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Dinner felt interminable.
By the time everyone was seated, nearly every professor at the High Table had heard about Umbridge's failed point deduction. The news moved down the table like a pleasant little breeze.
Professor McGonagall leaned over, her expression unusually gentle. "Henry, would you like some rosemary salt-crusted roast potatoes?" She offered him the platter.
Professor Burbage raised her goblet of pumpkin juice and clinked it against his with a knowing smile. She took a sip of her sparkling water, offering no explanation, her eyes twinkling.
Umbridge sat between Snape and the empty high-backed chair belonging to Dumbledore. She appeared utterly oblivious to the minor stir near McGonagall, her attention fixed on Snape. The little black bow on her head bobbed faintly as she spoke. Snape maintained a posture of icy, detached politeness. Impossible to tell if he was enjoying the conversation.
Anthony might have felt a flicker of sympathy for the man. But then Gilderoy Lockhart swept in.
Lockhart pulled out the chair beside Anthony with a flourish and sat down. "Tut, tut, Henry. Making waves, are we? Making waves." He wagged a finger. "I heard everything. Of course, I understood immediately why you did it. But I must say, it was rather cruel to Dolores. Yes, it's hard for those with… certain privileges… to resist flaunting them, especially in front of those who lack—"
"Professor Lockhart," Anthony began.
"But Henry, Henry," Lockhart plowed on, placing a hand over his heart. "I feel, as your friend—nay, your elder brother in these halls—compelled to warn you. Such behavior is simply not done! Look at me. Gilderoy Lockhart. Adventurer. Bestselling author…" A river of titles flowed from his lips, smooth and glossy as the sauce on the steak. "…but I would never boast about the little… conveniences my fame affords me. Free meals at restaurants. Enthusiastic welcomes at inns. The occasional complimentary robe from a discerning tailor. I don't go on about it."
"You're absolutely right, Professor Lockhart," Anthony said flatly.
Beside him, Professor Burbage snorted. Anthony was about to shoot her a warning look—the last thing he needed was to fuel Lockhart's already roaring conversational engine—when Dumbledore strode into the Hall.
"Good evening, Minerva. I received your letter about the new term's career advice sessions. An excellent idea." Dumbledore pulled out his chair, then turned his twinkling gaze to Umbridge's simpering face. "And good evening, Dolores. Ah, splendid! I do hope you've tried the lamb cutlets. I'd venture they taste even finer than you remember, given our recent renovations to the kitchen ovens and stovetops."
Umbridge tittered, a high, shrill sound. "Thank you, Headmaster. Though, I must confess a preference for the original flavor… There are things in tradition worth discarding, and things worth preserving. Take, for instance, Section 47, Part III of the 1873 Educational Standards and Framework Act—"
"Of course, Dolores," Dumbledore said cheerfully, cutting her off with a firm finality. Professor McGonagall turned her head and exchanged a brief, loaded glance with Professor Sprout.
Professor Burbage leaned in again, her voice a murmur. "She's definitely referring to that long-dead clause. 'Hogwarts professors shall not organize students in activities opposed to the Ministry,' or some such nonsense."
"But no professor would ever…" Anthony started, then sighed. "Tuna."
Burbage snorted. "Obviously." She straightened up and began slicing into her lamb cutlet with precise, almost violent stabs.
…
By the time the last savory morsels vanished from the tables, replaced by bowls of apple puree, puddings, and plates of cream cakes, the air was thick with the contented, groaning murmur of over-full students determined to make room for dessert.
Finally, the desserts too disappeared. Dumbledore rose. The buzz of conversation echoing under the enchanted ceiling gradually died down. Students watched the Headmaster, their eyes occasionally darting to Umbridge beside him.
"However much we might wish otherwise, the Christmas and New Year holidays are well and truly behind us," Dumbledore announced. "Our second term begins tomorrow."
A wave of whispers swept the student body. Dumbledore usually gave this kind of speech at the start-of-term feast. More gazes slid toward Umbridge. She sat there, smiling her thin smile, surveying the students below like specimens.
"As you've heard it all before, I won't repeat the warnings about the Forbidden Forest or casting spells in the corridors," Dumbledore continued over the low hum. "Additionally, the clearing west of the Forest is under construction. No one is to enter except Professors McGonagall, Kettleburn, Hagrid, and Flitwick."
"Hmm. I believe he forgot a name," Lockhart murmured to Anthony. "Now, don't misunderstand me. I certainly don't wish for you to think I consider my magical prowess superior to theirs. But you know, Henry, when one is constructing something, seeking assistance from the appropriate individuals is paramount. And I happen to have considerable experience in—"
Anthony maintained a politely attentive face directed at Dumbledore, tuning out Lockhart's droning. He was mentally counting the professors excluded from the "zoo" project—the list even included Dumbledore himself. Professor McGonagall shot a sharp, disapproving look in their direction.
Dumbledore spoke again. "Furthermore, I am pleased to introduce Dolores Umbridge. Some of you may already know she will be joining us as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister—and as Hogwarts' new High Inquisitor."
Judging by the students' faces, it was hard to tell how many knew her from the Prophet versus school gossip. The Gryffindors looked at her with uniform distaste, no doubt having heard about the attempted point loss. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were more neutral, watching the High Inquisitor with wary curiosity. The Slytherins looked positively delighted.
Anthony saw Draco Malfoy mouth clearly to his neighbor, "My father knows her. She's all right."
"For the time being—" Dumbledore paused abruptly. He turned, looked at Umbridge, and calmly sat down.
Anthony realized why. Umbridge was standing. She had been about to launch into a speech.
The students stared, stunned. Several mouths hung open wide enough to fit a cream cake. Even Lockhart's monologue died mid-sentence. He turned, utterly fascinated, to watch Umbridge.
Umbridge looked immensely pleased with the impact of her maneuver.
"Thank you very much, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome," she said in her high-pitched, girlish voice. "It is lovely to be back at Hogwarts. In these short days, I have already engaged in most fruitful discourse with many of you, and I am confident I shall become a close, trusted confidante to many more."
A Gryffindor voice rang out, too loud to be accidental. "I doubt it."
Umbridge paused. She tilted her head slightly, gave a little cough, and pressed on. "Through our collective efforts, we can ensure Hogwarts remains a safe, equitable, and qualified institution of magical learning. We must safeguard the rationality, compliance, and legality of the education provided to our young witches and wizards… Successive headmasters have, of course, revised and interpreted the school's internal regulations. This is as it should be. As society progresses, failure to appropriately amend and update outdated strictures will inevitably see them become fetters of antiquity, hindering the advancement of our magical age. However, we must equally recognize the rational core within historical frameworks. We must not revise for revision's sake, discard for the sake of discarding, radically reject all tradition, and plug our ears to sound counsel from without… Though, naturally, on the other hand, we must not blindly follow external directives either…"
As she droned on, the students' patience visibly evaporated. They began whispering, leaning together, chatting under their breath. The staff table remained silent. Professor McGonagall's lips were a thin, tight line. Snape sat ramrod straight beside Umbridge, his dark eyes fixed on the napkin before him. Professor Flitwick looked uncharacteristically grave, his head cocked as he watched Umbridge intently.
"…we are confident that, with the cooperation of the Ministry and all who care for the future of our world, this venerable and prestigious institution shall embrace a glorious new chapter."
Umbridge finished. She sat down.
Dumbledore began to clap. The other professors followed suit. The students, still processing, joined in with scattered, confused applause. Umbridge's smile widened, smug and satisfied.
And then, Lockhart stood up.
"Oh, you scamps!" he boomed, his voice dazzling and bright, instantly snatching back every shred of attention in the hall. "I couldn't help but notice some of you weren't listening at all! Dolores spoke marvelously. Simply because she lacks the… flair of some public speakers, you lot decided to—tut, tut—you decided to daydream! Now, I wouldn't claim to be the most gifted orator—" He paused, beaming, as if expecting a chorus of denial. The hall was silent, everyone staring. "—but if you're curious about how one hones such a skill, the 'Lockhart's Your Heart' Club meets as usual this Saturday. My office door is open to all!"
Umbridge stared at Lockhart, her expression frozen into something cold and hard. Then her gaze shifted to Dumbledore. The question hung in the air, heavy and silent.
What are you going to do about this?
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