Portended Prophecies by WiCeBa

“I really think we should owl Snuffles.” Hermione said as her finger grazed over the spines of several Charms books. “I don’t think we’ll be able to find what we need within our library.”

Harry thumbed through his own thick and dusty charms book and debated what Sirius would do when he heard of Umbridge’s actions. It’d been several weeks since he and Snape had spoken in his classroom about Harry’s choking problem and they hadn’t managed to uncover anything yet. He scanned over the pages in front of him at random and eyed counter-charms and preventative spells, but he didn’t see much in the way of stemming symptoms of what he experienced. Hermione seemed confident they’d be able to alleviate Harry’s babbling, though Harry couldn’t say he felt the same. She’d had a distinctly uncomfortable look in her eyes when he mentioned Snape’s Dark Arts theory though, and that, Harry was sure they felt the same way about.

He almost wished Ron were here, as Harry was sure he’d have something funny to help ease the tension brought on by this subject, but he was distantly glad he wasn’t. Ron had never liked researching in the library and there was no amount of bribery that could’ve kept him from reading when he could be out flying.

Harry didn’t love researching either, but he didn’t have much choice.

He belatedly remembered Ron and Hermione’s course loads hardly allowed for flying this year and that he shouldn’t be taking any free time from either of them. That was especially true given the watchful guard duty they’d kept up around Harry. No one other than Ginny and Neville had managed to ask Harry about Umbridge’s first day of class, for which Harry was endlessly thankful for.

Seamus, on the other hand, had found even more time to sneer at him.

“The library at Snuffles’s house might even include whatever it is Umbridge has done, given the content of some of the books.”

Harry blinked as he looked up. “Mrs Weasley let you snoop in that library?”

“Hardly.” Hermione said. “But Ron kept a look out while I snuck in and grabbed what I could. We made a daily job of it. When I was researching what had happened to you, I came across several books I’d never seen before and couldn’t resist perusing, though I wish I hadn’t.”

“And?” Harry asked with morbid curiosity.

“They were revolting.” Hermione grimaced. “They were so much older and darker than what I’ve read before, and written in an increasingly disorganized fashion. I think Snuffles’s relatives wrote several of them and from what I read, they weren’t in their right minds.”

“Snuffles has mentioned part of his family is mad.”

“This wasn’t madness, Harry.” Hermione said with a concerned frown. “Or, not mad in the way I think you or I would see it. It was all intentional, truly intentional.” She said. “They built off of one another as well, which I hadn’t anticipated, though I really should have. If one person wrote about an idea and the potential incantations and logic behind it, another would add on with outcomes they’d witnessed or what bedlam ensued.”

Harry shoved his book back onto the shelf as Hermione’s arms folded around her stomach.

“I don’t think a library like that has any business in a school of course, but if we’re meant to be researching something that equally has no business in a school, it’d be an invaluable source.” Hermione added. “I also think Snuffles may have some ideas about this anyway. He talked a bit about the sort of person his mother was and from the sound of her, she’d have loved the type of magic you’re going through.”

Harry shuddered at the thought of phantom ribbons cascading softly across his face. “Well, I haven’t owled him yet. I feel like when he learns about what happened, he’ll come storming in.”

Hermione nodded tightly as she whispered a spell and made several charms books leap from the higher shelves.

“It’s entirely possible. We’ll have to be much more careful with how we bring it up to him, given how much Umbridge seems to want a scandal.” She said making her way through the aisle as her steadily growing stack of books and Harry trailed behind her. “I have a feeling he’ll have some sort of background knowledge about combatting your symptoms at least. Of course, well.” Her voice trailed off as she paused and blinked at the floor.

“Well?” Harry asked as he helped neaten the bobbing stack.

“Well, that’s not the only thing we’ve got to worry about is it?” She said. “We need to combat your symptoms of course, but we can’t really combat what we don’t know and I’m not sure if Snuffles will be able to detect the exact problem. I hadn’t really thought of a detection process until recently, because we’ve been more focused with the ways this permeates in your day to day experiences.”

“Right,” Harry said slowly. “Some warning before I go choking on ribbons would be pleasant.” He added in an obvious tone.

Hermione huffed and twisted on her heel. “If we’re going to try detecting something though, don’t you think we should owl someone with more knowledge in that?”

“Who did you have in mind?” Harry asked. “Not Mad-Eye Moody?”

He didn’t fancy owling Moody. What would he even say? ‘I know we’ve never formally met, but I let myself be captured by a taffy-pink toad and made to choke on ribbons, what should I do?’ Harry shook his head and tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his own stupidity washing over him.

“Actually, I had thought Bill Wealsey might be more helpful.” Hermione said. “He is a curse breaker and he’s skilled with detection. Ruffles said this could be any number of things, didn’t he?”

“Ruffles also said there were potions that could be the cause and I definitely drank something.” Harry said as the idea that he probably would need to inform others of his current problems curled unpleasantly along his uneasy stomach. There was something innately mortifying about it. Informing others of how he’d stumbled into a blatant attack without even attempting to defend himself rankled him and he wished all the more fervently he’d caught on to Umbridge’s actions sooner.

Hermione paused again before snagging a book near her knee. “Part of the reason I want to owl Bill is because I’m worried about Ruffles researching this.”

Harry felt his eyes widen as Hermione turned and looked at him as she inhaled deeply.

Harry’s first post-class potions visit had turned into something of a ritual for the two of them, where Harry’d either disappear with most of the other students before doubling back or just linger until the last student left. Snape hadn’t mentioned anyone catching on to them yet, so he figured it was safe. They’d spent most of the time discussing Harry’s symptoms and it was for that reason he couldn’t imagine someone more perfect to research Harry’s problem than Snape. Especially given just how much research Snape did in his down time. Snape had a book in hand more often than he didn’t and when he wasn’t actively learning about potions, he was leaving scathing reviews on Potions magazines. He never seemed interested in any other sort of literature.

He genuinely enjoyed research.

“Why?” Harry asked. “They’re probably more qualified than anyone else we know—”

“That’s exactly why.” Hermione whispered as she crept closer to Harry. “The Dark Arts can be addictive. I know I don’t know all of what you’ve learnt about Ruffles, but from what you have told me and what we’ve eavesdropped on, this wouldn’t be their first time researching the subject.”

A sense of dread began to tighten along Harry’s muscles as the memory of their first night in Lily’s flat echoed in his ears. Snape had said Lily sent her necklace to him in an attempt to push him from his interest in the Dark Arts. He’d also been painfully honest about his time as a genuine Death Eater and what lengths he’d gone to in his work beneath Voldemort.

Harry shivered against the phantom ribbons brushing across his lips. The necklace bloomed to life almost as if it knew it was being thought of.

“This has been on my mind for a few days now, I’m just, I’m worried. I trust Ruffles to solve the problem, I just also worry what diving into this might do to them.” Hermione added.

Sirius had mentioned Snape’s interest with the subject as well, when he’d frightened Harry before kidnapping him. He’d given a clear warning about Snape and Avery’s old friendship and Harry didn’t need to know the particulars to know Snape had likely created gruesome magic in his pursuit to please Voldemort. He certainly didn’t need to see Voldemort in action to know of his own unparalleled fascination with the Dark Arts and how it spiralled and infected everyone who came into contact with him.

Sirius’s voice hissed in his ear, reminding him that the dark mark on Snape’s arm wasn’t just for show.

“I—I, I’m not,” Harry stammered. Shame trickled through him and he suddenly found his earlier needy actions intolerable. He’d gone running to Snape so quickly that he never considered the consequences this could cause him. He’d gone and given a recovered addict their drug of choice. “What—”

“We’ll write Bill and Snuffles.” Hermione said with a firm nod and held one of the books up. “And we’ll research ways to alleviate your symptoms and hopefully, try and keep Ruffles from doing too much of their own research.”

“They’ve already begun researching though.” Harry said as he tried to swallow back his shame.

“I doubt we can just stop them at the moment, but we’ll think of something.” Hermione said beneath her breath. “Let’s go find Ron and ask about Bill for right now. I think Ginny mentioned he was with Dean earlier, though I do hope he hasn’t gone and gotten into another row with Seamus.”

Harry found himself unable to care about Seamus’s poor attempts at bullying in the face of his own recent stupidity. He should’ve been more aware of Snape’s past.

They’d discussed it more than once and Snape had never hidden from it. The bitter gift of hindsight only screamed louder at Harry about thick-headed actions. He should’ve been well aware of Snape’s previous addiction, given how quickly he’d seen through Harry’s choking problem and been able to show him his own symptoms.

A quiet voice in the back of his mind asked whether or not they should ask Snape how he felt, but Harry felt that was a stupid question. He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.

They passed by Madam Pince and checked their selection out before attempting to stuff everything into Hermione’s already overfilled bag. Madam Pince clicked her tongue, but neglected to say anything as Hermione gave a sheepish smile and collected what wouldn’t fit and split it between herself and Harry to carry.

“Oh! I bet we could distract them!” Hermione said excitedly as they made their way down the corridor. “See, I don’t think solely removing the source of the addiction will stop the urge, as it isn’t the most helpful course of action with breaking addiction. Removing the behavioural pattern and waiting it out doesn’t always work, you have to provide an adjacent pattern to focus on instead. Though, they already have quite a bit on their plate, don’t they?”

“Well.” Harry started as more of his troubles spun into his thoughts.

Snape was already researching and attempting to brew a cure for Avery’s incorrectly made aging potion, spying on Voldemort, spying on Dumbledore, teaching Harry Occlumency, teaching seven years worth of students a core subject and researching a way to break Harry’s current choking problem.

“I have to stop bringing my problems to them.” Harry said dully.

“I don’t think that’s quite right.” Hermione shook her head wildly. “They’re a multitasker, we’ve already seen that. What we need is to keep them more focused on a tangentially related research issue rather than Umbridge. We even have the perfect distraction, the first troublesome problem.”

They slipped into the courtyard and past the stone bridge where several groups of students were talking and joking with one another. Hermione climbed to her tip toes and peered around, searching for Ron or Dean, but didn’t seem to spot them.

“That has an immediate fix, despite how temporary it is.” Harry said as he shook his own head as he looked around as well.

It was frustrating to wait for nausea to roil in his stomach before he was able to take the temporary antidote, but it kept him from appearing as a six year old for at least two days. Harry knew Snape was working on both issues, despite not having any time, it was very likely he’d prioritized the infinitely more painful problem over the mildly inconveniencing one. Harry felt they were both horrible, but he knew which one he’d rather handle first.

“No, I really don’t think—”

“Oh, has daycare finished, then?” Malfoy’s snide tone cut across the courtyard and silenced the idle chatter nearest them.

His mum’s necklace warmed as Harry’s hands tightened around his books. A distant voice in the back of his mind tried to judge how much trouble he and Hermione would be in if he damaged everything in his arms by dropping it all to the ground and grabbing his wand. He’d been wildly lucky to have avoided Malfoy for the last few weeks, but he had a feeling that luck had only given Malfoy more time to prepare.

“I must say, being out without a nanny to hold your hand,” Malfoy added before hopping down from the stone balustrade. “I’m impressed, Potter.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Harry snapped back. “Given that you’ve never done an impressive thing in your life.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he reached into his pocket as he stepped closer to them.

“Harry.” Hermione whispered. “Let’s just go, he’s only going to—”

“When my father told me what’d happened,” Malfoy clicked his tongue. “We thought we might want to help, what with you already being a charity case.”

“Oh, do tell us, Malfoy.” Harry began as an idea spun into thoughts. He couldn’t tell if it was a horrible idea or not, but at the moment, that didn’t matter. “Why would your father think anything happened to me, Malfoy?” He asked innocently. “You’ll have to enlighten us. Where would he have come up with this?”

Hermione inhaled slowly and her fingers tightened around her own collection of books.

Malfoy paled, though it was hardly noticeable. Harry dearly hoped he would give himself away, as no one but Death Eaters or Order members had known of Harry’s previous condition.

‘Ongoing,’ his mind supplied quietly. ‘His ongoing condition.’

Malfoy’s grey eyes flashed and an oily smile slid across his lips. “He heard it from Professor Snape, of course. They spoke over the summer, as friends—”

A buzzing took over in Harry’s ears as his heart dropped into an icy bath. Snape would never have said something so dangerous to Lucius. Snape wouldn’t. The crack in Harry’s soul that he’d thought had begun to mend, splintered as it broke open once more.

It had to be a lie. It must’ve been. Snape wouldn’t have said anything to Lucius that could come back to hurt Harry.

Malfoy’s voice loomed over the buzzing, as did Hermione’s, though Harry wasn’t sure what she was saying. It was likely something about how much of a liar Malfoy was.

Lucius heard it from Voldemort, Harry was positive of that. Draco was lying.

It had to be a lie.

Malfoy’s cruel smile’s during Potions blinked in the back of Harry’s mind. Had Snape and Malfoy discussed something behind Harry’s back? Why would Malfoy act as if he had permission to torment Harry if Snape hadn’t spoken with him?

Malfoy acted like this, because he’d always acted like this, Harry tried to remind himself. Whether or not he had permission, Malfoy bullied people.

It had to be a lie.

“We were all so sorry to hear, but,” Malfoy said as he broke through Harry’s thoughts with a crooning voice. “Father, in his unending kindness toward the lesser among us, asked me to present you with a gift.” Malfoy withdrew his hand from his pocket and a small blue infant’s pacifier appeared in his palm. He hissed a spell and flicked his wand, sending it rocketing towards Harry.

Harry struggled to move.

His thoughts circled viciously around Malfoy’s comment and no amount of logic could stop it from tunneling deeper into his thoughts. The only vision where he’d seen Lucius and Snape speaking, had been when they’d discussed Avery.

Snape hadn’t brought up Harry’s condition.

If he had, Harry hadn’t seen it happen.

It had to be a lie.

“ARRESTO MOMENTUM!” Hermione shouted as her books fell to the ground and her wand flew into her hand.

Blood rushed to Harry’s face as the pacifier shivered to a stop a hair's width from his lips.

“Suck on it, Potter.”

Something wickedly sharp tore across Harry’s thoughts and began making violent cacophony of sounds. A fierce heat spread over his chest and flew down his fingers, quickly overtaking the warm feeling from his mum’s pendant with a burning fury. Before Harry realized what happened, Malfoy was flat on the ground. The books Harry’d been holding were scattered alongside Hermione’s and the small blue pacifier lay just to the left of Malfoy’s foot, though Harry couldn’t tell if he’d sent it back at him or not.

His fingers tightened around his wand in a poor attempt to stem the anger trembling through his body.

He blinked down, realizing belatedly he must’ve grabbed it some point.

“You utter cockroach!” Hermione shouted as she jerked closer and sent Malfoy scrabbling to his feet. She chased him farther from Harry and back toward the balustrade where Crabbe and Goyle looked to be nervously debating whether or not to run away. Pansy Parkinson’s wand had dropped into her hand, though she didn’t seem inclined to use it. “You go around bullying brighter and better people than you could ever be, all because you’re an empty—”

“Bloody hell!” Ron’s shocked voice appeared at Harry’s shoulder. “What’ve I missed?” He asked.

The enraged, burning anger hadn’t quite abated, nor had Harry’s panic and worry. He wasn’t sure he could string a sentence together, to say nothing of how he would explain what happened between Malfoy, Harry and Hermione.

“Erm.” Harry started in a poor attempt. His heart had yet to stop pounding and whatever had shot through his brain was turning any useful thoughts to mush. A voice who sounded suspiciously like Snape, whispered at Harry to occlude in the face of this much anger, but Harry could hardly picture the snitch, nor could he think of anything as pleasant as flying.

Had Snape told Lucius Malfoy about Harry?

If it had happened, it would’ve happened before his and Harry’s relationship had changed. Did that change how Harry should feel about this?

He couldn’t tell.

Malfoy had lied, why he even bothered with this line of thinking was beyond him. Malfoy had always been a liar.

Had Snape told Lucius Malfoy though?

No, Voldemort told Lucius Malfoy.

“Harry, mate, let’s get Hermione before she’s expelled.” Ron said with a firm shoulder pat. He dodged around the fallen books and snagged Hermione’s sleeve. He tried twice to tug her away before finally succeeding on his third attempt.

“—Vile, bullying,” Hermione breathed heavily as she neared Harry. “Ferret! How—how dare he?” She asked as she kneeled shakily and collected their fallen books. Harry began to kneel to join her, but she held her hand out, keeping him standing. “I’ll report him for this, just wait and see.” She stacked the books into Ron’s waiting arms before climbing to her feet and wrapping Harry in a warm hug.

“Right.” Ron said. “Right, of course we’ll report him, report him for what exactly, though?”

Harry wished he’d realized how nice hugs were sooner in his life, as Hermione’s was doing wonders for his panic. He tightened his grip on her and wished it would push away all of his fear in the same way Snape’s hugs often did.

His heart clenched at that thought and he tried to convince himself once more that Malfoy was a liar. Harry knew he had been lying because he knew how the story had come to Voldemort. Snape had been the one to tell him about what had happened when they’d been in Lily’s flat. Snape had been honest and explained all about his and Avery’s deal and he tried to explain how Death Eaters apparently accepted lies for lies in order to save their own necks.

Harry still struggled with some of Snape’s logic, but that logic didn’t change how Draco had come to learn about Harry’s previous—ongoing condition.

He wasn’t sure why his heart still hurt despite his reasoning.

Maybe Snape thought of him as too childish at the time, but that had been typical of their previous interactions. Snape had always assumed Harry was immature and spoiled.

Snape had told Harry, quite specifically, he’d been mistaken. This was just Malfoy.

“I don’t know where to start.” Hermione said as she pulled back and rubbed at her misty eyes. “It was horrid. He’s horrid.”

“Well that’s Malfoy in one, isn’t it?” Ron asked.

“He gets worse every year.” Hermione said. “Are you alright, Harry? That was dreadful.” She asked as she began to lead them back into Hogwarts and toward their common room.

“It’s just Malfoy.” Harry said with a weak nod and wished he felt more confident in his answer. “I reckon he hasn’t got anything on V-Voldemort.” He stammered as the ribbons cascaded across his face, but didn’t restrict his breathing.

He’d slowly tried to accommodate around them, but found that each time they brushed across his face felt as horrible as the first time. He’d begun categorizing what he could say without feeling ribbons as well, despite Snape’s firm warning not to go messing about with whatever was wrong with him. He needed to know if he could speak Voldemort’s name though, as well as what he could think, as the ribbons danced down his jaw at the very thought of Voldemort, but didn’t wake for You-Know-who, or Tom Riddle for that matter.

While Harry wasn’t very interested in why Umbridge chose one moniker over another, he was curious as to why she wanted him suddenly fearful of saying Voldemort’s name. It didn’t make much sense for the Ministry to deny Harry’s story and turn around and make Harry visibly nervous of the megalomaniac. If he was truly gone, Harry should feel free to say what he liked.

There should’ve been no need to fear at all.

“Just Malfoy being a bullying prat.” Hermione repeated with a sneer. “He was dreadful, Ron. I can’t believe no one went to get a teacher during that horrible display of his.”

“I reckon they probably didn’t because you’re both prefects.” Ron said.

Hermione huffed before beginning to relay the story. She derailed several times to bring up additional crimes Malfoy had committed and the insults he’d said during previous prefect meetings when she finally came to what happened after Harry’d let his anger get the better of him.

“And I didn’t know Ruffles taught you non-verbal spells!” She said with a curious look. “Malfoy was just,” She clapped her hands and sent one sailing ahead of the other. “He didn’t know what hit him. I was so surprised at the time that I forgot to ask, what was the spell?”

Harry shrugged. “I think it was a bit less non-verbal and a bit more accidental.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione blinked. “I swear I saw your wand move, but then, you had grabbed it rather sharply.”

“For good reason. Ruffles doesn’t have the time to teach me non-verbals, and you know how awful Snuffles is at teaching.” Harry said with a strained laugh.

“He jumps across topics,” Ron moaned. “The last time I asked him to explain some of the political effects of Binns’s Goblin War of 1752 reading for my essay, I wound up learning about blackmarket trading on Ukranian Ironbelly’s.”

Hermione tossed an interested look at Ron but he waved her off. “It wasn’t relevant, Binns had been looking for political effects.”

“Do you remember when he taught us how to quick-draw our wands though?” Harry asked and Ron nodded with a snort. Harry’d been six at the time and struggled to fit his wand up his sleeve, but it’d made for a pleasant memory.

Sirius’s surprising niche talents made up for all of his odd tangents.

“Let’s get back on topic. I want us to remember the encounter so we can relay it to Professor McGonagall. I do wonder if we might tell Professor Snape as well, seeing as Malfoy is in his house.” Hermione’s forehead wrinkled as she thought. “There’s also the matter of witnesses, they may tell a different story than we do.”

Harry couldn’t bear hearing Snape’s tailored uncaring persona discussing Malfoy’s behaviour, especially not while he was still unable to let go of Malfoy’s comment. He knew Snape wouldn’t have told Lucius Malfoy.

He wouldn’t. Snape wasn’t in the business of humiliating Harry any longer.

Malfoy seemed to think he was, though.

Malfoy was a liar.

“Well go on anyway, Harry knocked Malfoy on his arse. Then what happened?” Ron asked.

Hermione jumped back into the story and relayed all of what she’d shouted at Malfoy, as well as Malfoy’s following expressions. He’d apparently been terrified to let her close and couldn’t seem to keep his feet beneath him. She managed to split the story again then, discussing future and past crimes before remembering why she and Harry had been in the courtyard in the first place.

“Bill! Oh, Ron, we need to owl Bill. Will you write to him?” She asked. “Because he’s a curse breaker, you see.”

They skipped up the Grand Staircase and attempted to push past the rush of flowing students but ultimately ended up swerving down the fifth floor corridor when the rush became too strong.

“No Hermione, I don’t see, you’ve gone every which way during this story.” Ron said as he juggled the books in his arms. “I can’t tell your left from your right, but sure, yeah, I’ll owl Bill.” He said before beginning a mimed conversation. “Dear Bill, Hermione’s gone mental and asked me to write to you. Oh, about what you ask? I dunno, she hasn’t said. Suppose I’ll get back to you about that. Lemme ask her when she’s less likely to hex me.”

Hermione blew a frizzy curl from her forehead. “I’ll explain of course, though maybe not at present given the company.” Her eyes flashed over the other student’s loitering in the corridor. “I also want to discuss our new plan for Ruffles.”

Ron twisted and looked as if he was about to ask, but his eyes widened and he quickly nudged Hermione and Harry into an alcove. Hermione nearly complained but shut her mouth when Umbridge’s girlish voice echoed down the corridor. The sound sent uncomfortable shudders through Harry and likely whoever else was nearby, as footsteps pounded past their hiding space, likely in an attempt to escape Umbridge’s eyes.

He remembered idly that Umbridge had yet to request Harry return for another awful meeting.

“So you see my point, Professor McGonagall.” Umbridge said once the corridor seemed suitably empty.

“Professor Umbridge,” Professor McGonagall started. “I’m afraid that no matter how I see your point, it does not sit with Hogwarts curriculum standards.” Her voice lilted, nearly rolling into her Scottish accent, but refraining despite the frustration evident in her tone. “Every student deserves the finest education we, as educators, can give them.”

“Yes, Professor. I hear you,” Umbridge said. “I am not asking to deliver a subpar education to my students.”

Hermione’s hand slipped around Harry’s and she pushed closer to Ron as the two professor’s neared their alcove.

“In fact, I think you’ll find that I’m hardly asking anything at all. I am treating this more as a courtesy to you. Consider it an official notice.” Umbridge said. “Despite the student’s who’ve informed you of their displeasure with how I run my classroom, I simply won’t be bullied—”

“Bullied!? Dolores—”

“Yes, dear, bullied into conforming to your unrealistic expectations.” The sound of Umbridge’s self-satisfied cough rang around them and Harry silently thanked McGonagall for walking on the right, as she neatly covered Harry, Ron and Hermione from Umbridge’s view. “The ministry has seen a concerning outcome from your previous educators, some of which, I’d like to remind you, were half-breeds—”

“Remus Lupin is not half of anything Dolores. He was a fine educator. He knew his subject and the student’s adored him.”

“Then why was a tracking charm placed on him this past summer, hmm?” Umbridge asked. “Do you know what that charm signals within the Ministry?” She asked as they moved farther from the alcove. “A dangerous, often wild animal we need to be aware of, for the safety of all who we work so diligently for, Minerva.”

“Dolores, I will not allow you to—”

“You have no power to allow or disallow me anything, Minerva.” Umbridge said as her heels clicked down the corridor. “Any students who find my subject is not being taught to their expectations can take it up with me from now on. Do direct them accordingly.”

McGonagall whirled around and stormed down the other side of the corridor. Harry wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her in such a fierce mood and he was suddenly very worried for whoever had complained to her about Umbridge’s class.

“Who do you suppose complained?” Ron asked, echoing Harry’s thoughts as he led them from the alcove.

“Does it matter?” Hermione said in a high-strung voice. “This means we really won’t be practicing any magic this term. How are any of us supposed to pass an O.W.L. when we’ve never so much as practiced the incantation!”

“Practicing this term?” Ron gave her a disbelieving look. “We won’t be practicing any magic this year. I’m pretty sure McGonagall isn’t someone you’re supposed to talk down to like that, given she’s our deputy headmistress.”

“I don’t suppose Umbridge worries much about that.” Harry said in a grim tone. “She probably thinks she’s above McGonagall.”

He wondered idly if it was Hermione who’d complained to McGonagall, but he assumed she’d have told Ron and Harry about it if she had. He almost wished McGonagall had mentioned who had complained, as Harry dearly wished to know what McGonagall’s response had been.

“No, I reckon you’re right.” Ron shook his head. “She just reminds me so much of Percy. I hope he hates her. I won’t tolerate a member of my own family enjoying her company.”

“Do you think McGonagall will take student complaints, despite this?” Hermione asked. “I don’t want to let Malfoy’s behaviour go undocumented, especially not when there were so many witnesses. Surely this classifies as something that should be dealt with immediately.”

Harry shook his head ‘no’. “I don’t think we should bother McGonagall, at least not at the moment. We might want to give her some time.” He silently promised to avoid bringing it up to Snape as well, given how much the man was already working on for Harry. He might mention general bullying the next time Harry saw him, but he silently swore not to add anything else onto his overfilled plate.

If Harry were even half as busy as Snape, he’d likely be in the Hospital Wing babbling hysterically about stress and pulling his hair out.

He wondered again if Snape did tell Lucius Malfoy about Harry’s condition?

“We could always try Dumbledore?” Ron said. “I mean, if McGonagall doesn’t solve the problem, I’m sure Dumbledore can.”

“He’s already looking into Umbridge.” Harry said as he wrinkled his nose. “He’s keeping that close watch of his on her.”

“Well, maybe he’d like some help in that endeavor?” Ron asked. “I stole a few more extendable ears from Fred and George.”

“No.” Hermione said firmly. “We’ve been lucky to avoid Umbridge so far. We can’t go investigating her, it would give her a reason to call us down to her office and she’d potentially do to us what she’s already done to Harry.” She said as she pointed at herself and Ron. “I partially think that’s why she hasn’t summoned you again, Harry, despite never having had her question about the summer answered.”

“What?” Harry asked. He’d honestly thought Dumbledore had stepped in on that enquiry, and told Umbridge to bugger off. He hadn’t thought Umbridge was just leaving him alone.

That was too easy and he’d spent more than several sleepless nights worrying about it.

Hermione’s eyes flashed over him. “I think she’s waiting and hoping you’ll come crawling back. She probably expects you to give in and ask for the cure. Once she has you in her grasp, she’ll likely strike again, though I don’t know what with.”

A fuzzy memory blinked into Harry’s mind and he was reminded of the way Uncle Vernon used to taunt him by taking a full dinner plate past the cupboard when he wanted to watch telly in the sitting room. There were two ways into that room, the quicker route was from the kitchen directly and Uncle Vernon always chose to go through the front hall. There had never been anything overt about Uncle Vernon’s behaviour, as he’d never asked Harry if he was hungry when he walked past or if Harry felt like apologizing for whatever had landed him in his cupboard. He’d simply walked past, sometimes more than once in search of second or even third helpings.

Uncle Vernon had never opened the cupboard door and given him anything, not even when Harry’d given in and apologized for whatever it was he’d done. He’d liked Harry to smell what he couldn’t have and think about his misbehaviour.

Umbridge was just the same.

“She can wait all she likes.” Harry said in a fierce voice. “I’ll die choking.”

“Yes, I rather thought you’d say that.” Hermione said. “We’ll just have to take matters into our own hands.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Ron asked with a raised eyebrow.