The trio were enjoying their lunch, discussing the inquisitors who were roaming around the school in earnest, questioning students on their general safety, when Luna came in from her last class, tears running down her face.
"Who was it?" Harry asked without preamble. This was now the fifth time Luna had shown up late to a meal near-tears, and each time she refused to divulge any names. Harry was starting to feel a mass of built-up energy whispering in the back of his mind. This was now five times too many, and his annoyance that Luna was refusing to tell him which child he could be murdering was wearing on his patience.
"One of my dormmates called me a stupid bitch," Luna said, sitting down with a frown. "She took my shoes again and I went to ask for them back since I have Herbology next and I don't like the feeling of dirt in my socks, and Professor Sprout says it's not safe to be barefoot in the greenhouses." Harry nodded sagely, unpleasant textures near one's feet felt like stepping in hell. "She refused to give them back, though. And she started saying lots of mean things to me. And the other girls in my dorm agreed with her. All I did was try to explain to Fiona that the dragonpox vaccine is dangerous because it lowers your IQ. She told me that I must have gotten several vaccines then since I'm such a stupid bitch." She shielded her face in her hands and tried to hold back her tears. "And - and I still don't have my shoes!"
Hermione also put her head in her hands and sighed for a good minute straight.
"Luna, I'm pretty sure vaccines don't actually do that," Ron explained gently.
"Oh. But daddy said that -"
"Luna," Hermione said. "Look, that is a controversial opinion, so it's probably one that should stay inside. Like I explained last week, remember?"
"If from my dad, I am taught, it should stay, an inside thought." Luna sang the song Hermione had made her memorize the last time she'd done something like this.
"It wasn't right of them to nick your things," She clarified. "But I'm worried you'll accidentally encourage them by saying something that might be insensitive."
Luna frowned, pondering Hermione's view. She hated the thought of not being true to herself, of having to put on a mask around others so they didn't think she was strange. It just felt wrong. And she had only been trying to help Fiona by warning her. But things were quite tense in her dorm. Hermione was right in that she did not wish to escalate things further. She didn't understand. She didn't try to force any of them to be her friend, she was just joining in their conversation. If they didn't like her, why couldn't they just leave her alone?
Luna, in a moment of very non-whimsical, nihilistic self-reflection far removed from her typical daydreaming peacefulness realized that she didn't think anyone really liked her.
...
The two women could not have been more opposite if they'd tried. Their potions class was no longer the drab, gloomy dungeon room but that did not mean Alabasandria was any more of a color-loving person than Snape had been. Besides a fair amount of potted plants around the perimeter of the class, both the room and Alabasandria were entirely devoid of color. Umbridge stood in front of the class, standing tall and proper with a foul look on her face and clashing against the dark room in her vibrant pink business attire, strings of pearls, and curled updo. Alabasandria towered over her, posture lax and with her hands crossed in front of her, and was dressed in her favorite pair of black jeans and a black muggle t-shirt. Umbridge was trying and failing to not look overtly horrified at Alabasandria's general appearance and demeanor.
"Not dressed professionally," she murmured. "Just a few questions before you begin your class, Miss Adams."
"Hmm. Set up your stations, children." Alabasandria ordered the group who had their attention glued to the inevitable theatrics that were about to occur. The children began to pull out their supplies at a snail's pace, unwilling to remove their eyes from the two adults. Harry shoved a large wad of parchment in his mouth to preemptively hold back his giggles.
"How old are you?" Umbridge asked.
"Older than you," she responded curtly.
"Really? You look… youthful. Do you have a robe you could cover up with? I'm sure we both agree that those gang symbols aren't appropriate for the children to see."
"Oh, I won't be doing that." She began to clean under her nails, showing off her magical knuckle tattoos that could change phrases at will. At the moment they said GIRL and BOSS across each hand. Considering that they were both career-driven women, one would expect Umbridge to appreciate that commitment but instead she looked particularly annoyed.
Umbridge's eyes began to twitch and she scribbled some more notes down.
"How long have you been a professor?"
"A month and a half now."
"And do you have any prior experience with teaching children?"
"Well, I've got my kid. I taught him."
"Oh," she looked rather shocked at that. "I had been informed you were not married."
"I'm not?"
"Umbridge gave her another look of horror and muttered as she penned, "mother out of wedlock."
"I didn't give birth to the little shit, that's disgusting. I kidnapped him, technically. How is this relevant to my teaching experience?"
At that moment, the other two inspectors, who had been inside the storeroom came out and joined them, not noticing the tension filling the room, and the students quietly making bets on how graphically Madame Umbridge was about to be murdered.
"Everything is in perfect order, Professor Adams." One of them said. "Perfect drainage, ventilation, and all the supplies are properly labeled. Great work. Have you finished the preliminary interview, Dolores?" Umbridge gave a hem and a nod, jotting down some more notes. "Excellent, we'll just be monitoring the lesson then." The students scrambled to act natural, picking up random objects so it looked like they had been working.
Alabasandria shot the pink woman a heated glare behind her back as the adults moved to an empty table in the back of the class.
"Right, settle down. Hair-Changing Potions. Page 117. I hope you all remembered your modifiers for color and length and read the chapter ahead of time. It's a time-intensive brew so I doubt you all will finish today, but that doesn't mean you can dawdle. We won't gather fresh ingredients today, except the dandelions which I have right here, and the rabbits. We haven't skinned anything yet so this is the reason I don't want you rushing. You'll need all the fur and two feet. Keep your knife pointed away from you while you slice. Questions?"
There was a murmur of no's and Harry looked over to see the inspectors eyeballing the small cage full of happy white rabbits nibbling on their final meal of lettuce and open horror on the adults' faces.
"Longbottom?" Alabasandria called.
"Um, I was thinking Irish Ivy, professor." Neville bumbled out, anxious to an advanced degree on account of Umbridge already pissing off their professor.
"Why?"
"Um. Because the rabbits represent quick growth and nourishment - and Irish Ivy can grow in extreme conditions. Ma'am. And - um. Rosemary oil, instead of the feet. As an acidic base and blessed with luck."
"Very good," she said, and Neville breathed a huge sigh of relief. "I would have picked Formulda's spring ivy flowers, but those are rarer in England. Less oily, though. Mind how the texture of the vines affects the potion's boiling point. You'll need a lot of ivy, a few yards at least. Cut it as little as possible, and it must be straight from the vine. Go grab some - the rest of you, get started, chop-chop."
"Yes, professor."
....
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