[Prof. Umbridge] Chapter 42

The next morning, the Headmaster did not appear at breakfast.

The Weasley twins were sporting bright red, swollen ears. It turned out later that they’d had the brilliant idea to try pranking an Auror. Unfortunately for them, they were caught, thoroughly yanked by their ears, and then, judging by the way they squirmed on the benches and scratched themselves, they had also received a few heavy blows with an Auror’s belt across their overly clever behinds. (At this, Marina Nikolaevna recalled Snape’s earlier comment and couldn’t help but smile.) To top it off, both had unspeakable markings on their foreheads—not anything scandalous, just their names. However, for the twins, who thrived on being indistinguishable, this was a punishment worse than the spanking.

"I trust you didn’t go overboard?" Marina Nikolaevna asked sternly, addressing Kevin O’Leary, Berkeley’s substitute and deputy—an imposing, blue-eyed brunette whose charm had already captivated half of the senior girls (the other half were swooning over the rugged Berkeley, the scarred Murphy, and the rest of their impressive lineup).

"Of course not, ma’am," he replied. "We simply escorted these saboteurs to an empty classroom and made them eat their entire stash of those Vomit Bars. After about half an hour, we gave them the antidote, a bucket, and rags, and told them to clean the room—without magic."

"And the spanking?"

"Not spanking—just a little motivation to speed things along," he replied. "Hopefully, they’ve learned their lesson, or we’ll have to repeat it. They can prank each other all they want, that’s your jurisdiction, but we’re on duty here. They should be grateful they weren’t thrown in a holding cell for attempting to assault an Auror—after all, they’re of age."

"I’d say you were quite lenient," Marina Nikolaevna sighed, thinking about how students always seemed to lose their discipline over the holidays. "Thank you, Mr. O’Leary. My position prevents me from resorting to physical measures, though I’m often tempted... Oh, by the way! We have plenty of students here interested in joining the Auror Corps after school. Would you or your team mind demonstrating what an ordinary day at your training academy looks like? The tasks they performed during their work experience last year barely scratched the surface of your program, right?"

"Not even close! I’d be delighted to arrange a demonstration, ma’am," O’Leary said, flashing a dazzling white smile. "Your stadium’s decent, the equipment... Well, we can transfigure what’s missing for a day. Bring the kids along; after our shift, we’ll give them a proper boot camp experience."

"I’ll let the interested students sign up," Marina Nikolaevna replied with a broad smile.

It turned out there were quite a few volunteers from the senior years. The "day in the barracks" was scheduled for Sunday, and...

A 5 a.m. wake-up call did not go over well. A grueling cross-country run—supposedly the easy part, according to O’Leary (no obstacle course, just laps!)—and the subsequent drills didn’t help either. By evening, the ranks had thinned so much that the truly determined could be counted on one hand.

"Well, these ones might make it," O’Leary told Marina Nikolaevna when she came to check on the progress, "if they can handle the night drill. But not today—they have classes tomorrow. Good work, recruits! Still planning on becoming Aurors?"

"Uh... no," muttered a seventh-year Ravenclaw.

"Then why were you here all day?"

"I wanted to see if I could handle it," the boy admitted. "I could—for one day. But every day? No, I couldn’t. Sorry."

"No need to apologize," O’Leary said seriously. "You figured out it’s not for you—that’s good. Saves a spot for someone else. But if you change your mind... You’ve got potential."

"Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind," the student replied diplomatically and hurried off.

"They start us on this stuff at twelve... Weaklings!" O’Leary sighed, said his goodbyes, and left.

Marina Nikolaevna watched him go, reflecting that all the Aurors sent to the school were seasoned men—no rookies among them. They’d been through the wringer, and yet almost none bore visible scars or injuries (Berkeley was the exception; he wore his scar like Kingsley Shacklebolt wore his earring). Even Orford Umbridge didn’t have a single mark, despite his history of dangerous assignments (he refused to talk about them, but Marina Nikolaevna had delved into Auror archives and was quite impressed by his record). Meanwhile, old Mad-Eye Moody was scarred from head to toe.

"Professionalism must make all the difference," she concluded, thinking about Grubbly-Plank, who was usually unharmed, compared to the previous Care of Magical Creatures professor, Kettleburn, who resigned saying he wanted to enjoy life with his remaining limbs. And then there was Hagrid, who was perpetually battered, bitten, or worse.

______________________________________________

Dumbledore returned two days later, as genial as ever—except for the icy chill in his blue eyes. He pointedly ignored Marina Nikolaevna, and she knew why. Tonks had been dismissed from the Auror Corps with a "wolf’s ticket"—quite literally—for following Dumbledore’s orders instead of Williamson’s and for her relationship with a werewolf.

"Anyone is free to live with a werewolf, a centaur, or even a giant squid," Williamson wrote to Marina Nikolaevna, "but not if they’re in the Auror Corps. This isn’t about racial discrimination. Aurors are responsible not only for themselves but for others. We don’t fully understand how lycanthropy is transmitted, and that’s a problem. Sure, Tonks might manage to live peacefully with Lupin by dosing him with Wolfsbane Potion and locking him in a basement every full moon. But what if she’s a carrier? Does lycanthropy transmit sexually? Is there a cumulative effect? What if, one day, during a mission, she suddenly transforms and attacks her colleagues? She might not even know she’s infected (though surely she considered the risk of Lupin biting her during their... activities). Regardless, I will not subject my team to such a danger. Nothing personal."

Lupin himself was fitted with a tracking collar—similar to the magical bracelets used for bail in the Muggle world. Moody received one as well, as his antics and constant paranoia had tested everyone’s patience.

"And rightly so," said Ingebjorg when Marina Nikolaevna visited her with some questions. "It’s one thing if tragedy strikes someone you’re already with. Many leave their partners when they fall ill, lose strength, or a limb. Others, though, give them a reason to keep living. But Williamson is correct. Even if she truly loves the werewolf, she can’t cure him. And by staying with him, she’s forever putting herself at risk. That’s her choice as an adult, but she has no right to endanger others. She can live with him or serve as an Auror—not both. You can’t have your cake and eat it too; this isn’t a fairy tale."

Marina Nikolaevna silently agreed.

_____________________________________________

"Could you cover Gryffindor’s sixth-years today?" she asked Snape the next morning, meeting him on the staircase to the Great Hall. "I need to head to the Ministry."

"Of course, just let me know where you left off."

"We’ve been working on spell drills with practice wands, but they’re about ready to revolt and demand real ones."

"Fine, I’ll adapt on the spot," he said, then added with a smirk, "Where are your lesson plans, Dolores? Your curriculum?"

"They won’t help you anyway," she replied. "It’s the standard Ministry approved program. Haven’t you familiarized yourself with it yet?"

Leaving the final word to herself, Marina Nikolaevna headed to the Ministry, where Fudge greeted her like an honored guest, stopping just short of kissing her cheeks.

"Dolores, my dear!" he exclaimed. "That Williamson—he’s a real gem! Of course, his methods may seem harsh, but they get results! The Auror Office runs like clockwork, Scrimgeour is busy setting up Azkaban to house all sorts of riff-raff... At least he’s occupied and doesn’t have time to scheme. And Hogwarts!" Fudge threw up his hands. "You’re telling me the students understood what being a true Auror means after that demonstration? And now they won’t charge into battles armed with mere practice spells? Ha-ha-ha! Brilliant, Dolores!"

He paused to catch his breath, offered her some tea, and continued:
"And those three? Wonderful! Nearly the entire fighting force of Dumbledore’s gang has been neutralized. Shacklebolt has been suspended pending investigation. There’s still Arthur Weasley, of course, but we don’t have any grounds to move against him. And Percy..."

"What about him?" Marina Nikolaevna asked.

"Oh, I’ve made him my senior assistant, just as I promised," Fudge said, suddenly serious. "You were right—he’s an extraordinarily driven young man! All he needed was the right incentive, and he’s moved mountains!"

"Naturally, under your astute leadership, it’s no wonder he’s achieved such success," she said earnestly. "Is he pleased, I assume?"

"More than pleased! He’s even started offering some interesting ideas—one of which is already being implemented. I’m referring to the Squib initiative," he clarified. "It’s turned out to be a surprisingly promising direction! Public trust in the Ministry has soared... Who would’ve thought so many families were hiding their Squibs? But no matter, we’ll correct that..."

"Without a doubt!" Marina Nikolaevna said enthusiastically. "And what about my request?"

"Ah! Considered, Dolores, of course, it’s been considered!" Fudge grinned. "And here’s my verdict..."

__________________________________________

The training hall was unusually quiet, and Marina Nikolaevna paused to listen.

"Previously, you studied the basic effects of spells; now we’ll move on to their interactions," Snape was saying, his voice low but commanding, as usual. "We’ll continue using practice wands for now. Miss Granger, I know you’ll raise your hand, so I’ll ask you directly: how do you choose which spell to use to counter an attack?"

Marina Nikolaevna couldn’t make out Hermione’s answer, but Snape’s tone suggested he was satisfied—though not in a pleasant way.

"I see," he said. "So, you choose one spell, and if it doesn’t work, you try another. Is that correct? For your level, that’s acceptable. But remember this: a real fight is not a duel. There will be no bows, no formalities. If you want to see what that looks like, ask Professor Umbridge. She could probably persuade the Aurors to demonstrate."

After a pause, he continued, "You won’t have time to stand still and ponder which spell to use next. You’ve learned to move—credit where it’s due—but applying spells in rapid succession is something you’ve yet to master. Let’s start with a simple exercise—it’s no harder than your games with balls. I’ll give you a sequence of spells, and your task is to execute them as quickly as possible, without pausing. No words, no non-verbal magic—just the wand movements. Line up. Begin!"

From what Marina Nikolaevna could tell, it was exactly like a game. Leviosa—Mobilicorpus—Stupefy—Silencio—Petrificus Totalus... You needed to know the motion for each spell so well that the ending of one flowed seamlessly into the beginning of the next. She wished she could see it herself.

"Longbottom, don’t cling to your wand as if it’s a lifeline—that just makes it easier to disarm you," Snape directed, clearly orchestrating the sixth-years. "Weasley, stop flailing your wand around, or you’ll take someone’s eye out! Finnigan, you’re not chopping wood—be more precise, smoother... Yes, like that... Stop."

He paused, then said, "Not as dreadful as I anticipated, but far from perfect. Now... Miss Patil, did you have dancing lessons before?"

"Yes, sir, and a little yoga as well," she replied, surprised.

"And you, Mr. Thomas?"

"Just messing around with the guys—er, I mean, dancing at parties," he admitted sheepishly.

"And you, Miss Jones?"

"I did rhythmic gymnastics," she whispered. "With a ribbon... It’s sort of the same thing."

"Could you show us?"

"Show what, sir?"

"How you worked with the ribbon. I’ll transfigure one for you—just tell me its length and weight..."

"Yes... I think I can," she murmured.

Unable to resist, Marina Nikolaevna cracked the door open to watch.

The shy, unremarkable Jones transformed when she took the ribbon. She was taller than she appeared at first glance, and her movements had grace and precision. She lifted her arm, and the ribbon snaked across the floor, spiraling upward, snapping out toward the wall, forming a blur of circles before soaring into the air. She dashed across the room, caught the other end, and twirled it with her wand in a smooth motion.

"Exactly," Snape said quietly when she finished. "That’s what I’m talking about. A movement of the hand—and a result. You know how the ribbon will move, Miss Jones, when you give it a particular impulse? How it will respond if you twist your wrist even slightly differently?"

"Of course, sir," she replied. "It won’t happen right away, but..."

"Doesn’t matter. The principle is what’s important. If you stop or lower your hand, the ribbon falls, correct? It’s the same with spells—the movement must be continuous."

"Sir," Finnigan said, scratching his head, "what if you’re doing one thing and suddenly realize you need a completely different spell? And the movements don’t line up. What then?"

"For that, Finnigan, there are special transitions," Snape replied. "We’ll discuss them later. One point to you for asking the question. Now... two minutes until the bell. For homework, draw a continuous sequence of the spells we just practiced."

"Draw it?!" Weasley exclaimed.

"You know the movements required for each spell. Sketch them," Snape replied. "That’s all. Dismissed!"

The bell rang, and Marina Nikolaevna stepped back to avoid being trampled.

"You know, Snape’s not so bad in Defense," she overheard Dean Thomas say.

"And you were afraid. Defense or otherwise, he’s not some maniac—he’s a teacher," Finnigan replied, proud of the single point he’d earned from the dreaded Slytherin Head. "Sure, he yells, but I’d probably yell too, dealing with you dolts!"

‘Could they really be getting it after six years?’ Marina Nikolaevna wondered.

"Sally, Sally," Brown and Patil caught quiet Jones just as she tried to slip away. "Wait! Can you show us how you do that? It’s amazing! Come on, show us! Hermione can conjure a ribbon, right?"

"Of course! Can you show us?"

"Sure, but it won’t help you right away," Jones warned.

"It almost never does," Brown philosophized, "but if you keep at it, something’s bound to happen!"

The girls wandered off, deep in discussion about ribbon specs and techniques, while Marina Nikolaevna entered the hall.

"So, how are the sixth years?" she asked.

"Amazingly, I didn’t feel like killing anyone today," Snape replied honestly. "Their skills amount to slightly less than nothing, but that’s easily remedied if they’re willing to work..."

He glanced at Marina Nikolaevna and added, "I recall your advice about 'engaging students' in the subject. Seems you’ve succeeded. Did I just swoop in to reap the rewards?"

"Don’t be ridiculous, Severus," she replied. "They were interested in Defense long before we started lessons. I merely... nudged them in the right direction."

"Let’s say that’s true..."

"So now, in addition to ball exercises, we’ll have ribbon routines too?" Marina Nikolaevna couldn’t resist. "Individual and group performances?"

"That’s an idea," Snape said approvingly. "I should consider how to adapt clubs and hoops. What? Don’t look at me like that. I’m not entirely clueless—I know what rhythmic gymnastics is!"

"For a wizard, that’s rather unexpected knowledge."

"You forget I didn’t grow up in the wizarding world. But let’s move on." He waved dismissively. "How’s the Minister doing?"

"Splendidly! One might say he’s blooming, thoroughly pleased with himself, and... oh!" She waved a large, official-looking envelope sealed with several wax stamps. "Dance, Severus!"

"Why would I?" he asked suspiciously.

"You’re not happy that the Ministry has approved your textbook on the entire school curriculum for Potions?"

Silence fell.

"You're joking," he said finally.

"Not at all. Here, read for yourself. I volunteered to deliver it since I was already at the Ministry on business."

He snatched the envelope, broke the seals, and stared at the official decree, signed with Fudge’s flamboyant flourish, rereading it again and again.

"Well..." he said at last, "I won’t promise to dance, but—"

"Put me down this instant!" Marina Nikolaevna managed to say as Snape, overcome with emotion, nearly crushed her in a hug and lifted her off the floor. "What if someone walks in?!"

"I didn’t see anything," came the voice of the ever-present Abercrombie from the doorway.

"What exactly didn’t you see?" Marina Nikolaevna, finally back on solid ground, smoothed her robes and caught her breath.

"Nothing!" Abercrombie assured her. "Actually, I was looking for Professor Snape, and Finnigan said he’d been here. I thought I’d catch him."

"And why do you need me?" Snape asked, returning to his usual severe demeanor, though his eyes still sparkled with delight.

"Well, sir," Abercrombie began seriously as he entered the hall, "today in class with Professor Slughorn, we were reviewing. I followed the recipe exactly from the textbook, but it turned out wrong! Last year, you gave me 'Exceeds Expectations' for this potion. How is that possible?"

Marina Nikolaevna couldn’t help but smile as her predictions from her letter to Fudge began to come true.

"Are you sure you didn’t mix anything up?" Snape asked with interest.

"Positive!" Abercrombie declared confidently. "I triple-checked everything. I even stopped myself from stirring unnecessarily. I swear it was perfect!"

"Do you recall, Abercrombie," Snape said, a predatory smile forming, "last year, did you follow the recipe from the textbook or from the board?"

"The board," Abercrombie admitted after a moment. "You wrote it large, and the textbook was inconvenient—dirty hands and all..."

"But you didn’t memorize the board’s version?"

Abercrombie shook his head, then asked, "Was it different from the textbook, sir?"

"Not entirely. But for now, Abercrombie, you’ve heard nothing about this. Understood?"

"No," he replied honestly, "but if that’s what you want, then I’ve heard nothing, seen nothing, and wasn’t here!"

"Good. Now move along and stop making life harder for your prefects."

"I am a prefect!" Abercrombie declared proudly.

"In what sense?" Marina Nikolaevna asked, confused.

"Well... we figured there aren’t enough upper-year prefects to go around because of OWLs, NEWTs, and all the studying, so we picked our own for each year, first through fifth! It’s me and Ellie Jelly in my year—funny name, right? Anyway, now no one gets lost anymore!"

"And the older students are aware of this?"

"Why would they need to be?" Abercrombie asked reasonably. "We just told them we elected our own ‘class representatives’ so they wouldn’t feel bad—prefects, I mean."

"I think," Snape said after a pause, "when this little terror grows up, Hogwarts—and the world—will tremble."

"And what’s so bad about that?" Marina Nikolaevna smiled. "Now, Mr. Abercrombie, off to class! As a self-appointed prefect, you can’t afford to be late! And you, Severus, don’t you want to know what we’ll do next with your textbooks?"

"Yes, we got a bit sidetracked," he admitted, glancing again at the parchment as if afraid it might vanish. "So what’s next? Publishing is a lengthy process, I imagine."

"Let’s head to my office," she said. "First, it’s closer, and second, I had Letty forward all the materials there."