By the time they had their wands returned and were released from the Ministry cell, it was extremely late. Dawlish didn't look thrilled to see them leaving. Neither did a man who'd arrived while Harry was occupied with Amelia; he'd likely dragged himself out of bed to be here, yet his flowing brown hair — complete with streaks of gray — was only a tad knotted. Rufus Scrimgeour had seen as many battles as there were lines on his face. On both counts, that meant lots.
But he said nothing as Harry, Sturgis, and Marlene walked free. When they escaped the stuffy underground air, exiting onto the streets of Muggle London, Marlene audibly moaned.
"So nice," she said, shutting her eyes and enjoying the cool night air on her face. A moment later, she cracked her eyes open just enough to squint. "I'll swing by Augusta's place. She'll need to know what happened tonight. After that, I'll finally crash."
Sturgis and Harry planned on jumping straight to that part, so the trio said their goodbyes and split up. Appearing on the border of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, Harry couldn't help sighing. Hogwarts' no-Apparating rule could really make a long day even longer. He should've taken the Floo.
At the time, he avoided that option to keep Umbridge out of his business. He knew for a fact that she checked Floo logs. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only measure the toad had taken.
Harry stood just off the path to Hogwarts, his hands resting on his hips, and pondered what to do. Roughly twenty feet ahead, nestled in the knot of a stumpy oak, was what looked like a glob of twenty eyes wrapped in a thin pane of glass. The eyes were looking left, right, up, down, straight, you name it— whatever direction you could think of had at least one pupil pointed that way. If not for the full moon glinting off the glass, Harry wouldn't have noticed it until he'd walked into its range. He groaned and shook his head. "How much Ministry funds did it take for her to get herself a Merlin damned Eye-Bowl?"
They were nasty magical artifacts. Complicated, effective, and above all, expensive. Even family's like the Malfoys typically only outfitted their manors with a single one. There were rumors that making one required plucking out real human eyes, but that was nothing but a myth. Harry's dislike of them just came from his days as an Auror, when a slippery criminal used a whole supply of the things to stay one step ahead for months. He'd never been chewed out so hard by his superiors.
As soon as anything entered its range, the Eye-Bowl would spot it and send a message, alerting the owner. If that owner was a criminal being chased by Aurors, they'd flee before you ever got close. If the owner was a pink-loving anthropomorphic toad with an authority fetish, Harry reckoned she'd come steaming out of the castle in nothing but a bathrobe to confront whoever was sneaking in. He cursed himself and his imagination a moment later. The thought of Umbridge in her pajamas should be classified the same as an Unforgiveable.
Sighing, he shook his head, slapped his cheeks, and strode forward, stepping directly into the Eye-Bowl's range. He forced himself not to flinch as all the eyes locked onto him, crowding against the glass to get a closer look.
Sneaking around a magical object like that was doable, but not easy. Umbridge probably paid enough attention to the rest of the staff to realize that he'd been out that evening, and if he popped back up without setting off her toy, it would raise questions he'd prefer not to cough up answers to.
At some point in the near future, that Eye-Bowl was going to die though.
Hear that? Harry thought, glancing at the creepy little white balls as they squirmed like tadpoles. Your time is coming.
As he climbed the last hill toward Hogwarts' entrance, sure enough, someone was hurrying out the other way.
Umbridge had made some attempt to dress herself properly, thankfully for Harry's eyes. She was wearing a traditional outfit by her standards, although her bubblegum cardigan was unbuttoned, giving him a too-good view of her lower neck.
When she saw who it was that she'd caught, her expression visibly fell.
"Professor Umbridge!" Harry summoned a bright smile, waving his hand over his head. "What are you doing up so late?"
"Work, work, and more work of course," she said in a strained voice. "You know, I could ask you the same thing?"
She laughed, doing a remarkably good job looking like someone who just drank curdled milk. It occurred to Harry that when she rushed out, she probably planned to catch McGonagall or Flitwick in the midst of returning from some incriminating task. She'd have them in Azkaban before dawn, send Dumbledore to join them before breakfast, and earn Fudge's undying acclaim by midday. Instead, it was nothing but a Muggle Studies professor in his old coat.
"I was preparing for my lessons!" Harry said brightly.
"At this hour?" Umbridge said, her lips twitching.
"I was out all night getting things together," Harry confessed. "Tomorrow, I'm going to introduce my fifth years to Muggle sports." He dug into his pockets, smiling brightly. "Look, I've got a shuttlecock in here, and in my other pocket is a shrunken football—"
"That's alright," Umbridge said haughtily. She turned back toward the castle, hesitated, and looked back. "You didn't happen to see anyone else while you were out here, did you? Perhaps another member of the staff…"
"Oh, I did!" Harry said.
Her face brightened again. "Who?!"
"You, Professor Umbridge!" Harry said. "I can see you right now!"
She was gone before he could even tell her goodnight.
O-O-O
Harry inhaled deeply, a big smile across his face as he drank in the scent of cut grass. He and his students were on the sideline of the school Quidditch pitch, reserved just for this lesson. If Madam Hooch caught wind of what he was about to use it for, he doubted she would've signed off so readily.
While his students watched, Harry stooped down and picked up a ball. It was white, its panels tied together with thread, and had the brand name 'Mitre' printed across the front. Harry let go of it and brought his foot up, booting it into the sky. It flew as high as the Quidditch hoops before coming down around the white center circle.
"Good morning, class!" Harry greeted. "Fancy a bit of sports?"
A lot of looks were exchanged. Some of his students glanced at the football Harry just booted; others were more focused on the array of various other sporting equipment behind him, from cleats to rackets to a cricket bat; the rest just looked at each other, wondering what he was up to now.
"What are we learning here exactly, professor?" Hermione asked as soon as he'd called on her hastily-raised hand.
"Muggle pastimes," Harry said happily. "The corresponding chapter in your textbook is, frankly, not worth the paper it's printed on, so I've gotten a little bit inventive. We're going to form teams, and I'll walk you through any Muggle sport you choose. Winners get a special prize."
"What kind of prize?" asked Terry Boot.
"Whatever equipment you were using, for one," Harry said. "Like that football, for example, or the cleats behind me. But that's not all. Each winner will receive exactly one bag of these."
From one of his many pockets, he procured a bright pink bag of Squashies, holding them up for all to see. He popped the bag open and withdrew one of the chewy sweet treats.
Leaning over to Hermione, his go-to expert on all things Muggle, Ron Weasley whispered, "Are those really any good?"
Before he could close his mouth, Harry had rested the Squashy on his middle finger and flicked it forward. Cheating with a bit of magic, he made a perfect shot. The candy hit the inside of Ron's cheek, and the redhead shut his mouth, chewing reflexively. His eyes got wide.
"Ish great!"
Excited murmurs swept his fellow students. If there was one thing that Ronal Weasley was an expert on, it was eating. Any snack or treat that got his seal of approval had to be worth your time. Within five minutes sixteen students had suited up in cleats and taken up positions between two small goals for Harry to explain the rules of the game. Similarities to Quidditch ensured that it didn't take too long.
Others picked out different games. Hannah Abbott and Megan Jones paired off with Terry Boot and Ernie Macmillan, starting up a game of Badminton with Harry's help. Justin Finch-Fletchley walked classmates through the rules of croquet, exuding excitement. Pretty soon, nearly everyone was involved in some kind of game, leaving Harry free to wander between them, refereeing and mediating any disputes.
Ron and Hermione were playing volleyball against Parvati Patil and Fay Dunbar. They should have been the better team, but each time they lost a point they'd end up bickering so much that their teamwork would suffer for at least a few rounds. Harry couldn't help chuckling, reminded of old memories. He noticed that Neville wasn't with them, though. When Harry finally laid eyes on the Boy Who Lived, he was one of the very few students who were still on the sidelines. Frowning, Harry approached.
Neville was sitting on the longer grass just off the Quidditch pitch. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and he was resting his chin on one. Beside him, a cute red-haired girl was shooting him concerned glances whenever he was looking, her hand laid on top of his.
"Neville. Susan." Harry arrived from behind them, making Susan jump. She snatched her hand back as they turned to look at their professor. "Not feeling any of the games?" Harry asked.
Neville managed a small smile. "Not really, professor. Not today."
Harry gave him a onceover. He had deeply colored circles underneath his brown eyes, which were, at best, half-open.
"Trouble sleeping?" Harry asked.
Neville flinched.
"How did you know, professor?" Susan asked, shocked.
"Lucky guess?" Harry posited. "Or maybe it's the bags under his eyes."
Neville frowned. He rubbed his face as if trying to wipe away the signs of fatigue, but only succeeded in accentuating them.
Harry sat down on the grass behind them with a hearty sigh, leaning his weight back.
"Dreams are strange," he said, looking past the two in front of him to watch Anthony Goldstein hammer the football past Blaise Zabini into a goal. "For better or for worse, we're stuck with them. Sometimes they feel far too real. It's hard to let them go. Just try to remember, no matter how intense a dream is… you still wake up. It can't last forever."
"Thanks professor," Neville said.
He sounded polite. Harry could see what he was thinking: You don't understand what these dreams are like. Briefly, Harry's eyes landed on the blade-like scar above his eye. Harry did understand. He was the only person on earth who understood it perfectly.
"Well, I suppose if getting back to sleep is ever part of the problem, I could probably convince Professor Binns to tutor you afterhours on goblin legislation," Harry said. "It's his favorite topic, so he'd be thrilled to. And I haven't met anyone yet who could stay awake through that yet."
Neville and Susan both blinked, before Susan suddenly broke into a peal of laughter.
"Can you say that, Professor?" she asked. "You're colleagues!"
Harry smiled impishly. "I won't tell if you don't. Deal?"
"Deal," Susan stammered, still laughing.
As he watched her laugh, Neville's eyes softened significantly. Harry narrowly kept his eyebrows from rising. He'd wondered, when he saw their hands, but seeing the way Neville looked at her now, Harry had no doubt that there was something between them.
"Thank you, Professor," Neville said. And this time, the words were a lot more heartfelt.
Smiling, Harry dragged himself upright with a groan. He excused himself from the young couple and instead approached the only other student who hadn't joined any of the games. Daphne Greengrass was standing far away from anyone else, all by herself. With a position like that she easily saw Harry coming.
"Professor." She inclined her head. "You offered rewards for students who played and won, but you never mentioned any kind punishment for those who sat out. If you're here to punish me, I'd appreciate it if you clarified this loophole, and allowed me to fix my mistake."
Harry stopped next to her, smiling wryly.
"And if I do tell you that you have to participate?"
Daphne looked back without a hint of shame. "I'm sick, Professor. I'll need to see Madame Pomphrey immediately."
She gave one of the fakest, most forced coughs Harry had ever heard. He crossed his arms, unimpressed.
"I thought Slytherins were supposed to be clever liars," he said.
"Lying, Professor?" Daphne tilted her head. "Do you have any proof?"
Harry sighed, conceding to her superior stubbornness.
"You enjoyed playing cards," he said. "Why not give sports the benefit of the doubt?"
Daphne wrinkled her nose. "Sports did not get me dirty, sir."
"There's worse things in life than a bit of dirt."
"Respectfully," Daphne said, "I disagree."
They watched the other students running around playing their various different games. Some were only going through the motions, but many were visibly getting into it. Among the second group was Blaise Zabini, who had really taken to life as a goalkeeper. His team was winning five to three and he'd played a major role. As Daphne watched him, Harry couldn't shake the idea that her eyes were saying, 'Traitor.'
"Your mother talked to me the other day," Harry said.
As adept as Daphne was at coming up with contingencies and arguments, such sudden news was something she had no answer for.
"I was at the Leaky Cauldron for a meal, and she came right up to my table," Harry said. "I guess she remembered me from Madam Malkin's."
"Did you tell her I was in your class?" There was urgency in Daphne's voice.
"I didn't have to. Your sister did it first."
Daphne clenched her teeth. Briefly, Harry wondered if he should've said that. If Daphne's expression was anything to go by, Astoria was liable to turn up Asphyxiated within the next few days.
"It's alright, Professor," she said. "I'll drop the class quietly. It's no real loss."
Briefly, Harry felt his heart warm. He'd seen how well Daphne could lie when she had to. So the fact that he could actually hear her struggling to say she wouldn't miss his class was… touching.
Or she was just livid that her mother would try to interfere in her own choices. That could be it. Fortunately, Harry got to be the bearer of good news.
"Drop the class?" he said. "Why?"
Daphne looked at him, her blond eyebrows pinching together. "Why else would she approach you? I know my mother. That's the only thing she could have wanted."
"She actually wanted me to force you out. Without telling you why, of course," Harry said. "Awfully greedy. I refused."
There was a moment of silence, during which the cries of Daphne's peers sounded strangely far away.
"Why would you do that for me?" she asked.
"Because you're my student." Instead of looking at her, he looked at the rest of his class, running and playing around the field. "I would do it for any of them if I had to."
Daphne was quiet for quite a while.
"What do you want in return?" she asked.
"Pardon?" Harry asked.
"I despise being in debt. You got my mother off of my back, even if I'm sure it's only temporary. What will make us even?"
"There is no debt," Harry said exasperatedly. "I did my job, not a favor. But if you insist… Come and play a game with me. I promise it won't get you dirty."
Daphne winced, her lips curling. But she followed him up to the pile of leftover sporting equipment nobody claimed. From it, Harry hefted a heavy cricket bat. He picked up a matching ball next, tossing it into Daphne's hands. She frowned at the ball as if its cork surface personally offended her.
"What do I do with it?" she asked.
"You throw it, and I hit it," Harry said. "Kind of like a Beater in Quidditch." He surveyed the field. "Let's move out of the way. I'd hate to get in the way of their games."
Harry led her to the very edge of the field. He gave the air a few experimental swings. When his shoulder was warmed up, he shielded his face from the sun with a hand, staring at a tree not too far away. Something happened to be glittering among its branches. Harry smiled, lowering his hand to wrap it around the bat's upper handle.
"Ready when you are!" he said.
Daphne was still frowning as she lobbed a soft underhand throw in his direction. It was far from a proper pitch, not even bouncing in front of Harry, but it came in at a height he could strike. Harry smashed it with the bat, sending the ball whistling through the air.
Wandless magic was a challenge even for him, and for the most part his skills were limited to parlor tricks. But when he had time and he really focused, Harry was capable of pushing those boundaries. He subtly manipulated the flight of the ball, aiming it toward the tree he'd taken note of.
It slammed into the lower branches with a heavy thud. Moments later, something dislodged, tumbling to the ground. Straining his ears, Harry just caught the sound of smashing glass. There was an odd high-pitched whine as gooey enchanted eyes evaporated out of their smashed glass container. Harry didn't approach to investigate, content to lean on his bat, which he rested against the ground. He was smirking.
"Home run," he said. "...Or wait, is that the wrong Muggle sport?"
"Is that all, Professor?" Daphne asked.
"Sure, Daphne. Spend the rest of the period however you like."
She nodded and quickly walked to the other side of the field, as far from Harry as she could get. She might have been grateful to him for sticking up for her, but the fear that he'd rope her into another game if she stayed close was very apparent.
Harry barely kept himself from giggling as he returned to his class. He counted off in his head. Five minutes. Ten minutes. He was sure it would take less than fifteen.
Sure enough, close to the end of class, Umbridge ran into sight. Her squat legs weren't made to work that fast, leaving her looking one step away from tripping at all times. She scampered in this way over to the tree where Harry hit his ball. When she got to it, she screamed as if she'd discovered a murder.
His students looked over, forgetting all about the Squashies Harry was handing out. Umbridge had spotted the ball in the tree. She looked at it, then over at the class and Harry himself. Suddenly, she walked toward them.
"WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT!" she screamed.
The students flinched, unsure what was happening. Harry stepped forward, placing himself between her and them.
"Professor Umbridge," Harry said. "The right to do what? I'm holding a class here."
Her cheeks were so red they'd nearly reached purple. It reminded Harry of his Uncle Vernon.
"What kind of class involves rolling in the mud like common fools?" she snapped. "You call this a curriculum? Dangerous classes like this—"
"But no one was hurt," Harry said.
Umbridge halted only briefly. "Do you have any idea the damage—"
"Did we break something?" Harry asked. This time, he sounded truly apologetic. "I'm sorry! I held class out here so that nothing would be in the way. What did we break?"
"My—" For a moment he thought that Umbridge was going to answer. At the very last second, she got control of herself, slamming her mouth shut as she realized how close she just came to blundering.
Eye-Bowls were professional grade monitoring equipment. Not only were they massively effective, they were massive invasions of privacy. No matter how much the Ministry strong-armed him, there was no chance Dumbledore would have allowed one to be used on school grounds unless Fudge himself personally came to set it up.
Umbridge could get away with a lot. Installing powerful magic items with no oversight or clearance, though? That was too much even for her to easily get away with.
She pulled her cardigan tighter, stamping her foot. "You see how long you can play these stupid games," she said instead of answering his question. "We'll see who gets the last laugh, you Muggle adoring moron!"
Harry heard Hermine and a few of the other girls gasp behind him. Umbridge stormed past, heading back to the castle and the classroom she left unattended as she rushed to check on her toy. Harry watched her go with a grim smile.
"She can't talk to him that way, can she?" he heard Hermione exclaim.
It was Ron who answered.
"Hermione," he said, "the Ministry's made it so she can do whatever the bleedin' hell she wants."
He was right, but right now, Harry didn't feel too down about it. It was clear that he was succeeding when it came to getting into her head. Umbridge could do her best to make everyone else's lives hell. Harry would just do the same right back.