Over a weekend of problems between Professor Umbridge's detentions; Malfoy's harassment during a practice– which Ron got keeper for; and two interesting Daily Prophet articles, one about a break-in at the Ministry and someone reporting Sirius Black is hiding— I hadn't expected this horrible news Hermione had read from her Monday morning post. The newspaper to reveal a large photograph of Dolores Umbridge, smiling widely and blinking slowly at them from beneath the headline:
MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"
" 'High Inquisitor'?" said Harry darkly, his half-eaten bit of toast slipping from his fingers. "What does that mean?"
"That means she's basically a curriculum inspector and has the power to change the way Hogwarts functions," I groan, pushing my breakfast away.
"No!" Ron slaps his hand on his forehead.
Hermione read aloud an excerpt on the article about Professor Umbridge, gasping in surprise, "so now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect other teachers! I can't believe this. It's outrageous..."
"I know it is," said Harry.
Looking up at me, he gave me a concerned look. Hermione hadn't noticed his odd look because she was too busy looking at Ron's grinning face.
"What is it?" he looked up at Ron.
"Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected," said Ron happily. "Umbridge won't know what's hit her."
Feeling anxious, Hermione suggested we set off to our classes now, not wanting to be late if Umbridge was going to supervise. But Professor Umbridge hadn't inspected our History of Magic lesson nor was she in Snape's dungeon where we arrived for out double Potions, where Harry was handed a large, spiky black D scrawled in at the top of his paper.
"I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your O.W.L," said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among us, passing back our homework. "This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in your examination."
Snape reached the front of the class and turned to face the class.
"The general standard of this homework was abysmal— only one O. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D's."
Looking over my essay, I looked at the shiny O next to my name. From the corner of my eye, I could see Harry's disappointing grade and Hermione's gaze, trying to see what I'd gotten. Folding my essay in half, I slid the essay into my bag and pulled out my quill to take notes.
The class dragged on Hermione and I waited for others to finish the potion of the lesson: Strengthing Solution. My cauldron had a beautifully clear turquoise liquid bubbling away, but Harry's was darker and thicker than mine— at least not pink like Neville's.
"Well, that wasn't as bad as last week, was it?" said Hermione, as we climbed the steps out of the dungeon and made our way across the entrance hall toward lunch. "And the homework didn't go too badly either, did it?"
None of us spoke as she continued talking about Snape's grading system, "I mean all right, I didn't expect the top grade, not if he's marking to O.W.L. standards, but a pass is quite encouraging at this stage. I'd just like to know who had gotten the O in our class."
Hermione continued talking, trying to hint to us to tell her our grades, as we made our way to the Great Hall.
"Of course, a lot can happen between now and the exam, we've got plenty of time to improve, but the grades we're getting now are a sort of baseline, aren't they? Something we can build on..."
We sat down together at the Gryffindor table.
"Obviously, I'd have been thrilled if I'd gotten an O—"
"Hermione," irritability present in my voice, "if you want to know what grades we got, just ask."
"I don't— I didn't mean— well, if you want to tell me—"
"I got a P," said Ron, ladling soup into his bowl. "Happy?"
"Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of," said Fred, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Harry's right. "Nothing wrong with a good healthy P."
"But," said Hermione, "doesn't P stand for..."
" 'Poor,' yeah," said Lee Jordan. "Still, better than D, isn't it? 'Dreadful'?"
"So top grade's O for 'Outstanding,' " she was saying, "and then there's A—"
"No, E," George corrected her, "E for 'Exceeds Expectations.' And I've always thought Fred and I should've got E in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams."
Everyone laughed except Hermione, who plowed on, "So after E, it's A for 'Acceptable,' and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?"
"Yep," said Fred, dunking an entire roll in his soup, transferring it to his mouth, and swallowing it whole.
"Someone had gotten an O in our Potions class, you hear?" Hermione took a spoon of her soup.
Looking at the faces around me, Fred, George, and Lee all looked surprised.
"An O?" Fred gasped.
"In Snape's class?" George followed.
"Yeah, I'd like to know who," Hermione grumbled.
"And it wasn't you?" Fred looked around at us, expecting the same reaction. Harry had been stirring his soup, sadly, while Ron was ladling large spoons into his mouth.
"Probably a Slytherin, you know how Snape favors—"
"It wasn't a Slytherin," I cut Hermione off begrudgingly.
"Oh, then what Gryffindor? I can't imagine any Gryffindor to get an O," Hermione laughed.
"Me," I whispered, looking down at my half-empty bowl. "You forget that you and I have tied for highest scores for the last three years. I seem to be breaking that tie," I added sourly.
"I didn't mean anything by it— I just— didn't expect— I would have thought you'd at least gotten an A like me," Hermione tried.
"I guess my paper was more than Acceptable and beyond Expectations," I breathed.
Hermione gave a small yelp—probably Ron or Harry kicking her, while the three seventh years looked proud.
"Look at our little Mousey, giving Little Miss Prefect a run for her badge," Fred ruffled my hair. "I reckon she might take your badge, Hermione—"
"Prefect titles are set," Hermione said sharply.
"I wasn't going to steal your badge, Hermione Granger. I don't want it," I snapped.
"I got a D," Harry blurted out, taking the attention off me.
The conversation moved from my grades to his for the rest of lunch. My soup got cold from all the mixing I'd done, so I hadn't finished it. Professor Umbridge wasn't present in Hermione's and my Arithmancy lesson because she was in Divination with Harry and Ron. They caught us up on what had happened in their class, especially Professor Trelawney's meltdown.
Walking into class, Umbridge was humming and smiling to herself when we entered the room. Harry and Ron spoke in hushed voices as they continued to tell us what had happened in their class. Before we could ask any questions Professor Umbridge had called us to order and silence fell.
"Wands away," she instructed us all smilingly, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out sadly returned them to their bags. "As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."
Still smiling her wide, self-satisfied smile, she sat down at her desk. The class gave an audible sigh as it turned, as one, to page nineteen. Hermione and I gave each other a knowing smirk and both raised our hands in the air.
Professor Umbridge had noticed too, and what was more, she seemed to have worked out a strategy for just such an eventuality. Instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed our hands, she got to her feet and walked around the front row of desks until we were face-to-face, then she bent down and whispered, so that the rest of the class could not hear, "What is it this time, Miss Granger?"
"I've already read chapter two," said Hermione.
"Well then, proceed to chapter three."
"We've read that too. We've read the whole book."
Professor Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly.
"Well, then, Miss Potter, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in chapter fifteen."
"He says that counterjinxes are improperly named," I said promptly. "He says 'counterjinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable."
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows, and I knew she was impressed against her will.
"But I disagree," Hermione said from beside me.
Professor Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder.
"You disagree?"
"Yes, I do," said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the rest of the class's attention. "Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."
"Oh, you do, do you?" said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."
"But —" Hermione began.
"That is enough," said Professor Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House."
There was an outbreak of muttering at this.
"What ever for?" I said angrily.
"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," said Professor Umbridge smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them— with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects— would have passed a Ministry inspection—"
"Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher," said Harry loudly, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."
This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences I had ever heard. Then—
"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge sleekly.
During breakfast on Tuesday, Angelina Johnson shouted at Harry for getting another week's worth of detention and losing Gryffindor five points— even though it was Hermione. As Professor McGonagall came over to inquire why Angelina was screaming at Harry, she took off another ten points to Gryffindor for Harry not listening to what she had told him in her office the first night.
As she strode back toward the staff table, Angelina gave Harry a look of deepest disgust and stalked away, upon which Harry flung himself onto the bench beside Ron, fuming.
"She's taken points off Gryffindor because I'm having my hand sliced open every night! How is that fair, how?"
"I know, mate," said Ron sympathetically, tipping bacon onto Harry's plate, "she's bang out of order."
Hermione, however, merely rustled the pages of her Daily Prophet and said nothing.
"You think McGonagall was right, do you?" said Harry angrily to the picture of Cornelius Fudge obscuring Hermione's face.
"I wish she hadn't taken points from you, but I think she's right to warn you not to lose your temper with Umbridge," said Hermione's voice, while Fudge gesticulated forcefully from the front page, clearly giving some kind of speech.
"And you?" Harry narrowed his eyes towards me.
"Don't start with me again. You butted in when it wasn't your place," I said cooly. "Hermione and I were perfectly fine, we had a plan. Now you have another weeks detention, fifteen points down for our Hosue, and a brand new scar on the back of your hand— another one for your collection."
All throughout Charms, Harry didn't speak a word to Hermione or me, but when we entered Transfiguration, Harry seemed to forget about his little plan to ignore us. At the sight of Professor Umbridge, Harry grabbed onto my arm and to Hermione, who didn't notice her.
"Excellent," whispered Ron, as we sat down in our usual seats. "Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves."
Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there.
"That will do," she said and silence fell immediately. "Mr. Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework— Miss Brown, please take this box of mice— don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you— and hand one to each student—"
"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed me back my essay, another O on top.
"Right then, everyone, listen closely— Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention— most of you have now successfully vanished your snails, in the previous lesson, and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today we shall be—"
"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge.
"Yes?" said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.
"I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec—"
"Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom," said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. "As I was saying, today we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell—"
"Hem, hem."
"I wonder," said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, "how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking."
Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more.
"As I was saying, the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So— you know the incantation, let me see what you can do..."
"How she can lecture me about not losing my temper with Umbridge!" Harry said to Ron under his voice with a large grin.
"You're a student, she's an equal," I answered him quietly.
Halfway through the class, Professor McGonagall asked me to go to her office to get a few papers that she needed graded assignments for her next lesson that were in her office.
As I came back, I heard a bit of her conversation with Professor Umbridge who was asking questions about her teaching premises.
"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" Professor Umbridge asked.
"Thirty-nine years this December," said Professor McGonagall brusquely, grabbing the papers I had handed her.
Professor Umbridge made a note.
"Very well," she said, "you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time."
"I can hardly wait," said Professor McGonagall in a coldly indifferent voice, and she strode off toward her desk.