#Umbridge

[cherry-pop-elf]

Snuggle Company

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic ((because platonic love is valid!))

Summary: Umbridge has been giving everyone nightmares. You especially, given she is well aware how close you are to the twins. Has you paranoid she will hurt you in your sleep. So, who better to keep you safe than the twins themselves?

Warnings: Anxiety, Umbridge, stress, sleepy snuggles, and it’s very short 😣 Going through ALOT right now. Pls forgive me

Here you were again. Standing just outside the dorm doors that belonged to the seventh year boys. A pair of boys would be in there that you needed. Needed badly, because you had yet another nightmare. A nightmare about her.

You worried they would be getting annoyed by this. By you waking them up again, just to climb into bed with them. Would it be better that you just straight up moved in there with them? Would the other students in their dorm be annoyed by your presence? This wasn’t your assigned bedroom after all.

You tried to power through those worrying thoughts, as you pushed the door open. You were too scared of Umbridge to give a care about what others thought. She hated you. Hated you because those twins liked you. You were the enemy by association.

You would tip toe across the room, and would hug yourself tighter. Just worried about being a burden, and a bother. Something she would often say you were. Just attacking your insecurities. She was good at that. She was good at making people hurt. Oh she was damn good at hurting people, and getting away with it.

Finally, you reached the familiar bed. Fred’s bed. Well, Fred and George’s bed. They never really out grew sharing a bed. George’s ended up being a make shift work shop table for their inventions. You found it utterly adorable how they would hold each other. They had a special bond. Magic tended to play a heavy role in that, but you still found it sweet. How that no matter how old they get they would still make sure to be there for each other. No matter what. Was comforting to see that guys don’t always worry about masculinity.

“Psst….Guys-“ You gently shook George’s shoulder, as you tried to wake them up. Didn’t want to wake the other students up, but you also didn’t want to just climb into bed either. Could startle them. Or worse. They didn’t want you to, and you invaded their personal bubble. Consent is important after all.

“Hm-?” George would rub at his eyes, while Fred yawned. They were annoyed as hell, until they saw it was you who bothered them. George gave a comforting smile, before scooting away from his twin. Fred, in turn, lifted the blanket up. You gave a sigh in relief, before climbing between them. Snuggled safely between them both.

“Thanks.” You whispered, as they would wrap their arms around you. A tangled of limbs, just like that. Was so warm. So warm, and safe. No one could get to you now. Safe between a pair of tricksters. Just like that. The smell of fire crackers, and cinnamon. That was such a comforting scent to you. Baked goods, and fire.

“No pink toads will get you-“ “Not on our watch.” The twins would tease you, as they gave you a tight squeeze. A reminder that they weren’t going anywhere. Not without you, at the very least. That had you smile, and feel a weight lift off your body. Safe. Safe again.

“We’ve got plans for her. Don’t worry.” George would reassure you, as he would nuzzle into the back of your neck. Enjoying the warmth you gave him, as his arm reached over to keep physical touch with Fred. The two most important people he has, right in his arms.

“And it’s going to be utterly spectacular. Just you wait and see.” Fred would echo, as he rested his head on yours. Forcing your nose into his neck, as his arm did the same thing. Keeping George close, as you were all safely hidden under the blanket.

“Promise.” They would share, as you were already drifting to sleep. Safe in their strong arms, and knowing you’ll be safe by morning all the same. No scary toads to haunt your dreams. Just a pair of pranksters to defend you. No matter what.

Safe snuggles. What a dream come true.

[amenemisa]

They're besties :')

[maxdibert]

‘Snape is a child abuser’ is definitely coming from a generation of new Gen Z fans who weren’t growing up alongside the books and have failed to understand that the wizarding world is a reflection of 1970s-1990s British society and not 2025 therapy offices. Snape is an old school strict teacher who has methods - particularly towards Neville - that are mean and belittling and counterproductive but that also weren’t out of place with teaching in general back then. Corporal punishment wasn’t outlawed in English private schools until 1999. Nineteen Ninety Nine!! Historical context has been lost. Snape assigning cauldron scrubbing as a detention in comparison- he’s practically a softie.

He’s meant to be understood as a bitter, jaded, petty, tired to the bone teacher who has been held back by a job he’s too ambitious and too clever for. He’s not meant to be understood as truly abusive - because if he was, Harry would be deploying his usual coping mechanisms (conflict avoidance) instead of what he actually does, which is mouth off at Snape at every possible opportunity. It’s basic genre convention that every boy hero in a boarding school novel needs an antagonist teacher to put in his place while all the children cheer, lol. It’s not that deep.

Severus was designed so that kids at the time would see him as the classic rude, miserable teacher who ruins all the fun, is super strict, and seems to live to make sure you can’t do whatever you want. This was a very common archetype in fiction for those of us born in the ‘90s or earlier. He wasn’t created for people to think he was a child abuser but to remind you of that teacher who always gave everyone bad grades because they were extremely demanding, snapped at you for asking a question they thought was stupid, or seemed to live for catching students doing something wrong just to punish them.

We grew up with tons of characters like that (Miss Finster from Recess comes to mind—she basically lived to catch T.J. doing something wrong). They weren’t characters you saw as crossing a line with students, because EVERYONE had at least one teacher like that. The person we clearly saw as an abuser was Umbridge, but that’s because Umbridge wasn’t just about ruining fun—she wanted to repress and dominate the students. She physically harmed them and hurt them, abusing her institutional power. She was the character who scared you and made you angry. That’s why in the 2000s people hated her even more than Voldemort—because we had all either had a teacher like her, knew someone who had one, or heard horror stories about those teachers.

I feel like Gen Z doesn’t understand what it was like to grow up surrounded by boomers with zero emotional management skills who had done no self-work, and instead live in a paradise of Gen X and millennial teachers you can follow on social media. Honestly, they have a totally distorted view of things.

Anyone born in the ‘90s or earlier can clearly see the intention behind Severus as a teacher and what kind of archetype he represents—and they don’t associate him with someone abusive. Rowling wrote those books at a specific time for an audience that would understand that. I’m sorry some people were born 20 years later, but that doesn’t change the facts.

[tea-biscuits-books]

dirty little secret

draco malfoy x f!reader

🐍👁️☕️🌫️🧸

summary: you're done being draco's dirty little secret

word count : 846

song: bloody mary - ghost

his hands were held tightly around your wrist the rings digging into your skin like knives. 

“Blaise,” you whimpered, shaking your head as he ignored you and the ache in his heart. “Blaise please,” you sniffed. “It’s hurting me,” his gaze shifts and his vice-like grip softened slightly. “Shut up,” he grunts as he tugs you along. His eyes gave you no hint to his expression. The ghastly pink greets you as you lock eyes with Umbridge, whose thin lips turn up in an ugly smile. “Ms Y/L/N,” she tuts as one would to a child. “I thought you had better sense than to fool around, I even offered you a place on my squad.” You fought against your restraints, rage blinding your vision. “he’s back! I know it!” You hiss as metal cuts into your skin, a warning. Umbridge dismisses you with a sneer like look. It’s silent for a moment as she circles Harry, a predatory look on her face. “Where is he?” She yells, her wand thrust into his face. Harry blinks. “I don’t know!” He says exasperated. “Don’t lie to me boy,” she spits. You tremble, Umbridge opening her mouth before Neville is marched in. 

“I found him trying to help the Weasley Gi-“ Draco locks eyes with yours and his voice seems to stick in his throat. “what is she doing here?” He blurts out. Umbridge’s face turns into a sickly sweet smirk. “Ms Y/L/N was found helping with this rebellion,” she stalks towards you, hand whipping across your face with a loud smack. “Isn’t that right dear?” You swallow the tears burning to leave your eyes. “Yes,” you whisper. The remains of your flesh on your hand tingled as she spoke, memories of the words being ingrained again, and again into your hand. I must respect my elders. I must respect my elders. You look to Draco, before your gaze snaps away and down to the scar, tracing it absent mindedly at the memory.  His eyes pierce it, that night coming back to him too it seemed. You had stumbled back to the dungeons, blinded with pain. He had been sitting on the couch, wondering whatever was taking so long in your detention. “Y/N why are you so-“ the words fell off his tongue as he studied your pained expression and blood stained hand that dripped the crimson liquid onto the floor. “What’s wrong?” He pulls you into his arms, settling before the fire as you finally let the tears fall, sobbing into the warmth of his chest. It was nice to be with Draco at night. Where you weren’t each others secret, each other’s hurried kiss in hallways, or subtle  glances across the room. You were forgotten to the world. Because when the sun went down and the moon came up, you were just Y/N and Draco. Two unfortunate souls to find solace and love another. Two souls who could never be together. He had soothes you softly, placing soft kisses on your wrist and neck, so gentle, so meek that sometimes you questioned if he was still the same person. He summoned a bowl of murtlap essence, ushering you to put your hand in, and covering your mouth with his large ringed hands when you cried out in pain. “Shh, love.” He whispered in your ear. It was a rare night where you would sleep together, as he lifted your drowsy body into his dorm, settling in beside you. You woke up the next morning to an empty bed and a scribbled note. And to you, that was enough. You find the courage to lock eyes with him, betrayal lining your gaze. His stormy eyes were narrowed in frustration as he glared back accusingly. “Mr Malfoy, you are in charge while I’m gone.” Umbridge said, smiling at the boy in admiration as she skipped out behind Harry and Hermione. There room was silent for a second, until he trudged towards you. “Malfoy get away from her!” Ron yelled, fighting against Goyle who held him tighter as the redhead yelped in pain. “How could you?” He says softly, studying you. “I am doing the right thing!” “By sneaking around with Potter and Weasley?! Let me guess, they probably kissed you too, I bet you’ve been out being a slut and whoring around on their laps,” Draco sneered. You reel back slowly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He grit his teeth, grabbing your arm from Blaise. “What’s wrong with me?! WHATS WRONG WITH ME?! YOU-“ you stop. Draco had never yelled at you before. He had never hurt you before. At least not intentionally. And he had never ever questioned your loyalty. “Let go of me!” You yell, snatching your arm back. “Why are you questioning my loyalty?! I’ve been nothing but true and good to our relationship while every time you kissed Pansy or made some shitty mistake I forgave you!” Draco’s eyes widen as if you had slapped him, his face crumpling as he realised how hurt you really were. “Y/N/N, wait I didn’t-“ “we’re over.” You were done. Done with being his dirty little secret. Because at the end of the day? He would always come crawling back to you.

[ghostscarface]

Not listening to someone's opinion who grew up in a broom closet. Harry knows shit. Everyone is fucking great next to a Swiffer.

[im-a-wonderling]

Is It Still Punishment if It Was Worth It? ~ George Weasley

Summary: Y/N runs into George Weasley after her detention with Umbridge (aka me finishing a request from ages ago)

Warnings: Umbridge *shudders*

Word count: 2.4k

As I left the atrocious pink office, nothing around me stirred, as if the whole castle was frozen, lying in wait for the dawn. Light streamed through the open doorway, heralding my late release from detention. 

“Off to bed, dear,” said that sugary, poisonous voice behind me. “Don’t let Mr. Filch catch you lingering instead of being safe asleep in your bed.” Was it my imagination, or did the throbbing of the back of my hand pulse in time with her voice? 

I wanted nothing more than to scurry away as fast as my legs would allow, but like any predatory animal, Professor Umbridge could smell fear, so I simply bowed my head as demurely as possible, avoiding her deep-set gaze. “Yes, professor.” I could feel the horrid woman’s toad eyes following me as I walked down the wide staircase, heading for the dungeons. 

The door closed behind me with an ominous thud, and the light disappeared. 

Stopping in my tracks, I immediately turned the corner to a little alcove, slumping next to the window. I stared at the colored glass, depicting a dragon breathing flames up into the sky. My wound gave a particularly violent throb. “Ouch,” I hissed under my breath, staring down at the shiny red letters.

I must obey the rules.

Cradling my aching hand to my chest, I let out a long breath. Every pang seemed to ring through my whole body, and yet, instead of acting as a deterrent, I was all the more resolved in my actions. If Umbridge had forced my brother to write those words and endure this pain, even her title as High Inquisitor would not have saved her from my wrath. 

“Well, that’s a first.”

I jolted. At first, I wondered if it’d been the dragon that spoke—often things at Hogwarts spoke when one might think they shouldn’t. But the dragon didn’t move. I looked around me, just in time to see the tapestry further down the stairs shift, and a red-headed boy came out from behind it.

George Weasley. Certified troublemaker with an un-shuttable gob and downright homemade values, the very personification of Godric Gryffindor’s ideal student. 

“Excuse me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

George gestured to my hand. “I didn’t know she punished Slytherins too.” He spoke the word without distaste, but with an emphasis all the same.

I just shook my head and left my alcove, heading for the Slytherin common room. There was no point in arguing in Slytherin’s favor; the history in this castle chronicled many a Slytherin who tried and subsequently had to run for the Hospital Wing before a toenail-growing hex grew too painful to walk.

Unfortunately, the redhead sidled into my path. I took several steps back, checking for the location of his wand, prepared to whip out my own before he could cast anything. But his hands were empty, and judging by the way he watched me, his head was regrettably anything but.

“You’re in my way,” I said calmly.

“Malfoy shouldn’t have done that.”

The simple statement made my lungs falter for breath, but I kept my face impassive. “He didn’t have a choice.”

“No, he had a choice.” George’s maddeningly certain tone set my teeth on edge.

I scoffed, walking down the staircase. “You don’t understand, you couldn’t possibly understand what he faces.”

“Oh, yes,” George’s voice grew louder and mocking, following me on my heels, “poor little rich Malfoy, head of the Inquisitor Squad, can’t handle–”

“Sod off.” My gritted teeth added all the threat I wanted, but George wasn’t deterred.

“What a slog it is, having everything one could possibly–”

I whirled around, my hands finding George’s chest to shove him as hard as I could. “You don’t know what it’s like!” I hissed, glaring at him. “You and your brothers just do whatever you fancy at the moment, whatever wicked thing halfway crosses your mind. Well, not all of us have the luxury of doing what we want.”

George looked as serious as I’d ever seen him. “He could’ve spared you this and he didn’t. No true friend would scurry off to Umbridge to report you like that.”

For a moment, I considered starting a row, but Umbridge’s office was still within earshot, and I didn’t want another round of writing with that cursed quill. So I chose not to acknowledge him, walking down the stairs with my head held high, reaching the bottom of the stairs and quickly walking down the corridor, hoping my feet could outrun George’s mouth. But when I looked to my right, there was George, loping alongside me.

“Seriously–”

“Seriously, George, shut it.” I came to a stop, glaring up at him. “What are you even doing here? It’s past curfew.”

“Some of us are taking turns behind the tapestry,” he said easily. “Watching in case any first or second years get turned out of Umbridge’s office with bleeding hands.”

“Oh?” I tossed my head, moving my hair to one side. “And if it were a Slytherin first year, would you have greeted them the way you greeted me?” If my kid brother had been the one walking out of the office, I silently asked, would you have comforted him? 

“Perhaps, but I’m willing to bet that they, unlike you, would accept a hug and a trip to the kitchens for some dessert afterwards.”

My stomach rumbled, and I placed my uninjured hand over it. “Well, I’m no first year, so you can go.” I resumed my furious pace.

George easily kept up. “It wasn’t fair of Malfoy to do that.”

Was it impossible for him to leave well enough alone? “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

“Everyone knows you were just protecting your brother.”

I seized the collar of George’s robes, dragging his face down an inch from mine. “Don’t you dare–

“I’m not going to tell,” George said, remarkably calm considering how quickly his position had changed. 

“How am I supposed to trust that?”

“I’m not Malfoy.” 

I considered him for another moment before letting him go. He straightened, smoothing out his robes. “How did you know?” I asked. 

George gave a short laugh. “You’ve never touched a broomstick outside of Flying class, and yet I’m supposed to believe you even have a broomstick to bring into the castle?” He shook his head. “Anyone with eyes knows you’d do anything for your brother, so of course Umbridge is the only one daft enough to fall for your switcheroo.” 

I pondered his words for a moment before turning to walk back to my room. Like before, George kept time beside me. “She shouldn’t have given detention just for having a broomstick.” 

I shook my head. “There are rules.”

“And rules were made to–”

“–be broken?” I rolled my eyes. “Of course. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a Gryffindor.”

“Says the Slytherin who just got out of detention.” I bit my tongue, trying to stay silent. “You should tell your head of house what Umbridge’s doing, maybe Snape’ll do something about–”

I let out a short laugh. “See, there’s the difference between you and me, George–”

George leapt forward, covering my mouth. Next thing I knew, I was being tugged behind a statue, finally pulled to meet George’s alarmed expression.

This was it. I should’ve known better than to trust a Gryffindor. Now he was going to hex me or curse me or even forgo a wand altogether and use his own two fists. 

Eyes wide, I tried to shove him away, protesting loudly from behind his hand. “Shush!” George said harshly. “Filch!”

I instantly stopped fighting, my heart pounding for a different reason. If George and I were caught by Filch right now, not only would I have another detention with Umbridge, but word would get out. I couldn’t even imagine the trouble I’d be in with my house if they found out I was out at night past curfew with a Gryffindor, and a Weasley at that!

The light of the lantern the caretaker always carried with him after hours grew closer and closer to the statue we crouched behind. George lifted his hand from my mouth, pressing a finger to his lips. I rolled my eyes. As if I didn’t already get the memo. 

“Anyone about, my dear?” Filch’s haughty voice asked. Mrs. Norris meowed back, and I heard the sound of a dark chuckle. "Professor Umbridge might allow us to try our new manacles.”

George and I met eyes. 

He made a stop gesture and then started to creep forward towards Filch. What could he possibly be planning? Filch would see him! 

Then it occurred to me. The noble idiot was about to sacrifice himself so that I would stay undetected. 

Oh no you don’t, I thought, seizing the back of George’s robes, dragging him back. I was not about to owe a Gryffindor anything. I pulled out my wand and a tissue I'd forgotten was there.

Snufflifors, I mouthed. 

The tissue morphed into a white mouse, which immediately scampered down the corridor. Immediately, Mrs. Norris sped after it. 

“My dear!” Filch protested, running after her, the light from his lantern growing farther and farther away until George and I were left alone in the dark. 

“Wow,” George stared in the direction Filch had gone, “that was quite impressive.”

The compliment made my cheeks warm. “Well, some of us jump into things without thinking about the consequences and some of us actually use our brains for more than pranks.” I shoved my wand into my pocket, about to storm down the corridor. 

“So you thought it through beforehand?”

“I didn’t necessarily plan to get caught by–”

“No, you thought through taking the blame for your brother?” 

I stopped short, allowing George to catch up with me. I eyed him warily. Was he fishing for evidence to get my brother in trouble? Or was he fishing for other reasons?  “Of course I did,” I said finally, deciding that my word against George’s was hardly any competition. 

A strange look twinkled in his eyes at that. “You actually thought about getting in trouble?” I didn’t reply. I should’ve known that I wouldn’t need to, because George could easily carry a conversation by himself. “You knew you could lose house points? And Hogsmeade could become off-limits to you? And that you might end up with words scratched into the back of your hand?” 

My silence was the only answer. Truthfully, he was right. I’d thought through all those possibilities. 

I’d earned Slytherin enough points throughout the years that any deduction wouldn’t damage my reputation too badly for anyone not in the Inquisitor Squad, especially under Umbridge’s reign. As for Hogsmeade, the castle itself was large enough to keep me from feeling claustrophobic. And, yes, I even budgeted for the possibility of getting detention with Umbridge; that’s why there was a Soothing potion waiting for me in my room. 

What I hadn’t anticipated was Malfoy being the one to report me. 

So much for being friends. 

George shuffled closer, bringing me to the present with his brown eyes. “You thought through the possibilities, and you still did it?” I nodded, and a grin broke out on his face. “Are you sure you aren’t supposed to be in Gryffindor?”

I made a disgusted sound in the back of my throat. “How dare you,” I said blandly. 

“I’m serious,” he said with a smile that said the opposite. “You’re quite the little risk-taker.” 

“Is it really risk-taking,” I murmured, “if you’re prepared for all the risks?” 

The inner corners of George’s eyebrows turned upward, his smile dimming to a more serious affect. “Was it worth it even though you got caught and punished?” 

“Is it still punishment if it was worth it?” 

His freckled face relaxed at the question, smoothing out until it was without pucker or twinge. “Should there be a rule against it if it’s still worth it?” he murmured.

I brought out my hand, looking down on it so I could once again read the message waiting there. The shiny letters didn’t hold any answers within their crimson hue. “I’m not sure.”

A hand reached out to touch mine, and my breath caught when I saw, on the back of George’s hand, familiar words, written in narrower handwriting.

I must obey the rules.

“Funny,” George said softly. “Regardless of what happened beforehand, we ended up the same.”

I slowly dragged my eyes up to meet his. “Not quite.” I smiled sadly. “I’m apparently friendless.” 

“Not friendless,” George murmured like a promise. “Not if you don’t want to be.”

I studied him, searching for any sign of deception. His locks had darkened over the years. In our first year, they could only be described as flaming, his hair as dangerous as his tendencies, but now they’d tempered into a comforting copper hue. His freckles also faded, though there were still just as many of them. His eyebrows normally promised even more trouble than his mischievous eyes, but now, nothing in his face seemed disingenuous. “Can Slytherins and Gryffindors even be friends?” I asked.

“Is it risk-taking if you’re prepared for all the risks?” George echoed.

I gave a short laugh. “Touchè.”

“Besides,” George said with a smirk, “you could do with friends better than that old tosser.”

I wanted to laugh, truly I did. Or perhaps I wanted to care little enough to be able to laugh. But alas, I cared too much, so I simply shook it off. “I’d better go, before Filch actually finds us.” 

“Fair enough.” George dropped my hand, and I missed the warmth immediately. “See you around, Y/N?”

I took great care to lessen my smile into a smirk. “If you’re lucky,” I replied.

George gave a relaxed salute before walking back the way we’d come, presumably to take up his place behind the tapestry.

I watched him go. Funny, I may not have been a first year, and he may not have taken me to the kitchens for dessert, and yet…I was glad for anyone else who might leave Umbridge’s office when George waited for them behind the tapestry.

-

Read the continuation here!

If you enjoyed this, you might also enjoy my other George fanfic: Seven Years of Bad Luck

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[lilyevansenthuisast]

here is your daily reminder that you cannot mischaracterise a character who is mentioned 5 times in canon!

regulus black was in fact a death eater and if people want to characterise him as that, they can!

regulus black can in fact be shipped with umbridge! and no that is not a mischaracterisation!

[grandpa-spooks]

Fred: *hands Umbridge a map* Fred: here’s the list of places you can go fuck yourself George: woah that’s a lot of places

[jmwdoesthings]

Hogwarts Professors Shenanigans: Unravelling Umbridge (Part One)

Snape and McGonagall have enough of Umbridge's garbage and team up with each other to end it. Featuring: Snape's temper, Minerva's short-bread and quite a lot of conspiracy and 'hem hem'. Part One.

***

“This is killing me. Very slowly and very thoroughly.”

Minerva glanced up from her list of assignments as Severus collapsed into the chair next to her and began to massage his temples. His face was twice as hard as she had ever seen it, and his dark eyes were absolutely seething. If it was anybody else but the current Head of the Gryffindor House, armed with her gaze of steel and unfailing sense of justice and loyalty and tartan under her black robes, sat beside him, they would have averted their gaze and muttered something out to appease him, but Minerva just spared him a glance, then returned to her assignments.

“You’re being melodramatic.”

He scoffed, then made a noise of deep fatigue. McGonagall tried to drown out the babble of the students gathered in the great hall and sighed. It was breakfast-time and, like practically every teacher in the castle, the students were thoroughly outraged. Harry Potter was talking loudly to the gathered at the Gryffindor table, gesturing and slamming his hands on its surface, and he wasn’t the only one; up and down the other tables, the sense of harmony was dishevelled and something fiery reverberated up and down the hall, not only the snide shouting of Fred and George Weasley; unrest hung in the air, disturbance raged through the houses, and it was all caused by the pink, fluffy toad which was yet to arrive at the breakfast table and who had the audacity to interrupt Dumbledore’s speech the day before.

“No, you’re not being melodramatic,” Minerva begrudgingly corrected herself, though she still didn’t take her eyes away from the parchment. “I’m just as upset as you are, Severus.”

The Potion’s Master snorted again. “From what I’ve gathered thus far, you’re taking it remarkably well.”

“One of us has to keep their trousers intact and free from raging fire.”

She received his look without blinking, then glanced at him over the steel rim of her glasses. 

“Well, what do you propose I do? I’m just as powerless as you are against the ministry and you know it.”

“Not quite,” he muttered back, then glanced at the obstinate Weasley twins and raised his eyebrows. “As much as I disapprove of my own words right now… we could take a leaf out of that blasted pair’s book.”

McGonagall watched Fred making strangling motions with his hands whilst George blew out his cheeks and made toad-like noises and made a sound of intrigue. 

“Or we can simply wait until they do the job for us,” she murmured. “Of course, that is, if you pause tearing down the points which my students build up during the lessons which are not yours, Severus. For the greater good.”

Severus poised his hand near his face and frowned, but he looked appeased. 

“Perhaps I will consider pulling at the reins to my fiery chariots, under present circumstances. Though I cannot promise.”

That’s all he managed to say, before a grim silence fell upon the gathered and their heads were drawn to the left - McGonagall barely suppressed a shudder as a ‘hem hem’ echoed through the hall and its propeller arrived in a pink, fluffy cardigan and a puffy, pink bow in her hair. She heard Severus make a very discreet noise of revolt under his breath and her lip twitched. 

“That’s much better,” Umbridge said into the electrified silence, seemingly not noticing any hostility at all in anybody before her. “Now, that is what we will be doing during breakfast and meal times. Eating. No talking. There will be a nice, lovely silence.”

McGonagall wondered what thoughts she would have seen if she browsed through some student’s minds at that moment with the use of occlumency - judging from their facial expressions, perhaps some of them would have made her brain wither. Snape ended up digging his fingers into his face which he had leaned on his hand for the moment as she spoke.

“After you have finished eating, you will depart to your classes in a single file,” Umbridge pronounced, nodding slowly. “Single file. No talking. You will make your way to your lessons. Also,” she added, before anybody could voice their opinions upon the matter, “Mr Filch has asked me to inform you that there will be no loitering on the corridors during break and lunch. If you want to talk, you will do it outside in the yard, or in your common rooms.”

There were a few whispers at this, but not for long, for another ‘hem, hem’ was issued.

McGonagall saw Snape’s fingers make scratch marks on the arm of the chair. Before the despicable woman began to talk again, however, he leaned in towards her and whispered in a very low voice:

“Hogsmeade, Professor.”

She made a sound of approbation. “I don’t think we’ll be overheard there.”

“And I will lay down my neck if both of us don’t need a drink after today,” he muttered, rubbing at his left forearm and grimacing. “You can monitor my execution, if you wish, or be the one executing me, if I’m wrong.”

“With pleasure.”

“Thank you.”

They both picked up their goblet of coffee and cup of malt tea at the same moment and began to sip at them.

“Mark my words, Severus,” Minerva murmured, keeping her voice low behind her drink. “This year is going to be a very long one.”

He scoffed, looking dark. “Perhaps for the ones who make it through alive.”

“Inside these castle walls, at least.” She glanced at Rubeus Hagrid, who was frowning into his goblet, then at Filius, who was squirming uncomfortably in his chair, his fingers tapping on the table as he waited for the little pink toad to stop croaking. “Perhaps let this stay between us, Professor, for the time being… we don’t want any complications.”

Complications there were, without the two Heads giving any strange suggestions to their colleagues. Posters stamped with the ministry symbol and signed off in sickeningly pretty, curly writing appeared in the staff rooms, and even hung up in their offices - Minerva had just managed to pick up a biscuit during the first half-hour break before she was frowning at the notice pinned to her door. Fortunately for her, she didn’t have a chance to peruse it in full alone; there was a noise like someone sucking crumbs out a glass tube and Severus Snape appeared in the middle of her office, looking livid and clutching at a similar piece of parchment.

“That is it,” he seethed, lifting up the parchment so that she could read it, though it was so distorted it was impossible to do so. “The last straw. If someone does not stop me, I do not guarantee I will be able to keep my hands clean.”

He paused, took in the poster pinned to her door which she was standing before, then emitted a rather discomforting snarl and tore it off her door.

“Severus, control yourself, please,” McGonagall said with a frown, though made no move to stop him as he whipped out his wand and set the paper on fire with his eyes black as coal and his teeth gritted. “I haven’t read it yet.”

“Here,” he spat, though not at her, as he watched the last of the parchment shrivel up, then held up the crumpled poster he brought. “Read this clump of dragon spittle, if you so desire.”

Minerva took it from him after a moment and smoothed out its creases, wrinkling her nose at the smell of burning parchment and perused it through narrowed eyes behind her glasses.

Greetings, dear colleagues. I am enraptured to be working with all of your wonderful selves this year. I know that there will be a great understanding between us, because we all have our dear students’ best interests and safety at heart. 

Due to the increase in hostility in public and the rumours you have all undoubtedly heard about, I will be popping in and out of lessons to monitor the situations and grade your suitability for the jobs you have been assigned by the headmaster. That aside, I do hope that we can all forge a bond of agreement, friendship and banish any unrest and disruption from Hogwarts, our beloved School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and keep our students safe from both scandal and harm. 

Signed, Dolores Umbridge.

“This is…” She paused, searching for the right words, feeling disgust and silent anger stirring in her breast. Severus filled in her pause with several dark expletives muttered under his breath, then cut himself off with some difficulty, under her frown. 

“Vile,” he summed up, still shaking with fury. “How dare she, the foolish braggart!”

“It could have been worse.”

“I’m not talking about this,” he spat, pointing at the offensive piece of parchment, then hissed out on a lowered voice. “It’s about what she is doing in the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. She has banned wands.”

He laughed dryly at her incredulous expression. 

“Yes, Professor,” he drawled. “She’s going only and exclusively off textbooks. We both know what sort of bunkum doing so is.”

“That’s absurd,” Minerva stammered, her mind whirring, before she regained herself and straightened her glasses. “She must be mad.”

“Oh, no. She’s not mad. She’s far from mad.”

She watched him stalking back and forth in her office like an overgrown bat, hissing and clenching his fists in silence, before making her way over to her desk.

“This is Cornelius’ little ploy,” he continued with vehemence. “I know people like him. Ignorant and empty as a tin-can. An empty jar. Full of nothing but their own over-blown selves. Toads. Vultures. Headless bats.”

McGonagall sighed.

“Would you like a biscuit, Severus?” She held up her shortbread tin in one hand whilst searching for some parchment in her desk with the other.

“I would love a biscuit,” he muttered, clenching his fists so hard they cracked. “I’d love to feed it down her throat, into her lungs. It would crumble along the way, and we would watch her choke. Slowly. Thoroughly-”

“Yes,” she interrupted him, scribbling away. “This one I’m offering is exclusively for your consumption, as opposed to choking Dolores Umbridge.”

He turned to her, then approached the desk, grabbed the tin and set it back down on her desk with a thud, then splayed his hands over the wooden surface and lowered his voice as he leaned towards her.

“A biscuit exclusively for my consumption?” he whispered, shards of ice in his voice. “This woman is overturning everything she touches, professor. She blatantly denies the Dark Lord’s rise to power. This-”

He pulled up his sleeve for a flash, just long enough for Minerva to catch a glimpse of the terrible mark on his left forearm, and sneered.

“-has been flashing like a Christmas tree since July. And you’re offering me biscuits exclusively for my consumption, Minerva?”

McGonagall looked at him over the rim of her glasses for one long moment. Snape held her gaze, expectantly, looking rather triumphant.

She didn’t as much as sniff.

 “What about a cup of tea?”

Snape looked baffled. After a moment, he breathed out a sigh so great his head hung for a moment, then pushed himself off her desk and straightened. He breathed in, out, placed two fingers to his temples, then walked over to one of her stiff armchairs and lowered himself into it.

“Very well, I understand,” he said coolly, placing his hands on his knees and sitting as though he was an attentive student. “Bring on the refreshments. Let’s have a little picnic, while we’re at it, with pretzels, little muffins and garnished sandwiches, hm? Then, after that, we can make daisy chains in the fields and calmly talk about our damned feelings!”

Perhaps Severus would have completely lost his temper again if the a second whooshing sound hadn’t reverberated across Minerva’s office, followed by the chunky figure of Pomona Sprout. She looked perplexed, her hair almost standing on end, as she stood there, ruffled.

She looked from the glowering Snape to Minerva scribbling calmly though with a frown, then held up a piece of parchment.

“Should have knocked, but… Have you seen this?”

Snape said nothing, pursing his lips, though his expression was answer enough. Minerva didn’t stop writing as she took up her shortbread tin and held it up.

“Biscuit, Pomona?”

Severus turned and shot her a long, sharp look. Pomona shrugged, then approached her desk.

“Why, yes, thank you,” she said, taking the tin from her. “But what do you think about this? I daren’t address the headmaster about this yet.”

“The headmaster has most likely received one of these beauties himself,” Snape murmured. “She has no regard for him, as we all witnessed yesterday evening.”

“Most unfortunately,” Minerva said, then: “Shall we all have a cup of tea?”

“Very well, then,” Pomona said after a slight pause during which she swallowed the last of her shortbread. “We can’t all get our knickers in a twist.”

Minerva nodded, still writing. 

“No, we can’t.”

She rose, flicked her wand and three cups appeared on the tray on the table. There was a rather awkward pause in which they all watched the kettle boiling over McGonagall’s fireplace: Snape in his black and his form rigid, his gaze capable of setting fire to something and his jaw fastened tightly; the ample person of Pomona in her ragged hat and muddy leaves plastered over her apron; McGonagall silent, prim and frowning as she stood with a scrutinous look, lost in thought, looking at the flames, eyes hidden behind the glint of her glasses.

“The only course of action for now,” she murmured, after the kettle whistled and she began pouring water into the teacups, “is to wait and see what happens. Anything else would be far too hasty and downright foolish.”

Snape glanced at her. She met his look head-on.

“Well, what do you propose we do, Severus?” she snapped, hovering her teacup over to her desk. “I believe I have the right to think that everything you have in your head as of now is completely out of the question.”

He drew his black cloak around himself tighter and chuckled darkly, though his face stayed grim. “I suppose that you knowing me so well by now is only to be expected, professor.”

“Minerva is right.” Pomona sighed, then took the tea from McGonagall. “Thank you. I think we’re all being a little too heated up with the current state of affairs. Now that I’m here, it doesn’t seem at all that pressing-”

At that moment, there was a pop and Filius Flitwick apparated into Minerva’s office, looking very nervous and out of breath. He adjusted his glasses, then pulled out a blue polka-dot handkerchief out of his pocket and began to wipe his brow.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, professor,” he breathed, flapping another piece of parchment at them, “but this was stuck to the leg of my desk. It was rather rude, although I am quite shorter than average, still, I’m fully capable of reading anything that is placed at normal height… and the contents, well, it’s slightly unnerving to say the least… that is to say, well… I don’t know what to expect anymore.”

This time, Severus Snape spoke first, his tone dry enough for the Sahara to pale in comparison.

“Would you like a biscuit, Filius?”

“Biscuit?” Filius looked perplexed, then sighed. “Why, yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Severus pursed his lips at him (Filius looked nervous); Minerva offered him the tin, then flicked her wand and another cup appeared on the tray.

She turned to them as they stared at her, waiting. She turned.

“While we are mostly all together, then-”

There was a sudden loud knock on the door and they all jumped, for it rattled on its hinges as though someone was throwing furniture at it. Minerva adjusted her glasses and glanced at the others, who looked back with different degrees of wariness on their faces.

“Who is it?”

The door creaked open, and the huge face of Rubeus Hagrid appeared. His beard was bedraggled and he didn’t look like he was in a very good mood, for his beetle-eyes were narrowed in suspicion and contempt before he set eyes on Minerva; he opened his mouth to speak, but then saw them all gathered as though they were conspiring and hesitated.

“Sorry to interrupt, Professor, er, Professors…”

Filius lifted his parchment. “It’s not this, by any chance, is it, Hagrid?”

The half-giant looked relieved. “It is, actually, yeh.”

He squeezed through the door (there was a pop as he entered), then noticed the cups of tea and biscuit in Filius’ hand and paused again.

“Would you like some tea and a biscuit, Hagrid?” McGonagall asked, before glancing at Severus, who simply rolled his eyes and folded his arms without comment.

“Won’ say no, Professor,” Hagrid said with some enthusiasm, taking up the tin from her. “I didn’t think I ought to bother Professor Dumbledore, with this, but, between all of us…”

He leaned down and lowered his voice, “I don’t like this one bit.”

“Neither do we,” Snape provided, still looking disturbed. “But apparently, the decision has been made that we currently sit and wait until something happens.”

“What else do you propose, then?” Minerva said.

“Nothing,” Severus replied coolly. “I agree with you, I’m just not happy about the current state of affairs.”

“Neither am I,” Pomona said, pouring herself more tea. “I don’t like this whole monitoring business.”

“Neither do I,” Flitwick said. “But she doesn’t have the authority to do anything about it, does she?”

“That’s right,” Pomona said. “She hasn’t. She’s just the DADA teacher. Not a very good one, if I may add, if what the students are saying is true…”

Then, they all froze, because there was a tap on the door and something which resembled a very loud, ‘hem, hem’ sounded through them.

They froze, mid action: eating, mouth open to speak, sipping on their malt tea. There was a split second during which they all looked at one another, then another upon cups were hurriedly returned to the tray and wands were whipped out. Pomona grabbed Hagrid’s arm and apparated out of the office, along with Flitwick; Severus remained where he was, his eyes black as obsidian, his wand in his hand, whilst Minerva vanished the excess cups and, after hesitating one second, approached the door.

They both intercepted a very unwelcome and very pink figure when the door opened, with thick lips and a very dainty bow sitting on top of her brown hair. Minerva could hear Severus’ sleeve fabric creaking as he folded his arms and gripped them.

Umbridge smiled. “Good morning, Professor McGonagall.”

McGonagall didn’t smile. “Good morning, Dolores.”

The pink-blobbed figure pushed past her into her office, then her gaze settled on the black, ominous figure of Snape, who hadn’t moved and clearly had little intention of doing so. He had faced Death Eaters and Voldemort and he wasn’t intimidated by this ridiculous source of disturbance. Minerva wasn’t either; she was far too old and had seen far too much to be intimidated by confrontation which didn’t involve illegal spells. 

“Oh, Professor Snape,” Umbridge quipped with a small smile. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Under any other circumstances, Minerva would have been quite amused to witness Snape mustering civility with such difficulty - his pupils were constricted and it looked like he had trouble with unfastening his jaw (even his eyelid was twitching, Minerva marvelled) - but circumstances were rather different and so she merely tried to convey reassurement with her eyes from behind the little pink toad.

“The world is full of surprises,” he managed very dryly after tearing his eyes away from the Gryffindor Head, then inclined his head at Umbridge with some difficulty. She made a little ‘hem’ sound.

“I see you and Professor McGonagall are very good friends.”

Snape glanced at Minerva, then said, “Hardly.”

Minerva’s lip twitched. Umbridge looked surprised. “Really? And yet you are spending breaktime together.”

“We teach the same students, Professor Umbridge,” Snape replied coolly. “It’s natural we have common things to discuss. This job requires collaboration for it to be successful.”

“Indeed,” Umbridge said, then glanced at the door, upon which her little letter had been hanging a moment before and was currently scattered around the classroom floor in the form of ash and Snape’s rage. “Did you not receive my letter, Professor McGonagall?”

“Of course I did, Dolores,” came the breezy reply, as McGonagall approached her desk and sat down to organise some papers. “I have already put it away in my desk. I must say that I am pleased that we share common goals. Student health and best interests are, of course, not something to trifle with.”

“I’m very pleased that we agree on those grounds,” she smiled sweetly, then turned to Severus. “I’m sure your opinion doesn’t differ from ours, Professor.”

Snape’s eyelid began to twitch again and he seemed to be made out of marble. 

“Not at all.”

“Hm.” Umbridge observed him. “Have you been teaching long at this school, Professor?”

“Eleven years.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“There is nothing I like doing more.”

“You must possess an exemplary skill of potion-making, to be Potion-Master for so long.”

“I’m sure others can provide an account on them.”

“Do you stay at Hogwarts during the school holidays?”

“I do as circumstances call for.”

Minerva watched him, barely able to keep a straight face. She hid her curling lips in her cup of tea, which was empty, but nobody but her knew that. Severus caught her glinting eye and his scowl darkened.

Umbridge seemed to get the gist that both were unwilling to keep up a conversation with her, so she merely glanced around at McGonagall’s walls as though she had come to inquire about renting or buying the place, then shrugged to herself. 

“Well, I will see you both during lunch. By the by, I find it quite surprising that the students aren’t used to silence during meals, by now… but, no matter. Faults are there to be polished, aren’t they? What would the world be without those little things to work on. Nobody, after all, is perfect.”

With that, she inclined her head sweetly, then headed out.

The second the doors were closed, McGonagall turned to face Snape with some trepidation, who looked as though he was about to explode. His eyes were almost volcanic, his skin became pale, his face contorted and his fingers were twitching as though he was imagining them tight around Umbridge’s flabby neck.

“Faults… polished…” he choked out, too out of it to even begin pacing, “I’ll show her polished… I’ll show her silence… Nobody is perfect indeed… Potions Master…”

McGonagall sighed through her nose, crossed the room, opened a cupboard door, withdrew a glass bottle from it, then poured some fiery liquid into a glass she took out from another.

“Damned toad…” Snape shook, clenching his fists and drawing out his wand, “Porcupine-hide… impervious, crazed, sanctimonious-”

“Here,” she said, thrusting the glass into his hand. “Drink this. And sit down. As much as it would do some of us a favour, you having a stroke as of this moment, Severus, wouldn't be very helpful.”

He started, glanced at her, at the glass, then breathed out a sigh and collapsed onto an armchair. McGonagall gave him a sharp nod.

“Drink it.”

Severus Snape took a look at the Ogden’s and rubbed his eyes.

“This is going to be the death of me,” he muttered, then emptied the glass in one quick movement. “One of us is going to die. Either me, or her. Not counting damage control.”

“That would be quite a grim thing to witness.”

“Perhaps I should invite Cornelius for a moment or two. He’d act as a nice little buffer.”

The bottle of Ogdens was sent for, but Minerva intercepted it.

“I know I suggested this,” she said, her voice firm and slightly disapproving, “but it’s still morning and we both do not have a free period today.”

Snape scowled, then shut his eyes for a moment. “I have two first-year classes today.”

“Then I suggest you get your temper under control.” 

“Two accursed classes filled with little piping voices and brats.”

“Oh, get a grip on yourself.”

The glass cracked from under the impact of Severus' grip, shards raining down around him and onto his lap. McGonagall stared as he he stared at what remained in his fist, at the blood slowly making its way down the bottom of his fist and wrist, then threw back his head on the headrest and groaned.

“Life is splendour,” he muttered, making no move to clean up himself or the glass. “Oh, absolutely and utterly. I’m looking forward to tomorrow. And the day after that. Because, oh, ho, ha!”

Minerva watched him raise the broken glass in his fist and toast her, thinking that her interjection would only make things worse.

“Professor McGonagall, paradise awaits us,” he declared, something mad in his black eyes. “I’m going to go on holiday during the Christmas break. To Majorca. I’m going to open my bloody Gringotts bank and let the galleons pour, live while I’m young. The war can wait. So can the Dark Lord. In fact, you can come along too. Thank you for your cooperation, professor. Twenty points to Gryffindor.”

“Severus, why don’t you actually calm down?”

“I’M AT THE END OF MY TETHER, MINERVA!” he cried and shot up, shaking the glass at nobody in particular. “Either way, there’s no way out for me! Whether we destroy that pink toad and bring back order to Hogwarts, in all the available and plausible senses we can, it doesn’t really matter in the long run!”

“So you believe Potter,” she remarked after a pause, for once uncertain of what else to say as she watched her younger counterpart letting out bursts of steam.

“Believe him? Of course I do,” he scoffed. “Any fool would. Any fool with at least a sliver of perception. And especially me.”

He looked at the crimson staining his hands and running down his elbow, then rose, reaching for his wand with his left hand, and vanished the shards of glass. His voice was low when he spoke next.

“I can feel it throbbing even now,” he muttered, ignoring his injury. “It flames. Burns. Like acid.”

His voice was bitter, as he clutched at his wrist and blood oozed down into his sleeve and started dripping onto the carpets, but Minerva didn’t comment on it. He was looking away, hesitant to meet her eyes. She watched him with pursed lips, then sighed and resumed scribbling and compiling her list upon the parchment.

“I believe Albus,” she remarked after a moment. “He knows what he’s talking about.”

Severus looked up. He hesitated before he spoke. 

“You trust me.”

It was spoken dryly and accompanied by a scoff, but Minerva knew that tone well enough to be affronted. 

“I do.”

He didn’t answer. He opened his mouth, caught her eye, then shut it, tight.

“Madame Pomfrey,” she suggested primly, as he searched for words and blood started pooling on her floor. “And don’t let Dolores burn your heart out without your consent. It will give her the triumph of having control over your temper… I doubt that’s something you want.”

Severus nodded, something bubbling in his eyes, obviously wrestling with the emotions he dubbed weak, then happened to glance at the parchment she was working at and won the battle, assuming scrutinous curiosity which overpowered his other expressions.

“What is that?” he muttered, glancing over her shoulder.

“Something which is going to be burned as soon as we return from Hogsmeade,” she murmured. “Quite frankly, I’ve little good feelings about this woman myself, and I’m not going to stand for tolerating whatever it is she is bringing with her from the ministry.”

Severus was silent, though she knew he was rather stunned as he looked at what she had penned upon the parchment during the kerfuffle which had occurred a few minutes before.

“Is that a plan of action?” he murmured. “You’ve drawn up her classes… what most likely affronts her… potential hexes.”

McGonagall glanced up at him.

“You sound surprised, Severus.”

It took him a few seconds to reply. His mouth opened, shut, then opened again.

“I am,” he admitted, his voice low as he studied the parchment, still clutching at his wrist whilst blood dropped onto her tartan carpets. “I have never been so abruptly stunned and … disappointed, Professor McGonagall. I’m considering passing this along to the Headmaster.”

“Are you, now.”

“Yes. The Head of the Gryffindor house, plotting against another employee? And such a ravishing and charming one, too?”

“You have a gift with your tone presenting the exact opposite of what comes out of your mouth, Severus.”

“I do.”

“As you have one for dripping blood all over my carpets.”

He glanced down at his crimson hand, then drew out a shaky sigh.

“I am feeling rather faint, in all honesty,” he muttered, then grasped his wand with a trembling hand. 

“Hurry up, and get yourself cleaned up,” she said, placing a dot on the parchment with a final flourish. “I’m going to need you this afternoon at Three Broomsticks, my fellow Slytherin counterpart.”

[imseceracktlyspiderman]

Something I feel is not talked about enough is how to marauders would have went to school with umbridge

She was born a year after then meaning she would of had to witness all their pranks and everything

I wanna see more representation of the marauders tormenting her

[okeydokeylackey]

happy halloween, here's some young umbridge angst that no one asked for

[jamroses]

mr perry and umbridge r like a match made in heaven

[simon-snowing]

i mean i really dislike kreacher for a few reasons but i am happy with the fact that he took care of harry while they were hiding in the grimmaulds square

[trees-of-valinor]

Kemen is totally the Professor Umbridge of the Rings of Power.

Just like how everyone "should" hate Voldemort more, but tend to list Umbridge as their most hated HP villain - Sauron is the big bad, but damn if Kemen doesn't elicit the stronger reaction

[chocolatefrogtrolley]