“I got a ‘P,’” said Ron, ladling soup into his bowl. “Happy?”
“Well, that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Fred, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Harry’s right. “Nothing wrong with a good healthy ‘P.’”
“But,” said Hermione, “doesn’t ‘P’ stand for…”
“’Poor,’ yeah,” said Lee Jordan. “Still, better than ‘D,’ isn’t it? ‘Dreadful’?”
Harry felt his face grow warm and faked a small coughing fit over his roll. When he emerged from this he was sorry to find that Hermione was still in full flow about O.W.L. grades.
“So top grade’s ‘O’ for ‘Outstanding,’” she was saying, “and then there’s ‘A’—”
“No, ‘E,’” George corrected her, “‘E’ for ‘Exceeds Expectations.’ And I’ve always thought Fred and I should’ve got ‘E’ in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams.”
They all laughed except Hermione, who ploughed on, “So, after ‘E’ it’s ‘A’ for ‘Acceptable,’ and that’s the last pass grade, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” said Fred, dunking an entire roll in his soup, transferring it to his mouth and swallowing it whole.
“Then you get ‘P’ for ‘Poor’—” Ron raised both his arms in mock celebration—“and ‘D’ for ‘Dreadful.’”
“And then ‘T,’” George reminded him.
“‘T’?” asked Hermione, looking appalled. “Even lower than a ‘D’? What on earth does ‘T’ stand for?”
“‘Troll,’” said George promptly.
Harry laughed again, though he was not sure whether or not George was joking. He imagined trying to conceal from Hermione that he had received ‘T’s in all his O.W.L.s and immediately resolved to work harder from now on.
“You lot had an inspected lesson yet?” Fred asked them.
“No,” said Hermione at once. “Have you?”
“Just now, before lunch,” said George. “Charms.”
“What was it like?” Harry and Hermione asked together.
Fred shrugged.
“Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick’s like, he treated her like a guest, didn’t seem to bother him at all. She didn’t say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it.”
“I can’t see old Flitwick getting marked down,” said George, “he usually gets everyone through their exams all right.”
“Who’ve you got this afternoon?” Fred asked Harry.
“Trelawney—”
“A ‘T’ if ever I saw one.”
“—and Umbridge herself.”
“Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today,” said George. “Angelina’ll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices.”
But Harry did not have to wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts to meet Professor Umbridge. He was pulling out his dream diary in a seat at the very back of the shadowy Divination room when Ron elbowed him in the ribs and, looking round, he saw Professor Umbridge emerging through the trapdoor in the floor. The class, which had been talking cheerily fell silent at once. The abrupt fall in the noise level made Professor Trelawney, who had been wafting about handing out copies of The Dream Oracle, look round.
“Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney,” said Professor Umbridge with her wide smile. “You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?”
Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Professor Umbridge and continued to give out books. Still smiling, Professor Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney’s seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin.
Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses.
“We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today,” she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. “Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each other’s latest night-time visions with the aid of the Oracle.”
She made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Professor Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left towards Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati’s most recent dream.
Harry opened his copy of The Dream Oracle, watching Umbridge covertly. She was already making notes on her clipboard. After a few minutes she got to her ieet and began to pace the room in Trelawney’s wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there. Harry bent his head hurriedly over his book.
“Think of a dream, quick,” he told Ron, “in case the old toad comes our way.”
“I did it last time,” Ron protested, “it’s your turn, you tell me one.”
“Oh, I dunno…” said Harry desperately, who could not remember dreaming anything at all over the last few days. “Let’s say I dreamed I was… drowning Snape in my cauldron. Yeah, that’ll do…”
Ron chortled as he opened his Dream Oracle.
“OK, we’ve got to add your age to the date you had the dream, the number of letters in the subject… would that be ‘drowning’ or ‘cauldron’ or ‘Snape’?”
“It doesn’t matter, pick any of them,” said Harry, chancing a glance behind him. Professor Umbridge was now standing at Professor Trelawney’s shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary.
“What night did you dream this again?” Ron said, immersed in calculations.
“I dunno, last night, whenever you like,” Harry told him, trying to listen to what Umbridge was saying to Professor Trelawney. They were only a table away from him and Ron now. Professor Umbridge was making another note on her clipboard and Professor Trelawney was looking extremely put out.
“Now,” said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, “you’ve been in this post how long, exactly?”
Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, “Nearly sixteen years.”
“Quite a period,” said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. “So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?”
“That’s right,” said Professor Trelawney shortly.
Professor Umbridge made another note.
“And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?”
“Yes,” said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher.
Another note on the clipboard.
“But I think—correct me if I am mistaken—that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?”
“These things often skip—er—three generations,” said Professor Trelawney.
Professor Umbridge’s toadlike smile widened.
“Of course,” she said sweetly, making yet another note. “Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?” And she looked up enquiringly, still smiling.
Professor Trelawney stiffened as though unable to believe her ears. “I don’t understand you,” she said, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.
“I’d like you to make a prediction for me,” said Professor Umbridge very clearly.