is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve."
Harry looked at her. Perhaps it was the effect of the chocolate — Lupin had always advised eating some after encounters with dementors — or simply because he had finally spoken aloud the wish that had been burning inside him for a week, but he felt a bit more hopeful...
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"
"Oh damn," whispered Ginny, jumping to her feet. "I forgot-" Madam Pince was swooping down upon them, her shriveled face contorted with rage.
"Chocolate in the library!" she screamed. "Out — out — OUT!"
And whipping out her wand, she caused Harry's books, bag, and ink bottle to chase him and Ginny from the library, whacking them repeatedly over the head as they ran.
Harry's stress was compounded by the appearance of a notice in the common room about career advice. Pamphlets appeared in the common room as well, detailing possible careers, mastery programs, ministry jobs that were available after Hogwarts. He'd never given much thought to what he wanted to do after Hogwarts, though. None of the options sounded particularly appealing, however. The only thing he knew was that he wanted something DADA related, like Kate. He'd have to ask her what she thought he ought to do.
Assuming he even had a future. It would certainly take some pressure off him if he didn't. It would take pressure off Kate if she thought he thought he did.
The worst thing, however, had to be the new class Umbridge has instituted—taught by herself, called Law and Society.
The very first class, they entered to find the newly dubbed "Professor" Umbridge already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing a fluffy pink cardigan and a black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad.
The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was the most hated person in the school and nobody wanted to risk detention and by extension, extra time in her presence.
"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down.
A few people mumbled "Good afternoon," in reply.
"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.
"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."
Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order "wands away" had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled out quill, ink, and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:
Law and Society: A Guide to a Peaceful and Satisfying Life as a Good Citizen
"Well now, your teaching in Hogwarts thus far has not taught you many of the basic life lessons you need, has it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant politically incorrect behavior 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 nearly grown young people."
"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of legal and societal study this year. Copy down the following, please."
She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:
Course Aims
Understanding what it means to be a responsible citizen.
Learning situations in which magic can be legally used.
Studying wizarding tradition and social structure and its proper application today.
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 the Pure-Blood Directory by Cantankerus Nott?"
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "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 Pure-Blood Directory by Cantankerus Nott?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.
"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Origins of Magic.' 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 pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Pure-Blood Directory and started to read.
It was not just desperately dull, but also vile. The first pages were dedicated solely to how certain families were "chosen" by magic and how in its natural form, only people born to those families were worthy and meant to wield it.
He felt his concentration sliding away from him as blood pumped in his ears; 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 absentmindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page as his ears slowly reddened. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. Hermione had not even opened her copy. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air.
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 questioningly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, 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 "Origins of Magic."
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," said Hermione.
"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, 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 the whole book," said Hermione. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.
"And what would that be Miss Granger?" Umbridge asked tightly.
"Did you know that this book is widely considered—by all of the foremost magical historians and genealogists—to be wildly inaccurate and entirely pureblood supremacist propaganda?" Hermione asked. "It's classified as either mythology or fiction by nearly every credible library, archive, and book directory in the world."
There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at their books thoughtfully.
"Pardon?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Miss Granger, this book is part a revolutionary, ministry approved curriculum."
"So the ministry admits to trying to push lies on people?" Ron ejaculated loudly.
"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. Weasley."
Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.
"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"
"Yes," said Hermione. "Is Ron correct that you are trying to teach us things that have absolutely no basis in fact?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.
"Yes."
"Well…" Umbridge seemed to flounder as she suddenly remembered that nearly all of them were certified thanks to a certain DADA professor. "Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about magical tradition in a proper, respectful way—"
"So you're going to brainwash us!?" Someone exclaimed.
"SILENCE!" She shrieked, "Read your books! You all know nothing of what a proper wizard is! That is clear from this very conversation!" She refuses to answer a single question afterwards.
"Hey," said a voice in Harry's ear later that day. He looked around; Fred and George had come to join them as they looked over career pamphlets in the Common Room.
"Ginny's had a word with us about you," said Fred, stretching out his legs on the table in front of them and causing several booklets on careers with the Ministry of Magic to slide off onto the floor. "She says you need to talk to Dumbledore?"
"What?" said Hermione sharply, freezing with her hand halfway toward picking up Make a bang at the department of magical accidents and catastrophes.
"Yeah..." said Harry, trying to sound casual, "yeah, I thought I'd like-"
"Don't be so ridiculous," said Hermione, straightening up and looking at him as though she could not believe her eyes. "With Umbridge groping around in the fires and frisking all the owls?"
Ron snorted.
"Well, we think we can find a way around that," said George, stretching and smiling. "It's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays?"
"What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?" continued Fred. "No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's studying too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do."
He gave Hermione a sanctimonious little nod. She looked rather taken aback by this thoughtfulness.
"But it's business as usual from tomorrow," Fred continued briskly. "And if we're going to be causing a bit of uproar, why not do it so that Harry can have his chat with Dumbledore?"
"Yes, but still," said Hermione with an air of explaining something very simple to somebody very obtuse, "even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?"
"Umbridge's office," said Harry quietly. He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could think of no alternative; Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own. "It's not like we can use the...secure methods."
"Are—you—insane?" said Hermione in a hushed voice.
Ron had lowered his leaflet on jobs in the cultivated fungus trade and was watching the conversation warily. "He is but…"
"I don't think so," said Harry, shrugging.
"And how are you going to get in there in the first place?"
Harry was ready for this question.
"Sirius's knife," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock," said Harry. "So even if she's bewitched the door so Alohomora won't work, which I bet she has-"
"What do you think about this?" Hermione demanded of Ron, and Harry was reminded irresistibly of Mrs. Weasley appealing to her husband during Harry's first dinner in Grimmauld Place.
"I dunno," said Ron, looking alarmed at being asked to give an opinion. "If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?"
"Spoken like a true friend and Weasley," said Fred, clapping Ron hard on the back. "Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact if everybody's in the corridors — Harry, we'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her own office — I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?" he said, looking at George.
"Easy," said George.
"What sort of diversion is it?" asked Ron.
"You'll see, little bro," said Fred, as he and George got up again.
"At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock tomorrow."
Ron's expression said that was the very last place he'd be caught.
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL'S OFFICE
Harry was so worried about their plan for Dumbledore that he had nearly forgotten his career appointment with Professor McGonagall. He hurtled back upstairs and arrived out of breath, only a few minutes late.
"Sorry, Professor," he panted, as he closed the door. "I forgot..."
"No matter, Potter," she said briskly, but as she spoke, somebody else sniffed from the corner. Harry looked around.
Umbridge was sitting there, a clipboard on her knee, a fussy little pie-frill around her neck, and a small, horribly smug smile on her face.
"Sit down, Potter," said Professor McGonagall tersely. Her hands shook slightly as she shuffled the many pamphlets littering her desk. Harry sat down with his back to Umbridge and did his best to pretend he could not hear the scratching of her quill on her clipboard.
"Well, Potter, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into sixth and seventh years," said Professor McGonagall. "Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"
"Er," said Harry. He was finding the scratching noise from behind him very distracting.
"Yes?" Professor McGonagall prompted Harry.
"Well, I thought of, maybe, getting a masters in DADA," Harry mumbled.
"You'd need top grades for that," said Professor McGonagall. "All of the guilds ask for a minimum of seven NEWTs and then you have to pass quite a few tests, find ways to gain practical experience in the subject, and then be selected by a master. It's a difficult career path, Potter; they only take the best. In fact, I don't think anybody has been taken on in the last six years for DADA."
At this moment Professor Umbridge gave a very tiny cough, as though she was trying to see how quietly she could do it. Professor McGonagall ignored her.
"You'll want to know which subjects you ought to take, I suppose?" she went on, talking a little more loudly than before.
"Yes," said Harry. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions?"
"Naturally," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "I would also advise-"
Umbridge gave another cough, a little more audible this time. Professor McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again, and continued as though nothing had happened.
"I would also advise Herbology, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures because there is usually quite a bit of research in the field. And I ought to tell you now, Potter, that it is very difficult to self study for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."
"That's what Professor Ross said I should study too." Harry said. He'd gone to ask her about it the previous night and Kate had enthusiastically run through everything she thought he ought to know. She'd also promised to help him once he graduated with the "practical stuff" that he needed to prove himself to a potential master. She also knew a ton of masters he could apprentice to.
Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet.
"May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?" Professor McGonagall asked curtly, without looking at Umbridge.
"Oh no, thank you very much," said Umbridge, with that simpering laugh Harry hated so much. "I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?"
"I daresay you'll find you can," said Professor McGonagall through tightly gritted teeth.
"I was just wondering whether Mr. Potter has quite the temperament for an DADA career?" said Umbridge sweetly.
"Were you?" said Professor McGonagall haughtily. "Well, Potter," she continued, as though there had been no interruption, "if you are serious in this ambition, I would advise you to continue to keep your grades up to scratch. I see Professor Flitwick has graded you at an 'Outstanding' this year, as have your other teachers myself included; your coursework has improved markedly this year. As for Defense Against the Dark Arts, your marks have been generally high, Professors Lupin and Ross in particular thought you—are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?"
"Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva," simpered Umbridge, who had just coughed her loudest yet. "I was just concerned that you might not have the most recent Defense Against the Dark Arts requirements in front of you. I'm quite sure you'll find that guilds look at criminal records!"
"You shall have to also be prepared to do quite a bit more studying—"
"—which means that this boy has as much chance of becoming an DADA Master as Dumbledore has of ever returning to this school."
"A very good chance, then," said Professor McGonagall.
"Potter has a criminal record," said Umbridge loudly.
"Potter has been cleared of all charges," said Professor McGonagall, even more loudly.
Umbridge stood up. She was so short that this did not make a great deal of difference, but her fussy, simpering demeanor had given place to a hard fury that made her broad, flabby face look oddly sinister.
"Potter has no chance whatsoever of becoming a master of anything!"
Professor McGonagall got to her feet too, and in her case this was a much more impressive move. She towered over Professor Umbridge. "Potter," she said in ringing tones, "I will assist you to become a DADA master if it is the last thing I do! If I have to coach you nightly I will make sure you achieve the required results!"
"The Minister of Magic will never allow Harry Potter to study DADA!" said Umbridge, her voice rising furiously.
"There may well be a new Minister of Magic by the time Potter is ready to join!" shouted Professor McGonagall.
"Aha!" shrieked Professor Umbridge, pointing a stubby finger at McGonagall. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Of course! That's what you want, isn't it, Minerva McGonagall? You want Cornelius Fudge replaced by Albus Dumbledore! You think you'll be where I am, don't you, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and headmistress to boot!"
"You are raving," said Professor McGonagall, superbly disdainful. "Potter, that concludes our career consultation."
Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and hurried out of the room, not daring to look at Umbridge. He could hear her and Professor McGonagall continuing to shout at each other all the way back along the corridor.
He thanked every one of his lucky stars he had DADA next. His stomach was squirming as he thought about Professor McGonagall's reaction to him sneaking around after she'd just stood up for him so viciously. He put the thought out of his head as Kate began the lesson by announcing that they'd be starting their OWL revisions.
A/N::: So...I went on a writing binge and have already finished writing this fic and can post the chapters (there are 50 total for this novel). Should I post more frequently or keep up the once a week thing? REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW!
