Chapter Seven: The Benefits of a Broken Leg
The next morning, Harish woke and looked around to see that the twins had already left for breakfast. The young man dressed slowly, grabbed his school bag, and headed up the stairs to the common room. There, he found Hermione and Daphne at the top of the stairs that lead to the girls' dormitories.
"Did you sleep well?" Daphne asked as the three met halfway through the common room.
But Hermione cut across him before he had a chance to open his mouth.
"Oh for heaven's sake!"
She was staring at the common room notice board, where a large new sign had been put up.
Galleons of Galleons!
Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings?
Like to earn a little extra gold?
Contact Fred and George Weasley, Slytherin common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs.
(We regret that all work is undertaken at applicant's own risk)
"Did you have anything to do with this?" Hermione asked, rounding on Harish.
Harish held up his hands in front of him.
"Well?" Hermione said. "Did you?"
"Uh…well…I might have—just possibly."
"This is ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's one thing to try those things on yourselves, but on our housemates as well?"
"Relax, Hermione," Harish said. "We've tested them on ourselves already. We just need to see if everyone reacts the same way. Besides. There are not any rules against it."
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, but could not find an argument against that. Instead, she resigned herself to following Harish and Daphne out of the common room and up to the Great Hall in silence.
As he made his way to sit in his usual seat, Harish found his path blocked by Adrian Pucey and Hubert Warrington.
"What do you want?" Harish asked in a pained voice.
"We heard that you were made Quidditch Captain," Pucey grunted. "We want to know when Quidditch try-outs are."
"Next Saturday," Harish replied. "Now could I eat?"
The two sat down and Harish went to his usual spot to find that the twins were piling more food on their plates. He placed himself in between them and as Hermione across from Fred and next to Daphne, she said, "I'd forgotten that Flint left. I suppose that will make a difference to the team?"
"He was a rather good chaser," Draco said, sitting on the other side of Daphne.
"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood," Fred said.
"Will it?" George finished.
With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Great Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. Augustus was nowhere to be seen, but Harish was hardly surprised. His father rarely wrote and if there was any information the young man needed, Voldemort would most likely not enclose it in a letter, which was easy for anyone to apprehend and read.
Hermione, however, had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way for a large, damp barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak. Harish, of course, knew why she was still getting the newspaper even though most had stopped. Even though the Prophet was still posting all that rubbish about Dumbledore, and spreading rumors about Harish, there was still valuable information hidden between the lines.
It had mostly to do with that saying, "Know thine enemy," and all that.
Minutes later, Snape walked past the group, handing out schedules. They all looked at their schedules, Draco muttering, "Care of Magical Creatures, double Potions, Arithmancy, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts…We have four periods stuck with the Gryffindors and two of the most ridiculously difficult classes all in one day."
"But don't forget that Hagrid's gone," Daphne said hopefully. "We'll be having Grubbly-Plank."
"Still," Draco moped. "Four classes with the Gryffindors. I wish Fred and George would hurry up with the Skiving Snackboxes."
"Do mine ears deceive me?" Fred asked, looking up from his own schedule at Draco. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"
"Look what we've got today," Draco replied grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."
"You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like," Fred said, looking at it.
"Why's it cheap?" Draco asked suspiciously.
"Because you'll shrivel up and die from a nosebleed," George replied.
"We haven't come up with an antidote yet," Fred explained, "and we ran out of things that will stem the bleeding."
"It could be worse," Harish said. "At least you don't that Umbridge woman today."
"And you do?" Draco asked.
"Yes," Harish said curtly. He showed his schedule to the fifth years. "See? Defense Against the Dark Arts, 10:45."
"Of course," George said. "I guess we'll need to get moving. I'm sure you lot will be lining up, begging to skive off soon enough."
"Why?" all three fifth years asked.
"Fifth year's OWL year," Fred said.
"So?" Hermione asked.
"So you've got exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to the grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," Fred replied with satisfaction.
"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWL's," George said happily.
"Tears and tantrums…Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint…" Harish said.
"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" Fred asked reminiscently.
"That's 'cause you got a Gryffindor to put Bulbadox Powder in his pajamas," George said.
"Oh yeah," Fred grinned. "I'd forgotten…Hard to keep track, sometimes, isn't it?"
"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," George finished. "If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow."
"But you got three OWL's each," Harish muttered as if he thought they couldn't hear him.
"Yeah, well," Fred said unconcernedly. "Even you agree that we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."
"We seriously debated whether we were coming back for our seventh year," George added brightly. "Now that we've got the money to start the joke shop."
"But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat.
"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," Fred said, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall.
"We're going to use it to do a bit of market research," Harish explained. "Find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand."
"And you're really going to use your winnings on this joke shop?" Hermione asked.
"What else would I use it for?" Harish responded with. "C'mon boys. If we get there early enough, we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Potions."
And Harish led the twins away from the table, each red-head carrying a stack of toast.
They did indeed manage to sell a few Extendable Ears before Snape showed up and everyone hastily stuffed them away where they couldn't be seen. It wasn't against the rules to sell things at Hogwarts, but Snape would most likely confiscate them anyway.
Their Potions class was fairly normal. The only difference was that the potion they had to brew was just a little more difficult than normal. Then, once that class ended they made their way up to the Defense Against the Darks Arts classroom.
The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.
"Well, good morning!" she said when all of the Slytherins finally sat down.
A few people mumbled, "Good afternoon," in reply. Harish was sure it was the ones that had parents in the Ministry.
"Tut, tut," Umbridge simpered. "That won't do, now will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good morning, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good morning class!"
Harish grimaced. He was a seventeen-year-old—an adult—and he was being forced to act cheerful so early in the morning. That was what wouldn't do.
"Good morning, Professor Umbridge," the rest of the class chanted.
Harish remained silent. Umbridge didn't seem to notice.
"There now," Umbridge said sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."
Harish gritted his teeth and the twins exchanged gloomy looks. The order "wands away" had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harish shoved his wand back into his cane rather viciously and pulled a quill, ink, and parchment out of his bag. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:
Defense Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles
"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your NEWT year.
"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy the following down, please."
She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:
Course aims:
Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
Learning to recognize situations defensive magic can legally be used.
Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Umbridge's three course aims she said, "Has everyone got a copy got Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
"I think we'll try that again," Umbridge said. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
Harish gritted his teeth in annoyance and was clutching his cane really hard. It was beginning to heat up.
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.
"Good," Umbridge said. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."
She left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad's eyes. Most everyone turned to page five of their copies of Defensive Magical Theory and began to read, but Harish, who had already read the entire book, sat looking around at the classroom.
Then, he turned and fixed his eyes on Umbridge, watching her, wondering what she would do when she saw him not obeying her instructions. After a second or so, he raised his hand.
Several minutes passed and Umbridge stared resolutely in the opposite direction. To Harish's right, George was twirling his quill in his fingers, staring glassy eyed at his book. To his left, Fred was flipping through the book, not even taken in a word.
After several more minutes passed, the other people in the classroom found the chapter so tedious, that they chose to watch Harish instead of read their chapter. It was somewhat unlike Harish to blatantly disobey instructions. Especially when they were given by a person that was important to the Ministry.
When more than half the class was staring at him rather than their books, Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked, as though she had only just noticed him.
"Not about the chapter, no," Harish said, smiling pleasantly.
This was what alerted the other Slytherins. Most of them, being raised in houses where they learned to conceal their emotions, could tell that Harish was not really as happy as he seemed.
Umbridge, oblivious as ever, said, "Well, we're reading just now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."
She looked down, but Harish's hand remained in the air.
"Yes?" she said. The sweetness sounded much more forced. "What is it now?"
"I've already read it."
"Well, then read chapter two—"
"I've already read that. I've read the whole book. What am I supposed to do?"
Umbridge's nostrils flared.
"And you are—?"
"Harish Blake," he replied with another charming smile.
"Well then, Mr. Blake, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in chapter fifteen."
"He says they're not named properly," Harish said. "He says that 'counterjinx' just makes it sound more acceptable, but what should I do? If all we're going to be doing in class is reading that book, well I might as well not attend."
Umbridge must have given up on trying to act sweet for she leapt to her feet, glaring daggers at him as if trying to dare him to undermine her authority.
"You will sit quietly and do as you are told, Mr. Blake," she said.
"But that's still not getting anything done," Harish said quietly, getting to his own feet. "That's not doing anything."
"Obviously, your previous teachers have given you all too much license. You are children. You will do as you're told without questions. You don't need to do anything."
"So we won't be using defensive spells?" Harish asked.
"Using defensive spells? Why would you need to use spells in my class?"
"If we are to pass our NEWT's, we'll need to be able to perform them. So, if we don't practice the spells, how will we be able to cast them and pass our exams?" Harish asked.
"If you study the theory hard enough, you should be able to perform the spells perfectly. Now sit, Mr. Blake. And the rest of you! Read chapter one."
Umbridge turned around and bustled back over to her desk, seating herself on her chair. Her eyes swept the classroom once more to find that Harish was still standing and was clutching his cane tightly.
"Why aren't you seated, Mr. Blake?" Umbridge asked in an ominously quiet voice.
"My leg needed a stretch, Professor," Harish replied innocently, indicating to his broken leg.
"Well I am sure it is stretched now," she said through gritted teeth. "You may sit."
"Actually, I think I'll go to the infirmary," Harish said. He flashed another smile, but this one was of pure evil. "You don't mind, do you?"
The entire class shuddered, but Umbridge did not seem to sense the magic that was stirring around Harish, nor the wickedness of his smile. All that she knew was that he was being a nuisance in her class.
"By all means, go!" Professor Umbridge snapped, waving him out of the room.
Harish nodded and limped out of the room. Once the door was shut behind him, he grinned and began twirling his cane as he walked to the infirmary. He had found recently within the past two weeks that it no longer hurt to put pressure on his leg. Madam Pomfrey was probably able to take it off, but hadn't gotten around to calling him to the Hospital Wing.
Of course, as soon as Harish neared the infirmary, he began using his cane again, limping slowly to the Hospital Wing. Once there, he sat on the nearest bed with a groan. Walking on one leg was surprisingly painful.
Madam Pomfrey bustled over.
"Let's have a look at that leg of yours!" she exclaimed.
She took the cast off his leg and he found that it felt quite odd not to be wearing that cast; it was like he could almost still feel it there, even though he saw that it wasn't.
Madam Pomfrey inspected his leg and waved her wand over it. Then she had him do a number of exercises to prove that his leg was fine. Then, she let him go with a warning of, "Now be careful to take it easy this week! We don't want you hurting that leg again!"
"All right!" Harish said with a laugh, twirling his cane once more.