BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
No student or staff member is allowed to leave the school premises (under any condition) without the permission by the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge).
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-five.
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
The appearance of the 'Educational' Decree on the notice board a week after the Christmas holidays barely caused a stir in the Gryffindor Common Room, mainly due to the fact that the students were all way too used to the sudden but not unexpected measures the Ministry were using to steadily take control at Hogwarts and that the mass breakout from Azkaban was still fresh in many of their minds, which only worked to increase their disillusionment to the situation. It did, however, bring about a few more unflattering names that the student body used to refer to their Defence teacher.
"Fuzzy Old Toad," Ron murmured sourly, choosing to use the tamest of these names because Hermione was standing right next to him, an anxious look on her face as she bit her lip and stared at the glass-encased parchment, no doubt to stop herself from retorting the people around her who were using much less friendly names. Harry glared disgustedly at the Decree before shaking his head and edging through the crowd, the other two on his trail.
"How d'you reckon Hagrid will get on with his Gamekeeper duties now?" Ron asked, breaking the silence as the trio hopped from the portrait hole and left for the Great Hall.
"He'll get along fine," Hermione answered him, glaring at a second year who was about to slide down a staircase's railings. She pulled the scowling boy back to the ground and hurriedly told him off before returning and continued. "The Forest's only off-limits to students but even we can enter it under specific conditions," she explained, remembering the detention she'd had to serve inside it in her first-year and shuddering. "Anyway, it's not technically part of school premises but teachers can consider it so, in a way. Professor Kettleburn visited it all the time during his term. Also, it's in the Gamekeeper job to deal with matters concerning the Forest so Hagrid most likely won't have a problem."
Ron nodded, wondering silently how she knew all of this before the answer hit him in the form of a heavy leather bound book being thrust aggressively in his arms.
"If you would just read Hogwarts: A History, I wouldn't have to spend half my time alive lecturing you about stuff like this, you know!" Hermione huffed indignantly at him and Ron pushed the book back, grinning widely.
"Why bother?" he raised his hands questioningly. "You know the whole thing cover to cover anyway." The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched before she smothered it and strode ahead of them in a dignified manner, chin in the air as her bushy hair bounced gently in her wake. Ron shook his head amusedly and wrapped an arm round Harry's shoulder, deciding that he'd at least try to make their time at Hogwarts less miserable while Umbridge was still here.
"How much d'you think the Old Toad will cough today before she chokes on air and falls off her stool like last time?" Ron asked, remembering their previous Divination lesson. After 'hem-hem'ing for fifteen minutes straight in her dark corner in the sherry scented classroom, the High Inquisitor had ended up having a high-pitched coughing fit and fallen off her perch, much to the students' delight. Professor Trelawney had giggled hysterically at the sight before falling into just as hysterical tears, something the class had all pointedly ignored until the Defence teacher finally dusted herself off and left for the Hospital Wing, failing to hide her sprained wrist as horribly as the Divination Professor had her hysteria.
"Dunno," Harry smiled for the first time that day. "Maybe she'll sit near the window and fall off the Tower this time."
Ron snorted, entertaining himself to an image of the shrieking pink-clad Professor whooshing down to the ground, past Sir Cadogan's portrait and - he quickly erased the image from his mind; the smell of breakfast loomed around the corner and Ron didn't think he needed to lose his appetite just now. Indeed, he thought wisely (or rather, hungrily), how was a person supposed to be cheery when their stomach obviously wasn't?
———
Moonlight refracted through the tainted glass windows of Hogwarts castle, casting watery and colourful shapes on the walls. It was a chilly February night and Minerva McGonagall was tiredly walking away from her office, weighed down by a stack of her students' essays as well as a box of the Second Years' cross-elementally Transfigured needles, each distinguished by a tiny name tag that she would have to painstakingly scribble a grade on later. She was exhausted, having done little more than scrutinise assignments and grade tests over the two months following the Christmas holidays. Her load of work had only been made worse by Albus Dumbledore's unexplained absences from the school, some of which would prolong to five days, worrying over whatever new scheme the Ministry would integrate into Hogwarts next.
She was a floor below the Headmaster's office when she saw a glint of silver, a gossamer thin strand shining in the moonlight and immediately made a beeline toward it.
"Albus!" she whisper-yelled hoarsely, flicking her wand to levitate her load beside her. The figure turned around with a swish of star-speckled fabric and gleaming beard, blue eyes coming off as almost icy without their usual twinkle. Minerva came to a steady stop at the sight; Albus Dumbledore was clearly in the midst of something important at the time and halting such things was often most ill-advised. So she changed tact.
"It appears to me that you have been quite busy over the past months," she began sternly, sounding as if she'd anticipated this encounter all day.
"Indeed, I have, Minerva," Albus confirmed solemnly, gazing distantly down the dim corridor.
"Well, I'm sorry to interrupt, Albus, but this," Minerva pulled open her bag."- is of utmost importance."
The Headmaster raised a feathery eyebrow at that and she reached into the bag, still hovering the clutter of the students' efforts beside her, sifting through it for a moment before pulling out a rolled up piece of parchment. It was a duplicate of the one she'd begrudgingly pinned to the Gryffindor Common Room notice board about two months ago, barely resisting the urge to burn it to fine ash. She held the worn out paper to Albus, who took it gingerly and scanned it through his half-moon glasses.
"Surely, you've seen this, Albus?" she gestured to the Decree.
"Yes, I have," he nodded.
"Then you must know what the Ministry is attempting to do here, is that correct?"
"Indeed, I do, Minerva. But you must understand, there are some ..." he paused, eyes hovering around the corridor as if searching it for the right word. "Things I need to do, matters that cannot be left unattended."
Minerva had expected that. She nodded tersely, knowing that this much had been obvious from the start of his disappearances but exasperated nonetheless. The two agreed to a meeting in the following week, Minerva's only reason for not having one the next morning being that Albus had informed her that he'd be departing soon after breakfast. She knew Albus had a plan to rid the school of Dolores; he just seemed too preoccupied to act on it, and if something could distract him from the safety of his students then it ought to be momentous.
This was the thought Minerva used to reassure herself as she swept away to her office, her anxiety somewhat quelled but still brewing. Upon reaching it, she immediately relieved herself of her floating burden and almost instantly turned into a cat.
Stretching, she crawled into her chair and curled up on her favourite feather-filled cushion, purring exhaustedly. The realisation that she'd made the right decision when she'd considered becoming an Animagus years ago comforted Minerva to sleep, her cat-form's simpler emotions only aiding the process.
'Meow,' was the last thing she thought before drifting off.
———
At the same time as the tabby cat dozed off in Minerva McGonagall's office, the door to Albus Dumbledore's was pushed open.
"Fawkes," he called, causing the Phoenix to look up, tilting his head curiously. He trudged to the bird's high perch, clutching a tied scroll of parchment in his wrinkled hand. The Pheonix clucked his beak expectantly and Albus smiled, pulling out a cord of his favourite electric blue string and tying the note to Fawkes's leg.
"Deliver this to the Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Investigation Department, if you please," he instructed, stepping back as Fawkes gave a jerk of the head which he took to be a nod and disappeared in a flash of white light. The Headmaster proceeded to his chair and slumped into it, fatigued.
It had taken him two whole months to get where he was now and frankly, he felt rather proud, tired and muddle-minded, yes, but proud.
He reached into his robe pockets and pulled out a glass vial confining a bright milky strand of memory. Placing it on his desk, Albus swished his wand, causing the glittering container to whisk away into a drawer of the cupboard he kept his Penseive in, feeling more grateful of the simple magic locked in his fingertips than ever before. The drawer had been more full as of recently, now holding smidges of the experiences of almost every person directly and indirectly involved in Tom Marvolo Riddle's past. Bob Ogden, for one, had been extremely reluctant to give up his memory and it was only when Albus had impressed upon him the cruciality of his recollections that he'd finally agreed to lend them to him.
Finding Morfin Gaunt had been less difficult, Albus mused; despite most of the public thinking him senile, they still revered him, a strange yet useful weakness of the human conscience, he found, and he'd been able to visit the man in prison without any qualms whatsoever. After studying the last Gaunt's memories for days in his office, he had concluded that they had been most unfortunately tampered with; not only had they landed the man in Azkaban but they'd also let Voldemort escape unpunished for his misdeeds.
Right now, he hoped his message would incite an investigation of Morfin's case to be orchestrated; the news that they'd imprisoned an innocent descended directly from Salazar Slytherin himself would undoubtedly shake the Ministry to its core. With a slight creak of the knees, the Headmaster got to his feet, deciding that the time had come for some well-deserved rest. He pulled out the rumpled piece of parchment displaying Educational Decree Number Twenty-five from his robes and placed it on his desk; a reminder that there was other work to be done. Of course, Albus thought tiredly, there always was.
———
"You'd think that after they got the full story, they'd stop acting like I burned their wands," Harry snapped loudly, glaring at the huddle of students, all of different ages and Houses and wearing similar scowls, gathered outside the Charms Classroom, the bell ringing faintly in the corridor as he left for lunch with Ron and Hermione. He was sure that they'd been waiting for him out there and made a mental note to himself to check if anyone had managed to get their hands on his timetable.
"Harry, you didn't see the noticeboard this morning, did you?" Hermione inquired, exchanging furtive glances between him and the glaring students.
"No," Harry answered, frowning as he remembered the reason why; he'd been holed up in Umbridge's office for detention the previous night, a 'rightful punishment' for publishing his interview with Rita Skeeter in the March edition of The Quibbler the day before. He'd been so exhausted during the aftermath that he'd practically passed out in his four-poster upon reaching the dormitory, hastily throwing on his clothes when Ron woke him up in the morning. "Did I miss something?"
"Yes," Hermione replied, hand deep inside her school bag, searching as they walked. "Umbridge introduced a new Decree today." With that, she flourished a scroll of parchment in front of him.
"You keep those with you?" Ron said, looking at Hermione as if she'd just confessed the desire to become a Blast-Ended Skrewt breeder.
"Well, yes," she rolled her eyes. "In case you missed it, Ron, we're operating an illegal Defence Association. So I thought it wise to keep track of our dear High Inquisitor's rules." Ron grumbled lowly in response and the two started bickering as Harry read from the parchment.
BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
Any student found in possession of The Quibbler will be expelled.
Furthermore, no student or staff member is to contact magazines, newspapers, radio stations and other such public informational forums henceforth.
Permission to do so may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge).
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
Harry fought down the urge to tear the paper to shreds and forced it into one of Hermione's wildly gesturing hands as she argued with Ron.
"That still doesn't explain why people keep looking at me like I'm a slug," he groaned, disgruntled. He thought he'd gotten away from that treatment when he'd finally escaped the Dursleys four years ago, only to have it pushed back onto him from those he'd considered, if not friends, people who were like him at the very least. Hermione appeared to detect his foul mood and sighed softly.
"Those students were from the Gobstones Club," she explained patiently. "They'll have to ask Umbridge to rejoin the writing team for The Gobstones Globe and she doesn't exactly seem like she'll agree to it."
Harry's mood worsened at that. So a stupid game magazine was more important than letting the wizarding world know the truth about Voldemort's return? Were people really so absorbed in their own lives that they couldn't recognise the war brewing around them? He glared half-heartedly at the floor before continuing to the Great Hall, shoulders slumped and wondering why these type of things always seemed to happen to him. Couldn't he have at least one uneventful year at Hogwarts while he was still here?
———
February slowly faded into the past and April trundled over the grounds, leaving the dungeons warmer and the school emptier as students left to enjoy the sunset and the Giant Squid basked on the surface of the Black Lake. Being Deputy Headmistress however, Minerva McGonagall was often forced to sacrifice such days for the sake of her position, a task which the Gryffindor inside of her abhorred heartily. But mastering a trying subject like Transfiguration required one to master their emotions as well (for when a glass of water reverted to a thimble mid-sip or a gorgeous red rose in her hair turned back into the tissue paper it had once been) so she prided herself in her ability to push these desires aside, giving her the rare think-before-you-act distinction among Gryffindor House.
"Fizzing Whizbee," she said to the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, stepping onto the revolving staircase and inhaling deeply before tapping the door with the griffin-shaped knocker.
"Enter," Albus Dumbledore's soft voice answered her much less soft knock and she slid it open, footsteps sharp and brisk on the polished floor.
"Good evening, Minerva. I apologise for the short notice but I do hope I didn't disrupt anything?" the man asked before she could say anything, leading the conversation to start, as always, much more politely than she was used to after hearing teenagers complain about exams at every turn for a month.
"Good Evening, Albus," Minerva greeted, sounding strangely disconnected and shaking herself before speaking again. "No, you did not. The invitation arrived just on time. I was planning to talk to you regardless."
"Indeed?"
"Indeed, Albus. It appears to me that Dolores has cottoned on to your plan," she finally managed, almost sagging with relief at having voiced the thought that had been bothering her since Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven had come out a week ago. Albus drew the tips of his fingers together, gaze calm and collected but eyeing her curiously, making her feel much more like a sixth year trying her first Animagus Transformation rather than Deputy Headmistress of the school. "She's restricting us, Albus. Teachers have already been grounded to the school; she'll be after your position next."
The Headmaster nodded in response, piercingly bright eyes staring off outside the window.
"Then my timing is most fortunate. I have arranged to meet Cornelius in an hour today and if he doesn't agree to remove Dolores, I shall resort to putting our plan to action." Her eyes shot wide open at that.
"He's been avoiding you, hasn't he?" she questioned despite already knowing the answer.
"Yes, he very much has. I contacted young Percy Weasley about Cornelius's whereabouts the day Decree Number Twenty-seven came out but he refused, telling me that the Minister had forbidden him." Minerva frowned at the mention of Percy; she'd expected good things from the boy when he'd been a student but to her surprise, Albus chuckled.
"The last match for the International Wizards' Chess Tournament took place three days ago at Serbia," he continued, eyes twinkling in amusement. "I cornered Cornelius not long after he left from Belgrade. He appeared quite shocked when I asked him how entertaining the match had been when he returned to the Ministry."
The corners of Minerva's mouth twitched and she gave a small smile, thinking that for a hundred and fourteen year old man, Albus could act quite young sometimes.
"Returning to the matter at hand," he began, sobering instantly. "I must ask you to fetch Harry and any other students who can present evidence against Dolores." Minerva nodded, getting up, glad that her patience was finally reaping its reward.
"Do try to be inconspicuous about it," Albus added as she closed the door behind her, resolve solidifying inside her like stone. Little did she know that the very students they were trying to help would upend the situation in their faces in the next few minutes.
———