Harry Potter
and the
Secret Prophecy

Alternate Universe Remix
fanfiction by Fox in the Stars

Chapter Eleven
Fire or Flood or War or Strife

Harry feared for a moment that he had committed another faux pas when he unthinkingly asked Cho if she was from a wizard home, but she seemed quite happy to answer that she was. Her father, Eric Chang, was from a family of Chinese wizards who had moved to England almost two centuries before, and he had named Cho after his favorite grandmother. Her mother, Yuzuki Ishikawa-Chang, was a Muggle-born graduate of the largest magic school in Japan. It turned out Cho had a Pureblood wizard father and a Muggle-born witch mother---"Just like me," he said, although thankfully her parents were both still alive.

For most of the journey, Harry found he didn't even have to say a thing; he could just sit watching Cho eat for hours, and she didn't seem to mind if he did. Despite her graceful table manners---she certainly didn't wolf anything---by the end of the trip her huge order of chocolates and cakes had indeed disappeared. She gave Ron her Chocolate Frog Cards, saying she didn't collect them herself, and Harry thought that perfectly sweet of her, especially when he got back from putting on his school robes and Ron excitedly showed him a card neither of them had seen before---a Lyra LaNoire. The woman pictured reading aloud from a book as she stood in front of a Wizard Wireless banner indeed bore a strong resemblance to the photographs of a younger Sirius.

Sirius... At the station, Lucius Malfoy had teased Harry that "that guard dog of yours" couldn't stand up to Dementors. Draco had taunted, "I'll be dogging you"... The lump swelled in his throat again, but then Cho asked "Is anything wrong, Harry?" When he looked over and caught her shining dark eyes, everything else seemed to fall aside. He got his necktie into a hopeless tangle, but Cho leaned over, tied it for him, and smoothed it down against his chest.

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Ron had to remind Harry not to forget Hedwig and his luggage. He floated down onto the platform like a happy red balloon, and his huge trunk felt feather-light as he loaded it onto one of the coaches bound for the castle. He only noted with detached bemusement that large, black, glistening horses stood hitched before each coach where nothing had been in the years before.

As they rode to the castle, Harry made a mental note not to forget his things this time---only to have forgotten that he was supposed to leave them on the carriage to be taken up to the dorm. Ron again got him back on course and they filed past the black horses who, Harry now saw, had scaly skin and batlike wings.

Once they had entered the castle and arrived in the great hall, Harry and Ron settled in at the Gryffindor table, where they met back up with Hermione and Ginny. Harry turned his head toward the Ravenclaw table, trying for a glimpse of Cho, but he hadn't caught sight of her before the hall fell silent at the clacking of a pair of high-heeled shoes and a broad shuffling sound following behind it.

Prof. Minerva McGonagall---the Transfiguration teacher, Head of Gryffindor House, and Deputy Headmistress---led a line of first-years across the front of the Great Hall, then ceremoniously placed a four-legged stool just in front of the head table. Upon the stool sat the ancient, shabby-looking Hogwarts Sorting Hat, and everyone in the hall watched it and waited in reverent silence.

Among the hat's many tears, one large one near the brim remained unpatched, and this gap opened wide as a mouth for the hat, as it did every year, to sing.

At Hogwarts are Four Houses;
In which one will you go?
You'll wear its pride your whole life long,
And so you're keen to know!
But first do let me have my say,
Now listen to my song,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,
Who knows where you belong!

Each House once had its Founder
---Oh, their faces I remember!---
But each knew none should learn alone;
They built this school together,
And each one had a special kind
Of student they thought best
And gathered in their namesake house,
Distinct among the rest.

Thus Slyth'rin vowed, "I'll teach those
"With ambition for the prize!"
Said Ravenclaw, "My students
"Will have minds both keen and wise."
"My pupils shall be brave and bold!"
Did Gryffindor proclaim,
And Hufflepuff: "The patient,
"Just, and true will bear my name."

But the Houses were not separate, no!
'Twas all four made the school,
Where even different rivals'
Common good would be the rule,
And all would strive to learn the truth,
Unswayed by friend or stranger,
In fire or flood or war or strife,
Resisting lies and danger.

Just think how dull would Hogwarts be
If we were all the same!
Just think how grand the many gifts
And principles we claim!
Just think how special is this school,
How loved by wizards all!
For Four as One stand strong and true
Though others rise and fall.

And now you come to take your place---
A great one it will be!
The time has come to Sort you all,
So put your trust in me!

The great hall erupted in thunderous applause, and Harry clapped as loudly as anyone.

"I thought this one was very good, didn't you?" Hermione said.

Harry glanced across the head table. Headmaster Dumbledore stood at center giving the hat a one-man standing ovation, and indeed hands were clapping all across the table. Even sour-faced Prof. Snape managed to look slightly less annoyed than usual and applaud. All of that pulled Harry's attention straight to the one person who didn't join in; one witch seated at the head table didn't clap but only scribbled on a clipboard, rustling the dirty-gold curls that shot out from behind the alice band in her hair.

Harry choked. "It's her!" he hissed to his friends.

"Who's which?" Ron asked, but the next moment the Great Hall hushed again as Professor McGonagall read from a scroll and instructed the first years to don the Sorting Hat when she called out their name and let it announce their house. Even her stern clear voice couldn't cut through Harry's shock. That witch at the head table was wearing a different robe, but again pink with ruffles. She had the same wide mouth with the same red drawn-on cherry...

"Abercrombie, Euan!" McGonnagall announced.

"Who's 'her,' Harry, what's going on?" Ginny asked.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting Hat called.

Harry and his friends took a moment to clap and cheer for Euan as his blank tie and hatkerchief magically turned red-and-gold and he ran over to their table.

"The new teacher, the one between Flitwick and Hooch," Harry pointed out. "She was at my hearing! She was... She was the pink toad woman!"

"The one with the werewolf question?" Hermione asked.

"That one, right!"

"But what would she be doing...?" Ron's question ground to a halt. Harry suspected they were all realising at the same time: only one teaching position was open, and the paper had said that Fudge was going to appoint a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor...

Several more students were Sorted in the dread-filled pause.

"Well surely... Surely if she got appointed she must be qualified for it..." Hermione suggested in a tone of pitiful desperation.

"Sure, Fudge must think she's 'qualified'..." Ron grumped.

"Lahiri, Aiman!" McGonagall read out.

"GRYFFINDOR!" came the speedy response.

Joining in the applause perked Harry up a little.

"Maybe she's not a teacher at all," Ginny said hopefully. "Maybe she's just here as an inspector or something, and they haven't got the new teacher yet."

"I hope you're right," Harry said.

"Let's just wait for Dumbledore to announce her..." Hermione said.

But Ginny was less patient. "Maybe Nick knows." She leaned over to Lavender Brown and sent a whisper relaying down the table to the House Ghost, "Nearly-Headless" Nick. As the Sorting continued, Harry watched it travel down the Gryffindor table to compete with Euan Abercrombie obviously questioning the pearly translucent cavalier about his nickname.

"Price, Legantine!"

Ginny hopped up in her seat and waved at the girl who was putting the Sorting Hat on, even though it presently called out "SLYTHERIN!" She started to sit, but bounced back up and waved again at "Randall, Kelley!" who was Sorted as "RAVENCLAW!"

"Do you know them?" Ron asked her.

"I talked to them on the train," she said.

Only after the demonstration that Nick grudgingly gave every year---tilting his head off his neck to show it attached by only a bit of skin---did the whisper about the new face at the head table start back toward them. It had only gotten as far as Fred and George when Prof. McGonagall called out "Zeller, Rose!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat declared.

"He says she just got here today!" Fred shouted down to Harry's group amid the Hufflepuffs' applause. Nick shook his head, grasping the bridge of his nose to keep it from wobbling.

As the applause died away, Dumbledore again stood at the center of the head table. He held a scroll in his hand. "Welcome, all of you, to a new year at Hogwarts," he said. It seemed he didn't even have to raise his voice for it to fill the huge room. "Unlike in previous years, I thought perhaps I would make the start of term announcements before the feast is served." With a flick of his little finger, he released part of his hold on the scroll; the trailing end of it fell past the surface of the head table, and the small tack! as it hit the floor echoed through the Great Hall, which had gone silent in befuddled horror.

Ron groaned and half-collapsed onto the table---Harry wasn't at all sure now that Ron had eaten more than one cauldron cake and one pumpkin pasty since that morning.

"...And then I came to my senses!" the Headmaster exulted, throwing the scroll aside in a flourish of parchment. "Bon Appétit!"

Amid laughs and cheers, the sumptuous start-of-term feast---prepared by the Hogwarts house-elves---magically appeared on the tables, and the Great Hall filled with a rumbling of hands reaching for dishes and voices getting to know new faces or catching up with old friends. Harry noticed the pink witch at the head table fetching the scroll from the floor, rewinding it, and seemingly attempting to discuss it over Dumbledore's shoulder with limited success.

Ron lost no time tucking into some beef roast and potatoes. Between the snacks on the train and apprehension about the new staff member, Harry's appetite might have suffered, but the delicious smells of the feast overcame that easily enough.

"Got a bit preachy this time didn't it? The hat I mean," Ron said, when his plate at last was mostly finished.

"I thought it was a great message, that we should all stand together," Hermione argued. "All the infighting between houses is such a waste..."

"I'm just waiting for Malfoy to go first, is all I'm saying."

"He might just be waiting for you, ever think of that?"

"Hermione, this is Draco we're talking about," Harry put in.

"You never know. Stranger things have happened," she maintained. "It does seem kind of mixed-up, though, that the Hat says that and then all the inter-house competitions will start right up. Maybe the House Cup is kind of a silly idea. Maybe we shouldn't all be playing Quidditch against each other."

"Now hold up right there!" Ron blurted, spraying the last of his potatoes. "We already missed Quidditch last year! Don't you go taking it away again; you'll have a riot on your hands!"

"I can't wait to get back out on the pitch!" Harry agreed. As Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he'd thought cancelling Quidditch in favor of the Triwizard Tournament the previous year to be a singularly bad trade---even before Voldemort had gotten involved.

"I'm thinking of trying out, too," Ginny said. "---And if they took away the house points system, then what would they do for discipline? I hope not take advice from Filch!"

"That's a good point," Hermione admitted. Argus Filch, the Hogwarts custodian, always loved to catch rulebreakers, together with his snooping cat Mrs. Norris. He had never forgiven the administration banning him from using shackles and medieval torture devices on his victims.

By this time they were quite pleasantly full, and as if to save Hermione from her friends' ganging up, the feast blinked away to be replaced by an abundance of rich desserts. Harry caught sight of some butterbeer ice cream floats, and after finishing one of them and a thick slab of chocolate cake, he was utterly stuffed.

"If I may have your attention please," Headmaster Dumbledore announced from the head table, standing again. "This term there are a number of announcements to make. Firstly I would like to welcome all our new students, and also a new member of our staff, whom the Ministry of Magic has kindly sent to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Dolores Umbridge!"

Indeed, the fat witch in pink stood up as she was announced; Harry's heart sank, but he clapped his hands awkwardly a few times for the sake of politeness.

This time it was Hermione who was thunderstruck. "Umbridge!?" she cried under her breath, totally forgetting to join the applause. "Did he say Dolores Umbridge??"

"Yeah, I think so," Harry said.

"I must also announce more soberly," Dumbledore continued before Hermione could explain her reaction, "that our esteemed gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures instructor, Rubeus Hagrid, is currently on personal leave, and we hope for his return later in the term."

Harry thought he heard a loud whisper from the Slytherin table---"...Using the word 'hope' very loosely..."---followed by a round of surreptitious chuckles.

"Once again Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank has kindly agreed to fill in until that time."

Hagrid was still gone? That was almost as much a disappointment to Harry as the Defense professor. Over the Summer, Hagrid had gone with Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons to try to form an alliance with the giants, since they were each half giant themselves. Was this long an absence a good sign or a bad one? At any rate he supposed it could be covered for; surely it would be understandable if Hagrid just wanted a vacation after the reporter Rita Skeeter had so rudely revealed his giant heritage to the whole world last term...

"I will now turn over the floor to Professor Umbridge, who has a few short announcements of her own," Dumbledore said at last, and with a gesture toward her, he sat down.

Umbridge stood up, cleared her throat---"hem-hem!"---and produced the scroll Dumbledore had tossed aside earlier. "Having been appointed as Senior Field Minister for Education and also as Hogwarts Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, I have here several statements that I would like to read on behalf of the Ministry of Magic." She unrolled about a foot of the scroll, turning each end smartly as she read to take up the slack, but no one had forgotten seeing how long it was as she began. "Be it known henceforth to all students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, their parents, guardians, and other concerned persons, that neither the Ministry of Magic under Cornelius Fudge nor the Educational Field offices thereof headed by Dolores Umbridge, had any prior knowledge or bear any responsibility regarding any statements made . . ."

Harry's eyelids sagged before the end of even one tortuous sentence. Between her tuneless voice droning on and his own packed stomach, he foggishly understood the gist: the Ministry was disavowing everything Dumbledore had said at the end of last term, everything the students had ever been taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and anything to do with the school's current administration and staff whatever. Scattered clattering and tinkling noises about the hall indicated several students revisiting dessert as she went on to expound on the "challenges" of teaching Defense at the current time and the Ministry's response thereto, and although Prof. Umbridge spoke on the subject for at least twenty minutes and went into exacting detail, Harry ended with absolutely no idea what she intended to teach and not a single notion of what he would encounter when he stepped into her classroom.

At last Umbridge put the scroll away, and the Great Hall roused itself to a perfunctory round of applause.

"Well, there you have it," Dumbledore announced; he was the only person in the room still wearing an energetic smile. "I don't suppose there's anything that I can add to such wonderful thoroughness, and I can only send you all off to your dorms with wishes for a good year!"

"So Hermione, why'd her name set you off?" Ginny asked amid the dull roar of students rising from their seats.

"Dolores Umbridge gets mentioned in the Daily Prophet all the time!" Hermione said. "Back in the gritty politics pages, I could see where you might miss it, but---"

She stopped as a diffident voice called out nearby. "First Years--- I mean, Gryffindor First Years, this way... I think...?"

"I have to go; I'll tell you later!" Hermione said, and leapt up to skirt around the table.

She joined the crowd of first years who gathered around an unconfident, round-faced figure; Harry saw the other Gryffindor Prefect badge glitter in the light of the floating candles, and despite himself he stared slack-jawed.

"That's right," Hermione announced brightly. "Gryffindor First Years, gather right here and follow me and Neville."

Ron tore himself away from staring over his shoulder. "Neville??" he mouthed.

"I... I suppose," Harry managed.

"Look, though, isn't it cute?" Ginny said.

The prefects had set off with the First Years and were now out of earshot. In a detached sort of way, Harry admitted it did look cute with Hermione and Neville leading the smaller students like a pair of mother ducks. Neville occasionally glanced behind him, and Harry suspected that only Hermione's hand on his shoulder was keeping him from slipping down the ranks and just following her lead with the First Years. Neville wasn't always the best at finding Gryffindor Tower anyway.

How could they pick him instead of---?? Harry caught himself and shut down the thought.

But he wasn't alone with it. "I can't believe it!" Ron whispered as they got up. "How could we lose to Neville??"

Monday began classes as only a Monday could: Potions first thing, then Care of Magical Creatures, both with Slytherin. Prof. Snape at least didn't take any points from Gryffindor, as they didn't yet have any, but he did not waste the chance to give his favored Slytherins a headstart as he lectured about the project for their double-length lab later in the week: Catalytical Potion, crucial in the preparation and measuring of ingredients for many advanced concoctions. He made it quite clear to the students that failure in this first lesson would hobble them for the rest of the term if not the rest of their careers. Harry wasn't looking forward to it, but Neville looked downright wretched, as if his Prefect badge pinning him up was the only thing keeping him from wilting in despair.

Prof. Grubbly-Plank then held a lecture on the lawn---her standard start-of-term lecture, she said---regarding basic safety principles to observe when interacting with magical creatures, and she demonstrated them by play-acting with her own grizzled and unshakeable border collie. Looking forward to Hagrid's return despite his love of particularly dangerous animals, Harry paid close attention to this lesson, although he occasionally did look over toward Hagrid's hut standing dark and silent.

On the way back to the castle, Harry, Ron, and Hermione fell into step together. "So what was the trouble with the new teacher?" Ron asked Hermione. "Why'd her name set you off?"

"Because I've seen it in the Daily Prophet so much," Hermione said. "It seems like every time they're reporting on some stupid new law, she's involved. After Third Year all the new werewolf regulations were her pet project."

"So she was the one who banned Professor Lupin from the school??" Harry questioned.

Hermione nodded.

"I like her already," Draco Malfoy called as he passed near them. Pansy Parkinson giggled at his elbow.

"You would, snow princess!" Ron snapped.

"Careful insulting a Prefect, Weasley!" Malfoy exulted. "I'll ignore it this time."

"'Snow princess'?" Harry questioned.

"Oh, it means a prat like him, somebody who's got so much 'Pure Blood' they're practically not human."

"So it's like calling someone a 'mudblood,' just going the other way," Hermione declared sternly.

"It's not the same at all!" Ron insisted. "I'd never call anyone a--- Besides, you only use 'snow princess' if they're being berks about it."

"It's an insult for people you don't like instead of people they don't like, and that makes it okay, does it?" she persisted as they entered the castle.

"That badge is going to your head!"

"Let's check the class schedule!" Harry broke in with the best thing he could think of. "We can at least see when we've got Umbridge so we can brace ourselves..."

The schedule was posted on a wall in the Great Hall, where students were starting to gather as classes let out for lunch, although Harry and his friends still had a few minutes to go and change out of the heavier work robes they were wearing for Potions and Creatures. They located Defense Against the Dark Arts in a double session Friday afternoons following free periods in the morning---which gave them the entire week to imagine what they might come up against in Umbridge's class.

"Hi, Harry!"

He looked around. Cho was there at the Ravenclaw table along with Marietta and a knot of other friends. She waved at Harry and he waved back. He watched as she chatted with her friends and laughed---a light, musical, bird-song sort of laugh. At length she noticed him still looking at her and waved again; again he waved back.

"Um, Harry?"

"Hm?" He turned back to his friends to find that they'd started to leave without his noticing.

"Are you going to come change or not?" Ron asked.

"Oh, right!" He hurried after them, but as they walked through the familiar twists and turns of Hogwarts' stone hallways and neared the portrait of the Fat Lady who guarded the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, he found that the new password had escaped him.

Luckily, Hermione had taken the point anyway. "Fire or Flood or War or Strife," she said, and the painting swung open.

As the first week of class progressed, Harry kept wondering to himself why, oh, why was Ravenclaw the only other house that Gryffindor didn't have a class with. In two subjects they were paired with Slytherin, in Herbology with Hufflepuff, but nothing at all with Ravenclaw! It wasn't until sometime Wednesday afternoon that he remembered: Cho was a year ahead of him and his friends anyway.

McGonagall of course gave Transfiguration homework right away. Prof. Flitwick in Charms and Prof. Sprout in Herbology said in their initial lectures that OWLs preparation was a major goal in their classes this year---but especially in Charms, there was still the grade five material to cover, so exam preparation meant that much more work for the students. Harry and his friends came out of Flitwick's class with daily review assignments as well as their usual reading and practice.

Professor Snape, on the other hand, arched one black eyebrow above his hooked nose when Parvati Patil brought up the OWLs during his class Thursday afternoon. "The sole aim of my class," he said in his icy drawl, "is to make you into competent Potioners --- despite overwhelming odds in some cases." The Slytherins all chuckled as he sneered over a ladleful of Neville's Catalytical Potion, which had developed glowing pink lumps. "I can only hope for your sakes that that is what the Ministry's examiners intend to measure."

Fifth Year was certainly going to be the hardest yet, Harry thought as he tried to balance his homework assignments and still keep the weekend free for Quidditch practice. When he first noticed Ginny huddled in near Hermione's study spot in the common room, scribbling madly on parchments to all hours of the night, he thought perhaps the increase in workload was a generalised change sweeping the school, but over the next few days he noticed what she was really doing: she sped through her homework every evening, then pushed it aside, took out her "plucky reporter" notes, and set about writing for Lee's paper.

Meanwhile, Professor Umbridge's Defense Against the Dark Arts class became more and more of a mystery. Not even those who had attended seemed to know anything about it. Her classroom was near the lecture hall where Harry sat through History of Magic early in the week with Prof. Binns, a teacher who had died many years ago without noticing and continued classes as a ghost, and whom all the students found terribly boring even for a dead person. When the class time was up, Harry and his friends left Binns still droning on as usual, at the same time that the younger Hufflepuffs dismissed by Umbridge filed out into the hallway. They found Ginny waiting there with her notebook, and she gave Harry and her brother a smile and a wave before asking any of the Hufflepuffs she could catch about Umbridge's class. None of them responded with enough energy to be audible at Harry's distance, and as the younger students mixed with the crowd of fifth-years leaving History, they all seemed to have the same vaguely befuddled look on their faces.

Later that day, when Harry and Ron returned from an afternoon of Divination in the heavily perfumed haze of Prof. Trelawney's incense smoke filled tower, they found Fred and George just getting back from classes as well. Being seventh years, the twins had just had an all-day dose of Defense with Prof. Umbridge. "That's a year of Tuesdays we'll never be getting back," was all they had to say about the experience.

Harry scarcely even wanted to peek inside the textbook for a foretaste. He thought about doing it Wednesday afternoon when he and Ron had free periods and Hermione was off at Double Runes, then again Friday Morning when there were no classes to distract him from the clock ticking on toward lunch with Defense to come directly after. Instead he busied himself with his Transfiguration homework.

Lunch at last came and went, and the fifth year Gryffindors filed down to Prof. Umbridge's classroom. Harry tried to put all his apprehensions out of mind; what could Umbridge do to him that would be worse than Lockhart's dangerous incompetence, two bona-fide servants of Lord Voldemort who had taught the subject, and of course four years of Snape? Hermione, however, wore a look of grim determination that didn't help put him at ease.

As they entered, the classroom looked ordinary --- perhaps even too ordinary. The desks were lined up in meticulous rows, their chairs all neatly pushed in. The chalkboard was utterly clean and black except for guidelines traced onto it and letters written so neatly they almost seemed printed:

Defense Against the Dark Arts
Professor Dolores Umbridge
Senior Field Minister for Education

A return to basic princples.
Students will:
Learn fundamental defensive theory
Learn to identify situations where defensive magic may legally be used
Learn techniques to resolve situations without the use of defensive magic
Learn the proper Ministry offices to contact in case of danger
Participate in guided practice of principles discussed

Today's lesson: Read Slinkhard pgs. 5-12. Discuss.

Harry took a seat and opened the textbook at last. The indicated section was the introduction: "A New Framework for Defensive Magical Theory." Parvati and Dean both began reading right away, but Harry waited, along with Ron, Seamus, and --- to his surprise --- Hermione.

Soon Dolores Umbridge sauntered into the room from her side office, dressed in a pink pants-suit with a long brown crocheted vest; it was as if someone's elderly aunt had attempted professional attire without ever having seen a businessperson in the flesh. Her powdered-and-painted face looked even more ridiculously theatrical up close; Harry thought he heard Seamus squelch a snigger.

"Hem-hem." Umbridge pointedly ignored the sound and picked up her clipboard. "I trust we have all seen the assignment on the chalkboard. For future lessons, our readings will be assigned in advance, not to worry. However, for the start of today's class, let us please read the Introduction quietly to ourselves."

Parvati raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss...?"

"Parvati Patil." She pointed at the chalkboard. "What does it mean about 'guided practice'?"

"Miss Patil, I believe the phrase 'guided practice' is quite clear," Prof. Umbridge said, her voice dripping with false, condescending sweetness.

"Well, I ask because the other objectives don't say anything about spells," Parvati explained. "All the OWLs prep guides I've looked at mention a practical component of the Defense test, so I hoped we'd be practicing spells..."

"We will be participating in guided practice of the principles discussed in this class," Umbridge said, quoting the board almost exactly without even glancing at it. "If the Ordinary Wizarding Level is the cause of your worries, you should know that the Ministry's Academic Examination Bureau makes it a rule to confer with the instructor of a subject in designing that year's test. We have no reason to fear."

At that, Parvati relaxed. However, Harry was in the seat just behind Hermione, and he noticed her back stiffen and her knuckles curl beside her still-closed textbook.

"Now, let's begin our reading, shall we?" Prof. Umbridge clucked, patronisingly chipper. "We can deal with any other questions afterward."

As instructed, Harry turned to the textbook. Defense Against the Dark Arts, it explained, was surely a cornerstone of any young Witch or Wizard's education, but "new challenges" had emerged in recent years for which the traditional approach to the subject was ill-prepared. "Many wizards remember times of violence and strife even within their own lifetimes..." the book continued.

It was the war! Harry thought testily. You people can't say Voldemort's name; can't you even admit there was a war??

"...But we have thankfully shut the book on that dark chapter of history. Clinging to attitudes it taught us will not prepare us for a new world in which understanding and co-operation are more crucial to our safety than the ability to cast violent spells on an imagined attacker."

Harry felt his eyebrows twist up in confusion. What was this author talking about? Understanding and co-operation were goals he could get behind --- but not ones he would ever have expected Umbridge to teach. More to the point, he had never once had toimagine an attacker to defend himself from with "violent spells," and the book had certainly not been shut on the Dark Lord, no matter how much anybody wanted to believe it.

He glanced around to try to gauge his classmates' reactions, but found that Umbridge was walking up and down the rows of desks, looking over all their shoulders to make sure they were doing as told. He tucked his head back down and hoped he hadn't been noticed.

"Lingering suspicion serves only to marginalise many great wizards and cast doubt on their contributions to society."

Oh, like the Malfoys, Harry realised. Was that who he was supposed to understand and co-operate with?

"We have all been shocked by news headlines of violence of wizard against wizard. Traditional Defensive teaching has been unable to stem this violence and may indeed contribute to it through the potential for misunderstanding to escalate..." Harry sat trying to think of a single newspaper headline where anything he'd learned in Defense had caused a shocking violent incident "through the potential for misunderstanding to escalate."

Both those ponderings and his reading were cut short by the slight sound of footsteps and the sense of a large, warm body moving nearer. Prof. Umbridge was passing Harry's desk on her patrol. His mind froze as he felt her beady eyes drilling into the back of his neck, and he only stared desperately at his book as she came up where he could hear her breath. One more step and she was beside his desk...

And there she stopped. "Hem-hem."

Harry slowly unbent his neck. Umbridge was not looking at him, but down over Hermione's shoulder --- the textbook was still closed on her desk.

"Do we have a problem here, Miss...?"

"Hermione Granger." She had to turn sharply to face the teacher. "I've read the assignment already, Ma'am."

"In that case perhaps we should read it a second time," Umbridge suggested. Her voice had that extra dollop of sickly syrup that Harry was coming to read as annoyance.

"I've read it three times already Ma'am; I've read the entire book."

"Well, that shows a good deal of initiative. If you enjoy the book so much, why don't you just refresh yourself on it while letting your classmates get on with their reading?" With that, Umbridge started off again, apparently considering the matter closed.

But Hermione didn't. "Because I disagree with it, Ma'am," she said firmly.

That brought Prof. Umbridge up short. She walked around behind her desk to face Hermione from the vantage point of a teacher's full authority. "You disagree with it," she echoed. "You, Miss Granger, disagree with the Ministry-approved text." Harry had been wrong about the extra syrup. This was what Umbridge sounded like when annoyed. "And in what way do you disagree with the authorities in the field, Miss Granger?"

Harry was impressed to see his friend --- usually a teacher's pet --- not backing down an inch. "For one thing," Hermione said, "the entire text assumes that human wizards are never malicious. For every situation it tells you to reason with them, and I agree with trying that first, but the book doesn't talk about anything to do if that doesn't work."

"And why shouldn't it work?" Umbridge asked.

"Because not every person who might try to hurt you will just let you talk them out of it. Sometimes there are problems you just can't deal with that way."

"Ah, because some of our fellow wizards are violent beasts who cannot be reasoned with, is that it, Miss Granger?" Umbridge asked. Her syrup was back.

"That isn't what I---"

"I was warned, of course, that I might encounter such unfortunate attitudes in this school," the teacher continued, ignoring Hermione's response. "As students here, none of you can be properly blamed; it is the administration and staff who have so shamefully failed."

"What do you mean 'failed'?" Dean blurted out.

"Excuse me, Mr...?"

"Dean Thomas."

"In the future, Mr. Thomas, we will all raise our hands if we wish to speak," Umbridge said. "Headmaster Dumbledore has had difficulty staffing this position for a number of years now, a fact which in itself deserves explanation, but even granting that, he has committed some unpardonable errors."

"Oh, like Lockhart," Seamus piped up. When Umbridge turned to him, he belatedly put up his hand.

"Mr...?"

"Finnegan. Seamus Finnegan."

"Mr. Lockhart was a well-renowned expert in his field," Umbridge said, as grave and sweet as a paid funeral mourner. "We should ask you, Mr. Finnegan, to show more respect for a man who suffered debilitating injury in the heroic cause of teaching you."

Even as Lavender made a tragic little whimper and several classmates sunk shamefacedly into their chairs, Harry fought an urge to roll his eyes. Was a well-renowned phony in the heroic cause of photo-posing. Lockhart had spent his entire career magically erasing the memories of less photogenic heroes and researchers and claiming their exploits for his own as a path to fame and fortune. He would probably still be doing it if his own Memory Charm hadn't backfired on him when he aimed it at Harry and Ron.

"By unpardonable errors," Umbridge explained, "I mean that in the past two years Dumbledore has employed professors who cast illegal curses not only in front of you but upon you..."

Ron put up his hand. "You can't blame Dumbledore for that; it wasn't really the teacher he'd hired."

"Mr...?"

"Weasley."

"In the future, Mr. Weasley, we will all raise our hands and wait to be called upon if we wish to speak," Umbridge declared. "And the Headmaster is properly held responsible for who is teaching any class at all times, and for authorising the content of any lesson."

Ron cast Harry a questioning, expectant glance as Umbridge lectured him. Harry pushed down his eyebrows and twitched his shoulders in a gesture of "What do you want me to do?"

Personally, though, he thought the hands-on lessons in resisting the Unforgiveable Imperius Curse were the most useful thing he'd ever learned, although it certainly did give him a chill to know now that he'd been under the spell of a real Death Eater.

"His choices have also to exposed you all to the presence of extremely dangerous Dark Creatures..."

Dean raised his hand.

"...Of a kind which should only be dealt with by highly experienced Ministry professionals. Yes, Mr. Thomas?"

"If you mean Professor Lupin, I felt safer with him here than anyone else we've had. He knew how to handle every creature he brought in."

Umbridge's wide mouth tightened up and she regarded Dean with a piercing, too-compassionate gaze. "All except one," she pronounced, "and it by far the worst."

"Ah, a violent beast who cannot be reasoned with, is that it?" Hermione remarked tartly.

From what Harry could see, no one needed an extra hint to know that "it" was Lupin himself. Surely the very idea that only "highly experienced Ministry professionals" could safely deal with their kindhearted former teacher must strike everyone in the room as absurd...

"We had not called on you, Miss Granger. Ten points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn."

Hermione didn't bother to raise her hand for anything further. She angrily tapped the edge of her textbook on her desk, twisted around for a moment, and caught Harry's eye over her shoulder. Ron was still casting looks at him, too. Do they expect me to blow up at her? Harry wondered. Did they want him to? Certainly he was disgusted by her attitude, but he was in no way keen to get into trouble with even such a farce of a teacher...

"It is quite understandable," Prof. Umbridge continued, "that being so irresponsibly exposed to these dangerous elements and to certain statements made, that many of us would succumb to an unrealistic sense of threat. Some of these lessons may have been appropriate for advanced students going into Auror training, but in a generalised course of study, they serve only to confuse and mislead us. It is simply not the case that villains lurk around every corner to cast Unforgiveable Curses on us, and the Ministry is at our disposal in the highly unlikely event that we encounter one. The terrible danger we have been led to believe in simply does not exist, and it is high time this subject was taught in such a way as to address that reality."

Seamus and Hermione each raised a hand.

"...Miss Granger?"

"'Addressing reality' is just what I'm concerned about, Ma'am. I've been looking at the 'Guided Practice' exercises in the textbook and they're obviously not realistic at all! In the only one where the characters resort to spells, the defender casts 'Orchideous' and conjures up flowers instead of attacking, and then the aggressor starts crying and suddenly it's as if they're best friends!"

Seamus doubled over with what sounded like a constricted sneeze and choking fit. Dean and Parvati began searching their textbooks with far more energy than Umbridge could have inspired, and Harry also couldn't resist flipping to a Guided Practice to see if Hermione was exaggerating. She wasn't.

"I know the examination board will confer with you," she said, "but I really don't think this will get us through the practical OWL."

Parvati didn't think so either, Harry guessed, judging by the look on her face as she leafed desperately about the textbook.

"Now, now, no need for us all to become alarmed," Umbridge insisted. "Paradigm shifts don't happen all in a day, do they? Please just leave worrying about the examinations to the instructor for now. Mr. Finnegan, I believe you had a comment...?"

Seamus had mostly recovered but was still dabbing tears from his eyes. "I was just going to say, if there's really no big danger, what about the maniac who impersonated the teacher last year and was casting spells on us? He existed, didn't he? And nobody caught him until the end of term."

"What about the werewolf, if those are so terrible?" Dean jumped in to add.

"Speaking out of turn, Mr. Thomas; ten points," Umbridge declared.

In the meantime, Neville had put up his hand.

"Yes, Mr...?"

"Long- Neville--- ah, Neville Longbottom. Ma'am."

"Yes, Neville?"

"What about s-Sirius b-b-Black, Ma'am?" Neville quavered. "They never caught him."

"Hey, yeah!" Ron burst out. "That night I woke up and he was standing over my bed with a knife! I guess I should've just asked him nicely, 'Oh, Mr. Black, may I nip out and send a quick owl to the Ministry, and then would you mind terribly waiting until they come catch you before you stab me?' He might have agreed to it! Worth a try, eh?"

Ron caught Harry's eye as he held forth. Is he needling me on purpose, talking about Sirius like that?? Harry wondered. Ron knew perfectly well that Sirius hadn't wanted to hurt him that night; he'd been after Scabbers, the pet rat that had turned out to be Pettigrew in his Animagus form.

Seamus clamped his hands over his face and again made choking sounds of suppressed laughter.

"Speaking out of turn and cheek, Mr. Weasley; twenty points," Prof. Umbridge declared. "That unfortunate incident is also the responsibility of the school administration. Headmaster Dumbledore severely limited his allowances to the Azkaban Guards and thus prevented Black's prompt capture."

Hooray for Dumbledore! Harry thought to himself.

Hermione raised her hand again.

"Yes, Miss Granger? Do we have something we wish to say?"

"Yes, we do," Hermione said. "You said werewolves are too dangerous, but now you're saying Dumbledore should have let Dementors into the school when they're much worse!"

"The Azkaban Guards are in the employ of the Ministry of Magic, Miss Granger, and despite what certain radical critics may claim, they are quite safe except to the rare deserving criminal."

Apparently that means me, Harry thought, having been attacked by them twice now, to say nothing of the effect of merely being near one. He caught himself testily drumming his fingers on the desk and stuffed his fist into his other hand to stop it, but Dean and Lavender had already noticed and stared at him, as did Ron. Harry glared at his friend then looked sharply away.

"And another ten points for cheek," Umbridge added. By now, however, none of Harry's classmates seemed as interested in House Points as in challenging Umbridge and her ridiculous textbook. Even Parvati and Lavender began muttering to each other rather than heeding the teacher, and Dean leaned over to whisper something to Hermione --- the usual model student who this time had led the mutiny.

"Unfortunately," Umbridge called out, shrilling loudly to try to regain the class's attention, "it must be acknowledged that these events did occur --- however, we must understand that these are very unusual occurrences. That they should have been concentrated around this school in the past several years is a mere coincidence, which the Ministry is looking into, have no fear. The fact remains: statements you have heard about some... tremendous resurgence of danger, some imminent lurking threat... are. completely. false. As your assigned reading states, we wizards and witches have recently closed the book on a very dark chapter of history, and young people like yourselves should look back on that history and feel blessed not to have experienced it firsthand --- not use it to frighten yourselves and your peers." She caught Harry's eye and stared directly at him on those words. "The recent rumors that we are living once again in such perilous times are the product of someone's fertile imagination... and. nothing. more."

Harry felt a feverish heat well up from his belly as Umbridge stared at him eye-to-eye and let her words fall one by one. This was not the heat of shame, but of anger. Again, no one needed any prodding to know that she was really talking about Harry's 'fertile imagination' creating the rumors of the Dark Lord's return. It was true: not only could they not admit he was back now, Umbridge couldn't even bring herself to mention that Voldemort had ever existed, that it had ever been a war...

All Harry's classmates looked on as he and the teacher faced off. The room went so quiet that the others must be holding their breath waiting for what would happen.

The last thing I need is to get in trouble with a teacher... Arguing with her won't help anything... Harry repeated to himself, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He met her gaze unblinkingly for that torturously long moment, but he remained quite silent.

At last Umbridge showed a smile of false-kindly satisfaction, apparently thinking that Harry was properly cowed. "Now then, we've had a lively little discussion already, haven't we? But let's get back to our lesson. Miss Granger, I daresay a fourth reading wouldn't hurt you a bit," the teacher said, then turned and crossed back to the chalkboard. Harry at last breathed freely as he saw her set an enchanted, three-headed chalk-holder drawing the guidelines, then stepped onto a footstool to reach the highest ones. Presently he was morbidly fascinated and disturbed as he watched Umbridge and discovered that the inhumanly-perfect script on the chalkboard was indeed her handwriting.

"Harry!" Ron whispered from the desk next to his as he turned back to the textbook at last. Umbridge was scribbling away obliviously on the chalkboard, and Lavender and Parvati were already whispering again.

"What?"

"What's the silent act? You're letting her spout all that?"

"Well, what do you want me to do about---??"

"Mr. Potter."

Umbridge stepped back off her footstool and turned around quite deliberately. "We're glad that you've finally decided to join the class discussion, although it is reading time now."

He threw himself back against his chair. 'Speaking out of turn, ten points;' who cares?

"Perhaps you have something you'd like to say? Hmm...?"

To his surprise, Umbridge approached his desk and locked eyes with him again. One pale eyebrow perked up, along with one corner of her wide mouth, tugging the painted cherry in the middle of her lips slightly toward that side.

That twitch of her mouth finally struck a spark over the volatile heat in Harry's gut. She's trying to draw me out. She wants me to blow up at her. All right, Professor Umbridge... He decided not to give her the satisfaction of a shouting match, but if this was the way she wanted it, he wasn't going to pull any punches.

He spoke very clearly and deliberately. "Yes, there is something I'd like to say: if Voldemort isn't back, then why is Cedric Diggory dead?"

He heard Lavender smother a scream. Neville made a little squeak. Parvati, Dean, and Seamus stared, but he thought he saw Hermione straighten up proudly.

"Young Mr. Diggory's death was a tragic accident," Umbridge said firmly.

"How do you know? You weren't there!" Ron shot back.

Umbridge didn't break her staring contest with Harry to dock Ron any points, nor even as she answered him. "The Ministry of Magic has reviewed the physical and forensic evidence in the case and has determined that it was an accident."

"'Forensic evidence' my foot!" Harry declared, forgetting his intention not to shout. "Accidents leave marks!! The Killing Curse doesn't."

This time Lavender cried aloud and buried her face in her hands. Neville went white and trembled.

Umbridge surveyed the stunned reactions. "This classroom is hardly the place to conduct a criminal investigation, Mr. Potter," she clucked, smiling at him even amid the air of disaster. "We can't have you terrifying your classmates with such theatrics now, can we? You will have detention with me, Mr. Potter, but for now you may do your reading in the office while the rest of us continue. The Introduction and Chapter One." She opened the door for him.

Harry snatched up his book and marched into Umbridge's office without another word. At least it got him out of class early. When she shut the door behind him, he was hardly in the mood to go on reading Wilbert Slinkhard's drivel. He threw the book hard --- but not as hard as he would have liked --- onto her spotless desk and flopped down in a chair, seizing a fistful of his hair in frustration.

Fred and George hadn't known the half of it, but they certainly had a point. This was a year of Fridays Harry would never be getting back.

to be continued in...
Chapter Twelve: Quidditch Trials

Author's Notes on Chapter Eleven

A request: if you like this chapter, please post a review and name one specific thing in it that you liked. If you want to say more or give your own crit, that's great, but I realised that the "one specific thing" is a simple kind of comment I love to get, so I'd much appreciate if you would just do that.

Revisions: The version of Secret Prophecy I'm posting at this stage is open to change. Currently I'm polishing these chapters after they've cooled for awhile, but I don't have a full draft of the entire story, so while this isn't what I'd call a beta, I do foresee another round of revisions once I have a complete draft.

Once again, can't accuse myself of getting nothing done, although this one ran long in a really big way. Not much for it, tho. These author's notes run long, too, but what the heck...

For starters, I admit it's hideously fanficcish to make Cho half-Japanese; so sue me. The main appeal was just muddying it up, suggesting that life is more complex than "Cho Chang" "recent Chinese extraction."

You'll probably notice the absence of Luna Lovegood on the train. I liked her, don't get me wrong, but I... um... frankly don't have any use for her, so she's on the cutting room floor. I thought it was straining believability, for one thing, to have the heroes not have noticed such an aggressively quirky character before, and while I find her quite charming, on a meta-story level I, as a geek, also feel her as something of a shameful stereotype. Rowling could have given the geeks a human face, instead she took it too far and gave us a nutter. An adorable nutter, I grant, but upon review, the judges find that biscuit must be withheld. Sorry.

One bit of canon-vengeance I planned from the start of this project was the Sorting Hat Song, Non-Crack-Smoking Version. Apparently in canon, Slytherin is just plain evil, and Hufflepuff is the Reject Room. "Yeah, that heroic kid who bit it a few months ago? Nobody wanted him, either." On a less petty level, I am quite proud of the song I came up with---but when Hermione praised it, that was her getting political, not me being egotistical. (Sorry, Ron, it's not the badge; she's just like that. BTW, folks, the "snow princess" thing just hit me out of nowhere; I'm not sure it fits, but there it sits for the current draft anyway.)

Legantine (the "leg" is pronounced as in "legend"), one of the first years, is named as an anagram-homage of Eglantine Price, the Angela Lansbury character in the movie "Bedknobs and Broomsticks." They bear no further resemblance or relation to each other.

Going into the latter part of the chapter, I was still trying to get a handle on Umbridge, how I wanted to play her and how mind-bendingly useless and outright humiliating her class was. I tried for "incompetent teacher" touches like her inability to maintain control and inconsistent discipline. More importantly, I didn't want to play Umbridge as transparently evil as in canon (for example, she refers to the "dangerous werewolf" with that paid-mourner syrupy gravity, not with a nasty little laugh), but I did want to make her every bit as cloying. For one thing, my Umbridge's use of the first-person plural was calculated to be irritatingly presumptuous, yet wholly in keeping with the facade of good intentions. Something I found unavoidable in that vein but I do want to mention: it would be too easy to read Umbridge as a Stupid Liberal, with the touchy-feely non-violence and such. However, I think it more proper to view her and her ilk as co-opting some Liberal aspects for their own purposes---e.g. her warm fuzzy tolerance extends mainly to rich powerful people she likes.

(BTW, I belatedly realised that Harry sees the Hufflepuffs get out of class with Umbridge and hears Fred and George talk about having her all day, er, on the same day. But I decided to leave it as it was. Whatever you do, don't try to add up a Hogwarts class schedule from the professors' end; you'll hurt yourself.)

Something else that came up in the class: Parvati and Lavender frustrate me. Near as I can tell, they're the only two Gryffindor girls in Harry's year besides Hermione, and I just felt like I didn't have anything to work with in them. They're Trelawney's groupies---no accounting for brains there---and neither of them has been shown to be much more. Occasionally I worry about gender balance because in filling in my own HP world I tend to go with adding strong and/or interesting female characters whenever possible, but despite any numerical equality that can be pointed to, let's face it: the canon can be pretty sexist. Trying to write Parvati and Lavender made me remember that as I hadn't in some time, as I found that those two were coming across to me as the shallowest people in the room, and I didn't know what I could realistically do about it. At the least, I think Parvati is worried about the tests because she wants to be a Healer, and so does need very strong test scores. (Am I missing something? If somebody can explain to me how Lavender Brown is Boss and Cool, please do! Except I'm not going to read HBP or DH, so don't bother telling me to.)

Speaking of the tests, our favorite "snarky git" teacher did not break character (I hope), but I have to say I like his attitude toward the students' exams.

On a general level, as I wrote this I was also struggling to get a handle on writing the school portion of the story. (It doesn't help that I'm quite a Moony and Padfoot person, so my favorite characters have been removed from play for the most part until Christmas Holiday.) By the end I felt like I was finding my feet a bit more, but it was still fodder for the regularly-scheduled attack of "OMG, I suck at this all'va sudden!" ;

Also I note that in the canon (I know, I said I wouldn't go sniffing there...), Harry had a lot more trouble with his classmates buying into the official line discrediting him than what I've... er, gotten 'round to showing yet. I did always think that was a bit silly, though; I mean the boys in his house and year---who sleep in the same dorm with him, for goshsakes---you wouldn't expect them to just buy this drivel unless they're dumber than I believe any of these people to be.