on the fine Monday morning, and neither were either of the double Potion lessons they had.

When Margaret got her essay back in Potions, however, she had to pause and openly gape at the paper, blinking slowly at the grade scrawled in the top right corner.

"I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your O.W.L," Snape says with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. "This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in your examination."

Margaret blinked down at her paper, ruffling through it to see if he had made any comments.

'Can do better' was scribbled in longhand below the conclusion of her essay. Was this some sort of a joke?

Margaret looked at Snape as he glided back to the front of the class and turned to face them.

"The general standard of this homework was appalling. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal of effort for this week's essay on the Various Varieties of Venom Antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D's."

Draco Malfoy sniggers and says in a carrying whisper, "Some people got D's? Ha!"

Margaret narrowed her eyes at Draco's essay but it was too far. Shooting a fleeting glance towards Snape, she saw that he had taken to waving his wand to note the recipe on the blackboard for the potion they would be required to make in this class.

Seeing as he was distracted, Margaret let her vision turn slightly red - causing everything to became sharper, more enhanced. She could clearly see Draco's grade now.

It was an E - Exceeds Expectations, the second-highest passing grade.

Margaret blinked, a scowl gracing her face at the discovery as her eyesight returned to normal before she realised that Hermione was looking sideways to see what grade she'd received.

Margaret quickly slid her moonstone essay under the table, onto her lap as discretely as possible, wanting to keep the information private for the moment. Although she'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious about Hermione's grade.

As the potion-making began, Margaret once again took to following Hermione's actions, but this time she could recognize most of the ingredients due to her thorough study of the subject this past week. Her Strengthening Solution was the same clear turquoise shade of Hermione's, who had smiled and nodded in appreciation. It wasn't as hard as the Draught of Peace they had to brew in the last lesson.

Harry and Ron had managed to create a passing potion as well, even if it was slightly blue.

As the long bell echoed through the dungeon after the students of their class had submitted a vial of their respective potions, everyone started heading out.

Margaret wanted to be out of there as soon as possible but was stopped in her tracks by no one else than Snape himself.

"Miss Xenakis," he says simply, halting her, as well as Harry, Hermione and Ron. Even Neville paused to look at her with concern. She nodded at him reassuringly, and he nodded back rather unsurely before following the other students out.

"Yes, Professor?" Margaret asks, turning around to face him.

At the precise moment, Draco Malfoy passed her. She shot him a side look when she caught him looking at her but he looked away without meeting her eyes, their arms brushing slightly.

"A word," Snape tells her, sweeping behind his desk and sitting down.

Margaret turns to give a nod to her worried friends, noticing Harry glaring at Snape for stopping her. He shook his head and stormed out of the classroom, followed by Hermione and Ron.

Once they were out of sight, Margaret adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and cleared her mind of all thoughts, leaving a clean slate, the shields of Occlumency going up. Just in case Snape tried to invade her mind again. She stepped up the two short stairs to Snape's desk where he had started grading papers.

"Headmaster Dumbledore would like to have a word with you," Snape says without looking at her.

"Did he mention a time he'd be free?" Margaret asks, frowning.

"The password is Dumbledore."

First of all, he could've just said that in front of her friends, and secondly, he hadn't even answered her question. But she didn't exactly care about either of that, as much she cared about:

"Dumbledore is over a one-hundred-year-old genius and the password to his office is Dumbledore?"

Snape looked up unamused, an opposite expression to the scepticism painted on her face.

He continues on, ignoring her once again, "I wouldn't be so confident in your grades. Just because you passed this assignment does not guarantee a passing grade in your potions O.W.L. I only take-"

"-the best into your potions N.E.W.T.; yes, I remember, Professor," she finishes.

"Five points from Gryffindor for the interruption. You do not need to show off that you listen in class. You are dismissed."

Margaret blinked in disbelief. She was 'dismissed'?

"Sorry, Professor, but you didn't mention the time I have to go to the Headmaster's office."

"Since you haven't considered of seeing him during the whole week you have been here, Miss Xenakis," Snape hisses, making her narrow her eyes at him, "it doesn't matter how much you delay now."

"Thank you for passing on the information, Professor," she says, trying not to sneer. "I hope you have a day as pleasant as you are."

With that final jab, Margaret turned on her heel and stalked out of the classroom as quickly as she could, trying not to grip the parchment of her essay too hard in her hand. She climbed the steps out of the dungeon and made her way across the entrance hall towards lunch.

When Margaret reached the Gryffindor table and took a seat next to Harry and Hermione, the latter was in the middle of saying something.

"Obviously, I'd have been thrilled if I'd gotten an O-"

"Hermione," Ron interrupts sharply, "if you want to know what grades we got, ask."

"I don't- I didn't mean- well if you want to tell me-"

"I got a P," Ron replies grumpily, pouring soup into his bowl. "Happy?"

"Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of," Fred says, who had just arrived at the table with George and Lee Jordan and was sitting down on Margaret's right. "Nothing wrong with a good healthy P."

"But," Hermione frowns, "doesn't P stand for..."

"'Poor', yeah," Lee Jordan replies. "Still, better than D, isn't it? 'Dreadful'?"

Margaret looked next to her at Harry who had suddenly started coughing over his bread roll, his face turning pink.

Hermione was oblivious to it, however, and continued on about O.W.L. grades. "So top grade's O for 'Outstanding,' and then there's A-"

"No, E," George corrects her, "E for 'Exceeds Expectations.' I've always thought Fred and I should've got E in everything because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for exams."

They all laughed except Hermione, who lists on, "Right; E. Then it's A for 'Acceptable,' and that's the last passing grade, isn't it?"

"Yep," Fred answers, dunking an entire roll in his soup, transferring it to his mouth, and chewing it whole.

"Then you get P for 'Poor,'" Ron says raising both his arms in mock celebration, "and D for 'Dreadful.' "

"And then T," George reminds him.

"T?" asks Hermione incredulously. "Even lower than a D? What on earth does that stand for?"

"'Troll,' " George says promptly. Harry laughed at that, not sure whether or not George was joking.

Fred pushed Margaret's shoulder with his to gain her attention. When she turned to face him, he still had a mouthful of food and couldn't speak, so he pointed at her in question and hummed.

Margaret laughs, "I don't understand you, Gred."

"He's asking what grade you got," George helps when Fred pointed at her essay.

Fred swallows his food and nods at his twin, "Right."

Margaret's eyes widen, trying to move the essay away from their prying eyes. "Uh, it's nothing..."

Fred and George shared a rather mischievous look.

"It's okay if it's not passing, it was your first essay-" Ron begins but Margaret interrupts almost defensively.

"I passed. That's good enough-" before she could finish, Fred had snatched her essay from her hand and held it above his head - "Gred! You give that back right now!"

"No! You passed didn't you?" Fred grins mockingly, stretching further when Margaret tried to grab the paper from above his head, half-standing because of his towering height. "What is that I see...?"

"Is it an O?" George guesses.

"No, no! Looks like a...!"

"Gred Weasley, I swear to god!"

"Oooh," he drawls, "What is that...?"

"T! Troll!" George exclaims, causing Fred to shake his head vigorously.

"No, no!"

"Fred-!"

She tried tickling him, but Fred just wiggled out of the way and grabbed her hand with his free one, still squinting up at the essay to read Snape's given grade. Margaret couldn't stop herself from grinning slightly out of giddiness, her previous annoyance at Snape forgotten for the moment, even though she really didn't want them to make a big deal about her grade.

Half of the Great Hall was chortling at their antics, even students from other houses had turned to see what the commotion was about seeing as not many people showed up for lunch and the hall was still somewhat empty.

"Wait, is that...; an E?!"

All fight left him and he gawked up at the paper that Margaret finally managed to snatch away from him, her cheeks growing warmer as she sat back down. She shot the redhead a side glare.

"Thanks for announcing that," she says.

"But, Margaret, E is a good grade," Hermione praises, looking at her from behind Harry, "in fact, E is great!"

Margaret shook her head, opening her bag to stuff the essay inside - something she should've done long ago - as a feeling of triumph threatened to bubble up.

No, she should not feel that way. Even though she did get a good grade...

No. That was wrong!

"I swear, Snape just wants me to believe I can do well so that when I write the exam under that wrong impression, I ultimately fail, and he doesn't have to bother with me anymore," Margaret reasons half-heartedly.

"Never thought about it like that," Ron says but he had his mouth full so it sounded more like 'Nvah thoot abou-ik ike gat.'

Hermione looked repulsed whilst Margaret raised a brow at him and wanting to change the topic, she asks rhetorically, "What's with the Weasley brothers and talking with their mouths full?"

On cue, George took a large bite of his roll and proceeded to say incoherently, "It's a talent!"

Margaret chuckled, feeling Fred staring at her. She turned to look at him again and he wiggled his brows.

"We didn't know you were a straight-E student, Margie," he teases.

"Oh, I'm far from that, trust me," she rolls her eyes, "I'm not going to let it get to my head."

"You lot had an inspected lesson yet?" Lee Jordan asks them before Margaret could think anymore about the potions grade.

"No," says Hermione at once, "have you?"

"Just now, before lunch," George replies. "Charms."

"What was it like?" Harry and Hermione ask together. Fred shrugged.

"Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it."

"I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down, he usually gets everyone through their exams alright," George adds.

"Who've you got this afternoon?" Fred asks.

"Trelawney-" Margaret begins but George interrupts.

"A T if ever I saw one-"

"-and Umbridge herself," Harry finishes.

"Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today," George says. "Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices."

At the end of the lunch, Filch had dragged in an unstable ladder that creaked and groaned as he climbed on it and the first of many Educational Decrees, was hammered into the stone wall outside the Great Hall in a glass-covered wooden frame; stating:

Educational Decree No. 23

The students stood watching and glanced at each other unsurely. It was barely even visible from where they stood but the weight of it could be felt in the air all of a sudden. Margaret sighed exasperatedly, irritation simmering in the pit of her stomach.

In Divination ten minutes later, Margaret was staring aimlessly at the smoking crystal ball when she heard Harry's small yelp of pain. Ron had elbowed him in the ribs and was looking around them; Margaret followed his gaze to find Umbridge walking in from the sturdy wooden door under the raised levels of the classroom.

"Dream interpretation," Professor Trelawney wafts on, "is the most important means of Divination; as the inner eye sees sights... to which the outer world is blind."

As of on cue, the side of her hand knocked over the book on her small round table in the middle of the classroom. Margaret bit her lip from smiling, as chuckles and snorts sounded across the room. Trelawney coughed and bent down to pick it up.

Professor Umbridge had now reached Professor Trelawney, who was still crouched. Maybe her glasses needed a new prescription because she took a moment to analyse Umbridge's pink sandals, then let out a small noise of surprise, before slowly looking up to find Umbridge looming over her with a toadlike smile stretched across her face.

Margaret cringed, sharing a look with Ron, who she was sharing the table with as he was sitting next to Harry.

As Trelawney wavered back up to her full height, towering over Umbridge by several inches, she blinked slowly behind her round goggles. "What... are you doing here?"

"Don't mind me, dear," Umbridge begins sweetly, "You see Professor..." - Umbridge glances down at her clipboard - "Trelawney; is it?"

Trelawney hums.

Umbridge continues, "In addition to my teaching duties, the Ministry has asked me to be an informal observer, here at Hogwarts... Cornelius's eyes and ears, as it were," Umbridge flaunts, her smile stretching further. "Nothing to worry about; please do go on. I'm just a fly on the wall."

Margaret scoffed, really wishing Umbridge was just a fly on the wall so she could just trap her in a jar and chuck it into the depths of Black Lake. That likely wouldn't solve any of their problems but at least it would satisfy the annoyance that was itching up her neck now.

"Oh... well," Trelawney licks her lips and turns to look at the students around her again. "Dreams are-"

"Just one question dear," Umbridge speaks over her, causing Trelawney to pause abruptly, "you've been in this post how long, exactly?"

Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders arched so high they nearly touched her ears, as though she wished to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she says in a resentful and yet airy tone, "Nearly... sixteen years."

"Quite a period," Umbridge remarks, making a note on her clipboard. Trelawney tries to sneak a glance but Umbridge tilts the clipboard away. "And... it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?"

"He did," Trelawney drags shortly but almost proudly. Professor Umbridge made another note.

Professor Trelawney then gestured questioningly towards the class as if asking permission to go on. Umbridge gestures towards the class as well, almost mockingly telling her to go on.

Trelawney nods, turning to face the students again, "Eh... Interpre-"

"Just one more thing, not too much of a bother," Umbridge interrupts yet again, her toadlike smile widening, causing Margaret to let out a small hiss of displeasure. "Could you please, predict something for me?"

"I'm sorry...?" Trelawney says, her eyes wide as she clutched convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.

"Predict something," Umbridge repeats. "I'm sure you're not surprised I asked. You'd have... foreseen it."

Professor Umbridge let out a little giggle in the end and Professor Trelawney stiffened as though she couldn't believe her ears. The students who were all listening sneakily, eyes transfixed on the two Professors, were taken aback by the clearly intended retort. Behind her, even the Slytherins exchanged smirks laced with disbelief and confusion.

Trelawney takes a long pause, her beads and bangles clinking, and then says in an outraged tone, "The Inner Eye does not See upon command!"

"Come now," Umbridge coos softly, "a teensy prophecy?"

When Trelawney all but stares at her, bewildered, Umbridge frowns as one of those theatre frown faces.

"Pity," she says, making another note on her clipboard, turning around to leave.

"But- wait- wait!" Professor Trelawney exclaims suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking, "I... I think I do see something... yes! Something that concerns you... Why I sense something... something dark... you... you are in grave danger!"

Professor Trelawney finished dramatically, pointing a shaking finger at her, and there was a pause where Professor Umbridge smiled at her blandly, her eyebrows raised.

"Lovely," she says, almost triumphantly, scribbling on her clipboard one last time.

She turned away, leaving Professor Trelawney standing rooted at the spot where she started at the door and chewed her nails, her chest heaving.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks with each other, then with Margaret, who felt sick to her stomach. They knew that Professor Trelawney was an old fraud (Margaret knew that Trelawney didn't remember the real prophecies she had made) but on the other hand, they loathed Umbridge so much that they felt very much on Trelawney's side.

When the bell rang, Professor Umbridge was waiting for them all for their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson ten minutes later. She was humming and smiling to herself when they entered the room.

Margaret took a seat next to Hermione, who had been in Arithmancy, and whispered to her about exactly what had happened in Divination while they all took out their copies of Defensive Magical Theory, but before Hermione could ask any questions Professor Umbridge had called them all to settle and the silence fell.

"Wands away," she instructs them. "As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

"Or think, more like," Margaret whispers under her breath, causing Hermione to shoot her a side glance of agreement.