The Inquisitorial Squad
Draco was positive now, after reading through the entirety of Wilbert Slinkhard's book twice, that the clearly bumbling idiot for a Wizard had never met any dark force to defend against in his life, and Umbridge could assign them Gilderoy Lockhart's lowest selling book and they'd still learn more. Yet still the students tired away in dead silence, scrawling notes across the parchment laid beside their books the precise situations one had to be in to constitute defending yourself with hexes or curses alike.
It was dead silent because everyone knew, and had since the first day in Umbridge’s class, speaking only got you more trouble than it was worth, so it would be best to just sit quietly and read, pretending Umbridge’s ever watchful, toadlike eye wasn’t even there, boring into you at every second.
It didn’t help one bit that Draco was seated at the very front of the classroom before Umbridge, a terrible decision he had made and now could never take back, or that Vincent and Gregory were always trying to copy off of him and he had to make sure Umbridge didn’t catch their eyes drifting to his paper at any point. Same went for the rest of the class too, but more specifically Slytherin trying to copy off neighboring Hufflepuff’s or vice versa, or even asking for a spare ink well. Inter-house communication inside classes was forbidden, after all, and the woman who made that possible was sitting a few feet away from them.
After an agonizing hour, the bell rang and the kids filed, one by one, heads ducked, up to Umbridge’s desk to hand in their papers, silently and even a little subconsciously begging she wouldn’t raise her voice and call out their names.
Unfortunately, she called out multiple times. “Would Miss Bones, Mr. Macmillan, Miss Smith, Mr. Macdougal, Mr. Zabini, Miss Greengrass, Miss Parkinson, Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, and Mr. Nott, stay for a moment?”
A pause, and many students who were just packing their bags to leave the classroom glanced around in confusion and masked worry (who knew what Umbridge would say if she saw they looked particularly unhappy) because that wasn’t just a few people, but half the class. A couple even widened their eyes because a lot of those kids… A lot were members of the Hogwarts Order of Defense.
They could hardly reveal that, however, so instead the selected students remained silent while swinging their bags over their shoulders and walking forward. Draco was left walking backwards, watching the kids approaching Umbridge’s desk once more with great wariness. As Bones passed him by he reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, whispering, “Don’t tell her a thing,” before turning on his heel and walking out the door. It was the least he could do, despite not attending H.O.O.D meetings again. They didn’t deserve to get torn apart by this pink menace, and he couldn’t imagine how Harry would feel after all his hard work with these kids.
The interesting thing, more so than Umbridge’s initial calling of half her morning class, is that she kept on doing it. By lunch everyone was discussing it in low whisper, with the Weasley twins prancing up to the Gryffindor trio to announce how Patricia Stimpson, Angelina Johnson, and Cedric Diggory had been called up to the front in a similar way. And then, when the trio headed to their own DADA class, sure enough, Umbridge was asking for Seamus to come to the front, and as Harry left the room he spared a final glance over his shoulder at the toad, to see her lips had spread into a wide grin.
A shiver ran down his back at the look, but he pressed on forward. He had Occlumency in half an hour after all, and if he hurried he might get dinner before his mind was freshly split open. And by the time he would hit the pillows well into the night? He’d have completely forgotten about that look, and the countless kids being called up to Umbridge’s desk.
That is, until the next morning, when the post arrived, and lo and behold, Hedwig swept down towards him despite the fact she hadn’t done this for months. Harry couldn’t even recall her ever doing it, in fact, due to Umbridge’s strict rules against the owl post, and yet here she was, sweeping down upon him like a snowy angel, a purple square tight in her beak. She dropped it on his plate, and he didn’t even have time to spare a glance at Umbridge to see if she was as shocked as he or had somehow orchestrated this, when a purple square landed on Ron’s plate, then Hermione’s, followed by Parvati and Lavender beside her, and Seamus and Dean beside them and, further down still, Neville.
“Oi! You got one too?” Even farther down, so much so Harry had to stand from his seat to look, Fred, George, and Lee were picking up their squares and looking around, confused. Harry saw that Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had too, along with Colin and Dennis sitting across from the first year Emma Whitby, whom Harry recognized from H.O.O.D meetings. That’s when it clicked in his mind, but Hermione beat him to it with words.
“We all got one…” She whispered, turning the square over in her hands. “All of the HOOD…”
“The others are getting ones too!” Ginny called, gesturing with her own square to Luna sitting amongst a sea of blue, holding the purple letter between pinched fingers and eyeing it like it was a newly discovered specimen. Harry recognized the faces of the Ravenclaw H.O.O.D members and saw they were all holding letters as well.
“Do we open them?” Ron questioned, as if wondering if it would be entirely safe to, and Hermione nodded, slipping her thumb under and tearing the paper. Everyone followed, as in unison as the letters had been delivered, and utterly silent.
Dear Mr. Potter
Some read Ms. Granger, some Mr. Weasley, and one Ms. Weasley, but that was the only thing that kept the letters unique.
Meet me at the Three Broomsticks tonight. Don’t worry about getting in trouble, you’ll find the journey quite easy. Enough to match the urgency of you being there (and I must stress it is urgent). Besides, I’ll pay for your drinks anyway, so what is there to lose?
You are not in trouble,
Argus Coonelid Fusweld
“Well this is a trap,” Fred immediately proclaimed, throwing the letter into his plate of food without a second thought. “I mean who even has a name like ‘Argus?’” He winked at George, and Lee broke out into laughter beside him, slapping his shoulder. Harry was inclined to agree, although he did pray Filch hadn’t heard that comment, but Hermione twisted her mouth up in frustration, tracing the words with a finger.
“What is it?” Ron asked, leaning forward to watch her fingers running under the strange name. “It’s… Something about it… Who do you think wrote this, Harry?” He glanced down at the letter, squinting at the name and slowly sounding it out as he said, “Argus… Coonelid… Fusweld?”
“Weld… Almost like ‘wald’? Isn’t it? And ‘Coonelid’...” With a small smirk twisted up her lips, Hermione reached into her bag and retrieved parchment and quill, writing the name quickly at the top of the paper then writing a ‘C’ below it and crossing out the ‘C’ in the name. She did this with several more letters, leading people to slowly lean closer to look at her parchment and the anagram she was forming. After a few minutes, and people at the far ends of the table jumping out the their seats to come closer, Hermione grinned wide and slammed the parchment down on the table, revealing the full anagram:
Cornelius Oswald Fudge
Not that that makes the situation any less confusing, cemented by George immediately exclaiming, “What the hell does the Minister want with us?”
-*-*-*-
Despite having no clue what "Argus Fusweld" wanted with them, the H.O.O.D planned for escaping the school and going to the Three Broomsticks past Curfew, passing Hermione's anagram note along the house tables during lunch so everyone knew, and some kids even gathering in the library to finish homework, knowing they wouldn't have any time to do it that night. Though, this was mostly just the scholars and not the wide majority of students.
They all attended dinner as not to rise suspicion, but could hardly eat with the anxiety of what the Minister had in store weighed on their minds, however, all of Harry’s worries seemed to fade away and fly over his head when he saw Draco walking among the crowd of H.O.O.D students walking through the Entrance Hall. He got so distracted by just a pale blonde head in the crowd, that Hermione even had to grab him by the arm and shove him forwards so the trio could be the first to open the doors.
“We have to make sure it’s actually safe,” She whispered whilst dragging Harry and Ron forwards down the cobblestone path leading out of the castle. “Could still be a trap.” Harry highly doubted Fudge would be that bold, and had developed a theory of his own that this had to be connected to his out-of-the-blue arrival last week to speak to Dumbledore, combined with Umbridge’s random calling of fellow students from all ages to her desk. And in his eyes, they had been on the Minister’s side all year, so what would change now?
As the kids crept across the road to Hogsmeade, with each step it felt like they were taking ten more points away from their house, but no creeping Mrs. Norris or suspecting Umbridge ever hopped out of a bush they brushed by, and instead the group was allowed to continue walking forward as if venturing to Hogsmeade after hours was entirely acceptable.
This didn't change even as the trio opened the doors to the Three Broomsticks, where they found the whole place suspiciously empty. Suspicious, until they caught sight of the sign on the window claiming the place was closed from nine until the morning, something they were positive hadn't been there before. Still, they headed in and, with the whole place being barren besides him, easily spotted the squat man in the corner, hunched over his table in his heavy cloak and hood, smoking a pipe that created a thick cloud to further submerge him from others.
The students crept over warily, eyeing the empty bar as if it was haunted, and as Draco passed Madame Rosmerta, smiling at him empty and dazed, he felt sick to his stomach. The sign… the others may have marked it off as Fudge pulling strings, and but only he knew the truth of course. It was truly baffling the amount of things you could make a person do while under the Imperius curse.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all sat down beside Fudge, aware there was no reason to fear him at this point, while Fred and George began pulling up chairs across the empty bar for the others to sit in, some who didn't manage to get a chair instead sitting at stools next to nearby tables where they could look out at everything. Once everyone was ready, Fudge lifted his head enough to show those closest his face and those farther away his bearded mouth (transfigured again, of course).
"Welcome," He began, then immediately broke off into a fit of coughs, no doubt from not being used to whatever chemicals he was taking in from that pipe. After clearing his throat roughly and placing it down, however, Fudge repeated, "Welcome!" With a watery smile to them all. Some smiled back, but they all appeared more like grimaces. "I'm sure you all are no doubt wondering why I've brought you here." This got a big response, as some kids muttered, some outright stated their questions, and others shouted them. Fudge raised his hands to calm them down, rising from his seat and lowering them in a calming manner.
“Relax, I’m going to tell you!” The students who had risen from their seats in their eagerness for answers settled down again and the others all silenced, forty-five pairs of eyes now boring into Fudge as he opened his mouth and began to speak, each word lifting more weight of his shoulders, the hands of Dumbledore no longer holding them down. “About six months ago, it was brought to my attention by Mr. Weasley, here, who had informed his older brother, Percival Weasley, who you all might know from school, of the brutal methods Dolores Umbridge has been enforcing onto her students as a teacher. I’m being entirely honest with you when I say I had no clue she would be even capable of these horrid deeds, and if I did, I’d try my hardest to refuse sending her to this school to teach. But then again, it wasn’t my decision. It was Dumbledore’s. You might ask, ‘but what about the Educational Decree?’ You passed it, stating you, the Minister that trumps all judgment, can determine who teaches at Hogwarts. To that I say; Dumbledore. Now I won’t go off on a tangent about all I know of Albus Dumbledore, for we’d be here for hours if I did, but let me just say I never would have suspected how much control that man could have over me and my words. Now it’s over, however, and we’re done playing friends. Now I’m free to reveal all my methods, free of judgment.
“In September, through my Junior Assistant Percy Weasley, I sent a letter to these three and - where’s Draco? Ah, him too - and advised them to bring together a group of students under the belief - the truth - that You-Know-Who is back. I in no way knew the methods Miss. Granger was willing to take to do that, but I can’t say I mind the creation of this ‘Hogwarts Defense.’ And so, here you all are, and… How many people is this? Forty? Fifty? A lot of students, and I hope that this means every one of you know as much as I do, as much as this brave boy beside me does, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned. And if you don’t, well then take my word for it, I beg you, take the word of your Minister, that he is back. And if you do… Well then I’ll tell the world. I swear it. I’ll tell them all the truth, for our safety and their own. But I need all of your parents behind me to do it, or I’ll be ousted from office and there will be no hope for a fight against him and his Death Eaters. We’ll have lost.”
The students sat in silence when Fudge dropped his arms to his sides, shrugged his shoulders, and sat with those final three words hanging in the air, as heavy as the weights on his shoulders had been, though of course those had been lifted and now vanished completely, the words all out, like floodgates letting go of a flood that had been building for half a year. Now he could sit and rest, releasing a shaky breath as a sigh, eyeing the students before him mulling over his words, and praying they listened.
“Why -” Everyone looked over at Neville, who had raised his voice from a chair pulled up as close to Fudge’s table as he was willing to get, a fist gripping the back of it hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “Why would you remove the Dementors? Why let the Death Eaters free?” Fudge licked his lips, drew down his brow and asked, “The Longbottom’s son, right?” feeling a rush of cold like ice dumped over him when the poor kid nodded, horrid memories of the court hearing watched by practically the entire wizarding world where the Death Eater’s that had taken this boy's happiness had sat proud of what they’d done before the court.
“I hated doing it, and it took me an eternity to agree to the terms, but eventually Dumbledore and I agreed it was best to remove the Dementor’s from Azkaban, as they were likely to switch sides and free all those murderers. But we had no way of knowing Barty Crouch Jr would be sent there not a week later and aid in the other's escape.” He leaned forward, and Harry recognized the expression on his face as the same fatherly look he’d been given long ago in the Leaky Cauldron, when the two had first met properly. The same, despite all this man had become since then.
“What was the point of making Umbridge High Inquisitor?” Fred asked, folding his arms judgmentally and Fudge did a double take, glancing around and sighing when he realized four Weasleys were in this room and oh, Arthur and him needed to talk after this, before answering, “That was when it all started. The more power I give Umbridge, the less she’s likely to suspect I’m behind all of this, right? She needs to think she’s in control.”
“If You-Know-Who’s got the Dementor’s under his thumb, why are they here at Hogwarts?”
“Are we safe?”
“So we’re all just your secret army?”
“Are we going to get in trouble for this? … Yeah, but what if you do? Does Dumbledore even know about this?”
Questions were shot around the room for a good ten minutes after the first two, and while Fudge couldn’t say he was happy to answer, he still answered as many as he could, feeling more and more like this was getting a little excessive. (“Did you curse Filch to let us come here?”) But when he pointed at the silent raised hand of Luna Lovegood, expecting it to be another ridiculous question based entirely on her strange appearance, her next question ended up getting the conversation back on track.
“How does this all tie into Umbridge calling students after class?”
“Oh, that…” Hermione sat down with a butterbeer she had gone to fetch a minute ago, right on time, and Fudge took a long drink, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and began to speak once more. “Well, inevitably, Umbridge wanted more power, and just a week ago she requested to form her own defense for the school ‘in light of the freed Death Eaters.’ Clearly, she just wants you kids for show, and once you become a member of her ‘Inquisitorial Squad’ you’ll be able to do whatever you want, so it’s a show of enforcing all her decrees when she can’t keep an eye on a thousand kids all at once. But anyway, I don’t want you to turn the offer down, believe it or not. In fact, I would encourage any and all of you who have been approached to join the Inquisitorial Squad, to do so. Better to know exactly what she’s planning than let her get away with it with no way of stopping her.”
The kids seemed to understand, nodding, and at last, it seemed everyone was content with all Fudge had told them.
“Well, we should be going, don’t you think, George?” Fred announced, hopping off his stool and raising a hand to help Lee down beside him like a gentleman, only to stare wide eyed and offended at Lee taking Pansy’s hand as she stepped down, giving it a kiss, then winking at him. “Yes, I do think we should get back to the Gryffindor Common Room before Filch gets us.” “If you didn't kill him, that is…” Lee teased, causing the Minister to choke on the sip of butterbeer he was taking and wave a finger. “Now, just you wait a moment I said -”
But the group of four mischief makers had already backed away, disappearing in the crowd of students who were gathering their stuff to leave as well. Even Hermione and Ron stood to grab their bags but Harry didn’t move, instead turning to Fudge, who was sighing with the departure of Lee Jordan and taking another swig of butterbeer, and lightly tapping his shoulder. “Minister?”
“Hm? Yes Harry?” His hood had dropped in the midst of a lot of speaking, and Harry could see how many gray hairs he had grown throughout the half a year that had passed since the Hospital Wing, involuntarily feeling a little bad for the man. He shook it off though, knowing he needed to make his thoughts known now, “I er… Do you remember that I can… Look into Voldemort’s mind?”
Fudge froze, stone solid, so of course now Harry couldn’t tell if he was thinking that he was back to his insane antics or that there was some truth to the words he was about to say, but he continued anyway. No use sitting here trying to read minds like Snape did to him nightly, right? “Well, I’ve been having these dreams and… I’ve been seeing through Voldemort’s eyes.”
“Yes, yes,” Fudge waved a hand, nodding, “Dumbledore mentioned this…” He pinched two fingers to his nose, no doubt not eager to jump on such a heavy topic after a long night (not only was he graying, but gray under his eyes revealed a heavy lack of sleep that reminded Harry deeply of Draco) or remind himself of the countless talks and negotiations he’d had to have with Dumbledore. “It’s how you learned of Arthur Weasley’s attack, right?”
Harry nodded solemnly. “Yes. It happened in the Department of Mysteries, right?” Fudge licked his lips, eyes darting briefly as if expected Dumbledore to jump out from under a nearby table, but it passed quicker than it might have a month ago; clearly, Fudge was throwing all reason to how Dumbledore would react to his actions out the window at this point. “Yes it did. Harry, be honest,” He gripped his shoulder light enough to pass for comfort, face a mix between the comfort he’d shown Neville and cold seriousness. “Are you still dreaming of that Department?”
Harry nodded, and as Fudge sighed tiredly, he continued before he could stand up and say it was too late for this, “Every night, Minister! A door, and Dumbledore he - he thinks Voldemort’s after a… weapon. And I had a dream of Rookwood, a Death Eater, about Sturgis Podmore and Broderick Bode failing to get it. That door Sturgis was trying to open…” Fudge winced heavily. “It was that door, wasn’t it?”
“Harry,” Fudge rose from his seat, face contorted into a tight grimace now but Harry had sprung to his feet before he could open his mouth, gripping the Minister’s sleeve now, physically refusing to let him slip through his fingers. “He’s getting really close to getting through, I know he is, and I’m worried that if you don’t protect that room -”
“You think I haven’t already?” Fudge reeled back, ripping his arm away from Harry’s and sneering at the boy. “Harry, I think you need to take a step back and realize that at the end of the day you’re still a child, and I'm the Minister of Magic.” He adjusted his sleeve, picked up his pipe, puffed it (remarkably not coughing) and pulled his hood back down over his head. “I know what I’m doing.”
Every one of those words screamed denial, but what was Harry to do but watch as Fudge slipped from his fingers and hurried out of the Three Broomsticks and into the pouring rain with his head low. At the end of the day, he was Cornelius Fudge, and the man from half a year ago that had been so stubborn in denying Voldomort’s return, was just from half a year ago. How much could realistically change?
“C’mon,” Harry grumbled, slinging his bag over his shoulder and digging around for his hat inside, jamming it on to protect from the rain, “Let’s go.” He trudged out, a worried Ron and Hermione behind, and he would have kept going too, grumpy and tired, but then his eyes caught a pale head of hair, much like it had on the way to the Three Broomsticks, and he stopped, Ron and Hermione almost running into his back as he did.
There Draco was, not gathering his bag, or even homework he’d started while half listening to things he already knew, as Ron had, but leaned against the bar, back entirely towards the trio, speaking with Madame Rosmerta so quietly that even in the empty building, no one could hear what he was saying.
“It’s probably nothing Harry,” Ron said, suspecting what Harry was thinking and remembering painfully how he had stayed up last night watching the Marauder’s Map, waiting for Draco to dare leaving his Common Room bed. “C’mon, we all need sleep -”
But Draco had just turned around, and in the split second they could see Madame Rosmerta before she bent down and disappeared behind the bar, they also saw a basket in her hands, a blanket pulled over. But not far enough over to completely cover the fresh hot cross buns packed inside.
Draco’s eyes flicked to the three of them for the briefest of moments before he stepped out into the rain, but in that brief moment, Harry saw the tears glistening in his eyes, and suddenly felt all anger wash away from him, the same sadness he had felt in the Room of Requirement when his patronus fizzled out rushing through his veins once more.
-*-*-*-
It took a third day of Umbridge recruiting students for her to finally admit to the school what the ulterior motive was here, but on that third day, it was a great understatement to say the H.O.O.D was paranoid. To say they were constantly looking over the shoulder for a toadlike smile, a pink bow, or a clipboard begging to be written on. To say the ones selected kept their heads bowed and mouths shut, would even be an understatement. They refused to say a word to even their closest friends after being called after class, but no one would know why until breakfast that Thursday morning.
Dumbledore stood up from his seat, raising his arms high, and as the students had done countless times before, so that it was ingrained in their minds to respect this man, everyone went silent and stared up at him, waiting desperately for the wisdom he would share, only to feel their hearts sink when he gestured his hands to the pink demon rising from her chair, grinning with malice.
“Thank you, Headmaster,” She slowly stepped away - slowly, surely for the build up of suspense she was getting - and tapped her short wand against the door Harry and Draco had left in the previous year when their worlds had collided in a way they never thought possible. “Hem, hem.” With her trademark phrase the door was pulled inwards, and a line of students marched out.
For fear of immediately getting detention and a scar on the back of their hand for it, the students maintained silence, though it was a clear struggle to do so, since the sight before them was that ridiculous. Marching in a line with their heads held high - surely for fear of being punished if they didn’t look anything but prideful - were students of Fifth Year and up, and one Zacharias Smith as the singular Fourth Year, dressed in a cloak black as pitch, the inner lining pink as the endless pink wardrobe Umbridge so adored, with a pink beret to match, the girls even having little black bows attached to their hats while the boys had pink roses pinned to their black suit vest, which everyone wore along with pink pants or skirts. The result was a truly horrendous and ridiculous lineup of kids who looked as if they had been led to their death sentence in standing before the entire school dressed like this. All but Pansy Parkinson, of course, who couldn’t care less, badge bearing a silver letter ‘I’ shining like her proud grin in the sun.
“Meet the Inquisitorial Squad. Made up of the finest of Hogwarts students I have taught since coming here, aiming to keep the entire school in check, including Prefects. It is currently being headed by your very own Head Boy, Cedric Diggory,” Cedric stepped forward and bowed before stepping back, stiff as a board, swift as a military soldier. “And Head Girl, Angelina Johnson,” Angelina stepped forward as well, but less stiff and much less swift, but still made to bow before stepping back. “You are to treat them with the same respect as a teacher, for any toe out of line allows them to enforce the same punishments as I would, or as they see fit. Such as,” She gestured to the four towering hourglasses visible if everyone turned in their seats and looked out the doors of the Great Hall, set into niches beside the massive Entrance Hall doors. Harry hadn’t dared look at the ruby, sapphire, emerald, and diamond filled chambers in months, but was pleasantly surprised to see Gryffindor and Ravenclaw holding out a neck and neck lead, Slytherin shortly behind, and Hufflepuff in last. “The removal of House points.”
“I expect you all to be on your best behavior.” She stepped away then, chin high, walking as primly as usual, and the line up of Inquisitorial Squad members separated, fleeing to their seats. Not before Harry managed to get a headcount, though and pick out those he recognized.
Pansy, of course, practically skipping back to the Slytherins alongside the uncomfortable looking Crabbe and Goyle, scowling Nott, who was tearing off his beret as fast as possible, and Blaise Zabini, puffing out his chest like a pompous brat. Not far behind, Daphne was kicking up dust beside Millicent Bulstrode, removing her hat and turning it in her hands worriedly, not unlike a certain bowler-hat wearing Minister. Pulling up the rear were older Slytherins, among which Harry recognized Cassius Warrington, Graham Montague, Adrian Pucey, Miles Bletchley, and a single sixth year girl.
Over at the Hufflepuff table, Cedric led forward the other Hufflepuff’s, among which were Zacharias and his older sister Sally Smith, Susan and Hannah who were practically dragging Ernie forward, a tall blonde who was adjusting her beret with disgust Harry assumed was Patricia Stimpson, a girl Fred, George, and Lee mentioned often, and bringing up the rear, Morag Macdougal was sauntering with two sixth years at his shoulders.
Hurrying past them, every single one adjusting their sleeves and skirts as if they didn’t fit just right, came the Ravenclaws, among which were the usual suspects such as Roger Davies and his latest girlfriend, plus their sixth year prefect buddies, who Harry knew to be twins, Lars and Lisa Cresswell, plus the other fifth year prefects Padma and Anthony. Harry also recognized Cho’s friend Marietta, who was hurrying to sit beside her and, as his girlfriend scolded her for her pink and black uniform, she clearly appeared quite guilty.
“Prefects and Ministry kids,” Hermione noted, drawing Harry’s attention away from watching the students and instead to look at her. “And of course all of the Death Eater’s kids, the ones you named in the article. She probably was sure that they’d agree to join because of it.” Ron was shifting uncomfortably in his chair beside him, glancing around at the few Gryffindors now coming closer; Angelina, and a sixth year boy and girl Harry assumed, due to Hermione’s theory, were probably prefects. “I bet Dumbledore made her add Gryfindor’s, too,” Ron mumbled, looking down at his food, a little green, and Harry was inclined to agree.
For the rest of the day, and long, long week, no one passed the four house hourglasses without glancing up. Within hours Gryffindor and Ravenclaw lost the lead, then Hufflepuff skyrocketed up, only to plummet again. Then it was Slytherin, then Gryffindor, then Hufflepuff again, rounding out the day with Ravenclaw, but then in the morning Hufflepuff was back… And it just kept going on and on, with an Inquisitorial Squad made up of all four houses and many students willing to corrupt their power, or otherwise being pressured by Umbridge into giving out punishments, the glasses couldn’t stop moving. The only thing Harry could see throughout the week was that the gems were all getting less and less, and he could picture the end of the year already, when there would be no victor to crown, for every last ruby, sapphire, emerald, or diamond would be gone.
It became increasingly obvious with each passing day that Umbridge’s hold on his school, his home, was only getting tighter, and they, by following Fudge’s directions, were letting it happen far too easily. Never mind the scar on his hand, with the school uniforms being replaced with pink and black, and the loss of a point system, seemingly, it was as if she was replacing the school’s very identity with that of a militaristic, mini-Ministry, and all he had to look forward to at this point was Quidditch, of course, but also the H.O.O.D.
For try as she might, Umbridge would never be able to remove his secret society, which swore the meeting directly following that awful week, that with the spells they learned within the Room and from Harry’s teaching, they’d protect not only the school itself, but it’s image and identity, before Umbridge could entirely strip it away.
-*-*-*-
On a sad Wednesday morning Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked down the marble staircase to breakfast and watched as ten rubies, part of most likely less than fifty still left at the bottom of the Gryffindor glass flew upwards, leaving the bottom bulb even more sadder than before, though the others glasses still weren’t fairing much better.
“Oh no!” Hermione gasped and with a slammed door Fred sighed, “Be grateful it’s not empty yet!” He called from the opposite staircase and the trio hurried down to meet him and George in front of the empty hourglass. “Montague just tried to do us during break,” said George.
“What do you mean, ‘tried’?” Ron asked quickly, far too used to his brother’s antics and worried the hourglass was about to get empty really soon.
“He never managed to get all the words out,” Fred explained, “due to the fact that we forced him head-first into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor.” Hermione gasped once more, exclaiming, “But you’ll get into terrible trouble!” clearly on the same wavelength as Ron as far as losing those last few points.
“Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him,” said Fred coolly. “Anyway… we’ve decided we don't care about getting into trouble any more.” Hermione didn’t look very impressed by that. “Have you ever?” She questioned, eyebrows raised and Fred scoffed, waving a hand whilst George pointed out, “Course we have, never been expelled, have we?”
“We’ve always known where to draw the line.”
“We might have put a toe across it occasionally.”
“But we’ve always stopped short of causing real mayhem.”
There was a clear double meaning here, and the whole trio knew it. “But now?” Ron asked, curious and, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit it, worried.
“Well, now -” said George.
“- what with this Inquisitorial nonsense -” said Fred.
“- we reckon a bit of mayhem -”
“- is exactly what this school needs!”
“You mustn’t!” Hermione whispered, leaning closer and glancing around the Hall worriedly, which had just begun to flood with hungry students eager to get their breakfast. “You really mustn’t! She’d love a reason to expel you!” But Fred only grinned.
“You don’t get it, Hermione, do you? We don’t care about staying any more. We’d walk out right now if we weren’t determined to do our bit for the HOOD first. You told us to put what you taught us to good use,” He leveled Harry with a serious gaze, the sort of look in his eye Harry would expect from a Weasley, ever protective and brave, but not Fred or George, ever the jokesters. They really were serious about this. “This is how we’re doing it. For all of Hogwarts.”
“Anyway,” George checked his watch, “Phase one is about to begin.”
“I’d get in the Great Hall for breakfast, if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can’t have had anything to do with it.” Fred advised, beginning to back away up the staircase but Hermione stepped forward, one foot on the bottom step, hand gripping the railing much too tight, asking, “Anything to do with what?” anxiously. George smirked, “You’ll see. Run along, now.”
They turned and disappeared up the stairs and into the coming rush of hungry students, and the trio was forced to back away, up against the hour-glasses. With a clatter, they’re heads swiveled around and watched as more Ravenclaw sapphires flew up, while at the same time, five emeralds poured down.
“I think we should get out of here, you know,” said Hermione nervously, backing away from the hour-glasses as if they were a cursed artifact that could kill her. “Just in case.”
“Yeah, all right,” said Ron, and the three moved along with the crowd and into the Great Hall to eat their breakfast, now passing tables of not just green, yellow, and blue clad students, but pink and black as well. They sat at their usual spot among scarlet robes, which was much more comforting, with Angelina, and the sixth year boy and girl being the only outliers.
“I hope they know what they’re doing,” Hermione said, picking up a carton and beginning to fill her bowl with milk first instead of cereal in her distractedness while Ron began cutting the bacon on his plate with silverware, instead of picking it up and eating it like normal. “I can’t imagine… They couldn’t just leave, could they?” Ron shrugged, dumping eggs onto his plate after taking the bowl right out of Neville’s hands. “They still have Quidditch going for them, but I think Fred’s right. The HOOD has to do something in defense of Hogwarts. What else have all these meetings been for?”
Harry sat mulling over that statement for a few minutes (enough to be content with the amount of toast he ate in that time) before their, and everyone else’s, breakfast was rudely interrupted several minutes later by a loud;
BOOM!
The floor shook, Hermione’s bowl of cereal shaking and the milk on her spoon slipping onto her robes while a couple other people spilled cereal or drinks onto their clothes further down the table. Harry barely had time to get out two words (“What the -”) before screams suddenly filled the air, and with another loud,
BOOM!
followed by the ground shaking so hard it caused a couple people who couldn’t grab hold of something or regain their balance to fall off their seats, bright colors of every shade flashed somewhere outside the Great Hall, their shadows reflecting off the walls, and with a quick glance over at the staff table to see every teacher had risen from their seats, every student lurched out of their own and bolted for the doors.
They darted in every direction to find the source but the trio had last seen Fred and George heading up the staircase across from the more tempting marble one, so hurried up it, hardly aware that many pink and black robes were pounding up the stairs after them.
Thrusting the doors at the top open and taking a few strides in, the trio slowed to an abrupt stop at the sight of several massive green and gold dragons made of sparks, flying above the heads of screaming students who just wanted to get their breakfast, but were getting blasted with every fiery breath that emitted a loud bang every time it was released. Alongside these massive dragons, bright pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were flying around lethally, as if taunting the students with the possibility of hitting them; rockets with long silvery tails that looked to be made of hundreds of stars bounced off of walls; sparklers wrote swear words out of sparks into the air of their own accord; firecrackers exploded like mines everywhere you looked, popping up up under people's feet and adding to the screams. But instead of burning out, like all fireworks should, these pyrotechnical miracles, work that could only be of the Weasley twins, seemed to only gain momentum, and maybe even get bigger and brighter, the longer they whizzed around in the air.
The trio could only stand for a few moments before being shoved aside by a line up of Inquisitorial members, all Slytherins, Harry noted by the pitch black head of hair leading them forward. Curiously, while the others immediately whipped out their wands and started casting any spell they knew to get rid of the fireworks, which all turned against them and charged when attacked, Pansy pushed through students and up a staircase across the hall. She disappeared a moment later, however, as the doors were thrown open and students who had gone in circles to find this hall poured out while at the same time more kids, led by a furious looking Umbridge and Filch, rounded a corner to another hallway.
The duo stood there, as transfixed with horror as the trio had been with awe a moment before, and a Catherine wheel that had been spinning figure eights around Crabbe and Gowl, whirled towards them with a sinister “wheeeeeeeeee”. They both gave a yelp and ducked, and it soared straight out through the window behind them, shattering it, and off across the grounds, while the trio was forced to duck when several of the dragons along with a large purple bat flew over their heads and out of the now open door into the entrance hall.
“Hurry, Filch, hurry!” Umbridge shrieked, “they’ll be all over the school unless we do something - Stupefy!”
The Stunning curse didn’t freeze the rocket in place, however, as Harry knew from his knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts it was by all accounts supposed to do, instead causing it to blow up with so much force it blasted a hole in the painting behind it, and though the witch inside ran in time to the neighboring painting, her formal home was now reduced to cinders.
“Don’t Stun them, Filch!” Umbridge shouted, as if she hadn’t been the one to destroy the painting.
“Right you are, Headmistress!” wheezed Filch, as if he could, being a Squib, who would sooner have attempted to burn fire with fire. His next action was almost as ridiculous though, as he dashed to a nearby cupboard to pull out a broom and began swatting at the fireworks as they passed over him, setting the head of it on fire within moments.
All at once, Harry burst into a fit of laughter, and after eying him cautiously at first to make sure he wasn’t going insane - because they couldn’t remember the last time Harry had laughed this much - Ron and Hermione began to laugh as well. They only had a moment to enjoy their own laughter before Harry grabbed their hands and ducked behind a tapestry a little way along the corridor, finding Fred and George pressed against the wall, physically shaking with the effort to stifle laughter themselves.
“Impressive,” Harry said quietly, finding himself beaming wider than he had in months. “Very impressive… you’ll put Dr Filibuster out of business, no problem…” George turned to smile at him as well, wiping tears off his face as he whispered, “Cheers. Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next… they multiply by ten every time you try.”
For the rest of the day the fireworks continued to burn and, true to Harry’s theory, only multiplied or got larger or did any number of things any spell against them caused. And, Harry couldn’t ignore, everywhere the fireworks went, an Inquisitorial members trailing behind became less and less common, which he didn’t get an answer for until he saw a giggling Pansy sneaking out of a secret passage where Fred and George were surely hiding, and knew she had to have gotten the Squad in on it too.
Not only that, but the teachers hadn’t done anything to stop them, save for Professor Umbridge, and showed no signs of minding the fact that they kept interrupting their classes.
“Dear, dear,” said Professor McGonagall sardonically, watching with the most calm expression on her face as a dragon soared over his desk, emitting loud bangs when breathing shoots of fire upon the students. “Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the High Inquisitor and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?”
One might wonder why McGonagall didn’t take care of the fireworks herself, being more than capable to Evanesco them to oblivion, as Harry’s expanse of Transfiguration knowledge told him, but to that he would say it was clearly purposeful, as a means to cause Umbridge to be constantly running around the school, the teachers claiming that they assumed it was the her job as High Inquisitor to ensure the school was in shape, and that in accordance with Education Decree Number Twenty-Six, they couldn’t take care of the fireworks as they didn’t have anything to do with plants.
Even Hermione couldn’t hide a smirk when Professor Sprout said this to the (literally) fuming womans face, and when the trio passed Professor Flitwick’s office on the way to dinner, they couldn’t help but overhear him calling after the disheveled and soot-blackened Umrbidge stomping out, “Thank you so much, Professor! I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn’t sure whether or not I had the authority.”
And, with a wide smile, he slammed the classroom door on her sweaty, sneering face.
Suffice to say, Fred and George were regarded as heroes in the Common Room that night, and Harry found himself beside Hermione in congratulating the two, something he never would have suspected from her. But under these circumstances… Well, she certainly hated Rita enough to blackmail, who knew what she’d forgive for the sake of Umbridge getting her just desserts?
“They were wonderful fireworks,” she said admiringly and the duo did a double take when they spotted her but grinned nonetheless. “Thanks. Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock; we’re going to have to start again from scratch now.” Fred waved a hand to his brother before returning to his clipboard of orders from clamoring Gryffindors, saying, “It was worth it, though,” He glanced back at Hermione, smirking and raising an eyebrow. “If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it’s five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe…”
That seemed to be the extent of her rebelling though, at least for the moment, as she turned and returned to their table and frowned along with her friends at their school bags full of waiting homework.
“Oh, why don’t we have a night off?” Hermione declared brightly, waving her hands as a silver-tailed Weasley rocket whipped past the window and soared over her head like a metaphorical lightbulb lighting there. “After all, the Easter holidays are just around the corner, we’ll have plenty of time then.” Ron, who was beginning to sit down, did a double take and stared wide eyed, slack jawed at her. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Now you mention it,” Hermione smiled dazedly, shrugging her shoulders with more light-hearted happiness than Harry had seen in her all year, “d’you know… I think I’m feeling a bit… rebellious.” And with that, she bent forward to clasp her bag shut and slung it over her shoulder, no doubt on a path to tuck it away in her room, never to be touched again that night, but standing on tiptoe and giving Ron a peck on the cheek as she passed, causing his freckled face to immediately go pink. Harry was reminded strongly of a strawberry, and found himself beaming and stifling laughs under his fist in seconds.
-*-*-*-
Joy continued to spread throughout the castle following Fred and George’s gutsy display and by April Harry had nearly forgotten about all his troubles. Nearly, until he had to sleep the night of April 2nd, and slip into the world of dreams he still so feared, back to that door, ever out of his reach, except…
Tonight, he opened it. Into a circular room lined with doors; into a long rectangular room full of an odd mechanical clicking, with dancing flecks of light on the walls; into a dimly lit room as high and wide as a church, decorated with rows upon rows of shelves that went far out of his line of sight above, laden with small, dusty, spun-glass sphere. And there was something here he wanted, and his scar was burning, and it was still out of his reach…
Harry was very distracted that next day, understandably, because he still had Occlumency that night, and if Snape discovered all he saw in the Department of Mysteries… how he’d opened the door… Don’t blame him for turning to his girlfriend’s repeated calls of his name with nothing but a tired “Wha…?” because he had more important things to worry about, frankly.
They were standing beside the hour-glasses, where he had been dazedly watching sapphires and diamonds rise and fall, Gryffindor and Slytherin coming to a rare standstill. Harry got the impression that this was not going to be a nice talk, because her hands were gripping the strap of her school bag, adjusting it anxiously, though, digging through his chaotic past couple months, he couldn’t think of what he did wrong.
“Hi… Er - You going home for the holidays?” He shook his head, knowing he and Ron had never left school for Easter, so why should that change now? “No, don’t think so,” he said and she nodded, clicking her tongue while muttering, “Cool… cool… cool… Ready for OWL’s? I know they can be really stressful.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll be good. Guaranteed ‘O’ on DADA at least, right?” He grinned and Cho licked her lips, nodding, then, quite suddenly blurted out, “Why have you been ignoring me?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Ever since our date you’ve just been… distant… and, well, I thought maybe you’d ask me to Hogsmeade again but the weekend went and you didn’t even notice me, so…”
“I didn’t even know there was another trip.” He said honestly, then looked up at the Ravenclaw hour-glass blandly, “Oh, look, you’re in the lead again.”
Cho blinked, frowned, then demanded, “Are you even listening to me?” Causing his head to swivel back around and frown at her. “It doesn’t matter if you knew there was a Hogsmeade weekend or not! Malfoy suddenly stops paying attention to you so you chose to stop paying attention to me! And I can't help but…” She sniffed and Harry suppressed a groan. She couldn’t be crying now, could she? “Anthony Goldstein broke up with Draco Malfoy the same day we had our date and Marietta’s telling me -”
“Wait, wait,” Harry raised his hands, staring wide eyed at her, thoroughly thrown back by such an accusation, “You think I only dated you because Draco was with Anthony?” He let out a half hearted, bewildered laugh. “Cho, I liked you way before I even befriended Draco -”
“But that's what you two do, don’t you? You challenge each other.” Cho planted her feet firmly on the ground, raising her chin high when she said, “I’m not going to be the tightrope between your tug and pull relationship, Harry, I’m going to be your girlfriend, but if I can’t be your girlfriend then -”
“Hasn’t this all just come from something Marietta told you?” Harry pointed out, recalling what she’d said seconds before. “Marietta, who joined the Inquisitorial Squad and was salty after Draco refused to take her out after the Yule Ball, knowing he’s gay. That doesn’t seem suspicious to you?”
Now it was Cho’s turn to be thrown off her feet from surprise. “Fudge told us to join -”
“Yeah but she hasn’t seemed very cheery at HOOD meetings, has she?”
Cho frowned, “Harry, you can’t shift the blame here -” “I’m not!” “You’re throwing claims at a wall to see if it sticks!” She threw her arms up, exasperated. “I - I can’t - We can’t - Why can’t you take responsibility and admit you used me to get even with your friend?!”
“Because that’s ridiculous!” And it was, which was why Harry sounded so genuine in saying that, despite the voice in his head screaming that she was right, that he needed to admit that, and maybe then the sting of Draco now being the one to ignore him would fade a bit. “Cho, he’s just a friend and in case you haven’t noticed, he’s ignoring me now too!”
“Then kiss me!” Cho practically screamed, then stared wide eyed at him, surprised by her own words before repeating, “Then kiss me,” in a whisper, “And we’ll see if it’s real.”
“Fine.” And he leaned down and kissed her on the lips, but found himself only sadly proving her point, because he didn’t feel a thing. No joy that they were together at last as he had at the lake, or electric, teenage, young love as he did after the Quidditch match. Nothing because both times he had kissed her then to relieve himself from anger felt at Draco, but now he was just tired, and at the end of the day, felt nothing when his lips met hers.
They parted, and he saw her eyes had glistened with tears, but instead of rolling his own he took her hand in his and squeezed it, managing a smile. “I’m sorry,” He said at the same time she gasped out the words. They gave each other weak, sympathetic smiles then, slowly stepping away.
“Goodbye… Harry,” She said, soft and sweet, nothing like the bashful blushing Cho he’d met on the train at the beginning of the year, or the angry, fuming one that had stomped out of Madam Puddifoot’s, but everything like a freshly broken up with girl, and he found himself feeling slightly the same. “‘Bye, Cho.” He said and she nodded, turned, and walked away, and he found her hair didn’t shine quite like it used to, but he didn’t mind it all that much.
-*-*-*-
“What did you hear?” Montague pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, tipping his head back with his eyes closed, as if willing himself to stay awake when he blinked rapidly. While he did that, Draco turned and chanced a glance at Madame Pomfrey busying herself in her office, and he could just see her through the blinds on her door when he looked for more than a moment. Turning back, he asked the tired boy once more, “What did you hear?”
He’d come back after about a week trapped in that Vanishing Cabinet, and of course Draco had jumped on the opportunity to talk to him in the Hospital Wing following Blaise announcing his return. Of course he heard those words, imagining the properties of such a device, and hurried to press questions onto his Captain as much as he could. To use his free pass for being a great Seeker (while his performance in the last match had been less than favorable, he’d still beaten Potter at the beginning of the year, and hadn’t yet used those leverage points on his Captain) to get answers.
“It sounded like a shop. You know… Borgin and Burkes? Yeah… I think I heard that guy speaking.”
“You heard Mr. Borgin?” Draco questioned, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You heard someone who's miles and miles away, in Knockturn Alley?” Montague threw his hands up, giving Draco a not-so-nice look. “I dunno, mate. I could’ve apparated by accident, I guess, since I keep getting told that the Cabinet's broken.”
“You can’t apparate in or outside of Hogwarts…” Draco muttered and nearly said his next thought aloud, but barely kept himself in check. It can’t be broken. At least not all the way.
“Where is it now?” He asked after a moment where Montague closed his eyes and laid against the pillow, looking about to fall asleep. He groaned again, peeking one eye open and saying, “I dunno. Those Weasley’s said something about a ‘Room.’ That’s all I know. Now, will you let me sleep? We’re behind on Quidditch practice, and I want to be back on my feet as soon as possible to be up in the skies again.
Draco obliged, standing and leaving, but immediately found his way to the fourth-floor and the Room of Requirement, where he paced back and forth, thinking ‘I need the Vanishing Cabinet’ hard and intently. Sure enough, the plain brown door appeared, and he stepped forward to swing it open, feeling as thrown backward in surprise as Harry and Cho had during their breakup. Before him, rows upon rows of teetering and tottering miscellaneous objects, furniture, and devices sat piled up on top of each other as far as the eye could see, like a giant dumpster. A wasteland of junk waiting to be traversed, and Draco knew he had to, because he needed to find that Cabinet.
So he stepped inside, determined, and began searching.