Tosses and turns plagued this doomed night. Doomed because, at 2am even the wisest of Ravenclaws replayed missed concepts in their head; spells not quite perfected. In mere hours the O.W.L.s lurked, and therein lurked dependent futures.
Felicity rolled to her side, and lit up her wand faintly beneath the covers. 2:22am. And yet, O.W.L.s never crossed her mind since she hit pillow hours ago.
That same aura returned. The same one the night before the Triwizard Tournament. Before Cedric's last day on Earth.
Magic pulsed through her veins like a stimulative potion. A magic, foreseeing an event. An event greater than O.W.L.s.
She nestled deeper into her mattress.
Sleep.
Legs stretched and retracted.
Sleep.
And so the magic pulsed on. To be exhausted, to be sleepy as death itself, and yet her mind, clean and clear, worked evermore.
Niamh.
Somewhere in the midst of a great pandemic, on a summer's night, Niamh manifested by the second. Affirmations, translated by quantum leaps into a tingling, stemming from Felicity's heart center.
Niamh must yearn an escape to try thus hard. For Felicity's mind ached for slumber, and yet Niamh persisted.
You must take a break, Felicity told herself. Her mind overloaded with futuristic images of Hogwarts and its physical conditions. Of celebration and mourning, of brave friends and conflicted foes. Take a break.
And so Felicity consulted Occlumency that night. And although sleep swept her clean in minutes, if she were awake, she could not have loved Severus more.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯○○◯○○⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Felicity scribbled away hard as soon as she read it.
𝔈𝔰𝔰𝔞𝔶 𝔔𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: 𝔇𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 "𝔢𝔵𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔱" 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔠𝔱 𝔬𝔣 1690.
She glanced up at the ticking clock, mentally digesting the time left on their History of Magic exam. Umbridge stood beneath it, hands clasped in a diplomatic fashion. She surveyed the fifth years in their intense exertion.
Back to her exam. 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑀𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙, 𝑀𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑧𝑜𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝐶𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑆𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑙 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐴𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑜𝑑𝑜 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒. 𝑀𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝐷𝑜𝑑𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 1690 𝑏𝑦 𝑎 ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑀𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑦. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑊𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑢𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑀𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑. 𝐴𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑃𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 1914. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜, 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑀𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑙𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑊𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑟𝑑'𝑠.
Felicity smiled in spite of herself. Oh, the wonders Muggle scientists haven't even dreamed of. The wonders Muggles have stolen from themselves. What would they give to reverse time? A reality shift?
𝑈𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑀𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑, 𝑊𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑠. 𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑀𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 "𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛," 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑡.
Crackle.
Felicity jolted at the familiar sound. Her eyes landed on Umbridge's. The Headmistress glared at her until Felicity glanced around the hall, eyes trailing for a flicker. Shuffles and murmurs floated about. She peered in front of her.
A tiny dragon fireworked above the staff table, trailing pink sparks as it flew. Ron held his quill still, his expression suspended between a facepalm and a grin. Beside him, Hermione marked vigorously on the exam, as if correcting the question's published grammatical errors.
Umbridge trotted down the steps, following the firework, wand out. Behind and around, students snickered. But her eyes followed the wisp, dancing closer and closer to the exit doors.
Felicity snorted and stole a glance at Harry.
He wrote slowly, eyes distantly on the parchment. "Psst. Harry!" Felicity reached across the aisle and tapped his shoulder. His body swayed like a floppy muscle. The ink crossed a squiggle in his essay.
She switched her gaze, ready to bombard Ron and Hermione, who both ducked as the expanding firework dragon rustled their exams with a swoop.
"Lord Voldemort is waiting . . ."
She jumped in her seat. That high, cold voice.
Hermione and Ron turned in their seats, and Felicity did the same. Harry angled his jaw in a superior, odd manner.
But Harry kept writing word by word, oblivious to the fireworks.
"Ahhhh!"
Chaos ensued. The doors flew open with none other than Fred and George on their broomsticks tossing bombs this way and that. Students screeched; hair rose in flames, magical rain conjured like floods.
The duo flicked their wands. All the exams swished into the air, holes burning as embers hit them.
A blur of pink flashed by as Umbridge fled the giant flaming dragon.
"We have hours ahead of us and nobody to hear you scream . . ."
Harry swayed back and forth in his seat, groaning through his clenched teeth. Felicity recognized the symptoms at once, per experience. She threw her chair aside, rushing towards Harry.
She clamped her palm on his hand. "Harry, block it, block it out---"
An ear-shattering scream escaped him as he slumped against the desk. His temple smacked the stone floor.
The chaotic laughter and shrieks as the fireworks intensified mixed with his agony. Ron, Hermione, and Felicity jumped down to help him. Harry's hands flew up and shook Felicity like a madman. His voice returned, hoarse. "He's torturing Sirius! He's gonna kill him! Didn't you see that?!"
Felicity opened her mouth, but he grew impatient, shooting to his feet.
"It's just like with Mr. Weasley. It's the same door I've been dreaming about for months, but I couldn't remember where I've seen it before," he began pulling the three of them towards the corridor. They had to jog to keep up. "Sirius said Voldemort's after something---something he didn't have the last time and it's in the Department of Mysteries and---"
"Please just listen!" Hermione ran in front, forcing him to a stop. She eyed Felicity, then back to Harry. "What if Voldemort meant for you to see this? If he's only hurting Sirus to get you to follow through?"
"I honestly can't foresee Sirius even being there," Felicity added. "We saw Voldemort speak through your tongue. He's invaded your mind! Look, usually I can sense these things. It's really odd that in spite I find nothing."
"So what? You didn't see Nagini bite Ron's dad. For all we know there's inconsistencies. I can't just let him die. He's the only family I've got left."
Felicity held her tongue. She typically only saw such events when they ended in death. Mr. Weasley survived, thanks to Harry's vision. But her justification was a weak excuse against Harry's determination.
"Harry, we haven't spoken to Sirius for weeks. For all we know, he could be at Grimmauld Place," Hermione suggested.
Harry turned to Felicity. "Felicity, you picking up anything?"
She closed her eyes, concentrating. "Kreacher . . ." she murmured . . . the house zoomed in and out, in dark corners or dim-lamped ceilings. She needed more time to search. "Not yet."
He eyed Felicity's pockets within her robes. "If I can break into Umbridge's office, I can use the only private Floo Network." He met Felicity's eyes, with a knowing look. "Ready?"
Her hands twirled around the glass vial with her robes. "Ready. Accio Luna's and my cloaks."
Two garments of indigo and red-brown, adorned with identical silvery spirals, flew into her grasp.
They approached a nearby empty classroom. Felicity neared the door, leaning closely."Knock-on-Elderwood."
The door swung open with Luna, the twins, and Ginny.
Felicity drew out the vial. A murky black liquid sloshed about its confines, topped with those odd signature mother-of-pearl pink bubbles. She handed the potion to Fred. Dipping back into her pockets, she pulled out two bezoars, and handed each one to the twins. "I've got one too, just for ultimate caution. Umbridge's the first test subject here."
"Uh, we don't exactly have enough room in our pockets to hide these?" George asked.
Felicity handed each Demiguise cloak to the twins. "You can borrow these. They'll keep you invisible."
"And," Luna stated proudly, since she had woven them, "they have large pockets!"
The twins donned the cloaks, leaving nothing but floating heads. Harry nodded in assent.
Their hoods pulled upwards. Only the quick tap of feet quieted as they hastened down the stairwell.
Ginny spoke. "We've got the D.A. stationed along the corners and stair entrances. We'll signal for danger."
Harry pulled out Sirius's dagger, wedging into the Headmistress's door lock. "What's the signal?"
"If Umbridge comes, we'll chant Weasley Is Our King. The closer she is, the louder the chorus."
Umbridge's office swung open. The trio stepped in, leaving Luna, Ginny, and Felicity out. "Good luck," they wished.
Harry thanked them, and once the door shut, the three split up, with them equally hiding behind separate tapestries across walls.
Now all to do: wait.
Wait.
Felicity couldn't talk. Couldn't even whisper.
Filch walked between the tapestries, grunting to keep up with Mrs. Norris's rat pursuit ahead.
Forget trying to pace. The movement of her feet would give away.
It would be a wonderful moment to have bought Extendable Ears. She scooted towards the edge of the fabric cover, cupping her ear shell to try detecting sounds from the Great Hall below.
For minutes the dispersed D.A. listened to the incoherent complaints of cleanup or scraping tables, probably returning to their original place after the firework dragon vanished.
Felicity rubbed the bezoar in her pocket. Umbridge should be swooning by now. Either that, or the twins should've given a bezoar if the Amortentia proved poisonous. In which she should speak again by now.
She peeked out beyond the tapestry. Craning her head, the corridor stood clear along the deepest stretches.
Taking one step out, she flexed her limbs, bent her knees. Eyes focused on the destination.
Felicity launched forth, fluttering the tapestry behind her. She scampered to the railing, ducking to her knees as she gripped the ledge. Hopefully, being in broad daylight in the center of the corridor, her squatting form clinging to the railing would provide enough cover.
A mass of green and black herded in the corner. Felicity peered deeper. A pink figure fled towards the exit doors, desperation paining her face. "Let---me---" she shoved swarms of Slytherins grabbing and tripping her. "go!"
Umbridge's head lifted up towards the ceiling, crying out. "I want to go to Azkaban! My love!"
Snickers rustled through the hallway behind her. Felicity glanced back finding Ginny poking from another tapestry, wheezing into her palm. Quiet giggles jiggled the tapestry on Luna's end.
The top of a white-haired prefect rounded on Umbridge. It was Draco. "Wait, describe him."
Umbridge fluttered her eyes, smiling dreamily at the floating candles in the ceiling. "Well . . . he's darkly handsome . . . could sweep me right off my feet! Umbridge clasped her hands together, swooning. "I swear . . . everytime I'm around him, he looks into my soul, and when we kiss it's as if I'm pouring my soul into him."
Yeah, that's called a Dementor's Kiss!
Suddenly the squad turned to Draco. "You're prefect."
Draco looked between Umbridge and his mates, then jutted out his jaw like his father. "I'll get Snape."
He hurried out the corridor.
"Umbridge is in love with a fucking dementor," someone in the squad remarked as they continued blocking her path.
A shriek escaped. "How dare you insult my beloved! He has more soul than you'll ever have!"
Felicity wrapped her arms around herself, struggling to contain her laughter.
A pair of hands pulled her waist upwards. "Luna---?"
Severus slid his grasp to her wrist, pulling her with him down flights of stairs. They entered the potions classroom.
Severus flicked his wand. The door slammed. "What. Is. The antidote?"
"But professor---"
He swept to her, spreading his palm expectantly. "I. Require. The. Antidote."
"I thought the standard Love Potion Antidote suffices?"
A livid tint grew in his black eyes. "You mean to confess," he said dangerously, stepping closer, "you improvised a variant and brewed. No. Reverse Counterpart?"
Felicity nodded.
He snatched parchment and ink from his robes, and smacked them on the nearest desk. "Document your procedure. Every. Single. Adjustment."
Severus flew to his cabinet, lifting a cauldron out. In no time he had set it over a burner and returned to his stores. He climbed up a ladder, fingering each ingredient.
Felicity sank down, recalling her recipe in ink. She improved legibility, noticing Severus's temper ran short at the moment. After jotting down changes: from proportions to extra steps to expected scents and appearance, Severus had already castor oil simmering.
She approached his side with the recipe. He snatched the parchment and laid it before him, eyes reading every word as he sliced bunches of Wiggentree twigs. Felicity darted to his cupboard and found another knife and wooden cutting surface. She placed it beside him, then picked three twigs from his bunch.
"You're truly formulating an antidote that quickly?"
Severus laid the blade down. His black eyes followed her hand movements, and he shuffled behind her back. His chest slightly pressed against her back as both his hands clasped each of her wrists. He weaved his fingers through hers, tucking them snugly over the rough twigs. With her other hand, he repositioned her thumb and forefinger, and began to slice the wood with her hand in his grip.
Unlike the jagged, bendy cuts before, they chopped neatly with a crisp sound each movement. "I consider the original step rather lousy," Severus said silkily, helping her chop steadily on.
Felicity melted into him, quietly breathing in the warm Cedarwood and potions scent pulsing from his chest and cloak. She disapproved on his insistence to cure Umbridge, but it seemed more than a potion had bewitched her mind all these years.
Severus released her hand, then swept his cloak away, drawing backward. He picked up where he left off, occasionally observing her hands as he chopped his own. After they slid the twigs down the cauldron, Felicity flexed her hands. She reached for the next ingredient.
"You are dismissed now."
Felicity spun around. Severus twirled his wand above the potion, gently, but his eyes laid on hers. "But---I need to learn the procedure," she huffed.
I just want to make potions all day with you. Is that too much to ask?
"I may teach you the antidote at a later time. But you must leave, Miss Felicity. I require concentration."
"Of course," she managed a weak smile.
Back in the corridor, she found Fred and George's heads floating in the direction of the Headmistress's office.
"Psst, guys wait up," she whispered loudly.
She caught up to them, and could not help but grin madly with them. "Bloody hell, all I gotta say is that was one smelly potion. But good Merlin a hilarious one!" They neared the Headmistress's office. "Here," George took off Felicity's cloak, and lifted Luna's off of Fred. "I think you guys might like these back."
"Aww, well you guys are geniuses to slip it into food or drink without her tasting it! Hey, don't you still need concealment?" She bundled the cloaks in her arms.
Two brooms flew into their hands. "We're out! 93 Diagon Alley, actually."
Luna approached Felicity's side, followed by Ginny. Felicity wiped her arm across her face. Her voice cracked a bit. "Oh. Yeah. Congrats!"
"Keep the mischief alive, won't you three?" Fred nodded to Luna, Felicity, and Ginny.
"Yeah, don't let Snape get you too serious, Felicity," George added.
"I'll owl you potions," she managed, chuckling through tears. She stepped forward and hugged both twins. "I'll owl you Dementor Amortentia. The antidote t-too, once he or I d-develop it."
Fred and George wrapped an arm around her. Soon more arms joined, with Luna and even Ginny, who often argued with her brothers on a daily basis, was proud of their next chapter in life.
"Come now, we're only a floo away. And next year, an apparition."
Felicity glanced between Luna and Ginny. Once she got her license, she would be sure to bring them along too. They pulled apart.
"Knock-on-Elderwood," said Luna softly.
They kicked off on their brooms, hovering towards the nearest window. The shutters flew open. "Knock-on-Elderwood," they returned. With that, they zoomed out the window, leaving a trail of fireworks glittering in the sky.
Felicity gazed out wistfully, recalling the fond memories to make up for the new absence under the tyrannic Headmistress.
Ginny cleared her throat. Luna and Felicity both turned to her.
"Hem-hem, I want to go to Azkaban!"
Luna eyed Felicity, smirking a knowing look. "Looks like mischief will be kept alive."
The three burst out laughing, each slapping each other's backs. Ginny was the perfect Umbridge-imitator.
"Hem-hem!"
The three jumped, terrified.
Umbridge leaned closed to Ginny, her arms being pulled away from Crabbe and Goyle. She looked so desperate, so lovesick. "You're visiting Azkaban! Oh, won't you take me with you, I beg, please---"
A dark figure swept from the corridor.
"Headmistress," a deep voice emerged.
Draco came, followed by Severus. The Potions Master glided towards Umbridge, presenting a colourless liquid vial. "I have exactly what you seek."
Umbridge plucked the vial from his hand, ogling the liquid. "Oooh!" she giggled.
Umbridge drank, swallowing. In that moment, Luna's eyes jumped from Severus to Draco, and a new loathing burned in the young Ravenclaw's eyes. Luna, who always saw the good in people, especially Slytherins and trusting Draco, now had disgust contorting her face.
Umbridge frowned, pursing her lips. She slipped her arms from Crabbe and Goyle.
Her eyes focused on Felicity. "Did you," she clicked her heels closer, "poison me, dear?"
Felicity dared no glance at Severus or Luna. "No."
A love potion isn't even a poison. It's an influential drug.
"That garment in your arms. Why don't you put it on, hmm?"
In the corner of her eyes, Ginny slid a finger across her throat in warning. Felicity glanced down at her red-brown cloak bundle, then back at Umbridge. "I only wear it when it's cold. Or for fashion purposes."
Umbridge smiled sweetly. She knelt down, hands on kneecaps, as if speaking to a youngling. "I am ordering to see you in it."
See me in it. Umbridge crossed her arms in a triumphant wave. The ploy.
Felicity tentatively stretched the fabric before her, letting it dangle to the floor. As she began with the sleeve, she carefully pushed it inward, then slipped an arm in.
Umbridge scrutinized her every movement. Severus stood still, hands clasped, his expressionless gaze uninterested.
Felicity twirled the garment around to create visual confusion, quickly slipping over her shoulders, inside-out. The cloak's interior draped past her feet, pooling to the floor. She gazed at her reflection in a distant mirror along the wall.
The cloak showed. The silvery swirls faded more than the exterior, but even the seams Luna had woven so tightly made them hard to detect.
Umbridge circled her, glancing up and down. "Lift the cowl."
Felicity drew the inside-out hood over her head.
Umbridge rustled Felicity's sleeve with her fingers, examining the material.
". . . Don't you? You know where he is!"
A muffled voice argued with what sounded like a high-pitched one through the wall.
Umbridge released her sleeve. "What was that?"
With the distraction, Felicity pulled off her cloak and rebundled it in a manner where it would be quick to put it on the right way.
". . . are alone again!"
Kreacher and Harry!
Felicity, Luna, and Ginny connected eyes. "WEASLEY IS OUR---"
Crabbe wedged his beefy palm over her mouth; his body weight crushing her. Pansy wrestled Ginny, who flexed this way and that. Goyle held Luna still.
Umbridge took out her wand, approaching her office. "Professor Snape, come with me. Mr. Malfoy, please ensure they stay put."
Umbridge hurried into her office, not even bothering to shut the door fully. Luna kept trying to catch Draco's eyes, giving the most livid looks she could muster.
Felicity's arms ached, and most of all, they were helpless. ". . . Liar!"
". . . very well, very well Potter!"
Helpless. Minutes of listening to the trio's failure and Umbridge's inquisition shook her scared.
"He's got---he's got---"
Severus burst the door open, sweeping into the hallway. Umbridge pinched Harry's neck in her office. "---PADFOOT!" the change from muffle to clear sound echoed about the corridor. "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!"
Severus stopped abruptly, his cloak slapping Pansy and Ginny.
Felicity jerked her body, but Crabbe tightened his hold on her and wrenched her hair.
Harry turned to Felicity quickly. He mouthed Find. D. Of. Mysteries.
Umbridge looked between Harry and Felicity, then back to the Potions Master. "Padfoot? What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden?" she cried. "What does Potter mean, Snape?"
Severus gave a blank face. "No idea."
Umbridge turned a dangerous glare to her. "I'll ask you once more, did you make that poison for me? Nod your head, Miss Felicity."
Felicity wrenched her head to the side in an attempt to shake it. Crabbe dug his nails in her neck.
"Legilimens!"
Felicity who was too focused on how anyone could possibly make it to the Department of Mysteries now, was thrown into her dorm stirring a black and pink liquid. Echoes of Luna's and Ginny's mischievous laughter echoed, Fred and George zoomed towards the window on broomsticks cheering in the twilight winds.
"Aha!" Umbridge returned Felicity to reality, she now circled her. "It was you, you vile child!"
Felicity tested herself against Umbridge's lame knowledge of potions. "No, that was a different potion, a cure for boils---"
"Liar!"
Crabbe released her, flinching from the shrillness in her voice. Umbridge quickly pointed her wand at Felicity, who stood cornered in the wall now. "Expulsion isn't enough," Umbridge thought out loud. Her wand pierced Felicity's forehead painfully.
"I think, you are indeed worthy of a correction. Correction for insanity. Care to guess where that is?"
"No!"
Felicity looked to Umbridge's office again. More than the trio was held hostage in there. Neville stood shaking beneath Filch's hold.
Neville had been so quiet the entire time. But the painful glisten in his eyes reflected the reality that burdened him for years. "N-no," he stuttered, trying to pulse strength in his voice, "you can't force her! No one!"
Umbridge chuckled. "Oh, dear, dear. I'm afraid I can."
Meet. At. Mysteries! Harry mouthed again.
Felicity and Luna exchanged looks, mouthing the last instinct they had. Run.
Felicity swirled her cloak outward, forcing Umbridge to shield her eyes. Luna tickled Goyle's ear and shrieked loudly at once.
Invisible Felicity hurdled toward the office, met by half-bodied Luna who tried to put hers on fully. The two were like deer running into fire. All they thought at the moment was reunion with the D.A. But not escape.
"Accio Miss Lovegood's and Miss Felicity's cloaks!" Umbridge shrieked.
Oh, to not be hallows.
"Stupefy!"
With the cloak off her, the missed spell and chaos of it all caused Felicity to smack her elbow into the door frame, wincing. Umbridge grabbed that elbow, dragging Felicity away. Luna was in Goyle's hostage again.
Felicity writhed and fought, but Umbridge's determination was the biggest captor of them all. "Let me go---" she looked to the only one she had left.
Severus held both cloaks in his arms. His black eyes looked as if they could care less about anything. Bored. He hardly even looked at her.
Umbridge dragged her further and further out, and Felicity did the one thing in public only Luna once knew.
Please, Severus, she mouthed.
Severus took one uninterested look at her, then turned on his heel, strutting in the opposite direction.
A wave of nausea sloshed her stomach as the feeling of Umbridge's disapparition took over her. As images swirled, the last image she saw was of Severus descending the steps to the dungeons, empty antidote vial in hand. To simply resume his day locked away with his potions.
Crack.
They apparated right in front of a small line of patients at a reception desk.
With the sun filtering through the windows and half the waiting seats empty, St. Mungos looked idle. As it should.
"How inconsiderate," murmured a patient behind them, probably because they cut their place in line. Umbridge flashed sorrowful simper behind her, to which the patients looked her up and down, recognizing her as a ministry official as they adjusted their clothes and straightened their backs.
"Can I help identify your ward?" the Welcome Witch asked monotonously, leaning back with Witch Weekly.
"Oh yes," Umbridge glanced at the poster of the floor guide. Just some of the levels included Magical Viruses and Bacterium, Spell Injuries, Artifact Accidents . . . "I'm afraid none of the presented levels align with my description."
The bored witch leaned forward with her magazine. "Describe symptoms please." She continued reading.
"Well you see here, Miss Felicity suffers from insanity," Umbridge whispered.
A few patients gasped behind her. It seemed they wore radars on their ears.
The receptionist lost her spot in Witch Weekly, letting the pages fall closed.
Felicity decided to speak for herself. Despite confidentiality between Luna, Severus, and Dumbledore, nobody would believe her anyway.
"It's White-Life Syndrome," she corrected.
The receptionist ignored Felicity's statement, examining Umbridge's patient through her spectacles. She leaned towards Umbridge. "That-that'll be the sixth floor . . . Mental Poisoning. The incantation to enter the ward is . . ." she whispered it lowly to prevent her from hearing it.
The Welcome Witch reclined back. "Next."
Umbridge wrenched Felicity to a corner in the waiting room where they could not hear the other patients and vice versa. She took out her wand, and Felicity assumed she nonverbally incanted the entry. They disapparated.
Ropes bound her wrists together, followed by a pluck of her Cedarwood wand from her pocket. Umbridge let her go, to which she fell back onto something firm. A wooden chair.
A wizard in a grey blazer and white button-down shirt tucked Felicity's wand in his pocket. A ministry symbol stitched to his attire. He sat down across from her, and he crossed his legs, clipboard in hand. "Thank you Dolores," his crisp, authoritative voice spoke.
Umbridge drew back, hands on her knees again. "I do hope you make a positive experience out of this, for your sake." She stood up again. "I must attend to some . . . pressing matters at Hogwarts. Good day, Machiavelli."
He nodded, and she disapparated. He turned to her. "Hello, Miss Felicity. I am a Ministry Physician. Machiavelli Olsen. According to our records, you first denied registering your legal surname---"
Felicity lurched in her chair, but she found her thighs bound too. "What kind of physician?" she pressed, with a tint of distrust.
Olsen smiled. "You are not authorized to know."
Something about this official irked her. His nonchalant business personality spoke traps. Especially that badge. She yearned to read the clipboard in which he read and wrote on.
"Now. Aside from refusing a release of your surname, you have engaged in multiple accounts of reckless demeanor, one of them including a threat to a ministry official. Is this true, Miss Felicity?"
"No," she hissed.
A healing witch in purple robes came in with a tiny vial of clear liquid.
Felicity knew exactly what lay ahead of her. She had succeeded and failed throughout the year at this. But now, with no wand, no Dumbledore, no Severus, she will master her own fate.
For I am a free spirit. I am a trained Occlumens. I am.
The young witch pressed the vial to her mouth. "Open," she piped.
Felicity tasted a drop of it, then snapped her mouth shut. The witch pointed her wand to Felicity's throat. "Open. Official's orders."
She drank the rest of the Veritaserum, clearing her mind at once.
"Let's see . . . ah yes," he flipped to the next page, "our secretary reports you claimed to have White-Life Syndrome. Are you a writer, Miss Felicity?"
She didn't know why, but her influenced mouth fought the urge to say yes. But I'm not a writer! "No."
He pointed his wand at her eyes. "Legilimens!"
Instead of blocking out the image he desired, she forced her mind to focus in on her potions class. To show that she brewed instead.
Olsen lowered his wand. "Are you an Occlumens?"
"No."
"Well then, let's try this again, shall we? Are you a writer?"
Felicity thought fast, forcing her mouth shut again. Clearly, pure resistance got her nowhere. And she needed to see that clipboard . . . needed to have the room alone, and fast. Alone to plot escape. Escape to the Department of Mysteries.
Felicity tested her intuition. The biggest risk of surrendering to a truth serum.
Perhaps the truth is the best:
The unexpected.
"Niamh is. She struggles with White-Room Syndrome a lot, actually."
Olsen raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Tell me about this Niamh."
Felicity let her tongue surrender. "Well, she's me in a different reality. She's an 18-year-old Muggle, currently living through a pandemic in 2020. She's the writer, not me, I just like potions."
He scribbled away on his clipboard, muttering, "Magical Dissociative Identity Disorder."
"Where do you live when you're not at Hogwarts?"
"In a white void."
Machiavelli Olsen rose from his chair, setting the clipboard down on the cushion. "One moment." He exited, along with the assistants.
Felicity closed her eyes, visualizing the clipboard. Blank. As if Niamh had no knowledge of this scenario in her world.
She tried visualizing again. Magic, pulsing through her veins to her fingertips, awaiting to be used. Wandless magic.
She opened her eyes. Her pupils created a path in the air. She tried picking up the clipboard.
Not a budge.
Sweat beaded in her bound wrists because time ran out on multiple levels.
She began rocking her chair towards his, inch by inch. With every loud scrape, she readied herself for a stunning spell through the doors.
After heart-heavy minutes, she managed to hunch over the upside-down clipboard. Felicity craned her neck painfully.
𝕺𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗: 𝕸𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎 𝕺𝖑𝖘𝖊𝖓
𝕻𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖙: 𝕱𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖙𝖞, [𝖓𝖚𝖑𝖑]
𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊: 𝕾𝖙. 𝕸𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖔'𝖘 𝕮𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖑 𝕻𝖘𝖞𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖈 "𝕸𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖑 𝕻𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌" 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖉
𝕷𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖋 𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊: 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊
𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖊𝖉𝖚𝖗𝖊: 𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖑 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓. 𝕸𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓. 74.6% 𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓.
Felicity now learned the very reality worse than kissing dementors. She didn't even give herself time to keep reading. She stretched the ropes this way and that, to which they only tightened.
Machiavellian Machiavelli. He isn't even a licensed healer! He's an obliviator!
She thrashed against the chair legs.
Mental conversion. Converted to Umbridge's mindset?
Her temple smacked the hard floor.
Obliviation. 3/4 of her thoughts, feelings, and memories.
". . . serious experimentation---Don't move!"
Felicity stilled her struggle beneath the command.
A bunch of feet rushed in, the sound of cloaks and coats, and the clipboard lifted from her ear where it had fallen.
"She knows," Olsen acknowledged quietly, "start procedure."
A mass of ministry obliviators unbound her, grabbing her limbs as they lifted her upward.
Felicity twisted and growled, and if it weren't for foresight into the consequences, she almost bit someone's finger off.
"Are you an animagus?"
Despite it all, Olsen stood hands-free, gleaming in self-calmness.
"Help!" she screamed as they strapped her to a stiff mattress, chanting left and right, wands prodding her vision.
The white walls of the ward danced around, faces invading her as they all began to squeeze various potions down her throat.
"Admit your sickness," a witch said kindly as she placed both hands on Felicity's trembling waist. "The quicker you surrender, the sooner all is over."
Hazy clouds danced in the witch's eyes as she chanted under her breath.
It could have been a trick of the light.
Felicity fought against her own spiraling senses. At another angle, her eyes were clear.
Fog swirled in other's eyes, then vanished as soon as it came.
They bound her limbs with a sickening strength that cut into her skin. The chants clogged her ears, and yet she focused on that one witch.
Her eyes were glazed over. Even in her spiraling vision, she knew the witch wasn't blind, wasn't ill---
Imperius.
It was in that moment, she knew that not even Umbridge cursed these likely decent people.
Ravenclaw insight piled dizzying headache after ache.
Voldemort did this. Voldemort somehow knew Felicity existed. He knew Felicity's power with Harry's.
He needed Felicity disposed of. Or needed her mind accessible. Thus he imperiused the right people, then let Umbridge's cruel ambitions do the rest.
"Help . . . help . . ." her voiced muted, spells flashing before her eyes, spells flying from an opening door . . . potions wrecking her insides.
A slithering dark mist of a figure struck green curses before her glossing eyes. How much did Voldemort know? How much would he find?
The struggle ended. Felicity lay unconscious. Sleep, or something beyond emptiness.
Crack.