Chapter 27: The High Inquisitor
Elian was having lunch with Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Ron and Harry sat across from them, while Ginny Weasley had taken the seat on Hermione's other side. The five of them were huddled around a copy of the Daily Prophet spread on the table between the plates of shepherd's pie.
The Daily Prophet held immense sway in the wizarding world, publishing Ministry decrees and wizarding current events. Few stopped to think it was essentially a Ministry mouthpiece. Usually, its articles were harmless, but when the Ministry wanted to steer public opinion, the Prophet became a powerful, misleading tool.
Today's front page was particularly striking. A large, moving photograph showed Dolores Umbridge simpering and batting her eyelashes at the reader. The headline blared beside it:
MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM; UMBRIDGE APPOINTED HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR
"High Inquisitor?" Harry's face went pale, a piece of toast slipping from his fingers. "What does that even mean?"
Elian's stomach tightened. He'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Hermione read the article aloud, her voice tight with anger. "'The Ministry of Magic passed new legislation last night, designed to improve the standard of magical education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Minister Cornelius Fudge has long been concerned about the instability at the historic school. To ensure our young witches and wizards receive a safe, modern, and Ministry-approved education, Dolores Umbridge, currently Deputy Minister and Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, has been installed as High Inquisitor.'"
The article went on to list a litany of Hogwarts' recent 'failings': the hiring of 'unsuitable' staff like werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid, and 'unstable' ex-Auror Alastor Moody. It even mentioned the 'disturbing frequency of student duels and confrontations' since Umbridge's arrival.
It was a hatchet job, painting Hogwarts as a chaotic, dangerous place in desperate need of Ministry control.
"Hey, Elian," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of apple, "this bit about the duels… that's about you, isn't it?"
Hermione shot Elian a look that was equal parts exasperation and concern. "You really did it, didn't you? Storming the Ravenclaw common room."
"I heard you've got a cloak that blocks spells," Ron added, his eyes wide with envy. "Can I see it? Harry's got an invisibility cloak, but I don't have anything like that."
Harry, looking grim, shoved the last of his bread into his mouth and stood up abruptly. "Come on, Ron. We'll be late for Snape. You know what he's like."
Ron scrambled after him, leaving Elian with Hermione and Ginny.
"Don't you have Potions?" Elian asked Hermione.
"They forgot their books. Again." Hermione held up her own heavy Potions textbook pointedly. "You should be careful, Elian," she said, her tone turning serious as she folded the newspaper. "You've made quite a name for yourself. More than Harry ever did in his first month. And you've crossed Umbridge twice now. If she gets a reason…"
Her worry was plain, even wrapped in a scolding.
"Ginny, don't you have Ancient Runes?" Hermione said, gathering her things. "I should go before they brew something catastrophic without their instructions. Elian… just be smart."
"I'll walk with you," Ginny said, following her.
Left alone, Elian sighed and packed up his own bag. His next class was one of the few he genuinely looked forward to: Divination with Professor Sybil Trelawney.
Elian found the subject fascinating. It was the most mysterious discipline at Hogwarts, and Professor Trelawney was one of its most enigmatic figures. He knew she came from a famous lineage—the great-granddaughter of the true Seer, Cassandra Trelawney. Though the gift had diluted over generations, Sybil Trelawney possessed more of it than she—or anyone else—realized. Her predictions were often dismissed as theatrical doom-mongering, but she had made several chillingly accurate prophecies, including the one about Harry and Voldemort.
Elian was curious about the mechanics of it. The magic he was learning from his system spoke of understanding the flow of time and reality. Was there a link? A common thread between theatrical crystal-gazing and true foresight?
So far, his lessons had consisted of Professor Trelawney peering into turbid crystal balls and predicting gruesome, improbable ends for various students—none of which had come true. But he kept hoping to glimpse something real.
Today, the classroom was filled with the usual haze of incense. Professor Trelawney, her glasses magnifying her wide eyes, was murmuring ominously over a student's teacup when the door opened.
Dolores Umbridge walked in, a clipboard in hand, a smug smile plastered on her face. She gave a little wave for Professor Trelawney to continue, then took a seat at the back, quill poised.
Professor Trelawney froze, her hands fluttering nervously. The comforting routine of her class had been shattered.
After a painfully long minute of silence, Umbridge's sugary voice cut through the haze. "Do carry on, Professor. I understand you have held this post for many years. Perhaps you could demonstrate for us? A small prophecy, if you please. Even a tiny one."
(End of Chapter)
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