Speech Is Silver, but Silence Is Golden

I held my books tightly to my chest, leaning absentmindedly against the stone-wall off the dungeons. My thoughts revolved around the newest Educational Decree Umbridge and the Ministry had passed, the highly official seal and the curly signature having attracted the attention from every student passing.

All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded.
An organisation, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students.

Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge).
No student organization, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.

Any student found to have formed, or belong to, an organisation, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.

Signed. Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor

It was hard to understand, yet completely made sense when one just shifted their view a little bit. The ministry was afraid of the power Professor Dumbledore held over the school. They were afraid that he had too many supporters here at school or was secretly doing research on any weapon he could use against the Ministry. Secret clubs or gatherings of more than two people could very well be groups of researchers.

Or, because I still liked to think that the Ministry hadn’t gone crazy that far, it could just be to weaken the solidarity between students and therefore being able to convince them more easily to join the side of the Ministry.

But this decree brought more questions to my mind than it answered. And Draco’s nagging, obnoxiously loud voice didn’t help to develop my train of thought any further. So blinking twice, I looked up, past the black and green hunch of cloaks and spotted the golden three again. They seemed to be as much absentminded as I had been only a few moments ago. And they had barely reached the foot of the stone-stairs.

I averted my eyes from them, sighing silently and instead focused on the paper Draco was brandishing around. His blonde hair contrasted sharply with the dark, old planks of the classroom-door behind him and his skin looked sickly pale in the dim light of the candles that spent light from partially low hanging, black iron chandeliers.

His eyes were flickering between his admirers and the golden three, giving his intention away.

“Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning.” His voice was smooth as he continued. “Well, it was pretty automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry… it'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?” He appeared very pleased with himself, the smugness clearly presented in his eyes and his smirk.

And as I threw a glance over at the Gryffindors I knew why. Weasley and Potter had curled their hands into fists and were grimly staring at Draco, while Granger seemed to be whispering something. But her friends didn’t seem to mind her.

“I mean,” Draco began again. For a moment I pondered whether or not it was a good idea to tell him to stop it. But before I could make a decision, he was already talking again, his voice raised a little more, his grey eyes glittering malevolently in Potter’s and Weasley's direction.

“if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance… from what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years… and as for Potter…” A silent laugh filled the slight pause he made to emphasize his point and secure the attention he had at the moment. “my father says it's a matter of time before the ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's… apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.”

I raised my eyebrows at that remark, shaking my head slightly but stopped short and averted my gaze from him, when he started to pull a face, mouth agape and rolling wildly with his eyes. Of course the two hulks Crabbe and Goyle grunted laughing and the high piercing laugh of Parkinson complete the gruesome scene.

The next moment, the laughing hadn’t even ceased yet, my eyes widened as Longbottom stormed past Potter, nearly shoving him against the wall, eyes fixed on Draco. The Slytherins took a cautious step back as they saw what happened, eyes widened and fixed on Longbottom.

“Neville, no!” Potter yelled, storming forwards at the same time and grabbing the bigger boy’s cloak. Longbottom though didn’t seem to be about to stop. His movements were hectic, his fists flying around wildly, while he tried to reach Draco.

When I was sure, Potter was holding onto Longbottom, I threw a curious glance over the shoulder of a blonde haired girl that was nearly crushing me against the wall, to see Draco’s reaction.

His eyes were widened in shock and fear, his arms outstretched to the sides of him as if to keep from falling down. He had probably taken a few steps backwards and nearly stumbled before. His mouth was still agape, but this time in surprise rather than a malevolent grimace.

“Help me!” Potter yelled to no one in particular and brought Draco out of his stupor. He lowered his arms, closed his mouth and straightened up again, his eyes, which had been fixed on Longbottom before, scanning his surroundings. Then he nodded shortly and Crabbe and Goyle took a step forward, building a human wall between Draco and Longbottom, who was dragged back towards the Gryffindors by Potter and Weasley.

Apparently Potter was cutting off his windpipe, because the only thing that came out of Longbottom’s mouth were cut off words.

“Not… funny... don't... Mungo's... show... him...”

But before he could even begin to try and be true to his words, the door opened and Professor Snape appeared. His black eyes darted across the queue of Gryffindors until they reached the spot where the three boys were still struggling.

Longbottom’s face was scarlet while his eyes were fiercely fixed on Draco, who was watching Professor Snape attentively, relaxing and falling back into his usual smug demeanour, now that the situation couldn’t escalate anymore.

“Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom?“ Professor Snape asked tauntingly. His voice held a certain chill that I had come to know was reserved for Gryffindors only.

“Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you!” He bit out and a slight smirk played around his lips.

Draco threw them a short gloating look before vanishing in the dungeon. I followed in the crowd of Slytherins, only throwing one last glance over my shoulder to see Potter releasing Longbottom, who was staring coldly at his classmate.

---

With a loud bang, Snape closed the door to his class room and everyone, who had before been gossiping about Neville Longbottom, fell silent. I placed the textbook One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungiby Phyllida Spore on my desk and then looked up at the professor, clad in his usual black attire, walking up and down in front of the class.

“You will notice,” he began quietly and with a note of mocking in his voice. “that we have a guest with us today.” He stopped and threw a hand in the direction of a darker corner of the classroom, his loose sleeve dangling wildly from side to side. As everyone I followed the direction of his hand gesture and found Professor Umbridge, clipboard on her knees, sitting there. A slight scowl settled upon my face as I noticed her watching the students, eyes lingering on the back rows longer than necessary.

Without any further explanation, Professor Snape began with his lesson. . “We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend - instructions -”

He waved his wand in an elegant, fleeting movement and words appeared on the black board.

“- on the board. Carry on!”

The commotion began as everyone wandered to the front to get their mixture. While I was waiting in line, I threw looks at Professor Umbridge, trying to figure out if she had an agenda for today. But at the moment she didn’t seem to be interested in anything particular. She was watching the students and quietly making notes on her clipboard.

I hadn’t expected it to take nearly half an hour until she would begin to question Professor Snape directly. But it did. And therefore I was able to concentrate fully on my potion for the first half hour of the lesson and was exceptionally satisfied with the results so far.

But when Umbridge decided it was time to investigate a little more throughoutly, I wasn’t the only one to notice. Many heads went up inconspicuously and many pairs of eyes followed her, as she made her way towards the teacher for Potions, in between two rows of desks.

Professor Snape, however, was currently inspecting a Gryffindor boy’s cauldron, bowed forwards slightly. Umbridge didn’t seem to be bothered at all. She didn’t even resort to clearing her throat in that ridiculous and fake way of hers.

“Well, the class seem fairly advanced for their level.” She said briskly to Professor Snape who was still looking at the mixture before him. He didn’t even turn around at hearing her speak, so I figured he was ignoring her on purpose. This could only mean that he was building up self-control.

“Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus.”

I raised my brows at that suggestion, wondering what exactly she was up to. The comment was not yet an insult, but it was on the verge of undermining Professor Snape’s eligibility as a Master of Potions.

Therefore I wasn’t surprised when he straightened his back, averting his attention from the mixture I was sure he hadn’t been studying anymore when he had noticed Umbridge’s presence, and slowly turned towards her, his expression carefully mastered, his black eyes shining with restrained curiosity.

“Now... how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?” Umbridge asked brusquely and I carefully put my knife down, forgetting all about my potion for a moment. This was the actual questioning Umbridge had been keen on. I could see it in her eyes. There was something akin to anticipation shining in them.

“Fourteen years.” Professor Snape answered, his voice smooth, his expression unfathomable. In that moment I had no idea what he was thinking. There was no indication of his mood.

Umbridge only nodded and scribbled something on her clipboard.

“You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?”

My forehead was set in deep wrinkles and I felt my dislike for Umbridge grow. She was clearly trying to ruffle Professor Snape’s feathers and to make him act unreasonable. She seemed to be aware that he knew a lot more than he let on.

“Yes.” He answered quietly and controlled. His black eyes were scrutinizing Umbridge’s expression, probably searching for any indication where she was going with that.

“But you were unsuccessful?” Umbridge said next, still writing on her clipboard and therefore not noticing the change in the Professor’s eyes and his expression.

His cold demeanour changed and instead of being farouche it became starched. The way he puckered his lips showed his uncomfortableness clearly. “Obviously.”

He turned his eyes away for a fleeting look around the classroom and I hastily averted my eyes to my cauldron, frantically checking which step was next. Not entirely surprised I noticed that I had allowed it to boil for longer than indicated. Therefore the colour had changed from a deep purple to slight turquoise tint.

But even as I tried to figure out how to rehabilitate the solution, I couldn’t help but notice that Professor Snape had yet to speak a whole sentence with Umbridge. The lack of words coming from his mouth could be the indication of two emotions.

The first and most obvious one would be that he was clearly angry and didn’t want to show it. He couldn’t attack another teacher, especially not Umbridge, seeing as she was in a position of power at the moment.

Secondly it could be because of that position of power that he felt the need to keep as much information to himself as possible. One-word-answers were one way of keeping his opinion to himself. And he would only answer what he had to, in order to satisfy Umbridge’s nosiness.

Umbridge’s voice disrupted my train of thought once again. I looked up again, staring at the two teachers.

“And you have applied regularly for the Defence against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?”

Now she was even beginning to annoy me. Professor Snape seemed to come closer and closer to his limits. Because as he answered, his lips barely moved at all. His black eyes were burning with restrained repugnance.

“Yes.”

Umbridge was oblivious to all of those indicators of Professor Snape’s mood. She just asked further.

“Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?”

“I suggest you ask him.” The words were unnecessarily harsh and I involuntarily held my breath as they left his mouth. This woman had nearly managed to break through his perfect façade. Or at least he wanted her to think that.

“Oh, I shall.” Umbridge replied sweetly a moment later, looking up at him. Raising his left eyebrow minimally, Snape retorted.

“I suppose this is relevant?” His black eyes narrowed perceptively, hiding the newly aroused curiosity in them.

“Oh yes.” Umbridge replied carelessly. „Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' - er - backgrounds." And just like that she turned away and walked over towards Pansy Parkinson. The girl smiled eagerly as Umbridge began to question her about the lessons.

Professor Snape, however, was still standing where she had left him, as if he didn’t exactly know what had happened a moment ago. His eyes wandered to the last row and as I threw a glance back, I noticed that he and Potter had locked eyes. A second later the professor was gliding towards the back and said audibly for everyone.

“No marks again, then, Potter.” The malicious intent in his voice rang out clearly and I lowered my head over my own cauldron, not even watching as he emptied Potter’s cauldron with a nonchalant sling of his wrist.

“You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?”

“Yes.”, was Potter’s angry one-word answer.