XXI
George was awake far earlier than he would have liked, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His arms were wrapped protectively around Thalia, and he was keenly aware of the soft weight of her body against his. He cursed himself quietly for forgetting to pull the curtains around, knowing that the light would probably wake her and upon seeing the pair his dorm mates would never let him live this down.
Sure enough, it didn’t take long for the sounds of Fred and Lee’s muffled laughter to reach his ears. He could feel the familiar teasing energy radiating from them even before he heard the first snicker. He groaned inwardly, not wanting to break the silence or disturb Thalia’s peaceful sleep.
"I don’t want to hear it," George whispered hoarsely, careful not to move too much or speak too loudly. His voice was low, almost a growl, as he shifted slightly, making sure not to disturb Thalia. She was still fast asleep, her chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of deep sleep, her face serene and peaceful.
Fred and Lee, ever the pranksters, held their hands up in mock surrender, but George could see the mischievous glint in their eyes. They exchanged a knowing look, and George could practically hear the unspoken jokes they were about to make. Before he could stop them, Fred raised an eyebrow at Lee, and both of them wiggled their eyebrows in that all-too-familiar way. George groaned again, shaking his head.
As his dorm mates silently began to prepare for the day, George turned his attention back to Thalia. She was still deeply asleep, her curly hair spilling around her like a messy halo, frizzed into a cloud of softness that George couldn’t help but find endearing. He reached up gently, brushing a stray curl from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment on the softness of her skin. His eyes traced the light freckles that formed a constellation across her nose and the mole just above her lip. He marvelled at the way her long eyelashes curled and her full lips turned up into the slightest smile. The sight of her so peaceful, so beautiful, made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.
He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her, his heart swelling with a feeling he wasn’t sure how to describe. It was the kind of moment that felt too good to be true, and he was afraid that if he moved or spoke too loudly, it would slip away. So, for now, he simply allowed himself to enjoy the quiet, to bask in the warmth of her presence, the soft sound of her breathing, and the light that filled the room.
George didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but eventually, the sounds of the Gryffindors waking up became impossible to ignore. He could hear Fred and Lee exchanging quiet comments, and the rustling of clothes and footsteps in the hallway as his peers got ready for the day.
Thalia stirred slowly, the soft rays of morning light filtering through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. At first, she felt a sense of disorientation. The bed was unfamiliar, the weight around her waist grounding her to a reality she was still trying to place. Slowly, her senses returned to her: the soft, steady rise and fall of breathing beside her, the warmth beneath her cheek, the comforting pressure of something—or someone—surrounding her. Her eyes fluttered open just a crack, the light blinding her for a moment as she adjusted, then she realised—she was still in George’s bed, tucked snugly against him.
Her first instinct was to pull away, but the warmth of his embrace kept her there, as if the bed had been made just for them. The steady thump of his heartbeat was rhythmic, almost soothing, like a lullaby she didn’t want to leave. The slight rustling of his breath, close enough that she could feel it against her cheek, seemed to hold her in place. Something heavy rested across her waist, and as she shifted, she realised it was George’s arm, still wrapped around her in an unspoken embrace.
The cozy bubble of warmth and comfort they had shared through the night was beginning to give way to the reality of the day ahead. Thalia could feel the pull of time urging her to get up, but she was reluctant to leave the haven she had found in George’s arms. With her head still resting on his chest, she turned slightly to look up at him. His warm brown eyes were already watching her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” George teased, his voice light and full of affection.
Thalia felt her cheeks flush as she returned his smile timidly. She couldn’t help the yawn that escaped her, and as it did, she mumbled a drowsy, “Good morning,” before burying her face back into the fabric of his shirt. His scent—a mixture of spearmint, parchment, and something distinctly George—was comforting, and she wasn’t quite ready to give it up.
George chuckled softly, the vibrations of his laugh rumbling beneath her cheek. “We should probably get up, Lia,” he said, his voice tinged with both amusement and reluctance. His fingers traced gentle patterns across her shoulder blades, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.
“I know,” she groaned, her voice muffled against his chest. She tightened her hold on him for a moment, as if trying to steal just a little more time before facing the world.
George lent in closer as he whispered in a sing-song voice, “Liaaa... it’s time to wake up.”
“I’m awake,” Thalia huffed, though her voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt that she had half buried her face in. She swatted lazily at his hands as he poked her sides, trying to rouse her further.
“Awake, sure,” George teased, dodging her swats. “But unfortunately, the elves don’t provide breakfast in bed yet, and I reckon it’d be a bit awkward if McGonagall came in and tried to teach us from here.”
Thalia groaned loudly, her voice dripping with melodrama. “Fine,” she muttered, dragging the word out as she finally shifted. She leaned against George’s chest for support as she pushed herself into a sitting position. The oversized shirt she wore bunched slightly as she stretched her arms high above her head, the fabric slipping down one shoulder.
The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting the room in a soft, golden glow. It caught in her wild curls, turning them into a halo of coppery light, and George couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.
“There she is!” Fred called from across the room, his voice laced with amusement as he caught sight of her movement.
“Sleep well?” Lee chimed in, his smile far too bright for the early hour.
Thalia flicked them her middle finger without even looking in their direction, earning a burst of laughter from both boys. She reached for her neatly folded uniform on George’s nightstand, muttering a quick cleaning spell to freshen it up before slipping off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom without a word
As the door clicked shut behind her, George let out a dramatic groan and threw himself back onto the bed. He draped his forearm over his eyes, his voice muffled as he muttered, “I’m fucked.”
Fred and Lee exchanged knowing looks, their grins growing wider. “You are.” Fred said, his tone finite and condescending.
“Poor bloke,” Lee added, smirking.
“Shut it,” George mumbled, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. He peeked out from under his arm to glare at them half-heartedly, only to be met with their exaggerated, sympathetic expressions.
“Love does take a toll,” Fred said, placing a hand over his heart in mock solemnity.
George groaned again, grabbing a pillow and launching it at his brother. It missed, but the laughter it provoked was enough to have George shaking his head, a reluctant grin spreading across his face despite himself.
Before George could think of a witty comeback, the bathroom door creaked open, and Thalia stepped out dressed in her school robes. Her usually tamed curls were still wild, forming a fluffy mane that framed her face in soft, golden waves. She shot him a timid smile, her cheeks tinged pink, and wandered toward the mirror. Stopping in front of it, she sighed dramatically, leaning closer to inspect the chaos on her head.
“It’ll take me a while to tame this mess,” she muttered, poking at the unruly curls. “I thought you might want to use the bathroom first.” Her frown deepened as she twisted a curl around her finger, her lips pursed in concentration.
George couldn’t help but laugh at her expression, her frustration oddly endearing. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you to it,” he said, grabbing his things and rushing into the bathroom before she could change her mind. The sound of running water and his muffled humming soon filled the room.
Meanwhile, Thalia waved her wand with a practiced flick, summoning a gentle stream of water that hovered in the air like a shimmering veil. She worked the water through her curls, coaxing them into loose ringlets. Her wand moved with precision as she cast a drying charm, sealing the curls into place with a soft, natural bounce. Pulling two framing pieces from the front, she twisted them back and pinned them securely, effectively hiding some of the fluff and creating an effortlessly elegant look.
As she adjusted the pins, Thalia glanced in the mirror and caught sight of Fred, Lee, and George—who had emerged from the bathroom—staring at her with wide-eyed expressions. Their bewildered faces were a mixture of awe and confusion, as if they’d just witnessed a particularly complex spell.
“It can’t be that fascinating,” Thalia said with a laugh, turning around to face them. Her tone was teasing, but her smile was warm. She hopped down from where she’d perched on the edge of the desk and grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.
“Well, are you coming?” she called over her shoulder as she headed toward the door, her voice light and teasing.
Fred and Lee exchanged a glance, and Fred whispered loudly, “I didn’t know hair magic was a thing. Did you know hair magic was a thing?”
“Nope,” Lee replied, shaking his head, “but I think I just saw it in action.”
“Seriously though,” Fred said as they followed her out, his voice low but still teasing. “How do you girls do that? It’s like watching a transfiguration lesson.”
“More like an art form,” Lee added, nodding sagely.
George rolled his eyes at his friends and hurried to catch up with Thalia. The morning light streaming through the castle windows cast a warm glow over her now perfectly styled hair, the soft ringlets bouncing slightly as she walked. George couldn’t help but admire the transformation, though he’d thought the fluffy mane was endearing in its own way. “You’ll have to excuse them,” he said, falling into step beside her. “They’ve never seen a hairbrush, let alone whatever it is you just did.”
Thalia turned around at the bottom of the staircase, smirking at their commentary. “It’s called practice,” she said, her tone light. “You’d be surprised what you can do with a bit of patience and a good charm.”
“Patience?” George snorted, catching up to her. “That’s a foreign concept to these two.”
“Oi!” Fred protested, but the grin on his face gave away his amusement.
The moment Thalia, George, Fred, and Lee stepped out of the common room, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The usual lively chatter and laughter that echoed through the castle corridors had been replaced by an oppressive silence. The air felt heavier, as though the very walls were holding their breath.
Students hurried along the hallways, their heads bowed and their footsteps quick, as though lingering too long might invite trouble. Thalia’s gaze swept over the familiar faces she passed—faces that would usually greet her with a cheerful “Good morning!” or a friendly nod. Today, they avoided her eyes entirely, their expressions grim and their attention fixed firmly on the floor.
Her stomach churned uneasily at the sight. The camaraderie that had once bound the students together seemed to have fractured overnight, replaced by a pervasive sense of fear and uncertainty. George walked beside her, his usual swagger subdued, his hands shoved into his pockets as his sharp eyes darted around, taking in the tension.
As they descended the staircase into the Entrance Hall, a loud clang echoed through the space. Filch, precariously balanced on a teetering ladder, hammered a brass plaque into place. The metallic sound reverberated through the hall, drawing the group’s attention to the newest addition to the wall of Educational Decrees.
"She's not wasting any time," Fred muttered darkly, his jaw tightening as he read the proclamation. The Ministry seal glinted in the light, its presence a stark reminder of who was truly in charge now.
The plaque read:
"Educational Decree Number Twenty-Nine: Dolores Umbridge Appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
“Unbelievable,” Lee hissed under his breath. “She’s probably already measuring Dumbledore’s office for pink curtains.”
Thalia’s hands clenched into fists at her sides as she stared at the decree, the words blurring slightly as anger and dread bubbled within her. George placed a reassuring hand on her back, his touch grounding her. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s see how the others are holding up.”
The four of them hurried into the Great Hall, where the atmosphere was no less tense. The long tables were crowded with students, but the usual hum of morning chatter was subdued, replaced by low murmurs and the occasional clink of cutlery. Eyes flicked toward the staff table, where Umbridge sat in the Headmistress’s chair, her pink cardigan glaringly out of place against the somber backdrop of the hall. She wore a smug expression, as though daring anyone to challenge her authority.
Thalia scanned the Gryffindor table, her heart sinking as she spotted familiar faces. Neville sat hunched over his plate, poking at his food without much interest. Ginny and Hermione were deep in conversation, their expressions grim, while Ron sat beside them, his ears red with frustration. Luna, at the Ravenclaw table, seemed unfazed, her dreamy expression unchanged, though her eyes flicked toward the Gryffindor group with a subtle nod of acknowledgment.
The four of them slid into seats near their friends, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Thalia leaned toward Hermione, her voice low. “How is everyone?”
Hermione sighed, her brow furrowed. “Nervous. Scared. Angry. Take your pick.” She glanced toward the staff table again, her lips pressing into a thin line. “She’s already called for a meeting with all the Heads of House. I don’t think it’s going to be good.”
“Of course not,” George muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “She’s probably going to make them wear matching pink bows.”
Fred snorted despite himself, but the humor was fleeting. The weight of what lay ahead settled over them all as they began picking at their breakfasts, each bite tasting like ash in the face of what was to come.
As students began to shift in their seats, preparing for the day’s first lessons, a shrill, high-pitched clearing of the throat pierced the air. It was a sound that instantly drew every eye to the staff table. Dolores Umbridge stood, her saccharine smile stretched unnaturally wide, her pink cardigan almost glowing in the morning sunlight. The effect was unnervingly birdlike, her arms spreading as though she were about to take flight.
“Good morning, students and faculty,” she began, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “It is my absolute pleasure to share this delicious breakfast with you on the dawn of such momentous change to this great school.”
The hall was silent except for the faint clinking of silverware as a few students, caught mid-bite, froze in place. Her words hung in the air, heavy with foreboding.
“I am sure you have all heard the whispered rumors of insurrection that occurred last night,” she continued, her tone teetering on the edge of mockery. “But let me calm your fears. The rebel faction created by the one and only Albus Dumbledore to revolt against the Ministry has been found and dismantled.”
Thalia felt her stomach twist. Her fists clenched under the table, nails biting into her palms. Around her, her friends exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions darkening.
“The child soldiers he sought to use for his misguided aims—yes, we know who you are—will attend a mandatory whole-school detention in this very hall tonight.” Her smile widened, the glint in her eyes predatory. “Anyone on my list who fails to attend will face the strictest consequences. Expulsion will be the least of your worries.”
Gasps rippled through the hall, and the tension thickened, the weight of her words pressing down on everyone. Thalia’s eyes darted to George, whose jaw was clenched so tightly she thought it might snap. Fred looked ready to leap out of his seat, while Lee muttered something under his breath, his hand gripping the edge of the table.
“And now,” Umbridge continued, her voice rising in triumphant glee, “can we please put our hands together for my brave inquisitorial squad, who risked their very own safety to protect us all from the dangers posed by this band of vigilantes.”
She gestured dramatically toward the Slytherin table, where several members of the Inquisitorial Squad sat, puffed up with self-importance. Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and a few others smirked smugly, their eyes scanning the hall as though daring anyone to challenge them.
A few scattered claps broke the silence, mostly from the Slytherins. The rest of the hall remained eerily still, the sound of half-hearted applause echoing awkwardly in the cavernous space. Thalia noticed that even some Slytherins looked reluctant, their hands moving mechanically rather than enthusiastically.
Her gaze swept the Gryffindor table, catching Neville’s pale, determined expression, Ginny’s fiery glare fixed on Malfoy, and Hermione’s calculating eyes, already working on some plan.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Thalia whispered under her breath, her voice shaking with suppressed anger.
“You’re not alone,” George muttered back, his hand finding hers under the table. His grip was firm, grounding her in the moment. “But don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing it.”
As the clapping faltered and died, Umbridge gave a self-satisfied nod, clearly interpreting the silence as approval rather than resistance. She returned to her seat, her simpering smile never wavering, while the rest of the hall sat in tense silence, the weight of the coming night settling over them like a storm cloud.
The high-pitched ringing of the first bell startled everyone, a sharp reminder that life at Hogwarts, no matter how tense, marched on. Students scrambled to their feet, the scrape of benches and the rising murmur of voices filling the Great Hall. Thalia held tightly to George’s hand as they joined the flow of bodies heading toward the main doors. Her eyes darted through the crowd, scanning for familiar faces.
“I’ll walk you to Transfiguration,” George said, leaning down to whisper in her ear, his voice cutting through the din. The warmth of his breath against her skin made her heart skip, but she quickly nodded, offering him a grateful smile.
At the base of the grand staircase, her eyes landed on two familiar figures—Nova and Kristen—waiting anxiously. Relief flooded her, and she surged forward, pulling them both into a tight hug, her arms trembling slightly as she clung to them.
“I’m so glad you’re both okay,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by their hair. As they pulled apart, she took a deep breath, her emotions bubbling close to the surface. “I was so worried.”
Nova gave her a small, comforting smile, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. “We made it to the Common Room without any problems,” she reassured. “We looked everywhere for you, but we lost you in the chaos.”
“I was rescued by some overenthusiastic Gryffindors,” Thalia joked, glancing up at George with a smirk. “I think they forgot I wouldn’t be able to get back down to the dungeons if they dragged me to their Common Room.”
“Kidnapping,” Kristen said with mock severity, crossing her arms and glaring at George. “Another thing to add to the list for our custody battle.”
“Hey!” George protested, his tone exaggeratedly defensive. “I made sure she was safe and had somewhere to sleep! That’s called being responsible.”
Kristen raised an eyebrow, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Responsible? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Don’t you start,” George muttered, though his lips twitched into a grin. He looked down at Thalia, his expression softening. “I’d do it again, anyway.”
Thalia rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushing. “Alright, you two, that’s enough. I’m fine, and I’m here, so can we not make this a thing?”
Nova chuckled, looping her arm through Thalia’s. “Let’s get to class before we’re all late. The last thing we need is McGonagall breathing down our necks.”
“Good idea,” Kristen agreed, falling into step on Thalia’s other side. She cast one last teasing look at George. “But don’t think this conversation is over, Weasley.”
George held up his hands in mock surrender, falling into place behind the three girls as they made their way up the staircase. Glancing behind her Thalia’s lips curled into a small, private smile that George returned without hesitation.
The crowded corridors buzzed with subdued murmurs as students moved toward their classes, shoulders hunched and heads down. The air felt heavy, weighed down by the aftermath of the previous night’s chaos. The atmosphere was heavy, tension threading through every interaction. Thalia, Nova, Kristen, and George maneuvered through the throng, sticking close together like a protective bubble. The occasional glance from other students followed them, some curious, others wary.
Kristen broke the tense silence, her sharp eyes flicking between George and Thalia. “So, who told?” she asked, her voice low but edged with determination and anger, as if she expected them to produce the answer on the spot.
“No idea,” George replied with a shrug, his expression darkening. “We didn’t get that far with Harry. He was too caught up with Dumbledore being fired.”
Kristen huffed, crossing her arms as they continued walking. “Figured as much,” she muttered. “Still, it’s got to be one of us, right? Someone who knew when and where the meeting was being held. They knew exactly where to look.”
Thalia tilted her head thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t be that hard to find out, though. Didn’t Hermione curse the parchment we all wrote our names on?”
The group exchanged glances, a flicker of hope cutting through the tension. Nova raised an eyebrow. “That’s right,” she said, her voice tinged with curiosity. “I wonder what Hermione came up with. Knowing her, it’s probably something ingenious and terrifying.”
Kristen snorted. “I can’t wait to see what that witch thought up. She’s got quite a scary streak, hasn’t she? Honestly, I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”
“Can’t be half as scary as your bad side,” George mumbled under his breath though loud enough to cause offence.
Kristen narrowed her eyes at George, catching his muttered comment despite the noise of the bustling hallway. “What was that, Weasley?” she asked, her voice dangerously sweet.
George smirked but wisely held his tongue, earning a slap on the chest from Thalia. “Behave. Don’t antagonize her,” Thalia scolded, though the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. Nova, unable to hold it in, let out a hearty laugh, drawing a few curious glances from passing students.
Kristen huffed, crossing her arms as they climbed the stairs. “Anyway, back to the matter at hand. If Hermione really did curse that parchment, then we should know soon enough who betrayed us. I almost feel bad for whoever it is.”
“Almost,” Nova added, her tone darkening. “But they deserve what’s coming to them. They put all of us at risk.”
Thalia nodded, her expression grim. “And for what? A pat on the back from Umbridge? I can’t imagine anyone thinking that’s worth it.”
George sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not just us, though. If they’re targeting Dumbledore and the DA, the entire school’s going to feel the fallout. That’s probably why Filch is running around like it’s Christmas morning.”
Kristen rolled her eyes. “Filch probably volunteered to move all of her delicates up to the Headmistress’s office himself.”
“That’s a horrifying mental image,” Thalia said with a shudder. “Let’s just hope Hermione’s curse does its job. Knowing her, it’ll be creative.”
“Creatively terrifying,” Nova added with a small grin. “I’ve seen her chastise Potter and Weasley before, she gives Snape a run for his money.”
The group chuckled fondly, their shared memories of Hermione’s sharp intellect and determined nature bringing a brief moment of levity to the tense morning. The sound of their laughter echoed softly off the stone walls, a rare reprieve from the otherwise heavy atmosphere that had settled over the castle. As they turned a corner, the group paused for a moment, pressing to the side to avoid a stream of younger students rushing past. The sunlight streaming through the tall, narrow windows fell in slanted beams across the stone floor, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. For a moment, the world seemed oddly still, as if the castle itself were holding its breath.
“George?” Nova began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her timid tone immediately drew the group’s attention. Thalia glanced at her friend, noticing the way she twisted her hands nervously. Nova rarely asked for help, especially from the twins, and her quiet vulnerability tugged at Thalia’s heart.
Thalia couldn’t help but smile as George turned to Nova, his expression softening. “You’re a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to detentions,” Nova said, her lips twitching in an attempt to mask her nerves with humor. “I don’t suppose you know what she’s got planned?”
Turning back to Thalia, George muttered, “She’s probably sharpening her quills as we speak.” The memory of their last detention with Umbridge flickered in Thalia’s mind, and she shuddered involuntarily, giving George a small, scared smile. Noticing her obvious distress, George pulled her in tightly to his side, bringing his arms around her in a tight hug.
“Is it really that bad?” Kristen asked, her tone a mix of skepticism and unease.
“Let’s just say,” George began, leaning in slightly as if sharing a dark secret, “her idea of punishment is... unique. You’ll find out soon enough.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She uses this special quill that doesn’t need ink. It carves the words you write into your skin and uses your blood instead.” Thalia caught him looking at the pearlescent scar on the back of his own hand, that glowed softly in the sunlight.
Nova’s face paled, and Kristen’s expression darkened with fury. “That’s barbaric,” Kristen hissed, clenching her fists. “How is she allowed to do that?”
“She’s got the Ministry backing her,” George said bitterly. “They don’t care what she does as long as she keeps the rest of us in line.”
Thalia reached out to touch Kristen’s arm, grounding her. “It’s horrible, but we’ll get through it,” she said softly. “We always do.”
George, sensing the need to lighten the mood, added with a grin, “But don’t worry. Once it’s all over, come find Fred and I. We’ve been working on something that should help with the pain.”
Kristen raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. “What is it?”
George winked. “A little Weasley wizardry. You’ll see.”
Nova finally managed a small laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks, George. I’ll hold you to that.”
As the group continued toward their respective classes, Thalia found herself stealing a glance at George as his arm stayed securely around her shoulder. His ability to comfort and reassure her friends, even in the face of their shared fear, only deepened her affection for him. Thalia was only just beginning to realise how deeply she was in this.
As Thalia, Nova, and Kristen entered the Transfiguration classroom, the weight of the day seemed to settle on her shoulders. The room was quiet, filled with the rustling of parchment and the soft murmurs of students settling into their seats. Thalia’s eyes briefly met Professor McGonagall’s, and for a split second, she saw something that made her stomach twist—concern. The professor’s usual stern expression softened just enough for Thalia to notice the sadness in her eyes. It was as if McGonagall knew how much danger they were all in, but was powerless to stop it.
Throughout the lesson, Thalia’s mind wandered, her thoughts racing. Who had betrayed them? Who had turned them into Umbridge? She couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at her from the inside. Her thoughts then turned to the impending detention, and what horrors awaited them. What did Dumbledore’s departure mean for her mission? The clandestine work she had been doing for Kingsley felt even more precarious now that the man who had been her mentor and guide was gone. The uncertainty weighed heavily on her heart.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Thalia gathered her things mechanically, her mind still caught in a whirlwind of questions. She was about to join Nova and Kristen when Professor McGonagall’s voice called her over.
"How are you, Miss Winterbourne?" the professor asked, her voice gentle, but with an undercurrent of concern.
Thalia managed a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’m alright, Professor. We’ll get through whatever this is."
McGonagall’s gaze softened, a flicker of pride crossing her features. "Your contact wants a detailed report of your dealings with the DA," she said quietly, almost as if she feared someone might overhear.
Thalia’s heart skipped a beat. "But why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line as she looked around, making sure no one was listening. "They want to know everyone’s abilities. What Mr. Potter taught you. Why you felt the need to seek out this kind of intervention," she explained, her tone measured, yet heavy with an unspoken urgency.
Thalia’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t have time to question further before McGonagall continued, her voice growing more serious. "Miss Winterbourne, your situation has only become more dangerous. It is imperative now, more than ever, that you keep your wits about you. Do I make myself clear? This is progressing far faster than any of us could have imagined. This isn’t just about your safety anymore."
Thalia nodded, her eyes wide with realisation. The weight of the professor’s words hit her hard. This was bigger than she had ever anticipated. The quiet resistance of Dumbledore’s Army and potentially the resistance outside of the castle walls was now a target, and their every move was under scrutiny.
McGonagall placed a hand on her shoulder, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. "As Albus has had to flee, I will continue to be your main contact at school. Use me, Thalia. Let me help you." Her voice was steady, but there was a hint of vulnerability beneath it, a reminder that they were all in this together.
Thalia’s throat tightened as she grasped McGonagall’s hand in silent gratitude. "Thank you, Professor," she whispered, the sincerity of her words clear in her eyes.
McGonagall nodded, her expression softening for a moment before hardening again. "Head straight to your next class. Do not get caught loitering. Give her no other reason to punish you." The words were firm, but there was a hint of warmth beneath the sternness. Thalia knew that McGonagall was doing everything in her power to protect them.
As Thalia turned to leave, her heart was heavy with the burden of what lay ahead. The world was changing rapidly, and every step they took seemed to lead them deeper into a web of danger and uncertainty. But one thing was clear: she was not alone in this fight. McGonagall’s support, though subtle, was a lifeline she could cling to in the storm that was brewing.
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Thalia, her mind too preoccupied with the events that had unfolded to truly focus on her lessons. Each class felt like a distant echo, the words from her professors barely registering as she moved mechanically through the motions of the school day. Her thoughts were consumed by the betrayal, the looming detention, and the ever-present fear that the walls of Hogwarts were closing in around them.