Whispers in the Dark-Fred Weasley

The Great Hall buzzes with the low hum of conversation, laughter echoing off stone walls and floating candles bobbing gently above our heads. The enchanted ceiling glimmers with stars, mirroring the night sky outside. The long house tables stretch across the room, glinting with golden goblets and polished plates, while soft, whimsical string music drifts in the background like something out of a dream.

But despite the usual magic in the air, there's a strange heaviness tonight.

Fred, sitting next to me, leans back lazily, one arm draped behind my chair, grinning like the king of the castle now that he's in the oldest year. He tosses a grape in the air, catches it in his mouth, and winks at me when I roll my eyes.

"Oldest year, best year," he mutters smugly, and George clinks goblets with him from across the table.

But the music fades and the laughter quiets when Dumbledore rises to his feet, arms outstretched, that familiar warm glint in his eyes.

"Good evening, children," he begins, his voice smooth and commanding enough to still the room without trying. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Before we feast, we have just a few announcements. We begin with two changes to our staff this year."

I exchange a glance with Fred, who quirks a brow. I shrug.

"We are pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be covering Care of Magical Creatures during Professor Hagrid's temporary leave."

My head snaps toward Harry, whose expression is mirroring mine: confused, maybe even worried.

"Blimey, they're running Hagrid out?" Ron whispers beside me, brows furrowed.

But Dumbledore doesn't pause.

"Secondly, we welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Dolores Umbridge."

The air shifts.

My gaze lands on her immediately—a squat woman dressed head-to-toe in a violently pink ensemble, like someone swallowed an entire tea parlor and spit her back out. Her hair is curled into tight little loops, and she sits with perfect posture, hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Oh no," Harry mutters, eyes narrowing. "She was at my hearing. Ministry freak. She works for Fudge."

As if on cue, Umbridge lets out a high-pitched, tinkling laugh that echoes unpleasantly through the hall. Even the professors look startled—Professor McGonagall visibly frowns, and Professor Flitwick looks like he swallowed something sour.

Without invitation, Umbridge rises from her seat and walks with stiff, calculated steps toward Dumbledore, interrupting him mid-announcement.

"Thank you, Headmaster," she says, her voice syrupy and unnatural as she surveys the hall. "And how lovely to see all your bright, happy faces smiling up at me."

I glance sideways at Fred. He raises his brows and mouths, "Is she serious?"

I have to stifle a laugh.

"I'm sure we're all going to be very good friends," she adds, her wide smile so forced it looks like it hurts.

"That's likely," Fred and George mutter in perfect unison under their breath.

Umbridge doesn't react, but I swear I catch her eyes flicker toward them.

She straightens her sleeves and continues, the forced pleasantry dropping from her voice as she launches into her prepared speech:

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance."

Fred pretends to fall asleep on my shoulder. I swat him lightly but can't help the grin tugging at my lips.