By the end of the first week, Dolores Umbridge had cemented herself as the most hated person in the castle.
Her detentions with Harry were brutal — the words I must not tell lies were carved into the back of his hand — but the breaking point for the rest of the faculty happened on the marble staircase, stopping a crowd of students in their tracks.
"I will not have you treating my students in such a manner, Dolores!" McGonagall's voice echoed off the stone walls. She stood a few steps above Umbridge, glaring down at her.
"Punishing children for what you deem 'unfit sayings' is one thing, but your methods—"
"I am simply applying Ministry-approved disciplinary measures, Minerva," Umbridge interrupted, breathy voice carrying over the silent crowd. She smiled, adjusting her pink cardigan.
"You are a teacher here!" McGonagall snapped. "You do not have the right to bypass my authority as Head of House—"
"Hem, hem."
The sound cut through her anger like a blade.
"I think you'll find, Minerva, that I have every right," Umbridge said, clasping her hands.
"Cornelius Fudge and I agree the Headmaster has allowed discipline to erode terribly. Hogwarts requires reform. And as the Ministry sees fit to step in where Dumbledore has failed, I will continue to prune these issues exactly as I please."
McGonagall's nostrils flared. For a second it looked like she might blast the woman through the nearest window. Instead she turned sharply on her heel and marched off.
Victor leaned against the banister a few feet away, watching with Harry. He didn't look angry. He looked calculating.
"Did you hear that?" he muttered.
"Hear what? That she's a psychopath?"
"No. The exact phrasing." His eyes tracked Umbridge as she hummed her way toward the Great Hall.
"'The Ministry sees fit to step in where Dumbledore has failed.' She just tipped her hand. Fudge isn't just letting her teach. He's about to pass a law that overrides the Headmaster's authority completely."
Victor's prediction came true the next morning.
The Daily Prophet arrived with breakfast, splashing a moving photograph of Umbridge across the front page.
MINISTRY PUSHES EDUCATIONAL REFORM: UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER HIGH INQUISITOR.
Hermione read the article aloud at the Gryffindor table, hands shaking.
Fudge had forced through Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three, giving Umbridge power to inspect, evaluate, and terminate any educator she deemed "substandard."
The Prophet spun the whole thing as a triumph — Umbridge rescuing Hogwarts from Dumbledore's mismanagement. No mention of her refusal to teach actual defensive magic. Just "order" being restored.
Hogwarts transformed almost overnight.
Filch, looking happier than he had in years, hammered iron-backed frames into the walls outside the Great Hall.
New Educational Decrees appeared daily — bans on gatherings of three or more, restrictions on hallway conversation, rules against unsanctioned activities.
Then the evaluations began.
Umbridge prowled the castle with a clipboard and her sickly smile, sitting in the corners of classrooms scribbling notes while professors tried to teach.
She interrupted Flitwick with her "Hem, hem" to question his goblin ancestry. She cornered Trelawney and demanded a prophecy on command.
She tried the same with McGonagall, who shut her down immediately, stating flatly that she didn't permit interruptions in her classroom.
None of it stopped the Ministry's noose from tightening. Umbridge wasn't just evaluating teachers — she was hunting for reasons to fire Dumbledore's loyalists.
Sitting in the back of a dull History of Magic lesson, Victor watched Umbridge pass the classroom door, clipboard against her chest. He pulled out a scrap of parchment, scribbled something, and slid it across the aisle onto Harry's desk.
Harry unfolded it under the table, out of Binns's line of sight.
Hog's Head pub. This weekend. Bring whoever wants to learn how to actually learn magic.
***
That afternoon, during another Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Draco sat beside Victor and let out a long yawn while Umbridge paced the front of the room reading from chapter three.
Compared to the dueling lessons Victor had put him through all summer, this felt like a joke.
Victor hadn't handed him a textbook — he'd dragged Draco down to the manor's cellars, locked the door, and thrown bone-breaking curses at his head until his reflexes sharpened.
Forced him to master silent casting, dodging, shielding, until his muscles gave out.
Victor's teaching was terrifying and effective. Umbridge's was putting him to sleep.
Draco glanced sideways. Victor was staring blankly at the chalkboard, twirling a quill, ignoring the lecture entirely.
Deciding the hour was a waste of time, Draco shoved his copy of Defensive Magical Theory to the edge of his desk, rested his head on his crossed arms, and closed his eyes.
*****
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