Chapter 9) Rotten Witch
Selected Listening: The Darkness Takes Over- Nicholas Hooper
During lunch, Ron and Hermione argued so much about whether people believed anything about Voldemort that Harry blew up at them. Hermione started crying. Ron and Anastasia shared a look to determine who would go with who, and she followed Harry quickly up the stairs to an abandoned turret of the castle.
"What was that about?" Anastasia asked gently.
"No one understands," Harry griped. "No one else has had a friend murdered in front of them in an instant…and there's nothing you can do about it after. I couldn't save Cedric...he was alive, and a second later…"
Anastasia sat down next to him on a stone step and placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. She stared at their shoes, remembering the green light from Moody's wand.
"Harry, you're right. They don't understand. No one else was there. No one else but you and Cedric, but I understand what it's like not to be believed, and to be belittled because of what you believe. Here."
She handed him the stack of letters and package she had in her messenger bag all morning.
"Thanks…" he said cautiously and began picking his way through them. He found the package first, wrapped in red and gold patterns that looked like flames. He pointed to it.
"Does it matter which order I—"
"Open the present, Harry," she chimed, rolling her eyes. He tore the paper and examined the first object in his hands. It was an updated quidditch playbook.
"Since we haven't had time to practice in a year, and Angelina's going to need support as the captain, we ought to brush up on our stuff before tryouts."
"Nice!" Harry beamed. "And uh…what is this?" he held up a transparent cerulean stone on a rough, brown string, gleaming with a rune inlaid with gold powder.
"It's a runic ward," Anastasia answered. "I made it with sea glass I found at the beach. It's supposed to keep away bad dreams when you hang it in your window…although I'm not sure if the one I made works."
Anastasia had first seen them at a market not too far from Shell Cottage, and asked Minerva for the materials to make one. They had returned to the cozy seaside home, and Minerva, while completing acceptance letters, watched over her critically as Anastasia spent hours painstakingly carving the protection rune into the glass. The first, Anastasia shattered by pressing too hard into the stone with her knife. The second, she completed for herself, but it didn't work at all. The third she made for Harry, and since she couldn't test it without ruining it (the stones were privy to their owners after all), she wrapped it up in a cloth drawstring bag and prayed it did something for him.
Of course, she thought he received it months ago.
"Thank you," he said, genuinely touched, and looked back at his pile, picking out a rather plain roll of parchment. "I think this one is actually from me."
"Oh," Anastasia picked it up and examined it carefully. Harry's letters usually consisted of him asking what Hogwarts was like in the summer. After second year, she explained she spent most her days hiding from reporters, and therefore didn't see anything more special about the castle than any other time, but she felt that might have come off as too entitled, so the next year she happily told him about all the things she found in the castle and tried not to complain too much about mermish lessons.
She opened this year's letter and read about the Dursleys, about how he spent most his summer hiding from them in the bushes and staring at the sky, waiting to go back to Hogwarts…and how his nightmares were haunting him.
Anastasia felt horrible that she had never received the letter, even more horrible that Albus hid it from her, and continuously so that she never responded. She made the ward, but that was mainly because she also suffered from bad dreams, and the guilt that he was suffering alone all summer killed her.
But Harry looked up to her from his stack with a hint of a smile.
"Do you remember that summer we spent eating ice cream all week at Florean's and hiding from the evil Sirius Black?" Harry asked when he finished her letters. Anastasia smiled back.
"Yeah, of course I do. Do you remember when we formed the misfit club?"
"You mean when Malfoy forcibly called us the misfit club?" Harry corrected. She shrugged.
"Fair enough, but I'm thinking we should start it up again," she suggested. Harry scoffed lightheartedly.
"I never quit. It's fine if you rejoin, but I have to warn you that we've had to substantially increase the membership fees."
Anastasia grinned, and they both spurted with laughter, only catching their breath when the bell for class rang out.
"Umbridge is next," Harry sighed.
Anastasia felt a knot of anxiety form in her stomach. Her brow creased with worry.
"Come on," she said, "if we hurry, we'll still get seats next to Hermione and Ron."
They did manage to catch up with the other two, and Harry apologized for blowing up at them along the way. When they reached the Defense room, Umbridge sat primly in her teaching chair, sipping from a large rose porcelain cup of tea. Every student sat silently waiting for the other shoe to drop. Some fidgeted with their hair or nails. Some stared around at every corner of the room.
Anastasia spotted Draco and Pansy at the front. Scanning the Slytherins, she realized that Blaise was missing, and that she hadn't seen him at all yet. Surely if he had been present, he would have been prefect instead of Draco. Although she wanted to ask where he was, she didn't want to start a conversation with any of them.
Umbridge stood up, forced them to tell her good afternoon, and presented three very dry course aims on the board. After which, they were told to read their textbook. Anastasia glanced at the cover of her very boring copy of Defensive Magical Theory and looked around to see who was having the same reaction. They all shared glances but did as the woman said.
Maybe they'd get to a real lesson later.
Not wanting to become the instigator on the first day of class, Anastasia opened her book and let her eyes wander over the words. After a few moments, she realized Hermione hadn't started reading. Her friend had stuck her hand up in the air and waited. Umbridge ignored her.
Anastasia kept her head down. Hermione had enough brownie points to last her a lifetime with teachers, but Anastasia's name had placed a target on her back.
Eventually enough students had stopped staring at their books and began staring at Hermione that Umbridge was forced to answer her. Hermione pointed out there was nothing on the board about using magic.
"I'm not sure why you would need to use defensive spells," Umbridge suggested.
The class froze. Anastasia forced herself to stare down at her book, not moving, not breathing.
For a moment, the other students interjected back and forth, and Umbridge kept reiterating her very aimless course aims and how their knowledge was so spotty that she was going back to the very beginning of theoretical content.
So, this was what the ministry wanted. Someone to brainwash them. Someone to downplay the danger. Someone to pretend that everything was under control and her father was a raving lunatic.
Harry, who had been doing very well to keep his head down up to that point, interjected.
"What's the use of that? If we're going to be attacked—"
"You are not going to be attacked in this classroom, Mr. Potter."
Anastasia couldn't take it anymore. She was shaking.
"Five times."
"Excuse me, Miss Dumbledore. What was that? The only thing worse than not raising your hand is mumbling."
"Five times."
"Times what?" she asked.
"I've been attacked or nearly attacked five times in this classroom. Four last year. One just in June, when a death eater threw me in a trunk with our real professor who he kidnapped. He'd already targeted me three other times. Not to mention, two other death eaters had already tried to attack me." She was counting Quirrell and Pettigrew…she felt that Mr. Malfoy's emotional attacks didn't count in this particular instance.
The Slytherins iced over. Pansy cackled.
"A death eater, that's funny. Like they exist anymore!" she exclaimed and elbowed Draco to get him to laugh too, but he didn't look at Anastasia to mock her. He simply lowered his head and grumbled.
"Not this again."
"She's telling the truth," Dean vouched. "I heard Moody was impersonated by some loony bins death eater who got the dementor's kiss soon as Fudge got here."
"That's enough!" Umbridge roared at the mention of Fudge's name. Anastasia knew she was already in hot water. She had to finish her point.
"If he hadn't been caught, he was going to drop my dead body on my father's staircase! How's that for not going to be attacked?"
A few students turned their gazes to her with horrified expressions. She hadn't even told her closest friends that part. A few of the girls looked like they might vomit or faint.
"Not a bad idea," Pansy whispered.
Umbridge didn't hear. Her nostrils flared at Anastasia, but she regained her composure.
"And isn't it, just awful, that your father put you in that position?"
Anastasia reeled, the heat rose to her neck, the rage burned in her eyes.
"Grandad didn't do anything wrong."
"He hired him, didn't he?" Umbridge asked.
For a moment, Anastasia doubted. Even if Albus wasn't in control of the curse, he didn't do anything to try and break it. He brought dangerous teachers to Hogwarts year after year…or teachers who would face an untimely demise…to sit in front of them and teach, just like Umbridge said.
No. She hardened her resolve. She couldn't think that way. She couldn't let this woman break her on day one.
"Detention, Miss Dumbledore."
"For what?" she asked bitterly.
"This is a classroom. It isn't a place for you to let your gory imagination run wild or act out for attention."
Anastasia stood and put her books back in her bag.
"Where are you going?" Umbridge demanded.
Anastasia refused to answer.
"You can bring Mr. Potter with you to Professor McGonagall. I believe your head of house can help you sort things out." She wrote up a pink slip and handed it to her.
"Excuse me, Professor," Pansy interrupted with a nasty smile. Anastasia glared preemptively. Draco had gone completely still.
"Yes, Miss um—"
"Parkinson. You shouldn't end Anastasia to McGonagall…for Merlin's sake, she's like her mum. Send her to Snape, he'll take care of her."
The Slytherins laughed again. Anastasia's face burned crimson.
"I see," Professor Umbridge critiqued. "Well, despite your tendency to attract nepotism, Miss Dumbledore, Minerva is your head of house, and you will go to her for discipline…but I will work on changing that in the future if necessary."
"You can't change anything," Anastasia spat, taking the slip.
"Watch me," Umbridge lifted her chin with a smile.
Harry and Anastasia walked to Minerva's office in silence, fumes echoing off each other. It was the professor's off-period, so when she opened the door to her class, it was entirely empty. They handed her the notes from Umbridge
Minerva read the two pink slips and looked over her glasses at them.
"Follow me." She turned and walked them back to her study where she had a tea table set out with fresh baked cookies. She gestured to it. They sat.
"Have a biscuit."
Anastasia and Harry looked at each other.
At first, she thought they weren't in trouble at all, but soon Minerva lectured them in more depth on the same topic that Albus had broached the night before. It wasn't about standing up to Umbridge, it was about keeping their heads down and staying out of trouble, otherwise it would get back to Fudge.
She had tried.
Anastasia held her half-eaten snickerdoodle and stared out the window. She vaguely heard Minerva announce their punishment—detention for the rest of the week with Umbridge. Harry argued with the professor a moment more, and she forced another cookie on him before giving a warning and sending him out the door.
"Aren't you coming?" Harry asked, pausing. Anastasia turned to Minerva, asking to stay a bit longer.
"We'll need a few more minutes."
"Right," he said, and left them alone.
"I don't understand," Anastasia said, vision blurred with tears.
"Don't understand what?" Minerva asked. "Umbridge works for Fudge. Fudge is jealous of your father. Always has been, always will be. Now he's getting his revenge."
"It's not that. They all think grandad is crazy…he's not crazy, is he?" Anastasia asked, blinking bits of moisture away. "Lavender said I should find a home for him. I don't even know what a home is."
"She didn't!" Minerva raged.
"Don't say anything to her," Anastasia protested, voice cracking. "It'll only make things worse."
"That—I can't believe Miss Brown would—"
"It's not just her! It's everyone. All the other Gryffindors, and the Slytherins and Draco. To them I'm the child of a mad man."
Minerva walked over to her and touched the side of her face gently, worriedly. Anastasia pulled away slightly. Minerva sighed.
"Albus has never been one to go with what the rest of society thinks. You know that. And yes, it may be difficult now, but keep your chin up, and things will be easier eventually. Someone will realize he's telling the truth, and Fudge will be exposed for all that he is…a coward."
Anastasia couldn't recall a time when Minerva had been wrong about anything, but still she doubted.
"Right," she echoed.
The next day loomed more horrid and dreary than the last. Minerva spent class period lecturing them about transfiguration OWLS and piling on the homework. Draco was on one in Care of Magical Creatures, unable to shut up in his whining about Hagrid or Hogwarts. Professor Sprout was just as adamant about her OWLS as anyone else. By the end of the day, when Harry and Anastasia exited dinner to go to detention instead of quidditch (which Angelina shouted at them for), they were dragging.
They dragged themselves up the stairs and into Umbridge's office, covered in pink velvet and lacy doilies and porcelain plates with kittens. It seemed she'd stolen a dining room from Madam Puddifoot's tea shop.
Umbridge had them sit at a square table covered in more lace and presented them with parchment. Harry attempted to ask for Friday off for quidditch, but the woman shut it down immediately. Anastasia knew it would be a wasted effort.
"You'll both be writing lines, but different. Mr. Potter, you will write I must not tell lies." She handed him a quill.
"And Miss Dumbledore, you shall write, I am not special." She dropped the other quill beside Anastasia.
"You can't be serious," Anastasia stated.
"Serious as spoiled milk, I'm afraid. You've simply had too many privileges bestowed on you in this lifetime, and we must learn that being spoiled with attention is no virtue."
Anastasia clutched her arms around herself but said nothing.
"Ah, you're both already doing so well with those tempers…now go ahead."
Despite their protests, Umbridge reassured them they wouldn't need any ink. Anastasia began writing…as she scratched the line into the page, the back of her hand began to itch. On the second line it turned bright red, and on the next letter a bloody slash went through her hand.
Her thoughts immediately flew to Draco.
"Is there a problem?" Umbridge asked them. Harry had a similar cut on his hand. Anastasia froze. She had to get out somehow.
"No," Harry said firmly and continued writing.
"If you're thinking about telling the headmaster…" Umbridge started, leering over her, "…I wouldn't. After all, I'm only trying to help discipline the child of an aging man who sometimes can't manage his own school, much less a hormonal teenager. I'm sure the Ministry would agree with me, and so would the general public…"
Anastasia bit her lip, face hot, entire body shaking.
"Need to say something dear?" Umbridge asked.
Harry kicked Anastasia's leg under the desk.
"Sorry. Foot slipped," Harry said and continued writing his own lines.
Anastasia regained her breath. Harry had broken her anger just long enough to regain her sanity…or whatever it was she was using to cope with this fresh new hell.
She turned to Umbridge.
"No," Anastasia grinned as widely at Umbridge as she could. "Thank you so much for teaching me an incredibly important lesson, Professor. I'm sure grandad would be grateful for your help."
Umbridge frowned, unsure of what to make of her.
"Well then, very good. Continue."
The words healed over the first day and the second. She thought Draco would try to talk to her alone, but he didn't, only giving her the occasional suspicious glance, and doing his best to hide his hand from Pansy when she went to grab it and drag him to another snog session. Anastasia continued ignoring him. On the third night, the quill broke the skin on the full sentence. The entire message faded, but short lines remained. Once again, Draco gave her strange glances all day but didn't approach.
Finally, on Friday, after quidditch tryouts had ended and all was dark, Umbridge looked satisfied with the scars. Anastasia stared at her through narrow eyes.
"Yes, that should do it, for now," Umbridge smiled sweetly. "Off you go."
Anastasia and Harry trudged onto the main floor in front of the Great Hall, mostly empty. Draco rounded the corner from the dungeon staircase, prefect's badge perched on his lapel. He looked slightly winded, blonde strands of hair skewed over his cheeks. The shadows of the stone rail fell across his face. He grabbed her left wrist.
"Anastasia, what the bloody hell are you doing? What is this?" Draco demanded, pulling up his sleeve to reveal his knuckles where the message had cut through his raw flesh. It was paler than hers, but clear.
Anastasia opened her mouth to explain, swaying on her feet from exhaustion, but Harry appeared behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder to pull her away. Draco spotted the message on Harry's hand and laughed.
"Merlin, that woman is brilliant," he joked. "Finally getting what you deserve, are we Potter?"
Anastasia cursed Draco with her gaze.
Harry stormed off, clearly unwilling to fight Draco for another detention.
They were alone.
Draco realized his fault. Anastasia pried her wrist back from him.
"Wait—" Draco held out both his hands to stop her.
"Harry didn't deserve any of this, and neither did I," she said confidently, turning to follow him.
"Fine!" Draco shouted. "This would never have happened if you didn't go shooting your mouth off about the return of a dead man on the first day of class!" he shouted back. "If you're at all worried about your father being perceived as a batshit, maybe you should stop repeating the batshit things he says!"
Anastasia turned and grabbed Draco's collar. She ignored the scent of mint and earl gray. At the sight of her anger, he rethought his words. Fear pierced his cloudy gaze.
"Extend your glamor," she growled. "Don't let anyone see. Especially her."
He scowled.
"Only if you promise to keep your head down—"
"Save it." She pushed him away forcefully. Draco didn't have a choice. Neither of them did.
Anastasia fled back to the common room into a flurry of excitement. Ron had been named keeper at tryouts. There was a party. She shoved past everyone when Fred appeared, holding an extra butterbeer out for her. Again, she thought of what Ginny said before.
"Thought you could use one after a week of detention," Fred suggested begrudgingly. It wasn't the usual perky tone, almost like he was forcing himself. He had become more distant after Grimmauld Place, which was something Anastasia was slightly thankful for.
It made things easier, at least.
"Sorry, Fred. I can't tonight," she said and pushed it back to him before running up to the dormitory.
Anastasia dropped the quartz ferret in the drawer of her nightstand and slammed it shut. From the bottom of her trunk, she grabbed her music box and book before fleeing into the burrow of plush pillows and velvet blankets. She closed the curtains and cast a silencing spell around her bed before winding the music box and opening the book to the next chapter of the Snow Queen.
In the story, the little girl wandered into the world to find her friend whose heart had been frozen. She wound down a river in a boat and discovered a house with a beautiful garden. There she forgot all about the boy she grew up with and how much she cared for him.