Harry was so busy watching Umbridge that he didn't notice Dumbledore's approach until the headmaster was almost at the Gryffindor table.

"Good evening," he said. "I trust you've all had a pleasant first day back?"

Harry's friends exchanged glances with each other and shrugged.

"Pleasant enough," Draco said. Hermione and Ginny made vaguely affirmative noises, eyes on Umbridge.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, smiling. He looked at Harry. "And are you quite done with learning for the day, or might you be open to some additional education? After dinner, perhaps?"

"You've found something, then?" Harry asked, heart leaping. "Already?"

"If you would consider a grievous oversight of mine something, then yes," Dumbledore said, frowning.

That sounded far less promising, though Harry wasn't sure whether the oversight was to do with Harry being a horcrux, or was to do with his guess about the ring. Harry looked at his friends and around the Hall, then thought better of asking any follow up questions.

"I will provide a full explanation at your nearest convenience," Dumbledore continued, "which will be…?"

"After dinner, I s'pose," Harry said, though he wasn't sure he wanted to wait even that long. Still, he supposed the fact that Dumbledore was here—rather than off somewhere addressing whatever his oversight was—meant it wasn't urgent.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Headmaster." Umbridge had appeared behind Hermione and Draco in the spot Cedric had been occupying. "Mr Potter is attending detention with me this evening." She smiled at Harry who did not return it this time. "I'm afraid he was quite disruptive in my class this afternoon."

Dumbledore frowned again and gave Harry a look that was more searching than disapproving.

"I see," he said after a moment. "In that case, perhaps it would be best if you seek me out when it suits you, Mr Potter." Harry blinked at the sudden formality; he wasn't sure Dumbledore had ever called him Mr Potter before—certainly not directly.

"And when might that be?" Umbridge asked. It was almost a casual question, except her scent was an unpleasant mix of eager and suspicious.

"I'm afraid I couldn't say, since I'm leaving that entirely up to Mr Potter," Dumbledore said with a blithe smile.

"Then how can you be sure whatever time he chooses will suit you, Headmaster?" Umbridge asked sweetly. "I'd think it would be prudent to set an appointment—"

"I appreciate the concern for my schedule, Professor Umbridge," Dumbledore said, "but I don't think that will be necessary, since I am prepared to make myself available at any time; I feel it would be very poor indeed to let my own agenda come before the needs of our students." His tone was neither accusing or pointed, but Umbridge flushed all the same.

"In my experience, children don't always know what they need," she said, "which is why we as adults have a duty to provide them with clarity—"

"I quite agree," Dumbledore said. "Happily, it is Mr Potter who has utter clarity about the timing of our conversation, and me who shall be left in the dark." He looked at Harry, eyes twinkling and Harry grinned back. "Now, I cannot claim the same extensive Ministry experience as you, Professor Umbridge, but in my modest experience working with young people, I have learned it is best not to come between a teenager and their food, and dinner is almost upon us…" Dumbledore smiled around at them and gestured for Umbridge to accompany him up to the staff table.

She left with a sour, suspicious look on her face and a prim, "Seven o'clock, Mr Potter."

"I know Dumbledore's brilliant," Ron murmured into the silence that followed. "But sometimes I forget how brilliant."

"Don't be too effusive with the praise," Draco said, though he too had seemed to enjoy Dumbledore's effortless handling of Umbridge. "He's wanting to confess to a grievous oversight, remember."

"It's a little worrying, isn't it?" Hermione said, chewing her lip. Harry watched Dumbledore settle himself between Snape and McGonagall; Umbridge threw a cross look at McGonagall—who'd reclaimed her seat at Dumbledore's side—and stomped further down the table to sit beside Sinistra.

"Just a bit," Ginny said. "You'll go tonight, right? Once you finish up with her?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's obviously not urgent, but it must still be important since Dumbledore came personally. The last time he did that—at school, anyway—was to talk to me about the Hallows."

Hermione frowned and cocked her head:

"It could be anything," she said. "Though I imagine it's got to do with—" She mouthed the word horcruxes. "—since that's what you spoke about last night. I don't suppose you know more than you were letting on in front of Umbridge?" she asked Harry, who shook his head.

Dinner was fairly uneventful after that, except Angelina—the new Gryffindor Captain—got wind of Harry's string of detentions somewhere during dessert:

"They're not going to interfere with try-outs, are they?" she asked, sliding onto Ginny's other side. "I've got the pitch booked for five o'clock on Friday." Ron straightened at that news, and Ginny shifted a little. Angelina paused and her eyes darted to Harry's left sleeve. "I— that's assuming you still want to play…? Fred and George said they'd made you a glove, but—"

"I do," Harry said, and resisted the urge to hide his left arm under the table. "And tonight's detention is at seven which means I can be there for a couple of hours before I have to go." Angelina pursed her lips. "Umbridge'll just have to deal with the fact that I'll be in Quidditch gear." That drew a reluctant smile out of her, and Hermione—who was having a separate conversation with Draco about Prefect duties—glanced over with an amused look.

"Maybe we'll start off with the Seekers, then," Angelina said, and he could see she was mentally shuffling her plans. "I'd sort of intended to put you last because that guaranteed you'd get to watch the Keepers and I'd like your opinion on them… Katie and Alicia will be there too, obviously, but I doubt the twins'll bother—"

"They're not playing?" Ron asked, stunned; that was news to Harry too. Angelina winced.

"They're not trying out," she said, rather carefully.

"And Katie and Alicia?" Harry asked. "Are they trying out, or are they just coming to help with the Keeper trials?" The look on Angelina's face—part guilty, part resolute—was answer enough.

"But that means—" Ron glanced between Harry and Angelina. "Surely you're not making the others try out because you know how they fly and play, so why— Oh." Ron eyed Angelina disapprovingly and she met his stare square on before turning to Harry. She lifted her chin, perhaps expecting disapproval from him too, but Harry just nodded:

"I get it," he said, and how could he not; he himself had been nervous about getting back on a broom with only one hand, and while Fred, George, and Hermione had given him the glove, he'd only had one chance to use it over the holidays and it had been interrupted by Moony's return from the camp. "It's fine." The tense set of Angelina's shoulders relaxed and she nodded.

"Good, because it sort of has to be. I want the Cup, and that means I need the best team."

"Sure, Oliver," Harry said.

"I've spent so many years playing with him that something was bound to rub off," Angelina said with a grin. Then she reached around Ginny to put a hand on his back and her expression turned both softer and more serious. "Thanks for being so good about this, Harry. And for the record—that best team… I want you to be part of it. I just need to make sure…" He nodded and she smiled a little awkwardly, patted his back, and stood with a swish of braids to rejoin Alicia and the twins, who were watching with undisguised curiosity.

"Reckon you'll try out?" Ron asked, and Harry turned to give him an exasperated look before realising Ron was talking to Ginny, not him:

"I— probably not," she said, shoulders hunching. "I don't really like Keeper, and—" Ginny glanced fleetingly at Harry, then away again, shaking her head. Her usual, faint floral smell grew a little stronger as her hair swung around. "Maybe next year."

She didn't want to take Seeker from him, he realised, and immediately after that realisation came a second one; that she was good enough that she probably could. Maybe not when he was— His mind skittered over the word normal, and then whole, then awkwardly settled on before:

Maybe she wouldn't have been able to before, not without a bit of good luck, or without him having a bit of bad luck, but now?

Now she'd be a real contender. Harry could see the same thought reflected on Ron's face.

"You should," Harry said, though something twisted painfully in his chest. Ron glanced between them. "There's no guarantee I'll make it back onto the team."

"No," Ginny said cautiously, but it went unspoken that there was less of a guarantee if she was added to his list of competitors. "I know that. But—"

"Besides," Harry said, with forced lightness, "you heard Ange—she wants the best. If it's not me, I'd rather it be you than McLaggen." That, at least, was true, though Ginny still looked uncomfortable and exchanged a helpless look with Ron:

"Harry—"

"Harry," Hermione said, nodding toward the staff table; Umbridge had finished eating and was getting to her feet.

"What's the time?" he asked.

"Ten minutes to seven," Draco replied, twisting his watch toward Harry.

"Right," Harry said, getting hastily to his own feet.

"Eager," Draco said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Harry said, "to not have to walk with her. Can I leave my bag—" But Ron had already reached out to take it. "Thanks."

He strode quickly from the Hall.

Umbridge joined him outside her office—Padfoot's old office—only a few minutes after he arrived. She eyed him with a frown that might have meant she approved of his punctuality, and then unlocked the door with a flick of her wand and led the way inside.

Harry followed her, wrinkling his nose at the smell; it was sweet and floral but not pleasant the way Ginny's scent was; instead, it was sickly, and made him think of rotting fruit or flowers. He looked up to find the source, and then froze in the doorway:

Padfoot hadn't done much by way of decoration when the office was his, but there'd been touches of personality even so—a Hogwarts banner on the wall, a Walpurgis stinks badge on the bookshelf, a photo from Moony and Dora's wedding on the desk…

Umbridge, on the other hand, had very much made the space her own. Every horizontal surface was covered in lace and vases of dried flowers, and a good amount of the vertical surfaces were covered in ornamental plates bearing painted kittens. Harry wasn't sure if kittens were a fascination of Umbridge's or if she was trying to make a statement against Padfoot—a dog—but decided it didn't really matter; either way, the plates were disturbing.

"Come in and take a seat, Mr Potter," Umbridge said, settling at her desk. Harry forced his legs to carry him to the seat she was indicating. "Now," she said, "I'm terribly sorry to be interfering with your plans to meet with the headmaster, but you must learn that your actions have consequences and it would appear no one else has tried to teach you that just yet. And so here we are."

Harry had to clench his teeth to keep himself from pointing out that he was more concerned with the consequences his inactions could have and that she ought to be too. Umbridge smoothed the cloth on her desk and Harry got a stronger waft of that awful floral smell; he ducked his head and sneezed into the crook of his arm.

Umbridge lifted her eyebrows, but when Harry remained silent, frowned and leaned back in her chair to study him.

"You should be grateful," she said at last, "because I don't intend to give you any nasty—" She giggled. "—punishments tonight, like I'm sure other teachers would if you'd behaved for them the way you behaved for me. What I have planned is for us to talk."

"Talk?" Harry asked, blinking.

"Yes," Umbridge said. "I would like to be certain you understand me and my intentions so that I can be certain that any future transgressions made by you are not simply because you are confused or misguided. With luck, once you do understand you'll see no need to misbehave further. How does that sound?"

"I don't think I misunderstand," Harry said politely.

"And yet, I am certain you do," Umbridge said, with a smile.

"Right," Harry said, trying to keep the condescension out of his skepticism.

"For one, you clearly distrust me, when there is no reason at all for—"

"You tried to force me to tell you where my innocent godfather was when I was nine," Harry said.

"We didn't know your godfather was innocent at the time—"

"—and then you had him suspended from his job while you had him investigated for Paul Morton's death a couple of years later," Harry said. Umbridge smiled. It looked strained:

"We were simply following procedure—"

"Yeah, you and the woman who's since been arrested for murder," Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

"Mr Potter, surely you're not suggesting the Ministry can know if a person is to be trusted or not simply by looking at them," Umbridge snapped.

"No," Harry said, "but it'd be nice if you were able to use the evidence you have to make an educated guess."

"There was no reason to suspect—"

"Padfoot after he'd had a whole trial that definitively proved he wasn't a murderer and went on to join the Ministry's Auror team?" Harry finished for her. "Yeah, I agree. Zabini, on the other hand, had been widowed how many times before she killed Mr Benson? Or maybe we could look at Mr Malfoy, who's still on the Board of Governors despite being a Death Eater—"

"Mr Malfoy was under the Imperius curse and absolved of his crimes during the war—"

"He was in the graveyard in June," Harry said flatly. "And the Auror Department was barred from taking action against him; apparently you're willing to believe Voldemort—" Umbridge made a shrill, breathy sound at the name. "—is back, but not willing to believe Malfoy could be working with him—"

"The Ministry took a serious risk when it chose to believe you, and Dumbledore, and Cedric Diggory," Umbridge said sharply. "You do realise that we still have no actual evidence, Mr Potter, except your word."

"No evidence?! The—"

"Further," Umbridge said loudly, "the Ministry has taken risks following Dumbledore's advice—risks which have not paid off. I doubt very much that your godfather is enjoying all the extra shifts at Azkaban." She smiled and leaned forward. "Can I be frank with you, Mr Potter?"

"Sure," Harry said tightly.

"The Ministry," she said, "believes Dumbledore has his own agenda in all of this. It is abundantly clear that you and others are caught up in his wake, though the why remains to be seen."

"If Dumbledore's got an agenda, it's to stop Voldemort," Harry said.

"So is the Ministry's," Umbridge said, after she'd recovered from her flinch. "And yet, Dumbledore is not working with the Ministry. He claims to want no position of leadership in all of this, and yet in the same breath orders Cornelius about—remove the dementors, investigate an upstanding member of our community… He claims to want to stop You-Know-Who, yet deliberately withholds information from the Ministry about how to do that, and pulls his own strings in the meantime. Perhaps we have a common enemy in You-Know-Who, but it is clear Dumbledore does not consider himself our ally." Umbridge straightened, and smoothed out the lacy cloth in front of her. "What you must decide, Mr Potter, is where you want to place your own loyalty. Will you place it with Dumbledore, who is at best paranoid and obstructive, at worst an anarchist, and regardless not in a position to properly resource a war? Or, will you place it with the Ministry, which holds considerable legal and financial sway, has access to whatever information it might need, the support of the wizarding public, and, of course, the might of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." She smiled. "And if the choice of who you would prefer to ally yourself with is not straightforward enough, then perhaps consider who it is that you would least like to have as an enemy." Her smile was dangerous.

Harry matched it:

"I'm not looking to make enemies," Harry said. "But compared to Voldemort—" Umbridge made another shrill sound. "—and his Death Eaters, I'd reckon any other enemies are pretty insignificant."

Umbridge opened her mouth, closed it, and breathed deeply through her nose.

"I must have misheard you, Mr Potter," she said, "because it sounded like you called the Ministry insignificant."

"Only if you're saying the Ministry's my enemy," Harry said. "Is it?"

"The Ministry has no wish to make an enemy of you either, Mr Potter," Umbridge said after a moment.

"Great," Harry said. "Glad that's sorted—"

"The Ministry can count on your support, then?" she said, eyes gleaming.

"What would the Ministry need my support for?" Harry asked innocently. "I thought you were offering me your support. Isn't that why you were talking about all the Ministry's power and information, and the D.M.L.E.?"

Umbridge didn't seem to know what to say to that; she floundered open-mouthed, and her scent went from incredulous to amused, to angry, to concerned, to angry again and then, finally, back to something resembling amusement; she laughed but the sound was fake:

"Mr Potter—"

"I'm serious," Harry said, and was now. "You want me to pick between you and Dumbledore, right—that's what you've been saying. Why wouldn't I pick Dumbledore when he's the one offering his support?"

"What's he offering?" Umbridge asked sharply.

"Nothing," Harry said, "because he doesn't have to, because he already does it—Dumbledore's been on my side from the beginning. Dumbledore told you not to give me Veritaserum the first time we met, Dumbledore sent help when I was down in the Chamber of Secrets, Dumbledore tried to get me out of the Triwizard Tournament when the Goblet named me as a Champion. I've made it just fine these last few years without the Ministry's help—I've had to, so if you want me to pick you, you're going to have to give me a reason why I should."

"Dumbledore intends to use you, Mr Potter," she said.

"And the Ministry doesn't?" Harry asked. "Fudge tried to use me—"

"Minister Fudge, Mr Potter," Umbridge said sharply.

"—over the summer," Harry continued, ignoring her correction.

"You're referring to your expedition to the Department of Mysteries," Umbridge said, straightening.

"I am," Harry replied; it seemed Umbridge was just as close to Fudge as she'd been suggesting… or that Fudge was incredibly loose-lipped about the prophecy. Neither boded particularly well, but in for a knut, in for a galleon. "He wanted to use me to gain access to a prophecy."

"And as that prophecy pertains—" Umbridge's tone soured. "—pertained—to both yourself and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and could therefore guide us all on the path ahead, it seemed prudent to hear it." She lifted her chin. "I can't help but wonder, though, Mr Potter, if you'd be so quick to cast aspersions on the Minister if you knew Dumbledore's role in it all. He knows the prophecy, you know."

There was an edge of anticipation to her voice and she seemed to savour this, the chance to reveal information she believed Harry did not know.

Harry considered his options for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I do."

"You— you know?" It took her a moment to recover and then she leaned forward, as beady-eyed as any of the kittens gambolling around on the plates on the walls. "But if you know that he knows it, then surely he's seen fit to share its contents with you?"

"He hasn't, actually," Harry said; it had been Padfoot who'd told him the prophecy back in his first year. "But we've discussed his interpretation of it."

"And what might that be?" Umbridge asked, trying—and failing—to keep the excitement out of her voice.

"I'm not sure that's any of your business," Harry said.

"Is that what Dumbledore was trying to discuss with you tonight?" she pressed.

"I'm not sure about that either," Harry said. "You didn't let me go, remember?"

Umbridge's expression contorted several times, and then, eventually, she managed a smile:

"I didn't realise it was such an important conversation," she said. "I thought I was doing you a favour, keeping you away from Dumbledore's manipulations." She watched him for a moment, and Harry watched her back. "You may go." Harry raised his eyebrows—he hadn't been there long at all—but didn't voice his disbelief, lest he give her a chance to change her mind. He stood. "I believe our conversation tonight has been very constructive. I hope you'll use the rest of your evening to give things some proper thought—"

"Sure," Harry said, already on his way to the door.

"—so that we can continue our discussion tomorrow night." she added and he paused in the doorway, frowning. "Same time—seven o'clock. Good night, Mr Potter."