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[Prof. Umbridge] Chapter 58
🕑 Added 2024-12-30 22:04:38 +0000 UTC"Excellent vantage point," Orford remarked, settling himself between the battlements of the tower. "Everything’s right in plain view. If only we could get rid of that shack over there… If I remember correctly, there’s a centaur living there now, and we certainly don’t need his involvement. Also, we should block off the forest to keep his relatives from jumpingin."
"Already done," Berkley replied. "Madam?"
"Letty, are you ready?" Marina Nikolaevna asked, glancing involuntarily at her watch. Barely any time had passed—she thought an hour had gone by, but no, the hands seemed frozen in place. "Take all the house-elves. I command you to bring Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Harry Potter here. And any creatures near them! And don’t let anyone Apparate—understood?"
"Beautifully said. Worthy of Hogwarts’ annals," O’Leary laughed. "Madam, also have the house-elves seal off all the castle’s entrances and exits. Our guys are keeping an eye out, of course, but the students are terribly sneaky. You, of all people, must know that!"
She nodded and repeated the order to the first house-elf that appeared at her call. The last thing they needed was some young hero running around in a billowing nightgown!
"Why not order them brought in separately?" Davis asked as Orford briefed his subordinates.
"It’s been said—Dumbledore won’t let go of Potter, and Voldemort is very close by. It’s better they appear here together than scattered," Connor replied. "And then there’s that phoenix and the snake… Damn zoo! Sorry, Madam."
"Nothing to apologize for—I could call it worse," Marina Nikolaevna muttered grimly, just as something clapped loudly and flared brightly on the field they had designated for the confrontation. "There they are!"
She hadn’t even finished her sentence when a shot rang out—it wasn’t Orford, but Davis, aiming at the sphere encasing the massive snake. A second later, spells flashed simultaneously from three towers—Aurors attempting to breach Voldemort’s defenses.
"A trap?! You thought to lure me into a trap?" Voldemort’s high, icy laugh grated on their ears. "Foolish old man! You didn’t even dare face me one-on-one; you brought the boy and your team? Do you think to use Potter as a shield again? Do you believe the Killing Curse will spare him this time?"
"You have been defeated by this boy more than once!" Dumbledore’s voice thundered in reply, and the phoenix echoed with a piercing cry as Voldemort, with a commanding gesture, sent the shimmering sphere holding the snake hurtling toward his opponent.
"Really?" the Dark Lord hissed silkily, ignoring the Aurors’ attacks and swatting at the phoenix as if it were a bothersome fly. "You’re unarmed, old man! You say your wand is no more? The famed one? And yet you dared to face me? Well then..."
He slashed the air with his wand.
Potter didn’t even have time to cry out as the sphere with the snake engulfed him, seizing his head and shoulders. Voldemort hissed something, and Marina Nikolaevna thought it must be Parseltongue, though the meaning was clear enough:
"Kill."
A scream erupted—it was Dumbledore’s voice. Harry’s face, pale with fear, turned waxy as his glasses hung from one ear, and his green eyes widened in horror as the snake’s fangs sank deeper into his slender neck.
"Hold your ground!" Berkley commanded, and one of the Aurors grabbed Marina Nikolaevna, pinning her arms to her sides. "Not yet—"
"My condolences," Voldemort sneered mockingly, watching his old rival struggle to support the weakening boy, blood gushing from his wounds. "And now..."
"And now!”
“Yeah, yeah. Not blind, can see." said Orford.
The Cleaner stretched strangely, his body almost serpentine, and pressed himself to the scope of his rifle.
The iridescent sphere slid off Harry’s head as he toppled backward—Dumbledore barely managed to catch him. And then…
No explosion. Just a click. Another. And one more...
Red sprayed inside the sphere, and the snake’s tail twitched before hanging limp.
"I told you armor-piercing rounds were the way to go," Orford said with satisfaction, ducking behind the sturdy stone as a green spells narrowly missed his ear. "Whoa! Is he firing in bursts now?"
"Letty! Potter—to the infirmary, now!" Marina Nikolaevna croaked, pinned to the ground by two Aurors. "If he’s still alive—"
"But wasn’t he supposed to die?" O’Leary asked in confusion, cautiously peeking out. "Wow, that bald bastard is furious! Looks like he’s trying to summon reinforcements. Berkley, I’ll go get backup—just in case he breaks through our blockade. Don’t want anyone else showing up..."
"Go! Madam, look!"
"I’d love to..." she hissed through gritted teeth.
"Let the Headmistress go," Berkley ordered his subordinate, pulling her closer to watch. "What a battle!"
Dumbledore, now wielding Harry’s wand, parried Voldemort’s attacks with confidence, though he couldn’t match the Dark Lord’s speed. The wand clearly wasn’t responding well to him either, so he switched it to his left, uninjured hand.
"Why’s he laughing like that?" O’Leary wondered as Voldemort let out another demonic cackle. "He’s a natural for the stage… And why are we just standing here?"
"When else will we see something like this?" Connor asked philosophically. "The kid’s been taken by the house-elves, and these two are adults—let them fight it out to the end."
"Gentlemen, have you forgotten this is Voldemort himself?" Marina Nikolaevna asked after clearing her throat. "And while the snake may be dead... Letty, what about Potter?"
"As you feared, Madam, he’s dead," Letty sniffled, appearing at the summons. "But Mistress Ingebjorg says he can be brought back to life..."
"And the Horcrux? The Horcrux?"
Letty spread her small hands.
"Vanished! Harry Potter stopped breathing for more than two minutes, and his scar disappeared—I saw it myself!"
Marina Nikolaevna wiped the sweat from her forehead in silence.
"Shoot him, please," she asked the men.
"Who, specifically?" Berkley asked pedantically.
"Voldemort, of course! Dad?"
"I’ve got one bullet left," Orford replied gravely. "But I’ll do my best... Old age isn’t kind—haven’t practiced in a while, and—"
"This from the man who sliced up a snake inside a sphere from that distance..." Connor muttered. "Stop playing humble, Basilisk! It’s not every day the Dark Lord’s your target!"
"You lot..." Orford sighed. "This might be my finest moment! Not my last, I’ll wager, but my best! And you won’t even let me give a speech—"
"Just shoot him already!" Connor snapped.
Another short click rang out, but Voldemort, sensing something, deftly grabbed Dumbledore by the wrist and yanked him forward, using him as a living shield. (Snape used to move like that, Marina Nikolaevna thought absently. Definitely the Dark Lord’s training.)
But the maneuver didn’t save Voldemort—the bullet tore through both the ‘shield’ and the Dark Lord himself...
And slowly, as if in a movie, a green beam of light shot toward the tower.
"Dad, no!" Marina Nikolaevna managed to knock Orford down, only to realize he had pulled her onto himself, not the other way around, shielding her from the deadly curse.
"Foolish girl," he said seriously, looking her in the eyes. "Should have found someone else to save! Yeah, yeah. Try me now, start crying."
"Wow..." came a thin, awestruck voice. "Just like in the movies!"
"Mr. Abercrombie," Marina Nikolaevna managed to say, "what are you doing here?!"
The blockade, elves… Students were forbidden to leave the grounds... Damn it, damn it, damn it!
"I didn't hear anything," someone assured her with a wide grin. "And I didn't leave the castle! Honest, I swear!"
"Guys, you're saying you didn’t notice this little rascal?!" Conner muttered. "Fine. No rewards or bonuses for anyone!"
"Aw, come on, chief. The kid’s a natural scout," Davis snorted. "Where’s he from?"
"Gryffindor, second year," Marina Nikolaevna replied grimly, helping her father get back on his feet—or maybe he was helping her; it was hard to tell.
"No way he's a Gryffindor!" Berkeley doubted, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and giving him a once-over. "Wait. I’ve seen that face before... What’s your last name?"
"Abercrombie. Why?"
"Chief, are you an idiot?" O’Leary shoved the commander aside. "Kid, was your dad named Eugene? Yeah? Well, if it weren’t for him, you and I wouldn’t be talking right now..."
"Another child of the regiment," Conner sighed heavily.
"Whose regiment?" Berkeley asked sharply, and the two men began arguing over something only they understood.
Marina Nikolaevna glanced down at the black blot that Voldemort’s body resembled from the tower’s height, and at another spot—Dumbledore, hunched over Voldemort’s corpse, cradling his own wounded shoulder, this time the left one. Above them, the phoenix circled aimlessly, as if unsure where to go or what to do.
"Should we finish him off?" Orford asked, nodding toward the former headmaster. "A regular bullet should do the trick."
"Wartime is over. You're now a janitor, not an assassin," she replied seriously.
"And you're Headmistress Umbridge. But you’re not my daughter," he said barely audibly, pulling her into a side-hug. "Flinched? I thought so. Don’t deny it—I know better."
The gun was within arm’s reach, but...
"Don’t shove a gun into my ribs; you don’t have the guts to shoot, especially with everyone watching."
"I’m not someone under Polyjuice, if that’s what you’re thinking," she whispered back.
"I can see that. You’re Dolly, but not quite. That other woman—I sometimes wanted to kill her myself. Never thought Ellen and I could have a kid like that. The younger one’s nothing like you!"
"It’s just a midlife crisis. People change sometimes."
"Not that much," he said, stepping back to examine her. "But if I tell anyone, no one’ll believe me—they’ll think I’ve lost it. Happens in our line of work... But I won’t tell. You’re Dolly, even if... different. Maybe you’d have grown into this version if I’d been home more often. Who knows?
No point guessing now. Hey, why are you crying?"
‘Because I barely remember my other parents, and photos... what good are they? And Auntie’s stories—how much did I even hear or remember? She said Dad loved taking me to the shooting range, but I was so little I could only hold a toy water gun... And then I deliberately learned to shoot, as if that could bring us closer! So maybe this world is a reflection of ours? And here, my parents are alive, and Mom is really strict, and Dad’s not just a hobbyist athlete, but…’
"Madam, what should we do with Dumbledore?" Berkeley interrupted, pulling Marina Nikolaevna away from Orford’s shoulder.
"He should probably go to St. Mungo’s. We’ve got... Oh my God! Letty? What’s going on in the infirmary?"
The house-elf vanished without a word, then reappeared with her head bowed, her ears twitching.
"Harry Potter is alive," she whispered, "but about Professor Snape... Letty can’t say. Letty only heard them and Mistress Ingebjorg discussing... uh... a complete blood transfusion and telling
Letty to leave and not interfere!"
"He needs an extremely rare thirty-third group!" (1) Marina Nikolaevna recalled, her mind flashing to iconic scenes with dramatic flair. And really, with magic, anything was possible!
Meanwhile, the phoenix, whose tears could heal even hopeless wounds, continued circling its master, emitting anxious, melodious cries.
"You’ll never catch it. It only obeys its master," O’Leary said, intercepting her gaze. "We’ll take its master to the infirmary, but it’s not guaranteed he’ll cooperate."
"Then take him, and leave the rest to me," she said firmly. "And bring Voldemort too. For an autopsy. He’s just lying there—why waste the opportunity?"
"We’re not taking down the barrier yet, just in case."
"Yes, of course..."
"And we need to deal with Voldemort’s remains," Berkeley reminded. "And free the hostages. But that can wait a bit..."
In the infirmary, all was quiet and peaceful. Even the phoenix’s trills, as it circled above Dumbledore, now laid on an empty cot, failed to disturb the calm.
"The boy’s asleep," Ingebjorg preempted any questions, not even surprised by the crowd’s sudden appearance. "He’s alive and well. As for his magic... we’ll check when he wakes up. He’ll need a new wand, you understand."
Marina Nikolaevna glanced at Potter—he was breathing evenly, and the scar on his forehead was truly gone. Only a couple of scratches, a black eye... trivial injuries, really!
"And the professor?" she asked.
Ingebjorg shrugged silently.
"Still conscious," she said. "Follow me."
"Dolores, I want to know how it happened!" Snape was the first to speak when they entered.
"Like in a fairy tale," she replied grimly. "Potter’s alive, Voldemort’s dead—you know that already. And when do you plan on dying?"
"Very soon," he assured her. His right side of his face barely moved. "If I’d held the vial in my left hand, I’d already be dead from cardiac arrest. But for now... such fascinating sensations, I must say!"
"If you’d held the vial with a gloved hand, none of this would’ve happened."
"Like anyone would regret my death," Snape said with complete seriousness.
"Think no one would? Draco Malfoy wouldn’t care? His parents? Your students? Even Potter..." Marina Nikolaevna asked softly.
"I certainly would!" Abercrombie, ever the intruder, announced, slipping under her elbow.
"Please don’t die, sir—I still have so many questions! And I’m going to join the Auror Academy, where my dad studied, and they need potions so much, and..."
"I can die peacefully," Snape interrupted with a sadistic smile, "because there is no antidote. And I won’t have time to invent it myself. Even if you freeze me for future generations, I doubt anyone could replicate, let alone complete, my work."
"Well, modesty will certainly never be the cause of your death," Marina Nikolaevna regained her voice. "Enough theatrics! Where are your notes?"
Snape tapped his temple with a bent finger.
"Got it. No antidote exists..." she conceded.
"How come?" Abercrombie asked in surprise. "It’s right there, flying around!"
"Are you suggesting we catch a phoenix and wring it out over my mortal body?" Snape asked with interest, glancing at the fiery bird. Even imminent death didn’t seem to frighten him. "Careful not to burn yourselves."
"Oh, that’s a good point, sir! I didn’t think of that," the boy said seriously, rushing off to Madam Pomfrey. He returned in a dragonhide apron and gloves that reached his armpits. "Uh, excuse me... I’ll just take off my shoes!"
"This child has a bright future," Ingebjorg remarked, watching Abercrombie enthusiastically leap across beds, knocking over screens and nightstands.
"I never doubted it," Marina Nikolaevna assured, glancing at Snape’s left hand. The Dark Mark was gone.
"Stop, you stupid bird!" echoed through the infirmary. "Stop, or it’ll get worse!"
"I'll bet five Galleons on the kid," O'Leary said matter-of-factly as the phoenix narrowly dodged a blanket — a moment more, and Abercrombie would have caught it — but instead managed to knock over a lamp.
"Accepted. I'll add two more."
"He won't catch it. Another five."
"Count me in..."
"Caught it!" Abercrombie's triumphant shout rang out, and the Aurors erupted in laughter. "Why are you laughing? You think I haven't caught enough chickens and geese before?"
He held the phoenix under his arm in a clearly practiced grip, wrapped securely in the blanket and with its neck firmly clasped for good measure. The bird struggled and let out an indignant screech, but Abercrombie remained resolute, and the phoenix's attempts to peck through the dragon-hide gloves were in vain.
"It can disappear at any moment," Marina Nikolaevna said, frowning.
"Away from its master? Unlikely," Ingebjorg replied with a smirk.
"Now listen here," Abercrombie said seriously, adjusting his grip on the phoenix and giving it a shake. "Either you cry on your own, or I'll make you! Starting with your tail feathers — didn’t Harry Potter’s wand have one of those? Yeah? Well, he’ll need a new one anyway! Come on, it’s not that hard! Professor needs you! One, two..."
"I think it’s crying from laughter," Davis muttered.
"What are you all standing around for? Just two drops, that’s all I need!" Snape hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes fixed on the shimmering pearls of liquid.
"Rarer than basilisk venom?" Ingebjorg asked nonchalantly, gesturing to Hrafn, who moved to carefully collect the tears. A valuable ingredient indeed should not go to waste. "Focus on remembering the sensations instead of complaining."
"Unforgettable..." Snape muttered, flexing the fingers of his right hand cautiously. "And the phoenix-catching technique..."
"Wilhelmina would have loved this. Pity she missed it," Marina Nikolaevna said with a nod. "But we can show her in the Pensieve later. As for you, Mr. Abercrombie, stop tormenting the bird. Professor Snape is already quite revived!"
She cast a glance downward and hissed under her breath:
"Move your hand, you scoundrel, people are watching... My father... He is a Cleaner…Codename Basilisk. Oh, it worked, incredible!"
"A warning would’ve been nice," Snape hissed back.
"You knew who he was."
"But I hadn’t heard the nicknames. They say even the Dark Lord feared him..."
"And rightly so, since Voldemort just had the worst luck," she replied, but Abercrombie’s enthusiastic shout drowned her out:
"Awesome! Can I keep him?"
"No," Snape replied immediately.
"I wasn’t talking about Voldemort, sir, I meant the phoenix! And why are you all laughing?" the boy asked, pouting at the professors and Aurors. "If no one objects, then it’s fair game, right? Finders keepers!"
Marina Nikolaevna turned to meet Orford's eyes. He merely smirked as if to say, Good luck raising that one.
What choice do I have? she thought.
The phoenix, once released, let out an offended croak, soared to the ceiling, then perched atop Dumbledore’s cot. It preened itself thoughtfully, cast a long look at its master, sighed heavily, shed a couple of glittering tears, and then disappeared in a soft chime.
"Cheeky bugger," Abercrombie muttered, staring at the handful of fiery feathers in his hand. "Oh well! At least everyone’s alive, and now we can..."
"Hands off!" Marina Nikolaevna and Snape barked in unison.
"And share those feathers," Snape added. "They’re not toys for children."
_____________________________________
A joke from an iconic soviet comedy film “Welcome, or No Trespassing”.
A schoolkid is hiding in the shed during classes and overhears teachers talking about him being such a nuisance that he “spoiled all the blood” of his teacher. (Direct translation of a colloquialism “всю кровь испортил” which means ‘to cause trouble’, ‘to be very annoying’). The kid imagines it literally, not metaphorically and pictures the scene of school nurses trying to “fix the spoiled blood” by looking for an “extremely rare 33-rd blood group”.
