I hope our story has a happier ending

pretty venom in my veins

Harry steps into Professor McGonagall's office, feeling his heart drop at the sight of Umbridge in a plush chair in the corner.

The toad has recently begun sitting in on the classes of professors she distrusts, but Hermione'd predicted it was only a matter of time until she started infiltrating all other teachers' space—he shouldn't be surprised she was right.

(Still, her presence in his career advising meeting with his head of house is jolting—a reminder that right now, no space is truly safe.)

"Do sit down, Mister Potter. Have a biscuit, if Miss Patil and Mister Finnegan have left any."

He smiles nervously, the kind of lipless upward curve of the mouth that makes him cringe whenever he sees it in a mirror, but reaches for a biscuit nonetheless; if he's eating, he can't say anything incriminating in front of Umbridge.

"So." McGonagall clears her throat, sipping from a mug of coffee despite the late hour, and this being her last meeting for the day. "Obviously you've yet to take your OWLs, but your class performance and experience is a good indicator of subjects you may want to avoid needing, or may want to pursue further. I have pamphlets as well, regarding different careers and the requirements and lifestyles therein, if you need to peruse a bit. Do you have anything in particular in mind?"

Harry fidgets in his seat. "Er—well, I've thought a bit about becoming an Auror."

Her face softens, and she eyes him with an unreadable expression.

(A boy with messy, dark hair and glasses sitting across from her wanting to be an Auror.)

"What?"

(she blinks, drags herself back from the identical memory from twenty years prior, the same conversation with the same boy, the only differences an unblemished forehead and hazel eyes.)

"Nothing—you just reminded me of someone for a moment." She adjusts her spectacles, using the moment to blink back wistful tears and steel herself. "Very well. You'll need Transfiguration, no worries there, as well as Charms, Herbology, Defense, and Potions—yes, Potions, so be sure to keep up with the course regardless of your feelings about Professor Snape."

Umbridge snorts. "He will not be an Auror."

McGonagall's eyes narrow, and she sits up straighter; while Harry's always been intimidated by the older woman, in this moment he truly considers that she is scary—powerful, and fearsome, and he does not ever want to be on the receiving end of that anger.

"Excuse me? He's done well on all of his Defense tests and excelled throughout the courses themselves, let alone his practical application. I see no reason why he can't."

Umbridge sniffs, crossing her arms with a superior smirk. "If you look at the recent data I've provided, he's been doing very poorly in my class."

McGonagall's eyebrow twitches, and it's almost visible, the exact moment she decides to let the bitch have it. "Of course, I'm sorry, I should have made my meaning plainer. He has achieved high marks in all Defense tests set by a competent teacher."

Umbridge's cheeks flush scarlet. "How dare you! I will—"

"You'll what? I'm the best teacher in this school, I have tenure and every qualification, and I think you'll find those you would rally to your side have also been my pupils." She crosses her arms with a raised eyebrow, all of it a statement of fact. "However they may feel about me as a person, I am the reason they passed their OWLs. They won't risk their children not being able to do so."

A scowl forms on Umbridge's face. "He will not be an Auror, I promise you."

"Potter, I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do." McGonagall bites out the words, eyes still locked on the other professor; meanwhile Harry sinks lower in his chair, body tense. "If I have to coach you nightly, I will do so—whatever is necessary to make sure you achieve the required results!"