"Did you find anything out?"
Harry shook his head. Ron sighed and glared at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She seemed unrepentant as she scratched out a letter to Rita Skeeter.
"Then why are you so excited?" she asked snidely. (Harry thought writing to Skeeter was putting her in a bad mood.) She had not budged when they tried to get her to share where she'd been all Sunday, and it was eating them—Ron especially—alive. At least she had promised that she didn't know how to apparate, which mollified the redhead slightly.
Harry smiled to himself, remembering how he had wheedled Snape into letting him stay with him over the summer. It hadn't exactly been hard, which meant he obviously wasn't opposed to the idea, but it made Harry wonder what had held him back in the first place. "Remedial Potions is going well."
Parvati, who was passing him by at the time, gave him a very strange look at this. He couldn't blame her.
"Did you eat dinner down there? Umbridge was looking for you, we said we didn't know where you were. She's really getting wound up. I thought she was going to curse us there and then! She gave us detention for tomorrow night, said you'll probably be joining us."
Of course she did. "Yeah, the potion was the kind of thing I couldn't really walk away from. He gave me some stale bread," he added flippantly, for the sake of the people sitting around them.
"Delicious," Ron snarked, leaning over to peer at Hermione's letter with what he probably thought was subtlety. She flicked her wand at him. His hands flew up to his face and he gasped. "Hermione! I can't see!"
"That's usually what a blindfold hex does, Ron." Ginny had joined their group near the common room fire, passively looking over her Charms textbook.
"Then you should learn how to keep your eyes to your own business."
"Why are you in such a mood today?" Ron exclaimed. Harry took pity on him and cancelled the hex.
Hermione jabbed her quill into the ink pot and turned to them. "Umbridge, the Squad, your pestering."
"Pestering-!"
"Really, I can't tell you."
Harry got the hint; she was worried about whatever had taken her away from the castle Sunday. He nudged Ron in the ribs. "Right. You know you can talk to us if you need to, yeah?"
Her frazzled look softened slightly and she nodded. "Yeah."
The common room began to clear as the night wound on. Harry stayed up later than most, worried about Defense tomorrow and unable to get the memory of Umbridge carrying a bag of clanking metal up from the dungeons out of his head. His friends stayed with him, silently doing their own work (or, in the case of Ron, nodding off) and allowing him the space to think.
"...a fight with the Inquisitorial Squad only gives Umbridge a legitimate reason to drag you into her office. All you have done is postpone a strong danger and turn it into a definite certainty." Her blood quills were gone, broken by Snape. She had more power now than she had possessed back when Harry was forced to carve "I must not tell lies" into the back of his own hand. If she hadn't gotten into any legal trouble then, what would she try now?
Not that Harry was a coward. He could take a little pain, as much as the thought of being powerless under her control bothered him. It was more to do with the implications of what she was allowed to get away with. If she did anything to him, who was to say she wouldn't try it on other kids?
And if it was anything too bad and Snape found out, he might just do something to her that could get him sacked.
He could just… not go to Defense. Are you gonna try to dodge her for another four and a half months? Yeah, right.
Eventually Ginny stood, stretching. "Okay, I'm going to go to bed. Try to get some rest. Good luck tomorrow."
"Thanks, Gin. I guess I'll go too."
She smiled at him and went up to the girls' dorm. Hermione looked up, as if contemplating her next move, before returning to her notebook. "I'll stay up, I've got more work to do."
Harry knew better than to try to persuade her to give it up. He nudged Ron, who jumped with a snort mid-snore and blinked blearily. "Wassit?"
"Come on, killer, let's go."
Ron ran a hand over his face and staggered after Harry. Up in their dorm room, he fell face-first down on his bed without bothering to change out of his clothes. Harry shook his head fondly and went to bed himself, resigned to using Occlumency to force sleep.
The Great Hall was abuzz with conversation when the trio walked in for breakfast. It was the first time Harry himself had been there since the fight with the Squad, as meals were a prime gathering time and he knew Umbridge would be waiting to pounce on him the first time he showed up to one. So far, he'd been eating food provided by the professors or nabbed from the kitchens. He was tired of playing hide-and-seek with Umbridge around the castle all the time, though, and knew today was going to end up with him getting tortured in her office either way.
To his surprise, there was no pink horror waiting to assign punitive action the minute he walked in. In fact, a scan of the room showed that she was nowhere in sight.
"Maybe she thinks you're hiding somewhere else and is trying to find you?" Hermione suggested.
"Maybe," Harry responded helplessly, settling down on a bench at Gryffindor table.
As soon as he was sitting down, all of the students around them turned to him with blatant excitement on their faces. Even people from other house tables who were within earshot looked over.
"Was it you?" a fourth-year Gryffindor asked.
"Was what me?" he asked, completely baffled.
"We won't tell!" Colin said, bouncing slightly in his seat. "But was it?"
"What are you going on about, Creevy?" Ron interrupted. He looked tense, like he was ready to jump to Harry's defense at any minute.
"Umbridge!"
"What are you talking about?"
Katie Bell slid down the bench towards them from a few feet away. "She's not here. Word's gone around that she developed a bad case of Dragon Pox overnight. She's in the hospital wing now, and they're talking like it's going to be a while before she gets released."
Harry gaped at her, completely baffled. "She what?"
"How'd you do it?" Colin pressed.
"I didn't do it! How would I make her sick, anyway? I don't have Dragon Pox!"
The people around them didn't seem to be swayed in the slightest by his protest. A younger girl with a full head of curls nodded with an infuriatingly knowing expression on her face, tapping her nose with one finger. "Ah, right. Of course not." She then had the nerve to wink at him.
Harry looked at his friends helplessly. Hermione's face was turned away, looking up at the staff table, but Ron met his stare with an equally shocked one of his own.
So this was what everyone was chattering about when they first walked in. Umbridge had contracted some severe illness, and they all thought he was somehow responsible.
"Guess that's what a criminal reputation gets you, mate," Ron said lowly, his shock wearing off to be replaced by glee. "Dragon Pox, huh!"
As he turned back to all of the watching faces around him, it dawned on Harry that there was hardly a mistrustful or wary expression among them. He had gotten used to being feared and ostracised by most of the school since his return, as they all thought he was a dangerous criminal (thank you, government-controlled media). Over time, however, that had begun ebbing away as his enmity with Umbridge became well-known and the school's hatred of her deepened. It seemed people were siding with him on principle simply for the sake of spiting Umbridge. They still all thought he was apparently capable of poisoning someone, but they didn't mind because it was Umbridge. House of the 'noble', my arse.
Even if people weren't hating him because of these misconceptions, it still rankled him to have them spread around in the first place. He fought the rising of his temper and protested, "I really haven't done anything. I'm not even good enough at potions to make something like that if I wanted to, which I don't. Besides, I don't even think a potion like that exists. Is it really so impossible that she just got sick naturally?"
A sneering voice came from a few people down, a boy Harry thought might be in the year above them. "I don't know, Potter. You've been spending an awful lot of time in remedial potions with Snape lately, and we all know what kind of person he is. Maybe he's been teaching you some old tricks."
Before Harry could respond to that, Hermionie surprised him by whipping around and glaring at the speaker fiercely. "Shut up, McLaggen! We all know you're not allowed within a hundred metres of the potions labs since you blew up half a classroom."
Several people laughed at this, and McLaggen opened his mouth to retort, but Dumbledore stood at the front of the room and spoke before he had the chance. Eyes twinkling rather merrily, the Headmaster said, "To those of you who have not heard—which I suspect is none of you—Professor Umbridge has come down with an unfortunate case of Dragon Pox and will be quarantined in the Hospital Wing for the foreseeable future. As this is an infectious disease, visits will be prohibited. If any of you desire to send her your well-wishes, Madame Pomfrey will be more than happy to deliver them to her." A ripple of clear, amused derision swept through the student body at this. Dumbledore gave them all a serene smile and twinkled at them more brightly, clearly aware of their opinions on the matter. "In the meantime, her lessons will be filled in by a guest from the Auror Department, John Dawlish."
An unfamiliar man Harry hadn't noticed sitting at the staff table raised his hand in acknowledgement, but unlike his predecessor, did not stand and make a simpering speech. This alone endeared him to the Umbridge-weary students. A resounding chorus of cheers and applause echoed through the room, and Dawlish blinked as if surprised. Dumbledore beamed at them all and sat back down. Hermione huffed.
"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked under his breath as everyone finally went back to discussing the news with one another and eating.
"Nothing that I know of. He got Os on all of his NEWTs, so I suppose he won't be incompetent."
"'Mione, what the hell," Ron whispered fiercely.
"Language, Ronnikins," Fred said as he plopped down onto the bench next to him. George appeared out of nowhere, straddling the bench on the other side of Hermione. Both were sporting their usual mischievous grins as they bracketed the trio.
"Don't suppose you've got any tips, Harry?"
"Wasn't me," Harry repeated, getting the feeling that it was something he'd be saying a lot in the near future.
"Never said it was, did we?" Fred said, blinking innocently. Harry eyed him suspiciously. "More important things on the horizon."
"Truth is, we feel bad for the old toad—"
"—so out of the goodness of our hearts—"
"—we want to send her our well-wishes."
"You're taking the piss, right?" Ron asked dubiously.
"What do you think?" Fred responded quietly, soft enough that only the trio could hear him.
"She might have a thing or two in her office that we would rather our Auror friend over there didn't get his hands on," George continued in that same undertone.
"Figured you three might want to watch the masters at work, or at least help us out a little bit."
Harry glanced back and forth between his two best friends. Ron seemed conflicted, torn between wanting to get at Umbridge and his ingrained distrust of anything the twins told him. Hermione, however, was looking thrilled.
"I'd love to get into her office," she whispered.
"I bet you would," Ron muttered.
Seeing that they appeared more willing than not, and inclined towards the idea himself, Harry nodded to the twins. "Alright."
"Great!" George thumped the table. "Meet you in the old magical government classroom at six." They sauntered off. The trio looked at one another before returning to their cold breakfasts.
Harry occasionally caught the sound of his name being tossed around, in tones varying from hateful to admiring, and tried not to let it show. He was afraid the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed him.
He glanced up at the staff table, eyes instinctively searching for one face in particular. A smile automatically spread across his face when he found it, illuminated by a subtle but clear (to him) satisfaction. As if sensing Harry's gaze, Snape looked over. Black met green, both sets of eyes dancing in mirth, and the smile on Harry's face grew. Moments later, Snape broke the eye contact, probably not wanting to let any one else notice the amicable exchange. Harry went back to his eggs.
"I wonder what class will be like with Dawlish."
"Guess we'll find out," Hermione said, looking up at the staff table once more. "We have Defense this morning."
It was kind of a relief to not be nervous at the thought.
John Dawlish was a very no-nonsense, abide-by-law sort of fellow. So far, he had shown none of the sadistic or patronizing tendencies of his predecessor. He was, however, clearly a subscriber to the Ministry rhetoric about Harry and the sort of instruction that students of Hogwarts should be exposed to. Ron had hopefully suggested that maybe since he was an Auror, he'd have more of an awareness of the general dangers out in the world and would want to teach them some actual defense. Unfortunately for the class, this was not the case. He simply had them turn to the next chapter in their syllabus and had them read.
At least he didn't pick on them the way Umbridge had done, and when Hermione pulled out her Transfiguration homework with the explanation that she had already read the chapter, he made no further comment. A quiet murmur of conversation picked up near the end of the period, the sort Professor Snape would have immediately shut down but any other teacher would have no trouble with. He didn't seem to mind, merely flipping through papers on Umbridge's desk as if acquainting himself with her lesson plans. Considering how she had never actually taught them anything, Harry wondered if there was anything there to read.
Half of it's probably detailed notes about me, he thought, somewhat sourly.
At the end of class, everyone filed out. A few students nodded respectfully to Dawlish, and he nodded back unsmilingly. A breath of relief passed over the group when the door shut behind the last student, and people immediately began whispering about their impressions.
Hermione met Harry and Ron's eyes and shrugged. Nothing more about it was said between the three of them, but they all understood.
At six, when most of the castle and almost certainly Dawlish (as dinners in the Great Hall were mandatory for staff, barring extraneous circumstances) were beginning to eat, the trio met Fred and George in the old government classroom. Hermione was standing by one of the posters, chewing on her lip as she stared at a chart of the various departments in the Ministry of Magic, when the twins slipped in.
"Ah! Good to see you three made it." Fred's hand was fisted, and he opened it to reveal several gobstones that shone with a strange pearlescent light.
"What are these?" Hermione asked, picking one up and holding it to the light.
"They disguise your magical signature. That way, if someone realises we've snuck in and try to cast a detection charm on whoever was nearby, it won't register as us." George explained, taking one for himself. Ron and Harry followed their example.
"It's not something we'd usually worry about, but the new bloke is an auror, so we're sure he knows some spells like that." Fred said. The gobstone buzzed strangely in Harry's palm as he held it. "It should work to disguise any spells we cast or who broke any wards that might be on the place."
"This is so clever," Hermione said. "How did you make these?"
The twins grinned at her. "Ah, but that would be telling."
It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for the twins to break any detection wards on Umbridge's office. They had somehow managed to nick a key ring from Filch, and after a couple of tries they found the right one. Since Filch was a squib, spells must have been placed on the keys to bring down any alarm spells or other magical preventatives to unauthorized entry. Ron, grumbling, was assigned to watch the corridor outside as the other four slipped in.
The twins wandered over to her desk, picking up papers and shuffling through them as if they hadn't a care in the world. A brown briefcase, obvious amidst the rest of the office's bright decor, was set on the floor beside it and slightly open as if Dawlish had only just begun unpacking his stuff into the office. Hermione beelined for a filing cabinet, notebook already in her hand. Not having any clear goals in mind like the others, Harry looked around more aimlessly.
The decor was frilly, pink, and revolting as ever. He wasn't unfamiliar with the sight; the few detentions he had served with her seemed ingrained into his memory. Subconsciously rubbing the back of his hand, he walked over to the spot where he and so many other kids had been forced to write with blood quills. He caught sight of what looked like a small bloodstain on the rose-coloured rug below and scowled. Using his toe to flip up the rug, he saw that it had seemed through and dried in little crusts on the flagstones. Is she just too stupid to use magic to clean it up, or does she like having a reminder of torturing kids? It was possible she just hadn't noticed, he supposed. It didn't really matter either way at the moment, so he let the corner of the rug fall back down with a soft thwack and shifted his gaze to a side table below a hideous painting of two kittens on a (pink, obviously) rug.
Set on the floor beside it, pushed back against the wall and partially obscured by its shadow, was an unmistakable cloth bag. Its shape was irregular and distorted by the contents within.
"Aha!" George exclaimed from the desk. Fred murmured something and they high-fived one another. Harry ignored them and stepped closer.
Reaching out almost hesitantly, he lifted the edge of the bag's opening and peered inside. It was hard to make out whatever was within, so he lit the tip of his wand and held it close.
The light of his Lumos glinted off of something clearly metal, and he swallowed at the sight of chains and other definitely-painful-looking devices.
"Think this is what Neville was talking about," Harry said.
Hermione was by his side in an instant, lighting her own wand and opening the bag further. She grimaced at what she saw. "These are positively barbaric!"
"Good thing she's in the hospital wing, eh, Harry?"
"Fred—"
"Yeah, yeah, we know. You didn't do it."
George chimed in. "Well, we've got what we need if you two are set to go."
Hermione sighed and looked at the filing cabinet longingly before nodding. "Yes, I suppose we ought to get out of here before Ron gets bored and wanders off."
"Hey!" came a muted voice from the door.
"Yeah, let's go," Harry said. Then, taken by a sudden impulse, he grasped the bag tightly in one hand and tossed it over his shoulder. "Fred, George, any idea where we can dump these and no one will be able to get their hands on them again?"
The twins looked at each other, grins spreading across their faces, before turning back to him and nodding in sync.
"We might have an idea."
Harry took great pleasure in tossing the bag and its heavy, clanking secrets into the hole Hermione spelled in the centre of the ice covering the Black Lake. She released the spell, and the exposed water immediately began frosting over. As slush started to form, assisted by cold late-February night air, even more tension drained out of Harry's body. He felt his back muscles go lax as the bag sunk out of sight. Soon, the hole would freeze back over. The bag would continue to sink to the bottom of what he knew, from experience, was a very deep lake. He'd placed an anti-summoning enchantment on it and the torture devices within before casting it away, and by the time the lake really melted again for the summer, he doubted anyone would think to go hunting for it.
"There's probably more in the dungeons where that came from," Ron pointed out as the three of them stood shivering back on the shore.
"I know," Harry said, and he did. Still, there was something reassuring about watching that bag disappear and knowing the person who'd wanted it in the first place wasn't able to get her hands on him or his friends for at least a few weeks yet. Hermione sighed and nodded, perhaps thinking something similar.
Ron was a bit more pragmatic about the situation. "I'm hungry. Dinner might still be out on the tables if we hurry."
Hermione thumped his arm and laughed. Harry laughed too, and the three of them ran inside to escape the cold.
A/N: Sorry there wasn't a whole lot of Snape in this chapter; now that we've gotten Umbridge out of the way for a while, the plot will shift to centre more on Harry and Snape's relationship again.