CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT;

DOLORES UMBITCH

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Cassie did not achieve very much sleep during her first night back at Hogwarts – the oh-so comfortable bed that she had spent most of her nights in since she was twelve seemed to poke into her back like nails, so much so that she actually checked if somebody really had put nails under her sheets.

"You look really angry," Hermione was saying to Harry when Cassie took her seat at the breakfast table. The brunette looked to her in surprise, her eyebrows raised. "And you – did you not sleep well?"

Cassie grunted glumly in reply.

"Seamus reckons Harry and Cassie are lying about You-Know-Who," supplied Ron, biting into a sausage he had speared with his fork. "They had a go last night."

   "Lavender thought so, too," said Hermione with a sigh, looking to Harry with sympathy. Cassie faintly remembered hearing the shrill wails of Lavender from her shower. Whatever Hermione said must have been brutal...

   "Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not Cass and I are lying, attention-seeking prats, have you?" said Harry loudly.

   "No," said Hermione calmly, "I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually." (yes, brutal) "And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down Ron's and my throats, Harry."

   "Sorry," said Harry in a low voice, though he was cut off by Cassie, who exhaled a guttural gasp.

   "This bloody newspaper!" she exclaimed, suddenly full of adrenaline. She held that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet in her hands, her grey eyes scanning it intently. "Why, I ought to–"

   "What's it say?" said Ron loudly, setting down his fork and peering over the newspaper.

Cassie laid it flat across the table for Harry and Hermione to see as well;

Cassidy Lupin – friend or foe?

Cassidy Lupin, fourteen, of Hogwarts, is infamous across its stoney interior as the girl who stole the Boy-Who-Lived from Muggle-born witch, Hermione Granger —

("You did not steal my heart!" said Harry hastily.)

– though is there more to Cassidy than meets the eye?

Over the summer holidays, Rolf Scammander, of the Daily Prophet, writes, the Ministry received the single letter that has taken over all Wizarding newspaper companies country-wide; the letter claiming Cassidy Lupin is actually the daughter of notorious and dangerous serial killer, Sirius Black. The Ministry fact-checked this statement; everything came to be true.

Cassidy Lupin, now legally known as Cassiopeia Orion Black–

("How on earth did they know my middle name?")

–claims to have no insight on her devious father's whereabouts, though an unnamed inside source promises that she has been in contact with him since the spring of 1993.

   Cassie did not read further; she had gathered enough information. "How much do you want to bet the unnamed inside source is your brother, Ron?" she said sourly, crumpling up the paper and tossing it across the table. "Honestly, I– I ought to write to them, this very second!" She ripped a piece of parchment from her bag and began scrawling furiously – though, in her anger, the letters ended up being random scribbles that made no true sense. She groaned.

   Hermione took the quill from her hand and Ron took the paper, while Harry was still reading the article with a furrowed brow. "Who is Rolf Scammander?"

   "I expect he's the replacement they brought in since Rita Skeeter is...," Hermione gave a self-satisfied, thin-lipped smile, "unavailable."

   "Well.. Mr. Scammander is just as bad as her," said Cassie, running her hand through her hair, "if not, worse."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Even on a good day, Potions was not and never would have been Cassie's favorite subject. But, it seemed, when she was in a bad mood, Snape always found a way to make her feel worse.

The Draught of Peace was a potion Cassie remembered researching in her fourth year in an attempt to calm her everlasting nerves over the Triwizard Tournament. She never ended up making it – too advanced, and she was never any good at Potions anyway – but maybe she could slip a vial of the draught into her pocket today...

   "Oi, Black," said Malfoy in a voice that suggested he had only been waiting to use her true name for the longest time, "have you even read the instructions on the board?"

   "Yes, I have," she said into her cauldron, stirring slowly. "I've done everything correctly."

   "Interesting," said Malfoy dully, "because your potion is entirely the wrong colour, you seem to have used the wrong stirring ladle, and you've spilled it all over yourself."

   As much as she hated to admit, Malfoy was right above her academically, and he held it over her head for their entire Hogwarts careers – though Cassie could easily point out the fact that Malfoy was second to Hermione, a Muggleborn, and that usually shut him right up.

   Now, Cassie looked up in confusion, her brow, damp with sweat from the hot cauldron, creased together. "I haven't spilled any–"

   With a flick of his wand, the cauldron tilted into her front and its entire contents spilled onto her. She gasped with shock before the heat of the liquid seeped into her robes.

   "Why on earth would you do that!?" she spat, flicking her hands to rid them of the liquid. Malfoy shrugged innocently.

   "Do what?"

   "You spilled my cauldron!"

   "I don't recall it," said Malfoy thoughtfully, glancing around at his fellow Slytherins. "Did you lot see me perform any magic?" There followed a chorus of no's from those in the green robes. "Professor, Black seems to be making things up.. again."

   "Professor, he spilled my Draught of Peace!" she exclaimed, pointing at Malfoy. She felt rather childish, arguing over a spilled potion and placing blame. "He used his wand, I–"

   "It seems she is making things up, Malfoy," said Snape slowly, blinking. "Take ten points to Slytherin. And Black," he said, barely able to contain his smirk at the surname, "I'll be taking twenty from Gryffindor for false accusations. You'll receive low marks for your daily grade."

   Cassie was the first out of the dungeon after class had ended, in fear of her own temper. She worried that she could not hold back her tongue if someone were to stop her. Thankfully, no one did, and she made it to the Great Hall for lunch without pause.

   "That was really unfair," said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Ron and helping herself to shepherd's pie. "There were loads of witnesses that saw Malfoy spill your potion – though most of them were Slytherin, so I'm sure it wouldn't have helped anyway."

   "Yeah, well," said Cassie, dropping her spoon and shrugging, "when has Snape ever been fair to me? And all because my mum and dad bullied him in school... it's like – Malfoy's a git, but if I were to come back here and teach – say, Astronomy – I wouldn't take out all my pent up hatred on his child – I'm sure he'd have enough problems at home, being raised by Malfoy!"

   "I might," said Ron, already stuffing his face with food. "Maybe give his kid some bad marks. You know Malfoy's own ego would be hurt with that one."

"I did think he might be better this year," said Hermione, frowning. "Snape, I mean. Now he's in the Order and everything?" she added quietly after leaning in.

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," said Ron sagely. "Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked for trusting Snape. Where's the evidence he ever stopped working for You-Know-Who?"

"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," snapped Hermione.

"Shut up, both of you," said Harry heavily as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. "Can't you give it a rest? It's driving me mad." And, abandoning his shepherd's pie, he swung his schoolbag over his shoulder and left them sitting there.

The three others stared after him in silence until Ron spoke again: "Well, if he's not gonna finish it..." he muttered, reaching for the rest of Harry's pie. Hermione hit him upside the head.

"Harry's been really stressed lately," said Hermione worriedly. She opened her mouth to add own, though was cut off by Cassie's words.

"You would be too, if you saw Voldemort return to power," she said hotly, standing. "Imagine how he feels!"

"Imagine how it looked to us," retorted Ron defensively. "Well, not us – I mean, them– you know, the general popul–"

"Harry returned after three hours clutching..." Hermione hesitated upon saying his name for a second, "Cedric's body under one arm, and you, unconscious, under the other. It did look a bit... you know."

"No, I don't know," said Cassie, gathering her things feverishly, "and I would have been glad to see it from your point of view; maybe then, I wouldn't have had to witness Cedric bite the dust." She turned on her heel and walked off to find Harry.

He was not where she first thought he would have been – it took her the rest of the lunch period to find him under the trapdoor leading to the North Tower, and by then, it was time for Divination anyway.

"You alright?" she asked softly as he began to ascend the ladder. He paused for a moment, his foot midair to the next rung, then sighed.

"No," he replied lowly as she began her ascent up the ladder after him, "but I don't think I'm much better than you."

"I don't think either of us are gonna be alright for a while," she said in a whisper, taking her seat on the floor cushions next to him. After a moment, she bit the inside of her cheek and leaned in. "About... what we said to each other at Grimmauld Place."

Harry's face went pale and he swallowed thickly. He turned to face her, their eyes meeting in intense storm cloud grey and sparkling green gazes. "I've been meaning to apologize for so long now. I'd no right saying those awful things to you, Cass, I'm sorry. I shouldn't've accused you of everything."

Cassie's face softened into a half-smile. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed as if to say "it's alright" as Trelawney began her opening speech.

   "Good day," said the misty-eyed woman, "and welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely – as, of course, I knew you would."

   Her cloudy eyes glazed over as they landed on Cassie; she froze for a moment, then swept her tongue nervously across her bottom lip, before returning to her speech as if nothing had happened. Cass, however, dropped her head ashamedly as the whispering began again.

   "Sirius wouldn't want you to be ashamed," said Harry in a whisper, nudging her elbow. "You know him, always–"

   "I don't know him," she replied in a hissy voice. "At least, not as well as you, apparently." She had no idea where the hostility came from, but instantly, she lifted her head again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean–"

   "S'alright," said Harry shortly, his eyes glued to the book in his lap. Cassie couldn't help but notice the wavering in his tone.

   Dream interpretation was something Cassie was not interested in (you wouldn't be, either, if all of your dreams consisted of your best friend being murdered or your other best friend being tortured), so she instead focused on figuring out how much ink a single quill tip could hold before it needed to be re-dipped.

   It was no surprise to anyone when Professor Trelawney set a monthly dream journal as homework, though it did disappoint everyone a tad. On their way to their next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ron did not stop complaining about the amounts of homework they had been assigned.

   "Ron!" snapped Cassie finally as they approached the door to DADA. "You complaining about it is not going to make it go away. Stop, for the love of Merlin."

   "Merlin doesn't need your love," Ron said in a mocking voice, sticking out his tongue as they entered the classroom. They took their seats in their usual spots – Harry and Cassie as a pair, sitting behind Ron and Hermione – when a shortly stout woman flounced over and tapped their desks with the tip of her pink quill.

   "Boys and girls shall not sit together. Please switch," said Umbridge brightly, raising her shoulders up into a high-pitched giggle before walking back to her desk. She looked up after sitting down to see that none of the four had moved. "Now."

   They switched, begrudgingly.

   "Delightful," said Umbridge happily. "Well..." she addressed the whole class, smiling, revealing a sharp set of teeth, "Good afternoon!" A few people repeated it in a mutter, though Umbridge seemed to not be satisfied by this. She tutted her tongue. "That won't do. I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

   "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted in reply, sharing disbelieving glances between the lot of them.

   "There now," said the woman sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

   Cassie shoved her wand into the pocket of her backpack and searched through her backpack for a piece of parchment but, upon not finding one, leaned over to Hermione and whispered, "Could I borrow some parchment? Malfoy spilled Draught of Peace all over–"

   "Miss.. Black, is that correct?" said Umbridge in a sickly sweet voice, her grin twitching at the edges. "We do not speak without raising our hands. Five points from Gryffindor shall do, yes? Come prepared next time."

   "Excuse me, Professor, but I wasn't exactly expecting to use parchment in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Cassie when Umbridge turned around. The older witch paused and spun again, her smile stretched tight across her wrinkly skin.

   "Whatever do you mean?"

   "It's just.. normally, Defense is more of a hands-on class," said Cassie, shifting uncomfortably under the woman's gaze.

"Yes, well," said Umbridge, blinking slowly and turning back on her heel. She raised her wand and pointed it at the blackboard, and at once, words appeared on the board:

Defense Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles

"Now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disputed and fragmented, hasn't it?" said Umbridge, turning back to face the class with her hands clasped in front of her waist. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year."

She pointed her wand at the blackboard again and the words erased themselves, then were replaced by the "Course Aims."

"Understanding the principles of defensive magic?" Cassie repeated under her breath, disbelieving of the entire ordeal. "Know when magic can legally be used?"

"Miss Black," said Umbridge again, "I have already given you a warning. Shall I have to ask you to cease talking again, it will result in a detention."

Hermione and Cassie shared a glance, then began scribbling down the course aims on their papers.

"Now," said Umbridge, when the sounds of scribbling quills had come to a halt, "has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?" There was a dull murmur of assent. Umbridge tutted her lips again. "No, that won't do. When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the classroom chanted, however much reluctantly.

"Good," said the woman with a pleased smile. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk." She turned and took her seat behind her desk, watching them all closely with a squinted eye and ugly smile. Cassie turned to page five and began her reading.

It was depressingly dull. So much so that she considered dropping Defense Against the Dark Arts – she didn't need the O.W.L., she wasn't planning on becoming an Auror. She glanced over to Hermione and received a small shock; Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory, though her hand was in the air and her eyes were fixed pointedly on Professor Umbridge.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" said Umbridge after five minutes of "not noticing" Hermione's hand.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading for now," said Professor Umbridge, smiling. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione promptly. The entire class seemed to inhale a sharp breath – Hermione rarely questioned a teacher's method of teaching, and when she did, it didn't usually end very prettily.

"And your name is–?"

"Hermione Granger," she said, clasping her hands just as Umbridge had and placing them on her desk.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read through them carefully enough," said Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written about using defensive spells."

"Using defensive spells?" Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron asked loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.–?"

"Weasley," finished Ron, thrusting his hand into the air. Professor Umbridge shot him a smile and turned around without calling on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You have another question?" said Umbridge, still smiling, however strained it seemed to be growing.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge. She gave Hermione no time to answer before continuing, "Because if not, I am afraid you are not at any authority to disclose the whole point of any class. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way."

"What use is that?" said Harry. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a risk free—"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge. Harry shot his hand into the air, and Umbridge turned away from him, but many other people now had their hands quivering in the air.

"And your name is?" said Umbridge to Dean. He answered with his full name. "Well, Mr. Thomas? What is it?"

"I wish to give my allotted question time to Harry."

Umbridge nearly combusted of frustration as Harry spoke again. "So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's in the real world, then?"

   "There is nothing waiting out there Mr. Potter."

   "Oh yeah?" said Harry. His temper was almost visibly rising.

   "Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" said Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

   "Hmm, let's think," said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice; Cassie dropped her head onto the desk in fear of what was coming. "Maybe.. Lord Voldemort?"

   "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge in a grimly satisfied voice. "Now, let me make a few things plain." She stood from her desk and leaned toward them. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead. This is a lie."

   "It's not a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

  "Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Umbridge triumphantly.

   "Voldemort is back, Professor," protested Cassie, staring at the short woman in disbelief. "Are you so dense that you truly believe he's not?"

   "We do not speak without raising our hand, Miss Black," said Umbridge. "And we especially do not criticize teachers; nor spread lies about a certain Dark wizard. Shall it be detention for you too?"

   "So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" said Harry, his voice shaking.

   "Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic acc–"

   "Oh, you foul thing," spat Cassie, standing from her desk. "Cedric Diggory was murdered, and saying anything less than the truth is an insult to his–"

   "Detention, Miss Black," said Umbridge in a dangerously low voice. Cassie could swear there had been a glint of victory in her evil eyes.

   "Voldemort killed him, and you know it," said Harry, standing as well.

   "Enough!" Umbridge shrieked. "Detention. Both of you. My office, five o'clock tonight."