Year Five - Chapter Nine

Skeeter was an opportunistic writer. She wouldn't write stuff that wouldn't sell, and at the same time she did value her own life very much. If I had a scandal to give her, she'd be far more pleased than if she didn't, but corporal punishment at Hogwarts weren't scandalous. The only reason the torture dungeons weren't used any longer was because Dumbledore forbade their use, but they hadn't been removed, and another Headmaster could just as well decide to reinstate them. What she could do, though, was give me information.

And I needed information to deal with the threat at hand, because if there was one thing I was good at, one ancient art that I had left to rust, it was the one that required me to use information to my advantage.

Physical punishment, since it healed pretty quickly with the right kind of potions, was no different than a slap on the bottoms or a cuff by the ears. Psychological torture, on the other hand, would stick deep.

My blood boiled all the same, a low simmering that refused to die down. It didn't help that I would be staring at Professor Umbridge for the next few hours, which made my already thin patience practically non-existent.

At her core, the woman was a bully. She believed herself a righteous defender of the Ministry, but she was also power-hungry, and willing to do anything to keep her job, as well as ensure her 'blood purity' wouldn't be put into questioning.

The one thing that characterized bullies was their target-picking. They wouldn't pick on the strong, but on the weak. If the weak appeared strong, then they'd stop. If they were fought, they'd fight back, but as long as you kept on fighting, they'd eventually move on to another target.

If one showed determination, then nothing would happen.

It was time to teach her that there was always a bigger fish. Though when I proposed it professor Snape's eyebrows shot up to near astronomical levels, and professor McGonagall's eyes widened, and it was inevitable that professor Flitwick tried to keep me from doing it. Professor Sprout actually huffed, puffed, and then slammed her hand down in a show of surprising firmness and understanding.

I loved that woman; she made me feel safe.

The scribbling of quills on parchment had been the soundtrack of Professor Umbridge's lessons up until that moment. When that soundtrack was abruptly broken, it was because I had taken a deep breath, exhaled, and then quietly raised my hand.

Professor Umbridge looked at me, and smiled. "Yes, Mister Umbrus?" she asked.

"I'm done, professor," I said amiably.

"Then, you may turn to the next chapter," she replied, sweetly.

"No professor, you misunderstand," I said, "I'm done with the class."

If a sonic boom had echoed across the halls of Hogwarts, it would have died out the moment it hit the point-blank reaction to my statement. "Mister Umbrus, I am afraid we still have an hour and half of lesson, and since you are disturbing the other students' works, that will be twenty points from Ravenclaw."

"I am afraid, Professor, that you grievously and dangerously misunderstand my words," I answered, smiling beatifically in her direction. "Thus, in the interest of clearing this miscommunication matter to the best of my ability, I will be utterly more clear. I have, unfortunately, damaged beyond repair the fourth and fifth floors' corridor wallpapers, and felt no remorse in doing such an action. Since I was witnessed by all four Heads of the Houses of Hogwarts and the Headmaster while doing such a thing, they have all agreed in giving me detentions and punishments totaling no less than the entire school year that is yet to finish," I slowly stood up, and grabbed hold of the book of defense against the dark arts that she had wanted us to buy.

Not a cricket dared to chirp.

"In the interest of extending fairness to the punishment, and due to the incredibly grievous amount of harm done to that poor, innocent wallpaper, I will have to serve hours of detentions, which coincidentally fall during your hours of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I am thus utterly sorry to say that I will not be able, now or for the rest of the year, to follow your lessons, and will have to self-study for what concerns passing my OWLs."

The silence stretched for an incredibly long time. The look on Professor Umbridge was equal parts incredulous, and yet frustrated. "That is also not all," I continued amiably. "For those interested, I will be serving my detention period by acting out as an assistant teacher precisely during those hours, and those students who feel the need to confess to having destroyed parts of the furniture at Hogwarts may ask their Heads of the House to be excused, and sent to participate in my detention."

I lifted the book in my right hand, and as it quickly burst into flames, gasps echoed across the room. "Furthermore, it is with profound regret that I must announce the entire school of Hogwarts is henceforth subjected to mandatory, yet to be decided, hours of meditation within the confines of their Common Rooms. These hours will be decided, coincidentally, on a case by case basis depending on whether or not you have been sentenced to a punishment by Professor Umbridge."

I then glanced at the still warm ashes that remained in my hands, and blew them in the direction of the professor.

That snapped her out of her shock, and straight into anger.

"T-This is preposterous!" Umbridge yelled in the end, standing up with her face bright red from anger, "You cannot do that!"

"You are right, Professor Umbridge," I answered amiably. "I cannot. However, the Heads of the Houses of Hogwarts, and the Headmaster, when standing united, can." I smiled. "And that is why you should sit back down on that poor, unfortunate chair that has to suffer your inferior existence, take a deep breath, and think about just how pitiful your life has been, is, and will be. Those nice thoughts should calm you down long enough to realize that, in the end, you are as worthless a person as you are a witch, a professor and a human being." My smile brightly widened as I summoned forth a parchment, "This here is a parchment long enough for the names of whoever is interested in serving detention with me. More copies will be found in your Common Rooms. Please sign your name and surname and your house on these, and know that I'll be starting our first lesson in less than ten minutes with a practical Expelliarmus-"

I had given my back to professor Umbridge in the meantime. I had give my back to a bully I had annoyed, embarrassed, humiliated and provoked. I had given her my back.

Thus, she delivered in spades.

Something shot out from her wand, thick, thorny ropes that seemed more intent on skewering than on ensnaring. I swung down my wand, a flawless protego springing into existence. "Is this the best you can do?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Weakling."

She snarled. Professor Umbridge's composure snapped in half. She really did hate children, didn't she? She really did despise being looked down at, didn't she? She was truly a bully, the worst kind, the one that in their inferiority, try to beat on the weak to show off their greatness, and their skills. She had no moral reproach, didn't she? How many did she sentence to Azkaban, innocent of all crimes but those of being a Muggleborn?

How many had died kissed by Dementors because of her?

How many would I save, if I just squeezed the life out of her body?

The next spell she cast sent her desk forward like a jet-rocket engine, shattering in deadly shards of wood and shrapnel. The students had pressed themselves to the sides of the walls, and thus remained uninjured as I swung the wand, and formed a shield of ice. I jabbed my wand, and the ice became a fist, which swung back against Professor Umbridge, shattering the floor near her as she batted with her wand the incoming knuckles, shattering the whole construct.

Ironically enough, she was actually a good witch.

"A fifth year student can easily trounce the professor," I sing-sung along instead, "One has to wonder just what kind of filth your parents were. Was it daddy or mommy Umbridge that enjoyed beating you up?"

I saw the veins pop up on the woman's forehead, already looking toad-like, and now looking dangerously venomous.

"You think you're such a smart brat," she snapped curtly, "assaulting a professor will see you in Azkaban, your wand snapped!"

"You started it," I answered with a cheeky grin, "There are...twenty or so witnesses to it. It's not my fault you aren't worthy of being a professor; if it weren't for my appreciation of Mister Filch's work, I would have suggested you became a janitor," my eyes gleamed with triumph. "Just like your father was, isn't that right, poor Miss Umbridge, daughter of a ministry janitor? What could I expect from someone like you, if not this? A daughter of a janitor will always be a janitor's daughter."

I pushed the button.

I pushed the button and I smiled wickedly as I watched her hand rise and aim at me, her eyes revealing an anger beyond counts and words.

"Crucio!" she roared it, and screams echoed through the room.

Screams that did not belong to me, but to the terrified students at the sound of an Unforgivable being used.

Professor Umbridge's eyes widened as she saw me still standing, nonplussed, right in front of her.

"When you go to Azkaban, I want you to tell the other Death Eaters there," I said, in a whisper-like voice, "That here at Hogwarts stands a man who will come for them all should they leave the safety of their cells. I want you to cry and scream as the Dementors suck at your happy memories, and I want you to understand a very simple, very obvious fact of life," I narrowed my eyes. "Voldemort feared Dumbledore. What made you think I would ever be afraid of something as weak and pathetic as you?"

I then brought my wand up, but the door of the classroom burst open. "Mister Umbrus," a firm, stern voice spoke. "That will be enough."

Quietly, I sheathed my wand in my wand holster. I turned, to look into the strangely cold eyes of the headmaster, and gave him a small nod. "I let the anger get to me, Headmaster."

"H-Headmaster! I was viciously attacked!" Professor Umbridge exclaimed, "I was just trying to defend the students-"

"If that is the case, Dolores," the Headmaster spoke with a certain tightness and steel in his voice, "Why are they not behind you?"

She widened her eyes, and realized it there and then.

The students had all moved behind me, even those who had been at their furthest away had preferred the safety of staying behind me, than behind her. "The Minister will not let this-" she faltered on her next words. She wanted to say Dark Wizard. She wanted to, but the one having used an Unforgivable was her. "Imperius! I was under Imperius, but I broke free-I-"

"Dolores," the Headmaster said flatly. "Your tenure here is over. Deliver your wand."

"N-No!" Dolores snapped, lifting her wand up. "You'll tamper it! You'll break it! You would do anything to protect your precious protegee, but you won't get the better of me like this!"

She was disarmed by a wordless Expelliarmus I sent her way, much to the Headmaster's chagrin. "That is, by the by, what I expect you students to practice during my lessons-I mean, my detention," I said with a quick cough.

Dumbledore moved his wand gently, and Dolores froze on the spot like a perfect statue.

A grotesque toad-like statue, but a statue nonetheless.

"Mister Umbrus," the Headmaster said in the end, "are you sure you still wish to serve detentions till the end of the year?"

I smiled. "Well, Headmaster, I need to write to my good friend Miss Skeeter about this scandal involving a Ministry-Approved professor, just so I can drive a final nail in her coffin."

The Headmaster's eyes locked with mine.

"She hurt one of my friends," I said, bluntly. "There is no heaven or hell safe enough from me for those who do that, professor." I then turned to the rest of the classroom, "Also, I would like to point out how I do not believe that a janitor's daughter should remain a janitor; I merely threw back at her the blood purity beliefs she had. If any of you felt offended, know that I'll apologize to you as many times as it takes to-"

"S-Shut up, Shade!" Megan was nearly in tears as she barreled into me, grabbing hold of my wrist, "You need to go see Madam Pomfrey! That bitch used the Unforgivable on you!" Megan, language!

"Yeah Shade," Wayne whispered, pale as a blanket, "How are you even standing?" he mouthed, "Come on, I'll carry you-"

"S-stupid!" Amanda snapped, "You say we don't have to do anything and that she's dangerous and you go ahead and do something dangerous yourself!" she grabbed my other wrist, "The infirmary-"

"Oi, oi, oi!" I had to literally fight off being dragged away, "I'm fine! She didn't hit me," as if on cue, I flipped open my robes to reveal the nicest set of miniature Manta-Guards I had ever crafted. One of those stood shattered, and the others had grown in size slightly to take over. "She hit my personal defensive Mantaguards!"

I smiled brightly. "I had everything under control!"

What I didn't have under control were the angry pouts.

Stop pouting, silly children; I'm the adultier adult in this situation.

I dealt with this magnificently! Nobody died, nobody was tortured, and I didn't even throw Umbridge to the centaurs!

I dealt with this in a peaceful, gentle, caring Light-side way!

Revan would be pleased with me! That gentle Grey-Jedi would praise me!

The irony wasn't lost to me...

...unfortunately, I would be the only one knowing the joke for years to come.