Chapters 41-50

Black Rose

‘Dolores.’

A wave of sweet musk drifted to her, almost making her gag with revulsion.

‘Minerva.’

‘What a lovely scent you are wearing.’ Minerva’s polite smile froze into a grimace on her face.

‘Isn’t it amazing, it’s the most magical perfume I’ve ever had,’ Umbridge gushed. ‘Now, about this meeting…I have to appraise myself of the situation of convicts that have been released under probation and to ascertain that the requirements of the relevant probations’ conditions are met.

‘There is really no need to look so worried, Minerva, I am sure you’ve been doing a wonderful job of keeping an eye on Snape,’ simpered Umbridge.

‘Thank you.’ Minerva’s tone was so sour it curdled the milk in her tea. Next time Umbridge shows up, order Earl Grey, she noted mentally, as she reached for a stack of papers on her desk. ‘This is Professor Snape’s schedule. And copies of my weekly reports.’

‘Hem hem.’ With grunts that reminded McGonagall of a pig looking for truffles, Umbridge rifled through the parchments in her pudgy hands.

‘I see that you have allowed him to patrol the castle. And you’ve even granted him free evenings. Are you sure that is wise, Minerva?’ Umbridge’s eyelashes fluttered, reminding McGonagall of the twitching legs of flies in the throes of death.

Clamping firmly down on a vision of a giant fly swatter, Minerva forced herself to reply without outright hostility. She couldn’t afford to antagonise Umbridge. ‘I was not aware that the conditions of his probation contained any implication that I am supposed to curtail his freedom of movement, especially within the castle.’

‘Of course, of course. I just meant to say…in some situations it is wiser to err on the side of caution, isn’t it? After all, he was one of the most dangerous followers of V– V– of the Dark Lord.’

oooOooo

‘Well, well, Severus,’ Umbridge simpered from behind the dragon-clawed desk. Snape could just imagine Minerva’s face at having her study appropriated by the Probations Officer.

He was not surprised to see that there was no chair provided for him. Drawing himself up to his full height, he had a hard time to keep himself from imperiously crossing his arms in front of his chest. But even he knew that it was not exactly smart to start out with annoying Umbridge with the simple expedient of body language.

‘Dolores,’ Snape sneered. Somehow he managed to resist the temptation of mimicking her silly mannerism.

‘It’s Ms. Umbridge for you, Snape.’

He smirked as the sugary sweetness drained from Umbridge’s voice. Her round eyes bulged a little as she leant forwards, pushing the expanse of her pink cleavage onto the desk. His nostrils flared as he caught the cloying candied scent of her perfume. Idly he wondered how many jarveys had died for that perfume, while listening with half an ear to her sermon delineating the preposterous conditions for his probation.

‘…so what have you been doing in order to fulfil the requirements of your probation, Snape?’

‘Are you interested, Ms. Umbridge?’ He quirked an eyebrow. Red spots of rage appeared on Umbridge’s cheekbones, and her bosom heaved under layers of garish tweed. He felt a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and swiftly continued, as it was probably not the best of his ideas to drive his Probations Officer into apoplexy, ‘Whatever I choose to do about the conditions of my probation, Ms. Umbridge, is solely between myself and the Wizarding Genealogy Offices.

‘And the lucky witch,’ he added as an afterthought, painfully aware of how bitter his voice suddenly sounded.

Umbridge’s slack, wide mouth expanded into a malicious smile. ‘Dear Severus, surely a hero of the war and a martyr for the cause will be able to find one witch willing to sacrifice herself in gratitude?’

She obviously didn’t expect him to reply. Instead she went on, her high voice shrill and cutting, ‘And if I were you, dear Severus, I wouldn’t underestimate the influence of the Wizengamot on the other offices of the Ministry.’

oooOooo

Hermione’s feet dragged as she walked towards the office of Headmistress McGonagall for her interview with Umbridge. The badly hidden stares of the students she passed in the corridors were burning holes into the back of her robes.

She wasn’t ready for this. She was so damn tired. Even with Professor Snape’s anti-Cruciatus potions to ward off another relapse, her bones and joints ached, and she could sleep all day. A turn of phrase from the book she was reading with the Slytherins meandered through her mind: ‘thin, like butter spread over too much bread’. Yes, that was exactly how she felt. And worse, her mental state affected her magic.

If Umbridge tried anything, Hermione knew she wouldn’t have the strength to defend herself. But of course that was stupid. Umbridge was a Ministry official. She wouldn’t ‘try’ anything. And besides, during her time as High Inquisitor, Umbridge hadn’t been able to do Legilimency, so why should she able to do it now?

Still, for some reason Hermione’s thoughts revolved around Occlumency as she approached the gargoyle that hid the entrance to Minerva’s office.

How did it work, she wondered. Building a shield around your thoughts. She envisioned something like a tower to guard her mind. The sturdy donjon of a medieval castle. Huge, solid slabs of stone, surrounding her thoughts, sheltering her secrets.

Once inside, Umbridge fixed her protuberant eyes on Hermione and cut straight to the chase. ‘What is your relationship to the Potions Master Severus Snape?’

Hermione stared at the bloated face of the witch and tried to concentrate on her tower. In vain. Walls crumbled, stones splintered. Instead of her safe tower, all Hermione could think of was a black rose under a glass globe, beautiful, thorny, yet strangely fragile.

‘I am his apprentice.’

‘Is that all?’

The glass shattered. For a moment the deep, seductive scent of rose blossoms enveloped her.

No, Hermione thought, it isn’t.