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The Shadow of Death
Chapter 7: The Terrific Teaching Toad
The last two days had been mentally exhausting. Hogwarts offered very little in the way of privacy. Harry's exploration of the castle had been interrupted by the more outgoing and adventurous students.
People, a plethora of fickle teenagers, vexed him at every turn. Most expected him to favour them with his attention, seeking to bolster their own popularity.
It had become tiring after the first individual had tried; some Ronald Weasley if he remembered correctly. As a result, it had taken him far longer than he would have liked to map out the castle. He was quite sure he had not discovered all of Hogwarts's secrets.
It had also cut into his time planning missions more than he cared. The teachers would not help matters if his fellow Ravenclaws were to be believed. This would be of little consequence, however.
His role as a middling student would only serve to lessen the time he would have to dedicate to his assignments. According to the sixth and seventh years, the teachers did this every year to ensure their students were ready for their OWLs.
Harry stared at the pale beams of light as the sun peaked out from behind the trees. He allowed his mind to wander. Air, crisp and fresh, filled his lungs as he conducted his morning run.
It was a stark contrast to the pollution that pervaded London. Harry had not realised how much he had missed the wilderness.
Privacy had become an issue, much as it had at Grimmauld Place. Try as he might to dissuade them, the Hogwarts students would not leave him be. How he longed to simply vanish underneath The Cloak.
The most vexing person had been Fleur Delacour. He had expected her to keep to herself. Harry had expected the Malfoy scion or even Granger to take that title. Both had kept to themselves over the weekend, but not Delacour.
She had taken to making clumsy attempts at cornering him at every available opportunity. What exactly she wanted, he did not know. Harry wanted nothing to do with a Veela, so he had avoided her at all costs.
The rising sun reflected off shimmering silver, a strange occurrence in the minutes after sunrise. Slowing to a walk, Harry crept toward an outcropping of rocks.
Think of the devil and she shall appear.
Delacour stood, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, at the edge of the lake. A smirk crossed the wizard's face when he realized she had not seen him. A shimmer covered his body, his feet forging a path toward the castle.
'Let her stand there for hours,' he thought as he reached the castle doors, 'so long as I can continue to avoid her.'
He made his way up to the sixth floor toward the entrance to his common room. Harry needed to prepare himself for Snape and Umbridge's lessons. He needed to cement his cover within the school.
The common room was devoid of human life. Blue and bronze littered the room. Tables filled the large space that was lined with bookshelves. There was little furniture with the sole purpose of comfort.
He looked above the large bust of Rowena Ravenclaw. The ceiling had been enchanted in a similar way to the Great Hall. It showed the stars receding to give way to the sun as it rose from its slumber.
It was a beautiful piece of magic, one that he longed to study. Sadly, it would not be a practical use of his time. Harry ascended the stairs to the room he shared with Michael Corner. Grabbing a clean set of school robes, Harry made his way to the communal bathroom.
Ten minutes later, dreading the coming day, Harry entered his room. Opening the door, Harry saw Corner exiting his four-poster bed with a large yawn.
"G'Mornin', Harry," the teenager greeted, just as he had every morning since Saturday.
Harry grunted a greeting in return before shutting himself in his own four-poster bed.
"Ever the socialite, that one."
Corner's grumbling was the last thing Harry heard before he warded his bed and settled in to begin his meditation exercises.
*****BREAK*****
He had seen many students seek to avoid one another during his tenure at Hogwarts. But never had he seen a student avoid all others like they carried a plague. Harry Potter was unlike any other student he had ever taught.
The young man was studious, to be sure, and had more raw ability than any one individual should possess. Harry was committed to whatever cause was given to him, a stark contrast to the fickleness of the average teenager.
Having a student like him would normally have been a breath of fresh air, were it not for his brusque and violent tendencies.
Albus sighed as he watched Harry successfully avoid a confrontation with his betrothed.
The boy could confront a dark lord with little issue, but he stayed clear of any matters of a more personal nature.
It was not Harry's fault. Albus knew it was a byproduct of his training. He had hoped his weeks at Grimmauld Place would have seen Harry begin to open up to others, but it was not to be.
Harry was reclusive as ever.
There was little hope in winning the war if the young man could not learn why they fought. To him, it was just another mission. Albus remembered all too well what such mindsets led to.
Old, world-weary eyes tracked the boy as he made his way toward the castle. Albus's gaze, filled with sorrow, fell on his phoenix companion.
"Have I made the right choice bringing Harry here, Fawkes?" The immortal bird gave a huff before it went back to preening itself. Albus chuckled. "I suppose you have more pressing concerns."
A snort from behind drew his attention to the wall adorned with portraits of former headmasters.
"You've done nothing but place your students in danger, you pompous buffoon." Phineas Nigelus Black brought a snifter of bourbon to his lips, his grey eyes glaring at Albus from over the rim. "I know what he is, Dumbledore. I saw him at Grimmauld Place. The boy is a killer."
Albus glared back at the man. He had argued with the man since his first day as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Phineas, while reviled by his students, had kept the children under his charge safe from muggle raids many years ago.
"There is no doubt as to what he is, Phineas," Albus returned, heat suffusing his words. "I am sure you made use of his kind in your day. But, he can learn. He is still young."
Another snort left Phineas' nose.
"And yet you questioned that very thing not moments ago." Black stared down his nose at Albus. "He will be the death of your students. Mark my words, Dumbledore, Potter is smarter than you where it counts. He would not have survived that place, otherwise."
"And so it comes back to one thing." Albus ignored Phineas's eye roll. "Hope. I have faith that young Harry can learn to let others in, to find love."
A third snort.
"You always were a weak-hearted fool, Dumbledore. You play your cards, wishing for hope to be your ace. Hope will only see your students dead at your feet."
Turning his back on his predecessor , Albus could only hope the man's words were not prophetic. His mind turned toward the horcrux missing from Harry's scar as the sun's brilliant rays lit the world he loved in its soft embrace.
Yet the world still seemed so dark. 'What does this change?'
*****BREAK*****
Standing outside the Potions classroom, Harry studied the assembled students. It was ten minutes before the class was set to begin. The group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were waiting quietly.
He found it odd that Professor Snape did not open the classroom at least fifteen minutes prior to their lessons. If the reports were to be believed, the greasy-haired man was a potioneering genius and knew that proper preparation was key to successful brewing.
Though, knowing the man as he did, Harry supposed he did that on purpose out of spite.
Finally, with two minutes remaining, the heavy door opened with a creak. The resulting mad dash of students forced Harry to stay behind and be the last into the class.
The students clambered against one another to ensure they were ready. Harry could not be bothered to emulate his peers.
The door shut with a loud bang as the potions master swept into the classroom. Billowing, black robes settled on the floor at the front of the classroom. Snape's glaring black eyes stared at the assembled students down the length of his hooked nose.
"Though it should not need to be said,'' Snape drawled, his eyes flicking around the classroom, "I fear that should I not, some of you would forget the importance this year holds. This being your OWL year, it willbe the most difficult you've seen since beginning this class. The importance of the exams at the end of this year cannot be understated. Your results, lacking as they likely will be, shall determine which jobs you may apply for after you graduate. Blessedly, most of you will fail and we will not see one another again."
Snape's lips curled into a derisive sneer when his eyes landed upon Harry's calm form. The young wizard made no reaction to Snape's searching gaze.
"I would be remiss, however, if I didn't introduce our two newest…additions." The older wizard flourished his arm, pointing at a stoic wizard in black and yellow robes. "Ivailo Krum. I have spoken to your previous headmaster and I expect nothing less than perfection from you."
The boy showed no reaction to the words.
"And Harry Potter." Snape's face scrunched as if he had tasted something particularly foul. "Our newest…celebrity. Let's see if private tuition was able to make you more apt than your fool of a father. Tell me, Potter, what is the final ingredient in the Draught of the Living Death?"
Pretending to think over his answer, Harry ignored the Ravenclaws staring at him as if daring him to answer incorrectly. Likely many of them knew the answer, just as he did.
"Juice from a sopophorous bean, sir." The Ravenclaw students hung their heads, knowing the man would not show mercy to their house.
Snape's lips twitched but he did not reply for several seconds. He stared at Harry as if he were a particularly disgusting insect.
"Incorrect," Snape muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Clearly, fame and private tuition are not everything. Five points from Ravenclaw for being as useless as your father, Potter. The correct answer is valerian root."
The potions master waited for a few moments, clearly expecting Harry to act the part of a petulant teenager. He made no reaction to the barb.
Snape's eyes narrowed at the younger wizard. Flicking his wand, Snape cast a revealing spell at the blackboard positioned in front of the class.
"Today, you will be brewing a potion you will need to pass your OWL." Pausing to look over the students, Snape's sneer deepened. "A Wit-Sharpening Potion. However, it is poisonous in high enough quantities and its use during your OWLs shall see you expelled from this institution. Sadly, you'll have to rely on your lacklustre intelligence to achieve an Acceptable. Vials labeled and on my desk in an hour. Begin."
The Potions classroom devolved into a frantic mess of limbs as students rushed to gather the required ingredients. Harry kept near the back of the line with Corner, his partner for the day. The teenager looked at Harry, his feet shuffling as he gnawed at one of his fingernails.
"Please tell me you're good at potions?" Corner's eyes flitted to Snape, who was inspecting the cauldrons while the students were occupied.
Harry followed his gaze to see Snape coat their cauldron with a waxy substance. They had been set to fail before they had even begun.
It was a juvenile act, but it did not bother him. It only made fitting into his role all the easier. Harry looked back at Corner.
"I am average in Potions on my best day, Corner," Harry lied with a casual shrug of his shoulder. His potions partner deflated. "I am sure we will at least manage a passing grade."
The two eventually made their way back to their shared station. They set to work on the simple potion. Harry allowed Corner to make mistakes.
Snape flitted around the dark, musty room like an overgrown bat. He had spared no expense to take points from Harry, attempting to goad the young man into a response.
His reasons for doing so were as ludicrous as they were humorous. So far, Harry's favorites had been breathing obstinately and staring at his caldron lewdly.
The Hufflepuffs had stifled their giggles at the point deductions. The Ravenclaws, however, had been less enthused.
Not that he cared. They were sheep, led by whatever shepherd saw fit to herd them. By the end of the lesson, Harry had lost Ravenclaw over thirty points and had become persona non grata within Ravenclaw. A resounding success, if he was honest.
Corner leaned back in his chair, his hand pinching his thin nose. "Harry, there's no way we're going to pass. Look at this."
Harry peered into the cauldron, his face stony. Viscous bubbles popped on the potion's surface, the green sludge oozing down the side of the cauldron. It was perfect for Harry's purposes.
"It looks fine to me," Harry responded, grabbing a vial. "We should at least get an Acceptable, Corner."
Huffing, Corner slammed his book down on their work station. His finger bent at the force he used to jab at the written instructions. Harry barely made out Snape taking points from him for disturbing the class.
"The potion is supposed to be yellow with sparks dancing on its surface, Harry!" Corner was breathing heavily. "We're going to fail and I'm going to lose my class ranking!"
Snape chose that moment to walk up to their desk, his lip curling as he peered into their cauldron. "Five points for being unable to follow simple instructions, Potter. Get out of my class."
Harry smiled as he handed the professor his potion vial. Snape's sneer deepened when Harry made eye contact with him. A slight pressure bloomed behind his eyes. Harry brought his Occlumency shields down, making the older wizard stumble.
With his black eyes narrow, Snape sneered at Harry before he stormed from the classroom. Harry looked down at Corner, whose hand was still extended with a potion vial in it. His wide eyes stared at the classroom door.
"He really does hate you, doesn't he?"
Harry shrugged his shoulders. As long as his cover remained intact, it did not matter if Severus Snape hated Harry Potter or not.
Leaving, Harry pondered how best to use the Death Eater while at the school.
*****BREAK*****
A sigh left her lips as her hand crumpled the letter contained within. The midday breeze atop the astronomy tower had done little to soothe her as it had the previous year.
It'd been her only refuge as she'd drowned in a sea of expectations during her sixth year. This year, her final year of schooling, was already so different but no less daunting.
Mirthless laughter escaped her lips. Who'd have thought that a betrothal contract, something she knew would happen one day, would be cause for more fear than a deadly tournament?
It was nothing more than a piece of parchment with words and signatures, yet it commanded so much of her life. An odd thought, really. Something so innocuous could sway lives and give others firm control with little more than the stroke of a quill.
Fleur Delacour scowled as she unfurled the letter, her eyes skimming it for the third time in the past twenty minutes. The words, which she'd nearly memorized, loomed over her from the fine parchment. Her father's quill strokes were as elegant as ever, but there was little substance in the words.
Daughter,
I have come across information suggesting that your betrothed, Harry Potter, lives. I have, of course, ceased all other marital negotiations since I learned of this.
Minister Fudge was most interested when he heard that our families would be merging. It seems that many eyes will follow your courtship with Monsieur Potter. Do not do anything that would bring shame upon our noble House.
I wish for you to seek Harry Potter out and inform him of the contract if he has not already done so with you. Others would lead me to believe that he was raised in the British Colonies by muggle foster parents so he may be unaware that a betrothal contract even exists.
Present yourself well to him. Monsieur Potter is to be your Lord Husband. You possess your mother's temper, but I know you will find it in yourself to do well by your family. Keep me apprised of your progress with Monsieur Potter.
Your sister, Gabrielle, sends her regards.
Sincerely,
Lord Sebastien Delacour
Head of the Noble House of Delacour
Blue sparks danced across the fingers holding the letter, the parchment catching flame within seconds. The fire cast playful shadows across her face as she watched it burn.
She felt no satisfaction. She never did. This letter was much the same as the others.
Fleur scoffed, something he would have scolded her for. His words, pretty, but mostly meaningless in the end.
His line about Gabrielle would come across as something a normal father would say. Fleur, however, knew better.
It'd been a subtle reminder that he could transfer the marriage contract to Gabby should Fleur not meet his expectations. It was something she wouldn't allow to happen. Fleur loved her sister too dearly to allow it.
All Fleur wanted was freedom, yet here she was, trapped in her father's games. The same fate would likely await her loving sister.
'As caring as always, Papa.'
Fleur Delacour's thin brows scrunched as she watched the last of the parchment turn to ash and float away on the breeze. Her fist clenched when the ashes had left.
As frustrating as he could be, she'd accepted her lot in life.
Dreams had been put on the wayside for her father's political ambitions, whatever they were. He'd never cared to share them with her. Fleur believed he was displeased she hadn't been born a boy.
The foolish man should have expected that he would be given daughters.
Even her dream of proving herself to be more than a future child-bearer during the Triwizard Tournament had been met with nothing but disdain. It had not been her place to make such a decision.
Sebastien Delacour worried about her getting injured in the tournament, to be sure. But it had only been in the vein of her possibly ruining her value to any potential suitors by becoming defective.
He'd changed his tune when she'd won the first task of the tournament. How she had basked in that moment when she'd received his letter. For the first time she could remember, he'd actually complimented her. He had acknowledged her as worthy, something she'd been chasing for years.
And in mere moments, Fleur had realized her childhood dreams were nothing but folly. They were just that, dreams. His final words to her in that letter had been little more than an order to win the tournament to bring honor and prestige to the family.
Fleur scoffed as she remembered how his words had crushed her, the little girl that she had been. For the first time in her life, atop this very tower, Fleur had truly considered what she wanted most in her life.
She'd cried for the first time in years, her soul shredded, when she realized her father truly didn't love her. He only cared for his prestige, the Delacour name. But never his family.
As Fleur thought hard that cold and dreary November day, she realized that she didn't know what she wanted. All she knew was that she had no desire to fulfil her father's dreams. She'd vowed to find what she wanted and to win the tournament to spite her father.
Dreams, she'd found, rarely came true. Sebastien Delacour had come to watch her in the travesty that was the second task. She'd emerged from the lake bruised, bloody, and defeated.
The third task had been much the same. Sebastien's disappointed glare had stayed with her over the course of long, waking nights as she thought over her dreams.
Fleur realized what she wanted, and she'd lamented that it would likely never come to be. The young Veela wanted what her parents never had.
The world, she'd learned, was a cruel, despicable place. Fate was content to use Fleur as Her target dummy.
She'd noticed the hate-filled glare Harry Potter had sent her way. Discounting the fact that she'd done much the same, he had no reason to do so. Potter was aware of the contract, of that she was sure. It seemed he despised her as much as she loathed the idea of being forced to marry him.
More annoying was the fact that he'd not sought her out. Despite her hatred of many wizarding customs, Fleur expected to be treated with the respect due to her standing. Harry Potter avoiding her was an insult to her very being.
So Fleur had gotten the idea in her head that she could have her cauldron cake and eat it, too. She'd sought him out, determined to see her wishes fulfilled.
The Veela knew she had her work cut out for her, but she'd not expected him to be so determined to avoid her. Fleur had bristled at the slight but continued her pursuit no matter how undignified it was.
Her deepest desires were worth the indignity. But how could she accomplish her goals?
Fleur's prospects were bleak.
Overwhelming sorrow flooded her being, pushing her to the brinks of her own sanity as she thought of her parents' marriage. Tears at the corner of her eyes demanded release but she kept them at bay.
Fleur shook her head. She would not allow it to happen.
That could never be allowed to pass.
Opening her clenched right fist, Fleur took in the angry red lines on her palm. A bit of ash from her father's letter clung to her hand. It's existence was an affront. Shaking it off, Fleur watched the flake float away, determined that her aspirations wouldn't become ash in her hands.
"'E will talk wiz me," Fleur muttered. Pathetic. She raised her head high and spoke with determination she didn't feel. "'Arry Potter will see zhings my way, even if I must force ze stubborn mule."
Fleur smiled, the wind blowing platinum wisps across her face. She would have her dreams, no matter the cost.
*****BREAK*****
"Good afternoon, class." The woman's voice annoyed him. The class did not respond.
Dolores Umbridge had come through her office door only moments after he had taken his seat. She was dressed from head to toe in lurid pink, her squat form as impressive as the magic he felt within her.
But her hatred. It rolled off her in waves. She had no desire to be here at Hogwarts, not truly. After all, Dumbledore had told Harry that she was only here at the Minister's behest. She was a puppet, not fit to think for herself.
"Well that won't do at all." Umbridge smiled and placed her hands on her hips, her head cocked. "When a professor greets you, you should respond with, 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.'"
'Does she not realize she is not dealing with five-year-olds?' He took in her expectant look and sighed. 'Apparently not.'
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge." The students' reply was monotonous.
"Very good," she chirped, turning her back to the class to walk toward the blackboard at the front of the room. "Wands away. You will not need them here. I assure you that you're all perfectly safe whilst I am here."
He very much doubted that.
Umbridge pulled her wand, waving it at the blackboard. Her lips moved as she casted. Their professor was unable to use silent magic.
"These will be your course aims during this academic year." Umbridge waved her hand at the board, chalk clacking against the blackboard beside her. "If there are no questions, please turn to chapter one in your books and begin reading. There will be a quiz at the end of class to see what you have learned."
Harry looked at the board, unimpressed at what he found. The other students had just begun to move to fetch their books so were unaware of what was written on the dark surface. It would only be a matter of time before they saw it.
And, sure enough, Padma Patil's hand was raised. Her confused expression was mirrored by many in the classroom.
"Yes, Miss Patil," Umbridge said. Her forced, sugary voice grated on Harry's ears. His stomach clashed against his abdomen as waves of revulsion washed over him.
Harry had met many unsavoury people in his short life, but few could claim to have had such an effect on him. Umbride was vile, of that there was no doubt. Her persona, while charming enough, only hid the viper that lied in wait. And she would strike, given the chance.
After all, eyes could be fooled, but magic never lied.
"Um, Professor." Patil shifted in her seat, her eyes cast on the desk in front of her. "I'm afraid I don't understand your course aims."
Umbridge's gaze darkened for an instant before her mask of innocent friendliness was back in place. Despite speaking to children, she had not fooled any of them for a moment. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs both looked fit to burst at the writing on the board.
"What is it you don't understand, dear?" Silence met her question. Umbridge tutted in mock disappointment. "I felt the aims were rather clear. I know many of you have had rather lacklustre Defence instruction over the past four years. The Minister has also been concerned. I've been appointed to teach you the Ministry-approved curriculum. You will learn how to properly avoid dangerous situations and call for trained professionals as needed."
One of the Hufflepuffs snorted. "Yeah, but what about our OWLs? We'll have to cast actual magic during those."
"Hand raised, please, Mister…"
"Finch-Fletchley." The brown-haired Hufflepuff raised his hand. Umbridge gestured for him to continue. "Surely, the first time we cast the spells for the OWL practical won't be when we sit the tests?"
Umbridge stiffened. So she only knew the purebloods by name? Interesting.
"Mr. Finch-Felchey," she replied, her false countenance strained, "I can assure you that if you study enough you will be able to cast any spells the practitioners ask you to demonstrate. Now, if there are no more questions? Very good, continue reading."
Whispers broke out across the room, every student groaning about their impending failure. It was silenced when Umbridge cleared her throat and took her seat at the front of the room. Their heads hung low, the students began to read from Slinkhard's book.
And what a read it was.
It was utter tripe. Harry had only made it to page two before he reached that conclusion. Harry had not bothered to read his school books over the summer. The knowledge within would have been useless to him.
However, this would have been useless to anyone who was not a squib. He reread the paragraphs he had been on, just to be sure he had not misread.
While Wizarding Britain is generally a safe place to live, thanks in large part to the Ministry of Magic, there will always be people within the populace who wish harm upon others. If you were to find yourself in such a situation, it is imperative that you remain calm. The witch or wizard holding you at wandpoint could simply be down on their luck. In most cases, simply speaking logic to the "dangerous" person will see you to safety.
In the event that such a person cannot be talked down, you should call upon the Aurors. Remember, they are Ministry trained professionals and you are not. Should you attempt to defend yourself you could harm innocent bystanders and face serious repercussions in the court of law. When you have called for the aurors, attempt to flee and hide to await their arrival. DMLE standard response time is fourteen minutes. By that time the person threatening harm against you will have either fled or will be apprehended by the aurors.
Remember, it is very important that you be completely honest when speaking to Ministry representatives…
On and on the book went. It was painfully obvious that Slinkhard had been hired by the Ministry to write this. Harry checked the publication date just to be sure.
02 August 1995
Did the Ministry truly believe their public to be so idiotic to not piece together the hints they had not bothered to cover up?
Harry shook his head. It did not matter in the end. Umbridge would be out of Hogwarts before Christmas if all went to plan. Looking up from his book, he watched the woman file the nails on her grubby hands.
The sight of her sickened him more than it ought. Harry raised his hand.
And he waited. Minutes passed by. He cleared his throat multiple times. The infuriating woman smiled at him before going back to her task.
"Professor," Corner called. "I think Harry has a question for you."
"Ah yes, Mister Potter." Umbridge's smile turned feral as she stood from her desk. "I should have known that you'd be unable to comprehend the text. It's a common, but unfortunate, outcome for those who have been raised such as you."
She was not even attempting to hide her vitriol toward him. All the better.
A plan began to take root in his mind. This would be far easier than he had hoped. Harry smiled his brightest smile and nodded.
"You are, of course, correct, Professor." Every head in the room swivelled to look at him. "I am afraid I do not understand the most important part of this chapter's lesson."
"Which is?" Harry would swear the woman was salivating, waiting for him to misstep. Unfortunately for her, he would give her that satisfaction.
Clearing his throat, Harry replied, "If we were to encounter a dangerous wizard, how would we go about informing the aurors if they are not physically present?"
Umbridge's eye twitched, her jowl jiggling at its intensity. The room was deadly silent. Everyone knew Harry was provoking her, but the question was still legitimate as Slinkhard had never said exactly how they should contact the aurors.
"Well, you should send them a message, of course." Umbridge schooled her expression, disappointment clear in her eyes.
Harry widened his eyes to comic proportions. The Ravenclaws stared at him as if he had grown a second head. This was the most emotion they had seen from the cold student.
"Of course!" Harry knocked his head with a fist before he drew his wand. "Why did I not think of that? You are brilliant, Professor. I should do it like this!"
Harry waved his wand over a scrap of parchment, making a show of mumbling under his breath.
"What are you doing, Mister Potter?! Put your wand away."
He laughed. "Worry not, Professor. I will not harm anyone. I am demonstrating the spell for the class."
He watched the words etch themselves into the parchment.
Dear Dolores,
Dragon shite like this attracts flies. Perhaps you should help with the clean up.
Sincerely,
Harry James Potter
Perfection.
Harry finished the spell with a flourish of his wand, adding an extra tidbit without anyone being aware. With a flick of his wand, the missive folded into a paper plane and flew into Umbridge's forehead.
The woman snatched the offending parchment from the air before it could do so again.
Her eyes skimmed the message, face reddening and the tic in her eye returning with a vengeance. A hiss left her mouth before she looked up at him, her mouth set in a sadistic grin.
"Mister Potter, that will be-"
A flash of light from the missive interrupted her. When the flash subsided, all that was left of Dolores Umbridge was a pile of pink clothes. The students stared at him, unsure whether they should praise or fear him.
Harry smiled back at them, whistling a jaunty tune he knew Umbridge would hear. Standing, Harry made his way over to her desk, sat in her chair, and kicked up his feet to await the spell's end.
"Crooooooaaaak!" A toad leapt from the pile of pink clothes.
The students could only stare in awe at what had just happened on their first day of fifth year.
"Class dismissed," Harry called out. "No homework for today."
The confused and amused class did not need the words to be said a second time and all rushed for the exit.
Harry's anticipatory gaze never left the toad in the middle of the room. He continued whistling his tune, spinning his wand between his fingers.
'Check and mate.' A sinister smile wound its way onto his face as the last student exited the classroom. 'I'll see you in detention, Dolores.'