Great Hall
Hogwarts School Of WitchCraft and Wizardry
- Scottish Highlands, Scotland
( September, 1995. )

𝓗ogwarts had always been a place of wonder, filled with the hum of life, laughter, and the occasional mischief. The castle, with its enchanted ceilings and ever-shifting staircases, had been a sanctuary where students felt free to be themselves, to grow, and to find joy even in the midst of academic rigor. But as the weeks dragged on under the oppressive rule of Dolores Umbridge, the castle began to feel like a prison. The warmth and vibrancy of the school were replaced by an uneasy quiet, a tension that seemed to seep into the very walls.

Gone were the days of spontaneous laughter echoing through the halls. The chatter of students had been replaced with whispered conversations, guarded and careful, lest they draw the attention of Umbridge or one of her sycophantic supporters. Her presence was inescapable, a shadow that loomed over every aspect of daily life. The once welcoming Great Hall now felt cold under her watchful gaze as she sat at the head table, her clipboard always within reach, her smile a thin veneer over the malice underneath.

Everywhere the students went, there were new rules—Educational Decrees nailed to the walls, each one more absurd and restrictive than the last. The corridors were lined with posters bearing her signature in large, bold letters, and Filch seemed to take particular pleasure in hammering up each new decree with extra force, as if the sound alone would scare the students into submission.

No music was allowed in the castle. The ban came swiftly and without warning, stripping the common rooms of their once-lively atmosphere. Radios, enchanted record players, and even the occasional student with a knack for composing magical melodies were silenced. The Gryffindor common room, which had always been a hub of energy, now sat eerily quiet most evenings, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Students caught humming in the corridors were reprimanded harshly, and Filch seemed to delight in confiscating enchanted instruments from those who dared to defy the decree.

Even the Ravenclaw tower, usually filled with the quiet hum of students working on puzzles or composing essays to the sound of music, felt stifled. The lack of music was more than just an inconvenience; it was symbolic. It stripped the students of a simple joy, a way to express themselves, and a way to feel connected in a place that now felt alien.

Weasley products were outright banned. The twins' brilliant inventions, once the source of laughter and light-hearted rebellion, were labeled as contraband. Fred and George's Skiving Snackboxes, Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and even innocuous-looking fake wands were confiscated on sight. Filch took particular glee in searching the twins' belongings, dragging their bags into the hall and shaking them out in front of the other students.

Posters warning against unauthorized items were plastered across the castle, bearing stern warnings in bold lettering:
"ANY AND ALL UNAUTHORIZED ITEMS WILL BE CONFISCATED IMMEDIATELY."

Still, the twins found ways to smuggle their goods to trusted allies, their sly grins and whispered instructions a small act of defiance in the face of Umbridge's tyranny. Students who managed to get their hands on a Weasley product treated it like contraband, hiding it carefully and using it only when they were sure they wouldn't be caught.

Proper dress and decorum at all times became the new mantra. The details of this decree were exhaustive and deliberately vague, leaving students constantly on edge. Uniforms had to be immaculate, robes perfectly pressed, and shoes polished to a shine. Hair had to be neat, and accessories, even those that were technically part of the uniform, were scrutinized. A loose tie or slightly wrinkled collar could earn a student detention, and woe to anyone caught laughing too loudly in the halls or lounging casually in their seats.

Students were reprimanded for posture, for speaking out of turn, and even for walking too quickly or too slowly in the corridors. The once vibrant tapestry of life at Hogwarts now felt muted, as though the very essence of the school had been drained.

Then came the inspections.

Umbridge's inspections became infamous almost overnight. Carrying her ever-present clipboard, she moved from class to class, watching with a sharp, critical gaze as the teachers struggled to maintain their composure. She was ruthless in her judgments, her quill scratching across the parchment as she noted every perceived flaw.

In Divination, Professor Trelawney was her favorite target. The airy, ethereal professor, who had always been somewhat removed from the practicalities of teaching, seemed to crumble under Umbridge's scrutiny. Her usually confident proclamations became stammering guesses, her hands trembling as she tried to demonstrate a tea-leaf reading under Umbridge's cold, disbelieving stare.

"Really, Sybill," Umbridge had said during one inspection, her tone dripping with condescension, "you must realize how... dubious this subject is. The Minister has expressed concerns that it lacks any practical application whatsoever."

Professor Trelawney's protests were drowned out by Umbridge's falsely sweet laughter, the sound cutting through the classroom like a blade.

In Transfiguration, McGonagall handled Umbridge's interference with far more poise. During one particularly tense inspection, Umbridge had cleared her throat loudly and repeatedly, clearly trying to interrupt McGonagall's lesson. The Transfiguration professor didn't even glance in her direction, her voice calm and measured as she continued to lecture the class.

"Is there something you need, Dolores?" McGonagall had asked finally, her tone icy.

"Not at all, Minerva," Umbridge had replied, her smile sharp. "I'm simply observing."

"Then do so silently," McGonagall had snapped, her stern gaze pinning Umbridge in place. The students had exchanged glances, barely suppressing their smirks.

Despite McGonagall's defiance, it was clear that Umbridge's goal wasn't just observation—it was humiliation. She wasn't inspecting the teachers to improve Hogwarts; she was inspecting them to tear them down. As if it brought her joy.

The students, meanwhile, bore the brunt of Umbridge's cruelty. Detentions were handed out for the slightest infractions, and the scars on Fred, George, and Harry's hands were no longer unique. Others began to show similar marks, their silence speaking volumes about the fear that now permeated the school.

"What's next?" Cassie muttered one day, glaring at the latest decree as they passed it in the corridor. "No breathing without permission?"

"She's already working on it," Lee joked darkly, though his voice lacked its usual humor.

Even the common rooms, once sanctuaries of comfort and camaraderie, felt stifled. The Gryffindor common room, usually filled with laughter and the sound of exploding crackers from the twins' latest inventions, was eerily quiet. The Ravenclaw tower, with its puzzles and debates, felt colder, the students too nervous to speak above a whisper.

The library, once a haven for quiet study, now felt oppressive under Madam Pince's watchful eye. Empowered by Umbridge's strict policies, she patrolled the aisles like a hawk, shushing students for even the smallest noises.

The spirit of Hogwarts was fading, replaced by an oppressive silence and a growing sense of unease.

                         𝓣he commotion in the courtyard was impossible to miss. Students had gathered in clusters, murmuring among themselves as they watched the chaotic scene unfold. Professor Trelawney stood in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by a jumble of mismatched suitcases. Her hands trembled as she tripped over one of the cases, her eyes darting around wildly, unable to focus on any one student for long.

"Six... sixteen years," she stammered, her voice breaking as tears welled in her wide, unfocused eyes. "Sixteen years I've lived and taught here. Hogwarts is my home."

Olympia, standing in the thick of the crowd, tightened her grip on George's hand. Her throat burned as she tried to swallow her emotions, but the sight of Trelawney—so broken, so humiliated—was too much. She had always admired Trelawney's eccentric nature and gentle teaching style, even if others dismissed her. Tears pricked her eyes, and George, sensing her distress, gently rubbed his thumb over her knuckles in a soothing motion.

"Don't cry, love," he whispered, though his own expression was grim. "This isn't right."

Umbridge strode confidently through the crowd, her pink cardigan glowing like a beacon of authority as she approached Trelawney. Her head was held high, her clipboard tucked neatly under her arm. She paused a few feet from Trelawney, her eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.

"You can't do this!" Trelawney cried, clutching her chest as though trying to hold herself together. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her voice trembling with desperation. "You... you can't!"

"Actually, I can," Umbridge said smoothly, her tone laced with triumph.

The crowd of students began to murmur louder, their shock and anger rising as they watched the scene.

"I hate her," Cassie muttered under her breath, her fists clenched at her sides.

"Join the club," Fred added darkly from beside her, his jaw tight as he glared at Umbridge.

Just as Trelawney seemed on the verge of collapsing, a figure pushed through the gathering students. Professor McGonagall strode into the courtyard, her robes billowing behind her as her sharp eyes locked onto Trelawney. Without hesitation, she wrapped a steady arm around the sobbing professor and guided her upright.

"There, there, Sybill," McGonagall murmured, her voice soft and reassuring as she stroked Trelawney's curly hair. "You are not alone in this."

The sight of McGonagall's compassion only seemed to embolden Umbridge, who stepped forward with a saccharine smile. "Something you'd like to say, dear?" she asked, her tone dripping with mockery.

McGonagall's head snapped up, her eyes blazing. "Oh, there are several things I would like to say," she replied, her voice dangerously calm.

Before she could say more, the heavy oak doors to the castle creaked open. The crowd turned as one, and a collective gasp rippled through the students. Standing in the doorway was Professor Dumbledore, his presence commanding despite the calm expression on his face. For the first time in weeks, the headmaster was making himself seen.

"Professor McGonagall," he said, his voice steady but firm as his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers. "May I ask you to escort Professor Trelawney back inside?"

McGonagall gave a curt nod, her arm tightening around Trelawney. "Of course, Headmaster."

Trelawney sobbed a heartfelt, "Thank you," as McGonagall guided her toward the doors. The crowd parted for them, students whispering among themselves as they passed.

Umbridge's smile faltered as she turned to face Dumbledore. "Headmaster," she began, her tone laced with false sweetness, "may I remind you that, under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three, as enacted by the Minister—"

"You have the right to dismiss my teachers," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice calm but with a steely undercurrent that silenced the courtyard. His gaze pinned Umbridge in place, leaving no room for argument. "You do not, however, have the authority to banish them from school grounds. That power remains with the headmaster."

A ripple of murmurs ran through the crowd as the students absorbed Dumbledore's words. Umbridge's face tightened, her lips thinning as she stared up at him.

"For now," she said finally, her voice low and cold.

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, his expression serene. "Indeed."

The tension in the courtyard was palpable as the two locked gazes, a silent battle of wills playing out before the gathered students. After a moment, Dumbledore turned and followed McGonagall and Trelawney into the castle, leaving Umbridge standing alone in the center of the courtyard.

The students began to disperse, their anger and unease buzzing like static in the air. Olympia clung to George's hand as they walked, her mind still reeling from what they had witnessed.

"She's gone too far," Olympia whispered, her voice trembling. "This... this isn't just about control anymore. It's cruelty."

George nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. "It's not going to stop here," he said quietly, his eyes hard. "She's just getting started."

              𝓐 few days later the morning bustle of the Great Hall was a stark contrast to the tension that had gripped Hogwarts over the past few weeks. Students gathered around tables, eating breakfast and murmuring in low voices, their conversations filled with speculation about the latest Educational Decrees and Umbridge's increasing stranglehold over the school.

Fred, George, Olympia, Cassie, Seraphina, Lee, and Elvira were clustered together at a long table near the center of the hall. The group had taken to sitting together regardless of house loyalties, a small act of rebellion against the divisive environment Umbridge had created. Fred was in the middle of an animated story, gesturing wildly with a piece of toast in hand, while Cassie snorted into her pumpkin juice.

"...and then, just as Filch bent down to grab the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," Fred was saying, "bam! Tripped over his own mop. Never saw such a spectacular faceplant in my life."

The group erupted into laughter, the rare moment of levity breaking through the gloom that had settled over the castle. Even Olympia, who had been unusually quiet since Trelawney's dismissal, managed a small smile as George nudged her shoulder.

"You'd think he'd have learned by now not to mess with Weasley products," Lee said, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

"He's persistent, I'll give him that," Seraphina added, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Their laughter was cut short as Hermione approached the table, her movements purposeful but her face tense. She glanced around, ensuring no one was paying too much attention to her before leaning down toward Fred and George.

"Fred, George," she whispered, her voice low and urgent. "I need you to collect people we can trust and have them meet us at the Hog's Head this weekend."

Fred raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "And why's that, Granger? Planning a secret tea party?"

Hermione huffed, clearly unimpressed with his joke, but before she could reply, Ron appeared at her side, his expression set with determination.

"Because we're fighting back," Ron said firmly, his voice steady despite the weight of his words.

The table fell silent as the group absorbed his statement. Olympia looked up from her plate, her brow furrowed, while Cassie leaned forward, her curiosity piqued.

George's grin widened, and he set his fork down with a decisive clink. "Wicked," he said simply, his voice brimming with approval. "About time someone did something."

"Fighting back how?" Lee asked, glancing between Ron and Hermione. "You know she's got eyes and ears everywhere, right? If she finds out..."

"She won't," Hermione interrupted, her tone resolute. "Not if we're careful. This has to stay quiet—no one can know except the people we trust completely."

Seraphina frowned slightly, her fingers brushing against the edge of her plate. "What exactly are we talking about here? Protests? Sabotage?"

Hermione leaned in closer, her voice dropping even lower. "We're talking about preparing ourselves—learning real defensive magic. If Umbridge refuses to teach us, we'll teach ourselves."

"You mean Harry will teach us," Ron added, glancing pointedly at his best friend, who had just entered the hall and was walking toward their usual table. "He knows what it's like to fight for real. He can show us what we need to know."

Olympia exchanged a glance with George, her stomach twisting with equal parts excitement and apprehension. "So... this is about creating a group?" she asked cautiously. "A group that practices Defense Against the Dark Arts in secret?"

Hermione nodded, her expression serious. "Exactly. The more people we have, the stronger we'll be. But it has to be the right people—people who won't betray us."

Cassie smirked, leaning back in her seat. "Sounds dangerous. I'm in."

"Of course you are," Seraphina muttered, though her lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile. "But honestly, so am I. This is the only chance we'll have to actually learn anything useful this year."

Elvira tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Count me in too. Besides, I've always wanted to see what the Hog's Head looks like."

Fred turned to Hermione, his grin unwavering. "Alright, Granger, you've got our attention. We'll round up the usual suspects. This weekend, you said?"

"This weekend," Hermione confirmed. "Keep it quiet."

"Quiet's not exactly our specialty," George said with a smirk, "but for this, we'll make an exception."

Ron rolled his eyes, muttering, "Just try not to blow anything up on the way."

As Hermione straightened up and began to walk away, Fred called after her. "Oi, Granger! You're lucky we're feeling generous. We usually charge for our services."

"You'll get your payment in not getting caught," Hermione shot back over her shoulder, earning a round of laughter from the table.

As the group settled back into their breakfast, the mood had shifted. The air was charged with anticipation, their earlier humor replaced by a shared sense of purpose. The idea of fighting back, of doing something tangible, breathed life into the room.

Olympia turned to George, her voice quiet but firm. "Do you really think we can pull this off?"

George met her gaze, his eyes alight with determination. "Absolutely," he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "She's pushed us too far, Oly. It's time to push back."