Chapter Five: Classes

Harry and his friends followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall for breakfast, looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was once again conspicuous only by his absence. The enchanted ceiling above them echoed Harry's mood; it was a miserable rain-cloud gray.

"Dumbledore didn't even mention how long Professor Grubbly-Plank's staying," he said, as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table.

"Maybe . . ." said Hermione thoughtfully.

"What?" said both Harry and Ron together.

"Well . . . maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here."

"What d'you mean, draw attention to it?" said Ron, half laughing. "How could we not notice?"

Before Hermione could answer, a tall black girl with long, braided hair had marched up to Harry.

"Hi, Angelina."

"Hi," she said briskly, "good summer?" And without waiting for an answer, "Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."

"Nice one," said Harry, grinning at her; he suspected Angelina's pep talks might not be as long-winded as Oliver Wood's had been, which could only be an improvement.

"Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in."

"Okay," said Harry, and she smiled at him and departed.

"I'd forgotten Wood had left," said Hermione vaguely, sitting down beside Ron and pulling a plate of toast toward her. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"

"I s'pose," said Harry, taking the bench opposite. "He was a good Keeper. . . ."

"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?" said Ron.

They ate their breakfast quickly, Hermione snatching bites of eggs and scones in between reading the Daily Prophet. Ron asked her why she was still reading it when it was a load of rubbish. "It's best to know what the enemy are saying," said Hermione darkly, and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until Harry and Ron had finished eating.

"Nothing," she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. "Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything."

Ron said, "Maybe no news is good news?"

But she shook her head. Harry said, "If they're not saying anything, they're waiting on something, and I'll bet it's Professor Umbridge."

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Gryffindor's first class of the day was Potions, and their first assignment the Draught of Peace. Thanks to Harry's new retention ability, he brewed the potion perfectly, much to the irritation of Professor Snape. In front of the entire class, Professor Snape said, "Potter seems to have perfected his potion-making skills over the summer. Tell us, what is your secret?"

"I have learned a new skill set which has helped me with all of my studies," Harry respectfully answered him.

"And what skills, pray tell is in this set?"

"The skills are three; calm, attention, and patience."

The Professor glared at him, seeking whereby he could find fault in Harry's answer, but failing. Then he sneered. "Let's see if the rest of these dunderheads can learn them."

At this, Harry shrugged. "It's possible, however unlikely."

That actually caused the corner of Snape's mouth to curl up in humor. "Class dismissed."

Ron boggled at Harry until they were back out in the corridor, and once there said, "Snape didn't take any points!"

"He thought it was funny."

"Snape doesn't think things are funny, except taking points!"

Hermione said, "Ron, that joke was perfect for Professor Snape."

Their next class was with Defense Against the Dark Arts with Master Kang. Professor, Harry reminded himself. He could not address his master as such while they were in public. They were in a new classroom this year, the same one where they'd held the dueling club in second year. There were desks for everyone, but they were arranged in concentric semicircles, leaving a big clear area in the front of the class. At the front of the class were a small desk and a large bookshelf. Lining the back wall were several target dummies.

"Welcome to fifth year Defense, Gryffindor House. I am Professor Kang. I am a master of Aikido and of magical dueling. What you will learn from me in this class will be sufficient to allow you to protect yourself from any wizard who might try to harm you, including putting that wizard down so that he is no longer a threat. I will not teach you to kill, but neither will I warn you to refrain from it should you be attacked by someone who wants you dead. I will be teaching you the basic principles of defense, as well as specific spells and techniques to use in that defense.

"This is also the year of your OWL examination. All of the written work I assign you will be revisionary in nature, preparing you for the written exams, but what you learn in the practical lessons will be sufficient to prepare you for the practical exams, and so there will not be any written assignments on new material. Your other teachers will likely be inundating you with homework, so while I do not want to underprepare you, neither do I want to overwhelm you.

"The basic principles of defense are universal. Even those with no magical power can use these principles with their own techniques and weapons." He pointed his wand at the chalk and it began writing on the board. Students quickly moved to copy down what was written. "First is body language. Do not appear to the observer to be an easy victim, nor overconfident. Be neither the peacock nor the mouse, but the wolf. Someone looking for a victim will look for a mouse, someone who is weak and easily taken, or for someone who is the peacock, someone who moves with a swagger, but without skill. They will be less likely to attack the wolf, the one who is quietly confident; who knows their own limits, but is able to move very well within them.

"Second, know your options. In any given situation, you need to be able to decide what your best option for defense is. If your opponent is overconfident, you may be able to take them down quickly and restrain them. If they are vastly more powerful than you, your best option may be to flee. Those are not the only options, of course, but examples.

"Third, you must be prepared. Study the tactics and techniques that you are most likely to need to defend against. If you worry about those who are of a certain culture, study that culture, and what it teaches about attack. If you worry about those of your own culture, then study it. Learn the hexes and jinxes that you are most likely to encounter, say, down Knockturn Alley, and learn the counters to those techniques. Physical fitness will allow you to respond more quickly to any given situation, as well. The best defense against any spell is to not be hit with it, so you will be learning how to duck and dodge, and how to train for such encounters.

"Fourth, you must learn to unify your body, mind and magic. This allows your entire being to be focused on a single goal. You cannot have your body trying to fight, your mind trying to flee and your magic trying to choose between them. There are several techniques we will cover on this subject, including the combination of physical training, magical training, and meditation. This is not a method you will likely have ever heard of, but then, neither will your assailant.

"Finally, you must constantly aware of all of the previous principles, make them habitual, and this takes practice. It is not enough to learn something once, as for an exam, and then forget it. You must make these principles a part of you. If you do, there will be very few who can truly defeat you." Professor Kang pointed his wand at the chalk again, and it set itself back in the chalk tray. "Any questions?"

When there were none, Professor Kang passed out a two-foot quiz. "This assignment is not for a grade, but is for me to determine precisely where your strengths and weaknesses lie in knowledge you should have gained over the last four years of your schooling. It will allow me to shore up any problem areas you might have with regard to the coming OWLs. I expect each of you to be able by the time of the exam to garner a passing grade, and to be able to defend yourself against being or beast if you should find yourself in a dangerous situation."

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After lunch, Hermione had Ancient Runes, while Ron and Harry had Divination. Divination was Harry's least favorite class after Potions, which was due mainly to Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting his premature death every few lessons. A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Harry of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered, leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Harry entered the room, but so dim was the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire that she appeared not to notice him as he took a seat in the shadows.

That turned out not to be the case. "Good day," said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice. "And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely—as, of course, I knew you would.

"You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your O.W.L. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so . . ."

Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations.

"Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on."

The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. At the table next to Harry and Ron, Dean had paired up with Neville, who immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat.

"I never remember my dreams," said Ron. "You say one."

"Very well." And Harry began to recount in detail an actual dream he'd had the night before. "I was standing in the park in Surrey after my usual run. A small being with green skin and large, pointed ears was sitting at the top of the slide. He wore a buff tunic, belted around the middle, and a brown robe, and carried a twisted cane. He was very old, and what little hair he had left was silvery white. He spoke in a high-pitched gravelly voice, and he said, 'Making a good beginning, you are. But beware. Moving quickly are the forces of your world, and act soon the Dark One will. Learn all you can, you must, and quickly. Need this knowledge, you will, if to survive are you and yours.' Then he faded away into nothingness, and I was standing alone in the park."

The dream caught the attention of Professor Trelawney. "That's much more detailed than your usual dreams, Mr. Potter. Is this becoming more common?"

Surprised at the pointed question from a teacher who usually professed to know all ahead of time, he nodded. "Yes, ma'am, for the last three days."

"The spirit world may be trying to tell you something specific. Vivid dreaming can be a sign of a particularly intense need, or it can be a sign of a late-blooming of one's gift, especially around the age of puberty. My grandmother was a late bloomer, and she was a very powerful Seer, far more than I. I am well aware that you have fudged your assignments in the past, Mr. Potter, but while you continue to have such vivid visions, please record them accurately. You may even want to carry the journal with you, in case you receive a waking vision."

Nodding slowly, Harry said, "I will."

The bell rang, and Professor Trelawney quickly set them all the assignment of a month-long dream journal.

Ron said, "Wow, Harry! Is she right? Are you becoming a Seer?"

Waiting until they were out of the trap door, Harry pulled Ron quietly aside. "No. I went to sleep while I was meditating. I can sometimes catch glimpses of the future when I meditate because I'm in direct contact with the force, with magic itself. But she's not wrong about paying attention. The little being in the vision was Master Yoda, the Jedi Master who taught Luke Skywalker how to be a Jedi in the book I read. The force is using Master Yoda to warn me. You-Know-Who may be making a move, and soon."

"Why didn't you say anything," Ron asked.

"Because I wasn't sure that it was anything more than a dream. Professor Trelawney's reaction makes me think otherwise. She's virtually foaming at the mouth at the thought of having found a real Seer, of having the chance to train one, because that'd be a real feather in her professional cap. And I'm okay with that, because I think she may be able to help me with this one aspect of the force that Master Kang cannot."

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Their last class of the day was the new Laws and Customs course. The front of the classroom contained a desk and a board. The room was frightfully dull, but the presence of the woman sitting behind the desk was not. Harry couldn't help but sense her, as she was fairly broadcasting her dislike of children in general and him in particular, as well as a darkly prejudiced mind.

"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:

Laws and Customs for British Magical Persons:

Societal Expectations of Behavior from Young Wizards and Witches

"Everyone take a copy of A Student Guide to Magical Britain, by Wilbert Slinkhard, please," Professor Umbridge said, and tapped two baskets with her short wand that were full of books. The baskets floated between the aisles of students, waiting as each took a book before moving on. Once the books reached the end of the class, she said, "Has everybody got a book?"

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 A Student Guide to Magical Britain?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.

"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basic Wizarding Etiquette.' 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 A Student Guide to Magical Britain and started to read.

By the end of it, no one could be under any impression other than that Professor Umbridge was running a propaganda campaign. The book was full of prejudice against Muggleborns, part-humans and non-humans, and distinctly stated that no school-age wizard or witch was expected to have any kind of opinion on such matters. Making matters worse, it was written in a horribly dull and condescending tone that was as sure as Professor Binns to put many of the students to sleep. They would never know what Umbridge was trying to do.

Harry looked around the room, and saw Hermione with her hand up and her face red and livid. Checking to make sure that Umbridge hadn't seen it yet, he nudged Hermione with the force. She looked around and saw him looking at her intently. He shook his head. She frowned, but nodded and took her hand down. She understood. The entire class was meant as a test of loyalty to the Ministry, nothing more and nothing less. They'd need to make sure that the students were ready for it. Harry was almost sure that something horrible would happen to anyone misfortunate enough to end up in detention with her.

Unfortunately, Umbridge caught the exchange. "Did you have a question, Miss—"

"Hermione Granger. I was actually curious as to the aims of this course, if it's not too much trouble?"

Harry took a deep breath and centered himself, then tried a new trick. He'd been hoping he could project emotions, but was not sure if it would work or not. He focused on his own deep calm, which was a product of his meditations, and tried to let Hermione feel it. He was rewarded by her face clearing and the redness beginning to go away.

Umbridge said, "Certainly." She tapped the board with her wand, and a list of the course aims appeared on it.

Course Aims:

To ensure all students have an understanding of the expectations the Ministry of Magic and society will have for them upon graduation.

To provide a clear basis for the legalities of magic use within the United Kingdom.

To provide a solid guide on the customs of modern magical Britain, and an understanding of the importance of those customs.

Hermione quickly scribbled these down in her notebook, followed by the rest of the class, and then said, "Thank you, Professor."

Obviously, Umbridge had been expecting some kind of fight, but not getting one, she just nodded and said, "You're welcome. Now please continue with your reading, dear."

At the end of class, Professor Umbridge stood again, and said, "For homework, please complete the first quiz on page sixteen."

The bell rang, and everyone gathered their things to leave. Professor Umbridge said, "Mr. Potter, please stay after class for just a moment."

He nodded to her, then turned to Hermione. "Wait for me outside?"

She gave him a quick nod and walked out. Harry went up to the desk. "How can I help you, Professor?"

"I want you to tell me what really happened at the end of last year, Mr. Potter."

He shook his head. "Respectfully, Professor Umbridge, I have said all I intend to on this subject. It was a horrible experience, and I have no wish to recount it constantly. I understand you are reporting directly to the Minister. If he wishes, I can provide him with a copy of my memory for that night. But anything else is just gossip, and frankly I've had enough of gossip during my school years."

"You are refusing?" she asked, leaning forward like a hound on a scent.

"I am, though with all respect to you. I do hope you will understand."

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." Dark pleasure and anticipation oozed off of the woman, and Harry was hard put to tamp down his natural reaction to it, reaching again for the force to maintain calm.

He nodded, accepting the punishment. "I understand. Please have a good day, Professor, and convey my good wishes to the Minister." He turned to leave the classroom, and was very glad to have escaped when he got out before she could say anything else, mostly due to the shock she felt at his not arguing the point.

He grabbed Hermione's arm and Ron's as he exited the classroom, urging them to follow quickly. Once they had turned a corner and there was no chance of Umbridge spotting them if she poked her head out, he relaxed a fraction. Hermione said, "What was that, Harry? I know I wasn't really as calm as I felt in there! And what did she want you for after class?"

"Yes I helped you calm down. That book is vile propaganda against anyone who's different, and I could see you about to explode. She's looking for excuses to get people into detention for some reason, especially Gryffindors, and most especially me. She asked me what 'really' happened at the Third Task. I refused as politely as I could. I even told her to pass on an offer to the Minister to let him view my memory. She took ten points, but I got out of there before she could give me a detention."

Ron said, "What do you think she's trying to do?"

"I don't know. But she's going to give me a detention eventually. She'll find a way. I need a way of recording the events of that detention."

Hermione nodded. "Let's get Fred and George on it. Much as I wish they would stop recruiting the first years to be guinea pigs for their products, they're brilliant, and I'd bet on them being able to invent something like that for us."

Ron said, "Yeah! After all, the Extendable Ears could hear something. There should be some way of recording, shouldn't there be?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Let's go and find them."

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Fred and George were in the Gryffindor common room, testing a product called Fainting Fancies. It was the last straw for Hermione, who went off on them in glorious fashion, threatened to write to their mother, and then huffed off.

Harry waited for them to calm down a bit, then approached them. "You going to write to Mum, too?" Fred groused.

"No. Not that I think you should be experimenting on the firsties, but I figure Hermione's made enough noise for the both of us on that matter. No, I've come to you with a business proposition, an item I'd like you to invent. You're welcome to sell it, of course, but I need one, and soon."

"What is it," asked George.

"A magical video camera. Wizarding photographs already move, but I need it to be able to record more than a single moment, and I need it to have very clear sound. I'd also really like it if it was disguised as something innocuous, something I can wear that won't be noticed by anyone. And please don't advertise it for sale until I've got the images I need."

The twins looked at each other in surprise. "That's a great idea, Harry," said George.

Fred continued, "Whatever do you need it for?"

"Have you had Umbridge's class yet?" At their negative, he said, "Watch out for her. She's itching for a fight, and she wants people in detention, especially anyone who supports me or Dumbledore. I avoided detention today by being exceedingly gracious. I'm not under any illusions that tactic will be successful forever, and I want what happens in there to be recorded." He looked them in the eyes, one after another. "I want proof."

Looking at one another again, they nodded, then to Harry they said, "We'll do it." Fred continued, "We'll need to buy a camera to work with, though."

"Would you be able to alter a Muggle camera? Make it work with magic and shrink it?"

George shook his head. "Not in the amount of time you're talking about. Actually, there's a kind of recorder that the Department of Mysteries uses that we might be able to use."

Fred said, "We'd have to find a way to shrink it, but they're able to record up to twenty-four hours."

Harry nodded. "What's it look like?"

"A glass ball."

A thought came to Harry. "Could you make it as small as a pearl?"

George said, "Why?"

For an answer, Harry took a Sickle out of his pocket and tapped it with his wand, saying, "Transverto." It melted into a jeweled setting, which he'd be able to attach to his tie as a tie pin. The center was empty, ready to receive a pearl, or a shrunken recording sphere. He held it up to his tie to show them what he meant.

Matching wicked grins met his idea. "Brilliant."

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Harry also wanted to warn Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster, so he sent them both letters via Dobby the house elf, knowing he was trustworthy and that if he didn't want someone getting those letters, they wouldn't. He told them he suspected that Umbridge intended to abuse anyone she got in detention, especially him, and that he'd be wearing a recording device when it happened. He sent a note to Master Kang, as well, asking when and where to meet for training.

Dinner was a painful affair. Harry was the object of everyone's attention, whether they were actively staring at him or just talking about him amongst themselves, him and Dumbledore and how they believed he was lying. He did catch Dean and Seamus defending him, but they were small voices in the hurricane of controversy.

Dobby popped in with messages from the professors, and an owl came to his table with notice from Dolores Umbridge that if he did not tell her what she wanted to know by the next class she would give him detention for a week. He sighed, refusing to look up at the staff table. Instead, he sought out Fred and George's eyes, not surprised when he found them quickly. He nodded at them, and they nodded back.

Hermione looked at him, as well. "What's going on?"

"She said if I don't tell her, she'll give me a week's detention. The twins are helping me with an item for that occasion. I also got letters back from Professors McGonagall, Dumbledore and Kang." He opened the one from Master Kang first. "Master Kang is looking for a training space, and wants me to run 'round the lake in the meanwhile. No surprises there." Then he opened the one from Dumbledore. "Dumbledore promises to support me against her, but to make sure I get proof. Professor McGonagall says not to irritate her." He shrugged. "If only that were a choice."

Ron said, "What do you think she's going to do?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "But I doubt she wants me there for tea."

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Of course, Harry did not tell her anything. He was still perfectly polite in her class, which he had again on Wednesday, but upon his equally polite refusal, she made good on her threat. "If you will not reveal the truth, you will face the consequences." She wrote out a note and handed it to him. "Take this to your head of house."

"As you wish," he said, and turned from her, getting his bag from his seat and leaving the classroom to do as he was bid. He went to the Transfiguration classroom, where Professor McGonagall was grading papers, from first years, he noticed.

"Mr. Potter, why aren't you in class?"

"Professor Umbridge sent me to you with a note."

"And why would she do that?" she asked, accepting the note from him.

"Probably because she's giving me a week's detention." He shook his head ruefully. "Angelina is not going to be happy with me."

Professor McGonagall read the note carefully. Then she sat back and sighed. "Have a biscuit, Mr. Potter." She waved her hand at the tartan patterned tin of biscuits, and he gladly took one, as well as sitting in the chair in front of her desk. "She states that while you were unfailingly polite, you still defied her order to tell her what happened at the end of the year."

"So I did. I will not give her the opportunity to call me a liar, and I suspect she is going to do something dangerous in the detentions she gives, so I am going into it with the hidden recording sphere I told you about in my letter."

She stared at him. "You expected this?"

He nodded slowly. "Did Professor Dumbledore tell you what I discovered over the summer?"

"Something about learning a new method of magic?"

Harry shook his head. "Not exactly. If anything, I think it is probably an older one." He dug in his book bag and pulled out his Star Wars book, handing it to her. "This story is fiction, but it reminded me strongly of magic, and between this book and a few others I've been able to teach myself a different way to access magic than by my wand. I learned how to meditate in such a way that I can touch it directly. With practice, I've been able to maintain that contact at all times, and one of the things that lets me see is what people are feeling, especially strong emotions, because they resonate in the energy of magic, which I've been calling the force because that's what the book calls it."

One of the many things Minerva McGonagall had in common with Hermione Granger was her ability to read very quickly. She skimmed through the book, though she didn't read it in detail. As she did so, Harry continued. "Madame Umbridge wants to give out detentions. Even the thought of it brings her pleasure, and it's a pleasure in the pain of others. Not even Professor Snape feels like that. He almost laughed at a joke I made yesterday."

"What do you think she'll do?"

He shook his head. "I don't know for sure. I can't read people's minds, just sense their emotions. But it isn't going to be good."

"Can I see a demonstration?"

He nodded, and, with his wand still in the holster on his wrist, Harry reached out with the force and levitated the tin of biscuits, and set it orbiting just above his head, where he could still see her. She could see the wand, and that it's tip didn't glow in the slightest. The magic wasn't going through the wand. He wasn't even gesturing toward the tin.

"Fascinating! All right, you can stop now." She sighed heavily. "Why does it always happen to you, Mr. Potter?"

He smiled a little at that. "I'm sure I don't know."

"All right. Come to my office directly after your detention tomorrow. I want to know immediately what is going on so I can warn the other Heads." She paused, looking over the note from Umbridge again. "I'm quite proud of you, Mr. Potter. Even she is lauding your politeness, and I dare say you would not have been so last year. You're growing into a fine young man, Harry."

He ducked his head, flushing a little in pleased embarrassment. "Thank you."

"All right, you go on to dinner. Make sure you get that recording sphere before going into that detention tomorrow. I must say, I dislike you putting yourself up as bait."

"Don't worry about me, Professor. I may be bait, but I still have a hook, and she'll regret it if she bites."

She grinned at him, and waved him on. He extended his hand and took the book he had shown her back. Thoughtfully, he said, "I wonder if I could find a few more copies of this book. I would love to pass the knowledge I'm gaining on."

"Ask Professor Flitwick about the Book Copier Charm. In fact, I'm sure your friend, Hermione, would love to know that one as well."

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Harry got together with Fred and George again that evening. They had ordered a case of spheres, numbering twenty-four, and had already succeeded in shrinking the first one. It was the size of a pea. Harry took out the jeweled tie tack he had planned to use to hide it, and stuck it into place with a Permanent Sticking Charm. He read the instructions that came with the spheres, learning the spell to activate them and what their limitations were. They would only record for twenty-four hours. But that should be enough for this.

He finished his current homework, including the quiz for Umbridge, the essay on Moonstone for Snape, the one on the giant wars for Binns, and the one on bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank. He planned to do the one for McGonagall on Vanishing Spells, and for Professor Flitwick on Summoning Spells tomorrow evening.

The next day after Charms, Harry approached Professor Flitwick about the Book Copier Charm, and he gladly showed it to him. It wasn't too difficult, and Harry got it right in a couple of tries. The Professor said, "It does help if you've already read the book, because you'll be familiar with it."

Harry thanked him, then ran for the Great Hall, hoping to get a bit of dinner in before appearing for his sentence with Umbridge. Angelina stormed up to him, and he knew she was mad about the detention on Friday. He held a hand up before she could get a word out. "I know, I know, but I don't have a choice here." Very quietly, he said, "She's in the school specifically because the Minister is upset with me and Professor Dumbledore, and she's looking for the slightest of excuses. If I don't speak up in class or if I do, if I yell or if I'm silent, if I read or if I don't, none of it will matter, because she's not here for academics."

Angelina sighed. "All right. We'll narrow it down to three, and get everyone on the pitch Saturday to make the final decision. Can't you have a normal year, Potter?"

He grinned at her. "We're at a school to learn magic and we play a sport on brooms. I don't think I'd know what normal looked like."

Since Angelina was a Muggleborn, she understood only too well, and walked away laughing.

At five to five Harry bade the other two good-bye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. At the door, he made sure his special tie tack was in place and not obstructed by his robes. When he knocked on the door she said, "Come in," in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolor kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again. "Good evening, Mr. Potter."

Harry calmly turned around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her. "Good evening," Harry said politely.

"Well, sit down," she said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him. He sat down as instructed and waited. "Do you know why you are here, Mr. Potter?"

"Because you would like to know what happened on the twenty-fourth of June, and I truly wish I did not know, and will not, therefore, speak of it."

"True, on the surface, but it goes deeper than that, Mr. Potter. You do not respect authority. You do not respect the Ministry. And it is high time you started. Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. No, not with your quill," she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.

"I want you to write, 'I must not disrespect authority,' " she told him softly.

"How many times?" he asked.

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go."

She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill and then realized what was missing.

"You haven't given me any ink," he said.

"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not disrespect authority.

He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel — yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.

Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toad-like mouth stretched in a smile.

"Yes?"

"Nothing," said Harry quietly. So this was it. She intended to torture him by his own hand until he bowed to the Ministry's party line. He wrote the line again: I must not disrespect authority. But this time he sunk into the force. He watched the magic of the quill slice open his hand and take blood from him for ink, then heal up behind. This time he didn't even gasp. He just watched, and studied how it worked. He thought it was some strange mix of a slicing hex and summoning, and he thought—no, he knew that he would be able to redirect the magic.

But not tonight. For tonight, he meditated through the pain. He wanted this recorded, and wanted her thereby to fall on her own sword. He did not hate her, but she was dangerous, and she certainly didn't need to be anywhere near children. She was sadistic, and power hungry, which was why the Minister had chosen her. That hunger would serve him well with the right promises.

Harry wrote the line long into the night, not checking his watch, not asking questions. He would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was bothered at all

Finally, she said, "Come here."

He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw.

"Hand," she said. He extended it. She took it in her own. Harry repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings.

"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," she said, smiling. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go."

Harry nodded and left her office without a word. He was met there by Fred and George. Harry held a finger to his lips, warning them to be quiet until they were around a corner. "Hospital wing, now," he whispered urgently.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~ ~o~ ~o~ ~o~ ~o~ ~o~ ~o~

Note: So, I changed all the Guardius to Gladius. I only get my Latin from free online translators, so that's the deal with that.

To Tsukikageshi, no that doesn't surprise me in the slightest.

To Lexarius, Muggleborn, perhaps, but certainly not Harry. Someone may recognize something later, though, not sure.

To xavierp, yeah, not a fan of those either.

To capctr, I listen to a lot of radio talk shows and they like to use them as advertisers. I needed a safe, they're it.

To LoveSpock, you are correct, sir! And yes, I know, the Shaolin do Kung Fu, not Aikido, but in this case, it doesn't matter too much. "Those who have not swords can still die upon them." is from Eowyn of Rohan, Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers.

Thank you all, and please, review again!