It was a quiet morning when Harry emerged from the flooded second-floor bathroom and made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. He was not surprised to find his friends waiting for him, "Morning," he said, "Waiting long?"
"Oh yes," said Fred with a serious nod.
"Could eat the breakfast for the entire house," concluded George.
Harry stopped for a moment, wondering who had said what, "One day, I'm going to figure out which of you is which." They were in decent spirits as they wandered into Great Hall.
As they walked, they found themselves obviously the subject of conversation amongst the students of all four houses, not that Harry paid them any notice at all. At least he pretended not to pay them any notice, but his friends were well aware that Harry was keeping an eye on everyone, watching who was talking and talking about him.
Angelina Johnson stopped him suddenly and he matched her gaze. There was a fire and passion in her eyes. So it had happened, "Angelina," he greeted her, "Made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain?" She nodded briskly, "Nice one." If nothing else, her pep talks would not be as long-winded as those of the former Captain Oliver Wood.
"We need a new keeper," she said bluntly, "Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there. We need to make sure that the new person really fits the team."
"Ok," said Harry. At least that was something he could look forward to… as a distraction. Angelina smiled and with a brisk nod departed. He turned to his Fred and George, "Forgot Wood had left," said Ginny, "But some new blood on the team won't hurt our chances, will it?"
"I suppose," said Neville, taking the bench opposite, "He was a good Keeper." The wave of owls soared in through the upper windows, fluttering down all over the great hall, bringing letters and packages along with a little drizzle of water. It was clearly raining hard outside.
To everyone's surprise, a damp barn owl fluttered to rest next to Luna, a soaked Daily Prophet in its beak. "Keeping tabs on the rest of the wizarding world," said Luna, "Everyone here knows that if you want the truth, you should be reading The Quibbler."
True enough, "Luna," said Harry, "We need to get in touch with your father about another exclusivity deal… one that will protect all of us. If they can't say anything about me, they are more than likely to start on everyone around me, just to provoke a reaction."
"I'll send Dad an owl," said Luna as she buried herself in the paper, "Morning Professor McGonagall."
"Morning Ms. Lovegood," replied the Transfiguration Professor and head of Gryffindor, "Professor Flitwick asked me to pass this to you," she said, handing Luna her timetable, she stopped and leaned over, "Be aware of Delores Umbridge," she muttered, "She has taken issue with Luna being away from her house to Professor Flitwick." She handed out their timetables and moved along.
"History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defense against the Dark Arts," said Harry, "Gonna be a fun-filled day for me."
"Look on the bright side;" said Neville, "At least we can suffer together."
"A shame that our latest invention…" began Fred as Harry helped himself to the stack of toast and a glass of pumpkin juice. He froze for a moment: The memory slammed into him with the force of a hammer. He shook it off and got on with breakfast, abandoning the toast in favor of sausages.
"… is not quite perfect yet…" agreed George.
"… as the Skiving Snack boxes would get you out of class," concluded Fred.
"And why would any of us want to do that?" asked Ginny.
"Well, for Luna and yourself, Gin-gin, it's just another year at Hogwarts," said Fred.
"But for Harry and Neville," continued George, "Its fifth year, and OWLs."
"Your noses will be pressed to the grindstone so hard they'll be rubbed raw and bleeding," said Fred with genuine sympathy. That worried Harry.
"Minor breakdowns in half our year," said George, "Tears, Tantrums, fainting fits…"
"Nosebleeds, panic attacks, a fit of boils," confirmed Fred.
"It is a nightmare year, the fifth," concluded George, "If you care about exam results anyway…" he drained the last of his pumpkin juice and made ready to leave.
"Yeah and you two… didn't," said Ginny, putting her fork and knife down, "Mum was less than happy with your results… three OWLs each."
"Least we came back to see things through," the twins chorused as people began leaving the Great Hall for this first class of the term.
"You did the right thing," said Ginny grimly, "especially since perfect Percy turning into the world's biggest idiot, taking a job as Fudge's bootlicker."
"Yes, well we don't intend to waste our last year here," said Fred as he looked around the Great Hall affectionately, "We're going to use the time to do some market research…"
"Find out what Hogwarts students want from a joke shop, the kinds of products, and then make those to fit the demand," concluded George. Nobody needed to ask where the money to get started had originated. Their summertime showdown had let that particular cat out of the bag, to the displeasure of Molly Weasely. The twins bade the others farewell, hoping to sell a few products before their own Herbology lesson kicked off in Greenhouse Six.
"Is it really that tough?" asked Harry, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I reckon I could handle the Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense without breaking a sweat… but the others…"
"Know what you mean, I reckon I could do Herbology the way you do Defense," said Neville with a shrug, "but you know, it might not be a bad idea to set up some kind of study group. We start now; it'll make things easier."
"That is a good idea," said Luna, emerging at last from behind the pages of the Prophet, "Nothing about you or Dumbledore in here today." She continued as if she hadn't just diverted on a slight tangent, "There's also the careers advice later this year so you know what NEWTs you should sign up for."
They rose to head for their respective classes, with only Neville walking with Harry as they made their way to the History of Magic classroom, "Any thoughts about what you're going to do after Hogwarts?"
Harry shrugged, "Not given it much thought. The way my life goes…"
"You wonder if you'll live long enough?" asked Neville quietly. Harry blinked, "I know it's been hard on you. These past few months and all," he said awkwardly, "And I know you've confided in Fleur about things." Harry opened his mouth to object, "No. I understand why you can…" he gestured for a word, and for the umpteenth time, Harry wondered where Neville got the insights that let him put two and two together to arrive correctly at twenty-two, "talk to Fleur about all this. She was a Champion, she was with you in a way none of us were, or ever can be."
"Neville," asked Harry, "Any seer blood in your family?"
They shared a grin for a moment as they stepped into what was one of the few things Slytherins and every other house could agree on: The worst conceived subject in the history of the wizarding world. Taught by the ghost Professor Binns, his wheezy droning voice caused severe drowsiness within five minutes in warm and three in cold weather. Most were unable to take notes as they gazed sleepily into space as the ghostly professor droned on about giant wars for an hour and a half. Harry finally decided this was an OWL exam to sleep through.
The pair were walking down the corridor leisurely making their way to their next class, when someone walked around the corner towards them, "Hello, Harry!"
Cho Chang, alone without the usual gang of giggling girls that followed her around, "Cho," said Harry evenly. At least he was not covered in stink sap this time. He eyed her critically for a moment, "So, have a good summer?"
"Oh… it was alright,"
Harry nodded, "Something I can help you with?"
She was fidgety, nervous about something, "Look, can we talk? In private?" With a nod to Neville, they stepped into an empty classroom and Harry had the room warded and sealed before Cho had the chance to turn around. "Something I can help you with?" he asked coolly.
The frosty demeanor took Cho aback; "Harry, I want you to know that…" she was not sure, how to put into words what she wanted to say, "Last year, I let things get… out of hand… with me and Cedric and all of the words," the words rushed from her, "I'm sorry for whatever part I played in that."
Harry eyed her for a long moment then pushed himself off the desk he had been leaning against, "Apology not accepted." She blinked in surprise at the simple, curt dismissal, "And you want to know why." It was a statement, not a question, "Luna Lovegood." He said simply, "She has been the butt of your pranks and jokes for the past four years." Cho stood standing with her mouth open wide in surprise and disbelief, "I heard about you trying to go one on one with Luna last year. So, you want forgiveness. Start with Luna."
With a snap of his fingers, the wards upon the door collapsed and as he crossed the room, he decided not to leave things at that, "I don't give a damn about your love life, but leave me out of it." He threw the remark over his shoulder, "Because I'm not available." The last comment was right on the money as far as Harry was concerned, what with the way Cho stopped up short, almost as if she had tripped over her shoelaces and robes.
His mood was relatively uneven, the ominous sound of Snape's dungeon door did nothing to worsen his mood, even as the greasy git flew into the room with his black robes billowing, bat-like as ever, "Settle down." Said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him. Say whatever you want to say about the man but his voice was all it took to silence the entire class, "Before we begin today's lesson, it is appropriate to remind all of you that you will be sitting your OWL examination regarding the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic," he paused and let his gaze linger on Neville, "or incompetent" his gaze shifted to Harry, "as you are, most of you will scrape an "Acceptable" in your OWL or suffer my… righteous indignation and displeasure."
His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled back in disgust, "Fortunately, many of you will not be in my NEWT Potions class, so some of us will be saying goodbye." Harry glared back feeling a dark pleasure that he would be able to give up potions forever, "However, we must first survive another year of each other before that happy moment of farewell," he said softly, "So concentrate, and perhaps you will brew the Draught of Peace. It is a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. A mistake can lead to catatonia. The ingredients and method," Snape flicked his wand, "are on the blackboard and you know where the ingredients are stored. You have an hour and a half."
The potion was complicated, fiddly, and required what felt like excessive fine-tuning as to when you could add ingredients, and the stirring clockwise and counterclockwise along with flame and temperature adjustments. "You should have a light silver vapor rising from your… potions," the last word had been sneered.
Harry had given up sometime before, with what appeared to be grey storm clouds hovering over his cauldron. Ron at the back and surrounded by Slytherins spat green sparks, as Neville's silver potion bubbled ominously. Sure enough, silence enveloped the dungeon as Snape stopped and looked down at it with a leer firmly plastered to his face, "Potter, what is this supposed to be?"
"Draught of Peace," said Harry as he raised his Occulemency barriers to full strength, locking his emotions away.
"Can't read Potter?" said Snape softly, "Read the third line."
"Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes then add two drops of Syrup of Hellebore." Harry met the gaze of the Potions Professor for the first time that term, "Forgot to add the Syrup of Hellebore."
Snape's leer became a vindictive grin as the potions master raised his wand, "I know what you did Potter, and this mess is utterly worthless, Evanesce." His cauldron emptied, Snape turned to the rest of the class, "Those of you who can read, fill one flagon, label it with your name and bring it up to my desk." Harry began packing his ingredients away, "Homework: Twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, for next Thursday."
Harry was the first out of the dungeon when the bell rang and rounded a corner into an empty classroom. "Dobby. Winky." His house-elves appeared before him, "Inform my friends that the residence is open if they wish to join me."
Within ten minutes, his friends were gathered in the second-floor toilet where Harry added his friends to the ward scheme, ensuring that they could access not only the serpentine tunnel but the chamber itself. "Same rules as last year," said Harry, "Welcome anytime, day or night. Just remember that some rooms are private and off-limits."
The Residence kitchen was fully stocked, courtesy of goblins of Gringotts who, as always, never did anything halfway. While rain lashed down upon the castle and its attendant grounds, the group of friends caught up over their first few classes of the term as they worked their way through Dobby and Winky's cooking.
"So the bat git is still as bat-like as ever," said Colin, "he and Batman would have quite a few things in common now."
Harry laughed, "I'll explain that to you all sometime." He said to those with confused expressions on their faces.
"That's not the half of it," said Neville, "At least Harry had a potion. Goyle's concoction ate through the glass of his flagon and set his robes on fire."
The enmity between Harry and Snape had been at least fifteen years in the making and solidified the moment Harry set foot in Hogwarts for his sorting. "And that greasy git," thought Harry, "Is supposed to be a spy for…our… for the Order of the Plucked Chicken lead by the Great Albus Dumbledore." He had as much in the fragmented memories stolen from Dumbledore's Pensieve the year before, "can't trust either of 'em."
"Well at least he did turn spy for the light," said Luna, "It's a matter of public record that Dumbledore testified on Snape's behalf, making the man's allegiance clear," said Luna thoughtfully, "Other people have to know something about it, otherwise I don't see how Snape could have gotten a job at Hogwarts…speaking of jobs," said Luna. She pulled a wad of parchment from her pocket and handed it to Harry, "From my father, to you, for the Quibbler."
He straightened out the mass of parchment and read through it, "Exactly the same as last years' eh Luna?"
"Why change what works?" she countered, "The same deal applies to all of us once we sign." That explained why the stack instead of a single sheet, "I was thinking that we could get Griphook and the Quibbler's lawyers to sign off on it. Give it some real sharp teeth…"
"Given that the Prophet has been going to town on both you and Dumbledore about the memory you let slip during the trial…" Ginny let the end of the sentence trail off into silence. The Prophet had gone on an all-out blitz and the Quibbler had been left hanging. A mistake that Harry vowed he would not repeat again.
As the lunch hour drew to an end, he made his way to the trapdoor at the top of the North Tower and was the first to ascend the ladder into Sybill Trelawney's classroom. Harry found himself wondering why he had bothered to sign up for this complete waste of time, when the reason crawled through the trap door: Ron Weasely with his friend Seamus. This was one class he would have to suffer through alone. "To think I signed up for this tripe with that…traitor," Harry made a note to be around when Ron got what was coming to him.
A thin woman, heavily draped in shawls with glittering strings of beads, reminded Harry of some insect once again predicted the death of a student, gazing pointedly in Harry's direction. He responded by yawning loudly at the prediction but the low lighting from the scarf-covered lamps and sickly scented fireplace seemed to hide him completely from view. He tuned out much of what Trelawney said, and idly flipped through and cursed his luck when the odd number of students in the class left him partnering Trelawney.
"Come now my dear," she said, "I can interpret your dreams, only if you will give me a dream to interpret." Harry remained silent, wondering how much more of this kind of shit he was going to have to put up with, "I am sure that you have dreams about what happened last year…"
To her surprise, and his own, Harry gave a simple tight nod, "So what if I am?"
"Well, you don't need those dreams interpreted do you," she said quietly and with a start, he realized that her voice had lost its aura of otherworldliness, "You face a long road, and it is a hard road. And it is wrong," she said, "Wrong that a child, however mature, however capable, should be burdened with such…. responsibility." Harry stared at her in surprise, "I know divination seems, wishy-washy to many and with good reason. And there are times when not only do I wish I lacked the Inner Eye, but that I had not seen the things I have seen."
"So why do you discredit your own art by making it seem so wishy-washy?" asked Harry quietly.
"Divination… is like time. The events we foresee may or may not take place, but the more people believe in them, the more likely what we foresee will come to pass. Because people will make choices to make what they believe will happen actually happen. This makes all prophecies into reality instead of having them as the most possible outcomes." She sighed "And not all prophecies are good in the time that they are told or event when those events have unfolded."
"Time…" said Harry suddenly, "Time magic?" he asked. The slight widening of Trelawney's eyes was easily visible through her glasses which simply over-magnified the slight motion, "Your great-great-grandmother was a famous seer, Cassandra." Harry shook his head and echoed a question Fleur had once asked, "How are the banking relations?"
Sybill chortled ever so slightly, "Doing well. Give my regards to Griphook - we are acquainted - next time you see him, Urush-kai and, may the fates line your path with gold and the remains of your vanquished enemies. "
"May the fates be as kind to you," he replied, she rose to her feet, when Harry had to ask, "Why do you predict my death constantly?" She smiled over her shoulder at him, and with a slight shake of her head, left Harry to ponder that question.
The lesson was not a double period and as he clambered down the ladder, Harry tallied up the amount of homework and realized it was growing from a molehill into a mountain: Twelve inches on moonstones for Snape, eighteen inches for Binns on giant wars, a month-long dream diary from Trelawney. All that remained was Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Professor Umbridge was already seated when the students arrived, clad in a fluffy pink cardigan, sporting a black velvet bow on her head. "She really looks like a toad with a fly sitting on her head." He mused as he took his seat.
"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down. A few people mumbled in reply, "Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.
"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it?
Wands away and quills out, please." It was at that exact moment that Harry knew that the muggle saying acronym "SNAFU" was going to be an apt description of this class. Umbridge tapped the board with an unusually short wand where words appeared at once:
"Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles."
This was followed by three-course aims as she blathered on about "disrupted and fragmented teaching," "not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum" and "following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic…"
"Has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
Though she insisted on treating them like first years, the students had caught on quick to the way this woman wanted her class to run, though Harry stayed quiet, trying to keep his emotions in check as "Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.
"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read
"Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". There will be no need to talk." Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely with those pouchy toad's eyes.
Harry raised his hand without even bothering to open the book, "Is there a problem with my instructions Mr. Potter?"
"Nope," said Harry, "I've got a question about your course aims, about the use of actual magic for defense against the dark arts," putting air quotes around the word defense.
"Using magic?" she said with the same high-pitched girlish laugh. It had grated at his trial in August, and now it still had the same nails on chalkboard quality. Professor Umbridge gave another little laugh. "Why, you surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
"We're not going to use magic?" asked Neville.
"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr-?"
"Longbottom," replied Neville thrusting his hand into the air, "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?'
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Mr. Longbottom?" asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.
"No, but –"
"And neither is Mr. Potter. In fact, neither of you are qualified to decide what or how to teach any class at Hogwarts. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure risk-free way -'
"The hell is the point of that," said Harry, silencing the entire class, "When we are attacked, it won't be in a safe, secure, risk-free…"
Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too, "And your name is?" Professor Umbridge asked.
"Dean Thomas."
"Well, Mr. Thomas?"
"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean, "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free."
"I repeat,' said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "Do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"
"No, but - "
Professor Umbridge talked over him, "I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "But you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."
"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever –"
"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day -"
"No we haven't," said Neville, "We just - "
"Your hand is not up, Mr. Longbotton!"
He put up his hand as Umbridge turned away from him "It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, and he actually performed them on you."
"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean hotly, "Mind you, we still learned loads."
"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" trilled Professor Umbridge, "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?' she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.
"Parvati Patil. Isn't there a practical part in our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses?"
"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge dismissively.
"Without ever practicing them beforehand?' said Parvati incredulously, "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"
"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough –"
"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.
Professor Umbridge looked up, "This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said softly.
"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?"
"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."
"Oh, yeah?" said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point. His eyes flashed a dangerous emerald green.
"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.
"Hmm, let's think…" said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe… Lord Voldemort…" A number of gasps and screams echoed through the gathered students as Professor Umbridge grasped the edge of the table, "his death eaters for another," he continued, "And your memory is remarkably short," he ground out, "My three-ring circus trial was less than a month ago and you forgot what you saw? Oh yeah. A couple of Dementors too!"
She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry, "Now, let me make a few things quite plain," Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk, "'You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead…"
"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "and, he has returned!"
"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him, "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."
"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry, "I was there and I know what happened. Are you saying that you believe the Minister who wasn't there over someone who actually was?"
"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading."
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated. "Harry, no!" whispered Neville, tugging at his sleeve, but he jerked out of his friends' grip.
"So according to you, the Ministry and Fudge," growled Harry, "Cedric Diggory accidentally cast Avada Kedevra on himself? According to you, Hermione Jane Granger tortured herself to the brink of death and killed herself with Avada Kedevra?" his voice shook, and the furniture in the classroom began to vibrate gently on its own as the class took a collective breath. No one had heard the details of that night from Harry. And those who were in the know had refused to speak on the subject as well, then and now.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly, "As was Herm…"
"I could push you down a flight of stairs, and call it a tragic but happy accident, but anyone with two brain cells would know it was murder!" he spat, He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening to classmates. "Voldemort, killed Cedric Diggory, tortured and killed my former girlfriend Hermione Jane Granger. And what's worse is that you know it's true."
Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank and Harry pushed on with reckless abandon, "When I was on trial for saving my cousins' worthless hide, I saw your boss licking Death Eater Lucius Malfoy boots. The latter also happened to be at the graveyard that night. Ask him if Voldemort is back since he was there for the Death Eater reunion!"
For a moment, Harry thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."
"Don't call me "dear," ever again," snapped Harry, "Mr. Potter is the only form of address that I will accept and acknowledge coming from you."
"I said, come here!" she half-shouted at him. He stood his ground and just glared back. If a look could kill, Umbridge would have received a half dozen killing curses right between the eyes, "You deliberately insolent… disobedient... boy!" Harry walked around his desk and leaned against it. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next but was almost delighted when Umbridge pulled her wand. He tensed ever so slightly and prayed she would actually cast something at him.
Unfortunately, Professor Umbridge also pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing.
Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it and threw it at him. It landed at his feet, "Take that to Professor McGonagall," said Professor Umbridge.
He looked at the roll of parchment and flicked his wand into his hand. He stared at the toad at the front of the room, and levitated the parchment scroll so that it was about ten inches ahead of him, "With pleasure." He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and spun on his heel, letting the door slam so hard it cracked.
He turned the corner and walked slap into Peeves the poltergeist, a wide-mouthed little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells, "Why it's Potter!' cackled Peeves, allowing two of the inkwells to fall to the ground where they smashed and spattered the walls with ink.
Harry jumped backward out of the way with a snarl, "Get out of it, Peeves."
"Feeling cranky Potter?" said Peeves as he floated high above Harry and followed him at a distance, "What is it this time, my fine friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in - " Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry "tongues?" Peeves slid down the banister on his back beside him. "Oh, most think you're barking mad, but Peeves knows better and says he has every right to be mad," Harry stopped and stared at the still floating poltergeist, "The Lady of Hogwarts has made clear that you speak the truth. Call upon the castle's ghosts in your time of dire need and we shall aide however we may!" the poltergeist vanished through the wall as the door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed, "Mr. Potter?" she asked, "Why aren't you in class?"
He gestured to the levitating note, "From Professor Umbridge."
Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line, they became narrower, "Come in Mr. Potter."
He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him. "Harry," she said, dropping the formality, "Is this true?"
"Is what true?" Harry asked, rather more aggressively than he had intended, "Professor?" he added, in an attempt to sound more polite.
"Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"You called her a liar?"
"Yes."
"You told her He Who Must Not Be… Voldemort is back ?"
"Yes."
Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, watching Harry closely, she waved her wand, conjuring the ever pleasant platter of tea and cookies, "Sit down Harry, and have a biscuit."
"Have - what?"
"Have a biscuit," she repeated indicating the array of biscuits. In a past life, he remembered expecting to be whipped or caned by Professor McGonagall and had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He felt just as confused and wrong-footed as he had done on that occasion.
Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge's note and looked very serious, "Harry, you need to be careful." He swallowed his mouthful of Ginger Newt and stared at her. Her tone of voice was not at all what he was used to; it was not brisk, crisp, and stern; it was low and anxious and somehow much more… human than usual, "Misbehavior in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than house points and a detention."
Harry nodded mutely, "You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting." The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around was the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move, "It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow," Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note again, "She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge."
"But I was telling the truth!" said Harry, outraged. "Voldemort is back. Even Dumbledore admits it freely!"
"For heaven's sake, Potter!" said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily, having winced at the sound of Voldemort. Harry was sure that her reaction was a more habitual reaction than actual fear, "Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control!" She stood up, nostrils wide and mouth very thin and Harry stood up, too. "Have another biscuit," she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him, "Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?'
"Yeah," said Harry, "Yeah… she said… progress will be prohibited or… well, it means that… that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall eyed him closely for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk, and held open the door for him. "Well, I'm glad you listen to your friends at any rate," she said, pointing him out of her office.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts," muttered Harry to himself, "Situation Normal: All Fucked Up." He shook his head, sometimes, even Dudley could get things he knew nothing about right.