_______ ✿☾☆♫ _______

_______ ✿☾☆♫ _______

⚡︎
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟗
ᵗᵃᵐⁱⁿ'ˢ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵈᵉᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ

"ᴡᴇ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ
ʜᴇʀ ʙɪɢ ꜰᴀᴛ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ sʜᴜᴛ
ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ."

𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 at top speed that morning. Not wasting a minute extra in the room before he flew out of the room, slamming the door close with a little more force than necessary.

"Does he think he'll turn into a nutter if he stays in a room with me too long?" Asked Harry loudly, as the hem of Seamus's robes whipped out of sight.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Dean muttered, hoisting his schoolbag onto his shoulder. "He's just . . ." But apparently he was unable to say exactly what Seamus was, and after a slightly awkward pause followed him out of the room.

Neville and Ron both gave Harry it's - his - problem - not - yours looks, but Harry was not much consoled. How much more of this was he going to have to take?

"What's the matter?" asked Hermione five minutes later with Tasmin, catching up with Harry and Ron halfway across the common room as they all headed toward breakfast. "You look absolutely — oh for heaven's sake."

She was staring at the common room notice board, where a large new sign had been put up.

𝑮𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑵𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑮𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑺!
Pocket money failing to keep pace with
your outgoings?   
Like to earn a little extra gold?

>————————✵————————<

Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs (ᴡᴇ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪs ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴀᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀɴᴛ's ᴏᴡɴ ʀɪsᴋ).

"'Virtually painless?'" Tasmin read aloud.

"They are the limit," Said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign, which Fred and George had pinned up over a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend in October. "We'll have to talk to them, Ron."

Ron looked positively alarmed. 

"What? Why me?"

"Because we're prefects Ron! It's our duty to prevent stuff like this from happening!"

Ron said nothing; Harry could tell from his glum expression that the prospect of stopping Fred and George doing exactly what they liked was not one that he found inviting.

"Anyway, what's up, Harry?" Hermione continued, as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their own conversation. "You look really angry about something."

"Oh, other than the fact that most of the Wizarding world thinks nothing but a liar and a nutter, I'm great." Harry exclaimed angrily.

"Yes . . . Lavender thinks that too. That you're lying about You - Know - Who's return."

"Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention - seeking prat, have you?" Harry said loudly.

"No actually." Said Hermione calmly, "We told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down Ron, Tasmin, and I's throats, Harry, because if you haven't noticed, we're on your side."

"Sorry." Harry quietly whispered. Rather embarrassed that he kept on bursting with anger, that he kept on jumping to conclusions and that he kept on yelling at his three closest friends.

"That's quite all right," said Hermione with dignity. Then she shook her head. "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the end - of - term feast last year?"

Tasmin nodded while Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly, and Hermione sighed again.

"About You - Know - Who. He said, 'His gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust —'"

"— How do you remember stuff like that?" Ron asked while looking at Hermione with a profound admiration.

"It's because she listens Ron, unlike you." Tasmin remarked. It was just now, that Harry had properly taken a look at the girl that day. She looked and sounded awfully tired. He couldn't help but think that maybe it was somehow his fault. Even though of course that made remotely no sense.

"So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what —"

"— The point," Hermione pressed on loudly, "is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You - Know - Who's only been back two months, and we've started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat's warning was the same — stand together, be united —"

"— And Harry said it last night," Ron retorted. "if that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins, fat chance." He scoffed.

"Well, I think it's a pity we're not trying for a bit of inter - House unity," Said Hermione crossly.

They had reached the foot of the marble staircase. A line of fourth - year Ravenclaws was crossing the entrance hall; they caught sight of Harry and hurried to form a tighter group, as though frightened he might attack stragglers.

"Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that." said Harry sarcastically while giving Hermione a rather annoyed glare.

They followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly - Plank was chatting to Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was once again conspicuous only by his absence. The enchanted ceiling above them echoed Harry's mood; it was a miserable rain - cloud gray.

"Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly - Plank woman's staying." He said, as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table.

"Maybe . . ." said Hermione thoughtfully.

"What?" said both Harry and Ron together.

"Well . . . maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here."

"What d'you mean, draw attention to it?" said Ron, half laughing. "How could we not notice?"

Before Hermione could answer, a tall black girl with long, braided hair had marched up to Harry.

"Hi, Angelina."

"Hi," she said briskly, "good summer?" And without waiting for an answer, "Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."

"Nice one," Congratulated Harry, grinning at her; he suspected Angelina's pep talks might not be as long - winded as Oliver Wood's had been, which could only be an improvement.

"Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in."

"Okay," said Harry, and she smiled at him and departed.

"I'd forgotten Wood had left," said Hermione vaguely, sitting down beside Ron and pulling a plate of toast toward her. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"

"I s'pose," said Harry, taking the bench opposite. "He was a good Keeper . . ."

"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?" Offered Ron.

With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. Hedwig was nowhere to be seen, but Harry was hardly surprised; his only correspondent was Sirius, and he doubted Sirius would have anything new to tell him after only twenty - four hours apart. He looked over to see Tasmin with her owl Amara. She was rather hurriedly opening a white envelope. He assumed it was a letter from her parents. If only he could be so lucky. As for Hermione, she had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way for a large damp barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak.

"What are you still getting that for?" Harry asked rather irritably, thinking of Seamus, as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl's leg and it took off again. "I'm not bothering . . . load of rubbish."

"It's best to know what the enemy are saying," said Hermione darkly, and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until Harry, Ron and Tasmin had finished eating.

"Nothing," she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. "Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything."

Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out schedules.

"Look at today!" groaned Ron. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted . . ."

"I might have to join you Ron." Tasmin grimaced. She was certainly not looking forward to double DADA and potions.

"Do mine ears deceive me?" questioned Fred in mock disbelief, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Harry. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"

"Look what we've got today," said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."

"Fair point, little bro," said Fred, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."

"Why's it cheap?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," replied George, helping himself to an untouched kipper from Tasmin's plate.

"Cheers," said Ron moodily, pocketing his schedule, "but I think I'll take the lessons."

"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."

"Says who?" said George, looking astonished.

"Says me," Hermione retorted. "And Ron."

"Leave me out of it," said Ron hastily. Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.

"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione." said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet.

"You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."

"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?" Asked Hermione.

"Fifth year's O.W.L. year," said George.

"So?"

"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," said Fred with satisfaction.

"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," said George happily.

"Tears and tantrums . . . Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint . . ."

"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" said Fred reminiscently.

"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pajamas," said George.

"Oh yeah," said Fred, grinning. "I'd forgotten. . . . Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"

"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth." George warned.

"If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow."

"Yeah . . . you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron.

"Yep," said Fred unconcernedly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."

"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year," said George brightly, "now that we've got —"

He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings he had given them.

"— now that we've got our O.W.L.s," George said hastily. "I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."

"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand."

"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?" asked Hermione skeptically.

"You're going to need all the ingredients and materials — and premises too, I suppose . . ."

Harry did not look at the twins. His face felt hot; he deliberately dropped his fork and dived down to retrieve it. He heard Fred say overhead, "Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione. C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.

Harry re - emerged from under the table to see Fred and George walking away, each carrying a stack of toast.

"What did that mean?" said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron then to Tasmin. "'Ask us no questions . . . '"

"It could mean that they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?" Tasmin offered.

"You know, I've been wondering about that," said Ron, his brow furrowed. "They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons . . ."

Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters.

"D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?"

"Oh yeah," said Ron. "Bound to be, isn't it? O.W.L.s are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what N.E.W.T.s you want to do next year."

"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?" Harry asked the other three, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterward and set off toward their History of Magic classroom.

"Not really," said Ron slowly.

"Except . . . well . . ." He looked slightly sheepish.

"What?" Harry urged him."Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," said Ron in an offhand voice.

"Yeah, it would," said Harry fervently."But they're, like, the elite," said Ron. "You've got to be really good. Like Tasmin's dad or mad - eye for example."

"Tasmin?" Ron asked. The girl looked up at the mention of her name. "Well, like you both, I would rather love to be an Auror. Like my dad."

"What about you Hermione?" She asked.

"I don't know," said Hermione. "I think I'd really like to do something worthwhile."

"An Auror's worthwhile!" the trio defended.

"Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I mean, if I could take S.P.E.W. further . . ."

Harry, Ron and Tasmin carefully avoided looking at each other.

𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by Wizard-kind. Professor. Binns, their ghost teacher, (who people suspected somehow didn't know he was dead) had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes in this subject only by copying Hermione's notes before exams; she alone seemed able to resist the soporific power of Binns's voice.

Today they suffered three - quarters of an hour's droning on the subject of giant wars. Harry heard just enough within the first ten minutes to appreciate dimly that in another teacher's hands this subject might have been mildly interesting, but then his brain disengaged, and he spent the remaining thirty - five minutes playing hangman on a corner of his parchment with Ron, while Hermione shot them filthy looks out of the corner of her eye.

"How would it be," she asked them coldly as they left the classroom for break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"

"We'd fail our O.W.L.s," said Ron. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione . . ."

"Well, you'd deserve it," she snapped. "You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"

"We do try," said Ron. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration — you're just cleverer than we are — is it nice to rub it in?"

"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way out into the damp courtyard.

A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the yard looked blurred at the edges. Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner toward them.

"Hello, Harry!"

It was Cho Chang and what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her by herself to ask her to the Yule Ball.

"Hi," said Harry, feeling his face grow hot. At least you're not covered in Stinksap this time, he told himself. Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"You got that stuff off, then?" She asked referring to the stinksap.

"Yeah," said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. "So did you . . . er . . . have a good summer?"

The moment he had said this he wished he hadn't: Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday almost as badly as it had affected Harry's. . . . Something seemed to tauten in her face, but she said, "Oh, it was all right, you know . . ."

"Is that a Tornados badge?" Ron demanded suddenly, pointing at the front of Cho's robes, to which a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold T was pinned. "You don't support them do you?"

"Yeah, I do." Said Cho, mildly confused at Ron's sudden outburst of questions.

"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" said Ron, in what Harry considered an unnecessarily accusatory tone of voice.

Tasmin shoved Ron's shoulder rather roughly, causing him to stumble slightly. Harry smiled slightly at that.

"Sorry about him." Tasmin apologised.

"It's fine." Cho replied uneasily. Anyway, if you really care to know, I've supported them since I was six," Answered Cho coolly. "Anyway . . . see you, Harry."

She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.

"You are so tactless!" She yelled. Hitting him with her bag after every word.

"What? I only asked her if —"

"— Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?"

"So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping —"

"— What on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team for?"

"Attacking? I wasn't attacking her, I was only —"

"— Who cares if she supports the Tornados?"

"Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season —"

"— But what does it matter?"

"It means they're not real fans, they're just jumping on the bandwagon —"

"That's the bell," said Harry listlessly, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snape's dungeon, which gave Harry plenty of time to reflect that between Neville and Ron he would be lucky ever to have two minutes' conversation with Cho that he could look back on without wanting to leave the country.

And yet, he thought, as they joined the queue lining up outside Snape's classroom door, she had chosen to come and talk to him, hadn't she? She had been Cedric's girlfriend; she could easily have hated Harry for coming out of the Triwizard maze alive when Cedric had died, yet she was talking to him in a perfectly friendly way, not as though she thought him mad, or a liar, or in some horrible way responsible for Cedric's death. . . . Yes, she had definitely chosen to come and talk to him, and that made the second time in two days . . . and at this thought, Harry's spirits rose. Even the ominous sound of Snape's dungeon door creaking open did not puncture the small, hopeful bubble that seemed to have swelled in his chest. He filed into the classroom behind Ron and Hermione and followed them to their usual table at the back, ignoring the huffy, irritable noises now issuing from both of them.

"Settle down," said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him.

"Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my . . . displeasure."

His gaze lingered this time upon Neville, who visibly gulped.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."

His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year.

"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students."

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy - handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing." On Harry's left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of the utmost attentiveness. On his right, Tasmin had her head in her palm, lazily flicking her wand around, barely paying attention to what the man was saying. "The ingredients and method" — Snape flicked his wand — "are on the blackboard" — (they appeared there) — "you will find everything you need" — he flicked his wand again — "in the store cupboard" — (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) — "you have an hour and a half. . . . Start."

Just as Harry, Ron, Hermione and Tasmin had predicted, Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in counterclockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.

"A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion," called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.

Harry, who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. His own cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark gray steam; Ron's was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they had gone out. The surface of Hermione and Tasmin's potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapor, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant that he could find nothing to criticize. At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, looking down at Harry with a horrible smirk on his face.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?"

The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry.

"The Draught of Peace," said Harry tensely.

"Tell me, Potter," said Snape softly, "can you read?"

Draco Malfoy laughed.

"Yes, I can," said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.

"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."

Harry squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multicolored steam now filling the dungeon.

"'Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.'"

His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes.

"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"

"No," said Harry very quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No," said Harry, more loudly. "I forgot the hellebore . . ."

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco."

The contents of Harry's potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron.

"Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing," said Snape. "Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."

While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. His potion had been no worse than Ron's, which was now giving off a foul odor of bad eggs, or Neville's, which had achieved the consistency of just - mixed cement and which Neville was now having to gouge out of his cauldron, yet it was he, Harry, who would be receiving zero marks for the day's work. He stuffed his wand back into his bag and slumped down onto his seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape's desk with filled and corked flagons. When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and had already started his lunch by the time Ron, Hermione and Tasmin had joined him in the Great Hall. The ceiling had turned an even murkier gray during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows.

"That was really unfair," said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Harry and helping herself to shepherd's pie.

"She's right you know." Tasmin supplied as she sat down next to Ron opposite Harey. "Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire." she said with a smirk on her face while thinking back to the memory.

"Yeah, well," said Harry, glowering at his plate, "since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"

Neither of the others answered; all four of them knew that Snape and Harry's mutual enmity had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts.

"I did think he might be a bit better this year," said Hermione in a disappointed voice. "I mean . . . you know . . ." She looked carefully around; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table. ". . . Now he's in the Order and everything."

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," said Ron sagely. "Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You - Know - Who?"

"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," snapped Hermione.

"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," said Harry heavily, as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. "Can't you give it a rest?" he said. "You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad." And abandoning his shepherd's pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there.

He walked up the marble staircase two steps at a time, past the many students hurrying toward lunch. The anger that had just flared so unexpectedly still blazed inside him, and the vision of Ron and Hermione's shocked faces afforded him a sense of deep satisfaction. Serve them right, he thought. Why can't they give it a rest? . . . Bickering all the time . . . It's enough to drive anyone up the wall. . . .

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍 the Great Hall, Ron, Hermione and Tasmin all sat with shocked faces. "I suppose he's somewhat right." Hermione spoke earnestly.

"Didn't mean he had to blow up in our faces though. Again." Ron huffed out.

"Hermione's right Ron." Tasmin said cautiously, not wanting to anger the red - head further.

"So you agree?" He asked, dropping his fork which created a loud clattering sound against his plate. Eyes from all throughout the room turned to them.

"I'm just saying that maybe you should try to argue less. Especially with how he's been lately."

"I would of thought you'd be quick to defend him." said Ron while he picked up his fork again and began to eat his food once more.

"You know what, I don't have time for this." Tasmin spoke all while giving Ron a slight glare. "I'm going to go look for him. Make sure he's alright."

"'Make sure he's alright?'" Ron questioned. "He's not the one who's been having his head bit off constantly by his friends."

Tasmin ignored Ron and stood up, picked up her bag, swung it around her shoulder and made her way through the Great Hall without another word.

Hermione just sat there watching Ron as he ate, glowering at the boy.

"What?" He asked. Hermione stayed silent and began to eat her food. Not a word being spoken between the two.

𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 taken about ten minutes for Tasmin to find Harry, but when she did, he was sitting alone by the trap door of the divination classroom.

"You alright?" She asked.

Harry immediately looked up, only to see Tasmin standing there with a uneasy look on her face.

Almost instantly, angry and hate - filled thoughts made their way into Harry's head. "Did they send you to check up on me? You don't have to follow me around you know. In case you didn't notice I'm quite capable of looking after myself."

"No, I came here by my own accord actually."

"I don't need some kind of babysitter to constantly watch me."

"I know that I just —" The girl began only to be interrupted once more.

"— Did you all talk about me after I left? If so I'm surprised if you were even able to manage to get a single word in. With them two always arguing it's hard too."

" — Harry. It's not like that at all. I just wanted to see if you were alright. But if you're going to jump to conclusions all the time and not let me get a single word in then I'll just leave."

Harry quietened down. All the insults and rude words he was ready to hurl out instantly disappeared from his brain as though they were never there in the first place.

"Now, are you done?" she asked.

Harry nodded. He didn't mean to start yelling, he didn't mean to get frustrated with her, Ron and Hermione. Tasmin was the last person he'd want to be mad at.

"Good." she supplied with a subtle smile on her face. Taking off her bag, she then sat down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I am definitely not looking forward to having that Umbridge woman." said Tasmin with a small grimace on her face, her eyes shut. "How was she like at your trial? she asked.

Harry thought for a moment. Umbridge most certainly hadn't been pleasant. Then again neither was Fudge. Apart from her annoying voice, frog - like face, brightly coloured clothes and overly - bubbly personality, she seemed somewhat alright. As soon as those thoughts came to his head, Harry immediately made them go away. What was he thinking? That woman was foul and her teaching methods would probably be no better. He nearly got expelled because of her. Noticing he hadn't replied to the girl's question yet, he merely said, "Foul." voicing one of this earlier thoughts.

She laughed at that and Harry found himself reminiscing at the sound. "Sounds about right."

The two spent the rest of the remaining lunch hour talking and laughing. Harry hadn't felt this light and carefree in a while. Not even with Ron and Hermione.

When he didn't receive a response to his previous words, he looked over to see Tasmin with her eyes closed. Assuming she was asleep, Harry dared not to move an inch, not wanting to wake the girl up. She after all did look quite tired earlier. Only beginning to move when the bell rang and students became filling down the corridors. Harry lightly nudged her shoulder. Tasmin's eyes fluttered open, only to find Harry staring back at her. Almost immediately, she realised she had fallen asleep. "Oh! Oh I'm sorry Harry." She apologised.

"No problem." Harry replied. "I only woke you up because the bell rang."

"Divination right?"

Harry nodded in response.

"Great." She spoke with a high level of sarcasm. "I wonder which one of us is going to die this year."

Harry chuckled slightly at that.

The two climbed the silver ladder with Harry insisting that he carry the girl's bag. They were the first to enter the room unfortunately enough.

Their professor was a thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, she always reminded Harry of some kind of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes. She was busy putting copies of battered, leather - bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Harry entered the room, but so dim was the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low - burning, sickly - scented fire that she appeared not to notice him as he took a seat in the shadows. The rest of the class arrived over the next five minutes. Ron emerged from the trapdoor, looked around carefully, spotted Harry and made directly for him, or as directly as he could while having to wend his way between tables, chairs, and overstuffed poufs.

"Hermione and me have stopped arguing," he said, sitting down beside Harry.

"Good," Grunted Harry.

"But Hermione says she thinks it would be nice if you stopped taking out your temper on us," said Ron.

"I'm not —"

"— I'm just passing on the message," said Ron, talking over him.

"But I reckon she's right. It's not our fault how Seamus and Snape treat you."

"I never said it —"

"— Seriously, you three are beginning to give me a headache, stop arguing!" Tasmin whisper shouted to the trio, more so Ron and Harry.

"Good day," said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, and Harry broke off, feeling both annoyed and slightly ashamed of himself again. "And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely — as, of course, I knew you would."

"You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your O.W.L. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so . . ."

Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations.

"Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on."

The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. At the table next to Harry and Ron, Dean had paired Neville, who immediately embarked on a long - winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat; Harry and Ron merely looked at each other glumly.

"I never remember my dreams," said Ron. "You say one."

"You must remember one of them," said Harry impatiently.

He was not going to share his dreams with anyone. He knew perfectly well what his regular nightmare about a graveyard meant, he did not need Ron or Professor Trelawney or the stupid Dream Oracle to tell him that.

"Well, I had one that I was playing Quidditch the other night," said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. "What d'you reckon that means?"

"Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something," said Harry, turning the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest.

Ron only looked confused. Not wanting another argument to disperse, Tasmin swapped seats with Ron.

"Okay, so tell me Potter, what have you been dreaming about lately?" Tasmin questioned. Harry thought the girl sounded much like Rita Skeeter. All she needed was a quick quotes quill and notepad.

Again, realising he hadn't answered her question, Harry found himself rather stuck. He couldn't exactly tell her that he'd dreamt that she'd been attacked and murdered by someone or something unknown. That he saw her own mother crying over her daughter's dead body. Again, that would probably only scare her off. Harry most definitely didn't want that. Instead, he avoided the question. "Why don't you tell me what you've been dreaming about?" He asked.

"Secretive? Okay." She hummed slightly while racking her brain. "To be honest, I don't actually remember my dreams. Once I wake up their gone from my mind completely." The girl replied. Harry found that he hadn't got as impatient or annoyed at the girl sat across from him as he had at Ron. He frowned slightly at the thought.

"This is a bunch of nonsense if you ask me." Tasmin groaned while placing her head on the table, face down. "I just want to go my dorm and sleep."

"Well we only have double defence against the dark arts next."

Sighing, the girl moved her head upwards to face the boy. "Don't remind me Harry."

Not long after, the bell had finally rung. Everybody in the room immediately getting up from their seats and rushing out of their seats. Tasmin and Harry were the last two out and were about to leave, except a voice stopped them.

"Mrs. Barlow." Professor. Trelawney called making the brunette turn around.

"Yes professor?"

"Could I have a word?" She asked. The woman looked to Harry with her big eyes, motioning for him to wait outside. "Go, I'll only be a minute."

Tasmin looked to Harry sending him a look. Harry only smiled in response and gave her a somewhat reassuring smile.

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐃 found himself waiting outside for at least five minutes. They were definitely going to be late for Umbridge.

When Tasmin finally exited the room, she had a dazed expression on her face.

"Oh. You're still here? I would of thought you'd have left by now."

"Yeah, but I figured I might as well wait." she smiled at that. "You okay though?" Harry asked.

"Yeah." The girl answered.

"What did she say?" He questioned.

"She just said that 'A great loss will soon befall upon your family.' What do you suppose that means?"

Harry's heart sunk. He knew that their Divination professor was never often right about her predictions, but she had somewhat been right about the grim back in his third year. He had in fact seen the grim that year (even if it technically was just Sirius in his animagus form, she was still right). And with everything going on right now with Voldemort's return, the war brewing and people disappearing, who knows what could happen? Harry settled for a more calm response though, he didn't want to worry the girl more than she was already.

"I don't think what Professor. Trelawney said is actually going to happen. I mean, look at how many times she's been wrong."

"I suppose you're right. Thanks Harry."

"No problem."

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 door, Harry noticed that all eyes were on both him and Tasmin. This only in turn reminded him of his hearing. From all of the people present, to Umbridge at the head of the room, glowering at him subtly.

"Ah, Mr. Potter and Miss. —?" Umbridge stopped, her eyes focused on the girl stood next to Harry.

"Barlow." Tasmin answered. At that, the woman's eyes shone with a glisten on familiarity. She didn't let it show however and directed them to their seats.

"Mr. Potter and Miss. Barlow, care to explain why you were late to my lesson. On your very first day might I add." she spoke with her annoyingly high - pitched voice. Her beady eyes not once backing down from the two. Harry was about to speak but Tasmin beat him to it. "It's my fault Professor, we just had Divination you see and our Professor called me back to speak with me."

Umbridge stayed silent as though deliberating Tasmin's excuse. "About what may I ask?" she then questioned the Gryffindor.

"Oh uhm, it's kind of private you see —"

She put a hand up to silence the girl. "I've heard quite enough Miss. Barlow. I'm sure whatever it was was not that important for you to miss almost ten minutes of your lesson." Tasmin glared at the woman. "I myself will go to your professor and ask what it was that was holding you back."

Harry immediately decided that he hated the woman even more than before.

"Aren't you just making us waste even more time by speaking with us when you could be teaching." Harry spoke. All eyes turned to Harry, including Umbridge's. "And why, Mr. Potter were you late? I haven't heard from you yet."

"That's because you didn't ask." Harry lazily replied.

If it was even possible, the woman seemed to be turning the exact shade of her cardigan, a bright bubblegum pink. "Now Mr. Potter, you wouldn't want a detention on your first day now would you?" She asked with a faux kind smile on her face. Harry shook his head. "I didn't think so. Now, why were you late?"

"I was waiting for my friend." Harry answered.

"This friend wouldn't happen to be Miss. Barlow would it?"

Harry said nothing. Instead, he too, just glared at the woman in pink.

"Judging by your silence I'm going to take that as a yes Mr. Potter. As I recall this isn't your first time you've been late is it?" Umbridge circled back round to the stand at the front of the room and summoned a quill and started to write something down on a piece of, what looked to Harry, pink parchment. Harry knew she was referencing his hearing a couple of weeks back.

"Now, since Mr. Potter and Miss. Barlowe were late, perhaps someone would like to share with the class what we were talking about?" Nobody raised their hand, not even Hermione, who was sitting next to Ron looking gloomier than Harry had ever seen her before in a class.

"No?" Umbridge questioned. "Well perhaps I'll start from the beginning then." she said while getting her wand out and using it to write something on the black board.

Defense Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor. Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry - approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory - centred, Ministry - approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:

Course aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she said, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?" There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

"I think we'll try that again," said Professor. Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"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 with those pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read.

It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor. Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. On the desk next to him, Ron was absentmindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked over and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor. Umbridge with her hand in the air.

Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. He looked at her questioningly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor. Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.

After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor. Umbridge's eye than to struggle on with "Basics for Beginners."

When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor. Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor. Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor. Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"And your name is — ?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor. Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor. Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine why you would need to use defensive spells in my classroom, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron asked loudly.

"What's the point in that?" Tasmin asked confusedly.

Ignoring Tasmin, Umbridge looked to Ron. "Students will raise their hands while speaking to me  Mr. — ?"

" — Weasley." Ron replied.

Professor. Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor. Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry - trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" Asked Professor. Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.

"Well, no of course not but —"

"— Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk - free way —"

"— What use is that?" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a —"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" sang Professor Umbridge.

Harry thrust his fist in the air but Professor. Umbridge promptly turned away from him again, but now several other people had their hands up too.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to Dean.

"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 Thomas angrily, "he was the best we ever had!"

"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," Hermione said, "we just —"

"— Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"

Hermione put up her hand; Professor. Umbridge turned away from her.

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you —"

"— Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Tasmin hotly.

"Mind you, we still learned loads —" Dean tried to finish.

"— Mr. Thomas, Miss. Barlow, your hands were not up!" Trilled the professor once more. Anger clear on her face. "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, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?" she questioned making s good point. All the students in the room muttered words of agreement.

"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 before?" 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 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 now reaching boiling point.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

"Hmm, let's think . . ." said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice, "maybe Lord Voldemort?"

Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool and from the corner of his eye Harry saw Tasmin once again wince slightly at the name. His guilt, however, only lasted a couple of seconds before his anger came bubbling up again. Professor. Umbridge, however, did not flinch. 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 toward 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, "but yeah, he's 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's not a lie! I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention! Mr. Potter!" Umbridge yelled. "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. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"

Professor. Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half - scared, half - fascinated.

"Harry, no!" Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.

"Harry! What are you doing? Please sit down! You're only making it worse for yourself!" Tasmin tried to convince the boy. Harry ignored the girl, he wasn't going to sit down.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.

There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night that Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor. Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident." She said coldly.

"It was murder." Harry countered back, matching the woman's tone. He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly talked to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

Professor. Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment he thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."

He kicked his chair aside, strode around Tasmin, Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next.

Professor. Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, much like the one she had written on earlier, 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.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," She said, holding out the note to him.

He took it from her without saying a word and left the room, not even looking back at Tasmin, Ron and Hermione, and slamming the classroom door shut behind him.

The professor sighed. She regained her composure by putting on another faux friendly smile. "Now, let's get back to work shall we?" She asked to no one in particular.

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐃 very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand, and turning a corner walked slap into Peeves the Poltergeist, a wide - faced little man floating on his back in midair, juggling several inkwells.

"Why, it's Potty Wee 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."

"Oooh, Crackpot's feeling cranky," Joked Peeves, pursuing Harry along the corridor, leering as he zoomed along above him. "What is it this time, my fine Potty friend? Hearing voices? Seeing visions? Speaking in" — Peeves blew a gigantic raspberry — "tongues?"

"I said, leave me ALONE!" Harry shouted, running down the nearest flight of stairs, but Peeves merely slid down the banister on his back beside him.

"Oh, most think he's barking, the Potty wee lad,
But some are more kindly and think he's just sad, But Peevesy knows better and says that he's mad —"

"SHUT UP!"

A door to his left flew open and Professor. McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.

"What on earth are you shouting about, Potter?" she snapped, as Peeves cackled gleefully and zoomed out of sight. "Why aren't you in class?"

"I've been sent to see you," said Harry stiffly.

"Sent? What do you mean, sent?"

He held out the 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 here, Potter."

He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him.

"Well?" said Professor. McGonagall, rounding on him.

"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 - Named is back?"

"Yes." Harry winced slightly, this was not making him sound good.

Professor. McGonagall sat down behind her desk, frowning at Harry. Then she said, "Have a biscuit, Potter."

"Have — what?"

"Have a biscuit," she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin of cookies lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. "And sit down."

There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor. McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Hoping this was one of those times, he sank into a chair opposite her and helped himself to a Ginger Newt, feeling just as confused and wrong - footed as he had done on that occasion.

Professor. McGonagall set down Professor. Umbridge's note and looked very seriously at Harry.

"Potter, you need to be careful."

Harry 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."

"What do you — ?"

"— Potter, use your common sense," Snapped Professor. McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner.

"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 came 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.

"Every evening this week!" Harry repeated, horrified.

"But, Professor, couldn't you — ?"

"No, I couldn't," said Professor McGonagall flatly."But —"

"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's back, you know he is, Professor. Dumbledore knows he is —"

"For heaven's sake, Potter!" said Professor. McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily (she had winced horribly when he had used Voldemort's name). "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 he stood too.

"Have another biscuit," she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him.

"No, thanks," said Harry coldly.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.

He took one.

"Thanks," he said grudgingly.

"Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start - of - term feast, Potter?"

Harry thought back to that time, he spent the majority of it talking to Tasmin. "Yeah," He lied. "Yeah . . . she said . . . progress will be prohibited or . . . well, it meant that . . . that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts." Harry answered, trying to remember what Hermione had said earlier on.

Professor McGonagall eyed him for a moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk, and held open the door for him.

"Well, I'm glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate."

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 of the bell ringing brought everyone out of their silent daze of reading Defensive Magical Theory. Immediately, they al packed their bags and hurried out of the classroom. Tasmin halted when she head the professor call her name. "Miss. Barlow, do you think you could stay back for a moment?" Tasmin groaned internally. The girl looked back to the professor, then to Ron and Hermione who were waiting for her by the door. "Uhm, go ahead you two, I shouldn't be too long. Go find Harry or something." She made a motion for the duo to to go. They only nodded in response, both sending her a weary look. Tasmin smiled in acceptance.

Turning to the woman, Tasmin walked back to the professor sitting at the front of the classroom. "You needed to speak to me professor?" She asked with a small frown on her face. Although it seemed as though Umbridge didn't notice as she just placed her teacup down onto the surface of her desk and looked up to the Gryffindor with a slight smile on her face. "You know I do not tolerate lateness Miss. Barlow. As well as speaking without your hand up. You, Miss. Barlow, have done those two very things in the space of less than an hour."

"But —"

She held up a hand in order to silence the girl. "— No interruptions. Now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to issue you a detention."

Tasmin's eyes grew as wide as saucers. Her breath caught in her throat. "What?" She managed to choke out. "But that's not fair!"

"I'm afraid life isn't fair Miss. Barlow."

The girl glared at the woman sat in front of her. Never had she hated someone this much.

"You will be serving your detention at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. This will continue for the rest of the week. If the message doesn't sink in by then and you still continue to be late, we will continue it on for another week. Do you understand Miss. Barlow?"

"Yes, I understand." She muttered through gritted teeth.

"Good." Umbridge smiled. "Now, take this and be on your way. You are to give this to Professor, McGonagall later on in the day." She handed Tasmin a small piece of pink paper encased in an envelope which was also pink (shocker).

The Gryffindor took it from her hand and stormed out of the room, closing the door rather harshly behind her. It only took her a couple of minutes to make her way to Professor. McGonagall's office. She rapped on the door roughly, not caring about the pain it caused her knuckles. The door swung open to reveal said professor and Harry in one of the chairs by her desk. "Miss. Barlow, may I ask what you're doing here?" She seemed surprised to see her there as she rarely, if not never, got in trouble. Tasmin didn't reply and handed her the envelope. The professor only sighed and took it out of her hands, and reading it in her head, she sighed in disappointment.

"You too Miss. Barlow?"

"It would seem that way professor." she chuckled slightly, although the transfiguration professor did not find it nearly as amusing as Tasmin did.

"Come on in Miss. Barlow." Professor. McGonagall spoke while gesturing for the girl to enter the room too. She sat in the empty chair next to Harry and softly smiled at him, glad to see the boy.

BEAUTIFUL GIF MADE BY sporadicstarsx

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