"I'm sorry, what?" The question rang through the common room as Angelina gave her three teammates an incredulous look, anger radiating from her. "She banned us, for life, and confiscated our brooms." George said, anger and sadness clear in his voice and Morgan scoffed, "When did she get the authority to do that?"
The four gave her a confused look until she said, "I literally haven't even looked at any of her so-called Educational Decrees." Harry gave her the thirty-second version and she said, "Well, I know where you can find a seeker and one beater."
Angelina gestured for her to go on, "Well, for the seeker, you go to the girl's fourth-year dormitories and for a beater, you just ask." She said dryly and watched as confusion spread across her fellow Gryffindor's faces, and she face-palmed, saying, "Oh my gods, Ginny Weasley for the seeker, and I'll be one of your damn beaters."
Angelina grinned and asked, "Are you kidding me?" She shook her head and added, "And I bet if you asked, Grace would be your other beater." A voice called from the stairs, "She's right." Two girls walked in from the dormitories Grace, and Ginny smirked at the astonished faces of the boys. "So," Grace said carelessly, "I guess the question is, when do we start, Captain?"
The next few weeks were nothing more than a blur of tailing the trio, pranking with the twins, practicing Quidditch, and trying to keep up in classes that made no sense. They were all heading towards Transfiguration, and Morgan, for once, felt at home in the school as she wasn't constantly looking for ways to burn off extra energy.
But as they walked in, she saw the all too familiar blob of pink sitting in the back of the classroom. She groaned gods of Olympus she was tired of Umbitch, and she was about to leave when something hit her, and she sniggered. "What's so funny," Ron asked, and Grace quickly piped in, "I can't wait to see Umbridge get schooled by McGonagall."
They sat down as the tall, stern figure of the Transfiguration Professor stormed in and didn't give the slightest inkling that she noticed Umbridge was there. "That will do," at these words, the class fell into silence instantly, "Mr. Finnigan, kindly come and hand back the homework. Miss Brown, please take the box of mice, don't be silly, they won't hurt you. Hand one to each student."
Morgan smiled even as she cringed at the small hem that echoed through the classroom, grating in her ears, grinning wider when McGonagall completely ignored the small cough. "Right then, everyone, listen closely, Dean Thomas. If you ever do that to a mouse again, I shall put you in detention. Most of you have now successfully vanished your snails, and even those who have been left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today we shall be," hem, hem.
The glare that was sent towards the witch was the stuff of legend, and the Professor's face was terse and stern. "I was only wondering whether you received my note telling you the time and date of your inspec…" Morgan had to stifle her laughter as McGonagall cut the other witch off. "Obviously, I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom," as the tall woman turned her back on Umbridge, Morgan saw looks of glee exchanged by the students.
She herself was grinning, "Now the Vanishing Spell," hem, hem the icy fury on McGonagall's face was terrifying as she rounded on Umbridge, "How you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk while I am talking." Morgan saw half the class herself included a struggle to suppress laughter at this.
The rest of the class passed as normally as it could under the circumstance. And soon, she was rolling her eyes at the pink toad strutting through the halls, "she struts around much more, and her butt's going to fall off."
She remarked to the trio, causing them and Grace to chuckle, the volume of which increased as she puffed her chest out, adopted a pompous expression, and began pointing at random things and saying in a high-pitched voice. "Thirty points from Gryffindor Weasley, your shirt is untucked," or pointing to herself and saying, "Ms. Sabers, your hairpin is too gaudy."
She kept this up until they sat down at the table for dinner and switched to talking with Angelina about the next match against Hufflepuff. "So, practice again tonight. Then we have a couple of days to prepare for this match. We need to prove that a quidditch team needs more than a psychotic teacher and a prat of a seeker."
The older girl nodded, and she grinned. She had been training as a beater, and both she and Grace had proved to be skillful players. Of course, being ADHD and trained in combat certainly helped when you were training to launch projectiles at other people using a bat.
"Yes, so don't expect practices to lighten up. We'll need to beat Hufflepuff to secure our next match." Nodding, Morgan started serving herself food. She was still in the school's stupid uniform, which seemed to want to either strangle her or trip her to death. Honestly, she was tempted to wear normal clothes and just put up an illusion of the uniform. But that would be absolutely exhausting to maintain and utterly impractical to do so. Digging into her food, she paused just long enough to say, "copy that, captain." British food wasn't as good as what they had at camp, but she could stomach it enough to get through meals. Though she didn't understand their obsession with puddings, she always thought of it as gross gelatinous chocolate goop.
The practice wasn't hard, and she stayed outside afterward to continue working out, but as she walked back to the common room, she heard voices quietly talking down the hall, ones she recognized, so she cloaked herself in Mist and snuck around the corner.