❝𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲?❞
❝𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.❞
𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 had a few, perhaps a little or more than a palm of qualms in his life. First up was the whole "The Boy-Who-Lived" shenanigans, then there was an ungodly am...
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XXXV. THE GREAT CHASE
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"But you, are malevolent and benevolent
You, owe me nothing and everything"
THIS WAS CERTAINLY NOT HOW the plan was supposed to be.
Marjorie had imagined the plan to be more... successful in a way, not resulting them in being gagged and shoved inside of Umbridge's office, where they would find Harry against the desk and Hermione pinioned against the wall by Milicent Bulstrode, their wands wrested by Draco Malfoy. Alas, what she was describing was actually the reality of their situation.
"Got 'em all," Warrington's gruff voice broke through the tense silence, his rough shove sending Ron stumbling forward into the room. There was a cruel satisfaction in his eyes as he jabbed a thick finger at Neville, who was breathing heavily, his face flushed with anger. "That one," Warrington continued with a sneer, pointing at Neville, "tried to stop me taking her." His gaze flicked to Ginny, who was being restrained by a hulking Slytherin girl, her face a mask of fury as she kicked out in a futile attempt to free herself. "So I brought him along too."
"Good, good," Umbridge purred, her voice sickeningly sweet as she watched Ginny's struggles with twisted delight. Her beady eyes sparkled with malicious glee, as though she were savoring every moment of their suffering. "Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?"
Draco laughed loudly and sycophantically that Marjorie had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. Umbridge gave her wide, complacent smile and settled herself into a chintz-covered armchair, blinking up at her captives like a toad in a flowerbed.
"So, Potter," she said. "You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon," she nodded at Ron, and Draco laughed even louder, "to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes, Mr. Filch having just informed me so. Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone..."
Draco and a few of the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad laughed some more at that. Marjorie wrangled against Parkinson's strangle with full of anger and hatred at the way she was talking about their Head of House, and she knew the others were also struggling to keep themselves at the bay of their rage.
No one laughs at Professor McGonagall.
"It's none of your business who I talk to," Harry snarled.
