The Cursed Ones

Chapter Five: Coerced Love

It's an uneventful Friday, and I struggle miserably to keep myself present in transfiguration. The sun spotting the stone floors taunts me, further reminding me of the many hours of classes I have left. I hope to go outside today during dinner, before the dappling sun begins to sink beneath the earth and beyond, casting us into night.

When the bell rings, I can feel my entire body rousing from its catatonic state, and I stand up faster than I mean to. I lock eyes with Professor McGonagall as I do so, and I grin sheepishly. She only shakes her head in amusement and returns my smile. She seems to be understanding of my haste to get through the school day quickly.

I head out of the classroom before anyone else, despite having sat nearer to the back of the classroom further from the door. The stampede closely follows me, though, and I slow to wait for Pansy and Draco to catch up with me before the three of us make our way to our most eventful class of the day. I wonder how Umbridge is feeling today.

Pansy is giggling at me. "Was your arse on fire? You nearly flattened a few people to get to the door, I think."

I tut with disapproval as we clamber through the crowded corridor. As usual, the other students seem to part for the three of us as if they have a sixth sense. "You're being dramatic," I state plainly. "I just want this day to be over. The weekend can't come soon enough." I reflect on our first week of school. It's been eventful, but unfortunately, not in positive ways. I'm more than ready to kick back and relax with my people.

"So do I," Pansy reasons, "But I don't mow people over to get to it."

We reach Umbridge's classroom and take our seats just before the second bell chimes. The rest of the students seat themselves quickly. No one wants to snag a weekend detention with Umbridge. I don't blame them. My fate is already sealed, however, so I don't bother with formalities.

Umbridge is flitting about the front of the class, and I watch her with disinterest. Whatever lesson she has planned, I not only intend to ignore it, but I fully plan on hijacking it as a sort of Friday grand finale. I've already got that under control, though. Today I won't even have to open my mouth to set off complete chaos.

I examine my nails in boredom as I wait for the old woman to get to the point. As her nasally voice shrills, demanding for the already silent class to settle down, I grimace. I already feel a headache coming on. I just hope I can cut this short effectively.

Sure enough, less than five minutes into her obnoxious and entirely unproductive blabber, a window close to her desk swings open with jarring shrieks from the rusted hinges. Umbridge turns to investigate. At first, there's nothing to see at the window. The sunlight sets a serene picture, as though there's nothing to suspect, and within moments, Umbridge has already moved on from the distraction.

Suddenly her pink tweed hat lifts from her voluminous brown curls, and her face freezes in horror. I lean forward, propping my elbows on my desk, in order to get a better view of the drama.

Her hat is flung high into the air and catches on part of the hanging candelabra above our heads. Almost no one reacts, and the sea of teenage onlookers allow Umbridge to panic on her own.

Her head is suddenly smacked forward, and then a pixie darts up to pull her back by her hair as she's knocked off balance. It yanks back as if bringing a horse to a halt, and clumsily, Umbridge's fall changes direction. A hoard of pixies enter through the open window in military formation and begin to target anything of hers they can get their hands on.

Umbridge is screaming, unintelligible words being flung from her lips in short jumbles, but nothing is distinctive. Some students quickly slink out the door and out of the classroom, seizing the opportunity to get a good hour of free time before the last classes of the day. It goes unnoticed for the most part, and it doesn't take long for more to follow suit.