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"Charity, I need your advice." The words were out of Henry's mouth the instant the office door swung open. "Do you know if Madam Umbridge—"
He stopped.
Professor Burbage wasn't sitting. She stood ramrod straight behind her desk, palms planted on the wood, her eyebrows so high they were nearly in her hairline. She was glaring daggers at the person seated opposite her and hadn't so much as glanced at Henry.
That person was none other than the esteemed Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Jane Umbridge.
Umbridge turned her head, wand still in hand. A slow, foul smile spread across her pale, puffy face.
"Oh, my," she said with feigned surprise, as if she'd merely nudged the door open by accident. "Do sit down, Charity, dear. No need to get so agitated, or Professor Anthony will think you're about to do something—any news I should know about, Professor Anthony?" She gave a flick of her wand, trying to shut the door.
Henry caught the handle. "I'll come back later, Charity." He pulled, hard. The door swung wider.
"No, Henry." Professor Burbage finally spoke, though her eyes remained locked on Umbridge. Her voice was ice. Hard. "I'd prefer you stay. In case I actually do decide to hit someone."
"Need me to roll up your sleeves, do you?" Henry asked. He let go of the handle.
BANG. The door slammed shut.
Professor Burbage's icy expression cracked. Just for a second. She let out a long, slow breath and sank into her chair, gesturing for Henry to drag over the other padded armchair from the corner. Umbridge watched them, smiling. In front of her sat a teapot painted with frolicking kittens and a matching cup. Henry doubted it belonged to Burbage, whose own side of the desk was conspicuously bare.
"Such a pleasure to see you, Professor Anthony," Umbridge simpered. "You know, I was just remarking on the excellent standard of Muggle Studies teaching here at Hogwarts. Why, I have here the academic records for recent years… Since Charity joined the staff, there's been a marked improvement across all year groups, and remarkably consistent too. It does my heart good to see a former Ministry colleague bringing such progress to our ancient school. Truly."
Henry glanced at the chart she'd nudged towards him, then back at her. He wasn't sure what expression to wear. He was certain it was a barb—but the numbers did, in fact, show what she said. Umbridge's toad-like mouth stretched wider, clearly enjoying his confusion.
"And you, Professor Anthony," Umbridge continued, "I hear your students performed admirably in this year's O.W.L.s as well. The precise results are, of course, still confidential, but that doesn't stop me from offering my congratulations to you both. In my report—"
"Your bloody report," Professor Burbage cut in, voice sharp as a blade, "belongs in a toilet. Flushed."
"What report?" Henry asked.
"She wrote a—"
"Merely a report on the magical education being offered to our next generation," Umbridge interjected smoothly.
"—comparing student performance from every angle. House, subject, year, gender—" Burbage's voice began to climb.
"I must say, Charity, I'm shocked you're aware of its contents, and in such a state about it—"
"—and family background!" Professor Burbage's voice snapped like a whip. "She devoted a full twenty-three inches to insinuating—no, arguing—that Muggle-born students underperform!"
"How detailed. How very detailed." Umbridge's voice was a soft, poisonous whisper. The smile never left her face. "That means someone leaked confidential material. That's not good… Let me think. Perhaps it was Matilda from the Improper Use of Magic Office? She does seem rather fond of you, doesn't she?"
"This has nothing to do with Matilda!" Burbage spat, disgusted. "Before you arrived, I never once heard that family background had any bearing on academic performance! I don't know how you twisted the data, but I refuse to believe your conclusions!"
"Twisted the data?" Umbridge feigned shock, her eyes wide and innocent. "Are you questioning the authority of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s? If your little informant had been more accurate, you'd know that Muggle-born students showed a marked average underperformance in these exams compared to half-bloods, let alone to those raised with magic from birth… Really, Charity, don't look like that. It's not blood purism. It's simply reality."
"I don't believe it." Professor Burbage's face was the picture of someone who'd opened a Chocolate Frog and found a dead rat. "I don't care what you say. Yes, if I have to, I'll question the authority of the exams."
"Oh." Umbridge tilted her head, her tone girlish and innocent. "Then perhaps you should file a complaint with the Minister and the Wizengamot about Madam Marchbanks."
Professor Burbage's chest heaved. "I am not questioning Professor Marchbanks! I'm talking about—you must have—"
Umbridge leaned forward slightly. "I didn't invigilate a single exam, Charity. You made sure of that. I was in my office the entire time, writing my report…"
"And doling out detentions," Henry said.
Umbridge turned, as if suddenly remembering he was there. "I beg your pardon?"
"Detentions. For students." Henry spoke slowly, piecing it together. "Specifically, for Muggle-born students. The impressionable ones. I hear you've been at it for months."
Understanding—and fury—dawned on Burbage's face. "That would certainly put a damper on their exam performance, wouldn't it, Umbridge?"
"That was not my intent," Umbridge stated flatly. "I was merely correcting their behaviour. If they had all behaved, how could I possibly have given them detentions? Do you think the other professors would have stood for it?"
"I've heard several students came away from those detentions dazed. Listless. Unwilling to speak," Henry said.
"And I would say students shouldn't be speaking out of turn in class anyway." Umbridge looked pleased. "To me, that suggests they've learned some discipline."
"I will report you," Professor Burbage said through clenched teeth.
"Oh? To whom?" Umbridge asked, her bulging, lashless eyes gleaming with malicious curiosity.
"The Minister—"
"Cornelius gave me the authority."
"Then Professor Marchbanks—"
"You know I passed my compliance inspection, yes? Anyone who checks the Wizarding Examinations Authority records will see I committed no exam fraud."
"Dumbledore—"
"Have you seen him lately? I hear he's terribly busy."
"Madam Bones—"
"The Wizengamot?" Umbridge's voice dripped honey. "My dear, over a few evenings of detention? Since when does the Wizengamot entertain such trivialities?"
"I'll report it. I'll hear it." Professor Burbage shot to her feet. Her chair toppled backwards with a thud. "As the Wizengamot's Special Advisor on Muggle Studies, I cannot stand by while you slander Muggle-born witches and wizards—"
"Then I regret to inform you," Umbridge said, tilting her chin up, a triumphant smile firmly in place, "that you are not, in fact, of the Wizengamot, and cannot hear cases on its behalf. 'Special Advisor'…" She savored the title. "If I recall correctly, it is not a Wizengamot seat. Whereas I, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, am a full member."
"You? How many sessions have you attended?"
"Only the important ones." Umbridge's smile was thin. "But that is sufficient. Incidentally, there have been… whispers. That the Wizengamot has no need for advisors on certain… niche subjects."
Professor Burbage's eyes narrowed to slits. "Is that a threat?"
"What? Oh, no, of course not, Charity. Don't be so confrontational. Sit, sit. You know, your Muggle Studies students did quite well—though I'd argue your students are simply brighter than those Muggle-born ones to begin with—no need to disavow the exam results. Let's enjoy our tea. I'd hate to have to pursue who leaked that confidential report to you…"
Professor Burbage did not sit. "And I would hate to give up on pursuing the unfair treatment of Muggle-born witches and wizards."
Umbridge looked up. For a long moment, the two women stared at each other. Slowly, Umbridge raised her eyebrows. She set her teacup down on its saucer with a definitive click.
"Think carefully, Charity. You've only just become Special Advisor. I hear you're planning to push for a revised Muggle Protection Act by year's end… Oh, and next spring, isn't there an initiative to get St. Mungo's to treat the Muggle next-of-kin of witches and wizards? You do know this is a poor time to court controversy, don't you?"
The look on Professor Burbage's face was pure loathing. Her jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful. For the first time, a flicker of struggle crossed her features.
Umbridge's smile turned victorious. But then—
"No." Professor Burbage's voice was quiet. Hard.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said no." Professor Burbage's voice strengthened. "I will not let this go."
Umbridge's smile vanished. "You have no proof—"
"I do." Henry stood up as well. "I'm her witness."
Umbridge shook her head, a pitying, girlish gesture. "You should remember the Ministry's magnanimity towards you, Professor Anthony. I thought you understood your testimony wouldn't be considered credible."
"Why?" Burbage demanded, fierce. "Because Henry is Muggle-born? During Peter Pettigrew's trial—"
"Because you, Professor Anthony, are a necromancer." Umbridge said it pleasantly. She rose to her feet (though it didn't make her much taller). Her wand was in her hand. Professor Burbage's own wand was up in a flash, a reflex. After a heartbeat's hesitation, Henry drew his too.
For one second, Professor Burbage's face was blank. Utterly blank.
Then she laughed. A short, sharp sound of pure disbelief. "You're joking."
"Oh, you didn't know." Umbridge's eyebrows shot up in faux-delight. "It seems Dumbledore didn't see fit to inform his existing staff of the… risks… behind his new hires. Yes, Charity. And you might be shocked at just how many dark secrets he—"
"Dark secrets?" Burbage's tone was scathing. "What, stargazing? You'd have an easier time convincing me he's a Centaur! Good God, Umbridge, you can't possibly believe—"
"I am, Charity." Henry's voice was quiet.
"What?" Burbage whirled on him, furious.
Henry met her eyes over the tip of her own wand. "I am."
"He says he is," Umbridge crowed triumphantly. "Sometimes, I can't help but wonder… why is it that those so eager to proclaim their own light are always blind to the darkness right in front of them? While those of us who truly care for the students, for the future of our society, face such baseless accusations."
"Is that so?" Professor Burbage's voice was frozen again. Her wand tip snapped back to Umbridge. "And what, pray tell, have these paragons of societal concern done about the darkness they do see?"
Umbridge's smile widened. "You might be surprised to learn I have taken certain measures…"
WHOOSH.
Green flame erupted in the fireplace beside them. Albus Dumbledore's head appeared in the fire.
"Ah, Henry, there you are." He sounded positively cheerful, as if he hadn't noticed three people in the room with wands drawn. "I was just going to ask Charity if she'd seen you… Oh, Dolores. Excellent. Perhaps you might all spare a moment to come to my office? I've received a rather interesting letter."
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