A Match Made in Azkaban

The Tragedy in Azkaban (finale)

The golden trio and their Dementor pal crept down the silent halls. Billy Joe walked leaning forward with his ear (do Dementors have ears?) pressed towards the walls. The cells of Azkaban were tricky. They weren't at all like mortal prisons, some cells were concealed and others were fakes. On Billy's first day working at Azkaban, he'd accidentally gotten himself locked in a cell until his boss found him.

Some cells were particularly hard to find. You'll see what I mean in a moment.

Hidden deep in the walls (to conceal her constant croaking), a pink-clad, foul, monstrous old beast slumbered amongst the filth on the floor (amongst her own kind, you could say), eyelids twitching oddly, dreaming whoever knows what dark dreams. Her chest rose and fell, eyebrows scrunching up in little spasms, her nose letting out tiny snorts. 

It was a rather hideous sight, to be honest.

Billy Joe longed to gaze upon the form of his beloved, so he wouldn't agree with me, pitifully enough.

The slow creaking of gears and wheels resonated faintly through the walls. There was a slight grunting and the crunch of a crusty lever being pulled. It wasn't a lot of noise, but it was enough to make the pink monstrosity of a woman open her eyes.

"WHO GOES THERE," she farted brilliantly.

"My love! 'Tis I!" Billy shouted back, immediately turning into his Romeo form. 

"WHO'S 'I'? NEVER MIND THAT, I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU," Umbridge bawled. "WHERE'S MY LUNCH?"

"Coming right up, dearest! If only you could shout a bit louder, just a little louder..." Billy Joe said, pulling a steaming hot bowl of yummy whatsits sprinkled with limpets out of his sleeve. 

"LIKE THIS?" The awful woman howled at the top of her filthy lungs.

"Yes, dearest, that's it," Billy Joe encouraged her as the walls began to crumble from the sheer power of her disgusting voice. The walls disintegrated enough for a Dementor and a couple or more children to walk through, and Umbridge could now be seen chewing on a slab of cement. 

"LUNCH, MAN," she commanded. One of her warts popped in protest.

"Here, dearest. No need to fret, Dolores darling, " Billy Joe said, handing the bowl towards her, putting a spoon into her other fist.

Umbridge tossed the spoon out of the window where it landed on the floor with a satisfying clatter and slammed her face into the limpet-whatsits. 

Harry winced. 

"Blimey, Harry," Ron and Hermione chorused.

Umbridge unhinged her serpentine jaw and gobbled it up, bowl and all.

"YUM," She burped, picking up three slimy grapes from the floor.

"Glad, you're enjoying it, dearest, " Billy Joe said, starry-eyed.

"WHO'RE YOU," Umbridge screeched.

"I'M BILLY JOE, BUT YOU CAN CALL ME," Billy Joe winked discreetly, offering his phone number to Umbridge.

"OH MY," Umbridge belched. "WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF, YOU CHARMING BOYO."

"I LOVE YOU," Billy Joe exclaimed, holding out his arms. "I've loved you all my life. I look forward to every new day with the prospect of hearing your melodious howling. I cannot bear one more second without you in my arms. I love the way you pelt us with slimy grapes, and I simply cannot stand it when people talk about you as if you are a demonic poo poo face. I love you, Dolores Umbridge, and I have a question for you..."