Aionios

Chapter 51

Hello, loves! I missed you all! I managed to sneak time into my busy schedule to edit this chapter and publish it! Hope you're all doing well! Please read the important author's note at the end!

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At half-past 10:00pm, amidst the tranquil evening whir and the slumbering students of Hogwarts, Isabelle sat wide awake in the Gryffindor Common Room, alone and deep in thought, imagining a cheerful hearth burning in the fireplace where only cinders and ash remained.

What else is new? Isabelle Potter couldn't sleep, and it had everything to do with the current events surrounding the Elite Eight.

Although she had to admit, lounging in the
Common Room at such an hour wasn't exactly a bad idea. She had taken for granted the haven of her House's tower. The space looked and felt different in the dead of night. Without the usual noise and electrifying energy that buzzed when Gryffindors rallied together. Just silvery moonlight peeking through the vaulted windows, showering over the silence and the cold. It gave her the bliss of isolation without the weight of loneliness.

Once in a while, it even seemed as though she could hear the walls whispering to her— faint and coaxing. These ancient walls of their lion's den have seen many great Gryffindors come and go. It is embedded with memories. Isabelle found herself straining to listen, wondering if the walls would whisper to her stories of her father, of her mother, of Sirius, and of Remus, if it had sensed Pettigrew's betrayal from the first moment he stepped through the door.

Such fantasies. This is what happens when she permits her imagination to run wildest at dusk.

Still, despite the serenity and reverie provided to her by the abandoned Common Room, Isabelle still couldn't purge her earlier encounter with Umbridge from her mind. The memory burrowed beneath her skin like a parasite. Each time it resurfaced, her anger pulsed like a sonic wave rattling her entire body.

Umbridge had asked for her audience alone. Left to her own choices, Isabelle would've rejected the offer and told that pink wrench to go back to the pigsty. Alas, they had to keep face to salvage what little remained of their reputation. Also, since Umbridge was the High Inquisitor and sycophant to Fudge, it was more of a demand than an offer anyway.

Isabelle had no other option but to stay put as the rest of her teammates filed out the room.

Their exchange had been brief. Full of tension. Convoluted with malicious innuendoes. Reeking of honeyed words and fake cordiality.

It hadn't been the first time Isabelle was forced to wear a mask, to play the part of a servile fool. Being an Elite Auror all her life, she was probably more used to being someone else than herself. She wasn't scared though. Not even the slightest bit. And that hadn't been because she had sensed Ace's faint presence outside the door, the ever-suspicious Pirtine making sure that her seclusion with Umbridge didn't escalate into anything severe— No. That wasn't it. After everything that had happened during Christmas break, Isabelle wasn't scared of Umbridge or the Ministry anymore.

She just felt annoyed.

Fed up with their incompetence, their false sense of relevance, and the useless, little noises they made to cover up the fact that they were just too scared to accept the possibility that Voldemort might actually be back.

Needless to say, with Isabelle's irritation and Umbridge's pride making a chaotic clash, their conversation hadn't exactly ended well.

It hadn't exactly gone off to a decent start either when Umbridge's first words toward her had been, "I must say, Miss Potter, I expected much more from you than the rebelliousness you've displayed during the holidays". She began fixing herself a cup of tea amidst her tirade. "Going behind the Ministry's back to have that— that misleading article published in the Daily Prophet! Subjecting your Minister to worldwide scorn, having his credentials questioned by other nation leaders". Isabelle could tell that it was taking all of Umbridge's effort not to contort her face into a distasteful scowl. "I expected that, as Elite Number One and the leader of your cell, you would've been the one to see reason, the one to convince your other teammates that perhaps going against the hands which have fed you for years is quite an ungrateful act!". She took a conniving sip of her tea before finishing with, "Hardly the behavior I expected from a witch of your caliber. Then again, this isn't the first time the Elite Eight have disappointed us, is it?".