tradition

06

Briar, Eloise, and Georgia gathered at the long Gryffindor table for breakfast that morning, the Great Hall alive with the familiar sounds of students chatting, laughing, and bustling about. The enchanted ceiling above mirrored the dreary weather outside, a pale grey that cast a muted light on the enchanted candles flickering along the walls. The long tables were a sea of varied foods, from glistening pastries to steaming bowls of porridge. Briar glanced around the room, her gaze landing on Harry, who stood by the entrance with an air of both nervousness and resolve. As Harry approached their table, he asked, "Can I join you?" His voice carried a hint of urgency that was hard to ignore. Hermione, ever perceptive to the nuances of their interactions, gave a subtle nod, welcoming him to their circle without a moment's hesitation.

As Harry took a seat, the Great Hall's chatter continued unabated until a sudden, authoritative voice cut through the noise like a blade through silk. Eloise and Georgia, their curiosity piqued, rose swiftly from their seats and beckoned Briar to follow. The trio navigated their way through the throng of students, their path winding through clusters of animated conversations and scattered food. Their destination was clear—a confrontation brewing at the base of the grand staircase where Professor Umbridge and Professor McGonagall were engaged in a heated exchange.

Umbridge's voice, dripping with incredulity and a veneer of politeness, reached their ears. "Excuse me, professor. What exactly are you saying?" Her tone was laced with a condescending edge that made the words feel like a personal affront. McGonagall, with her face a stern mask of controlled irritation, met Umbridge's gaze with a steely resolve. "I'm merely requesting that when it comes to my students, you conform to the prescribed disciplinary practices," she replied, her voice calm but unyielding. Eloise nudged Briar, who stared with wide eyes at the unfolding drama. The entire school was well aware of Umbridge's controversial methods, but witnessing McGonagall—known for her rigid adherence to tradition—challenge her was a rare and significant event.

Umbridge's response was a saccharine-sweet rebuke. "It's so silly of me, but it sounds like you're questioning my authority in my own classroom, Minerva," she said, her words dripping with false sweetness. McGonagall's eyes narrowed as she folded her arms across her chest in a gesture of defiant composure. "Not at all, Delores. Merely your medieval methods," she retorted, her voice steady and unwavering. Umbridge let out a theatrical sigh, shaking her head with exaggerated disappointment. "I'm very sorry, dear. But to question my practices is to question the Ministry and by extension, the Minister himself. I am a tolerant woman, but one thing that I will not stand for is disloyalty." McGonagall took a small, deliberate step back, her eyes flashing with a sharp, controlled anger as she exhaled sharply.

Umbridge's pronouncement was met with a murmuring chorus of apprehension from the gathered students. "Things at Hogwarts are far worse than I feared. Cornelius will want to take immediate action," Umbridge declared, her gaze sweeping over the students like a hawk sizing up its prey. Her words were a dark promise of further repression, sending a shiver through those who heard them.

"Immediate action?" Georgia whispered, her voice trembling slightly with fear. Eloise's expression twisted into one of disgust as she watched Umbridge with barely concealed contempt. "What a bitch..." she muttered under her breath, her face flushed with frustration. Georgia shot her a warning glance, but Briar shook her head in agreement. "No, no. I agree... she's going to ruin Hogwarts," Briar said softly, her voice tinged with a deep sense of foreboding. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in around them, the weight of Umbridge's presence making even the simple act of breathing feel heavy.

~

The mood at Hogwarts had darkened significantly since Dolores Umbridge's appointment as High Inquisitor. Her influence spread like a suffocating fog, permeating every corner of the castle with a palpable sense of oppression. The once vibrant halls were now lined with Ministry-approved decrees, each one more restrictive than the last. The colorful banners and cheerful displays that had once brightened the castle's corridors were replaced by grim, draconian notices. Students moved about in whispers and hurried glances, the atmosphere charged with a pervasive sense of fear and unease. The school had become a place where even the faintest hint of dissent could draw unwanted attention.