It was sickening to see how easily that toad-faced pink hag dismissed the divinations professor in front of the entire student body no less.
Eleanor had seen firsthand the gross display Umbridge had flaunted until Dumbledore appeared to clean things up. How she was continually allowed to get away with her stupidity was a wonder to her until she heard Snape mention in one of their small Order briefings that the Headmaster wished to isolate the Potter boy from any harmful information or connections. Distancing himself from the Ministry – who were already making life a living hell for the Order- through this woman seemed like a good idea. If anything of the Order slipped under her nose, she'd be clawing for Fudge in an instant.
But everyone hated her, staff and student alike except for a handful of Slytherin troublemakers and Filch, who seemed to like everything everyone else did not. Hearing Mrs. Norris hiss at Umbridge every now and again brought a grin to Eleanor's face.
Snape had been as isolated as ever, continuously retreating to his office or private quarters the instant his presence was no longer required. He wasn't one to talk either, which had been seldom enough as it was. Ever since the Order began passing along the names of disappearing wizards and witches, there had been a sobering seclusion of the Order members within the walls of Hogwarts. Outside, those trying to bring the wizarding community to see reason were quashed by Fudge at every turn and suffered through some humiliation in their daily lives.
Dumbledore, at their last Order meeting, had mentioned something under his breath to her as she left, "Be patient with him."
At first she couldn't understand why he was asking her to be patient with a man who made every effort to avoid contact at all. But as he began to struggle with his class ingredient lists and sporadically throw detentions at dazed students she realized what Dumbledore had meant. She had not known Snape to show "stress". Typically a sour mood and a sharp tongue were expected of him. He seemed to relish in his efforts to detach himself from the rest of society. Sometimes it seemed to Eleanor he was punishing himself with his strict dress and secluded lifestyle.
Snape's eyes had a hint of redness to them, and his eyelids had darkened visibly. He was sour still, but wore an air of exhaustion greater than what she was accustomed to seeing in him. The students may not notice their teacher's deterioration, but Eleanor could. She followed him out into the night again when she spotted him sneaking out while she had been returning from the library.
The cold leaves crunched under her paws, but crumbled more silently than the litter that found itself underfoot of the man ahead of her. Of the times she had followed him on his irregular outings, she had not seen him spot her once. Unable to decide if it was dumb luck or actual stealth, she continued the ritual whenever she caught him, doing her best to keep as silent as possible.
Eleanor watched the man leave the same way he always did and returned to the castle, too tired to keep her vigil like she usually did. Her mind wandered as she trotted back in the middle of the path. Mathalda's name had been mentioned among the missing, and her new husband. She had heard nothing from her old friends. The ease of Trelawney's sacking earlier in the day rattled her nerves some, as she wasn't even a full-fledged teacher yet. What was keeping her from Umbridge's pink wrath was a mystery bound to end soon.
Eleanor, so wrapped up in her thoughts, did not change back once she stepped into the castle. Nor did she pay much attention to the footfalls down the corridors. But she certainly did notice being grabbed roughly about the middle and hoisted into the air. Eleanor let out a strangled bark and wiggled about as Filch breathed heavily in her ear. He limped down the hall when none other than the pink menace waited patiently with her petal pink lips pursed.
"Ugh, filthy animal," she exclaimed as Filch neared with Eleanor in tow.
Changing back would mean a cell in Azkaban, so Eleanor continued to try and wiggle free from Filch's grasp. The old coot was stronger than he looked.
"Allow me, ma'am," Filch growled as he turned away. Eleanor hoped he would just plop her outside in the grass safe and sound. He had always been gentler with animals.
But the pink monster was determined to ruin Eleanor's evening it seemed. Heart pounding, she watched the woman extend a plump set of fingers in her direction – the woman's words fell on deaf ears. Soon they were just before her…
Some wild instinct must have seized her in that moment and before she knew it Eleanor had fastened her teeth around those pink sausages waving in her face. The woman shrieked like a banshee until Eleanor released her. Perhaps Eleanor's deep desire to give the woman a taste of her own medicine had been what urged her to bite the woman, but instantly she realized her mistake.
"Dirty beast!" the woman shrieked as she clutched her bleeding hand.
Filch stood there stunned until Umbridge seized Eleanor by the scruff of the neck and yanked her away from him. Eleanor cried out, feeling sharp pain radiate down her back. The woman obviously didn't care how properly she was holding her.
"I'll make you part of my wardrobe you horrible little creature!"
Soon Eleanor found herself being hauled down the corridor, unable to fight the fat woman much since squirming brought on too much pain. She barked pleadingly, but her cries were nothing but animal chatter. Heart beating madly, she struggled to scratch the woman as they rounded the corner near the DADA classroom. Umbridge could get away with murder in that room with a closed door, and suddenly the idea of being her new fluffy stole, dyed some awful shade of pink, became dreadfully realistic.
Eleanor began a tirade of squeaking and barking, thrashing about despite the crippling sharpness of Umbridge's grip. Then, the hard stone floor found her paws with a jolt. The sudden thrill of freedom send her skittering across the hall while the woman behind her, shouting and shrieking, seemed to find her wand. Sparks flew off the stone floor dangerously close. Eleanor found herself cornered as a jet of green light whizzed over her head.
As the pink menace closed in – Eleanor was too shocked and frightened to move- there came another set of footsteps in the corridor. Ella knew it would be Filch and shuddered thinking of what was about to come as the woman raised her wand.
"Snape!" exclaimed Umbridge as his figure slid into view.
"Allow me, ma'am, to dispose of this animal for you," he said coolly.
Eleanor had never been so glad to hear his voice, hoarse and quiet as it was. Umbridge seemed too flustered for words as Snape strode over and scooped Ella up. She had never been this close to him, she thought to herself as she watched a red-faced Umbridge glaring at her as Snape carried her away. She perked her ears up and tried to give the woman a smirk as they rounded a corner.
Snape was silent, keeping his black eyes straight ahead. Eleanor leaned against him, wrapping her tail over his arm. It was strange to be so close. In fact, she couldn't think of a time she could feel his chest despite its many, many layers of clothing. It sent her heart racing.
He carried her down to the steps towards the dungeon, where he gently set her down.
"Be more careful," he warned her quietly and started down the stairs.
She sat there in the dark, listening to his retreating footsteps. She should change back and return to her room, she thought to herself. But instead she followed after Snape. Dim light spilled onto the dark stone floor from under one of the doors farther down the potions wing. She guessed it was part of Snape's personal rooms as she sat before the door. It was quiet in the dungeon, with only the breath of the castle and the hum of movement from the other side of the door penetrating that deep silence.
She stretched back into her normal shape and let her hand rest on the cool handle of the door. Her fingers itched to seize it and throw open the door, curiosity desperately trying to win out. But her hand was still as she contemplated what could be going on behind that door. She wondered if he was reading, as she often saw him do when he wasn't busy with Dumbledore or classes. She wondered what books he might indulge in after his tomes of ingredients and long dead potioneers had been flipped through.
Her heart was pounding in her ears.
Eleanor felt a chill and shivered in her thin jumper. Her fingers defiantly kept themselves wrapped around the door handle as she struggled to pull herself away, and she wondered why she felt so eager to remain in his company. When she finally pulled herself away and made for her own room, she felt a strong sense of regret creeping into her chest the farther she walked.