A/N: World domination, this time with 200% more girlbosses (derogatory)!
"ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ; ʙᴜᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴅɪꜰꜰɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍʙɪɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ, ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ꜰᴀʀ ꜱᴀꜰᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜰᴇᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ." ― ᴍᴀᴄʜɪᴀᴠᴇʟʟɪ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ
Chapter Five: Trouble in Purgatory
Harry was hoping to avoid Theodore Nott for the time being, but he turned out to be maddeningly underfoot. One evening, on his way back from Quidditch practice, he even ran into Theodore and Cedric Diggory; an odd pair if he'd ever seen one.
But Harry could understand why Cedric was a good target for Nott Senior, or, rather, Voldemort. If there was a favourite at Hogwarts, he was it; loved by students and teachers alike. He was pureblood, too, not the Lucius Malfoy type of pureblood (or even the Weasleys' type of pureblood), more like the Brown or Patil type, the kind that couldn't trace their wizarding ancestry all the way back or had too many Muggle-borns marrying into their family tree. It was the perfect time to get him, as well; his O.W.L. year, before anything was set in stone for his future yet.
The only thing is, thought Harry, Hufflepuff isn't exactly known for producing Dark wizards. If they're intending to turn him, it'll take an awful lot of work to overcome the sheer peer pressure to stay on the straight and narrow.
The Hufflepuff prefect was tall and burly for his age, an unusual build for a Seeker; Harry would have guessed he was a seventh-year if not for the fact that he'd played Cedric last year. And of course, that made Harry think about how he was one of the smallest in the year ― him and Theodore Nott, probably. It was only Ron's recounting of how his brother Charlie's attempts to magic himself a growth spurt ended in disaster and a trip to St. Mungo's that stopped him from 'doing a Hermione' and frantically raiding the library.
"Er, congrats," said Harry, tucking his folded-up uniform under his arm and doing his best to ignore Theodore, which was an admirable but often sadly ineffective strategy. "Heard you made captain."
Cedric flashed his famous, dimpled smile (Lavender and Parvati only went on about it every five or so minutes of spare time).
"Thank you, Harry," he said jovially. "Tell your sister I said hi when you get a chance."
Theodore's beady little eyes glinted at that last utterance, and Harry's stomach roiled. Cedric had never spoken to Ruby; to Harry, sure, before and after a match.
After their arrival at Hogwarts, the fact that Harry Potter had a sister might have been a topic of discussion for the older students; but it would have been quickly overtaken by other, juicier gossip. In fact, Harry didn't know if Cedric even knew Ruby's name. It wasn't like Slytherins and Hufflepuffs crossed paths very often and were generally never friendly, aside from the occasional forbidden romance that inevitably went pear-shaped in the space of a term, due to either the Hufflepuff's suffocating sense of evenhanded-ness, or the Slytherin's self-serving nature, or, better yet, a particularly poisonous and explosive mixture of both.
So, it was obviously Theodore who had prompted Cedric to ask about Ruby. Harry could tell that much.
"Will do," said Harry, with a noncommittal shrug. "See you around, Cedric."
He made to go past them and continue on his way back to Gryffindor Tower, until Cedric placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I was wondering... what electives are you taking this year?"
Harry held himself back from rolling his eyes.
"Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Why?"
"Oh," said Cedric, as if he hadn't noticed Harry's rude tone. "I heard Ruby was taking Ancient Runes in second year, I was only wondering if it was a family affinity... oh, never mind."
Family affinities, according to Ron, were a hotly-contested topic amongst purebloods; some of whom thought it was un-scientific and a product of parents helping their children with what had been their best subject, and some of whom (the extremely weird and fringe ones, Harry gathered) thought it was one of the things that set purebloods apart.
Of course, Voldemort probably believed in that stuff, and wanted to know if Harry had one. But he'd never considered Cedric to be weird and fringe, unlike Theodore, whose great-grand-something wrote the Pure-blood Directory.
"We're half-bloods," said Harry. "Even if we did believe in that stuff, we wouldn't have one. And my affinity would probably be―" He shut his eyes and made his shadow shift "―this, anyway, and that doesn't run in families for obvious reasons."
He probably shouldn't have brought up the Obscurus again, Theodore would probably trot right back to Umbridge with it ― but Theodore using Cedric to bring up Ruby was just so low and dirty and made him so incredibly pissed off.
"The Potters' affinity is martial magic, remember, Cedric?" Theodore piped up.
"Shame we'll never get to find out," said Harry, "the way Defence professors seem to be going."
And with that, he walked past both of them, and decided to make his way down to the library instead to check on Hermione, who, when he arrived, was in the middle of a whispered (but very spirited) conversation, along with some other upper-year students, with Lupin about Boggarts, whatever those were.
"You'll need to successfully cast the Boggart-Banishing Spell to pass your Defence O.W.L.," Lupin was saying as Harry drew closer, "as Boggarts can reasonably be expected to appear in any dark, confined space that isn't well-kept and swept out often. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I've even met one that had somehow lodged itself in a grandfather clock. They're terrible pests, and dreadfully clever. The boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person approaching him. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but once you encounter one, he will immediately take the shape of your worst fear. And, as they are amortal creatures, there are limited ways to get rid of them, of which the Boggart-Banishing Spell is the least messy."
Harry got the sense that, like McGonagall and Snape and Flitwick and Sprout (and so terribly unlike anyone they'd had teaching Defence), Lupin really knew what he was talking about.
"Well, none of us will be passing our Defence O.W.L. this year," said Angelina Johnson in a morose tone. "Umbridge won't teach us anything practical."
"I'm sure she knows what she's doing, Johnson," said Daphne. "The Ministry sent her, after all."
"Ringing letter of recommendation," said Fred loudly from somewhere in the back.
Just then, a familiar and terrible cough resounded against the high ceiling of the library. Harry was grateful to be at the back of the group, mostly hidden from view behind the older students.
Daphne went as white as a sheet.
Ha! thought Harry. That's where nosiness gets you! Now, if only that slippery twat Theodore was here, too.
"Are you attempting to teach my students, Remus?" asked Umbridge, the click-clack of her kitten heels drawing closer.
Lupin straightened up, appearing to compose himself.
"Of course not, Professor. They simply asked a question, and I was explaining."
"I remember Dumbledore employed you as a librarian." She began to circle him, and it looked odd; a toad circling a wolf, Harry thought, was not altogether convincing.
"That would be correct," said Lupin.
"You have no teaching experience."
"Correct again, Professor Umbridge."
"So, why, Remus, do you believe that you are in any way authorised to fill these impressionable children's minds with such silly things as the Boggart-Banishing Spell, when you are perfectly aware that the Ministry has laid out an approved curriculum?"
"I didn't intend to overstep," said Lupin in what sounded like the most desperately gracious tone he could muster.
Harry took a step forward, but Ron, who he hadn't noticed standing there, grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Don't," he said, "you'll only make it worse."
Harry bristled, but unfortunately he could see the sense in this.
"Someone higher up will be hearing about this, Remus," said Umbridge sweetly. "And I don't mean Dumbledore. Good day, children," she finished, and finally walked out of the library, and Daphne scampered off soon after.
For a second, Lupin looked incredibly forlorn.
"Clear off, then," he said, sort of brusquely. "Better not let me fill your heads with my nonsense. There's a very informative instruction manual on the spell; twenty-second shelf in Spellwork, under tab A: Charms. But I didn't tell you that, and I certainly didn't tell you that there's one in a certain classroom that I've found, and if you ask me about it, we won't have a go at it together."
What greeted Harry, Ron, and Hermione when they returned to Gryffindor Tower, was a fuming Anthony, pacing back and forth and muttering to himself angrily.
Harry was surprised Percy hadn't headed him off yet. Then again, he was probably still swanning around the school, loudly proclaiming to anyone who would listen about how he was the Head Boy.
"Oi, what's going on?" shouted Ron as they drew closer.
Anthony's head snapped up. There were two crimson spots on his cheeks, and his hair looked like he'd stuck his finger into an electric socket (not altogether unusual).
Strangely, one of his sleeves was flopping around past his elbow.
"Umbridge took my bloody arm," he said through gritted teeth. "Said if I wouldn't stop bothering her, she'd confiscate it, and she did. My handwriting's terrible with my left hand, and my aim's even worse. How am I supposed to get any work done? I even tried to pull a Malfoy ― said my father's head of the Pest Advisory Board ―but she wouldn't bite."
"How could she do something like that?" cried Hermione. "But she works for the Ministry ― how ― it must be illegal―"
"Hermione, I don't think she cares," said Ron dryly. "You've got a brain, use it for a second."
"Let's go and steal it back," said Harry impetuously. "Anyone who takes something like that for 'discipline' is obviously sick in the head, and even Snape could see that."
"One problem," said Anthony, before Hermione could protest, "I'm pretty certain Umbridge is in her office."
"But we can lure her out!" said Ron.
"With what?"
"Cats! She's obsessed with them ― it's a massive inside joke in the Ministry."
"Not Crookshanks!" said Hermione protectively, as if that giant cat was in any danger.
"Come on, Hermione! That awful cat or Anthony's arm? It can't be Hephaestus, he doesn't listen to anyone except Ruby."
Harry shuddered.
"Alright, alright, I give in. But if the poor thing gets hurt―" she pointed an accusing finger at Ron "―there'll be hell to pay."
She went in through the portrait hole and returned a few minutes later, with Crookshanks in her arms and knelt down to whisper something to him.
By the time that they got to the Defence Professor's office, the door was ajar, indicating that Umbridge had already left.
Harry was not mentally prepared for the sight that greeted him. The last time he'd been in this room was the night he'd gone after Quirrell, when the office had been stripped completely bare. He hadn't been unlucky enough to see the interior while Lockhart inhabited it, but this was possibly worse than anything the Great Braggart could come up with.
The walls had been painted pink; not a relaxing, soft pink, but a brilliantly hot pink that made Harry feel as if the walls were closing in on him. It also reeked of Umbridge's horrible, insipid perfume.
The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases of dried flowers, each resting on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten bobbing its stupid head, each wearing a different bow around its neck.
"Um... let's split up and start looking?" Hermione seemed to recover first from the shock.
Harry went and started pulling out the drawers on the left side of the desk, while Hermione did the right and Ron and Anthony did a general scan of the room.
After a few minutes of searching, Hermione made a funny sort of gasp, and they all turned.
"Did you find it?" asked Anthony hopefully.
"N-No," said Hermione. Harry saw that she was clutching a stack of papers with a horrified expression. Shaking, she placed them on the desk.
The Muggle-Born Manifesto
V3 (short communication, outlining first steps), to be published 31/12/1993
An Outline of the Managing of the Muggle-Born Problem, should it arise
Authors: Dolores Jane Umbridge, Albert Runcorn
Minister's signature: 𝕮𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝕱𝖚𝖉𝖌𝖊
"That's a who's who of the nastiest people in the Ministry," Anthony muttered under his breath.
Following recent advice from the Department of Mysteries, we have been advised to begin a registry of Muggle-born and hybrid or half-breed members of the British magical community, for use in further study. As we are as of now in peacetime, the only records available to us currently are those of Muggle-born students at magical schools, the chiefest of which is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
As Muggles cannot register a suit or stand as witness, and their guardianship of their children is not legally recognised, we have legally acquired this information and the legal guardianship of all Muggle-born children as a Ministry asset.
This is a matter of national security. Due to suspicion that Lord Voldemort AKA the Dark Lord AKA He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named AKA You-Know-Who may have returned, this asset may prove crucial in brokering peace and preserving the purity and health of the magical community.
Please contact your local Ministry representative should you have any questions.
By the time she reached the end, Hermione was shaking and on the verge of tears.
"They can't― they can't want to use us as human shields?"
"Of course they can't," said Ron in a reassuring tone which Harry had not known him to be capable of. "They'd need Dumbledore's approval, and they're not going to get it."
On one level, Ron was right. But Harry imagined Umbridge was desperately thinking of some way to get around it; either remove the problem of Dumbledore, or drag the Muggle-born students out kicking and screaming if she had to.
"We ought to make copies," said Anthony as Ron consoled Hermione. "Distribute them around the school. If Dumbledore knew this was going on, he'd go mental. His mum was Muggle-born, and he's the one who fought Grindelwald, after all."
It seemed that Dumbledore's legend was beginning to count for less and less, Harry thought.
"I hate to say this," said Harry, "but they won't listen to Dumbledore, because they're a load of scared, evil morons. What we need to do, is get Umbridge kicked out―"
The door swung open, and they all started in horror. Umbridge was standing in the doorway, a snarling Crookshanks in her arms and her cardigan in tatters.
"I found your kitty, dearie."
Dinner at Malfoy Manor was an... interesting affair.
Voldemort sat at the head of the table, of course; Bellatrix on his right along with the Lestrange brothers, and Lucius on his left, beside Narcissa. Pettigrew had taken one look at the arrangement, wisely avoided the Black sisters, who were currently smirking at each other (never a good sign), and sat several seats down.
The remaining seats had been filled by house guests: Thaddeus Nott and Eustace Mulciber, the last of the originals (and the least complex, Voldemort reflected), so to speak, Augustus Rookwood, fallen Unspeakable and former master spy, Avery the younger, a resourceful and inventive killer and amusingly born on the same day as Harry Potter's mother, Antonin Dolohov, similarly gifted but older and wiser and more prone to dramatics, and Barty Crouch Junior, Bellatrix's favourite out of the younger lot.
Sirius Black had been confined to his quarters following his latest attempt to murder Pettigrew, this time with an absinthe spoon. Pettigrew, for his part, was going out of his way to desperately prove his usefulness, which was what Voldemort had expected.
Rather impressive, his drive, thought Voldemort. That was something he shared with Regulus Black, at least, before the boy disappeared.
It was a shame that he needed Sirius for a very specific purpose. Otherwise, he would have made the perfect addition to the family.
Dogs did make such unmatched trackers. Far more effective than, for instance, a rat.
Thaddeus Nott took great pains to natter on about his son, and how clever and like his mother he was, and at one point, Narcissa interrupted him to say: "And you've met my and Lucius's Draco, My Lord."
"How very like his grandfather he is," said Voldemort quietly, and Narcissa smiled, thinking it a compliment. Perhaps it was. Abraxas had been a wizard of tremendous influence and prodigious magical skill. It was almost a shame about the cowardice.
How very rewarding he had been to finally kill.
"They are both talented young wizards," said Augustus Rookwood, who had no children and thus no skin in the game.
"There are things that Draco will learn at Durmstrang, My Lord," Lucius proposed, "that Dumbledore refuses to teach at Hogwarts."
Nott Senior coughed. "Theodore's education will be well-rounded. And I intend to have his education supplemented at home. It is good for him to mix with Order children. It will give him fluency."
Lucius is trying to regain his position as second-in-command, I see, thought Voldemort. Nott is foolish to believe himself in the running.
The table fell silent, although an air of expectance hung about it. The reason was not evident until Bellatrix leaned closer to him, and whispered in a low, rasping voice: "They wish to know why you have gathered them here, My Lord."
Why? He looked out at them. Merely to observe the animals in the zoo. One must study one's enemies, and especially, one's friends.
"Friends," said Voldemort simply, amicably, and the room quieted. "All of you are doubtlessly wondering why you have been called here tonight, in the home of our gracious hosts."
He thought he saw Lucius smile in a supercilious fashion. Just a flicker.
"We are here to discuss the subjects... first, of recruitment. We have heard much of Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott; now, let us hear of other candidates. Chose from whatever House you desire, as long as the candidate you speak of is pure of blood."
"Daphne Greengrass, My Lord," said Narcissa instantly, her mind evidently having been working while he was speaking. "She's a clever girl and from a pure-blood line, with a sympathetic family."
"I find the feminine constitution unsuited for our work, Mrs. Malfoy," said Nott Senior, without missing a beat.
"I challenge you to utter that from the other end of my wand, old fool!" snapped Bellatrix.
Voldemort said nothing, but apparently his expression of displeasure was enough to ensure a resolution.
"There is also Hassan Shafiq, recently graduated, and last year's Head Boy, Alastair Montague. Both have positions at the Ministry which could be... exploited."
"What of the Head Girl, Cissy?" asked Bellatrix. "Draco tells me she was a Slytherin."
"Half-blood, with a Muggle mother."
"How the mighty have fallen. Never in our day would half-blood filth be allowed into the great house of Salazar Slytherin himself."
If anyone had paid rapt attention, they might have seen the slightest shudder... from Voldemort.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Perhaps it is not altogether surprising. Those with... shall we say, muddier histories tend to have a greater thirst to prove themselves. Our dear Severus, for one."
The polite laughter that followed was only slightly gratifying, and he paused, waiting for it to quiet.
"I hear the Dementors are making their way towards us, Thaddeus."
"Yes, My Lord. That is correct." He watched the old man fiddle with the stem of his wineglass.
"And what does the Ministry plan to do?"
"Nothing, My Lord." Lucius, this time, leaning forward, over-eager. He noticed that Narcissa thought it too much, too, and put a hand on his wrist as if to warn him.
"Did you have something to say, Lucius?"
A flicker of shadow passed across Lucius's face, and Voldemort saw both Narcissa and Bellatrix's eyes fixed on him.
"I only meant to say that it seems a worthwhile opportunity for an army. My Lord."
"Yes," said Voldemort, as though he had just now considered it. "Of course. Augustus, if you would enlighten us as to what fraction of witches and wizards in Britain can cast a Patronus?"
Augustus looked up from cleaning his glasses, and cleared his throat. "About ten percent can summon some sort of protection: a wisp, a shield, a fog. The corporeal form of the charm, perhaps..." He tilted his head back, screwing his eyes shut to remember. "Half a percent, give or take, given that many who could were taken care of in the first war... the Potters, of course, included. And then the children generally cannot."
A sort of lull seemed to fall over the table; the cleverest ones; Narcissa, Augustus, even Pettigrew, who had been quiet all evening, seemed to instantly understand. Bellatrix, for her part, was not one to cringe at blood and death, or to disagree with him, at least openly. She remained undisturbed, admiring her nails, which were sharpened to wicked points.
"People will be slaughtered, My Lord," said Narcissa. "Pure-bloods included. Us included."
"Do not question the Dark Lord, Cissy," Bellatrix intoned. "There is nothing to fear, even for your Draco."
The others seemed to relax, if only slightly.
Of course people will die. People will always die, thought Lord Voldemort, and then he thought of Lily Evans, her empty eyes and still-warm body as he'd stepped over it. Her overconfidence when she was alive... perhaps it was not overconfidence.
He had to kill her, even if Severus had not delivered the prophecy to him. He told her to step aside; but he knew after the boy was dead it would be her next, that she could not be allowed to live.
Could she be like him... like Dumbledore?
But a Muggle-born?
"But yet... power may come from the most unlikely places. Perhaps we all are capable of great things."
Grindelwald had said this as he stared into Voldemort's eyes, when he had been a mere child, unformed... they all knew each other, people like them. She could either stand with him—
"Yeah, right. I think I'll join you — when hell freezes over!"
But that was not what she had chosen. She had chosen Death, over and over again.
And perhaps Death, thought Voldemort, with a hint of trepidation, chose her. And now there is the matter of her children to deal with. I believe the girl intended to cause the maximum amount of trouble should she perish. And Death and I... we are old enemies.
There was nowhere to hide.
Umbridge advanced upon them, still clutching a snarling Crookshanks to her chest, wand drawn.
"Professor Snape warned me about you three, although he did not mention that you would drag Mr. Goldstein along with you. I suppose one bad apple, or three, begin to spoil the rest of the basket," she said, her glance directed at Harry, Ron, and last, a trembling Hermione. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, are you often fond of playing the hero?"
"Depends," said Harry icily, and he was about to say more.
Just then, the door eased open, and Dumbledore appeared, dressed head to toe in iridescent sapphire and carrying what looked like a box of chocolates.
"Hello, Dolores," he said jovially. "I wished to speak with you; how has the first week..."
Dumbledore petered off, as he took in the sight before him: what Harry imagined was four frightened and angry students, being confronted by Umbridge, with her wand in her hand and a very angry cat struggling in her grip.
Harry wasn't familiar with all of his expressions; but he could tell Dumbledore wasn't pleased, and that filled him with a wild sort of glee.
"Hello, Harry," he said, setting down the box on a fluffy pink pouf in the middle of the office. "Mr. Weasley, Mr. Goldstein, Miss Granger. The situation seems a little tense; how may I help?"
"Professor Dumbledore, she's got my arm in one of her drawers!" said Anthony, very, very quickly, so that Harry could not quite understand him. Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
"I reserve the Ministry-approved right to administer discipline as I see fit in my class," Umbridge said, quivering like a plate of pink, toad-shaped Jell-O.
Dumbledore let out a quiet sigh. Harry remembered one of his primary school teachers sighing like that ― a why won't you just behave sort of disappointed sigh.
"Dolores, there is a line between discipline and cruelty."
Umbridge lifted her chin, gave Dumbledore a wry smile, and said sweetly: "Dumbledore, there is a line between safety and child endangerment, which the Ministry has decided that you have irrevokeably crossed."
Child endangerment? thought Harry, the 'Muggle-Born Manifesto' still clenched in his fist. Like she cares about that!
At this, Dumbledore gave Umbridge a very intense look; the Dumbledore Stare, but ten times more terrible that Harry had ever seen it. From mild incredulity, it grew to something truly frightening and nearly monstrous. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up; Umbridge seemed to falter.
He was half-horrified at the satisfaction that seemed to arise from Umbridge's fear.
"Behind the panel on the bookshelf, Mr. Goldstein," she said breathlessly, and Dumbledore drew back.
He picked up the box of chocolates, opened the lid, and offered one to Dolores Umbridge.
"Chocolate truffle, Dolores? I find the nougat particularly delightful."