That evening after dinner, the four of them had barely stepped into the common room when Angelina intercepted them.
"We can't practice Quidditch anymore." Her voice carried pure defeat.
"But I've been restrained!" Harry looked horrified. "I didn't say anything to her all day, Angelina, I swear—"
"I know, I know." Angelina sounded miserable. "She just said she needs time to think it over."
"Think over what?!" Ron exploded. "She approved Slytherin in one bloody second—why not us!"
"Quidditch is leverage over every Gryffindor's head. Umbridge won't surrender it easily." Orli snorted coldly. "Until she caves, everyone needs to watch their words."
"Well," Hermione said quietly, "at least we have time to work on the meeting plans."
The thought was optimistic. Ron and Harry pulled out homework while Hermione and Orli retrieved several Galleons to experiment with communication badges. But concentration proved impossible—the room was absolute chaos. Fred and George were demonstrating Skiving Snackboxes to a roaring crowd.
Fred bit the yellow end first, immediately vomiting spectacularly into an iron bucket. Then he forced down the purple end—the retching stopped instantly. They'd apparently combined antidote and ailment into single sweets to prevent mix-ups.
Every few minutes, Lee Jordan vanished the bucket's contents with Snape-worthy efficiency while George collected money and scribbled orders.
"Why didn't you stop them today?" Harry asked Hermione.
"I can't. They're not breaking rules. Eating revolting things is their right, and there's no regulation against younger students buying sweets." Hermione sounded irritated.
"I don't understand how Fred and George only got three O.W.L.s—they're clearly brilliant..." Harry murmured.
"Useless flashy nonsense," Hermione said dismissively.
"Useless?" Ron yelped. "They've made at least twenty-six Galleons tonight!"
The crowd around the twins didn't disperse until late. Then Fred and George sat counting their earnings while the four finally got moments of actual focus. Long past midnight, Hermione and Orli dragged themselves to their dormitory. They yawned through washing up, mumbled goodnights, then collapsed into bed and yanked their curtains shut.
Orli felt sleep pulling her under immediately—until her fingers brushed the two-way mirror beneath her pillow. It was burning hot.
She jolted awake, extracting the mirror and casting a quick Silencing Charm.
"Professor?" she whispered. Snape's face materialized in the glass. He looked tired but fully dressed, sitting in what appeared to be a chair.
"Where were you?" His voice was low, controlled.
"Sorry, I was in the common room until now." Orli wrapped her pillowcase corner around the mirror—it was almost too hot to hold. "Were you waiting long?"
"Not long." Snape denied it instinctively, then seemed to realize the mirror's temperature betrayed him. His gaze shifted uncomfortably away.
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