Chapter 107: 2-1

Upon reaching the Great Hall, various things invited Harry and the others' bewilderment. Hagrid's absence, the Sorting Hat singing a warning, the filled seat for the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—they could acutely feel from the tense atmosphere that something was beginning to move. The children could not hide their uneasy expressions.

"Goodness—that woman just made an outrageous declaration."

"That woman—uh... Dolores Umbrella?"

""Dolores Umbridge.""

"Right, that."

While following the two prefects as they guided the first-years to their dormitory, I showed my agreement with Hermione, who had lowered her voice. That speech, delivered in a sickly-sweet voice that even interrupted Dumbledore's greeting—it made me want to vomit.

"So it really was just Maria and me who were listening. As expected of Maria."

"I wasn't listening to everything like you were. Hermione, you give me too much credit."

"But you understood, right? What that woman is trying to do to Hogwarts."

"What is she trying to do?"

To Ron, who had even forgotten to lower his voice, Hermione and I answered clearly.

"The Ministry of Magic is..." "...interfering with Hogwarts."

When we parted ways in front of the boys' and girls' dormitories, I carefully stole a glance at Harry. People around him were pointing and whispering. It must be incredibly unpleasant. It’s the time when everyone looks like an enemy. However, the one thing that differs from 'me' is that sympathy floated in the eyes of the whispering people. For those dancing to the tune of the Daily Prophet, the current Harry Potter was a tragic boy who had fallen into the evil clutches of the fraud Dumbledore and could not receive protection from the righteous Ministry of Magic.

That's not it. —Poor thing.

Dumbledore isn't wrong. —Poor thing.

I'm not being deceived. —Poor thing.

Listen to what I'm saying! ————Poor thing.

Harry's voice could not reach those irresponsible people who only offered pity.

"Ron. Keep an eye on Harry, will you?"

"Yeah... okay."

For a moment, Ron made a face that said he really didn't want to deal with Harry taking his anger out on him, but after being stared down by Hermione too, he nodded reluctantly. After all, being a girl, Maria—I—couldn't exactly rush into the boys' dormitory to back him up at a moment's notice.

"You guys have your O.W.L.s coming up too... I know it's a tough time. Even so, please. Right now, Harry doesn't even know who is on his side."

"We are on his side. And you are absolutely on his side."

"Exactly. —Make sure you let him know that."

At last, Ron smiled. Seeing us like that, Hermione cleared her throat like a self-important politician.

"You don't even have to ask; we'll take care of Harry. He's our best friend. And so—Maria? You said that as if it were someone else's problem, but aren't you in your O.W.L. year too?"

"...Ye-es."

It seemed I wouldn't be able to escape the study demon this time either.

It was the day of Umbridge's first class. Harry's frustration had already reached its limit. Professor Snape, who was eagerly bullying Harry (and Neville); and Divination, which had rather too timely entered the subject of dream interpretation. A mountain of homework dealing the final blow to Harry, who was already suffering from chronic sleep deprivation due to his nightmares. And above all, the aloofness of the people around him, treating him like a walking time bomb. All of this was backing Harry into a corner.—And dragging us down with him.

We were constantly holding a bomb named Harry Potter.

"Harry, I'll tell you this right now."

I stopped the three of them in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"You are definitely going to get angry in this next class. I think Hermione will get angry too. It won't be a good class. Umbridge is scum. —Listen to me, you must not take her head-on. You need to learn how to deal with awful people."

"Maria. It's true that there's something wrong with that teacher. To interrupt the Headmaster's greeting! And that tone of hers. Treating us, from first-years to seventh-years, as if we were five-year-olds. ...But still, that's all it is so far. We don't know if she's any worse than that yet."

"No, she's scum. That woman."

Hermione shrugged as if to say it was useless talking to me. Seeing her do that, Ron grinned exactly like his older brothers.

"Worse than Lockhart?"

"Enough to make Lockhart look cute."

Hermione's face turned red. Ever since that incident, Lockhart's name was taboo in front of her. Just when the tension had eased thanks to Ron—Harry's short fuse caught fire.

"Another one of your famous predictions, Maria? I don't care about that. To me, they're all equally scum. —Ah, no, except for you guys, I mean."

"Harry."

"If you're so confident, you might as well take over teaching Divination yourself. Then I wouldn't have to listen to the lofty interpretation that dreaming about a friend dying means death is approaching me."

"Harry, listen to me."

"I'm listening. Don't get angry at Miss Umbridge. Yeah, fine by me. As long as she doesn't treat me like a poor little five-year-old."

Harry quickly went into the classroom. I, along with Ron and Hermione, exchanged wordless glances.

"For him to even snap at Maria—he's really got it bad."

"That's right. Maria, you ought to be angry."

"...No, it's fine as long as he has me to take it out on."

If that satisfies him and allows him to start hearing the voices around him again—then he won't make a fatal mistake like 'me'. I want to believe that.

My two best friends fell silent with indescribable expressions, then eventually entered the room, prompted by the bell.

The class went exactly as 'I' knew it would. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, where practical application is everything, we did nothing but preach theory and copy down what was written on the blackboard. It was hopelessly boring. Hermione shot me a dark, sideways glance, as if to say she finally understood. I shook my head in response. Endure it—we'll be able to learn it in another form soon enough—

However, there was no way my concerns would reach Harry, whose fuse had already been lit long ago.

"So, when are we going to do some practical magic? Professor Umbridge. Don't tell me we're just copying lines this whole time?"

"Raise your hand when you speak, Mr. Potter. Why is there a need to practice? There won't be any practical magic from here on out either."

"What?"

Ron raised his voice as if he couldn't believe his ears. Provoked by this, the whole class put down their quills and began to murmur.

"Are you saying there won't be a practical portion in our exams?"

"If you study the theory sufficiently, there is no reason why you wouldn't be able to cast the spells when the time comes. Miss Brown."

"Professor Flitwick says practice is important. And so does Professor McGonagall!"

"Raise your hand to speak! Mr. Thomas. Let me tell you this. The current teachers at Hogwarts are, frankly speaking..."

At that, Umbridge floated a faint smile. It was a sneer that anyone could recognize.

The Gryffindor students equally respected Professor McGonagall. She was strict, but she watched over and loved her students as students just as much. She was a teacher and a mother to Hogwarts. And this woman—had just insulted her. An unsettling atmosphere now enveloped the classroom.

"So, what you're saying, Professor Umbridge, is this: even if Lord Voldemort were to appear right in front of us now—anyone could fight him off as long as they know the theory."

There was an icy silence. Everyone froze, looking at Harry. Except for one person—Umbridge, with her eerie smile.

"Mr. Potter, if you please. The dead do not come back to life."

"Voldemort wasn't dead!"

"Yes. Yes. You were forced to say that, weren't you? I understand perfectly well. You have been subjected to immense terror up until now. It is a pitiful thing. And your greatest misfortune was that there were no righteous people around you... It is understandable that you can no longer make sound judgments. For a pure boy like you... oh, as a proper adult, it pains my heart terribly. —To still be deceived by bad adults, poor thing."

"There aren't any bad adults around me!"

"Yes, I'm sure of it. You wanted to think that, didn't you... Now, let's talk about this later after class. Everyone, please keep a close eye on poor Mr. Potter. And let us teach him. —That the terrible dark wizard is no longer here. Let us all cure Mr. Potter's illness together."

She wasn't even treating him like a five-year-old anymore. It was the voice used to pacify a three-year-old who didn't understand their parents' orders. Spreading her arms like a cult leader, the toad was drunk on her own filthy hypocrisy.

"Well then—"

Harry kicked back his chair and stood up.

"So Cedric just—died all on his own? Oh, or—did we kill him?"

A needle-like tension ran through the room. Even Umbridge's eyes went wide. And then.

"—Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident."

"C-Cedric was—"

"Harry."

I had stood up as well. Harry's green eyes, which had been about to snap at the hideous woman, looked at me, filled with a mix of emotions.

It's alright. I can endure it. —I decided to bear this pain.

"It seems your class doesn't suit us, Professor. Excuse us."

"I will not permit this. Miss Potter."

"Then give us detention. Please let Professor McGonagall know. Let's go, Harry."

"Wait!"

I grabbed Harry's arm and left the room. We entered a random empty classroom (before finding a proper room, we ran into one fake door and a room where the floor was hollow. At Hogwarts, even skipping class is a matter of life and death.) and I faced Harry.

"Harry."

"You're going to tell me to endure it, aren't you."

"...No."

I hugged his shoulders, which had grown tall enough that I now had to look up at them. Harry had his fists clenched and was biting his lip.

"I couldn't endure it either."

"Liar."

"It's true. ...We're the only ones who must never forgive an insult to Cedric."

I gently stroked his messy hair. Harry slowly exhaled, as if remembering how to breathe for the first time.

"Maria—only you—"

"Yeah... yes."

Until the bell signaling the end of class rang, Harry's hands continued to grip the robes at my back.