Umbridge, The Dealer
It was never discovered just who the legal Minister of Magical Britain is.
After a lot of dismay and in an attempted cover-up, someone new was put forth as a successor. This successor was chosen carefully, as no one wanted another coup. Agreement to house elf rights was a must.
As of date, house elves now have the freedom to choose their own contracts. They have gained the right to choose their place of work, and now have basic human rights.
(Dobby was finally useful for something.)
However, along with the house elves having to agree with the successor, the government was also forced into building a statue of Dobby… right outside of the main building.
Now, there stands a statue of Dobby the former Minister riding a small pony in the courtyard. (No one had the guts to question the pony.)
Socks are no longer needed. In an act of justice, elves are on a sock and shoe strike, dirtying houses left and right with mud-ridden feet.
(This does not include Dobby’s hidden collection of stolen Harry Potter socks.)
And Dobby may have acquired a cult fanbase. Just a small one.
Cornelius Fudge has not been seen since the house elf revolution. A makeshift grave was made out of respect for his family.
——
Year 5.
Umbridge, the woman easily manipulated and of beautiful use. A future supply dealer.
Unbeknownst to her, of course.
Woefully for everyone involved, the Hogwarts crew is back. This is never good news.
(Hedwig had mysteriously reappeared, her summer activities unknown to all.)
(This action will have consequences.)
The house elves of Hogwarts could be found having a commotion in the middle of the hallway, and of course, Dobby was dobsmack center.
“Dobby is a free elf! A former Minister deserving of respect!”
He wore a neon pink apron with the words “I love Harry Potter!” surrounded by a red heart. A deformed spatula, possibly coated in blood, laid on the floor beside him.
Umbridge stood there with her lips crunched up in that ugly old lady way, lips resembling a dry butthole. The first day of year five and already the Hogwarts halls faced unbridled disorder.
“Ah, yes. Evidently, I will be taking guidance from such a… distinguished creature.”
Kreacher, completely missing the plot, straightens his garments in approval to being called distinguished.
Harry, fifteen and ready to commit himself to a muggle psych ward any day now just to finally get some rest, slowly edges towards the commotion.
He would rather be anywhere else doing anything else.
Umbridge looked down at Dobby’s suspiciously dirty frame with the same look aunt Petunia used to give Harry when she found him waging war with the rats.
Harry never usually won.
“That accursed term? It was an absolute disgrace to the entirety of wizardkind! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. So many little laws and rules you have implemented, you insignificant pettifogger.”
“Huh?” Dobby blinks cluelessly. He immediately goes back to house elf rage, eager to escalate. They lock eyes in a heated glare, the heat from the Hogwarts’ oven had come out to play.
Or maybe it’s just the portable oven Kreacher now carries everywhere with him.
In fact, there was a weird scent of ham in the air. Now Harry’s hungry.
“Pedophile? Dobby is a pedophile! You bet Dobby will be-”
Harry wraps his hand around Dobby’s mouth from behind. Hermione’s book covers her face.
The surrounding students and house elves who know basic english cringe, everyone’s face contorting in their own uniquely different ways. The tension dissipates.
Oh sweet, naive Dobby.
“What now?”
Harry is already done, a bone-deep tiredness running through him. He nonchalantly crosses his arms, showing that he doesn’t believe her worthy enough to even reach for his wand.
(This in fact, was not the case at all. Harry had previously injured his left arm at a rodeo, leaving him unable to keep that arm straight for more than a few minutes at a time.)
This clearly pisses her off.
“Oh? Look who has graced us with his presence.” Umbridge’s face… does a thing again. She straightens her spine with smug superiority. Merlin, her face is just so… crooked.
So much so, that Harry can’t help but speak up.
“There is a potion shop in the middle of Diagon that sells good bowel movement products. I should know, after all.”
Harry makes eye contact with Snape who had come to observe the commotion, but upon spotting the occupants, quickly began to flee the scene.
Umbridge’s face bristles but moves funnily. He wonders if wizards have their own version of botched plastic surgery.
“Excuse me, Mr Potter? What did you just say to me?”
She makes her stand with a sickly sweet voice as though she had the upper hand, not knowing the future that awaited her.
“Detention. Tonight.”
She walks away with a waddle, shoes not fitting her. Annoying clicks and the squeak of her too tight suitdress echo.
Dobby can’t help but mutter random strings of unfinished sentences.
The only words Harry could make out were, “At least Dobby’s teeth are real.”
Hermione walks up to Harry from her safe position of being at minimum twenty feet away at all times.
“I’m shocked, this is your first detention in years! No teacher has had the guts to enact this after the multiple Snape incidents.”
Harry half turns around, teeth showing in his smile. A clear sign of danger yet to come.
Ron and Hermione exchange worried glances from behind Harry’s back.
“Is Dobby a pedophile?”
“Oh for hells sake Dobby.”
——
“Clearly not, you ruffled felon!”
Voldemort throws one of Lucius’ most prized magical artifacts at this failure, secretly wishing that it would explode and kill everyone in the room.
All it does is leave a lean cut right across his face, blood dripping down into Lucius’ beautiful new white carpet.
“I’m surrounded by imbeciles!”
All he wants is world domination! This shouldn’t be so goddamn hard! He is the Lord Voldemort, and he was bested by mere house elves just months ago!?
Voldemort truly hopes that his new spy he’s sent to Hogwarts is doing a better job than these hooligans.
Nagini, yet again temped by Voldemorts bird head, changes course instinctively from a failed servant and rushes towards her master, mouth open, fangs dripping-
-And Harry wakes up.
He sits up in a cold sweat.
A smile starts to form.
“Interesting.”
——
Hedwig sits on a perch, a crunched up piece of paper bouncing off of her head every few minutes.
Fawkes sat quietly on Dumbledore’s desk, trying his best to soothe the stressed Malfoy boy and Headmaster.
“No, no, no! This isn’t right either!”
Another crumpled of piece of paper pelts Hedwig.
The two are busy trying to crack open some mystery item Draco found (stole) from Egypt.
Things feel stable…. Unnaturally so.
In fact, Hedwig hasn’t felt this level of peace since before she met Harry. Considering the previous happenings, things should not be this laidback. She wants Sirius back, but he’s busy taking an ocean-view vacation, as recommended by his therapist. Lupin is probably with him, the poor bastard.
It’s calming. It’s peaceful. It’s… odd.
She doesn’t like it. Hopefully something of interest will occur soon.
“Draco, how about we try microwaving it?”
That is not what she meant.
——
Voldemort is alone standing on Lucius’ balcony, eyes drifting over the land and the few peacocks left.
He doesn’t quite understand why he keeps having a relentless dream of Severus Snape attending a muggle yoga class, struggling to keep up with the downward dog position.
He tosses his drinking glass directly at a peacock.
Some of the wine leaks out before making it over the banister.
Lucius’ preciously white painted balcony.
His poor peacock.
——
Two months later and Hogwarts has a new trend, so dangerous in fact, that it’s making headlines in the papers.
Bold, black, and on top of the newspaper reads: “Hogwarts Students Permanently Scar Themselves With An Illegal Item As A Way Of Achieving Muggle Tattoos.”