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Act II - The Warlock of Hogwarts
Chapter 13 - Ripples
It was past supper, and the halls of Hogwarts were eerily silent save for the occasional prefect making their rounds.
Harry made his way through the corridors, treading towards the dungeons where Snape's office was, just half a dozen yards away from the Slytherin common room's entrance. The last two days had been pretty exhausting for him, what with McGonagall forcing him to spend several hours before supper working on his self-transfiguration. It was hard work, but he didn't complain. Transfiguration was one of the most versatile magical disciplines, and even if he could learn a fraction of it properly, it could potentially save his life someday.
Even though it gave him an intense headache.
So far, McGonagall had only made him try tiny transformationsβ like his fingernails and toenails, body parts that were easily disposable and quickly healed without any issue. Whatever excitement he had felt about continuing the subject had been quickly squashed by the meticulous labour he had to put in. As it turned out, spells like Avirfors were like crutches, employed to perform one and only one specific transfiguration and nothing else. A true transfiguration specialist could use the general transformation spellβ Vera Verto, to transform anything into anything else, so long as he had the prerequisites supplied according to their exact proportions.
It made sense why Voldemort, supposedly the greatest Dark Lord in recent history, feared Albus Dumbledore. The Dark Arts used dark magic as a weapon, but Transfiguration used the world itself as a weapon.
As great and profound as it was, the realisation didn't make things any easier, especially with McGonagall making him try again and again, while he ceaselessly attempted to transform every single nail into a different creature's claw using nothing but Vera Verto.
On the other hand, his new schedule fitted things perfectly. With him cutting Divination out of his schedule, and Babbling arranging for special private classes for Runes and Arithmancy, he had gotten a lot of free time to himself. He had also skipped Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures, since all Grubbly-Plank was doing was revising the fourth-year content. He would have skipped History of Magic too, but he didn't have that class over the past two days. Plus, he was also a bit interested in what this new professor would be like. All of that free time had been useful, since McGonagall looked like she would leave no stone unturned at getting him to master Self-Transfiguration before his OWLs. Harry had tried reminding her that Self-Transfiguration was part of NEWT syllabi and taught to sixth-years and above, but one look at McGonagall and he had wisely shut up.
As he trudged across the halls, he fished out the Marauder's Map, unfurling it.
"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."
Lines began to crawl all across the parchment like spiders, allowing him to look at the state of the school and the occupants. His gaze went to Gryffindor dormitory, spotting neither Ron nor Hermione there. A little search later, he found Hermione somewhere on the fifth floor, with Anthony Goldstienβ the fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect. Ron was patrolling on the second floor, with Draco Malfoy of all people.
Harry grimaced. He could only hope that the patrol ended without either of them ending at the Hospital Wing. Whoever had made that particular patrol selection was either an idiot, or was living under a rock.
One of the interesting functions of the Map was that it took in consideration of what the user wanted to see. According to Sirius, the Map had all sorts of charms built into it, allowing it to reasonably predict what the user wanted to look for.
He quickly checked on Daphne, who was in her room in the Slytherin dungeons. Both she and Astoria slept in the same room, despite the difference in years. Apparently Slytherin House didn't care much for House differences, giving the social and political hierarchy outside Hogwarts more priority than the inside. Another quick look showed Fleur resting in her own room, talking to⦠Blaise Zabini? The dot named Fleur remained stationary while Zabini kept walking back and forth furiously.
Harry narrowed his eyes.
He turned around a corridor and stepped right outside Snape's office. Folding the map back into his pocket, he gently tapped against the door, which opened without any noise. He still remembered the first time he had stepped into this place. No longer was he spooked by the hundreds of animal specimens floating in jars all around him in the dimly lit area.
"Come in," came Snape's silky voice, as Harry felt the door close behind him. Several candles popped in, illuminating the room.
"I'm going to assume that despite spending the summer with that man-child, you did spend some time going through the book I gave you," said Snape without any preamble, as he walked up to him. "If you haven't, I'll ask you to leave right away and not return until you have done the needful."
Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the jab at Sirius. If he wanted to learn from Snape, he'd have to digest this and many more. Even Sirius, despite his active disdain for the man, had admitted that Snape's understanding of the esoteric aspects of Dark Magic exceeded his own, a fact he was now trying to change after becoming the Lord Black.
"I did, sir."
Snape stared at him, as if verifying his words. After a long moment, he said, "Fine. Let us get started."
And that was that.
He waved his wand, and the air before them shimmered, revealing two large, circular targets with concentric rings painted within, reminding of the BullsEye in the game of Dart. The two targets seamlessly floated in mid-air in erratic patterns, but given where they were, there wasn't a lot of space for them to hover around.
Snape flicked his wand in distinct patterns, and the floor suddenly expanded outward, enlarging the middle space by a magnitude. What was originally a densely-packed space clustered with animal specimens now looked like a small ball court, with the two of them standing in the centre.
"These targets are used for Auror training, Potter," said Snape, his patented sneer missing. "Naturally, the Dark Lord used them to train his Death Eaters. As you can see, the outermost layer is green, followed by blue, pink and finally red. Hitting the red will classify as a perfect shot. It was expected of the Inner Circle to be able to hit the red circle at least eight times out of ten."
Harry snorted. The irony that Snape was offering him Death Eater instruction was not lost on him.
Snape pointed his wand to Harry's feet, and a small circle formed around him.
"You will not step out of that circle, Potter. Your job is to hit the target from there. Every concentric ring will glow in a different colour."
"I've to hit the bullseye then."
"Yes," said Snape, his lips curling, "but I do not have high hopes on you. Those targets are enchanted to keep count of the number of times they have been hit, as well as the degree of accuracy behind your spells. The circle around you will count the number of spells that leave your wand until the completion of your training. Are you familiar with the projectile jinx?"
Harry nodded. He had seen Lupin demonstrate it back in their first class in third year.
"Then get started. I will be brewing fluxweed potion and it should take me fifty minutes. We will see if the great Harry Potter can keep standing until then. If you are, then we will revise the spells you went through in the summer."
Saying so, he walked away towards the potions table.
Harry shook his head to himself. Honestly, Snape was being more accommodating than expected. As for the fifty minutes, guess he'd have to see, wouldn't he?
Preparing himself, he narrowed his eyes and took a familiar stance.
"Waddiwasi."
The moment he walked into the Defence classroom, Harry knew this year was going to be different.
The DADA classroom looked as large as the freaking' Great Hall, minus the High Table and the rows. The classroom was on the fifth floor, and Harry knew that was as much explanation as he'd get for where a room this size was supposed to fit. His years at Hogwarts had taught him that the school didn't exactly have a geometry, Euclidean or otherwise. It had connections, not directions.
Every single DADA professor he had ever had had their own ways of setting up this class. Remus Lupin had done away with the desks and benches back in third year, utilising the room's space for constant spell practice. Moody had maintained a delicate balance between the classroom and a battle arena, but Dolores Umbridge, it seemed, had taken a reverse direction and done away with the arena altogether.
Leaving behind desks, and benches. A ton of them. On the other side, there was a sprawling teacher's desk and chair on an elevated pedestal, to look down at the students like a queen gazing at her subjects as they squirmed and bowed low whenever her gaze fell upon them.
Talk about being dramatic.
There were two blackboards hovering in the air, each on one side of her desk. Dolores Umbridge, Minister's pet and Toad extraordinaire, sat on the chair, sipping from the cup in her hand, completely disregarding the students as they began to flock inside. Harry noticed she was wearing a fluffy pink cardigan, and a black velvet bow on top of her head. He was suddenly reminded of a large fly perched unwisely on the top of an even larger toad.
Harry's eyes darted towards a confused Hermione, Defence textbook in hand, standing a little further from Ron, who was enthusiastically chattering away with an equally animated Seamus. Her eyes met his, and Harry almost put the first step to cross the distance and join her when a familiar voice called him out from behind.
"Planning to join your friends?"
Harry didn't even turn around this time, and just smiled. "Are you going to start with that every time?"
"Depends," said Daphne as she stepped next to him. "Is it working?"
"Maybe," he shrugged. "Or maybe this is just you subtly making sure I'd not ditch our dinner plans."
Daphne arched an eyebrow. "Were you planning to?"
Harry thought back to the dot he had seen in Fleur's room. Blaise Zabini. His instincts screamed at him that there was something going on, something that he needed to know. It wasn't like he distrusted Fleur, but something about the boy always struck him as odd. Unlike Malfoy, Zabini just floated around the edges of everyone's consciousness while never attracting attention to himself.
Basically, the kind of person that could potentially be dangerous.
It was possible that Zabini meeting Fleur was a one-time thing. They shared the same father after all, regardless of the complexities in their familial relationship. But if he showed up tonight as well, then maybe Harry would've shown up under his cloak, just to check what was going on.
"You had some plans, didn't you?" Daphne asked.
Harry noticed the way her face fell as she spoke those words, and he felt a little bad. Ron was right, he was being a dick. Daphne had been giving her hundred percent into getting to know him better, including being on the receiving end of Snape's ire. The least he could do was reach her halfway.
"You're right. I had some plans. Well, I still have them. But maybe⦠maybe you'd like to join me?"
The sullenness on her face was suddenly infused with a mix of childlike curiosity and stark amusement. "I might be handfasted with you, Potter. But that doesn't mean I share your penchant for trouble."
"No, you're more into stalking me from afar." Harry quipped.
Daphne rolled her eyes. "What do you have in mind?"
"Oh you know," he said airily. "A bit of this. A bit of that."
She scoffed. "I'm not interested in a midnight exploration of the castle, Potter. I've had enough of getting lost back in the first year."
"It's exploration alright, but not anywhere you've been before."
Daphne narrowed her eyes. "Where?"
"You'll see. It's⦠a place not many people have entered."
He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Finally, it clicked.
Her eyes flashed in excitement. "You're serious? No, wait, don't answer that!" She quickly added, realising she was on the receiving end of yet another Sirius-Serious joke.
Harry just grinned. "What do you say?"
Before Daphne could answer, Draco Malfoy intruded upon them from behind.
"Potter!" spat Draco. "What are you Gryffindors doing here?"
"Having a joint class, apparently," said Harry. A couple of months ago, just seeing him would've incensed him on principle. Now? It was just a familiar adversarial conversation mixed with slight nostalgia. "Our new DADA teacher apparently wishes to host all four Houses together."
Daphne glanced at the Ravenclaws standing next to Gryffindors. "All four Houses together. Either she's very confident, or a crackpot."
Harry eyed the woman sitting obliviously on her high chair. "I've a feeling it's both."
"Greengrass!" spat Malfoy, "what are you doing fraternising with the enemy in public? Did you learn nothing from Professor Snape's words?"
"I'm surprised you even know what fraternising means," Harry muttered.
"Shut your trap, Potter," Draco snapped. "You've got some nerve standing among your betters. Go run to the mudblood and the blood traitor. This place is already stinking from your half-blood stench."
"The enemy?" Daphne drawled. "Whatever do you mean, Malfoy? Potter and I are to be wed."
Draco narrowed his eyes, as if searching for confirmation in her eyes. "So it's true. Pansy wasn't lying."
Daphne's lips twisted upwards to form a smirk. "You should learn to trust your would-be a little more, Malfoy. Just so you know, I'm still going to be Lady Black." She snaked her arm into Harry's, "So you see, I'm not fraternising. I'm being intimate."
"Why youβ"
Before Malfoy could finish that sentence, the clock struck two-fifty, and the doors closed behind Malfoy. All the students had apparently entered. Harry noticed Susan giving him odd looks from afar when she thought he wasn't looking. Without any further ado, he took a seat with Daphne sitting right next to him, while Ron and Hermione, who were on the other side of the room, sat on the other side of the room.
"Tut-Tut!" said Umbridge. "That won't do. Sit according to your House. Those are there for a reason. You do not wish to⦠mingle with the wrong crowd, do you?"
Harry narrowed his eyes at the implication, but complied. Daphne frowned at him, but he just nodded, before walking off to the other side towards Ron and Hermione. The rest of the class shifted across the benches until they were all sitting as per their Houses.
"What do you reckon that's about?" asked Hermione as she slid next to him.
"Nothing good," said Harry, pulling out his textbook. He had lost all faith in the DADA teacher the moment he had perused through the book recommended for their OWL year. Slinkhard was either an uninspired sod that didn't think much of fifteen-year-olds, or was one of those pot-bellied administrative clerks that had never stepped into the Auror office, or engaged in any spell-combat ever.
"Well then," said the woman brightly, after the whole class had sat down. "Good afternoon."
A few people mumbled back in response.
"Tut, tut!" said Umbridge. "That won't do now, will it? I would like you to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class."
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," chanted the students drolly. Harry wondered if the woman used to teach in kindergarten before this.
"There now," said the woman, her voice dripping with sweetness. "That wasn't difficult now, was it? Wands away and quills out, please!"
Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks, the entire 'wands away' order feeling completely out of place with the Defence classroom. Harry half-expected Moody to yell 'Constant Vigilance' from a corner and throw a stray spell at the students.
Then he remembered that the veteran Auror had been found dead inside his own trunk and sighed. His eyes twitched as he saw Umbridge pull her own wand, an unusually short one, out of her handbag of all things, and flicked it at the blackboards, upon which words began to appear.
Defence Against the Dark Arts
A return to the basic principles
"As you will know, the Ministry has made some grave changes to the OWL syllabi this year, and recognizes that your teaching in the subject has been rather⦠disrupted and fragmented, no doubt due to the poor hiring, the constant changing of teachers and failure to adhere to the Ministry-approved curriculum. A stuttering fool, a dark creature and a crackpot Auror," she shook her head with disdain, "the only proper professor you've had has been the charming and formidable Gilderoy Lokhart, before he met with⦠unfortunate circumstances and lost his memory." Her eyes centred on Harry for a second. "However, you'll be pleased to know that we'll be rectifying those issues this year. We will be following a carefully-structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."
If Harry had been considering dropping this class before, he had made up his mind now. Honestly, doodling away would be a better use of his time than attending this hag's class. Meanwhile, more words appeared on the blackboard.
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
"Well now, has everyone here gotten a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
There was a general murmur of assent.
"I think we'll try that again," said Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, you'll answer, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge', or, 'No, Professor Umbridge'. So let's do it nice this time. Has everyone here gotten a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge", rang across the room.
Harry looked at the Slytherin benches, and found Daphne sitting next to Parkinson and Tracey, taking down notes. Regardless of Umbridge aiming for him, he doubted the pureblood students would be agreeable to studying this crap instead of practising actual spells. Curiously, none of them spoke a word, though several of them were giving weird glances at Malfoy's direction, who looked oddly flushed.
"Good," said Umbridge, "I would like you to turn to page five and start reading. Chapter 1: Basics for beginners. There will be no need to talk."
"More like no need to think," Harry muttered, as the woman settled herself in her chair and quietly sipped her tea, observing them all with her pouchy toad eyes. Ordinarily, he'd have been the first to object against this stupidity, but Sirius had taught him not to speak up for the ungrateful. He wasn't the only student to face this issue. If anything, he had a genuine reason to skip this class. If the others weren't going to speak up against this farce, he couldn't care any less.
He closed his eyes and breathed.
Yes. That was the correct thing to do. Dumbledore had told him to keep his head down and so he would. Besides, this was just for one class. All he had to do was to sit still and everything would beβ
Hermione's hand shot up in the air.
βFine.
After what seemed like several minutes of Hermione staring at Umbridge with her hand in the air, and the woman willingly ignoring him, the rest of the class too became less interested in reading the text and more into the impending confrontation.
Finally, the woman decided to acknowledge it.
"Yes, Missβ¦.?"
"Granger."
Umbridge's lips twisted into a scowl for a second before a fake sweetness spread over it. "Do you wish to ask something, dear?"
"Not about the chapter, no."
"Well then," the lips twisted further. Harry wondered if her face would tear in half. "Please stop interrupting the class and continue reading."
"I've got a query about the course aims."
"I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them carefully," said the woman with determined sweetness.
"Well I don't," said Hermione. "There is nothing but using defensive spells."
Every single student was staring at Hermione. Even the Slytherins. Regardless of how this ended, it'd be infinitely better than reading that dull book.
"Using defensive spells?" asked Umbridge with a little, girlish laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising out of this classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell. Surely you aren't expecting to be attacked during class, are you?"
"We're not going to be using magic?" Ron began heatedly.
"Raise your hand before you speak, Mr. β"
"Weasley!" said Ron, thrusting his hand in the air and standing up. But before he could speak, someone else did.
"If we don't practise our spells, how are we supposed to perform them in our OWLs?" asked Susan.
"Hand!"
Susan didn't bother with that, and just stood up. "My aunt's the Head of the DMLE, Professor Umbridge, in case you don't know. Maybe I should just ask her how we're supposed to become Aurors and Hit-wizards with just the theory."
Umbridge's lips twisted. "People more learned than you have devised this curriculum, Miss Bones. Unless you qualify as a Ministry-certified professional, your opinion is unneeded."
"Butβ"
"Enough!" said Umbridge, as several other hands stayed raised in the air. "I will say this once. So long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there should be problem in performing them during your examsβ"
"And how're we gonna protect ourselves from what's out there?" demanded Ron.
Harry clenched his fists. He knew what was about to happen. Thisβ this was what Dumbledore had warned him against.
"Oh?" said Umbridge, a wicked smile forming on her face. "Like what, Mr. Weasley?"
"Oh I dunno," said Ron, "like You-know-Who!"
Harry shut his eyes.
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