( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗 ) — sackings and centaurs

Christmas left as fast as it came, and before Evangeline knew it, it was back to Hogwarts for her.

Despite Umbridge's looming presence around every corner, teaching at the school wasn't that bad; McGonagall had opened up her office to the brunette, so they had spent many evenings gossiping over cups of tea and glasses of Firewhisky. 

That was where she was on her way to now. When the pure-blood's ❛Daily Prophet❜ arrived she smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page, before her heart stilled and her heels were clicking along the cobble-stoned floors of the corridors.

Luckily, her living quarters weren't too far from McGonagall's own ones. The Rosier girl knocked on the door briskly, impatiently waiting for allowance to enter before she pulled down the handle with her jittering hand and entered.

''Morning, Minerva.''

Evangeline didn't wait for a reply before she spread the newspaper in front of the Transfiguration professor and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the entire page, nine showing wizard's faces, and the tenth one of a witch. Some of them were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frames of the pictures, looking insolent. Each square was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.

Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Augustus Rockwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic Secrets to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

But the brunette's eyes were drawn to the witch; her face had leapt out at her the moment she saw the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt in the picture. She glared up at her through heavily lidded eyes. She had an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her full lips.

Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

The pure-blood's eyes trailed to the headline and following news article whilst she pursed her pink lips nervously.

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN

MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS ❛RALLYING POINT❜ FOR OLD DEATH EATERS

The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.

Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening, and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.

❛We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped,❜ said Fudge. ❛Nor do we think these two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it is likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached.❜

''Ten Death Eater escapees and Fudge still finds a way to spin the blame on to Sirius,'' the Rosier girl huffed.

''What other option does he have?'' McGonagall sighed bitterly. ''He won't ever admit that Dumbledore's worries were right.''

''And the part about ❛outside help❜ . . . the only assistance they could have had is from the Dark Lord himself!''

The older woman busied herself with rifling through her liquor cabinet, producing a bottle of alcohol and two tiny glasses. Evangeline watched as she poured the amber liquid out, accepting the drink and downing it at once.

''Do you know any of the escapees? You were only young, but you're our only insight into the logic of these pure-blood's manic and elitist ways.''

''I know nothing of Dolohov, Rockwood, and and Mulciber — they are not Sacred Twenty-Eight. As for the Lestrange brothers, I do know them— rather, of them, quite well. And then, there is Bellatrix.''

The pure-blood witch grabbed the quill from it's ink pot on McGonagall's desk and flipped over the newspaper to the blank back page. She drew a rough sketch of her family tree, explaining the links as she went along.

''It starts with Druella Rosier, who is sister to my paternal grandfather, which makes her my great-aunt . . . this means that my father, Adonis, is cousins with Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix, because they are sisters . . . so, that makes Bellatrix my . . . first cousin once removed. According to my parents, she doted on me especially.''

''Pure-blood family trees always did confuse me, I can't imagine remembering all that malarkey. What about the Lestrange brothers?''

''Rodolphus is the one married to Bellatrix, but they never had any children. Rabastan is the younger one, but still a few years older than Remus and Sirius.''

''I'll have to admit, I don't remember much of them from their days at Hogwarts,'' McGonagall hummed, rubbing the crease that formed between her eyebrows as she recalled over a decade-old memories. 

It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.

''We cannot talk freely in the staff room anymore,'' Evangeline muttered to McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout as they huddled outside the Charms classroom one afternoon. ''Not with Umbridge there.''

''She looks more like a Mandrake as the days go by,'' Sprout spat, picking the dirt from beneath her fingernails. ''I was potting them this morning with my second-years, and they kept on asking questions about . . . You-Know-What.''

''We hardly know ourselves!'' Flitwick squeaked. ''And it's not like we can tell them anything.''

McGonagall rolled her cat-like eyes, glancing around for any listening nears. ''Not after Decree . . . what number are we on now?''

New signs had appeared on the house noticed boards the morning after news of the Azkaban breakout:

BY ORDER OF

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖎𝖌𝖍 𝕴𝖓𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖔𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕳𝖔𝖌𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘

Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six.

Signed: 𝓓𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓙𝓪𝓷𝓮 𝓤𝓶𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓰𝓮, 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓱 𝓘𝓷𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓽𝓸𝓻

This latest decree had been the subject of a great number of jokes among the students. Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule she wasn't allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class.

When Evangeline next saw the boy during dinner, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. If the other teachers were aware of the pink toad's torturous detentions, then they weren't letting on.

''Aside from her obvious flaws, she is so rude. The other day at breakfast, she had the gall to comment on my makeup — has she not looked in the mirror herself lately?''

''If she did, it'd probably crack,'' McGonagall whispered. ''Not only are her manners absurd, but so is her judgement of character.''

''I fear after Hagrid, one of us is next,'' Sprout muttered. ''She'll carry on until we're all replaced with Ministry officials who fancy themselves teachers.''

''I'd like to see her try,'' Flitwick glowered, his little hand twitching over his wand. ''Someone needs to knock her down a peg or two before it's too late.''

''There is only so many times I can turn a blind eye when one of the students tries to prank her,'' the brunette sighed. ''It is not as if we can duel her. Although, my mother did and succeeded.''

The three teachers gasped simultaneously, their eyes bulging out of their heads.

''According to Opal, it was because Umbridge was acting like a pure-blood when she is not. Our dislike for her is quite different, but the sentiment still stands.''

''I never thought I'd say this, but your mother had the right idea, Rosier.''

''Agreed. After that ridiculous sex education scheme of hers was announced, I didn't think I'd be able to hold myself back from hexing the old bat.''

''Well, we've still got a few days before the session. Let's all meet in the kitchens at midnight, so that we can— ''

Evangeline, McGonagall, and Sprout went to nod their heads when a woman screamed from somewhere in the castle. Their heads jerked upwards; the muffled commotion had come from what seemed to be the Entrance Hall.

The woman screamed again.

Wands at the ready, they swept down the hallway in search of the wailing warnings.

The screams were indeed coming from the Entrance Hall; they grew louder as the teachers ran down the stone steps. When they reached the top, they found the area packed. Students had come flooding out of the Great Hall, where dinner had been in progress, to see what was going on. Others had crammed themselves onto the marble staircase. The Rosier girl pushed through a knot of tall Slytherins and saw that the onlookers had formed a great ring, some of them looking shocked, others even frightened.

Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the room with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. The woman was staring, apparently terrified, at something hidden at the foot of the stairs.

''No!'' She shrieked. ''No! This cannot be happening . . . it cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!''

''You didn't realize this was coming?'' Said a high, girlish voice, sounding callously amused — Umbridge. ''Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?''

''You c—can't!'' Trelawney howled, tears streaming down her face. ''You c—can't sack me! I've b—been her sixteen years! H—Hogwarts is m—my h—home!''

''It was your home,'' she corrected, and Evangeline was revolted to see the enjoyment stretching across her toad-like face as she watched the Divination professor sink, sobbing uncontrollably. ''Until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us.''

But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating glee as Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backwards and forwards on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil were both crying silently, their arms around each other. Then, she heard footsteps; McGonagall had broken away from their quartet, marched straight up to Trelawney, and began to pat her firmly on the back whilst withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.

''There, there, Sybill . . . calm down . . . blow your nose on this. It's not as bad as you think, now . .  . you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts . . . ''

''Oh really, Professor McGonagall?'' Umbridge countered in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. ''And your authority for that statement is . . . ?''

''That would be mine.''

The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. Whilst by no means did the pure-blood witch like him, there was something impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty evening. Leaving the doors wide behind him, he strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Trelawney sat, tear-stained and trembling upon her trunk, with McGonagall at her side.

''Yours, Professor Dumbledore?'' Umbridge asked with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. ''I'm afraid you don't understand the position. I have here—'' she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes. ''—an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.''

Dumbledore smiled. ''You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid—'' he went on, with a courteous bow. ''—that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts.''

At this, Trelawney gave a wild laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden. ''No— no, I—I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh—shall l—leave Hogwarts and s—seek my fortune elsewhere—''

''No. It is my wish that you remain, Sybill,'' he spoke sharply, turning to McGonagall. ''Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Minerva?''

''Of course. Up you get, Sybill.''

Sprout came hurrying forward from Evangeline's side and grabbed Trelawney's other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Flitwick rushed after them, levitating her luggage.

Umbridge was standing stock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.

''And what are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?''

''Oh, that won't be a problem. You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor.''

''You've found—'' she stuttered shrilly. ''You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two—''

''The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one. And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?''

He turned to face the open front doors, through which the mist was now drifting. The sound of hooves came. There was a shocked murmur around the area and those nearest the doors hastily moved even further backward, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.

Through the mist came a face; platinum-blonde hair and astonishingly blue eyes, atop the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.

''This is Firenze. I think you'll find him suitable.''