Harry Potter stood in front of the large wooden desk in Professor Snape’s office and shuffled his feet guiltily. The strictest professor in school had just caught him sneaking away from where he’d been spying on the staff party, after getting a young house-elf to spike the punch with a powder that the Weasley twins had created.
Not that the Professor knew it was Harry’s fault, nor that the punch had been spiked. He just thought he’d caught Harry out after curfew, spying on them.
“So, Mr Potter,” the silky tones came from behind Harry. “Would you like to explain where you were?”
“Um, no?” Harry tried.
“That was not a request, Mr Potter.” Professor Snape came to stand in front of him. “I would like you to explain where you were when I caught you. Outside the dorms. After curfew.” Snape folded his arms across his chest and raised an imperious eyebrow. “I have all night, Mr Potter, and all day. Indeed, I have all weekend to wait for your answer.”
Harry gulped. He did not want to spend the entire weekend with Snape, but he didn’t want to get his friends into trouble, either.
At that moment, much to Harry’s horror, the tiny house-elf that had helped him popped into existence next to him.
“Master, Is did as you is asking!” it squeaked enthusiastically. Then it registered the fact that Harry was not alone. It squealed in alarm, and promptly disappeared with a loud crack that made Harry’s ears pop.
“Well, well,” Snape purred. Harry gulped again. Dang house-elf – he was really in for it now! “And just what, precisely, were you ‘asking’ the house-elf to do?”
“Umm, help me with my homework?” Harry tried. He didn’t think it’d work, but it was worth a shot.
“Try again, Potter,” Snape said. “Unless you want me to take you to the Headmaster and tell him you’ve been cheating?”
“No, fine, it wasn’t that!” Harry yelped. “It was . . . uh . . . I’d asked it to get me a late-night snack. Yeah, that’s it!”
Snape raised his eyebrow again, clearly not convinced. “And where is this snack, Mr Potter? And why were you near the staff room instead of waiting for it in your dorm or in the kitchen?”
“Uhh . . .” Harry froze. He had no good answers for that. Heck, he didn’t even have a bad answer!
“And what do we have here?” Snape’s sharp eyes had narrowed on something on the ground at his feet, and he swooped down to collect it before Harry had even seen there was something there. Harry felt the blood drain from his face as he realised what it was.
It was the velvet pouch that had held the powder that Harry had given to the elf.
Harry considered making a grab for it – or even summoning it – but knew it was too late for that. Snape would just get even madder at him, and his punishment would be that much worse.
Snape had by now turned the pouch inside out, and was intently examining the small specks of powder left at the bottom. “Hmm,” he muttered. “Looks like a Weasley project.” He touched a finger to a rather large fleck. “Feels like a Weasley project.” He lifted the pouch to his nose and gingerly sniffed. “And smells like a Weasley project.” Harry had a brief moment to wonder just how much contact Snape had had with Fred and George’s . . . products if he was that familiar with them, before Snape fixed him with a glare.
“Perhaps, Mr Potter, you were not just out after curfew. Perhaps you were . . . spying on the staff and the Headmaster’s visitors?” Snape leaned in until his nose was a bare half inch away from Harry’s, and his voice dropped to a low, dangerous purr. “Perhaps the house-elf was helping you to spike everyone’s punch . . . ?”
“No, it was an accident! It was just supposed to be Umbr—” At that point, Harry remembered who he was talking to, and clamped his mouth shut, his face flushing with embarrassment at being caught out so easily.
Snape straightened up and raised an eyebrow again. “Only supposed to be . . . Professor Umbridge who was affected?” He shook his head in mock-disappointment. “Tut tut, Mr Potter. Surely you should know that relying on someone else to do your dirty work is a very good way to fail.”
“’Snot like I wanted that house-elf to do it,” Harry grumbled, quietly. “Just wasn’t any others around.”
“Well, be that as it may,” Snape said, “since I was unaffected by your little . . . prank, then I myself shall not give you a large punishment.”
Harry shook his head, sure that he was hearing things. Had Snape just said he wasn’t going to punish him? Snape, however, hadn’t finished talking.
“10 points from Gryffindor from being out of your dorm after curfew. 20 points for using that blasted Cloak of yours, which I will be confiscating until the Easter break.” Snape just looked at Harry as Harry opened his mouth to protest, and hastily he snapped his jaw shut. “In addition to that, you will serve a detention with me on the first day after the holiday, and you will spend your three hours writing out the lines, I must not play incapacitating pranks on my professors, 500 times, or on four rolls on parchment, whichever is the longest.”
Harry gulped. He hated writing lines – and so many! His hand was going to fall off!
“Not only that,” Snape carried on, “but you will apologise to all the professors and Ministry staff involved who are still at Hogwarts. Tomorrow. In person. At breakfast.”
Harry just groaned.
Curious whispers filled the Great Hall the next morning. The staff table had extended itself quite a bit, and several ministry and staff members were slumped over it, looking half-dead and as though they longed to crawl off and expire quietly somewhere else.
Harry had seen several of the ministry staff – including Mr Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt – stumbling their way down the path towards Hogwarts’ gates. Some of them had been clutching onto each other to hold themselves upright. If there was a department at the ministry that dealt with splinching, Harry had no doubt that it’d be very busy in very short order.
“Umbridge doesn’t look very good, does she?” Ron sniggered, sitting down beside Harry.
Harry had to agree. Umbridge was sitting beside a very smug looking Moody, and her scowling face was a horrible green colour that clashed badly with her robes. Strangely enough, her robes weren’t pink, but were instead an eye-wateringly bright blue and yellow.
Just as Harry was gathering his courage to get up and apologise to the professors, per Snape’s orders, Dumbledore got to his feet.
“Well, students, this is a perfectly marvellous, although bitter-sweet day,” he began. “I’m afraid that we will have to say a sad farewell to our beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Delores Umbridge—” Several muted cheers interrupted him, but the Headmaster ploughed on “—as just last night she and Mr Alastor Moody were Bonded.”
Quite a few people choked on their pumpkin juice. Ron stared up at the head table, his eyes wide. “Blimey,” he said, ignoring the juice dripping down his chin. “I never thought I’d hear that . . .”
“Why?” Hermione asked. “What does it mean?”
“Bonding is an old form of marriage,” Ron said. His mouth was starting to spread in a big grin. “It’s very old-fashioned so it isn’t used much anymore. It basically means the witch gives up all rights of her own. She can’t do anything without her husband’s say-so, or contradict him.”
Hermione opened her mouth, no doubt to protest how barbaric that was, but Harry got there first.
“You mean she can’t say I’m lying about Voldemort anymore!” he said, excitedly.
Ron shook his head, and grinned even more. “Nope! If Moody says he’s back, then she has to say so too. Or at least not say otherwise.”
Hermione’s mouth clicked shut, and she blinked rapidly. “That . . .” she said slowly, “is absolutely brilliant!”
Harry looked up at the head table, where Snape was scowling at him. Dumbledore caught his eye and nodded, once. He turned back to his breakfast with a grin. Even if he still had to apologise, that news made it all worth it.
I guess good things DO come to those who wait!