Percy Jackson and the Department of Mysteries

54) R-E-S-P-E-C-T Take Care, TCB (Read In Aretha Franklin Voice)

I made it to Umbridge's class a few minutes early, in order to hand in my lines. My hand was still stinging, but I didn't acknowledge it, and neither did Umbridge.

Umbridge was still wearing the same fluffy pink cardigan. She smiled at me, in a sort of sickening way. It wasn't kind, but it wasn't cruel. It was just... hungry. Today, somehow, it seemed she didn't look like a toad as much. Her eyes were that of a snake's, cold and calculating, watching.

The flower I had bloomed in my leave the night before was sitting on her desk, having been moved to perch in front of the class room. It had wilted again, though this time it seemed more burnt than dried out.

"You can sit right there, Mr. Jackson," Umbridge said, unmistakably pointing at the seat closest to her.

"I'd prefer to sit back there," I motioned towards a desk in the back.

"Why?"

I thought about it for a moment, then calmly answered, "Because I don't like you."

"Ah, well, I'm afraid the feeling is mutual," Umbridge wasn't taken aback in the slightest. "That is why I want you to sit right here." She pointed again at the desk. "I do believe I need to keep an eye on you, after all."

"Dreadful sorry to be the one to tell you this, but most of us young folk call that pedophilia. Do you know what that is?"

Umbridge's sick smile had vanished, replaced with a sneer of disgust, "I would never associate with one of you in that way, Mr. Jackson. Sit down."

I sat down.

The you had definitely not been intended to mean a minor (though I sincerely doubt she would have been interested in minors, it had just been a jab). It had been laced with venom and hatred.

A demigod, she had meant. Hidden beneath the hatred she wore for us as the ones pronouncing Voldemort's rise was a hatred for demigods.

I shouldn't have been surprised, really. A lot of the pure bloods harbored hatred for anything that wasn't pure, and we were half breeds (as mentioned kindly by Walburga Black on many occasions). We were creatures of evil.

I sat in silence for a few minutes as people filed in. After pausing for a moment in the doorway, my friends received an apologetic look from me. They shrugged, then joined me. Hermione sat beside me, Harry and Ron behind.

My peers were silent as they filed in, unsure of what to think of Umbridge. She was an unknown to them.

"Well, good afternoon!" Umbridge finally said when the class sat down, that sick smile back on her face.

A few people (not including any of my friends) muttered, "Good afternoon."

"Tut, tut," Umbridge shook her head lightly (she probably didn't want to risk losing her big black bow). "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," My peers chanted. I was not among them.

Umbridge locked eyes with me, "Mr. Jackson, the rest of your class said good afternoon. Why don't you say it as well?"

"Because I don't want you to have a good afternoon," I drawled.

"And why is that, Mr. Jackson?" Umbridge straightened, eyeing me dangerously. She didn't want me to disrespect her in front of the class. She was giving me a choice.

Respect me, and I will let you be. Disrespect me, and I will make sure your time at Hogwarts is quite unpleasant.

"I already told you, Dolores," I spoke quietly, though my voice sounded clear. "I don't like you."

"And now why is that, Mr. Jackson?" Umbridge had a good poker face, but her lips were pressed tightly together.

If you respect me now, all past actions will be forgiven. I will ignore you, and you will respect me.

"Because I can't find it in me to respect a woman who dresses like she wants to be Elle Woods," I thought I would regret my decision the moment I made it, but I didn't. She was a tyrant, and I wasn't going to be the one to kneel at her feet.

"Detention, Mr. Jackson," Umbridge said, sort of breathlessly. She licked her lips nervously, as if this action hadn't been accounted for.

"No, Dolores," I said, speaking so lowly no one but the two of us could hear (and maybe Hermione, but she was too intrigued to interrupt. "Not tonight."

Umbridge straightened, took in a breath, and said, "Speak with me after class, Mr. Jackson."

"Gladly," I said.

If Umbridge had noticed the newly bloomed blue flower on her desk when she turned to address the rest of the class, she didn't say a word.

In Chemistry, I cheated on this one assignment. The teacher, after looking at the papers to see if they were completed, started talking about how cheating doesn't help you learn. The problem is, I know that. I cheat either when I can do it or when I can't. This time it was that I can't. I don't want to practice this work to ultimately get the wrong answers. I'll be practicing it the wrong way. I know I won't be able to remember the order to do stuff. I'm aware of my limitations, and the formulas are too similar for me to accurately remember in such a short period of time. I feel a little bad, though. Not bad enough. I'd rather not practice than practice the wrong way. Tomorrow, I don't think we'll be doing much, because the juniors have to take the ACT. I'm excited for that. I also have a hair appointment. Maybe I'll show you guys. I probably won't. (It would not be a face reveal. I'm not really interested in doing that).

Anyway, I hope you guys have had a magnificent Monday, and I'll see you on Wednesday CT. Love ya!