[Prof. Umbridge] Chapter 26

The morning was cold and frosty, and in the Great Hall, a few sparkling snowflakes drifted down from the enchanted ceiling. The sky was covered with light clouds, but it was expected to clear up by lunchtime.

The younger students, already accustomed to discipline, took their seats, while the fifth-year prefects counted everyone and then sat down themselves. The sixth- and seventh-year prefects also checked who was missing and why, and only then began their meal.

"Warms my heart," remarked Grubbly-Plank, pouring herself some coffee. Everyone knew she was a stickler for order. "And there's more—"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. Just then, the clouds parted, flooding the Great Hall with bright sunlight, and the doors crashed open.

In the doorway stood a figure leaning on a long staff and wrapped in a lengthy traveling cloak. Every head in the hall turned to look at the stranger… or rather, the strange woman. Standing in the sunbeam, she pushed back her hood and glanced around.

She was a tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing elderly woman, dressed in a long embroidered gown. Snow-white braids as thick as a man's arm hung over her massive chest. Her tanned face, marked with high cheekbones and a firm jawline, was deeply lined with wrinkles, but light blue eyes sparkled sharply and keenly from beneath thick brows.

A dwarf followed behind her—not a house-elf, not a goblin, but a real dwarf. Hunched, shaggy, with a long nose and large ears, he nonetheless radiated a strange dignity.

"I’m right on time," the guest declared, tossing her wolf-fur-lined cloak into the arms of the dwarf and striding toward the staff table. With each step, the metal tip of her staff clanged on the stone floor.

"You couldn't be more timely!" cried Marina Nikolaevna, descending to meet her.

"Dolores," the guest looked down at her and extended a broad hand. "Good to see you. Let someone show my servant to my quarters."

"Trinky," she whispered, "please escort… um…"

"This is Hrafn, my servant," the woman said. "He's a dvergar. He'll be staying with me and dining with your staff."

"As you wish," nodded Marina Nikolaevna. "I've arranged a room for you in the east tower, but if it doesn’t suit, we can find something more fitting."

"I trust your judgment," replied the woman grandly. "Hrafn, go where directed."

"Yes, mistress," creaked the dwarf as he trundled off, following a glowing blue arrow that appeared on the floor.

"Allow me to introduce," Marina Nikolaevna addressed the silent hall, "Professor Ingebjorg Shnaibjornsdottir, your new Divination teacher."

The Great Hall was struck silent. The old woman raised an eyebrow pointedly, and it seemed Snape gave his students a signal because the Slytherins rose as one, and Malfoy, somewhat hesitantly, stammered out:

"We’re pleased to welcome you, Professor Shnai… Shnai…"

"You may call me Mistress Ingebjorg," she graciously allowed. Her voice was low and deep, echoing under the arches. "I hold no academic degree and never have; I am a practitioner."

The other houses then stood to greet the new professor and then resumed their seats, watching with wide eyes as the imposing Ingebjorg ascended to the staff table, where Dumbledore awaited her.

"Albus," she nodded as the headmaster gallantly kissed her hand. "Still alive, I see… Well, not for much longer."

At this blunt remark, Sprout choked on her tea, McGonagall coughed suspiciously, and only Grubbly-Plank commented calmly, "Well, he isn’t exactly a young man."

"Exactly," Ingebjorg agreed, taking a seat beside her. "Wilhelmina, if I’m not mistaken? We met about twenty years ago when you came hunting a trjotel."

"Indeed! Though I never found the trjotel, the journey was fascinating!" she said brightly. "But please, do eat..."

Marina Nikolaevna congratulated herself for not being lazy and investigating Ingebjorg's tastes in advance, ordering the house-elves to serve her usual fare.

"Would you like to rest after your journey?" she asked the diviner after breakfast.

"One might think Apparating left me so exhausted I'm about to collapse," she scoffed. "Give me the schedule instead… Ah. Fifth years, hmm? Layabouts and idlers, as you described? Perfect, just the warm-up I need!"

"May I attend the lesson?" Marina Nikolaevna asked.

"As much as you like," replied Ingebjorg. "My skills don’t depend on the phase of the moon, the weather, or other trifles, except perhaps a bad mood, and today I’m in high spirits… But, Dolores, these classrooms of yours are too cramped. Could you find me a room with more space? Normally I’d hold class outdoors, but it must be a bit too cold for your little darlings."

"Of course, I’ll find a suitable hall," she agreed, deciding to temporarily sacrifice the training room. "Let me show you the way…"

________________________________

"Well, well," said Ingebjorg, settling herself like a queen on a throne-like chair in the center of the room, looking over the clustered students. "Fifth year, Gryffindor… Take your seats. However you like, on chairs or on the floor."

Marina Nikolaevna noted that even those who usually skipped Divination, like Granger, had shown up today. Curiosity must have gotten the better of them…

"Very well," Ingebjorg said once silence fell over the room. "Let’s begin. Tell me, who here knows runes?"

Granger cautiously raised her hand.

"Yes? Stand up, girl, and name yourself," the old woman commanded.

"Hermione Granger, Mistress Ingebjorg," said Hermione, rising. "I’m studying Ancient Runes and…"

"You know the Elder Futhark?" she interrupted, frowning as Hermione shook her head. "Hmm… what runes do you study here? Fine, sit for now. I hope you’ve at least heard that runes can be used for divination?"

A quiet murmur swept through the room, generally meaning "yes."

"Good enough…" Ingebjorg scanned the room and pointed her staff unerringly at Potter. "You, young man, come closer… What is your name?"

"Harry Potter, ma’am," he replied awkwardly, getting to his feet.

"I said, come closer," the old seer’s voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Well, well… I see what they say about you is true. You’re rude and disrespectful toward your elders who hold power and bear knowledge… Stand up straight, Harry Potter, when I speak to you, and look me in the eye, not at your shoes!"

‘Is she a Legilimens too?’ wondered Marina Nikolaevna. ‘There was no mention of that, though one can never be sure…’

"That’s better," Ingebjorg said after a pause in which Potter stood at attention. "Remember this, young men and women: I do not tolerate interruptions. I do not tolerate unanswered questions. If you don’t know the answer, simply say ‘I don’t know,’ but don’t babble nonsense or waste my time. If you wish to ask something, wait until the end of the lesson. Or, if you simply can’t wait, raise your hand, as is customary here, but speak only when I permit it. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma’am," the class replied.

"Good. Now, back to runes. Do you know, young man, what symbol you bear on your forehead?" Ingebjorg pointed the tip of her staff at Potter, who still stood before her.

"M-m-m... Let me guess… It's a scar, ma’am!" he said, then gave a small yelp as some invisible force suddenly struck him on the shoulder, making him stumble.

Marina Nikolaevna was almost certain that such a blow could only come from a staff, like the one in Ingebjorg's hands, but the old woman hadn't even moved!

"Don’t get cheeky with me, young man," she said softly, her pale blue eyes lighting up with a dangerous fire. "I repeat the question: do you know the specific mark it bears?"

"No, ma’am," Potter replied gloomily.

"Then I’ll tell you: your scar takes the form of the Sowilo rune, and I think that’s no accident. Lightning. Enlightenment…" Ingebjorg narrowed her eyes. "You trust your intuition, Harry Potter, and rightly so – Sowilo can offer insight in a difficult situation, showing the way forward… But it also amplifies pride and ambition."

Ron Weasley gave an ambiguous grunt.

Ingebjorg rose and circled Potter.

"Sowilo," she said, "the Sun rune. The rune of culmination. The force of creativity, will to triumph, and the successful conclusion of any endeavor... Now, young lady, what would you like to ask?"

"Excuse me, Madam Ingebjorg," Hermione said cautiously, "but wasn’t that the rune the SS soldiers wore?"

"Precisely. A double Sowilo – they called it Sieg – to boost luck. Yet in the end, as we know, they were not so lucky," the seer said calmly. "But we’ll discuss that later. Now, Harry Potter, Sowilo grants significant power. The power to influence minds, to convince others with barely a word… But there is always the risk of becoming consumed with yourself, your own issues, and the perceived truth of all your actions. And the period of Sowilo doesn’t last forever: the intoxication of inspiration will soon fade, and a time will come when the world will test the purity of what you’ve done. Are you ready for that?"

"I don’t understand what you mean, ma’am," he said stubbornly.

"Of course you don’t understand, for you wallow in ignorance and are proud of it," Ingebjorg said bluntly. "But we’ll work on that. For now, remember: as you fulfill your desires, using the power and opportunities given to you, always think of those around you, their well-being, and your responsibility to them. Remember also that will and action are one, and action is sustained by will and spirit. Now, take your seat."

She sat back down, clasping her hands on her staff, cast a heavy gaze over the class, and muttered, "A bunch of barbarians… I see a few with a glimmer of talent, faint but present. If they apply themselves, they may develop their gift. As for those without any gift at all, I can at least teach them to read the simplest signs; that should suffice…"

The class fell silent, subdued.

"Hrafn," Ingebjorg addressed her servant, "hand out the textbooks."

The dwarf – or dvergar – briskly handed each student a thin booklet. Marina Nikolaevna received one as well and looked inside curiously.

"But this is Muggle..." someone whispered.

"Yes, but it’s presented clearly and without distortion," Ingebjorg replied with exceptional sharpness. "We’ll interpret the runes together later; for now, you can study their basic meanings from this… er… handbook."

"Ma’am?" Lavender Brown timidly raised her hand. "May I ask a question?"

"Go on."

"Are we done with reading tea leaves and coffee grounds?"

Ingebjorg let out a hearty laugh instead of answering.

"Thank you, girl! That’s quite a laugh!" she said, wiping away a tear. "Do you even know which century tea and coffee were introduced to your islands? How did people get by before that, you think?"

Lavender slumped in her seat.

"Of course, divining from fish or rat entrails isn’t bad, but you’re all too squeamish for that," Ingebjorg mused. "Well, maybe lamb shoulder blades… I could show you that. In spring, cloud-watching’s also good… though if we had the sea here… Oh well, let's master the runes first!"

Marina Nikolaevna flipped through the handbook with interest.

"Enough for an introductory lesson," the seer declared, standing up. "By the next class, each of you is to make your own set of divination runes. And don’t complain – they’re only two dozen! You may carve them on bone, burn them into wood, scratch them into stone, draw them on scraps of leather, whatever you choose. They can come out crooked; it doesn’t matter, as long as they’re made with your own hands. And don’t let anyone touch your set, or you’ll have to start over!"

The bell rang, marking the end of the lesson, and the students began filing out.

"Such a dreadfully under-prepared class," Ingebjorg remarked to Marina Nikolaevna. "What on earth have they been doing?"

"Reading tea leaves," she sighed.

"It shows… Well, they’ll catch up."

"And what did you… hmm… ‘teach’ Potter with?" Marina Nikolaevna asked with interest.

"There are techniques," Ingebjorg smirked. "We teach the old-fashioned way, you see: disrespectful? Smack! Can’t answer the question? The rod it is… I know Hogwarts has abolished corporal punishment, but…”

"It was a non-corporeal strike," Marina Nikolaevna nodded. "Could you teach me?"

"Of course. But don’t ask for divination.”

"Why not?"

"Because you’re walking a fine line, Dolores," Ingebjorg said without a hint of a smile. "Finer than the edge of a blade. Any prophecy could tip the balance, and it’s best not to try, lest you make things worse."

“Is that so,” she muttered. “Thank you… Er, Madam Ingebjorg, I need to get to my class, but… could I talk to you about an old prophecy if you’re free this evening?”

"Certainly. Talking about old prophecies is a pleasure – you can twist them any way you like," the old woman chuckled. "It’s the unsolved ones that are troublesome; the old ones are fair game. Drop by after lights-out."

"Of course," Marina Nikolaevna said seriously.

"Wait, Dolores!" Ingebjorg stopped her. "Is it true you go skiing in the mornings?"

"Yes."

"Excellent, I’ll join you," the seer grinned.

"Please do, I’d be glad!"

"And you swim as well?" she pressed.

"Yes, but only in a pool in winter; melting ice takes too long."

"Good enough," Ingebjorg nodded with satisfaction. "I’ll show these old bones a thing or two!"

Descending the stairs to her office, Marina Nikolaevna heard a whisper:

"But it’s true, Harry! About the seeming truth of words and actions! You have dreams, visions, but why are you so certain they’re real?"

Of course, it was Hermione.

"Because I’m sure!" Potter replied. "I see the same things Voldemort does, like when the snake bit Mr. Weasley…"

"And that’s pride and self-absorption," Weasley said acidly. "Why do you think Dumbledore wants you to practice Occlumency?"

"And?"

"Harry, because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has probably realized you can access his thoughts!" Hermione hissed like a snake. "And if it’s mutual… he could implant ideas in your mind, like the one with the Department of Mysteries! I don’t know why he’d want that, but you can’t just go headlong…”

"Ahem," Marina Nikolaevna cleared her throat as she stepped into view. "Shouldn’t you three be in class?"

"We have a break; we were on our way to the library, Madam Umbridge," Hermione quickly answered.

"The library’s the other way," she said. "If you can’t lie well, Miss Granger, best not to try. And did I just hear ‘Department of Mysteries’?”

“Uh… you must’ve misheard, ma’am,” muttered Weasley.

“The Department of Mysteries is well-guarded, young people,” Marina Nikolaevna emphasized. “Not as it was that time when only a sleeping Mr. Weasley remained. Your visions, Mr. Potter, are of great concern to influential people, and all that is required of you is to stay within the school’s bounds and apply yourself to your studies. Professor Snape says you aren’t making any effort at all in his classes.”

“That’s because the way he teaches...!" Potter spluttered. "It’s like he’s purposefully scrambling my brain, making it easier for Voldemort to get in!"

"You have an overactive imagination, Mr. Potter, and you’d best direct it toward more peaceful matters," Marina Nikolaevna replied calmly. "Since you have a break and nothing to do, please write a three-foot essay on mental magic – specifically, Legilimency and Occlumency – for our next class, using yourself as an example. You may use any available literature and Miss Granger’s help. Now, off to the library!"

She watched them leave and went to her own class. Fortunately, the third-year Slytherins were disciplined enough not to destroy the classroom in the ten minutes of the teacher's absence, so Marina Nikolaevna set to work.