-CHAPTER EIGHT-
~not-so-sweet dreams~
AFTER A ROUGH NIGHT of death plagued dreams with scared little kids wavering in and out, Viola was not at all refreshed when she woke up the next morning. Hermione was already awake, sitting on the edge of her bed and fixing her tie, the other girls finally beginning to rise too.
Viola lifted her arms up in a stretch before rubbing at her eyes— as if that might rid herself of the tiredness she was feeling. The cool air from the dorm hit her once she pulled back the duvet, and she gathered her uniform from the foot of the bed before making her way to the bathroom where she got ready.
She sat on the chilly tile floor of the bathroom as she tugged on her tights. She was dreading going down to breakfast— the train had been bad enough, even with its confined compartments and sheltering doors, and the feast last night had brought with it the usual chattering excitement of a new year, taking at least some of the attention off of Viola and Harry.
But breakfast in the Great Hall? That was asking to be whispered about, glanced at through accusatory eyes.
Even with all of last year, being one of the centres of attention from having to compete in the tournament, she still hadn't grown used to it. While Harry had become accustomed to shrugging off the gazes and ignoring comments— or, at least, was better at feigning unbotheredness than her— Viola was still having difficulty not snapping at any criminating, lingering looks. And with eyes watching from all over, it was extra pressure not to crack; Everyone already seemed to think she was crazy, and she was not giving them a real reason to.
When she got back to the dorm and began putting her pyjamas back in her trunk, Hermione said, "I wonder what our timetables will be like this year."
"As long as History of Magic isn't first thing," said Viola. "I might actually fall asleep, and I've got to start taking notes this year."
"Glad someone else will be," said Hermione. "Ron and Harry always quit paying attention and expect me to give them all of mine."
"Reckon I might start asking next week. I always zone out and get lost, so notes never make sense." Viola grinned lazily, stifling a yawn. "Your badge looks good, by the way."
"Oh," said Hermione, smiling and raising a hand to touch her prefect's badge, "thank you! Anyway, we should probably get down to breakfast and get the timetables."
"Good idea," said Viola, sighing heavily and grabbing her robe from her bed. She heard a snicker from the other side of the room as she tugged it on, and was met with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil shooting her furtive looks, hands pressed to their mouths.
Perhaps it was the fatigue coroding the rational part of her mind, but Viola— before she could stop herself— said, "If you've got something to say, don't be shy."
Parvati went into a fit of giggles as Lavender smirked, though her cheeks turned pink. "Oh, nothing..." she said, "just that you've been in a lot of Daily Prophet articles recently. Well... you and Harry. Have you seen them?"
"You mean the ones making me out to be a liar?" Viola retorted. "Yeah, might've spotted a couple."
Lavender giggled. "Well, they're telling the truth, aren't they? It's obvious that he's not really back. I mean... everything you've said has been a bit... um... fake."
Hermione scoffed; Viola had almost forgot she was still there, half expecting her to have gone down to meet Ron and Harry already. "Keep your big mouth shut about them. They're telling the truth— not that you'd know much about that when all you care about is gossip."
She pursed her lips before Lavender could respond, then said, "Come on, Viola," and led the way to the door, down to the common room.
"Thanks," Viola muttered as they descended the stairs.
"It's rubbish," said Hermione. "If they had a shred of awareness they'd see what's really dancing around right in front of their noses. The amount of evidence!"
Viola was glad for Hermione's unrestrained rambling as she followed after her. She was not in much of a mood for talking, and Hermione seemed to have enough in her for the both of them.
They waited for about five minutes when Ron and Harry finally came down the stairs from the boys' dormitories, the latter looking miserable, the former uncomfortable.
''What's the matter?" Hermione asked them as she and Viola vacated their waiting spot next to the fire. "You look absolutely— oh for heaven's sake."
She was staring up at the notice board, where a vividly bright sign had been posted. It was Fred and George's doing, an advertisement for some sort of job they wanted done.
"They are the limit!" Hermione said angrily, pulling the sign down. "We'll have to talk to them, Ron."
"Why?" he questioned.
"Because we're prefects! It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!"
Ron looked unhappy as they stepped through the portrait hole; clearly he was not as confident in this new role as Hermione.
"Anyway, what's up, Harry?" Hermione asked after Ron said nothing. "You look really angry about something."
"Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who," explained Ron.
Hermione sighed. "Yes, Lavender thinks so too."
"Been having a nice little chat about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?" said Harry.
"Actually, she stuck up for you... us," said Viola. "In case you haven't noticed, whoever's calling you a liar feels the same way about me."
"Exactly," said Hermione calmly, "and it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down our throats, Harry, because if you haven't noticed, we're on your side."
"Sorry," he said quietly at a short pause.
"That's quite alright," said Hermione dignantly. "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the end-of-term feast last year?" When she was met with silence, she continued, "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—'"
"Do you take notes during Dumbledore's speeches or something?" Viola asked.
"No, I just listen."
"So do I," said Ron, "but I still couldn't tell you exactly what—"
"The point," Hermione pushed, "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 untited—"
"And Harry said it last night," interjected Ron, "if that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins, fat chance."
"Well, I think it's a pity were not trying for a bit of inter-House unity."
"Look, some of the Slytherins are alright," said Viola, thinking back to last year when two of them had come across her in a corridor, letting her know that they believed she didn't enter herself in the tournament, "but if you're talking about Malfoy or any of his cronies..."
"Well, perhaps not Malfoy, but—"
"Not any of the ones in our year," said Viola. "Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Bulstrode... I was partnered with Parkinson for a Potions project once, and when I tell you she can give Malfoy a run for his money with the amount of insults she shoots every minute..."
They reached the foot of the marble staircase, where a gaggle of Ravenclaws were crossing the entrance hall. When they caught a look at Harry and Viola, they quickened their pace and stood closer together as if frightened of an attack.
"Guess the Ravenclaws are off the table too," Viola said grimly.
After getting a spot at the table for breakfast— and ignoring the looks from all over— Viola poured herself a bowl of Cheeri-Owls and started digging her spoon around the bowl miserably. She had a feeling this year at Hogwarts wasn't going to be filled with much laughter or care-free fun. Not that last year had been— but now with the threat of everything looming over her, Viola was more desperate for surety than ever.
"Hi, Angelina," said Harry.
Angelina, a seventh year Gryffindor, had marched up to the table, tiredness etched onto her face, but otherwise looked in good enough spirits. "Hi, good summer?" She didn't wait for an answer and ploughed on, "Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."
"Nice one," said Harry.
"Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. And there's a Chaser position open. Tryouts are Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, alright? Then we can see how the new people will fit in."
"Okay," said Harry; Angelina smiled at him and departed.
"I'd forgotten Wood had left," said Hermione. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"
"I s'pose," said Harry. Viola felt it coming before he even turned to her. "Viola— there's a Chaser position open."
"Is there?" she said, scooping up some cereal before letting it drop back down into the bowl. "Well, that'll be interesting, seeing who gets it."
"Come on," he urged, "just try out. What's the worst that could happen?"
"Technically speaking, I could fall from my broom hundreds of feet in the air and die, so..."
"That's not going to happen."
"Are you a Seer?"
"No, but—"
"Well, then," she said, smiling pleasantly at him, "the future is uncertain to both of us."
"You play Quidditch?" asked Ron. "You never told me."
"I've played before," said Viola, shooting Harry a pointed look, "which doesn't mean I'm any good."
Harry sighed as the loud clatter of owls came soaring into the Hall, bringing the morning post. Hermione was the only one out of them to receive something, and cleared away some goblets and plates to make a landing spot for a small bird.
"What are you still getting that for?" Harry asked, watching as Hermione placed a Knut into the leather pouch of the delivery owl, taking a copy of the Daily Prophet.
"It's best to know what the enemy are saying," said Hermione, flipping through it before declaring that there was nothing useful.
Viola finished her bowl of cereal just as Professor McGonagall arrived in front of them, a stack of timetables in her hand.
Viola almost broke down into tears right there, in the middle of the Hall, as she looked down at the awful piece of paper. The dread stabbed through her body, and seeing that History of Magic was the first class certainly didn't help any of the dejection she had been feeling recently.
This wasn't going to be a good year.
~•~
The damp courtyard held an aura of melancholy, as if the drab clouds impending above were taking in all of Viola's thoughts, mourning the absence of happiness she was feeling. They reflected her mind, murky, obscuring the beauty that really lay beyond, blocking the sunlight— or in Viola's case, answers— from shining through, penetrating the thick blanket of nescience.
She had a strong longing to go home—but wasn't too sure where that was anymore. Her house certainly didn't fit the criteria, and where Hogwarts usually offered her the comfort and security she longed for, it was lacking now, the castle seeming bigger and more isolating than ever. Even Grimmauld Place, surrounded by all the Order members, just felt odd. There, she was with people who had known each other for much longer than she had. They were a family, and she was the outsider— imposing on their love because she was such a failure to her own.
The flashes of yellow uniform were no aid to these menacing thoughts, sending her back to the graveyard no matter how much she tried to focus on the moment she was in. It was like her nightly dreams— she had almost come to dread going to sleep, that same nightmare plaguing any peaceful dreams nearly every night.
She wanted out, needed an escape from her brain that seemed so desperate to torture her, hold her accountable for letting Cedric die, not doing anything to help. She was being held prisoner to the guilt, the burden she was now left to bear, with no way out of the hellhole she had dug herself into.
"Hello, Harry!"
Viola barely realised they had taken shelter from the beginnings of rain until the new speaker— Cho— approached them. Or more, it seemed, approached Harry.
"Hi," said Harry, and Viola could spot the red rising up onto his face.
"You got that stuff off, then?" she asked, referring back to yesterday on the train with Neville's Mimbulus Mimbletonia.
"Yeah," said Harry, forcing a grin. "So did you... er... have a good summer?"
Viola watched the interaction with an extra weight of misery in her stomach. She didn't understand why seeing Harry send that stupid smile at Cho was like a punch to the gut, but she hated it.
"Oh, it was alright, you know..."
"Is that a Tornados badge?" Ron demanded suddenly, pointing at Cho's robes. "You don't support them, do you?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" he asked accusingly.
"I've supported them since I was six," said Cho coolly. "Anyway... see you, Harry."
When she was finally out of earshot, Hermione rounded on Ron. "You are so tactless!"
"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 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?"
"There's the bell," Harry muttered, since Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it.
Viola sighed, adjusting the button on her cloak as they set off to the dungeons, Ron and Hermione still arguing behind them, as Harry's awestruck gaze at Cho lingered in her mind.
~•~
Viola opted to return to her dormitory for lunch, insisting to the others that she was just tired. In reality, all she wanted was to finally escape the focus of the students, get out of the steady spotlight that was so determined to follow her everywhere.
But there was only a small clutter of first and second years in the common room, so after dropping the books she didn't need anymore on her bed, she retreated back downstairs and sank into one of the squishy armchairs by the fire.
She stared hard at the dancing flames, feeling the tepid air that hit her from where she sat at a distance. She let her mind wander to all she had discovered about her family over the summer. The stuff she had pushed to the back of her mind after not being able to come up with any answers.
Her parents had betrayed the Dark Lord... all because of the death of William... and that was the easy part, despite her not even fully comprehending it. With all the new factors thrown into the equation— some secret about her father, the words he had spoken to her that night after the argument with her mother in the living room...
It was overwhelming, the amount of it that was slowly eating away at her. She just wanted answers— everything was so complicated, too complicated, and there was no one to go to, no parent or parent figure to turn to. Nobody to tell her it would be okay, to give her a hug and assure her it would work out.
"Ron and Hermione won't stop arguing, so I thought I'd— are you alright?"
Viola blinked hard, tearing her eyes from the fire. Harry was standing above her, brows furrowed as he took in her— obviously— troubled expression.
"Yeah," she said quickly, sitting up straighter. "Great."
"Are you sure? Because you seem a bit... er..."
Viola fiddled with her fingers as she contemplated pushing out the words that rested on the tip of her tongue. Something she had been wondering for a while... Without looking up, she said, "Do you get... nightmares too?"
She could imagine the taken aback look on his face, the whirring of his mind as he thought. "Yeah..." he said quietly. "Yeah, er... sometimes."
"What are you supposed to do about them?" she asked helplessly. "I just want an off button, something to just make them stop."
"That would come in handy," said Harry, "but of course nothing can ever be easy."
Viola smiled humourlessly. "I guess not."
There was a beat of silence before Harry said, "I sometimes do something to... er... help me realise I'm actually wake."
Viola looked up at him; he was watching the fire, flames reflected in the lenses of his glasses. "Like what?"
He shrugged. "Write something down somewhere. Walk around for a minute. Even just cast Lumos to get a bit of light."
"Does everything you do have to be so metaphorical?" Viola mused, her lips succumbing to a small smile.
"No, but I make a habit of it anyway."
"As long as you don't start speaking in metaphors, I think I can tolerate it."
"Reckon Hermione would just start analysing it all anyway."
Viola hummed in agreement, the air of the common room suddenly feeling a lot warmer than it had when she first got there.
"So..." said Harry, "least favourite subject at Hogwarts this year?"
"Since when did we start doing least favourites?" Viola asked.
"It's a metaphor."
Viola laughed, the bubble of amusement that arose feeling very welcome. After a day of gloom, the small act of elation was a nice change. "Probably Potions. But can't say I'm looking forward to Divination in—" She glanced at the clock in the corner of the room— "ten minutes, either. Actually, we should probably get going if we wanna make it in time."
"Do we want to make it in time?" asked Harry.
"Well, there's no Hermione to steal notes from, and if you want to just rely on Ron..."
Harry stood up wearily. "Good point."
"Anyway, what's yours?" Viola asked as they began making their way to the North Tower. "Your least favourite class."
"Potions."
"Understandable. Especially after what happened today." She snickered, remembering how Snape had practically failed Harry for accidentally skipping a step in the instructions.
"Yeah, hilarious," said Harry sarcastically, only prompting Viola to laugh harder.
When they finally reached the Divination classroom, it was as stuffy as ever. Most of the class had arrived by then, already occupying the pouffes that filled the room. They spotted Ron in one by the corner and Viola followed Harry over.
But of course. There were only two seats at that table, and none of the other free seats were next to anyone she fancied sitting beside. Viola threw her bag down at the foot of Harry and Ron's table, cursing them both after realising she was going to have to ask Trelawney for a new chair— just like last year.
As she waited for the professor to arrive, any hopes that she might just be able to quickly snatch an empty chair from beside someone vanished once everyone arrived— all the seats were taken.
Professor Trelawney entered the classroom a few minutes later, and Viola— knocking Harry's shoulder in annoyance for taking the seat at the table— swallowed her pride, and headed towards Trelawney.
"Good day," she said to the class, then noticed Viola approaching. "Everything alright, dear?"
"Yes, Professor, I was just wondering if you, uh, had any spare chairs? Or could you conjure one or—"
"Yes, yes, no worries," she said, plucking her wand from her robes and waving it airily. A pouffe appeared in front of Viola.
She took it with a thanks, and as Trelawney moved past her to get to her desk, she patted Viola's shoulder dismissively— then gasped.
"My dear!" said Trelawney. Viola was tempted to just throw herself out the window; was she going to have to be subject to Trelawney's precarious predictions again? "Oh, how peculiar— oh my, you—" She cut herself off, hurrying towards her desk as Viola stood there, unsure of what to do.
She cast a look at Ron and Harry, who were looking back at her already, faces dumbfounded. She decided to pick up her pouffe and quickly head over to them as Trelawney rustled through a drawer and pulled out a piece of blue paper with complicated-looking diagrams and markings.
She started drawing on it, clearly in deep concentration as Viola wished for nothing more than to just be swallowed up by the floor. It was only the first day, and already she was getting her bad news.
She knew Trelawney was a fraud. None of her predictions ever truly unfolded, but it was the principle of having to deal with her grim ramblings all year round.
Trelawney finally finished with her chart, then scanned it, eyes wide as she looked to Viola. "My dear," she said, "perhaps you should see— but no, that would be too unkind. It would be best if you do not— yet the unbearing future..."
Viola stared at the chart from her own desk, unimpressed as Trelawney argued with herself. She knew she wouldn't understand what was written there anyway, even if all the lines joined together to spell out DEATH, or something— which would probably be the case, given Trelawney's antics.
"No, you must see," said Trelawney finally, beckoning Viola towards her. She sighed, shrugging at Ron and Harry— she may aswell humour Trelawney, get on her good side, and maybe be left alone for the rest of the year. Hopefully.
The chart was— just as she expected— indecipherable. With strange crosses all over and arrows going in every direction, she had no idea what she was looking at. She glanced at Trelawney, who was watching her expectantly, eyes wide in concern.
Viola cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the chart. "Oh."
"Oh indeed!" said Trelawney. "Dear girl, the Sun pushed to the eighth house— the Moon without a planet in the twelfth house— Jupiter debilitated in Capricorn— and for him— Moon and Mercury in sixth..."
"Oh no," said Viola half-heartedly, with no idea what Trelawney was saying.
Trelawney smiled sadly at her. "My dear, should you ever get any kind of premonition, I must advise you to come to me straight away. With a chart like this, it will only cause you pain to keep any epiphanies to yourself."
"Right," said Viola, "I'll keep that in mind." She hurried back to her desk before Trelawney could come up with any more nonsense, and tried to ignore the snickers coming from the Slytherin end of the room. She caught Dean's eye on the way back and just shrugged; he looked halfway between wanting to laugh and wanting to run.
"What the bloody hell was that about?" Ron asked as Trelawney began her speech on the importance of dream interpretation, and Viola sat down.
"Oh, let me just send a letter to the planets and ask what they're up to, shall I?" said Viola. "I don't know! It was nonsense like usual."
"Well, what was on the chart?"
"A bunch of lines."
"What did they mean?"
"What do you think I am, a Seer? I told you, it's just a lot of nonsense like usual."
"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," announced Trelawney.
There was only about ten minutes left of dream interpretation after they finally finished reading the dull introduction.
Viola finished first, and waited for the other two, her elbow on the table and her head resting on her hand as she gazed out the window. She had zoned out, deep in thought when she heard her name whispered from behind her. It was Dean, leaning forwards to ask, "Have you finished reading?"
"Yeah," she said quietly; some people had already started to divide up into pairs, creating a light noise of chatter throughout the room.
"Wanna be partners?"
Seamus, who was sitting beside Dean over the other side, looked up from his book at that. "What about me?"
Dean shrugged. "You're taking too long. You can go with Neville when you're finished."
Seamus looked to Neville at the other table and rolled his eyes, returning to the book as Dean smiled in amusement.
Viola looked back at Harry and Ron— still not even on the last page— and said, "Sure." She moved her chair closer to his table and set her book down. "So, any amazing sixth senses appearing through your dreams?"
"I don't think so," said Dean. "I don't really remember my dreams much. What about yours?"
Viola didn't need any dream interpreter to tell her what the one in the graveyard meant. And given how that one usually obscured any other ones she might have, she just shrugged. "Me neither."
Dean furrowed his brows in thought for a moment, then said, "I think I had one that I was playing football the other night. Wonder what that could mean," he said sarcastically.
"Probably that you're gonna die in a fire or something," said Viola, flicking through the pages of her book. "Or maybe it's a sign I should break into Filch's office and get those files on your dad."
Dean grimaced. "I'd hoped you'd forgotten about that."
"How could I forget about my completely hypothetical plan?" she mused.
The bell rang— signalling the end of class— a few minutes later, and Dean and Viola continued their conversation as they trudged down to third corridor where they next had Defence Against the Dark Arts— with Umbridge.
They took the seats right behind Harry, Ron and Hermione, Seamus on Dean's other side. Neville sat down next to Viola, since there weren't many other seats left, and she mustered up a small smile at him— she knew Neville was easily intimidated and, even though she knew she was probably one of the least intimidating people in the room, it couldn't help to at least try and put him more at ease.
Umbridge was already in the room when they all arrived, standing next to her desk with her hands clasped, posture straight. She was wearing another variation of an awful fluffy pink cardigan, now with a black velvet bow perched on top of her head instead of last night's pink hairband.
The class was quiet as they sat down, unsure of what kind of teacher she was going to be— more on the McGonagall side of no funny business, or leaning towards Flitwick's more laidback type authority. Viola hoped for the latter, but just looking at her, she doubted it would be the case.
"Well, good afternoon!" chirped Umbridge once the last person had taken their seat.
There was a small, unenthusiastic chorus of "Good afternoon."
"Tut, tut," said Umbridge. "That won't do now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"
Viola shrunk a fraction lower in her seat as she joined the chant of "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge!"
"There, now," Umbridge said with a sickeningly sweet smile that Viola wanted to punch right off her. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."
Viola sighed wearily as she reached down to pluck a quill from her bag. By the sounds of it, they were in for a boring lesson.
Professor Umbridge pulled her wand from her horrible handbag, and tapped the blackboard once; the words 'Defence Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles,' wrote themselves in curly handwriting. Viola frowned— a return to basics? They were fifth years now; surely they should be getting into the more advanced stuff for their O.W.L. year.
"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" said Umbridge, turning from the blackboard to face the class. "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 tapped the blackboard again. The previous words were now replaced by: 'Course aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can be legally used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.'
The class took it down with weary sighs, everyone clearly already becoming board with the monotonous scratching of quills on parchment. When they were finally finished, Umbridge said, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
There was a dull murmur of confirmation.
"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. Viola shared a look with Dean, and had to bite down hard on her lip to stop a laugh from escaping her at the dubious expression on his face. "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."
"Good. I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."
Viola blinked tiredly as she reached out for her copy of the book and flipped to page five. It was worse than she was expecting, dreadfully dull and almost impossible to actually take in. About halfway through page one, Viola was reading the same sentence over and over again, gathering no meaning from any of the words on the page.
She decided to occupy herself by glancing around the room— when Hermione caught her eye, her hand in the air, eyes glued to Umbridge, and book unopened in front of her. Umbridge, however, was determinedly not looking at her, watching the other students instead. But Hermione wasn't discouraged, and waited about another ten minutes until Umbridge couldn't ignore her any longer— over half the class was now watching Hermione; it was much more interesting than the dreary book chapter.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" Umbridge asked sweetly.
"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.
"Well, we're reading just now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."
"I've got a query about your course aims."
Umbridge raised her eyebrows in surprise and asked, "And your name—?"
"Hermione Granger."
"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."
"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells.
Half the class— Viola included— turned to the blackboard to check the claim. And Hermione was right; all that was up there was theory.
"Using defensive spells?" repeated Umbridge, letting loose a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
"We're not going to use magic?" Ron questioned loudly.
"Students will raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.—?"
"Weasley," said Ron, throwing his fist up.
Professor Umbridge turned away from him, a taunting smile etched onto her toad-like features. Hermione's hand went back up in the air, Harry's now flying up too. Viola kept her own down, but straightened up in her seat.
"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?" said Umbridge after her eyes lingered threateningly on Harry for a moment.
"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Umbridge. Her tone remained sweet, but Viola recognised it— it was the voice her father used when talking to a Ministry official he particularly didn't like: the acid of the words carefully doused in the sweetness of sugar.
"No, 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?" interjected Harry loudly. "If were going to be attacked, it won't be in a—"
"Hand, Mr. Potter!"
Harry thrust his fist into the air, but Umbridge turned and ignored him. Viola rolled her eyes, then felt a shock as Dean's hand went up from beside her.
"And your name is?"
"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 Umbridge, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"
"No, but—" began Dean, but Umbridge cut him off again; Viola promptly threw her hand in the air.
"Miss Jugson?" asked Umbridge, sending Viola a sickeningly irritating smile.
"What about people who want to become Aurors or Cursebreakers or something? If they want to go out into a dangerous field, they won't have any of the necessary experience—"
Umbridge let out a small laugh and said, "Miss Jugson, I can assure you— and anyone else— that, should you wish to pursue a career in Cursbreaking or the like, the Ministry will be more than ready to provide everyone with the necessary training. Learning the theory now will only make it much easier for you, should you choose to train at the Ministry."
Viola's scowl deepened the more Umbridge continued, and when she was finally finished, she threw her hand up again, ready to argue. But just as she had with Harry, Ron, Hermione and Dean, Umbridge switched directions.
"I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school, 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," said Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever—"
"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying— you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day—"
"No we haven't," objected Hermione, "we just—"
"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger! It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you—"
It made sense to Viola now, why 'Moody' had been so intent on casting the Imperius Curse on them; not actually Moody at all, but a Death Eater.
"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean. "Mind you, we still learned loads—"
"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" said Umbridge, her temper finally beginning to seep through her composed manner a little.
Viola felt Dean's eyes on her and turned to see him watching her in concern. She was confused for a second— but perhaps he was worried the mentions of fake Moody might have brought back bad memories for her. She gave him an assured smile before turning her attention back to Umbridge.
"Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?"
"Parvati Patil," said Parvati, whose hand had just shot up, "and isn't there a practical bit in or Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"
"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."
"We're not getting practise?" Viola said loudly. "The exam can't be the first time we actually—"
"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"
"And what good's theory in the real world?" said Harry.
"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world."
"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"
"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."
"Oh yeah?" Harry pushed. Even from just sitting behind him, Viola could practically feel his temper rising.
"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"
"Hmm, let's think..." said Harry mockingly. "Maybe Lord Voldemort?"
At the mention of the name, Ron gasped; Lavender uttered a little scream, and Viola felt Neville slightly slip from his seat beside her. She heard Dean's sharp intake of breath, but Viola kept her steady focus firmly on Umbridge.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."
Viola hated Snape— throughout the past five years, her contempt for the Potions professor had only increased, but that was nothing about how she felt towards Umbridge.
"Now, let me make a few things quite plain," Umbridge said into the tense silence. "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," Umbridge said it a single breath. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."
Viola felt her blood boil as the words slipped from Umbridge's lips. The fact that, not only was the Daily Prophet making the news about Voldemort being back to be ridiculous, but the Ministry had sent someone to spread the false security and lies...
"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him— we fought him!" He gestured vaguely behind him at Viola.
"Detention, Mr. Potter!" declared Umbridge. "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 her about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"
She sat down at her desk again; Viola glared up at her from her own seat, itching to just grab her wand and hec the woman in front of her.
Harry, however, seemed to have a harder time restraining himself, and stood up. Viola groaned under her breath as she slipped lower in her seat and extended her legs out to kick at Harry's in front of her. "Sit down," she tried to tell him mentally, but he just kicked a leg back and ignored her.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"
Viola immediately went limp, any attempt to try and reach Harry done. Your fault, her mind echoed, Your fault, your fault, your fault...
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," said Umbridge coldly.
"It was murder," said Harry, his voice shaking in rage. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."
Professor Umbridge's face was unreadable as she softly said, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."
Harry kicked his chair aside and stormed up to Umbridge's desk. She pulled out a small roll of parchment, wrote something on it, sealed it, then handed it to Harry. "Take this to professor McGonagall, dear."
Harry snatched the note and left the classroom, door slamming shut behind him.
When Viola looked back around at Umbridge, the woman was already staring at her, a taunting grin on her face. Viola thought she might be daring her to say something... argue with her... continue Harry's fight. But Viola swallowed hard, sent one last glower at her, and returned to her textbook, not taking in a single word.
~•~
The rest of the day went about just as smoothly as the Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, and by the time dinner rolled around, Viola opted to go back up to the dormitories instead of the Great Hall. Plopping herself down on the four poster bed, she made herself take out her History of Magic book and make a start on the essay Binns had given them earlier. They had already been given a huge pile of homework to work through, and she couldn't afford to fall behind on the first day.
It was about twenty minutes in when she fell asleep, eyelids giving in to the heavy pull of fatigue as she collapsed backwards against her pillows.
She was in the middle of a huge Quidditch pitch, the surrounding stands all full to the brim with people staring down at her. She felt so tiny, wanted to run somewhere— but there wasn't anywhere to go.
A loud, cranking noise sounded from one end of the stadium, and Viola whipped around; a raised platform was rising where one team's hoops would usually be. Umbridge was standing on top, that usual sickly smile on her face as she stared down at Viola.
The people in the stadium began laughing— at Viola. Jeering and pointing as she began running towards the raised platform. But she wasn't getting any closer.
"It's your fault, dear," Umbridge's irritating voice rang throughout the pitch. Looking up, Viola noticed a body lying at her feet— shrouded in a yellow uniform, his pale, dead face facing her.
The crowd laughed even louder, and some even began to throw items down to Viola as she tried to run faster.
"All your fault!" laughed Umbridge. "Tut, tut, dear. All your—"
The sound was suddenly drowned out, as if Viola had all of a sudden been dunked under water. She could still see what was happening, and she whirled around, wondering what to do— when a new, slightly muffled voice took over.
"... no need for her any longer, Wormtail," it was saying, in a high, cold voice. It seemed to pound through Viola's head, as though she were thinking it... but it was faint, hard to make out.
"... wondered, my Lord... in the graveyard... perhaps the connection should not be—" A new voice was speaking, but there seemed to be a bad connection; as if it was coming from a breaking up radio.
"The connection is no longer necessary! My other ties to immortality are... no longer need her alive... the connection between us has merely been a reassurance... she can work as leverage for the time being, but should he disobey my orders... and now, with the other Horcr—"
"Viola?"
Viola bolted upright at the sound of her name from the awakened world. A piece of parchment fell from her lap, and she nearly snapped the quill she had come to be sitting on.
"Sorry," said Hermione sheepishly. "You seemed to be having a bad dream. Anyway, you should probably get ready for bed and have an early night. Here, I'll help you put your books away."
She moved forward to help as Viola blinked blearily, a strange ache in the pit of her stomach. "Thanks."
When her books were away and she finally got ready for bed, Viola laid down and fell into a slumber once again, but this time there were no wavering voices piercing her dreams.
author's note:
i've been reading back over some past author's notes and WOW why do i literally come across so awkward lmao it's kinda hilarious
took a while to write this bc i COULD NOT get past the first couple paragraphs for a literal week but anyway i managed to procrastinate a bunch of homework by writing this so here you go 😌
i wouldn't really be expecting any updates very soon since i've exams coming up in a month and w o w saying i'm not ready is an understatement, i'm so screwed it's not even funny :) BUT that means i probably will have to take more of a break from writing a lot. i might get one more chapter in before them but idk we'll see how stressed i get 😭
i'm gonna post this on friday bc WOOO IT'S GONNA BE SUCH A GOOD DAY, school sucks BUT when i come home i get to watch tfatws (finale though ahhhhh) and shadow & bone!!!!!!
lowkey hate how this chapter turned out but like,,, oh well? idk lmao i'm typing this at 1 am on a monday night and i'm t i r e d
thank you for reading, have a good day!!