"Could someone be intercepting owls?" Orli stretched out her hand, miming a rough grabbing motion that looked uncomfortably like catching a chicken by the wing. "Her injury's weird—like someone yanked her out of the air."
"Why would anyone do that?!" Ron asked from across the narrow aisle, voice sharp with suspicion.
"Someone's checking student mail," Hermione said, frown deepening. "Has to be."
The bell finally rang. They'd barely cleared the classroom when they spotted Harry—alone.
"Took Hedwig to the staff room," Harry said quietly, steering them toward a secluded corner. "Professor Grubbly-Plank's the only one I can ask right now."
"Saw Professor McGonagall there too."
"Is Hedwig okay?" Hermione asked, worry creasing her forehead.
"Grubbly-Plank says she can fix her up, but Hedwig needs rest. Few days at least." Harry's jaw tightened.
"We were just thinking—what if someone's deliberately targeting Hedwig?" Hermione dropped her voice to barely a whisper. "Letters and packages might not be safe anymore."
"McGonagall said the same thing." Harry matched her volume. "She said all communication with the outside world is going to be heavily monitored."
Orli and Hermione exchanged a loaded glance.
They headed down toward the dungeons for Potions, everyone lost in thought about intercepted owls. Orli was mentally planning to check on Dryncorpse when Malfoy's voice cut through the corridor like a knife.
He stood outside the classroom, waving an official-looking parchment and practically shouting—clearly performing for their benefit.
"That's right, Professor Umbridge approved the Slytherin team this morning. Applied first thing—piece of cake for me. She and my father are very close, you know. He's in and out of the Ministry constantly." Malfoy's smirk was poisonous. "Whether Gryffindor gets approval... well, that's another story entirely, isn't it?"
"Don't," Hermione pleaded, looking between Harry and Ron, who'd both gone rigid, fists clenched and faces dark as thunderclouds. "Don't lose your temper. Don't give him what he wants. Remember what Angelina said."
"He's baiting you," Orli added, preemptively grabbing Harry's arm. "Looking for an excuse."
"I mean," Malfoy continued, voice climbing higher, eyes fixed deliberately on Harry and Ron, "when it comes to Ministry influence, Potter and his lot don't stand a chance. My father says they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years. And Potter..." His smile turned vicious. "Father says it's only a matter of time before the Ministry ships him off to St. Mungo's. Apparently there's a whole ward for people whose brains have been scrambled by magic..."
Malfoy twisted his face into something grotesque—mouth stretched wide, eyes rolling madly. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered on cue.
Then something slammed past Orli's shoulder hard enough to make her stumble.
"Neville, no!" Harry lunged forward, catching the back of Neville's robes. Neville was charging straight at Malfoy, fists swinging wildly, face contorted with rage. For once, Malfoy looked genuinely terrified.
"Help me!" Harry shouted. Ron threw his arms around Neville's neck, and together they hauled him backward. Neville's face had gone scarlet, Ron's grip making his words come out strangled and unclear, but Orli caught fragments:
"Not... joking... St. Mungo's... teach him..."
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