Facing Danger
Chapter 8: Love, Hate, Marry, Date (Year 5)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 8: Love, Hate, Marry, Date
"It was a lovely ceremony," Corona told Aletha the morning after the wedding. "Very traditional. But I would have thought..."
"You can say it," said Danger, accepting a plate of breakfast from Winky. "We’re notoriously difficult to insult."
Corona colored up nonetheless. "Well, with your... background, and the way some of...I mean, some people treat you, and how that must make you feel..."
"Do you mean you hadn’t expected a Muggleborn to want a traditional magical wedding?" Aletha asked.
Corona nodded.
"You can call it greed if you like." Aletha smiled. "This way, Sirius has to buy me two anniversary gifts."
Molly and Corona laughed, while Danger looked speculative.
"But I suppose I was also admitting to myself that there’s a part of Sirius that goes beyond what I’ve always known of him," Aletha continued. "He did grow up as a pureblood, and that means the earliest things he saw and knew were all in that tradition. The things you learn when you’re very little are part of you in a way that’s almost impossible to overcome. Since they’re not in any way wrong, what’s the matter with taking a few of them and using them ourselves?"
"I never thought of it in that way," said Corona.
"It takes time, and distance, before the pain goes away enough that you can think rationally about things you’ve left behind," Molly said quietly. "And it won’t happen on its own. You have to work at it. Don’t force it, dear. Remember the good times, and let the bad ones go." She sipped at her tea, then put it down. "You did have good times, didn’t you?"
"Of course I did," said Corona with a tinge of heat. "I loved school. And even the season was seldom bad, so long as my friends were there. But as soon as we had left school, most of them were married, and by the time I saw them again, they were exactly what their husbands wanted them to be."
"I don’t like the sound of that," said Danger.
"You shouldn’t." Corona’s eyes were far away. "If I think about it in the abstract, without my friends’ faces on those women, it could all be some colossal joke. Historically, women have had great freedom in magical society. Women made many of the greatest discoveries, women held important jobs and worked as hard as men—and yet, the people among whom I was born insist that women be subject to their husbands."
"And the husbands insist too, don’t they?" Aletha asked.
"Oh, yes." Corona smiled bitterly. "Why should they not? They have learned from their own fathers how to behave, and so the cycle continues."
"But not forever," said Molly. "Not even close. People are starting to pack up and leave, Corona, and well before they’re thrown out. What Sirius did was marvelous, I’m not disparaging it at all, but he was a rebellious teenager. You are a woman grown, and correct me if I’m wrong, but before this, you had never given your grandmother even a moment’s cause for alarm."
"She did wonder why I kept inventing excuses to keep from being married, but she was sure it would come in time," Corona said with a wan smile. "The most frightening thing about what happened to my friends is that they were part of it. They were eager for it. Most of them chose their own husbands, and they seemed to enjoy what happened to them, to welcome it."
"We might be able to break the purebloods out of their little insanities while we’re fighting this war," Danger said flippantly. "If by no other means than by removing all the perpetrators."
"That’s horrible," said Aletha.
"So is what’s happening to those women," Danger shot back. "And so will this triple-damned war be."
xXxXx
"Ridiculous!" The shout echoed through the house.
"Professor McGonagall," said Neville, looking up from his Potions text. "Should we go downstairs and say hello?"
"She doesn’t sound like she wants to see anyone just now," said Hermione, but she was already marking her place and closing her book.
"Absolutely ridiculous!" Professor McGonagall was stalking up and down the hall, looking as if she wanted to throw things. Mrs. Longbottom stood near the front door, her face carefully neutral. "Teaching me—me—to...to..."
"To what?" Ron asked from the stairs.
"To teach," Professor McGonagall snapped. "The Ministry of Magic has decided that teachers—all teachers, regardless of their age or experience—will not be allowed to remain in the schools unless they have attended a conference, designed to teach them how to teach. And, of course, they hand down this ruling two days before the opening of school! Sabotage is what it is, deliberate sabotage!"
"Minerva, the conference is only one day," Mrs. Longbottom said delicately. "I think we can all live through one day."
"One day, yes." Professor McGonagall came to stand near the wall which had once held Mrs. Black’s portrait. "This year. What of next year, or the year after that? Must I allow my summers to be taken up by overfed, overeducated fools who think they know more about my profession than I do, even though their last time in a classroom was likely as a student—one of my students?"
"Speaking of your students," Mrs. Longbottom began, waving towards the stairs, but Professor McGonagall wasn’t listening.
"And to add to that, this new post—a Liaison was humiliating enough, as if Albus weren’t perfectly capable of owling Fudge, but an Inquisitor? What, I ask, has ever been done at Hogwarts that would warrant such treatment?"
"Dumbledore does not fall precisely in line with Fudge’s policies," said Mrs. Longbottom loudly, "and Fudge is a badly scared man. Despite what he says out loud, he knows that Albus Dumbledore does not lie and is very seldom mistaken. Fudge wants nothing less than to be caught in the middle of another war—except to lose his position and prestige, all the more because he has already lost them once."
"And thus, Hogwarts must play host to one of Fudge’s toadies, and attempt to keep from becoming just another branch of the Ministry," Professor McGonagall said bitterly. "At least Albus was able to block Fudge’s first brilliant idea. Thank you again, Alice, I have no idea how I would have survived a year of calling that disgusting woman my colleague."
Mrs. Longbottom discreetly cleared her throat and nodded towards the stairs.
"What—oh!" Professor McGonagall seemed startled to see the Pride. After a moment of confusion, she looked directly at Harry. "You heard none of this," she said briskly.
"None of what, Professor?" Harry said.
Professor McGonagall nodded in satisfaction. "However," she added, "you may pass along that a new post has been added to the staff at Hogwarts. Madam Dolores Umbridge, a secretary to the Minister of Magic himself, has been graciously spared from her duties in the government to join us as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor." Her tone was mocking.
"What are they inquiring into, Professor?" Ginny asked.
"Anything and everything," said Professor McGonagall coldly. "Including many things that they would have done better to keep their noses out of." She shook her head slightly. "However, you will address her as Professor Umbridge, and you will treat her with all the respect you give to your other teachers."
"Yes, Professor," said Draco, a wicked smile starting on his face.
"Make that more respect," Professor McGonagall said, looking sternly at him. "This is no laughing matter, Mr. Black. Dolores Umbridge is a powerful woman, and more powerful than ever with this new post." She made a shooing motion with her hand. "Go and finish your homework, all of you, I’m sure you’ve not done any of it yet this summer..."
xXxXx
"So what’s an Inquisitor anyway?" asked Ron when the Pride was redispersed over the floor in their den.
"Someone who asks questions," said Ginny. "Like you."
"Someone who asks questions for the government," Luna corrected. "Fudge has a lot of them, but they’re usually secret. They have powers like the people in those double-up-heaven stories."
Harry let this one pass. "So Fudge wants more power at Hogwarts," he mused. "I think I’m almost sorry for him."
"Why?" asked Ron. "Because Dumbledore could kick his sorry arse without even trying?"
"That’s part of it." Harry stood up and went over to the pull-up bars Moony had installed in the ceiling for them.
"What’s the other part?" Meghan asked.
"The other part..." Harry chinned himself and came down. "...is that..." Again. "...we could do it..." Again. "...without trying much harder."
"And that’s probably what he’s afraid of," said Hermione. "Fudge, I mean. He’s afraid Dumbledore could use us, could make us into something dangerous."
"Dangerous to who, though?" said Draco. "Dangerous to Voldemort, hell yes. Dangerous to Fudge...why would we bother?"
"He thinks he’s important," Luna said. "He has to, or his whole world falls down. He’s spent his whole life making himself important, and if he let anyone else be more important, he wouldn’t know who he was anymore."
"Sounds like Percy," said Ron.
"Not really," Ginny said. "Percy could be that way, but I don’t think he will. Not now."
Harry finished his tenth pull-up and dropped to the floor. "Have you heard from him at all?" he asked, flexing his arms. "From Percy?"
"Just a note a couple days ago," said Ron. "It said he’d got that place on the Minister’s staff after all...something about someone taking a higher position and leaving a place free for him..." He frowned. "Could it have been What’s-Her-Face, Umbridge, who left?"
"It could," said Neville. "It probably was. Dad says Fudge is getting paranoid. He doesn’t want anyone around him he can’t trust."
Ginny snickered. "He should never have hired a Weasley, then."
"Don’t ruin it for him," said Meghan. "Let Percy do that himself."
The Pride all laughed.
xXxXx
"So how’s married life?" Remus asked Sirius the night of the 31st.
"About the same as it was before. Were you watching the bouquet toss?"
"Yes."
"How did Ginny end up with it, exactly?"
"Luck. Danger wanted it, but Letha misjudged which shoulder to throw it over, and Ginny just happened to be in the right place."
"Are you sure it was luck?" Sirius sat down at the kitchen table. "Ginny’s been giving Harry some interesting looks lately."
"Don’t look now, but Harry’s starting to look back."
"I know. He asked me about her, very vaguely, of course, but it’s not hard to guess. I mean, what other girls does he know well? His sisters and Luna, and Luna’s taken."
"We do have some verification, you know," Remus reminded his friend. "Remember Danger’s first?"
"I remember. But that one said Ron and Hermione, too, if I’m thinking of the right one, and at the moment that looks about as likely as..."
"As James and Lily in our fifth year?"
"Point," Sirius conceded. "That particular pair did look about as likely to happen as a meteorite ending our Voldemort-problem."
"And yet, Harry exists. So I think it’s a bit early to be making decisions."
"True."
They sat in silence for a moment. Sirius broke it. "Lay you money Harry makes his move first."
"I won’t take it."
"One Knut? Just a friendly bet?"
"Not against Harry, no."
"You’re no fun."
"You’ve noticed. Go try your luck with Arthur."
"Are you crazy? He won’t know which way to bet."
"Yes, he will. Ginny’s much more proactive than Ron. She’ll have Harry tied up before Christmas, and that I will lay money on."
"Before Christmas? You’re on." Sirius dug in his pocket. "Name your stakes."
xXxXx
Platform nine and three-quarters was as busy and noisy as ever. The news that the wizarding world was at war again seemed not to have made much of an impact.
Harry, standing near the train as the other members of the Pride said their goodbyes, snorted at his own stupidity. Of course it hasn’t. Most of these idiots believe the tripe the Prophet has been printing for two months, about Dumbledore going senile and me being a pathological liar, and possibly insane to boot.
"Brian!" shouted a girl’s voice.
Brian Li turned quickly around to catch the shouter, a girl of Harry’s age whom Harry thought might be a Ravenclaw in his year. "Su!" They held each other in a tight hug for a moment before Brian let go. "How have you been?" he asked, holding the girl at arm’s length.
"Well, big brother. And you? Where have you been?" The girl looked Brian up and down. "All you told Mother and Father was that you had a place to go and things to do, and we haven’t heard from you since."
"I’ve been well. I’m doing important work, Su, very important. Have you been reading the newspaper this summer?"
The girl frowned. "Yes, but it seems so strange. Mother and Father aren’t sure what to believe."
"I’ll write to them tonight, but I can tell you now. The Prophet is wrong, Su, very wrong." Brian looked over his sister’s shoulder and beckoned to Harry tentatively. Harry nodded and started toward him, hearing footsteps at his shoulder before he’d gone more than a pace or two. Too light for the boys, too heavy for Meghan, wrong rhythm for Hermione or Luna...
"Do you know Harry and Ginny?" Brian asked his sister.
"Only by sight. We’ve never been introduced."
"Then allow me. Su Li, Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter. They’re part of what I’m part of now. Ginny, Harry, my sister, Su."
"Pleased to meet you," Ginny said, shaking the girl’s hand.
"Likewise. And you, Mr. Potter."
"Harry, please." Harry shook Su’s hand in his turn. "It seems wrong that I don’t know everyone in my own year. It’s not as if the school’s too large..."
"It’s the Houses," said Su certainly. "They’re good for promoting unity within themselves, but they divide us in other ways. When was the last time you saw two people from different Houses sitting together to eat?"
"Maybe that should change, then," said Ginny. "What do you think, Harry?"
"It won’t change as long as we have the House tables," Harry said. "We’re too used to them."
"So get rid of the House tables!" Su said emphatically. "Keep them for big feasts and the like, but have a lot of smaller tables instead of the four huge ones. Let people sit with their friends, no matter what House they’re from."
"It would be harder on the house-elves, though," Ginny pointed out. "How could they make sure everyone had what they wanted?"
"We all have legs," Su said impatiently. "We can get up and get platters from other tables. Or have one large serving table in the center, and everyone gets their food from there."
"I like that better," said Harry. "Then people won’t always be complaining because they didn’t get whatever they liked on their table. If we’re going to break with tradition, we should go all the way."
"Yes, that’s what I’ve always..." Su broke off, looking at Harry again. "You have a good mind for a Gryffindor," she said.
"You have a lot of guts for a Ravenclaw," Harry countered.
Su laughed. "So my big brother has a famous friend," she said. "And you’re not nearly as mad as the Daily Prophet says you are."
"No, he’s madder," said Ginny. "It just doesn’t show."
"Ginny!" Harry could feel his face beginning to redden.
"You’ll have to tell me more later," said Su speculatively. She looked back at Brian and suddenly hugged him again.
"Come on," Harry muttered to Ginny, pulling at her sleeve. "I think they want to be alone."
"I didn’t know he hadn’t been home for two months," said Ginny, shaking her head, once they were out of earshot. "I can’t even imagine."
"We stay away from home longer than that every year," Harry objected.
"But we’re at school. Our families know where we are, and they can visit us if they like. His parents had no idea where he was."
Harry smiled humorlessly. "Try having them know, and hate it, and not be able to change it."
"No thanks, I’ll leave that to you." Ginny grinned at him and scampered away as the train whistled.
Harry stood on the platform, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.
xXxXx
"Don’t tell me," said Draco in a long-suffering voice when Ron and Hermione returned from their prefects’ meeting. "Nott is our year’s prefect from Slytherin."
"Actually, that would be me," said a voice from behind Ron.
"Zabini," said Harry in greeting, standing up to shake Blaise’s hand. "How was your summer?"
"Uneventful. Yours?"
"Hard to describe."
"I’d imagine." Blaise stepped into the compartment. "May I?"
Hermione scooped up Crookshanks and sat down where he’d been. "If you can find a seat," she said.
Blaise seated himself across from Harry. "My mother takes the newspaper very seriously," he said. "She only let me come back to school because she thinks I’ll be safe in my dormitory, and that I can defend myself in the halls."
"From what? Me?"
"To be honest, yes."
Ron looked up from polishing his prefect’s badge with his sleeve. "So be a little more honest," he said. "Do you believe the Daily Prophet? Because if you do, there’s the door. You can leave, or I can help you out."
"Is he always this belligerent?" Blaise asked mildly.
"This is actually one of his better days," said Draco. "I think it has something to do with the hair. All that red means it leeched the blood out of his brain, so he’s got nothing left to think with."
"And yours is so pale because there’s no blood going to your brain at all," Ron retorted.
Draco clapped a hand to his chest. "A hit, a very palpable hit."
"Stop it," said Hermione wearily, stroking Crookshanks so that his rumbling purr filled the compartment. "Blaise, you don’t believe what the Prophet’s been printing, do you? It’s all rubbish. Harry’s telling the truth, and Fudge doesn’t want to admit it."
"Who would?" Absently, Blaise rubbed his own prefect’s badge with a corner of his robe. "It’s much nicer to think about pleasant things. But pleasant things won’t save us if there really is a war coming."
"There is," Harry said quietly. "It’s already started."
"Then you can count me your friend."
Harry got to his feet and held out his hand again. "We’re going to need friends," he said. "Welcome aboard."
They shook on it.
"Two," said Luna absently, looking out the window.
"Two what?" said Ron.
"Oh...two sheep."
Ron looked at Draco, who looked back at him with a shrug, as if to say, How should I know?
xXxXx
Meghan frowned, worried. "You haven’t seen Graham at all?"
Natalie shook her head. "We wrote a few times at the beginning of the summer, but not since then."
Meghan bounced on her toes. "I thought maybe his owl couldn’t find me," she said. "We’re staying at my grandmother’s house, and she made it Unplottable a long time ago, so I thought maybe...but if you didn’t get any letters either..."
"And I don’t think he’s on the train," Natalie added. "I’ve looked everywhere."
Meghan sucked on her teeth for a moment. "We’ll look for him at the Welcoming Feast," she decided. "And if he’s really not here, we’ll tell Professor McGonagall. She’ll know what to do."
"Do you think it’s...bad?" Natalie whispered. "With what happened to your brother..."
"But Graham’s a pureblood. He ought to be all right." Meghan spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. "He’s probably just in a compartment you missed."
"But Meghan, I looked everywhere! Twice!"
Meghan hugged her friend. "It’ll be okay," she said firmly. "It has to be."
"Why?"
"Because I say so, that’s why."
The girls shared a giggle, and everything was okay, at least for the moment.
xXxXx
"Three," Luna murmured, holding up a handful of Cauldron Cake crumbs for Pigwidgeon.
"What are you really counting?" Ginny asked quietly.
"Friends." Luna smiled as the tiny owl shook his feathers, sending crumbs everywhere. "We’ll need as many as we can get."
"No argument."
xXxXx
Harry backed out of the crowd, holding his cloak over himself and Meghan, who was clutching Hedwig’s cage close. As he turned, he caught his breath in shock.
"What is it?" Meghan asked, looking around.
"Thestrals," Harry breathed, recalling what Hermione had told them in second year. "I can see them now."
Meghan freed one arm from Hedwig’s cage to wrap it as far as it would go around Harry’s waist. "Neville says they’re ugly," she said as they walked forward. "Are they?"
"Very. They don’t have any meat on them—they’re just skin and bones..." Harry laughed at the sound of one of Danger’s favorite expressions coming from his mouth. "But really, they are. Here, feel." He handed Hedwig up to Hermione, who was already in the carriage, then took Meghan’s hand in his and guided it to the thestral’s side. The thestral snorted warningly.
Meghan jerked her hand back. "It’s smart," she said in surprise. "Not like a human, or even like a dog, but it’s smart."
"They can find any place that their riders need to go," said Neville, coming out of the crowd to join them, keeping a firm hold on the little toad-leash his father had made for him. Trevor dangled from a tiny harness on its other end with a sulky look on his wide toad face. "And they eat meat. Most animals that are smart do."
Meghan backed up a step. "Maybe I shouldn’t pet it anymore," she said.
"Maybe not," Harry agreed, offering Meghan his hand to help her into the carriage. "Since when do you like animals, Cap’n?"
"I thought I might as well learn about them, since I can see them," Neville answered, following Meghan in and holding out his hand to help Harry climb in after them. "They’re really almost as interesting as my Mimbulus mimbletonia."
Harry didn’t trust himself to answer this, so he let it go.
xXxXx
"Strange," Ginny said after the Sorting Hat had finished its song.
"What?" Harry asked.
"We were just talking to Su Li earlier about this. About how the Houses have become too divided." Ginny looked across the Great Hall as Professor McGonagall called the first name on her list ("Abercrombie, Euan!"). "And now the Sorting Hat says it too."
"The Sorting Hat has Gryffindor’s brains in it," said Harry, watching the boy squirm on the stool. "Maybe it knows something."
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"So what are we going to do about it?" Ginny asked under cover of the clapping.
"We?"
"We, the Pride. And you, the alpha of the Pride." Ginny gave him an appraising look. "You are the alpha of the Pride, last I looked."
"Yes, of course I am."
"And you are Harry Potter, Boy Wonder."
"No, I am..." Harry found his voice cut off by Ginny’s hand, just in time, as the clapping died away suddenly. If she hadn’t stopped him, he would have shouted out that he "was not" to the entire Hall.
I don’t need the Prophet’s help to look mad. I’m doing a bang-up job on my own.
"Thanks," he muttered as Ginny took her hand away.
"Any time." Ginny wiped her hand on her napkin. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"About what?"
"About what we were talking about. The way the Houses are separated."
"Why should I do anything about it? Why do you think I’ll be able to? Half the school probably thinks I’m going to attack them, and the other half knows better but would like to kill me anyway, because they have parents working for Voldemort..."
"That’s not true." Ginny applauded for "Baker, Jon" ("HUFFLEPUFF!") before going on. "Even if it was, that’s all the more reason you have to do something about it. If people see you working to unite the Houses, to do good things and make a difference, they’ll know you can’t be mad. And I don’t think half the school has Death Eater parents."
"So I exaggerated some. Who cares?"
"I do."
"You do?"
"I do." Ginny crossed her arms firmly. "Don’t start acting like nobody likes you and everybody hates you. You know it’s not true, and besides, worms don’t taste good."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"It’s a song." Ginny hummed the tune.
"Oh, that." Harry clapped for "Cauldwell, Amanda." ("RAVENCLAW!") "Ginny, has anyone told you recently you’re odd?"
"You just did."
"I mean...never mind."
"You mean never mind? I’ll remember that."
Harry leaned over to Draco. "Are all girls mad?" he asked conversationally.
Draco looked across the table at Hermione and Luna, then leaned closer. "Pretty much, yeah."
"Thought so."
xXxXx
As the desserts melted away from the golden plates, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet. "The usual start-of-term announcements will now commence," he said. "Those of you who have heard them before, I beg your indulgence for the repetition. Those who have not, please pay close attention, as they are important. Firstly, I would like to introduce two new additions to our staff. Joining us this year in the role of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts is Auror Alice Longbottom."
Mrs. Longbottom rose and inclined her head as the school applauded her politely.
"Second is a new position on our staff this year," Dumbledore went on as Mrs. Longbottom—Professor Longbottom, Harry corrected himself mentally—sat down again. "The Ministry of Magic, in response to recent events, feels that Hogwarts needs careful supervision, and has created the post of Hogwarts High Inquisitor to this end. Madam Dolores Umbridge joins us from the Ministry to take up this post. Although she teaches no subject, you will address her as Professor Umbridge, and treat her with the same courtesy and respect that you would me or any other teacher in this school."
"He’s looking at us," Ron said out of the corner of his mouth.
"He’s looking at the Gryffindors," Hermione corrected.
"We are Gryffindors."
"I mean all the Gryffindors."
"Shush," said Harry and Ginny together.
As Professor Umbridge stood up at her place, Harry got a good look at her.
I’d say she looks like a toad, but that’s rude to Trevor.
Professor Umbridge’s face was very wide and flat, with eyes that bulged most unattractively (as opposed to Luna’s, which gave her face its constant air of mild surprise). She wore a bright pink cardigan and a matching bow in her mousy hair, and she was beaming insincerely around the Great Hall as she acknowledged the unenthusiastic clapping.
Professor Dumbledore waited for the applause to die away, which didn’t take long, then continued. "Tryouts for Quidditch teams will begin..."
"Hem, hem."
Several hundred heads whipped back to Professor Umbridge, who hadn’t sat down. She was simpering girlishly at Professor Dumbledore. "If you don’t mind, Headmaster," she said in a breathy voice which grated on Harry’s nerves, "I had a few words I would like to say to our dear students."
Dumbledore inclined his head and seated himself, looking attentively at her.
xXxXx
"If this is a few words, I’m a Blast-Ended Skrewt," Ron muttered partway through Umbridge’s speech. "What is she even talking about?"
"Shh, I’m trying to listen," Hermione said absently.
Harry, too, was trying to listen, but it was hard going. Professor Umbridge had used more words with multiple syllables in the last five minutes than even the Pack usually used in a day, and the words twisted around each other in his mind. What did it mean to "understand that stepping forward is not always progress, or that not all progress is good progress," or to "acknowledge that only change which betters ourselves and our society should be encouraged, and that change which does not should be discouraged as quickly as possible"?
Luna was watching Umbridge quietly, her eyes half-shut. Harry leaned across the table. "What do you see?" he asked her in a whisper.
"Not much," Luna replied. "She’s not an Animagus, or someone else pretending to be her. There is a little red around her, though, and some of the red is redder than the rest of the red."
"Right. Thanks."
She makes less sense than Umbridge does.
Finally, Umbridge delivered herself of a triumphant-sounding conclusion and took her seat. Professor Dumbledore applauded her, as did Ron.
"What are you clapping for?" Hermione hissed. "That was horrible!"
"Because it’s over."
"Oh." Hermione let go of Ron’s wrist. "Good point."
"How was it horrible?" Neville asked. "It didn’t make sense."
"It made perfect sense..." Hermione looked around. "I’ll tell you later. I think we should den tonight."
"I think so too," said Harry. "I mean, seconded."
"All in favor?" said Draco.
"Aye," said six voices.
Meghan rapped the butt of her fork on the table. "Motion carried," she said in a deep voice.
The Pride cracked up.
When the announcements were over, the Hall began to buzz with chatter as people started getting up to make their way to bed. Ron started for the door, but Hermione stopped him. "We have to show the first years which way to go," she said. "Come on, help me."
"Oh. Right. Oy, midgets!"
"Ron!"
Harry took the opportunity to escape the Hall, the Pride behind him.
"Mr. Potter!" called a high-pitched voice as Harry emerged into the entrance hall.
Harry swore under his breath, plastered a smile on his face, and turned around. "Professor Umbridge," he said, bowing slightly.
Professor Umbridge stepped forward, her pink bow almost glowing in the torchlight, her smile as fake as Harry’s. "I just wanted to speak with you about your conduct last year, at the final task of the Triwizard Tournament," she said. "I was deeply saddened by it, and by its tragic conclusion."
Harry stiffened as her words hit home. "I never hurt Cedric Diggory," he said stiffly.
"I never said you did, Mr. Potter." Umbridge’s smile widened. "I merely wish to tell you that a new era has begun here at Hogwarts." Her voice was pitched to carry, and most of the school had stopped to listen to her. "Those who lie for their own gain, those who circumvent established and lawful authority, and those who give themselves a false sense of importance will not remain at this school for long."
"That’s wonderful, Professor," Harry said enthusiastically, matching her volume. "When are you leaving?"
The Gryffindors laughed outright. Ravenclaws tittered, Hufflepuffs snorted, and even a few Slytherins snickered. Behind him, Harry could hear the Pride having a collective fit, and Fred and Lee Jordan were guffawing halfway up the marble staircase, while George grinned at him. He only wished Ron and Hermione could have heard it.
The door’s open. Maybe they did.
Umbridge’s eyes, improbably, had widened even further. "I...I..."
Harry quickly donned his best "Who, me?" expression.
"I have never...never in all my years..." Umbridge recovered her power of speech. "Detention, Mr. Potter," she said breathlessly. "Detention with me, tomorrow night. At eight o’clock, in my office. This will not happen again."
"Yes, Professor." Harry made his voice as plaintive as he ever did when wheedling another piece of tart out of Danger. "May I please go to bed now, Professor?"
The laughter, which had showed signs of dying away, rekindled at this.
Umbridge’s flabby face was starting to turn a shade of maroon that Harry had become familiar with on Uncle Vernon’s face over the summer. "Yes," she said shortly. "Go."
"Nice work, Potter," whispered anonymous voices as Harry started for the stairs.
"She needed that."
"Keep it up."
"That," said Fred as Harry reached him, "was brilliant."
Harry turned to look at the Pride. Their wide grins spoke for them.
"He took mine," said Draco, pointing at Fred. "That was just amazing."
"Whatever she makes you do for detention, that was worth it," Ginny added.
Harry climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower feeling as though he’d won the first battle of the war.
xXxXx
Professor McGonagall was less thrilled.
"You call that showing more respect than you give to your other teachers?" she stormed at Harry the next day in her office, where she’d told him to come directly after breakfast. "You, of all people, must be careful around Dolores Umbridge, Potter!"
"Yes, Professor," Harry said. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, what I didn’t know was how bad it was. Hermione had made it quite clear in the Den that Umbridge had power at Hogwarts, and knew she had power, and was prepared to use that power to interfere with everything she could.
But what was I supposed to do? Lie down and take it?
McGonagall glared at him. "Don’t give me that. Do you understand what she could have done to you? What she could still do to you? The decree which gives her that position states that not even the Headmaster himself can overrule her decisions, and you have placed yourself permanently in her bad graces. This year is not about showing off how clever you are, Potter, or about who or what is right or wrong. This year is about surviving!"
Harry rocked back in his chair, appalled. "I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t know..."
"Obviously not." McGonagall’s look was stern. "Now you do."
"Yes, Professor." Harry looked at the rocky landscape painting on the wall, trying to work out how to word his next question. "Professor, may I ask you something?"
"Speak up."
"If someone...didn’t like Professor Umbridge. If someone wanted to let her know she wasn’t wanted here." Seeing understanding in McGonagall’s eyes, Harry plowed onwards. "If that someone decided to tell her how he felt in...in a traditional family style. For his family. Would you...I mean, what would..."
"Let me make things perfectly clear to you, Potter," said McGonagall, her eyes flashing as she leaned forward. "I will firmly punish any wrongdoers whom I catch, or whose wrongdoing can be proved to me. Do you understand me?"
Harry carefully did not grin. "Perfectly, Professor."
"Excellent. You may return to your class—History of Magic, I believe?"
Harry nodded.
McGonagall gave him a small smile. "Then your professor may not notice you were gone. If he does, feel free to tell him that you were with me."
xXxXx
Minerva McGonagall watched Harry Potter down the hall, then stepped back inside. A quick word with her great-grandmother, and a few minutes later, she was on her way up to Albus’ office.
"I’ve just allowed Harry Potter and his... Pride, is it?" she said without preamble as she entered, pausing only to make sure they were alone. "Whatever they are, I’ve given them free rein to make Dolores Umbridge’s life miserable, providing we don’t catch them."
"Minerva, really, I have no idea what could have possessed you to do that," said Albus gravely. "I must go on record as telling you to do no such thing."
"It’s too late now." Minerva sank into a chair. "Albus, what have we come to? You-Know..."
Albus gave her a stern look.
"Very well, Voldemort on the loose and absolutely nothing being done to stop him, a minor functionary like Umbridge dictating our every move, and Harry Potter has no idea of the dangers involved in tweaking her nose. I believe he thought he could get away with it!"
"In his own household, he would have been allowed to," Albus noted. "Or the punishment would have been light."
"And he has gone through four years of schooling without ever realizing that the rules are different here?"
"No, but he was provoked in the entrance hall, and he responded in his most deeply entrenched manner. One cannot argue with one’s earliest training, Minerva. I daresay you would still obey a command given to you by an authority figure of your childhood, or one given in that way. I trust you have explained to him that he must be more on his guard."
"I did." A small pop made Minerva look around. "Ah. Thank you," she said to the tea-towel-clad house-elf offering her a cup of tea. The house-elf bobbed a curtsey and disappeared again. "Albus, to be perfectly frank, I still do not entirely understand Harry, or any of his friends—his siblings, of course, are particularly obscure, but even the youngest Weasleys and the other two are beginning to take on the same characteristics. What is it about them? What am I missing?"
Albus sipped at the tea another house-elf had supplied to him. "I believe it is their response to authority," he said thoughtfully. "To authorities they perceive as legitimate, their obedience is... not absolute, and not unquestioning, but it runs very close to both of those. And their only test for legitimacy of authority is whether or not they have chosen that authority. You and I, luckily for us, are both authorities they choose to obey. Dolores Umbridge is emphatically not; thus, their response to her is to challenge her authority, in hopes of uprooting her."
Minerva blew on her tea. "Albus, is it ill-natured of me to hope that they succeed in that challenge, and soon?" she asked.
"If it is, I must share your ill nature, Minerva." Albus’ eyes were bleak. "I have seldom wanted anything so much as I want Dolores Umbridge gone from this school. She is a liability we can ill afford at this juncture."
They sat quietly for a moment before Minerva recalled something else that had been weighing on her mind. "Albus, before I forget, Meghan Black spoke to me this morning. She expressed concern about a friend of hers, a second year Slytherin named..."
"Graham Pritchard," Albus finished for her. "I had intended to speak to you and Severus about that matter today. I received a letter from Mr. Pritchard a few days ago, withdrawing his son from the school, citing differences with my politics." He opened a desk drawer, rummaged through it for a moment, then extracted the parchment he wanted and passed it across to Minerva. "Perhaps you can explain to Meghan better if you see the reasoning yourself."
Minerva took the letter and scanned it. "This is very messily written," she said. "As if his quill were badly trimmed..." She looked up. "Or as if someone under duress were attempting to send a hidden message."
"Do you think so?" Albus asked blandly. "That had occurred to me, I confess."
Minerva returned to her perusal of the parchment as a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in, Severus," Albus called.
Minerva barely noticed. Her mind was busy holding the letters which were worst blotted and placing them in order. S,O,N, son. T, A, K, E, N...
She looked up again as Severus Snape took a seat beside her. "See what you think," she said, handing the parchment to him.
Snape ran his finger along the lines once, then a second time, then a third. "Son taken," he recited the hidden message aloud, laconically. "Help me. Something no pureblood wizard would ask, were he not desperate."
Minerva huffed. "Are you surprised? The boy is twelve!"
Severus glared at her. "The boy is one of my students, Minerva. I am fully aware of his age, and of his current situation."
"And bickering will help neither him nor his father, nor does it reflect well on either of you," said Albus firmly. "We have several tasks ahead of us. We must first find the boy and rescue him, then convince his father to speak up."
"Unlikely," Severus said. "He will not want to admit publicly to an inability to keep his family safe."
"Nonetheless, he must speak." Minerva had heard that tone in Albus’ voice before, and it usually meant a difficult time ahead for the one spoken about. "For the good of all."
Severus’ face was skeptical, but he kept any comments to himself.
"What should I tell Meghan, Albus?" Minerva asked, recalling how she had originally entered into this topic.
"A twelve-year-old girl?" Severus said dryly. "And you have to ask if she should be told that her friend has likely been kidnapped by Death Eaters?"
"A twelve-year-old girl who once healed her brother of a mortal injury," Minerva snapped back, "a twelve-year-old girl who spent seven of those years keeping secrets even from her closest friends. A twelve-year-old girl who has spent her entire life knowing Death Eaters exist, and the sorts of things they can do. And a twelve-year-old girl who is not accustomed to being lied to."
Albus nodded. "Tell her the truth, Minerva," he said. "But ask her not to tell her friend, Miss Macdonald, who I am sure is also worried. You may give her the publicly available story for Miss Macdonald, and anyone else who may ask."
"Headmaster," Severus objected, "a sensitive piece of intelligence like this, given to a child not even in her teens yet?"
"Severus, Meghan Black is many things." Albus rose. "But one thing she will not be for much longer is a child. None of them will." His eyes held depths of pain Minerva couldn’t even begin to guess at. "War ages us all."
xXxXx
Meghan barely ate at lunch. "I wanted to know," she said finally. "But I didn’t want to know this."
"That’s the problem with wanting to know things," said Hermione, setting aside her soup. "You can’t un-know them afterwards, and you never know what they’ll be until you know them."
Meghan looked up with a little smile. "I know."
Hermione held out her arms, and Meghan came to her big sister, laying her face against Hermione’s shoulder. "Professor McGonagall said he’d only be scared," she said into Hermione’s robes. "She said they wouldn’t hurt him, because then his father wouldn’t do what they wanted."
"That’s right," Hermione confirmed. "That’s in Moony and Padfoot and Letha’s stories about the war, too, remember? The first war," she corrected herself ruefully. "It has to be the first war now, since there’s going to be a second war."
"There is a second war," said Neville from across the table. "Meghan’s friend’s caught in it. Dad’s in it every day. The Ministry just hasn’t caught on yet."
"And..." Ginny glanced around the Hall and lowered her voice. "Voldemort wants to keep it that way. The longer he can stay out of sight, the stronger he can get. And then my dad and yours, Neville, and your parents, Meghan, Hermione, have to go out and fight against people like Mr. Pritchard, who’re only fighting against us because people they love will get hurt if they don’t." She shook her head. "War is so stupid."
"Not if you don’t care who gets hurt," said Neville. "It’s the smartest way to get what you want, then."
Meghan lifted her head. "It’s kind of scary that you know how people think who don’t care if other people get hurt," she told her friend.
"Mum always says, know your enemy." Neville grinned. "And Dad always says it’s easier to kick his arse that way."
"And then what?" Hermione asked.
"Then Mum yells at Dad for swearing in front of me, then Dad tells Mum I probably knew those words before they ever woke up so it’s not his fault, then they have a big fight and kiss and make up..." Neville shrugged. "Usual stuff." His smile returned. "And there are days I still can’t believe it happened to me. Especially around the holidays—I wake up and wonder if we’re going to go visit Mum and Dad at St. Mungo’s today, and then I remember."
"That must be great," said Meghan, sitting up. "Remembering, I mean."
"You can’t even imagine," Neville said quietly. "And I can’t ever thank you enough."
"You already did." Meghan blew him a kiss. "But I’ll always listen again."
"Get a room, please," said Ginny, picking up her sandwich. "Some of us are trying to eat here."
xXxXx
Harry arrived at the door of Professor Umbridge’s office a little before eight, trying to swallow the nervous feeling in his throat. This was ridiculous. He’d had detention with Snape before; this couldn’t possibly be any worse.
Could it?
He knocked.
"Come in!" Umbridge’s sickly-sweet voice called.
Harry opened the door, stepped inside, and nearly gagged. Professor Umbridge’s decorating style ran about the same as her clothing. Everything that could possibly be pink was pink. If it wasn’t pink, it was draped in doilies. Quite a lot of things were both. On the wall behind her desk hung a row of decorative plates, each painted with a jewel-toned kitten with alarmingly large eyes, all of which were gamboling in meadows and batting at butterflies.
"Ahh, Mr. Potter. Do close the door, please, I don’t want any nasty drafts getting in." Umbridge was sitting behind her pink-draped desk, her flabby hands folded in front of her. Though her face was polite, she positively reeked of self-satisfaction and gloating, which wasn’t helping Harry’s stomach any. "You’ll be over there, at the small table, writing lines. I want you to write ‘I must not be pert.’"
"How many times, Professor?" Harry asked politely, going to sit at the table.
"We’ll discuss that later, Mr. Potter. For now, let us just say that I want the message well engraved on your mind." Umbridge gave a little giggle which set Harry’s teeth on edge. "You’d better get started."
Harry picked up the quill lying on the table and looked at it. It was long and black and very sharp. For some reason, it made him think of Padfoot and Letha...
Wearing his best robes, standing very tall, listening to girls sniffle and watching Padfoot sign his name on the wedding contract without wincing, even though the long black quill was magically cutting the words into the back of his hand as he wrote...
Harry blinked and looked at the table in front of him again. "Professor, I don’t see any ink here," he said, turning in his chair. "And I didn’t bring any with me."
"Are you sure?" Umbridge’s smile was definitely nasty now, and her scent echoed it.
"Yes, Professor, I’m sure."
"You’ve just earned yourself another night in detention, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said briskly, "and I can make it three if I hear any more backtalk out of you. To work."
"Professor, I can’t write lines without ink."
"Yes, you can, Mr. Potter, and you will. Three nights."
Harry bit down on a curse and turned back to the parchment. Might as well get it over with. What was it again? I must not be pert?
He set the quill on the parchment and began the upstroke of the I.
Pain seared across the back of his writing hand, and he hissed involuntarily, sucking in his breath. How did Padfoot do his whole name without even flinching?
The hiss was repeated behind him, and Harry caught a whiff of eagerness and enjoyment.
What the...
He inhaled again, to make sure he hadn’t mistaken the scent, but it was stronger the second time.
She likes it. She did this on purpose, because she likes hurting people.
Several of Padfoot’s more colorful metaphors came to mind.
Harry looked down at the quill, then at his hand. The gash the quill’s magic had opened was closed now, but the skin there still throbbed, as though it had only just been healed, and the curved line was just visible, slightly redder than the rest of his skin.
I am a Marauder.
If Marauders don’t like the games, they change the rules.
And I don’t like this game one little bit.
Harry turned the quill over and over in his hands, trying to find the proper phrasing for what he was about to say.
"Why do I not hear the scritch-scratching of a little quill from over there, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge called petulantly. "If I don’t start to hear it, I’m going to get testy, and that might mean a fourth night here with me. You don’t want that, now do you?"
Harry took a deep breath, set down the quill, and turned around. "Professor, I’m not going to write lines with the quill you gave me," he said. "I’ll write them with my own quill if you like, but I won’t use that one."
Umbridge stared at him. Harry had the odd feeling that no one had ever told her "no" to her face before. "You...won’t...use it," she repeated slowly. "You refuse to use my quill."
"That’s right, Professor."
"You refuse to write lines with my quill."
"That’s right, Professor." Harry didn’t like the smile spreading over Umbridge’s face, the way her breathing was starting to speed up, or the way she was exuding raw jubilation. "I’ll do them with my own quill if you want me to..."
"No, no, I don’t think that will be necessary," said Umbridge briskly, standing up. "But you’ll be coming with me, Mr. Potter. Quickly now, come along!" She clapped her hands.
Harry stood up and started out the door.
"Move along, move along," Umbridge chided him, beckoning coquettishly. "We don’t want to keep the Headmaster waiting!"
Dumbledore? Then I should... Harry turned, meaning to pick up the quill as evidence of his story.
"No, no, no, Mr. Potter, quickly!" Umbridge had her hands on her hips. "Do you know the meaning of the word quickly?"
"Yes, Professor." Harry dawdled his way out of the room.
"Then show me that you know!" Umbridge set off for the Headmaster’s office, moving surprisingly fast for such a short woman. "You’ll have to keep up!" she called over her shoulder. "Don’t fall behind, now, and don’t try to run off and hide, or I’ll have to get cross with you..."
Harry kept pace easily, trying not to laugh. She’s taking me to the Headmaster over a detention. What happened to all that authority Professor McGonagall said she had?
He rubbed the back of his hand, smiling. And what kind of idiot did she think I was? Who would be dumb enough to sit there and cut his hand open with that thing, just because she said so?
The smile was still on his face as Professor Umbridge knocked at the door of Dumbledore’s office, as Dumbledore told them to enter, as Umbridge opened the door and ushered Harry in.
"Dolores," said Dumbledore, standing up. "And Harry...what a pleasant surprise."
"I’m afraid it won’t be pleasant for long, Dumbledore," said Umbridge, a great deal of poorly suppressed glee leaking into her tone and her scent. "I’m terribly sorry to inform you of this, but a few moments ago, Mr. Potter refused to perform my very simple detention task of writing lines. I attempted to reason with him, but he remained adamant. I’m afraid—and as Hogwarts High Inquisitor, I have this power—I’m afraid that Mr. Potter’s actions leave me no course but to expel him from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Author Notes:
Greetings everyone. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Not permanent bad news, but bad news nonetheless. Due to RL commitments, there will be very few updates (quite possibly none) through the month of November and into the beginning of December. Fortunately, things clear up drastically around Christmas-time, and they won’t be this bad again for a while. My apologies, and I’ll try to get at least one or two side story updates in without dropping any other commitments. Thanks!
And before you ask, yes, I really did have to leave you on this bad a cliffhanger.