The next day—Monday morning.
Jon had assumed they wouldn't see their new High Inquisitor until their second class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures.
Unexpectedly, halfway through Herbology class—
While the students were fertilizing the greenhouse soil with dragon dung under Professor Sprout's guidance, the pink toad herself suddenly waddled into the greenhouse.
"Professor, I simply wish to confirm that you received my note regarding the date and time of your teaching inspection," Umbridge said, speaking in her usual syrupy, sing-song voice.
At the same time, she cast a look of distaste at Professor Sprout's patched hat and the mud splattered all over her robes.
"Of course," Professor Pomona Sprout replied calmly and succinctly.
Umbridge nodded, motioning for her to continue the lesson.
Sprout, unfazed, returned her attention to the students, watching them spread fertilizer while explaining several pollination techniques.
Jon watched Umbridge from the corner of his eye. She was looking around distractedly, her gaze glassy as she listened to Professor Sprout's lecture. It was obvious that the material was far beyond her comprehension.
Still, Umbridge wisely refrained from interrupting.
Only after the lesson ended and the students began collecting pollen in sealed paper bags did she step forward to speak to Professor Sprout.
"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" Umbridge asked.
"This September marks my thirty-sixth year," Professor Sprout replied, offering her a polite smile.
Umbridge made a few notes in her little pink notebook.
"Dumbledore hired you, I presume?" she asked curiously.
"Yes," Sprout nodded. "I had only graduated from Hogwarts a few days earlier when he wrote to tell me that Professor Brewster was retiring and asked if I would be willing to take her place. That's how I came to teach here."
"You're an honorary member of the International Herbology Association and have published seven articles in Wizard and Herb magazine, correct?" Umbridge continued.
"Yes," Sprout confirmed. "Those were the results of my research over the years."
"You'll receive the results of your inspection within ten days," Umbridge said at last, setting down her quill and notebook.
"Alright, thank you."
...
After Herbology came Care of Magical Creatures.
This time, class wasn't held by Hagrid's hut. Instead, Umbridge gathered them in an unused classroom on the castle's third floor.
A faint layer of dust still clung to the desks and chairs.
"Good morning, students?"
"Good morning, Professor Umbridge!"
Having learned from experience, the students shouted their greeting as loudly as possible.
Umbridge nodded, clearly satisfied. "Very good!"
"Today's topic is centaurs. Please turn to page one hundred and twenty-six in your copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."
"These creatures have the upper bodies of humans, typically with red hair and beards, while their lower halves are the glossy chestnut bodies of horses, ending in long red tails.
The Ministry of Magic continues to classify centaurs as magical beings with 'near-human intelligence' under Article XV, Clause II of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. Yet the centaurs themselves see this so-called recognition as a grave insult!
The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has maintained a Centaur Liaison Office since 1947, though almost no centaurs have ever used it," Umbridge paused, then added, "In fact, within the Department, the phrase 'being sent to the Centaur Liaison Office' has become an internal joke—it means someone's about to be fired."
Every word she spoke about centaurs carried an unmistakable tone of superiority.
"Of course, in my personal opinion, centaurs should be kept under stricter control. They ought to be confined to smaller spaces, properly tagged, and monitored to ensure they don't accidentally harm anyone..."
...
Another dull and lifeless Care of Magical Creatures class.
When Professors Hagrid, Grubbly-Plank, or even Kettleburn taught the course, they always brought fascinating creatures for the students to see and interact with.
But under Umbridge, the lessons were nothing but tedious repetition—
Werewolves are vicious. Centaurs are wicked. Giants are stupid.
It felt like listening to a group of children chanting slogans—utterly mind-numbing.
Jon wasn't the only one who felt that way; many Slytherin students did as well.
Astoria, in particular, sat through the entire class with a stony expression.
Seeing her like that, Jon couldn't help but worry... though he didn't dare approach her to say anything.
...
After lunch, they headed to the Charms classroom on the fourth floor.
In addition to Professor Flitwick, Umbridge was already there waiting.
She bent down to inspect Flitwick—who was standing atop a stack of thick books—then flicked her wand to conjure a measuring tape and measured his height.
"Three and a half feet tall," Umbridge remarked with open disdain, jotting something down in her notebook.
Flitwick, however, carried on as though she didn't exist, continuing to teach the Ravenclaw and Slytherin students the "Summoning Charm" (Accio) and its opposite, the "Banishing Charm."
When she saw Flitwick precisely guiding a suit of armor to soar around the room—then making it dance—the look on Umbridge's face was almost comical.
She called over Melinda Bobbin from Ravenclaw to question her about the usual state of lessons.
Miss Bobbin, of course, refused to speak ill of her Head of House and simply replied that the lessons were always excellent.
Though Umbridge's expression darkened, she seemed to accept defeat at last.
After scribbling a few final notes in her book, she hurried to the front of the class as the bell rang.
"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked.
"Forty-four years," Flitwick replied evenly.
"So you weren't hired by Dumbledore, then?" Umbridge pressed.
"That's right," said Flitwick. "When I first came to the school, Albus was still teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. We were colleagues."
"You'll receive the results of your inspection within ten days," Umbridge said, recording the information in her notebook before reluctantly setting her quill aside.
"Understood," Flitwick said with a polite nod.