Chapter 28: Delores Umbridge
September 2, 2002 – Monday
Gryffindor Tower
Dawn and Hermione observed the hurried chaos in their dormitory, a frenzied dance of robes and hastily laced shoes. Their fellow students, driven by an unspoken fear of association, fled the scene before even exchanging a morning greeting. The air in the room hung heavy with the palpable tension of a community unraveling.
"I'll be glad when this all blows over. Or Buffy sues the Daily Prophet, whichever comes first?" Dawn expressed, her voice tinged with a weariness that mirrored the shadows under her eyes.
Hermione, her expression mirroring the weight of the situation, nodded solemnly. With a soft click, she closed the door, shutting out the world that now seemed so quick to condemn.
"Talking about Buffy, what did she say last night?" Hermione inquired, her curiosity layered with a touch of trepidation.
Dawn, her gaze distant as she recalled the night's conversation, sighed. "You're right. She's doing what you said. We're just to act normal. We're leaving the kissing up to Buffy."
Hermione, the crease of worry on her forehead relaxing, let out a sigh of relief. "That's good. I don't know if I could kiss up to Umbridge anyway. So normal it is then. Or as normal as it can be with the Daily Prophet calling you delusional."
Dawn groaned, the sound carrying the weight of frustration and a hint of vulnerability. "Don't remind me."
Hermione offered her twin a sympathetic smile, a reassuring glimmer of understanding in her eyes. "Don't worry about it, Dawnie. Like you said, it will eventually blow over. Or Buffy will get around to suing them. I assume suing them is out of the question as long as she's…"
"Yeah," Dawn replied, her voice carrying a heavy acknowledgment of the unspoken constraints that surrounded Buffy's situation. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of their shared frustration as they silently acknowledged the limitations imposed by circumstances beyond their control.
As they dressed, the fabric of their robes whispering softly against the backdrop of uneasy silence, Dawn and Hermione prepared for another day under the scrutiny of a judgmental world. Each garment felt like a layer of armor against the accusing glares and whispered speculations that awaited them beyond the safety of their dormitory.
With a shared nod, a silent pact forged in the simplicity of a shared understanding, they made their way downstairs. The staircase seemed to stretch longer than usual, each step echoing with the lingering doubts and uncertainties that clung to them like shadows.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"What's the matter?" Hermione inquired, her concern etched across her features as she and Dawn caught up with Harry and Ron in the common room. The atmosphere was charged with an unusual tension, prompting Hermione to address the evident distress in her friends. "You look absolutely — Oh for heaven's sake."
Dawn followed Hermione's gaze and spotted the source of their consternation – a mischievous notice on the board, a testament to the infamous antics of the Weasley Twins. "The Weasley Twins strike again. Aren't you glad we're more the studious kind of twins than the pranksters kind of twins?"
Hermione, sharing a knowing smile with her twin, nodded in agreement. "Yes." With a determined air, she began taking the notice down. "They are the limit. We'll have to talk to them, Ron."
Ron's expression shifted from confusion to a mild alarm. "Why?"
"Because we're prefects!" Hermione declared with a sense of duty, her voice resonating with a commitment to order and responsibility. As they navigated through the portrait hole, she continued, "It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!"
Dawn let out a resigned sigh, a mixture of camaraderie and mild exasperation. "I'll stand beside ya for emotional support, 'Mione."
"Thanks, Dawn," Hermione replied, a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes.
"Anyway, what's up, Harry?" Hermione inquired, her eyes searching his face for the source of the anger that seemed to simmer beneath the surface. "You look really angry about something."
"Seamus reckons Harry and Dawn are lying about You-Know-Who," Ron interjected with succinct bluntness, his words hanging in the air like an unwelcome truth.
Dawn sighed, sharing a weary glance with her sister. "So it wasn't just in our dorm," she observed, her tone a mix of frustration and resignation. Turning to face Harry, she added, "They're doing the same thing to you."
"Yeah, every one of our dorm mates dressed like there was a fire," Hermione added, her voice tinged with exasperation. "They all have been reading the articles about Dawn."
Harry's frustration surfaced, a storm brewing within him. "So you haven't been having a nice little chat with them about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat?" he exclaimed, his words cutting through the tension that hung between them.
"No," Dawn and Hermione responded in unison, their voices a united front against the unfounded accusations.
"I told them to keep their big fat mouths shut about you and Dawn, actually," Hermione declared, her tone carrying a mix of frustration and determination. "And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down our throats, Harry, because in case you haven't noticed, Ron and I are on yours and Dawn's side."
"Sorry," Harry muttered in a low voice, a flicker of realization crossing his features. He turned his gaze to Dawn, a genuine apology in his eyes. "Sorry, I forget how hard it is for you also."
Dawn, appreciating the sincerity in his words, offered a reassuring smile. "That's quite all right."
Hermione, always the voice of reason, interjected, "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the last end-of-term feast?" Harry and Ron both looked at her with blank expressions, prompting Hermione to sigh once again.
"Not really. The high point of the end of term was you bringing back Dawn safe and sound," Harry admitted.
"About Voldemort," Hermione began, her voice carrying a weight of urgency. "He said his gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust—"
"How do you remember stuff like that?" Ron interjected, a touch of disbelief in his tone.
"I listen, Ron," Hermione replied, a matter-of-factness in her voice that hinted at a well-practiced skill.
Dawn, offering her own insight, shook her head playfully. "Actually, Hermione and I have photographic memory. How do you think I was able to catch up to you guys in under a year?"
Hermione couldn't help but smile at her twin's quip before redirecting her attention back to Harry and Ron. "That too. Anyways, this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. Voldemort's only been back two months, and we've already started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat's warning was the same: stand together, be united—"
"And Harry got it right last night," Ron retorted with a hint of defiance. "If that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins — fat chance."
"Well, I think it's a pity we're not trying for a bit of inter-house unity," Hermione voiced, a note of frustration coloring her words.
Dawn, however, couldn't help but roll her eyes at Hermione's optimism. "You're kidding, right? With how Malfoy treats us, especially you and me, Hermione, because we're muggle-born. The only reason he even tolerates Buffy is because she's a teacher. Fat chance!"
Hermione, her shoulders sagging with the weight of reality, let out a sigh of acknowledgment.
As they reached the foot of the marble staircase they spotted a line of fourth-year Ravenclaws crossing the entrance hall. The Ravenclaws caught sight of Harry and Dawn and hurried to form a tighter group, as though frightened they might attack stragglers.
"Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that," Harry interjected sarcastically, his tone echoing the cynicism that permeated their reality.
Great Hall
Dawn, Hermione, Ron, and Harry trailed behind the Ravenclaws as they entered the Great Hall, their eyes instinctively drawn to the staff table. Professor Grubbly-Plank engaged in a conversation with Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and the absence of Hagrid once again caught their attention.
"Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying," Harry remarked, a note of discontent in his voice, the uncertainty of the new addition to the staff lingering like an unanswered question.
Dawn grimaced, her realization of having overlooked Hagrid's absence hitting her. "Dang, I forgot to ask Buffy about that last night."
"Maybe..." Hermione began thoughtfully, her mind working to unravel the mystery that surrounded Hagrid's conspicuous absence.
"What?" Dawn, Harry, and Ron inquired simultaneously, their curiosity piqued.
"Well... maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here," Hermione suggested, her tone hinting at a possibility that raised more questions than answers.
"What d'you mean, draw attention to it?" Ron asked, a half-laugh escaping him. "How could we not notice?"
Dawn, aligning herself with Ron's sentiment, nodded in agreement. The conspicuous absence of Hagrid was, after all, an unmistakable void in the familiar tapestry of Hogwarts life.
Before Hermione could formulate a response to Ron's query, a tall black girl with long, braided hair marched up to Harry. The air shifted as their attention pivoted to the new arrival.
"Hi, Angelina," Harry greeted warmly.
"Hi," Angelina replied briskly, her demeanor radiating a no-nonsense attitude. "Good summer?" She didn't pause for an answer, swiftly moving to the purpose of her visit. "Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."
"Nice one," Harry exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face.
"Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left," Angelina informed the trio, her voice carrying the weight of responsibility. "Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock, and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in."
"Okay," Harry responded, his agreement met with a smile from Angelina before she departed, leaving behind an air of anticipation.
"I'd forgotten Wood had left," Hermione admitted vaguely, settling between Ron and Dawn and pulling a plate of toast toward her. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"
"I s'pose," Harry replied, taking a seat opposite Hermione. "He was a good Keeper…"
"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?" Ron added optimistically.
Dawn's eyes flickered with a mix of nervousness and anticipation as she turned to Hermione, seeking her sister's opinion on a decision that seemed to tug at her heart. "'Mione, you wouldn't think too bad of me if I tried out, would you?"
Hermione sighed, recognizing the vulnerability in Dawn's inquiry. "I guess not," she conceded, her gaze shifting between Dawn and Harry. Sensing an unspoken layer beneath Dawn's question, Hermione leaned in and whispered, "You don't want to try out just to get Harry to notice you, are you?"
Dawn's smile remained enigmatic, a subtle acknowledgment of the unspoken truth. She sat there, her plate adorned with a seemingly ordinary breakfast spread. However, her mind was far from the food before her. Instead, a vivid daydream unfolded in her thoughts, a scenario where she gracefully soared through the air, wind tousling her hair as she expertly maneuvered a broomstick. The Quidditch pitch became her canvas, and the thrill of the game coursed through her veins.
With each bite, she envisioned herself donning the Gryffindor Quidditch robes, a proud member of the team. The morning sunlight streaming through the windows transformed into the golden glow of the Quidditch pitch. In her mind's eye, she could see Harry by her side, his unruly hair catching the sunlight as he skillfully chased the Quaffle. The camaraderie, the cheers from the stands, and the rush of the game fueled her daydream, turning a mundane breakfast into a feast of possibilities.
As she sipped her pumpkin juice, she couldn't help but let her thoughts drift further, imagining the exhilaration of flying alongside Harry, their synchronized movements a testament to the unspoken connection that seemed to exist between them. The imagined applause of the Gryffindor supporters filled her ears, and the scent of the freshly cut grass of the Quidditch pitch became almost tangible in her mind.
Her smile widened as she lost herself in the fantasy, savoring the idea of playing alongside Harry, not just as a teammate but as someone who shared the thrill of the Quidditch skies with him. The reality of tryouts on Friday loomed, but for now, amidst the clatter of the Great Hall, Dawn let her imagination carry her away to a world where dreams took flight and possibilities were as endless as the open sky.
Dawn was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard the whoosh and clatter of hundreds of owls soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Great Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. Hermione had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way for a large, damp barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak.
"What are you still getting that for?" Harry grumbled as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl's leg, and it took off again. "I'm not bothering… load of rubbish."
"It's best to know what the enemy is saying," said Hermione darkly, her tone carrying a sense of practicality. "Besides, I've been saving the clippings with Dawn mentioned in them. If we end up eventually suing, the clippings can be used as evidence." She unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until Dawn, Harry, and Ron had finished eating.
"Nothing," Hermione said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. She glanced at Harry and Dawn. "Nothing about you two or Dumbledore or anything."
Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table, handing out timetables.
"Look at today!" groaned Ron. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts… Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day!"
"Hey!" Dawn interjected with a hint of optimism. "Buffy is with that Umbridge woman. So hopefully it won't be all bad."
Ron, however, seemed less convinced, his attention diverted by the prospect of mischief. "I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted..."
The twins, ever ready for a lighthearted exchange, made their entrance with flair. "Do mine ears deceive me?" Fred exclaimed, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Harry. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"
"Look what we've got today," Ron grumbled, shoving his schedule under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."
"Fair point, little bro," Fred conceded, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."
"Why's it cheap?" Ron inquired suspiciously.
"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," George explained matter-of-factly, helping himself to a kipper.
"Cheers," Ron replied moodily, pocketing his schedule, "but I think I'll take the lessons."
"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," Hermione interjected, eyeing Fred and George beadily, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."
"Says who?" George retorted, looking astonished.
"Says me," Hermione asserted. "And Ron."
"Leave me out of it," Ron hastily added, attempting to distance himself from the impending clash of wills between his friend and his mischievous brothers.
Hermione glared at Ron, who was seemingly caught in the crossfire of the impending conflict. Fred and George, always ready to revel in the prospect of a challenge, sniggered at the unfolding drama.
"And me," Dawn added, her voice firm. Fred and George looked at her astonished. "Sorry… But not only is Hermione a Prefect. But Hermione and I are sisters to a Professor. You really don't expect either of us to help you, do you? If I knew about it, I would have to report it to Buffy. So make sure I know nothing about it."
"And you'll know nothing about it. But you'll both be singing a different tune soon enough," Fred retorted, thickly buttering a crumpet. "You're starting your fifth year; you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."
"And why would starting fifth year mean Dawn or I want a Skiving Snackbox?" Hermione inquired, her curiosity overriding the skepticism in her tone.
"Fifth year's O.W.L. year," George explained with a mischievous grin.
"So?" Dawn and Hermione responded simultaneously, their confusion evident.
"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," Fred remarked with satisfaction.
"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," George chimed in happily. "Tears and tantrums… Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint…"
"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" Fred added, reminiscently.
"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pajamas," George interjected.
"Oh yeah," Fred said, grinning. "I'd forgotten… Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"
"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," George continued. "If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow."
"Yeah… you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron.
"Yep," said Fred unconcernedly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."
"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year," said George brightly, his eyes shining with a mix of mischief and nonchalance, "now that we've got—"
He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the startup loan he had given them.
"—now that we've got our O.W.L.s," George said hastily, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."
Fred nodded, a wry smile on his face, as if he had been through this discussion countless times before. "We're not going to waste our last year here, though," he said, his gaze sweeping affectionately around at the magnificent Great Hall. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand."
"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?" asked Hermione skeptically. "You're going to need all the ingredients and materials—and premises too, I suppose…"
Dawn nodded, her gaze steady as she answered, "Yeah, you didn't get the first-place Triwizard winnings like you wanted. Harry gave those to me. And the Judges gave Cedric's family the second-place winnings."
Harry did not look at the twins. His face felt hot; he deliberately dropped his fork and dived down to retrieve it.
"Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione, Dawn," Fred told the Summers twins before turning to his own twin. "C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology."
As Fred and George walked away, each carrying a stack of toast, Harry emerged from under the table, his expression a mix of discomfort and secrecy. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a glow on the scene that seemed to amplify the tension in the air.
"What did that mean?" said Hermione, her brow furrowing as she looked from Harry to Ron. "'Ask us no questions…' Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?"
"You know, I've been wondering about that," said Ron, his brow furrowed. "They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons…"
Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation away from Fred and George. "D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?"
"Oh yeah," said Ron. "Bound to be, isn't it? O.W.L.s are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what N.E.W.T.s you want to do next year."
"I just hope I can stay afloat," Dawn said, a hint of worry in her voice, her gaze flickering to the piles of textbooks on the table.
Hermione, always the voice of reason, shook her head as she looked at her sister. "Dawn, you will do fine. Besides, you already have a study partner."
Dawn nodded, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced at her twin appreciatively. "You're right, Hermione."
"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?" Harry asked Ron, Dawn, and Hermione as they left the Great Hall shortly afterward and set off toward the History of Magic classroom.
"Not really," said Ron slowly. "Except… well…" He looked slightly sheepish.
"What?" Harry urged him.
"Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," said Ron in an offhand voice.
"Yeah, it would," said Harry fervently.
"But they're, like, the elite," said Ron. "You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione? Dawn?"
"I don't know," said Hermione, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Her eyes focused on the distance, as if grappling with a profound inner debate. "I think I'd really like to do something worthwhile."
"An Auror's worthwhile!" Harry interjected, his tone carrying a touch of enthusiasm.
"Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," Hermione responded thoughtfully, her brow furrowed in contemplation.
Dawn, sensing an opportunity to present an alternative, turned to her sister. "What about helping Buffy? You know, with Slaying?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow, considering the idea. "I don't know, Dawn. What she does as the Slayer is dangerous work."
"True," Dawn conceded. "But Xander and Willow have been helping her with it since they were 16. If I remember right, they even offered to help Faith when she agreed to take over for Buffy this year. When they started helping Buffy, they did it with no training. Willow didn't even know magic back then. She didn't start practicing magic until her senior year in high school. Xander is just an ordinary muggle. If they can do it with no training and no magic, think about what we could do to help Buffy with magic."
Hermione sighed, her mind wrestling with the idea. The prospect of assisting Buffy in her fight against supernatural forces was both daunting and intriguing. She glanced at Dawn, who awaited her response with hopeful eyes. "I'll think about it," Hermione finally conceded, a flicker of curiosity and determination in her gaze.
History of Magic Classroom
History of Magic was, by common consent, the most tedious subject ever devised by wizardkind. Professor Binns, their ghostly teacher, possessed a wheezy, droning voice that seemed almost purposefully designed to induce severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. Today, the students suffered an hour and a half of his monotonous discourse on the subject of giant wars.
As they shuffled out of the classroom, Hermione, her frustration palpable, couldn't help but voice her discontent. "How would it be," she asked, her tone reflecting the exasperation that had built up during the class, "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"
Dawn, always quick to appreciate a bold move, smiled approvingly. "Dang sis, you can be ruthless. I like it."
Ron, however, took a more pragmatic stance. "We'd fail our OWLs," he pointed out. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione..."
Hermione's patience, worn thin by the monotonous lecture, snapped. "Well, you'd deserve it," she retorted, her frustration evident. "You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"
Dawn, caught in the crossfire of the escalating tension, rolled her eyes
"We do try," Ron retorted defensively. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration—you're just cleverer than we are—is it nice to rub it in?"
"Oh, don't give us that rubbish," Dawn shot back, her eyes narrowing with a mix of frustration and a protective edge. She led the way out into the damp courtyard, the fine misty drizzle casting a dreamlike haze over the surroundings. People standing in huddles around the yard looked blurred at the edges, mirroring the fog of confusion that lingered in the air after Binns' lecture.
Dawn, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found refuge in a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, seeking shelter against the chilly September air. Their conversation drifted to the looming mysteries of Snape's first lesson of the year. They speculated on its likely difficulty, anticipating Snape's penchant for catching them off guard after a two-month holiday. The atmosphere was charged with a mix of determination and apprehension.
As they animatedly discussed the upcoming challenges, someone rounded the corner toward them, interrupting their conversation. "Hello, Harry!"
It was Cho Chang, and what was more, she was on her own again. This was a rare occurrence; Cho was almost always surrounded by a giggling gang of girls. Harry, caught off guard, managed a hesitant "Hi," feeling his face grow uncomfortably warm.
Meanwhile, Dawn, standing beside Harry, shot a sharp glare at Cho. Inside her mind, an urgent thought echoed, 'Tell her to go away, Harry.'
"You got that stuff off, then?" Cho inquired, her eyes fixed on Harry with a mixture of curiosity and a faint trace of a smile.
"Yeah," Harry responded, attempting to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was amusing rather than mortifying. "So did you… er… have a good summer?"
Dawn, standing beside Harry, couldn't help but glance at her sister. A sigh escaped her lips, carrying the weight of unspoken sentiments. Hermione, attuned to Dawn's subtle cues, gently patted her on the arm in a gesture of understanding.
Hermione, sensing the tension and unspoken emotions in the air, took Dawn gently by the arm and led her away from the scene unfolding between Harry and Cho. The damp courtyard echoed with the soft patter of drizzle, providing a backdrop to the serious conversation that was about to unfold.
In a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes and murmurs of the Hogwarts courtyard, Hermione turned to Dawn with a sympathetic expression. "Why don't you tell Harry how you feel?" she asked, her voice a gentle encouragement.
Dawn sighed, her internal struggles etched on her face. The weight of unspoken emotions seemed to lift slightly with Hermione's understanding presence. "I don't know, Hermione," she admitted, a mix of vulnerability and hesitation in her voice. "What if it makes things awkward? What if he doesn't feel the same way?"
Hermione placed a comforting hand on Dawn's shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. "You won't know unless you try. Harry's a good friend, and he deserves to know how you feel. Besides, keeping it to yourself might be even more awkward in the long run. At least this way, you'll have clarity, and you won't be wondering 'what if'."
Dawn hesitated, her internal struggle evident in the furrow of her brow. The prospect of laying bare her feelings for Harry felt like stepping onto uncharted territory, and the fear of potential repercussions lingered in her heart. "I don't want to make things weird between us, Hermione," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hermione gave her sister a compassionate look, understanding the complexity of emotions that entwined matters of the heart. "I know it's not easy, Dawn. But sometimes, taking that risk is the only way to find out if something more could be there."
The courtyard remained damp and hushed, a fitting backdrop to the delicate conversation unfolding between the two sisters. Dawn took another deep breath, contemplating the vulnerability that came with baring her feelings. "I'll think about it," she finally conceded, her words carrying a mix of hesitation and a flicker of internal turmoil.
Potions Classroom
As Dawn joined the queue forming outside Snape's classroom door, a heavy knot of apprehension settled in her stomach. The weight of unspoken feelings for Harry lingered, but the formidable obstacles of fear and uncertainty loomed large in her mind. The prospect of disrupting their friendship, combined with the unknown territory of Harry's response, paralyzed her, rendering her incapable of addressing the emotions that silently swirled within her.
The line inched forward, and soon Dawn found herself filing into Snape's classroom behind Hermione, Harry, and Ron. The familiar routine of settling into their usual table at the back provided a momentary distraction from the internal turmoil she carried. The classroom hushed as Snape, with his usual cold demeanor, shut the door behind him.
"Settle down," Snape commanded, his voice cutting through the air like a cold wind.
There was no need for the call to order. The moment Snape closed the door, a palpable silence fell, stifling even the faintest hint of fidgeting. Snape's mere presence held the power to command the class into submission.
"Before we begin today's lesson," Snape continued, sweeping over to his desk and fixing his gaze on the students, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will 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' in your O.W.L., or suffer my... displeasure."
Snape's gaze lingered, this time focusing on Neville and Dawn. Snape had never harbored high expectations for Dawn, considering she was a second year in a fifth year class. However, the unexpected had occurred in the previous year, where Dawn managed to exceed his expectations, thanks in no small part to Hermione's assistance. Hermione, who sat beside Dawn, was quietly confident that her sister could pull off an 'Exceeds Expectations' in her Potions O.W.L.
Snape's voice droned on, outlining the challenges that awaited the students in the year ahead. "After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," he declared, his tone carrying a mixture of disdain and an air of superiority. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye." His gaze lingered on Harry, and a contemptuous curl played on his lips.
"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," Snape continued, his voice soft and almost sinister. "So whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students."
As Snape delved into the details of the day's lesson, he introduced the potion they would be working on: the Draught of Peace, a concoction designed to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. A sense of tension permeated the air as Snape issued a stern warning about the potential consequences of mishandling the ingredients—cautioning that a heavy hand could lead to a sleep so deep it might become irreversible.
Dawn felt a surge of anticipation, and on her left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of utmost attentiveness. Snape, without missing a beat, conjured the instructions onto the blackboard. The store cupboard door swung open as he flicked his wand, revealing the necessary ingredients neatly arranged inside.
"You have an hour and a half… Start," Snape announced, and the room erupted into a controlled chaos as students scrambled to gather their materials and begin the intricate process of potion-making.
Just as Harry, Ron, Dawn, and Hermione had predicted, Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in counterclockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.
Dawn, determined to contribute a practical angle to the somewhat abstract lesson, raised her hand as Snape scanned the room. "Yes, Ms. Summers," Snape acknowledged with a tone that was a curious blend of formality and impatience.
"You said this potion soothes agitation. I was just wondering if it had ever been tried on vampires or demons," Dawn inquired, her voice carrying a hint of genuine curiosity. "I thought it could be useful for Buffy when she is slaying if it worked on demons and vampires."
Snape, typically stoic, seemed momentarily intrigued by the prospect. His dark eyes bore into Dawn as if contemplating the validity of her suggestion. "To my knowledge, it has never been tested on either demons or vampires," he admitted, his tone a rare mix of acknowledgment and approval. "But you do present a wonderful idea for an experiment. I might talk to Professor Summers at some point to see about testing the idea."
Dawn's face lit up with a mix of surprise and satisfaction. The notion of contributing to the practical applications of magical potions, especially for her sister's demanding profession as a Slayer, filled her with a sense of accomplishment. She nodded appreciatively at Snape's acknowledgment and returned to her potion, a renewed focus in her actions.
"A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion," called Snape, his voice cutting through the tension-filled air of the dungeon, signaling that the end of the class was imminent.
Dawn, with only ten minutes left, stole a glance at Harry. His forehead glistened with perspiration, and panic flickered in his eyes as he desperately surveyed the contents of his cauldron. Dark gray steam billowed from Harry's potion, contrasting sharply with the shimmering mist of silver vapor rising from Dawn's own concoction. In a quick sweep of her gaze, she noticed Hermione's potion mirrored hers with the same ethereal silver mist.
As Snape made his rounds, his hooked nose high in the air, he inspected Dawn and Hermione's potions without a word. The absence of criticism, an unusual silence from the typically harsh Potions master, spoke volumes. Both Dawn and Hermione exchanged a brief look of relief; they had successfully navigated the intricate steps of the Draught of Peace, at least in Snape's discerning eyes.
However, as Snape reached Harry's workstation, a malevolent smirk twisted his features. The Slytherins at the front of the class eagerly craned their necks to witness the impending confrontation.
"Potter, what is this supposed to be?" Snape inquired, his voice layered with derision.
"The Draught of Peace," Harry responded, his voice tense and filled with an undercurrent of defiance.
"Tell me, Potter," Snape's voice cut through the stifling air of the dungeon, carrying a soft but unmistakable edge, "can you read?"
As Draco Malfoy seized the opportunity to laugh, a flash of annoyance crossed Dawn's face, and her glare landed squarely on the Slytherin troublemaker. The atmosphere in the dungeon grew more tense, and the anticipation of what would unfold next hung heavy in the air.
"Yes, I can," Harry replied, his response laden with an underlying determination, his fingers tightly clenched around his wand.
"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter," Snape instructed, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down the spines of those witnessing the exchange.
Harry squinted at the blackboard, his gaze narrowing as he scanned the potion instructions. "'Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore,'" he recited with a measured tone.
Dawn's eyes widened as she instantly realized the source of the problem. Harry had overlooked a crucial step in the potion-making process; he had forgotten to add the syrup of hellebore. Instead, he had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions.
"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?" Snape's voice cut through the tense atmosphere in the dungeon, his eyes fixed on Harry with a mixture of disdain and triumph.
"No," Harry admitted, his response barely audible.
"I beg your pardon?" Snape prodded, his tone demanding clarity.
"No," Harry reiterated, this time with more volume, a sense of resignation evident in his voice. "I forgot the hellebore…"
"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco," Snape declared, his wand sweeping over Harry's potion, causing it and its contents to vanish into thin air. The unforgiving erasure of Harry's efforts only intensified the air of defeat that hung around him.
Snape continued with his instructions to the class, assigning homework and demanding a sample of the successful potions for testing. The sound of flagons being filled echoed in the room as students diligently followed Snape's directives. Meanwhile, Harry, visibly seething, cleared away his belongings, frustration etched on his face.
Dawn couldn't help but empathize with Harry as she observed the aftermath of Snape's criticism. Feeling a pang of sympathy, she approached him just as she headed toward Snape's desk to submit her own flagon.
With a gentle touch, Dawn placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, silently offering her support.
When at long last the bell rang, signaling the end of the grueling Potions class, Harry wasted no time in swiftly gathering his belongings and making a beeline for the exit.
Great Hall
When Ron, Dawn, and Hermione finally joined Harry in the Great Hall, he was already attacking his lunch with a mixture of frustration and hunger. The ceiling, a magical canvas reflecting the outside weather, had turned an even murkier gray, mirroring the dreary mood that had carried over from the morning's Potions class. Rain relentlessly lashed against the high windows, adding a melancholic backdrop to the students' midday meal.
"That was really unfair," Dawn said consolingly, settling down next to Harry and helping herself to shepherd's pie. The aroma of the food, combined with the comforting hustle and bustle of the Great Hall, provided a welcome contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon.
"Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire," Hermione chimed in, trying to inject a bit of levity into the conversation.
"Yeah, well," Harry muttered, his gaze fixed on his plate, "since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"
"To any of us, really," Dawn remarked, sharing a knowing look with her sister. "Remember last year, Hermione? The incident with your teeth. He sent Goyle to the hospital wing and then proceeded to tell us there was nothing wrong with you."
Hermione sighed, the memory still vivid in her mind. If it hadn't been for Dawn standing up to Snape… "I did think he might be a bit better this year," she admitted in a disappointed voice. "I mean… you know…" She looked around cautiously, ensuring their conversation remained private. "…Now he's in the Order and everything."
"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," Ron declared sagely, his tone laced with skepticism. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, and shot a pointed look at Hermione. "Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape. Where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?"
"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," Hermione retorted, her eyes narrowing in frustration.
"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," Harry intervened heavily, his patience worn thin. As Ron prepared to launch into another argument, Hermione bristling with rebuttal, Harry felt the weight of their constant bickering pressing on him. Abandoning his shepherd's pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder, a clear sign of his exasperation.
Both Hermione and Ron froze, their expressions shifting from indignation to a mix of surprise and guilt. "Can't you give it a rest?" Harry implored, his voice laden with weariness. "You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad." Without waiting for their response, he left them sitting there, the tension he left behind palpable in the air.
A few minutes later, Ron, still ruminating on their disagreement, decided to join Harry in Divination class, hoping for a change of scenery. Meanwhile, Dawn and Hermione, exchanging a silent glance of understanding, made their way toward their Arithmancy class.
Arithmancy Classroom
Dawn and Hermione entered the Arithmancy classroom, a space that exuded an air of quiet concentration. The room was adorned with intricate charts and symbols, a testament to the complexity of magical numerology. Professor Vector, the Arithmancy instructor, stood at the front of the class, her stern expression suggesting that she expected nothing less than full attention and dedication.
The students were seated at their assigned desks, their parchment, quills, and textbooks neatly arranged before them. Dawn and Hermione found an empty pair of seats near the middle of the room, exchanging a glance that conveyed a shared understanding of the need for focus after the earlier discord in the Great Hall.
As Professor Vector delved into the day's lesson, the intricate world of magical numerology unfolded before the students. Dawn, fascinated by the subject, diligently took notes, her quill gliding across parchment as she absorbed the information. Hermione, always eager to excel in her studies, leaned in with keen interest, actively engaging with the material.
The misty drizzle outside seemed to fade from their consciousness as they immersed themselves in the patterns and calculations that defined Arithmancy. The atmosphere in the classroom shifted from the lingering tension of the Great Hall to one of intellectual curiosity and studious determination. Professor Vector, noticing the attentive focus of her students, allowed a subtle nod of approval before continuing with the lesson.
Dawn and Hermione, side by side, embraced the sanctuary of the classroom, where the intricacies of magical numerology provided a refuge from the outside world. The shared pursuit of knowledge became a unifying force, momentarily setting aside the conflicts of the morning. As the Arithmancy class progressed, the misty drizzle outside whispered against the windows, a quiet backdrop to the collaborative pursuit of magical understanding within the confines of the classroom.
Defense of the Dark Arts Classroom
As Dawn and Hermione stepped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, they were met with a familiar sight. Professor Umbridge, adorned in her signature fluffy pink cardigan and a black velvet bow atop her head, occupied the teacher's desk. Beside her stood Buffy.
Dawn and Hermione waved briefly at Buffy, who returned the gesture, as they moved quietly toward their seats. As they settled into their seats, Harry and Ron joined them.
"Well, good afternoon!" chimed Umbridge once the class had settled into a semblance of order. A few subdued "Good afternoons" floated in as responses.
"Tut, tut," Professor Umbridge reproached. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge and Professor Summers.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"
Dawn and Hermione exchanged glances, their unspoken communication affirming the necessity of playing along with Umbridge's charade. Buffy, with a knowing smile, nodded in agreement. The chant of "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge and Professor Summers" echoed through the room, each student, including Dawn and Hermione, reluctantly conforming to the prescribed response.
Dawn and Hermione exchanged questioning glances as they glanced at Buffy, silently communicating their reluctance to play along with Umbridge's orchestrated charade. In response, Buffy simply nodded, a subtle acknowledgment that compliance was necessary for the greater mission at hand.
As Professor Umbridge sweetly insisted on the formal greeting, "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge and Professor Summers," everyone, including Dawn and Hermione, obediently chanted back. The uniformity of the response seemed to satisfy Umbridge's desire for control and conformity.
"There, now," purred Professor Umbridge, a sickly-sweet smile on her face. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? What do you think, Professor Summers?"
Buffy, her expression maintaining a facade of cooperation, smiled in response. "I think that was a good job, Professor Umbridge."
Umbridge, pleased with the apparent harmony she had orchestrated, nodded approvingly. "Wands away and quills out, please."
Dawn shot Buffy a questioning look, her eyebrow raised at the unusual directive of "wands away." As Dawn obediently stowed her wand back in her bag and retrieved her quill, ink, and parchment, a sense of skepticism lingered in her mind. The practicality of learning Defense Against the Dark Arts without utilizing wands seemed counterintuitive, especially considering the imminent O.W.L. examinations that required practical spell-casting proficiency.
Professor Umbridge briskly opened her handbag, retrieving her unusually short wand, and rapped it sharply against the blackboard. Swiftly, words materialized, declaring the focus of the upcoming lessons:
Defense Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles
"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" Professor Umbridge declared, turning to face the class with an air of calculated composure, her hands neatly clasped in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum. Isn't that right, Professor Summers?"
Buffy, maintaining her role as a cooperative faculty member, nodded in agreement. "You are correct, Professor Umbridge. Last year, Professor Moody devised the curriculum for both halves of the class. And it was indeed not Ministry-approved."
Umbridge smiled at Buffy, internally noting that Buffy's compliance would be instrumental in implementing the changes she deemed necessary. Returning her attention to the class, Umbridge continued, "It has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year."
"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year that Professor Summers and I worked on over the summer. Copy down the following, please."
Umbridge sharply tapped her wand against the blackboard once more, causing the first message to vanish and be replaced by a new set of directives:
Course aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
The students, including Dawn and Hermione, dutifully set their quills to parchment, transcribing the outlined course aims under Umbridge's watchful eye. The room echoed with the sound of scratching quills for a couple of minutes as everyone diligently copied down the information.
Once satisfied that the aims had been recorded to her satisfaction, Umbridge moved on to the next order of business. "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
A dull murmur of assent spread through the class.
"I think we'll try that again," Professor Umbridge declared, her tone becoming more directive. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' When Professor Summers asks you a question, you should reply with, 'Yes, Professor Summers,' or 'No, Professor Summers.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," echoed through the room as the students dutifully responded to the inquiry.
"Good," Professor Umbridge acknowledged, her tone carrying an air of authority. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."
With that directive, Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and took her place in the chair behind the teacher's desk, her beady eyes fixed on the students. The room fell into a hushed silence as each student opened their copy of Defensive Magical Theory and began to read.
Dawn, diligently following the instructions, turned to page five of her textbook. As she was about to start reading, she noticed something odd. Hermione, her twin, hadn't even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. Instead, Hermione sat with her hand raised, staring intently at both Buffy and Professor Umbridge.
Dawn shot Hermione a questioning look, but Hermione shook her head slightly, indicating that she was not prepared to answer questions. Instead, Hermione continued to gaze resolutely at Professor Umbridge, who, in turn, seemed to be avoiding eye contact.
As the minutes ticked by, Dawn realized she wasn't the only one observing Hermione's silent attempt to engage Professor Umbridge. The tedious nature of the assigned reading led more and more students to divert their attention from "Basics for Beginners" and focus on Hermione's subtle but determined efforts to catch Professor Umbridge's eye.
As more than half the class found their attention drawn to Hermione instead of their assigned reading, Professor Umbridge seemed to reach the limit of her tolerance for the diversion.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" Umbridge inquired, adopting a falsely sweet tone, as though she had only just noticed Hermione's persistent hand.
"Not about the chapter, no," replied Hermione, her tone indicating a determination to pursue a different line of questioning.
Dawn glanced at Buffy, recognizing the gleam in her sister's eyes. It was the look Buffy wore when she encouraged Hermione to utilize her unparalleled skills in research and inquiry.
"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, revealing her small, pointed teeth in a semblance of a smile. "If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class."
"I've got a query about your course aims," declared Hermione, her voice firm and unwavering.
Professor Umbridge raised her finely arched eyebrows. "And your name is—?" she inquired, though she knew full well that Hermione was one of Buffy's sisters.
"Hermione Summers," Hermione replied, her voice carrying an air of unyielding confidence.
"Ah yes, Professor Summers, sister," Professor Umbridge acknowledged, her gaze briefly flicking toward Buffy before settling back on Hermione. "Well, Miss Summers, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," she stated, her words dripping with a determined sweetness that thinly veiled an underlying tension.
"Well, I don't," Hermione retorted bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."
A short silence settled over the room as many members of the class turned their heads to scrutinize the three course aims still etched on the blackboard.
"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated, her tone taking on a mocking lilt. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Summers." She glanced at Buffy, a subtle challenge in her eyes. "Do you, Professor Summers?"
Buffy shook her head, adopting a tone that mirrored Umbridge's calculated sweetness. "No, Professor Umbridge. I can't foresee any need for defensive spells in this classroom."
Umbridge's smile widened as she turned back to Hermione. "You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class, Miss Summers?"
Hermione, undeterred, met Umbridge's gaze squarely. "I'm expecting to learn how to defend myself, Professor. Isn't that the purpose of this class?"
"We're not going to use magic?" Ron interjected loudly, unable to contain his surprise.
"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.—?" Umbridge inquired, her eyes fixed on Ron.
"Weasley," Ron announced, thrusting his hand into the air with an air of rebellion.
Professor Umbridge, her smile growing even wider, turned her back on him dismissively. The disregard for Ron's question did little to quell the increasing unease in the room.
Feeling a shared sense of frustration, Dawn, Harry, and Hermione immediately raised their hands too, their silent protest evident in the united gesture.
Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry and Dawn for a moment before she addressed Hermione. "Yes, Miss Summers? You wanted to ask something else?"
"Yes," said Hermione, undeterred. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Summers?" inquired Professor Umbridge with feigned sweetness in her voice.
"No, but, Buffy—" Hermione began.
"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—" Umbridge interrupted, her tone unwavering. "Also, you will address your sister in this classroom as Professor Summers, not Buffy. That familiarity will be left outside the classroom. Professor Summers and I are in complete agreement here. We worked on our Ministry-approved curriculum over the summer, as I already stated. Now you will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—"
Dawn shot a glare at Buffy, her frustration evident. Buffy, catching Dawn's eye, nodded in understanding. Silently, she mouthed, 'You and Hermione see me in my suite after dinner.' Dawn nodded in acknowledgment, feeling a mix of anticipation and curiosity about what Buffy had in mind.
"What use is that?" Harry interjected loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a—"
"Hand, Mr. Potter!" sang Professor Umbridge, cutting off Harry's protest.
Undeterred, Harry thrust his fist in the air, eager to make his point. Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him again, but now several other students had their hands up too. The classroom, once a place of structured learning, had transformed into a battleground of conflicting ideas and the desire for practical knowledge.
"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge inquired, directing her attention to Dean.
"Dean Thomas."
"Well, Mr. Thomas?"
"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" Dean asserted. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free—"
"I repeat," Professor Umbridge interrupted, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during mine and Professor Summers' classes?"
Dean hesitated for a moment, weighing his words. "No, but—"
"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she continued, her voice dripping with false politeness. The insincerity in her smile stretched her already wide mouth into an unsettling rictus.
Dean Thomas, his frustration boiling over, couldn't bear to let Umbridge's accusations go unchallenged. His voice cut through the tension, sharp and angry, as he defended their beloved Professor Lupin. "If you mean Professor Lupin," he piped up, "he was one of the best we ever—"
Umbridge, however, cut him off with an imperious wave of her hand, dismissing his opinion like an annoying insect. "Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying—you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal."
Dawn, sitting in the back, could no longer tolerate the injustice. The frustration simmering within her burst forth. "No, we haven't," she interjected, her voice ringing with a mix of defiance and exasperation. Before she could continue, Umbridge's attention shifted to her, and she silenced Dawn with a dismissive remark.
"Ah, the other Miss Summers. Your hand is not up!" Umbridge declared, her tone dripping with a perverse pleasure in asserting control.
Dawn, undeterred, quickly raised her hand in reluctant compliance.
Professor Umbridge's attention shifted from Dawn to Buffy, her gaze piercing as she addressed the elder Summers. "Professor Summers, I really think you need to talk to your sisters about raising their hands."
Buffy, ever composed, nodded in agreement. "I agree," she said, glancing at Dawn and Hermione. There was a subtle twinkle in her eye, a silent acknowledgment that their defiance had not gone unnoticed.
Umbridge redirected her focus back to the class, resuming her tirade against the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. "It is my understanding that my predecessor, Professor Summers' co-professor last year, not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you."
Dean, unable to contain his frustration, interjected with a heated defense. "Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he? Mind you, we still learned loads."
Umbridge, with an air of condescension, silenced Dean with a trill in her voice. "Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" she declared, dismissing his opinion as inconsequential. Her gaze swept the room, settling on Parvati, who had eagerly raised her hand.
"Now, it is the view of the Ministry that theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination," Umbridge asserted, her tone carrying an air of authoritative finality. She continued to scrutinize Parvati, demanding, "And your name is?"
"Parvati Patil," she answered confidently, her defiance evident. "And isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"
Professor Umbridge's dismissive tone lingered in the air, a cold breeze cutting through the students' growing unease. "As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," she asserted, her words dripping with a patronizing certainty.
Parvati, her disbelief etched across her face, couldn't hold back her incredulous response. "Without ever practicing them before?" she questioned, a hint of frustration tainting her tone. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"
Umbridge, undeterred, repeated her mantra, "I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"
The frustration in the room reached a boiling point, with Harry, unable to contain his discontent, interjecting loudly. "And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" His fist shot into the air again, a symbolic gesture of resistance.
Professor Umbridge, seemingly unfazed, looked up from her papers, meeting Harry's defiant gaze. "This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said, her voice soft yet carrying an unsettling weight.
Harry, undeterred, pressed on. "So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?" he challenged, his words echoing the concerns of his peers.
Professor Umbridge's statement lingered in the air, an unsettling proclamation that seemed to deny the very existence of threats beyond the school walls. "There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter," she stated with a chilling finality.
Harry, his temper ignited by Umbridge's denial, retorted defiantly, "Oh yeah?"
Umbridge responded with a sickly sweet tone, feigning ignorance or perhaps willful denial of the dangers that lurked beyond the protective enchantments of Hogwarts. "Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" she inquired, her words carrying a disturbing mix of faux concern and condescension.
In response, Harry, unafraid to voice the truth, adopted a mockingly thoughtful tone. "Hmm, let's think… maybe Lord Voldemort?" The mere mention of the dark wizard's name sent shivers through the room, and reactions varied from gasps to startled screams.
Ron gasped, Lavender Brown let out a small, terrified scream, and Neville slipped sideways off his stool in shock. The weight of the name Voldemort hung in the air, a stark reminder of the very real threats that loomed in the wizarding world.
Dawn, grappling with her own memories of supernatural adversaries, felt an impulse to speak, to acknowledge the existence of formidable foes. Yet, she hesitated, realizing that mentioning Glory, a powerful foe from her own experiences, might only complicate matters. Glory was dead, or at least she hoped so.
Professor Umbridge's stern gaze remained fixed on Harry, a grim satisfaction playing on her features. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," she declared with a tone that relished in the exercise of authority.
The classroom fell into an oppressive stillness, tension thickening the air as all eyes shifted between Umbridge and the defiant Harry. Undeterred, the professor rose from her chair, leaning toward the students with her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk, a gesture both intimidating and domineering.
"Now, let me make a few things quite plain," Umbridge began, her voice carrying an air of calculated control. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—"
"He wasn't dead," Harry interjected angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"
Umbridge, refusing to acknowledge Harry's outburst, continued speaking without looking directly at him. "Mr. Potter, you have already lost your House ten points; do not make matters worse for yourself. As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."
"It is NOT a lie!" Harry insisted. "I saw him, I fought him!"
Triumphantly, Professor Umbridge delivered her verdict. "Detention, Mr. Potter! Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office." Her satisfaction seemed to grow as she continued to dismiss the very real threat that Harry and others had faced. "I repeat, this is a lie. In fact, Mr. Potter, if you notice, Ms. Summers did not come to your defense on the subject, so even she believes it to be a lie."
Dawn, caught off guard by being mentioned, wanted to speak up but held back, recognizing the futility of arguing with Umbridge.
"Anyways," Umbridge continued, addressing the whole class, "the Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend."
With a final, patronizing command, she concluded, "And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, Basics for Beginners." With that, she settled back into her seat, her self-satisfied expression reinforcing the oppressive authority she sought to impose over the students.
Harry's abrupt decision to stand up sent a ripple of tension through the classroom. The collective gaze of students fixed on him, their curiosity and apprehension palpable. Seamus, caught between fear and fascination, wore a conflicted expression, mirroring the uncertainty that hung in the air.
"Harry, no!" came the hushed whispers from both Dawn and Hermione, their voices pleading for caution.
Unperturbed, Harry faced Professor Umbridge with a steely determination. "So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" he questioned, his voice cutting through the silence like a dagger.
A collective gasp swept through the class as Harry broached a topic he had largely kept silent about. The majority of the students, save for Ron, Dawn, and Hermione, had never heard Harry openly discuss the events of the night Cedric died.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," Umbridge retorted coldly, her dismissive tone attempting to quell any further discussion.
But Harry, fueled by an unyielding conviction, refused to be silenced. "It was murder," he asserted, his voice carrying the weight of truth. "Dawn saw it also. Just before she was given to Glorificius."
As Professor Umbridge continued her scribbling on the small roll of pink parchment, an air of foreboding settled in the room, the scratching of the quill against the paper echoing the tension that gripped the students. The contrast between the delicate hue of the parchment and the gravity of the situation seemed almost surreal.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," Professor Umbridge instructed, her saccharine tone belying the underlying authority in her words. The note, a harbinger of potential consequences, was extended toward Harry, who accepted it in silence. His expression, a mask of unreadable determination, hinted at the turmoil within.
Dawn, sensing the gravity of the situation, leaned toward Harry and whispered urgently, "See me, Hermione, and Buffy after dinner in Buffy's suite." Her words, barely audible, held a sense of urgency. With that, she released her grip on Harry, allowing him to navigate the delicate task ahead.
As Harry exited the classroom, the door slammed shut behind him.
Buffy's Suite
In the dimly lit ambiance of Buffy's suite, the tension from the day lingered in the air. Hermione, Dawn, and Harry gathered, their expressions reflecting the gravity of the situation. Buffy, standing there with a solemn demeanor, took a moment before breaking the silence.
"Harry, I want to apologize to you for what Umbridge did," Buffy began, her tone carrying a sincerity that caught Harry off guard. He exchanged puzzled glances with Hermione and Dawn, unsure of what to expect.
"What's going on?" Harry inquired, his confusion evident. He hadn't anticipated an apology from Buffy, and the unexpected turn of events left him grasping for clarity.
Buffy sighed, her shoulders bearing the weight of a secret mission. "The reason I'm kissing up to Umbridge is because I am under orders by the Order to spy on her. Dumbledore wants to know what she's up to."
Harry, absorbing this revelation, nodded slowly. The pieces began to fall into place, but questions lingered in his mind. "Why are you telling me this? No one else ever tells me anything," he remarked, a note of frustration seeping into his voice.
"Because you needed to know," Buffy explained earnestly. "You would have started to ask Hermione and Dawn questions, questions they couldn't answer without revealing what I was doing. And they couldn't reveal it because if Umbridge found out, I would no longer be trusted, and I can't do my job then."
Harry processed the information, his brow furrowed with a mix of understanding and concern. "What about Hermione and Dawn? I assume part of what went on in class was a ruse on their part?" he inquired, seeking clarification amid the intricate web of secrecy.
Hermione, her expression earnest, shook her head. "None of it was a ruse, Harry. Dawn and I were not acting from a script." Her words carried a sincerity that dispelled any doubt about the authenticity of their actions in Umbridge's class.
Harry, absorbing this revelation, nodded thoughtfully. "Dawn, how come you didn't speak up when I mentioned Ced being killed or seeing Voldemort?" he questioned, his curiosity reflecting the lingering concern for his friends.
Dawn sighed, a heavy weight of apprehension in her voice. "First, I wasn't sure if I should mention it in front of the whole class. You forget I have it worse than you. I'm the one that the Daily Prophet continuously said should be in a mental hospital. And as far as we know, Glorificus is dead. Anyways, as long as I'm considered delusional, no one will believe what I say. Umbridge wouldn't believe me. Heck, most of the students in the school wouldn't believe me if I mentioned seeing Voldemort."
Harry sighed in understanding, realizing the additional layers of vulnerability that Dawn faced. "I see what you mean. They might believe me more readily than you. Thanks, Dawn, for explaining. In class, I thought you had turned your back on me and the whole situation with Voldemort."
A genuine smile graced Dawn's features, a reassurance that transcended words. "Harry, I have your back. I will always have your back. I just can't protect it as much now as I could before."
"So, Harry, now that you know. You can tell no one, of course. This does not leave this room," Buffy instructed, her tone conveying the weight of the responsibility bestowed upon him. The room itself, shielded by Dumbledore's charm, stood as a sanctuary for their confidential discussions.
"Dumbledore placed a charm on my suite so no one outside can hear what's being spoken in here. He actually did that when we were worrying about Glory," Buffy explained, a testament to the lengths taken to safeguard their conversations. "You are to act normally like you did today. No one here is playing a part except for me."
Harry absorbed the instructions, nodding in agreement.
"Tomorrow evening after detention or first thing the next morning, you will report to me in here," Buffy said. "I want to know what she did for your detention."
"Okay, Buffy," Harry affirmed, acknowledging the gravity of the situation and the trust placed in him.
Buffy's smile, though tinged with a hint of weariness, conveyed gratitude. "Dawn, Hermione. You did a good job today in class. Better than I had thought. Why don't you all get some sleep?"
As the trio prepared to leave, Buffy added a final touch of levity to ease the tension. "Oh, guys, raise your hand, and don't forget I'm Professor Summers in DADA." Laughter bubbled in the room, a shared moment of camaraderie amid the secrecy.
"I told that woman I would say something, and, well, I did, even if I could care less," Buffy chuckled, her laughter infectious.
Harry, Dawn, and Hermione joined in the laughter as they exited Buffy's suite, the weight of the day momentarily lifted. Heading toward Gryffindor Tower, the camaraderie they shared echoed through the corridors, a bond forged in the crucible of secrecy and the shared burden of defiance against an oppressive authority.
