𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦

𝐕𝐈

Harry acted out of instinct. He sure hated Umbridge, and didn't mind the slightest if she was cursed, but the figure in front of him, was a Death Eater. He immediately drew out his wand and shouted, "Expelliarmus!"
The spell hit its mark, resulting in her wand being in Harry's hand. The woman turned, looking both shocked and impressed.
And then Harry James Potter found out the similarity.

There stood in front of him, the person he'd been looking for. His only living family.

Jennifer flashed a smile, exposing her canines. "Hello, Harry."

Her eyes then fell on her weapon, which was currently held by the boy. "I'd like to have that back, thanks."

Umbridge stifled a scream.

Harry paid no attention, instead, tightened his grip on it, and took a step back. He then heard a feminine voice, deep inside his mind. . .

"Return what doesn't belong to you."

Unlike Voldemort's, it was gentle, yet demanding. His scar hurt, and he inhaled sharply at the sudden pain.

"No." He managed to say. And then he knew why the sensation seemed so familiar. The last time he faced this, was in his fourth year. When Mad-Eye Moody, or Barty Crouch Jr., used the Imperius Curse.

"Impressive." Said a voice above him. He realised that at some point, he had fallen into his knees, onto the ground.

"No one has ever resisted that." She added. The woman bent down to pick up the wand, that had rolled across the floor when he had fallen.

"P-Put it d-down at once!," a voice squeaked fearfully. "Or else the Ministry shall make you pay!"

The younger woman's lip curled up in disgust. "You have this. . . thing as a teacher?"

Harry cracked a smile. "How dare you?" Umbridge shrieked. The toad drew out her wand, but before she could point it correctly, Jennifer had casually flicked her wand, muttering, "Petrificus Totalus."

He thought her eyes had turned milky white at once, when the spell was cast, but as soon as he noticed it, it turned back to the usual chocolate brown.

He took a deep breath, gazing at Umbridge's horror struck frozen face. "You're supposed to be dead." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Jenny smiled once more in reply, but this time, it was filled with irony. "Trust me, I wished it too." Her tone changed. "How was the Christmas present?"

"You sent it," Harry confirmed, thinking about the golden pendant sitting in his dorm.

She just shrugged, and McGonagall's robes transformed into tight black ones with a shimmer of magic. "It was your father's."

He wanted to ask more, about their relation, why she couldn't come earlier, her past, her 'death,' everything. And as much as selfish he knew it was, he wanted to stay be her, Death Eater or not. Blood is thicker than water, after all.

But he couldn't utter a single word, as there was a rustle of fabric, and she was gone. Harry was confused. She couldn't disapparate, could she?

Professor Umbridge was still breathing as though she had just run a race when she strode into their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that afternoon. "I hope you've thought better of what you were planning to do, Harry," Hermione whispered, the moment they had opened their books to chapter thirty-four ("Non Retaliation and Negotiation"). "Umbridge looks like she's in a really bad mood already. . . ." Every now and then Umbridge shot glowering looks at Harry, who kept his head down, staring at Defensive Magical Theory, his eyes unfocused, thinking, the recent events in the back of his head. . . He had told no one about it. . . He could just imagine Professor McGonagall's reaction if he were caught trespassing in Professor Umbridge's office . . . There was nothing to stop him simply going back to Gryffindor Tower and hoping that sometime during the next summer holiday he would have a chance to ask Sirius about the scene he had witnessed in the Pensieve. . . . Nothing, except that the thought of taking this sensible course of action made him feel as though a lead weight had dropped into his stomach. . . . And then there was the matter of Fred and George, whose diversion was already planned, not to mention the knife Sirius had given him, which was currently residing in his schoolbag along with his father's old Invisibility Cloak. . . . But the fact remained that if he were caught . . . "Dumbledore sacrificed himself to keep you in school, Harry!" whispered Hermione, raising her book to hide her face from Umbridge. "And if you get thrown out today it will all have been for nothing!" He could abandon the plan and simply learn to live with the memory of what his father had done on a summer's day more than twenty years ago. . . . And then he remembered Sirius in the fire upstairs in the Gryffindor common room. . . "You're less like your father than I thought. . . . The risk would've been what made it fun for James. . . ." But did he want to be like his father anymore? "Harry, don't do it, please don't do it!" Hermione said in anguished tones as the bell rang at the end of the class. He did not answer; he did not know what to do. Ron seemed determined to give neither his opinion nor his advice. He would not look at Harry, though when Hermione opened her mouth to try dissuading Harry some more, he said in a low voice, "Give it a rest, okay? He can make up his own mind." Harry's heart beat very fast as he left the classroom. He was halfway along the corridor outside when he heard the unmistakable sounds of a diversion going off in the distance. There were screams and yells reverberating from somewhere above them. People exiting the classrooms all around Harry were stopping in their tracks and looking up at the ceiling fearfully. Then Umbridge came pelting out of her classroom as fast as her short legs would carry her. Pulling out her wand, she hurried off in the opposite direction: It was now or never. "Harry - please!" said Hermione weakly.
But he had made up his mind - hitching his bag more securely onto his shoulder he set off at a run, weaving in and out of students now hurrying in the opposite direction, off to see what all the fuss was about in the east wing. . . . Harry reached the corridor where Umbridge's office was situated and found it deserted. Dashing behind a large suit of armor whose helmet creaked around to watch him, he pulled open his bag, seized Sirius's knife, and donned the Invisibility Cloak. He then crept slowly and carefully back out from behind the suit of armor and along the corridor until he reached Umbridge's door. He inserted the blade of the magical knife into the crack around it and moved it gently up and down, then withdrew it. There was a tiny click, and the door swung open. He ducked inside the office, closed the door quickly behind him, and looked around. It was empty; nothing was moving except the horrible kittens on the plates continuing to frolic on the wall above the confiscated broomsticks. Harry pulled off his cloak and, striding over to the fireplace, found what he was looking for within seconds: a small box containing glittering Floo powder. He crouched down in front of the empty grate, his hands shaking. He had never done this before, though he thought he knew how it must work. Sticking his head into the fireplace, he took a large pinch of powder and dropped it onto the logs stacked neatly beneath him. They exploded at once into emerald-green flames. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" Harry said loudly and clearly. It was one of the most curious sensations he had ever experienced; he had traveled by Floo powder before, of course, but then it had been his entire body that had spun around and around in the flames through the network of Wizarding fireplaces that stretched over the country: This time, his knees remained firm upon the cold floor of Umbridge's office, and only his head hurtled through the emerald fire. . . .And then, abruptly as it had begun, the spinning stopped. Feeling rather sick and as though he was wearing an exceptionally hot muffler around his head, Harry opened his eyes to find that he was looking up out of the kitchen fireplace at the long, wooden table, where a man sat poring over a piece of parchment. "Sirius?" The man jumped and looked around. It was not Sirius, but Lupin. "Harry!" he said, looking thoroughly shocked. "What are you . . . what's happened, is everything all right?" "Yeah," said Harry. "I just wondered - I mean, I just fancied a - a chat with Sirius."
"I'll call him," said Lupin, getting to his feet, still looking perplexed.
"He went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again. . . ." And Harry saw Lupin hurry out of the kitchen. Now he was left with nothing to look at but the chair and table legs. He wondered why Sirius had never mentioned how very uncomfortable it was to speak out of the fire - his knees were already objecting painfully to their prolonged contact with Umbridge's hard stone floor. Lupin returned with Sirius at his heels moments later.