Neville and Ron barged into the Gryffindor common room like a pair of characters straight out of a disaster movie, only minus the cool slow-motion music. Ron, looking like he'd just completed a sprint to the moon, was practically gasping for air, while Neville had the dazed look of someone who'd just woken up from a nap and stumbled into a wizarding version of Jumanji.
Harry, lounging in his usual spot by the fire with Jean, looked up at their entrance. Hermione, who had her nose buried in about five books at once, didn't even look up but seemed to instinctively know the disaster was just starting.
"Neville! Ron!" Harry called out, raising an eyebrow. "What's going on? You look like you've been chased by a herd of Hippogriffs!"
Ron waved a hand, looking like he was still processing basic thought. "Neville's plant... It's... It's gone completely mental."
Neville, clearly still in the process of waking up, but with a certain "I'm-okay-with-this" gleam in his eye, rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, well... I was asleep. And when I woke up, the Fluxweed was glowing, and then it started growing like... a lot. Really fast. Like it was on some sort of magical growth hormone."
Jean raised her eyebrows, looking between Neville and Ron like they were both mildly fascinating science experiments. "A glowing, rapidly growing plant? I've seen some weird things in my day, but that's... definitely a new one."
Hermione, who had now shut her book with an almost predatory snap, narrowed her eyes at Neville. "Fluxweed doesn't do that. There's something else at play here." She tapped her chin as if trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle made of chaos. "It's possible your mutation is starting to show, Neville. The plant's reacting to something inside of you."
Harry blinked, processing that. "Wait... what? Neville, you're telling us you've got mutant powers now?"
Jean gave him a knowing grin, her eyes full of warmth. "Welcome to the mutant club, Neville. It's a wild ride, full of surprises—and the occasional disaster. But it can be pretty amazing. I'm sure of it."
Neville looked like he might have just seen a ghost. Or more accurately, a mutant plant with a mind of its own. "Wait, what? I'm a mutant? Me? But... I'm Neville Longbottom. I can barely keep a plant alive without it trying to kill me."
Ron, ever the eternal optimist (or, in this case, a man in denial), had a sudden, rather startling moment of clarity. "Blimey! Neville, do you remember what Trelawney said in Divination class yesterday?"
Neville looked at him like Ron had just tried to sell him a used broomstick. "She said a lot of nonsense, Ron. What does it have to do with anything?"
Ron grinned like he'd just cracked the Da Vinci Code. "She said something big was going to happen to you. Something life-changing. I thought she was just spouting her usual vague mumbo jumbo, but maybe—just maybe—she was right."
Neville's eyes went wide, suddenly realizing. "I thought she meant I'd find Trevor or something! Not that I'd be suddenly turned into some sort of mutant wizard plant-man!"
Hermione stepped in, her usual air of calculated precision on full display. "We've been talking about the possibility that you've got the X-gene since yesterday, Neville. Remember? The fact that the Fluxweed reacted this way—it's a strong sign."
Neville squirmed under the sudden spotlight, looking even more uncomfortable than a first-year student in front of a Slytherin. "But... I'm just Neville. I've always been the one who accidentally set his own shoes on fire or mistook a Venomous Tentacula for a harmless flower. I never thought..."
Harry clapped a hand on his shoulder with a reassuring smile, one that made Neville's heart skip a beat. "Neville, you've always been special. Trust me. You just needed to discover it for yourself. Not everything great happens in the flash of a wand. Sometimes, it's a little more subtle."
Jean smiled warmly, her voice full of encouragement. "Everyone's got their own abilities. Yours just decided to make a dramatic entrance, that's all."
Ron, now practically bouncing with excitement, threw in his two cents. "And think of the possibilities, mate! You can help plants grow faster, make them more powerful—maybe even talk to them! You'll be like the magical version of Dr. Dolittle! You could even save the world one potted plant at a time!"
Neville's face lit up slightly at the thought, the sense of purpose creeping into his voice. "You know, I guess I never thought about it like that. Helping people with plants, making them grow... it could be something useful."
Hermione smiled gently at him, her eyes full of pride. "You'll figure it out, Neville. We'll all help you. Just take it one step at a time."
Ron, with his signature mischievous grin, couldn't resist. "So... does this mean we can finally have a garden party in the common room?"
Jean rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was warm. "You'll be the life of the party, Ron. Trust me."
Neville smiled, now feeling a little less like a deer caught in the headlights and a little more like someone who might just be able to handle the chaos of a magical plant-induced mutant awakening. "Thanks, everyone. I'll figure it out."
Before he could say more, Hermione's curiosity got the best of her, and she leaned forward. "So, what happened with Professor Dumbledore? You were gone for a while. Did you get anything sorted?"
Harry's face lit up as he nodded. "Yeah! Dumbledore showed us this secret room—'The Come and Go Room,' it's called. It's a room that appears whenever you need it and turns into whatever you require. It's perfect for practicing without drawing attention."
Jean added with a grin, "It's got all sorts of magical targets and training dummies. It's a proper superhero hideout. We're going to have a blast in there."
Hermione's eyes practically sparkled. "That sounds fantastic! If anyone could get a room like that to exist, it's Dumbledore. I'm so glad he's so supportive."
Neville's grin widened. "That sounds amazing. I can't wait to check it out!"
Ron, already imagining the potential chaos of a training session, nudged Neville playfully. "Looks like we're in for some epic times ahead."
Harry, his mind turning, raised an eyebrow at Jean. "If only we had something like a magical 'Cerebro' to help us track all the mutants around Hogwarts."
Hermione, ever the curious mind, blinked. "What's 'Cerebro'?"
Jean smiled, looking amused. "It's a device Professor Xavier uses. It helps him locate mutants all over the world. It amplifies his telepathic abilities so he can find and connect with them."
Hermione's face lit up. "That sounds incredible! Imagine what we could do with that kind of tool here!"
Harry nodded. "Exactly. It'd be a game-changer. But for now, we'll have to rely on good ol' observation and word of mouth."
Jean's smile was warm but resolute. "We'll make it work. Hogwarts has its own kind of magic—sometimes it's the people who make it special."
Neville, feeling like his world had just shifted a little bit, added with more confidence than he'd felt in ages, "With all of us working together, we'll make sure everyone gets the help they need."
Ron, always ready to add his brand of cheeky humor, winked. "Looks like we're in for one heck of a ride. Just another day in Gryffindor, right?"
As they stood there, the weight of their shared purpose settled in. Magic, friendship, and a whole lot of chaos were on the horizon—and they were ready for whatever came next.
—
The sun peeked through the windows of the Gryffindor Tower, sending rays of warm light across the stone floors of Hogwarts. Harry, Hermione, and Jean were walking toward the Great Hall, their footsteps in sync, the scent of toast and sizzling bacon leading them like an irresistible force. It was one of those mornings where everything felt just right—except for the fact that they were heading to classes instead of spending the day lounging in the sunshine. But they were Gryffindors, so that was basically an impossible dream anyway.
Hermione and Jean were whispering to each other, heads close together, looking like they were scheming. (Let's be real, they always looked like they were scheming. It was one of the things that made them a bit terrifying, but also brilliant.) Harry couldn't help but notice how excited Hermione looked—her eyes were practically sparkling. He'd started noticing a lot of things about her recently. But, and this was key, he was really trying not to think about that because, well, Jean was right there. And Jean had that smile. The one that could melt steel if she wanted to.
"I've been thinking," Hermione said, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "After our talk, Jean and I realized that the 'Come and Go' room is a lot like the 'Room of Requirement' from the old stories."
Jean nodded along, her usual thoughtful expression on her face. "Exactly. If we ask it for a place to find other mutants in the castle, it could respond to that. It's like the Room is tuned into what we really need, not just what we say we want."
Harry stopped walking mid-step, eyes lighting up. "That's brilliant! 'Room of Requirement'—it has a nice ring to it." He grinned, giving Jean a sideways glance. "Let's test the theory after classes. I can't wait to see what happens."
They entered the Great Hall, the smell of breakfast hitting them like a freight train. Ron and Neville were already sitting at the Gryffindor table, looking like they'd been through some sort of emotional rollercoaster.
Harry plopped down next to them, glancing at their faces. Ron looked like he'd just eaten a whole batch of Filibuster's Fireworks—wide-eyed, jittery, and a bit too pale. Neville, on the other hand, was fiddling with his fork like it was the last piece of food in the universe, his face a strange mix of dread and determination.
"What's going on with you two?" Harry asked, frowning. There was something off about their usual cheerful selves.
Ron groaned loudly, slumping forward onto his arms, face buried in the table. "First class of the day? Potions. With Snape."
Neville nodded solemnly, looking like he was about to break into a cold sweat. "It's always a disaster with Snape. I'm pretty sure he's cursed the classroom itself."
Hermione tried to offer some comfort, even though she was clearly distracted by the way Harry's hair had grown a bit messier than usual (honestly, didn't it just add to his charm?). "Don't worry, we'll make it through together. Besides, after class, we have something exciting to look forward to."
Harry tried to perk up the mood, giving Ron and Neville an exaggerated grin. "Yeah! The Room of Requirement might be exactly what we need. Imagine—training in secret, no one to bother us. Think of it as the perfect place to get our mutant skills in check."
Ron managed a half-hearted smile. "Sure, but you know Snape... That guy could find a way to make a disaster out of a cup of tea."
Jean leaned in, her voice softer but filled with confidence. "Don't worry, we'll stick together. Snape's got nothing on a team like us." She gave Neville an encouraging smile, her eyes almost glowing with unspoken warmth.
Neville swallowed nervously but straightened up, gripping his wand like it was a lifeline. "Thanks, all of you. Let's just get through this. Focus on the Room of Requirement." He gave Ron a little nod of support. "It'll be okay. We'll just stick to our plan."
Ron glanced at Harry, clearly impressed by the calm in his friend. "How are you so calm? Snape's practically got a vendetta against you."
Harry shrugged, tossing a glance at Jean. "I've been getting extra help from Andromeda Tonks on Potions. Plus, with Susan and Jean helping me catch up, I've had lots of practice. Snape can try, but I'm not going down without a fight."
Ron snorted, clearly amused. "Yeah, guess you've got the edge. It's the Harry Potter way, right?"
Neville cracked a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes fully. Still, it was something. "I just don't want another exploding cauldron situation. That's all I'm saying."
Hermione watched Harry and Jean share a look—something soft passed between them. It made her feel... well, complicated. Part of her was thrilled for them; they were her friends, and if anyone deserved some happiness, it was them. But then there was this small, tight knot in her chest that she couldn't quite explain. Was she jealous? Or was it just that she didn't want to feel left behind, like she was in the background while their connection grew? She didn't know, but she would figure it out later.
For now, though, she plastered on her best 'everything's fine' smile and addressed the group. "Alright, we've got this. Just remember—Snape's an absolute menace, but we're Gryffindors. And Gryffindors don't back down from challenges."
Harry nodded, meeting her eyes. "Exactly. And when we're done with Potions, we've got the Room of Requirement to look forward to. And maybe we'll all survive Snape's lesson in the process."
Jean flashed a grin, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "If we survive Snape, I'll call it a victory."
Ron smirked. "If we survive Snape, I'm treating us all to a round of Butterbeer."
Neville perked up a little at that. "Deal. But only if we don't end up in the hospital wing."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh softly. "I'll settle for just surviving and having all our limbs intact."
As they laughed, the weight of their upcoming challenges seemed to fade just a little. Sure, Snape was a walking nightmare, but they were all together. And together, there was no challenge they couldn't face.
Even if that challenge happened to be a potions class with the world's grumpiest professor.
—
The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual morning chaos: plates clattering, students laughing, and a distinct smell of bacon sizzling in the air—basically, the breakfast experience at Hogwarts was a sensory overload. This is when a familiar trio of redheads burst in like a human explosion. Ginny, Fred, and George. The Weasley siblings were like human fireworks, and this morning, their fiery hair practically glowed as they made their way over, grinning like they were about to pull off the prank of the century.
"Morning, everyone!" Ginny's voice rang out, cheerful as ever, with that kind of energy that made her sound like she'd just jumped out of bed, ready to take on the world. "Planning to practice for Quidditch tryouts today, Harry?"
The mention of Quidditch immediately made Harry's day seem ten times better. It was like someone had flicked a switch in his brain. "Definitely. Gotta stay sharp if we want to crush the competition," he said, flashing a grin. "You never know when a rogue Bludger is going to come hurtling toward your head."
Fred grinned back, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. "Always good to be prepared. A Bludger can ruin your day faster than you can say 'Quidditch through the ages.'" His smirk was pure trouble, and Harry didn't have to look closely to know that Fred and George were already planning some sort of 'preparation' that was bound to make things interesting.
George, picking up where Fred left off, added, "Or when a certain Slytherin's broom 'accidentally' decides to throw them into the Whomping Willow, eh?"
Harry snickered. The twins had a way of making everything sound like they were planning some disaster, and it was hard not to enjoy it. "Oh yeah, I can totally see that happening. Just like last time when you two put extra Grease in Malfoy's broomstick."
Ron, who had been slouching over his plate of eggs as if the world had suddenly become a lot more difficult than usual, groaned. "Please. Let's not talk about Malfoy. Or, heaven forbid, Snape. I'm not sure which is worse."
Neville, who had been absentmindedly twisting his fork in his pumpkin juice, glanced at Ron, his face pale with nerves. "I don't think Snape could get much worse. Unless he's planning on turning us into toads again…" he muttered, his voice trailing off as he looked down at his plate. It was clear that Neville had enough to worry about—his luck with Potions was infamous, and his toad, Trevor, had gone missing for the tenth time this week.
Jean, who had been quietly listening, leaned in toward Harry, her voice low and confident. "Hey, I've got an idea," she said, her tone like a spark ready to ignite. "What if we test that theory about the Room of Requirement today? We could ask it for something to help us find other mutants at Hogwarts."
Harry raised an eyebrow. He'd never really given the Room of Requirement much thought, but now, with Jean's suggestion, it felt like the perfect way to spend the day. "That's actually brilliant. We could use a little extra help finding our people."
Hermione, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, nodded, her eyes bright with excitement. "I'm in. If it works, it could be the perfect way to unlock Hogwarts' secrets. Plus, we've got to make sure we're not the only ones, right?"
Fred and George exchanged a glance, their shared look as synchronized as a couple of evil twins. "Count us in!" Fred said, slapping the table. "Anything to get out of more homework, right?"
"And if it means we get to find mutants, even better," George added with a wink. "Could come in handy for a few pranks."
Ginny, who had been standing off to the side, leaning casually against the table with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "I'm in, too," she said, her voice sharp but filled with curiosity. "What's the plan?"
Jean smiled, leaning in a bit closer to explain. "We'll test the Room of Requirement after class. If we're lucky, it might help us locate other mutants here at Hogwarts. It's a long shot, but who knows? Hogwarts has a lot of hidden corners."
Ron, looking like he was mentally bracing for Potions, tried to sound optimistic. "So, we survive Potions, then we go look for mutants? I can handle that."
"Sure," Harry added with a grin. "And maybe after, we can practice Quidditch. Get a little bit of flying in before the tryouts."
Ron raised his glass of pumpkin juice as if it were a toast. "Sounds like the perfect way to survive today. Quidditch, mutants, and, uh, Snape. The trifecta of a good day."
Neville, still clutching his fork like it was a lifeline, nodded enthusiastically, despite the fact that he looked like he was about to pass out from the stress of the day. "Yeah, let's do it. I'm in. Who knows? Maybe we'll actually find someone who knows how to deal with a mutant toad."
The group laughed, but it was the kind of laughter that came with understanding—these were the friends who had always stuck together, no matter what. They had faced down trolls, Dark Lords, and far worse, and they weren't about to stop now, even if the next challenge was surviving Snape's miserable Potions class.
As they finished breakfast, the buzz of excitement for what was to come filled the air, and it wasn't just the promise of Quidditch or the mystery of the Room of Requirement. It was the sense of togetherness, the bond that tied them all together. The future was uncertain, sure. But with friends like these, facing down whatever Hogwarts—or Snape—threw their way was the least of their worries.
—
The dungeon smelled like a mix of sulfur and old books—a scent that would've made any sane person run for the hills. But Harry, Hermione, and Jean were used to it by now. Potions class was always like this: dark, oppressive, and full of ingredients that smelled worse than Ron's socks after Quidditch practice.
Ron plopped down next to Harry, his face etched with the expression of someone who had just walked into a haunted house but couldn't figure out where the ghosts were hiding. "Why am I here again?" he muttered, eyeing the cauldrons like they were going to explode just by looking at him.
Before anyone could respond, Professor Snape made his entrance. It was as if the man had learned how to materialize out of thin air, like some kind of dark wizard magic trick. His black robes swished around him like they were auditioning for a role in a horror film. The man practically oozed drama.
"Settle down," Snape's voice sliced through the room, sharp enough to cut the tension in the air. His gaze locked onto Harry for a moment, then shifted to Jean. It was a look that made Harry's spine tingle—like Snape had just realized he wasn't alone in the dungeon, and that alone was enough to send him spiraling into a dark corner of his mind.
Snape's face flickered through about five different emotions in the time it took Harry to blink—surprise, confusion, disdain, recognition, and finally, displeasure—all in a split second. Harry blinked. Normally, Snape had two settings: scowl or sneer. This was... new. And slightly terrifying.
"Today," Snape's voice was the epitome of cold and sinister, "we brew the Shrinking Solution. I expect nothing less than perfection. Instructions are on the board. Don't make me repeat myself."
The class shuffled into action, but Snape didn't leave them with any peace. He began to pace between the rows, his black cloak billowing behind him like he was auditioning for a role in a vampire movie. His eyes were trained on everyone as though he were a hawk hunting its prey.
"Potter," he hissed, stopping by Harry's cauldron, "let's see if you managed to not ruin everything during your summer vacation. I do hope you were practicing and not, I don't know, spending all your time stuffing your face with sweets."
Harry, trying not to swallow his tongue in front of the class, shot Snape a look that probably said something like, I'm not afraid of you. But on the inside? His brain was screaming, Please don't make me fail this in front of everyone!
"Yes, Professor," Harry said, his voice a little more confident than he felt. Hermione gave him a quick, supportive smile from across the table. It was like a mental high-five, and Harry held onto it like a lifeline.
Jean, who had been completely focused on her cauldron up until now, caught Snape's attention next. She was blending the ingredients with an intensity that could rival a scientist on a caffeine high. The tension in the room shifted when Snape approached her.
"Miss Grey," Snape said, and it was clear his voice was softer now, though the skepticism remained thick. "You're new, so I'll grant you some leeway. But know this—my standards are high. Even newcomers should understand my reputation."
Jean met Snape's gaze, her eyes wide but determined. "Yes, Professor. I'll do my best."
For a moment, Snape's face flickered with something unexpected—a fleeting glimpse of something almost... sympathetic? Harry blinked. Was that nostalgia? No way. He hadn't seen that look on Snape's face since... ever.
Snape moved on without responding further, leaving Jean to work with an air of quiet determination. The dungeon was alive with the sounds of cauldrons bubbling and the occasional pop of an incorrectly mixed ingredient.
Hermione, predictably, was already ahead of everyone. Her potion was a perfect shade of emerald green, the kind of color that made you think of enchanted forests and summer nights. She stirred her cauldron with the precision of someone who had been practicing this since they were born.
Ron, on the other hand, was trying his best not to set anything on fire, but his potion had taken on a distinctly orange hue. It looked more like the aftermath of a failed Chemistry experiment than something that would actually work.
"Just follow the instructions, Ron. Don't screw it up," he muttered under his breath, as if repeating it would magically make the potion work. Harry gave him a sidelong glance, but the sympathy was short-lived. He knew that in Potions class, nobody was safe from Snape's cruel gaze.
Snape, of course, was everywhere. He hovered over Neville's cauldron, his eyes narrowing as the poor guy's potion turned a shade of purple that looked like it belonged in a swamp. "Longbottom, unless you're attempting to create a new color for vomit, I suggest you pay attention."
Neville, who had somehow turned redder than the Gryffindor crest, gave an embarrassed nod. Harry felt for him. If there was one thing Snape excelled at, it was making a student feel like their entire existence was a failure.
Jean, however, didn't seem fazed. She looked up from her potion for a brief second, caught Snape's eye, and held his gaze with the calm confidence of someone who knew what she was doing. Harry, who had spent years trying to master that level of composure, was a bit in awe.
By the end of the class, Snape was making his rounds again, inspecting each student's potion like a judge at some wizarding competition. When he reached Harry's station, he stared at Harry's potion for an uncomfortable amount of time, his face expressionless.
"Potter," Snape said finally, and Harry's heart did a little tap-dance in his chest, "This is… acceptable. For now."
That was the closest thing to praise Harry was likely to get from Snape. He tried not to look too relieved, but inside, he was giving himself a mental high-five.
The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and Harry exhaled in relief. Everyone began packing up, the tension in the air evaporating. Ron gave a dramatic sigh and muttered, "One down, a thousand to go."
Hermione, ever the optimist, grinned at him. "Well done, everyone. Now, let's get through the rest of the day, and then we can finally explore the Room of Requirement."
"Absolutely," Harry said, the thrill of the unknown filling him with a new kind of energy. "Let's see what secrets the Room of Requirement is hiding for us today."
As they filed out of the dungeon, the walls of Hogwarts felt a little less imposing. There was an adventure waiting at the end of every corridor. And for once, Harry didn't feel quite as alone. The castle wasn't just a place of magic—it was home, and with his friends by his side, there was nothing he couldn't face.
Well, except maybe Snape. But that was a whole different story.
—
The Ministry of Magic's meeting room felt like a pressure cooker about to explode. The air was thick with tension, and not in the fun way like when you're waiting for your favorite show to drop a new episode. No, this was the kind of tension where you knew something was about to go down, and it was either going to be super embarrassing or incredibly dangerous. Or both. Probably both, knowing Umbridge.
And sure enough, in stormed Dolores Umbridge, looking like a giant marshmallow that had been dunked in Pepto-Bismol. Seriously, how was she so pink and so furious at the same time? I mean, it was like watching a stuffed animal with a vendetta, but one that somehow made you want to hide in a cupboard.
Her cheeks were so red they might've been radiating heat, and she had that smile—the one that could curdle milk just by existing. She didn't bother with pleasantries. Nope, Umbridge was like a social assassin, stabbing you with a smile before you even had a chance to blink.
"I demand," she began, her voice high and screechy in that way that made every dog within a five-mile radius roll its eyes, "that Harry Potter and Jean Grey be prosecuted for their actions on the Hogwarts Express! Destroying Ministry property—Dementors, no less—is a serious offense!"
Amelia Bones, the kind of woman who could stare down a Hungarian Horntail and still look unimpressed, didn't even flinch. She set her quill down slowly, like she was taking the time to savor the silence before unleashing her own brand of chaos. "Dolores," she said, her voice as calm and sharp as a freshly polished sword, "those Dementors were a serious threat to the students, including my niece, Susan, who was in the same compartment as Harry and Jean. They acted in self-defense. The Ministry should be praising them, not prosecuting them."
Sirius Black, who was looking as brooding and gorgeous as a dark storm cloud (and honestly, just as intimidating), tilted his head. "I'm sorry, what?" He leaned forward, his voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness that only Sirius could pull off. "Are we really doing this? Accusing students of 'reckless' behavior when they literally saved lives? That's some next-level denial, even for you, Dolores."
Umbridge's cheeks puffed up like a balloon that was about to burst. "Their behavior was unauthorized!" she screeched. "They have no right to act like heroes! They should be punished for their audacity!"
Amelia's eyes narrowed, and you could practically feel the chill radiating off her. "The Ministry is not your personal playground, Dolores. These children acted in the best interests of their peers. If you're so eager to be a bureaucratic bulldozer, perhaps you should take it up with the higher-ups. But don't waste our time with these petty vendettas."
Sirius, who'd been quietly plotting Umbridge's emotional meltdown like a true expert, chimed in. "You're really doubling down on this witch hunt, huh? You might want to rethink that strategy. People are already sick of your nonsense. The only thing that's going to happen here is that you'll isolate yourself, and when the public figures out what you're really about, you'll have even fewer friends than you do now. And trust me, that's saying something."
Umbridge's eyes flared with something that was probably rage, but to anyone paying attention, it looked more like sheer, unfiltered entitlement. "This isn't over," she hissed, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "I will make sure justice is served!"
Sirius leaned back, looking entirely unimpressed. "You keep telling yourself that, Dolores." He raised an eyebrow. "And when you finally figure out what justice actually looks like, let me know. I'll be here, saving the day and keeping people like you from making things worse."
With a final flourish of her too-pink robes, Umbridge spun on her heel and marched out, her footsteps echoing down the hallway like a mouse trying to stomp through a steel door. It was all very dramatic—way more drama than anyone in the room was actually interested in.
As the door slammed shut, Amelia let out a long, frustrated sigh, the kind that made you wish you could throw a pillow over her head to shut out the world. "We don't have time for this. We have real issues to handle, like the hunt for Pettigrew. We can't afford to be distracted by her petty nonsense."
Sirius nodded, his face hardening. "Right. Pettigrew, first and foremost. If anyone deserves attention, it's him. We'll keep an eye on her though," he said, as if the very thought of Umbridge was a dark cloud on his day. "She's not going to let this go. But we don't have to let her derail us."
Amelia's lips twitched into a grim smile. "If we can handle the worst of the Dark Lord's followers, I think we can manage one overcaffeinated bureaucrat." She shook her head, clearly over the whole ordeal. "She just doesn't know when to quit."
Sirius leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his messy hair, his usual carefree smile returning, though with an edge of tiredness. "Let's just hope the rest of the Ministry can remember what actually matters before she does something even stupider."
And with that, the room settled into a more serious rhythm, the buzz of bureaucracy and the hunt for real criminals pushing Umbridge and her tantrums to the farthest corner of their minds. After all, there were far bigger problems than the petty machinations of a pink-wearing tyrant.
---
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