Chapter 281: Professor Umbridge
Phineas did not notice the deep reluctance in the conversation between him and Dumbledore.
Perhaps in Phineas's heart, the two old men—Dumbledore and Nicolas—had long since become like family, elder figures he cherished.
He had only one class scheduled that afternoon, and coincidentally, it was Umbridge's Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Knowing the original timeline, Phineas was well aware of what her class was like and had no illusions.
Perhaps even the heavens mourned recent farewells.
After Sirius and Hagrid left Hogwarts, it began to drizzle, and the skies threatened a full storm.
Students gathered in small groups under the covered corridors beside the courtyard, pulling up the collars of their robes and wrapping scarves tighter against the cold November wind. They chatted about schoolwork and recent events. But the biggest topic of discussion was Dumbledore's announcement the previous night: the return of Voldemort, and how their parents were reacting.
When Phineas walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Umbridge was already seated at the podium, still dressed in the fluffy pink cardigan from the night before, a black velvet bow pinned to her hair like a giant mosquito perched on a pink toad.
All the students entered the classroom silently. After two months as Hogwarts' High Inquisitor, Umbridge's reputation was well established. Everyone knew how strict—and unreasonably so—she could be.
"Good afternoon, students," she said when they were seated.
Only a few muttered a reluctant reply.
"Good afternoon."
Most chose to remain silent, waiting to see what she would do next.
"Tsk, tsk."
Umbridge's displeasure was evident.
"That's not the proper response, is it? I would like to hear you say: Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge. Now, try again."
Her syrupy, high-pitched voice was as grating as ever, but out of respect for authority, the students obeyed.
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge."
"Much better," she replied with a smug smile. "Now, wands away and quills out, please."
Even Phineas, despite knowing what was coming, couldn't help but frown. The other students looked confused and discouraged.
Everyone packed away their wands—into sleeves, wand holsters, or schoolbags—and brought out quills, ink, and parchment.
Umbridge tapped the blackboard with her short, stubby wand, and two lines of words appeared:
Defense Against the Dark Arts
Back to Basics
"Students, the teaching of this subject has been inconsistent and chaotic," Umbridge announced, folding her hands over her chest. "The constant change of teachers—many of whom did not follow Ministry-approved curricula—has left you far behind where you ought to be in your fourth year. With your OWLs next year, this is especially concerning."
"But you'll be glad to know that these issues will be resolved. This year, we'll be using a carefully structured, theory-based, Ministry-approved syllabus. Please copy down what's on the board."
She tapped the board again. The previous text was replaced by three Course Objectives:
1. Understand the basic principles of magical defense.
2. Learn to identify situations where magical defense is legally permissible.
3. Evaluate magical defense in practical contexts.
The room filled with the soft scratching of quills. Two or three minutes later, after everyone had copied the text, Umbridge continued.
"Does every student have a copy of Magical Defense Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
There was a murmur of replies, causing slight disorder.
Umbridge frowned.
"Let's try that again. The correct response is 'Yes, Professor Umbridge' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' Now: does every student have a copy of Magical Defense Theory?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the class replied obediently.
"Very good. Now turn to page five and begin reading Chapter One: 'Basic Principles.' No talking."
She returned to her seat and stared at the class with wide, watchful eyes.
Phineas frowned. As expected, Umbridge's class was more rigid and dull than he had imagined. But the reading exercise gave him freedom.
He tapped the cover of Magical Defense Theory lightly with his gloved left hand. When he opened the book again, the pages now held Nicolas's alchemy notes—cleverly hidden with magic.
Unlike the other students reading halfheartedly, Phineas read with deep focus, occasionally nodding, silently affirming Nicolas's theories and imagining how he might test them.
The classroom remained silent for several minutes, but students were already growing restless. Without someone like Hermione to challenge Umbridge or stir debate, most simply endured.
The Slytherins, most of whom came from wealthy families, didn't worry much—they could get private instruction outside school. The Hufflepuffs in class didn't mind; most didn't plan on careers requiring combat magic. So they went along with the lesson, whether they learned anything or not.
And so, the dreary atmosphere lasted until the bell rang. Umbridge stood and announced the end of class.
Phineas was packing up his things when she called out:
"Mr. Black, wait a moment."
He turned to face her.
"Yes, Professor Umbridge?"
"Oh, nothing much," she said in a cloying voice. "I was just wondering—why did your brother, Mr. Sirius Black, resign as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"
Phineas shrugged and smiled at Umbridge.
"Professor, he's my brother, not me. He doesn't owe me any explanations, and I can't speak for what conclusions he drew or from what perspective. But if you ask me, maybe he was cursed by the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Isn't that rather likely?"
Umbridge's expression twisted unpleasantly. The Ministry of Magic refused to acknowledge any curse on the position. In their view, the frequent turnover of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors at Hogwarts was just another one of Dumbledore's schemes.
"Mr. Black, I'm speaking to you about a serious matter. Kindly refrain from making jokes!"
Phineas shrugged again.
"Professor, weren't you the one who started joking? Whether Sirius resigned, how he resigned, or why—that's really none of your concern, is it? Or should I say… it's not you who's concerned, but Fudge?"
"You will refer to him as Minister Fudge!"
"That's your minister. Not mine."
Phineas refuted her without the slightest hesitation.
"I'm not like the average student, Professor. After I graduate from Hogwarts, I'll be entering the elder council directly. You've heard of the elder council, haven't you? It's the governing body where the Selwyn family holds a seat."
There was a faint smile on Phineas's lips—mocking and cool—as he looked at the woman in front of him, who overcompensated for her insecurities with shrill tones and self-important gestures.
"Mr. Black, I'm assigning you detention!" she snapped.
Phineas merely shrugged and smiled again.
"Professor Umbridge, with all due respect, I haven't violated any of Hogwarts' school rules. Isn't your Ministry obsessed with written regulations? If you give me detention without just cause, then you're contradicting the rules set by your minister. I'll be sure to inform Fudge."
"It's Minister Fudge!" she barked.
"Doesn't matter. Anything else, Professor Umbridge?"
In the end, Umbridge had no choice but to let Phineas go. As he'd said, the Ministry's influence meant little to him, and his actions were well within the rules. That fact made Umbridge—who had no real power over him—seethe with fury.
Unlike Phineas, Harry and the others weren't so lucky in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The trouble began with Hermione—a sensitive and sharp girl—who refused to stay silent. In the end, Harry got dragged into it as well, and both of them were given detention.
When Phineas heard, it was already too late to intervene. He wasn't surprised about Harry—his bravery often crossed into recklessness. But Hermione? Phineas doubted she would have provoked Umbridge without knowing what was at stake.
He concluded Umbridge had targeted her deliberately. But why? Could it really be just because he had defied her?
His suspicions were confirmed days later when Draco and Astoria were punished as well—Draco had house points deducted, and Astoria was given detention.
Recalling the cruel nature of Umbridge's detentions, Phineas grew concerned. He found Astoria reading in the library and approached her.
"Leah, can you come with me for a moment? I need to talk to you."
He led her to the seventh-floor corridor and paced before the blank stretch of wall. The door to the Room of Requirement appeared, and they stepped inside.
"What is it, Phineas?" Astoria asked.
He turned to face her, locking eyes.
After a moment, Astoria blushed and looked away, her pale cheeks tinged with pink.
"W-why are you staring at me like that?" she stammered.
"You were given detention by Umbridge?" he asked.
Astoria nodded. "Y-yes."
"Don't go."
"Why… why not?"
"Umbridge is targeting me. She can't touch me, so she's going after the people around me. Harry, Hermione—and now you. Have you seen the scar on the back of Hermione's hand?"
Astoria clenched her jaw. "I… I'm not afraid… I'm not afraid of pain!"
"I know you're not," Phineas said, his voice softer. "You survived the Fiendfyre. But this isn't about pain, Leah. Your health is still fragile. You need time to recover."