#olin cresswell

[carewyncromwell]

“Tell me, what has become of my rights? Am I invisible ‘cause you ignore me? Your proclamation promised me free liberty, now... I’m tired of bein’ the victim of shame -- They’re throwin’ me in a class with a bad name! I can’t believe this is the land from which I came! You know I really do hate to say it... The government don't wanna see, But if Roosevelt was livin’, he wouldn’t let this be, no, no!”

~“They Don’t Really Care About Us” by Michael Jackson

x~x~x~x

The day before Valentine’s Day 1996, Mia Flume finally came to grips with the horrible thought that Cornelius Fudge -- Minister for Magic and leader of the British Wizarding World -- was actively trying to cover up the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, all for the sake of his own personal ambitions. As the year wore on, Mia became more and more convinced that it was true...and to make matters worse, Fudge’s chosen representative, Dolores Umbridge, was making life hell for the students of Hogwarts.

Mia first heard about Dumbledore having to flee the school for supposedly organizing an illegal student “army” to rise up against the Ministry from Madame Rosmerta. It honestly sounded like the most outlandish thing in the world -- something that she couldn’t believe anyone sane would believe. Yet Fudge sure seemed to believe it -- and so Dumbledore was now on the run, a wanted man, and Dolores Umbridge had been named Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And one of the things she did first was punish the students who had supposedly joined “Dumbledore’s Army” -- one of whom, Mia was horrified to hear from her older sister Tia, was her fourteen-year-old nephew, Olin!

Both Tia and Mia sent Olin several letters questioning the validity of what they’d heard, but to their dismay, they received no letters in response. Instead Umbridge went to paid a visit to Tia and Dirk herself, where she asked them many pointed questions and even made some vaguely threatening comments.

“Your son is very bright, Ms. Cresswell,” Umbridge said in honeyed tones. “It’s not unlikely to presume he wishes to join the Ministry like his father someday, yes?”

Tia tried to keep her head high, but Umbridge’s overly sweet attitude was making her uneasy for a reason she couldn’t quite explain.

“...He hasn’t quite decided yet,” she confessed. “He’s always wanted to play Quidditch professionally, before...but recently, he’s expressed some interest in working in the Being division as an advocate...”

Something oddly cold flickered through Umbridge’s eyes. Knowing immediately that his wife had said the wrong thing, Dirk quickly brought a hand onto Tia’s and gave it a supportive squeeze.

“We shall support our son in anything he chooses to do with his life,” Dirk said very firmly, his eyes narrowing.

“Not aligning himself with traitors, I hope, Cresswell,” Umbridge said, her sweet tone twinged with something much more poisonous. “It would be a shame to see a man like you lose the Minister’s good graces, the way your son has his new Headmistress’s.”

Umbridge then put on a much more fake smile.

“...Fortunately your son has been diligently working to re-earn my favor in his detentions with me. I’m certain he’ll completely overcome this rebellious phase...especially with your guiding influence, as his parents.”

“We might guide Olin more easily if we knew our letters were getting through to him,” Dirk said, a bit of temper squeaking out of him despite himself.

Tia squeezed her husband’s hand, her face much more anxious upon Umbridge. “We haven’t heard from Olin in over a week now...please, Headmistress, I just want to hear from my son...”

“Of course, Ms. Cresswell -- of course you do,” said Umbridge. She gave Tia an insincere pat to the shoulder. “That’s something any mother should want. But sadly, children are very selfish creatures -- prone to keep things to themselves...especially any misbehavior. Sometimes they just go quiet, rather than admit they’ve done wrong...”

Dirk opened his mouth to speak, but Umbridge silenced him with a look.

“Not to worry,” she said with another sugary sweet smile. “When your boy is ready to speak to you, I promise you, I’ll make absolutely sure that his letters reach you.”

When Umbridge left, Tia actually burst into tears. Dirk ended up contacting Mia and Callie himself via Floo Powder, and when they met up at the Cresswell home, he was clearly beside himself.

“Olin would not just go quiet like this,” he said fiercely. “He would never worry his mother this way...”

“Worry us this way,” Mia interjected in agreement. “Olin always writes back to me, when I write to him, and always on the same day. This is not normal.”

Dirk slid his pipe into his mouth, giving it an anxious puff.

“His mail must be getting intercepted before it can reach us,” he muttered, “but if so...Merlin, what state must he be in now? Hogwarts was always safe, with Dumbledore in charge...”

He whirled on his youngest sister-in-law. “Callie, you have contacts at the radio station -- surely one of them knows what the deal is behind this ‘Dumbledore’s Army?’”

Callie looked unusually gloomy as she bowed her head. “Not really. No one who was in Dumbledore’s office that day has been very open about it...and everyone else...well, they’re just following the party line Fudge has been circulating. The whole Ministry’s really clammed up, lately.”

"Because of that interview you did with the Junior Undersecretary?” asked Mia.

Callie crossed her arms moodily.

“The boss even brought me into his office yesterday to scold me,” she grumbled. “Said I was too ‘hard-ball’ with Weasley, when I asked him about that rumor that Umbridge made Potter write with a cursed quill, during one of his detentions with her...”

The idea that Olin might’ve likewise been put through that in his detentions with Umbridge made Tia cover her face again, trying to hold in a fresh round of tears. Dirk’s jaw clenched as he brought an arm around his wife and squeezed her against his side.

“The broadcast was cut short, but trust me -- Weasley looked like he’d seen a ghost,” Callie said resentfully. “I don’t know whether it’s because he didn’t know about it at all or he just didn’t know I’d know about it...but either way, he didn’t even try to deny it or defend Umbridge’s character. I frankly don’t think he can.”

“How could he?” said Mia. “From the sound of it, not even the Ministry was aware Umbridge had quills like that. Where did you even hear that rumor in the first place?”

“A new informant of mine,” said Callie lightly.

When Mia raised her eyebrows, all traces of humor from Callie’s face faded immediately, and she crossed her arms.

“Ah, ah, don’t you dare ask!” she scolded her older sister in a tone rather akin to a huffy teenager. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?” Mia recurred, her features creased with suspicion.

“Of course,” Callie said defensively. “I mean...he’s got contacts at both the Ministry and Hogwarts. The staffs of which I’m quite sure have no idea he’s been sending me messages.”

“True,” said Dirk. “Any Ministry employee could face severe consequences for being so open with the press...the professors too, now that Umbridge is in charge...”

Mia had to admit Dirk was right. She nodded in agreement.

“Well, if your new informant can tell us what really happened, Callie,” said Dirk, as he squeezed Tia gently against his side, “we would both be very grateful.”

Tia sniffled miserably.

“My son wouldn’t cause trouble for no reason,” she whimpered. “He’s a good boy...”

~*~

In May, at long, long last, Mia finally received a letter from Olin. The minute she received it, she ripped the envelope open so roughly, she almost tore the letter inside too. The letter didn’t hold any of the explanation she’d wanted -- instead, it seemed almost painfully restrained, talking only about the upcoming Quidditch Cup Final between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. When Umbridge was brought up, it was written in such flowery, over-the-top language that Olin’s sarcasm seemed to be bleeding through the page.

Don’t know if you heard, but we have a new Headmistress! Dolores Umbridge, you know -- the High Inquisitor I told you about? She really is marvelous -- a perfectly upstanding woman. I’d gush more, but...well, she’s just such a kind and sweet lady, I don’t think my testimony could do her justice!

Dirk was right, Mia thought. His other letters must’ve been intercepted before they could reach us. That’s why he’s saying all this now -- he must know Umbridge is reading any letters he tries to send, and she won’t let them reach us unless he says what she wants him to say...

The thought of a fourteen-year-old boy having to lie blatantly in his letters just to have any chance of getting through to his family was absolutely horrid to think about. Even worse was the thought that the person now censoring her nephew and preventing him from writing to her and his mother had been selected by the Minister of Magic himself, supposedly address the “falling standards” at Hogwarts promoted by Albus Dumbledore...

With a heavy heart, Mia put Olin’s letter away in her robes and set about trying to busy herself with the work of the day.

And of course, right in the midst of this -- right when Mia was feeling so miserable and worried about her nephew and trying hard to distract herself with some medicinal normalcy -- this just had to be when Jacob Cromwell had the audacity to show his rotten face in Honeydukes’ Sweet Shop for the first time in five years.

When he’d first come in around mid-day, Mia had had her back turned, arranging inventory on the shelf in the far corner of the shop. Her mother Jenie was busy ringing up customers at the desk while her father Ambrosius pecked away in the kitchen, so Mia had rolled over a whole cart full of brightly colored boxes across the shop, which she was now levitating onto the shelf.

It was while doing this that she suddenly realized dozens of boxes were flying up onto the shelves around her, rather than just the ones she’d actively levitated.

“What -- ?”

When she turned around, she found herself immediately face-to-face with a man exactly her height, who had not one but two wands -- one made of white aspen and the other of black ebony -- raised, enchanting the rest of Mia’s stock to arrange themselves neatly on the shelf. His dark curls cascaded down his back and shoulders like a waterfall and his blue eyes were so darkened and sunken-in, they resembled a skull’s, especially when juxtaposed on such a pale face.

When Jacob Cromwell looked down at her, he offered a sheepish smile.

“Sorry -- I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were working,” he said.

Jacob wordlessly enchanted the last few boxes he’d lifted up onto the shelves to dance around each other so they were in the proper order.

Mia immediately flicked her wand around, catching the one box that she’d still been levitating in her non-wand hand so she could turn her wand’s focus onto Jacob. Before she could cast any spell, though, Jacob brought both of his wands up, crossing them in an “x” shape around Mia’s so as to force her to lower it.

“Easy!” he said quickly. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“That’d be a first,” spat Mia. “What do you want, Cromwell?”

“To talk to you, actually,” said Jacob.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you. Now get lost -- ”

Mia yanked her wand arm back and turned her back on Jacob. He seemed to have predicted this move, though, for within seconds, he’d stepped in front of her.

“Wait -- I’ve been talking to your sister,” Jacob said seriously. “Your younger sister, Callie.”

Mia’s dark eyes flashed. Callie? Mia knew full well that her sister was one of those who’d taken a stupid liking to Jacob, so she’d interviewed Jacob rather often, but had she actually told Jacob to seek Mia out? When she knew how Mia loathed Jacob Cromwell and would for the rest of his sodding life? The chocolatier felt the strong urge to throw her shoe at something.

“I gather you don’t like me, for whatever reason, but please, just hear me out,” said Jacob. “For Callie’s sake, if not mine.”

Mia glared at Jacob. Glancing around, she took note of several customers who’d started to eavesdrop -- upon being noticed, they all immediately looked away.

“What do you want?” Mia repeated lowly, as she put down the box of Peppermint Toads still in her hand down roughly on the shelf.

Jacob likewise glanced around the shop, taking stock of the people around them. He seemed to be thinking hard, for it took him a moment to conjure up a response.

“...Callie’s told me that you’ve...been looking for new things to read, lately.”

Mia’s face scrunched up with confusion. “What?”

Jacob kept his blue eyes dreamily aloft, dancing over the highest shelves, as he slipped his hands idly into the pockets of his jeans.

“Newspapers are lovely and all, of course...but their content just gets kind of stale, after a while. Same boring, feel-good stories, over and over again. Sometimes it’s good to read other kinds of fiction, just for a change of pace...”

He shot another furtive glance around before glancing at Mia out the side of his eye.

“...Even the Quibbler gets a bit old, after a while.”

Harry Potter’s interview flitted through Mia’s mind, and it made her stiffen.

“You read the Quibbler?” she asked.

“Not all the time -- just when they’ve written something interesting,” said Jacob with a grin. “Like that article about Stubby Boardman and Sirius Black? Those photos! Almost had me believing their wacko theory, for a second...”

Thoroughly unamused, Mia tried to move past him. “I don’t have time for this -- ”

But Jacob once again seemed to have predicted her movement before she made it and cut her off.

“Mia -- may I call you Mia?”

“It’s either Hermia or Miss Flume to you,” Mia spat. She did not want to be on nickname terms with Jacob Cromwell.

“Hermia,” Jacob took this in stride, his voice going down a full decibel, “if you want me to get to the point...I know what you’ve been worrying about. What a lot more people have started worrying about, lately....”

Jacob glanced around the shop again, which prompted Mia to do the same. Once again, she could sense many of the shoppers there looking away quickly, so as to pretend they hadn’t been trying to listen in.

Oh great, Mia thought irritably, they’re probably looking at this whole exchange and thinking it’s some sort of lover’s spat.

The thought -- and Jacob’s seemingly obliviousness to how their physical proximity made them look -- made Mia glare at Jacob and take a marked step back as she started busying herself with arranging inventory on the closest shelf.

“And I suppose you’ve been worrying just as much yourself?” she growled disbelievingly under her breath.

“Is that really so hard to believe?” Jacob asked, his mouth turned down in a confused frown.

“You forget, I remember your arrogant arse at school,” Mia said vindictively. “You’ve never worried about a damn thing in your life, Jacob Cromwell.”

Despite the lingering bewilderment in his expression, Jacob’s brows came together over his eyes in intense seriousness as he stepped closer to her again. 

“Look, Hermia,” he murmured so quietly only she could hear him, “I’m sorry for whatever I did to upset you so much...but this thing is a lot bigger than us, than all of us. However much you might not like me, there’s a War coming. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Real soon. And with how close you are to Hogwarts, I reckon you deserve to have some better reading than the stuff you’ve currently got.”

Very abruptly Jacob had pushed a pretty blue leather-bound book into Mia’s hands. She looked down at it, startled.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

“I would hope you’d have seen this on stage, given your name,” he said with a slight wry smile. “But even if you’ve only read it...I think spending an evening reading the annotated version might prove very enlightening.”

With this cryptic remark, Jacob turned on his heel and swept off toward the door. Mia looked up from the cover, mouthing angrily before finally being able to conjure up a response.

“Wha -- what in the world is that supposed to mean?! Cromwell! Get back here!”

But by the time she’d pulled herself together enough to chase after him, Jacob had already disappeared from Hogsmeade with a CRACK.

~*~

Mia was left stewing in her juices for the rest of the day. There were points she didn’t even want to look at the book Jacob had so unceremoniously gifted her -- after all, she already had her own worn copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, as well as all of Shakespeare’s other plays. But at the same time, she couldn’t deny that however annoying Jacob had been -- as annoying as he always was to her, quite frankly -- his word choice seemed way too pointed to not mean something.

“ -- you deserve to have some better reading -- ”

“ -- reading the annotated version might prove very enlightening -- ”

And so, later that afternoon on her lunch break, Mia opened the book and idly flip through the pages. Nothing seemed particularly special about the book, though -- it was the same text she’d read countless times when she was little, trying to entertain herself without leaving Honeydukes or her father. She used the Revealing Charm on the pages to see if any hidden text would appear, to no avail. There weren’t even any notations or markings of any sort on the pages that could hint to some sort of code.

You would think that a guy who runs around cursebreaking all willy-nilly would know the benefit of a proper code, Mia thought scornfully.

With a scoff, the chocolatier shut the book with a loud snap, leaving it behind on the counter in the kitchen as she returned to work.

~*~

Within a few days, Mia had completely forgotten about Jacob’s “gift.” It wasn’t hard to lose track of it, given the state of things both in Hogsmeade and at Hogwarts. As OWL season began up at the school, Honeydukes and the other shops became busier, and Mia heard even more more bad news. It seemed that Umbridge had ordered several Aurors to help her forcibly evict Rubeus Hagrid from the grounds, only for them to fire several Stunning spells right into Minerva McGonagall’s chest when the Deputy Headmistress tried to intervene, sending her to St. Mungo’s and sending Hagrid running off into the forest. However much Mia hadn’t spoken much to Hagrid at school, considering how fond Hagrid was of Jacob Cromwell, she’d still always found him sweet in his own weird way, and Minerva McGonagall -- how anyone could dream to attack her, Mia couldn’t even fathom.

The worst news of all, though, was the one Mia received through an owl from Callie in the wee hours of the morning of June 19, 1996.

The eagle owl had woke Mia up out of a sound sleep with the amount of noise he made tapping against her closed window. No matter how tired and irritable the chocolatier was at being awoken so abruptly, however, her mind bolted awake with alarm when she took in the first few words.

Mia,

The Evening Prophet has just confirmed our worst fears.

You-Know-Who is back.

Mia felt like her heart had stopped.

No. No, no, no --

Her mind racing at a million miles a minute, she tore through the rest of the letter.

He and his Death Eaters broke into the Department of Mysteries last night, supposedly getting all the way to the room that holds a series of prophecies. Nobody knows exactly what he was doing down there or what he was looking for, but the report says that Potter and Dumbledore and a couple of others were there to stop him. One of those people -- which confirms Harry Potter’s testimony about Peter Pettigrew somehow surviving! -- was Sirius Black, who died at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange while fighting the Death Eaters. You-Know-Who and his people fled after the Minister and his support staff arrived.

I’m sorry if this is hard to read -- I’m having a lot of trouble not shaking. Oh, Mia, Mia, what are we going to do...?

Please stay safe. Please, take care of Dad and Mum.

Your Loving Sister,

Callie

Mia felt like her throat had clenched up, making her unable to breathe. She collapsed back into the chair in front of her desk, Callie’s letter fluttering down onto the floor.

So it was true. All along, the terrible feeling she’d had, the outcome she’d feared, but had so desperately, desperately didn’t want to be true...

The Dark Lord was back -- really back. The terrifying Dark Wizard that had been a bogeyman for Mia and her sisters, while they were at school -- the man who terrified the Wizarding World, while the Flumes huddled together in the safety of the shadow of Hogwarts...was back, and back at full strength. His army had been restored, thanks in large part to the Azkaban breakout and the dementors turning against their guards...and if the reports of giant activity could be believed, that army was soon going to be a much bigger one.

And worst of all...the Ministry of Magic had lied to them. They’d lied! They knew the danger, they knew how bad things were getting for both wizards and Muggles, and they’d lied! They’d sent representatives to Hogwarts, not to improve its failings or promote higher education, but to persecute anyone who didn’t crow the party line, all in an effort to cover up the fact that everything coming out of their mouths was a LIE!

Mia felt herself shaking with both terror and righteous fury as she cupped her hands over her face.

“...There’s a War coming. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Real soon.”

The memory of Jacob Cromwell’s words were like cold poison in her blood. Tears spilled loose from Mia’s eyes as she gave a mad kick to the back of her desk, unable to hold in the violent emotions beating at the inside of her heart.

Mia had always been the sort to have faith in authority. Even despite all of the failings of the Hogwarts staff while she was at school, she at least always had faith that they cared about their students. But now...now she was forced to accept that the only thing the Minister had truly cared about was himself. And that was a truly bitter pill to swallow.

For the next hour, all Mia could do was sob at her desk. It wasn’t until she heard a CRACK outside of someone Apparating in the street that Mia shot out of her daze.

Her entire frame stiffening with irrational fear, Mia catapulted over to the window. When she looked out, though, she didn’t see a Death Eater standing in front of Honeydukes...but Florean.

For you see, Florean Fortescue had just received word about the Dark Lord’s return as well, and in an impulsive decision decided he had to make sure Mia was all right. It was only when he arrived that he realized just how early it was and therefore just how insensitive it would be to wake the whole house up, just to ensure Mia’s well-being. As fate would have it, though, Mia had been awake and seen his arrival -- and so within a minute, she’d come running downstairs in her oversized T-shirt, pajama pants, and slippers, right out into the street, to try to prevent him from leaving.

“Florean!”

Florean turned, startled. At the sight of Mia’s tear-stained, emotional face, though, he instantly melted. He swept right over to her, throwing his arms out and pulling her into his arms.

“Mia,” he breathed against the top of her head.

Mia clutched at the back of his shirt. “Florean...”

His arms should’ve been warm -- they’d always been so warm -- and yet now, in this moment, all she could feel was a numbing, paralyzing cold.

A War...what could she or her family hope to do, in the face of a War? Sure, Mia herself had been in the Dueling Club, but going up against Dark wizards? She’d never have thought she’d ever have to do that in a million years! And her sister and mother didn’t even have that distinction. And with her father’s condition...if Ambrosius turned into a dog, he’d be helpless against the likes of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...

Mia hadn’t even realized how much she’d been shaking until Florean had fully descended upon her, securing her head in the crook of his neck and cradling her against his chest with his much taller frame like a blanket.

“Mia,” he whispered.

It was just her name, nothing more -- and yet the sound of it on his lips said so much. She could hear him wanting to comfort her, to reassure her, while also feeling as though he didn’t fully know how. She could hear his anxiety about the world: the heartbreak, seeing their whole peaceful world come crumbling down around their ears. She could hear his fears -- his fear for his grandfather, his shop, for her...the longing he felt, wishing that they’d be able to face this together as husband and wife, rather than just as associates and friends.

And what he said next, in such a soft, yet firm whisper, only seemed to make these feelings bloom into a blossom of understated, yet blazing courage.

“It’ll be okay.”

Mia choked. Fresh tears spilled out of her eyes as she clung to him more tightly than ever. Florean rocked her back and forth like a child, murmuring beside her hair.

“It w-will, Mia. I promise. He fell once before -- he will fall again. I p-promise you. ...I promise...”

Florean was never so articulate in words as he was on the page, but his sincerity rippled through every word all the same. And in that moment, all Mia could do was wrap herself up in his modest, understated courage, desperately longing to have the same kind of faith that he did.

[carewyncromwell]

“Now is the time to seize the day. Stare down the odds and seize the day. Once we've begun, if we stand as one, Someday becomes somehow, And the prayer becomes a vow, And the strike starts right damn now!”

~“Seize the Day” from Newsies (musical)

x~x~x~x

referencing a code later used by the Phoenix Resistance @kathrynalicemc​

x~x~x~x

On June 19, 1996, Hogsmeade village was notably quiet. No one seemed to have the heart to do any shopping after the blockbuster Evening Prophet reporting the true state of affairs, and truly, none of the Flumes had much heart to push their wares that day either. Mia had never seen her parents looking so pale and withdrawn in her life -- all she could do was quietly mix up some spiced hot chocolate for them, in an attempt to bring some color back to their cheeks.

Mia wrote dozens of letters over the course of the next week. Most of them were to Florean -- they’d mutually agreed to write to each other every morning and evening, just to “check in” and make sure the other was safe both before going about their day and going to bed.

Dad “forgot himself” again today. Fortunately he was back to himself in a few hours, after sitting with Mum and me on the couch listening to Callie’s broadcast on WWN. He said hearing Callie’s usual sign-off -- “Until next time, keep your head up, a smile on, and your hand on that dial” -- helped bring him back to earth.

Diagon Alley was very gray today here as well. I can hardly recall a time when my neighbors looked upon me with so much distrust. But then again, even during the First War, the Ministry merely tried to urge calm, not actively promote disinformation. It’s hardly a wonder that people don’t know who they can trust now...

Mail-order sales of chocolate have been skyrocketing lately. I suppose people want something sweet to distract themselves from everything, even if they still feel too unsafe to come into shop themselves.

Your old “friend” Jacob Cromwell stopped into my shop today for some chocolate chip ice cream. I know you dislike the man, but truly, he seems to have really grown up since you knew him at school. He even suggested I could use Muggle glow-in-the-dark ink to write letters in, if I was afraid about my letters getting read by the wrong people.

The other person Mia received lots of letters from, though, was Olin. With the removal of Umbridge, his mail wasn’t being actively watched anymore, and Olin took full advantage of it, writing more emotionally charged letters than ever to his aunt.

Dumbledore came back as Headmaster today! Oh, Aunt Mia, I’ve never been more happy to see him in all my life!

That rotten toad Umbridge has been stuck in the Hospital Wing for the last few days, supposedly in a state of shock after a confrontation with the Forbidden Forest‘s centaur herd. Given her disgusting attitude toward “half-breeds,” I’d be tempted to say she had it coming, if it weren’t for how much I know Mum wouldn’t approve of me saying so.

First of all, to reassure both you and Mum, no, Dumbledore’s Army was not an actual army. (How anyone could really think that is beyond me!) It was an organization Potter and his friends made so that we could really learn how to defend ourselves against the Dark Arts, since Umbridge wouldn’t teach us anything useful in class. “Dumbledore’s Army” is just the name Ginny Weasley suggested for us, kind of as a backhanded joke against old Minister Fudging-the-Truth. We never thought Dumbledore would use it as an excuse to shield Potter from getting expelled or arrested!

As for Umbridge’s quills...yeah, it’s true. Please don’t tell Mum and Dad, though -- I don’t want to upset them.

Aunt Mia, I hate to ask this, but could you send along some murtlap essence, with your next package? My hand is still hurting from the last detention I had with Umbridge, but I really don’t want to worry Mum and Dad.

I’ve always loved school, but...Merlin, the end of this term truly can’t come soon enough! Not being able to talk with you openly, or talk to Mum, Dad, and Skylar...it’s been so hard.

It was this sentiment especially that worried Mia. Sure, with Umbridge gone, Olin wouldn’t have anyone actively censoring his mail at Hogwarts anymore...but like or not, anything they tried to send each other could still be intercepted. This was made all the more clear to Mia when Callie fumed to her later that week about one of her WWN broadcasts being halted before it could make it to the airwaves.

“I sent in a report about Brockton Bridge being blown up specifically to try to warn the public, but our oh-so-wise Ministry leaders apparently decided that it’d be best not to discuss it until they could put out a proper press release about it!” Callie said heatedly. “‘Proper press release,’ my foot -- they just wanted to protect their own image by making it look like they’re doing something -- ”

In the past, Mia might’ve tried to defend such a decision with the justification that the Ministry didn’t want the rest of the Wizarding World to panic. Now, all the knowledge did was make her angrier and more worried than ever.

She needed a way to make sure any more sensitive messages she might send would get through, to the people she cared about. But how?

Mia contemplated this matter for a long time while mixing some murlap essence into the Cauldron Cake batter she was working on for Olin. Sampling it off the mixing spoon, she frowned and added in a cup of milk and some sugar. 

Florean had brought up glow-in-the-dark ink in his letter -- admittedly because of an interaction with Jacob Cromwell, Mia remembered sourly. Even so, though, the idea of hiding a secret message inside a fake one sparked an idea in her, all the same.

It’s a lot like these Cauldron Cakes, she thought, glancing down at the cakes she was making. They look just like ordinary, delicious Cakes on the outside -- but in truth, they’re mixed in with murtlap essence, to promote quick healing alongside the invigorating benefits inherit to chocolate.

Some gears started turning in Mia’s brain as she considered the Cauldron Cake molds she’d left beside her on the counter. Then, very slowly, her mouth curled up in a broad smile, and she summoned a new mixing bowl, partitioning out some of her batter so that she could then change it a bright shade of red with a flick of her wand.

When Olin unwrapped his aunt Mia’s package of eight Murtlap-Essence-spiked Cauldron Cakes the following, he was startled to find -- when he bit into each one -- a word, or fragment of a word, hidden inside each one in bright red letters.

See. You. At. Hogs. Meade. Sta. Tion. Mia.

And that was how Hermia Flume started hiding messages in custom-baked treats.

~*~

Mia didn’t think about Jacob Cromwell’s out-of-place “gift” again until her father actually came across it one evening, while stuck in dog form. He’d been trying to reach a glass jar of peanut butter brittle on the kitchen counter when he’d knocked the book over, only to decide to pick it up and dutifully carry it over to his wife in his mouth when Jenie caught Ambrosius in the act.

“I reckon he thought to apologize to me, for trying to eat something he shouldn’t,” Jenie said through a faintly miffed smile as she shot Ambrosius a significant look.

The gray-and-brown whippet merely bowed his head, wagging his tail lightly. With a sigh, Jenie handed the book back to Mia.

“Anyhow, best get that back on your shelf before your father decides to tear it up...”

Reluctantly Mia took the book and headed on upstairs to bed. Feeling too restless to sleep, she instead collapsed down onto the bed, idly rifling through the pages of the pretty blue-covered book.

DEMETRIUS

O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?

Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

HERMIA

Now I but chide; but I should use thee worse,

For thou (I fear) hast given me cause to curse.

Mia gave a faintly irritable sniff, recalling Jacob’s pointed words while giving the book to her.

“I would hope you’d have seen this on stage, given your name...”

Mia had in fact not seen A Midsummer Night’s Dream on stage. How could she, when it was a Muggle play that would have no reason to be put on at Hogwarts, or the Three Broomsticks, or anywhere else within walking or Floo distance of her home in Hogsmeade village?

I’m not the sort to abandon my family for a night, just to go see a play, Mia thought resentfully.

That resentment was curdling into something much more like envy, though, despite herself. Stamping that feeling dead before she could dwell on it too long, Mia made as it to close the book.

It was as she flipped through the pages, though, that she suddenly noticed a faint glow peeking out from under them.

Blinking in surprise, Mia quickly brought up a hand and brushed the pages aside. Etched into the inside front cover was a cluster of strange letters scrawled in shiny ink, framed by a messy half-circle --

Mia’s eyes widened.

Glow-in-the-dark ink! Muggle glow-in-the-dark ink!

Of course -- she’d used a Revealing Charm before, but that was designed to reveal messages hidden by magical means. That was probably why Jacob had suggested glow-in-the-dark ink to Florean that one time -- because a non-magical method of hiding a message wouldn’t be so easy to crack!

Mia hated to admit it...but Jacob Cromwell really was brilliant.

The chocolatier stared down at the letters for a long while, trying to make sense of them. She tried to find some pattern to them, but there wasn’t one that she could easily see. They certainly didn’t seem to be an anagram for anything...

Thinking to check this, she got out of bed and headed over toward her desk next to the window so she could take out some spare parchment and a quill. She then wrote the letters down on the parchment and set about trying to rearrange the letters into something decipherable, but sure enough, it wasn’t an anagram.

Undeterred, Mia tried out to find a correlation between the letters on the page and page numbers in the book. But if there was a key anywhere in the text, she couldn’t seem to pinpoint it. Before Mia knew it, it was morning, and she was forced to work an entire shift at Honeydukes after not sleeping a wink.

The following night, Mia sent a note to Florean asking if he knew any codes she could try. He suggested the Caesar cypher, which the famous Roman emperor had apparently used to send covert military messages. Unfortunately, even after shifting the alphabet backwards and forwards multiple ways, she still couldn’t seem to crack it. Feeling at a loss, Mia sent a note to Callie, asking for her advice, before setting about skimming through a book of codes Florean had sent to help her.

The following day, Mia received Callie’s response.

Mia,

Why didn’t you TELL me Jacob had given you something?! Merlin, Mia! If I’d known he was sending you messages too, I would’ve come clean about him AGES ago!

Oh, Merlin, just forget it! You really are impossible! Anyway...

Yes, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, Jacob was the one who told me about Umbridge using a cursed quill on Potter. He sent it to me in a coded message he’d Transfigured into a record, so as to avoid prying eyes. I forget the name of the code he used -- I think it’s something Transposition? Whatever it’s called, it involves writing out a word; writing numbers under each one that correlate to the order they fall in, in the alphabet; and then writing out the letters you’ve been given under each number based on that order. He doesn’t always use the same word each time, though -- the last word he gave me was “Hogwarts.” Maybe you should try that!

Mia...I am sorry I didn’t tell you about Jacob being my informant -- but with how hostile you’ve always been toward him, you can hardly blame me for not wanting to tell you. I doubt you would’ve believed a word he said, if I’d told you...and well, he did turn out to be right after all, didn’t he?

I know you hate him, but...please, if you find out what Jacob was trying to tell you, just hear him out.

Love you,

Callie

Mia read and reread Callie’s letter several times, her frown creasing her features a bit more each time.

‘Something Transposition...’

“Accio,” she said, waving her wand toward her bed.

Summoning the book of codes Florean had sent her into her lap, Mia cracked it open and brushed through the index. When she did, she found something very promising --

Myszkowski Transposition Cipher.

Flipping through the page in question, she read up on it.

The Myszkowski Transposition Cipher is a variant of Columnar Transposition in the way it deals with recurring letters in the keyword. It was proposed by Émile Victor Théodore Myszkowski in 1902.

The same methodology as for Columnar Transposition is used, where the plaintext is written out in rows under the keyword. The only difference is that when there are repeated letters in the keyword, rather than number them from left to right, all letters must receive the same number. One would then read across columns which have the same number in the keyword.  

Start by writing out the keyword, and the alphabetical order of the letters, remembering to give repeated letters the same number. Next, divide the length of the ciphertext by the length of the keyword to work out how many rows you need to add to our grid. Then insert the ciphertext back into the grid. Start at number 1, and continue to the highest number. If the number only appears once, fill down the column. If the number appears twice, move from left to right across the columns with that number heading them.

The description matched Callie’s explanation -- this must’ve been the code Jacob had used!

But if it is, what’s the keyword I need to read the coded message?! Mia thought irritably. Damn it, Cromwell -- you put a code in this book, and then you make it bloody impossible to crack it!

With a loud, aggravated sigh, she glared down at the inside cover of A Midsummer Night’s Dream again. She moodily poked at the letters etched into it with her wand, trailing it along the half circle at the bottom.

There’s got to be some sort of clue about the word somewhere, she thought stubbornly. Could it be part of the title? ‘Dream?’ Perhaps ‘Night?’ These markings only appear at night...

It was as Mia trailed her wand along the half circle at the bottom that something clicked in her brain.

This wand movement... she realized. It’s just like the one for Reparifarge -- the untransfiguration spell!

Callie had said Jacob had transfigured his coded message to her into a record. Was this book actually -- !?

Feeling a strange burst of energy she could hardly explain, Mia pointed her wand right at the book.

“Reparifarge!”

In an instant, the book was tossed up into the air with a flash. It snapped shut, dropping back to the desk with an odd thunk -- more like a wooden box, rather than a book.

Her brows knitting together, Mia tried to open the book...and instead found that it was a faux book, with a folded letter inside its interior chamber.

Deliver the message to Hogwarts as soon as you can. Send it to the proper recipient through a third party, if you have to -- I believe you have at least one.

The word needed to unlock the message is “Phoenix.” C can explain the proper method to you.

If you want any more book recommendations in the future, I’ll pass them along.

JC

Mia’s heart was pounding against her chest. Pulling out a fresh piece of parchment, she sketched out a grid and immediately set to work on the code --

P H O E N I X

6 2 5 1 4 3 7

T E L L P O T

T E R T O N O

T G O T O H A

L L O F P R O

P H E C I E S

Mia's heart stopped.

“Tell Potter to not go to Hall of Prophecies.”

~*~

The following day Mia sent an owl to Callie, telling her to tell Jacob that she needed to talk to him about his “book recommendation.” She was not expecting him to show up to Honeydukes within the hour, looking faintly disheveled as ever in his ripped jeans and birkenstocks.

“You knew,” she confronted him as soon as he walked through the door.

Jacob offered her a cheesy grin.

“Not to brag or anything,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I know a lot of things...”

Seeing the lack of amusement in Mia’s face, Jacob immediately turned serious.

“Let’s talk somewhere more private,” he said under his breath. “I’m not the only one who thinks your chocolate’s incredible.”

He glanced significantly over at the witch wearing the balaclava in the corner, who immediately looked away so as to not be caught eavesdropping. This time, though, Mia wasn’t sure it was just for the potential gossip material -- with the truth of the Dark Lord’s return coming to light, everyone suddenly seemed more suspicious...

Mia pursed her lips, but nonetheless gave a clipped nod.

“Come on.”

She led Jacob up the stairs and then up a ladder into her family’s flat above the shop. Once she’d closed the trapdoor securely behind her, Jacob pointed the left of his two wands at it.

“Muffliato.”

A puff of light yellow light burst from Jacob’s wand, dissolving away like smoke into the wood.

“There,” he said. “Now we shouldn’t be overheard.”

He turned to Mia as he slid the wand back into his left pocket. “I suppose you got my message, then? Surprised it took you so long...”

“Well, I didn’t exactly know that you were my sister’s ‘secret informant,’” Mia said accusingly.

“Hey, I didn’t tell your sister not to tell you!” said Jacob defensively.

He strolled over to the window so he could look out, his hand sliding halfway into his pocket as he went.

“Not that I’m not touched she thought to keep my secret, mind you -- I wasn’t exactly following Dumbledore’s orders, when I leaked that stuff...”

“Dumbledore?” Mia recurred, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Wait -- so that’s where you got your information from? You were working with Dumbledore?”

“Somewhat reluctantly,” Jacob confirmed with an airy sigh. ���But as much as I hate to admit it, that shady old geezer is the only person who could stand toe to toe magically with the likes of Voldemort.”

The sound of the Dark Lord’s name made Mia flinch.

“Don’t say that name,” she said tersely.

Jacob raised an eyebrow as he considered Mia through the glass.

“What? Voldemort?”

Mia flinched again, glaring at him. Jacob, however, merely crossed his arms as he turned back around to face her.

“It’s just a name -- nothing more,” he said simply. “No more than Bob, or Jane, or Rick, or Sandy.”

“No one named Bob, Jane, Rick, or Sandy has slaughtered hundreds of people and threatens to kill even more,” Mia shot back.

“No, but I reckon old Moldy Shorts had a name just as plain and unremarkable too, before he set about terrorizing people,” Jacob said coolly. “And as much as I’ll respect anyone who prefers to be called something other than their birth name, his name is still just that -- something to be called. If he didn’t want anyone to call him Voldemort -- ” Mia tried to fight back another flinch, “ -- then I’m sure we’d still be calling him Ike or Joe or whatever the hell he was before.”

“It’s not about what he wants,” spat Mia. She was fine with Florean using the Dark Lord’s name, but he at least did it sparingly -- Jacob’s flippant repetition, as well as his open mockery of the most dangerous Dark Wizard in the world, was grating on her. “People are afraid of him and his name...so stop being such an insensitive clod and respect other people’s feelings, for once!”

Jacob frowned, looking faintly bewildered. He couldn’t conjure up a proper response before Mia railroaded him.

“Why did you give the message to me? Why not just leak it to Callie, like you did before?”

“Because Callie isn’t working in Hogsmeade village, favorite gathering spot of both the Hogwarts school staff and its students,” Jacob said plainly. “I figured you’d be much more able to sneak a message into the school itself than Callie could -- if nothing else, I gather your nephew and you are close, and he was one of those rounded up with Potter as part of Dumbledore’s Army. I just thought we’d have more time to get the message to Potter...until the end of term, at least. I mean, it took me years before I was able to use my Legilimency to connect to someone mentally inside Hogwarts’s walls...and the only reason I was able to do it was because it was my sister’s mind I’d connected to. Plus she had strong Legilimency as well. And even then, I could only keep contact with her for a very short amount of time...”

Mia did not know what Jacob was talking about. Rather than going down that rabbit hole of questions, though, she decided to stay on topic.

“But how did you know that Potter would try to go to the Hall of Prophecies?” she demanded.

Jacob’s arms tightened a bit around his chest as he once again turned to the window, his eyes drifting away up toward the cloudy sky.

“Because it’s what Voldemort -- sorry,” he added quickly, upon noticing Mia flinch again, “it’s what that mad bloke wanted Potter to do. Only he or Potter could’ve fetched what he wanted down there...and regardless of how valuable it might’ve really been in the end, old Voldie saw value in it...and he was ready to do just about anything, to get it.”

Jacob’s jaw clenched, making his expression that bit more righteously angry.

“That’s why Dumbledore, and the people he’s recruited to help him, worked so hard to try to protect it, this last year.”

Mia’s eyes widened. “...So that’s how you knew what was happening in the Ministry? You were helping Dumbledore guard whatever You-Know-Who was looking for, down in the Department of Mysteries?”

Jacob nodded. “Pip -- my little sister, I mean, Carewyn -- was able to keep me out of trouble a lot of the time I was down there. She works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you see. We used to touch base with our Legilimency throughout my ‘shifts,’ so that she’d know I was okay. After what happened to Sturgis and Bode, we couldn’t be too careful...”

Mia’s ears perked up. “Sturgis Podmore, you mean? The man who got caught sneaking into a secret room at the Ministry?”

“The man who got caught while trying to break into the Department of Mysteries under the Imperius Curse,” Jacob corrected grimly. “Just like Broderick Bode was, not long after. Lucius Malfoy’s doing, most likely -- at least, in the first’s case. The second’s, I’m not sure, though Pip said something about Rookwood once being an Unspeakable...maybe it was his idea...”

“But Dumbledore expelled you,” Mia pressed him, forcefully rerouting their conversation to where it had been, rather than letting Jacob get too off-track. “Sure, he let you take your NEWTs later, but he still expelled you. Why would he want you to join him? Why would you choose to join him, when you clearly don’t like him yourself? Why would you believe him, when almost nobody else did?”

“Why wouldn’t I believe him?” said Jacob.

His gaze drifted up onto the sky outside the glass.

“Dumbledore and I might not see eye to eye on a lot of things,” he murmured, his voice very serious despite the marked detachment in his eyes. “Quite frankly I think it’s disgusting, how he seems to think he’s in any place to make life-altering choices that affect so many people without their consent or knowledge. That’s why I wanted to tell Potter not to go to the Ministry -- because I know first-hand how hard it is to make good choices, if you don’t know what people want from you. But as soon as he said Voldemort -- sorry -- that old loser was back, I knew he was telling the truth. For all of his machinations and concerns about ‘the greater good’ over individual lives...Dumbledore would never lie, about something like this. And if old Morty was really back...well, I’m old enough to fight him this time. May as well.”

Mia was left stunned. Was this really Jacob Cromwell -- stupid, cheerful, arrogant, airhead scholar Jacob Cromwell -- talking about going off to War against the greatest Dark wizard of all time with such conviction in his voice?

“You...you really mean that when you dropped everything to return to London last year,” she said slowly, “it wasn’t just to reconnect with your family, like you told Rosmerta...it was because of this? Because you immediately knew that the Ministry of Magic had to be lying to all of us, and that You-Know-Who had to really be back?”

Was this berk really that brilliant that he could see through it all, right away? Even though this is someone stupid enough to think the best way to get me to help him smuggle a message into Hogwarts was shoving a Transfigured book into my hands and walking away?

Jacob shrugged. “Well, sure. I couldn’t leave my Pip and Mum to deal with all this on their own. I reckon you’d do the same thing, if you’d been in my shoes.”

Mia’s lips twitched with a frown.

“If I’d been in your shoes, I wouldn’t have left my family’s side at all,” she said bluntly. After a pause, she added, “...Even so...you’re right, I wouldn’t have left my family to deal with all this alone.”

Jacob smiled at her through the glass.

“I figured. Well, if you want me to keep sending you more ‘books,’ I’ll be happy to do it. We are kind of on the same side now, in all this.”

Mia crossed her arms with a huff. “Hardly.”

Even as she thought this, though, Ambrosius’s words from before Valentine’s Day came back to her.

“I’m not sure…but, well, we can’t be the only ones, to not believe the Ministry’s narrative. Who knows? Maybe if we can find those other people who see the dark clouds overhead and want to do something about it, we can put our heads together. Then maybe we’ll find some way to be of use.”

Jacob Cromwell had pointed out how much bigger the War was, compared to all of them as individuals. It was truly massive -- terrifyingly so. It had thrown Mia’s whole peaceful world out the window -- thrown the entire Wizarding World’s, sense of safety into chaos. Even Florean had said it himself, in one of his letters --

It’s hardly a wonder that people don’t know who they can trust now...

And yet Jacob had told Callie about what Umbridge had done to Potter, which also ended up being what she’d done to Olin, as well. Jacob had tried to give Mia a message for Potter himself, warning him not to go to the Department of Mysteries -- even if Dumbledore apparently hadn’t wanted Potter to know about it or about Jacob and his other supporters guarding it...

“That’s why I wanted to tell Potter not to go to the Ministry -- because I know first-hand how hard it is to make good choices, if you don’t know what people want from you...”

Mia couldn’t fathom how strange of a world she had to be in, to be in a position where she’d have to trust the likes of Jacob Cromwell...but she had to admit -- even at his most pigheaded, obnoxious, annoying, violent, and clueless, he was smart, and he was never a coward. Not like Fudge. 

Jacob did see the dark clouds overheard, and he did want to do something about it. Just like she did.

“So? What do you say?”

Mia looked up at Jacob. His posture was faintly stiff and uncertain, but his eyes were locked on his face through the glass, despite the odd tilt of his head. He seemed to be watching her with a bizarre kind of interest.

Mia's lips curled up in the very slightest, cynical smirk.

“...All right. I’ll accept your ‘book recommendations.’ But don’t think that means I like you anymore than I did before.”

Jacob grinned, thoroughly unfazed by this, as he turned around to face her properly.

“Hey, at least I won’t have to worry about you chasing me out of your family’s shop anymore!"

[carewyncromwell]

“It's a beautiful lie: It's a perfect denial -- Such a beautiful lie to believe in... So beautiful, beautiful, it makes me -- Oh! Everyone's looking at me -- I'm running around in circles --  A quiet desperation's building higher: I've got to remember this is just a game... So beautiful, beautiful...”

~“A Beautiful Lie” by 30 Seconds to Mars

x~x~x~x

Mia had always had faith in the Ministry of Magic. She really hadn’t ever been the sort to actively act out against authority, even back at school, and she generally believed that most of those who’d reached a position of authority in the Wizarding World wanted to do sincere good for their constituents. But as 1995 wore on, even Mia had to admit that Florean had had a point, that the information put out by the Daily Prophet (and by extension the Ministry of Magic) didn’t always make sense.

For one, there was Florean’s first-hand testimony regarding Harry Potter’s character. If he was truly as modest and unassuming as he’d seemed when Florean had meant him, then why was he suddenly so seemingly obsessed with getting attention? Even the quotes credited to him by Rita Skeeter in the old articles Mia had managed to scrounge up from her coverage of the Triwizard Tournament -- in retrospect -- seemed oddly theatrical. Mia had certainly never encountered a teenage boy who would admit to crying about his dead parents at night, let alone to a complete stranger.

If Olin or Skylar ever rambled about crying themselves to sleep every night, I’d be convinced they’d taken a Babbling Beverage, Mia thought to herself, thinking of her sister Tia’s two young sons. After getting chucked in the head with a miscast Confundus Charm. 

Then there was the arrest of Stugis Podmore. Mia hadn’t known the man very well at all, but according to Tia’s husband, Dirk Cresswell, he was a rather stoic, but dutiful man who’d never once been in any trouble with Law Enforcement before. Tia herself had remarked on how when she’d once had Sturgis over for tea, the man had caught Skylar in the act of trying to serve him tea in a nose-biting teacup, but merely patted the boy on the head and told him to stay out of trouble. Even Florean had had nothing but nice things to say about Sturgis -- his grandfather was apparently on very good terms with the Podmores, given their respected position in multiple departments of the Ministry. By all accounts, a man like that would have no reason at all to try to break into the Department of Mysteries -- and yet for some reason, he apparently had. Was it because he’d been framed? Or...

Then there was the troubling letters Mia received from Olin. The older of her two nephews had just started his fourth year at Hogwarts (Skylar was set to start in the fall of ‘96), but the teenager still dutifully wrote to both his mother and his favorite aunt, so as to keep them in the loop of the goings-on at school. His letters to his mother were often idealized and rosy -- with his witty, firebrand aunt, he felt more comfortable venting his frustrations. In the past the Ravenclaw boy had frequently complained to Mia about his previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors (except for Professor Lupin -- Olin had loved him), but the stories he sent along about Cornelius Fudge’s hand-picked candidate, Dolores Umbridge, made Mia cringe. 

I had my first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Umbridge today. I hate to pass judgment on someone so quickly, but...I really don’t like her. At all. I’m hoping we get to do more in our next class.

Tuesday marked yet another awful class with her Royal Toadliness, Professor Umbridge. I swear, I can’t help but feel like she’s here to watch us, more than teach us.

As for Defense Against the Dark Arts -- it’s just painful, Aunt Mia. Every class period, we do nothing but read from our textbooks, while Professor Umbridge sits behind her desk the whole time, just staring at us. Normally I wouldn’t mind reading, of course, but these textbooks are so dull! There’s so much prattling-on about how to be a ‘fine, upstanding wizard’ and ‘promote proper magical safety’ and such, and absolutely nothing practical whatsoever! No charts, no diagrams of spell movements, nothing actually useful -- just Wilbert Slinkhard talking down and lecturing us through the page like we’re a bunch of misbehaving kids! I’ve never been so frightfully bored in all my life! 

In other news, Professor Umbridge has now been named Hogwarts’s new “High Inquisitor,” which is basically a professor whose only job is to pick apart every other professor at school. The idea that a teacher as dreadful as Umbridge is taking pot shots at the likes of Professor Flitwick is just insulting. 

In regard to what Mum and Dad have heard about Umbridge -- that’s utter rubbish! I don’t know who this Percy Weasley bloke has been talking to, but Umbridge is hardly an ‘unqualified success!’ Just about everybody dreads going to her class -- the only ones who don’t are probably the fifth year Slytherins, since they get to watch her smack Potter around. I even saw him leaving detention with her the other night, holding his right hand, which looked like it was bleeding! I really hope it was nothing she did...but I hate the fact that I even have to wonder that!

P.S. This morning Filch stopped me, saying that he'd gotten a tip that I was trying to order some contraband goods from Zonko’s, and confiscated this letter, so as to bring it to Umbridge to look over. Fortunately Professor Flitwick stepped in when I chased after him, demanding he give me my letter back, and I was able to send this in peace. 

I am beside myself! In Defense Against the Dark Arts today, Umbridge remarked that we haven’t any competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, aside from her. When I rose my hand and immediately brought up Professor Lupin, she shut me down, calling him a ‘dangerous half-breed’ and saying that no one of ‘that sort’ is safe around children! Ginny Weasley snapped that she would take Professor Lupin’s ‘sort’ of teaching over hers and ended up getting detention for it, but I quite agreed with her. I don’t care that Professor Lupin was a werewolf -- he was a wonderful teacher, and the fact that him being a werewolf is all Umbridge cares about...UGH! It’s disgusting!

Umbridge is being rotten, as per usual. With this new Decree she’s put up, she’s banned all Hogwarts clubs, teams, and organizations unless they get her explicit approval! Sure, the Dragon Club’s been able to reopen again, no problem, but I heard that she almost didn’t let the Gryffindor Quidditch team reform until Professor McGonagall put her foot down. I mean, sure, it’s not my house team, but if Gryffindor wasn’t allowed to play, that would completely ruin the Quidditch Cup for everyone! And it was clearly all just because Umbridge doesn’t like Potter, the Gryffindor Seeker.

Honestly, all I’m hoping is that Father Christmas leaves a bucketful of coal in Umbridge’s stocking this year. And a letter firing her once and for all.

What worried Mia more than anything else, though, happened right after the New Year. 

The mass Azkaban breakout in January 1996 was the worst in the wizard prison’s history, up until that point. Not only did it result in ten prisoners escaping, but these prisoners were all ex-Death Eaters who’d been placed in some of the highest security cells in Azkaban: Augustus Rookwood -- Antonin Dolohov -- even Rabastian, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix Lestrange. Cornelius Fudge had told the Prophet that the Ministry suspected Sirius Black’s involvement, which Mia had to grant could be true...but she remembered that Barty Crouch Jr. -- who had originally been arrested and imprisoned for what happened to the Longbottoms, along with the Lestranges -- had been captured and his soul sucked out by a dementor, right after the Triwizard Tournament. At the time, it was supposed that he’d gone mad, acting like he was working for his old master even after he was long dead. But now...thinking of that and Sirius Black’s own unexplained escape from Azkaban, alongside these news stories of dangerous Death Eaters suddenly walking free...Mia couldn’t help but wonder if Florean had been right, to compare Fudge’s behavior to those of Ministers Fawley and Jenkins. 

“I hate to question the Minister,” Mia told her sister Tia over tea one January afternoon, “especially when I’m sure he’s doing his best...but it just seems...well, suspicious. I can’t be the only one who sees it.”

Tia put down her teacup in her lap, her green eyes (very similar to her sisters) drawn down to the gray liquid within as she considered this.

“It is troubling,” she said quietly. 

Her sweet, level voice was much more measured and methodical than Mia’s -- as if she weighed each word very carefully. 

“...Dirk has said that people are starting to whisper at work. Apparently there have been multiple cases of people receiving letters or packages through Owl Post that have already been crudely opened by persons unknown. Some cases have been traced back to open investigations by the Auror Department, but others...well, no warrant has been linked to them. Some think it could be the Department of Mysteries at work, but others worry it’s someone within the Ministry who doesn’t want to be identified, for whatever reason. Some of those letters have even come from Hogwarts that way.”

“Olin said something about Umbridge telling Filch to bring him a letter he’d written,” Mia recalled. 

Tia was startled. “What?”

“Apparently Umbridge had heard a rumor that he was ordering some kind of contraband and had asked to look over Olin’s letter to me. Fortunately Professor Flitwick stepped in before either Filch or Umbridge could read it or Olin could get in any trouble.”

Tia smiled softly, clearly relieved. “Thank the stars for Filius -- he always was so good at bringing the temperature down...” 

Her demure, lady-like face then gained a much more solemn expression. “...Oh, but that couldn’t be true, could it? If any of those opened letters were read by Dolores Umbridge -- think of what a violation of trust that would be. Among our government officials -- our student’s teachers...”

Mia’s lips knit together tightly. “...I know. Surely the Ministry could claim they have good cause, to enact such awful measures -- normally I’d be tempted to think so...but what cause could there be, if our World is not in active danger? If everything is fine, as the Minister claims?”

“Could it be because of the break-out that they’re so alarmed?” Tia pondered. “Everyone’s been so shaken by that -- I’m sure the Minister must be too...”

“But that stuff had to be going on before Tuesday, for Dirk’s coworkers to be so concerned,” said Mia. 

She put her own cup of hot water and lemon (her usual substitute for tea) down on her sister’s parlor table, her posture visibly restless. 

“Tia,” Mia said slowly, “a few months ago, Florean expressed some concerns that the Prophet might be...well, not telling the whole story.”

Tia raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What do you mean? You mean, on purpose?”

“No. At least Florean didn��t think so...”

Mia told her everything Florean had said about Harry Potter and how it didn’t match up with the Prophet’s depiction of him, as well as how Olin’s accounts about Dolores Umbridge didn’t gel with the Prophet’s view either. 

“It just doesn’t add up,” said Mia. “Harry Potter can’t simultaneously be quiet, modest, grateful, and kind and obnoxious, arrogant, deceptive, and attention-seeking. Dolores Umbridge can’t be ‘revolutionizing education’ while doing nothing but sitting in her classroom watching her students read and refusing to teach them any actual spellwork at the same time.”

She crossed her arms. 

“Florean didn’t think the Daily Prophet was getting things wrong on purpose, but I’m...I’m not so sure. It almost feels like the Prophet isn’t writing what’s true -- but rather writing good or bad about people solely based on who agrees with Fudge and who doesn’t.”

Her pink lips twisted into a troubled frown, Tia put down her own cup of tea and reached out to take hold of her sister’s arm. 

“Do you really think it’s as bad as that, Mia?” she asked softly. 

Mia looked down. “I don’t want to think so, but...”

Her eyes welled up with anxiety as she looked back up at Tia.

“Tia, if it is true, then how do we believe anything they write? How do we believe the Ministry has things under control, or that Hogwarts is in good hands? How do we know...?”

How do we know You-Know-Who isn’t really back...?

She choked on the end of the question, unable to finish. 

Tia squeezed her sister’s arm gently.

“Maybe we should talk to Callie about this,” she suggested. “She works for the WWN -- maybe she’ll have heard something...”

“All of Callie’s ‘interviews’ are utter fluff -- what good could come of that?” Mia muttered. 

“Not all of them,” Tia pointed out. “Remember, she had Jacob Cromwell on about the Chamber of Secrets, several years back...”

Mia scowled. Jacob Cromwell’s name was like an irritable fly, continuously getting in her face. 

Tia offered her younger sister a softer smile.

“Mia...I know you and Callie don’t always get on, and I know you’re still mad about her giving Jacob Cromwell a second chance...but family comes first. I know you believe this as much as anyone.”

She gave her arm another light squeeze.

“We have to find out the truth from somewhere,” Tia said earnestly. “Maybe Callie will have heard something through the grapevine of where to get actual information, about these goings-on. If something is happening, behind the scenes...” her eyes darkened with anxiety, “...then Dirk and I have to make preparations -- to protect the boys.”

“We’d all have to make preparations,” Mia agreed. 

Dad wouldn’t be in any fit state to fight off anyone who might be a threat. If these Death Eaters on the loose are running wild...

Mia exhaled softly through her nose. 

“Okay, I’ll ask her.”

Hopefully she’ll refrain from gushing even more about Jacob Cromwell within my earshot.

[kathrynalicemc]

YESSSS!!! You did such a good job on the cipher!! I think you are the only person who has figured out how it works 😂 Love this! Also I’m so mad I didn’t think of something as simple and brilliant as glow in the dark ink

“Now is the time to seize the day. Stare down the odds and seize the day. Once we’ve begun, if we stand as one, Someday becomes somehow, And the prayer becomes a vow, And the strike starts right damn now!”

~“Seize the Day” from Newsies (musical)

x~x~x~x

referencing a code later used by the Phoenix Resistance @kathrynalicemc​

x~x~x~x

On June 19, 1996, Hogsmeade village was notably quiet. No one seemed to have the heart to do any shopping after the blockbuster Evening Prophet reporting the true state of affairs, and truly, none of the Flumes had much heart to push their wares that day either. Mia had never seen her parents looking so pale and withdrawn in her life – all she could do was quietly mix up some spiced hot chocolate for them, in an attempt to bring some color back to their cheeks.

Mia wrote dozens of letters over the course of the next week. Most of them were to Florean – they’d mutually agreed to write to each other every morning and evening, just to “check in” and make sure the other was safe both before going about their day and going to bed.

Dad “forgot himself” again today. Fortunately he was back to himself in a few hours, after sitting with Mum and me on the couch listening to Callie’s broadcast on WWN. He said hearing Callie’s usual sign-off – “Until next time, keep your head up, a smile on, and your hand on that dial” – helped bring him back to earth.

Diagon Alley was very gray today here as well. I can hardly recall a time when my neighbors looked upon me with so much distrust. But then again, even during the First War, the Ministry merely tried to urge calm, not actively promote disinformation. It’s hardly a wonder that people don’t know who they can trust now…

Mail-order sales of chocolate have been skyrocketing lately. I suppose people want something sweet to distract themselves from everything, even if they still feel too unsafe to come into shop themselves.

Your old “friend” Jacob Cromwell stopped into my shop today for some chocolate chip ice cream. I know you dislike the man, but truly, he seems to have really grown up since you knew him at school. He even suggested I could use Muggle glow-in-the-dark ink to write letters in, if I was afraid about my letters getting read by the wrong people.

The other person Mia received lots of letters from, though, was Olin. With the removal of Umbridge, his mail wasn’t being actively watched anymore, and Olin took full advantage of it, writing more emotionally charged letters than ever to his aunt.

Dumbledore came back as Headmaster today! Oh, Aunt Mia, I’ve never been more happy to see him in all my life!

That rotten toad Umbridge has been stuck in the Hospital Wing for the last few days, supposedly in a state of shock after a confrontation with the Forbidden Forest‘s centaur herd. Given her disgusting attitude toward “half-breeds,” I’d be tempted to say she had it coming, if it weren’t for how much I know Mum wouldn’t approve of me saying so.

First of all, to reassure both you and Mum, no, Dumbledore’s Army was not an actual army. (How anyone could really think that is beyond me!) It was an organization Potter and his friends made so that we could really learn how to defend ourselves against the Dark Arts, since Umbridge wouldn’t teach us anything useful in class. “Dumbledore’s Army” is just the name Ginny Weasley suggested for us, kind of as a backhanded joke against old Minister Fudging-the-Truth. We never thought Dumbledore would use it as an excuse to shield Potter from getting expelled or arrested!

As for Umbridge’s quills…yeah, it’s true. Please don’t tell Mum and Dad, though – I don’t want to upset them.

Aunt Mia, I hate to ask this, but could you send along some murtlap essence, with your next package? My hand is still hurting from the last detention I had with Umbridge, but I really don’t want to worry Mum and Dad.

I’ve always loved school, but…Merlin, the end of this term truly can’t come soon enough! Not being able to talk with you openly, or talk to Mum, Dad, and Skylar…it’s been so hard.

It was this sentiment especially that worried Mia. Sure, with Umbridge gone, Olin wouldn’t have anyone actively censoring his mail at Hogwarts anymore…but like or not, anything they tried to send each other could still be intercepted. This was made all the more clear to Mia when Callie fumed to her later that week about one of her WWN broadcasts being halted before it could make it to the airwaves.

“I sent in a report about Brockton Bridge being blown up specifically to try to warn the public, but our oh-so-wise Ministry leaders apparently decided that it’d be best not to discuss it until they could put out a proper press release about it!” Callie said heatedly. “‘Proper press release,’ my foot – they just wanted to protect their own image by making it look like they’re doing something – ”

In the past, Mia might’ve tried to defend such a decision with the justification that the Ministry didn’t want the rest of the Wizarding World to panic. Now, all the knowledge did was make her angrier and more worried than ever.

She needed a way to make sure any more sensitive messages she might send would get through, to the people she cared about. But how?

Mia contemplated this matter for a long time while mixing some murlap essence into the Cauldron Cake batter she was working on for Olin. Sampling it off the mixing spoon, she frowned and added in a cup of milk and some sugar. 

Florean had brought up glow-in-the-dark ink in his letter – admittedly because of an interaction with Jacob Cromwell, Mia remembered sourly. Even so, though, the idea of hiding a secret message inside a fake one sparked an idea in her, all the same.

It’s a lot like these Cauldron Cakes, she thought, glancing down at the cakes she was making. They look just like ordinary, delicious Cakes on the outside – but in truth, they’re mixed in with murtlap essence, to promote quick healing alongside the invigorating benefits inherit to chocolate.

Some gears started turning in Mia’s brain as she considered the Cauldron Cake molds she’d left beside her on the counter. Then, very slowly, her mouth curled up in a broad smile, and she summoned a new mixing bowl, partitioning out some of her batter so that she could then change it a bright shade of red with a flick of her wand.

When Olin unwrapped his aunt Mia’s package of eight Murtlap-Essence-spiked Cauldron Cakes the following, he was startled to find – when he bit into each one – a word, or fragment of a word, hidden inside each one in bright red letters.

See. You. At. Hogs. Meade. Sta. Tion. Mia.

And that was how Hermia Flume started hiding messages in custom-baked treats.

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[catohphm]

As much as Order of the Phoenix is my favorite part of the original Harry Potter saga, it's impossible to not ignore the consequences of the Ministry government sinking deep into the personal affairs of Hogwarts students and the school curriculum.

Last night I watched a film from 1993 called Demolition Man set in a futuristic Southern California where all crime seemingly has been crushed but in a way where the lives of everyday citizens are closely monitored and sanctioned not unlike in Hogwarts under the control of Umbridge.

Olin being forced to write in a way that didn't break her oppressive rules struck her the most and I hope he'll be okay. This story echoes a lot of what tends to happen in real life too, like in Demolition Man. Very good work Tory @carewyncromwell!

“Tell me, what has become of my rights? Am I invisible ‘cause you ignore me? Your proclamation promised me free liberty, now… I’m tired of bein’ the victim of shame – They’re throwin’ me in a class with a bad name! I can’t believe this is the land from which I came! You know I really do hate to say it… The government don’t wanna see, But if Roosevelt was livin’, he wouldn’t let this be, no, no!”

~“They Don’t Really Care About Us” by Michael Jackson

x~x~x~x

The day before Valentine’s Day 1996, Mia Flume finally came to grips with the horrible thought that Cornelius Fudge – Minister for Magic and leader of the British Wizarding World – was actively trying to cover up the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, all for the sake of his own personal ambitions. As the year wore on, Mia became more and more convinced that it was true…and to make matters worse, Fudge’s chosen representative, Dolores Umbridge, was making life hell for the students of Hogwarts.

Mia first heard about Dumbledore having to flee the school for supposedly organizing an illegal student “army” to rise up against the Ministry from Madame Rosmerta. It honestly sounded like the most outlandish thing in the world – something that she couldn’t believe anyone sane would believe. Yet Fudge sure seemed to believe it – and so Dumbledore was now on the run, a wanted man, and Dolores Umbridge had been named Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And one of the things she did first was punish the students who had supposedly joined “Dumbledore’s Army” – one of whom, Mia was horrified to hear from her older sister Tia, was her fourteen-year-old nephew, Olin!

Both Tia and Mia sent Olin several letters questioning the validity of what they’d heard, but to their dismay, they received no letters in response. Instead Umbridge went to paid a visit to Tia and Dirk herself, where she asked them many pointed questions and even oddly vaguely threatening comments.

“Your son is very bright, Ms. Cresswell,” Umbridge said in honeyed tones. “It’s not unlikely to presume he wishes to join the Ministry like his father someday, yes?”

Tia tried to keep her head high, but Umbridge’s overly sweet attitude was making her uneasy for a reason she couldn’t quite explain.

“…He hasn’t quite decided yet,” she confessed. “He’s always wanted to play Quidditch professionally, before…but recently, he’s expressed some interest in working in the Being division as an advocate…”

Something oddly cold flickered through Umbridge’s eyes. Knowing immediately that his wife had said the wrong thing, Dirk quickly brought a hand onto Tia’s and gave it a supportive squeeze.

“We shall support our son in anything he chooses to do with his life,” Dirk said very firmly, his eyes narrowing.

“Not aligning himself with traitors, I hope, Cresswell,” Umbridge said, her sweet tone twinged with something much more poisonous. “It would be a shame to see a man like you lose the Minister’s good graces, the way your son has his new Headmistress’s.”

Umbridge then put on a much more fake smile.

“…Fortunately your son has been diligently working to re-earn my favor in his detentions with me. I’m certain he’ll completely overcome this rebellious phase…especially with your guiding influence, as his parents.”

“We might guide Olin more easily if we knew our letters were getting through to him,” Dirk said, a bit of temper squeaking out of him despite himself.

Tia squeezed her husband’s hand, her face much more anxious upon Umbridge. “We haven’t heard from Olin in over a week now…please, Headmistress, I just want to hear from my son…”

“Of course, Ms. Cresswell – of course you do,” said Umbridge. She gave Tia an insincere pat to the shoulder. “That’s something any mother should want. But sadly, children are very selfish creatures – prone to keep things to themselves…especially any misbehavior. Sometimes they just go quiet, rather than admit they’ve done wrong…”

Dirk opened his mouth to speak, but Umbridge silenced him with a look.

“Not to worry,” she said with another sugary sweet smile. “When your boy is ready to speak to you, I promise you, I’ll make absolutely sure that his letters reach you.”

When Umbridge left, Tia actually burst into tears. Dirk ended up contacting Mia and Callie himself via Floo Powder, and when they met up at the Cresswell home, he was clearly beside himself.

“Olin would not just go quiet like this,” he said fiercely. “He would never worry his mother this way…”

“Worry us this way,” Mia interjected in agreement. “Olin always writes back to me, when I write to him, and always on the same day. This is not normal.”

Dirk slid his pipe into his mouth, giving it an anxious puff.

“His mail must be getting intercepted before it can reach us,” he muttered, “but if so…Merlin, what state must he be in now? Hogwarts was always safe, with Dumbledore in charge…”

He whirled on his youngest sister-in-law. “Callie, you have contacts at the radio station – surely one of them knows what the deal is behind this ‘Dumbledore’s Army?’”

Callie looked unusually gloomy as she bowed her head. “Not really. No one who was in Dumbledore’s office that day has been very open about it…and everyone else…well, they’re just following the party line Fudge has been circulating. The whole Ministry’s really clammed up, lately.”

“Because of that interview you did with the Junior Undersecretary?” asked Mia.

Callie crossed her arms moodily.

“The boss even brought me into his office yesterday to scold me,” she grumbled. “Said I was too ‘hard-ball’ with Weasley, when I asked him about that rumor that Umbridge made Potter write with a cursed quill, during one of his detentions with her…”

The idea that Olin might’ve likewise been put through that in his detentions with Umbridge made Tia cover her face again, trying to hold in a fresh round of tears. Dirk’s jaw clenched as he brought an arm around his wife and squeezed her against his side.

“The broadcast was cut short, but trust me – Weasley looked like he’d seen a ghost,” Callie said resentfully. “I don’t know whether it’s because he didn’t know about it at all or he just didn’t know I’d know about it…but either way, he didn’t even try to deny it or defend Umbridge’s character. I frankly don’t think he can.”

“How could he?” said Mia. “From the sound of it, not even the Ministry was aware Umbridge had quills like that. Where did you even hear that rumor in the first place?”

“A new informant of mine,” said Callie lightly.

When Mia raised her eyebrows, all traces of humor from Callie’s face faded immediately, and she crossed her arms.

“Ah, ah, don’t you dare ask!” she scolded her older sister in a tone rather akin to a huffy teenager. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?” Mia recurred, her features creased with suspicion.

“Of course,” Callie said defensively. “I mean…he’s got contacts at both the Ministry and Hogwarts. The staffs of which I’m quite sure have no idea he’s been sending me messages.”

“True,” said Dirk. “Any Ministry employee could face severe consequences for being so open with the press…the professors too, now that Umbridge is in charge…”

Mia had to admit Dirk was right. She nodded in agreement.

“Well, if your new informant can tell us what really happened, Callie,” said Dirk, as he squeezed Tia gently against his side, “we would both be very grateful.”

Tia sniffled miserably.

“My son wouldn’t cause trouble for no reason,” she whimpered. “He’s a good boy…”

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[catohphm]

You're so right about Umbridge, she rightfully deserves to have coal in her stocking for Christmas! To make it a step further, maybe the coal is cheap, low quality? 😂

“It’s a beautiful lie: It’s a perfect denial – Such a beautiful lie to believe in… So beautiful, beautiful, it makes me – Oh! Everyone’s looking at me – I’m running around in circles –  A quiet desperation’s building higher: I’ve got to remember this is just a game… So beautiful, beautiful…”

~“A Beautiful Lie” by 30 Seconds to Mars

x~x~x~x

Mia had always had faith in the Ministry of Magic. She really hadn’t ever been the sort to actively act out against authority, even back at school, and she generally believed that most of those who’d reached a position of authority in the Wizarding World wanted to do sincere good for their constituents. But as 1995 wore on, even Mia had to admit that Florean had had a point, that the information put out by the Daily Prophet (and by extension the Ministry of Magic) didn’t always make sense.

For one, there was Florean’s first-hand testimony regarding Harry Potter’s character. If he was truly as modest and unassuming as he’d seemed when Florean had meant him, then why was he suddenly so seemingly obsessed with getting attention? Even the quotes credited to him by Rita Skeeter in the old articles Mia had managed to scrounge up from her coverage of the Triwizard Tournament – in retrospect – seemed oddly theatrical. Mia had certainly never encountered a teenage boy who would admit to crying about his dead parents at night, let alone to a complete stranger.

If Olin or Skylar ever rambled about crying themselves to sleep every night, I’d be convinced they’d taken a Babbling Beverage, Mia thought to herself, thinking of her sister Tia’s two young sons. After getting chucked in the head with a miscast Confundus Charm. 

Then there was the arrest of Stugis Podmore. Mia hadn’t known the man very well at all, but according to Tia’s husband, Dirk Cresswell, he was a rather stoic, but dutiful man who’d never once been in any trouble with Law Enforcement before. Tia herself had remarked on how when she’d once had Sturgis over for tea, the man had caught Skylar in the act of trying to serve him tea in a nose-biting teacup, but merely patted the boy on the head and told him to stay out of trouble. Even Florean had had nothing but nice things to say about Sturgis – his grandfather was apparently on very good terms with the Podmores, given their respected position in multiple departments of the Ministry. By all accounts, a man like that would have no reason at all to try to break into the Department of Mysteries – and yet for some reason, he apparently had. Was it because he’d been framed? Or…

Then there was the troubling letters Mia received from Olin. The older of her two nephews had just started his fourth year at Hogwarts (Skylar was set to start in the fall of ‘96), but the teenager still dutifully wrote to both his mother and his favorite aunt, so as to keep them in the loop of the goings-on at school. His letters to his mother were often idealized and rosy – with his witty, firebrand aunt, he felt more comfortable venting his frustrations. In the past the Ravenclaw boy had frequently complained to Mia about his previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors (except for Professor Lupin – Olin had loved him), but the stories he sent along about Cornelius Fudge’s hand-picked candidate, Dolores Umbridge, made Mia cringe. 

I had my first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Umbridge today. I hate to pass judgment on someone so quickly, but…I really don’t like her. At all. I’m hoping we get to do more in our next class.

Tuesday marked yet another awful class with her Royal Toadliness, Professor Umbridge. I swear, I can’t help but feel like she’s here to watch us, more than teach us.

As for Defense Against the Dark Arts – it’s just painful, Aunt Mia. Every class period, we do nothing but read from our textbooks, while Professor Umbridge sits behind her desk the whole time, just staring at us. Normally I wouldn’t mind reading, of course, but these textbooks are so dull! There’s so much prattling-on about how to be a ‘fine, upstanding wizard’ and ‘promote proper magical safety’ and such, and absolutely nothing practical whatsoever! No charts, no diagrams of spell movements, nothing actually useful – just Wilbert Slinkhard talking down and lecturing us through the page like we’re a bunch of misbehaving kids! I’ve never been so frightfully bored in all my life! 

In other news, Professor Umbridge has now been named Hogwarts’s new “High Inquisitor,” which is basically a professor whose only job is to pick apart every other professor at school. The idea that a teacher as dreadful as Umbridge is taking pot shots at the likes of Professor Flitwick is just insulting. 

In regard to what Mum and Dad have heard about Umbridge – that’s utter rubbish! I don’t know who this Percy Weasley bloke has been talking to, but Umbridge is hardly an ‘unqualified success!’ Just about everybody dreads going to her class – the only ones who don’t are probably the fifth year Slytherins, since they get to watch her smack Potter around. I even saw him leaving detention with her the other night, holding his right hand, which looked like it was bleeding! I really hope it was nothing she did…but I hate the fact that I even have to wonder that!

P.S. This morning Filch stopped me, saying that he’d gotten a tip that I was trying to order some contraband goods from Zonko’s, and confiscated this letter, so as to bring it to Umbridge to look over. Fortunately Professor Flitwick stepped in when I chased after him, demanding he give me my letter back, and I was able to send this in peace. 

I am beside myself! In Defense Against the Dark Arts today, Umbridge remarked that we haven’t any competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, aside from her. When I rose my hand and immediately brought up Professor Lupin, she shut me down, calling him a ‘dangerous half-breed’ and saying that no one of ‘that sort’ is safe around children! Ginny Weasley snapped that she would take Professor Lupin’s ‘sort’ of teaching over hers and ended up getting detention for it, but I quite agreed with her. I don’t care that Professor Lupin was a werewolf – he was a wonderful teacher, and the fact that him being a werewolf is all Umbridge cares about…UGH! It’s disgusting!

Umbridge is being rotten, as per usual. With this new Decree she’s put up, she’s banned all Hogwarts clubs, teams, and organizations unless they get her explicit approval! Sure, the Dragon Club’s been able to reopen again, no problem, but I heard that she almost didn’t let the Gryffindor Quidditch team reform until Professor McGonagall put her foot down. I mean, sure, it’s not my house team, but if Gryffindor wasn’t allowed to play, that would completely ruin the Quidditch Cup for everyone! And it was clearly all just because Umbridge doesn’t like Potter, the Gryffindor Seeker.

Honestly, all I’m hoping is that Father Christmas leaves a bucketful of coal in Umbridge’s stocking this year. And a letter firing her once and for all.

What worried Mia more than anything else, though, happened right after the New Year. 

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