"Hello," said Umbridge. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?"
Harry spared the briefest glance at a pile of junk, before ignoring Umbidge completely. He hurried to Sirius' side.
"We have to get him to Gri- the place."
"We've got him," said Fred, taking one of Sirius' arms. George took the other. Sirius' head lolled as if he was still under Umbridge's mobilicorpus spell. They disapperated.
"Oh, my." Umbridge had begun digging through the pile of junk and unearthed what appeared to be a discarded tiara from the Yule Ball. "Are you a queen?"
"That was a nice one, Harry," said Ron.
"Thanks," said Harry. "Got the idea from one our better Defense Against the Dark Arts professors."
You don't mean Lockhart?" Ron looked aghast.
"Well, he was better than Umbridge."
"And Quirrel," Harry added as an afterthought.
"You mean the man who had You Know Who sticking out of the back of his head? Yeah, not a high bar." Ron shook his head. "Blimey. I just realized something. Fred and George lobbed snowballs at the back of Quirrel's turban. Forget The Boy Who Lived. The Boys who Lobbed Snowballs at You Know Who's Face has a much better ring to it."
Harry laughed. He was grateful for what he knew was an attempt to distract him from Sirius, even if it wasn't really working.
"Come along, Potter," said Snape. "You and I are going back to the Department of Social Care."
"Yes, sir," Harry said automatically. "Uh, sir?"
Snape simply raised an eyebrow.
"Why didn't you Obliviate her yourself?"
"You can't expect me to do everything for you, Potter. Next you'll be asking me to write your Potions essays for you."
Harry was used to adults either coddling him or actively trying to kill him, so he found this a bit refreshing.
"You have your mother's eyes," Snape said, quiet unexpectedly. "The problem, Mr. Potter, is that you so rarely look me in the eye."
He wasn't entirely sure he understood, but he understood enough to know it was an apology.
"Right, but sir?"
Snape raised his other eyebrow.
"It will be different this time," he said. "Won't it?"
"Trust me, Potter."
"Alright, then." Harry turned to Umbridge. "Come on, you old bat."
"Yes, your majesty."