Chapter Nine: Of Arguments and Detentions
At breakfast Monday morning, Hermione received the paper and unrolled it, scanning the headline. Then she let out a huff of surprised annoyance.
"What is it?" Harish asked.
"Listen to this," Hermione said, quietly. "'The Ministry seeks educational reform. Dolores Umbridge appointed first-ever 'High Inquisitor'.'"
"What's that?" Fred asked.
"A High Inquisitor?" George questioned.
"What does that mean?" Harish pondered.
Hermione read aloud:
"In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time,' said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. 'He is now responding to concern voiced by anxious parents, who feel th school may be moving in a direction they do not approve.'
"This is not the first time in recent weeks Fudge has used new laws to effect improvements at the Wizarding school. As recently as August 30th Educational Decree Twenty-Two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.
"That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts,' said Weasley last night. 'Dumbledore couldn't find anyone, so the Ministry put in Umbridge and of course, she's been an immediate success—"
"She has not," Harish protested quietly. "The only people that like her are the students that come from neutral families, no offense, Daphne."
"None taken," she said.
"Wait, there's more," Hermione said. "'—an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts.'
"It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the passing of Educational Decree Twenty-three, which creates the new position of 'Hogwarts High Inquisitor.'
"This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the 'falling standards' at Hogwarts,' said Weasley. "The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post, and we are delighted to say that she's accepted…'"
"Will your new argument work on her then, Harish?" Fred asked.
"I'm not sure," Harish said, "but it's still worth a shot."
Once again, Umbridge was already seated at her desk as the class entered the room. They were quiet again, as they found that she was a rather disagreeable teacher after their first lesson. The entire class filed into their seats and all of the desks were filled except one that was situated between two identical red-heads.
Umbridge looked down at her roster, around at the class, and then back at the empty desk.
"Where is Mr. Blake?" she asked.
The twins shrugged. Everyone else looked at the empty seat curiously. Was Harish skipping class? Surely not…Normally he always attending classes, no matter how much he disliked them. Of course this was the first time they had ever had a teacher that refused to give them practice. The bell rang and they all wondered where he was.
Finally, Umbridge said sweetly, "Well. It seems he is not here for today. I would now like to ask you all to pull out your books and read chapter two. With your wands put away, please."
All of the students that had been mistaken enough to hope that they would be allowed to use their wands, tucked them away with sighs and pulled out their books. Then, the door to the classroom opened and Harish sauntered in.
His bookbag was thrown carelessly over his shoulder and his appearance was that of rebellion; his tie was untied and his face carried a look that dared them all to tell him to tie it. He had no quills, no paper, not even his textbook with him, but was carrying a library book.
"Five points from Slytherin for your tardiness, Mr. Blake," Umbridge said with a sweet, satisfied smile.
Harish didn't say a word, but threw his bookbag down under his desk and dropped into his seat, crossing his legs and looking at Umbridge defiantly. Then, he pulled out his library book and began reading.
At seeing that perhaps he wouldn't be a disturbance to her class again, Umbridge began grading papers. Time passed slowly with only the sounds of turning pages. Harish neared the end of his book and then closed it when he finished the last page.
Then, he raised his hand once more.
Again, he was not noticed by their professor, and again he received stares from the other students in the room. When Umbridge did notice, she seemed to have worked out her own strategy for dealing with him. Instead of trying to pretend she had not noticed Harish, she got to her feet and walked around to the back of the classroom until they were face-to-face, then she bent down and whispered so that the rest of the class could not head, "What is it this time, Mr. Blake?"
"I was just reading this library book to have something to do," he said. "And I noticed something odd in it."
"And what is that?"
"Well right here," Harish said, not whispering at all and pointing to the page, "it says 'The Wizarding Examinations Authority works closely with the School Board of Governors, but is not under the control of the school or the Ministry. They are tasked with giving standard exams to the students of Hogwarts, for which they have set standards for each class. For example, core class (meaning Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts) must have both a theory portion and a practical portion so that the students may excel in their exams.'"
"Are you a Ministry official, Mr. Blake?"
"No, but this book—"
"Then I am going to have to take another five points from Slytherin," she said, finally raising her voice above a whisper.
"What for?" Fred asked suddenly.
Umbridge looked around in surprise. She had not realized that half of the had been watching and the rest were only pretending to read, listening intently.
"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," Umbridge said smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters which they do not understand. Your previous teachers may have allowed more license, but as none of them—with the possible exception of Professor Quirrel, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects—would have passed a Ministry inspection—"
"That was only because he was afraid of his own shadow!" Harish protested, leaping out of his chair. "And while we're on this subject, what do you deem age-appropriate for us? Let me ask the class a question," he looked around at the classroom. "How many of you are of age?"
Every single hand in the room rose.
"So, Professor, we're all adults here," he said. "And you are having us read this garbage, trying to brainwash us into believing that defending ourselves is wrong!"
Umbridge drew herself to her full height (which wasn't that impressive) and exclaimed, "Detention, Mr. Blake! Meet me in my office a five o'clock tonight, and maybe then you'll learn to hold your tongue."
Harish's jaw clenched and his knuckles turned white from holding his cane so tight. Then, he closed his book, shoved it violently into his bag, swung his bag over his shoulder and strode swiftly out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
One minute later, the bell rang and the twins hurried to catch up with him on the way to the common room to drop their things off before lunch. Once they were in the safety of the common room, Harish threw his bag onto the chair and rounded on his two friends.
"You were right," he said. "Talking to Umbridge will not work."
The twins nodded gratefully.
"So I am going to start a secret army."
Both twins' jaws dropped and they stared at Harish as though he grew another head.
"Don't look at me like that," Harish said. "If Umbridge is brainwashing students to believe they can't defend themselves, we need to unbrainwash them."
That evening, Harish rushed through dinner before heading to Umbridge's office at five minutes until five. The boy ran into the Entrance Hall and paused when he reached the foot of the staircase. After a fleeting memory of the sensation of falling backwards, Harish took a deep breath and slowly climbed the staircase. When he knocked on the door she said, "Come in," in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around.
He had seen this office under two of its previous occupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived there it had been plastered in beaming portraits of its owner. When the imposter Moody had occupied it, it had been packed with various instruments and artifacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.
Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. Everything was so pink it was revolting. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large Technicolored kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harish stared at them, transfixed, until Umbridge spoke again.
"Good evening, Mr. Blake."
Harish schooled himself to keep from jumping and then turned to face her desk. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a shockingly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.
"Evening," Harish replied stiffly.
"Well, sit down," she said, pointing to a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him.
"You are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Blake. No, not with your quill," she added as Harish bent down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."
Harish took it apprehensively. It was a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.
"I want you to write 'I will do as I'm told,'" she told him softly.
"How many times?" Harish asked, with a credible imitation of politeness.
"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," Umbridge said sweetly. "Off you go."
She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harish raised the sharp black quill and then realized what was missing.
"You haven't given me any ink," he said.
"Oh, you won't need ink," Umbridge said with the slightest laugh in her voice.
That sent up warning flags right there, but instead of saying something, Harish decided to keep quiet, place the point of the quill on the paper, and write I will do as I'm told.
He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harish's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel—yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.
Harish looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toad-like mouth stretched in a smile.
"Yes?"
"Nothing," Harish replied quietly.
He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon it once more, wrote I will do as I'm told, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again the words had been cut into his skin, once again they healed over seconds later.
And on it went. Again and again Harish wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realize was his own blood. And again and again the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and then reappeared the next time he set the quill to the parchment.
Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harish did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He figured it would be futile to ask; she would let him go only when she felt it had been long enough. Surely if Harish asked, she would simply delay his departure because she felt that he had not felt enough pain…
"Come here," she said after what seemed hours.
He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it, he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw.
"Hand," she said.
He extended it. She took it in her own. He repressed a hiss of pain as she touched it with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly rings.
"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," she said, smiling. "Well, we'll just have to try again, won't we? Sit."
Harish gave her a look of pure loathing and sat himself in the seat before continuing writing I will do as I'm told over and over until Harish's hand felt like a hundred bees had stung it at once and the page was full of blood red words.
Harish noticed that the more he wrote, the longer it was taking for the cut to heal over again. After one line, it healed over within a minute and the skin was even more irritated; red and inflamed. After five lines it was swollen and he could see a faint outline of letters. After twenty lines, it took five whole minutes to heal.
But still he wrote and he wrote until Umbridge called him over again. When he gave her his hand, he saw that the cut had not yet healed and the words I will do as I'm told shone painfully clear.
"That seemed to do it, didn't it?" she asked. "You may go."
Harish did not say a word, but lifted his bag over his shoulder and left without a glance behind him. The school was quite deserted by then; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly down the stairs, turned the corner, and broke into a run when he was sure she could not hear him.
He had not practiced nonverbal Vanishing Spells, had not finished his Arithmancy worksheet, and had not drawn a diagram of a thestrals, nor had he written his essays. But he fell into his bed fully clothed and closed his eyes, his hand still stinging.