Unforgivable Umbridge

Chapter 13

The next morning, the Great Hall of Hogwarts resonated with the normal hum of conversation and clinking tableware. Golden shafts of sunlight poured through the towering windows, casting a celestial glow on the tables laden with a sumptuous breakfast. Most of the students were already seated, chatting animatedly about the recent events and speculations.

Suddenly, the large doors of the Great Hall swung open to unveil a haggard Dolores Umbridge. Hair awry, with dark bags under her eyes, her clothes looked as if she had been through a tornado. Her entrance was frenzied, eyes darting maliciously across the room.

"Which one of you is behind all this?!" she bellowed, veins pulsing in her neck. "Who is casting all these dreadful spells on me?"

The students exchanged puzzled glances; their confusion palpable. Some struggled to suppress their amusement, especially Fred and George Weasley, who were not too covert with their chuckles.

The commotion in the hall swelled just as the doors opened again to reveal Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge in a subdued quarrel, their voices a low murmur against the backdrop of chaos. The two seemed wrapped in a heated yet silent debate, their heads bowed together as if sharing grave secrets. Just as Fudge opened his mouth, perhaps to make a point, Umbridge's strident voice cut through the tense atmosphere.

"Cornelius! This is insufferable!" Umbridge's outburst drew their attention away from the argument. She hurried towards the Minister, her annoyance palpable. "The students are out of control and sinister!" she continued, casting a disdainful look over her shoulder at the rebellious crowd. "It's as if the very walls of Hogwarts are rebelling against me!" Her exclamation seemed to hang in the air, a dramatic punctuation to the dispute that had been momentarily shelved.

Trying to remain composed, but he exchanged a look with the Headmaster Fudge responded, "Dolores, I'm not sure what you're implying, but—"

Yet Umbridge, her face contorting with every accusation, seemed to have no patience for his reminders or his presence. "They've hexed me! Spells, jinxes, all night! And that boy—Harry Potter—he's the mastermind!" she exclaimed, cutting him off, her finger jabbing through the air as if to physically impale the truth with her belief.

However, Fudge, often easily swayed, was not entirely oblivious. He took a moment to gauge the general atmosphere, sensing the bewilderment shared by both students and staff. Attempting to pacify the situation, he suggested, "Dolores, let's not forget that Harry Potter has been conspicuously absent these past few days, something you yourself brought to my attention, maybe we should discuss this in a more private setting?"

But Dolores was beyond reasoning. Her paranoia peaked as she accused, "You too, Cornelius! You're in on this conspiracy against me!" she shrieked, aghast at the perceived betrayal, her eyes darting from Fudge to the faces of those around her, seeing enemies in every shadow. The room was thick with tension, every breath a prelude to the next act of an ever-escalating drama.

With an unexpected quickness that belied her appearance, Umbridge produced her wand, pointing it directly at Fudge. The shimmering green tip gleamed ominously, reflecting the Hall's chandeliers, casting eerie shadows on her twisted face. Murmurs spread like wildfire among the students. Breakfasts were forgotten, the clinking of cutlery silenced.

Albus calmly moved in front of Fudge, his piercing blue eyes locked onto Umbridge's crazed gaze. "Dolores," he began, his voice gentle but firm, "this is not the way. Whatever has transpired can be discussed without resorting to such measures."

But Umbridge's pupils dilated with rage, her entire body quaking. Her focus remained unbroken from Fudge, her thoughts broadcasting a litany of imagined slights and betrayals. The Great Hall's warm atmosphere turned icy with tension.

"Dolores," Albus's voice softened, like a concerned parent addressing an errant child, "release your wand. Let us help you."

But as Albus's words washed over her, it seemed to only fan the flames of her fury. A dark murmur started at the back of her throat, her wand hand trembling as she began to conjure one of the most feared and Unforgivable Curses.

Just as the first syllable of the curse started to form on her lips, a shadow darted from one of the long benches. Fred Weasley, with the stealth and grace of a lion, lunged from behind, grabbing Umbridge's wand arm and twisting it upward. A bright jet of green light shot towards the enchanted ceiling, dissipating harmlessly amongst the simulated clouds.

Fred wrestled the wand from her grasp, his fingers white-knuckled around the slender piece of wood. But Umbridge's derangement was so profound that even without her wand, she lashed out, her sharp nails aiming for Fred's eyes.

In that split-second, Albus's wand was out. With a swift, fluid movement, he murmured an incantation, and ropes of silvery light wrapped around Umbridge, freezing her in place. Her wild eyes darted around, lips quivering in impotent rage.

Fred, panting heavily from the sudden altercation, handed the captured wand to Albus, who examined it briefly before tucking it safely inside his robes.

The hall remained silent, the tension palpable. Only the soft ticking of the grand clock at the end of the room echoed. Albus, with a heavy sigh, signaled for Professor McGonagall. Together, they began to escort the immobilized Umbridge out of the hall.

"Cornelius," Albus spoke quietly to the shaken Minister, his voice tinged with both concern and urgency, "I believe it's imperative we address this matter immediately."

Fudge nodded slowly, his usual pompous demeanor replaced with a mix of confusion and fear. "Yes, Albus," he whispered, "I believe you're right."

As Fudge began to shuffle out of the Great Hall, hesitant steps betraying his deep unease, murmurs rippled through the crowd, cascading like a wave from one end of the Hall to the other. Questions abounded, whispered amongst tight-knit groups of students and staff alike, trying to piece together the perplexing puzzle before them. Was Umbridge truly mad? Had someone really hexed her, or was it merely the fabrication of a mind unhinged?

Before departing, Albus turned back to address the hall, his voice, deep and resonant, captured everyone's attention. "Given the events of this morning," he began, "it would be prudent for all students to return to their respective common rooms. For today, classes will be canceled."

There was a pause, and then Albus's eyes shifted to the Gryffindor table, landing on Fred Weasley, who sat somewhat disheveled from his recent altercation, but with a prideful glint in his eyes. "And before you all go," Albus continued, "Let it be recognized that Mr. Fred Weasley has displayed remarkable bravery and clear thinking in a highly perilous situation. For his actions, I award Gryffindor 100 points."

No sooner had the words left Albus's mouth than he turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he made his exit from the Great Hall. The students, momentarily hushed by the gravity of the Headmaster's departure, soon erupted into a cacophony of hushed tones and curious whispers. The Gryffindor table buzzed with a mixture of pride and disbelief, while the other houses exchanged speculative glances. Amidst the murmurs, the prefects began to rally their houses. Their voices, firm and more composed than their racing hearts, called out for order and movement toward the dormitories.