The Hogwarts High Inquisitor

"So where is Hagrid?" Ginny asked him quietly at about two a.m. when she caught him staring absently out the window overlooking the school grounds. It wasn't the darkness of the grounds that was the issue; it was the lack of light from Hagrid's hut which was giving him this unsettling feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, that he just couldn't seem to shake.

"He's fine," Harry repeated automatically, very aware that his tone was not at all comforting. "He just ... he was supposed to be back by now. He, uh, got separated from Madame Maxime on the way home from their, uh ... trip."

"That's a masterful non-answer."

"Apparently I'm good at those," he said.

"But if he's supposed to be back -"

"- Don't go asking too many questions, Gin," Harry said quietly. "It'll just draw more attention to it. He'll be okay, I promise."

She leaned over from the chair beside him, wrapping her arms around his waist comfortingly and resting her head against his. Exactly how long they stayed there in their comfortable silence, neither would ever know. All they did know was that there was no way either would be falling asleep tonight. Instead of tossing and turning all night in a way that would make them resent their normally-supremely-comfortable four poster beds upstairs, they had apparently reached the unspoken conclusion that they would stay right here.

They finally moved at around the point of sunrise, both returning to their dormitories to change before meeting again in the common room, then heading downstairs to breakfast. By the time Ron, Hermione and the kids joined them, they were sitting at the far end of the Gryffindor table with a copy of the Daily Prophet laid out on the table and disgusted looks covering their faces. There, plastered on the front page, was a rather large photograph of Dolores Umbridge, her wide smile just begging for someone to deface it (at least, that had been James' opinion).

MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM

DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST EVER HIGH INQUISITOR

"'High Inquisitor'?" Al asked, frowning at the page. "What does that mean?"

In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time," said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. "He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve of."

This is not the first time in recent weeks that the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has used new laws to effect improvements at the wizarding school. As recently as 30th August, Educational Decree Number Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.

"That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts," said Weasley last night. "Dumbledore couldn't find anyone so the Minister put in Umbridge, and of course, she's been an immediate success -"

"I'm sorry, what?" James said rather loudly, earning himself a glare from his mother.

"Wait, there's more," Hermione said grimly. "- an immediate success, totally revolutionising the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts -"

"- Debatable," Lily said, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"- and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts."

Across the table, Al and Scorp shared a dark look. "That means what I think it means, right?"

Al just shrugged.

"It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalised with the passing of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three, which creates the new position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor."

"This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the falling standards at Hogwarts," said Weasley. "The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post and we are delighted to say that she has accepted."

"'Teaching post'? Ginny quoted, eyebrows raised higher than anyone had ever seen them before. "Really? 'Teaching post'?"

"Technically," Harry said, pouring himself a rather large cup of coffee, "she is a teacher."

"That's a technicality if I ever heard one," Hermione muttered, quickly returning to reading the newspaper aloud. "The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts."

"Now that's just an outright lie," Harry said. In response to Ron's strange look, he added, "What? I'm a parent of students at Hogwarts, and I think her class is a load of cr -"

"- Okay," Ginny said, stuffing a piece of toast in his open mouth as he was mid-way through the word. "Hermione? Continue."

"Oh, um," Hermione said somewhat awkwardly. "It's - um, they spoke to, uh ..."

Scorpius glanced over her shoulder to read and sighed. "My grandfather. They published a glowing review of her teaching skills from a war criminal."

"Well, that's the Prophet for you," Ron said, clearly not reading the room. To Hermione and Ginny's clearly annoyed faces, he added, "What?"

Behind his coffee mug, Harry grinned at the kids. "Some things never change."

After a moment of silence, Al lowered his voice and hissed, "Is this real, dad? Did the Ministry really force a completely inadequate teacher on you?"

"And give her the power to - what did they say, 'inspect' - the other teachers?" Scorp added. "You know, the ones who are actually qualified to do their jobs? It's outrageous!"

"You're telling me," Harry muttered, glancing down at his right hand, which bore the faint outline of the words Umbridge had forced him to cut into his skin.

Across the table, Ron started chuckling.

"What?" Harry and Ginny asked together, staring at him.

"Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall be inspected," Ron said a little too happily. "Umbridge won't know what's hit her!"

Hermione, however, ignored him entirely. "We'd better get going. If she's inspecting Binns' class we don't want to be late."

"Oh, thrilling," Harry said, his voice dripping in sarcasm. "I for one cannot wait for another hour of the most boring class on the face of the planet."

James' eyes lit up like no one had ever seen them before. "What? Harry Potter doesn't want to go to class?"

Still holding his coffee cup, Harry said, "Harry Potter is calling in sick."

"What?" Hermione said, scandalised.

"You heard me. I'm not doing it. I am calling it. I'm not going."

"... But you're not sick," Ginny pointed out.

Harry shrugged. "So?"

"'So'? So?" James shot back. "I skipped one class in my first week here, and you nearly killed me!"

"Because you were eleven," Harry shot back. "I'm not."

He stood up then and walked away from the table.

"Where are you going?" Ron called after him.

Still holding his coffee, Harry called over his shoulder, "Hospital Wing. I'm -" he pretended to cough, "- sick."

As predicted, History of Magic was as impossibly boring for Hermione, Ron and James as it always had been - though somehow, James managed to maintain his full attention on the lesson. By the time they arrived in Snape's dungeon for double Potions, James was seriously wondering when his father would reappear. Instead of an answer, however, he was handed a moonstone essay with a large, spiky black 'D' scrawled in an upper corner.

"And where is Mr Potter?" Professor Snape demanded, scowling at James.

"He's off sick," James said, glowering back at the unpleasant potions master.

"Excuse me?"

"He's in the Hospital Wing," Hermione offered helpfully, gripping James' elbow so tightly her fingernails started digging in.

"And what exactly, pray tell, is wrong with him?"

Hermione glanced to James, who shrugged.

"The thought of double potions had him retching into his morning coffee."

Behind him, Ron's mouth dropped open and Hermione groaned. Professor Snape, however, glared. "Detention, Prewett."

As he stalked toward the blackboard, James looked to his aunt and uncle only to roll his eyes at their over exaggerated reactions. "Detention doesn't scare me. I proudly hold veteran status."

Glowering at James, Professor Snape continued his lecture, "I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your O.W.L., Mr Prewett. I suggest you plan on spending less time in detention and more time with your schoolwork."

"And I suggest you quit being a pompous as - ow!"

James' over-the-top response had been cut off by a sharp kick to the shin from his aunt, who had somehow managed to maintain a calculatedly neutral expression. Ron, however, was all but buzzing with glee.

"It was spectacular," Ron said jovially as they crossed the Entrance Hall on their way to lunch. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Like what?" Ginny asked, appearing from the staircase with Al in tow.

"James called out Snape in potions."

She rounded on her son immediately. "You did what?"

Cringing slightly, James said quietly, "If it helps, I've already got detention."

"It's not gonna help," Al muttered, ignoring the silencing hand his mother threw in his direction.

"Detention? You opened your mouth in class and got detention?"

"It's hardly my first detention, mum," James said, shrugging.

"Definitely not his first rodeo," Al offered, grinning from ear to ear.

Ginny again threw the same silencing hand at her second son, not taking her eyes off her eldest, whose nonchalantness only served to increase her anger.

"Your father warned you -"

"- Yeah, well, dad's not here, is he?" James countered a little too loudly, garnering unwanted attention from several confused students around them.

Hermione's gentle hand on her arm had Ginny forcing herself to take a deep breath and not start screaming at her son. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she said, "James, your dad is doing his best."

"Yeah? Well, today his best was tapping out. Leaving me alone."

"He hardly -" Al began, but a glare from his mother had him hastily adding, "- You know what? Never mind."

"Hey, Al," Fred said gently, sensing now was the time to stop this from turning into a scene, "heard a rumour someone might have slipped itching powder in Zambini's robes. Wanna point and laugh?"

While the twins steered Al and Scorpius away from the impending argument, Ginny took another very deep breath. "James, your dad -"

"- Yeah, yeah. I know," he said sullenly. "It's just ... I did this, mum. It's my fault. And - and now everyone has to deal with it."

"It's okay, Jamie," Ginny said, reaching out to pull him into a comforting hug. "We're gonna get out of this."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, we do," Hermione said, falling into step with the duo as they themselves headed for the Great Hall.

"Not even you can tell the future, Aunt Hermione."

"No," she conceded, finding herself surprisingly comfortable with being called 'Aunt.' "But if we don't get out of this, you lot wouldn't exist. And since you haven't yet faded from existence ..."

"Then it's safe to assume that somewhere, somehow, we make it out of this," Ginny said, sounding much more confident than she currently felt.

"And until then," Harry's voice said from behind them, his uniform clearly slept in and looking a little worse for wear, "we'll do the best we can."

"And our best does not include detention," Ginny said pointedly, her eyes gesturing to their son in that warning way that said so much more than words ever could.

Harry glanced to James. "You opened your mouth in potions, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh."

"And now you've got detention?"

"Yep."

Harry laughed. For the first time in months, he actually, properly, laughed.

"This is not funny, Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, pushing his shoulder as he took at seat beside Ron at the Gryffindor table.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Who are you kidding, Gin? We both knew it was gonna happen - I'm just surprised it took this long!"

On the other side of the table, Fred - who had returned from the brief interlude of pointing and laughing at their Slytherin target - looked at the duo suspiciously, clearly seeing what everyone around them also saw - Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, who had never really been all that close in years gone by, suddenly engaged in flirty banter.

"You lot had any inspected lessons yet?" Fred asked them pointedly, his voice just a little louder than was strictly necessary.

"No," Hermione said at once, pulling their group's attention away from the duo. "Have you?"

"Just now, before lunch," said George. "Charms."

"And?" Harry and Ginny asked together.

Both twins sent them a funny look.

Shrugging, Fred said, "Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple questions. That was it."

"I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down," George added, "he usually gets everyone through their exams alright."

"I'll say," Al said, adding a pie onto the edge of his plate. "If he can get James an O on his O.W.L., he can do anything."

Both twins froze, their gaze slowly moving to the eldest of the Potter kids. For his part, James just shrugged.

"What?" he asked, his mouth full of sandwich. "Like it's hard?"

"Who've you got this afternoon?" Ginny asked, passing Harry a tray of his favourite sandwiches without his having to ask.

"Trelawney and Umbridge herself."

"Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today," George said. "Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch."

Unfortunately for Harry - and to James' utter delight - he did not have to wait for Defense Against the Dark Arts to meet Professor Umbridge. He was pulling out his dream diary in a seat at the very back to the shadowy Divination room when Ron elbowed him in the ribs and, looking around, he saw Professor Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily, fell silent all at once. Everyone, that is, except for James.

"I'm telling you," he continued on with his back to the trapdoor, not realising they had a new arrival, "it's - oh."

Finally, the abrupt silence had drawn his attention, and he'd turned around to see the woman and her obnoxiously pink robes.

"Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney," said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?"

Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it sat a few inches behind Professor Trelawney's seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin.

Beside Harry, James looked at him questioningly. "Is she -?"

"- Yes," Harry said simply.

When he took out a small vial and downed its contents in one large gulp, both Ron and James looked at him strangely.

"What? It's for my headache," Harry said, shrugging.

At the front of the room, Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.

"We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today," she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. "Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each other's latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle."

While Professor Trelawney avoided Professor Umbridge by hovering over Parvati and Lavender, the boys opened their copies of The Dream Oracle. For his part, Harry was covertly watching Umbridge out of one eye, though no one but James seemed to notice. When she got to her feet and began to follow Trelawney around the room, Harry hurriedly bent his head over his book.

"Think of a dream, quick," he said to Ron and James, "in case the old toad comes our way."

"I did it last time," Ron protested, "it's your turn, you tell me one."

"James?" Harry said, immediately diverting the attention away from himself.

"Let's say I dreamed of drowning Snape in my cauldron," James said confidently. "Uh, theoretically, of course."

"Naturally," Harry muttered, while Ron laughed.

Focusing on his Dream Oracle again, Ron said, "Okay, we've got to add your age to the date you had the dream, the number of letters in the subject ... would that be 'drowning' or 'cauldron' or 'Snape'?"

"Does it matter?" Harry asked irritatedly.

"Of course it matters," James countered. "Let's say it was drowning."

Harry's attention was entirely on Professor Umbridge, who was now standing at Professor Trelawney's shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary.

"What night did you dream this again?" Ron asked, immersed in calculations.

"Last night," James said, still confidently.

The two teachers were now only a table away from the trio. Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out.

"Now," said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, "you've been in this post how long, exactly?"

Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, "Nearly sixteen years."

"Quite a period," said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. "So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?"

"That's right," Professor Trelawney said shortly.

Umbridge made another note on her clipboard.

"And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" James hissed to Harry. "My great-grandfather invented a hair potion, but I don't have perfect hair!"

"Preach," Harry whispered back tiredly, then waved a hand dismissively at Ron's very confused glance. Ron, who had long since given up on attempting to grasp their strange future-vernacular, instead went back to his calculations.

Behind them, Professor Umbridge continued, "And I think - correct me if I am mistaken - that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?"

Back at the table, two Potters and a Weasley all shared a significant look, then quickly looked away. None of them seemed game to say anything more.

"These things often skip - er - three generations," their Divination teacher said awkwardly.

Harry chanced a glance at James, who opened his mouth to say something but fell silent at his father's warning glare. Now was not the time, and this was not the place.

"Of course," Umbridge said behind them, her toadlike smile widening. "Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?"

James' "You're kidding, right?" slipped out before either Harry or Ron could stop him. Both teachers turned to him, confusion written on both of their faces.

"Excuse me, Mr Prewett?" Professor Umbridge asked dangerously, the entire class' full attention now focused on James. "You have something to say?"

"Well, it's just ... it doesn't work like that, does it?" James countered, sounding more confident than he felt. "Even the, uh, most famous Seers in history, they don't just give predictions on command."

"The child is correct," Professor Trelawney announced suddenly, drawing herself to her full height. "The Inner Eye does not see upon command!"

"I see," Professor Umbridge said quietly, her glance still alternating between Professor Trelawney and James.

"I - but - but ... wait!" Professor Trelawney said suddenly, the usual mystical effect of her voice somewhat ruined by the way her voice was shaking with anger. "I ... I think I do see something ... something that concerns you ... why, I sense something ... something dark -" Harry's renewed glare at James kept him mercifully silent "- some grave peril ..."

Professor Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Professor Umbridge, who finally moved her attention from James to the Divination teacher, a bland smile now in place.

"I am afraid ... I am afraid that you are in grave danger!" Professor Trelawney finished dramatically.

There was a pause in which Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows, and Harry steadfastly avoided Ron's questioning gaze.

"Right," Professor Umbridge said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. "Well, if that's really the best you can do."

Beside Harry, Ron leaned toward him and muttered, "But it's not, is it? The best she can do, I mean."

"Not now," Harry muttered, staring resolutely at the words on the open page of his textbook and taking absolutely nothing in.

Seeing Professor Umbridge turn and leave, James leaned forward and said, "So is she a fraud or not?"

"Fraud," Harry and Ron agreed in perfect unison.

"Though, to be fair," Harry added absentmindedly, "in this instance she's not entirely wrong."

"What does that mean?" James demanded as they made their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts an hour later, still prodding his father for information in that maddening way Harry was slowly adjusting to. Back at home, James had known when to stop. Here, however, it appeared all bets were off.

"I meant what I said," Harry told him quietly as they entered the classroom.

The image of Professor Umbridge humming and smiling to herself behind her desk was enough to make him feel physically ill. Unlike his classmates, Harry knew exactly what was coming next. He was all too aware that the woman in front of them was happy in the knowledge she was about to ruin someone else's career.

Beside him, Ron and James were quickly telling Hermione, who had been in Arithmancy, exactly what had happened in Divination as they retrieved their copies of Defensive Magical Theory, but before Hermione could say anything at all Professor Umbridge had called them to order and silence fell.

"Wands away," she instructed them all with a smile, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out - including James - sadly returned them to their bags. "As we finished Chapter One last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence 'Chapter Two, Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

"No need to think, more like it," James muttered darkly, though he still stifled a laugh when Harry shoved him under the desk.

Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen. While Harry was idly wondering dully whether there were enough chapters in the book to keep them reading through their lessons all year long, James had noticed Hermione was sitting bolt upright, staring straight forward, and had her hand in the air again.

"Dad?" he whispered, completely unsure of what he was seeing.

"Don't," Harry whispered under his breath. "Just, don't."

Professor Umbridge had noticed Hermione, too. Instead of pretending not to see Hermione, she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until they were face to face, then bent down and said quietly, "What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

"I've already read Chapter Two," Hermione said pleasantly.

"Well then, proceed to Chapter Three."

"I've read that too. I've read the whole book."

Beside his father, James was barely containing a grin. This was more entertainment than he'd seen in days.

"Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in Chapter Fifteen."

"He says that counter-jinxes are improperly named," Hermione said. "He says 'counter-jinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable."

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows and Harry knew she was impressed, against her will.

"But I disagree," Hermione continued.

Professor Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder. "You disagree?"

"Yes, I do," Hermione said plainly, very purposely not whispering but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had attracted the attention of the rest of the class. "Mr Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, that much is clear. And we all know they can be very useful when they're used defensively."

"Oh, they can, can they?" Professor Umbridge said, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

Hermione did not bother responding, though the look she threw at Harry as Professor Umbridge walked back to the front of the class said it all. As she turned to face the class once more, Professor Umbridge said, "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor house."

There was an outbreak of muttering at this, culminating at Harry angrily saying, "What for?"

"Don't you get involved!" Hermione hissed, though her protest fell on deaf ears.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," Professor Umbridge said smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little."

"Debatable," Ron muttered.

"Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them - with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects - would have passed a Ministry inspection -"

"- Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher," Harry said loudly. "There was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."

This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard (which was saying something). Then -

"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr Potter," said Umbridge sleekly.

The cut on the back of Harry's hand had barely healed and, by the following morning, it was bleeding again. He did not complain during the evening's detention; he was determined not to give Umbridge the satisfaction. Over and over again he wrote I must not tell lies and not a sound escaped his lips, though the cut deepened with every letter.

The very worst part of this second week's worth of detentions - other than his children's high-and-mighty attitude - was, as George had predicted, Angelina's reaction. She cornered him just as he arrived at the Gryffindor table for breakfast on Tuesday and shouted so loudly that Professor McGonagall came sweeping down upon the pair of them from the staff table.

"Miss Johnson, how dare you make such a racket in the Great Hall! Five points from Gryffindor!"

"But Professor - he's gone and landed himself in detention again -"

"He's what?" Professor McGonagall said sharply, rounding on Harry. "Detention?"

"Yes Professor," he said quietly, seeing the dressing down of his life coming from a mile away.

"From whom?"

"Umbridge," he muttered, entirely unable to meet Professor McGonagall's gaze.

"Are you seriously telling me," she said, lowering her voice so that the group of curious Ravenclaws behind them could not hear, "that after our discussion last week, and the warning I gave you, you lost your temper in Professor Umbridge's class again?"

Harry sighed. "Yes."

"Potter!" she exclaimed. "Get a grip on yourself!"

"Minerva -"

"- Professor McGonagall," she emphasised, a significant look on her face. With one hand on his shoulder, she deftly steered him away from the Gryffindor table and toward the high table, in a corner that was mercifully free of students. "Harry, I cannot say this any plainer: Pull it together."

"But Minerva -"

"- Your children are watching, Harry!" she hissed at him, lowering her voice despite the lack of ears around them. "They are taking their cues from you, and right now you are showing them it's fine to lose it in the middle of a war!"

"Minerva," he said, a little louder than he'd intended, but it was enough to pull her attention back to the matter at hand. "I know. I know, okay? I'm ... I can't do this, Minerva."

"Yes, you can," she countered with authority. "You can and you will. And, to be clear, you don't have a choice. None of us do."

"Of that," he said tiredly, running a hand through his hair, "I am all too aware."

As Professor McGonagall strode back towards the staff table, Harry made his way back to his family, who were looking at him expectantly.

"What?" he asked, slowly lowering himself into the seat beside Ron.

"You lose points?" Ron asked between mouthfuls of eggs.

"Yep," Harry said tiredly, reaching for the coffee pot.

"And she's mad?"

"Uh-huh."

"She's right to warn you," Hermione said, her face now obscured by a picture of Cornelius Fudge on the Daily Prophet she was currently reading. "You really shouldn't be losing your temper, especially with Umbridge."

"I know, Hermione," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair again. "I know."

His tired resignation continued throughout Charms, which resulted in his not speaking to anyone. When they entered Transfiguration, however, all tiredness was forgotten. Professor Umbridge and her clipboard were sitting in a corner, waiting patiently for the lesson to begin.

"Excellent," Ron whispered as he sat down between James and Hermione. "Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves."

When Professor McGonagall marched into the room she gave on indication she knew Professor Umbridge was there.

"That will do," she said, and silence fell immediately. "Mr Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework. Miss Brown, please take the box of mice - don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you - and hand one to each student -"

"Hem hem," said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back Harry's essay; Harry took it without looking at him and saw, to his relief, that he had managed an 'A'.

"Right then, everyone, listen closely - James Prewett, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention." Professor McGonagall's sharp words had James quickly drawing his wand away from the mouse, which he had been poking precariously. "Now, most of you have successfully Vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be -"

"Hem hem."

"Yes?" Professor McGonagall said, turning around so quickly her robes billowed around her impressively, and her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.

"I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec -"

"- Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom," Professor McGonagall said shortly, turning back to the class.

While many of his fellow students exchanged looks of glee, Harry caught Professor McGonagall's eye and raised a single eyebrow. She was, after all, responding to the toad-like woman in exactly the same way Harry had, after all. Her barely imperceptible nod was all the recognition Harry would get on the matter.

To the room at large, she continued, "As I was saying: today, we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell -"

"Hem hem."

"I wonder," Professor McGonagall said in cold fury, turning back to Professor Umbridge, "how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking."

Professor Umbridge quickly rearranged her shock into an unreadable expression. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously.

Professor McGonagall returned to addressing the class. "As I was saying, the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So - you know the incantation, let me see what you can do ..."

Beside him, James immediately vanished the mouse. "This is child's play," he told his father, who only seconds later had followed suit.

"And yet, we all have to learn," Harry said quietly, noticing with interest that Professor Umbridge was not following Professor McGonagall around the class as she had followed Professor Trelawney. She was, however, taking copious and probably meticulous notes while sitting in her corner.

"Potter," Professor McGonagall said quietly when she approached their table. "Good work. And you too, Mr Prewett."

"Thanks, Minnie," James said, grinning mischievously at their stern Scottish teacher.

"Watch it, Potter," Professor McGonagall growled warningly at the same time Harry sighed James' name tiredly once again. "Your unique circumstances do not protect you from detention. Or worse."

"Worse?" James echoed, a tinge of concern in his tone.

"As I understand it," Professor McGonagall said conversationally, her voice still quiet enough that only the four Gryffindors in front of her could hear, "you are on a first-name basis with the portraits in my office."

Ron frowned. "But you don't have any portraits in your office."

"Not yet," Professor McGonagall said, a ghost of a smile on her face as she walked away.

They had thought the next time they would see Professor Umbridge would be in their next class - or, in Harry's case, in detention that evening - but they were wrong. When they walked down the lawns towards the Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, they found her and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"You do not usually take this class, is that correct?" they heard her ask as they arrived at the trestle table where the captive Bowtruckles were scrabbling around for woodlice like so many living twigs.

"Quite correct," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid."

Harry exhcanged uneasy looks with Ron and Hermione. Though no words were said, it was enough for James to pick up on and - wisely - keep his mouth shut. Behind them, Zambini was whispering with Crabbe and Goyle, all of whom would surely love an opportunity to tell tales on Hagrid to a member of the Ministry. Beside them, Malfoy caught Harry's eye for half a second, then turned to his fellow Slytherins and joined their conversation.

"That's not good," Hermione whispered, barely loud enough for even the boys to hear.

"What choice does he have, 'Mione?" Ron whispered back, looking uncharacteristically concerned for his sworn enemy. "If he doesn't play the part, he dies."

"He wont -"

"- Maybe not yet," Harry interrupted her, ever the level-headed one. "But you know as well as I do in just a few months, everything is going to change. Everything. And unless we can pull him out of there -"

"- Which we can't," Ron offered just a little louder, pulling his books out of his bag.

"I know, I know," Hermione sighed. "I just ... he's fifteen."

"We're all fifteen," Ron said.

James cleared his throat pointedly, but the trio merely ignored him.

"We can't get him out of there, Hermione," Harry said, resigning himself to the reality. "There's nothing I can do about his circumstances. What I can do is protect his kid. So I'm gonna do that as best I know how."

In the common room that evening, James landed in a spare seat beside Al and Scorpius in the far corner, somehow mercifully away from everyone and everything going on around them.

"Exactly what was your dad involved in during the war?" he asked in way of greeting, his eyes squarely on the blonde.

"Hi Al, Scorp," Al said sarcastically, pausing momentarily halfway through writing a Potions essay. "Good day? Mine was fine. Might've pissed of McGonagall, but what else is new?"

"Yeah, yeah," James said, waving a hand dismissively at his brother. "Insert pleasantries here."

"A pleasantry every now and then would be nice, you know," Al said.

James, however, did not change his course of action. "So? What was he into, then?"

Scorpius sighed, putting down his own quill and clasping his hands together on the table in front of them. "My grandfather was a Death Eater. You know that."

"I'm not asking about your granddad," James said, still on his one-track train of thought. "I'm asking about -"

"- My dad, I know," Scorpius said, nodding. "He, uh ... he doesn't really talk about it."

"Welcome to our world," Al muttered.

"Yeah, well, put it in perspective." When neither of the brothers said anything, Scorpius continued, "My dad was raised by a Death Eater. The Manor - it's about to become their damn headquarters. My dad's home, his family, they ..."

He faded off as the brothers' eyes went wide.

"He didn't have a choice, okay?" Scorpius whispered, his tone imploring them to really hear him. "He didn't ... he didn't have a choice."