BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The Above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Eight.
Signed: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, MINISTER OF MAGIC
The new decree was plastered across every common area before dawn, and by breakfast, the entire school was buzzing with the news of Dumbledore's exit. Everyone was eager to hear the details from Harry, who had returned from Dumbledore's office nearly an hour after the rest of the DA members had escaped Umbridge and the Slytherins.
When Harry finally climbed through the portrait hole the previous night, Hermione rushed to him, throwing her arms around him in relief. "Harry, you're okay!"
"Yeah," Harry replied, running a hand through his hair.
"What happened, mate?" Seamus asked, leaning in.
"We thought you'd been sacked for sure," Lee Jordan added.
"It was Malfoy," Harry said, sitting down with the group. "Trip Jinx. Did they get anyone else?"
"We've been trying to figure it out—seems like everyone who was at the meeting got away," Ginny said.
"Good," Harry said. "Umbridge had them looking for anyone who was out of breath. How did you all get away?"
The group quickly caught Harry up on their escape stories, then pressed him for more information.
"Well, Malfoy jinxed me and then called over Umbridge. She took me straight up to Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore and McGonagall were there, but so were Fudge, Kingsley, some other wizard I didn't know, and Percy."
Hermione noticed Ron tense at the mention of his brother's name.
"Then Fudge basically accused me of starting Dumbledore's Army and said Umbridge had proof."
"Proof? How?" Hermione asked, though she had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer.
"Marietta Edgecombe," Harry replied darkly. "She told Umbridge about the DA. They brought her in, and she had the word 'SNEAK' spelt out in pimples." Harry managed a half-smile despite everything. "I'm guessing that was your doing?"
Hermione felt a strange mix of pride and regret. "I didn't think anyone would actually betray us. I just wanted to make sure no one could rat us out without consequence."
Fred shook his head. "Serves her right. What happened then?"
"Fudge asked me if I knew why I was there, and I was going to say yes, but Dumbledore shook his head. That's when Umbridge brought Marietta in to confirm, but she wouldn't speak. Her face was a mess, and she was clearly terrified. I think Kingsley might have Confunded her because she couldn't even answer yes or no questions."
"And then?" Ron prompted.
Harry took a deep breath. "Fudge started ranting about how Dumbledore was building an army to overthrow the Ministry. Dumbledore took the blame for everything. He claimed he was the one who had organised the DA and that I was just following his orders. He said it was all his idea."
"But why would he do that?" Neville asked, wide-eyed with concern.
"To protect me," Harry replied. "He knew that if Fudge thought I was responsible, I'd be expelled—or worse. Dumbledore made himself the target instead."
Lee leaned forward. "What did Fudge do?"
Harry's expression darkened. "Fudge ordered Dumbledore's arrest. He had Aurors with him, but Dumbledore… well, he didn't stick around to be taken. He acted so quickly. He used a spell to knock out Umbridge, Fudge, and the Aurors. It was over in seconds."
By mid-morning, Harry had recounted the story multiple times as students besieged him with requests for a firsthand account, especially since Marietta was in the hospital wing.
"Dumbledore will be back before long," said Ernie Macmillan confidently on the way back from Herbology after listening intently to Harry's story. "They couldn't keep him away in our second year, and they won't be able to this time. The Fat Friar told me—" he dropped his voice conspiratorially so that Hermione, Ron, and Harry had to lean closer to hear him "—that Umbridge tried to get into his office last night after they'd searched the castle and grounds for him. Couldn't get past the gargoyle. The Head's office has sealed itself against her." Ernie smirked. "Apparently, she had a right little tantrum."
"Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office," said Hermione viciously as they walked up the steps into the Entrance Hall. "Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old—"
"Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?"
Draco Malfoy had slid out from behind the door, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight with malice.
"Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," he drawled.
"It's only teachers who can dock points from houses, Malfoy," said Ernie at once.
"Yeah, we're prefects too, remember?" snarled Ron.
"I know prefects can't dock points, Weasel King," sneered Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. "But members of the Inquisitorial Squad—"
"The what?" said Hermione sharply.
"The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger," Malfoy said, pointing to a tiny silver 'I' on his robes just beneath his prefect's badge. "A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points… so, Granger, I'll have five from you for being rude about our new Headmistress. Macmillan, five for contradicting me. Five because I don't like you, Potter. Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that."
Ron immediately pulled out his wand, but Hermione pushed it away, whispering, "Don't!"
"Wise move, Granger," Malfoy breathed. "New Head, new times… be good now, Potty… Weasel King…"
Laughing heartily, he strode away with Crabbe and Goyle.
"He was bluffing," said Ernie, looking appalled. "He can't be allowed to dock points… that would be ridiculous… it would completely undermine the prefect system…"
But Hermione knew it was no bluff. She, Ron, and Harry turned toward the giant hourglasses set in niches along the wall behind them, which recorded the house points. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been neck and neck in the lead that morning. Even as they watched, stones flew upwards, reducing the amounts in the lower bulbs. The only glass that seemed unchanged was the emerald-filled one of Slytherin.
"Noticed, have you?" Fred's voice cut through the tense air as he and George joined them by the hourglasses at the base of the marble staircase.
"Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points," Harry said furiously, watching more stones fly upwards from the Gryffindor hourglass.
"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," said George, unfazed.
"What do you mean, 'tried'?" Ron asked quickly.
"He never managed to get all the words out," Fred replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor."
Hermione was aghast. "But you'll get into terrible trouble!"
"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks. I dunno where we sent him," Fred said coolly. "Anyway… we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."
"Have you ever?" Hermione asked, rolling her eyes.
"'Course we have," said George. "Never been expelled, have we?"
"We've always known where to draw the line," Fred added.
"We might have put a toe across it occasionally," George grinned.
"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem," Fred finished.
"But now?" Ron asked, sounding both curious and worried.
"Well, now—" said George.
"—what with Dumbledore gone—" said Fred.
"—we reckon a bit of mayhem—" said George.
"—is exactly what our dear new Head deserves," Fred concluded.
"You mustn't," Hermione whispered, her voice filled with urgency. "You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!"
"You don't get it, Hermione, do you?" Fred said, smiling. "We don't care about staying anymore. We'd walk out right now if we weren't determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So, anyway," he checked his watch, "phase one is about to begin. I'd get into the Great Hall for lunch if I were you. That way, the teachers will see you can't have had anything to do with it."
"Anything to do with what?" Hermione asked, anxiety creeping into her voice.
"You'll see," George said with a wink. "Run along, now!"
Fred and George turned away, blending into the crowd and descending the stairs toward lunch. Looking highly disconcerted, Ernie muttered something about unfinished Transfiguration homework and scurried away.
"I think we should get out of here, you know," Hermione said nervously. "Just in case…"
Who knew what the twins were capable of?
"Yeah, all right," Ron agreed, and the three of them moved toward the doors of the Great Hall. Just as they crossed the threshold, Hermione felt Harry stop beside her. Filch, the caretaker, had intercepted him.
"The Headmistress would like to see you, Potter," Filch sneered.
"I didn't do it," Harry said automatically, his voice tinged with frustration. Hermione shut her eyes in exasperation.
"Guilty conscience, eh?" Filch wheezed. "Follow me."
Hermione and Ron watched as Harry reluctantly followed Filch down the corridor toward Umbridge's office.
"Should we follow them?" Ron asked, glancing at Hermione.
"I don't know," Hermione admitted, her mind racing. "Maybe."
They hesitated for a moment before deciding to follow at a distance. Hermione kept Filch in sight as they weaved through the crowds of students heading to lunch.
"What the bloody hell are you two doing!?" a harsh whisper suddenly demanded, and someone grabbed Hermione's arm.
She nearly jumped out of her skin, her hand instinctively reaching for her wand.
"Whoa! It's just me!" Lee Jordan raised his hands in mock surrender.
"You nearly scared me half to death," Hermione scolded, craning her neck to see if she could still spot Filch and Harry.
"You both need to get into the Great Hall right now," Lee insisted, ignoring her scolding.
"Why? What do you mean?" Ron asked, his brow furrowed.
"Plausible deniability," Lee said with a grin.
"But Filch got Harry," Ron protested.
"Good—then Harry won't be implicated either," Lee said, using his arms to usher them back toward the Great Hall. "We have about five minutes to get back there and be seen by as many professors as we can."
"But—"
"Nope. I have strict orders," Lee interrupted, pushing them firmly back toward the Great Hall.
"Good afternoon, Professors!" Lee called loudly as they entered the hall. "I hope you all are having a wonderful lunch. Me, Weasley, and Hermione definitely are. See?"
"That was smooth," Hermione said sarcastically.
"It was memorable," Lee replied with a cheeky grin. "And that's all that matters."
"What in the bloody hell are they planning?" Ron asked, his awe barely concealed.
"Plausible deniability," Lee repeated before splitting off to join some of his other friends.
Hermione and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table, uncertainty etched on their faces. Ron was itching to find Harry, but Hermione wasn't convinced that getting involved would be wise. Whatever the twins had planned, it was bound to be something significant, and they wouldn't be of any help to Harry—or anyone else—if they got caught in the middle of it.
"Do you think it's happening right now?" Ron asked, his voice tense.
Just as Hermione was about to respond, the entire Great Hall shook with a deafening BOOM reverberating through the castle. "Yes," Hermione yelled over the din.
As the rumble subsided, the students surged towards the source of the sound. It wasn't hard to find. Someone—Hermione had a very good idea who—had unleashed an enormous crate of enchanted fireworks.
Dragons made entirely of green and gold sparks zoomed through the corridors, roaring and blasting fiery bursts that echoed through the castle. Shocking-pink Catherine wheels, five feet in diameter, whizzed through the air like rogue flying saucers. Rockets with tails of brilliant silver stars ricocheted off the walls while sparklers wrote expletives in midair. Firecrackers exploded with the force of mines, and rather than fizzling out, these magical pyrotechnics seemed to grow more powerful the longer they were active.
Through the chaos, Hermione spotted Harry across the corridor. Filch and Umbridge stood frozen in horror halfway down the stairs. As Harry watched, one of the larger Catherine wheels decided it needed more room and whirled towards Umbridge and Filch with a menacing "wheeeeeeeee." They shrieked and ducked, and the wheel shot out the window, zooming across the grounds. Meanwhile, several dragons and a giant purple bat, trailing ominous smoke, escaped through an open door toward the second floor.
"Hurry, Filch, hurry!" shrieked Umbridge. "They'll be all over the school unless we do something—Stupefy!"
A jet of red light shot from her wand, striking one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in a meadow. The witch fled just in time, reappearing seconds later, squashed into the next painting, where two wizards playing cards hastily stood up to make room for her.
"Don't Stun them, Filch!" Umbridge yelled angrily as if it had been his incantation that caused the explosion.
"Right you are, Headmistress!" wheezed Filch. He dashed to a nearby cupboard, yanking out a broom and began swatting at the airborne fireworks; within moments, the broom's head was ablaze.
As the initial novelty of the chaos wore off, the fireworks themselves showed no sign of abating. The enchanted explosions continued to wreak havoc across the castle throughout the afternoon. Despite the destruction, the other teachers seemed to enjoy the disruption.
"Dear, dear," Professor McGonagall said sardonically as a dragon swooped through her classroom, roaring and breathing fire. "Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the Headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?"
The result of the twins' spectacular display was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as Headmistress dashing from classroom to classroom, trying to extinguish the fireworks, as the other teachers, who seemed mysteriously unable to rid their rooms of the pyrotechnics themselves, kept summoning her. When the final bell rang, Hermione saw, with immense satisfaction, a dishevelled, soot-covered Umbridge tottering out of Professor Flitwick's classroom, her face drenched in sweat.
"Thank you so much, Professor," Flitwick chirped. "I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether or not I had the authority."
Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face.
Fred and George were hailed as heroes in the Gryffindor common room that night. Hermione had to admit they deserved every bit of praise. The twins looked surprised when Hermione approached them.
"They were wonderful fireworks," Hermione said, unable to hide her admiration.
"Thanks," said George, looking pleased. "Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. Only problem is, we used up our entire stock; we'll have to start from scratch now."
"It was worth it, though," said Fred, who was busily taking orders from clamouring Gryffindors. "If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe…"
Hermione decided it was best to leave it as a compliment, not an order. She returned to the table where Harry and Ron sat, staring at their schoolbags as though hoping their homework would spring out and start doing itself.
"Oh, why don't we have a night off?" Hermione suggested cheerfully as a silver-tailed Weasley rocket zoomed past the window. "The Easter holidays start on Friday, and we'll have plenty of time to catch up then."
Ron looked at her, his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked.
"Now that you mention it," Hermione said, her voice tinged with a surprising hint of glee, "I think I'm feeling a bit… rebellious."
She let out a giggle, surprising herself. Logically, she knew she probably ought to visit Madam Pomfrey for a dose of Calming Draught, given the whirlwind of stress she'd been under these past few days. But the lightness she felt—likely a side effect of finally seeing Umbridge get her comeuppance—was too rare and too precious to let go. Watching that loathsome woman scurrying around all day had been the highlight of her year.
The three friends spent the rest of the evening engaged in a lively game of Exploding Snap, the tension of the day slowly melting away with each burst of laughter. Eventually, Harry declared he was off to bed, and Hermione and Ron soon followed. Curling up with Crookshanks, Hermione felt a sense of peace settle over her. As she drifted off to sleep, she hoped her dreams would be filled with the delightful image of Umbridge chasing firecrackers all night.
Unfortunately, Hermione did dream of Umbridge, but it was far from a happy dream filled with fireworks and chaos. Instead, she found herself standing in the doorway of Umbridge's office. The sickly sweet scent of perfume mixed with the oppressive atmosphere made her stomach churn. The walls were adorned with the usual grotesque array of ornamental plates, each featuring a different kitten that seemed to mock her with their innocent, wide-eyed stares.
"Sit down, Miss Granger," Umbridge's falsely sweet voice commanded from behind her desk. Hermione's heart pounded as she obediently took her seat.
A piece of parchment and a black, sinister-looking quill lay on the desk in front of her. A shiver ran down Hermione's spine; she knew what was coming.
"You will write, 'I am not smart, just average,'" Umbridge instructed, her voice dripping with malice. "And you will write it until I tell you to stop."
Hermione picked up the quill with trembling fingers. As soon as the tip touched the parchment, a sharp, searing pain shot through her hand. She glanced down and saw the words, "I am not smart, just average," etching themselves into her skin, blood oozing from the lines. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to continue writing.
With each stroke, the pain intensified. The words glowed menacingly on the parchment before sinking into her hand, leaving angry, bloody marks. She wrote the sentence over and over, her vision blurring with tears of pain and frustration.
As the hours dragged on, the walls of the office seemed to close in around her. The kittens on the plates morphed into grotesque caricatures, their eyes following her every move, mocking her suffering. Umbridge's laughter echoed in her ears, a chilling reminder of the power she held over Hermione.
Suddenly, the room darkened, and the walls of Umbridge's office dissolved, replaced by shadowy, towering figures in Ministry robes. Hermione felt a wave of terror wash over her as she recognised the symbols of the oppressive regime. They loomed over her, their faces hidden, but their intent clear: control, subjugation, and punishment.
"You're nothing but a troublemaker," Umbridge's voice sneered, now disembodied and echoing around her. "Confess your crimes, Granger."
Hermione's resolve began to crumble. The pain in her hand was unbearable, and the oppressive presence of the Ministry figures made her feel small and powerless. Tears streamed down her face as she wrote the damning words over and over.
"I... I... I can't..." she stammered, feeling the last of her strength slip away.
"Tell me about the DA," the voice commanded, harsher and more demanding.
In her dream, Hermione broke. She sobbed uncontrollably, her fear of the Ministry's overreach, of fascism, of the cruel treatment of House Elves and Muggles crashing down on her. "It's Dumbledore's Army!" she cried out. "We started it to learn how to defend ourselves against you and your... your fascist regime!"
The Ministry figures seemed to grow taller, their shadows stretching out to engulf her. "Very good, Miss Granger," the voice crooned, now dripping with triumph. "Very good indeed."
Suddenly, she felt a burning sensation on her face. She looked into a mirror that appeared out of nowhere, only to see the word "SNEAK" forming in angry red welts across her skin. She screamed, clawing at her face, trying to erase the shame and guilt that now marked her.
"You betrayed us," whispered the faces of her friends, appearing in the shadows around her. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville—all looking at her with disappointment and hurt. "You're a traitor, Hermione."
"No! I didn't mean to!" she cried, but the words echoed hollowly in the darkness. The faces faded, leaving her alone with her guilt and fear.
The figures of the Ministry grew closer, their presence suffocating. "This is what happens to those who oppose us," they intoned in unison. "This is what happens to those who dare to think they are better than the rest. To those who seek equality and justice."
As they closed in, Hermione's surroundings changed once more. She found herself in a cold, dimly lit examination room. Stacks of parchment covered in her own handwriting surrounded her, each one marked with failing grades. She looked down to see her OWL results: nothing but Trolls and Dreadfuls. Her heart sank as the realisation of failure washed over her.
"No, no, this isn't real," she whispered, but the mocking laughter of Umbridge echoed around her.
"Not so smart now, are you, Miss Granger?" Umbridge's voice taunted. "Just average, after all."
Hermione fell to her knees, the pain in her hand and face blending with the ache in her heart. She felt utterly defeated, consumed by the oppressive forces of the Ministry and her own sense of failure.
She awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, her heart racing. It took her a moment to realise she was safe in her bed in Gryffindor Tower, not in Umbridge's office. But the terror and shame lingered, the vividness of the dream leaving her shaken to her core. She clutched her blanket, trying to steady her breathing and stay awake until morning.
In her miserable state of insomnia, Hermione's mind fixated on her Patronus—the shape, the happy thoughts she needed to conjure it. She couldn't think of anything else, no matter how hard she tried.
Hermione could feel herself slipping into an anxious spiral. She picked up her knitting but had forgotten where she had left off in the pattern the last time she had actually knitted. Her head was swimming too much to figure it out, and Hermione threw it onto her bed in frustration.
Tired, miserable, and anxious, Hermione decided to test out her Patronus again, hoping another memory or thought might produce similar results. Within the safety and darkness of her four-poster bed, Hermione recited the incantation without concentrating on a singular thought. A wisp of silver sputtered from her wand tip.
She then repeated the process from the DA lesson. Unsurprisingly, when she thought of Ron, a silver otter erupted from her wand. Curious, she jumped out of bed and dug into the trunk at the end of her bed. Her eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark dormitory, but she knew she'd be able to find what she was looking for just by touch alone.
Hermione ran her hands around the bottom of the trunk, beneath the winter cloak and miscellaneous quills and books, until they hit something soft and squishy. She pulled it out and jumped back into her bed, closing the curtains behind her.
"Expecto Patronum!" she whispered forcefully, picturing the Lavenham Arcade in her mind. She could see Ron at the claw machine, his tongue set at the corner of his mouth, his ears turning pink with concentration.
The silver otter shot out of her wand and swam around the curtained bed. Hermione held up the otter stuffed animal Ron had won for her that day almost two years ago.
They were a perfect match.