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[Prof. Umbridge] Chapter 52
🕑 Added 2024-12-18 22:19:14 +0000 UTC‘Potions really are a marvelous thing,’ thought Marina Nikolaevna the next morning, ‘perhaps even better than modern pharmaceuticals. Especially when something is custom-made for you…’
It was what it was: for the night (or what little remained of it)—a Dreamless Sleep Potion. After the twists and turns of that incredibly eventful day, falling asleep otherwise would have been nearly impossible. And even if she had managed, waking up in a decent mood and without feeling utterly drained and even more exhausted would have been doubtful.
Early in the morning (she resolutely silenced the timid inner voice suggesting she sleep in until breakfast, though she did give herself a small concession, rising at 6:30 instead of 6:00)—a couple of drops of a revitalizing potion and another concoction of dubious appearance, after which life seemed not just tolerable but almost wonderful! After that, she could manage her morning exercises (because work was work, but letting herself go was out of the question), take a cold shower, and enjoy a cup of coffee purely for pleasure rather than just to pry her eyes open.
"You think I'll need this?" she had asked Snape the day before when he had handed her the set of potions.
"I’m certain," he replied curtly. "Just follow the instructions and don’t overindulge… ahem… with the substances. This is for emergencies only."
He might not have mentioned that at all, just as he could have refrained from sneaking a tiny bottle of brandy into the box of vials. The label read "Drink Me!" with a note tied to the neck that said, "An excellent remedy for stress." Other methods could also relieve stress, but last night she hadn't even wanted to think about those. All she had craved was a soft pillow, and calling Snape soft would require a starving cannibal—after a full day of brewing potions, at that.
"What nonsense is going through my head," muttered Marina Nikolaevna as she began sorting through her correspondence. There was plenty of it.
Most of the letters were from parents—she set them aside for later, intending to read them all at once and draft a neutral and reassuring response template before adding specific answers to their questions.
And there it was—a letter bearing the Ministry seal.
"Dear Dolores," wrote Fudge. "Williamson has already reported last night's incident, and early this morning, I was bombarded with complaints and questions—what is happening at Hogwarts? Why are there explosions and mysterious lights for the second night in a row?"
"Yes, it seems we made a spectacle of ourselves, both literally and figuratively," she muttered and continued reading.
"Naturally, my press secretary (Percy Weasley has selflessly taken on this role—turns out the young man is remarkably clever!) assured everyone that there is no cause for concern or panic. The light show was a Halloween celebration, and as for the explosions—just the children overdoing it with crackers and fireworks, nothing more. I trust you understand that we must stick to this version. According to Williamson, You-Know-Who, having tallied his losses, might send his remaining forces to Hogwarts.
Admittedly, this decision was difficult for me, but I had to agree with the majority of the armed forces: we may not get another chance to eliminate his entire gang at once. To support the contingents already stationed at Hogwarts, reinforcements have been dispatched—those who can fight at the required level. Do not worry, even the older Aurors are far from amateur fighters like those in the Order of the Phoenix. In the worst case, they will take the brunt of the attack, giving others a chance to retreat… but let us hope it won’t come to that.”
"Tell that to someone else about the old Aurors," muttered Marina Nikolaevna, finishing her now-lukewarm coffee.
"Williamson also proposed an emergency evacuation plan for the children and school staff," Fudge continued. "It’s quite labor-intensive but reliable. I found it more than adequate, but again, I hope we won’t need it. Details are in the attached document. Berkeley and O’Leary have received the same; you can address any questions to them.
From the reports, Dolores, the school is holding up admirably. It’s good you managed to settle matters peacefully with the centaurs! You see, You-Know-Who is recruiting not only magical creatures but also beasts like the giants we stopped on the outskirts. Many werewolves have eagerly joined his ranks; as you know, they find Ministry policies overly harsh and refuse to register or report voluntarily, posing a significant threat to our already small community. Thankfully, there are very few maniacs among them intent on spreading their condition.
You-Know-Who has promised to restore full wizarding rights to werewolves—currently, they are caught between being classified as 'beings' or 'beasts,' which is understandable. This is a highly sensitive issue, and I believe we will have to revisit it, but for now, we have a more pressing task. Should the werewolves stand in our way, we’ll have to deal with them accordingly.
Learning of this, the goblins have grown uneasy. It’s no secret how they feel about wizards, and if they decide to break neutrality and join You-Know-Who, we’ll face serious trouble: goblins are excellent fighters, and though we’re used to seeing them behind desks, they can muster a formidable army when necessary. The only question is which side they’ll fight for!
Thus, we must not upset the current balance. Gaining goblin support at the cost of indebting ourselves to them—even if their forces prove unnecessary—is unthinkable and must be avoided at all costs.
We must manage on our own, Dolores, and I believe that as long as I fend off the old fools in the Wizengamot, eager to oust me and interfere with our plans, the school will remain safe! You’ve always been reliable, and I doubt even You-Know-Who will pass Hogwarts’ gates as long as you are Headmistress.
Keep up the good work, Dolores!
Yours sincerely, Cornelius Fudge (apparently no longer Minister but a military dictator—otherwise, dealing with these fossilized beards longer than their genealogies would be impossible!)"
"Amazing how people change right before your eyes," sighed Marina Nikolaevna as she folded the letter. "An evacuation plan, is it? Well, let’s see… Letty?"
"Yes, Madam?" Letty appeared promptly.
"Find out where Berkeley and O’Leary are, would you? If either is free, let them know I’d like to discuss something."
"Right away, Madam," Letty nodded and disappeared, returning only fifteen minutes later. "Apologies, Madam. Mr. O’Leary is still asleep, but Mr. Berkeley just finished… um… briefing the newly arrived fighters. He’s waiting for you in the headquarters now."
"And where might that be?" Marina Nikolaevna asked. "The Room of Requirement? How convenient…"
Indeed, the Aurors were taking full advantage of the Room’s capabilities. Rather than occupy unused classrooms haphazardly, they had requested the Room to provide barracks—and a headquarters nearby, saving themselves the trouble of running back and forth.
"Madam Headmistress," Berkley rose to greet her, "I trust everything is all right?"
"Yes, Mr. Berkley," she replied, taking the seat he offered with a gracious nod, "but I've received a letter from the Minister. It mentions an evacuation plan, and it seems you’re the one to provide the details. Care to explain?"
"Ah, certainly." Berkley shifted into a more formal demeanor, motioning for her to take a stool as he retrieved a document. "The plan’s a bit intricate but highly effective. The key is to gather all the students in one place—like the Great Hall—and... ‘tag’ them. Well, you know, like birds are ringed to know where they migrate..."
"Do you want to put tracking collars on them, or what?" Marina Nikolaevna guessed with a raised eyebrow.
"Why collars," Berkley said, his tone both amused and serious, "just give them bracelets. They're also Portkeys. Should the school face immediate danger—though I hope it doesn’t—they’ll activate simultaneously and transport the students to designated safe zones. We’ve arranged for prefects to accompany groups, as our team isn’t exactly skilled at babysitting."
"But surveillance is also implied?" Marina guessed again, her expression sharpening.
"That’s... part of it," Berkley admitted. "There are Death Eaters’ children here, after all, and they need watching. As for the others—yes, we’ll know where they are within the castle. Though this place is so sprawling and unpredictable it could still take ages to find someone."
"Not necessarily," Marina murmured, retrieving the Marauder’s Map from her pocket. She’d considered its utility for the Aurors the previous night but had fallen asleep before acting on the thought. She unfurled the map on the table. "Take a look."
Berkley leaned over the parchment, and a string of awed expletives escaped him before he remembered his company. Even then, he could barely tear his eyes away.
"Incredible!" he exclaimed at last. "Who made this? Dumbledore?"
"You’d be surprised—no. It was created by Harry Potter’s father and his friends. As far as I know, no one’s been able to replicate it. It eventually found its way to young Potter, and then... well, I had to confiscate it along with his Invisibility Cloak."
"Fantastic!" Berkley’s enthusiasm was uncontainable. "This is exactly what we need! Look at that—there’s O’Leary, still sleeping, and Connor on patrol... It even shows ghosts and animals? And the grounds, too? Astounding..."
"I think you’ll find it more useful than I will right now," Marina offered.
"We’ll return it, of course," Berkley promised, his eyes still glued to the map. "Though if we can figure out how it’s made, maps like these could be a game-changer for strategic locations."
"Ask the Weasley twins," Marina suggested. "One of them let slip they’d had the map for a time. If so..."
"They might’ve studied its workings! Brilliant minds, those two," Berkley said, rubbing his hands together. "They’d fit right into our R&D department. Imagine—schoolkids creating tools like this while Ministry researchers chase their tails!"
"Talented youth thrive with proper support," Marina remarked. "A starving horse doesn’t win races."
"Naturally," Berkley muttered, half-distracted. "Williamson’s got Fudge by the tie, so we should see better funding soon..."
"Careful, or Fudge might grab Williamson by something in return," Marina quipped. "The man may seem cowardly, but..."
"Experience teaches you not to underestimate a seasoned bureaucrat!" Berkley chuckled. "But Williamson handles him with care—lightly, just two fingers on the tie," he gestured, grinning. "I think they’ve reached an understanding."
"It seems so," Marina agreed with a faint smile. "Now, the map is under your personal responsibility."
"Understood. Madam, any chance we could get a house-elf to monitor the surroundings? It’s hard to spot everything from the towers, and we’re short-staffed."
"Of course," Marina replied, snapping her fingers. "Letty, fetch Trinky and Dixie. We have a task for them."
"Right away, madam!" Letty disappeared, reappearing moments later with the two requested elves. Marina quickly briefed them on their duties before heading to the Great Hall, where breakfast preparations were in full swing.
The students shuffled in under the watchful eyes of the prefects, subdued and sleepy. They ate in silence until someone finally asked about the lack of owls.
"As mentioned before, all incoming and outgoing mail will be carefully screened," Marina reminded them. "Hand your letters to your Heads of House. They’ll also deliver messages from your families."
"And the newspapers, Madam?" Hermione Granger asked.
"Copies of The Daily Prophet and other publications will be available in your common rooms and the library," Marina assured her. Hermione looked relieved.
"And now that breakfast is over..." Marina paused, catching a smirk from Snape—clearly, her phrasing echoed Dumbledore. Well, what could she do?
"...please listen carefully to an important announcement. We will conduct a re-sorting ceremony of sorts—though in a modified format. When your name is called, step forward to the Auror at your table, collect your bracelet, and proceed to class. Mr. Berkley, the floor is yours."
"Thank you, Madam." Berkley strode to the center of the Hall. "Listen up! We need to get through this quickly, or you’ll be late for lessons. When your name’s called, approach the Auror at your table, get your bracelet, and move along. Don’t try to remove it—it’s... well, think of it like a parachute cord. If you pull it without cause, best case, you’ll land somewhere highly inconvenient. Worst case? We won’t even know where to start looking for you. Clear?"
"Is this truly necessary?" Professor McGonagall asked quietly, noting the students' nervous whispers.
"Minerva, these are emergency Portkeys," Marina replied firmly. "Rest assured, deploying such resources isn’t done lightly. And you, my colleagues, should receive bracelets as well. While Apparition is impossible here, in a crisis—"
"We’ll stay and cover the children’s evacuation," Sprout declared resolutely.
"They won’t be filing out one by one through some tunnel," Ingebjorg interjected. "Staying behind might be noble, but charging at an army when retreat is possible is foolish. Criminally so, I’d say."
"Exactly," Marina agreed, raising her wrist to show the slim band clasped there. "These won’t hinder you, colleagues, so please cooperate."
She noticed Draco Malfoy approach an Auror, looking pale and withdrawn. He extended his right hand instead of his left, drawing her attention. Snape, nearby, subtly tapped his own left forearm in silent acknowledgment.
Surprisingly, no one objected to what Marina privately called "forced tagging." Perhaps they finally grasped the seriousness of the situation—or maybe the sea of scarlet Auror robes had silenced their protests. Either way, the procedure went on without a hitch.
"Letty, please invite Professor Snape to my office," she requested upon returning to her office after breakfast. Luckily, neither of them had a first-period class.
Snape wasted no time arriving.
"The Dark Lord is summoning," he said as he entered, skipping any formalities. "It started about half an hour after your... centaur battle."
"Are you saying someone reported it to him?"
"Quite likely. The forest fire and the light show at Hogwarts could have been visible not only in Hogsmeade but for miles around!"
"And... what now?" Marina Nikolaevna cautiously asked as she stood and moved closer to him.
"I don’t know," Snape admitted honestly. "As you can imagine, I’m in no hurry to answer the summons—I do value my life! And I highly doubt my death would be quick or painless after all this... No, Dolores, I intend to cower behind the women and children like the coward I am."
"You mean the Aurors, I assume?" she raised an eyebrow. "But I understand—outside of Hogwarts, you’re..."
"Dead."
"And what about the Malfoys?"
"You saw Draco in the Great Hall," Snape said quietly. "He feels the call, too. And let me tell you, it’s excruciating—especially when the Dark Lord is nearby, and I’m certain he is. But physical pain, well, one can endure that... I’ve put up a... what do Muggles call it? Ah, a block, so Draco doesn’t feel the full force of it constantly. But here," he tapped his temple, "you can’t put up a block. Well, unless you knock him out and let him sleep like a log..."
"His parents," she nodded. "Do you think the Dark Lord might harm them if Draco doesn’t try to leave the castle? Surely, he must understand that slipping away from this level of security isn’t even feasible for most adults."
"I hope he doesn’t plan anything like that. This," Snape touched his left arm again, "feels more like a general summons, a powerful one, because many followers might be far away. It only affects us this strongly because we’re close. That’s all."
"So he’s nearby..." Marina Nikolaevna mused. "Which means we’re running out of time..."
"What are you on about?"
"About how it’s time to ensure the prophecy is fulfilled," she replied. "Let’s go."
"Where are you dragging me off to now?"
"To Ingebjorg. We’re going to decipher some of the disputed points in the prophecy about Harry Potter and Voldemort."
"That’s it?" Snape said skeptically. "I thought you were going to hand me Gryffindor’s sword and send me off into some grand final battle!"
"Don’t laugh, Severus," Marina Nikolaevna replied gravely, pausing to wait for the right staircase to move into position. "That’s probably exactly what we’ll do."
The utterly indescribable expression on his face was her reward.
Comments
Nicholas Johnson
Stellar writing! Keep up the amazing work!
