Chapter 41: Career Advice
April 18, 2003 – Friday
Gryffindor Common Room
It was the first day of the Easter holidays, and the Gryffindor common room buzzed with a sense of fleeting relaxation as students enjoyed a rare break from their academic rigors. Hermione, ever the diligent planner, had dedicated the entire morning to crafting detailed revision timetables for herself and her friends. The sight of her at work, surrounded by parchment, quills, and her ever-present stack of textbooks, was a familiar one. She meticulously organized the study schedules, her wand flicking expertly as each little square on the timetable changed color to denote different subjects.
Harry and Ron, resigned to Hermione's thorough approach, had deferred to her expertise. They knew from experience that arguing with her would be both futile and exhausting. Besides, they understood that Hermione's timetables were not just practical tools but lifelines to navigating the chaos of their final exams. Even Dawn, who had initially resisted Hermione's well-meaning interference, had eventually relented, weary from the constant back-and-forth. She had finally acknowledged the inevitability of Hermione's insistence and allowed her to craft a schedule, if only to put an end to the ongoing debate.
Ron was momentarily stunned when he glanced at the calendar and realized there were only six weeks left until their exams. The revelation hit him with unexpected force, his eyes widening as the gravity of the situation sank in.
"How can that come as a shock?" Hermione demanded, her voice tinged with exasperation. She tapped each square on Ron's timetable with her wand, causing the dates to flash in a spectrum of colors. Each hue represented a different subject, meticulously arranged to ensure a balanced study plan.
"I dunno," Ron replied, scratching his head. "There's been a lot going on." He shrugged, his tone conveying a mixture of disbelief and resignation.
"Well, there you are," Hermione said, handing Ron his schedule with a small nod of satisfaction. "If you follow that, you should do fine." Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and concern, knowing how crucial these next few weeks would be.
Ron's gaze fell to the timetable with a glum expression, his shoulders slumping slightly. Yet, as he scanned the carefully planned layout, a glimmer of relief appeared on his face. "You've given me an evening off every week!" he exclaimed, a note of genuine surprise in his voice.
"That's for Quidditch practice," Hermione explained, her tone matter-of-fact. "I gave Dawn an evening off for the same reason." She pointed out, noting Dawn's disinterested roll of the eyes.
The mention of Quidditch, however, did little to lift Ron's spirits. His earlier optimism faded as he let out a sigh. "What's the point?" he muttered. "We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister for Magic." His words were steeped in a blend of frustration and resignation, reflecting the disappointment of their current Quidditch season.
Hermione's response was a silent acknowledgment of Ron's sentiment. Her gaze shifted to Harry, who had retreated into a state of contemplation. He sat in a corner of the common room, his attention fixed on the blank wall across from him. Crookshanks, their perpetually grumpy half-kneazle, pawed insistently at Harry's hand, nudging for attention with a plaintive meow. Harry's expression was distant, his mind evidently preoccupied with thoughts he wasn't ready to share.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked gently, her concern evident as she studied him closely. The question hung in the air, a subtle invitation for Harry to open up about whatever was troubling him.
"What?" Harry said quickly, his voice betraying a hint of urgency. "Nothing."
He grasped his copy of Defensive Magical Theory with a sudden fervor, his fingers flipping through the pages as though searching for something in the index that might save him from the conversation. His eyes darted across the text with unconvincing concentration, trying to obscure the turmoil he felt inside. Crookshanks, with his characteristic air of disdain for anything that didn't involve immediate gratification, gave up on Harry and slinked away, his plump form vanishing beneath Hermione's chair with a disdainful flick of his tail.
Dawn's gaze was unwavering as she observed Harry's struggle. With a gentle resolve, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his in a soft, unexpected kiss. The warmth and tenderness of the gesture momentarily startled Harry, pulling him from his inner conflict. He blinked, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and the ache of unspoken emotions.
Looking at his girlfriend, Harry felt a pang of regret. He knew he should confide in Dawn about the unsettling visions he had experienced during his last Occlumency session, but the words seemed lodged in his throat, reluctant to emerge. The weight of his silence was heavy, and though he understood the necessity of sharing his burdens, he found himself paralyzed by the fear of what might come from exposing his fears.
"Harry?" Dawn's voice broke through his reverie, her tone laced with concern. "You sure you're alright?"
Harry's response was a silent nod, his gaze falling to the floor as he finally returned Dawn's kiss. The brief contact, though tender, did little to dispel the turmoil swirling within him.
"Come with me," Dawn said softly but firmly. She reached out and took Harry's hand, her touch both comforting and assertive. As she guided him away from the common room, Harry's textbook slipped from his grasp, landing with a dull thud on the floor.
Buffy's Suite
Dawn led Harry through the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts, their footsteps creating a muted rhythm against the ancient stone walls. The echoes of their passage seemed to drift through the hushed air, gradually drawing them away from the lively din of the common room and the bustling noise of their peers. As they moved deeper into the castle, the usual clamor of student activity receded, leaving behind only the soft murmur of their footsteps and the occasional distant creak of the old castle settling into its own silence.
After navigating several turns and ascending a spiral staircase, they arrived at the portrait leading to Buffy's suite. Dawn gave the password with a practiced ease, and the portrait swung open to reveal the cozy, well-lit interior. The suite was a sanctuary of warmth and tranquility, a stark contrast to the chilly stone corridors outside. Dawn led Harry inside, and they were greeted by the familiar comfort of the room, but, fortunately, Buffy was absent.
"What's going on?" Dawn's voice held a note of concern as she turned to face Harry, her eyes searching his face for answers. The question lingered in the air, pregnant with the weight of unspoken fears and unresolved emotions.
"Dawn…" Harry began, but his voice faltered as he struggled to articulate the troubling thoughts that had been churning in his mind.
Dawn cut him off gently but firmly, her determination clear. "We're not leaving until you tell me. I've got your back, remember?"
Harry met her gaze with a mixture of apprehension and resolve. "In my last session with Snape, I saw a memory of his. I saw my dad dangling Snape upside down. Everyone who knew him said he was a wonderful person, even Hagrid and Sirius. And Professor Lupin said that Dumbledore had made him a prefect. Then there was my mum. She came to Snape's defense. But the look on her face as she yelled at my dad; she had clearly loathed Dad right then. I don't understand how they could have ended up getting married. I've been wondering if my dad didn't force her into it."
Dawn's expression softened with empathy as she listened, her eyes reflecting the depth of her understanding. She took a deep breath before speaking. "Harry, we all have dark secrets that we hide. You and I are the only ones who know each other's dark secrets. You were the first to find out I used to be the Key after Hermione. You confided in me about your worries concerning Voldemort. Think about it like this. Would you love me any less if I defended Hermione or Ron from you?"
Harry mulled over her words, his mind replaying past moments of conflict and reconciliation. He had certainly experienced frustration and anger with Hermione and Ron in the past. The notion that Dawn might have defended them during those times did stir a pang of jealousy, but the idea that it could impact his feelings for her long-term was a different matter. He reflected on how, despite his anger, his love for her had always prevailed. "I might hate you for defending them depending on why I was mad at them. But in the end, no, I would still love you."
"And the same was true for your parents, Harry," Dawn continued softly. "They probably knew how to push each other's buttons. In the end, they still loved each other. They would have had to, to bring you into this world."
Harry considered Dawn's perspective, allowing her words to sink in. The tumultuous emotions he felt about his parents began to settle, replaced by a new understanding. "I think you might be right. Thanks, Dawnie."
April 20, 2003 – Sunday
Gryffindor Common Room
As the final days of the Easter holidays drew to a close, the atmosphere in Gryffindor Tower crackled with a sense of urgency and anticipation. The once cozy and familiar common room now felt charged with a palpable tension, as if the walls themselves were bracing for the impending storm of examinations and career decisions. The air was tinged with the faint scent of parchment and ink, mingling with the lingering aroma of the holiday feasts.
Scattered across the wooden tables were a fresh assortment of pamphlets, leaflets, and notices. These sheets of parchment, in various hues and sizes, had mysteriously appeared overnight, each one bursting with information about potential wizarding careers. Their vibrant colors and intricate designs formed a chaotic mosaic, starkly contrasting the otherwise warm and inviting setting. The collection of papers was a tangible reminder of the crucial choices that loomed on the horizon.
Among these, a particularly striking notice had been pinned prominently to the bulletin board. It stood out with its bold, black lettering that declared:
CAREERS ADVICE
All fifth-years are required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the summer term to discuss their future careers.
Times of individual appointments are listed below.
As evening settled over the castle, the last vestiges of the holiday spirit began to fade, replaced by an ever-increasing sense of foreboding about the exams and future planning that lay ahead. Ron, his brow furrowed in concern, scrutinized a particularly intimidating leaflet. "Well, I don't fancy Healing," he said, his voice tinged with unease. "It says here you need at least 'E' at NEWT level in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I mean... blimey... don't want much, do they?"
Hermione, deeply engrossed in a leaflet that featured vibrant pink and orange swirls, barely looked up. The leaflet's bold heading, "SO YOU THINK YOU'D LIKE TO WORK IN MUGGLE RELATIONS?" seemed to almost glow under the flickering light of the common room's lamps. Her eyes traced the enthusiastic description, which highlighted that the primary qualifications were an OWL in Muggle Studies, coupled with enthusiasm, patience, and a good sense of fun. "Well, it's a very responsible job, isn't it?" Hermione mused, her voice drifting absently. "You don't seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles; all they want is an OWL in Muggle Studies: Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience, and a good sense of fun!"
Harry, who had been leafing through a pamphlet about wizard banking, glanced up with a smirk. "You'd need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle," he said darkly. "Good sense of when to duck, more like." He flipped through the pages of the pamphlet, which showcased thrilling career opportunities at Gringotts Wizarding Bank. "Listen to this: Are you seeking a challenging career involving travel, adventure, and substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses? Then consider a position with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, who are currently recruiting Curse-Breakers for exciting opportunities abroad... They want Arithmancy, though; you could do it, Hermione!"
Hermione shook her head slightly, her gaze still absorbed in the bright leaflet. "I don't much fancy banking," she said, her tone reflecting her disinterest.
Dawn, who had been listening intently, let out a thoughtful sigh. "Besides, Hermione already had her career picked out at the beginning of fourth year."
Harry looked up, a hint of confusion in his eyes. "She has?"
Dawn nodded firmly. "Unless a miracle happens and Buffy lives to a ripe old age, Hermione will be a Slayer. She's a Potential, remember?"
Hermione nodded in agreement, her expression a mixture of determination and resignation. "Yeah, if I wind up chosen, I won't have access to many jobs that are compatible. Dawn's sort of in the same boat I am."
Dawn mirrored Hermione's nod. "Yeah, Dumbledore said I might inherit Slayer abilities from Buffy. If that happens, I will wind up being a Slayer also."
April 21, 2003 – Monday
McGonagall's Office
On Monday afternoon, the castle's corridors seemed unusually quiet as Dawn and Hermione made their way to Professor McGonagall's office. The ancient stone walls, usually alive with the hum of students and the occasional ghostly whisper, now echoed with the soft shuffle of their footsteps. The golden light from the torches cast long shadows that danced along the polished floor, adding to the somber atmosphere that accompanied the approaching meetings.
When they reached the office, they exchanged a look of shared apprehension before pushing open the heavy wooden door. Inside, the room was filled with the scent of old parchment and ink, mingling with the faint aroma of Professor McGonagall's tea. The office was neatly arranged, but the desk was cluttered with an array of pamphlets, leaflets, and forms, their edges curling slightly from frequent handling.
"Summers, I only have one of you at this time," said Professor McGonagall, her voice firm yet weary, as the sisters entered. Her eyes, sharp and discerning behind her square spectacles, met theirs with an unspoken understanding.
Seated beside her was Professor Umbridge, her presence a stark contrast to McGonagall's. With her unpleasantly pink attire and a clipboard perched on her knee, she seemed out of place in the otherwise austere office. The clipboard was filled with neat rows of checkboxes and lists, her sharp eyes occasionally darting toward the newcomers with an unsettling curiosity.
Dawn offered a polite nod. "We know, Professor. But we thought we would save you the hassle of seeing us separately. We're both going to pretty much be doing the same thing anyways."
"Sit down, Summers, both of you," McGonagall instructed tersely, her fingers betraying a slight tremor as she shuffled through the numerous pamphlets scattered across her desk. Her voice carried the weight of unspoken concern, hinting at the burden of the decisions that lay ahead.
"Well, Dawn, Hermione, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into the sixth and seventh years," McGonagall said, her gaze steady and probing. "Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"
Dawn glanced sideways at Hermione, a silent exchange of reassurance passing between them. She then turned back to McGonagall, her expression serious. "Professor, both of us know pretty much what we will be doing after Hogwarts. Since we're both Potentials…"
"Potentials?" Umbridge interjected, her voice cutting through the conversation with a sharp edge. Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny, clearly intrigued and unsettled by the term.
Hermione offered a faint smile, her gaze meeting Umbridge's with a hint of defiance. "We're next in line to become Slayers."
At these words, Umbridge's eyes widened in surprise and dismay. The idea of having one Slayer in the wizarding world was already a troubling concept; the prospect of possibly two more seemed to disturb her deeply. Her normally composed demeanor faltered, her expression betraying a flicker of unease that she struggled to conceal.
Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly as she processed the information. "You're sure of this?" she asked, her voice measured and calm.
Dawn nodded firmly, her gaze steady. "Yes. Professor McGonagall, you know of my origins?"
McGonagall's response was a subtle nod. She had been present during the harrowing journey to Sunnydale with Hermione, Buffy, and Dumbledore to rescue Dawn from the clutches of Glory. It was then that she had learned of Dawn's true nature as the Key, and her connection to Buffy and Hermione. The memory of that mission was etched deeply in her mind.
Umbridge, who had been silently observing, shot a penetrating glare at Dawn, her curiosity tinged with suspicion.
Dawn continued, her voice calm but resolute. "I will inherit Buffy's Slayer abilities, since I was technically created from her and Hermione. Just as I inherited the ability to perform wand magic from Hermione." She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle. "Hermione is Buffy's successor. She was made a Potential by the monks when they created me to hide the Key. That way, should Buffy die before we had dealt with Glory, Hermione would become the next Slayer. Hermione, of course, remains a Potential regardless of Glory being gone."
Professor McGonagall's expression softened with understanding. "I see. Then I think possibly something related in some way…"
Hermione nodded in agreement, her tone thoughtful. "I think Dawn and I both agree that either Muggle Relations or Auror work would be ideal. Both would complement being a Slayer. Muggle Relations would be a good choice because it would allow us to protect not only the wizarding world but also the Muggle world. As Slayers, we would be navigating both realms. Auror work would also be fitting, as it involves combating dark wizards and creatures, aligning with the Slayer's mission to fight the forces of darkness. Buffy focuses mainly on dark creatures, as she believes in avoiding the loss of human life."
"You'd need top grades for Auror," Professor McGonagall stated, her voice carrying the weight of her years of experience. Her gaze settled on the stack of papers on her desk as if seeking confirmation from their silent witness. "They ask for a minimum of five NEWTs, and nothing under 'Exceeds Expectations' grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It's a demanding career path, Dawn, Hermione; they only select the best candidates. In fact, I don't think anybody has been accepted in the last three years." She paused, her eyes meeting theirs with a hint of encouraging warmth. "But I believe you both could meet the NEWT scores required."
The contrast between the serious discussion and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall created a subtle backdrop to the intense conversation. Professor Umbridge, sitting at the edge of the room, emitted a barely noticeable cough, as if trying to interrupt with the utmost subtlety. Professor McGonagall, however, maintained her focus, deliberately ignoring the distraction.
"…as much. You would need Outstanding in Muggle Studies and could pass everything else with Acceptable." McGonagall continued, her tone measured and professional. "You'll want to know which subjects you ought to take, I suppose?" Her eyes softened slightly as she regarded the young witches.
"Yes," replied Dawn and Hermione in unison, their voices carrying a blend of eagerness and concern.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts, I suppose?" Dawn ventured, her eyes glinting with determination. "For the Auror."
"Naturally," Professor McGonagall responded crisply, her tone underscoring the importance of the subject. "I would also advise —"
Professor Umbridge, who had been growing increasingly restless, gave another cough, this one a bit more pronounced and insistent. The sound cut through the conversation like a minor irritation. Professor McGonagall closed her eyes momentarily, took a deep breath, and opened them again with an air of resolute calm, as if determined not to let Umbridge's interruptions disturb the flow of her guidance.
"I would also advise Transfiguration, because Aurors frequently need to Transfigure or Untransfigure in their work. And I must inform you now that I do not accept students into my NEWT classes unless they have achieved 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher at Ordinary Wizarding Level. But I don't think that would be a problem for either of you." Her eyes sparkled with a mix of confidence and expectation. "Then you ought to do Charms, always useful, and Potions. Poisons and antidotes are essential studies for Aurors. And I must tell you that Professor Snape absolutely refuses to take students who get anything other than 'Outstanding' in their OWLs, so—"
Professor Umbridge let out her most pronounced cough yet, which seemed to reverberate through the room. The sound was deliberate and obnoxiously loud, clearly designed to draw attention.
"May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?" Professor McGonagall asked curtly, her voice devoid of any trace of amusement. She did not even glance in Umbridge's direction, maintaining her focus on Dawn and Hermione.
"Oh, no, thank you very much," said Umbridge, her voice dripping with saccharine politeness. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she added, "I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?"
"I daresay you'll find you can," said Professor McGonagall, her tone both clipped and unyielding, acknowledging the intrusion with barely concealed irritation.
"I was just wondering whether Dawn has quite the temperament for an Auror?" Professor Umbridge continued, her gaze shifting toward Dawn with a scrutinizing, almost predatory intensity.
"Were you?" said Professor McGonagall haughtily, her posture stiffening as if preparing for a verbal duel. "Well, Dawn, Hermione," she resumed, seamlessly picking up where she left off, "now for Muggle Studies, you will need nearly all the same subjects, with the addition of Muggle Studies itself." Her eyes briefly flickered toward Dawn and Hermione, assessing their reactions. "I see you both Exceed Expectations in pretty much everything, so—"
Umbridge coughed again, more insistent this time. The sound echoed sharply through the room, an unmistakable attempt to draw attention once more.
"Are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Dolores?" Professor McGonagall asked with a thinly veiled edge of irritation, her eyes still locked on Dawn and Hermione.
"Oh, no need, thank you, Minerva," Umbridge simpered, her tone overly sweet. "I was just concerned that you might not have Dawn's most recent Defense Against the Dark Arts marks in front of you. I'm quite sure I slipped in a note."
"What, this thing?" said Professor McGonagall in a tone of revulsion, as she retrieved a sheet of pink parchment from between the leaves of Dawn's folder. Her fingers delicately peeled it away, and she cast a brief, disdainful glance at the document before slipping it back into the folder without further comment. "Yes, I've seen it. Buffy believes Dawn shows a pronounced aptitude for the subject, and obviously for an Auror—"
"Did you not understand my note, Minerva?" Professor Umbridge interjected, her voice rising in a condescending lilt.
"Of course I understood it," said Professor McGonagall, her voice steely and unyielding.
"Well, then, I am confused... I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you can give Dawn false hope that—"
"False hope?" Professor McGonagall echoed, her voice brimming with incredulity. "You are not the only professor teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Buffy also teaches the subject, and her reports have been more glowing than yours. Or did you forget that Buffy is your co-professor in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Her eyes flashed with a mixture of defiance and challenge, clearly unamused by Umbridge's interference.
"No, I didn't forget that Buffy was my co-professor," Umbridge replied, her voice dripping with thinly veiled disdain. "But I'm terribly sorry to have to contradict you, Minerva, but as you will see from my note, Dawn has been achieving very poor results in her classes with me—"
Without warning, Dawn shot to her feet and strode purposefully toward Umbridge, her face a mask of resolve and barely contained anger. "You will shut up."
Umbridge's eyes widened in affronted disbelief. "I will not be talked to in this fashion," she retorted, her voice rising in outraged authority. "I am a professor; you will show me respect."
"I could care less what you think," Dawn said, her voice cold and unyielding. "Your threats mean nothing. Or have you forgotten the threat my sister made?"
Professor McGonagall watched the exchange with a flicker of approval in her eyes. She concealed a smile, her heart swelling with pride at Dawn's boldness in the face of Umbridge's arrogance. "That's enough, Dawn," she said, her tone firm but warm. Dawn, acknowledging the command, sat back down with a huff of defiance. "Dolores, I will accept Buffy's reports more readily than yours, as she is more qualified to teach the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts. She is, as you very well know, the Slayer. She has dealt with the subject as the Slayer for five years before coming to teach here. Besides, we all know that you don't have much choice when it comes to the Summers family. I believe there is a standing order from the Ministry not to antagonize the Slayer. You already pushed Buffy over that line. Anymore nudging, and I fear you won't like the results."
The effect of McGonagall's words was immediate and profound. Professor Umbridge's smile vanished as abruptly as a light bulb blowing out, her face flushing with a mix of humiliation and anger. She knew McGonagall was correct; despite her repeated attempts to undermine the Summers family, she had been repeatedly outmaneuvered and outmatched, her efforts crumbling under the weight of their resistance.
Professor McGonagall then turned her attention back to Dawn and Hermione, her demeanor shifting to one of renewed focus and support. "Any questions, Dawn, Hermione?"
"Yes," said Dawn, her voice steady despite the earlier confrontation. "What sort of character and aptitude tests does the Ministry conduct for Aurors if you get enough NEWTs?"
"Well, you'll need to demonstrate the ability to react well under pressure, among other things," Professor McGonagall explained. "Perseverance and dedication are crucial, because Auror training takes an additional three years beyond Hogwarts. It involves very high levels of skill in practical Defense. It will require much more study even after you've left school, so unless you're prepared to—"
"I think you'll also find," Umbridge interjected, her voice now icy and cutting, "that the Ministry looks into the records of those applying to be Aurors. They also conduct mental evaluations."
This time, Hermione stood up, her posture radiating fierce determination as she moved to confront Umbridge directly. "Be glad you have a job now, Umbridge. Because this summer you will no longer be working for the Ministry. Buffy intends to sue the Daily Prophet and the Ministry of Magic for the articles the Daily Prophet printed. And we all know those articles were written by people answering to you and Fudge. I would highly suggest you do what my sister told you to do and shut up."
As Hermione took her seat, Professor McGonagall couldn't help but break into applause, her claps echoing with genuine admiration. The room was charged with a palpable sense of triumph and defiance, a stark contrast to the tension that had permeated moments before.
Infuriated and clearly defeated, Professor Umbridge stood up abruptly and stormed out of the office, her heels clicking loudly against the stone floor.
Once the door slammed shut behind Umbridge, Professor McGonagall turned back to Dawn and Hermione, her eyes twinkling with a rare glint of amusement. "I can't wait to tell Buffy what you two did. Don't worry; that's a good thing. I've not seen her that furious before, even when Harry was here for his career talk. I think she is genuinely afraid of what Buffy might do."
Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom
Professor Umbridge entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom that afternoon, her breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps as though she had just sprinted a marathon. The air around her seemed to crackle with a residual tension from the confrontation earlier. She moved with a certain rigid, purposeful stride, her face set in a permanent scowl that seemed to darken the very atmosphere of the room.
Every so often, Umbridge's eyes darted toward Dawn, Hermione, and even Harry, her glances heavy with barely concealed animosity. Each stare was like a cold, calculating blade, slicing through the air with a palpable edge. The students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, acutely aware of the displeasure radiating from the new arrival.
At the desk, Buffy sat with an easy, confident smile that contrasted sharply with the sour expression of her colleague. Her demeanor was relaxed and composed, a stark contrast to the storm brewing behind Umbridge's eyes. Despite the tension in the room, Buffy's presence seemed to exude an almost magnetic calmness, a silent declaration of her unwavering resolve.
Umbridge, though clearly perturbed, chose her battles wisely and did not challenge Buffy. Instead, she occasionally threw glances in Buffy's direction, her gaze a mix of grudging respect and simmering frustration. Yet, she remained silent, her lips pressed tightly together in a thin line. The unspoken tension between the two professors was almost tangible, a silent war of wills that hung like a heavy fog over the classroom.
The students watched the interplay with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, the dynamic between the professors adding an unexpected layer of drama to the already charged atmosphere of the lesson.
Buffy's Suite
That evening, as twilight cast a warm, gentle glow over the castle, Dawn and Hermione made their way to Buffy's suite. The room was cozy and inviting, with soft, ambient light emanating from candles placed around the space. Buffy greeted them with a mixture of affection and relief, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.
"Minerva told me what happened during your career advice session," Buffy began, her voice filled with pride. "I am very proud of the two of you. That said, I will be glad when this year is over and she's gone."
Dawn and Hermione exchanged smiles, their expressions a blend of gratitude and camaraderie. "Thanks, Buffy," Dawn said, her voice warm with appreciation.
Buffy returned their smiles with a look of genuine warmth. "You're welcome. I want to ask, have either of you decided on a career path?"
Hermione and Dawn glanced at each other, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them before they both nodded in agreement. "We want something to complement being the Slayer," Hermione said, her tone thoughtful.
Buffy's smile faded slightly, replaced by a frown that hinted at her deep concern. "I don't want either of you to have to live my life," she said earnestly, her gaze searching their faces for any signs of reluctance or doubt.
Dawn nodded solemnly, her voice steady. "We know. But in a way, we already have, Buffy. All last year with Glory was a sort of trial run, and Hermione was helping Harry face Voldemort. Besides, we both know at least I won't have a choice—I will be a Slayer because I inherited it from you. And should something happen to you, Hermione won't have a choice either; she will be chosen."
Buffy sighed, a mix of resignation and acceptance in her eyes. "Alright," she said softly, her tone carrying the weight of her unspoken fears and hopes.
"So we were thinking either Auror or Muggle Relations," Hermione said, her voice laced with determination. "Both would complement being a Slayer. And being an Auror would actually pay us to be a Slayer if you think about it. Besides, Aurors and Slayers are pretty much the same. The only difference is that on top of dark creatures, the Auror goes after dark wizards as well."
Buffy considered this, her expression thoughtful. "There is a third option," she said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"What?" Dawn asked, her curiosity piqued.
Buffy's smile broadened, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and anticipation. "After you two graduate, I will be retiring as Professor. I think one of you should take my place. And the other could even teach Muggle Studies."
Hermione and Dawn exchanged a meaningful glance, the weight of Buffy's offer sinking in. There was a moment of shared understanding, a silent agreement that this was a significant and deeply personal opportunity. They both nodded in unison, their faces reflecting a mixture of contemplation and resolve. "We'll consider it, Buffy," Hermione said, her voice steady and filled with respect.
Buffy's smile returned, softer now, but still radiant with genuine affection and hope. "That's all I can ask of you," she replied. Her eyes, filled with both pride and a hint of sadness, spoke volumes about the sacrifices she had made. "No matter if you two are ever called as a Slayer, one thing I will always want for you both is to live a normal life, a life I was never able to have because I was chosen."
The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, the significance of Buffy's words lingering in the space between them. Her desire for her sisters to have a life of their own, free from the burdens that had been thrust upon her, was both touching and profound.
Buffy's gaze softened further, and she gave a gentle nudge toward the door with a smile. "Now, go on," she said, her tone lightening with a touch of mischief. "I'm sure you both are dying to tell Harry and Ron what happened at your career choice meeting."
The Corridors of Hogwarts
As Dawn and Hermione made their way back to the Gryffindor common room, the unmistakable shrill voice of Professor Umbridge cut through the corridor. The tension in the air thickened as they drew nearer, the scene ahead coming into view.
"So!" Umbridge's voice was filled with that sickly sweet venom she was known for. Her eyes gleamed with malicious glee, locking onto the group ahead like a predator.
Dawn and Hermione quickly joined Harry, who was already watching the confrontation with a wary expression. "What's going on?" Dawn whispered.
Harry shrugged, his eyes never leaving the spectacle in front of him. "Don't know," he muttered, but his tone was edged with the kind of unease that came naturally when Umbridge was around.
Up ahead, Fred and George stood defiantly before Umbridge, who looked positively delighted at having caught them. "So — you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?" Umbridge's voice dripped with false civility, her beady eyes glittering.
Fred responded with the kind of careless bravado only he and George could muster. "Pretty amusing, yeah," he said, smirking.
Just then, Filch, red-faced and practically shaking with joy, shouldered his way closer to Umbridge. He clutched a crumpled piece of parchment in his grubby hand, his eyes wild with anticipation. "I've got the form, Headmistress," he croaked, barely able to contain his excitement. "I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting… oh, let me do it now…"
Hermione's face twisted with disgust, her voice laced with indignation as she spoke up. "Whips? Torturing students is illegal."
Umbridge ignored Hermione's remark, her attention solely focused on Fred and George. Her smile was wide and gleeful as she addressed Filch. "Very good, Argus," she purred. "You two are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."
Fred exchanged a look with George, both of them suddenly calm and untroubled, as if they'd just made a silent decision between them. With a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, Fred spoke up. "You know what? I don't think we are." He turned to his twin, his expression growing even more mischievous. "George, I think we've outgrown full-time education."
"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," said George lightly, the grin on his face growing even wider. His voice carried an almost carefree sense of finality, as though they were discussing nothing more serious than skipping a class.
"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" asked Fred, his eyes glinting with mischief and determination. There was an undercurrent of excitement in his tone, a clear sign that he and George had long been waiting for this moment.
"Definitely," agreed George, the word hanging in the air like a challenge.
Before Umbridge could process what was happening, let alone issue a command, the twins raised their wands in perfect synchrony, their voices ringing out, clear and strong: "Accio brooms!"
A thunderous crash echoed somewhere in the distance, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass reverberating through the stone corridors. Dawn, Hermione, and Harry instinctively ducked, eyes wide as they looked toward the source of the noise. The next moment, Fred and George's broomsticks came hurtling around the corner at breakneck speed, weaving through the air like missiles aimed directly at them. With a sharp turn, the brooms darted down the stairs, the clattering of their chains reverberating across the stone floor, until they screeched to a halt directly in front of the twins.
The crowd of students watched in stunned silence, anticipation bubbling beneath the surface as the twins mounted their brooms with the grace of seasoned Quidditch players.
Fred cast a final, disdainful glance at Umbridge, his voice dripping with mock politeness. "We won't be seeing you," he said, swinging his leg over the broomstick with a casual flair.
"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," added George, mirroring his brother as he mounted his own broom, the smirk on his face one of pure defiance.
The crowd, previously hushed, seemed to lean in, hanging on their every word. Fred's eyes swept over the gathered students, a conspiratorial grin lighting up his face. "If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley—Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Our new premises!" he announced, the words ringing with pride and excitement.
"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," George added, jabbing a thumb at Umbridge, who looked livid, her face turning an unhealthy shade of purple.
"STOP THEM!" Umbridge shrieked, her voice a high-pitched wail that cracked in desperation, but her words fell on deaf ears.
In unison, Fred and George kicked off from the ground, soaring upward with such speed that they seemed to leave a trail of rebellion in their wake. They hovered fifteen feet above the stone floor, framed by the high archways of the castle. The students below erupted in cheers, their applause thunderous, as if each clap was a blow against Umbridge's iron grip.
Fred caught sight of Peeves, who was floating above the crowd, his eyes gleaming with mischief at the spectacle below. With a wicked grin, Fred called out, "Give her hell from us, Peeves."
The poltergeist's face broke into a wide, gleeful grin as he snapped off a salute, his belled hat jingling in exaggerated reverence. He spun midair, ready to unleash the chaos he was known for.
With a final look at the raucous crowd and a glance back at the furious Umbridge, Fred and George wheeled around, zooming out of the open front doors. They were silhouetted against the vivid orange and pink of the setting sun, the scene like something out of a storybook—two figures streaking away into freedom as the castle behind them erupted in shouts of joy and defiance. The applause of the students echoed through the corridors long after the twins had disappeared from view, leaving behind only the memory of their grand exit and the lingering scent of victory in the air.