No one knew the expression on Dolores Umbridge's face when she discovered that not a single student had attended her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes that day. Some students suspected she might take drastic measures to retaliate against the four houses for openly defying her authority, but no one expected her vengeance to come so swiftly.
On September 18th, the third week after the start of term, Gryffindor students noticed a massive new notice plastered on the common room bulletin board. It was so large it nearly obscured everything else—secondhand spellbook sales, Filch's regular reminders of school rules, the Quidditch team practice schedule, chocolate frog card trading notes, the Weasley twins' sneaky volunteer recruitment ad slipped into the corner when Hermione wasn't looking, the date for the next Hogsmeade weekend, and Neville's lost toad poster.
The new notice was printed in bold, oversized black letters:
Hogwarts High Inquisitor Decree
All student organizations, societies, teams, and clubs are hereby disbanded. For the purposes of this decree, an organization, society, team, or club is defined as a regular gathering of three or more students. Permission to reform may be requested from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No student organization, society, team, or club may exist without the express approval of the High Inquisitor.
Any student found to have formed or participated in an unapproved organization, society, team, or club will be expelled immediately.
This decree is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four.
At the bottom was Umbridge's signature, accompanied by an impressively official-looking seal.
"It's got to be those Slytherins who ratted out the S.O.S. Club to that toad!" Ron fumed at breakfast, spearing a roasted potato with his fork. "Those snakes are the worst!"
"The issue isn't who told Umbridge about the S.O.S. Club," Hermione snapped, slamming her hand on the table with a thud. "The real problem is that we might not be able to use the club to learn new Defense Against the Dark Arts skills anymore! How are we supposed to pass our O.W.L.s like this?"
"I reckon you don't need to worry about that," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of potato. "With your brains, you'd probably get an 'A' without even trying."
Hermione shot him a withering glare. "Ron, O.W.L. results determine our future careers! Take Harry, for instance. If he wants to become an Auror, my research shows applicants need at least five N.E.W.T.s, including Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions, with grades no lower than 'Exceeds Expectations.' And professors only allow students with an 'E' or higher at O.W.L. to join N.E.W.T.-level classes!"
Hermione continued her tirade, but Ron's interest had clearly waned. He'd rather focus on the chicken drumstick in his hand than listen to her lecture about exams and careers. Besides, he was tired of her bringing up Harry every few sentences, as if she couldn't speak without mentioning him.
"Hermione, the S.O.S. Club isn't the main issue—well, it's important, sure," Harry amended quickly, catching her displeased look. "But the real problem is this decree. It's going to force everyone to bow to Umbridge for one reason or another. She might not be able to punish the entire school, but if it's just a handful of students—say, a dozen or so—she won't hesitate. She'll do whatever it takes to maintain her authority. Look around, Hermione. We're on the back foot."
Prompted by Harry's words, Hermione glanced around the Great Hall. It wasn't just their table—most students were discussing the notice posted in every house's common room. The mood was far from optimistic, and many students clutched copies of Defensive Magical Theory, clearly intending to comply with Umbridge's demands.
"I'm not giving in to someone like her!" Hermione declared fiercely.
But her resolve wavered when Angelina Johnson approached, her face a mask of despair, and pleaded with the trio. "Ron! We have to request permission to reform the Gryffindor Quidditch team! Her decree includes Quidditch teams!"
"No way," Ron said, aghast.
"You read the notice—it mentions teams! Ron, Harry, Hermione, we can't keep defying Umbridge, or she might ban us from playing altogether!" Angelina's voice cracked, on the verge of tears at the thought of the team disbanding.
Trapped in the nightmare of his beloved Quidditch team dissolving, Ron began begging Harry and Hermione to attend Umbridge's classes.
After breakfast came Professor Binns' lesson. As usual, the ghostly professor droned on about medieval history in a voice as lifeless as a stagnant pond. Harry, lulled to sleep by the monotony, was jolted awake by Hermione poking him with her quill.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, wiping a bit of drool from his mouth, bewildered.
"Hedwig's outside the window, and she doesn't look right!" Hermione whispered, pointing.
Harry turned to see his snowy owl perched on the narrow windowsill, staring at him through the glass. Glancing at the lectern to ensure Binns was still absorbed in his notes, Harry crept from his seat, crouching low, and darted to the window. He eased it open and reached for the envelope tied to Hedwig's leg.
But as soon as the window opened, Hedwig hopped inside, letting out a mournful cry and leaping into Harry's arms, trembling all over. Harry carried her back to his seat.
Hermione was right—something was off. Hedwig's feathers were unusually disheveled, some bent backward. Hermione set down her quill and leaned closer. "Harry, her wing looks injured…"
Harry untied the envelope from Hedwig's leg, glanced at the address, and quickly tucked it into his pocket. Noticing his odd behavior, Hermione instinctively reached for the envelope, but her hand was just a fraction too slow.
"Let me see that letter!" she demanded, extending her hand with an air of authority.
"Hermione, it's just a letter. Nothing worth seeing, really," Harry said, slipping the envelope into an inner pocket to thwart any sudden grabs.
"If it's nothing, why are you hiding it?" Hermione reached for his inner pocket, but Harry, anticipating her move, tucked the letter inside his shirt.
"Go ahead, try to get it now," Harry teased, raising an eyebrow at her flushed face.
Turning to Neville, who was dozing behind him with a faint smile, Harry gently shook him awake. "Neville, please, Hedwig's hurt."
Neville nodded, taking the owl carefully. A soft glow enveloped Hedwig, and her pained wings seemed to ease. Her eyes widened in surprise, and within moments, her injuries vanished. She flapped her wings experimentally, as if unsure she was healed, then happily nipped at Neville's fingers before hopping back onto Harry's shoulder.
After another glance to confirm Binns was still oblivious, Harry whispered to Hedwig, "What happened?"
Hedwig let out a series of distressed hoots, prompting Harry to quickly cover her beak. "Shh, quiet!" he hissed.
"Hoot hoot hoot! A middle-aged, plump female human tried to grab me! I barely escaped! She hit my wing with a red spell!" Hedwig gestured toward her wing with her beak.
Harry stroked her gently, soothing her distress. "Don't worry, I'll make her pay."
For once, Hermione wasn't focused on the lesson. Her eyes were fixed on Harry's face. When a cold glint flashed in his eyes, she hesitated, then tugged at his robe, worried. "Harry… attacking a professor breaks school rules…"
"Don't worry, Hermione," Harry said, patting her hand reassuringly. "I won't leave any evidence anyone could find."
"That's not the point!" Hermione kicked him under the table, exasperated.
The moment Binns dismissed the class, Harry bolted out, Hedwig in his arms. Hermione, sighing, grabbed his bag, opened the window to let Hedwig fly out, and followed the others to Potions.
Minutes later, Harry caught up with her on the first floor, looking pleased. "Relax, I didn't kill her," he whispered, seeing her concerned expression.
"You were thinking of killing her?" Hermione stared at him, her voice rising in shock, drawing curious glances from nearby students.
"It was a joke, Hermione, a joke!" Harry waved his hands, trying to diffuse her outrage. "You know me—I try not to hurt people."
"Harry, that's not funny!" Hermione swatted away his attempt to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Only dark wizards take lives so carelessly!"
Hermione was furious, but she knew it wasn't entirely Harry's fault. The dangerous world he'd come from often left him with only two choices: kill or be killed. But now, he was just a fifth-year student. He shouldn't be solving problems with violence.
She resolved to make Harry understand the value of life.
In Potions, Snape had them continue brewing a Strengthening Solution from the previous lesson's mixture. After writing the instructions on the board, he swept through the classroom, his black浴
System: lack cloak billowing, inspecting the students' work.
Harry and Hermione's desk was, unsurprisingly, his most frequent stop. But even Snape couldn't find fault with Harry's near-perfect potion, so he turned his attention to Ron, who was carelessly dripping lizard blood into his cauldron. After a sharp reprimand, Snape docked Gryffindor five points with evident satisfaction.
At lunch, news spread like wildfire: Umbridge was in the hospital wing. According to eyewitnesses, a dragon—origin unknown—had burst into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and bitten off both of Umbridge's hands. The hole it left in the wall had been repaired with a few professors' spells, but Umbridge's severe injuries meant she'd be in the hospital wing for days.
"In my classroom, you are perfectly safe and will face no danger!" Ron crowed, mimicking Umbridge's shrill voice. "Ha! Now that toad's the one in the hospital!"
Hermione shot Harry a pointed glance and turned away, still upset over his apparent role in the incident. Though she couldn't deny a twinge of satisfaction at the news.
In Divination that afternoon, Professor Trelawney's behavior startled Harry and the others. She was always eccentric, but when she slammed a copy of The Dream Oracle onto Harry and Ron's desk, stormed off, hurled another at Seamus and Dean—nearly hitting Seamus in the head—and shoved the last one into Neville's chest, knocking him off his stool, the class exchanged baffled looks.
Clearly, Trelawney had received Umbridge's inspection results, and they weren't favorable. She sat at her desk, sobbing for a while, before pulling herself together to lecture on dream divination. As students practiced in groups, she paced the room, tears still falling, muttering threats under her breath.
"…Might as well resign… such humiliation… probation… we'll see about that…"
With Umbridge's unfortunate incident, there was no Defense Against the Dark Arts class that afternoon, leaving Harry and his friends with two free periods. Ron planned to celebrate Umbridge's "sacrifice" with a few rounds of wizard chess against Seamus. Hermione, predictably, headed to the library. And Harry? Well, unless something unusual kept him away, he was usually wherever Hermione was.
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