The Champion's Legacy
Chapter 14: Dolores Umbridge
Author's Note: Say hello to our (least) favourite professor – let's see how Harry gets along with her!
This chapter has not been proof-read by a beta. All mistakes that you may notice are my own.
Disclaimer: Recognisable portions in this chapter have been taken from the Harry Potter series, by J.K. Rowling. I neither own nor intend to make any profit from the use of Harry Potter and associated characters of the series, in my story.
Previously on "The Champion's Legacy"…
Unbidden, a familiar, comforting voice sounded in her head.
You'll be great, Daphne. Go for it.
She sighed. The voice chuckled.
'I'll…think about it,' she said, her gaze directed mostly towards Blaise and Tracey. Thankfully for her, they seemed to understand her reluctance to commit to it immediately; they nodded in acceptance and didn't press the issue.
But, as they returned to their respective dormitories ten minutes later, Daphne wondered if she was making the right choice, after all.
Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror, attempting to flatten his hair one more time.
It didn't budge.
'Not worth your time, dear,' said the mirror snidely. Harry ignored the tone but conceded the point.
He headed back to his bed to pick up his wand, then descended to the common room where Ron and Hermione were waiting for him. Ron looked annoyed; Hermione concerned.
'Are you alright, Harry?' she asked at once.
Harry nodded. The first night back to Hogwarts had been excruciating – first it had been Umbridge's grating speech, and then Seamus' blind refusal to believe Harry's story on Voldemort's return. The Daily Prophet had certainly done a good number on more than a few people at Hogwarts, including Seamus. Their stories about him being a lying, attention-seeking prat had certainly convinced others of the official Ministry view: You-Know-Who was dead, had not returned, and everyone else who said so was delusional.
'Seamus is bang out of order, mate,' said Ron reassuringly as they climbed through the portrait hole and set off for the Great Hall for breakfast. 'He'll come around, just like everyone else.'
'Wonder when that'll be,' muttered Harry.
He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Ron and Hermione exchange a worried glance. He sighed.
'I'm sorry,' he said, and he meant it. 'I don't want to be grumpy or anything, it's just –'
'We know, Harry,' said Hermione, patting his shoulder consolingly. Ron nodded fervently beside her.
They fell silent as they entered the Great Hall, which was filling up quickly with students of all Houses. There was a slight lull in the noise inside the Hall upon their entrance, but it swelled up almost at once, accompanied by sneaked peaks and copped glances at Harry from his fellow students. Just as he had done that morning with the mirror, he ignored it and took his seat at the Gryffindor table along with Fred and George Weasley.
'New fifth-year timetables,' said Fred, passing over the stack of parchment to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 'McGonagall asked me to pass them on.'
Ron took one look at it and groaned.
'What?' asked George, his voice muffled slightly with a mouthful of toast.
'This!' Ron gestured hopelessly to his timetable. 'This is the worst Monday in the history of Mondays!'
George leaned across and plucked the piece of parchment from Ron's hand.
'Yep,' he said. 'Double Potions, History of Magic, Divination, and Double Defence Against the Dark Arts.'
'Snape, Binns, Trelawney, and Umbridge,' said Harry bitterly. 'All on the same day, it's going to be a nightmare. I'm just glad that it's the weekend now.'
'You should have given up Divination like me, then,' came Hermione's voice from behind a thick Ancient Runes textbook that she'd propped up against the milk jug.
'Probably,' sighed Harry. Ron's forehead dropped to the table with a low thud.
Fred and George snickered.
'What?' said Ron, lifting his head, an annoyed look on his face.
'Well, this is your O.W.L. year, isn't it?' said Fred.
'Yeah? So?'
'So?' George chuckled. 'Wait 'til Easter comes round.'
'Your timetable will be the least of your worries,' chipped in Fred cheerfully.
Ron blanched.
'Is it that bad, this year?' asked Hermione, finally setting her book aside and joining the conversation. Harry suspected she was looking to get some insights on how she could plan her study and revision for the exams.
'Oh yeah,' said Fred. 'Several people in our year were in tears by the end of it.'
'I reckon our year set the record for the highest number of people admitted to the hospital wing because of the exams,' mused George, spreading marmalade over his piece of toast. 'We had half the class missing from Transfiguration once.'
'And what did McGonagall do?' asked Hermione in a shocked voice.
'Nothing,' shrugged Fred; then, at the others' incredulous looks, he added, 'Well, what would you expect her to do? March down to the hospital wing and demand they attend her class?'
'Mind you, the whole Sirius Black issue caused a lot of stress as well,' said George thoughtfully.
'But it was mainly the classwork,' said Fred.
'And the revision.'
'And the homework.'
'Ooh, those essays were a nightmare.'
'And those grades.'
'Merlin forbid if you got an A in any class.'
Hermione finally managed to get a word in. 'For Acceptable?'
'For Acceptable,' agreed Fred. 'It's the passing grade set by the Ministry for O.W.L.s.'
'And after that, it's E for Exceeds Expectations,' said George.
'Isn't that the highest?' asked Harry.
'Nah, that's O,' said George, swallowing a large piece of toast. 'That's Outstanding. I dunno what the percentage threshold is, though.'
'Probably ninety or something,' said Fred dismissively.
'And the fail grades?' prompted Hermione. She seemed far too interested in this topic in Harry's opinion.
'Well, there's P –' said George.
'For Poor,' interjected Fred.
'– then D –'
'– for Dreadful –'
'– and T –'
'There's a T?' asked Ron in alarm.
'For Troll,' said Fred, in such an uncharacteristically serious voice that Harry couldn't help laughing.
'They have Troll for a grade?' said Hermione in astonishment.
'Yep,' said Fred. 'Said so on our results, too.'
'I'm guessing someone in the Wizarding Examinations Authority put it in as a joke at first, but it stuck,' said George with a shrug.
'Anyway, grades don't matter too much to us anymore,' said Fred, looking around the Hall wistfully.
'What do you mean?' asked Hermione sharply. Beside her, Ron looked curiously at his brothers.
'We're not too fussed about our N.E.W.T.s, to be honest,' said George. 'We actually wouldn't have bothered coming back, only we didn't want to have another row with Mum and Dad after what happened with Percy the Prat.'
'Mum wanted us to finish our education "given the current climate",' said Fred, performing the air quotes for Mrs Weasley's words, 'but now that we've got –'
He glanced quickly at Harry, who gave him a warning look. The message was clear: Don't tell them about the gold.
'– now that we've got our O.W.L.s,' amended Fred hastily. 'I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? It's not like we're going to get a job that needs top grades, anyway.'
'Or any grades, really,' supplied George.
'But what are you going to do?' asked Hermione sceptically. Her eyes suddenly narrowed. 'You don't mean – not the joke shop?'
Fred gave Hermione a curious look, a sly smirk playing on his mouth.
'You didn't think we were joking, did you?' he asked.
'I – well –' spluttered Hermione, and the twins laughed.
'What use are these grades or examinations if we're going to be self-employed, Hermione?' asked George with a grin.
'How do you know it's going to work, though?' asked Ron.
'Well, we've been doing market research, haven't we?' said Fred. 'It's not just an attempt to earn some extra money, you know. What we've been putting in the Daily Prophet all summer – that's helped us a lot.'
Harry remembered the twins telling him about the advertisements they had placed in the newspaper for running their business as a mail-order service.
'And this year's going to help us even more,' said George.
'How?' said Ron suspiciously.
'Field research,' said Fred promptly, then elaborated upon seeing their confused looks, 'We're going to find out exactly what an average Hogwarts student needs from their joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand.'
'The Ton-Tongue Toffee was just the start,' said George with a wink at the three of them.
'Anyway, we've got business to do,' said Fred briskly, rubbing his hands in obvious anticipation. 'Let's get going, George.'
They left, each carrying a stack a toast.
'They can't be serious!' exclaimed Hermione the moment the twins were out of earshot. 'A joke shop – honestly!'
'I think they are,' said Ron. 'They've been talking about it for a long time, you know. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, that's the name they've come up with.'
'Yes, but –' Hermione seemed to be casting around for some reason to ridicule the twins' career choice, '– what about after? What if it doesn't work out?'
'Dunno,' said Ron. 'They seem pretty confident that it'll work, don't they? Mind you,' he added, 'they're not wrong. They've been raking in the Galleons since they started working on those stuff. I overheard them telling Lee that they made about thirty Galleons from the Ton-Tongue Toffees alone.'
'That's not enough if they're going to start a full-blown joke shop!' said Hermione heatedly. 'For one thing, where are they going to get the gold for all this? They'll need to get ingredients and materials and everything…'
'You know, I've been wondering about that,' said Ron, his brow furrowed. 'They got me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn't understand where they'd got the Galleons for it.'
'Dress robes aren't that expensive,' Harry pointed out.
'No, but that and their new products?' said Ron. 'I don't think they would have been able to afford all of it.'
Harry fought to keep his face straight. 'I dunno. Maybe they got their money back from Bagman – remember how he scammed them out of their savings at the World Cup?'
'Oh yeah…' said Ron, but he still looked unconvinced.
Harry took that as his cue to steer the conversation away from these dangerous waters, asking them both what they wanted to do that weekend. Ron immediately cheered up at that, stating his desire to break out his new Cleansweep Seven at the Quidditch Pitch. Hermione looked torn between getting a head-start on her O.W.L.s preparation and spending time with them, but they finally managed to convince her to join them at the Quidditch Pitch, albeit with her condition that neither of them would force her to join them on a broom.
The boys hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to pick up their broomsticks, Hermione dutifully trotting along beside them, and were just about to leave the dormitory when –
'What?' asked Harry.
'What?' chorused Ron and Hermione together.
He looked at them, bewildered.
'Why did you call me?'
They exchanged confused looks with each other.
'We didn't call you, Harry,' said Hermione, frowning at him.
'Yeah, why would we –'
Ron broke off.
'You heard it, too?' asked Harry eagerly.
'Yeah,' said Ron, 'but where is it coming –'
Harry whipped around to stare at his trunk.
'What the –'
He opened his trunk and began shifting things around: robes, his Muggle hand-me-downs from Dudley, a few Chocolate Frog wrappers. Hermione scrunched up her nose as she watched him sift through the mess that was his trunk.
A flash of grey eyes and dark hair –
Ron almost dropped the Transfiguration textbook that Harry had handed to him.
'Blimey! Sirius!'
Harry scrambled to his feet, the small mirror clutched in his hand, his heart pounding fast. A quick look around the dormitory confirmed that there was no one else around. Even as he did so, Hermione had pulled out her wand and performed the complicated wand movement to erect a privacy charm; Harry sensed the invisible bubble settling over them almost at once and flashed a grateful smile at her.
He looked back down at the mirror in time to see his godfather's face rippling across the smooth glass surface.
'Hello, Harry,' said Sirius, breaking into a wide smile.
'It was you!' said Harry, but his tone wasn't accusatory; on the contrary, he grinned at his godfather.
'Hello, you two,' said Sirius, spotting the faces of Ron and Hermione leaning over Harry's shoulder.
'But – how –' stuttered Ron, looking from Sirius to Harry. 'How is Sirius in this mirror?'
'Where did you get this, Harry?' asked Hermione, her shock at seeing Sirius now replaced by academic curiosity over the mirror and its functionality.
'Sirius gave it to me,' said Harry. He quickly explained the mirror and its origins to Ron and Hermione.
Ron let out a low whistle. 'This is neat!'
Hermione's eyes were alight with a gleam that Harry knew only too well – the anticipation of figuring out a magical problem that was in front of her.
'We'll work it out later, Hermione,' said Harry firmly, just as she opened her mouth to ask what was no doubt a question about how the mirrors worked. Ron sniggered beside them, and Hermione swatted his arm.
'How've you been, Sirius?' she asked, as Ron rubbed his arm ruefully.
'Not bad,' he replied. 'Moony's been in and out of the house. So has Jonathan. Otherwise, it's just been me and Kreacher.' He chuckled in a bemused sort of way. 'Never thought I'd actually be able to tolerate that elf's company.'
Harry and Ron laughed. Hermione frowned at the implication of Sirius' words but didn't comment.
'How was your Welcome Feast?' asked Sirius. 'Introduced to Umbridge yet?' He narrowed his eyes at Harry. 'How come you didn't call me last night?'
'I forgot,' admitted Harry sheepishly, and it was true: Umbridge's waffling speech and the subsequent argument with Seamus had driven the thought of Sirius and the mirror completely out of his mind.
'You should have heard her, Sirius,' said Ron excitedly, his voice rising a notch. Hermione made a reflexive shushing noise. 'She was all about progress for progress' sake, and – uh –'
He turned to Hermione for help, who sighed.
'She's essentially announced her intention to interfere at Hogwarts,' said Hermione.
Sirius gave them a grim look.
'Well, it's not a surprise, but a blow, nevertheless. Dumbledore did say it would happen.'
'I'm actually surprised she said as much,' said Hermione. 'I mean, why show your hand right away?'
'She didn't show her hand –' interjected Ron with confusion.
'It's a Muggle reference, Ron –'
'She wouldn't have lost anything by saying that,' said Sirius, smoothly interrupting the pair of them and putting an end to their impending argument. 'She has the might of the Ministry and the backing of the Minister himself. I think she was just trying to gauge the response of the school to her intentions.'
Harry recalled how distracted the school had been during her speech and chuckled. 'Doesn't look like she'll get too much support, then.'
But Sirius shook his head. 'Don't get too confident. Umbridge is a thorough politician and will look to consolidate power as soon as possible. She'll want to get some control over her classes first before moving onto others, and finally, the school itself.'
'The school itself?' asked Ron doubtfully. 'But that's impossible. With Dumbledore around –'
'She'll have him removed,' said Sirius grimly. 'She's going to try to discredit both Dumbledore and Harry – they don't want people to believe that Voldemort is back.'
Harry nodded, recalling Dumbledore's words in Grimmauld Place the night that Iris had been rescued by Dobby. He also recognised that by 'they', Sirius meant the Ministry as a whole, including Fudge himself. He barely noticed Ron and Hermione flinch slightly at the mention of Voldemort's name – his thoughts had reminded him to ask Sirius about Iris' condition.
'No change, yet,' said Sirius sombrely. 'Poppy Floo-ed over this morning to check on her.'
Silence settled over them, their thoughts with their friend back in London.
'Anyway,' said Sirius, after a few moments, 'what else is new? What are your plans for the weekend?'
Harry told him about his argument with Seamus, the renewed stares and mutters, and their plan of going flying on the Quidditch Pitch just then.
'Ah,' said Sirius. 'Seamus isn't the first, nor will he be the last. There are plenty of sheep around the country who will only believe what the Ministry and the Prophet says. It plays well into Voldemort's agenda, of course – disinformation and misdirection about his return will only help him improve his aura of mystique and his aim of staying hidden in the shadows.'
He gave Harry a searching look.
'Don't forget what Dumbledore and I told you before you left, Harry,' he said. 'Keep your head down and keep working on your studies and Occlumency. Don't let what everyone else is saying get to you. It's what they'd want.'
Harry nodded, deciding not to tell Sirius that it was easier said than done. Sirius must have noticed the look on his face that gave his thoughts away, however, for his godfather's expression softened.
'I know it's hard right now,' he said gently. 'But they'll know we were right in the end.'
'Yeah,' said Harry stiffly.
Sirius nodded but didn't press the point.
They ended the call rather quickly after that, with Sirius urging them to go ahead with their planned flying and with the promise that they would call him the following Saturday morning.
As he replaced the mirror in his trunk, he spotted a second, cleaner mirror beside the package of new robes that Mrs Weasley had got for him from Diagon Alley. Despite the gloom that had settled over him after his conversation with Sirius, he couldn't help smiling slightly at the mirror, and what it promised. But first –
'Hermione?' he asked.
'Hmm?' She was almost at the door.
'Can you teach me how to do that Privacy Charm, please?'
Dawn broke over Hogwarts Castle on the morning of September the fourth, nineteen ninety-five with a welcome change from the weather of the two previous days. The clouds that occupied the skies above were few and far in between, allowing unfiltered rays of sunshine to hit the castle walls and windows and illuminate the school grounds with a sense of undisturbed purity. A shade of mist hung over the distant mountains that overlooked the village of Hogsmeade. The Forbidden Forest looked just as foreboding as ever, albeit with a few patches of trees devoid of some of their foliage with the onset of autumn.
Harry awoke in his dormitory that morning, his blurred gaze drifting over the tops of trees in the Forbidden Forest. Almost automatically, his drowsy eyes drifted over to the edge of the forest. Hagrid's hut was still empty, judging by the lack of smoke wafting out of the chimney. He sighed as he donned his glasses and poured himself a glass of water from his bedside table.
It was far-fetched to assume that his half-giant friend would have returned so soon from the mission Dumbledore had given him and Madame Maxime to complete over the summer. Yet it had to have been at least two months since their departure – were they stuck somewhere, wherever they were? Had they been caught, or worse –
Harry gave himself a mental shake, forcing himself to divert his thoughts from Hagrid's fate. A mixture of apprehension, excitement, and resignation swirled inside him as his thoughts instead settled on the imminent first day of his fifth-year classes at Hogwarts.
Even though the Monday promised to be, according to Ron, 'the worst ever Monday in the history of Mondays', Harry was comforted by the prospect of being able to see Daphne in person once again. He'd barely been able to glimpse her over the weekend, and while they had spoken over a rather lengthy mirror call on Sunday (courtesy the extremely nifty Privacy Charm that Hermione had taught him), it wasn't the same as actually seeing her.
He grinned goofily into the mirror above the wash basin in the boys' toilets, his mouth full of toothpaste, inwardly glad that Ron wasn't around right now. He would have surely taken the mickey out of Harry for acting so…girly. But it wasn't a bad thing, Harry reflected as he rinsed his mouth; Ron's attitude towards his Slytherin girlfriend was worth the ribbing that he, Harry, was sure he would get whenever his mind wandered to think about her.
His Slytherin girlfriend.
Slytherin.
And that right there punctured Harry's excitement as quickly as it had inflated: she was in Slytherin, and if she was known to be dating him, her safety, not to mention reputation and standing, was sure to be jeopardised.
The courage that he had felt on Friday – when he had indicated his absolute conviction in not wanting to hide their relationship – seemed to have dissipated over the course of that weekend. She was right: Slytherin House was too fractured if Nott's visit to their compartment was anything to go by. Not to mention the politics that was currently playing out in that House since the Welcome Feast, which Daphne had explained to him over their mirror call. One wrong move by her, and the plan that her fellow Slytherins were coming up with to have her as one of the de-facto leaders of their House would be in tatters.
He was all for it, of course. Harry recalled, as he stepped into the shower, how he had encouraged Daphne to stake her claim as an alternative option to Malfoy and Nott. She would make a great leader – she was well-known, popular, smart, brilliant with magic, and could get anyone in line if she wanted to. She had an enviable support system, too: Tracey and Blaise would always give her sound advice; Terence and Adrian were her liaisons with the rest of the House, given their own popularity; and woe betide anyone who got on the wrong side of Astoria Greengrass.
He would not risk all of that if the alternative almost certainly spelled danger for Daphne.
And yet…
'You Gryffindors have a streak of nobility that borders on foolishness. And I know you mean well. But answer this, Harry: is it worth it?
Mr Greengrass's words echoed in his mind as he towelled himself dry. Were they making the right choice, choosing to hide their relationship in public? Wasn't their combined happiness worth the brickbats and insults they were certain of receiving if they didn't hide anymore? Was it worth risking it right now?
If it is worth it, you have nothing to worry about, and neither would she.
He sighed and dropped onto his bed, half-dressed, his head in his hands, feeling more confused than ever. Why was this so difficult to decide? Didn't he deserve to be happy? Didn't they deserve to be together, everyone else's reactions be damned? Why did this need so much deliberation and thought? How did it matter what other people thought of this?
His scar pulsed slightly against his palm. He massaged it almost unconsciously, just as a wry thought struck him: the scar was essentially reminding him of the danger involved in them going public.
He would know anyway.
Harry sighed yet again, noting with some dim amusement that he'd done so for the third time that morning. He shook his head firmly as though to clear his thoughts, just as Neville and Dean sleepily slouched past him to the bathroom. It was bad enough that he had to worry about Voldemort and Occlumency and Umbridge and what-not; he didn't want to add another item to that list.
With the firm resolve to think about it later, Harry proceeded to get ready for the first day of term.
'Do you realise how much homework we've got?' grumbled Ron as they exited the Divination classroom and headed down to the main part of the school. 'Two essays and a damn dream diary from that old bat –' he jerked his thumb back toward the top of North Tower '– and they're all due by Thursday!' His voice had adopted a tone of desperation by now. 'How on earth do they expect to finish all that, eh?'
'Dunno,' said Harry, shrugging.
'Blimey, Fred and George weren't kidding, were they? Let's hope that Umbridge woman doesn't give us any…'
Hermione and Christine joined the rest of the Gryffindors on the fourth-floor staircase; together, they all descended one floor for their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson for the year. They were early; Umbridge hadn't arrived yet. They settled into their seats, talking softly while the Hufflepuffs entered the classroom and took their own places.
Harry looked around – it didn't seem like Umbridge had imposed her personality on the room yet. No doubt she had done so in her office. He vaguely wondered how it would look like, but he wasn't too keen on finding out just yet. With the noise level in the classroom gradually swelling, Harry diverted his attention to the window next to his seat. He had a rather spectacular view of the distant mountains to the south; at the foot of the hills lay Hogsmeade. Stray columns of smoke spiralled idly into the sky from a few houses and inns in the village. It was a rather calming sight; especially given the day they'd had.
As expected, it had been brutal. History of Magic had been boring as usual – only Hermione seemed to have the power to resist the soporific power of Binns' voice. Try as they might, Harry and Ron could not seem to be able to pay attention to Binns droning on and on about giant wars – a subject that could well have been fairly interesting in the hands of another teacher. They managed only a paragraph of notes before succumbing to the embrace of boredom and played hangman for the rest of the class.
Surprisingly, Potions was not as bad as they had come to expect over the years. The subject had become fiendishly difficult: the Draught of Peace was not a potion that could be easily brewed. It was a mark of how complicated the potion was that even Hermione looked a little out of sorts while counting the number of counter-clockwise stirs she had done.
But Snape had been less vindictive than usual – indeed, he hadn't gone out of his way to criticise the Gryffindors for every little thing they did. Of course, it did help their case that everyone was paying their utmost attention to their potions, ensuring that they read every line of the instructions written on the board at least twice and reviewing it a third time before actually doing it. Even Neville, who regularly went to pieces in Potions because of Snape's bullying, seemed to be performing much better. Granted, there wasn't any silver vapour rising from his potion near the end of class, but it was a lot better than what it could have been – a potion similar to just-mixed cement, perhaps.
Just as surprising as Snape's lack of harshness had been the silence from the Slytherins before and during the class. Four years of sharing the same Potions class under the tutelage of the Head of Slytherin House had given them some leeway in their dealings with the Gryffindors – they knew they could probably do anything they wished to and would get away with it behind Snape's favouritism towards his students. It had caused many rifts and scuffles, most noticeably the duel last year between Malfoy and Harry; the ricocheted spells had affected Goyle and Hermione and had caused both Harry and Ron to receive detentions for loudly abusing Snape on his face.
This year, though…
Stranger things have happened.
Malfoy's abstinence from taunting and troubling them outside the classroom was just as unnerving as it had been for Ron and Hermione up at the Prefects' carriage on the Hogwarts Express. The lack of insults was a big giveaway as to just how much things had changed in Slytherin House. No longer were its members swaggering and sauntering about, secure in their ability to do whatever they wanted; instead, they were spotted with their heads down, minding their own business, and having a lot more whispered conversations than usual.
Could it be that the uncertainty regarding Voldemort's return was finally seeping into their ranks? Were the children of Death Eaters questioning their place in the society that their parents' master wished to establish, given that they had lost one of their own? Harry remembered the notes with the curses and wards that he had received over the summer – all of them from people associated with the Death Eaters in some way – and a bit of hope flared inside him. Maybe they were changing…maybe they did want to break away from their parents, from Voldemort.
Not all of them, though.
No, not all of them wanted to change. Chief among them was Theodore Nott, the weedy looking boy who was looking to consolidate his standing in Slytherin House, but without much success. Even if it had been only three days since their return, the general appearance seemed to suggest that Nott, despite having prised Crabbe and Goyle away from Malfoy, was struggling to gain a lot of supporters, tacit or otherwise. Most of the upper years didn't seem to consider him as worthy of being the de-facto House leader, while a majority of the younger years were either ignorant of this power struggle, simply not interested, or intelligent enough to realise that the winds of change would soon blow in a different direction altogether.
Whether that direction was Daphne Greengrass, the absent Iris Parkinson, or even Draco Malfoy, was still unknown.
All said and done, it was not looking too great for Nott and his small group of loyalists – Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and a few other House members who didn't like Malfoy in the first place. Harry remembered Daphne telling him that she didn't know if these other tag-alongs really knew what Nott's main goals were. Even so, they had both agreed that it was too early to take a call on anything – there was no guarantee of Malfoy's stand, and the rest of the House was still considered an unknown.
The clicking of heels on the stone floor distracted Harry from his musings; turning in his seat, he saw Dolores Umbridge walking up to her desk at the front of the classroom. She was wearing the same fluffy pink cardigan and the black velvet bow on top of her head as she had worn for his trial at the Ministry and for the Welcome Feast. The image that formed in his mind hadn't changed at all.
The chatter died down instantly as she reached the desk. As she was an unknown quantity, nobody knew how strict of a disciplinarian she would be.
'Good afternoon!' she trilled in her falsely sweet voice that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. Her mouth was stretched in a wide grin that revealed her pointed teeth.
A few people mumbled 'Good afternoon,' in reply. Umbridge's smile, if possible, widened even further.
'Tut, tut,' she called. 'That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply with "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge." One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!'
'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,' they chanted back at her. More than a few people exchanged incredulous glances with their neighbours and friends. Ron shot Harry a 'what-on-earth' look before re-focusing on Umbridge.
'Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?' she said sweetly. 'Wands away and quills out, please.'
If Umbridge hadn't noticed the glances exchanged a minute before, she would have certainly noticed them now. Almost everyone looked at each other across the classroom as they complied with her order – but this time, it was with more resignation and gloom than incredulity. The order of 'wands away' had never yet preceded a lesson that they had found interesting.
Ten minutes later, after a mini monologue on the failing standard of teaching at Hogwarts for the subject, they finished copying down the course aims that Umbridge had written on the blackboard (with a tap of her unusually short wand) and opened their books to read the first chapter, 'Basics for Beginners'.
Harry had not deigned to read through his copy of the book when Mrs Weasley had bought it for him at Grimmauld Place; nor had he read through it when Daphne had complained about it on the train. He was, however, beginning to see the point in Daphne's words: the book was absolutely useless for teaching them about using magic or defensive spells. Reading it was almost as boring as listening to Binns' lectures. He wasn't the only one, however: Ron was idly doodling on a piece of parchment, his eyes unfocused and glazed as he stared at his book. Dean Thomas was staring vacantly out the window. Ernie MacMillan, on the other hand, was trying to finish the chapter as quickly as he could; doubtless, he was looking to live up to the standards expected of a Prefect of the school.
But the day's surprises weren't over, Harry thought wryly, as he looked at Hermione on his other side and saw that she hadn't even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. Instead, she was staring fixedly at Umbridge, her hand raised in the air, her back ramrod straight – Harry recognised the determination to get an answer to her question.
The conversation that followed was the most eye-opening they'd had, in respect of Umbridge's role at Hogwarts and the agenda of the Ministry of Magic for the school. It became quite clear that apart from trying to discredit Dumbledore and Harry for their supposed tales about Voldemort's return, she was going to ensure that they didn't learn defensive magic at all.
'It is the view of the Ministry,' said Umbridge loudly, drowning over the rather audible mutters of Harry's classmates, 'that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examinations, which, after all, is what school is about.'
Harry couldn't help it – he let out an unmistakeable scoff at these words. Umbridge turned her pouchy eyes on him.
'Is there something that you'd like to add, Mr Potter?' she asked sweetly.
Glad you asked.
Play nice, Harry.
Harry fought to keep his face straight as he answered.
'What good's theory going to be in the real world?'
Professor Umbridge gazed at him.
'This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world,' she said softly.
'Fine then. How's theory going help in school?'
'Do you expect to be attacked in school, Mr Potter?'
Harry pulled a face as though he was in deep thought. 'Well…judging by recent history, yeah,' he said at last.
Very sneaky, Harry.
Harry gave a mental grin. Thanks, I learnt from the best.
Beside him, he caught sight of Ron grinning widely at him. On his other side, Hermione looked torn between shock and apprehension. He ignored them both. If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea where this boldness was coming from, but it felt good, really good to be doing something like this: standing up to one of these Ministry lackeys who refused to believe the bloody truth just because they didn't like how it sounded.
'Recent history?' tittered Umbridge. Her high little laugh grated on Harry's nerves, especially since this time, it sounded rather genuine. 'Well, I must say I agree, what with my predecessor actually performing illegal curses on all of you.'
Harry's fist momentarily clenched under the desk at the mention of the fake Mad-Eye Moody.
'But I repeat, you should not be expecting an attack from anyone at school, least of all your own teachers,' she continued. 'And you are?' she added, her eyes landing on Ernie, whose arm was in the air.
'Ernie MacMillan, Professor.'
'Yes, Mr MacMillan?'
'What about outside of school?' asked Ernie. 'Are you saying we shouldn't be using magic to defend ourselves outside the castle?'
'Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves, Mr MacMillan?' inquired Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.
Umbridge addressed Ernie, but her eyes had slid over to Harry. He stared back at her, impassive, his face a mask. He showed no signs of the sense of injustice that was swirling inside him. So, she thought she was going to bait him this easily, did she?
He raised his hand.
'Yes, Mr Potter?' she asked. Harry could almost hear the gleeful tone in her voice.
'The Dementors that attacked Hermione and me at my Uncle's place this summer.'
I wish I had Colin's camera with me.
Get a Pensieve. You can watch it again and again.
Harry's composed façade almost broke at the sight of Umbridge's face: the expression was priceless and telling in equal measure. Her mouth had slackened, and her jaw had literally dropped in shock; her pouchy eyes were wide; and her nostrils were flared slightly.
With the black bow on her head, she looked like the perfect toad.
Internally, Harry felt a surge of vindictive pleasure coarse through him. He had had half a mind to openly challenge her at the beginning of the conversation regarding the course aims, but he forced himself to stay calm and think – his Occlumency training proved most useful for that. The advice he'd received regarding Umbridge came to mind: she wanted to provoke him, to get something from him so that she could undermine him and Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Going in with his wand firing spells everywhere was not the way to counteract her strategy, although it was very, very tempting…
Play it slow, Harry. Don't rush into it.
However, Umbridge recovered her poise almost at once. She flashed him a sweet smile that almost made him gag, then said, 'But surely, Mr Potter, that was a one-off case. And I highly doubt there were Dementors anyway –'
'There were eyewitnesses, Professor,' said Harry, his tone casual. 'And the Wizengamot let me off. You'll remember it, of course, you were there.'
'Don't interrupt me, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge coldly. Her expression had changed: she now stared at him, her eyes calculative, her expression shrewd. Harry was reminded of a toad deep in concentration, just before it struck to catch that juicy fly.
'My apologies, Professor. But you're right, it was a one-off case,' said Harry dismissively. 'I mean, how would two Dementors suddenly turn up in the middle of a Muggle neighbourhood without any reason, and just happen to come across three magical people?'
Still, Umbridge remain silent. Harry noticed the rest of the class hanging on to his every word.
'Imagine if we didn't know how to perform the charm to repel a Dementor. I doubt we would have made it out whole and intact, don't you?'
And as he said those words, the briefest flicker of emotion flashed across Umbridge's pouchy face – one of pleasure, of excitement, of unbridled joy at what could have potentially happened. It was fleeting, of course, but it was something that Harry could not help noticing. Judging by Hermione's soft intake of breath, she had spotted it too.
Well…
This is interesting.
'I'm sure you would have found a way to escape, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge smoothly. 'After all, you seem very adept at wriggling out of sticky situations, aren't you?'
Harry wanted to yell, 'Yeah, I escaped Voldemort in June, didn't you know?' but thought the better of it.
Instead, he merely inclined his head, and said, 'If you want another example, then maybe…' he adopted a mock, thoughtful expression. 'Sirius Black?'
Okay, I definitely need a Pensieve.
Harry forced himself to look straight at Umbridge, because he knew that he would give away his stoic position if he looked at Ron or Hermione. He was sure, however, that they were looking supremely dumbfounded at his statement. He knew he would have done the same thing if he'd been in their position, though – he couldn't have imagined he'd actually resort to using Sirius' name for this.
'Black is no longer in the country, Mr Potter,' said Umbridge slowly, 'and he is unlikely to come after children like you.'
'That's not true,' piped up Hannah Abbott. 'He broke into Hogwarts two years ago.'
'And he killed thirteen people with one curse!' said Justin Finch-Fletchley.
'Yeah, and we all know he's after Harry – sorry, mate,' Dean added with a sheepish look.
Harry shrugged it off. 'No problem –' he began, but he was cut off almost instantly.
'Silence!' shrieked Umbridge.
The class fell silent at once. They stared at Umbridge, who was visibly putting in the effort to bring her heavy breathing back to normal.
'Twenty points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for disrupting my class without reason,' she announced a few moments later.
Ron made to raise his hand, but Harry, realising what he was going to do, held it back.
'I repeat, the Ministry believes that a theoretical knowledge is sufficient for getting you through your examinations at school. If 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,' Umbridge continued. Her bulging eyes glared out at them all, daring them to retaliate.
'As for what we have discussed, barring the stories that Mr Potter decided to share with us today, the Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark witch or wizard. There is no one outside of school who wants to attack you all. You are safe, you are protected. And if someone continues to tell you otherwise, you are always welcome to tell me about it. I am here to help. Now, you will kindly continue with your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk.'
She strode around the desk and sat down heavily behind it, staring at everyone. One by one, they reopened their textbooks and resumed the tedious reading of the chapter.
Yet, Harry could not help but notice that all of them glanced at him first, waiting for him to do so before they followed suit.
Umbridge might have claimed victory in this skirmish, but the battle had only just begun. And it seemed that everyone had found their leader.
To be continued…
