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jmwdoesthings · 7 months ago

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Unravelling Umbridge: Part 2

In which plans are made, Luna Lovegood unwittingly gets the better of Snape, and Fred and George Weasley are about to be caught completely off guard.

(Part 1 is on my blog :)

Featuring: Madame Rosmerta, Snape's pink cheeks, two fat nifflers and McGonagall as a cat.

Disclaimer: No pairings! This is a Hogwarts Professors being chaos fic. Everything is nice and proper (as it should be).

Enjoy!

***

The Three Broomsticks were relatively empty during the dark hours of after-student curfew: after ten. The hour was half-past, fires blazed in their places and the inn was as toasty as it could be on a chilly September night. The faint babble of chatter and clinking of glass coming from the kitchen and the bar was like honey in the ears of the two teachers sitting in the corner of the inn, after a whole day of shouting and chaos in the classrooms and common rooms.

Madame Rosmerta smiled as she wove her way across to the two of them, a glass of gillywater and Ogden’s upon her tray.

“Hello, Minerva, Professor Snape,” she said, with a little wink at the latter. “What brings you here on a late Monday evening?”

Severus Snape started at the wink, then averted his eyes from the pretty lady and instead grasped his glass of whisky. Minerva McGonagall spied a very faint tinge of pink upon his cheekbones and barely kept her face under control.

“Nothing much, Rosmerta,” she replied with a faint smile. “We have some marking business to discuss. It’s a lot more peaceful here, away from the students… and I daresay not much can happen when everybody is asleep.”

Severus inclined his head a fraction as a way of contributing to the conversation.

“I won’t interrupt you then,” Rosmerta replied with an eye-roll and smile. “I’d rather not get involved with such dark business.”

“Very wise,” McGonagall replied. “Thank you, dear.”

There was a moment’s pause during which both Heads sipped their drinks and fixed their eyes on the table, as Madame Rosmerta made her way back to the bar. Snape sighed faintly.

“Your cheeks are red,” Minerva said, not looking up. Severus didn’t retort, though he had to clear his throat quite thoroughly after swallowing.

“A lot of things can happen when everybody’s asleep, professor,” he replied stonily once he regained his breath. “Let’s talk quickly and return.”

Minerva put down her glass and folded her hands, placing her head upon them. “Let us do that. You are aware, perhaps, that Dolores is fond of cats?”

Severus’ eyes were directed to her as he swallowed his Ogden’s and stayed there as he put his glass down.

“Cats.”

McGonagall smiled at his baffled tone and expression - the latter was a very peculiar one, for his eyebrows always formed a low, straight line and his eyes narrowed along with his mouth, so he looked as though he had just swallowed an amphibian - and inclined her head, her glasses flashing peculiarly in the light of the candles above them.

“Indeed. She’s really fond of kittens. Have you been in her office, yet?”

He scoffed. “I am yet to experience that pleasure.”

“Oh, you’ll absolutely love it,” she said, recalling her own disgust after she had set foot in it after an invitation. She had almost been surprised that her clothes hadn’t turned pink from exposure. “But all in good time.”

She pulled out the piece of parchment she had drawn up in her office and splayed it out onto the table. Snape leaned over, studied it, then turned his eyes onto her.

“This is just a print of a cat,” he observed, doubt and severe judgement lining his tone.

“That’s right.”

He studied his older counterpart for a few moments longer, but when she gave no answer, he grimaced. “Would you care to enlighten me, Professor?”

“With pleasure,” McGonagall replied, unmistakably smiling now. “You see, Severus… Dolores is fond of cats.”

“Yes, that we have already established.”

“And I, Professor Snape, am an animagus. More precisely…”

She ran a weathered finger over the rim of her glass, her grey eyes flashing with something which made Severus slightly uncomfortable. He had seen this gleam in the eyes of Gryffindor students fairly often when they were intent on acting up in his lessons; it usually meant they were about to toss things across the classroom into one another’s cauldrons, or something that was equally insipid.

“...I am perfectly capable of turning into a cat at leisure.”

Severus Snape’s face did not change, but as he reached for his whisky, his eyebrows crept upwards onto their highest step. The two Heads stared at one another for one long moment, both their eyes now gleaming, after which Severus put down his glass and inclined his head, slightly begrudgingly.

“I must admit that you, Minerva, are full of surprises.”

“My.” She chuckled. “Was that a compliment?”

“I’m disgusted with myself too.”

“A compliment,” she repeated. “From you?”

Severus looked at her long and hard, then shrugged. “You sound astonished. As though I rarely give out compliments, professor. I will have you know that nobody is as generous in their bestowment as I am.”

Minerva humphed, then rolled the parchment up and carefully set it on fire.

“I should give Slytherin a few points just for the sake of it,” she murmured, tilting the parchment with her wand, as it disintegrated above the table. “Perhaps one or two.”

Snape didn’t look impressed, but something of a smile still lingered on his features.

“I am no longer an adolescent, professor.”

“Nonsense. Unfortunately for you…” McGonagall made a little sound of satisfaction as the rest of the parchment vanished, then turned back to him. “You’ll never be a day over fifteen, for this old crone.”

Severus watched this old crone wriggle on her chair for half a second before emptying her glass, revealing as much excitement as her own stiff person perhaps would ever allow itself to, then returned to his usual stony expression after a moment and scoffed.

“I would hate to be in your place, professor,” he said, imagining short, square, flabby fingers with pink nails before him, magnified from a feline’s perspective. “Though, tell me, what exactly do you plan on doing when you enter that disgusting hellscape of magenta and primrose?” He spat out the last three words. “Are you really going to let that woman cluck and coo at you, perhaps even scratch you behind the ears?”

His lips curled upwards and black eyes began to glint.

“I suppose that would be quite a poke at your dignity. The Head of Gryffindor in such a precarious position? Hm. I reckon you would be giving her a piece of your mind with your steel claws before you could stop yourself, but then the whole plan would be ruined.”

“You would be right.” McGonagall sniffed, no longer liking this turn of events. “Yet I am willing to put it to the side for the greater good, Severus.”

She sent him a pointed glance from behind her spectacles. He rolled his eyes and finished his drink.

“It is a very good idea,” he admitted, placing the glass down with a thunk. “I assume it is to gather more information than we are aware about. Perhaps she hides some strange letters of correspondence in her desk, or something equally vile.”

“Not my thoughts exactly, but whilst I am there, it would not do any harm to sniff around.”

Minerva placed her glass in the middle of the table, neatly. “However, it will not happen straight away, perhaps not even this week. The first few are always the most chaotic. Let us wait until everybody settles down, back into routine… or as much into routine as it can be, with the changes our subject of discussion has so boldly introduced this new order of things… before disturbing it”

They stood; Severus drew a finger over the surface of the table, then turned to Minerva.

“I expect to be informed as soon as you make your first venture, professor.”

“You will be the first,” she replied, as they made their way out of the inn, “and probably the only person who I will inform about this. Stay sharp. And Severus,” she added, looking back at him. “If you are so interested, why don’t you tell Rosmerta directly, instead of being so pathetically discreet? It’s incensing.”

Snape scoffed and averted his eyes from the white smile flashing from over by the bar, surrounded by a cloud of blonde curls, hastily.

“Don’t make me laugh, professor,” he muttered. “Interested. As if.”

Then he stepped past her and stormed out of the inn with his fists clenched and his dark cloak billowing.

And so the wait began, though nobody who observed the Potions Master would have thought that he was waiting for anything, for his masks of indifference were so close to perfect that everybody was convinced that Severus Snape was simply living his best life, or at least as close as it could get to that in present circumstances.

In fact, the Head of Slytherin and the Head of Gryffindor hardly spoke to one another at all that week, though they sat next to one another during meals to oversee the miserable silence in which meals were now spent. Both, however, had the pleasure of not sharing the company of Dolores Umbridge directly, who had taken to sitting next to Dumbledore and bestowing her little observations and ‘hem hems’ onto him. Since Albus was so polite as to never reveal what (as everybody was convinced) he really thought of her presence, he was the one who was suffering at large, running his fingers through his beard, his eyes rather solemn behind his half-moon spectacles though his mouth was always politely smiling and baffling Frog Pinky with stories - which most of the staff had heard before and chuckled at, since they were always told with that in mind - which verged on nonsensical.

Sometimes during these meals, Snape would glance at his colleague, who would return his glance without as much as an inclination of her head, and he would understand that it was yet to happen. He didn’t complain, nor grow more impatient, for he had far too much to do in his own time and his temper was put to the test on many occasions anyway, especially when teaching the fifth years, since Potter and his hilarious camaraderie didn’t have any less nonsense in their heads and twice the usual vigour to bring it into his life this year.

None of that put him on edge in the sense that he dreaded, however. Since Severus operated mainly on logic and common sense, he knew there was no way that anybody but his house rival knew of their conspiracy, and so he had no reason to be - and was not - nervous. Nor was he expecting any sort of confrontation with the amphibious, bureaucracy-hailing blob of magenta which terrorised students with greater ease than he did, regardless of the fact that he was almost double her height.

Confrontation did not come, but eavesdropping did, though it was entirely unintentional. Severus was returning from the staff room after lunch break when upon turning the corner and a suit of armour to where the DADA office stood, he encountered the despised Miss Bufotes-Roseaus at her office door, deep in conversation with Argus Filch.

“I’m telling you, Mr Filch, it was a very pretty little cat, grey, with little black markings on its face. I’m sure you must have seen it before… you do have such a sweet little creature yourself.”

Severus stopped, then receded back behind the corner, into its shadows, and hid behind the suit of armour. From this position, he was almost impossible to see, for there were few windows on this corridor and his clothes were as black as the shadows sticking to the walls, so logic dictated that he ought to listen and collect as much information as possible for the good of the Slytherin-Gryffindor truce, before making his way back. He watched Filch shaking his balding, old head.

“Can’t say I’ve seen it before, professor, but that wouldn’t be the first time Hogwarts has attracted such creatures. I’ve shooed many away on such an occasion myself… my cat is allergic to others of its species, I’m afraid.”

“Well, please be sure to let this one walk around as it pleases, Mr Filch,” Umbridge said with a nod. “I think it’s taken quite a liking to me, and I’ve come to be fond of it myself.”

Severus hardly restrained himself from snorting aloud, though his lip did twitch at the image brought before him of this woman cooing over a po-faced, stiff-backed Minerva-the-cat. He owed his colleague for making him laugh, he thought - it wasn’t a common occurrence and he prized it. But then the conversation turned, and they began to speak of something different, something which had rather the opposite effect on him.

“Tell me, Mr Filch,” Toadus Pinkus began in her sickening sing-song. “What do you think of the professors here?”

Filch pushed out his lips as he thought. “That depends upon what grounds.”

“Why, teaching, of course!” came the reply. “And their beliefs. Those are important qualities, the most important qualities a professor can have. After all, they unknowingly bestow their views and upbringing upon the ones who they teach, and in a world as this one…”

“I see, I see,” Filch said, frowning as he searched in that knock-hollow head he carried on his dowager-humped shoulders. “I suppose most of them are quite good, Professor Umbridge.”

“Hm. Have you ever partook in any recent Care of Magical Creatures lessons, Mr Filch?”

Snape didn’t quite know why, but his fist tightened into the fold of his robes where was currently holding them. Filch nodded.

“I have, actually. I myself have helped with amassing some creatures Mr Hagrid had gotten ready for the lessons.”

“And are they fully approvable? The lessons?”

Filch hesitated. Severus could almost see his little brain working. Umbridge filled the care-taker in.

“They follow the Ministry curriculum? Does he communicate on an acceptable standard?”

Filch frowned; Severus felt his temper rising up like fiery bile from his lungs and into his head.

“Why, I suppose he does…” Filch scratched his chin. “I’m hardly ever there, really. I couldn’t really tell you, professor. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

“A good idea, Mr Filch.” Severus could see the toad smile, as she adjusted the pink bows stuck to the side of her head. “Your domain is mainly the castle corridors, I assume?”

“That’s right.”

“So you know how the other professors do, I suppose.”

“I’ve seen this and that.”

“What about… hm, the dark, unpleasant-looking man. Severus Snape, I believe his name was. Thin, with a crooked nose, surly expression?”

Snape barely repressed a scoff. They could laugh at him if they wished to, he thought, for he was immune to such abominable slighting and often did some of his own in his head, though his slighting was directed at others too.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him, Professor Umbridge,” Filch waved his hand with a snort. “The students get on quite alright in his lessons, that’s without a doubt. In fact, I often find myself wishing other teachers would take a leaf out of his book.”

“Hm. Indeed,” Umbridge hummed again. “And the old woman?”

Severus felt the veins in his neck begin to grow hot. He held his breath, expecting more. Filch frowned again.

“Old woman?”

“Yes. I believe McGonagall was her name.”

“Oh!” Filch nodded, then lowered his voice and flicked his eyes around the corridor nervously. “I cannot complain about Professor McGonagall! She’s taught at Hogwarts long before I walked its halls, professor, and from what I’ve seen she has not a single fault in her teaching. A very good witch. Doesn’t quite believe in punishing students as they ought to be, however. A shame, if you ask me.”

“Indeed,” Umbridge pursed her thick lips. “It seems to me that she’s a little too above herself.”

Ha, Severus thought, not even realising he was running his fingers along the smooth material of his wand in his sleeve, does she now.

Filch merely inclined his head at this, but kept silent.

“As though she owns the place,” Umbridge continued. “Perhaps she fancies herself the Headmistress, one day. Quite a prolonged goal, if that’s the case… she must be almost at the end of her life, and she’s spent most of it here, from what I’ve heard… She doesn’t have long to realise it.”

Severus slowly drew out his wand.

“Why, she has,” Filch said.

“A rather sad one… but, that’s simply how life is. It’s not fair, as we both know, Mr Filch, life. Some people amount to greatness, some people…” She sighed, looking pitifully at probably an invisible McGonagall beside them. “Well, they contribute something to the world, but nothing of significance.”

Severus’ hand didn’t tremble as he lifted it, as he saw black and red, his lungs constricted, fire in his veins, pointing the tip of his wand at Umbridge. Fury only increased precision and potency in his spells.

“Some people are simply good enough to be turned into dust,” he found himself murmuring as he took a step back, readying himself, “and that’s the best thing they can hope to amount to… as do the people around them.”

He was about to flick his wrist; just about to hiss out something uncontrollable in the pit of his mind and step back, when something rustled behind him and he froze, shooting a look over his shoulder, his heart stumbling in its thudding plunge from fury to shock.

Two unnaturally-huge, silvery-blue eyes stared up at him, standing a mere two steps away from where he hid. Severus recognised this student; he would be a fool not to, for she stood out with her crazy ornaments, jewellery and distinct bolt-crazy habits. At present, she was clutching a stack of magazines with a pair of strange goggles on her forehead which pressed down her platinum-blonde locks and she was looking at him without a hint of trepidation or concern in her expression.

“Please carry on, professor,” Luna Lovegood murmured dreamily. “I just wanted to watch.”

Severus would have never admitted it, but he felt a strange shudder roll through him which pulled at his nerves. He was uneasy; only for a few moments, however.

He stepped out from behind the suit of armour and retreated back around the corner to where Lovegood stood, leaving the gossiping pair at Umbridge’s door, then sucked in a breath, felt his temper restart, shoved his wand up his sleeve and made motion with his head for her to follow him.

When they got a safe distance away, he stopped his march and rounded on her. The only trouble was, now that he had been caught about to hex another colleague, he didn’t quite know what he should shout at her. But he didn’t need to. She spoke first.

“She’s an awful creature, isn’t she, professor?” Luna Lovegood adjusted her grip on the stack of magazines she was holding - most of them were upside down - and blinked once. “To be truthful, I wish you’d had done it. Please don’t worry about me telling anybody. I would have done it myself, if I could.”

Snape unfastened his jaw, still quite at a loss for words. “Would you, now.”

“Yes. She reminds me of a doxy. Quite a large and fat one, but a doxy regardless.”

He paused, actually snorted in amusement, feeling his muscles protest at the unnatural action of grinning, then regained himself and looked at Lovegood long and hard. After a moment, he just flicked his head towards the other end of the corridor and folded his arms.

“Go,” he said. “Before I take any points off for skulking about the castle.”

She nodded, not taking her unblinking eyes off him for a moment, gave him a little bow, then turned and walked off calmly to her destination.

Snape watched her, perplexed, then remembered what he had heard upstairs and clenched his fists. Nothing he could do now, however, would do anybody any good, so he simply turned on his heel and swept off to his classroom before anything else made him explode again.

It was on a grey Thursday afternoon - three days after the incident with Luna Lovegood - that Severus, whilst rubbing at his temples and muttering darkly under his breath, still smelling the smoke which had coated the surface of his classroom after a particular accident, found that his waiting had come to an end. Minerva finally nudged the topic which had bubbled on his mind and reminded him of the days in which he had tossed a dungbomb into Sirius Black’s bag - the latter hadn’t noticed until it went off halfway down the corridor and Severus hadn’t forgotten the surge of delight which had took hold of his chest for two days after and whenever he had recalled it.

McGonagall matched his step on the way to the staff room so silently and without announcement that he had glanced to his left and ended up flinching when he spotted her black hat, balanced upon her head at its usual degree.

“You look like you’ve swallowed an eel,” the elderly witch observed, as he scowled and grimaced at the way his heart thudded against his will.

“I feel as though I’ve swallowed an eel,” Severus muttered, shooting out a sigh through his nostrils. “And I will go as far as to swallow a poisonous one if you comment on any house points, crying students, my expression, or whatever it is I smell like. I’ve had it up to here with everything today, and I’m unwilling to make any exceptions, whether it be to my elders or betters or whatnot.”

Minerva’s lip twitched.

“Oh, please,” she said once he had finished grouching. “You must realise that you say that every other day. So many times, in fact, that your threats are no longer imposing. But don’t worry Severus, I wasn’t going to, for I have many more important matters to discuss with you before the day is out.”

They glanced at one another, one gaze amused, one perplexed, then made a synchronised U-turn in the middle of the corridor and began to sweep their way in the opposite direction.

“I won’t keep you waiting,” Minerva said, glancing up at him from behind her steely spectacles. “From what I have observed, there’s nothing we, as teachers, can do.”

Snape graced her with a cool glance.

“You have kept me waiting for two weeks after dragging me to suffer at Rosmerta’s just to tell me that there’s nothing we can do?”

She blinked at him with raised eyebrows, then sighed.

“I’m sorry you were so excited about it, Severus. It’s just that I don’t think we ought to stoop so low as to jinx or hex her in the corridors. That’s something that first-years do to one another. We are adults.”

Severus remembered his precarious hiding place behind the suit of armour and his murderous thoughts and intentions and said nothing.

“In short, there’s nothing we can do without blowing everything over.”

They passed through the main entrance, out onto the school grounds. It was a clear day, as warm as though it was still remembering summer, and mostly silent leave rustling and the far-away barking of the Game Keeper’s dog. Severus drew his cloak about him out of habit, scowling at the sky as Minerva walked along with him, her eyes darting here and there to detect anything unusual, also out of habit.

“Perhaps it is for the better,” she said, after they had made their way out onto the Quidditch pitches. “We are, after all, adults. Well, at least one of us is.”

Severus harrumphed in response. Minerva’s lip twitched.

“So you also think it is better to call this off?”

“No,” came the short answer, surprising her. “Conspiracy has become the highlight of my life and I refuse to give it up so easily.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows were raised again as she directed a look at him.

“Conspiracy? Nonsense.” She scoffed. “Conspiracy indeed. It is vengeance you want.”

“And I am not alone in wanting it,” he snapped. “You’ve been just as petty as I have in the roseau regard. Perhaps more.”

“Be that as it may, vengeance is something to frown upon.”

“Ha,” he scoffed. “That depends on the circumstances-”

“Wait, hush.”

They stopped. Minerva frowned; Severus turned.

“It looks like somebody is out,” he muttered after a pause, his eyes turned upwards. “I just wonder where…”

They both noticed ‘where’ at the same moment. Both had the wits about them to keep silent, though both also were stunned into looking sillier than both of them would have wanted.

Fred Weasley was leaning out of the top battlement, his wand out, looking very gleeful as he hovered down a niffler down to a particular window, about three stories below him. A few metres to his left, George Weasley was hovering down another; both creatures were strangely calm as they spun on different axis, as though they knew full well what was about to happen and were fully anticipating it.

McGonagall regained her voice, though it came out rather unsteady. “Merlin’s beard.”

Severus had shut his mouth by now and was observing the two devils with interest, his hands folded behind his back.

“It appears that that window,” he murmured after a moment, “is our most esteemed Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher’s.”

His voice made him sound almost impressed and was quite serene, though his counterpart was neither of those things one bit.

“But they’re on the battlements,” she said in a slightly strangled voice. “Merlin’s beard, they’re inches from slipping-!”

She started forward after inhaling a swift breath, probably to speak her mind very thoroughly about what she thought about them being so insipidly dim-witted, but Severus stuck out an arm to stop her. She looked at him as though he was mad. He certainly had a strange glint in his eyes. Even the corners of his mouth were turned up.

“There’s no way we can do this without blowing it, you say, professor?”

Minerva’s severely judgemental look grew about ten times denser.

“Heavens above, you are mad.”

“I am not,” he said gently, then pointed above him neatly. “But they most certainly are.”

Minerva looked up just in time to see the two fat nifflers roll through the open window, the Weasley twins shoot one another looks of pure pleasure, rub their hands, and their flaming heads disappear after ducking down. It was followed very closely by a sound as though somebody had smashed a glass jewellery box and a couple of dinner plates onto a stone floor, followed by an indignant meow.

There was a pause in which Snape and McGonagall looked at one another. Then, without a word, they both turned neatly on their heels and made their way back to the castle, with varying degrees of satisfaction and resolution upon their faces.

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