On a cool November morning, one Dolores Umbridge could be seen marching imperiously through the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had just returned from an early morning meeting with the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. In between her numerous complaints about the "obnoxious brats" she was forced to educate, and her rants about Dumbledore's apparent senility (I mean, really? What sane person would wear such disgusting, garish robes?) she was able to deliver a report to the Minister regarding the state of the school. In said report, she detailed the abominable way the school was run, from the Half-breed teaching Care of Magical Creatures, to the Divination professor who seemed to have inhaled too much incense. She also described the arrogant behavior of the Potter boy. 'Really, who did he think he was, questioning the Ministry of Magic?! And undermining her authority?' That boy deserved far more of a punishment than she had been able to dish out. She paused in her mental rant to re-live the pain she had inflicted upon the Boy-Who-Lived with her Blood Quills, and a fanatical smile played across her lips at the memory.
As she had divulged to Cornelius, the only remotely competent teacher in the school, besides herself of course, was Severus Snape. Now he knew how to keep the students in line. A firm hand and sharp tongue. Dolores had to wonder why a man like that hadn't been picked up yet. Well, she certainly wasn't complaining. As Umbridge became lost in her increasingly lewd thoughts, she failed to notice the large pile of books on the floor, about 10 feet away. 8...6...4...3...2...1...THUNK. The pink-clad women went sprawling across the floor, a look of shock on her toad like face. After a few moments of undignified scrambling to regain her footing, the High Inquisitor stood. She looked up and down the corridor (the seventh floor corridor she noticed absentmindedly) to make sure that no one had seen her fall flat on her face, as that would not be good for her image... Umbridge brushed off her fuchsia cardigan, fixed her hair, and proceeded to glared at the pile of books that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Somehow, the books had not been displaced from their perfectly orderly stack when she had tripped over them. Of course, this was a magic school, so random things like that happened all of the time. She bent down to pluck the first , and smallest, book, from the top of the pile.
Dolores Umbridge nearly let the book slip from her pudgy fingers when she spied a very familiar, and very hated, face on the cover. POTTER?! What was that ingrate doing on the cover of a book? The book's cover illustrated a much younger (but probably no less annoying) Harry Potter flying on a broomstick, hand outstretched to catch a snitch. Oddly enough, the image wasn't moving. Written in spidery handwriting above his head, were the words Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Rapidly forgetting her annoyance, Dolores Umbridge opened up the book, to read the inside cover.
/Harry Potter has never played a sport while riding on a broomstick. He's never worn a cloak of invisibility, befriended a giant, or helped hatch a dragon. All Harry knows is a miserable life with the Dursleys, his horrible aunt and uncle, and their abominable son , Dudley. Harry's room is a tiny closet at the foot of the stairs, and he hasn't had a birthday party in eleven years.
But all that is about to change when a mysterious letter arrives by owl messenger; a letter with an invitation to a wonderful place he never dreamed existed. There he finds not only friends, aerial sports, and magic around every corner, but a great destiny that's been waiting for him… if he can survive the encounter./
An excited smile spread across her toad-like lips (Do toads even have lips?). This, This is what she needed. Books detailing the rule-breaking, lying, and all around mutiny of Harry James Potter throughout his Hogwarts career. Why, she may even be able to get the brat thrown in Azkaban, dragon-breeding was very illegal after all. Greed began to pool in the pit of her stomach at the thought of an invisibility cloak. Just the thought of all the no-good students she could catch flouting the rules with that cloak made her mouth water. With books in hand, she continued her march through the halls of Hogwarts, this time with a definite destination in mind. She was going to put Harry Potter, and that doddering, old fool in their place!
Umbridge rounded the corner and disappeared down the hall. If she had stayed a moment longer, she may have heard the musical laughter that echoed through the corridor, that almost seemed to come from the walls themselves.