cclv. the inspectorate
Elara would have found the current situation hilarious if the magical world weren't on the brink of civil war and being swallowed by darkness.
It was the first Wednesday of term, which meant the fifth-year Slytherins had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class for the term. They arrived with the Gryffindors and had filtered in seconds before the bell rang, as was custom. They'd taken their seats, and Slytherin had slunk out from behind his desk, preparing to give his traditional deriding speech—when a knock had sounded upon the door.
Elara couldn't recall a single time she'd ever seen someone interrupt Slytherin, and judging by the sudden flash of surprise cutting through his expression, the professor hadn't experienced the phenomenon either. His face regained composure in an instant, and he crossed his arms, giving his head an imperious tilt so his nose rose in the air.
"Come in," he ordered.
The door opened, and heels tapped upon the flagstones as the pink-clad Ministry witch came strutting inside.
Students on the Gryffindor side of the room leaned toward one another, and whispers ran rampant. Elara couldn't properly hear what was said, but she could guess the general gist. As far as she knew, Madam Umbridge hadn't made a nuisance of herself yet, and others had wagered on when she'd begin doing so. Elara thought that was about to change.
"Good afternoon, Professor Slytherin," Madam Umbridge greeted, holding a clipboard with her arm folded beneath it, a quill pinned to its top.
If Umbridge expected a greeting in return, she'd be left wanting. Slytherin stared at the woman as if she were a particularly dense first-year who'd wandered across his path.
When he failed to say anything for a long, awkward moment, Umbridge's greasy smile slid off her face, and she cleared her throat. "Hem-hem."
Slytherin stirred, and the ugliness in his eyes intensified. Elara noticed how Harriet shifted in her seat so she slid down several inches. "What is your purpose here?"
"Why, surely Headmaster Dumbledore has informed you of my task? You see, I've been selected by our esteemed Minister to inspect—."
"Yes, I've heard the party line," Slytherin retorted, taking a step forward so he was closer to the front row. Harriet scrunched lower. "I am asking why are you in my classroom?"
Most of the room had twisted in their seats to see Umbridge in the back, and their eyes bounced between their professor and the witch like a Quaffle between Chasers. Umbridge surprised Elara with her gumption because she neither flinched nor faltered under Slytherin's chilling regard.
"Then you must understand I'm here to inspect your class," she said with an obnoxious titter capping her statement. "No professor or member of staff at this institute is exempt from the Ministry's exhaustive investigation. Surely you understand."
Slytherin appeared at a loss for words. "Very well," he finally settled on in a soft, dangerous whisper. 'As you were, Madam Umbridge." All of a sudden, his hand lashed out, slamming palm-down on Harriet's desk. The noise startled everyone, but earned a particularly frightened yelp out of Harriet. "Sit up."
Harriet dragged herself upright, the tops of her ears bright red.
Slytherin resumed his position at the head of the room, ignoring Umbridge as he regained control over the students. They fell silent in a wave, the only noise left their anxious breathing and the tap of Umbridge's heels as she slowly started her rounds.
"You've matriculated to yet another year under my instruction," Slytherin began, steepling his fingers. The torchlight touched only his back, creating a sharp, orange outline on his slim form. His eyes gleamed crimson from a darkened face. "For most of you, this will be your last year in this classroom. If you intend to continue your studies in the Dark Arts and the defenses against them, you must attain an Outstanding on your Ordinary Wizarding Levels. For some, I anticipate it won't be a challenge to meet the Ministry's standards. For most…."
He trailed off in a meaningful way, leaving the class to interpret the implication. Elara considered her textbook as the silence stretched, her gloved finger following the edge. Would she be here next year? Did she want to even take the Defense O.W.L? She hadn't given her future beyond Hogwarts much consideration. Really, Elara knew she had the privilege to do whatever held her fancy; she could live off the Black fortune or take a stipend as a member of Wizengamot. Or, she could find something she wanted to do with her life.
Eyes narrowed, Elara leaned her elbow on her desk. It's difficult to imagine any optimistic scenario in a world controlled by Voldemort.
Slytherin continued his diatribe, falling into his usual rhythm, almost as if Umbridge hadn't come into the class at all. The witch kept circling, however, and the sound of her heavy feet and scratching quill served as a constant reminder of her presence.
"Our curriculum for your fifth year consists mainly of curses and their counters. Dark curses differ from those you may have studied theoretically under Professor Flitwick in their nature and execution. If you have retained anything from my instruction, it is the understanding that Dark magic is an influence outside of your routine incantations. It is an art only the most talented of wizards and witches can comprehend, let alone master." Slytherin sounded as if he were crooning when he spoke, clearly enjoying the subject matter. "Today, we will be concentrating on the Scalding Curse, the standard incantation being flagrante—."
"Hem-hem."
Slytherin came to a halt, then turned to look at Umbridge. "Yes?"
"The Scalding Curse is Dark magic, is it not?"
"That would be the point of this lesson, yes, Madam Umbridge. Brilliant deduction."
The witch made a soft tutting noise. "Oh dear. Did you have a chance to examine the approved compendium released by the Office of the Inspectorate?"
"You mean your office. It would appear not." Slytherin's lip curled.
"Well, you really must find the time. You see, the Minister has ratified an official catalog of spells that are allowed to be taught at Hogwarts, and the Scalding Curse is most definitely not on it."
For an instant, Elara thought Slytherin might hex the woman. She could almost see the idea flicker through him at lightning speed before he reasoned himself out of the action—no doubt realizing even he might have difficulty explaining why he mangled a Ministry official in front of an entire class.
"My lesson plan has been approved by the Hogwarts Board of Governors." Slytherin said each word with deliberate weight. "The Board has the final say in what gets taught at this school."
"Oh, not anymore." Umbridge smiled. "Not according to Educational Decree Number One."
"Pardon?"
"Educational Decree Number One." She said it louder, as if Slytherin hadn't actually heard. "Passed by our dear Minister with the full authority of the Wizengamot. It reads that all curricula taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are subject to review and revision by the British Ministry of Magic and its selected agents." Umbridge laid a pudgy hand on her chest, over her heart. "That means me, if you're confused."
The class held their breath. They had never seen someone challenge Professor Slytherin like this before. Certainly he and Professor Dumbledore had their disagreements in the public eye, but the Headmaster always demurred, not wanting to create a scene where others could witness it. Umbridge had no such tact.
Slytherin's eyes narrowed, and his tongue briefly worked over the edge of his teeth. Elara found it a telling gesture, given how the wizard almost never showed his teeth in such a manner. They were perfectly white and straight, but also strange, too sharp.
Elara couldn't say what she expected. She wouldn't describe Professor Slytherin as a predictable person on a good day, and today was decidedly not a good day. Next to her, Harriet wore an expression suggesting she might be ill.
However, Slytherin surprised them all when he simply lifted a hand and shrugged a shoulder. "Very well," he said, eyes on Umbridge. "Class, retrieve your books and turn to page one."
People exchanged confused looks. "But Professor," Hermione ventured, her voice faltering. "Um. That's the…preface."
"And you will spend the rest of the period reading it, Granger." Slytherin smiled at Umbridge. "Since that is the subject matter our illustrious Ministry finds agreeable."
He returned to his desk with a bored gesture, sinking into the comfortable chair behind it. Umbridge kept taking notes on her clipboard, her squat face wrinkled with consternation, and the class filled with puzzled murmurs and whispers.
"Merlin's bollocks," Harriet breathed, earning a half-hearted huff from Hermione. "I can't believe he didn't use her for target practice, honestly."
"Is it really such an odd choice?" Elara said. "Even Umbridge understands the power of her position. What can Slytherin do or say while she has the full weight of the Ministry behind her?"
"I dunno. That's the point, innit? He figures out how to do stuff all the time right in Dumbledore's face. I mean, he slapped me in front of Snape and another woman without issue."
"What?!"
From his desk, Slytherin hissed a warning for Hermione to keep her voice down. Hermione glared at him but acquiesced.
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing. Leave it alone."
"What do you mean he slapped you?"
"Nothing, Merlin."
"Harriet—."
"Hem-hem."
The annoying throat clearing sounded nearby, and the trio of witches turned to see Umbridge looking down at them.
"Miss Potter," she said. "It's a shame to see you not taking your second chance at your education more seriously."
"Bit of a challenge when all we can read is the book's preface," Harriet muttered.
"What was that, dear?"
"I said I've already finished the assignment, Madam Umbridge."
The witch's beady eyes flicked to the closed book on Harriet's desk. "Well, I think it would be in your best interest to read it again. Surely one such as yourself will need multiple readings to ensure the information sinks in."
Elara's palms began to sweat inside her gloves when she feared Harriet might argue—but she didn't, opting to open her textbook and lower her head. Not a single complaint escaped her. Umbridge frowned, having expected more of a fight, then adjusted her clipboard and went off toward the Gryffindor side of the room.
"Minging cow," Harriet whispered. "And no, I'm not going to discuss it, Hermione. Leave it."
A minute of stiff silence passed between the trio. Their professor had apparently moved on to writing a letter, his quill slashing across the parchment with a silent, fuming fury. Umbridge spoke with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.
"What does Gaunt expect to happen by refusing to let Slytherin teach?" Hermione pondered as she, too, went through the performance of opening her book to the beginning page. "We'll flunk our O. , for Merlin's sake! That'll reflect poorly on the Ministry."
"It might be part of his plan," Elara commented. She didn't bother reading the preface like the others. In fact, she considered taking out a Dark book Andromeda had lent her that she'd smuggled into the school, but Elara wasn't quite so bold—or foolish. "He'll integrate it as part of his re-election platform. The results of the readiness tests we take before the end of term will be out by then, and he could push for changes in Hogwarts' staff to better our mark retention."
"I don't believe that's it. There's too many variables to bank upon the results. I think it's more about asserting control."
Elara considered this. "He already has control. Would he really cut off his nose to spite his face?"
Harriet choked, brushing away Hermione's concern. Assured her friend wasn't about to asphyxiate in the middle of Defense, the other witch returned to the conversation.
"I should clarify it's about a lack of control, specifically."
"Now that makes no sense at all."
Hermione breathed in a small breath through her nose. "It makes perfect sense. Mr. Malfoy told us he's been seeking something in the Department of Mysteries. Something he can't get. Add to that Harriet's defiance and his general intuition telling him something is amiss about her, and he can't figure it out. He's a megalomaniac; even a perceived lack of control on his part might spiral him into obsession."
"That is entirely supposition," Elara argued. "Not that I disagree with the concept, but we're talking about Gaunt here. Would he allow so much of himself to be ruled by emotion if it could hurt his platform?"
Harriet answered before Hermione could. "Yes," she muttered. "Yes, he's not as…there as Slytherin is. He's fucking unhinged." Her hand came up to scratch at the right side of her neck, clawing briefly at the skin before she forced the arm down. "I think he's got plans and he's not bloody stupid, but he's not above doing questionable things when he's slighted."
The scene from the hospital flashed into Elara's mind—the case bursting open, spilling over with snakes. She recalled the scene in Hermione's living room, her Muggle parents asleep on the sofa, about to wake up to an entirely different life.
Gaunt was unhinged. So perhaps Elara shouldn't question the psychology behind it. Maybe he would simply ruin Slytherin's lesson plan for the sheer pleasure of it.
She rested her chin on her hand, lost in thought.
Hermione's mention of the O.W.L. exams and their inability to complete them without proper instruction did bring another question to Elara's mind. What if this meddling extended to their other classes? Surely the fifth-years wouldn't be content to stay idle as their life-defining tests loomed nearer. Gaunt or no Gaunt, Slytherin or no Slytherin. Dark Lords and the end of the world be damned, no one would accept failing just to please the Ministry.
Class drew to a close eventually, and people began to shuffle their books back into their bags and shift about in their seats, eager to leave. Elara did the same, sighing, and waited for the bell to ring. It did so—and another grating cough held the students in their place.
"I will need you all to empty your bags for inspection," Umbridge said, standing at the head of the room. Slytherin directed an annoyed glance at her back but otherwise remained unmoved. Elara wondered how long that would last.
"You can't do that," Malfoy said. "That's not allowed—."
"I'm sure you'll find, Mr. Malfoy, that I am very much in the right here. All attendees of this school tacitly agree with Hogwarts' charter, which includes certain cessations of privacy and right of search." She tittered slightly, a pleased little hum rounding out her words. "So. Empty your bags."
Harriet's eye-roll was almost audible, but she nonetheless gripped the bottom of her satchel and upended it, letting her tomes and untidy parchment sheaves spill across the desk. Hermione did the same, as did the Gryffindors, many of whom delighted in how their inkwells smashed upon the floor, splattering Umbridge's noisome pink heels.
Elara moved to lift her bag—and froze.
Oh, God help me.
The book. She had that blasted book in her bag! Andromeda had lent it to her with the strict understanding she would show it to no one and keep it to herself, and Elara had eagerly accepted. It was a dissertation from a Nordic Dark wizard discussing the theoretical merits of blood magic—nothing evil or overly macabre, but certainly enough to see Elara expelled!
Umbridge stepped closer to Hermione's desk, sniffing, as Elara swayed in place. What could she do? What could she do? Grab the book and hurl it into the nearest fireplace? Blast it to pieces with her wand? She didn't know the spell to Vanish objects and doubted it'd work on the book anyway. Magical possessions such as that often resisted Vanishment.
Harriet glanced at her from the corner of her eye and raised her brow in question. She was much too close to Umbridge to ask a question, and Elara couldn't answer. Her panicked gaze darted to her bag—still yet unpacked, her arm frozen in motion to pick it up—and Harriet's attention followed it. She stared for a moment, confused, then clarity sparked in her green eyes.
"You've got to be kidding me," Harriet groaned.
Umbridge's concentration jerked from Hermione to the shorter girl. "Something to say, Miss Potter?" she demanded.
Harriet briefly shut her eyes, her face turned from Umbridge. She straightened, stiffening her shoulders, and faced forward.
"Yeah, I got something to say," she told Umbridge, raising her voice. The others peered at her, their conversations quietening. "I think Gaunt's a cock-eyed nonce, and he's in league with Lord Voldemort."
The words seemed to ring in the dead silence that encumbered the room—or perhaps it was only Elara's ears.
"Holy shit," Longbottom whispered. Someone coughed to hide their laugh.
Umbridge's face underwent a gamut of emotions—befuddlement, disbelief, rage, and then sheer, twisted joy. Her smile radiated smug malice, and her interest in the impromptu search disappeared.
She had exactly what she wanted, after all.
"I think you've earned yourself a detention, Miss Potter," she said, her voice never losing its saccharin sweetness.
"You can give out detentions too, then?" Harriet snarked. "Seems you can do anything you want."
"Eventually you will discover just how right you are, Miss Potter." She selected one of Harriet's binders, studied it, then dropped it on the floor without care. "You must realize I am here to assist you and your classmates, dear. It's not your fault you've been lied to, but you will learn better. I think a month of detentions will adjust your attitude. Let's see if that helps." She selected another item—a wooden quill box, a hand-carved gift from Hagrid—and dropped it. Elara heard it crack. "Your first detention will begin tonight. Arrive at my office on the fifth floor this evening promptly at seven o'clock."
Harriet sneered. "Yes, ma'am."
Umbridge smiled again, and the class was dismissed, the miserable pink toad fairly skipping as she departed the room before the students.
Elara couldn't help how her shoulders slumped with relief—and nor could she help the sudden, overwhelming guilt that twisted her gut. She knelt to help Harriet gather her things, muttering an apologetic reparo over the split quill box.
"I'm sorry—."
"Just leave it," Harriet retorted, sounding tired. "You couldn't have known she'd start searching our things. We didn't have any idea she'd be here."
"I should have been more careful."
"Doesn't matter now, loathsome bint. Slytherin's going to have my head later." Harriet stood, wrinkling parchment as she stuffed it into her satchel without care. "C'mon, we're going to be late for History."
They gathered their things, readying to follow the others—and Slytherin finally chose to rise from his desk, snapping Elara's name with particular venom.
"Black, remain behind."
Dread slunk over her anew at the wizard's command, and she was left with no choice but to stand by her desk, her hand forming a fist where she gripped her bag's strap. Harriet hesitated as if she meant to wait as well, but a single quelling look from Slytherin sent her and Hermione darting through the door. One by one, the others left until it was only Elara and Slytherin. The professor came to stand in front of her, not unlike what Umbridge had done minutes prior.
"I don't know what stupidity Potter chose to cover for you," he said, cold. His red eyes didn't blink, didn't shift from her face. "Frankly, I don't care. It won't happen again."
"No, sir—."
"I am not finished!"
He didn't shout, but it was a near thing, and Elara's heart lurched in her chest, her lungs tightening.
"It won't happen again. I have shown incredible benevolence towards you and Granger, especially in light of the asinine little stunt you pulled in handing off your prefect badge to the Mudblood." He drew an agitated hand over his jaw, then through his hair. "You will prevent Miss Potter from making a fool of herself again. Do you understand?"
Elara swallowed, then uttered, "Yes, sir."
Slytherin studied her, a long, lingering look, unknown thoughts roving beneath his facade like living corpses beneath soil. The longer Elara stared, the uglier it looked.
He removed his timepiece from his pocket and consulted it. He nodded to himself as he clicked the face closed once more and returned the watch to its home. He looked at Elara.
She didn't see the hand coming until it was around her throat, squeezing, and when she grappled at his arm, he knocked her hands away. She scrambled for purchase, choking, as Slytherin jerked her closer with impossible strength.
"I would kill you sooner than look at you," he said, the fury he'd lacked with Umbridge bursting to the surface. He fairly shook with it. "You and the Mudblood. You and every worthless, dirty, traitorous, inbred child that comes traipsing into my classroom to waste my time and befoul my air. If I didn't need Potter, if I didn't need her happy and compliant, you and Granger would die in agony, and no one would be any the wiser. I know spells that would have you ripping your own insolent eyes out, or have you never wondered why Snape looks the way he does?" His fingers dug in, tighter and tighter. Somewhere in the back of Elara's terrified mind, she recognized this as being misplaced anger. She made a convenient stand-in for a certain pink-loving witch. "You fancy yourself a Dark witch. You think you understand, but how could you? You're weak, a footnote in the story of a greater witch, and not worth the effort to corrupt."
He released Elara, but not before throwing her to the floor, and she coughed, banging her legs against the stone floor. Her knees in particular stung and ached as the rough surface scraped them through her long skirt. She tried to lurch upright—to shout, to run, she didn't know. A wand pointed itself at her face, and Elara didn't have a chance to hear the incantation spoken before white light burned across her vision. It overcame her, and she knew nothing more.
xXx
A headache pulsed beneath her temple.
Elara breathed in, blinking, and rubbed at the spot. Remus' lecture continued as he read a passage from their textbook, balancing it in one of his scarred hands as he paced the long, quiet hall. A sleepy lassitude wended through the room, late summer sunshine lounging idle at the windows.
She looked at her friends, Harriet's head down on her desk, Hermione taking notes. The latter glanced at her when she noticed Elara moving.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"I…must have fallen asleep," Elara replied. Her brows furrowed, the line deepening between them as she shook off the fugue. The last she recalled, Professor Slytherin had checked his pocket watch.
He must have dismissed me, she thought. But why didn't she remember?
And why did her knees hurt?
A/N: In canon Educational Decree Number One punished students found in possession of a spell check quill. So it's diff here. Not a big deal.
Slytherin: *hangs danger sign around neck*
Umbridge: "…."
Umbridge: "That sign can't stop me because I can't read."