Chapter 219: Petty Ban, Temper, Locked (1/2)
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EDUCATIONAL DECREE -> NO. TWENTY-FIVE
----------- By Order Of -----------
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts
Broomsticks may not be flown on unless during AUTHORISED Quidditch practice.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty- Five.
Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge
High Inquisitor
----------- Ministry of Magic -----------
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”What does this woman.. . toady-bitch(!) think she's doing?!” exclaimed Eddie along with the rest of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, standing in the Ravenclaw common room with their housemates also reading the notice posted on the Ravenclaw house bulletin board.
The one line on the Decree-notice spoke many things.
First was obvious in the face interpretation that brooms were banned outside of Quidditch practices, which meant that anyone outside of Quidditch players wasn't allowed to fly a broom. Not being on the Quidditch team didn't mean that people didn't enjoy flying brooms; in fact, a large majority of Hogwarts had their personal brooms and flew them regularly with their friends playing casual-versions of Quidditch or even flew solo to spend some time alone in the sky. And many people who wanted to be on Quidditch teams practiced on their own time to get better so they could pass the try-outs.
The second interpretation was to the Quidditch teams. As the sentence stated, brooms were only allowed during Authorized Practices, which meant that teams could only fly their brooms when practicing in the stadium and not anywhere else. This was a tremendous detrimental as teams practiced as much if not more outside the stadium than inside the stadium. The stadium and the pitch were shared between four teams, and none thought that their time during Authorized Practice was enough. There were even some Quidditch team members (picture Eddie Carmichael) who practiced alone out of team practice.
”The bitch and Snape are clearly in bed together,” said Eddie scathingly.
The Slytherin Quidditch team had by far the most Authorized Practice time because of Snape abusing his power and assigning them the Slytherin Quidditch team the pitch.
”Eww.. .” said Cho making a disgusted face. ”Don't say that; I just imagined what it would be like.” That triggered many people's imaginations, and they too made disgusted expressions and groans while glaring at Eddie.
That's when Quinn came down the dormitory stairs into the common room to see the crowd gathered around in front of the bulletin board.
”What is it? What happened?” asked Quinn as he walked to the front with his eyes on his pocket watch to see if he was running late.
”Umbitch did something stupid again,” said Terry Boot, not holding back the hatred in his voice.
Quinn finally looked up and saw the Decree-notice on the bulletin board. The realization dawned on him.
”Ah, Umbridge's being petty,” he said, ”we got Quidditch back before she would've lacked — she prematurely lost one of the leverages to power — so she does this, huh.. . but I would've to say, that's a good petty-jab she got in — Quidditch still goes on, but she restricted broom-time, and because Ministry isn't happy about the Hogwarts' academic performance, we can't complain about,” he smiled, ”a move well played.”
”Why in Morgana's saggy tits are you smiling,” said Eddie, frustrated, ”this isn't good, not good at all; you do understand that, right?”
Quinn shrugged his shoulders, ”There's nothing we can do about this, you know? She, as the High Inquisitor, does have that authority.. . If you do want this to be fair — fairer — then find a way to convince Professor Flitwick, McGonagall, and Sprout to do something about Snape's scheduling tyranny — that's the only way you'll get your deserved practice time.”
Quinn was obviously Pro-Umbridge-opposition, but he couldn't hold their hands on every problem they encountered. He neither had time nor motivation for moving against Umbridge on every little move she made. He was only going to move against significant actions that were a bit too much.
”I would suggest that you grab Marcus and have him plan something involving Potter, Diggory, the other captains, and Eddie if you can keep your mouth clean to lobby the Professors to stop Snape from abusing his authority,” said Quinn and then look around, ”where is Marcus?”
”He went down to Great Hall with Luna to eat,” said Eddie.
”Get him good things to eat.. . you know, butter him up to provide him some incentive; that'll get him moving,” said Quinn, patting Eddie on his shoulder before leaving the common room leaving the gathered Ravenclaw crowd behind.
Eddie turned to the said crowd and spoke, all of them looking back at him. ”Well, you heard what he said.. . now, dish out some money; we'll need a lot of food.”
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- (Scene Break) -
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December arrived, and it was yet another dull and inane Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture with ”Professor” Umbridge ”teaching” to the best of her ability, trying to impart ”crucial” knowledge to the future of the British Isle's magical community by silently sitting and ordering her students to read an impractical book with pointless ”ethical” jargon.
Umbridge looked up from her teacup filled with tea poured from a pink bottle-gourd-shaped flask; she smiled pleasantly at the silent class with only the sound of pages turning and notes being scribbled from her class of fifth-year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.
”Memorize well, children,” she said with a thin smile curling up, ”I'll be taking a surprise test next week of all the things I have taught you till now.”
” ”Yes, Professor Umbridge,” ” said the students in unison like a group trained in synchronicity.
Harry Potter sat at the backbench of the classroom (a popular seat in Umbridge's classes), as far away from the pink menace as it was physically possible(the fat cow never got up from her chair), glaring at Umbridge with intense hate in his eyes. He was feeling very much resentful towards Umbridge, greater than he had ever felt towards the woman. This year, he enjoyed only two things at Hogwarts — DA and Quidditch — the woman, had sucked out all that made Hogwarts and left it feeling like a prison.
If someone beat him half to death, Harry would give partial credit to Umbridge for the inception of DA. The other thing being Quidditch — Umbridge had tried her best to take that away, and even though they were able to wrestle it back, she had imposed the petty Educational Decree Number Twenty- Five and threw a Bombarda into what seemed to be turning out to be a good season.
His temper had been on an all-time high at the start of the year and had subsided for a while was now back in full force, nay it was stronger than before.
And so he raised his hand.
Umbridge caught the raised hand and spoke with her ”honey” dripping voice, ”Yes, dear. What is it?”
”Are we going to be tested in our casting ability in this test,” asked Harry plainly, hiding all his true behind a facade.
In the middle of the classroom, Hermione and Ivy were looking back towards the back seat at Harry with baffled expressions, wondering what Harry, who had not said a word in Umbridge's classes for three months, had raised his hand now.
Hermione hurriedly grabbed Ivy's sleeve and tugged it hard.
”Cast.. . cast a Cheering charm or something, hurry, quick, do it, do it, do it now before he does something stupid,” she said.
But it was too late.
Umbridge's smile got wider as she said in reply, ”No dear, as I've been saying, there's no need for all of you to be casting spells and charms, so why would you need to be tested in your ability—”
”Peter Pettigrew,” said Harry.
The quiet classroom somehow became more quieter than it was before as the entire class of thirty held their breath.
”What?” asked Umbridge.
”Peter Pettigrew, a trusted Death Eater of Voldemort,” everyone in the room showed varied reactions, ”that man escaped his prison and is now on the run.. . the Ministry tried to find him, but they were unsuccessful.. . what if Peter Pettigrew came after me, how would you expect me to defend myself if I can't cast spells?”
All eyes turned to Umbridge, who stood up and leaned toward them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.
”Why would he come after you—”
”Because he originally came after me. That day Voldemort killed my grandparents; they were after me,” then he paused, ”and I am the Boy-Who-Lived, the one defeated Voldemort—”
”Don't say that name!” said Umbridge, hissing.
Harry stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.
”Harry mate, no!” Ron whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.
”Voldemort is dead, according to the Ministry. What if Peter Pettigrew, a deranged Death Eater, who had been in the presence of dementors, decides to take revenge and come after me, the Boy-Who-Lived, who killed his master Voldemort, tried to kill me,” said Harry with force.
”The Ministry will take care of—”
”Ministry hasn't been able to take 'care' of him for two years now; how am I supposed to feel safe after such a long time of ineptitude. How would I feel safe when a high-ranking Ministry employee such as yourself shivers at the name of a supposedly dead man.”
”Detention, Mr. Potter!” said Umbridge; she was so furious that her entire face had turned red. ”Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about escaped Dark Wizard, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading.”
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again, and so did Harry; both were fuming in their chairs, red down to their necks. But after a while, Umbridge's face went blank. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, ”Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”
Harry kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next.
Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so, she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.
”Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,” said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.
He took it from her without saying a word and left the room, not even looking back at Ron and Hermione, and slamming the classroom door shut behind him. He walked very fast along the corridor, the note to McGonagall clutched tight in his hand. When he reached her office, he rapped the door more aggressively than politely.
The door flew open, and McGonagall emerged from her office, looking grim and slightly harassed.
”What on earth was that rapping, Potter?” she snapped. ”Why aren't you in class?”
”I've been sent to see you.”
”Sent? What do you mean, sent?”
He held out the note from Umbridge. McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out, and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line, they became narrower.
”Come in here, Potter.”
He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him.