Look After You

Seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry wasn't everything I expected it to be. Actually, it was quite nearly the opposite. I – Lacey Anne James, self-proclaimed goody-two-shoes and witch with decent amount of skill – ended up in detention more often that year than any combination of years prior. Honestly, though, it wasn't entirely my fault. The first time had been because of my scuffle with Professor Dolores Umbridge over whether or not Cedric Diggory had been tragically killed by his own curse the previous June. I said no, she said yes.

She told me it was none of my business anyway and gave me detention. This resulted in a very bloody hand and scars that spelled out the words "I Must Mind My Own Business". I hate that stupid twat.

My two best friends, Fred and George Weasley, were worse off than I, though. Quidditch had been disbanded, and they'd had their brooms taken away for a reason that escaped me. They'd both been so furious, I couldn’t understand any part of what they had said afterward aside from multiple repetitions of the phrase, 'That Woman'. It gradually became accepted that we would no longer grace her with an actual name, instead opting to call her various childish insults, ranging from "Toad Face" to the slightly filthier "Bleeding Twat". The latter was reserved for particularly disagreeable situations.

It was approaching the end of term, now, and I was crammed into the Great Hall for N.E.W.T.s along with multitudes of other students. Umbridge perched in her chair at the head of the room, overseeing the testing of subjects she didn’t even teach: Potions and Ancient Runes. I would have loved to ask her something about Felix Felicis, just to see her flounder. Bah, she knew nothing.

I was scratching away at a Potions essay about bezoars and their uses when the ink in my jar began to ripple. I glanced around discreetly, suspecting Fred and George for the disturbance. They didn’t seem to be in the room. This did nothing to alleviate my anxiety. If anything, it made it worse.

Umbridge glanced up from the rows of desks, distressed by another low series of vibrations. She stood and strolled – quite briskly, I might add – between the center rows of desks to the back of the room, where the heavy, wooden doors to the Great Hall stood shut. I turned in my chair, along with the majority of the other students, to watch her. The tremors, which were now shaking the floor badly enough that I felt it in my knee-caps, vaguely reminded me of those made by the troll Professor Quirrel let in on Halloween back in my third year. I eyed the doors warily as Umbridge heaved them open.

A firework the size of my fist shot in through the gap and soared around the room, leaving a trail of tiny silver stars in the air behind it. It did a lap or two, then exploded in mid-air with a shower of different colored sparks. Umbridge watched with an expression of mixed disgust and malevolence and opened the door wider, obviously trying to spot the culprit.

I assumed that the tiny firework had been a fluke, a mistake made by Fred, who had a nasty habit of igniting them while they were still in his pockets. I shook my head and turned back to my exam before Umbridge could link me to the incident. I was the Twins' "Honorary Triplet" and, therefore, often considered guilty by association. If Umbridge turned to glare at me, I didn’t notice. Silence fell over the room for a moment, and I held my breath.

There were two familiar shouts from the back of the room, and I looked about wildly. Fred and George shot into the room on their broomsticks – which must've been a trip for Toad Face because the two Cleansweeps had previously been locked in her office – and began setting off more fireworks. George flew low over my row, pausing long enough to ruffle my hair and ignite a miniature firework that expanded into a series of tiny, multi-colored explosions three inches from my face. I glared up at him, jerking my head in Umbridge's direction pointedly. He grinned in response.

"I'm going to get hell for this, too, you know." I shouted above the sound of explosions.

He only laughed and said "Watch this, now!" He gained more altitude and met Fred near the ceiling, grinning still and reaching into his pocket.

I heard Fred say "Ready when you are", and George ignited a rather large stick of what looked like dynamite. I was briefly struck by the urge to duck under my desk. They would've taken the mickey out of me if I did, though, so I didn’t move.

The stick of dynamite exploded with an ominous crack, and the flames that were produced took the form of a large dragon. I caught sight of Umbridge's face, gone completely pale and doughy. I laughed heartily and turned my attention back to the Twins, who were now circling the room and cheering. Fred shot me a wink, which I returned before they soared out of the room again. The flame-dragon followed them and exploded outside the door. Furious and slightly blackened, Umbridge ran from the room after it, screaming things that didn't make any sense. Everyone else in the Great Hall followed.

I got out into the courtyard in time to hear Fred yell "Give her hell from us, Peeves" and watch him and George ignite one last firework, which took the form of a huge, gold 'W'. They were gone before it had even finished igniting.

The cheers were thick in the air and, while I was enjoying myself immensely watching Umbridge's face turn the color of a rotted plum, I simultaneously dreaded the aftermath of this Weasleys' Wizard Wheeze. With the two of them gone, I'd be the one to take the brunt of the punishment. There was no scrap of doubt in my mind.

Sure enough, as the court yard began to empty and students returned to their exams and common rooms, Umbridge stomped toward me with her hands knotted into fists. Her horrible, pink Mary Jane shoes clacked against the flagstone floors as she approached, and – though, I would never admit this publically – I was struck by the urge to run in the opposite direction. For all her pink and lace and mewling kittens, she scared me senseless. Instead, I slowed my pace, knowing full well that she would hunt me down if I managed to escape. She finally caught up with me, halfway to my examination desk in the Great Hall.

"You helped them!" she shrieked, pointing a fat finger into my face, "You helped those rotten boys!"

Her piggy little eyes didn’t leave mine while she spoke. I stood there patiently, quite accustomed to her rage. Whether I chose to tell the truth or not, I would still be punished and subject to Veritaserum in my tea. Umbridge stopped at nothing. I scratched the inside of my elbow and watched her warily, trying to hide my apprehension at her unwavering scrutiny.

"Actually, Professor," I said slowly, "No. I didn't help Fred and George."

"You did!" She said, stamping her foot, "Don't deny it, you filthy little girl! I know when children are lying!"

"Forgive me, Professor, but I was taking my exam the whole time." I kept my tone level.

She looked at a loss for a moment when I pointed over my shoulder at the half-written Potions essay lying on the only vacant desk in the room, but quickly recovered and flashed me a vomit-inducing smile. I mentally shuddered.

"Well, in that case, you wouldn’t mind if I asked you a few questions?" she laughed girlishly and fingered the kitten brooch near her shoulder, "In my office?"

"That’s fine," I said flatly. The last time I'd been invited into her office, I'd been doused with Veritaserum and interrogated about the swamp that Fred and George had magicked into the middle of a third floor corridor. I hadn't known anything until after it happened. (The Twins must've figured I would have been targeted for questioning and didn't let me in on their plans. The same was most likely to be said for the fireworks, too).

"Wonderful. Shall we?" She turned on her heel and strolled up the aisle, headed for the doors again.

"But, Professor," I hesitated after her, "I have to finish my exam." She looked impatient.

"No, no, my dear. This is far more important." She spoke like someone would to a small, rather stupid child.

I shrugged and followed her from the room, not exactly regretting the unfinished work. Potions was bollocks, anyway, and failing it wouldn't really bother me much.

She led me into her office, which was hideously decorated with pink table covers and lace. Kittens yowled from ceramic plates mounted to the walls. She didn’t say anything, but pointed to the chair in front of her desk, which I understood to be an informal invitation to sit down. I did, making perfectly sure to keep my spine ramrod straight and my hands folded in my lap. I watched her as she moved around the room, assembling a tea tray and waving her wand at a corner cupboard. An opaque, green bottle soared into her hand, and she emptied the contents of it into the kitten-patterned tea pot.

Not bothering to be discreet about it anymore, then, I thought, sighing heavily and relaxing my posture, So much for defending myself. I wish Dumbledore were here.

Umbridge turned around and placed the tea tray on her desk. There were only one teacup and saucer present, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

"Sit up straight," she snapped, "And don't get cheeky with me, rolling your eyes like that. Children like you deserve to be punished." A slightly manic expression crossed her face.

"Sorry, but I haven’t done anything to be punished for." I said.

"Well, then, you won't mind if I ask you a few questions." she poured tea and about forced the teacup into my hands, "Drink."

I sighed and sipped a few times, my senses becoming gradually duller with each swallow. I was only vaguely aware of the room by the time the cup was empty. I felt my muscles relax as I stared dreamily at Umbridge. She seemed to have a small smile on her face as she took the cup from me and asked me something about how I had spent my morning.

I don’t really remember the rest of that forced conversation. Veritaserum has a nasty habit of completely wiping your mind clean of any recollection of the time you spent under its influence. I very well may have told old Toad Face about my summer at the Burrow, or the time I accidentally kissed George in the orchard. I didn't really know. The look on her face, however, was one of profound disappointment, so I felt rather convinced that I hadn't given away anything too important.

"Detention, I think." She trilled, flourishing her wand to clear the tray, "Tonight, my office."

"Professor Umbridge, I haven't done anything wrong!" I protested, my voice weaker than I would have liked due to the truth serum working its way out of my blood system. She ignored my argument and waved her hand, dismissing me from the room. I stood and stomped out, shaking my head as I went.

Not even a year ago, I'd decided to take the magic in my blood with grace, regardless of how wide a gap it gouged between myself and my muggle family. It was part of me, and learning to accept it would only lead to a happy final year at Hogwarts – to be spent, of course, applying myself fully to make up for the six previous years of not giving a damn, while also spending much time carousing with my two ginger-headed best friends.

Wrong, Lacey. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Not only was Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge running Hogwarts in a way that would put dictators to shame, she was single-handedly destroying my resolve to actually enjoy the fact that I happen to be a witch. If I wasn't so completely brassed at this nasty turn of events, I would have been impressed at such a feat. My tenacity was legendary, and Umbridge had shattered it with her first round of detentions.

To be sure, muggles had no writing utensils that cut the user's hand open so as to use their blood for ink. Muggles weren't worrying their silly little non-magical heads over a certain Dark Lord who was growing stronger with every passing moment.

Snapping my wand was a tempting thought. I stroked the thirteen-and-a-quarter-inch stick of willow, buried deep in my pocket. Just a satisfying crack and I could stop worrying about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Dolores Umbridge. I could be a normal seventeen-year-old girl with carrot-orange hair who lived a life identical to her entire non-magic family. I could keep my nose in my own matters and life would be exceedingly simple.

I was back at the Gryffindor portrait hole, having spent the entire trek up to the tower lost in thought. As I reached my hand out to steady myself against the wall before climbing into the common room, the dim corridor light glinted off the scars in the back of my hand. I must mind my own business. Grim resolve washed through me, then, and I clenched my hand into a fist to see the words better.

There had been disappearances, lately, and deaths much like Cedric Diggory's. The Ministry of Magic pawned them all off on other things but most of us knew the truth. Voldemort had returned, and Cornelius Fudge's policy of minding his own business was getting people killed.

I was reminded of the grin that Cedric had flashed in my direction, just before he disappeared into the maze last year. I remembered Fred and George's father, working diligently against the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I thought of Fred and George themselves, planning on joining the fight at the soonest possible opportunity. They were all my business.

I felt the wand in my pocket again, seeming immensely heavier and more unyeilding than it had a few minutes ago. Snapping it would be running away and, as I mentioned before, my tenacity happens to be legendary.