Imogen a Harry Potter taleChapter 62
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"Imogen! Why aren't you at Hogsmeade with your friends?" Professor Flitwick had heard noises in an unused classroom, and investigating, he had found Imogen working on some fourth-year charms that she had been having trouble mastering. Taken by surprise, she looked down at him, her hair a bit out of order as a result of her exertions. She had not troubled to put on her full uniform, and was wearing only a blouse and a skirt, her face flushed red with effort. Professor Flitwick was glad that he was well into middle-age. When he was younger, he would have mourned his inability to attract a girl of such beauty.
"I don't have a parental permission form, professor. So there's no Hogsmeade visit for me, I'm afraid."
Of course Imogen lacked a parental permission form - it could hardly be otherwise, given that she lacked parents, so far as she knew. Imogen did not doubt that if she'd asked Professor McGonagall for permission to visit Hogsmeade, it would have been readily granted. But she preferred to use the day to catch up on her work, and she thought that she was not unhappy about missing the day's activities - her excellent recollection of 'the books' gave her a good idea of what was to be expected from Hogsmeade, and while she would miss being with her friends, she could use the Saturday to work on the things Professor McGonagall had shown her the day before. Like her problems in Potions, it seemed that her difficulty in other subjects was due almost entirely to lack of knowledge of the basics - in her haste to acquire knowledge, she had not secured the necessary grounding. But Imogen was sure that the lengthy one-on-one session with McGonagall would help her move up from the plateau on which she'd been stuck for some time.
Flitwick had not forgotten what it was like to be fifteen with a Hogsmeade trip to go to, and he knew that when he was in fifth year, he would have been very upset to be left behind. Dumbledore had fully informed him about Imogen, and Flitwick was aware that Imogen could not possibly get the necessary parental permission.
"I am sure Professor McGonagall had good reason for not letting you go, Imogen. I'm very sorry you can't go."
Not wanting to leave Flitwick thinking ill of her head of house, Imogen immediately explained that she had not asked McGonagall - she had simply assumed that she could not go.
"Well, then I can and do give you permission, Imogen. Now off you go! This instant!" He misinterpreted Imogen's hesitation, thinking it was because her own head of house had not given permission.
"Don't worry about Professor McGonagall - I have no doubt that she will agree."
Imogen thanked Flitwick and headed up to the dormitory to get dressed for her walk to Hogsmeade. The trip would be a waste, she thought. She doubted that her presence at Hogwarts over the last month would alter the day's events in any material way, nor was there anything about the day's events that in her view required her intervention. Umbridge was every bit as despised as Imogen had expected, and the Gryffindors were aghast that she had made a conscious decision to teach them nothing. All of them feared for their O.W.L. exam in the subject, as did many students in the other houses. Imogen had no doubt that the meeting at the Hog's Head would be well-attended. But she had no choice but to go- she could hardly stay behind now.
Imogen approached the Fat Lady's portrait, whose resident seemed not to care for Imogen very much.
"Not going to Hogsmeade with the others? What a shame... " the Fat Lady said, not attempting to contain her glee that Imogen had been left behind. Ignoring her, Imogen
entered the Gryffindor common room. It was occupied by a few first and second-years, non-entities in the school pecking order. None dared to ask Imogen why she was not at Hogsmeade as she strode past them to the stairs to the girls' dormitories, for they were in awe of the upper-year students, and to them, Imogen was like a creature from another planet. She took the stairs two at a time, and in her dorm quickly dressed and got a cloak to wear against the autumn weather. She noticed that Lavender Brown had finally spotted the Prada bag placed under her bed, and it was now sitting proudly on top of her chest. As she had dressed, Imogen had felt the anticipation building inside her, and looking out a window onto the empty grounds, she admitted to herself that she desperately had wanted to go to Hogsmeade, but had felt bad about giving herself a day off when she'd done so little the day before. But now she could go to town guilt-free, and raced down the stairs, past the silent children and out the door. She picked up the pace as she ran down the hall and several sets of staircases. After a month at the school, she had finally overcome her lack of a sense of direction, and was able to get from place to place without getting lost. In no time she was running for the front door and freedom.
"And just where do you think you're going, young lady?" It was Filch, holding his cat, Mrs. Norris, in his arms and stroking her, an evil smile on his face. He had never known the student's joy of a trip to Hogsmeade, never having been a student at Hogwarts. There was no law stopping him from going, of course, for as a squib he had one foot in the wizarding world, and could go wherever he wished, provided of course no magic was required to gain entrance. But a trip to town did very little for him. He had no friends there (or anywhere else, for that matter), and he was as out of place in town as he was at the school. But he could take pleasure in denying others a trip to Hogsmeade, and here was another opportunity. He had been at the school a long time now, and knew all the students' tricks. It was commonplace for a student lacking a permission form to wait until everyone had left and the front door was unguarded, and then in a sudden mad rush attempt to flee out entrance. And so Filch's practice was to wait in the shadows, sometimes for hours, in the hope of catching a straggler.
"Oh hi, Mr. Filch," said Imogen, innocent, breathless and unsuspecting of Filch's purpose. "I'm off to Hogsdmeade!" She was not even slowing down as she ran past him. She felt his iron grip on her arm, and the suddenness of it threw her off balance, and she fell heavily. She got to her feet but slowly, slightly stunned by the force of the fall.
"You don't have a permission slip!" said Filch, misreading Imogen's body language completely, thinking she was cringing with guilt at having been caught. He realized his error when he saw her wand come out, pointed straight at him. He backed up as Imogen approached, Mrs. Norris hissing in his arms and pawing at the wand.
"I don't have written permission. But I do have this wand. And the next time you put your dirty hands on me, I'll use it." Imogen's voice was a hiss not unlike that of Mrs. Norris, except far more dangerous.
"You wouldn't dare!" said Filch, his voice displaying complete confidence in his invulnerability. "No student would dare curse me - it wouldn't just be detention - you'd be expelled -"
"Langlock!" said Imogen. She knew from "the books" that Harry was to use this spell on Filch at least twice, and she thought it would do just fine for her. With the caretaker now silenced, she was able to speak uninterrupted.
"You filthy man - how dare you touch me! No one - no man, no wizard and certainly no squib - puts his hands on me. I'm not like the other students, and there's an awful lot you don't know. You won't touch me, or interfere with me - ever. If you don't like what I'm doing, you'll look the other way. If you think reporting this the headmaster or Professor McGonagall will get you anywhere, go ahead. But I promise you - I'll still be here, and if you are too, you'll regret it." After a pause, she performed the counter-jinx, freeing the squib's tongue.
"I'll go to Professor Umbridge, I will!" Filch was used to being cursed in the halls from time to time, but always the students at least tried to conceal their identity when doing so. None had dared to curse him openly, and his sense of security was shattered. His lip trembled with fear, and he was close to tears. "She'll know how to set things right! Never in my life has a student dared to talk to me like this. Why -"
Imogen silenced the caretaker again while she considered her options. In her haste and anger, she had forgotten that under the new order at the school, the High Inquisitor had the ultimate authority over the students, and she could not permit herself to be expelled because of Filch. She thought for a moment, and the spoke again, but not to Filch.
"Mrs. Norris, you'll want to have a talk with Filch. Perhaps you can explain to him why it's a mistake to start telling secrets - you never know where something like that could end." Mrs. Norris had been hissing continuously during the encounter, but was struck mute with shock when Imogen addressed her directly. When Imogen again undid the jinx on Filch, he started to speak, but Mrs. Norris clawed at his hand, causing him to yelp in pain. Thereafter he was silent, staring at Imogen hatefully as she contemptuously turned her back on him and strode out the front door.
Imogen was furious as she walked along the path and out the gates to Hogsmeade, not so much with Filch, but with herself. She had been losing her temper far too often - with Malfoy, then with a silly store clerk, and now Filch. It seemed that it did not take very much to provoke her, and she was shocked at the level of the rage she felt inside. When the anger consumed her, she had little choice but to give vent to it, without thought to the consequences. She knew that if Filch went to Umbridge, she was in very serious difficulties. Even if she were not expelled, a detention would eat into the time she desperately needed. But Imogen was almost certain that she was spared this worry, for she was fortunate that at Hermione's encouragement, she had finally had a look at "Hogwarts: A History", and had noticed a photograph of Filch taken twenty-five years earlier, and in the photograph, a secret. Judging from Mrs. Norris' reaction, Imogen judged that she had guessed right, and that Filch would keep silent. Imogen knew she had been lucky this time, and that she would have to work very hard to govern herself better if she were to accomplish her mission.
Her mood improved somewhat as she made her way to town. The sun was bright and the air as warm as it was going to get this autumn day. As she strode along, she eyed some of the plants growing here and there, recognizing a few of them from the bit of herbology she'd picked up from her talks with Neville at meals and in the common room. Over the last few days he'd picked some samples of common plants in the area and shown them to her, explaining their properties, and the potions in which they could be used. She wondered if "the books" had been less than generous to Neville - he didn't come across at all as the bumbling sort.
She passed the train station and entered town, walking along High Street. The way was filled with Hogwarts students milling about, going from shop to shop and exchanging greetings. Imogen had no idea where she was going. She knew that she could not ask anyone for directions, because the meeting at the Hog's Head was supposed to be clandestine, and it would be a mistake to draw attention. But there was no need to worry, for Hogsmeade was a small town, and at the first side street, she turned right, and found the meeting place without any difficulty. The tavern oozed disreputability. The outside was shabby, the roof in bad need of repair, the windows dirty and cracked. Opening the door, she was greeted by the mingled odours of tobacco, sweat, beer and rodents. She was greeted only by an open leer from the bar keep, for the meeting was well under way, and the students, crowded together and focused on Harry, did not notice her entrance. She slipped in quietly and took a place at the back of the group.
The meeting was near its end, and what she was hearing was more or less in line with what she expected. Ron was off to the side, half his face hidden by the heavy beard his brothers had charmed onto his face. An empty pint glass sat next to him. Soon the students were all moving forward to sign Hermione's paper, not suspecting that they were giving a solemn undertaking to be faithful to the group, the breach of which would have drastic consequences. Imogen joined in, and when it was her turn, shuffled forward to take the quill.
"Imogen!" said Hermione, her serious face breaking open in a smile of delight. "I thought you weren't coming!"
"I basically got forced into it," she explained. "I only arrived a few minutes ago." Imogen signed her name, amused by her sudden recollection of her first effort with a quill in Dumbledore's office the night she arrived at Hogwarts - a lifetime ago. After signing, she looked up again, and noticed Ron, still motionless in the corner.
"How much did Ron drink?" she asked Hermione softly. "He looks like he may have had a bit too much."
Hermione shook her head, and put her finger to her lips.
"Don't ask him anything - I'll tell you later."
"I'm tempted to write your mother - I really am!" said Hermione, addressing Ron's twin brothers.
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