A Double Trip to the Head
Me: This took forever! So the parts italicized in this one are direct passage from the book. There will be mistakes in this one since I had to change the tense and the quotation marks because I got this off the internet. I was too lazy to type the whole thing. I *Muses hit me*
Batman: She doesn't own anything except the plot.
Me: How come you get to do the disclaimer today?
Batman: Because I'm...
Me: Oh, God...
Batman: BATMANNNNN!
Umbridge stares politely at me. She is so weird.
"Miss Sherman, does it matter to you what the course aims are?" she simpers.
"Yes. I though Hogwarts was the best wizarding school in the world. If this is what goes on in it's most important class, then I think I'll bring a few friends and talk to your boss." She watches me.
"Contrary to your beliefs, this is a course set by the Minister of Magic. It is a safe way to learn. Unlike last year when the defense professor used the Unforgivable Curses on the students."
"Well, he turned out to be a nutter, didn't he?" said Harry boldly. Umbridges attention goes to Harry. I seethe at Umbridge.
"So, Umbridge, if you were actually Voldemort," cue dramatic reactions from the students, "and taught us how to use curses, would you lose special priviliges granted to a teacher and Senior Undersecretary to the Minister?" I ask boldly, hardly believing what I say out loud. Gods, I need to learn to think before I speak.
"What do you mean, Sherman?" Umbridge demands.
"I mean, would you lose the chance to torture-I mean-punish your students? Would you lose being in top confidences of the Minister and other pleasures?" I really hope she catches the hint. Her face flushes.
"Unlike the half-breeds in America, those of high power in Britain do not use it to gain advantage over others!"
Third Person POV
Naomi goes cold and clenches her fists. As do the other demigods in the room. Her face goes deathly pale.
"And what do you mean when you say half-breeds Professor?" she asks, her voice carefully controlled. Percy stands next to his sister and puts an arm on her shoulder.
"Naomi, you need to sit down."
"Get off me, Percy. Well, Professor?"
"I mean people half human and half other creature." A peal of thunder is heard from outside. Naomi's hand rests on her wrist, next to Whirlpool. She leans over and picks up her bag.
"I'm outta here. You know, I had heard remarks of how incredible the teachers here are. So far, out of the ones I've had classes with, the only one who's really good, is Professor Snape. He doesn't put me to sleep, like Binns, and he's not an evil hag, Umbridge. He knows what hell he's talking about. He cares about his subject, though he'd rather have DADA." Naomi turns to leave the class," And Umbridge I'd be careful talking about half-breeds. I know more than four, and they could kill you for that insult. Don't say it near them. They will rip your head off. And I'll be there watching." She marches out the classroom. Outside, in the corridor, she leans up against the wall and slides to the floor. She's not upset, she's angry. She takes several deep breaths to calm down. The last time she got this angry, she blew up the Poseidon cabin. She stands back up and wanders through the school. She ends up at the lake.
She pulls off her shirt, leaving her in a black tank-top and shorts. She pulls her hair back and dives in the water.
Back in the classroom Luna keeps glaring at Professor Umbridge. Percy gathers all the demigods, minus Neville, and they leave the room quietly.
"Professor, there's nothing in the course aims about using defensive magic, " says Hermione. She looks a Hermione.
"Using defensive spells?" she laughs. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaims loudly.
"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr -?"
"Weasley," says Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.
Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turns her back or. him. Harry and Hermione immediately raise their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes linger on Harry for a moment before she addresses Hermione.
"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"
"Yes," says Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asks Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.
"No, but -"
"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way -"
"What use is that?" says Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a-"
"Hand, Mr Potter!" sings Professor Umbridge.
Harry thrusts his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turns away from him, but now several other people have their hands up, too.
"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge says to Dean.
"Dean Thomas."
"Well, Mr Thomas?"
"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" says Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free."
"I repeat," says Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"
"No, but -"
Professor Umbridge talks over him. "I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention," she gives a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."
"If you mean Professor Lupin," pipes up Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever -"
"Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day -"
"No we haven't," Hermione says, "we just -"
"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"
Hermione puts up her hand. Professor Umbridge turns away from her.
"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you."
"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" says Dean hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads."
"Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas!" trills Professor Umbridge. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she adds, staring at Parvati, whose hand just shot up.
"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"
"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," says Professor Umbridge dismissively.
"Without ever practising them beforehand?" says Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"
"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough -"
"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" says Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.
Professor Umbridge looks up.
"This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world," she says softly.
"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?"
"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."
"Oh, yeah?" says Harry. His temper, which seems to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, is reaching boiling point.
"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" enquires Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.
"Hmm, let's think . . ." says Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe . . . Lord Voldemort?"
Ron gasps; Lavender Brown utters a little scream. Professor Umbridge, however, does not flinch. She's staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter."
The classroom is silent and still. Everyone is staring at either Umbridge or Harry.
"Now, let me make a few things quite plain."
Professor Umbridge stands up and leans towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.
"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead -"
"He wasn't dead," says Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"
"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," says Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."
"It is NOT a lie!" says Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"
"Detention, Mr Potter!" says Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"
Professor Umbridge sits down behind her desk. Harry, however, stands up. Everyone is staring at him; Seamus looks half-scared, half-fascinated.
"Harry, no!" Hermione whispers in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerks his arm out of her reach.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asks, his voice shaking.
There is a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night Cedric had died. They stare avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who has raised her eyes and is staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she says coldly.
"It was murder," says Harry. He can feel himself shaking. He had hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. "Voldemort killed him and you know it."
Professor Umbridge's face is quite blank. For a moment, Harry thinks she's going to scream at him. Then she says, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr Potter, dear."
He kicks his chair aside, strides around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. He can feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He feels so angry he did not care what happened next.
Professor Umbridge pulls a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretches it out on the desk, dips her quill into a bottle of ink and starts scribbling, hunched over so that Harry cannot see what she was writing. Nobody speaks. After a minute or so she rolls up the parchment and taps it with her wand; it seals itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.
He takes it from her without saying a word, turns on his heel and left the room, not even looking back at Ron and Hermione, slamming the classroom door shut behind him. He walks very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand, and turning a corner walks slap into Peeves the poltergeist, a wide-mouthed little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells.
"Why, it's Potty Wee Potter!" cackles Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smash and spatter the walls with ink; Harry jumps backwards out of the way with a snarl.
"Get out of it, Peeves.'
"Oooh, Crackpot's feeling cranky," says Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zooms along above him. "What is; it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in -" Peeves blows a gigantic raspberry "- tongues?"
"I said, leave me ALONE!" Harry shouts, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slides down the banister on his back beside him.
"Oh, most think he's barking, the potty wee lad,
But some are more kindly and think he's just sad,
But Peevesy knows better and says that he's mad -"
"SHUT UP!"
A door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerges from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.
"What on earth are you shouting about, Potter?" she snaps, as Peeves cackles gleefully and zooms out of sight. "Why aren't you in class?"
"I've been sent to see you,' says Harry stiffly.
"Sent? What do you mean, sent?"
He holds out the note from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall takes it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretches it out and begins to read. Her eyes zoom from side to side behind their square spectacles as she reads what Umbridge has written, and with each line they become narrower.
"Come in here, Potter."
He follows her inside her study. The door closes automatically behind him.
"Well?" says Professor McGonagall, rounding on him. "Is this true?"
"Is what true?" Harry asked, rather more aggressively than he had intended. "Professor?" he adds, in an attempt to sound more polite.
"Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"
"Yes," says Harry.
"You called her a liar?"
"Yes."
"You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?"
"Yes."
Professor McGonagall sits down behind her desk, watching Harry closely. Then she says, "Have a biscuit, Potter."
"Have - what?"
"Have a biscuit," she repeats impatiently, indicating a tartan tin lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. "And sit down."
There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He sinks into a chair opposite her and helps himself to a Ginger Newt, feeling just as confused and wrong-footed as he had done on that occasion.
Professor McGonagall sets down Professor Umbridge's note and looks very seriously at Harry.
"Potter, you need to be careful."
Harry swallows his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stares at her. Her tone of voice is not at all what he was used to; it is not brisk, crisp and stern; it is low and anxious and somehow much more human than usual.
"Misbehaviour in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than house points and a detention."
"What do you - ?"
"Potter, use your common sense," snaps Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. "You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting."
The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move.
"It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow," Professor McGonagall says, looking down at Umbridge's note again.
"Every evening this week!" Harry repeated, horrified. "But, Professor, couldn't you - ?"
"No, I couldn't," says Professor McGonagall flatly.
"But - "
"She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge."
"But I was telling the truth!" says Harry, outraged. "Voldemort is back, you know he is; Professor Dumbledore knows he is -"
"For heaven's sake, Potter!" says Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's name).
"Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control!"
She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin, and Harry stood up, too.
"Have another biscuit," she says irritably, thrusting the tin at him.
"No, thanks," says Harry coldly.
"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps.
He took one.
"Thanks," he said grudgingly.
"Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah . . . she said . . . progress will be prohibited or . . . well, it meant that . . . that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall eyes him closely for a moment, then sniffs, walks around her desk and holds open the door for him.
"Well, I'm glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate," she says, pointing him out of her office. It is only when Harry stood up that he noticed the exchange students had left the Defense room with Luna and Malfoy.
Naomi POV
I run into Harry outside of McGonagall's study. He looks surprised to see me. He squints at me.
"Is it me or are you soaking wet?" he asks. I shrug.
"I got into an argument with the merpeople in the lake. They think I don't get a special status because I'm Pos-" I stop myself from finishing Poseidon, "possibly very famous with the mer-dudes in America." He shakes his head.
"I don't want to know. Why where you coming to McGonagall?"
"I had a thought that could save someone who is completely awesome if I can talk to Dumbledore. I don't know how to get to his office." That was kind of lame.
Harry smirks. "If you want I can show you. Why did you go down to the lake of all places?" he asks curiously as we begin walking. I shrug.
"It was the best for me calm down. The last time I got that angry, I kinda blew up my cabin at my camp. I figured it would make me look bad if I blew up the Defense room. Even though Umbridge teaches it." That's not a complete truth.
"So what's with you and Umbridge? Why did you get so mad at her?"
"To put it mildly, if this was America, a couple of my best friends would be banished, one of my cousins would be banished. One of my father figures would be killed." I watch as he whistles.
"Is your father dead?"
"Nah. He left when I was baby. I get to see him every now and then. Haven't seen him in a couple months. My step-dad is over protective of me and my little brother. I don't live with my mom and step-dad, though. I live with a couple of my cousins who go out camping a lot. We visit the camp a lot, though. I get to see my uncle a lot. He's the father figure I was talking about," I say. He nods. "Sorry about your parents, Harry. Even more sorry that you didn't get to kill Tommy-wommy last year." His face goes from shock to laughing to shock and back.
"You just called Voldemort 'Tommy-wommy.'" He says it slowly and uncertainly. I nod happily.
"Yep. What's the worst he can do? Kill me? Almost died," I pause and count it on my fingers, "17 times. Nowhere near Percy, but it's pretty good. Is this his room?" I say when we reach the gargoyle.
"Yes. I don't the password, though."
"I don't the password. Gargoyle, by command of the Creator, I tell you to open." The gargoyle doesn't move. Damn, I was hoping I wouldn't have to slice my hand open to enter. "Hey, Harry, hold my bag for a minute will you?" I hand him my back and summon Whirlpool. I hear Harry's gasp of shock when I put Whirlpool on my forearm and slice. I repeat the incantation of earlier.
"Gargoyle, by command of the Creator, I command you to open. Here is sacrifice to prove that I am an heir." I place my arm on the gargoyle. The blood spills quickly on it. It begins turning. The world starts spinning.
"Are you okay?"
"Reach in my bag and pull out a silver thermos. Quickly," my voice sounds far off. He trusts the thermos into my hand. I unscrew it as quickly as I can. I pour it on my arm and flinch at the sting. I drink some of the nectar and see the blood flow stopping.
"Do you need a bandage?" asks Harry, holding out a wrap. I flex my arm and see the blood begin flowing again. I nod, and Harry hands me the wrap. I begin wrapping it tightly. At first, the blood stains it, but after I get more layers on, I can't see the blood. I finish wrapping it and stand up slowly.
"Do you need any help with that?" asks a girl. I look at her and gape. She looks almost exactly like me. She's wearing jeans, a black shirt with 221b on the front and on the back says is where I live with a pet detective, a black jacket, and is barefoot. She has glossy, dark brown hair and smoky grey eyes, framed by a pair of scarlet Vera Bradley glasses. She has book under her arm labelled 1000 Ways to Kill Someone in a Kitchen. We would probably get along well. She catches me looking at the book.
"What? I'm a writer. I do weird stuff, like yell random things from the car door and crawl under desks during Code Reds. God, quit looking at me like that!" she says angrily. "Do you need help with that arm?" She gestures impatiently to my arm.
"Um, not really," I say. The girl squints at me.
"Uh-huh. Lemme guess, it hurts like hell cause you had to cut your vein to get enough blood for the sacrifice and you don't wanna accept help from the nerd kid. Let me see your arm." Obediently, I give her my arm. She pokes it a couple of times. Then pulls off the bandages. I look at my arm and see that the cut vanished.
"How'd you do that?" I demand. The girl smirks.
"I'm just that awesome. My name's Falyn Thorne. I'm a Gryffindor fifth. I went to Homer Pittard Campus School until fifth grade, then I moved here." I gape more.
"That's my catch-phrase!" I shout. Falyn looks up.
"Whaat?"she says aghast. "Liar! It's mine!"
"Have you ever been on NaNoWriMo?"
"Maybe."
"Then that's where you got it from!"
"Maybe."
"Do you know Harry?"
"Well, duh! Who doesn't know Harry Potter? I was going to Dumbledore to tell him that he has to Harry about it or Harry's gonna turn into a PMSing 15 year old girl."
"I'm trying to tell that to Dumbledore!" I say. Falyn nods. We turn to head up the stairs before the delightful voice of Monsieur Potter prevents us.
"What the bloody hell are you lot talking 'bout?" roars Harry. I turn to Falyn.
"Nothing," we say in unison. Harry fumes but accepts the answers. We march up the stairs. And knock on the door. Dumbledore tells us to come in. I open the door and let Harry and Falyn in. Then I come in. Dumbledore's shocked that it's us, not a teacher.
"How did you get in here?" he asks.
"Blood sacrifice. Old-fashioned way," I say in an offhand manner. "Now Falyn and I have something to tell you concerning the safety of a certain scarred male in this school. So shut up and listen."
Next chapter will be a birthday. Guess in a review who it is. It should be easy if you've been paying attention