Speech Is Silver, but Silence Is Golden

Loud rustling accompanied my movement as I shook the Daily Prophet, eyes intently scanning over the headlines as I searched, just like any day, for an article about Professor Dumbledore's vanishing act. But just like in the past issues it was barely noticed, the newspaper only sprinkled with small pieces of information consisting of three sentences about Umbridge's new position as headmaster of Hogwarts and the Ministry's development proposal for their educational reform.

To my right the clinking of cutlery against plates resounded, combined with occasional sighs and rustling of fabric. Still engrossed in my lecture, I turned the page and ignored the hand which settled on my thigh, giving it a short squeeze. The warmth was welcome but I was too agitated to respond accordingly.

With an angry mutter, I pushed the paper down onto the table, reappearing for the students at the table, drinking their pumpkin-juice, eating their muesli or attempting to complete their homework last minute.

"Hm?", the blonde next to me made, having lifted his hand from my thigh and currently occupied with buttering his toast. I lowered my brown eyes to his plate, watching his work for a moment before repeating a bit louder what I had muttered.

"It's Potter's fault." My sour tone wasn't lost on him. Clearly I had attracted Draco's attention as his knife hovered halfway towards the butter dish in the air, his eyes snapping to my face, his expression carefully composed, but the ghost of a smirk already on his lips. He liked it when I joined his Potter-bashing, which seemed to be his favourite past-time.

"What are you talking about?" Sighing I folded the newspaper and placed it onto my unused plate, before turning towards him slightly more. He had leant towards me as well, his left hand resting on the bench, creating a secure bubble for our conversation.

"That Professor Dumbledore had to leave Hogwarts." I explained boldly and added in a darker tone. "The oh-so-great boy-who-lived brings the whole world out of order."

Throwing a quick look around, checking if anyone was listening, I noticed that there were no friends of his around. We were surrounded by first- and second-years, joking and laughing and struggling with the levitation charm. That fact was probably a result of Draco's and my habit to snog every time we had the chance to in those last few days where we had made up again after I had contradicted him in front of his friends.

"And now the delirious Minister of Magic has everything he wanted." I murmured softly towards him, my expression overshadowed with concern. Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to figure out what I meant.

"I don't think I can follow you."

I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh please. We both know that Fudge is scared of Professor Dumbledore. He is scared that the most powerful wizard of his age may try to gain more power, namely the office of Minister of Magic." Snorting at the ridicule of that assumption, I lowered my eyes to his right hand, resting in between us. Extending a single finger, I drew patterns on the back of his hand lazily. "Too bad that he hasn't realized that Professor Dumbledore could have long become Minister, if he only just wanted to. But he just saw him as a threat when he knew where he was. And now that he doesn't know, he suddenly stops fearing him, stops trying to control him."

"You're alluding to the fact that now that Dumbledore may be more dangerous for him than ever, he considers the matter as finished?"

Looking up into his grey eyes, I nodded.

"Yes. I would have figured that you would have come to the same conclusion. After all your father talks with the Minister quite often." Draco lowered his eyes while his fingers grabbed her hand gently and didn't respond. Intertwining their fingers, she looked at him questioningly and waited for any kind of reaction. It took a long moment before he looked up at her again, pulled one corner of his mouth up in a small smile and pecked her on the lips.

"Fudge is covering up everything.", he suddenly started, his voice very low, his words only intended for her ears. She leant closer towards him, making it seem as if they were engulfed in intense flirting.

"The vanishing of people especially. You know it started like that last time too, though he tells people this shit about Sirius Black."

I felt slightly betrayed as he added the last part. After all I had been the one to ask him if he thought that maybe it wasn't Black who had helped the prisoners escape from Azkaban. But I let the matter rest, knowing that he hadn't been sure whether or not to trust me back then.

"I know. But Fudge doesn't acknowledge all of this."

His gaze grew more intent. "He's too afraid to face the crisis, so he avoids it. He uses the Daily Prophet to drag anyone's name through the mire if they say anything which could oppose the view he wants people to have."

"Just like with Professor Dumbledore." I nodded lost deep in thought. "And now you-know-who is recruiting an army again, with creatures. And the Minister just sits there and does nothing."

Draco nodded darkly, his hand resting on my thigh once again, gently rubbing up and down. "Fudge, it seems, is more afraid of Dumbledore trying to attack the ministry with an army." And suddenly I felt my accusation from before ring in my head. As if I had jinxed it, the person my disgust was directed towards, entered the Great Hall. He stared ahead darkly, a glare directed towards Professor Umbridge, who was watching over the crowd of students eating their breakfast from her unrightfully claimed place in the middle of the teacher's desk.

At least it seemed the teachers kept to themselves, not whispering in the hallways as they had previously done, but remaining completely silent, only eating. But even that realization couldn't keep me from reprimanding Potter in my thoughts. He had absolutely no right to look so angry, now that Professor Dumbledore had sacrificed his position for him. Of course the idiot hadn't seen the danger he had put the headmaster in, when he had founded his little club. And calling it Dumbledore's Army no less.

All done in typical Gryffindor-manner, without thinking and the most rebellious way to go about it. And in the end their 'bravery' hadn't even cost a victim of their own, but someone else. Really honourable and great, House Gryffindor.

I wondered how Potter hadn't been able to figure out that the Ministry had been searching hard for a reason to expel Professor Dumbledore. How could the oh-so-intelligent Granger have missed that they needed to get him out of the way?

But then the name Dumbledore's Army floated through my mind again. It seemed to be too much of a coincidence they would call themselves that when Fudge's greatest fear had been exactly an army of students under Professor Dumbledore's control. A bitter smile played on my lips as I realized that my characterization of House Gryffindor had been more fitting than I had first realized.

"So this is why Umbridge is here. She's not only the Senior Undersecretary, but also his spy." I nodded to myself, finally understanding the web of intrigues formed the past year, extending ever so slowly, until it had finally caught its prey.

"And she's in the Wizardry Gamot, too. You'd best be careful. She's very powerful." Noticing his serious look, I only grabbed the newspaper again, skimming through each section, trying to keep my thoughts a tad more neutral, knowing that Draco was right.

---

Wilbert Slinkhard's Defensive Magical Theory laid opened before me on the desk. While utter silence pressed onto my ears, the classroom completely silent, not even the sound of a page being turned resounding feebly in the dominating absence of sound, I stared with glossy brown eyes at the page, the chapter-title still flaunting itself at me with its bold letters.

34: Non-Retaliation and Negotiation

It was all I, along with the majority of class, had read so far. Where ever I had looked before I had succumbed to the dull staring and waiting for the lesson to pass, students had blankly stared at the pages, the book in front of everyone opened, but some didn't even have the right pages. Professor Umbridge, still exhausted from yesterday's incident with the Whizzfire Bangs, didn't pay attention to what they were doing as long as they remained silent.

Suppressing a yawn I lifted my head, looking around and my eyes fell on Draco next to me. He was dozing behind his book, shielding him from view, his eyes closed and his head resting against his arms. His pointed chin was accentuated nicely by the way his throat was stretched. His blonde, usually sleek hair was slightly ruffled. A small smile played on my lips, as I watched him, my thoughts already occupied with the question of why he was that tired, especially what he had done last night. When I had returned to the common room after dinner, he hadn't been there, nor had he been at dinner or in any of his afternoon classes.

Lifting my snow-white, fluffy quill from the table, where it had rested untouched, I pulled a piece of parchment towards me and began to scribble in tiny, but curvy writing. Finishing the short question, I folded the paper carefully, threw a glance towards the teacher's desk, making sure Umbridge was occupied and leant towards my right.

Softly poking Draco's elbow, I threw the note onto his table. He opened his grey eyes, found mine and sent me a half-smirk. I gestured to the folded piece of paper. He followed the direction of my finger with his eyes, then lifted his head, put the book down quietly, before grabbing the note.

His long, pale fingers unfolded it and he read it quickly.

Holding it in one hand he threw me a slightly irritated look, then grabbed his quill and began to scribble his answer on the piece of paper. Passing it towards me, I snatched it greedily and opened it, careful to be as quiet as possible.

There in my tiny handwriting stood: Where were you last night? and right underneath, his trademark minimalistic scrawl read: Prefect duties. Why do you care?

Looking up, I raised my eyebrows at his gruff question, took my quill and wrote: I waited in the common-room for you. Did you hear all those Whizzfire bangs?

It was the hottest topic at Hogwarts at the moment. Everyone was talking about it, recounting how many jumping crackers they had heard and the legends about how it had all started were already woven.

I had been there in the Great Hall right after lunch, when it had started, suddenly and out of nowhere. I had heard the first explosion which had sent the chandeliers and floor trembling. The great green golden dragon had been right above my head, flying down the hallway, the comet had woven its silver trail around me before disappearing out of sight as well.

It had been quite the sight, especially when Umbridge had arrived, first standing there as if paralyzed and then trying, together with Filch and very unsuccessfully, to get rid of the fireworks.

The note landed before me and I read.

Yes. They were the reason I wasn't in the common room. Who set them up?

Grinning to myself I didn't bother throwing a look at Umbridge before scribbling and then passing the note. He opened it and a sourly expression took a hold of his face. His grey eyes narrowing in disgust.

I stared at Defensive Magical Theory, trying to suppress a grin as I remembered how Umbridge had tried to stupefy a rocket. Instead of stopping, however, it had exploded, burning a hole into the picture of a witch on a grassy field.

And then Umbridge had yelled at Filch not to stupefy them, trying to make people think it had been his curse. But of course most students knew that Filch was a squib and therefore she had only ridiculed herself even more.

Filch had been a man of action, however. Though his broomstick beating hadn't done much good, only set the broomstick on fire. It had been utterly funny how all teachers hadn't bothered to stop the havoc created, but rather had tortured Umbridge, calling her every time an escaped firework appeared in their classroom.

Draco threw the note back onto my desk, the tiny paper nearly falling onto the floor. I quickly caught it before it could make it over the edge and then opened it. My curvy words stared at me.

I'll have a guess: Your favourite blood traitor family.

It was the logical answer, as the Weasley twins had been treated like heroes this morning, the back-patting nearly never-ending in the Great Hall.

Fitting. Was Draco's simple answer.

I grabbed my quill again, dipping it in the ink-pot before writing.

I guess Fudge won't be pleased with her.

Then I folded it again and was about to pass it to Draco, when suddenly somebody cleared their throat right in front of me.

"Hem, hem." My eyes went wide with surprise and shock, my heart pounding wildly, as I lifted my gaze and saw the small professor, clad in her rose jacket, standing in front of me, her hand extended.

"Give me that, Miss Hitchens." The whole class stared at me, as I slowly lifted my hand. It was trembling as I let the piece of paper fall into her palm. For a second she looked at it snidely, then opened it with her short, thick fingers.

I gulped as her eyes scanned the words, knowing full well that especially my last sentence would mean trouble. As she had finished reading, she lifted her eyes to mine again.

"Ts, ts, ts. Ms. Hitchens. Detention each evening this week. Be in my office by seven p.m.."

"Yes, Professor." I answered through gritted teeth, lowered my gaze so my hair obscured the view of my face and listened to her steps as she walked back towards her desk.