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[Prof. Umbridge] Chapter 59 (Epilogue)
🕑 Added 2024-12-30 22:06:30 +0000 UTCThe vestibule was brightly lit, and the footsteps of the students echoed crisply on the stone-tiled floor as they moved toward the double doors leading to the Great Hall. Tonight marked the feast celebrating the beginning of the school year.
In the Great Hall, students were already taking their seats at the four long house tables, while a fifth table was reserved for the newcomers. Above them, the enchanted ceiling shimmered, displaying grand spiral galaxies curling into luminous clusters. Sagittarius, resembling Firenze, loomed with his bow, Virgo smiled serenely, and Scorpius threatened with his venomous tail.
Conversations quickly died down; there had been plenty of time to chat during the long journey to the castle. Now, it was time to eat. The first-years, initially timid, soon dived into the feast with gusto. When the dinner finally ended, a short woman rose from the staff table.
"I’m delighted to welcome you all," she began. "Let’s skip the long speeches. The rules of the school will be explained to newcomers, and for those who may have forgotten, the prefects will provide reminders. We have one staff change this year: Mr. Thomson, from the Auror Office, will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for the senior years. As for the juniors, I’ll handle those classes as usual."
"Madam Headmistress, where’s Professor Snape?" a despairing voice called out from the Gryffindor table.
"Mr. Abercrombie, what kind of example are you setting as a prefect, shouting out like that?" she chided gently. "There’s no need to worry—Professor Snape is delayed at a conference but will certainly return in time for the start of senior classes. For the juniors, I remind you, Professor Slughorn is teaching Potions. Now, let’s proceed with the Sorting Ceremony!"
The first-years lined up in front of the staff table, facing the rest of the students. A hunched goblin-like figure brought forth a stool and then retreated into the shadows, replaced by a tall, silver-haired woman. The ancient Sorting Hat was placed reverently on the stool and began its song.
The faces of the first-years were a mix of trepidation and anticipation. Some trembled nervously, others nudged each other and whispered in hushed tones. The Sorting commenced.
"Diana Umbridge!" the name rang out, and the moment the girl donned the Hat, it shouted:
"Gryffindor!"
Another girl, slightly older, waved enthusiastically from the Slytherin table.
"Severus will be mortified," giggled Professor Flitwick.
"Why should he care?" replied Grubbly-Plank. "Ingebjorg for example doesn’t care which house a student belongs to. He could learn a thing or two from her."
"Not about that. He’ll say this influx of students in Hogwarts used to be courtesy of the Weasleys."
Headmistress Umbridge pretended not to hear.
The Sorting continued, and finally, it was done. The enchanted ceiling darkened with storm clouds as thunder rolled ominously overhead.
"Now, let us—" the headmistress began, but her words were drowned out by a deafening clap of thunder. The doors to the Great Hall flew open with a resounding crash.
A figure cloaked in black stood on the threshold. Every head turned as lightning illuminated his face. He swept back his hood, shaking out a mane of dark hair, and strode purposefully toward the staff table.
"Aurora, confess: did you master weather magic after all?" hissed Marina Nikolaevna.
"I swear, it wasn’t me!" protested Professor Sinistra.
"Then it’s Ingebjorg again... Typical! Being Head of Slytherin has ruined her sense of humor."
"Her sense of humor has always been like this," McGonagall interjected with a resigned shake of her head.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the intruder’s face, and the first-years gasped. He looked every bit like an evil wizard from a fairy tale: long black hair framed a gaunt face with sharp features and a prominent hooked nose.
Golden light suddenly enveloped him, accompanied by a burst of ethereal song, and Marina Nikolaevna covered her face with her hand.
"Professor Snape is back!" the Gryffindor prefect shouted triumphantly.
"Merlin’s beard, Abercrombie," Snape said, turning toward the hall. "When will you finally leave for Auror training and stop ruining my dramatic entrances? And take your blasted bird—ruined the whole effect! Where did it come from?"
"’He’, sir! My bird is a he, not ‘it’" Abercrombie said seriously, emerging from the Gryffindor table and deftly grabbing the phoenix by its long tail feathers. "Sorry, Madam Headmistress said you wouldn’t be here tonight, so I didn’t bother locking him up... Not that you could lock him up if you tried."
Abercrombie was nearly as tall as Snape now but somehow managed to look up at him as if he were still a kid.
"Get your lot to bed," Snape advised. "Every year, the same nonsense—no chance to make a proper entrance at the start of term!"
"Come up with something fresher, then," Ingebjorg suggested as Snape took his seat. "Your grand entrances are starting to mold."
"I’m not the one who takes center stage," he muttered, glancing toward Slughorn. "By the way, why is no one asking how my conference went or why I returned so early?"
"Well, how did it go, Severus?" Professor Sprout asked with interest.
"They decided I was unparalleled and saw no reason to continue. That’s the short version. I’ll share the details tomorrow and display my accolades. For now, let’s toast to my triumph—and then off to bed."
"You’re getting old," Slughorn teased, twitching his walrus mustache. "In my day, a triumph like that would be celebrated until dawn—with students!"
"That was just an average mid-tier conference," Thomson said innocently, causing Flitwick to chuckle. "Maybe if it were global!"
"Exactly," Snape said with a malicious grin, raising his goblet. "To me!"
"Modesty was never your strong suit," Marina Nikolaevna muttered.
"If we listed everything I won’t die of," Snape paused theatrically, "I’ll live forever."
"Then let’s drink to that!" exclaimed Grubbly-Plank, almost spilling her goblet on McGonagall.
And they drank. Several rounds, in fact, as the Great Hall emptied, and the prefects guided the students to their dormitories.
"Dumbledore would have been pleased to see this," Slughorn remarked sentimentally. "A revitalized Hogwarts, new traditions, and such harmonious children..."
That harmony had been enforced with great effort, as had the discipline, but Headmistress Umbridge, a recipient of Order of Merlin (all three classes), Fudge’s Deputy Minister , and a sitting member of the Wizengamot, considered it well worth the price.
"They’ll bring him to see it later in the semester," Sprout reminded them. "Potter will bring him—he’s quite concerned for the headmaster and says we all owe him."
"Probably why Potter became a healer," Snape said acidly. "First, they experimented on him; now he returns ‘the favours’."
"Dumbledore’s health really declined, poor thing," Sinistra added. "You missed his last visit, Severus. He kept mentioning some Gellert and muttering about Tom—says he failed him. He even calls Harry ‘James’ half the time."
"Good thing I didn’t witness it," Snape agreed after a pause. "It’s dreadful to see such a brilliant mind fade."
"A great man," Slughorn sighed, dabbing a tear from his eye. "If not for him..."
‘Same old story every year,’ Snape’s expression clearly conveyed.
‘Let him ramble,’ Umbridge’s glance replied, having mastered Legilimency to a respectable degree. ‘Yes, my place is closer. And don’t you dare claim you’re too tired to Apparate!’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve got a house-elf now, too,’ his look countered.
