The situation with Umbridge—is a bit strange, but requires a solution in any case.
No, I don't think she is really dangerous, but, let's say, the direction she took to stop DADA practice is not a good idea, as well as corporal punishment, and even with elements of dark magic.
Obviously, to prevent unpleasant incidents, need to develop a behavior model that everyone in the house will adhere to, and ideally generally at Hogwarts. Why? Whatever dirty trick Umbridge has in mind, it will be extremely difficult for her to implement it without the support of at least some of the students. One man is no warrior in the field.
With such thoughts I lingered a little in the common room on Wednesday morning. Right above the exit I hung a conjured announcement, a bright and attention-grabbing sign saying about a house meeting in the common room after dinner, attendance mandatory. Well and at the same time warned one or two students from each year so that everyone was definitely notified and invited to the common room in the evening.
At breakfast, or rather, a couple of minutes before it started, when many were already sitting at the tables, Madam Sprout walked past our table.
"Mr. Granger, Miss Abbott," she smiled at us. "After breakfast come to the Headmaster. This concerns all prefects."
We nodded, and I immediately turned to Justin.
"Buddy," I smiled.
"Ye-es?" he drawled, looking at me with slight suspicion. Eh, growing up, no longer so similar to some main villain-billionaire from cinematography.
"Escort the first-years to their classes, eh?"
"Okay," Justin clearly felt relief. Surely he thought I would ask for something more burdensome.
"By the way," Ernie leaned forward and wanted to put his hands on the table, but exactly at this moment house-elves served breakfast, and one of the cleanest and neatest looking students in the house—yes, Ernie is like that—almost knocked over a deep plate with oatmeal on himself. "Damn it..."
The guys smiled, pulling their portions towards themselves, thoughtfully choosing what to flavor the oatmeal with—dried fruits or nuts?
"In general," Ernie coped with the awkward situation that almost arose. "I heard in the shower how ours discussed Umbridge's actions."
"Something important?"
"If you hadn't gone to the shower room before everyone else and in complete solitude," Ernie smirked, "you would know that there is more gossip there than anywhere else. In general, she stated that every decent student of the school is obliged to report to her about 'fermentations' in our ranks, about statements and opinions contrary to the policy of the Ministry."
"Hmm... Just like that?"
"For now—yes," Ernie smirked understandingly. "Don't think anyone will run to report to her. But if she starts exchanging some benefits for information—quite possibly. I would create some group of students who have more rights and opportunities, but in return—reports and capture of 'objectionables'."
"Reasonable decision," I nodded. "In the realities of Hogwarts as a fairly isolated social system—more than, yes. And this can be a problem."
"Not only," Hannah nodded. "If necessary, she can threaten those whose parents work in the Ministry. Create some difficulties there at work, or generally fire."
"How real are such threats?"
"Almost unreal," Susan answered instead of Hannah. "There is a very strict and complex hierarchy in the Ministry, in which the rule 'the vassal of my vassal is not my vassal' works perfectly. If a wizard is not a direct subordinate of Umbridge, she will not fire him."
"But can put pressure?"
"Anyone can put pressure," Susan nodded importantly, shaking a couple of red locks. "By the way, what did you plan the meeting about?"
"Umbridge," this surname alone was enough for understanding nods.
After breakfast Hannah and I went to the Headmaster's office. Meeting prefects of other houses on the way, we got to the right floor in one not very friendly crowd. The gargoyle was not in the niche and the passage to the spiral staircase was free.
The Headmaster's office met us with wonderful lighting from the morning sun—its rays flooded everything around through the large windows, against the background of which the Headmaster sat at his large desk. Amusingly, the sunlight did not blind, did not interfere with the view.
"Come in," the Headmaster nodded to us, put some documents aside, taking a small stack of other documents.
We quickly stood in front of his desk.
"To begin with," Dumbledore looked carefully at each of us, smiling faintly, "I want to congratulate you on these important positions. But, let's omit the lyrics and get down to business. I hope the work on intra-house clubs has already been done by you?"
Practically everyone nodded in agreement, only Ron hesitated, but seeing Hermione's agreeing nod, confirmed "readiness".
"Good. If have documents with you—please put them down."
Taking parchments out of the backpack, I put them into the quickly grown stack on the table.
"Regarding house teams—waiting for documents on the results of tryouts and on new compositions no later than the end of the third week. Roles not necessary to describe, unlike the composition itself. Now, about school clubs. There are few of them, as you probably know."
Dumbledore handed the documents to us. But there were few of them, clearly in one copy, and it was unclear who should do what.
"Distribute among yourselves," Dumbledore answered our unspoken question. "Waiting for documents on them, as on house teams, no later than the end of the third week. On this, perhaps..."
Dumbledore thought for a moment, as if trying to understand if he forgot something important.
"...That's all. You may be free."
Without unnecessary questions we left the Headmaster's office. Already downstairs, having descended from the stairs, I glanced at the guys.
"Will need to talk," I addressed everyone at once. "This is important. Suggest today an hour before curfew."
"You don't care about our opinion?" Malfoy smirked.
"In general, or specifically on this issue?" in response I smirked exactly the same way.
"What to talk about?" Ron stretched lazily. "Nonsense, probably, some. I'm too busy with all these prefect duties."
"And what is that, excuse me?" Hermione looked in surprise at her comrade. "Chess, Gobstones and Quidditch magazines?"
"Hey, I don't reproach you for spending all your free time on books."
"Enough," I interrupted this squabble with a slight smile. "So what? An hour before curfew? No questions about time?"
Seemingly everyone agreed.
"The question is different," Pansy folded her arms under her chest with a familiar gesture. "Where?"
"Need some secret place, probably?" Hermione frowned thoughtfully.
"Why?" Goldstein's question was reasonable. "We are going to talk, not break rules. Suggest generally in the hall. And there, if anything, will decide."
The proposal was accepted, and we all went to classes. It seems Hannah and I are not the only ones who delegated the authority to escort first-years to the first class onto other people's shoulders.
The day went on as usual. I performed prefect duties together with Hannah, led little ones to classes and picked them up from there, went to my classes, a couple of times they brought me lists of newcomers to house clubs—they need to be periodically handed over to "high authorities".
By the end of the day I could notice that students' dissatisfaction with the fact of the existence of such a witch as Umbridge, and that she occupies the position of DADA professor, grew literally by leaps and bounds. In three days almost all years attended one DADA class each, and absolutely no one was pleased with these lessons. Unless first-years shrugged in bewilderment, and second-years looked somewhat upset—but they really have nothing to compare with, because first-years generally just came to study, and for second-years sensible DADA practice last year began only after Christmas. Seventh-years were indignant most of all—they, poor things, were already intimidated by NEWTs, as I understood, and now there will also be no DADA practice. Of course, can study independently, but with a mentor will be faster, and time—is exactly that luxury which the seventh year absolutely cannot afford.
Why did I decide that the seventh year has too little time for self-education? This is logical, because professors thoroughly plan to load us this year because of OWLs—why should it be different for them before NEWTs?
In the evening after dinner I quickly popped into the dueling club, where there were quite a few students. I would even say, full staff, not counting the guys who graduated last year. Finding Malfoy with a glance, I approached him.
"Still want a duel?"
"Of course."
"Will have to wait. I have business at the house."
"You can not hurry," Draco waved it off with a smirk. "Here another hour, probably, will express general dissatisfaction with what is happening in this pathetic semblance of a school."
Students really actively discussed DADA and all such things, and the hubbub of voices merged simply into noise. Leaving the club, I went to the house common room.
Was I surprised to see the whole house fully assembled? Not really—long ago noticed by me that puffs are quite disciplined by themselves, without house influence. True, when absolutely everyone is in the common room, it gets a bit cramped here.
Stepping out to the middle, I cast a glance over each of the students. Quiet conversations finally died down—students expected when I would speak, and most importantly—about what. In this silence Madam Sprout also entered the common room, quietly attaching herself to the wall—almost no one noticed her.
"So, ladies and gentlemen," I began my improvisation, for I had not prepared in advance. "I asked all of you to be present here not just like that. We all already understood that we have a problem in the school. Serious problem. Yes, I see by looks and nods that you guess what this problem is, or rather—who is its source. But it's far from only about the complete lack of legal DADA practice in the coming year."
A small pause in the best traditions of Dumbledore was necessary—the guys immediately began whispering, some in bewilderment, and some simply shared guesses.
"Yes, comrades," I nodded, "you heard right—this is not the main problem. Moreover, it is quite easily solved—practice in unused classrooms. Organizational issues I will still discuss with Hannah Abbott, our girl prefect, and with prefects of other houses. So should not worry about this—by the beginning of the third week there will be a ready solution. Our problem is different, although its source is the same."
Another short pause in my performance, but the guys keep silent and just look at me waiting. Looking over everyone again, noted for myself that seats were given predominantly to lower years, and among them—to girls. Gentlemen of the dungeons—touches.
"One DADA professor known to you," I continued my thought, "in a rather cunning manner uses a modified Blood Quill as corporal punishment at her detentions."
And silence. But not from the fact that they do not understand—this is simply unheard of! Senior years were in special shock, because during their training they had never been subjected to corporal punishment and perfectly know that they are prohibited.
"Specifically right now, most likely, one student is serving such a punishment. The professor is cunning, and does not say that such a thing—is exactly a punishment, detention or something else. The essence of the punishment for this specific student—to write lines of text with a Blood Quill."
Someone began to giggle, someone frankly smiled, and only a third of the students remained serious either because of vague understanding so far, or waiting for explanations.
"Chuckles are inappropriate here. Modification of the Blood Quill is amusing—every stroke with such a quill scratches the hand of the writer, as if he is not writing on paper, but right on the hand, forcefully pressing the quill. Result—every phrase written on the sheet is literally cut out on the hand, becoming deeper every time."
Seemingly imbued. Madam Sprout's reaction—controversial. Seemingly believes, and seemingly not, but, in any case, listens.
"I examined the wound after such a detention. A little Dark Magic. Effect promises to be amusing—besides pain sensations, the written line cuts into consciousness as a setup for action, or inaction. And as we know, impact with magic for the purpose of harm or forcible submission, especially through blood, is Dark Magic both in essence and by Ministry laws. I see some have misunderstanding of what a Blood Quill is. Telling principles takes a long time, and you can ask those who know about the essence. But the general essence of the problem boils down to the fact that under the guise of detention, the professor practices corporal punishment using Dark Magic."
Once again I paused, and students immediately began to actively discuss what they heard. Someone exclaimed about inadmissibility, someone was just indignant, and someone—shook head in disapproval.
"And are you a big expert in Dark Magic, or what?" a guy from the third year was indignant, I assume, having decided to show me incompetent in this matter, or maybe just staying in doubt, like a good quarter of the other guys.
"Not an expert," I nodded in agreement. "But already for a year studying specific directions, since plan to become a Healer. And no, I'm not going to show or prove something. Now the problem is different."
The hubbub of voices died down.
"I don't know if that student who is now serving punishment with the professor will be the only one to whom such a method will be applied. Perhaps, there is already someone else. And perhaps not. Perhaps, no one else will be subjected to such a thing. Another thing is important—need to decide how to behave and how to communicate with this... Personality. I propose the following..."
Making sure that I am listened to carefully, continued the thought.
"Students from first to fifth year—sit at DADA quieter than water, lower than grass. If the professor says something—agree, nod and smile. It doesn't matter what nonsense the professor will say—nod and smile. Do not run into under any circumstances. She says that Dumbledore is an old liar and senile—agree and nod. She says that we are all shit—nod and smile. Idea understood?"
"And if we disagree?" a girl from the fourth year was indignant. "If she is wrong? Just take and keep silent?"
"Yes," I nodded briefly. "Well, you can go on principle, get punishment, but then..."
I smiled.
"Then act differently. How? I saved this idea for senior years. If you got to detention with the DADA professor, try to get a clear answer from her to the question: 'Is my punishment—to write lines with this quill of yours?'. Well or formulate as you want, main thing is that the question is unambiguous. So that the professor's answer unambiguously and unequivocally says that she punishes you by forcing to write lines with a quill."
About a dozen students clearly understood the meaning of this idea, and a sly smirk appeared on their faces.
"See, you understood. Immediately after such a detention rush to the Hospital Wing and demand Madam Pomfrey to document the received injuries according to protocol. You must receive all these materials on hand from Madam Pomfrey. This, as well as memories of what happened along with their truthfulness in case of applying Veritaserum—proof of DADA professor's actions. They can come in handy if she becomes completely insolent. But in general, house policy—do not run into, but act if there will be no other way out."
"Yes who will need these proofs," a boy from the second year snorted loudly, Muggle-born, it seems. "Who are we, and who—Um... DADA professor?"
Some even agreed with this statement, but I only smiled.
"You know, Slytherins like to boast that they—are children of not at all simple wizards. Dare to remind that parents and relatives of many in our house—are also not just anyone. Name any even slightly significant department of the Ministry, even DMLE and Auror Office—your relatives or parents are there, and not at all in 'fetch-and-carry' positions. If there is desire, reason and real evidence base—we will manage."
Having talked for another ten minutes on various topics related to our problem, the house meeting officially came to an end, and students hurried to go about their business—even the same homework. And I approached Madam Sprout who was clearly waiting for me. The Head of House looked worried.
"Mr. Granger. Are your words—truth? I mean, about the type of punishment."
"Yes, Madam Sprout," I nodded. "At least one student at the moment is subjected to such detentions."
"Why don't you say the name of this unfortunate one?"
"Obviously, this student does not want publicity, since until now no one knew anything, isn't that so?"
"Indeed," the Head of House nodded sadly, and it seemed as if even her gray curls under a neat brown hat became gloomy. "But this whole venture of yours... Risky. Umbridge has extensive opportunities due to her position in the Ministry."
"Azkaban will joyfully welcome a new lodger," I smiled. "Even I know how strong the opposition to Fudge and the current government is. If there is a chance, they will cling to the opportunity to discredit the Minister at the expense of his confidant. Even people say that Umbridge's actions and words—are actions and words of the Minister and Ministry. Publicity of such use of Dark Magic by a professor in relation to students, and even as a punishment, in current realities—a scandal higher than mountains. Fudge himself will personally escort her to Azkaban for the proper half a year."
"Where does such a desire to send a wizard to this... terrible place come from, Mr. Granger?" the Head of House was surprised.
"Where from? An adult wizard consciously and purposefully causes harm to children," I shrugged. "You at least should understand this."
Understands. She perfectly understands everything, but it seems, does not act due to the setup of management in the person of Dumbledore.
"Sure," I continued, "the Headmaster is also waiting for a suitable moment for action. After all, do not become the most famous and one of the strongest and most influential wizards for beautiful eyes."
"Good," the Head of House nodded. "I approve of your recommendations to the house—wouldn't have come up with better myself. But I would ask not to give motion to the case too hastily."
"Of course," I smiled. "There are always several options for action. Magic is so diverse..."
Light understatement could make to understand much more than words.
"Hope you will not do thoughtless actions."
Nodding, I left the common room—need to conduct a duel with Draco, listen to opinions of students from other years involved in the dueling club, and besides before curfew a "meeting of prefects" must take place. Eh... How dreary everything is, honest word. I don't like such a fuss.
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