( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 ) — a scar means i survived

Evangeline and Snape's mutual agreement of disliking Umbridge had spread through to the rest of the teachers like a disease; Professor Flitwick would not-so-subtlety pinch his nose whenever she walked past, and Professor Sinistra made a great deal of shuffling her seat as far away as possible from the frilly woman during meals.

It was a comical sight, really — a woman in her fourties shunned like a schoolgirl. 

''Okay, write that down,'' Hermione instructed Ron, pushing his essay back to him. ''After, copy out this conclusion I've written for you.''

The Rosier girl currently sat in the Gryffindor common room. Despite her emerald robes and silver jewellery causing her to stick out like a sore thumb, she was content with the ever-replenishing mugs of tea Dobby bought, as well as the squashy armchair that reminded her all too much of Remus' cottage.

She had been marking homework, which the brunette had found herself doing more often than not. Something else she had taken great comfort in was spending an increasing amount of time with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasley children. Maybe it was because she had gotten used to their company over their summer, or because she dreaded being alone again, but whatever the reason was, not one of them questioned it.

''Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met,'' Ron complimented weakly. ''And if I'm ever rude to you again—''

''—I'll know you're back to normal.''

Evangeline cleared her throat knowingly, glancing between the two with a cheeky smirk. If she couldn't be happy, then she was more than fine with passing the turn to Ron and Hermione. Even if it took a long, long, long while, she knew they would end up together eventually; it was the perfect love story (and one with an actual happy ending).

The two blushed a bright beetroot red whilst a very flushed Granger girl scrambled for Harry's sheet. ''Harry, yours is okay except for this bit at the end, I think you must've misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice— Harry?''

The Potter boy had slid off his chair onto his knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the amber flames.

''Are you feeling all right? It is not that Muggle flu again, is it?''

''Er — Harry? Why are you down there?''

''Because I've just seen Sirius' head in the fire.''

''Sirius's head?'' Hermione repeated. ''You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too— Sirius!''

She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius head, long and dark hair falling around his grinning face.

''Trust you to make an entrance,'' Evangeline smiled. ''But you must be more careful! You have seen what has happened with Sturgis Podmore, I assume—''

''Sirius, this is taking an awful risk—'' Hermione began.

''You two sound like Molly,'' he sighed. ''This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letters without resorting to a code — and codes are breakable.''

At the mention of Harry's letter, both Hermione and Ron had turned to stare at him, whilst Evangeline raised a perfectly plucked brow; she looked scarily like Opal in that moment.

''You didn't say you'd written to Sirius!''

''I forgot,'' Harry defended himself. ''Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have gotten secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?''

''No, it was very good,'' Sirius smiled. ''Don't murder him, Evie — he's only a young boy, which I know you're not very fond of. Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case you're disturbed — your scar. I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think its anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?''

''Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion. So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.''

''Well, now he's back its bound to hurt more often.''

''It cannot be just a coincidence, there is no such thing as them,'' the brunette added. ''I will borrow a few books from the library and see if they prove to be helpful. In the meantime, write down when your scar hurts and anything else that could be related, so we can look for a pattern.''

The Black man and Harry nodded, as the younger one reached for the journal beside him to start logging anything out of the ordinary. ''So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I had detention with her?''

''I doubt it. I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater—''

''She's foul enough to be one,'' Harry said darkly; Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.

''Yes, but the world isn't split in to good people and Death Eaters,'' Sirius said with a wry smile. ''Just ask Evie.''

Evangeline shrugged her shoulders. ''While that may be true, I would not put it past her. Only Merlin know what she could be hiding under those wretched pink robes.''

''I know she's a nasty piece of work — you should hear Remus talk about her.''

''Uncle Remus knows her?''

''No, but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.''

Evangeline bristled at the mention of Remus; she played it off, brushing a piece of invisible lint from the sleeve of her dress and gazing around the cozy common room. Sirius, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all cast her doubtful looks before returning to their conversation.

''What's she got against werewolves?'' Hermione asked angrily.

''Apparently she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have Merpeople rounded up and tagged last year. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting Merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose—''

''Sirius!'' The bushy-haired girl exclaimed. ''Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher I'm sure he'd respond, after all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said—''

''My mother knew that frilly pink pig,'' the brunette pure-blood interrupted. ''She struck up a conversation about blood purity with her in Knockturn Alley years ago, and it went well until Opal pointed out that Umbirdge was not as pure as she makes herself out to be — her blood status has always been a controversial topic at luncheons and galas.''

''With her gall, you'd think she was Salazar Slytherin's descendant herself,'' Sirius barked. ''So, what are her lessons like? Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?''

''No. She's not letting us use magic at all!''

''All we do is read the stupid textbook.''

''Ah, well, that figures. Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat.''

''Trained in combat?'' Evangeline repeated incredulously, making a mental note to mention the revelation to Snape and Sinistra.

''What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?''

''That's exactly what he thinks you're doing. Or, rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.''

There was a moment of pause, before Ron broke it. ''That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with.''

''Now, now, Ron. Luna is a bit . . . err, odd, but you must not make fun of her for it — she cannot help being . . . unique.''

''So, we're being prevented from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?'' The Granger girl clarified, furious.

''Yep,'' Sirius revealed as Evangeline nodded contemplatively. ''Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's only a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge.''

''Fudge has always been quite condescending,'' she remarked. ''That, and the fact he sits like he has a broomstick up his—''

Harry interrupted Evangeline's unusually un-ladylike comment, leaning forward eagerly. ''D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Only Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be—''

''I don't know. I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been me and Kreacher here . . . ''

''So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?''

''Ah . . . well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what happened to him— but Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine.''

''But if he was supposed to be back by now . . . '' Hermione began in a small, worried voice.

''Madame Maxime was with him,'' Evangeline reminded them. ''Dora was in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home — but there is not anything to suggest he is hurt or — well, nothing to suggest he is not perfectly fine.''

Three faces stared back at her, unconvinced.

''Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid. It'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back, and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay. Anyway, whens your next Hogsmeade weekend? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could—''

''NO!'' Harry and Hermione synchronized, very loudly.

Evangeline reminded the man grimly: ''You saw the Daily Prophet, Sirius. I am in no mood to have my ear talked off by Dumbledore for assisting you out anywhere ever again.''

''Oh, that,'' he grinned. ''They're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue. As for old Dumbledore—''

''We think this time they have,'' Harry intervened. ''Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, too. So, don't come up here again, whatever you do, if any of them recognise you again—''

''All right, all right, I've got the point,'' he huffed, displeased. ''Just an idea, thought you might like to get together—''

''I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!'' Harry blurted.

''You're less like your father than I thought. The risk would've been what made it fun for James.''

''Look—''

''Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs. I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?''

There was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius' head has been was flickering once more.

Evangeline heaved a sigh, staring into the now-empty cluster of logs and weak embers. ''That was not fair, Harry — I will speak to him.''

The Potter boy managed a feeble nod, running his hand through his messy tufts of hair before he quickly realised his mistake. He scrambled to hide the front of his hand, but it was too late.

''Harry . . . what is that on your hand?''

Hermione and Ron exchanged side-glances, doing their best to shrink into the dark depths of the common room.

''Nothing— nothing, its nothing . . . ink. It's— uh, it's ink.''

''You may be a Gryffindor, but I have never seen you use red ink,'' she deadpanned, holding her palm out. ''Give me it.''

''What?''

''Your hand. Give me it.''

He opened his mouth to argue, but knew deep down there was no point. There had only been one other time when he had seen Evangeline this agitated, and that was during her NEWT exams in seventh year. However, ever since the confrontation with Remus, there was an unmistakable aura of fierceness about her being.

The Rosier girl held his quaking hand in her own pale one, her honeyed eyes tracing sadly over the red and raw marks. Some of the cuts were relatively fresh, whilst others were brutishly blistered.

''Umbridge,'' she guessed. ''When you are not with me or others, you are in her detentions. This is her doing, is it not?''

''I didn't want to worry you,'' he argued feebly.

''Worry me? The main reason I agreed to joining you-know-what is to protect you, Harry! Now, Hermione, get me a Calming Draft before I go and kill her as I stand.''

''Here comes the High Inquisitor.''

The Calming Draft had eased her outburst tremendously, yet a fire of pure rage ignited against her own will when Umbridge entered her Charms class a couple days later. She was looking even uglier than usual, her ghastly look completed with a velvet pink shawl and glittering head-bow.

''Good afternoon, Professor Rosier,'' she simpered pitifully; if any of the teachers had made their dislike known, it was Evangeline. ''You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?''

The Rosier girl nodded curtly, turning around and flouncing to the front of the class before she throttled the older woman.

''Sixth years! Lovely to see you all again. We shall be continuing with the Reductor Curse, however, this lesson I am pleased to announce we have a new target to practice on — Professor Umbridge! Oh, and please do get your wands out — we will be using magic.''