By the time Umbridge arrived, only a few young students—none older than fifteen—remained in the Great Hall, slowly finishing their breakfast while sneaking curious glances toward the staff table and whispering to each other.
George and Fred had already left, but they'd placed a crystal ball on the Gryffindor table and warned the house-elves not to touch it.
They had Transfiguration class—Professor McGonagall's class wasn't something they could skip.
Umbridge strode in proudly.
Every student she passed wore an expression like they'd seen a Dementor—reluctantly greeting her out of forced politeness.
Anyone who didn't greet her immediately was subjected to her sharp, throat-clearing coughs until she summoned them back to berate them for not greeting a professor.
But the moment she stepped into the Great Hall, she froze.
A giant banner hanging behind the staff table was impossible to miss.
Luxurious red silk stretched across the hall from one end to the other. On it, an elegant cartoon depicted a pink toad chasing a strange pig-headed humanoid. The creature was fleeing in exaggerated panic, and the golden text above gleamed brilliantly:
"Celebrating the 21st Anniversary of Madam Dolores Umbridge's Pursuit of Mr. Cornelius Fudge!"
Her triumphant expression shattered instantly.
She stared in disbelief, momentarily forgetting to breathe.
"Who!" she shrieked, her body trembling, voice quivering. "Who dares pull such a prank on a professor?!"
"Professor, it was George and Fred Weasley from Gryffindor," a Slytherin student quickly answered.
Umbridge snapped toward him. "Then why didn't you stop them?!"
The Slytherin blinked innocently.
He was barely taller than Umbridge—just a lower-year student. Even Slytherin's upper years couldn't deal with the Weasley twins—how could he?
Realizing her outburst was misplaced, Umbridge took a deep breath and clapped her hands. "Quickly now! Help remove this insult to a professor!"
"You, and you, and you—come here!" she commanded, pointing at several Slytherin students—her only vaguely obedient supporters.
They were all young, barely taller than her.
The banner had been hung so high that even with a chair, Umbridge couldn't reach it.
Even touching it wouldn't help—it had been glued with the twins' special prank adhesive, only removable with their custom antidote.
She tried every spell she knew—Vanishing Charm, Levitation, Blasting, even Fire-Making. Nothing worked.
Back in her school days, she had been considered somewhat competent. But after joining the Ministry, she focused solely on climbing the political ladder. Her spellwork had grown rusty, and only her Levitation Charm remained reliable.
She toiled for hours, even as lunch neared and students began arriving.
In the end, she had no choice but to yank down the staff table's tablecloth and cover the banner with it.
Umbridge, fuming, glared at the Gryffindor table.
Students were beginning to arrive—but George and Fred were nowhere in sight.
"Very well," she seethed, stomping stiffly over. "Gryffindor loses one hundred points for this insult to a professor!"
"And tell the two Mr. Weasleys—they have detention with me every night for a month, starting tonight!"
The Gryffindor students answered slowly.
"And what kind of absurd message is this?!" she spat, grinding her teeth.
A nearby Slytherin peeked out. "It was in The Quibbler."
"The Quibbler?!" Umbridge's head snapped around so fast her body couldn't keep up—crack!—a sharp noise echoed from her neck. "What are you talking about?!"
The Slytherin whispered, "They published a gossip article about you."
"Gossip?!" Her eyes bulged like a toad, terrifying the boy.
"Yes," he muttered.
"Where is it?" Umbridge demanded, thrusting out a stubby hand.
The student shook his head. "I don't have it."
She immediately turned to the Gryffindor students, hand still outstretched. "Magazine?"
"We don't have it," they replied firmly, shaking their heads.
She drew her wand. "Accio!"
Nothing happened.
George and Fred had made sure—before leaving, they collected every copy and warned the younger students not to bring The Quibbler to the Great Hall.
Umbridge turned to other Gryffindors. "Accio!"
Still nothing.
It wasn't until several rounds later that she found one in a Hufflepuff student's possession—with her face plastered across the cover.
She opened it—and her heart plummeted.
This was bad.
She had assumed it would only mention her pursuit of Fudge—maybe her flirtations with Ministry officials. She didn't care. That kind of gossip was well-known among the Ministry. She wasn't ashamed—how could a woman like her feel shame?
But the article went far beyond that.
It revealed her mixed-blood status.
It exposed her detested father—her deepest, most carefully hidden shame.
Everything she had buried was out in the open.
"How dare they publish such filth! Lies! Slander!" Umbridge shrieked, throwing the magazine to the ground and stomping on it furiously.
She turned on the Hufflepuff. "You think reading this trash will help your grades?! This is nothing but deceitful garbage!"
Waving her wand, she pointed at the magazine.
Pulverize!
The student stared at the shredded remains—eight Sickles down the drain.
Still not satisfied, Umbridge cast another spell.
Fire roared.
Then a wind to scatter the ashes.
She didn't even want to leave it intact.
"And you—detention in my office for a month!" she hissed. "Disrespectful little gossip-monger!"
Tears welled in the student's eyes.
Umbridge stormed out of the hall, skipping breakfast altogether—she couldn't risk running into Harry.
That evening, a new decree appeared on the notice board.
Educational Decree No. 25: The possession of The Quibbler is strictly forbidden.
George and Fred were dragged to McGonagall's office. She made them take down the banner—Umbridge had already complained to her multiple times that day, and even McGonagall couldn't ignore it any longer.
Hermione smirked, overhearing the gossip. "She's panicking."
"I was just talking to some Ravenclaws in Care of Magical Creatures," Ron said, gnawing on a lamb chop. "Umbridge raided Hufflepuff's common room at lunch—confiscated thirty copies of The Quibbler."
"Hufflepuff's in an uproar."
Harry nodded. "Sounds like we'll be paying Umbridge a visit later."
Ron blinked. Crookshanks swiped his lamb chop. Ron didn't even try to get it back. "Why?"
"I don't acknowledge her as a Hogwarts professor," Harry said flatly. "She has no right to confiscate students' property. Of course we'll demand she return it."
Ron mused, "Then why not just kick her out?"
"Why not?" Harry shot back.
Ron paused. "Didn't you say she's not the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"
"I'm not done with her yet," Harry said, tilting his head. "I held back out of respect for Dumbledore. But I've been bottling it up for too long. I intend to repay every bit of it."
"And besides…"
"The Ministry can't be trusted."
"Everyone still takes them far too seriously."
Wolves hold grudges.
So do lions—and griffins.
They kept their voices low.
Cedric approached, looking troubled. "Harry."
"Struggling with the money?" Harry waved a hand. "That's fine. We can write up an IOU and charge standard interest—"
Cedric shook his head. "No, it's about The Quibbler. This afternoon, Professor Umbridge—"
Harry nodded. "I heard."
Cedric hesitated, then continued, "Some younger students got detention. I wanted to ask if you could… help them?"
"You want me to tell Umbridge not to punish them?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
Cedric nodded. "A month of detention over a magazine—that's too much."
"Of course," Harry said. "Even if you hadn't asked, I was already planning on it."
"Tonight?" Cedric asked, taking a deep breath, clenching his fists. "I'll go with you."
Harry looked at him deeply. "You came to me—you already know what I'm going to do."
"I know the Ministry is fighting Death Eaters," Cedric said, voice tense. "But what they're doing here at Hogwarts… it's wrong. Punishing students for reading a magazine—it's gone too far."
"This isn't just your fight, Harry."
"I'm the Head Boy."
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Powerstones?
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