Harry Potter
and the
Secret Prophecy
Alternate Universe Remix
fanfiction by Fox in the Stars
Chapter Twelve
Quidditch Trials
Harry slowly calmed down, and he managed to read most of the assigned section of the textbook out of sheer boredom. He lifted his head and listened through the office door to the "classroom discussion," which near as he could tell consisted mainly of Umbridge herself saying again what Slinkhard had said in the book, and taking four times as long to do it. Occasionally he did hear a student's voice, but it seemed Umbridge was maintaining classroom control now by avoiding calling on Hermione or Ron -- or Dean, or Seamus, and once it sounded like Parvati was treading on thin ice with her persistent concern about the OWLs.
As the class period ended, he steeled himself for Umbridge to come in and deal with him, but when she marched into her office, despite her smug look, she merely said "Your detention will be here in my office after class next Friday. There will be no need to go to dinner beforehand; you will take it here. Dismissed, Mr. Potter." She didn't need to say so twice.
Outside in the hall, Hermione and Ron had waited for him, and they quickly caught up to the rest of their class, whom Ginny was there tailing toward the great hall for dinner, notebook in hand. She was talking to Lavender, who glanced over her shoulder, obviously noticed Harry approaching, and went silent.
"Am I interrupting something?" he questioned.
"No, nothing," Lavender said hastily.
"What is it with you and the exams?" Dean was asking Parvati.
"Oh, you need awfully good scores to get into Healer training," she said. "I probably won't get above a W in Potions already..."
Harry glanced over at Ginny, trying to surreptitiously get a look at her notes, but then he noticed the stylus in her hand and blinked at it. She'd been jotting in her notebook not with a quill but with an automatic pencil: a plastic one, obviously of Muggle origin. "Where'd you--?"
"Oh, this?" she said, twiddling it in her fingers. "Well I can't very well run around all over with an inkpot, can I? And Ever-Ink Quills are expensive! Dean says he likes these to draw with, let me blag one off him."
"I just don't know why you had to bring poor Cedric into it is all!" Lavender blurted suddenly.
"Well, excuse me!" Harry snapped. A moment later, though, he had to admit that it had been a cheap shot. "I thought it'd be even worse just to let them sweep it under the rug," he added more soberly.
"But if they looked into it, the evidence you know, and they thought it was an accident..."
Harry reined himself in from saying "That was a lie!" "I don't think they got a closer look at 'the evidence' than what I did," he replied.
"You shouldn't have let her get under your skin like that," Seamus suggested. "She's just a big puffed-up buffoon. Means the class'll be worthless, but it's not as if she's the first."
"Maybe you're right..." Harry admitted. In his gut, though, he didn't quite agree with Seamus. Umbridge wasn't just incompetent; he had a feeling she was something even worse.
"I don't think you can blame anybody going off on her, though," Ron argued. "Talking like that about the Headmaster right at the head of a class!"
"And that rubbish she spouted about Professor Lupin!" Dean agreed.
"Is Dumbledore going to let her get away with that??" Ron questioned.
Ginny, walking next to Harry, jotted in her notebook as if she thought her brother's outburst particularly good. "What do you think, Hermione?" she asked.
Hermione had been walking along in silence. "I think we're going to need to find some other way of learning anything useful about Defense. She certainly isn't going to teach it to us," she said, very seriously.
"Oh, come on, I don't think it's that big of a deal..." Seamus disagreed.
He said it in an innocent tone, not even turning back, but Harry was strangely stunned by it. He doesn't believe me. He may not think I'm off my head, but he doesn't believe me about Voldemort being back.
Not everyone shared Seamus's carefree attitude however. "What do you think we should do?" Neville asked Hermione.
"Well," she said thoughtfully, "I heard once that Professor Flitwick used to be a duelling champion. Second year when we had the Duelling Club, I looked through the old yearbooks in the Library, and I found out that he used to run a school duelling league -- not like what Lockhart had, I mean a real student chapter of the Duelling League of Great Britain."
This was the first real use Harry had ever heard of for the plethora of old yearbooks mouldering on Madam Pince's shelves.
"It's not quite the same as real combat," his friend admitted, "but it would at least give us some things we could use."
"Yeah, even Lockhart's club managed to teach us the Disarming Charm," Harry recalled -- the spell that had saved him from Voldemort.
Hermione touched Ginny's shoulder. "Let's keep this quiet until we can talk to Professor Flitwick about it, all right?"
"Oh. Right." She flipped over her pencil and rubbed furiously at a block of her notes with the eraser as they arrived in the great hall. "This doesn't work too well..."
"Oh, I never use the eraser, I just scribble things out," Dean said.
"Should we go and talk to Professor Flitwick now?" Neville wondered.
"No." Hermione drew him closer and spoke low. "Not where Umbridge might hear it. Let's catch him after class Tuesday, right before lunch, all right?"
"Oh. All right."
"Ah, don't the Gryffindor Prefects look so sweet together," Draco Malfoy called as their group passed by the Slytherin table. Hermione ignored him, but Neville turned pink.
"Not half as sweet as the Slytherin ones," Pansy Parkinson said more softly as she nudged up next to Draco with her matching badge.
"So true, so true..."
Harry just rolled his eyes as he and his friends crossed to their own table and settled in, except for Ginny.
"Aren't you having dinner?" Ron asked her.
"Oh, we're printing the paper tonight," she said. "McGonagall let us order up Higgledy's Thumping Great Mushroom Pizza from the village, so--"
"Oh, lucky!" Ron declared. "Have you had those, Harry? They grow mushroom caps as big as that--" he held out his arms in a circle, "--and they fill them up with sauce and cheese, and all kinds of--"
"I know what a pizza is, Ron!"
"Oh. I never quite know what Muggles eat or not..."
"We're in McGonagall's classroom if you want to drop by; I'm sure Lee wouldn't mind," Ginny said. "Probably be up to all hours..."
"I thought you were trying out for Quidditch," Harry said.
"Oh, the trials aren't until next week -- we asked all the captains for the paper. See you!" she called brightly and hurried off.
The first Quidditch practice of the year was bright and early the next morning, and Harry woke up earlier still. He had managed to get all but one Charms Review finished the previous evening before an early bedtime and now crept out of bed even before dawn. Very quietly he washed up and dressed, so as not to disturb his still-snoring dorm-mates, but as he got out his Firebolt and Broom Maintenance Kit to take down to the common room, he was surprised to hear someone else moving around outside.
Descending the stairs that connected the various years' boys' dorms, he found Lee Jordan taking an extra blanket out of the linen closet. "Morning, Harry. There's leftover pizza if you want any," he greeted, and they went together out into the common room.
Ginny was curled up in an armchair, apparently having collapsed there and fallen asleep. Lee tossed the blanket over her and gently tucked it in around her.
"When did you get back?" Harry asked softly. He took a slice of the mushroom cap pizza from one of the boxes strewn on a table; it was quite good, even cold.
"Just a few minutes ago. We got all the papers printed up, and then me and Ginny put them out on the tables in the Great Hall so everyone'll get them at breakfast. I'm afraid she knocked herself out," Lee said with a grin, looking at once kindly, amused, impressed, and proud.
"You seem to be doing fine."
"Oh, I had a nip of Exertincture. I'll be dead to the world once it wears off, so you'll have to tell me how it goes over." He took some pizza and nodded toward Ginny. "I swear she wrote half of it herself."
"You need more than one reporter," Harry said.
"Well, we printed a call for more, but I'm not sure it'll slow her down any. Now, I'm gonna stop bothering you and get some homework in while the potion lasts." With that he flopped onto the couch by the table in a swish of his dreadlocks and got a book and parchment out of his bag.
Harry settled in on another couch and inspected his Firebolt carefully. After practice, he thought, he'd give the handle a coat of polish. For now he gently stroked dried bits of Aunt Petuna's lilacs out of its silky straws and clipped off two that had gotten crimped. He looked up every time Ginny cooed or shifted in her sleep, and once half-jumped at the sound of shuffling parchments. Lee's homework spilled off his lap as he literally fell over on the couch and began snoring; apparently when Exertincture wore off, it happened all at once.
The first rays of dawn shone straight into the windows when Angelina Johnson came downstairs with the other two Chasers, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, followed quickly by Fred and George who were the two Beaters. The team quickly polished off the pizza and cleared away the incriminating empty boxes on their way out to the Quidditch Pitch.
Angelina, the new team captain, said that after missing a year of play, she was taking the first practice just to get everyone into the feel of it again, then the following week they'd hold trials for a new Keeper -- Oliver Wood, their Keeper and Team Captain, had graduated at the end of Harry's third year -- and also for some possible reserve positions.
At the other end of the Pitch, the Slytherins were already holding their trials. Crabbe and Goyle looked to be trying out for Beaters and coming in as favorites by virtue of clubbing their competitors when the team captain turned his back. Draco, who was the Slytherin Seeker, sat watching from their section of the stands, where the seven Nimbus Two Thousand and One brooms that the Malfoys had bought the Slytherin team stood in a neat row. None of them has a Firebolt, though, Harry thought with a satisfied smile.
Angelina and the Weasley Twins cast barrier charms around a section of the pitch and released the bludgers inside so that Fred and George could practice on them while giving the other players a chance to get their bearings without being attacked by them. Harry found Angelina's idea of a first session just to play around and loosen up refreshing compared to Wood's Spartan practice regimes, and when she released the Golden Snitch, he kicked off after it, but took some time just to enjoy flying rather than looking for it. No shame either, he thought, in stopping awhile to watch his team-mates. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia tossed the Quaffle around energetically and took spontaneous turns guarding goal-hoops and trying shots. Fred and George kept the bludgers well under control, knocking them this way and that like racquetball experts.
After a brisk workout of barrel rolls, tight turns, short and long sprints at every challenging vector he could think of, Harry at last got down to business. He caught sight of the Snitch zipping around above his head and aimed upward, concentrating on following it with his eyes and trusting his broom to follow. After a brief chase, he managed to head it off and wheel tightly around it, leaning over sharply to snatch it. It was strangely fun and new to have no one around him react as the little winged sphere struggled in his fingers, and he began playing with releasing it and catching it again, seeing how far away he could let it fly and still manage to grab it, if he could roll his broom over and catch it upside down, and various other experiments.
After one particularly good catch, he heard a distant patter of clapping. At first he looked for his team and found that he'd wandered farther from them than he'd realised, but the sound was coming from the stands, where the blue-robed Ravenclaw team sat being lectured by their captain. Cho's solitary applause thrilled him as much as the whole of the packed stands would have done, and she waved up at him. He waved back with the Snitch in his fist.
But then, as he was smiling down at her, a horrible thought struck him: Cho was the Ravenclaw Seeker. Eventually he would have to beat her to the Snitch; he'd have to go up against her... Third year, he'd managed it. She hadn't been a match for him back then, but that was two years ago, and as far as Harry was concerned it could have been two centuries for as much as that victory was worth now. Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw is the last game of the year, he reminded himself. It's a long time before I'll have to worry about it. But nonetheless his height above the pitch suddenly made him a little dizzy...
Cho cupped her hands to her face and shouted at him -- he didn't know why. She pointed animatedly. Harry looked up to find a wiry, green-robed older boy on a broomstick just in front of him; it was the Slytherins' team captain, Montague.
"You caught ours Potter," he snarled, then jabbed a finger back up the pitch. "Yours is over there somewhere."
"Oh, sorry." Not even the Slytherins could spoil Harry's good mood as he clapped the Snitch into Montague's hand. Draco hovered at a slight distance, a little higher so that he could glare down at Harry. Montague threw the Slytherins' Snitch hard at him, and Draco barely dodged being hit with it before taking off in pursuit.
Harry couldn't help but laugh as he turned his broom and flew back toward his team-mates.
Fred and George laughed and joked all the way in to breakfast about Draco losing the Snitch to Harry even in his team's private practice. When they arrived in the great hall, the whole room was alive with rustling papers. At every table, students were poring over the Hogwarts X-Press, pointing things out in it to their friends, or working the crossword that Harry glimpsed over someone's shoulder. At the head table, that appeared to be what Headmaster Dumbledore was doing as he pored intently over a copy of the paper with a quill in his hand. Umbridge, on the other hand, was frowning at one, clucking her tongue and making notes on her clipboard.
At the Gryffindor table, Lee was nowhere to be seen, but Ginny was there despite rings under her eyes. Her slightly frizzed braids were obviously left over from yesterday, but she wore a wide smile. "'Morning!" she yawned.
"'Morning." Harry sat down and picked up a paper.
"How was practice?" Ron asked over his copy. Hermione was the only one with a Daily Prophet.
"Oh, it was great!" George exulted. He and Fred plopped down to tell all about it.
Harry was still full from the pizza and read his paper over a glass of juice. Dean had done an impressive title image, and photos by Colin Creevey were scattered throughout. Lee had written the introduction, as well as the sports page which told when all the House Quidditch teams were holding practices and trials.
Each House had its own page, with Ravenclaw's being the most notable for the large crossword puzzle; Harry recognised several questions from his homework among the clues. The Hufflepuffs, for their part, invited everyone interested to attend an organ recital in their common room -- their pipe organ had supposedly belonged to Helga Hufflepuff herself, and traditionally one member of the House was chosen from each year and taught to play it. Gryffindor profiled their new first-year members and requested a House Page editor other than Lee. Harry thought the Slytherins' contribution looked a bit sparse, and Ginny explained that McGonagall reviewed the paper before it went to press. In delegating the responsibility to her, Dumbledore had apparently asked her to be as lasseiz-faire as possible, but the "Potter is a Twerp" feature had been cut as she laid down a general rule against pieces attacking a particular student. The Slytherins' replacement editorial about why they were glad Hagrid was gone hadn't run nearly as long, but apparently attacks on a particular staff member were fair game.
The back page credited everyone who had worked on the paper -- somehow Harry had never known before that "Ginny" was short for "Ginger" -- and also printed various calls for contributors. Drawings and essays were welcomed and students were invited to apply as staff reporters and artists. A tribute to Cedric Diggory was planned for the issue-after-next, and contributions to it were especially requested.
Looking inside for what Ginny had written, Harry found the interview page, which, so it said, would usually be a staff interview, but this time featured her conversation on the Hogwarts Express with two incoming first years: Legantine Price, who was many generations Pureblood; and Kelley Randall, who was Muggle-born and had never even had the slightest inkling that Magic was real until she got the Hogwarts letter. Ginny had obviously sat in a compartment with the two of them as she asked what they were expecting, dreading, or looking forward to about attending Hogwarts, and Harry smiled as it reminded him of his own first year trip. By the end of it, the younger girls even seemed to have forgotten the difference in their blood. Ginny had bought them each a bag of Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans and finished up the interview by asking their favorite flavor. Legantine's all-time favorite was Black Pepper; she said all her friends saved pepper-flavored beans for her because only she would eat them, but her favorite that she'd happened to get that day was Blue Steak. Kelley's favorite was a pearly gold bean unlike anything she had ever tasted, but from her description -- "a sort of a buttery sugary biscuity soda, but it was hot and it was good like that." -- Ginny and Legantine had deduced that it was Butterbeer.
Ginny had also written the piece about Defense Against the Dark Arts under the new professor. "I hope to talk to Prof. Umbridge soon, so watch the Interview page. In the meantime I thought reactions would best speak for themselves," it said, and from there the article consisted entirely of student quotes.
They were identified only by the speaker's year and House, but Harry could put names to a few of them. Fred and George's "That's a year of Tuesdays we'll never be getting back" was included, as was a glowing review by a Slytherin Fifth Year whom Harry guessed to be Draco. "Any way you look at it, the class has been a disaster the last few years," the person had said; "It's so refreshing to see it taught by someone with perspective and sense." No one else was quite that laudatory however.
"I'm hoping to get into Auror training; I just don't know what to do," said a Ravenclaw Seventh Year, apparently as concerned with exams as Parvati. "Her syllabus hardly includes anything that's in the NEWTs prep books. I hate to let a class slide, but I think I'll have to focus on the exam guides instead."
Another Ravenclaw, a Sixth Year, tried to be positive. "Umbridge has a very different take. Her lesson was kind of interesting if you look at it that way."
From a Fourth Year Hufflepuff: "It was really confusing. After what I read in the Daily Prophet all summer, I felt like I didn't know what to think about anything, and now I know even less."
Even a First Year Slytherin disapproved, saying "I thought learning about the Dark Arts would be exciting, but that was the dullest class I've had yet! I like Charms much better."
And of course Ron's outburst had been put in at last. "Talking like that about the Headmaster right at the head of a class! Is Dumbledore going to let her get away with it?"
"Wow," Ron said, reading over his own words, "you really let Umbridge have it."
"I didn't try to, honestly," Ginny said. "That is, I had wanted to alternate bad ones with good ones, but Draco and Marietta were the only people who-- Oh!" She clapped her hands over her mouth and flushed red. "Um... Pretend I didn't say that..."
"Well," Hermione spoke at last, "someone else thinks she's just wonderful."
She tossed her Daily Prophet down on the table. "UMBRIDGE A SUCCESS AT HOGWARTS!" blared the headline, and a photo showed Cornelius Fudge delightedly shaking her hand.
"Fudge wasn't saying very much, but he made hints about 'relying on her in an even greater capacity' sometime soon," Hermione said sourly.
Ron threw down his spoon, and it made a disgusted rattle in his empty bowl. "Everyone brace yourselves."
Another story in the bottom corner of the front page caught Harry's eye, and he picked it up to look. A wizard named Edgar Frastley had been missing for several days, enough so the paper was finally admitting he might not come out of it on his own. There's Voldemort, on the front page, Harry thought. There was nothing in the story to suggest that the Death Eaters were behind the disappearance, but he felt quite sure. And Fudge is too busy being intimidated by schoolkids.
Saturday afternoon, Harry and Ron went with Hermione out to Hagrid's hut and cleaned weeds out of the overgrown pumpkin patch. It was still sad to see the place shadowy and empty, but at least it felt good to be doing something for Hagrid while he was away. Of course they were all ignoring Mrs. Weasley's injunctions against going out on the grounds, but if there was safety in numbers, that was on their side for certain. Plenty of students were out doing homework on the lawn or napping by the lake, enjoying the first warm weekends of the term before autumn weather set in, and indeed that was how Harry and his friends spent Sunday themselves.
Monday morning at breakfast, the Hogwarts X-Press was still the talk of the school and a common sight around the great hall. Lee was quite openly proud of its success, and his calls for submissions and staff got a tremendous response. Although Colin's little brother, Dennis Creevey, was only a second-year, he stepped up to be editor of the Gryffindor House page. The pool of reporters and artists seemed likely to triple as students from all the other house tables came over to tap Lee and inquire. Kelley Randall and Legantine Price had enjoyed being interviewed so much that they wanted to keep participating with the paper. Montague came over from the Slytherin table and loudly demanded a piece of the sports page. Even Cho appeared, although she was just tagging along after Marietta Edgecombe, who wanted to do staff interviews. Harry watched Cho and tried to hear the conversation, but it distracted him as he was dressing his french toast, and by the time the two Ravenclaw girls went back to their own table, syrup had begun to drizzle over the edge of his plate. Ron and Ginny, on either side of him, resorted to dipping their own toast in it.
As it turned out, Lee was right about additional staff not slowing Ginny down, and wresting staff interviews away from her presented a challenge. She was already looking for places to fit a conversation with Prof. Umbridge into her schedule and only grudgingly listened to Harry's suggestion that perhaps she should let the assignment go to Marietta, since Umbridge was still seething over Ginny's first article about her. Indeed, the usual syrupy smile on the new teacher's cherry-painted lips had been missing since Friday dinner.
In Potions Monday morning, Snape set them to bottling the Catalytical Potion they had made on Thursday. In the meantime, the lumps in Neville's had faded to the color of oatmeal, which according to Hermione's research meant it should be fine if he just strained them out. Everyone got out their phial cases, and each group melted a cauldron full of beeswax to seal them with.
"I might try my hand at writing something for the paper," Hermione said as she stirred the wax. When she lifted the stirring rod out she carefully watched a bit of wax harden on it, then dampened the fire under the cauldron a bit. "There, it's the right temperature. --Maybe an opinion piece; they called for open submissions..."
"Oh, you're not going to go banging on about the House-Elves again, are you?" Ron groaned, ladling potion into his first phial.
"Well why not? They cook all our meals, clean up our messes, somebody ought to remind everyone that they're there and that we should appreciate them.
"Just don't go off about setting them all free, all right?"
"And what would be wrong with that??" she demanded.
Harry listened to their argument as he meted out his own potion, and as if in response to Hermione's temper, the phial in his hand suddenly began foaming. "What in the--?"
"Potter...?" Snape had appeared over his shoulder with sharply narrowed eyes. His voice was like a blade of ice. "What is in your phial?"
"My Catalytical Potion. I don't know why it's--"
"You will address me appropriately, Mr. Potter, and I am referring to that." With a stroke of his arm, Snape pointed a stirring rod at Harry's phial.
There was indeed an object floating in the boiling potion: a roundish lump wrapped in foiled paper. With a thud in his insides Harry realised it was the piece of candy Fred and George had slipped him that summer at the Black House. He'd tucked it away somewhere in his trunk to save for later and forgotten about it, and now he'd just grabbed a phial out of his case without paying attention...
"What is it?" Snape demanded.
"I... I'm not sure, ah, Sir..." Harry fumbled. He grabbed a stirring rod from the table and tried to fish the confection out.
"You aren't sure. Given the nature of the Catalytical Potion, Mr. Potter, I should not have to inform you that pouring it directly onto an unknown substance under uncontrolled conditions is extremely foolish and potentially very dangerous."
Well what do I do now?? Harry demanded in his mind, but he didn't dare ask Snape aloud. He caught sight of Draco grinning at him with sadistic glee, but at least Harry managed to catch an end of the candy-paper against the side of the phial and could drag it out...
"Now give me that phial," the teacher ordered. "Immediately. Before--"
But it was too late. Snape was just moving to take charge of the ill-fated potion as Harry pried the wrapper up from it -- and the candy itself fell out. Harry watched as, seemingly in slow-motion, the pastille floated downward hemorrhaging bubbles and lightly struck the bottom of the crystal vessel...
tink.
BOOM!
The phial itself somehow remained intact, but its recoil nearly knocked Harry over as his Catalytical Potion exploded. For a split second he looked around; Prof. Snape was gone. All he saw was a few bits of flying fluff--feathers??--then suddenly something small and yellow attacked his face. Harry cried out and slapped defensively at the flapping, scratching, pecking thing before it zipped away through the air and disappeared into the supply closet.
Draco clucked his tongue. "I just don't think I can get out of reporting this little incident, Potter."
"It must have been a Canary Creme," Hermione surmised, her voice numb with shock. "Those don't last very long, so Professor Snape can... ah... take care of it when he turns back, if we'll all just get on with the assignment..."
"And everyone check your phials carefully now," Pansy Parkinson added. She did it in perfect "concerned teacher" pantomime, but of course it set the Slytherin side of the room off in unrestrained laughter.
Hermione gave Harry an apologetic look and shrug before turning back to her work in silence. Ron looked more than willing to take the Slytherins to task, but Harry clapped him lightly on the arm and got him back to business as well.
For some time they all worked quietly -- for too long. Hermione had her phials all sealed and standing neatly in their holder. Neville had strained the lumps out of his potion and struggled to apply globby beeswax seals on each portion of it, and still the class was working unsupervised.
"Um... Do you think we ought to look in on him...?" Neville ventured at last.
Hermione said nothing, but she crossed to the supply closet and peeked inside. "Professor...?"
After a few moments she marched back to where her friends were working. "I... I don't think he's turning back," she admitted. "Harry, Ron, you come with me; we'll go and fetch Madam Pomfrey..."
"Good luck at the hearing, Potter," Draco called after Harry as he followed Hermione out the Potions Dungeon door.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione ended up arriving late to Care of Magical Creatures as they led Madam Pomfrey to Prof. Snape's supply closet, from whence she removed an angrily fluffing yellow canary to take to the Hospital Wing. Harry wasn't sure which teacher to expect punishment from, but he swallowed his pride and told Madam Pomfrey just what had happened so that no one could accuse him of trying to cover up.
That evening after his double-session of Transfiguration, Harry hesitantly brought the matter up with Prof. McGonagall.
"Yes, the Slytherin Prefects reported it as well," she said. "That was very careless and dangerous, Mr. Potter."
A shamefaced "I know..." was all he could think to reply.
It actually seemed to soften McGonagall's stern countenance just a bit. "Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey is confident that Professor Snape will suffer no lasting damage, although it isn't the easiest thing to put straight. The Weasley Twins must have been paying closer attention in class than Severus ever thought, to have concocted something like that... At any rate, it's being sorted out; since it was an accident, I shouldn't expect a very severe penalty. I'll look into it this evening and will do my best to have an answer for you tomorrow."
McGonagall walked with Harry to the great hall for dinner, and it turned out she wasn't the only one intending to get a verdict for him. As he sat down, Professor Umbridge approached the Gryffindor table. "Hem-hem!"
Now what?? Harry wondered.
"If you will excuse me, Minerva," Umbridge said as an aside before continuing. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Frederick Weasley and Mr. George Weasley!" she called in a particularly grating soprano.
"It wasn't us!" Fred insisted.
"That business with the upstairs toilet, I mean. We didn't have a thing to do with it," George explained.
McGonagall's thin lips had pressed tight, but Harry thought it was a twitch of amusement rather than anger that flitted across them.
Umbridge, on the other hand, was all business. "The three of you will come to my office in the morning before breakfast, and we will discuss the incident in the Potions lab earlier."
Harry looked to Prof. McGonagall. She seemed a little taken aback, but one glance reminded Harry not to hope that this most professional of his teachers would argue with a colleague in front of students. "Okay," he relented, "I'll be there."
"That's what we like to hear," Umbridge said. She smiled and patted him on the shoulder in a way that made his appetite shrivel up and hide, then she and McGonagall went back to the head table.
"So what'd you do to the upstairs toilet?" Ron asked his brothers once the teachers had left.
"Nothing, like we said," George replied.
"Well then what happened up there?"
"Hanged if we know; we didn't do it," Fred said. "We're just kind of guessing that there was something."
Harry laughed; the twins could even make mischief by telling the truth! However, after being touched by Prof. Umbridge, not even Fred and George's joking was enough to erase a sneaking hint of poisoned honey from the taste of Harry's food.
"What does Umbridge think she's going to do anyway?" George wondered on the way to Umbridge's office the following morning. He and Fred were trying to keep Harry from slipping into dread and despair after he had already slept badly. "Snape can't say anything; that means we ought to be handed off to our Head of House."
"--Or the deputy Headmaster," Fred added. "Either way McGonagall, and you said she wasn't mad."
"Last I knew the 'Senior Field Minister for Education' didn't have anything to do with it."
"She's just a busybody, probably wants to give us a lecture," Harry tried.
"That's the spirit!" Fred agreed. "Just daydream 'til her mouth stops moving, then we're off to breakfast."
When the three of them entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and started across it to Umbridge's office -- the twins eyed the blackboard and chalk sitting there unprotected -- Harry heard voices arguing beyond the closed office door. Umbridge was immediately identifiable, but he had to come pretty close before realising that the other voice was Prof. McGonagall; close enough that her tall shadow straightened up, obviously noticing him, and she opened the door.
"Please, come in, all of you. George, Frederick, please do not tamper with your professors' equipment." Her expression was unmistakeably sober.
The twins put down Umbridge's three-chalk guideline drawing contraption and followed Harry into the office. Umbridge smiled at the three boys from her desk. McGonagall stood at the side.
"As your Head of House, I must inform the three of you..." McGonagall began.
Harry's stomach sank; her usually firm voice bordered on the mournful.
"Professor Umbridge tells me that she been able to confer with Professor Snape and also with the Headmaster, and since the incident was not malicious, the revoking of a privelege was deemed more appropriate than--"
"Hem-hem," Umbridge broke in.
A rare spark of anger crossed McGonagall's face. "Would you like a lozenge, Dolores? You've been coughing like that all morning."
"No, thank you," Umbridge said before turning to Harry and the Weasley twins. She barely even bothered to disguise her glee. "Since between the three of you, you have seen fit to give one of your instructors the, ah, gift of flight," she said, "he and I decided it would be fair that you should forfeit that privelege for yourselves."
"We're grounded??" the twins burst out in unison.
"For how long?" Harry asked. He spoke as if with calm resignation; actually his mind was struggling to wrap itself around the sentence.
"Until further notice," Prof. Umbridge said sweetly.
"Come on!" Fred insisted. "What about Quidditch??"
"You can't just ground half the Gryffindor team!" George concurred.
"It is not for a student to say what a professor can and cannot do," Umbridge pointed out.
Harry was getting the distinct impression that in her mind, it wasn't for anyone at Hogwarts to say what the Senior Field Minister for Education could and could not do.
"Unfortunately," McGonagall said, "it is true that academics and discipline must come before extracurriculars. Participating in Quidditch is a privelege and, being that it depends on flying, well... I'm afraid there you have it." It obviously pained her greatly to say it; no one was a stronger supporter of Gryffindor Quidditch than their head of House, but even that took a backseat to her professional demeanor, despite her new colleague's gross lack of the same.
"In case you wish to make any further objections," Umbridge added, "I should mention that this was discussed with the Headmaster and he totally agreed."
Harry started back in disbelief. Dumbledore had agreed to this ridiculous punishment? Even for Fred and George, who had scarcely had a thing to do with it? Surely Umbridge must be lying!
McGonagall must have noticed Harry's look. "Yes, he did," she confirmed.
"I don't believe it," Harry muttered aloud without meaning to. No flying, no Quidditch, none of his favorite school activity, probably his favorite ability that Magic gave him... And this was happening with Dumbledore's blessing?
"If you attempt to make any illicit flights, you'll come to believe it soon enough," Umbridge said. "The three of you are dismissed."
Almost as soon as Harry shut the office door behind himself and the twins, he heard Prof. McGonagall's voice again and the argument they had interrupted quickly resumed.
"I'm really sorry about that," Harry told Fred and George as they went out into the hallway and headed down to breakfast despite the blow. "You two didn't even do anything..."
"Well, it was one of our Canary Cremes," George said with a surprisingly nonchalant shrug.
"But you made it before term even started. I don't think they're allowed to punish you for that," Harry realised. "You should've said something."
"What? Us take off and throw you to the evil toad woman?" Fred objected.
George sniggered. "She'll get a little of it back sometime when she goes to use that chalk thing, anyway."
"After McGonagall saw you??" Harry questioned. The last thing he wanted was to see this situation get the twins into more trouble.
"Hey, you heard all that," George said. "It'll be worth a detention just to see if she might let it slide."
"And of course we're still on to watch Filch try and figure out the 'business with the upstairs toilet'..." Fred reflected with a grin.
Harry knew better than to think that Fred and George were taking their sentence as lightly as it seemed. They'd been the Gryffindor beaters ever since he had come to school, and Quidditch was certainly a highlight of the term for them, but they had plenty of diversions for themselves and were immediately moving to adjust.
He wished he himself were so lucky. All the fun he'd had at that weekend's Quidditch practice: the playful barrel rolls, experimenting with the Snitch with no one to end the game and take it away from him... Now it curdled inside him. Given Umbridge's grin as she'd said "until further notice," Harry could just give up on all of it for the rest of the year...
"Well, look at it this way," George suggested, "you're safe when we play Ravenclaw."
"What do you mean by that??" Harry snapped, taken aback.
"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all..."
Could Fred and George have overheard his worries about playing against Cho? They'd just been in his head, and he'd been half the Quidditch Pitch away! He shot the twins a hot, questioning glance over his shoulder, but they just looked away from his eyes with knowing grins on their faces.
Irritated by that, Harry picked up his pace toward the Great Hall and broke away from them.
to be continued in...
Chapter Thirteen: Wastepaper
Author's Notes on Chapter Twelve
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.
This is the first chapter of Secret Prophecy drafted entirely during NaNoWriMo 2005--so you can tell how thoroughly lost my groove has been in the interim. ;;; I wasn't an official rules-compliant participant (yeah, as few rules as NaNo has and I managed to break them), but decided to use the "50k words in November" exercise for a sprint on this story, especially wanting to catapult myself into the school year as I was adjusting to the transition.
With my complaints about Lavender and Parvati, I at least managed to get in the reason for Parvati's test anxiety now, and at least Lavender didn't just sit there thinking bad about Harry without saying anything to his face.
One thing about my HP fanfic, at least in first drafts: I will give the original that while they do have the trivia-packed appeal, they also have something in the way of tight construction; the gun you see on the wall in chapter one generally does go off in the end. With me, I enjoy the trivia/milieu aspect enough that it's harder for me, much less a reader, to know which of these bits is going to be important and which are there only for texture. In writing the first draft, it is kind of nice to have a lot of guns on the wall to choose from if I need them -- I hadn't realised what was going to happen when I planted that Canary Creme -- but on the other hand I don't know if we need to know that Dean gave Ginny a clickie-pencil and that he doesn't tend to use erasers. I had also thought up Exertincture in brainstorming for much later stuff (like book 7 later) and didn't expect it to crop up already, but wth.
And one more thing about that conversation: again picking up a worry from last time's notes, that of Harry not getting crap from his classmates as in canon, this time I got in the realisation that Seamus doesn't believe him, and that is something I'd like to play with more. I still don't see Harry's friends buying the Daily Prophet line that he's a neurotic drama monger, but... Well, logically speaking, Harry says Voldemort is back. If Voldemort is not back, this means that Harry is either mistaken -- ie off his head -- or he's lying. If neither of these is true, then one must logically conclude that Voldemort is in fact back. However, people don't think and feel logically always. Just because Seamus or Lavender (gad I always want to spell her name with two a's) don't think Harry's a liar or a nutjob doesn't mean they believe him, and from his point of view that might sting just as much.
Props to Hermione for finding a use for old school yearbooks besides evening up table legs; if anyone can do it, she can. In other news, I WANT one of those mushroom pizzas. T.T
And thus far I admit I've had Draco largely relegated to the peanut gallery, but hey, it's a first draft. It does bear mentioning that IMU he's ah... Well, he's the kind of Seeker who loses the Snitch in a private practice (btw, normally I know he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to confront Harry, but the "I suck, okay??" factor on that one was high enough that whining to the team captain seemed a better option). C'mon, it took seven top-of-the-line brooms to get him on; how good can he be??
I'm having great fun with the paper; and perhaps it's better, as in canon, to leave it to the imagination, but I did enjoy getting in some description of what Butterbeer tastes like. Actually Jones brand Cream Soda tastes somewhat like how I imagine it, just add butter and the "tastes good hot" aspect. Also, I know that JKR says Ginny is short for Ginevra, but I decided otherwise. Most of the Weasleys' names are so ordinary that Ginger seems more in keeping (although I admit, I'd go by "Ginny" too in that case; not that I wouldn't if my name was Ginevra...).
May have been a little early to break out the "would you like a lozenge, Dolores?" but may as well go ahead at least tentatively.