Chapter Text
Hermione’s thumbs tapped angrily as she stormed away from Umbridge’s corner office and glared at her phone screen, barely making out the small text in a haze of red, hot fury.
what fodndo when you want tpscrema at uojr boss but you cant because youll fef fired
Where was autocorrect when you needed it?
Hermione pressed “search” anyways and the screen loaded for a split second before spitting out more barely decipherable text.
These are the results for: what to do when you want to scream at your boss but you can’t because you’ll get fired
AI Overview: When you want to scream at your boss but cannot risk being fired, here are some immediate in-the-moment actions you can perform: walk away, take deep breaths, and practice de-escalation techniques. In the long term, you must focus on protecting your mental health and career by setting professional boundaries, documenting all unfair treatment, and discreetly searching for a new job.
Walk away?
Check.
Take deep breaths.
Hermione inhaled and exhaled rapidly, her chest heaving in and out, in and out.
Check.
Practice de-escalation techniques?
what arw deeacladion tejcnoques
These are the results for: what are de-escalation techniques
AI Overview: De-escalation techniques are verbal and non-verbal strategies designed to calm agitated individuals, prevent violence, and reduce conflict intensity.
Oh, she needed the violence brewing in her prevented. She needed it to be prevented really, really badly.
Key Techniques: appear calm and centered, use a calm tone, respect personal space, active listening, offer choices and set limits, empathize and –
Hermione mentally groaned as she stopped reading. God, Gemini was trash. They had first told her to walk away and now their advice was active listening?
She supposed she needed to move on to these long-term goals they told her to strive towards.
Hwo tos et profesisknal bijd afiea
These are the results for: how to set professional bind
AI Overview: Here’s a 14 minute and 6 second video on How to Use a Bias Binder Foot with your Sewing Machine!
Hermione supposed even autocorrect had its limits.
How to set professional boundaries, she typed clearly and carefully…before mentally groaning again and backspacing entirely.
The problem wasn’t professional boundaries. This wasn’t about her trying to ensure a work-life balance. It wasn’t about unfair treatment because Umbridge treated everyone under her like shit. It wasn’t even about finding a new job because Hermione loved her job. She’d been working at the same place for over fifteen years, since the moment she had graduated from Hogwarts, because she loved it.
The problem was Umbridge. Ever since she had taken over as Editor-in-Chief at The Daily Prophet the newspaper had gone from breaking Pulitzer-worthy articles featuring work from the finest investigative journalists this world had to offer to…well, a laughingstock.
Hermione gripped her phone tightly as she recalled the conversation that had caused her to slam Umbridge’s door dramatically upon her dismissal from her office.
“I really do think doing a piece on the abuse and mistreatment that domestic service workers in this city face could really add –”
“Hermione,” Umbridge interrupted. “Ehem. What have I told you and the rest of this team time and time again? People don’t want to read about things that make them sad and uncomfortable.”
“But isn’t that –”
“They want to read about things that distract them. Now I still expect that piece analyzing what exactly led to Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass’s divorce by the end of the day, Hermione.”
When Hermione made it back to her cubicle, she collapsed into her chair, groaned out loud this time, and sank her face into the palms of her hands.
What did Gemini say again? Deep breaths?
Hermione tried. She inhaled and exhaled, inhaled and exhaled, but it wasn’t working. She wasn’t calm, she was the furthest thing from it.
“That bad, huh?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hermione mumbled.
“You know we could always quit and apply to The Quibbler.”
Hermione blinked rapidly and looked up to find Luna Lovegood peering down at her curiously. Her cubicle neighbor always seemed to know when she was on the verge of a breakdown.
“Really?” Hermione said flatly. “The Quibbler?”
Luna gave a half-hearted shrug. “I hear the pay’s about half of what we get here, and the benefits are even worse. But at least you can write about what you want.”
“Yes, but who will read it?” Hermione scowled. “The whole point of journalism is to inform. And you can’t properly inform if it’s The Quibbler. No one takes it seriously. It’s a miracle it’s still up and running.”
Luna shrugged again before disappearing behind the partition as she sat back down. “It was just a suggestion. You know wherever you go, I’ll follow. If they’ll have me, that is.”
Hermione sighed, “I know.” She double clicked on her mouse and the desktop monitor lit up, revealing a half-written draft breaking down the disintegration of the world’s most popular socialites’ marriage, all accompanied with screenshots of their respective social media accounts, analyzing every last bit of passive-aggressive “shade” thrown at each other.
God, she needed a drink.
Maybe two.
Actually, three. Three sounded good.
“…and then, Ginny, after that, she has the audacity, the audacity to tell me that she’s been disappointed by my work performance. That she could tell I’m not applying myself and not taking my position seriously. That if I continue like this, she would have no choice but to potentially reevaluate my place at The Daily Prophet. She basically put me on a performance improvement plan! Me! I’ve been working at the Daily Prophet for far longer than her! God, you know, sometimes I just want to wring her neck, you know? Chop her up into tiny little bits and pieces and put them in a blender or something. She’s driving the paper downhill and –”
“I mean, Hermione,” Ginny cut in. “Is she? I heard readership is up with her in charge.”
“That’s not the point! Of course readership is up when she’s making us plaster Malfoy’s stupid face all over the front page! The point is –”
“All I’m saying, Hermione,” Ginny interrupted again. “Is that you’re getting so worked up over this. It isn’t healthy. Your job shouldn’t be making you this stressed.”
“Of course I’m worked up, Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed. “And of course I’m stressed! There’s so much shit happening in the world, so much injustice! People should find their entertainment and distractions on social media, not from The Daily Prophet! It’s the paper’s responsibility to –”
“When was the last time you actually, you know, took care of yourself?”
“I’m taking care of myself right now!”
“You just downed three beers in like ten minutes. It doesn’t look like you’re taking care of yourself.”
“It wasn’t ten minutes!” Hermione hiccupped. “It was fifteen!”
Ginny clapped her hands together. “That’s it,” she announced. “I’m calling it.”
“Calling what?”
“An intervention.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not,” Ginny pressed. “You need to take some time to destress and take care of yourself. In fact, I’m going to make sure of it. What are you doing this Saturday?”
“Ginny, if this is you trying to set me up on another blind date that's going to inevitably end up in failure, I'm going to respectfully decline."
"It's definitely not that."
"Then what is it?"
"Are you free on Saturday or not?"
Hermione huffed. "Sure. I suppose. Guess I technically don't have plans."
“Good,” Ginny hummed as she fished out her phone, as her thumbs tapped tapped tapped at her screen. “There. You’re in. Consider yourself lucky you're my friend. It's impossible to get a spot these days.”
“In where? And for what?”
“You’ll see."
"Why are you being so mysterious?" Hermione whined, her lips jutting out into an exaggerated pout.
"That's me," Ginny chuckled. "Ginny the Mystery!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ha-ha," she said snarkily. "That was a fake laugh by the way."
"I won't be able to come with - Harry has a game on Saturday - but I know you're going to love it. It’s like the world completely melts away and all you hear, all that even exists…is the sound of his voice.”
“Whose voice?” Hermione asked, trying not to let her curiosity and impatience show too much in her voice.
Ginny smiled, almost to herself, and sighed longingly.
“Tom’s voice.”