Chapter 14

The students were in unusually high spirits as they began to file into the Great Hall for dinner that evening, for all those in third year and up were permitted to visit Hogsmeade the next day - except for the few who lacked parental permission slips or who were denied permission as a particularly cruel form of detention, the misery of these unfortunates increased by their friends' cheerful and rowdy banter about the fun they'd have the next day. Imogen entered the Great Hall along with the last of the stragglers, glad to see that her friends had saved a place for her at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione. Imogen took her place to the greetings of her fellow students, the hellos abbreviated because Ron had just launched into the tale of his plans for getting himself a pint at the Hog's Head the next day.

"I've figured it out!" he cried excitedly, looking at his twin brothers across from him. "That charm you used last year to artificially age yourselves - I can do it - I'm sure I can. I practised it at lunch and during my spare and I'm know I've got it right!" Fred and George grinned at each other - Ron had not seen the obvious flaw in his scheme. But Hermione had.

"Ron, that's not going to work," she said. "Not that I want to help you to drink when your under-aged, you understand, but I don't want you to embarrass yourself."

"What, do you think I can't do it? It's not that difficult a charm to pull off. Here - I'll show -" But Hermione cut him off.

"I'm sure you can do it, Ron. But that's not the point. The problem isn't you - it's the charm. What's the point performing a charm which will not change your appearance at all? If the Triwizard Cup were pouring the drinks, then you'd do fine. But do you think the waitress or bartender is going to notice what you've done? The point is to look seventeen, because you have to fool a human being, not a magical object. You need something to help you with how you look." Noticing Ron's crestfallen appearance, she continued on hurriedly, taking his hand. "You've got the height, for sure, and the build - it's just your face. You need to make yourself look older."

While Ron thought this over, Hermione turned to Imogen.

"And where have you been all day? You weren't at breakfast, nor in class. And it was a really good class - the substitute teacher we had was just amazing!"

"Yeah," said Harry. "And the best part is that Umbridge disappeared after the class - no one has seen her." Harry pointed over Imogen's shoulder towards the head table. "See - she's not here."

"Yes," Imogen replied. "But she's coming now."

Everyone near her turned to look at the entrance, and sure enough the furious form of Delores Umbridge was slumping its way down the main aisle, McGonagall behind her. To outward appearances, the Transfiguration professor looked calm enough, but she was screaming with laughter inside. She had gone to her classroom to pick up the assignments that ought to have been handed in that day, and was puzzled to find the doors firmly locked, and with a charm that only a most exceptional student could have overcome. McGonagall of course defeated it in a few seconds, but still it was most odd. And inside her classroom was another surprise - a sobbing and exhausted Umbridge. Too tired to stand, but incapable of moving to a more comfortable position, the High Inquisitor had been holding herself upright for some time now with her hands on desk. But she was nearing the end of her strength, and had become quite desperate indeed by the time McGonagall had arrived to rescue her.

To her credit, McGonagall did not question Umbridge, and instead immediately transfigured the bricks on her feet back to the ugly pink pumps that Umbridge liked to wear. So grateful was Umbridge that she spilled out the story of what had been done to her by Professor Stumbal.

"How dreadful!" cried McGonagall, instantly aware that Dumbledore had been up to his pranks again. "You must tell the headmaster - he'll make sure that substitute never teaches anywhere, ever again. Please - you must come to his office right away - I'm sure Albus must be told immediately." Umbridge nodded, turned to the door, and promptly fell flat on her face, her Achilles tendons shrieking in agony. It was only some time later after Madam Pomfrey was summoned that Umbridge was capable of walking without assistance, and by then her embarrassed dismay was replaced by rage, and Umbridge was determined to speak to the headmaster immediately. As it was now time for dinner, she had marched off for the Great Hall, McGonagall in tow.

The Gryffindor table watch Umbridge stump by.

"All Hail the Grand High Inquisitor!" said Dean, but only loud enough for the Gryffindors closest him to hear, and his neighbours, laughing, took up the cry of "Hail! Hail!". The students around them began to repeat the triumphant greeting, and soon the entire table began to shout it, most not knowing why. Umbridge, still in pain, slowly walked the rest of the way to the head table being cheered as if she were a Roman general returning from a conquest. Umbridge feared she was being mocked, yet surely no one knew yet that she'd been trapped in a classroom for many hours due to her lack of skill at transfiguration. And she hoped no one would guess that she'd soiled herself not once but twice during her long confinement, each time having to use her wand to clean herself up. She was grateful that she'd had the skill at least to using the cleansing charm, and so had not been completely humiliated when McGonagall rescued her. Eventually she reached her seat at the staff table, sat down with great weariness, and began to pour out her tale to Dumbledore, who listened with careful and sympathetic attention.

"That silly toad!" exclaimed Hermione. Laughing, she turned her animated face towards Imogen. "You were skiving today, young lady! I hope you have a good excuse!" Ron and Harry called for Imogen to be given the harshest of detentions.

"I have the perfect alibi," she replied. "I was with Professor McGonagall the entire time. And you'll never guess where we went. I'll give you three guesses -"

"Knock it off," said Harry. Unlike his friends, he knew that for Imogen to take the day off, with McGonagall no less, meant that something was up. "Come one - just tell us - where were you?"

"I was shopping at Prada in London." Ron and Harry looked at each other - they'd never heard of it - perhaps it was in Knockturn Ally. As soon as Hermione realized Imogen wasn't joking, she shrieked with excitement. Prada!

"But you didn't buy anything, surely - it's so expensive - I don't know anyone who's ever shopped there!" Imogen promised to show her the results, and that evening after dinner, the girls left Ron and Harry behind in the common room and headed upstairs for the dormitory, where Imogen modelled her outfits for Hermione one after the other, Hermione very impressed with her friend's taste in clothing.

"But how could you - I mean -" And then conscious that she was being rude but unable to help herself, Hermione asked how did Imogen manage to pay for what she bought - after all, Hermione had just seen thousands and thousands of pounds' worth of fashion.

"Oh, that was easy," said Imogen, overturning her purse, allowing the rest of the bank notes to tumble out. In response to Hermione's exclamation at the amount of cash, Imogen took one of the fifty-pound notes, and demonstrated the Duplicato charm. Hermione was scandalized.

"You can't do that! That's counterfeiting - Imogen, that's a really really serious crime - you're printing money!"

"I had no choice," explained Imogen, giving her a full account of how she was driven to shop at Prada's by McGonagall's shocking choice of outfit. Hermione screamed with laughter so loud it was heard downstairs in the common room. "So you see, I had to save her," Imogen continued. "And I figured I deserved a reward, so I got a few things for myself. But I admire your scruples, Hermione - you clearly are a much more ethical person than I am, and so I'll return this Prada tote bag I got for you," said Imogen, pulling the beautiful bag from under her four-poster bed, Hermione melting with desire at the sight of it.

"Don't you dare! I mean - please - let me just touch it first!" Imogen passed the bag to Hermione, who ran her hands over it lovingly before opening it up.

"The contents are yours, too," said Imogen. "I hope you'd never think I'd shop at Prada with free money, and not get something for you." Hermione carefully pulled out a suit and a casual dress. Imogen explained that she'd done her best to estimate Hermione's size, but that doubtless some tailoring would be necessary. She assured Hermione that the clerk would be most helpful.

"But I hear the staff at Prada and places like that can be kind of snobby."

"Not this one," said Imogen. "But if she does start that kind of nonsense, just tell her to chill. She'll understand straight away."

While Imogen and Hermione were trying on their outfits, Fred and George were helping Ron out with his quest to engage in underage drinking.

"Well, I have to admit that even though you've been really mean to me over the years - cruel, really - I think that maybe your hearts are in the right place. This is just great!" Ron was staring at his partial reflection in a window, running his hands over the very full beard and moustache that had just sprouted from his face, thanks to Fred and George.

"It's true - we have been pretty nasty," said George.

"Not that you didn't deserve it," added Fred, "but you're getting older now - not old enough to be treated with any real respect of course, but perhaps with a little less than the usual contempt."

"Yeah," said George. "So we decided to help you out. We used this ourselves at the Hog's Head - in fourth year it was - and we got served. So you should have no problem at all."

"Only one condition," said Fred. "You can't tell Mum. If she finds out we helped you to booze it up, we're dead. So keep your mouth shut." Ron promised he would tell no one.

Imogen and Hermione came skipping down the stairs and rejoined their friends. There the four of them remained with the other students. Ron amused his Gryffindor friends by maintaining his claim to wizard chess supremacy, easily beating all challengers, some at odds of as much as a rook. Ron came by his talent honestly enough, for he was descended from the famous Marmaduke Wyvill. But his twin brothers had not inherited the ability, and the evening ended with a match where Fred and George combined against him, consulting each other on the best strategy. The twins did not understand that consultation caused more harm than good, and the two of them played with less skill than either did individually. To make matters worse, Ron played with his back to the board, and was chatting with his friends throughout the game, Sean calling out the moves Fred and George were making, and making Ron's moves for him as instructed.

"Mate in five," said Ron after Fred and George's latest.

"Oh, come off it," said Fred. "You're down a rook and a knight. You're finished!"

Ron proceeded to set out the next five moves for them, all forced checks ending in a queen sacrifice and inevitable mate. He had seen the end coming somewhat earlier, but had waited until now to announce it.

"How did you see that?" said George, baffled.

"Lucena's position," replied Ron, stroking his new beard thoughtfully. "First published in 1497. Sorry." He continued chatting away with his friends, cheerfully accepting his winnings of a galleon each from Fred and George, not noticing Hermione exchanging glances with Imogen and then staring at him. Imogen remembered that in the first "book", Ron had had to win a chess game to get past an obstacle to the Philosopher's Stone, on that occasion too winning it with a sacrifice at the end. Evidently Ron was even better now. If only he would apply his considerable intellect to his studies, thought Imogen.

The Gryffindors gradually made their way to their dormitories, the growing calm of the evening shattered by screams of delight when Parvati went up alone, only to find a Prada bag on her bed with a dress inside. She came running down to ask who had given it to her, but Hermione and Imogen feigned ignorance.

"Oh, I know it must have been you," said Parvati to Imogen. "I heard you were in London today." She gave Imogen a big hug, then scampered upstairs to try on her new outfit.

It was late now, and the fire had died down. Harry tossed a couple of logs onto the embers, and his shadow flickered on the walls as the weak flames gradually became stronger. Ron was on a couch, his feet stretched out. Hermione had placed herself at the other end, her feet on a coffee table. Harry plopped himself into a comfortable arm chair on the other side of the coffee table, Imogen next to him in a similar chair. Harry had asked Imogen to stay up with them and talk. They all knew he meant talk without anyone else around, and now that all the other Gryffindors were in bed, the opportunity had come.

"What did you want to talk about, Harry?" asked Imogen.

"You didn't go to London just to shop," he replied. "What's going on?"

The short walk to Starbucks from Prada was much less eventful than the earlier walk with McGonagall, but nonetheless was not without interest. The professor was now exceptionally well-dressed, but she received no attention whatsoever, unlike the teenage girl under her charge. After all, McGonagall was past the age of muggle retirement, whereas Imogen was an absurdly beautiful girl, dressed in the height of fashion. Most of the sidewalk traffic was headed in the opposite direction, and it was a striking sight to see the mass of dark suits parting before Imogen, leaving her a clear path as she strode along, pretending not to notice the stares.

Soon Imogen led them to their destination. She opened the door for the professor, only to realize that she'd left her a few steps behind. McGonagall was staring fixedly at the Starbucks sign.

"Starbucks," McGonagall pronounced slowly. "And just what is this place?"

"Just a coffee shop, professor - very popular - muggles come here all the time." McGonagall's only reply was a noise that sounded slightly derisive, and then she walked through the door that Imogen was holding open. They joined a long line which, fortunately, was moving quickly, the barristas working with great speed.

"Why are we meeting that Skeeter woman here?" asked McGonagall.

"I thought it would be a good place to meet," Imogen replied. "It's very popular with writers - not that she can be writing anything at the moment, but still - maybe she'll like the atmosphere." Soon the two Hogwarts visitors were at the front of the line. Imogen ordered for both of them, McGonagall baffled by the odd names for things.

"Why are we lining up again?" asked McGonagall. Imogen explained patiently that sometimes one had to wait a bit to get a crack at the cream and sugar. Eventually it was their turn, and then it was time to find a table, not an easy task in a busy Starbucks. The place was packed, many tables occupied by one or more persons with notebooks, typing away.

"How will we ever find a place to sit?" wondered McGonagall.

"Just leave it to me," said Imogen.

"Don't you dare take out your wand, young lady!" warned the professor.

But Imogen did not need a wand. She approached a table at which four young men were seated. They all stared at her, Imogen looking in a different direction as she walked towards their table. Suddenly she stumbled, spilling some of her coffee onto the table, causing them to leap back. Blushing apologies from the young teen, smiles and assurances from the men and invitations that she join them (each of them offering his seat), astonishment at her acceptance of their invitation, and then dismay when the elderly Professor McGonagall also took one of the chairs. With two of them no longer having seats and an elderly chaperon at the table to boot, all four decided it was time to go, leaving the two women in sole possession of the table.