Chapter 14: The Remedial Class

Tom stood in the owlery, clutching two letters to his chest and staring blankly at one the school's brown barn owls. The owl seemed to be losing its patience with him, but he couldn't bring himself to actually hand over the letters. This was a huge step, one that could possibly change his life forever. It also had the possibility to devastate him the way nothing ever had, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to face that possibility.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Lily said. Tom had been quite relieved that she had offered to come along for moral support, that she understood that this was so much more than just mailing a letter, and that she had no intentions of rushing or pressuring him.

Tom took a moment to collect his thoughts before replying. "I'm worried that they'll be angry to hear from me. That they never wanted anything to do with me and wish I would just leave them alone."

Lily nodded. "I know that we have no way of knowing if your uncle and your father know about you, or how they'll react when they get your letters. We won't know unless you decide to send them. Which you of course don't have to do now if you aren't ready." Tom nodded. "But the beauty of sending a letter is that you won't be there when they read it. You won't even know how they reacted unless they reply, which they probably won't even do if they don't want contact."

"That's true," Tom admitted. He stared down at the letters in his hands, lost in thought. "I just thought of something. My father's a muggle, I don't know how much he even knows about the magical world. What if he freaks out about having an owl deliver his mail? Will he even know how to send me a letter back? Is he even allowed to know about magic? There's that Statute of Secrecy we learned about in History of Magic…"

"Tom," Lily said, cutting him off as his thoughts threatened to spiral out of control. "I think parents of magical children are allowed to know about magic, my parents know and they're muggles."

"Well, your parents actually raised you. He's not even technically my parent from a legal sense, he doesn't have parental rights."

"Okay, you have a point," Lily said soothingly. "Maybe it would be best to wait to send a letter to your father. Wait until you can send him something through muggle post. If you even decide you still want to send him anything."

Tom nodded. "Okay, yeah, that makes sense. I guess we're done here, then." He turned to leave, but Lily gently grabbed his arm to stop him.

"We are if you want to be, but you could still send something to your uncle today. If you'd like."

Tom hesitated. "Do you think I should?"

Lily considered before answering. "Only if you want to. But I think you'll feel relieved if you do. And I think that if you don't reach out, you'll always wonder if he would have responded."

Tom sighed, glanced down at his letters once again, and nodded. "Okay, little buddy," he said, addressing the owl who was still impatiently waiting on his perch. The owl stuck out his leg, and Tom tied on the letter he'd written to his uncle.

After finally receiving his parcel, the owl spread his wings and flew out of one of the Owlery's windows. Tom slid an arm around Lily's waist, and Lily rested her head on Tom's shoulder. The two of them watched the owl fly away until he was out of eyesight.

As the memory faded and the Room of Requirement came back into focus, Harry began to wonder what Tom's purpose was for showing him all of this. He certainly hoped that things had gone well with his uncle, that he'd been happy to hear from his nephew and that they had been able to connect. He just wasn't sure how all of this connected to whatever it was that Tom had wished he'd had time to tell Harry when they'd met in the Ministry on the day of the hearing. Tom had mentioned that Harry was in danger. This journal was supposed to help explain everything. Yet all he'd gotten so far was Tom's autobiography. He recalled that Tom had told him that he would be afraid of him if he knew who he was. The memory made him very nervous about what he was about to learn in the coming weeks.

"Are you sure you told her everything, Neville?" Ron asked. It had been a few days since Neville had fallen into Umbridge's Veritaserum trap during his student interview, and nothing major had happened. The longer they waited for her response, the more Harry worried that it was going to be devastating.

"I'm sure," Neville said. He buried his face in his hands as if trying to hide from the memory. "It was horrible. I just kept talking and I couldn't stop myself. It felt like someone had taken over my brain and all I could do was listen as all of our secrets just came pouring out of me. I've never seen Umbridge so happy."

"That sounds awful," Hermione said comfortingly. "It can't be legal to use Veritaserum like that. It's highly regulated."

"We have no proof," Harry pointed out. "She can get away with it." He angrily picked at his breakfast.

The morning mail delivery soon arrived as owls flew into the Great Hall and began to drop their parcels in front of their intended recipients. Harry wasn't expecting anything, given that he rarely got mail in the first place and was particularly wary of using owl post with Umbridge reserving the right to poke through everything. So, it was quite a surprise when a letter fell into his lap. Similar envelopes landed in front of Ron, Hermione, Neville, and multiple other students at the Gryffindor table. Harry realized with a sinking heart that they were all members of Dumbledore's Army. He glanced around to the other tables and saw members of other houses also glancing down at envelopes with confusion.

Hermione seemed to recognise the same thing. "Shall we open them together?" she asked.

Ron nodded. "Let's get it over with, then."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville all grasped their envelopes and tore into them at the same time. Harry pulled out a letter written with the stationary of Delores Jane Umbridge, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It seemed that she had wasted no time in settling into her new role. After taking a deep breath, Harry began to read.

Dear Mr. Potter,

It has been brought to my attention that you are a member of the hate group known as Dumbledore's Army, which has been found liable for vandalism, assault, and terrorism around my fine institution. While the Ministry of Magic would agree that this is grounds for immediate expulsion, I have instead made the choice to be lenient. You have therefore been enrolled in a new remedial class that will be launching immediately, taught by myself. The goal of this class will be to reform problematic pupils and transform them into model students. Refusal to attend will result in expulsion.

Knowledge of the course's existence is currently on a need to know basis in order to keep pupils' identities anonymous and to spare them the embarrassment. Complaints about my generous alternative to expulsion from any students or members of staff will result in immediate removal from the school. So, kindly keep our private business private, and remind prying classmates and teachers to respect that privacy.

I look forward to setting you this evening in the old detention hall for our first class.

Sincerely yours,

Delores Umbridge, Headmistress

Harry's blood was boiling long before he finished reading. To accuse Dumbledore's Army of assault or terrorism was laughable, or at least it would be if it wasn't so infuriating. And now she was rounding them all up, forcing them to take some stupid class with her without anyone else's knowledge. Harry began shaking as he wondered what she could possibly be planning for all of them.

Hermione was the first to speak. "This… It's outrageous… She can't…"

Harry rested a comforting hand on her forearm, though he felt just as speechless as she seemed to be.

"We've really done it now," Ron said in a quiet voice. He sounded defeated.

"What would my gran say if I got expelled?" Neville asked, his voice a much higher pitch than normal.

Harry shook his head. "Expelled for standing up to Umbridge? I think she'd be proud of you, Neville. I really do."

"Harry's right," said Ron. "At least we can say we stood up to Umbridge when no one else would. Whatever happens, we can't have any regrets. This isn't Hogwarts. This isn't how any of this is supposed to go."

Hermione nodded. "No regrets," she said.

"I regret drinking that tea," Neville mumbled. Harry elbowed him. "Ow. Fine. No regrets."

"No regrets," Harry said, though he couldn't help having a few.

The room was quiet. Everyone sat at their desks, waiting for their first remedial class to begin. No one said a word.

Umbridge was late. Harry started to worry that she was held up trying to drag some sort of torture device to the room or something. But then they started hearing voices out in the corridor. Fred and George got up from their seats and went to listen at the door.

"It's Umbridge," George announced.

"And… your uncle, Harry," said Fred.

Harry frowned. Had his uncle somehow found out about the remedial class? Did he have any idea that he would be putting his job on the line if he tried to speak out against it? Harry got up and went to the door, Fred and George making room for him to listen at the keyhole.

"...simple request," Uncle Severus was saying, Harry only coming in at the end of his sentence.

"And I told you that the headmistress does not need permission from a parent or guardian to have a conversation with her pupils. Neither do their teachers, for that matter. I'm sure you've had plenty of conversations with your students you didn't bother to write to their parents about." Umbridge said.

"Be that as it may, I had I a right to be in that room at my request-"

"The other parents didn't have that luxury, Severus. Why should you get special treatment?"

"I am his guardian, I at least have the right to know what was discussed."

Umbridge sighed. "Nothing that concerns you."

"If it concerns my nephew, it concerns me."

"If you're so worried about your nephew's school performance, Severus, why don't you set up a meeting with yourself to discuss it? Or with any of his other teachers for that matter."

"I hardly think the other parents would be pleased with that kind of response if they reached out to speak about their child's schooling."

"I'm not here to please parents, Severus, I'm here to mold young minds. Besides, I would think that they had more to gain by speaking with the educators who interact with their children on a daily basis than with the headmistress who is busy trying to instill proper policies and educational curriculum from an overhead perspective. Now, why don't you run along and play with your little chemistry set? I have important administrative duties to take care of, I don't have time for your nonsense."

There was a pause before Uncle Severus continued. "Very well. But in the future, as a courtesy, I would like to be informed of any disciplinary actions you see fit to levy against him."

"So paranoid, Severus. I already told you and the other teaching staff that I stopped using those quills after you were all so vocal about them, did I not?"

"You did," Uncle Severus conceded, almost reluctantly. "And I appreciate your willingness to listen to feedback. But forgive me for being paranoid that you may still resort to methods that are not in accordance with school policy."

"School policy?" Umbridge echoed, flabbergasted. "Need I remind you that I am the school's new headmistress? I decide what is or is not school policy. I listened to your concerns as a token of goodwill only, but do not test me. Now, I highly suggest you get out of my sight before you say something that you are going to sorely regret."

Uncle Severus paused again before finally saying, "As you wish, headmistress. But I will be checking back in about my nephew in the near future."

"How nice for me," Umbridge said sarcastically. The voices stopped, and footsteps could be heard, coming closer and closer.

"She's coming," Harry whispered, and he, Fred, and George hurried back to their seats. It seemed that his uncle had wanted to be present during his student interview. Perhaps if he had been, Harry could have shown him what Umbridge had put in the tea. But what would have happened to him and his job if he'd known, and stood up to Umbridge over it? And admittedly it was unlikely that the outcome would have been different anyway. Harry knew he was going to have to keep his uncle blissfully in the dark about whatever was about to happen in this remedial class.

Seconds later, Umbridge burst through the door and said, "Wands out." Everyone simply stared at her. This was the exact opposite of how she would begin her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. She reached her desk and faced the class. "Well? Are you all hard of hearing? Wands out." The students hesitated before finally taking their wands out of their pockets. "Excellent." Umbridge picked up a basket off of her desk and began to walk around the room. "Now place them in here. You can have them back after class."

Harry suddenly felt like his stomach was full of lead. It was one thing to say that using their wands would not be part of the curriculum, and another matter entirely to leave them all without a means to defend themselves. But Umbridge had left them with little choice but to comply with her demands, so everyone reluctantly placed their wands in the basket. Harry hesitated ever so slightly before dropping his in, unable to shake the fear that he was going to regret this action.

"You will not be needing them in this class," Umbridge said. "In fact, in the future, I ask that you do not bring them at all. I will be checking at the beginning of each class to ensure that you don't have them on you." She set the basket of wands down on her desk. "Don't bring any of your things at all, actually. Your presence is more than enough. I will provide for all of your needs."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the notion that Umbridge had the desire or ability to provide for anyone. The class had barely begun and he'd never felt more unsafe in her presence.

"Here's how this is going to go," Umbridge continued. "In this class, we will cover a variety of topics. From student etiquette, to the ways in which the Ministry of Magic acts in the best interests of everyone, to the dangers of an uncensored school curriculum. We have much to discuss, and I think you'll find this course to be quite informative."

"Can't wait," George muttered under his breath from the desk behind Harry's.

"To ensure proper retention, I will expect each of you to take extensive notes," Umbridge said, oblivious to George's commentary. "If I find that your notes are unsatisfactory, you will skip breakfast the following morning to come here and write lines for me."

Harry sighed, suddenly having a feeling that he would be skipping a lot of breakfasts in the near future.

"Now, before we begin, I'd like to make a little bargain with you all," Umbridge said as a mischievous grin spread across her face. "After today, you may opt out of this class at any time." A few surprised murmurs could be heard throughout the room. "All you have to do is make a full confession to all of your crimes, offer a sincere apology to myself and the Ministry of Magic, and promise to abide by all of my policies going forward. Failure to comply with these terms will result in re-enrollment in the remedial class." Any hope that had sprung up amongst the students immediately deflated. None of them were particularly eager to do any of that. "And, of course, failure to comply with any part of this course will result in immediate expulsion. Shall we begin?"

Umbridge waved her wand, and a stack of parchment flew into the air, a piece landing on each desk along with a quill. Harry looked down at his new school supplies with dread. He wondered if she really had gotten rid of her old detention quills like she'd said.

"Everyone go ahead and write your name at the top of the page," said Umbridge.

"But, we haven't got any ink," Hermione pointed out.

Umbridge smirked. "Oh, you won't be needing any. Go ahead and see for yourself."

Harry frowned. He knew that muggles had pens they used for writing that had ink stored within the writing implement itself, but the Wizarding World had continued to hold onto the old tradition of writing with a feathered quill dipped in an inkwell. But then again, Umbridge didn't seem like the type to follow tradition just for the sake of tradition. She'd seen no issue with coming into the school and making any changes she saw fit, after all. So, perhaps she was simply introducing new quills with ink already in them for the sake of efficiency. There was only one way to find out.

With a sigh, Harry touched quill to parchment and began to write his name. He immediately noticed a strange feeling of soreness run through his hand, up his arm, and into the rest of his body. The pain was mild, but unmistakable. But most disturbing of all, the ink that appeared on the page was bright red.

"Is that…," Ginny began, but trailed off.

"Blood," Seamus finished for her. "It's blood."

"I'm going to be sick," said Susan Bones. Several others echoed their agreement.

"I thought it might be appropriate for you all to have a sort of… personal touch to your education," Umbridge said smugly.

Harry's blood was boiling, in addition to staring back at him from the page before him. "You can't do this," he blurted out. "This is inhumane."

Faster than Harry was even able to process what was happening, Umbridge pointed her wand directly at him and said, "Baubillious!" White sparks erupted from her wand tip and hit Harry square in the chest, sending a quick jolt of electricity through his body.

Harry cried out, due to both the sudden pain and the surprise of the attack. His hair stood up at odd angles, full of static electricity. He stared at Umbridge with a look of pure astonishment.

"I think you'll find that I can do whatever I like in my school, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said calmly, as if she hadn't just attacked a defenseless student in the middle of a classroom. "But, thank you for allowing me to demonstrate what happens when you step out of line in this class. Those of you who've been to my detentions may remember the shocking properties of my quills. I think you'll find they were quite tame compared to what my wand can produce, wouldn't you say, Mr. Potter?" Harry didn't reply, still too stunned to speak, but Umbridge was unconcerned with his lack of input. "Now that we all know how this is going to go, let's begin. I thought we'd start off our first class with an overview of your student expectations."

As Harry listened to Umbridge's lecture, taking notes in his own blood, he felt some of his deep seeded anger toward the new headmistress morph into fear. He wondered if it was possible to hate someone even more than the man who killed his own parents.