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jmwdoesthings · 5 months ago

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Hogwarts Professors Shenanigans: Unravelling Umbridge (Part One)

Snape and McGonagall have enough of Umbridge's garbage and team up with each other to end it. Featuring: Snape's temper, Minerva's short-bread and quite a lot of conspiracy and 'hem hem'. Part One.

***

“This is killing me. Very slowly and very thoroughly.”

Minerva glanced up from her list of assignments as Severus collapsed into the chair next to her and began to massage his temples. His face was twice as hard as she had ever seen it, and his dark eyes were absolutely seething. If it was anybody else but the current Head of the Gryffindor House, armed with her gaze of steel and unfailing sense of justice and loyalty and tartan under her black robes, sat beside him, they would have averted their gaze and muttered something out to appease him, but Minerva just spared him a glance, then returned to her assignments.

“You’re being melodramatic.”

He scoffed, then made a noise of deep fatigue. McGonagall tried to drown out the babble of the students gathered in the great hall and sighed. It was breakfast-time and, like practically every teacher in the castle, the students were thoroughly outraged. Harry Potter was talking loudly to the gathered at the Gryffindor table, gesturing and slamming his hands on its surface, and he wasn’t the only one; up and down the other tables, the sense of harmony was dishevelled and something fiery reverberated up and down the hall, not only the snide shouting of Fred and George Weasley; unrest hung in the air, disturbance raged through the houses, and it was all caused by the pink, fluffy toad which was yet to arrive at the breakfast table and who had the audacity to interrupt Dumbledore’s speech the day before.

“No, you’re not being melodramatic,” Minerva begrudgingly corrected herself, though she still didn’t take her eyes away from the parchment. “I’m just as upset as you are, Severus.”

The Potion’s Master snorted again. “From what I’ve gathered thus far, you’re taking it remarkably well.”

“One of us has to keep their trousers intact and free from raging fire.”

She received his look without blinking, then glanced at him over the steel rim of her glasses.

“Well, what do you propose I do? I’m just as powerless as you are against the ministry and you know it.”

“Not quite,” he muttered back, then glanced at the obstinate Weasley twins and raised his eyebrows. “As much as I disapprove of my own words right now… we could take a leaf out of that blasted pair’s book.”

McGonagall watched Fred making strangling motions with his hands whilst George blew out his cheeks and made toad-like noises and made a sound of intrigue.

“Or we can simply wait until they do the job for us,” she murmured. “Of course, that is, if you pause tearing down the points which my students build up during the lessons which are not yours, Severus. For the greater good.”

Severus poised his hand near his face and frowned, but he looked appeased.

“Perhaps I will consider pulling at the reins to my fiery chariots, under present circumstances. Though I cannot promise.”

That’s all he managed to say, before a grim silence fell upon the gathered and their heads were drawn to the left - McGonagall barely suppressed a shudder as a ‘hem hem’ echoed through the hall and its propeller arrived in a pink, fluffy cardigan and a puffy, pink bow in her hair. She heard Severus make a very discreet noise of revolt under his breath and her lip twitched.

“That’s much better,” Umbridge said into the electrified silence, seemingly not noticing any hostility at all in anybody before her. “Now, that is what we will be doing during breakfast and meal times. Eating. No talking. There will be a nice, lovely silence.”

McGonagall wondered what thoughts she would have seen if she browsed through some student’s minds at that moment with the use of occlumency - judging from their facial expressions, perhaps some of them would have made her brain wither. Snape ended up digging his fingers into his face which he had leaned on his hand for the moment as she spoke.

“After you have finished eating, you will depart to your classes in a single file,” Umbridge pronounced, nodding slowly. “Single file. No talking. You will make your way to your lessons. Also,” she added, before anybody could voice their opinions upon the matter, “Mr Filch has asked me to inform you that there will be no loitering on the corridors during break and lunch. If you want to talk, you will do it outside in the yard, or in your common rooms.”

There were a few whispers at this, but not for long, for another ‘hem, hem’ was issued.

McGonagall saw Snape’s fingers make scratch marks on the arm of the chair. Before the despicable woman began to talk again, however, he leaned in towards her and whispered in a very low voice:

“Hogsmeade, Professor.”

She made a sound of approbation. “I don’t think we’ll be overheard there.”

“And I will lay down my neck if both of us don’t need a drink after today,” he muttered, rubbing at his left forearm and grimacing. “You can monitor my execution, if you wish, or be the one executing me, if I’m wrong.”

“With pleasure.”

“Thank you.”

They both picked up their goblet of coffee and cup of malt tea at the same moment and began to sip at them.

“Mark my words, Severus,” Minerva murmured, keeping her voice low behind her drink. “This year is going to be a very long one.”

He scoffed, looking dark. “Perhaps for the ones who make it through alive.”

“Inside these castle walls, at least.” She glanced at Rubeus Hagrid, who was frowning into his goblet, then at Filius, who was squirming uncomfortably in his chair, his fingers tapping on the table as he waited for the little pink toad to stop croaking. “Perhaps let this stay between us, Professor, for the time being… we don’t want any complications.”

Complications there were, without the two Heads giving any strange suggestions to their colleagues. Posters stamped with the ministry symbol and signed off in sickeningly pretty, curly writing appeared in the staff rooms, and even hung up in their offices - Minerva had just managed to pick up a biscuit during the first half-hour break before she was frowning at the notice pinned to her door. Fortunately for her, she didn’t have a chance to peruse it in full alone; there was a noise like someone sucking crumbs out a glass tube and Severus Snape appeared in the middle of her office, looking livid and clutching at a similar piece of parchment.

“That is it,” he seethed, lifting up the parchment so that she could read it, though it was so distorted it was impossible to do so. “The last straw. If someone does not stop me, I do not guarantee I will be able to keep my hands clean.”

He paused, took in the poster pinned to her door which she was standing before, then emitted a rather discomforting snarl and tore it off her door.

“Severus, control yourself, please,” McGonagall said with a frown, though made no move to stop him as he whipped out his wand and set the paper on fire with his eyes black as coal and his teeth gritted. “I haven’t read it yet.”

“Here,” he spat, though not at her, as he watched the last of the parchment shrivel up, then held up the crumpled poster he brought. “Read this clump of dragon spittle, if you so desire.”

Minerva took it from him after a moment and smoothed out its creases, wrinkling her nose at the smell of burning parchment and perused it through narrowed eyes behind her glasses.

Greetings, dear colleagues. I am enraptured to be working with all of your wonderful selves this year. I know that there will be a great understanding between us, because we all have our dear students’ best interests and safety at heart.

Due to the increase in hostility in public and the rumours you have all undoubtedly heard about, I will be popping in and out of lessons to monitor the situations and grade your suitability for the jobs you have been assigned by the headmaster. That aside, I do hope that we can all forge a bond of agreement, friendship and banish any unrest and disruption from Hogwarts, our beloved School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and keep our students safe from both scandal and harm.

Signed, Dolores Umbridge.

“This is…” She paused, searching for the right words, feeling disgust and silent anger stirring in her breast. Severus filled in her pause with several dark expletives muttered under his breath, then cut himself off with some difficulty, under her frown.

“Vile,” he summed up, still shaking with fury. “How dare she, the foolish braggart!”

“It could have been worse.”

“I’m not talking about this,” he spat, pointing at the offensive piece of parchment, then hissed out on a lowered voice. “It’s about what she is doing in the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. She has banned wands.”

He laughed dryly at her incredulous expression.

“Yes, Professor,” he drawled. “She’s going only and exclusively off textbooks. We both know what sort of bunkum doing so is.”

“That’s absurd,” Minerva stammered, her mind whirring, before she regained herself and straightened her glasses. “She must be mad.”

“Oh, no. She’s not mad. She’s far from mad.”

She watched him stalking back and forth in her office like an overgrown bat, hissing and clenching his fists in silence, before making her way over to her desk.

“This is Cornelius’ little ploy,” he continued with vehemence. “I know people like him. Ignorant and empty as a tin-can. An empty jar. Full of nothing but their own over-blown selves. Toads. Vultures. Headless bats.”

McGonagall sighed.

“Would you like a biscuit, Severus?” She held up her shortbread tin in one hand whilst searching for some parchment in her desk with the other.

“I would love a biscuit,” he muttered, clenching his fists so hard they cracked. “I’d love to feed it down her throat, into her lungs. It would crumble along the way, and we would watch her choke. Slowly. Thoroughly-”

“Yes,” she interrupted him, scribbling away. “This one I’m offering is exclusively for your consumption, as opposed to choking Dolores Umbridge.”

He turned to her, then approached the desk, grabbed the tin and set it back down on her desk with a thud, then splayed his hands over the wooden surface and lowered his voice as he leaned towards her.

“A biscuit exclusively for my consumption?” he whispered, shards of ice in his voice. “This woman is overturning everything she touches, professor. She blatantly denies the Dark Lord’s rise to power. This-”

He pulled up his sleeve for a flash, just long enough for Minerva to catch a glimpse of the terrible mark on his left forearm, and sneered.

“-has been flashing like a Christmas tree since July. And you’re offering me biscuits exclusively for my consumption, Minerva?”

McGonagall looked at him over the rim of her glasses for one long moment. Snape held her gaze, expectantly, looking rather triumphant.

She didn’t as much as sniff.

“What about a cup of tea?”

Snape looked baffled. After a moment, he breathed out a sigh so great his head hung for a moment, then pushed himself off her desk and straightened. He breathed in, out, placed two fingers to his temples, then walked over to one of her stiff armchairs and lowered himself into it.

“Very well, I understand,” he said coolly, placing his hands on his knees and sitting as though he was an attentive student. “Bring on the refreshments. Let’s have a little picnic, while we’re at it, with pretzels, little muffins and garnished sandwiches, hm? Then, after that, we can make daisy chains in the fields and calmly talk about our damned feelings!”

Perhaps Severus would have completely lost his temper again if the a second whooshing sound hadn’t reverberated across Minerva’s office, followed by the chunky figure of Pomona Sprout. She looked perplexed, her hair almost standing on end, as she stood there, ruffled.

She looked from the glowering Snape to Minerva scribbling calmly though with a frown, then held up a piece of parchment.

“Should have knocked, but… Have you seen this?”

Snape said nothing, pursing his lips, though his expression was answer enough. Minerva didn’t stop writing as she took up her shortbread tin and held it up.

“Biscuit, Pomona?”

Severus turned and shot her a long, sharp look. Pomona shrugged, then approached her desk.

“Why, yes, thank you,” she said, taking the tin from her. “But what do you think about this? I daren’t address the headmaster about this yet.”

“The headmaster has most likely received one of these beauties himself,” Snape murmured. “She has no regard for him, as we all witnessed yesterday evening.”

“Most unfortunately,” Minerva said, then: “Shall we all have a cup of tea?”

“Very well, then,” Pomona said after a slight pause during which she swallowed the last of her shortbread. “We can’t all get our knickers in a twist.”

Minerva nodded, still writing.

“No, we can’t.”

She rose, flicked her wand and three cups appeared on the tray on the table. There was a rather awkward pause in which they all watched the kettle boiling over McGonagall’s fireplace: Snape in his black and his form rigid, his gaze capable of setting fire to something and his jaw fastened tightly; the ample person of Pomona in her ragged hat and muddy leaves plastered over her apron; McGonagall silent, prim and frowning as she stood with a scrutinous look, lost in thought, looking at the flames, eyes hidden behind the glint of her glasses.

“The only course of action for now,” she murmured, after the kettle whistled and she began pouring water into the teacups, “is to wait and see what happens. Anything else would be far too hasty and downright foolish.”

Snape glanced at her. She met his look head-on.

“Well, what do you propose we do, Severus?” she snapped, hovering her teacup over to her desk. “I believe I have the right to think that everything you have in your head as of now is completely out of the question.”

He drew his black cloak around himself tighter and chuckled darkly, though his face stayed grim. “I suppose that you knowing me so well by now is only to be expected, professor.”

“Minerva is right.” Pomona sighed, then took the tea from McGonagall. “Thank you. I think we’re all being a little too heated up with the current state of affairs. Now that I’m here, it doesn’t seem at all that pressing-”

At that moment, there was a pop and Filius Flitwick apparated into Minerva’s office, looking very nervous and out of breath. He adjusted his glasses, then pulled out a blue polka-dot handkerchief out of his pocket and began to wipe his brow.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, professor,” he breathed, flapping another piece of parchment at them, “but this was stuck to the leg of my desk. It was rather rude, although I am quite shorter than average, still, I’m fully capable of reading anything that is placed at normal height… and the contents, well, it’s slightly unnerving to say the least… that is to say, well… I don’t know what to expect anymore.”

This time, Severus Snape spoke first, his tone dry enough for the Sahara to pale in comparison.

“Would you like a biscuit, Filius?”

“Biscuit?” Filius looked perplexed, then sighed. “Why, yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Severus pursed his lips at him (Filius looked nervous); Minerva offered him the tin, then flicked her wand and another cup appeared on the tray.

She turned to them as they stared at her, waiting. She turned.

“While we are mostly all together, then-”

There was a sudden loud knock on the door and they all jumped, for it rattled on its hinges as though someone was throwing furniture at it. Minerva adjusted her glasses and glanced at the others, who looked back with different degrees of wariness on their faces.

“Who is it?”

The door creaked open, and the huge face of Rubeus Hagrid appeared. His beard was bedraggled and he didn’t look like he was in a very good mood, for his beetle-eyes were narrowed in suspicion and contempt before he set eyes on Minerva; he opened his mouth to speak, but then saw them all gathered as though they were conspiring and hesitated.

“Sorry to interrupt, Professor, er, Professors…”

Filius lifted his parchment. “It’s not this, by any chance, is it, Hagrid?”

The half-giant looked relieved. “It is, actually, yeh.”

He squeezed through the door (there was a pop as he entered), then noticed the cups of tea and biscuit in Filius’ hand and paused again.

“Would you like some tea and a biscuit, Hagrid?” McGonagall asked, before glancing at Severus, who simply rolled his eyes and folded his arms without comment.

“Won’ say no, Professor,” Hagrid said with some enthusiasm, taking up the tin from her. “I didn’t think I ought to bother Professor Dumbledore, with this, but, between all of us…”

He leaned down and lowered his voice, “I don’t like this one bit.”

“Neither do we,” Snape provided, still looking disturbed. “But apparently, the decision has been made that we currently sit and wait until something happens.”

“What else do you propose, then?” Minerva said.

“Nothing,” Severus replied coolly. “I agree with you, I’m just not happy about the current state of affairs.”

“Neither am I,” Pomona said, pouring herself more tea. “I don’t like this whole monitoring business.”

“Neither do I,” Flitwick said. “But she doesn’t have the authority to do anything about it, does she?”

“That’s right,” Pomona said. “She hasn’t. She’s just the DADA teacher. Not a very good one, if I may add, if what the students are saying is true…”

Then, they all froze, because there was a tap on the door and something which resembled a very loud, ‘hem, hem’ sounded through them.

They froze, mid action: eating, mouth open to speak, sipping on their malt tea. There was a split second during which they all looked at one another, then another upon cups were hurriedly returned to the tray and wands were whipped out. Pomona grabbed Hagrid’s arm and apparated out of the office, along with Flitwick; Severus remained where he was, his eyes black as obsidian, his wand in his hand, whilst Minerva vanished the excess cups and, after hesitating one second, approached the door.

They both intercepted a very unwelcome and very pink figure when the door opened, with thick lips and a very dainty bow sitting on top of her brown hair. Minerva could hear Severus’ sleeve fabric creaking as he folded his arms and gripped them.

Umbridge smiled. “Good morning, Professor McGonagall.”

McGonagall didn’t smile. “Good morning, Dolores.”

The pink-blobbed figure pushed past her into her office, then her gaze settled on the black, ominous figure of Snape, who hadn’t moved and clearly had little intention of doing so. He had faced Death Eaters and Voldemort and he wasn’t intimidated by this ridiculous source of disturbance. Minerva wasn’t either; she was far too old and had seen far too much to be intimidated by confrontation which didn’t involve illegal spells.

“Oh, Professor Snape,” Umbridge quipped with a small smile. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Under any other circumstances, Minerva would have been quite amused to witness Snape mustering civility with such difficulty - his pupils were constricted and it looked like he had trouble with unfastening his jaw (even his eyelid was twitching, Minerva marvelled) - but circumstances were rather different and so she merely tried to convey reassurement with her eyes from behind the little pink toad.

“The world is full of surprises,” he managed very dryly after tearing his eyes away from the Gryffindor Head, then inclined his head at Umbridge with some difficulty. She made a little ‘hem’ sound.

“I see you and Professor McGonagall are very good friends.”

Snape glanced at Minerva, then said, “Hardly.”

Minerva’s lip twitched. Umbridge looked surprised. “Really? And yet you are spending breaktime together.”

“We teach the same students, Professor Umbridge,” Snape replied coolly. “It’s natural we have common things to discuss. This job requires collaboration for it to be successful.”

“Indeed,” Umbridge said, then glanced at the door, upon which her little letter had been hanging a moment before and was currently scattered around the classroom floor in the form of ash and Snape’s rage. “Did you not receive my letter, Professor McGonagall?”

“Of course I did, Dolores,” came the breezy reply, as McGonagall approached her desk and sat down to organise some papers. “I have already put it away in my desk. I must say that I am pleased that we share common goals. Student health and best interests are, of course, not something to trifle with.”

“I’m very pleased that we agree on those grounds,” she smiled sweetly, then turned to Severus. “I’m sure your opinion doesn’t differ from ours, Professor.”

Snape’s eyelid began to twitch again and he seemed to be made out of marble.

“Not at all.”

“Hm.” Umbridge observed him. “Have you been teaching long at this school, Professor?”

“Eleven years.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“There is nothing I like doing more.”

“You must possess an exemplary skill of potion-making, to be Potion-Master for so long.”

“I’m sure others can provide an account on them.”

“Do you stay at Hogwarts during the school holidays?”

“I do as circumstances call for.”

Minerva watched him, barely able to keep a straight face. She hid her curling lips in her cup of tea, which was empty, but nobody but her knew that. Severus caught her glinting eye and his scowl darkened.

Umbridge seemed to get the gist that both were unwilling to keep up a conversation with her, so she merely glanced around at McGonagall’s walls as though she had come to inquire about renting or buying the place, then shrugged to herself.

“Well, I will see you both during lunch. By the by, I find it quite surprising that the students aren’t used to silence during meals, by now… but, no matter. Faults are there to be polished, aren’t they? What would the world be without those little things to work on. Nobody, after all, is perfect.”

With that, she inclined her head sweetly, then headed out.

The second the doors were closed, McGonagall turned to face Snape with some trepidation, who looked as though he was about to explode. His eyes were almost volcanic, his skin became pale, his face contorted and his fingers were twitching as though he was imagining them tight around Umbridge’s flabby neck.

“Faults… polished…” he choked out, too out of it to even begin pacing, “I’ll show her polished… I’ll show her silence… Nobody is perfect indeed… Potions Master…”

McGonagall sighed through her nose, crossed the room, opened a cupboard door, withdrew a glass bottle from it, then poured some fiery liquid into a glass she took out from another.

“Damned toad…” Snape shook, clenching his fists and drawing out his wand, “Porcupine-hide… impervious, crazed, sanctimonious-”

“Here,” she said, thrusting the glass into his hand. “Drink this. And sit down. As much as it would do some of us a favour, you having a stroke as of this moment, Severus, wouldn't be very helpful.”

He started, glanced at her, at the glass, then breathed out a sigh and collapsed onto an armchair. McGonagall gave him a sharp nod.

“Drink it.”

Severus Snape took a look at the Ogden’s and rubbed his eyes.

“This is going to be the death of me,” he muttered, then emptied the glass in one quick movement. “One of us is going to die. Either me, or her. Not counting damage control.”

“That would be quite a grim thing to witness.”

“Perhaps I should invite Cornelius for a moment or two. He’d act as a nice little buffer.”

The bottle of Ogdens was sent for, but Minerva intercepted it.

“I know I suggested this,” she said, her voice firm and slightly disapproving, “but it’s still morning and we both do not have a free period today.”

Snape scowled, then shut his eyes for a moment. “I have two first-year classes today.”

“Then I suggest you get your temper under control.”

“Two accursed classes filled with little piping voices and brats.”

“Oh, get a grip on yourself.”

The glass cracked from under the impact of Severus' grip, shards raining down around him and onto his lap. McGonagall stared as he he stared at what remained in his fist, at the blood slowly making its way down the bottom of his fist and wrist, then threw back his head on the headrest and groaned.

“Life is splendour,” he muttered, making no move to clean up himself or the glass. “Oh, absolutely and utterly. I’m looking forward to tomorrow. And the day after that. Because, oh, ho, ha!”

Minerva watched him raise the broken glass in his fist and toast her, thinking that her interjection would only make things worse.

“Professor McGonagall, paradise awaits us,” he declared, something mad in his black eyes. “I’m going to go on holiday during the Christmas break. To Majorca. I’m going to open my bloody Gringotts bank and let the galleons pour, live while I’m young. The war can wait. So can the Dark Lord. In fact, you can come along too. Thank you for your cooperation, professor. Twenty points to Gryffindor.”

“Severus, why don’t you actually calm down?”

“I’M AT THE END OF MY TETHER, MINERVA!” he cried and shot up, shaking the glass at nobody in particular. “Either way, there’s no way out for me! Whether we destroy that pink toad and bring back order to Hogwarts, in all the available and plausible senses we can, it doesn’t really matter in the long run!”

“So you believe Potter,” she remarked after a pause, for once uncertain of what else to say as she watched her younger counterpart letting out bursts of steam.

“Believe him? Of course I do,” he scoffed. “Any fool would. Any fool with at least a sliver of perception. And especially me.”

He looked at the crimson staining his hands and running down his elbow, then rose, reaching for his wand with his left hand, and vanished the shards of glass. His voice was low when he spoke next.

“I can feel it throbbing even now,” he muttered, ignoring his injury. “It flames. Burns. Like acid.”

His voice was bitter, as he clutched at his wrist and blood oozed down into his sleeve and started dripping onto the carpets, but Minerva didn’t comment on it. He was looking away, hesitant to meet her eyes. She watched him with pursed lips, then sighed and resumed scribbling and compiling her list upon the parchment.

“I believe Albus,” she remarked after a moment. “He knows what he’s talking about.”

Severus looked up. He hesitated before he spoke.

“You trust me.”

It was spoken dryly and accompanied by a scoff, but Minerva knew that tone well enough to be affronted.

“I do.”

He didn’t answer. He opened his mouth, caught her eye, then shut it, tight.

“Madame Pomfrey,” she suggested primly, as he searched for words and blood started pooling on her floor. “And don’t let Dolores burn your heart out without your consent. It will give her the triumph of having control over your temper… I doubt that’s something you want.”

Severus nodded, something bubbling in his eyes, obviously wrestling with the emotions he dubbed weak, then happened to glance at the parchment she was working at and won the battle, assuming scrutinous curiosity which overpowered his other expressions.

“What is that?” he muttered, glancing over her shoulder.

“Something which is going to be burned as soon as we return from Hogsmeade,” she murmured. “Quite frankly, I’ve little good feelings about this woman myself, and I’m not going to stand for tolerating whatever it is she is bringing with her from the ministry.”

Severus was silent, though she knew he was rather stunned as he looked at what she had penned upon the parchment during the kerfuffle which had occurred a few minutes before.

“Is that a plan of action?” he murmured. “You’ve drawn up her classes… what most likely affronts her… potential hexes.”

McGonagall glanced up at him.

“You sound surprised, Severus.”

It took him a few seconds to reply. His mouth opened, shut, then opened again.

“I am,” he admitted, his voice low as he studied the parchment, still clutching at his wrist whilst blood dropped onto her tartan carpets. “I have never been so abruptly stunned and … disappointed, Professor McGonagall. I’m considering passing this along to the Headmaster.”

“Are you, now.”

“Yes. The Head of the Gryffindor house, plotting against another employee? And such a ravishing and charming one, too?”

“You have a gift with your tone presenting the exact opposite of what comes out of your mouth, Severus.”

“I do.”

“As you have one for dripping blood all over my carpets.”

He glanced down at his crimson hand, then drew out a shaky sigh.

“I am feeling rather faint, in all honesty,” he muttered, then grasped his wand with a trembling hand.

“Hurry up, and get yourself cleaned up,” she said, placing a dot on the parchment with a final flourish. “I’m going to need you this afternoon at Three Broomsticks, my fellow Slytherin counterpart.”

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