"Wrong!" Umbridge screamed. "Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong! You know nothing about me!"
She spun to the class, smiling like a kid hiding bad news.
"You don't believe him, right? He's out of his mind. It's a lie. A malicious lie, designed to besmirch my name. You're smart children. You'll ignore him and never talk about this, right? Right?"
Umbridge found nothing but sullen faces. Daphne was rubbing her wrist. There wasn't a single student that looked at Umbridge with any kind of appreciation. She was an outsider here. An interloper. A nuisance.
"Is it a lie?" Harry stroked his chin. "I don't think it is, though. Can you prove that I'm wrong?"
Umbridge hesitated.
"Of course I can!"
"How?" Harry asked. "Has anyone heard of your mother? Do you have some kind of records? Don't worry, High Inquisitor. A Muggle parent is nothing to be ashamed of."
Umbridge opened her mouth, but failed to find words. Eventually, she said, "And what about you?"
"What about me?" Harry said.
"You're the one that's throwing accusations. Why don't you prove what you're saying?"
Harry stared at her.
"Anyone could notice it. It's obvious. You smell like a Muggle."
Umbridge reacted like a blow had been struck. "As if such a thing is possible!" She spun to the nearest student, who happened to be Blaise. "You smell nothing, correct?"
Blaise turned his attention away from Daphne. With an earnest expression that was utterly alien on the face of a Slytherin, he inhaled through his nostrils.
"Incredible," he said. "I've never smelled a Muggle aroma so strong."
"You can't smell that!"
"Please, lower your voice," Harry said. "This is a classroom. You're getting awfully worked up. I wonder why, if I'm actually wrong."
Umbridge turned her head side to side. The eyes of the students were weighing on her, making her feel like she was on display. She took one step back before charging like a bull.
"You're on probation!" she screamed as she ran past Harry. "Prepare to lose your job, you wretched man!"
She slammed the door behind her. Harry looked at it, then walked to the back of the room. He knelt next to Daphne's desk.
"Are you alright?"
Daphne nodded. Her composure had come back, the brief moment of panic she had shown now thoroughly hidden.
"Professor…"
It was Hermione who said it. She was looking worriedly at him, and she wasn't the only one. Harry straightened and pulled on the collar of his jacket, giving them a smile.
"Are you worried about that probation nonsense? Don't be. I'm hardly the only one she'll go after. Besides, she was going to do that no matter what I said. I dare say that's why she behaved the way that she did."
"So did you make it up?" Ron asked. "About her mum being a Muggle and all that?"
"My dear, dear students," Harry said. "Why would I lie? That's a waste of time. The truth hurts so much worse."
O-O-O
News of Harry and Umbridge's spat spread throughout the school at the speed of light. Sometimes it felt like Hogwarts was a place of learning second and a rumor mill first. Along with news of the argument, the accusation that caused it spread just as quickly.
That was good. It meant there was only one thing left for Harry to do.
In the evening, after his classes were finished and dinner was done (a meal that was hard to eat with Umbridge glaring daggers at him the whole time) Harry went to the fireplace built into his professor's quarters.
He took a pinch of powder and tossed it in, turning the flames green.
"The Daily Prophet," he said. "Penelope Clearwater's office."
Without further ado, he stuck his head into the fire down to the neck.
Harry's face appeared on the other side. The office was a good size, featuring a large desk buried under copious parchments. A frazzled-looking blond was scribbling away with a quill. She was so absorbed that she failed to notice Harry's appearance.
He cleared his throat. "Penny?"
She flinched. "I'll have it done by tomorrow, I promise!"
When she realized that her visitor wasn't an antsy editor, she blushed. Penny cleared blond strands away from her face with the back of her hand.
"Sorry," she said. "I didn't realize it was you."
Harry smiled. "Please, I don't mind. How are things going?"
"Well." Penny looked victorious. "A busy reporter is a successful reporter. I… owe most of it to your predictions. I wrote articles in advance for every item on your list. Some of them were busts, but only a handful. The rest were all published. I even beat out some of Rita's articles! I guess the early bird really does get the worm."
It made sense that not everything would match Harry's knowledge of the past. Enough factors were different to throw off some of what Harry remembered, but he was relieved to hear he'd mostly been correct.
"I gave you a head start, but you're the one who did the work," Harry said. "The Prophet doesn't publish just anyone. Especially someone who actually does her job, instead of just stirring the drama pot."
Penny looked at her desk. "I don't think I'm all that. But, thank you." She looked up. "Was there something that you were here for?"
"There was, actually. Are you busy?"
Penny looked at the parchment scattered and stacked all over her desk. Harry looked at it too, then coughed.
"Right. Bad question. What I meant was, there's a favor I wanted to ask. I have this story that would make for a lovely article…"
O-O-O
Penny was a miracle worker. A day and a half after their conversation she already had the article Harry requested written and published in the Prophet. It was a slow day for news, allowing Penny's latest work to snag one of the most important spots in the paper, just behind the front page.
Students were initially confused when twice as many owls as usual flooded into the Great Hall. Dumbledore stood up, quieting the clamor and raising his voice.
"Good morning, students," he said. "I hope that you all slept well. I myself experienced the most lovely dream about a cloud that, instead of rain, began pelting me with lemon drops. A good omen if I've seen one."
Dumbledore paused, reminiscing about his sugary and sour delight.
"You might have noticed an excess of owls this morning," he said. "I've taken the liberty of ordering extra copies of today's Prophet issue. I have it on good authority that an article about one of our staff members has just been published, and it would harm my old heart for any student to miss it. After today, I'm certain that you will be able to see Professor Umbridge in an entirely new light."
The woman in question had been eating her trademark breakfast— toast doused in syrup, with powdered sugar heaped on top. The first slice was approaching her mouth when she heard her name. The toast slipped from her fingers, scattering sugar as it landed upside down on her plate.
"Me?" Umbridge said.
She had been a nervous wreck the day prior as rumors about her mother circulated the school. She was just beginning to calm down… until Dumbledore mentioned her by name.
"The Prophet has been making an effort to give Ministry officials the praise that they deserve. In my humble opinion, today's article is their best work yet." Dumbledore gave Umbridge a grandfatherly smile. "From humble beginnings to the lofty height of Grand Inquisitor! Everyone, please give our dear Delores a round of applause on how far she has come in life."
"Stop!" Umbridge said. "What is this scheme?"
Her raised voice was lost under the applause around the Great Hall. Most students clearly didn't care, but the Weasleys — not just the twins, but Ron as well — were leading the Gryffindor table to clap especially hard.
Harry wasn't sure they had even read the article yet. They were just naturals and sniffing out pranks. And this reeked of one.
For once in her life, Umbridge looked uncomfortable being the center of attention. She turned to her right where Professor Sprout, one of the few professors willing to sit next to her, had flipped to the second page of her Prophet issue.
"Give me that!"
Umbridge snatched the newspaper out of her coworkers hands. She scanned the story line by line, her eyes getting progressively bigger, and this was what she read:
A cramped family home on the outskirts of London. The father: a Ministry janitor, considered a squib until his eighth birthday. The mother: a Muggle who grew up thinking magic was a part of fairy tales and bedtime stories. The younger brother: a squib born, without the magic his father possessed. Is it a fictional home from the mind of this reporter? No. It's the discouraging environment that Dolores Umbridge — ex-Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic and current High Inquisitor of Hogwarts — was born into.
Money was tight in her youth. Her mother stayed at home to raise Dolores and her younger brother. Her father's salary was stretched thin supporting them. But he persisted. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his family. Sadly, some things cannot be overcome with hard work alone. When Dolores was accepted into Hogwarts, the costs continued to mount. The family couldn't make it. So her mother took her younger brother and walked away.
The two of them disappeared into the Muggle world, leaving Dolores and her father alone. With two less mouths to feed, Umbridge was able to afford her education, but the true price paid was the loss of her dear family. To this day she has never seen her mother or brother again.
I don't describe these things to give you a poor opinion of this stout witch. Instead, I wish to highlight the beginning, so that we can appreciate how far she has come. Even at Hogwarts she was just one among the crowd. While peers were promoted into Prefects and Head Girls, Dolores continued her studies in anonymity.
Only when she reached the Ministry did she excel. Dolores climbed from an intern position to head of the Improper Use of Magic Office. She had a natural knack for understanding the wishes of her bosses, and she acted on them with zeal. It was only a matter of time before she climbed even higher.
Recently, Dolores was appointed to Hogwarts as the newest professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, receiving a promotion to High Inquisitor scant months after she arrived. As the first to hold this position (which, it is rumored, may have been created just for her) it is undoubtedly a position of honor. This reporter was able to reach one of her colleagues for comment.
"As the resident expert on Muggles, I could tell the instant that I saw her," says Professor Potter, a recent hire who joined the staff at the same time. "They way she smells. The way she styles her appearance. The way that she walks. How she talks… In everything, I can see the influence of her mother. The influence of magic-less culture."
"Honestly, I think it's incredible. No matter how far she goes in life, what she does or who she associates with, there's this mark on her. The mark of where she came from. And it will never go away."
When asked about Dolores' moral character, Professor Potter was quick to sing her praises.
"About a month ago, she put an Educational Decree in place. This was before she was High Inquisitor. It banned the use of any Muggle hair implements inside Hogwarts after worries were raised about hair health in young witches. Dolores herself used a Muggle curler more than anybody. You could say it was the secret behind her trademark look. But she got rid of it for the greater good without thinking twice. Even now, when she walks the halls, you can see how much worse her hair looks. That's how far she's willing to go for these kids."
Finally, I asked him to describe her in a single word.
"Ordinary. And I mean that as such a high compliment. High Inquisitor Umbridge is a testament to the fact that if you play your cards right, anyone can move up in the world."
After her Ministry career started to accelerate, the first thing Dolores did was retire her father. He still lives off a monthly stipend sent by his daughter, putting an end to the dirty and thankless work he committed his life to. Sadly, he refused to comment when reached out to, but I'm certain he's proud of the woman his daughter has become— blessed with his tenacity, and her mother's bearing. Truly, Dolores Umbridge is the spitting image of her parents.
As she read, Umbridge's cheeks had turned a livid shade of pink. The further she got, the more that color drained away, leaving her white and pale. She stared at the paper in her hands for a long time. You could tell when the students finished reading their own complimentary copies of the Prophet. As soon as they were done, the noise level skyrocketed.
"What have you done?" Umbridge said.
She didn't have to look at him for Harry to understand who she was talking to.
"The Prophet reached out to me for an interview," Harry said. "I couldn't turn them down. I know how modest you are, but there's no reason to be embarrassed over a bit of praise. You deserve an article like this."
Umbridge surged to her feet faster than Harry had known that she could. She grabbed his collar. "You must have told them!"
"Told them what, High Inquisitor?" Harry's voice was innocent and his smile friendly, even as she held his collar like a leash. "All your best qualities?"
"It was very kind of him, wouldn't you say?" said Professor Sprout.
The head of Hufflepuff was the closest thing Hogwarts had to a saint. She loved plants and hated causing pain, either with her wand or with her words. She was the last person to get involved in a disagreement, except when she was trying to mediate between the parties.
She was also cleaning the bottom of her hand. When Umbridge snatched her newspaper without asking, Sprout's hand had been pushed into the eggs on her plate, getting yolk all over it.
"I would say that Professor Potter went above and beyond," McGonagall said. "It's not easy to give such a comprehensive interview on top of our usual work."
"Very true!" Flitwick chirped.
Umbridge looked between the Heads of House. The Minister had vested her with significant power, but these were the pillars within the teaching staff and they were not easily bossed around. There was a reason why in Harry's timeline Umbridge, restrained her mischief to oddballs like Trelawney and Hagrid.
"Let's be reasonable now," Umbridge said shrilly. "Surely you can see why I'm upset…"
"No, in fact I cannot," said Severus Snape.
Out of everyone at the table, he was the last person Umbridge expected would step in.
"It seems to me that Professor Potter was quite kind with his words," Snape said. "It isn't easy to put together such coherent praise. He will have worked hard on those answers. I think it is only right for you to respect that. Thank him and let's be done with this matter.
"Th…Th…Th…" Umbridge stuttered. "Thank him?"
Flitwick clapped. "Yes! That sounds marvelous! True camaraderie!"
"Well, Dolores," McGonagall said. "I'm sure that Professor Potter is ready when you are."
Harry smiled at Umbridge, who was still holding him by the collar. Her breathing started to look as if she had a fly caught in her throat.
"Probation for all of you!" she screamed. "Probation probation probation!"
She ran headlong out of the room as fast as her stocky legs could move her.
The entire way, students' eyes followed her and their voices chased her, talking of the past she had committed her life to burying.
Snape returned to his breakfast with a slightly less severe frown than usual.
"Finally," he said. "A bit of peace and quiet."