46. The Pink Plague Thickens

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"You're the only place I feel

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"You're the only place I feel... still,"

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ELSA POV

Professor Umbridge had now crowned herself High Inquisitor.

Which, apparently, gave her the divine right to disrupt every class with her insufferable "evaluations." We were in Potions when she decided to perch in the corner of the room, clipboard in hand, watching Professor Snape like a vulture with a pink bow.

"You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, is that correct?" she asked in that awful syrupy voice.

"Yes," Snape said, deadpan.

"But you were unsuccessful?" she said with faux concern that made even Ron gag a little.

"Obviously."

Ron chuckled. Snape swiveled on him instantly and smacked the back of his head without breaking stride.

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Umbridge's madness didn't stop there. She was now plastering Hogwarts with endless rules, one more ridiculous than the next. And when we followed the noise down to the courtyard, there she was—evicting Professor Trelawney like some pink authoritarian gnome.

"Sixteen years I've lived and taught here! Hogwarts is my home!" Trelawney cried.

"Actually, I can," Umbridge said with the glee of a child popping soap bubbles.

I clenched my fists.

"She's really crossed the line now," I muttered.

Professor McGonagall ran to comfort Trelawney, her arms firm around the sobbing woman. Just when the humiliation felt unbearable, the doors to the castle flung open.

Dumbledore stepped out.

He handled it all with the grace of a seasoned storm-tamer.

"You may dismiss my teachers," he told Umbridge. "But you do not have the authority to banish them from these grounds. That power remains with the Headmaster."

"For now," Umbridge muttered, her sugary smile never slipping.

"What does she mean by for now?" I asked Harry, a chill crawling up my spine.

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Later that evening, we gathered in the Gryffindor common room. The fire crackled, the radio mumbled nonsense from the Ministry, and Hermione ranted while Ron tried to balance a book on his head.

"Furthermore, we have convincing evidence that these disappearings are the work of notorious Peter Pettigrew" we heard fudge say 

 "Harry, Elsa" we heard a familiar voice.  We looked at the fire place and saw Sirius' face 

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐙𝐄𝐍, harry potter (EDITING)Where stories live. Discover now