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ACT3CH18 - Inspection
🕑 Added 2023-10-05 14:13:08 +0000 UTC“I wonder what revelations await us now, Daphne,” said Tracey as she sat beside her in Transfiguration class.
“Revelations?” asked Daphne, raising an eyebrow at her friend.
“You don’t think Malfoy’s gonna let it stay that way, will you?”
Daphne shrugged. “He invoked an honour duel. Harry just accepted it. He has no choice.”
After the events of the duel, they had all left for the next class, while Harry had stood back to wait for his next class. He would have three more classes to deal with today, so Daphne didn’t expect him to see him anytime before dinner. As much as she wanted to hang back and talk to him, she had Potions class next, and she doubted Professor Snape would be that accommodating.
“Yeah, but do you think Daddy Malfoy will see it that way?”
“He has to. Malfoy quite clearly challenged Lord Potter in his position as Heir Malfoy. Harry made it completely clear how little he thought of Malfoy’s claims. If anything, the ferret forced him to agree to the duel. Either Daddy has to accept his son’s stupidity or renounce his actions by throwing him out of the family.”
“But —”
“This isn’t your regular duel, Tracey. Honour duels are serious business. Draco could’ve seriously injured Harry, and he’d face no prosecution.”
“Even if he’s a professor?”
Daphne shook her head. “As the challenged one, Harry has the right to choose the time and place of the duel. That he twisted the entire thing into an educational demonstration only makes him look competent.”
“If you say so,” said Tracey. “I’m just worried things will only escalate from here.”
“Let them,” said Daphne with a determined smile. “I know my Harry. He’ll have to fight blindfolded with one hand tied, for Draco to even be worth consideration.”
“I’d say you’re exaggerating, but after seeing him do that final trick, I can’t even refute that.”
Daphne smirked. If Tracey thought that the ‘demonstration’ was a fair estimation of her fiance’s abilities, she was up for a surprise awakening. No, if there was one thing Daphne was truly worried about, it was about that one time he had come to the verge of truly losing control at Malfoy’s crass words.
Watching Harry operate was usually one of two things: mildly amusing or positively terrifying. Most of the time, his whole personal manner always made her think of shy and introverted kids. He never met anyone’s eyes for more than a flickering second, and moved with an exaggerated caution, choosing to speak softly even when the situation called for violence.
But when something caught his attention, he changed. His bright, green, intelligent eyes would gleam, and his gaze became so intense that it could start a fire. During those situations, his whole being shifted, his stance widened, becoming more confident and aggressive, and his voice rose to become a ringing trumpet that could’ve been clearly heard from opposite ends of a quidditch pitch.
Quirky introvert, gone. Terrifying icon, present.
Sighing, she crossed her arms over her transfiguration book and rested her chin on it. McGonagall was going to start Vanishing and Transfiguration today, and she wasn’t going to miss it for anything. Unlike Potions, Transfiguration was her strongest subject, beside Ancient Runes and Herbology that is. She had initially thought of showing off her prowess in battle-transfiguration, but had changed her mind.
For all his talk about joining the Hit-wizards, Macmillan was something of a loudmouth nancy boy that got on her nerves. It didn’t help that hers was the last duel on the menu and she just wanted to end the damn thing as fast as possible.
“Something tells me we’re not done with the day’s dose of drama.”
Daphne curled an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”
“”Haven’t you heard?” asked Tracey. “Umbridge’s starting with her High Inquisitor thing today. She practically told that off to ole’ McGonagall last night.”
Oh right. She had. Still, McGonagall was one of those teachers that every House, including Slytherin, dearly respected. Despite being the Head of House Gryffindor, no one could ever accuse her of showing any favouritism or bias, which was more than what she could say about her own Head of House.
“McGonagall is the Deputy Headmistress of the school, Davis,” she muttered, playing with her wand under the desk. “Some stupid Undersecretary isn’t going to send her packing.”
She’d have understood if Umbridge did that to Trelawney or Burbage. The former, because she was a charlatan, and the latter, because of the overwhelming prejudice against the subject.
“And you’re forgetting that the mutiny kind of kicked some sense into her,” she continued. “She knows what can happen if she stirs the hornet’s nest a little too much.”
“Really?” drawled Davis. “You’re saying that after what she did at dinner?”
Daphne bit her lip. Tracey had a point.
Honestly, Daphne was more interested in what others were thinking of Harry’s first DADA class. Her fiance had been spectacular. When he had first entered the classroom, she had seen the uncertainty cloud his features and for a moment, she feared he would just walk back and resign from the job. The Harry she knew hated being the centre of attention, and being the professor was doing him just that.
The change happened when she was unaware.
Something must have clicked in his mind at the sight of all those people, perhaps at Granger’s superior expression, or Draco’s worthless sneer, and she didn’t even realise when he had taken the lead and begun throwing rules at everyone’s faces with a practised authority that felt so utterly alien when coming from him. Not just her, but the entire class, had begun to fall into place and obey him at every turn. Unlike the performance in Umbridge’s class before, there hadn’t been any overt displays of magic, or the presence of an all-encompassing aura that threatened to smother her as if she was a candle flame flickering in the wind.
The Harry Potter running the show was an altogether different person as compared to the one she usually saw when faced with a challenge.
He was more analytical, and wasn’t prone to any bouts of unanticipated craziness. No, this was similar to that time when she had seen him manipulate Susan, Granger, Sue and herself when they had gone to him about teaching Defence. There was a logic behind every step, and a patient understanding of the predicament he was dealing with. When the mudblood had questioned his choice for the year’s textbook, Daphne had expected him to either comply with her, or offer her alternatives. Instead, he had rapidly shut her up with logical arguments and made her look exactly how she was — an arrogant uppity bitch with a mouth that ran before her head, and only then gave everyone the proper reasoning behind his actions. His sheer ruthlessness and efficacy was such a turn on.
It was wholly different from the Harry Potter she had met in Ananta Shesha’s lair, facing the golem in combat, or the one that had faced Malfoy on two occasions and humiliated the crap out of him.
The contrasts did not make sense, and it was all the more intoxicating for it. She was afraid she would get addicted to this feeling if she wasn’t careful.
“Thinking about Potter, are you?”
Daphne turned to the brunette. “What if I am?”
Her friend giggled. “You’re so whipped.”
Daphne pursed her lips.
Tracey raised her hands in surrender. “Just saying. But seriously, what he did to Malfoy today was amazing. Sue Li was telling me how she had never seen such spell-chains before. She said that his performance was on the level of professional duellists.”
Daphne frowned, and did not bother to correct Tracey’s assumption. She might not have been as accomplished as Li, but she was a devoted student of the art. The Greengrass family had descended from the old Scandinavian sorcerers, and had a deep history and connection with runecraft and its associated disciplines. And what was wand movement if not the superimposition of multiple runes merged together in three-dimensional geometry to create a combined effect?
No, what Harry had done was not a spell-chain. Yes, he had cast it silently, but the movements were all wrong. The average spell had a minimum of two strokes in their wand movements, with the more complex ones going so far as to have eight or nine strokes. She had once read that the Fidelius Charm, one of the most complex and esoteric charms in wizarding history, had eleven strokes in its wand movement to encompass the superimposition of all thirty-three runes involved in its making.
Instead he had just… made some strokes in mid-air, and then caused them to act in the fashion he intended. Daphne had read about how powerful sorcerers were capable of moulding their magic to follow their intent and do whatever they wanted, but those people were masters of their craft, and usually closer to the third quarter of their first century. They were certainly not students studying for the OWLs.
“It was definitely interesting,” she admitted, with a soft smile. Her fiance was turning out to a far more exciting person than she had ever imagined. And to think that she was this surprised despite years of stalking him from afar.
“Don’t take it otherwise, Daffy, but your fiance is kinda scary.”
“Don’t call me Daffy,” she scowled. “And trust me, you’ve no idea how scary he can be.”
“And you do?” asked Tracey, her eyes inquisitive.
Daphne thought back to Harry’s duel against the golem inside Salazar’s Secret Chamber.
Not many people had the opportunity of seeing him standing his ground in the fullness of his power. If they had, then more of them would have taken him far more seriously than they did in the past. Just a casual demonstration in Umbridge’s office had been enough to get even the upper echelons of the Slytherin House Assembly to reconsider their stance against him, and after the news of the basilisk parts came into the spotlight, everyone was beginning to wonder exactly how many of those rumours surrounding him were actually rumours.
At times, Daphne had wondered what it would have been had Harry been sorted to Slytherin House instead of Gryffindor. She and her father would’ve instantly swooped in and gotten him associated with House Greengrass, and between his power, his natural skill, and the political influence the Boy-Who-Lived held in Wizarding Britain, chances were he’d have turned into a polarising icon at Hogwarts, that the likes of Albus Dumbledore and the so-called Light Side would have painted as a up and rising Dark Lord. Well either that, or the magical supremacist families would have gathered around his banner to bring about a change in the Wizengamot, cutting down Lucius Malfoy and his band of extremists out of the way.
And of course, she’d have had more time to spend with him over the years instead of stalking and hating him from afar.
Though, it was probably better the way it turned out. Despite his upbringing, Harry was quite sharp with a good eye for finding ways out of the most extenuating circumstances. It was probably good that he had not grown up with a pureblood family, because if he had, she’d have genuinely feared the threat he represented, his skill at the games of politics.
She paused her reveries, scowling as Dolores Umbridge walked into the room, dressed in a tacky shade of pink, complete with her clipboard, and looking every bit of a paperpusher and sat down on an empty chair, peering at everyone with those toady eyes. About a minute later, McGonagall strode into the class, as the rest of the students filled into their seats. Surprisingly, she saw Harry follow her into the class. She saw him glance at her, or rather, at the no-longer empty seat next to her, and then look at Weasley, who had Thomas sitting next to him. Finally, he spotted the empty seat next to Parvati Patil and sat beside her.
“Oopsie,” said Tracey.
Daphne shook her head. “You didn’t know.”
“Class,” began McGonagall, without giving the slightest indication that she knew Umbridge was there. “As we discussed, we are going to start Vanishing and Untransfiguration from this point on. I have with me an assortment of boxes with pairs of mice in them,” she began levitating the boxes to the desks. Lavender Brown shrieked as she opened the box and the mouse peeked out.
“Silly girl,” scoffed McGonagall. “They’re just mice. They won’t hurt you. Now, everyone, have you got your box? Excellent, now the first thing you need to do is —”
“Hem-hem,” said Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she used all the time when interrupting people for no reason.
McGonagall ignored her, and began handing over the essay papers from the previous day’s examination.
“Right, everyone, now listen closely — Dean Thomas, if you do that to your mouse again, I shall put you in detention with Mr. Filch.”
“Hem-hem.”
“We will start studying the properties of Vanishment and these mice —”
“Hem-hem!”
“May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?” said Mcgonagall, with a sharp turn of her head, her eyebrows so close together that they formed one, long, severe line.
“My apologies, Minerva. I was just wondering, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of the inspection —”
“Of course I received it, or else I’d have asked you to leave my class,” said the Transfiguration professor, turning her back firmly on Umbridge. “Now, our studies with snails in the last class have shown that —”
“Hem-hem!”
“I wonder,” said Professor McGonagall, whirling at Umbridge in cold fury. “How do you expect to gain an idea about my teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not permit people to speak when I’m talking.”
Umbridge reeled, like she had been slapped. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard, and began scribbling furiously.
“Awesome,” whispered Tracey.
“Vanishment,” said McGonagall, falling into her teacher-mode, utterly unconcerned. “is perhaps the most common use of transfiguration in daily life, from fallen pieces of food on your table, to broken furniture and spilt drinks, we see it used nearly everywhere. But what is it?”
Predictably, Granger raised her hand, followed by Tracey.
McGonagall chose Tracey.
See? That’s what being unbiased meant.
“We transfigure substances to air, I imagine?”
“Incorrect, Miss Davis,” said McGonagall. “But a good attempt. Vanishment indeed, has phenotypic similarities to elemental transfiguration, in this case, to air, but in actuality, the process is closer to the concept of disintegration. You are, in effect, disintegrating the bonds holding the substance together, and liberating them into the air, hence the phrase, vanishing into thin air.”
The class listened quietly.
“Unlike the other parts of Transfiguration, Vanishment will rely chiefly upon two main factors — your viciousness, and your magical power. The greater the complexity, the more difficult the Vanishment, but unlike other subspecies of transfiguration, it is permanent. Not even the greatest Reparo charm can reverse a Vanishment, so remember that before you try vanishing your robes when in a hurry.”
Several among the class snorted at the innuendo.
Daphne thought back to what happened, or almost happened, earlier in the morning and blushed fiercely. It didn’t help that Harry turned around and gave her a knowing look right then.
Tracey elbowed her, which she happily ignored and focussed on the professor’s words, as she began describing the spell and the mechanism involved.
“And now, I’ll ask a volunteer to demonstrate. Mr. Potter, if you would?”
Harry got up, and Daphne suddenly realised why he was attending this class. Unlike Object Transfiguration, Vanishment was something Harry actually excelled in. Disintegration was part of the natural process in the world, and one of the attributes alluded to the power of Death. Merlin’s Beard, she had seen him disintegrate magic itself time and time over without so much as a second thought.
McGonagall levitated a single mouse in the air. Not a real organism, just transfigured from inanimate objects and given a modicum of awareness and instincts of a mouse. Daphne watched Harry frown as he regarded the creature, before flicking his wand at it. A pale greyish energy erupted out of his wand and struck it in the face and lo —
No more mouse.
“He did it silently again,” she heard Granger say.
“Now,” began McGonagall, “everyone get started with your mouse and follow the proper wand movements. If you have any problems, Mr. Potter will be helping you.”
That sorted, the woman turned towards Umbridge with pursed lips. “Now then, Dolores, have you gotten a clear idea about my teaching process?”
The Undersecretary sniffed. “I just have a few questions if you can clarify.”
“Of course.”
“Since when have you been teaching at Hogwarts?”
“1918,” said McGonagall. “I was an assistant to Albus Dumbledore from 1918 to 21, teaching transfiguration to lower years, until I took over as the Transfiguration Professor in ‘22, when Professor Dumbledore shifted to teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. I continued my service in that role until 1937, when I transferred to Eronmayervos Institution in Greece, as the Head of Transfiguration Department, and Professor Dumbledore had to shift back to teaching Transfiguration. I returned to Hogwarts in 1947, as the Head of Transfiguration.”
“Why did you leave Hogwarts? Was it because you felt you had less chances in a proper institution?”
McGonagall’s lips thinned. “I left for Greece to be with my husband Tobias Trismegistus, the Headmaster of Eronmayervos Institution, and my son wanted to complete his mastery under my guidance. And let me assure you, Miss Umbridge, that yes, Eronmayervos is quite difficult to get into, unlike Hogwarts. For instance, they would have never allowed this sham that you call this inspection to happen in the first place.”
Umbridge quickly scribbled something on her clipboard and continued. “When were you made the Head of House in…”
“1952,” said McGonagall crisply. “And then Deputy-Headmistress in 1970. I am wondering how this has anything to do with my role as the Transfiguration professor.”
Umbridge let out a childlike laugh. “I am wondering, Minerva, how despite such a long and accomplished career in Transfiguration, you are not associated with the Transfiguration Guild. Perhaps being a confidante of Albus Dumbledore was not enough for them to overlook your lack of… competency, perhaps?”
McGonagall on the other hand, looked utterly at peace, though the thinning of her lips suggested a growing annoyance.
“It is true that I have not met the requirements of the Transfiguration Masters Guild. You see, they have their own policies for registration and I, despite my proficiency, did not meet them. Fortunately, a mastery in Transfiguration is more than fine for the post of a Hogwarts professorship. But yes, I agree with you, Dolores, sometimes, having someone favourable speak on your behalf is usually enough. Someone who had to quit Hogwarts after failing their OWLs, and forced to test out independently would’ve never been allowed at Eronmayervos. ”
She gave her a pointed look.
Umbridge blinked, before her words hit her and she scowled.
“I hope you’re not insinuating anything, Minerva.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” said the Transfiguration professor. “Well, if that’s all—”
“Oh no,” said Umbridge, giving her that simpered look. “I cannot help but notice your choice for the support staff, Professor. Facilitating dangerous individuals within such close proximity of students in a subject so clinical as Transfiguration sounds like a rash decision.”
“I agree,” said the professor. “Which is why I demonstrated first, and only then decided to engage you. As you said, transfiguration is a very precise and clinical subject, so sudden and unwanted interruptions can be most dangerous in the classroom.”
Umbridge scowled and began scribbling furiously in her notepad. “We’re done with the inspection.” She said stiffly. “You can expect the results in ten days.”
“Can’t wait,” drawled McGonagall.
“Bloody hag!” Daphne swore, as Umbridge walked out of the room.
“Now then,” said McGonagall, without missing a beat. “Where were we? Ah, performing the spell. Yes, Miss Granger?”
Daphne turned around to see Granger standing up, raising her hand.
“Professor, what was that thing about the Transfiguration Guild? I thought we achieved our Mastery by studying under an existing Master registered to the ICW.”
McGonagall frowned for a moment, and Daphne realised that she didn’t want to talk about it.
“That is correct, Miss Granger. Any student that has attained an Outstanding NEWT in Transfiguration from any ICW-registered wizarding schools can indeed pursue an apprenticeship with a registered Transfiguration Master, submit a project of their own, and be awarded the title of Master if the ICW Congress finds its satisfying.”
She paused, allowing everyone to absorb the information.
“But this procedure was implemented only in the late eighteenth century. Prior to that, becoming a Master was a far difficult process, and it involved the Master Guilds. They are organisations present all over the world, and for security reasons, their locations are preserved under an ancient spell that is the precursor of the modern-day Fidelius charm.”
“Why’s that?” asked Lavender Brown, hastily adding a ‘professor’ at the end.
“Mostly because they have their own stringent prerequisites for entering, prerequisites that most academics of modern day would classify as dangerous.”
“Schools for wannabe Dark Lords,” Ronald Weasley blurted. Finnegan and Thomas, like the dunderheads they were, sniggered like a bunch of firsties.
“The world is a large place, Mr. Weasley,” said McGonagall, looking slightly affronted. “You would do better than to paint them in black and white. Members of the Guilds hold prestigious positions all over the world. Headmaster Dumbledore, for one, is an Alumnus of the Transfiguration Masters Guild. The world-famous Immortal Alchemist, Nicolas Flamel, is another, an alumnus from the Alchemist Guild.”
“What are they called, professor?” asked Theo Nott.
It was unsurprising. Nott was much like Granger, making others wonder what he was doing in Slytherin instead of Ravenclaw. Daphne had even asked Nott if the Sorting Hat had given him another option, when the boy had told her that acquisition of knowledge for the sake of ambition was ambition and not the love of knowledge. Hence, Slytherin.
From her expression, McGonagall did not like the deviation from her subject. Daphne couldn’t blame her, especially with how Umbridge had already wasted her time earlier. “I will, but that will be the last of it. No more questions.”
When none among the class refuted, she said, “There are thirteen of them, of which seven are registered to the ICW. The Transfiguration Masters Guild is one of them, as are the Alchemists Guild, the Runemasters Guild, the Enchanters Guild, the Arithmancers Guild, the Astronomers Guild, and finally, the Sorcerers Guild.”
“And… the other six?”
“Primarily because the craft they study falls under the Theta-Grey, or in layman terms, extremely dangerous aspects of magic that none of the ICW-registered institutions teach, the other six Guilds have their own Accords, that lay the rules of conduct between them. You have the Dunamancy Guild, which deals with the magic of causality and probability—”
Daphne instantly looked at Harry, who had stiffened a little, staring at McGonagall, his eyes full of questions.
“The Incarneum Guild, which deals with the spiritual aspects of magic, the soul, and to an extent, demonology. There is the Hemomancy guild, practitioners of Blood Magic and Rituals; the Oneiromancers Guild that deal with the Mind and Dreams; the Distortion Guild that deals with the study of illusions and reality distortion; and finally, you have the Necromancers Guild, that deal with Necromancy and the study of Death and Unlife.”
Daphne looked at Harry again. For better or worse, the Peverell Family Magic — which Harry would swear up and down was not magic, felt like something the Necromancer Guilds would study about. Harry’s newest foray into Illusions was surprising too, but she doubted that the simple craft of turning unseen was quite different from the distorting Reality itself, which was what the Distortion Guild was about.
Still… something to ponder. Maybe next time she spent some time at the Lair, she could look into something else other than Blood curses for a change.
“Now then,” said McGonagall, “we have digressed enough. Let’s continue where we left off.”
Daphne had expected that the inspections would temporarily halt after what had happened with McGonagall. Really, she hadn’t expected the transfiguration professor to be so curt and hostile at the same time, and so capable of shutting the hag with a few words. The woman could teach a few Slytherins about cunningness and wordplay.
Logic is the art of going wrong with confidence.
“You do not usually take this class, is that correct?” She heard her ask as Professor Grubbly-Plank was feeding a group of captive bowtruckles with woodlice.
“Quite,” said the professor. “I am a substitute standing for Professor Hagrid.”
Daphne and Tracey looked at each other. Neither of them were incredibly fond of the half-giant, but he did bring interesting creatures to the class. That the man’s definition of ‘interesting’ was synonymous with ‘deadly’ was an issue, but he was otherwise quite competent at managing them. Grubbly-Plank was a good teacher, but she was a bit… boring.
“Hmmm….” said Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Daphne could hear her quite clearly. “I wonder why the Headmaster is reluctant to give me any information on the matter. Can you tell me the reasons behind Professor Hagrid’s absence?”
“‘Fraid I can’t,” said the professor breezily. “Don’t know about it anymore than you do. Dumbledore sent me an OWL, asking me to come for a few week’s of teaching work. I accepted. That’s as much as I know.”
“And… Mr. Scamander?”
“Ohh, Professor Scamander is a big surprise!” said the woman happily. “Neva thought I’d be working with him. He only takes some classes, mostly for NEWT-years, but he’s got plans for some lectures for lower un’s.”
Umbridge frowned. “Professor… Plank—”
“Wilhemina,” she said. “Grubbly-Plank.”
“...Right,” said Umbridge dryly. “And you don’t feel shafted by Mr. Scamander’s presence? You don’t think you’re not receiving enough support from the school management?”
“Oh no,” said the woman happily. “Dumbledore’s great, and I’m very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed.”
Daphne stifled a laugh. Umbridge looked politely incredulous, and then went on to discuss what the woman intended to teach for the rest of the term. Daphne sighed. At least the ferret wasn’t anywhere around to spoil things. The duel with Harry had sent him packing to the Hospital Wing, and though she hadn’t exactly been around listening to the rumours spreading, she was pretty certain she’d read a very exaggerated version of events in the Evening Prophet.
She wondered what Uncle Lucius would have to say about that.
“... Just one last thing,” said Umbridge. “I have heard about certain ghastly accidents. I remember Mr. Malfoy mentioned a rabid hippogriff.”
“That was Malfoy’s fault,” said Granger out loud. “Buckbeak attacked him because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do.”
Both Daphne and Tracey groaned. Umbridge’s lips twisted into a sickening smile.
“Is that so, Miss Granger?” said the toad. “I suppose we will hear all about that, when you report to my office after dinner. For detention!”
Comments
Cody Brouk
Vanishment has always irked me in HP.... Why does apparition make noise but vanishment not? Both leave behind a vacuum space, at least in most versions of vanishment. Here at least it can be assumed the atoms remain, however, there should still be a heat flash from the breaking of molecular bonds, for most wizards at least. Harry's power could at least be interpreted as the instant application of maximum entropy.
TigerSwarm9122
Granger really does need to learn when it is acceptable to speak or not. Seriously woman hold your tongue. Also, please do something about that hag Umbridge. Anything.
