Armed with their new lead, Harry and his friends threw themselves into their research with renewed gusto. Hermione in particular was in her element, and the Gryffindor girl was often completely hidden from view by piles of large library books as she took notes, the scratching of her quill the only evidence that she was there at all. They were disappointed in the lack of information, but what they did find was promising – the Salem Witches' Institute had indeed been founded with Ravenclaw's ideals in mind, and apparently, they even had a small archive of information dedicated to the medieval witch.
"I'm sure it's nothing like what Hogwarts has, but it couldn't hurt to contact them and ask, could it?" Hermione asked one evening. Her friends looked up from their various homework assignments to consider her question.
"I suppose," Harry finally said. "But there's just one problem – that really isn't something we'd want to put in a letter, is it?" Hermione sighed.
"No, I suppose not," she agreed. It would be extremely foolish of them to send such sensitive information out so blindly, especially as they knew next to nothing about the Americans' views on the war.
"What if you actually went there instead?" Ginny suggested.
"To the States, you mean?" Hermione asked, a little shocked at Ginny's idea.
"Why not?" Ginny shrugged and tossed her hair out of her eyes with a practiced flick of her head. "You, me, any of us. We have the connection to Hogwarts, so it's not like we can't come up with a valid reason for wanting to know more about Ravenclaw – you could say it was for a History of Magic essay, if you really wanted an academic excuse."
"That's not a bad idea," Blaise said with a nod. "You might as well write them and see what happens – the worst they could say is no, right?"
"But how would we get there?" Hermione asked with a frown. "Getting international Portkeys is rather difficult, from what I understand, and the Ministry's bound to give extra scrutiny to an application involving any of us – not to mention that it's very likely the Death Eaters could hear about it too-"
"The only Muggle-born in the room goes straight to international Portkeys," Draco interrupted with a chuckle. "Love, have you forgotten that Muggles can travel long distances fairly easily as well? I do believe you've been to an airport before." Hermione turned red.
"I…that is…well, I…oh, shut up," she snapped, looking rather flustered as her friends began to laugh.
"Maya, we're just teasing you," Harry assured her as Draco dropped a kiss on her forehead. Hermione batted him away with a pout, but only a few seconds passed before she gave in and allowed him to pull her close, her back to his front and their legs tangled together as they sat sideways on the sofa. They sat in silence for a long moment, contemplating this latest development.
"I suppose we can't really do anything until we send them a letter," Hermione finally said. "And perhaps I should contact my parents as well – if we're going on this trip, we'll need their help purchasing tickets, organizing passports, things like that."
"We should probably make sure they're ok with us traipsing off to another country first," Harry quipped, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh at that.
"Very true. Alright, we should mention that too – in fact, it's probably best if we just tell our parents about the prophecy, yeah? I know my parents won't be much help, but your mum and Sirius might be able to give us some other ideas."
"The Easter holidays are only a month away – we could talk to them then," Draco said. When Hermione made as if to protest, he added, "We've been working on this prophecy for going on three years now – I don't think one extra month is going to kill us. Besides, we already agreed that this is something we can't put in writing – we can write the letter to Salem with a purely academic focus, but we've got to talk to our parents in person."
"Leave it for Easter, Hermione," Tracey suggested calmly. "You've got enough on your plate as it is, what with homework, prefect duties, Quidditch, and the D.A. – and by the way, when should we be expecting that article?"
"Soon, I hope," Hermione said. "Umbridge has been awfully quiet lately, and that worries me. It makes me think that she's planning something."
"She's always planning something," Harry muttered darkly. "How many decrees are we up to at this point?"
"Too many," Ginny said flatly. "All the same, Hermione's right – we should definitely be prepared for something big."
No matter how much they braced themselves, nothing could have prepared Harry and his friends for Umbridge's next move. Just after classes had finished on Wednesday afternoon, her girlish, simpering voice echoed throughout the halls of Hogwarts:
"By order of the High Inquisitor, all students and staff will be in the Great Hall this evening by six o'clock, no exceptions. All evening activities are cancelled, and all conflicting detentions will be rescheduled. Thank you."
"What d'you reckon that's about?" Harry asked Hermione as they made their way up to Gryffindor Tower.
"I'm not sure," Hermione replied with a frown. There was no rule that students had to attend meals at certain times – or at all, for that matter; she herself had accidentally skipped lunch on more than one occasion when she'd been immersed in a particularly interesting book, and Hogsmeade days had most older students eating at least one meal off Hogwarts grounds. Aside from Filch, Professor Trelawney, and Madam Pince, most of the staff regularly ate in the Great Hall, but it wasn't uncommon to occasionally see someone missing from the top table, so Hermione was pretty sure they weren't required to eat there either.
"You talking about that message?" Dean asked as he caught up to them.
"Yeah," Harry said. "What do you think?"
"Probably some big announcement, like she's taking over the world or something," Dean said with a snort. "After all, she'd want everyone to know about that, wouldn't she?"
"Oh, Dean, why would you even suggest such a thing?" Hermione groaned, looking properly horrified. The boys laughed at her expression, though Dean quickly assured her that he too wouldn't want to hear anything of the sort. Once they reached the common room, Draco joined the conversation via charmed parchment, but it seemed the Slytherins were just as confused as everyone else.
Dinner that night was an exceptionally quiet affair. As requested, everyone was present save for two or three students confined to the hospital wing with contagious ailments, but hardly anybody dared speak, especially when six o'clock came and went without so much as a peep from Umbridge. In fact, the esteemed High Inquisitor wasn't there at all, and when twenty minutes had gone by with no sign of her, people began to fidget.
At twenty-seven minutes past six, the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and everyone watched as a small group of people marched swiftly up the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Professor Umbridge led the procession, followed closely by Minister Fudge, Kingsley Shacklebolt and a short, gray-haired man Harry didn't recognize, Percy Weasley, and a witch covered head to toe in a thick cloak. Harry couldn't be sure, but the witch seemed to be sniffling slightly, as if she'd been crying. Umbridge strode confidently towards the teachers' table, where she finally stopped and removed a piece of parchment from her robes before turning to face the assembled students.
"Hem, hem. The following students should remain seated – the rest of you are dismissed. Hermione Granger…Draco Black…Ginny Weasley…Dean Thomas…Lee Jordan…" Umbridge continued reading from the piece of parchment in her hand, and Harry's stomach dropped abruptly when he realized that everyone on her list was a member of the D.A.
"Susan Bones…Harry Potter…Daphne Greengrass…Adrian Pucey," Umbridge concluded. When nobody moved, she barked, "Out – now!" Benches scraped against stone as those who hadn't been called hastened to obey, and the Great Hall emptied faster than Harry thought was possible. As soon as the last student had gone, Umbridge gave the D.A. members a triumphant smile.
"Well," she said softly. "Well. Didn't think I would find out, did you? My, my, what a terrible mistake you've made." She tutted again before primly clasping her hands together.
"All organizations within these walls were disbanded by Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four, and none were to form again without my express permission," Umbridge said. "Imagine my surprise when I learned that a student club has been meeting for months without my knowledge or approval. Explain yourselves!" She practically growled the last command, but to their credit, none of the students so much as flinched. They were all surprised, however, when Hermione raised her hand a few moments later.
"Miss Granger," Umbridge acknowledged her with a nod. "Are you going to enlighten us?"
"I actually had a question, Professor," Hermione said. "Who's under that cloak?"
"I don't believe that's any concern of yours, Miss Granger," Umbridge said with a girlish giggle.
"Oh, but I do believe it is," Hermione replied coolly. "Mine, as well as everyone else's. I'd love to hear what she has to say."
"She?" Harry repeated quietly. He had a feeling Hermione knew who the cloaked witch was, but he hadn't the faintest idea.
"Pay attention, Harry," Hermione hissed back. "Who's missing? Whose name didn't she call?" Harry began scanning the assembled faces, but Umbridge beat him to it.
"Yes, of course," she simpered. "It's alright, dear – you did the right thing. Now, take off that silly hood and tell dear Professor Dumbledore what you told me." Nobody missed the poisonous tone she employed when speaking the headmaster's name. The cloaked witch hesitated but finally drew back her hood, revealing a curly head of hair they all recognized. It was Marietta Edgecombe.
"There's a good girl," Umbridge said. "Now, do as I asked and tell everyone your story." Marietta, who'd been gazing steadfastly at the floor, slowly raised her head, and several people gasped as they caught sight of her face. Her skin was barely visible beneath the giant purple spots covering her face, the word they spelled out visible even from the back of the hall: SNEAK. It was acne far beyond any teenager's worst nightmare, and as soon as she heard the gasps, Marietta let out a distressed wail and dragged her hood back up over her head, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as she moaned.
"Never mind the spots," Umbridge said impatiently. "Tell your story!" Marietta only shook her head and wailed louder.
"Fine," Umbridge snapped. "I'll tell them." She turned to face the assembled D.A. members once more.
"Earlier this afternoon, Miss Edgecombe came to me with a very interesting story. She told me that she knew of a secret organization, one whose purpose was to practice Defense Against the Dark Arts in ways that blatantly went against Ministry regulations. Unfortunately, this…hex kicked in at that point and she spotted her reflection in my office mirror and refused to say anything further, but she'd already told me everything I needed to know. She was also kind enough to give me this list, which, of course, confirms all of you to be guilty."
"And here is where I must interrupt you, Dolores," Dumbledore said then, standing from his seat in the middle of the staff table. The students gazed at him curiously, wondering what he had to say.
"Oh?" Umbridge said, her girlish simper returning full force. "And what could you possibly have to say to that, Headmaster?"
"What proof do you have that this supposed group met anytime after the passage of Educational Decree Twenty-Four?" Dumbledore asked calmly. "It is true that they met once before, yes, but can you say for certain that they've met since?"
"How would you know that they met before the passage of the decree?" Umbridge asked sharply.
"It's quite simple," Dumbledore said, in a tone as if he were merely discussing the weather. "Look at that parchment again, Dolores – what does it say?" Umbridge narrowed her eyes at him but reread the parchment as he'd suggested.
"Dumbledore's Army," she murmured quietly, though every student somehow still heard her.
"Dumbledore's Army?" Fudge repeated, speaking for the first time. "Dumbledore's Army?"
"Precisely, Cornelius," Dumbledore said with a vague smile.
"Oho! So you've been behind this all along!" Fudge crowed. "I come here to expel students, and instead, I get to arrest you! Scheming behind my back this entire time, you've been!" Percy Weasley was scribbling furiously in the corner – Harry suspected he was in charge of recording the proceedings.
"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, Cornelius," Dumbledore said jovially.
"Wrong, Dumbledore?" Fudge spat. "Oh, no – not this time."
"Oh, yes. You see, I have no intention of being arrested – not tonight, at least," Dumbledore replied. "You still have a lot to learn, my friend – do forgive me for saying so."
Harry thought a vein was going to burst in Fudge's temple, the man was so mad. He commanded Kingsley and the other Auror to do something, but before anyone could so much as blink, Dumbledore whistled sharply, and Fawkes the phoenix materialized overhead. Fawkes let out a trill of phoenix song, the students gazing at him in awestruck wonder, and glided over to his master, who grasped the bird's tail feathers tightly. There was a blinding flash and a bang, and by the time everyone stopped seeing spots, the intruding adults were all knocked out cold and Dumbledore was gone.
"To your common rooms, all of you," Professor McGonagall ordered, though she was shaking badly. The D.A. obeyed without a second thought. What on earth had just happened?
The next morning, all anyone could talk about was the mysterious events of the night before. The rest of the student body hounded the D.A. members for information, but they were just as confused as everybody else. Nobody really knew how Dumbledore had escaped, nor why Umbridge didn't seem to recall the names of any of the students she'd held back. All anyone knew for sure was that Dumbledore was gone, and according to the decree that had hit the Prophet before breakfast, Umbridge had replaced him as head of Hogwarts.
"Just what we needed," Harry grumbled as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. "The last thing that hag needs is more power."
"Ah, but that doesn't mean we can't still mess her around," George Weasley contradicted.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her fruit-filled fork hovering in midair as she paused to look at him.
"Hermione," Fred chided, "George and I would've ditched Hogwarts ages ago if we weren't determined to stick around and help the Order as best we could. Our life goal is to open a joke shop – you don't exactly need N.E.W.T.s for that." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Fred quickly silenced her with a look.
"I'm serious, Hermione. George and I can't stand to see that old toad sitting up there in Dumbledore's chair acting like she owns the place. I heard the gargoyle won't let her in the head's office, but she's still got the title, and we want to do something about it. We don't need the formal marks, and she's been so bloody awful that we want to give her a taste of her own medicine – I know the article's due to go to press soon, but we can't just sit back and let her think she's won in the meantime." Hermione finally put her fork down and nodded.
"You're right," she said. "I just…don't want you to get caught, that's all. Knowing her, she'd do much worse than expel you."
"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione," George said, shaking his head slightly. "You're forgetting one very important thing."
"What's that?" she asked, genuinely curious. George gave her a slightly eerie grin.
"Have you ever known us to get caught?"
It wasn't hard to figure out what Fred and George's plan was, as it went into action shortly after lunch. Everyone was leaving the Great Hall for afternoon classes when a colossal explosion shook the castle, and the cause of the explosion was immediately evident when they saw the gigantic fireworks careening through the corridors. Huge Catherine wheels spun lethally through the air, sparklers wrote swear words in midair, and several massive dragons set off through the castle, letting off earsplitting roars and spitting multicolored sparks as they went. Umbridge, who'd come bursting out of her office demanding to know what was going on, shrieked as a sizzling rocket shot towards her, and when she tried to Stun it, it exploded with such force that Umbridge was thrown clear to the other end of the corridor, landing hard on her backside. Filch, who rather liked Umbridge and her views on punishment, was doing his best to help, but the broom he'd been using to bat at the fireworks was already ablaze, and his Squib status meant he couldn't do much more.
Rather than fizzle out like normal fireworks, these creations seemed to gain in strength the longer they burned, and as a result, Umbridge spent her first day as headmistress chasing them all over the school. The students were rather hard pressed to decide which they liked more – the impressive pyrotechnics, or the sight of a thoroughly disheveled Umbridge as she stumbled into her office in defeat later that night, a rogue sparkler still singeing her hair with naughty words as it followed her every move.
A/N: Next chapter - the article goes to print! Who's ready for it?
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JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&R, & enjoy! :)