Crimson_Lore
patreon
HP Chapter 113: Professor Umbridge
🕑 Added 2025-10-02 10:21:33 +0000 UTCSlytherin Dormitory.
Anne slipped off her school robes with one hand, revealing a short-sleeved white shirt underneath.
“Anne, did you gain weight over the summer? Your stomach looks way rounder,” Fanny remarked, eyeing her midsection.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m very confident in my never-gain-weight physique,” Anne replied, lifting the hem of her shirt slightly to reveal thick bandages wrapped around her waist. “It’s the gauze.”
Seeing how tightly it was wrapped, Fanny frowned. “What kind of experiment did you do, Anne?”
“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what category it falls under. It used equipment from Potions class, but most of the ingredients were tied to Herbology, and in the end, the result was something closer to a Charm,” Anne said, thoughtful.
“Are there experiments like that?” Fanny asked skeptically.
“Of course. Those are the kinds that actually make me curious…” Anne sighed. “There’s still so much unknown magic in this world worth studying.”
Fanny just curled her lip, unconvinced.
⚡︎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❖ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⚡︎
The next morning, at breakfast.
Hundreds of owls swooped in through the high windows. They soared through the Great Hall, dropping letters and packages onto their recipients, along with raindrops from their wet feathers. Clearly, it was pouring outside.
Momo, Anne’s owl, carefully fluttered down in front of her, trying not to splash her with water.
Anne untied a rolled-up letter from Momo’s leg and handed him a small cupcake in return. He hooted happily and started eating.
The letter was sealed parchment, waterproofed with a charm and easy to open with one hand. It was from Diana and Aaron, both names signed clearly at the bottom. They reminded Anne to visit the hospital wing and have her injuries checked.
Tucking the letter into her bag, Anne buttered a slice of toast.
Just then, Professor Snape began walking down the Slytherin table, handing out timetables.
“Monday morning, Potions with Gryffindor. Afternoon, Defense Against the Dark Arts, also with Gryffindor. Wow, Mondays are going to be fun,” Fanny said, looking over her schedule.
Anne stared at hers for a few seconds, then slipped it into her bag. “Yeah… maybe too fun,” she replied, pouring herself a full glass of milk.
⚡︎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❖ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⚡︎
Snape’s dungeon classroom hadn’t changed at all. Anne and Fanny took their usual seats near the front. Anne began pulling out her books, quill, ink, and scales, everything took twice as long with only one working hand.
“I’m reorganizing my bag tonight,” Anne muttered as she finally found the last of her common ingredients.
The bell rang. Snape entered right on time.
“Silence,” he said coldly, swinging the classroom door shut behind him.
There wasn’t much need to tell them to be quiet. The moment the door clicked, the room fell into complete silence. In general, Snape’s presence alone was enough to hush an entire class.
“Before we begin today’s lesson,” Snape said, striding to the front of the room and glaring at everyone, “a reminder: in May, you will take your O.W.L.s, an important exam to test your knowledge in potion-making and usage. Though I am aware that several of you are intellectually challenged, I expect all of you to scrape a pass… or I will be very disappointed.”
His eyes landed on Neville, who visibly flinched.
“Of course,” Snape continued, “after this year, many of you will no longer be in my class. Only the top students are accepted into my N.E.W.T.-level Potions class. So yes, we will be saying goodbye to some of you.”
His gaze now lingered on Harry with narrowed eyes.
“But before that happy moment arrives,” Snape said softly, “we still have a year to endure together. Whether or not you plan to continue Potions for N.E.W.T.s, I expect you to meet the high standards I require at O.W.L. level.”
“Today, we will brew a potion commonly featured on the O.W.L. exam: the Calming Draught. It eases anxiety and restlessness. However, if you’re careless with the ingredients, it can result in a heavy, sometimes irreversible sleep. So be. Careful.”
He flicked his wand. “Instructions, on the blackboard.” (The steps appeared immediately.)
“Ingredients, in the supply cupboard.” (It swung open.)
“You have one and a half hours. Begin.”
The Calming Draught was one of the most complicated and tedious potions to make. Each ingredient had to be added in exact order and quantity. It required specific stirring sequences, clockwise, then counterclockwise, precise heating levels at the boiling stage, and a final ingredient that had to be added at just the right moment.
Anne calmly added ingredients with one hand while Fanny chopped them for her. She managed the flame with steady focus. Since third year, Anne had found Snape’s classes relatively manageable, followed the steps exactly, and the potion would usually succeed.
Her strong grasp of magical plants and raw materials only deepened her skill in Potions, both feeding off each other to improve rapidly.
“By now, your potion should be releasing a faint, silvery-white vapor,” Snape said with ten minutes left.
Fanny’s cauldron gave off a faint shimmer. Anne stirred her brew three times clockwise, and her cauldron emitted a similar silvery mist.
As Snape passed their table, he said nothing, meaning he had no criticisms. Malfoy and Hermione received the same silent nod of approval.
But Harry wasn’t so lucky. Snape stopped by his cauldron, peering inside with disdain.
“Potter, what is this?” he sneered.
Malfoy and the others at the front looked up eagerly. They loved it when Snape mocked Harry.
“Calming Draught,” Harry replied tensely.
“Potter, tell me,” Snape said with poisonous sweetness, “can you read?”
Malfoy laughed loudly.
“Yes,” Harry muttered.
“Then read me the third line of the instructions, Potter.”
“Add moonstone powder, stir three times counterclockwise, boil for seven minutes, then add two drops of valerian root syrup?”
“And did you do all of those steps?”
“No,” Harry mumbled.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“No,” Harry said louder. “I forgot the valerian root.”
“I know you forgot, Potter. That’s why this cauldron of slop is useless. Evanesco.”
Harry’s potion vanished in an instant. He stood helplessly over an empty cauldron.
“Anyone who followed instructions properly: bottle your potion in a round-bottom flask, label it clearly with your name, and bring it to my desk.”
Snape added, “For homework: a twelve-inch parchment essay on the properties and uses of moonstone in potion-making. Due Thursday.”
Anne carefully spooned her potion into a short-necked flask, labeled it neatly, and was the first to submit her work.
As the bell rang, Anne quietly left the classroom while the others lined up. She needed to visit the hospital wing. Before she left, she asked Fanny to save her some of her favorite dishes for lunch and have them sliced and ready when she returned.
⚡︎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❖ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⚡︎
Hospital Wing.
Madam Pomfrey wasn’t in the ward, so Anne walked directly into her office, where the nurse was organizing potions.
“Good afternoon, Madam Pomfrey,” Anne greeted.
The matron turned. “Anne? What are you, oh my goodness, your arm! School just started!”
She quickly set the bottle down and stepped around the crates on the floor to examine Anne.
Anne gave a sheepish smile. “I hurt it at home a few days ago. Still healing. I came to change the dressing, here’s my file from St. Mungo’s.”
Madam Pomfrey took the file, skimming through it. “Alright, let’s go out there. Pick a bed and sit down.”
Anne sat on the nearest one and began undoing the sling, unfastening her robe with one hand and sliding it off.
Madam Pomfrey frowned at the chart, then gently unwrapped the gauze on Anne’s forearm, revealing a scabbed wound about four to five inches long.
“It was this deep? And only stopped bleeding early yesterday morning?” she asked, concerned.
Anne nodded.
“No water, no friction. Come in daily for the next three days,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Let me grab the salve.”
After applying the medicine, she helped Anne remove the bandage around her waist. The wound on her left side was shallower and shorter.
Anne thanked her, slung her bag over her shoulder, and rushed to the Great Hall. She was starving.
⚡︎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❖ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⚡︎
As soon as Anne sat down, Fanny said, “Hermione came looking for you just now…”
“For me? What for?” Anne tried to think, had anything happened recently?
Fanny shrugged. “She didn’t say.”
“Oh.” Anne forked a slice of tender beef and popped it into her mouth, glancing over at the Gryffindor table. The trio wasn’t there. She swallowed, then speared a second bite.
“By the way, Hermione cut both those trays, roast pork and the beef,” Fanny added casually.
Anne paused mid-bite, surprised. The fork hung in the air for a moment, then she ate the piece anyway.
“She’s not bad with a knife,” she said calmly after swallowing.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“What else do you expect…” Anne muttered, shooting Fanny a look before returning to her meal.
Still, Fanny noticed that Anne didn’t alternate her bites with pudding, bread, or nuts the way she usually did.
⚡︎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❖ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⚡︎
After lunch, they wandered around the courtyard briefly before heading to afternoon classes. Because of O.W.L. year, all lessons had been extended.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was next.
When Anne and Fanny entered the classroom, Professor Umbridge was already seated behind the lectern. Many students were present, but no one was speaking.
They exchanged a look and quietly took seats near the middle. Everyone else entering the room did so silently as well. No one knew how strict Umbridge would be yet.
“Good afternoon, class!” she said cheerfully once everyone had settled.
Anne, Fanny, and a few others mumbled “Good afternoon” in reply.
“Tsk, tsk,” Umbridge clicked her tongue. “That won’t do, will it? I’d like you to respond properly: Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge. Let’s try again. Good afternoon, class!”
“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they said in unison.
“Much better,” she said in her syrupy voice. “Now, wands away. Quills out.”
Many exchanged frustrated glances. “Wands away” usually meant a boring lesson.
They stuffed their wands into their bags and pulled out quills, ink, and parchment.
Umbridge opened her handbag and pulled out a comically short wand, then tapped it sharply on the board. Two lines appeared:
Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles
“Your instruction in this subject has been fragmented and inconsistent, hasn’t it?” she said primly, fingers clasped in front of her chest. “Teachers have come and gone, and many have not followed Ministry-approved curricula. This has left you far behind the standard expected of O.W.L. students.
“Fortunately, that will be corrected. This year’s course has been carefully structured and officially sanctioned. Please copy the following.”
She tapped the board again. The title vanished, replaced with:
Course Aims:
Understand the principles underlying defensive magic.
Recognize the situations in which defensive magic may be lawfully used.
Evaluate defensive spells in practical contexts.
The classroom was silent except for the scratching of quills. After a few minutes, once everyone had finished copying, she asked:
“Does every student have a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”
There was a low murmur of affirmation.
“I believe we need to try that again. When I ask a question, I expect a proper response: Yes, Professor Umbridge or No, Professor Umbridge. Once more: Does every student have a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”
“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” the class chorused.
“Excellent,” she said. “Turn to page five and begin reading Chapter One: ‘Foundations of Defensive Magic.’ No talking.”
She sat back, watching them like a toad, her sagging eyes fixed on the class.
