MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM

DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"

In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

'The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time,' said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. 'He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve'

This is not the first time in recent weeks Fudge has used new laws to effect improvements at the Wizarding school. As recently as August 30th Educational Decree Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.

'That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts,' said Weasley last night. 'Dumbledore couldn't find anyone so the Minister put in Umbridge and of course, she's been an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of defense against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts.'

It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the passing of Educational Decree Twenty-three, which creates the new position of 'Hogwarts High Inquisitor.'

'This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the "falling standards" at Hogwarts,' said Weasley. 'The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post, and we are delighted to say that she has accepted.'

The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts.

'I feel much easier in my mind now that I know that Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation,' said Mr. Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. "Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions i the last few years and will be glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation.'

Among those 'eccentric decisions' are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the hiring of werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid, and delusional ex-Auror 'Mad-Eye' Moody.

Rumors abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogwarts.

'I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step toward ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose confidence,' said a Ministry insider last night.

Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts.

'Hogwarts is a school, not an Outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office,' said Madam Marchbanks. 'this is a further disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore.' (For a full account of Madam Marchbanks' alleged links to subversive goblin group, turn to page 17).

Iceland let out an annoyed 'tch' sound as he folded the newspaper and downed the rest of his pumpkin juice (an acquired taste, he found out), the tilt of is head causing Mr. Puffin to squawk in protest. He resigned himself to watching this situation play out, having no political sway in the United Kingdom (but he could probably get Hong Kong to complain about it to England until he did something about it, but he knew the Brit could be reluctant to interfere in human affairs). It made sense that it was a Monday.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Said Professor Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

Iceland looked up from the parchment he had been sketching on, Hong Kong having engaged a game of mail chess.

"But—" Hermione began.

"That is enough," said Professor Umbridge. she walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, all the jauntiness she had shown at the beginning of the lesson gone. Iceland briefly wondered if she had ever taken one of the those courses that taught teachers how to teach and communicate with their teachers. He assumed not. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House."

There was an outbreak of muttering at this.

"What for?" Harry asked angrily.

'Aaaaand here we go again,' Iceland thought blandly, wondering if he actually needed to get his O.W.L.s or if he could just skip town and go on vacation with Hong Kong like he told everyone he was going to. It was certainly a tempting idea.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," said Professor Umbridge smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them — with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropraite subjects — would have passed a Ministry inspection—"

"Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher," said Harry loudly, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."

'It's like starting to watch a movie half-way through: you have a vague idea of what's going on, but all these specfic details getting mentioned go right over your head,' Iceland thought as he decided to ask about it later.

This pronouncement was followed by one of he louder silences he had ever heard. Then —

"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge sleekly.

'But sometimes it's like watching a soap opera,' Iceland thought with a small smile.

The best part of his week began the next day, when he walked into Transfiguration and saw Professor Umbridge and her clipboard sitting in a corner. Iceland hadn't been in very many of Professor McGonagall's classes, and had been far to annoyed by the disappearance of his notes in the first to pay attention, but he had the feeling that this one would be one to remember.

Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Professor Umbridge was there.

"That will do," she said and silence fell immediately. "Mr. Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework — Miss Brown, please take this box of mice — don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you — and hand one to each student —"

"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore one the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed back Iceland's essay; Iceland took it without looking at him, and hummed contently at the emerald E shining from the top of the paper.

"Right then, everyone, listen closely — Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I will put you in detention — most of you have now successfully vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be —"

"Hem, hem," said Professor Umbridge.

"Yes?" said Professor McGonagall, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line. Iceland smiled. This was much more entertaining than UN meetings (after Germany had taken charge, of course).

"I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec —"

"Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom," said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. "As I was saying, today we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell —"

"Hem, hem."

"I wonder," said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, "how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking."

Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in in face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more.

"As I was saying, the Vanishing spell become more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on dinner. So — you know the incantation, let me see what you can do..."

Iceland grinned as McGonagall allowed them to start practicing on the mice. It was almost a sitcom.

Professor Umbridge took many more not while she sat in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, rose with a grim expression on her face.

As they filed out of the classroom, Iceland saw Professor Umbridge approach the teacher's desk, and deliberately fell back to eavesdrop. He saw Harry, Hermione, and Ron do the same.

"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" Professor Umbridge asked.

"Thirty-nine years this December," said Professor McGonagall brusquely, snapping her bag shut.

Professor Umbridge made a note.

"Very well" she said, "you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time."

"I can hardly wait," said Professor McGonagall in a coldly indifferent voice, and she strode off towards the door. "Hurry up, you four," she added, sweeping Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Iceland before her. He smiled. Much better than a UN meeting.

It was about three weeks later (three weeks of Umbridge, classes, homework, paperwork, and reading [really the only bright spot] later) when Neville came bounding up to him after breakfast saying that there was going to be a meeting at the Hog's Head to do something about getting a better Defense Against the Dark Arts education, asking if he would with. Not really having anything better to do, he agreed.

That's how, on his first Hogsmeade visit, he found himself on a side street at the top which was a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture upon it of a wild boar's severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as Iceland and Neville, along with Dean and Lavender, approached.

"Well that's quaint," Iceland muttered as he lead the way inside. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the rom, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be earthly, though as Iceland stepped onto it he realized that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries.

"Welcome to 1784 Iceland," he said, glancing around at the filthy room. Before he could do anything else, the door of the pub opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.

Iceland couldn't recognize most of the people, still being new to the school, the sudden influx of people was rounded up by Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise. On their way past, George subtly slipped Iceland a folded piece of parchment, which he tucked into his pocket as Fred approached the bar.

The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly he had never seen his pub so full.

"Hi," said Fred, counting his companions quickly. "Could we have... twenty-six butterbeers, please?"

The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty butterbeers from under the table.

"Cheers," said Fred handing them out. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these..."

Iceland laughed as he took the butterbeer from Fred, dropping the appropriate amount of coins into his hand as he passed. Iceland quickly read the paper he had ben handed by George, which was a plan for a prank that asked for criticism of different points. Iceland filed it away to look at later and turned to pay attention as Hermione started speaking.

"Well... erm... well, you know why you're here. Erm... well, Harry here had the idea — I mean" —Harry had thrown her a sharp look — "I had the idea — that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts — and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us" —(Hermione's voice became suddenly much stronger and confident)—"because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts" — "Hear, hear," said some kid whose name escaped Iceland, and Hermione looked heartened —"well, I thought it would be a good if we, well, took matters into our own hands."

Iceland smiled as the meeting went on, everybody starting to conform to the idea of a defense club. It was most likely the start of something great as everybody signed the paper, that was both a sign of membership and somewhat a disclosure form.

As he exited the Hog's Head, he allowed himself a small smile as the cold wind brushed against his face, tousling his silvery hair. Checking his watch, he went off to the Three Broomsticks to meet with Sweden and Finland, having arranged to meet up on his first Hogsmeade weekend.

"Islanti! Täällä!" Iceland turned and smiled as he joined Finland at his table.

"Where's Berwald?" he asked, looking around.

"Peter got sick, so Berwald stayed behind to take care of him. So, how's Hogwarts?" Iceland blinked in surprise, having expected to be scolded in someway for disappearing the way he did.

"Good?" he said questioningly. Finland smiled

"Don't worry, I've already talked to Mathias about it, you're not in trouble," he answered, grinning as he took another sip of what Iceland assumed to be Firewhisky, causing his nose to twitch at the burn. Before he could continue, two twin heads of ginger hair appeared on both sides of Iceland.

"So Emmy–"

"—Who's this?" they asked, looking at the other Nordic curiously. Finland smiled and held out his hand.

"Tino Väinämöinen," Finland chirped, shaking their hands. "And you are?"

"I'm Fred—"

"And I'm George."

"We're twins."

"I can see that," Finland laughed. Iceland paled as he felt his stomach twist sharply and he slapped a hand over his mouth.

"So you're the one—"

"Who sent Emmy—"

"That Howler?" Finland blushed.

"Yes, I was a bit angry at the time."

"It was totally awesome."

"You made the Great Hall go silent."

"Quite the feat."

"Right you are, Gred." Finland laughed at the twin's way of talking. Iceland started coughing, a pained look crossing his face. Finland stopped short.

"Emil? What's wrong?" Iceland looked up and made eye contact with the other nations as his coughing slowly died down. Iceland took hand from his mouth and gasped a deep breath. The twins caught him as he bean to slump forward.

"Grímsfjall," he murmured, uncurling his hand, which was blackened by ash. Another round of coughing abused his small frame, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth before his vision turned black and his body went limp.

Islanti! Täällä! — Icleand! Here!

I am so unbelievably sorry about this story's unannounced hiatus. I promise to never take this long again, or if I do I'll at least warn you guys first. I want to see Galdrastafir though to the end, and I hope you aren't too mad at me for taking so long to update (but if you are you're completely justified in your anger).

Now, I know this chapter ended on a cliffhanger (I hate those too), but I didn't think it would all work together in one chapter and I had promised to get this chapter up, and today was my deadline. Now, the eruption Iceland is going through didn't actually happen (There were no eruptions in Iceland in 1995), but I was going to base it on one that occurred in 1996, but due to lack of information, it'll actually be based off of the 2011 Grímsfjall eruption. I just really wanted to put an eruption in my story, but since historically there were none, I kinda just rearranged history a bit :)

Now I want to thank everybody who reviewed wile I was gone and those who encouraged me to keep going and never lost faith in this story. So to everybody reading this, thank you.

Until next chapter (which won't take 15 years to get up), Hasta la Pasta!