In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious transfer student from the United States of America comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...
This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.
Harry 15
"Don't you think it's suspicious?" Hermione sort of whispered as they all sat. "The same year the Ministry of Magic begins to get involved at Hogwarts, an exchange student—a single exchange student—from America shows up?" The feast table was full of the usual fare, but had jars of jams with names he didn't recognize—'mulberry, mayhaw'—and tarts of familiar-looking colors but off-smells, and some kind of yellow-white, gritty-looking porridge in a big bowl. Seamus was picking it up by the spoonful just to watch it fall in globs. "And then saying that 'the MACUSA hopes we'll be good friends?'" Ron, who hadn't seemed to have any reservations about the gritty porridge, had already taken himself a bowl-full and smashed some runny eggs into it. "Will you stop – eating – Ronald?!"
Ron shrugged over his porridge. "I don't know what this is, but it's really good! Probably American stuff. Try it! It's full of cheese."
Hermione looked to Harry. "Didn't the Ministry of Magic contact the United States of America for possible aid in the Wizarding war last year, before the Triwizard Tournament?" Harry vaguely remembered there being something in the Daily Prophet about it, but he couldn't be certain. "What if the MACUSA is using the exchange program to spy?"
"'MACUSA?'" Harry repeated in question.
"Magical Congress of the United States of America!" Hermione shrieked in a low whisper. "Honestly!"
Ron suddenly looked up from his cheesey pudding. "Bloody Hell!" he whispered as globs of his breakfast fell from his spoon.
Harry turned he noticed that Zamora had entered the Great Hall, clad in Slytherin robes—but her shoes weren't the standard Hogwarts black, rather a sparkling green high-heeled shoe that looked like it was made of deep green jewels. A charm bracelet dangled around her wrist, sparkling with rubies and sapphires, and at her throat hung a silver locket. She was carrying a shoulder bag, too, seemingly comprised of a black satin and decorated with many pleats, almost like a jewelry box. It was rather thin and sort of resembled a briefcase, only with a very large diamond floral clasp to hold it together. Harry hated to admit it, but she really was extremely pretty. She was smiling and waving at everyone, holding her head high as she waltzed to where Malfoy was sitting with his group of cronies. When she flipped her hair, Harry caught glimpse of her diamond earrings. Parkinson had planted herself next to Malfoy and was looking, rather angry, up at her.
"She's wearing jewelry! And look at those shoes!" whispered Hermione. "There's no way anybody's going to allow that!"
Zabini quickly stood and offered the seat on the bench next to him, which Zamora took with a grin. Harry couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but everybody at the Slytherin table had shifted. It was as if she'd stolen the thunder of even Malfoy, who was listening intently and grinning at her, eyeing her up and down and watching as she gestured, flipped her hair.
"Pass the grits," was something he heard her say, as well as "Would you like some cranberry juice?" and "Who else has Potions this morning?"
"We all have Potions this morning," Harry heard Pansy snap.
"That's bizarre," Zamora said. "Why are all of your classes so small?"
"Did you hear that?" Hermione whispered as Ron helped himself to a second helping of the cheesey porridge. "She's got Potions with us. Maybe we can see if she really is spying."
"Maybe," said Harry, watching as Zamora ran her fingers through her thick black hair, revealing the back of her pretty neck briefly. When he glanced back to his friends, he noticed that Hermione had gone rather red in the face. She quickly calmed, however, when Professor McGonagall came up to the Slytherin table.
"Good morning, Miss Zamora," greeted Professor McGonagall.
"Hello," she greeted pleasantly enough, then turning back to her fellow Slytherins, obviously with no clue as to what she was doing. McGonagall cleared her throat, which caused Zamora to look up.
"Stand, if you please," she said.
Zamora quirked an eyebrow, but swung her long leg over the bench and stood to her full height; she sort of tucked a curl behind her ear and gave one of her earrings a quick adjustment. McGonagall gave her a look-over and looked down her nose at the American Witch. "I see you've found your Slytherin robes," she began.
"It was easy enough, considering they were sitting on my bed waiting for me." Harry then noticed that the entire Gryffindor table had gone silent, their hearts in their throats. "To tell you the truth, I never wear this much black."
"You had family at Hogwarts before you. You are aware of this, of course?" Zamora nodded. McGonagall looked down at Zamora's sparkling green shoes. "You are Penelope Spelling's daughter, are you not?" Zamora nodded with a smile. Hermione whispered something, but Harry didn't catch it; actually he wasn't paying attention to Hermione, since he wanted to see what was going to happen next. "She was in Slytherin House, as were many Spellings before her. Regardless, I remember her rather well. She, too, had a rather loud taste in footwear, which you seem to have inherited."
Zamora looked down at her sparkling feet. "They were modeled after Dorothy Gale's ruby slippers; she was the famous Good Witch of Kansas." McGonagall gave her a look. "They used to be red, which matched my Ilvermorny robes, but I changed the color to green this morning to match my new Slytherin robes."
"And Ilvermorny has Houses as well?"
"Yes, Ilvermorny was modeled after Hogwarts, in that regard. There are four houses: Thunderbird, Pukwudgie, Wampus, and Horned Serpent. I'm a Thunderbird." A beat. "Am I allowed to wear my Ilvermorny robes here? Because Ilvermorny skirts have knife pleats there and I don't much care for the Hogwarts box pleat."
A beat. "Miss Zamora. While you are a student at Hogwarts, you will dress as a student at Hogwarts, including the appropriate shoes—plain, black, and without a distractingly high heel." Zamora narrowed her eyes at Professor McGonagall. The Gryffindor table was holding its breath, as was the Slytherin table. Zamora seemed to sense that the school had noticed her, which caused her to slyly grin.
"I'll change them now."
"Oh, good. See that you do so." McGonagall held her head high and began to walk off. Zamora, however straightened up, and quickly did an impressively quick dance step, tapping hard in a rhythmic pattern, until her shoes began to sparkle and glow, then change in a flash to stylish black oxfords on the final stomp, which blended seamlessly with her black stockings. Hermione gasped, while Ron mumbled "bloody Hell" in shock. There were many sounds of awe and approval. A smug grin crept over Malfoy's face, so smug you'd think that he was the one who'd come up with the transfiguration. Zamora quirked an eyebrow and gave a very wry grin, looking more than satisfied with herself. McGonagall gave the chilling sort of smile that she gave when you knew she was about to rip into you.
"Miss Zamora," she began. "I'm sure that the American Wizarding Scholastic system would find your cheeky attitude rather endearing. However impressive your skills may be, I think you'll find that a little more restraint and respect is going to pull you much further along here."
"Oh," said Zamora. "So it's not so much about creating an environment to foster individuality and personal growth, but to keep everyone quiet and in line." Harry heard several gasps from students in varying houses. Seamus visibly stiffened while Neville almost fell off the bench. McGonagall looked as if the flesh was going to melt off her face. Malfoy looked to be a combination of both scared and impressed. "I mean no disrespect, of course. I'm just trying to understand the culture here, Professor."
"The culture," repeated Professor McGonagall, nodding with a very chilling grin. Professor Snape then appeared behind McGonagall. "Ah, Severus," said McGonagall. "Your student was just demonstrating her apparent skills in Transfiguration." Silently, yet smiling, Zamora clicked her heels together thrice, and the shoes went from the black Oxfords back to the sparkling green heels. She then did a different dance move, which resulted in fine leather riding boots that went up her shapely calves in a cool dove gray. Snape's face didn't change.
"That'll do, Zamora—no need to show off your entire wardrobe," quipped McGonagall. "Back to black, if you please." She did the tap dance move again, and the shoes went back to the black oxfords, which laced themselves neatly. "I must say, I look forward to having you in my classroom, tomorrow's fourth period."
A beat. Zamora then smiled a very charming, disarming smile. "I can't wait." Zamora's tone was almost sickeningly honeyed. McGonagall left, and Zamora and Snape were standing in-between the long tables. Snape looked around at everyone, still watching.
"As you were!" he snapped, and the Hall resumed. Harry quickly spun back around; Hermione's eyes averted down to her breakfast, where it seems Ron's never left. "Mister Malfoy," Harry heard Snape say. "Now that you are…a Prefect for the House of Slytherin…I would consider it a personal favor should you choose to take Miss Zamora under your wing."
"I'd be delighted to, sir," came Malfoy's voice, sounding all too happy about it.
"You have…all of your core classes together, I see?" Harry couldn't watch, but it sounded like a piece of parchment rustling, perhaps a class schedule. "You'll escort her everywhere for at least the first week of classes. Be sure Miss Zamora can survive in this proverbial forest of her electives in your absence."
"Of course, sir. I won't let her out of my sight, sir," said Malfoy. Ron and Harry exchanged a disgusted look at Malfoy's tone.
"Excellent. And you—" Harry noticed Snape turning to Zamora in the reflection of the cranberry juice pitcher "—you'll mind your manners while you're here. Do you understand?"
"Does minding my manners include not questioning anything?" asked Zamora, sounding innocent enough, with only a tinge of sarcasm. Snape gave her a very nasty look. "Alright! Geez! Sorry!" That was odd; the tone between them seemed almost familial. Harry noticed Hermione making a face, likely thinking the same thing.
History of Magic was their first class, and it was learning about the Giant Wars. Zamora somehow convinced Malfoy to sit in front, and she seemed more interested in playing with her earrings than taking notes. Harry also noticed that her quill wasn't a quill at all—but a rather fancy-looking fountain pen which matched her fancy-looking inkpot. It was likely that she was rich, which was why Malfoy seemed to show so much attention to her. At one point, Malfoy noticed Harry watching her, and then proceeded to drape his arm over her shoulders and give Harry a rather snide grin.
Arriving at Potions, Zamora found a seat at the station next to Malfoy, with Goyle, Crabbe, Zabini. Parkinson seemed to be shunned with the other Slytherin girls, who only watched jealously as all of the attention came to their new classmate. Even some of the Gryffindor students took notice of their new classmate, and Hermione was the one who watched closest of all.
"That bag!" whispered Hermione to Harry. "Look!"
Harry set his books and cauldron down and glanced over to Malfoy's table, where Zamora was shoulder-deep in her satin shoulder bag. A bit of an echo was heard from inside it, and out came a large, shimmering cauldron of polished copper, which Zamora set gently down on the table. She reached into her bag, which was apparently enchanted, to pull out a cast-iron cauldron stand.
"She's probably rich," Seamus whispered to Neville. "Lookit tha' fancy cauldron."
Neville turned around and saw her setting up her station diligently, just right at the time she happened to look up at him. Zamora smiled warmly and said "Hello," which caused Neville to go bright red and turn away. Malfoy snickered. She frowned, then shrugged it off and continued setting her station up. As she did, Professor Snape came to her side and picked up her cauldron and examined it.
"Copper, Miss Zamora?" said Snape; Malfoy tensed as he set up his own cauldron. "You do realize that your Hogwarts letter specified pewter as your cauldron?"
"Does it really matter?" Zamora shrugged. "Copper brews better," she stated. Snape seemed rather annoyed.
"Is your insufferable self-assuredness going to be a routine?" growled Snape through gritted teeth.
Zamora blinked. "Apparently," she deadpanned. Harry noticed Neville looking at her again, this time smiling with a mixture of shock and admiration, his pale cheeks going bright red.
Snape gave her a look, but put her cauldron down and proceeded to the head of the classroom. The class descended into whispers about their new American classmate; Harry noticed Malfoy seeming impressed enough at her, but diligently setting up his own cauldron. As always, Professor Snape had written the recipe for that day's potion recipe on the board. They were brewing the Draught of Peace today.
"I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions…"
Snape went on about his lecture, reminding them about their OWLs and advancing to NEWT classes would only be allowed if they received an Outstanding that June. He then went on about the history of Draught of Peace, the inventor, etc. Hermione was taking notes, of course, as was Zamora, who had moved her stool with the leviosa charm to the back of the room.
"Why aren't you sitting?" Goyle whispered to her at a point.
"I think better when I'm standing," Zamora whispered back. Harry wasn't trying to eavesdrop too much, especially since the potion's instructions were so complex. When brewing commenced, the students all buried their heads into their cauldrons. Harry had just completed his second addition of powdered moonstone when Zamora's voice caught his attention. Harry looked up.
"Psst! Gregory!" she whispered over her own cauldron to Goyle. "Turn your flame up. Yeah, like that. It should be boiling at this stage!"
Zamora's own cauldron was bubbling at full, high speed with a blue flame, and her potion's kit had seemingly come alive. She had thrown her robes off and had rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt to her elbows, showing off her slender wrists. Her hair was now pushed back with her headband, and on her pretty face was a look of concentration Harry had only seem the likes of on Hermione.
"Vincent, you might need more moonstone. No, just a pinch—" she said to Crabbe, who smiled and nodded as he did what she said. Zamora stirred her potion clockwise and anti-clockwise as she added the syrup of hellebore in a long, thin stream, and her potion's bubbles turned from powdery pink to shocking turquoise. "Draco, you're so talented!" she whispered, looking at Malfoy's cauldron.
Rolling his eyes, Harry turned back to his own work, not wanting it to burn. It wasn't long before a foul, odorous smell permeated the potion's classroom, as varying things went wrong in varying cauldrons all around.
"Bloody hell!" cursed Ron a few times, though Hermione—as usual—was doing just fine. When Harry added his final bit of powdered moonstone, his potion turned gray; as he stirred, waiting for it to simmer until it turned orange, he looked over to see that Zamora was putting on such a show that she was likely the reason they were all doing so poorly. Even Snape had taken notice of the show happening at Malfoy's table.
With Zamora's left hand, she lined up five identical glass phials with the tops off as she stirred with the right. She slowly brought the glass stirrer up and out of the liquid, still twirling it clockwise, then quickly twirling it anti-clockwise in mid-air, and slowly—while still stirring—turned the stirrer upside-down. Her left hand then went flat and turned upwards, as if holding a tray, and with her raised hand her potion came up from her cauldron in a great orange ball of floating brew. The entire classroom took notice as Zamora made a whistling sound with her full lips, and a jar of powdered porcupine quills came up and sprinkled itself on top, orbiting around like the rings of Saturn before joining into the orange liquid, which promptly turned snow white.
Zamora continued to twirl her glass stirrer in mid-air, as if it were her wand performing the leviosa charm. Harry noticed that her left hand had formed a fist, which then burst into an open hand, causing five equal glowing white orbs to form from the one big ball of potion. She brought her left hand slowly down, siphoning each of the spheres into the open flasks, twirling down like a tornado, not spilling a drop. She smiled, popped her stirrer into her now empty cauldron and shot her hand in the air.
"Evaluation, please!" she called, not realizing that Snape was directly behind her.
"Miss Zamora!"
"Eep!"
"You do realize," began Snape, who was looking down his hooked nose at her, "that your finished potion should be turquoise, not white, and that—in this short amount of time—you haven't allowed it to simmer long enough for it to be successful? Are you going to be forever incapable of following instructions?"
"Not at all," she said with a very charming smile. "But by the time I called you over, you told me how wrong I was, and I finished this sentence, the carry-over heat from the potion—insulated by the glass phials—will have stirred and cooked enough in its vessel to have turned the correct turquoise color…" Zamora's eyes wandered over to one of the Gryffindor tables. "…just in time for his potion to flame up and catch his robes alight." She pointed to Finnigan, who had been staring. With the drop of a whole porcupine quill, the cauldron poofed in a brightly-colored blaze and caught the sleeve of his robes aflame. Snape growled as Seamus threw his robes down to the ground and stomped on them, then looked back at Zamora. He picked up one of the five phials, which was now a glimmering turquoise color, emitting a silvery vapor from the bottle's mouth. With a sniff, Snape tensed.
"And I suppose you needed that rather ostentatious display in front of your new schoolmates?" Snape's tone was neutral enough, as he didn't seem annoyed nor impressed.
Zamora shrugged. "Draught of Peace doesn't necessarily need aeration to be wholly successful, but it does make it much more stable in the end. Also, powdered porcupine quills tend to clump in humid environments—like this classroom—and therefore it's better to add them this way without the risk of clumping, which I'm guessing you knew since the board has "shake the powdered porcupine quills until ready" written. No clumping in a potion means that your result will be more consistent, that the brew will react more quickly to its additional ingredients, and you run less of a risk of adding too much of something on accident."
There was a tense silence as Harry quickly stirred his own potion, glancing at the clock to see if seven minutes had passed yet. Hermione didn't seem to be listening, but Ron's own cauldron had already gone to pot so he wasn't being shy about staring.
"Slytherin House..." Snape began. "Let it be known that your new classmate had just earned you…fifteen points, for her knowledge and considerable skill…" The Slytherins in the room turned to each other and made sounds of agreement. "…and that the rest of you should like to make friends with our new celebrity should any of you care to pass your OWL with an Acceptable." Just then, Snape smiled, and Neville nearly fainted at the sight of it. He set her phial down and turned on his heel to walk away.
"Professor," called Zamora. Snape looked over his shoulder at her. "Back at Ilvermorny, when a student finishes early, they're allowed to go around and help others. Can I do that here?" There was a tense moment, it seemed to everyone but Zamora, but Snape shrugged and simply walked back to his desk, glancing over the other cauldrons and making comments at the other student's work.
Harry wondered if Zamora was going to make it around to the Gryffindor table, but he doubted that she would, for she immediately went around to the other Slytherin tables, turning flames up or down, having them stir one way or another. At one point, she even glanced at Malfoy's cauldron and sickeningly smiled at him saying "Well you don't need help…" She then ran over to where the Patil sisters were sitting, fussing over how Pavarti's brew was in need of an extra drop of hellebore syrup to counteract with the fact that she—apparently—had added too much unicorn horn. To Harry's surprise, Pavarti's potion turned acid green, and then simmered down to the correct shade of purple. Zamora finished the class by visiting Seamus and Neville's table, where she—at a point—took Neville's stirring hand and told him "don't be so nervous—potions can smell fear." Zamora didn't notice that Neville turned redder than his potion did, which still turned out wrong—but likely not as wrong as it would have been had it not been for her help.
By the end of the class, Zamora had earned Slytherin an extra ten points for her help with the other students, and earned herself quite a few more friends in the process. Malfoy seemed conflicted with the fact that she was making friends with even the Gryffindors, but class ended before she'd made her way to where Harry was—which was bloody infuriating, too, for Snape had emptied out his cauldron and given him a zero for the day for simply forgetting to add the hellebore syrup. Hermione, though she, too, had brewed a perfect potion, was uncharacteristically quiet as they parted ways, for Harry and Ron were taking Divination and Hermione was taking Study of Ancient Runes that day.
"Oy, you think she's jealous?" Ron asked.
"Of what?" Harry replied.
"Zamora, of course," said Ron. "I'll bet she's feeling threatened or something. Poor kid hasn't stopped talking about her since she got here."
"I hadn't noticed," said Harry in a lightly sarcastic tone.
"I think she really thinks Zamora's a spy for America."
"It's possible, I guess," admitted Harry. "But I don't know why America would be spying on Hogwarts." When they arrived in the Divination's classroom, Malfoy and Zamora had already arrived, and Professor Trelawney had taken a sort of liking to the new American witch.
"My girl!" called Trelawney, fumbling towards Zamora, grasping out with her hands and landing them all over the young Slytherin's face and hair, causing Malfoy and the other Slytherin cronies to snicker. "I-I sense something great within you! You are a force! Your aura flickers, my dear—" Trelawney pulled Zamora in a rather awkward side-hug as she gestured out to—in her mind—the "great beyond" but what was actually the dusty old ceiling. "—your inner eye! Your soul is overflowing with the Sight! More powerful than any which as crossed this classroom before! It is open! Speak forth, my dear! Speak!"
"You're going to get fired." Trelawney quickly released Zamora, who had an unreadable expression as she turned away and took a seat at the table closest to the window, where Malfoy and lot had settled in. Trelawney's hands shook, and some of the Gryffindors couldn't help but laugh a little at the display.
"Looks like Malfoy's replaced Parkinson," Harry commented as they sat at their tiny round table.
"Git," mumbled Ron. "They seem made for each other already."
"Maybe," said Harry, watching as Zamora fussed her hair back into place—though he wasn't sure which place that was, considering it was a turret of black curls flowing freely—with Malfoy apparently apologizing for her rather rough run-in with the Divination instructor. He wondered for a moment if Trelawney was right about Zamora. The Professor seemed shaky, certainly, but truthfully no more so than usual.
Divination was an introduction to the syllabus, a review of last year, and some nonsense about dream journals. Their homework was to take some parchment and to record their dreams for the next week, where they'd review and interpret them. The day didn't get interesting again until Defense Against the Dark Arts with Dolores Umbridge.
The DADA classroom was abuzz, certainly, and Harry and Ron chose seats in the center-middle, where Hermione had taken her seat at the center-right. She turned around quickly when she(apparently) heard Zamora and Malfoy come in.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Zamora asked as Malfoy chose a seat in the back. He looked confused. "Don't you want to sit in the front?"
"Not particularly, no," said Malfoy, shrugging. "I doubt that pink powderpuff of a Professor is going to give a sufficient lesson."
"She's still from the Ministry, isn't she?" Zamora asked, now catching the attention of a few others. A beat. "Okay, well, I'm going to sit in the front because I want to maintain my perfect grades, so..." She took a step towards the front of the classroom.
"So you need to sit in the front for that?" Malfoy seemed to be poking fun at her, but none of the other Slytherins seemed to be laughing along.
"Yes," said Zamora, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, then tapping at the glimmering diamond stud that decorated it. "I'm a little hard of hearing. I can't make straight O's if I can't hear every last word, can I?" She didn't wait for Malfoy when she turned on her heel and walked right to the head of the classroom, between Hermione and Harry, between the Patel twins, and all the way to the left-front desk, in the seat right next to the window. Neville, who was seated in the same column by the window, suddenly stood and looked for a moment like he might run up and join her. Malfoy, however, slithered next to her and pulled himself in the seat beside her, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, and then Zabini and Nott, and before anybody knew it, the entire front of the classroom was taken-over by the fifth year Slytherins. Neville sat down slowly, a looking a little defeated. Harry snickered a little, then shrugged to himself at the thought of Neville having a crush on the Slytherin's new queen.
"I can't get over how small your classes are," said Zamora to Malfoy, the others all leaning in. "At Ilvermorny, we need at least ten instructors per subject. And you never get the same professor when you advance through your years. I had Professor Swanson for my fourth-year DADA class, and even though I was one of the very select few that got into it, I was still one out of about seventy-five."
"Seventy-five?" repeated Crabbe in confusion, who was sitting directly behind her.
"Yes," said Zamora, turning around in her chair to face him. "And that's tiny for an Ilvermorny core class. Professor Swanson teaches the advanced classes for the fourth-year DADAs. I was planning on taking Professor Thistle this year, but I'm honestly okay with being at Hogwarts with all of you..." She leaned in and lowered her voice to say "Professor Thistle tends to lisp a lot when talking about thspellsth." Some of them laughed. "I also noticed that you don't have E.G. classes here, either?"
"What's an E.G. class?" asked Theodore Nott, who was sitting in the center-front next to Zabini.
"Exceptionally Gifted," Zamora answered. "You have to be really special to get in. Maintain perfect Oustandings, participate in extracurricular activities, blah blah blah..."She then dismissively waved her hand. "But, hey, who am I to brag?" Harry heard a very distinct huff out of Hermione, who was already exhausted with the new transfer student.
"Good afternoon, children," came Umbridge's voice, carrying over the now full classroom. She flicked her wand at the chalkboard, and a perfectly cursive handwriting appeared as the chalk wrote. "Ordinary. Wizarding. Examination. O. W. L." She made her way to the head of the classroom. "More commonly known as OWLs." Her tone was annoyingly honeyed and her smile was so creepy. Though Harry couldn't see it, he was certain that Malfoy was rolling his eyes. "Study hard," she addressed, "and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and the consequences may be severe." She shrugged her pink-clad shoulders when she said "severe", and she kept that unnerving smile as she locked eyes with as many of them as she could.
Professor Umbridge then flicked her wand, and a stack of new-looking textbooks floated between the desks, distributing themselves among the students. Arriving at Harry and Ron's desk was a textbook with a rather cartoonish illustration of two children in pointed hats holding the same book, which read 'Dark Arts Defense: Basics for Beginners.' Harry frowned as he flipped through the book, which seemed to be made for five-year-olds. The first step in avoiding conflict, according to this text, was running away...
"Your previous instruction in this subject has been disturbingly uneven. But you'll be pleased to know, from now on, you'll be following a carefully structured, Ministry-approved course in defensive magic. Yes?" Harry glanced up to see Hermione's fist shot in the air.
"There's nothing in here about using defensive spells?" she asked.
"Using spells? Ha ha!" Professor Umbridge gave a piquant sort of laugh, sharp to the ears. "Well I can't imagine why you'd need to use spells in my classroom!" Her tone was rather flippant, and Hermione went silent, her jaw tightening.
"We're not going to use magic?" Ron asked.
"You'll be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way."
"Well, what use is that if we're going to be attacked? It won't be risk-free," Harry demanded.
"Students will raise their hands when they speak in my class," snapped Professor Umbridge. The room went silent until someone cleared their throat. Professor Umbridge turned, as did the rest of them, to see Zamora's hand raised at the level of her eye, her fingers waving gently. "Ah, yes, the exchange student? Your name, dear?"
"Ella Zamora, ma'am. Excuse me, but do you mean to tell us that it is the opinion of the Ministry of Magic that there are no risks outside the classroom?"
Umbridge visibly tensed, and Harry was certain he saw her left eye twitch. She then smiled, addressing the entire room. "It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be sufficient to get you through your examinations, which - after all - is what school is all about!"
"Excuse me, Professor Umbridge," Zamora interjected, "is it also the opinion of the Ministry that school is not to prepare you for your life after you graduate?" Malfoy seemed a little more than horrified at all of the attention being drawn to the serpent's nest, and Harry was beginning to wonder if Zamora truly belonged in Slytherin at all, what with the fact that she was being just as loud as the Gryffindors.
Professor Umbridge then tilted her brows in concern and approached the front desk where Zamora was, adopting a thick, honeyed tone that was truly disgusting to hear. "Ah, yes, dear, I expected as much from you." She nodded pitifully. "With the story of how your mother, a brilliant, pureblooded witch, was tragically slain by Scourers, it is no wonder you are paranoid about your safety - but let me be quite clear when I say that you are in no danger here."
Harry guessed that her tone was meant to be comforting, but the entire class's energy had shifted. Malfoy eyed Zamora up and down. He couldn't read his expression, but the other Slytherins seemed to be appalled by a Pureblood being slain.
"Ah, yes, none of you are aware of the horrors happening across the pond," said Umbridge, now pacing in the front of the class. "Scourers. Yes, American Wizards and Witches face these monstrosities every day. They are fanatics, convinced that magic - your precious gifts - are a stain on the world, only to be wiped clean forever." Sounds of shock and horror flitted all around the classroom. "Yes. Every day, innocent Wizards and Witches are hunted down simply for existing - but let me assure you, my dear - " she turned back to Zamora, who was looking rather tense " - nobody here is going to 'burn you at the stake.' Because, of course, you are safe in this country. You are all safe in this country. No Scourers. No nothing." Umbridge smiled and giggled again, as if she hadn't just announced one of the most horrific secrets of somebody's past in front of their entire class. Harry was outraged. "After all, who do you imagine would want to attack children, like yourselves?"
"Oh I don't know," said Harry in a mock-thoughtful tone. "Maybe Lord Voldemort?" Ron tensed, Hermione guffawed, and Neville fell out of his chair as fearful gasps echoed all around.
"Let me be quite plain: You have been told," began Umbridge as she walked between the rows and columns of desks, "that a certain Dark Wizard is at large again. This. Is. A. Lie."
"It's not a lie!" cried Harry. "I saw him! I fought him!"
"Detention! Mr. Potter!" announced Umbridge, who stomped back to the front of the room.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord!"
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident!"
"It wasn't an accident - it was murder! Voldemort killed him! You must know this-!"
"ENOUGH!" Umbridge shrieked in a tone so high Harry wondered if the glass on the window panes had cracked. "Enough." She snorted through her powdered nose. Harry was shaking with rage. "See me after, Mr. Potter. My office."
When class was over, Harry made his way towards Umbridge's office, only to find Zamora, alone by an open window with a sparrow on her finger. She gracefully lifted her hand and the bird flitted away and turned to him. She smiled and gave a nod, then began walking to pass him, likely off to the Great Hall. Harry moved a little towards her, but then stopped in mid-step when he realized that he was unsure of what to say. Zamora stopped instead, and looked up at him as if he had asked her to. There was a tense pause between them, but Harry soon realized that they had more in common than many of his fellow classmates by virtue of murdered mothers alone. If Hermione was right about Zamora being a spy, Harry was right to befriend her.
"We haven't met," Harry began.
"Not formally, no," Zamora agreed.
Harry extended his hand. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."
"Ella Zamora, pleased to meet you," she said, shaking his hand firmly with a friendly-enough grin. Harry felt tense, almost like ants were crawling up his legs. "You're wondering about my mother," she stated. Harry frowned, then gulped. "It's okay. She died a couple of years ago. It's not like it's necessarily fresh."
He shrugged. "My parents were murdered, too."
"By Voldemort?" Zamora asked. Harry nodded stiffly. "Do you remember them?" Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear that." There was another tense moment. Harry guessed that he should be getting to detention, but if he was already in trouble then he may as well be in trouble for showing kindness to someone else who disliked Umbridge. "I don't think I care much for Professor Umbridge," Zamora commented.
"Join the club," quipped Harry, which made Zamora laugh.
"You'll see me at the first meeting with bells on." Harry laughed, suddenly, too.
"Er..." He gulped. "I'm sorry about your mother."
"Thanks."
"I, er, I hope you won't mind me asking, but..."
Zamora smiled. "You want to know about Scourers?" Harry's silence was enough of an answer. "They started some time in the 1600s, but nobody really knows of an exact date. See, there was no infrastructure for the European settlers, and the Native American wizarding community had thrived for centuries without wands or potion shops or anything else like that, so the Wizarding community in America back then was still ooky and unregulated... Anyway, the lack of formal government meant there were no laws, so these Scourer people formed. They were like this self-appointed Wizarding police with no laws to actually enforce... And power absolute is an excellent way to attract power-hungry garbage wizards to your cause." Harry couldn't help but smile; if History of Magic was taught by Zamora, he'd likely pay attention better. "Absolute power means corruption, absolutely, so...the Scourers really gained power during the Salem Witch Trials."
"Salem Witch Trials?" Somehow, it hadn't occurred to Harry that something he learned about in muggle primary school was an actual historical event in the magical community.
"Yep. The Puritan settlers hunted and tortured and burned witches and wizards in all sorts of horrific ways for, basically, existing. Most educated Witches and Wizards believe that a fair portion of them were just innocent No-Majs caught up in the hysteria, but it was still a pretty damn horrific thing for the magical community, with the death tolls cutting the European Wizarding community in America in half, at least. The point is that a fair portion of those Puritan judges were known Scourers, looking to settle scores with those they were feuding. Soon, Scourers were trafficking their fellow wizards to any No-Maj that'd pay to see a Witch hung. The corruption of the Scourers eventually got so great that the MACUSA formed out of need. They've since gone into hiding, since they've mostly been executed by the MACUSA, but still are a big threat. They began to despise the American government so much that they actively try to breed the magic out of themselves, still teaching their descendants that magic is very real and should be exterminated... And they still find and torture and murder Wizards and Witches today to prove it. Like my mom."
Harry wasn't sure what to say. His skin felt uneasy and his tongue was sitting uncomfortably in his mouth.
"It's funny," Zamora said. "You never think something like that is going to happen to you until...it happens to you." She then smiled and shook her head. "Anyway, I don't mean to keep you from your detention."
Sighing, Harry said "I'm already in trouble. May as well go all the way." Zamora laughed. There was a pause. "I expect Malfoy's missing you anyway in the Great Hall?"
Zamora frowned. "Why do people here refer to others by only their last names?"
"Oh, er - " He stopped, realizing he didn't have an answer. "I really have no idea."
Zamora nodded with a grin. "Well, Draco, went to the bathroom and I'm just waiting for him." A beat. "Are you guys friends?"
Harry sort of gave a laugh and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Er, not exactly."
"Potter!" They both turned to see Malfoy swaggering towards them. "Missing detention, aren't you?" He gestured to his silver prefect badge with a long pale finger. "I'm a Prefect now, y'know. Don't want to get on my bad side as well." Harry felt his skin crawl with disgust.
"Don't blame Potter, Draco. I was just asking him where the library was." Zamora grinned. Malfoy paused. Harry didn't know what to say, but he certainly wasn't going to be the first to speak.
"I'll take you to the library." Malfoy offered his arm, giving Potter a rather nasty look. "Right this way." Zamora smiled and circled her arm around his.
"Nice meeting you," she said as they walked away.
"Yeah," Harry said, watching her lean into Malfoy's shoulder. "You, too..." Harry truly began to wonder if Zamora was, indeed, a spy. Historically, Hermione was right about everything; why should this be any different?
HISTORY LESSON! Thanks for reading...now REVIEW!(And thank you, HeartofAspen, for faithfully doing so! And a big thank you to SabrinaJasmine for your kind words, as well!) Also, sorry for the multiple "updates." I wrote this in the middle of the night and noticed a few spelling/continuity errors, and gave a bit of a better ending to this particular chapter.