Chapter 239: Aid In Distress (1/2)
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The link is also in the synopsis.
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The timeless ticks of the spread-eagle-silhouette novelty wall clock put together by an eccentric Ravenclaw for the place she worked and learned, desiring to powder the room with her flair to make it her own in small ways.
”The water at the lake was quite foamy today,” she said, breaking the soft silence with her dreamy voice. ”I fear Yorwel season has come early this year.”
The nip of Quinn's pen came to a scribbling stop against an order letter to be sent to his ironmonger for a new batch of metals. He searched, but it was the first time he had heard that. He wondered if he should ask about what a Yorwel was?
”Why're Yorwels foaming up the lake?” he asked.
”When they breed, you see,” she said, a faraway look in her eyes. ”The male emits a —”
”Ah, I remember now, yes, Yorwels,” he amended quickly. That look in her eyes was the harrowing signal that he might be pulled into a rabbit hole that would whisk them both him and her to the deepest dusty corners of the library, scouring untouched bookshelves on what would more likely than not turn into a wild goose chase.
The room yet again lulled into a working reticence as Quinn returned to penning his letter while she on the other side to her flipbook of a bizarre concoction of color eating up the pages. Neither had anything to say nor felt the need to fill out that mundane silence.
And if not for the disorder that came knocking on their door, the silence would have flowed to the end of their today.
Before Quinn could even respond to the knocking, the bell chime rang, and in came Umbridge, strutting. Quinn raised his brows on the account that she even bothered to knock. His gaze went behind Umbridge, where Filch stood hunched on the threshold showing his crooked teeth.
”Madam Umbridge,” he said in greeting, not bothering to stand. ”What in the grand scheme of things led for you to make your way here to this humble dwelling of service and assistance?”
Umbridge squished her brows together, and her strut collapsed.
Quinn smiled patiently, ”What I mean is how can I help with you today?”
Umbridge smiled sweetly but Quinn knew he had been successful when he saw the throbbing vein on her forehead.
”Mr. West,” Umbridge said, ”to answer your question, I'm here today to present you with a gift from the Ministry.”
”A gift?” he asked. McGonagall would forsake Quidditch before he would get a gift from Dolores Umbridge.
”Yes, a gift to help — to assist as you put it — with your journey as a student of Hogwarts.”
He wondered why she was beating around the bush, trying to be clever as he could judge. It wasn't a successful attempt, he thought. ”What that might be?” he asked.
With a smile glistening with joy from the bottom of her heart, Umbridge took out a rolled-up parchment from her punchy pink purse and handed it to him. ”A gift to help you, who has been helping others, to show that there's someone who you can count upon when in need of help.”
Quinn held back from rolling his eyes as he unravelled the cord tie. He already had those people in his life, and Dolores Umbridge wasn't them, would never be. But the understanding dawned on him the moment his eyes fell upon the printed contents of the parchment.
Umbridge beamed sadistically at the sight of emotion voiding from Quinn's face, knowing that she had finally got him.
”I had that,” Umbridge said, referring to the parchment in Quinn's hand, ”made a few weeks ago; it took some time to arrive, but it came through today, so here I am to give you the good news personally.”
Quinn continued to stare at the parchment in his hand. He knew that it would come. Knowing her, he was sure it would come, but seeing it in his hands was a feeling different than what he had envisioned and prepared for.
”Quinn?”
He tore his eyes away from the parchment and looked up. ”It's okay, Luna,” he shook his head comfortingly, seeing the worried look on her face. He handed her the parchment; this concerned her as much as it did for him.
Luna received the parchment and immediately looked at it. Her dreamy, idyllic eyes regained a sharp focus the moment she read the contents.
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EDUCATIONAL DECREE -> NO. SEVENTY-SEVEN.
----------- By Order Of -----------
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts
All extracurricular activities are subject to review by the High Inquisitor.
Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge
High Inquisitor
----------- Ministry of Magic -----------
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It was just a single line, a straightforward sentence, but one that left no doubt about its power.
”Luna, can you please give us some room? I will join you shortly.”
Luna looked up at Quinn, her brows drawing together, grabbing a fistful of her cardigan and shirt. Quinn smiled assuredly; it was all he could do right now in the current moment.
She silently got up, a different silence from her usual zoned-out silence. Luna turned and glared at Umbridge, who didn't even spare her a glance. She lackadaisically walked to the door, where Filch smiled crookedly at her — to the caretaker, every student was a hateful little runt, no difference. Luna waited for him to get aside, but when he didn't, she roughly shoved him aside with as much force her petite body could muster — to her praise, Filch did flap around his arms to regain his disturbed balance.
”It seems you finally achieved what you failed back then,” he said, crossing his hands over his desk. ”I assume that you already put AID through the review process, and it was concluded that it failed the review.”
Umbridge let out a toe-curling giggle, ”As expected of the top student of Hogwarts. And that's exactly why AID failed the review — because of you.” Quinn gave her a blank stare, which she took in strides. ”We can't have the top student divert their attention and potentially ruin their studies. Especially when you're taking NEWT level courses and at an important junction of your life — didn't I say it before? I'm here to help you.”
”Yes, you did,” said Quinn and stood up. ”I guess it's time to close up.”
”Yes, it is,” she said with the mirth and gloat flashing on her ruddy complexion. ”Argus has come prepared, so all you need to do is hand him the key,” at the door, Filch picked up planks of wood, a hammer, and a box of clinking nails from outside of the room, ”you can return to retrieve your personal articles later.”
”I had imagined this, but never thought I would do it,” Quinn took out his fake wand and swung it once. Like a squid spurting ink in water, an inky black diffused in every corner of the room — the deep brown table turned to ash black, the glass wall took on an obsidian tint, vibrant paintings turned to black slates, healthy green plants turned to healthy dark plants — in seconds, every square inch of the room was colored black.
It was the color of death, a shade common at funerals, which Quinn thought fit the situation.
Quinn draped his robe cloak over his arm and looked at a Umbridge with her eyes darting all around the darkroom. ”Shall we go?” he asked. Now that this had happened, he had some work to do and wanted to get it quick.
He didn't wait for a response and began walking towards the door when he felt a hand grip on his bicep, making him stop. He looked at the obvious suspect and asked: ”Yes?”
”Before we go. I would like to see what's inside.”
Quinn followed Umbridge's gaze and saw that she was looking at the black workshop door. He looked down at the shorter woman, and a few seconds passed in silence.
”No.”
Umbridge jerked her back at Quinn, her grip tightening around Quinn's arm. ”My apologies, but I might have listened incorrectly. Did you just refuse?”
”Yes,” Quinn nodded, ”you're not going inside.”