Chapter One Hundred - Nobilis and Umbridge

It had not escaped Harry's notice that other students, even his fellow Slytherins, seemed more intimidated by him than they had in years past. He didn't blame them. Last year, he had defied everyone's expectations by becoming the youngest winner of the Triwizard Tournament in recorded history, only to be immediately led away from the festivities by Professor Moody. The next anyone in the school knew, Harry was in the hospital wing, Professor Moody was dead, and Dumbledore was announcing that Lord Voldemort had returned.

With such a suspicious series of events presented before them, it was no wonder some of his classmates were scared. Harry wasn't surprised, therefore, when Blaise attempted to greet Daphne Greengrass the next morning only for her to turn away and huddle closer to her friends as they slipped out the common room entrance.

"What's that about?" Blaise asked with a disgruntled frown.

"Sorry," said Harry, "It's probably my fault. She doesn't want to be seen with someone the Prophet has been calling an attention-seeking liar all summer."

"It's not always about you, Harry," Millie interjected, catching up with Blaise and Harry in time to hear his lament, "Daphne's not ignoring Blaise because of you and Voldemort."

Startled, Blaise asked, "Then why is she ignoring me?"

"She says you didn't write to her all summer."

"I was in a safehouse all summer!" Blaise exclaimed loudly before Harry shushed him, fearful that they would be overhead. Fortunately, the common room was mostly empty, with the exception of Omnivora Pandey. She was huddled next to one of the submerged windows, happily signing with a mermaid.

Blaise took Harry's hint and dropped his voice to a hiss as he added, "How was I supposed to know she wanted me to write to her?"

"You don't have to convince me," Millie told him, "I know what you were doing all summer. But Daphne thinks you've been writing to that French girl you took to the Yule Ball instead of writing to her."

Blaise continued to complain of Daphne's unfair assumptions as they left the common room and made their way toward the Great Hall. Just as Harry was beginning to think there would be no end to Blaise's tirade all through breakfast, a familiar voice called out to him. Cassius Warrington approached, a broad smile on his face.

"Alright, Warrington?" Harry greeted, relieved that there was at least one student who wasn't scurrying away from him in terror, "Good summer?"

"Productive," Warrington replied succinctly, "Feel free to congratulate me, Potter. I've just been appointed Quidditch Captain."

"Excellent!" Harry was beaming, but he couldn't quite conceal his surprise. After Marcus Flint, their previous captain, had graduated, his lieutenant Montague should have replaced him. But Quidditch had been canceled last year in favor of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry knew that Warrington aspired to overthrow Montague, but he didn't understand how the coup could have been accomplished with so little effort.

"How did you manage to swing that?" Blaise asked curiously, his thoughts running along the same theme as Harry's.

"I paid a visit to Snape's office this morning," Warrington explained, "There'll be a lot of openings on the team this year. Besides Montague and myself, the only veteran members are you and Bletchley. I managed to convince Snape that since I've got your support, then I'd be more likely to win us the cup."

"And that worked?" asked Harry.

Warrington shrugged. "Actually, he didn't seem too interested. I think his exact words were 'do whatever you want.' He probably only agreed to make me captain because I got to him first. Which is exactly what I'd planned when I slipped Montague that sleeping draught last night."

They shared a conspiratorial grin, and then Harry asked, "So, any thoughts on tryouts this year?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," replied Warrington, "Flint's position is still open, and now we're down two beaters as well. I need our seasoned members to vet the potential replacements. Can you be on the pitch Saturday morning?"

Harry, eager for the early opportunity to fly again, agreed to be present at the appointed time. He then turned toward his friends with a hopeful mien.

"Forget it, Harry," Blaise said, reading his expression and knowing exactly what it meant, "I'm not risking my face against a Bludger. I've told you that before."

"How about it, Bulstrode?" suggested Warrington, "You look like you've got the right build for a beater. Will we be seeing you on the pitch this Saturday?"

"I prefer flying on wings to a broomstick," Millie replied flatly.

His friends' refusal aside, Harry's head was still brimming with excitement for the upcoming tryouts as he settled down at the Slytherin table. He had to tear his thoughts away from new plays he was eager to try when a sixth-year prefect passed down their row, handing out course schedules. They would start the day with Charms, then on to Potions with the Gryffindors. Harry noted that he'd have to separate from his friends in the afternoon for his wand-making class, though they would be reunited again for Defense Against the Dark Arts at the end of the day.

"Oh good! You've got your schedules, too," Hermione announced, breathless with enthusiasm as she joined them at their table. Harry tried to fight off his disappointment that she chose to sit across from him with Neville, rather than taking the empty seat by his side. Instead, he handed her his schedule for her perusal while Neville explained, "We've got Binns first thing, but I guess we'll see you in Potions later?"

They didn't have a chance to reply before Hermione was talking again. She wanted to discuss their upcoming OWLs, since the fifth years would have to sit the exams that year.

"You're the only one who'd be excited about exams," Harry teased, though privately he found it endearing.

"Excited! I'm terrified!" Hermione gasped unconvincingly. Harry could see the sparkle in her eyes that showed how thrilled she was by the challenge. "The scores we get on our OWLs can affect what NEWTs we'll take next year and what jobs we can apply for in the future! Have you given any thought to what you want to do after Hogwarts?"

Harry, his mind still partially occupied by the conversation he'd had with Warrington, could think of only one thing. But aspiring to be a professional Quidditch player seemed like the sort of far-flung dream his friends would only mock him for, so he shook his head and replied, "Not at all. What about you?"

Neville glanced down at his breakfast sheepishly and said, "I don't know. I'm only good with plants, so at the very least I'd like to continue studying Herbology, if I can."

"Don't be silly, Neville. You're good at a lot of things," Hermione chastised sternly before saying, "I can't decide, really. There are just so many interesting professions! What about the rest of you? What would your dream job be?"

Blaise, deeply offended, replied, "I do not dream of labor."

Harry grinned. Blaise's response reminded him strongly of Mrs. Zabini whenever she spoke derisively of "domestic spells." Perhaps his friend also planned to marry rich and have his spouse care for him.


Whatever Blaise decided to do with his education in the future, Harry was sure he'd have no problem securing an excellent score in Charms. Their first class with Flitwick went very well for him that morning, and Harry was already negotiating a tutoring session as they made their way toward the dungeon for Potions.

Snape's request for order at the start of class was hardly necessary. Four years of lessons with the Potions Master had taught his students that it would be unwise to act unruly when he entered the classroom.

"Before we begin today's lesson," began Snape in his quiet way, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will all be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an acceptable score in your OWL, or suffer my… displeasure."

His gaze lingered on Neville as he pronounced this final word. When Neville shuddered in fear, Snape, apparently satisfied that his threat had the desired effect, continued in the same cool tone, "After this year, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the very best into my NEWT potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."

His glance now rested on Harry, his lip curling slightly. Harry grinned back at him, accepting this challenge with enthusiasm.

Clearly his bright smile was not the reaction he'd hoped to elicit, for Snape suddenly turned away and introduced their first assignment, the Draught of Peace. He flicked his wand, and as usual the instructions appeared on the chalkboard behind his desk.

Harry concentrated on his potion, determined to further irritate Snape by doing an excellent job on the first assignment of the year. By the end of class, both he and Hermione had a light silver vapor shimmering over their cauldrons. They were among the few who had succeeded. Harry knew he had done well, as Snape passed over his cauldron without comment, which meant he could find nothing to criticize.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," Harry muttered as Snape walked by, "I'm going to plague you until I graduate."


Harry's morning classes had put him in an excellent mood by the time he said goodbye to Blaise and Millie that afternoon. Though a few students still scurried out of his path as he made his solitary way down the hall, he saw fewer and fewer of them the closer he drew to his wand-making class. One familiar face greeted him with a smile, however, as soon as he'd stepped into the classroom.

"Saved you a seat!" Cedric Diggory called cheerfully, gesturing to a spot by his side.

Harry had always liked Cedric. He had been kind and friendly toward him even when they were competitors in the Triwizard Tournament. But Harry could not remember Cedric's kindness without remembering how the tournament had ended. For Harry, his victory was overshadowed by the trauma that followed. It was not an experience he'd felt comfortable sharing with Cedric, who surely harbored his own doubts regarding The Boy Who Lived. Although he seemed as friendly as ever, Harry couldn't help but suspect a hidden motive behind his smile.

Their conversation started innocently enough. Cedric asked him general questions about his summer and did not pry when Harry gave him only vague, indistinct answers.

"What about you?" Harry asked, anxious to turn the attention away from himself, "Did you go anywhere interesting on holiday?"

"Hardly. Dad was too busy with work most of the time… Actually, he almost didn't want me returning to Hogwarts this year," Cedric admitted.

This shocked Harry. Amos Diggory had an almost zealous pride in his son. He couldn't imagine why he'd want to keep Cedric from completing his seventh and final year at Hogwarts.

"Why not?" he blurted.

Cedric eyed him cautiously before asking, "Have you been reading the Prophet?"

Too late, Harry realized where this was going. The Daily Prophet had been calling Dumbledore a crackpot all summer. And to make matters worse, Mr. Diggory worked for the Ministry. If he was in Fudge's pocket, feeling pressured to conform to his views on Dumbledore, it was no wonder he felt conflicted over sending his beloved son to Hogwarts.

Harry didn't need to respond. His sullen silence was enough to affirm that he understood Cedric's difficulty. Cedric shrugged as if to dismiss the problem, adding, "In the end, my dad only agreed to send me back when I was made Head Boy."

Harry took the opportunity to offer his congratulations, which Cedric accepted gracefully, though he was more interested in Harry's point of view.

"So what do you think?" he finally asked, "Do you figure what Dumbledore has been saying is true?"

He kept his tone light and casual, but Harry knew that this had been his aim all along. He wanted to question Harry about what happened after the Triwizard Tournament. But as much as Harry liked Cedric, he still didn't know if he could trust him with the entire story. He thought about what he should say throughout the class, barely listening to the instructions Professor Nobilis gave them about different wand cores and how to fit them into the wood without damage.

When class concluded for the day, Harry knew Cedric wanted to resume the topic, but he still didn't know how to respond to his queries. He made some excuse about speaking to the professor to avoid being drawn into another tête-à-tête. Cedric was clearly disappointed, but he kept a cheerful smile on his face as he said, "Alright, I'll catch you later, Harry!"

Harry dawdled by his desk as the last students drifted out of the classroom, wanting to ensure plenty of distance between himself and Cedric before he made his way to his next class. As he slowly replaced his textbook in his schoolbag, he noticed Professor Nobilis, tidying up a desk that was covered in sawdust and wood shavings.

Seeing Cedric had inevitably brought some rather disturbing memories to mind. Most had to do with a graveyard, a potion, and a wizard with snake-like features. But there were things that had happened in that graveyard that he still didn't fully understand. As he watched the professor tidily rearrange her desk, he realized that he did in fact have a question for her.

The wizened old professor was so busy about her task, Harry had to repeat her name twice before she looked up at him.

"Sorry to bother you, professor," he began, "I wanted to ask you… It's about my wand."

"You want to know why it connected with Lord Voldemort's?" she asked in a businesslike manner, not hesitating to use the name.

Harry stared back at her, astonished that she had guessed the truth. Professor Nobilis merely laughed and added, "Dumbledore came to me with the same question last summer. I figured it was only a matter of time before I heard from you."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It would be easier without having to explain the whole ordeal again.

"Dumbledore told me that it was because they share the same core… A feather from the same phoenix. From Fawkes."

Professor Nobilis nodded sagely and replied, "It is possible that the twin cores make the wands more compatible. A spell like priori incantatem could then be more easily triggered if they were used against one another."

They were coming to the point that disturbed Harry more than the twin cores. When Harry spoke again, it was with hesitation.

"I think it could be more than that… What I mean is… Could it really be a coincidence that Voldemort and I have twin wands? That of all the phoenix feathers in all the wands in the world, I had to choose the wand that had Fawke's feather? Mr. Ollivander said that the wand chooses the wizard…"

Professor Nobilis laughingly interrupted him. "So you've been listening to my old friend Garrick, have you? I suppose you think this means you're destined for dark things, eh? Harry, let me tell you something that would make Garrick Ollivander rip his hair out. A wand is just a tool. There is no more magic in a wand than in the wood shavings on this desk."

She brushed away a few of the shavings for emphasis. Harry was dumbfounded. This from a professor of wand-making? Had her advanced age finally caught up to her?

When Harry failed to look convinced, Professor Nobilis added, "Harry, what do you think would happen if a Muggle ever came across a discarded wand? Nothing, that's what! And that is because a wand doesn't work unless the person wielding it has magic to start with."

To demonstrate, Professor Nobilis lifted her empty hand, and a book on a nearby shelf soared across the room and into her outstretched fingers, as neatly as if she'd summoned it with a wand.

"How did you do that?" Harry demanded, amazed at the ease with which the trick was performed.

"I've already said, the magic is inside of you," she explained, "The wand helps us focus and direct the energy inside of us. The incantations help us speak our intentions into being. But the power… The raw ability to perform feats of magic… That exists without a wand. Think about it, Harry. Haven't you ever made something happen without meaning to?"

Harry thought of the incident at the zoo, many years ago. He'd made the glass of the python enclosure vanish, freeing the snake that had been caged inside and sealing away his cousin Dudley in its place. He hadn't had a wand then. He hadn't even known he was a wizard at the time. But the magic had certainly been his.

"Can I learn to do what you just did?" Harry asked, gesturing to the book in Professor Nobilis's hand.

"With practice, of course you could," she told him confidently, "It takes a certain amount of focus, but anyone with magic could learn a few tricks easily. More with discipline."

Harry thanked the professor for her time before hurrying out of her classroom. The conversation had given him much to think about, and for perhaps the first time he was truly looking forward to his homework assignments.


His good mood was promptly crushed from the moment he entered Professor Umbridge's classroom. She promptly instructed the class to put their wands away, and as much as Harry was eager to try wandless magic, he was sure that this was not what Umbridge had in mind.

"I have been sorry to find," she began in her girlish, simpering tone, "that your instruction in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented. The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year."

Harry was forced to agree with her sentiments as far as Quirrell and Lockhart had been concerned, but he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from defending either Remus or Professor Moody.

"You will be pleased to know that these problems are now to be rectified," Umbridge continued, "We will be following a carefully structured, theory-driven, ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year."

She waved her wand at the chalkboard, and three course aims appeared in flowery script:

Understand the principles underlying defensive magic.

Learn to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

Place the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

As the rest of the class scribbled down the aims on their parchment, Millie frowned and raised her hand. Umbridge pretended not to see her, instead asking aloud if the students had remembered their textbooks. Millie, undaunted by the pointed neglect, loudly cleared her throat with the same "hem hem" that Umbridge had used to interrupt Dumbledore's speech the night before.

Harry stifled a giggle as Umbridge turned toward Millie with a forced smile.

"Yes, dear?" she asked, "Was there something you didn't understand about the course aims? I thought them rather simple, but be that as it may…"

"There's nothing about using defensive spells?" Millie interrupted.

"Using spells?" repeated Umbridge with a laugh, "I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell."

"We're not going to use magic?" Millie asked in disbelief.

Harry understood her chagrin. If Charms was Blaise's area of expertise, then surely Defense Against the Dark Arts was Millie's.

"As I said, there will be no need to use defensive magic in my classroom."

"But what about our OWLs?" interjected Blaise.

"Students in my classroom will raise their hands before they speak," Umbridge snapped sharply. Blaise stubbornly raised his hand, looking mutinous, but he was ignored.

Daphne Greengrass, seeing this, raised her hand instead.

"Yes, Miss Greengrass?" Umbridge asked, mistakenly thinking that because Daphne was pretty, calm, and polite that she was not going to challenge her.

Daphne might have been angry with Blaise for his neglect over the summer, but she was on their side as she asked, "Surely we'll be asked to perform defensive spells as part of our examination? How will we prepare ourselves without practice?"

A gentle ripple of agreement spread through the classroom. The Slytherins, rather than pull out their textbooks, were now riveted on this conversation. Umbridge must have been aware of the attention, but she continued to direct her smug smile at Daphne alone as she said, "The curriculum I will be teaching was designed by wizards much older and cleverer than you, Miss Greengrass. You will learn defensive magic in a secure, risk-free way that will prepare you for any situation you may face, including examinations."

"Without practice?" Blaise blurted before he could stop himself, "What's that going to do? If we have to use these spells, it's not going to be in a risk-free…"

"Hand, Mr. Zabini!" Umbridge repeated. Blaise raised his fist in the air and was ignored again as Umbridge continued, now addressing the rest of the class.

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school, but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class. Not to mention extremely dangerous half-breeds."

Blaise half-rose from his seat, but Harry stopped him with a touch to his arm. This obvious slight against Remus had Harry just as incensed against Umbridge, but he could see her game now. He was not going to allow his friend to land himself in detention on their first day. If he confronted her now, they'd be playing right into her hands.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked, having noticed the slight movement at their desk. "Do you have something to add?"

Harry was conscious of everyone's eyes turning toward him, waiting to see how he would respond.

"I agree with you completely, professor," he said in an oily voice that made his own stomach churn.

Professor Umbridge's false smile faltered slightly, and he knew he had the upper hand. She had not been expecting this from him of all people.

"You do?"

"Oh yes!" Harry said, "It's just as you said. We're not likely to be attacked in your classroom, are we? Honestly, it's such a relief that we'll finally get a consistent, quality education in this class."

Blaise and Mille were staring at him as if he were an imposter. His quick glance mollified them for the moment, and they remained silent, if discontent.

Harry's example settled the rest of the class, and soon they were quietly pulling out their books, prepared for the lesson to begin. Umbridge had nothing left to do but praise Harry for his understanding. As she turned away, he could see the smile drop from her face. Clearly, she had sensed that the class only agreed to her method of instruction because Harry had declared it would be so. He felt he had won an important first battle as Umbridge shortly instructed them to begin reading the first chapter of their textbooks.

"There will be no need to talk," she added.


Blaise and Millie dragged Harry aside the moment class had ended, demanding to know what his performance was all about.

"Don't you see? It's all a game," Harry informed them, "She wants us to get angry, to challenge her authority. She's hoping we'll complain to Dumbledore, or even talk about Voldemort's return!"

"But why?" asked Millie, "What would she gain from that?"

"Only what the Ministry really wants to know… What Dumbledore is planning. They don't actually think Voldemort is back, remember?"

"That makes sense," said Blaise slowly, "We know the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts… I'll bet that Umbridge toad is hoping one of us will screw up so she can complain to Fudge and get Dumbledore sacked!"

"Exactly what I was getting at," Harry agreed, "But I'm not going to give her an edge. I'll play along as long as I can. Make her think I'm on her side…"

"That's fine for you," Millie interrupted, "But what about the rest of us? I mean, using theory to study for our OWLs! The woman is mad!"

"So we won't use magic during class," Harry replied, "When has that ever stopped us before? Millie, you already know every defensive and offensive spell there is! We'll practice together after class. You can practice your spells on me and Blaise, and we'll learn from you."

This suggestion satisfied Millie for the moment, though she was quick to point out that they'd need to find a place to practice where Umbridge wouldn't catch them at it. Unused and empty classrooms were too risky.

"There's always the Chamber of Secrets," Harry suggested, "She won't know about the hidden passage. Just follow my lead, and everything will be alright."