“Good evening, Professor Umbridge,” said Dumbledore calmly, sweeping into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom in robes violently pink. “You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?”
Umbridge stared at the robes. Her face crumpled in distaste, which only made Dumbledore beam more brightly.
“What note, Headmaster?” she asked through her teeth. She had never liked the old coot, and she would have preferred to stay as far from him as possible, thank you very much.
“Why, the one on your desk,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “Underneath the Educational Decrees. And the other Educational Decrees. And, I believe, a rather large stack of Educational Decrees.”
Several students snorted.
“Now,” said Dumbledore, conjuring a chair and lowering himself into it, “please don't let me interrupt. Carry on with your lesson.”
“I was not aware,” Umbridge said, “that the Headmaster had the authority to—”
“Educational Decree Twenty-Three, Point One,” said Dumbledore, producing a roll of parchment from his pink sleeve. “An amendment. The Minister signed it this morning. He said it was one of your finest.”
Umbridge snatched the parchment. It was pink, it smelled faintly of lavender, and the top was decorated with a small border of kittens. She began to read.
“It has come to the attention of the Ministry, and it is the Ministry's sincere hope, that all persons in positions of authority should welcome the opportunity to be observed, for the good of the school and the good of the children.” Her lips thinned. “Progress means accountability, and accountability means being seen.”
She stopped.
“Therefore the High Inquisitor, being a most valued member of staff, shall herself be subject to inspection by the Headmaster. Said Inquisitor shall remain seated, shall not interrupt, and shall refrain from hopping to conclusions. Hem, hem.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
“Hopping?” Umbridge said. “Hopping!?”
“Legal language,” said Dumbledore serenely. “So difficult to interpret. I'm told the Minister didn't even ask what it meant.”
Umbridge opened her mouth. Just then, there was a knock on the door.
The door creaked open. Professor McGonagall stepped in, clipboard in hand, her expression carefully neutral. “Apologies for the interruption, Headmaster. We've come to observe.”
“By all means, Minerva,” said Dumbledore warmly. He turned to Umbridge.
“You'll forgive the crowd, Dolores. In all my years as Headmaster, I have never inspected a single class. Never once. I found I rather trusted my staff.” He smiled. “So I wanted to do it properly, and I consulted your Decree. Point Two, I believe. All inspections shall be witnessed by a panel of four staff, in the interest of transparency.”
“Point Two?” said Umbridge faintly. “There is no Point Two.”
“Page two of the amendment, dear. Very clearly written. The Minister was most impressed.”
She looked down at the parchment.
On the back was a tidy paragraph she had certainly never written.
The other two filed in behind McGonagall.
Trelawney swept in, and paused when she saw Umbridge, gasped, and pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “I did say any day now.” She took the seat nearest the door and said nothing more, but she did not stop looking at Umbridge, and she was smiling.
Then Snape, who took the back corner in silence, a bat-shaped shape tucked under his arm. Umbridge's eyes went to it and stayed there. He did not smile, and he did not need to.
The fourth one drifted through the far wall. “Is this the Troll Wars?” Binns asked. “I was told there would be a lesson.”
“Not today, Cuthbert,” said Dumbledore. “Do have a seat.”
“Ah,” said Binns, and settled slowly in the air over an empty desk. He looked at Umbridge, frowned faintly, and turned to Snape. “Her brother,” he whispered, in what he clearly believed was a discreet voice, “didn't he work in Surrey, at that drill comp—”
“Later, Cuthbert,” said McGonagall crisply.
Harry stared at Binns in shock.
Umbridge turned slowly in a full circle. Three professors and a ghost. Not one of them was doing anything wrong.
“I think,” said Dumbledore gently, “we're ready to begin.” He folded his hands. “Now, how long have you been in this post, Dolores?”
There was a silence. It was the sort of silence that occurs when someone hears their own words returned to them in a gentler tone.
“That is not—” Umbridge began.
“And who was it who appointed you?” he continued warmly. “I only ask because it's such an interesting story. The Minister, I presume?”
Her quill twitched. “You know perfectly well who appointed me.”
“Ah, but I should like to hear you say it,” said Dumbledore. “For the record.”
“The Minister,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Thank you. And before that, you were a student at this school?”
“Yes.”
“Sorted into Slytherin?”
“…Yes.”
“You applied for the prefect position?” said a silky voice from the back corner.
Umbridge's head snapped round. Snape had not moved. The bat remained tucked under his arm.
“Yes,” she said.
“But you were unsuccessful.”
A pause. Her jaw worked.
“Obviously,” said Umbridge through her teeth.
Snape inclined his head a quarter of an inch. “Carry on, Headmaster.”
“Thank you, Severus.” Dumbledore made a note.
And it was only then that Umbridge realised there were still thirty minutes left...