(TBAY) Umbridge: The Truth Will Get You Detention

[Tom Wall]

No: HPFGUIDX 87818

The grey, forbidding clouds flung an icy sleet toward the few year-
round residents of Theory Bay, pelting them mercilessly as they 
scurried through the cobblestone streets.  The tourists and visitors 
who had breathed life into the town just months ago had drifted back 
to their busy lives, but the O.L.D.F.A.R.T.S would never leave.  
Never.  They were resilient if nothing else, the O.L.D.F.A.R.T.S.

Tom leaned into the brisk winds as he edged his way along the porch 
railing at George's Tavern.  Peering through a cracked window pane, 
he could make out the flickering of a fire and not much else.  The 
place seemed quiet.  Much too quiet, in fact.  He chewed his lower 
lip thoughtfully, contemplating whether it might be possible to get 
a pick-up game of theorizing on such a dreary evening.  As an 
O.L.D.F.A.R.T., Tom knew that his solemn duty was to theorize under 
even the most adverse circumstances.  He drew a ragged breath, 
rubbed his tired eyes, squared his shoulders and marched into 
George's.

If the streets were deserted, this was nothing compared to the grim 
atmosphere inside Theory Bay's lone tavern.  George leaned against 
the bar, idly polishing the same worn bit of wooden countertop again 
and again, a vacant _expression on his chiseled features.  Every 
stool was empty.  Every table deserted.  The pool table bore a thick 
coating of dust, the juke box beckoned forlornly.  His eyes locked 
onto Tom as he perched atop a wobbly stool.

"Are you gonna order something or not?" George snapped.

"Good grief, George!  I just *got* here," Tom objected.  "What has 
gotten into you, anyway?"

"What's gotten into me?" George echoed, his voice rising.  "WHAT HAS 
GOTTEN INTO ME?  I'll tell you what has gotten into me.  *Nothing!*  
NADA!  **ZIP!!**  I have *NO* business.  There's no one here.  No 
one theorizes anymore!  The only people around are those . . . those 
*HECKLERS* who scream at the top of their lungs about how they 
*HATE* the Bay!"

"Oh, that is utter nonsense, George!" Tom said.  "There's been 
plenty of theorizing going on.  There's ESE!Bill and a reprise of 
MAGICDISHWASHER.  Eileen even did a bit of Crouch work just a few 
weeks back."

George shuddered.  "I know, I know.  But these new theorists . . . 
they're nice and bright and creative and all, but they don't . . . "

"Don't what?"

George hesitated, and then the words came tumbling forth in a rush, 
as though bottled up for months.  "They don't *drink, Tom!*  They 
can't hold their liquor!  They don't toss tables!  Sometimes they 
don't even *break anything!*  They go home by *9 o'clock*!  How am I 
supposed to survive if people won't stay all night, anyway?  Where 
did everybody *go?*"

"Look," Tom said compassionately.  "I know how you feel.  I miss the 
other O.L.D.F.A.R.T.S too.  They just . . . they just kind of 
vanished, and I don't think we'll be seeing them ever again, at 
least not before --"  

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," growled a familiar voice.

Tom startled.  "Who said that?" he whispered, his eyes darting 
around the room.

"It's *me!*  Cindy!  I'm back!"

Tom stood so suddenly that his bar stool toppled 
backward.  "Cindy?"  he said in disbelief.  "Where *are* you?  I 
can't see you.  Are you wearing an invisibility cloak or something?  
A disillusionment charm, maybe?"

"In a manner of speaking," said the voice.  "Here, let me show 
you."  

Tom's eyes widened as smoke billowed out of the next barstool.  It 
wafted around lazily for a moment before forming a shapeless, 
translucent image of Captain Cindy in full dress uniform.  She 
winked and gave Tom her usual toothy smile.  

"Good heavens!  It *is* you!  But . . ." Tom stammered 
helplessly.  "I heard . . . I heard you were *dead!*  One well-
placed 'Banishing' Charm was all it took.  That's what they're 
saying."

"Well, they're right.  I'm Dead, Dead, Dead.  You know, Cedric 
Diggory dead.  James and Lily dead.  *Sirius Black* dead.  I can 
hardly believe it myself.  I've gone from Captain of the Big Bang 
to -- to some sort of malodorous *smog* or something!"

"Yes, I can see that!"  Tom said evenly.  "Did it – did it *hurt?*" 
he whispered.

"A little."  

George suddenly found his voice. "*You'll* order something, won't 
you, Cindy?" he asked in a pleading tone.

"You betcha!  Bring me a 'Deathwish' – "  Seeing the look of 
incomprehension on George's face, Cindy sighed.  "That's Grenadine, 
Wild Turkey, Peppermint Schnapps, 151 Rum in equal parts – you're 
just never going to get the hang of this, are you boy?"  She shook 
her head in exasperation and spun sideways on her stool to face 
Tom.  "OK, Tom, I'm here for some *serious* post-OoP theorizing!  
I've been *dead* and all, so I suspect I missed some great new 
theories.  But I don't recall a whole lot in the Bay on Umbridge."

"Umbridge?"

"Yes.  Umbridge.  You remember Umbridge?  A bit of a bad seed, 
remember Tom?"

"Yes, but there's not a whole lot *to* Umbridge, really.  She's a 
tool of the establishment, Harry's oppressor.  Yada, yada, yada."

"Oh, but we can learn a *lot* from Umbridge, Tom!"  Cindy cried, the 
old manic glint returning to her smoky eyes.  "See, I think we've 
all assumed that Umbridge had a purpose, that she just did what she 
had to do.  That her actions made sense on some level.  Me, I'm not 
so sure.  I think her actions were counterproductive, superfluous, 
unnecessary in a manner of speaking."

"You can stop right there, Cindy."  Tom folded his arms defiantly 
across his chest.  "No way are you tossing Umbridge on the 
GARBAGESCOW."  

"Hold your horses, Tom.  I have no intention of making a traditional 
GARBAGESCOW argument.  

"No, I submit that what Umbridge did to Harry and to Hogwarts was 
totally unnecessary.  She reacted to a threat that hadn't 
materialized.  She *overreacted!*  Her fatal error was that she 
mistook her own embarrassment at being criticized for a threat to 
Hogwarts and the wizarding world, see?  And each time she tried to 
tighten the noose around Harry's neck, she failed more and more 
spectacularly, didn't she?  That's because she shouldn't have pulled 
out a noose at all.  No, she should have examined first whether 
*she* was in the right – whether *she* was doing the right thing.  
Only then could she gain the perspective to evaluate the seriousness 
of the threat presented and realize that the problem – if there was 
a problem at all – lay inside herself."

Tom stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "Uh.  Right.  I fancy myself a 
bit of an expert on mortal combat owing to my experience fending off 
the Magic Dishwasher Defense Team.  But Umbridge?  Overreacting?  
I'm not following you at all."

"Well, let's look at Harry and Umbridge's first scene at Hogwarts.  
Harry is objecting to Umbridge's lesson plan.  He is being 
insubordinate, to be sure.  He has a mouth on him, that kid.  But 
what is he actually *doing* that is a problem?"

"He's talking," Tom replied.

"Exactly!" Cindy cried.  "He's just *talking.*  Giving his opinion.  
And the next thing you know, it's ten points from Gryffindor and 
detention!"

"What's wrong with that?  She's trying to run a class here, and she 
can't do that with Harry talking and disagreeing and opining.  That 
undermines what she is trying to do.  This is pretty common stuff in 
oppressive regimes, actually.  If you talk – if you *make trouble* 
by speaking the truth and saying something the regime doesn't want 
said -- you get the express bus to Siberia every time."

"Ah, but what is the threat, though?  What is the real reason 
Umbridge wants to silence Harry, the real reason dictators banish 
people to Siberia?"

"Power?" 

"Well, yeah.  But knowledge *is* power, as they say.  And that is 
what Umbridge is trying to choke off -- *knowledge.*  She doesn't 
want the students to know about Voldemort's return – even though it 
is true.  She is overreacting to the embarrassment of having someone 
without power speak the truth.  Harry's providing knowledge to the 
students isn't a threat to her or to the Ministry in any objective 
sense.  But Umbridge fears what the students will *do* with the 
truth.  

"I think it is pretty clear that Umbridge was motivated in that 
scene by simple embarrassment with a healthy dose of irritation – a 
desire to save face, a need to be in control.  Look at the 
descriptions of her as the scene plays out.  'Smiling in a very 
irritating fashion at Dean.'  Talking over people.  
Shouting.  'Trilling.'  Speaking 'dismissively.'  And when she 
places Harry in detention, she announces it publicly to the whole 
class 'triumphantly' – she's actually *proud* of it!  Then, when 
Harry won't stop speaking the truth, she *banishes him!*"

"That's what you do when someone won't behave."

"Maybe, maybe," Cindy allowed.  "But what was the threat?  What was 
the horrible sin Harry committed that justified his banishment from 
the class?  It's pretty clear – he said about Cedric 'Voldemort 
killed him and you know it.'

"Yup, Harry slipped up there.  He challenged her.  Rather than 
examine whether she was *right* about Cedric, she reacted out of 
paranoia, embarrassment and a misplaced and overblown assessment of 
the threat Harry presented.  It was wrong, plain and simple.  It 
only served to make matters worse, it cost Umbridge her credibility 
and the respect of the students, she created a lot of extra work for 
herself, and in the end, it didn't even succeed.  No, the far better 
strategy would have been to try to come together, to find common 
ground, to try to make Harry her ally rather than her enemy.  But 
no.  She chose to use brute forth – to misuse and abuse her position 
and authority at Hogwarts -- and look where she wound up.  She is 
certainly no better off, but neither is the community she claimed to 
be trying to protect."

The crackling of the fire filled the silence while Tom mulled these 
words.

"Aren't you going to drink that *thing* you ordered?" George asked 
impatiently, glancing at his watch.

"George, now you're just being mean! Cindy *can't* drink!  She's a 
ghost, remember?"  Tom turned to Cindy.  "Right?"

"Well, you may have a point, Tom,"  Cindy said.  "If I try to drink, 
I might just keel over and die all over again.  But hey!  What have 
I got to lose?"

Cindy wrapped both hands firmly around the chilled glass and raised 
it slowly to her parched lips.  She gave George one final "come 
hither" glance over the rim before gulping the drink and slamming 
the glass to the counter.

"Well?" Tom asked expectantly after a moment.  "How was it?"

"Hmmm.  Not bad, Tom," Cindy said thoughtfully.  "I think I tasted 
something.  I think I really did.  

"Just like old times. "

-Tom