Messing with Umbridge

Umbridge gave a content sigh as she strutted to her office. Aside from a handful of groveling, well-behaved Slytherins, all of those pesky troublemakers had taken the Hogwarts Express home for the Christmas holiday. While she couldn't take pleasure out of her favorite pastime—punishing naughty children—this would give her plenty of opportunities to find something that would incriminate the school's precious headmaster. While she still couldn't catch him breaking one of her educational decrees, she opted to be optimistic. She would bring about his downfall. And once he was gone, she would be the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. And all roads would lead to Minister of Magic…with a condescending smile, she strolled inside her office.

Her spirits plummeted as soon as she saw the owl on her windowsill. An owl she knew all too well by now.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Dear Madam Umbridge,

Thank you for your generous donation for the FCRW (Foundation for the Civil Rights of Werewolves). Your gift of ten galleons will aid us in providing jobs, homes, and dignity to many witches and wizards across Europe suffering from lycanthropy. We are still far from our goal, but we have confidence that we will bring these people back on their feet.

Also, we looked into our records and noticed that you have donated one hundred galleons to this charity overall. We will recognize your generosity at our annual fundraiser taking place on the twenty-third of December. We hope to see you there!

Sincerely,

Robert Galbraith

Robert Galbraith

Founder of FCRW

Albus Dumbledore stopped reading to look at a very red-in-the-toad-faced Umbridge. "Well that was kind of you, Dolores. Good of the charity to recognize your kindness as well. Robert happens to be a former student of mine, I always liked him."

"THAT WASN'T ME!" Umbridge shrieked. "SOMEONE HAS BEEN BREAKING INTO MY VAULT AND TAKING MONEY FOR THIS—THIS—"

"This is a serious accusation," Dumbledore interrupted, his eyes twinkling. It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. "Gringotts' security is, as you know, better than that of this school—even better than the Ministry itself. Surely if there'd been a break-in, the Daily Prophet would've told everyone by now."

"Don't play fool with me, Dumbledore! I know it was you—"

"Again, a serious accusation. Have you checked with the goblins?"

"Every time! I've Floo-called every time, and in each instance they tell me nothing was taken!"

"Well, there you are then. As I've suggested in the past, these donations are more likely from a shy Ministry worker who decided to give you the credit for their compassion. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do…unless you have other evidence suggesting fraud or foul play?"

The toad's only response was to stomp her foot like an indignant child and stalk away, crushing the letter in her tiny fist.

"Well that was quite rude of her," one of the portraits yawned. "She interrupted my beauty sleep."

"These students have no control these days, Dumbledore. If you aren't careful, they'll slip up and she'll find the culprit."

"I already know who did it!"

"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry Phineas, I wasn't listening."

5 hours earlier…

Fred and George sat alone in the kitchen of 12 Grimmuald Place, clinking butterbeers.

"Well, that takes care of Lupin's Christmas gift."

"Money to make his life a little better while simultaneously giving the toad hell. Cheers!"