Beta: Cloudy

Someone on ff/wattpad/or ao3 guessed the right way Umbridge will be taken care of so here's the weekend post. Also, y'all some creative people. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ And bloodthirsty. ( ・_・) Especially my Watty readers. 

Bets on how Umbridge is removed Slytherin Edition:

1. Drowns in her own blood (Daphne)

2. Rosie sets her on fire and she dies slowly (Pansy)

3. Rosie ruins her politically and gets her fired (Tracey)

4. Eaten by a dragon or snake (Millie)

5. Rosie feeds her to her pet dementor (Draco)

6. Rosie invents a new curse just for her (Blaise)

7. Rosie kills her then sells her parts on the black market (Theodore)

8. "Trips" down the stairs and breaks her neck (Vincent)

9. Poisoned by Rosie (Gregory)

Who will win?

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Since Daphne and I were the Damsels In Distress™ it was decided we wanted a thoughtful opening act. Nothing too grand so that way we could escalate things as the semester went on. It had to be tasteful, subtle, yet strong enough to get picked up by the rumor mill.

Pansy crammed into the train compartment, taking a seat on Tracey's lap. She listened to what we wanted, then vocalized her own thoughts.

"We should make a show of it at dinner," suggested Pansy.

"Aww man. Kinda wish I took one of you guys to the Yule Ball now, we could have staged a fake break up," I thought, clicking my tongue.

"We can still do that," pointed out Draco. "Simply say you had a secret relationship after the Yule Ball."

"Ooooo. Scandalous," giggled Tracey. "I'll break up with you Rosie."

"Jeeze, thanks Tracey," I said with a big smile.

Draco coughed. "No one would believe you two were together in the first place."

Tracey glared at him. "And why not?"

Draco gave her a flat look, "Because anyone with two eyes can see who you actually like."

"Wait—what?" I looked over at Tracey who turned pink in the cheeks. "What? Who?"

"Lisa Turpin," dismissively answered Pansy from Tracey's lap, she treated it as old news.

"Ravenclaw girl?" I asked, vaguely remembering a brunette who had partnered with Tracey a few times when Slytherin had double classes with Ravenclaw. I hadn't noticed any special interactions. Granted, I hadn't paid the partnership any focused attention. As long as my babeh snakes were being polite to their partners, I focused on my own studies.

Tracey swatted at Pansy. "I'll shove you off."

"I'll just sit in Theodore's lap then," she snarked. "You'll break her heart if you dump Rosie."

"Don't break the poor Ravenclaw's heart," I chided Tracey.

"But I wanna be part of the drama," whined Tracey.

I reached around Daphne (who was still in my lap) and patted Tracey's hand. "You will be."

"Boo."

Theodore cleared his throat. "Before anything, we should decide who would... usurp the throne."

"If I'm also the victim then the next obvious choice would be Draco," said Daphne as she examined her nails.

Theodore flatly said, "And not me, because...?"

Daphne scoffed at him. "You can't even find matching socks, yet you want to try to lead?"

"I'm wearing black socks!"

"They're different shades of black!"

"THEY'RE BOTH BLACK?!"

Daphne reached for her wand the same time Theodore did. Draco loudly clapped. "Enough. I'll play the role."

"The Slytherins should still be cordial to other students," I said. "Daphne's previous concern about reputation is still valid. Playing the roles of bullies shouldn't bleed into our relationships with others."

"Agreed," said Draco, a flicker of unease on his face. "Now let's... discuss our opening act."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

The Great Hall was as charming as ever. Daphne and I hooked arms as we entered together. We were ahead of the rest of our year group. Our year group would be acting as ring leaders to our charade, after all. The upper years needed to focus on their N.E.W.T.s and the younger kiddos didn't have any easy opportunities to join in—aside from meal time.

Daphne and I took our seats, but instead of being joined by the rest of our friends they pointedly sat away from us. We had chosen to sit in the middle to make a stark contrast in the distance between us and all the other babeh snakes. One would have suspected we had a terribly foul odor to warrant the wrinkled noses, turned gazes, and purposeful distance.

Everstill, we held our head high as we took our seats and began to quietly talk.

"If you dye your hair pink, I swear to Merlin or Morgana or whoever, I will hunt you down and dye it back," Daphne quietly threatened me, her cool gaze narrowed into slits.

"One time. Last year. I mentioned it last year as a joke."

"Then what's that in your robes pocket I saw?"

I pulled out the aforementioned item. It was a catalogue of hair. I had already circled a neon pink hair style.

I stared at it.

She stared at it.

She hissed, "I swear—"

"It wasn't for me," I lied.

"Liar."

"Okay, well maybe—"

"No."

"What if—"

"No." She pinched my cheeks. "Get it through your head. Your hair is beautiful in cool tones. Cool. Tones. Say it with me. Cool tones are my friends."

Sulkily, I mumbled, "Cool tones are my friends."

"Cool tones will compliment my skin."

"Cool tones will compliment my skin."

"If I dye my hair in anything other than cool tones, Daphne will kill me."

"If I dye my hair in anything other than cool tones, Daphne will kill me."

She smiled sweetly at me, patting my cheeks. I rubbed at the spots she had pinched, wincing at how tender they were. The rest of my babeh snakes had taken their seats—the third years were seated up near the Sorting so they could grab any new first year students. We wouldn't want the effect to get ruined by first years sitting next to us.

To onlookers, they would see the babeh snakes angrily whispering to one another while staring intently at myself and Daphne. Their voices would be soft enough they could not be carried to the other table, but loud enough we could still hear one another.

Had my self-esteem not been so lovingly groomed by Sirius Black I might have been embarrassed at all the focused attention. Even if not everyone at the table was actually paying attention—they just had to keep their eyes pointed in our direction for the plan to be pulled off.

Draco was closest, while his face conveyed thinly-veiled disdain, his hushed tone was warm, "The pumpkin juice tastes sweeter than normal."

"Yes, I would agree," I murmured softly, acting like I was saying it to Daphne. Daphne and I were turned to face one another, and our eyes would meet one another, or move to the drinks (food wasn't served yet). We didn't dare try to make eye contact with our fellow peers.

Daphne was afraid if she did she'd burst out into nervous giggles.

"I hope they'll have treacle pie for dessert," said Pansy who sat opposite of Draco.

"My mum made some brownies, I still have a batch," said Millicent. The dear girl tried her best to stare angrily at us, but her big brown eyes just gave the impression of a puppy focusing intently.

Blaise noticed that as well. With a perfectly convincing bored expression he loudly whispered to Milicent, "Millie, stop."

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking down at her folded hands.

"Morgana's breath, I can feel the other tables looking at us now," said Daphne, her cheeks turning a pale shade of rose.

"It's hard to keep glaring for so long, my forehead's already starting to hurt," complained Theodore. Pansy kicked him under the table, eliciting a restrained yelp. "Bloody hell, not necessary."

"The first impression is the most important, suck it up," she hissed.

"But I—"

Someone kicked Theodore under the table again. Incensed, the boy snapped, "Next one who kicks me will find their ears jinxed off."

"That a threat or promise?" Daphne softly scoffed.

"Woman—"

"Enough with the sexual tension," chided Tracey.

Pansy snorted. "Yeah, it's bad enough watching Draco undress Rosie with his eyes."

Draco's ears turned pink. I, who had been sipping pumpkin juice, choked. Draco turned to Pansy, incredulous, "What?"

"I really just wanted to see your reactions," she said with a smile.

"That's my girl!" I praised her, eliciting a split-second beam. Even wearing her angry/disgusted face, I could see the delight in her eyes.

"I don't undress you," Draco said quickly, struggling to keep his haughty disdainful expression.

"I know. You're a perfect gentleman," I reassured him. "You would use your wand, not your eyes."

The babeh snakes struggled not to laugh at that. Blaise turned his head away to cough while Millicent did a great impression of a tomato. Tracey and Pansy had to quickly start busying themselves with their robes to fight their smiles. Daphne daintily wiped at her mouth to hide her smile, and Theodore let out a short guwaff before controlling himself.

Draco closed his steel grey eyes for a moment, re-opening them to assess me with fond bemusement. The moment of shared sweetness between friends couldn't last for much longer, though, because the Sorting was upon us and we had a performance to complete.

"Be careful," gently warned Tom as Professor McGongall picked up the Sorting hat. His honey toned belied the faint dislike in his magic that moved slowly alongside my own, prowling.

Curious, I asked him, "Of what?"

Tom's magic curled around my own. "She wasn't joking."

"What?"

Tom's magic quivered in a way I knew he was sighing. He tended to do that when he felt I should have instantly understood something he said; he wasn't fond of explaining himself over "obvious" things. I had heard that sigh plenty of times when had tutored me over the summer and each time I retorted with an apology about not being as genius as he was. "I know you think they're children, but they don't see you the same way. Your bias has blinded you."

That made me frown. "What do you mean, Tom?"

"He looks at you, and so does she. A lot of them do."

"Draco—and Pansy? Wait are you trying to say they're—er—interested?"

His magic moved, bounced up and down as if he were shrugging. "It's easier to notice things from a different perspective. They wouldn't be opposed to courting you. Contrary to your belief, they would have courted you the previous year, but everyone can tell you don't view any of them as equal."

"I don't think less—"

His magic gently caressed my own, similar to placing a hand on my shoulder or my back. I could feel the obscured frustration underneath even as he kept a warm and pleasant voice. I couldn't tell if he was frustrated with having to explain something he clearly viewed as obvious, or something else. He said, "Not in a sense of superiority. You clearly dote on them and even a blind man could see you care for them. But, that affection is given in a manner similar to how a teacher nurtures a student, rather than a peer or friend. You humor them. You would not rely on them for something truly important to you and they know it. Even this plan you don't need them for."

I would have objected but Tom carried on.

"You could have just as easily forced their reactions through traps or cruel words. You turned to them with this plan to please them, not because you actually required their aid. You do this out of affection—the type of affection they do not want."

Tom paused for a moment to allow me to process that before he finished.

"You will never need them the way they want you to."

I couldn't directly refute his observation. It was true. I had come prepared every year at Hogwarts with the idea that my babeh snakes could turn on me. Whatever I had planned, I needed to be ready to do it solo.

My Slytherins had always surprised me with each year I saw them progress and grow. They were good kids.

It was clear they wanted to help me, so I wanted to meet that goal for them.

Even so, it didn't matter if they wanted intimacy from me. It wasn't something I was going to give. Perhaps when we were all of age, I'd reconsider the babeh zone for them, but I had no intentions of doing that prior. To be frank, even when they were old enough for me to not feel creeped out for holding their hand or whatever, I had watched those kiddos grow for years. They were my babeh snakes. I didn't think I could take them out of the babeh zone.

It would certainly take some big effort on their part.

Besides, it was likely just a crush. It'd go away on its own.

"So?"

My lack of concern immediately vexed Tom. He softened his voice, his magic curling around me. "Be careful, Rosie. If I were in their position—"

I shook my head. None of my babeh snakes showed anywhere near the level of lethality or potential for obsession as Tom. For goodness' sake, Draco couldn't even stomach killing Dumbledore when he was actively encouraging Death Eater propaganda. Yet somehow my version of Draco would transform into some savvy psycho? Nuh-uh. They were all good kids.

"They're not you, Tom. Do any of them remind you of yourself at that age?"

"No."

"What should I be careful about?"

Tom did not respond right away, his chilling magic interweaving softly between mine. Goosebumps ran down my back from the ethereal sensation.

In the sweetest, most beguiling voice I heard him use, he said, "If I were in their position, and felt the way they felt, I would stop at nothing to make you need me."

Oh dear.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

At the end of the feast Dumbledore stood tall before us to give us the usual speech.

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," said Dumbledore. "First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students—and a few of our older students ought to know by now too."

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Another accurate prediction by our Queen," muttered Draco.

I tossed him a smirk. "You should know by now to never doubt me."

"And I never will," he promised.

Dumbledore continued, "Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —"

He broke off, looking inquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge said, "Hem, hem," and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech.

"Oh my God. Her clearing her throat has already triggered me."

"It's rare to find someone who interrupts Dumbledore," commented Tom.

"Even when you went to school and he was only a professor?"

"Dumbledore was never an only. He had already published several papers regarding Transfiguration and Alchemy by the time he graduated Hogwarts."

"Wow, really?"

"It might feel lackluster in comparison to his famous victory over Grindelwald, but Dumbledore was already a powerful and respected wizard when I came to Hogwarts. The other professors cowed to him, even the headmaster would follow his lead at certain times."

"I—I can believe it."

Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat back down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair, and Professor McGonagall's mouth was pursed so thin I could barely see it.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Umbridge simpered in a breathy, high-pitched, girlish voice, "for those kind words of welcome. Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

Dolores Umbridge cleared her throat again "Hem, hem", but when she continued, the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them. "The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back. It was amusing to see Professor Snape stare back at her as if she were a tiny slug beneath his boot.

Umbridge gave another little "Hem, hem" and went on with her speech. "Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation—"

I had plenty of professors and past instructors who preferred long-winded lectures. Some even performed without offering up a slideshow or visual guideline to follow—the student had to sit up straight, and listen with focused intent the entire way through to catch the important bits. Those times I had a recorder available to me so I could replay it until I caught everything I needed, but Umbrdige's speech went on for barely ten minutes.

Ten minutes of a long-winded overly-drawn out nonsensical spiel, mind you, but still only ten minutes.

She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead. Snape gave her one clap then immediately stopped.

Professor Dumbledore stood back up.

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," he said, bowing to her. "Now—as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held—"

The speech ended. Draco rounded up the first years while Daphne and I headed out first with Pansy, Theodore, and Tracey right at our heels.

"You know, I never understood why Draco was so comfortable with me breaking his arm in third year," I said, "but today I think I understand."

Pansy giggled, a touch nervous. "Y-You sure?"

"It's the best way to conclude our opening act," I said confidently.

Pansy and Tracey exchanged uneasy looks. They were fine to play along so far, but when it got down to the last stretch the two girls were plainly uncomfortable. Theodore kept watch over the hallway—we had diverged from the group heading to the dungeons.

"Come on, just imagine it's Theodore you're hexing instead," coached Daphne.

"Hey!"

"Right," Tracey sucked in a sharp breath. "Here I go!"

Eight painful jinxes later and I was being rushed to the hospital wing by disheveled Daphne. Blood was pouring from my nose—that wasn't a jinx, but an early testing product by Fred and George to induce a heavy nosebleed. My skin was bright red from blisters, rashes, and all kinds of unpleasant things. Smoke was pouring out of my ears, leaving behind an odd ringing sensation. I did have a fair few cuts—all things I had to do myself because the girls started freaking out when I took the bloody-nose candy. Tracey actually started to cry—and bruises but it was all part of the act.

I wanted to have been hit in the back of the head hard enough to be knocked unconscious—Daphne would levitate me to the hospital wing—but my babeh snakes had grown too soft. None of them could follow through which was why I had to step it up with the cuts and bruises.

Tom commented it was disturbing how comfortable I was with self-mutilation.

I didn't respond to that comment.

Daphne got us to the hospital wing—Theodore trailed behind us as a precaution—and I was ushered inside by an astonished Madam Pomfrey.

Treatment, predictably, would last through the night and into lunch tomorrow.

And what a coincidence that the first lesson for Slytherins tomorrow morning was a joint session with another House.

While I recovered, Pansy would tease Daphne about me—just loud enough to be overheard by the other students.

By the end of the day word would have spread: The Slytherins were at war with Rosie Potter... and had won the first battle.

A conclusion to our opening act: subtle but powerful.

God, I loved a good scheme!

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Harry)

Harry, Neville, and Ron headed up to the boys' dormitory. The three had lingered in Gryffindor common room with Hermione for a while after the feast, but it was getting late and they had grown tired.

Neville rubbed at his eyes with one hand, careful to hold his Mimbulus mimbletonia away from everyone else. The pulsating magical fungi was neat, but after it exploded sticky goo on the train from being prodded Neville was warned to keep it away from everyone else. "What time are we running?"

"Probably start it back up next week," said Harry. "Rosie might have a scheduling issue."

Ron frowned at that. "What do you mean?"

"Dunno. Just what she told me," said Harry with a shrug as they climbed the steps. "Are you joining us there?"

Ron had been flaky about running with them. Harry couldn't blame the boy, it wasn't easy to get out of bed to go running. There were plenty of mornings Harry wanted to sleep in instead. Harry had the motivation of knowing if he stopped, Rosie would drag him out.

It was easier for him, too, since he had been exercising for so long. It was a habit. Ron hadn't stuck with it long enough to feel bad about missing it.

Which was fine. Ron wasn't unhealthy, he didn't need the exercise. He could have a bit of a temper at times, but for the most part Ron was an easy-going friend. He didn't need the extra dopamine exercise gave him.

If he wanted to sleep in, Harry wasn't going to make him feel bad about it.

That being said, Harry wanted to make sure Ron always knew he was welcome. There had been a few incidents before where Harry, Neville, and Hermione had unintentionally excluded Ron and it caused tension between the friends. Harry found the best solution was to consistently offer for Ron to join them casually so he wouldn't feel pressured or guilted to accept.

Ron shrugged. "I dunno..."

Neville clapped him on the back. "Going for Keeper this year?"

"Thought about trying it out," Ron admitted with a small smile.

"You should. We need a good Keeper," said Harry. "Bet if you make the part, Pad—er—Sirius'll get you a broom."

"You think?" Ron glanced down at the wand Sirius had bought them a couple of years ago. The Weasley family had been ill-prepared to refuse Sirius's stubborn desire to spoil.

Harry knew Sirius really just wanted to burn through all the Black money as fast as humanly possible while not being wasteful. There was a spiteful look of glee in Sirius's eyes when he talked about how much agony his mother would be in to know the Black fortune was spent buying wands for the Weasley family.

He'd jump at the chance to buy Ron a broom. Judging from the slightly hopeful look in Ron's eyes, Harry concluded Ron would be willing to accept such a gift if he felt like he earned it.

"I know," said Harry.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan had reached the dormitory before the trio and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him.

"Hi," he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it.

"Hey, guys," said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pajamas in the West Ham colors. "Good holiday?"

"Not bad," answered Neville.

Harry thought back to his summer. Honestly wasn't the best, but there were some highlights. Transforming into his animagus form was a highlight. Studying Occlumency was neat. Random bursts of anger not so much.

He destroyed one of his collector's editions in one of his fits.

Instant regret.

He didn't know what caused the surge of rage. One moment he was fine, and the next moment every little sound grated on his nerves. People were too close, clothes prickled his skin, noises felt like needles digging into his skin. It was terribly maddening. It made Harry want to rip the hair out of his head.

He didn't even realize he was yelling, or what he was yelling about. It... exploded out of him.

Sirius and Rosie were pretty good at calming him down, but he really wished he didn't need to be calmed down.

He wished he didn't feel so... itchy.

"How about you?" asked Ron as he started pulling out things from his own trunk.

"Yeah, it was okay," chuckled Dean. "Better than Seamus's anyway, he was just telling me."

"Why, what happened, Seamus?" Neville asked as he placed his Mimbulus mimbletonia tenderly on his bedside cabinet.

Seamus sighed. "Mum didn't want me to go this year."

"What?" said Harry, pausing in the act of pulling off his robes.

"She didn't want me to come back to Hogwarts."

"But why?" asked Harry, astonished.

Seamus did not answer until he had finished buttoning his pajamas.

"Well," he said in a measured voice, "I suppose... because of Rosie."

"What d'you mean?" said Harry quickly, his tone harsher than normal. His heart started to beat faster, a sense of itching discomfort crawling across his skin.

"Well," said Seamus again, still avoiding Harry's eyes, "she... er... well, it's not just her, it's Dumbledore too . . ."

Harry's mouth went dry as heat rushed to his face. He had read through the Daily Prophet three times over summer. The first had been a skim through to search for the bastard who attacked his sister. The second had been a more thorough read-through at Hermione's insistence, and the third was to catch every article written about his sister.

The Daily Prophet was an orchestra of chaos, taking pot shots at members of the Wizengamot, his sister, and Dumbledore. Unfortunately, the Ministry had a lot of control with the Daily Prophet so there were more stabs at Rosie and Dumbledore than Wizengamot members.

"She believes the Daily Prophet?" coldly demanded Harry. "She thinks my sister's a liar and Dumbledore's an old fool?"

Seamus looked up at him. "Yeah, something like that."

"What does she think happened to my sister? Did she torture herself?" snapped Harry, his hands curling into fists as he furiously pinned Seamus down with his glower.

"Look we—I mean—you don't—we don't know what happened that night—"

"We know. We've told the truth. If you're not keen on believing facts, then go back to reading the Daily Prophet like your brilliant mother," said Harry,

"Don't you have a go at my mother," snapped Seamus.

"I'll have a go at anyone who calls my sister a liar," said Harry angrily.

"Don't talk to me like that!"

"I'll talk to you how I want," said Harry, his temper skyrocketing. He had enough of his senses not to reach for his wand—Remus and Sirius drilled into his head to never, ever, grab a wand when angry—but the temptation was painfully strong. "If you've got a problem sharing a dormitory with me 'cause of my sister, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved, stop your mummy worrying—"

"Leave my mother out of this, Potter!"

"Harry," said Neville with gentle firmness.

Harry sucked in a harsh breath, glaring balefully at Seamus.

Neville turned to Seamus and said, "If your mum wants to believe the sky is purple, that's fine. But don't try and blame that on Rosie or Harry."

"The sky—" Seamus's face twisted up. "You believe it then? What they're saying? You believe all the rubbish Dumbledore's come out with about You-Know-Who, do you, you reckon he's telling the truth?"

Neville nodded. "Absolutely."

"I do, too," agreed Ron.

"Then you're mad too," said Seamus in disgust.

Okay, thought Harry as he reached for his wand anyway.

Seamus was very lucky that Ron spotted him and bodily slammed Harry away.

Or, maybe they were all lucky.

Rosie taught Harry her flash-bang spell after all.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

(Rosie)

"Hey Grandpa," I said cheerfully.

"Good day, Granddaughter," he returned brightly.

It was noon the following day. As predicted, Madam Pomfrey was able to cure everything by lunch. She said if I could hold down lunch I could head out to classes.

"I wasn't expecting you," I said, sitting up in my bed.

"I wasn't expecting to find you here," he said.

"Ah. Yeah, ahh..." I looked around.

"Madam Pomfrey has stepped out," he said with a smile and twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh excellent. Want to hear about my amazing scheme?" I asked excitedly.

He smiled, gesturing for me to carry on.

With a chirp in my tone, I happily explained our plan.

"That explains what I saw at dinner," he said once I was done. "I'm glad things have not... soured."

"Yeah. It'd be a shame if I had to repeat what happened first year," I said, thinking back to how I traumatized the babeh snakes with my ruthless take over.

"What happened first year?"

"Nothing," I said quickly. "Anyway—please don't tell anyone about the plan. Er, except Professor Snape I guess."

"And Harry?" Dumbledore asked as he wordlessly offered me a candy wrapped in colorful paper.

"We're undecided on telling Harry right now," I said, accepting the candy. "I love my brother, but his acting is shi—ah—a work in progress. He can keep some secrets, but a long-term charade? That might be too hard on him. But then again seeing me get 'bullied' might be worse. I dunno, we'll discuss it after we see how he reacts to the rumors."

If Harry's temper kept getting the better of him and it put him at risk of Umbrdige's detention, then I'd rather tell him straight up what's going on. I had no faith in his acting abilities. He could lie by omission, but outright lying was nearly impossible for my dear brother. I wanted to avoid putting him in a position where he was forced to keep up an extravagant lie for a prolonged period of time.

Professor Dumbledore did not speak while I pondered my thoughts. His presence reminded me however—

I said, "Professor—I saw Alchemy on my syllabus this year. Is that your class?"

"It is."

I chewed on the inside of my cheeks. "Um—will Harry be there?"

"Not presently," he said. "Only you."

My eyes widened. "Only me? Isn't that, um, odd?"

"By what standard?" inquired Dumbledore.

"Uh..." I scratched my cheek. Professor Dumbledore was known as eccentric, sure, but he was also a responsible adult. I didn't see the reasoning behind starting up Alchemy for one year for one student. It seemed rather strange, even by his standards.

I must have had a dubious expression, Dumbledore spoke up before I could voice my thoughts.

"I may be a wise old man as many students like to say, but even I like to have fun every once in a while," he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

I had the grace to blush from sheepish embarrassment.

"Alchemy is not a standard elective, it is only made available if enough qualified students request it. I haven't had the pleasure of holding an alchemy class in a few years, and after seeing your... enthusiasm for the subject while you showed off your evil lab I decided it would be fun... yes, fun... to hold class again. As I am the professor I deemed your qualifications enough to bring you in."

"Flattering as that is, it was something Harry and I wanted to take together," I said after a pause.

"Hmm." Professor Dumbledore folded his fingers together. "I apologize if I have caused any issues between you two."

"No. Harry's not like that," I said, glancing away. "He's a good boy."

He smiled kindly. "You say that as if you are not good."

I didn't respond.

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

See y'all Thursday!

Answer: Hermione / Tom / Harry

Question: Which Hogwarts professor would you want an apprenticeship under?

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