The door to Dumbledore's office swung open, and Harry was shoved forward, stumbling slightly as he caught himself on the desk.

Draco Malfoy lingered behind, his expression schooled into cold arrogance, though the tension in his shoulders and the slight twitch of his fingers betrayed him.

Umbridge beamed at Draco, her voice dripping with approval. "Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy. I shall be sure to inform your father of your diligence."

His only response was a stiff nod, his mouth tightening at the mention of Lucius.

Fudge clapped Draco on the shoulder, his smile full of approval. "Yes, yes, your father will be most pleased. A fine example of a young man upholding the Ministry's values."

Draco inclined his head, but the fleeting grimace—the clench of his jaw—didn't escape Harry's notice. Then, without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and exited, playing his role to perfection.

Across the room, Cedric stood rigid beside McGonagall, fists clenched at his sides. There was no fear, no defeat—only fury.

Harry barely had time to process before Fudge's voice cut through the air.

"Well," the Minister said, rocking back on his heels, his expression full of satisfaction. "Well, well, well…"

Harry barely shifted, keeping his expression blank. But beside him, Cedric's fists clenched as he bristled in anger.

"This is bullshit!" Cedric snapped, his whole body coiled like he was seconds from launching himself at Fudge. "We weren't doing anything wrong!"

Harry exhaled through his nose, supposing it had been too much to hope that the Hufflepuff could think ahead.

Across the room, Fudge looked on amused. Like he'd been waiting for Cedric to explode.

"Ah, ah, ah," Fudge interrupted, wagging a finger at him. "You weren't doing anything wrong, Mr. Diggory? And what would you call illegally gathering in spite of the Ministry-declared educational decree?"

"That law was designed to keep us defenceless!" Cedric snapped, his voice firm.

Fudge's grin didn't falter. "And tell me, Diggory, were you defending yourself from anything?"

Glowering at Fudge, Cedric took a deliberate breath. "We were preparing—"

"Preparing?" Fudge cut in, his voice dripping with condescension. "Preparing for what, exactly? A rebellion? A fight against the Ministry itself?"

Gritting his teeth, Cedric shook his head. "That's not—"

"You see, Cornelius," Dumbledore's calm voice cut in, "this is what happens when people feel unsafe. They seek knowledge, understanding, and the means to protect themselves."

Fudge snapped toward him, puffing up like a bullfrog. "Protection? From what, Dumbledore?"

A faint, unreadable smile crossed Dumbledore's face. "Why, whatever threats exist in this world, of course."

Fudge let out a dismissive huff. "There are no threats—aside from the ones you and Potter are fabricating."

Dumbledore arched a brow. "Ah. Then tell me, Cornelius—if there are no threats, why the fear over students practicing defensive magic?"

His moustache twitched as his face darkened. "Enough of this. We have clear evidence that an illegal student organization has been operating under this school's roof."

"An army, you mean?" Dumbledore offered pleasantly, gesturing toward the parchment Umbridge clutched like a prize.

A wide grin stretched across Fudge's face as he ripped the parchment from her hands and shoved it toward Dumbledore.

"Exactly! 'Dumbledore's Army.' You weren't even trying to be subtle."

Taking the parchment delicately, as though it were nothing more than a menu at a fine restaurant, Dumbledore examined the list of names before looking up, expression unreadable.

"Ah," he murmured, "yes, I do see how that might be… incriminating."

Fudge leaned forward. "So you admit it?"

Dumbledore sighed, as if putting a child out of their misery. "Well, what else could it possibly mean? Dumbledore's Army—surely you wouldn't suspect someone else of running such a group?"

Triumphantly, Fudge turned to the room, as if expecting applause.

Cedric stared at Dumbledore, his face paling slightly, realization hitting him all at once.

His mouth opened—but before he could speak, Harry kicked the back of his leg, unwilling to let him ruin such a careful plan.

Fudge cleared his throat, rocking forward gleefully. "Well, I must say, Dumbledore, I knew you were up to something."

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, yes, well done, Cornelius."

Suspicion flickered across Fudge's face. He extended a hand. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll be taking that."

Dumbledore glanced down at the parchment in his hand as though noticing it for the first time. "Ah, yes. This."

No move was made to hand it over, and Fudge's confidence swelled, his chest puffing out. "We can take it from you by force if necessary."

Dumbledore's smile widened just slightly, as though amused by the very idea. "Oh, I don't think that will be necessary."

With a casual flick of his wrist, he folded the parchment neatly and tucked it into his robes.

"I suppose," he continued pleasantly, meeting Fudge's gaze as though the conversation had never shifted, "that this is your only copy of the list?"

Fudge's smug expression wavered. His mouth opened slightly, triumph dimming for just a moment.

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back. "And shall I assume this means you will be removing me as Headmaster?"

Fudge let out a sharp breath, his expression twisting into a frown."Oh, you'll be in for far more than that. You'll be rotting in a cell in Azkaban before the night is out!"

McGonagall gasped. Cedric visibly stiffened. Even Umbridge faltered, momentarily caught off guard by Fudge's directness.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Ah. Yes. I thought we might hit that little snag."

Fudge frowned. "Snag?"

A near-apologetic sigh escaped Dumbledore. "It is a rare thing indeed, Cornelius, to offer one's opponent a victory that will cost them more than defeat."

And in the next instant—the room exploded in light. Fawkes let out a piercing cry, and a burst of golden fire engulfed Dumbledore, swirling into a vortex of brilliant flame.

Gasps echoed from the portraits, and before anyone could react—before anyone could even think of drawing a wand—Dumbledore was gone, leaving only a single phoenix feather fluttering lazily to the floor.

Fudge's delight twisted into outrage. "AFTER HIM! FIND HIM!"

Standing motionless as everyone panicked around him, Harry smirked at Fudge, enjoying the way the man could only splutter.

Checkmate.

Once they were out of earshot of the headmaster's office, Cedric suddenly turned and grabbed Harry by the collar, shoving him into a small alcove.

The rough stone pressed into Harry's back as Cedric's knuckles twisted in his shirt. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" Cedric bit out, his voice low and taut. "You let her catch us."

Harry didn't resist. His shoulders remained loose, his expression impassive. "She was always going to catch someone, Cedric," he said calmly. "Better she thinks she's won with you than waste her time trying to follow me."

Cedric's grip tightened—then loosened slightly, as if realization was settling in. "You used us," he said, his voice quieter but no less accusing.

"I gave her what she was looking for," Harry corrected smoothly. "Now she's so busy celebrating, she won't even realize she's missed the real threat." He tilted his head slightly. "And your group? They've seen the Ministry for what it is now. You don't have to convince them to fight—they're already there."

For a long moment, Cedric said nothing. He just looked at Harry, disbelief flickering across his face.

Harry felt a twinge of something—not guilt, exactly, but something close enough to sting.

Before he could stop himself, his voice dropped, edged with something sharper. "I wasn't the one who went behind my back and called your group 'Dumbledore's Army'," he said, his tone measured but firm. "I warned you what would happen if that name got out."

Cedric's expression hardened. "You think this is about a name?"

"I think it's about choices," Harry shot back. "I made mine, and you made yours."

Cedric exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was trying to steady himself. "Right. And your choice was to make sure we got caught while you walked away clean?"

Harry's jaw tightened. "My choice was making sure Umbridge thought she won."

Cedric huffed a laugh, humourless and bitter. "Funny, it doesn't feel like we won anything."

Harry held his gaze. "What, did you think passing your exams was going to be a victory? That if you held up a perfect paper, she'd suddenly respect you? Because newsflash, I don't care about Umbridge, she is an irritate who's trying to stand between me and Voldemort."

Reaching up, Harry easily removed Cedric's hands from his collar, "Dumbledore couldn't afford to fight Umbridge and plan against Voldemort, so he got me to give him an out. You and your group were collateral damage in that, from which you will live. You'll notice he took the list of your names with him too, so most of your students will be fine."

Cedric exhaled sharply through his nose, stepping back like he'd been burned. "Right. And I suppose that's supposed to make it better?"

Tilting his head, Harry gave Cedric a pointed look. "It's supposed to make it true. But, if you want to feel better, then fight me. We'll meet in the Room of Requirement tomorrow, neither of us will hold back, and we'll see how capable you are outside the school environment."

"I was a Triwizard champion, Harry."

"And I was the Triwizard victor—but I still lost an arm to Voldemort. If you think you can prove something, try me."

Cedric scoffed. "Umbridge will be watching the Room. She'll be checking it after what happened."

Harry shrugged, completely unconcerned. "Let her check. But she won't do anything."

Cedric's brows furrowed. "How can you be so sure?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of Harry's lips. "Because she thinks she's won. She's too busy celebrating to see what she missed."

For a long moment, Cedric just stared at him, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Harry remained still, watching Cedric disappear around the corner. His fists unclenched, but the tension in his chest didn't ease.

He had expected Cedric's anger. Expected his frustration, his feeling of betrayal. But why did it still sit so uneasily in his stomach?

Taking a slow breath, he raked a hand through his hair, trying to sort through the mess of thoughts colliding in his mind.

Then, as he glanced up, he saw her.

Daphne stood a few feet away, awkwardly shifting on her feet. She had clearly been waiting for him to notice her.

Harry arched an eyebrow, already exhausted from one confrontation and not particularly eager for another. "How long have you been standing there?"

Daphne hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "Draco thought you might be getting expelled."

Harry let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple. "That's… not an answer. But no, I'm not being expelled." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Umbridge had nothing on me—just circumstantial evidence I fed her. But Dumbledore is gone now. She's the new Headmaster—" he scoffed slightly. "Headmistress."

Daphne didn't respond immediately. She studied him instead, her eyes flickering over his face, searching for something—an answer, maybe, or just a confirmation of what she already feared.

"You fed her evidence," she repeated slowly, her voice carefully neutral.

Harry let out a short breath, glancing away. "I did."

Daphne shifted, her arms tensing like she meant to cross them—then stilled, fingers curling slightly at her sides instead. "You wanted her to find Cedric's group."

He didn't confirm it outright, but he didn't deny it either.

She exhaled, her gaze flickering toward the floor for a moment before returning to him. "How bad was it?"

Harry's brows furrowed. "What?"

"Detention," she clarified. "Whatever she did to you."

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smirk, not quite a frown. "You'd have to be more specific."

Daphne's lips pressed into a thin line. "You know what I mean."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then, quieter, almost hesitant—"Harry, what happened to you?"

Sighing, he took a step closer to her, calmingly, "Nothing happened. She tried to bully me, but you know me. She'd hurt Luna, and so I made her regret it. But Dumbledore told me he was going to let Umbridge replace him, so I killed two birds with one stone. But she didn't hurt me, seriously."

"You say that, like hurting Luna was just… a minor thing. Like that wasn't exactly what she wanted—to push you into reacting."

"Maybe, but she underestimated me. She came off worse than me. She isn't… I've faced far worse than her, she hasn't even tried to kill me yet, so she's better than most of our old professors."

Frowning, Daphne looked at him in concern, "You keep comparing her to others, but that doesn't mean she isn't awful."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "So, what, you want me to start thinking of her as a real villain? Bit of a downgrade from Voldemort."

"Harry, just stop. Calm down."

"I am calm…" He countered, "Is it so hard to believe that I can react to someone like Umbridge without throwing a tantrum, or getting invested."

"You aren't calm. You aren't emotional, I can see that, but that doesn't mean you aren't still spoiling for a fight. It's like you're feeling trapped. It's… Astoria got the same way, when her curse was weighing upon her, when she felt like her death was looming over her, and everything felt pointless."

Harry hesitated, the words sinking in before he scoffed lightly. "I'm not dying, Daphne."

"You better not be." She replied, weakly. "You saved my sister from her fate, I want you to be saved from yours too. I know I hurt you, by withholding the truth from you, and I've been beating myself up about it ever since, but please don't dismiss me just because you can."

His expression softened slightly. "I wasn't planning on dismissing you."

After a brief hesitation, he carefully took her hand. "But I did need time. And I've realized… maybe I was too harsh on you."

His fingers curled just slightly around hers. "You've put up with so much of my shit, and the moment you shared a part of your own, I fell apart and blamed you for it."

Exhaling, he gave her hand the faintest squeeze. "I was wrong for that. And I was wrong to leave it so long."

Her fingers tensed slightly in his grasp, her gaze flickering downward before settling back on him. "You really hurt me, you know," she admitted, voice quieter than before.

Harry didn't look away. "I know."

A slow breath left her, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. "But I hurt you first," she murmured. "I should have told you the truth from the start. I thought I was protecting myself, but I was just making it worse."

She squeezed his hand lightly, her lips pressing together as though weighing her next words. "So… I'm sorry too."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, finally, Harry exhaled through his nose, the edges of his lips tugging upward just slightly. "I'll try not to shut you out again," he promised, voice quiet but firm. His fingers curled just a little tighter around hers. "And I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

A breath of relief left her, but she didn't pull away. Instead, her fingers traced the edge of his palm absently, her gaze thoughtful. "So…" she murmured, after a moment. "You said you fed Umbridge information."

Harry arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "That's what you're thinking about right now?"

Her lips twitched slightly. "I am a Slytherin, you know."

That earned a small chuckle from him. "Alright, fair."

She tilted her head, studying him in that careful, assessing way of hers. "It's just… I want to understand."

He hummed softly, considering her words. "Understand what?"

Her fingers stilled against his. "How you made sure she found exactly what you wanted her to."

A slow smirk crossed his face. "Ah. So that's what you're really here for."

Daphne rolled her eyes, but the amusement in her gaze softened the action. "Just tell me, Potter."

"There's not much to tell. I let her think I emotionally revealed the fact that me and Cedric were training people, made it clear she couldn't follow me, and just waited whilst she followed Cedric around. Hardly the stuff of legend."

"Right, but what about the contract? I know you shouldn't have been able to deliberately do that, I wrote it with that sort of deception in mind."

Harry exhaled. "The contract only works if my magic actually signs onto it. I made sure mine didn't."

Daphne blinked. "You what?"

He shrugged. "You said it yourself—you wrote it with deception in mind. So I gave it nothing to latch onto. Your contract was well written, except it wasn't conditional. It just assumes everyone would sign it, rather than making membership conditional on signing up. I may have written my name on the list, but magically it was just ink."

Daphne exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Of course you'd figure that out," she muttered. "No one else would even think to do something like that."

Harry tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You hope."

She shot him a flat look. "No, I know. Most people can barely cast a spell without their magic doing half the work for them. You—" She gestured vaguely at him. "You're just ridiculously powerful."

His smirk widened slightly. "I am, but that level of magical control should be possible for most people, if you put the effort into figuring it out."

Daphne huffed, crossing her arms. "I don't suppose you'd consider using your absurd level of control to follow the rules instead of finding ways around them?"

Harry blinked at her, then grinned. "No."

For a moment, she just stared at him, then let out a breath somewhere between amusement and resignation. But instead of arguing further, her fingers fidgeted slightly at her side, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter.

"…So, are we really okay now?"

Harry's grin faded slightly—not disappearing, but softening into something more genuine. "Yeah," he said simply. "We are."

She studied him for another second, as if making sure he meant it, before she nodded. "…Good."

Her posture relaxed just a little, the last bit of tension unwinding from her shoulders.

Dumbledore's absence had settled into the school like a weight. Even with only a few teachers at the staff table, the Great Hall had likely never been this quiet during breakfast.

Conversations were hushed, subdued, as if acknowledging what had changed without daring to say it aloud.

But Harry wasn't paying attention, instead focusing on finishing his breakfast so that he could go on with his day. Not until the doors opened and the sharp clip of heels against stone cut through the air, too cheerful to be anyone except Umbridge.

He didn't bother looking up at first, not until he noticed her path. She wasn't moving to take Dumbledore's throne behind the table, instead she was heading straight for Professor Trelawney.

The Ravenclaw table noticed first, heads turning, whispers flitting between students like wildfire. Trelawney, oblivious, muttered absently as she stirred her porridge, eyes distant, movements detached.

It was only when Umbridge came to a stop directly in front of her, and a shadow fell over her plate, that Trelawney blinked.

Slowly, she looked up—right into Umbridge's smile.

"Sybill Trelawney," she crooned, her voice carrying over the hall with ease. "I trust you're enjoying your breakfast?"

Trelawney's hand stilled, spoon hovering in mid-air. "I—yes, quite."

Umbridge's smile stretched wider, too sweet to be sincere. "Good, good. I only ask because I was beginning to wonder if you had somehow missed your official notice of dismissal last night."

A hush fell over the hall, and over on the Gryffindor table Padma's sister gasped in a way that Harry felt was overly melodramatic.

Meanwhile Trelawney's face drained of colour, as her spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering against her bowl. "My—my what?"

"You were relieved of your duties as of last night," Umbridge repeated, her voice dripping with mock patience. "Did you not receive the notice?"

Trelawney stiffened, her head snapping toward the staff table. Her magnified eyes darted frantically between her colleagues, searching for someone to refute the words.

"There… there must be some mistake," she whispered, desperately.

"There is no mistake," Umbridge said slowly, enunciating each word condescendingly. "Your employment at Hogwarts has been terminated."

Harry set his goblet down without thinking, fingers tightening around the stem. Trelawney's breath came shallow and uneven, her hands clutching the table as though the room had suddenly crumbled away beneath her.

"No… no, this must be a mistake," she rasped, her voice unraveling. "I—I have given my life to this school—"

But her begging was cut off by the scrape of a chair as McGonagall stood abruptly, her expression tight with anger.

"This is highly irregular, Dolores," she said pointedly, fixing the smaller woman with a cold glare. "Firing a professor in the middle of breakfast? In front of the entire school? If Sybill is to be dismissed, it should be handled with professionalism, not turned into a public spectacle."

Umbridge turned to her, still smiling, like a kindly grandmother indulging a petulant child.

"Oh, Minerva, dear," she cooed, head tilting just slightly, as she flicked her wand. "If you have such strong feelings about it, perhaps you'd like to join her out the door?"

From somewhere beyond the Great Hall, a distant slam of a trunk echoed into the silence, loud enough that Trelawney flinched in panic.

It was followed by a series of ever louder thuds and crashes, before the Great Hall doors creaked ajar, revealing suitcases toppled open, books spilling, and shattered glass, all of Sybill's belongings having been summoned unceremoniously into the entrance hall.

At the sight, gasps rippled through the students, and several started crying.

Trelawney let out a choked, broken sound, her gaze locking onto the mess. "No… no, you can't—"

Umbridge folded her hands, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Oh, but I can. You may gather your things and leave the premises immediately, Hogwarts has no further need of your services."

The words seemed to finally break through, because Trelawney's breath grew strained and ragged, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. Her hands shook as she clutched at McGonagall's arm, fingers tightening like a lifeline.

"Minerva—you—you must—you can't let them—"

McGonagall's jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful, but before she could speak, Umbridge clicked her tongue.

"Sybill," she said, looking almost giddy, "I would ask why you hadn't foreseen this coming, but evidently, if you were capable of such, we wouldn't be here now, would we?"

A strangled sound left Trelawney's throat, something between a gasp and a sob. Her hands flew to her chest, clutching at her shawls like she was trying to physically hold herself together.

"This is my home," she rasped, voice cracking apart. "I have been here for sixteen years—you can't do this—"

"Oh, but I can," Umbridge said, the false sweetness barely concealing her glee. "You see, I am Headmistress now, and under my watch Hogwarts will finally be the institute it was always meant to be."

Trelawney swayed slightly where she stood, her entire body trembling. A horrible silence settled over the hall, thick and suffocating, as everyone stood transfixed, waiting to see what she'd do.

Then—Trelawney let out a wretched, gasping sob, stumbling back from the table. "I—I have nowhere else to go," she wept, brokenly.

McGonagall took a slow, deliberate breath. Then, in a voice forcibly polite, though lined with steel, she spoke.

"Dolores," she said, precise and clipped, "surely there is no need to force Sybill to leave the castle. Even if she is no longer teaching, she has lived here for sixteen years. Could she not remain?"

Umbridge blinked, then let out a light, airy laugh—as if McGonagall had just suggested something adorably naïve.

"Oh, Minerva," she cooed, shaking her head, "and why, pray tell, should Hogwarts provide room and board for a woman who contributes nothing to the school?"

At her words, Trelawney flinched violently, as though physically struck.

Beside her, McGonagall's fingers curled into a fist as she helped keep Trelawney up. "She has been a part of this castle longer than you have," she said icily.

Umbridge's smile stretched wider, oozing sickly-sweet condescension. "Yes, but not for much longer," she said pleasantly. "You see, our new Divination professor will be arriving shortly. And he will, of course, require her lodgings. Unlike you, he will actually be useful."

Another stifling silence settled over the hall, the weight of it pressing against every student, every professor.

McGonagall's voice sliced through it like a blade. "Albus would never do something so vile."

For the first time, Umbridge's smug veneer cracked, as her smile faltered, but only for a fraction of a second. Then, she tilted her chin up, gaze sharpening. "Albus Dumbledore is no longer here."

The words echoed through the room. And then—a loud, scraping screech against stone, causing several students to flinch, as heads snapped toward the source.

Hagrid shoved the bench back with enough force to rattle the floor as he rose. He loomed over the staff table, his broad shoulders squared, eyes burning with anger.

"Yeh've gone too far, Umbridge," he said, his deep voice tight with barely contained fury. "Throwin' someone out like this, like she's nothin'—it ain't right."

A few students murmured in agreement, but Umbridge didn't so much as blink.

"Ah, our gamekeeper has an opinion," she drawled loudly, slowly turning to face him. "And tell me, Rubeus, are you questioning my authority as Headmistress?"

Hagrid's fists curled at his sides, muscles flexing beneath his coat. "Aye," he said simply, tilting his chin up as he glared down at her. "I am."

Beside him, McGonagall posture stiffened, as if realizing just how precarious the situation was becoming. But before Umbridge could respond, and before Hagrid could dig his own grave further, Trelawney suddenly straightened.

"No," she whispered, and then, stronger, steadier—"No, I will go."

Her thin frame trembled, but she lifted her chin, her hands no longer clutching at McGonagall like a lifeline. "You have made it clear I am not wanted," she said, voice shaking, but her eyes no longer darted in panic. "So I shall leave—of my own accord."

And with that, she turned sharply, shawls whipping behind her as she strode toward the doors. But as she passed Harry's table, he saw it—the telltale shimmer of tears on her face, the barely-contained tremble in her hands.

For a few seconds, no one moved, then, a horrible crash echoed from the entrance hall.

Trelawney had tried to spell her scattered belongings together, but her magic had failed her. Instead, her trunk burst apart, sending books skidding across the floor, fragile trinkets tumbling and glass vials shattering into glittering shards.

She fell to her knees, fingers shaking as she scrambled to collect her things, movements fumbling, helpless.

For a few agonizing seconds, no one moved. Some students shifted uncomfortably, whilst others looked away. Even among the staff, they just looked on helplessly.

All except for Flitwick, who's chair toppled over as he moved with startling speed, wand already in hand. With a precise flick, the books and vials lifted from the floor, broken glass swirling into the air, mending itself in seconds before settling neatly back into the trunk.

Trelawney let out a shuddering sob, as her arms curled tightly around the restored case. When she finally raised her head, her wide, tear-filled eyes found Flitwick's.

In turn, he gave a simple, quiet nod. Then, just as quickly, he stepped back, giving her the space to reclaim her dignity.

She swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as she hugged the trunk closer. Then, slowly, her gaze shifted. Her wide, glassy stare locked onto Umbridge.

Harry immediately noticed that something in her expression had changed. Her fingers twitched in the air, trembling—her breathing shallow and unnaturally still.

And when she finally spoke, her voice was not her own.

"The blight you have sown," she rasped, her tone hollow and distant, "shall take root in your soul."

A ripple of unease swept through the Great Hall, as Umbridge's smirk faltered—just slightly.

Trelawney exhaled, slow and shuddering, as though something heavy was pressing against her chest. Her pupils were blown wide, glassy and unfocused, staring not at Umbridge, but through her, as if seeing something beyond the present moment.

"You will reap its harvest in the dark, where no waking shall spare you. When your mind sleeps, it shall cradle you in ice and darkness."

The hush that followed was suffocating. For the first time all morning, Umbridge had no immediate retort.

Finally, she inhaled sharply, shoulders squared, forcing out a short, clipped laugh. "Well," she said, her voice strained, "if your predictions had any merit, perhaps you'd still have a job."

But, shaking in confusion, Trelawney didn't even acknowledge the jab. Instead, her hand dropped to her side, swaying slightly. Then, with a slow, uneven step, she turned away, her shawls dragging behind her as she moved toward the entrance.

The doors groaned open, a gust of morning air curling into the hall. And then, just as she stepped beyond the threshold—they slammed shut behind her.

And to Harry, the sound echoed through the Great Hall like the final note of a funeral march. But, he wasn't focused on the doors, instead he was looking at Professor McGonagall. Whose face was pale with barely contained fury, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and strode swiftly from the hall, disappearing into a side corridor.

Harry's brow furrowed, trying to work out where she was going. He knew that wasn't the way up to Trelawney's quarters. If anything, it looked like she was going to her own office.

Tapping his fingers idly against the table for a moment, he slowly stood. Moving lightly, he followed, keeping just far enough behind that his footsteps wouldn't give him away.

When she reached her office, the door clicked shut behind her, letting him tread with less care.

He knew she was no fool. She would have warded the room the moment she stepped inside. Whatever she was about to do, she didn't want anyone overhearing.

Too bad for her.

Sliding his hand into his pocket, Harry pulled out a coiled length of flesh-colored string. Whilst he had serious doubts about the twins selling Extendable Ears to the public, they were unquestionably useful.

Carefully, he knelt by the door, feeding one end under the narrow gap before pressing the other to his ear. At first he heard nothing. Just a faint, static-like crackle, as though the wards were fighting against the intrusion.

But then McGonagall's voice reached him, low but steady. Pushing the ear further beneath the door, he was able to hear her better.

"Albus. Trelawney has been fired, entirely. She won't be safe for long. She needs protection."

Harry waited, half-expecting to hear Dumbledore's voice in response. But there was nothing.

Just stillness, a drawer sliding shut, and the sound of approaching footsteps.

Harry barely had time to snap back the Extendable Ear, shoving it into his pocket just as the door swung open.

Her eyes landed on him immediately.

"Potter." She said exhaustedly, barely even reacting to his clear eavesdropping.

Straightening calmly, Harry tipped his head to her politely. "Professor."

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line, her sharp gaze flicking over him. Then, with a brief nod toward the corridor, she spoke. "Shouldn't you be at breakfast?"

"I finished. I couldn't hear it, but did Dumbledore reply?" He asked honestly.

Sighing, McGonagall waved him into her office, shutting the door behind them with a flick of her wand. Without a word, she strode to her desk, her movements sharp, controlled—but barely.

A muttered incantation sent two glasses and a decanter of brandy soaring from a cabinet, landing neatly before her. She poured a measure into one, swirling the amber liquid absently before taking a slow sip.

Then, she reached for the second glass.

Her fingers hovered over it for a beat too long, before she sighed, gave her wand the smallest flick, and sent it flying back into the cabinet.

"I expect you'd handle it better than some of the staff," she muttered, mostly to herself, before setting her own glass down with a decisive clink. "But I'm still not in the habit of handing brandy to students. Tea?"

"Erm, no thank you, Professor. So, did your message get through?"

McGonagall exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. "Bloody nosy Potters," she grumbled, before pulling open a desk drawer and sliding out a thin silver chain. She pushed it across the desk toward him.

"Your mother's work, back in the first war. Protean-charmed necklaces—Lily's idea. Dumbledore had to apply new enchantments, but the purpose remains the same. They relay messages between the Order."

Harry ran his thumb over the surface, feeling the traces of old magic lingering beneath Dumbledore's newer wards. "So he heard you."

"Loud and clear," she said, tapping a nail against the desk. "I suspect he's already sent someone to retrieve Sybill. The other side can't be allowed to get to her first."

Harry's gaze snapped up. "So she's a target?"

"Don't you worry about that," She replied sternly, holding her hand out for the necklace. "Put it out of your mind entirely, in fact. It is none of your concern."

Harry exhaled slowly, then rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug. "If it's not for me to know, I won't pry."

But as he spoke, his thumb lingered over the silver chain one last time, trying to tease out his mother's faded magic beneath Dumbledore's signature. Then, with only the slightest hesitation, he set the necklace down and nudged it back toward her.

McGonagall wasted no time in slipping it into her pocket, sharp eyes still fixed on him. "Good," she said, voice measured. "Now, get to your lessons, Potter. And keep your head down."

Harry smirked, already turning for the door. "No promises."

And with that, he slipped out into the corridor, leaving her shaking her head behind him.

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