Hard as it is to believe, we're getting close to the end of this book. Assuming that my count is correct (always a risky prospect with my muse), there should only be six or seven chapters after this one. We'll then move immediately into the next book, or we will provided writing this and Deal with a Devil concurrently doesn't kill me first.

Disclaimer: Was a section of Divination ever dedicated to training and strengthening the Inner Eye, even though that there was an OWL for the class (and, in fact, that Bill and Percy both passed it) shows that it was a skill that could be at least marginally taught? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whomever else she sold the rights to.

Chapter 37
Lines in the Sand

A few embers and stubborn tongues of flame were still present on the staff table when Umbridge stormed out of the Great Hall, her impromptu entourage right behind her, and Marchbanks hung back for only a few seconds before she followed as well, presumably to tell the students that they could come to her with any concerns they had or some such nonsense. Jen was not exactly paying much attention.

She was a little too busy keeping her head from splitting in half.

That Baron-damned phoenix. One of these days, that overgrown vulture is going to get in trouble, and then I will take great joy in squeezing its bloody life right out of it. She had a bad experience with Dumbledore's pet the year before, but that was just it chirping and singing. This time, with that angry scream? She was forced to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out in agony and alerting the whole world to her darkened nature.

"Jen, you're bleeding."

She reached up to feel below her nose, but it was the finger that fell on her chin that found the wet. Correction: she had bitten through her lip. Thankfully Luna had whispered that warning into her ear instead of saying it where the other Ravens nearby could hear, so no one else noticed when her hand pulled away to reveal her chin to be once more intact and bloodless. "Thanks."

"Do you think she was serious?" Padma asked, turning away from her neighbor. "About Dumbledore using Memory Charms? I mean, that's a huge accusation, and surely she wouldn't make it without proof of some kind, but still…"

A scoff came from behind them, and Tracey slid into the small gap next to Luna. "Wouldn't surprise me in the least," she said, faint snarl painted on her face. "Everyone in the Wizengamot knows he's not as lily-white as he likes to paint himself. Well, everyone except the idiots who look up to him like Merlin reborn; he could say he was really Grindelwald and never gave up on his goals of ruling the world, and they would still do whatever he asked of them."

Before Padma or Morag, neither of whom had ever had reason to distrust the man, could respond to that, Jen cut in, "She must have some evidence to back up her claims, something convincing enough to get the head of the DMLE on her side. If she didn't, Scrimgeour likely would have sent her with a couple of MLEP Patrolmen rather than two pairs of Aurors for an otherwise normal arrest. And then there's the fact that his name was right after Susan's aunt's on the order…"

We knew she was up to something when she first came here, but when she revealed that she was after Dumbledore, I didn't think she'd actually manage to pull it off. Though it did explain Cissy's command to stay out of Umbridge and Dumbledore's fight after Jen informed her of their own confrontation. They as a House could utterly crush Umbridge personally, even if House Selwyn jumped in as well, but her aunt had made it clear that such a battle would be expensive and offer them no real benefit. Umbridge was crafty and ruthless, the type of person Slytherin house was glad to count as an alumna, and while her outspoken support of blood purity when she was younger had hurt her professional ambitions and seen her married off to a wizard of no real station, she had studied the game of office politics and now played it quite well.

Cissy had been firm in that this was not an opponent Jen was ready to face, at least not in an arena that eschewed copious bloodshed.

"But," Morag began, eyebrows knitting together, "then what was that last bit about? The whole, 'I know the real reason' thing?"

"Tracey, would you like to field this question?" asked Jen with a grin.

"Why, thank you. I do believe I would."

"You said students of noble Houses know what he's really like." Luna glanced over from Jen and Tracey to McGonagall and James. "And his supporters will continue to do so no matter what he says. So getting the last word in… Was that for us? All the ones who don't fit in either camp and wouldn't necessarily have made up their minds already?"

"Give this girl a biscuit," Tracey replied, a surprised and reluctantly pleased expression on her face. "Yes, Lov— Luna, that is exactly right. I thought you said you didn't understand politics?"

Unfortunately, the last remnants of Jen's pounding headache kept her from rethinking the wisdom of blurting out the first thought that sprang to mind. "Well, you know what they say. You are what you eat."

Morag and Tracey both turned away with exasperated huffs at that comment, the Slytherin adding a faked retching sound, and Luna blushed so red and hot that Jen honestly feared for her safety for a moment. It took Padma a second longer to get the joke, but when she did, she groaned and dropped her head into her hands. "Dear Merlin, Jen, that's just not right."

"I thought it was funny," she answered with a shrug. Picking up the roll still on her plate to finish as she walked, she stood and grabbed her satchel. "Well, I'm headed out. I doubt we're going to have another show as entertaining as watching Albus Dumbledore get his arse handed… to…"

Wait. What did Umbridge say his full name was?

"Hey, Luna?" The blonde hummed. "That Christmas present I got you. Do you mind if I borrow it for a while?"

"Why?"

"There's something I want to check out."

Luna blinked slowly at her and nodded, then she stood as well. The rest of her friends at that table joined them only an instant later. "When you're right, you're right," Tracey answered to her questioning glance. "This is sure to be much more interesting than regular lunch."

She could not exactly argue against that, not if her suspicions wound up being confirmed. Of course, then there was the issue of just what she was going to do with the information.

Susan, Justin, and Kenneth were quick to catch up, invited over by Tracey and Morag, and the eight teens were only able to climb two flights of stares when Jen heard the flapping of wings. Loki darted over and dropped an odd object into her waiting hand: a brass triangle, approximately as thick as one of her fingers, with a grey glass ball set in one side. The raven landed on her shoulder and puffed up proudly, pleased with himself that he had accomplished the task before him without needing to be told.

"In here." Her court followed her into an empty classroom, and she jerked her head back at the door. "Could someone lock and secure this place, please?"

While Susan did that, everyone's attention on the redhead, Jen concentrated on the moment she wanted to relive and swiped her index finger against her right temple. A single silver thread of magic and thought drifted in the air from its anchoring point. Her friends glanced again at her only after she had already pulled down her hand, and the vaporous memory was sucked into the glass ball and warmed its depths. It looked like it had worked, but… "You're sure about your research?" she asked her girlfriend.

"As sure as I can get without a definite name or more books than the library has specifically dedicated to obscure magical artefacts of the nineteenth century."

"Would someone like to clue the rest of us in?" Justin asked in an innocent voice.

"If my information is correct, what Jen is using is called a Memoratory – and yes, I know it's a dumb name," Luna said to their friends' snickering. "It was created by William Milner, a Canadian wizard who wanted to create a simpler and cheaper replacement for a Pensieve. Since he was an amateur enchanter and was trying to replicate a collaborative effort of several masters, he obviously failed, but it is still a useful little device. You can stick up to five memories into it, and then it projects them and lets you cycle through them as desired." She shrugged at the looks of renewed interest getting sent at the artefact. "Unfortunately, the memories don't move, but I suppose if they did, Milner's attempts at selling his creation would have gone better."

"Okay. So what are we doing with it?" Kenneth asked.

Jen turned around and tapped her finger on the ball; a pulse of light flashed out and coated the walls. "We're taking a little trip to the Ministry."

The light rippled and bent, wooden shelves sliding out and a gloomy darkness spreading like mist above them. The centuries-old stone floor was replaced with more modern black tiles. Hundreds of glass balls gleamed in the limited candle light as one section of the Hall of Prophecies was perfectly replicated inside Hogwarts, and everyone besides Jen and Luna, who had already seen the projector do its work, stared in amazement at their surroundings.

Padma summed up their collective opinions. "This. Is. Incredible."

"That it is," Jen agreed as she bent down to check the labels underneath the orbs. If she remembered correctly, the prophecy she had listened to was kept at chest height, and it was a little short of midway down the corridor—

Ah, there it was.

"S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. 12 May, 1980. Dark Lord, Danny Potter, and unknown," she whispered. Her friends gathered behind her, and she stepped away to let them read the label. "Dumbledore was the one to hear it; no one else would have initials like that. So now the question becomes, who is S.P.T.?"

But at least this was one question answered. Dumbledore's problem with her really was that she was named in the same prophecy as his vaunted Light savior. He must have celebrated for days after learning that the potential thorn in his side had been sent to the Muggle world, never to be seen again. If only he knew the truth, that it would be that very action that ensured her 'fall', he would have instead done whatever he had to do to put her with the best family in the world and see to it that she everything she ever wanted. Better she be a spoiled brat than a dark witch and a willing servant of Death.

"What I want to know is what the prophecy says," Morag disagreed. "Do you think it means that Potter is going to beat You-Know-Who again?"

"Merlin, I hope not." Tracey shook her head. "It'd just make his head even bigger."

With a shrug, Jen answered, "I don't know. If I had to guess, however, I'd say that his name is on it for how he defeated You-Know-Who back in '81, and it's the second person, the one the Unspeakables don't know the name of, who will ultimately rid the world of him." Which, unless I want the Baron coming after my head, is going to be me.

Unaware of that condition, her friends nodded in understanding, and most of them developed wide smiles as they thought it over. And she supposed that for them, this was indeed good news; the last few months, ever since Voldemort had revealed himself anew, had not been easy. People were running around scared, screaming for the Ministry to do something, anything, to stop him. Hundreds of petitions had been filed for people to emigrate to the Continent or the States, but the receiving governments were still refusing to house all those potential refugees. For a couple of weeks, there was even talk of barring all traffic to and from Britain; so far, nothing had come of it, but she was still worried that it might interfere with her plans to take her Dark Arts Competency Exam in Bulgaria.

Learning that someone was destined to save them from this nightmare should have had them jumping for joy.

Kenneth was grinning like the others, but his attention was still on the label. "If Dumbledore is A.P.W.B.D., I think I might know who S.P.T. is. It's just believing it that I'm having trouble with."

"Who?"

"Trelawney." They stared at him as though he were mad, and the seventh-year blushed faintly. "Her full name is Sybil Patricia Trelawney; S.P.T. It fits."

Padma's face crumpled in disbelief. "My sister is completely enamored with Trelawney, to the point that I worry one of these days she's going to propose, and that means I've heard more about that old fraud than I ever wanted to know. There's no way she could come up with a real prophecy like this." Justin, who took Divination himself, nodded in emphatic agreement.

"Though it would explain why Dumbledore kept her around for so long," Tracey muttered. "It's definitely not for her teaching ability. Same reason Hagrid taught Care."

"Possibly," Kenneth said, holding up one finger for silence, "but there's one thing that none of you are considering, the only reason I offered her up as a suggestion. I used to take Divination, and at one point I did some digging into prophecies to find out if the problem was with divination as a whole or just Trelawney. What I learned, beyond that the issue was her, is that there are two very different kinds of Seers who can speak prophecies: true Prophets and Oracles. Prophets use cards or crystal balls or tea leaves or whatever to induce their visions, but no matter what the crutch is, it's still something they can control. Oracles, on the other hand, are at the mercy of their visions; they have no clue when one is going to hit them or what they say when one does. And, of course, neither one remembers their prophecies after leaving their little trance.

"Now, if Trelawney is an Oracle but thinks she's a Prophet…"

Luna caught on to where he was going first. "Then she could have made this prophecy despite her lack of skill in other areas. It would even explain her behavior. She isn't pretending to see omens in every little thing; she actually believes she does."

"Though it doesn't explain why Parv bought so fiercely into it all," Padma muttered. It had the sound of an old and oft-repeated complaint.

"Perhaps she bought into Trelawney's spiel the same way Trelawney herself did," offered Jen. "Or maybe she actually has a small touch of the Sight and Trelawney is helping her focus it. That's something you'll have to figure out for yourself."

The bells rang before anyone else could speak, signaling everyone to leave the Great Hall and head to their third-period class. Jen reached out for the faint distortion floating in midair, the only visible indication for where the Memoratory was, and gave the glass ball another tap to collapse the illusion. "I'll leave the memory inside for a couple of days in case any of you want to peruse it some more. You'll have to talk to Luna about it, though, as it's her projector."

"Hey, Jen," Susan asked, a curious frown growing. "Ignoring that you apparently broke into the Ministry – though we are going to have a talk about that later – how did you even know it was there in the first place?"

Her smile fell as the memory of the prophecy's contents filled her head. "I heard someone talking about it, and I'm too damn curious for my own good."

HERO OR VILLAIN?
DUMBLEDORE'S CRIMES EXPOSED!

If there is one name that every witch and wizard knows, it is that of Albus Dumbledore, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. For many, he is on par with the heroes of yore, a knight standing against evil and injustice following his famous duel with the German Dark Lord Grindelwald, as well as his many fights against the forces of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If not for his magical prowess, he is known for the extreme amount of political power he wields, at one point filling the roles of Chief Warlock to the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump to the International Confederation of Wizards in addition to hhis primary position as Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His work promoting the cause of Muggleborns entering our world is legendary. For all that he has been at times criticized by politicians and the press – in fact, even by this very publication – no one ever doubted that his actions were done with the best interests of the Wizarding World in mind.

How wrong we all were.

Thanks to a special investigation concerning the unseen workings of the school begun in October of this year by Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and current History of Magic professor at Hogwarts, under her auspices of Hogwarts's Independent Curriculum Inspector, darke hints of the crimes committed by this fake hero of ours are slowly but surely being teased out. Already, however, there is justification for action, and yesterday morning Minister Amelia Bones gave the order to strip Dumbledore of all his positions of power and have him brought into custody for questioning. Despite the best efforts of the four Aurors who accompanied the delegation from the Department of Magical Education sent to deliver the Ministry's decisions, Dumbledore managed to escape the castle. In his place, the DME has appointed Griselda Marchbanks, a long-standing member of the Wizarding Examination Authority. This reporter was unable to question the new headmistress regarding how long she expected it would take to repair the damage Dumbledore's illicit actions have caused, but if Headmistresses's frantic dismissal was any indication, we can presume that it will not be an easy process.

"It was a shock to uncover this," Madam Umbridge told this reporter following the confrontation. "When Minister Fudge asked me to take the position of Curricullum Inspector, all I really expected to find were teachers with a couple of bad habits or some lessons that were being taught at the wrong level. Simple things that a few tweaks here and there would easily correct. Instead I came across a number of security mishaps and outright disasters, none of which anyone outside Hogwarts students or staff knew had ever happened. Even the parents I got in touch with were as clueless as the rest of us!

"When I dug deeper, I learned that many members of the faculty had wanted to bring the proper authorities in to handle those situations, but at each turn Dumbledore had interfered and convinced them to stay silent, whether that be by using his reputation, bribing them, or in one case even threatening a professor's job and chances to find a replacement later if she told anyone the truth. It didn't matter what the pproblem was – fights between entire houses breaking out; students disappearing for weeks at a time; a murderer, albeit in this case wrongfully convicted, skulking about and trying to break into the students' dorms; one poor girl losing her magic completely and being forced to live out the rest of her days as a Squib; or even a centuries-old basilisk roaming the halls and petrifying children at random – he refused to let anyone interfere in how he ruled his little fiefdom."

Indeed, the information Madam Umbridge forwarded to the Daily Prophet was chilling; that any mman could cover up such horrors is bad enough, but for it to be someone the world has depended on for decades? Perhaps we all should be glad that the Ministry was able to discover Dumbledore's true nature before he could do any more damage, though that undoubtedly provides little salve for the families of the five students rumored to have lost their lives over the past decade due directly to Dumbledore's negligence.

As for the the fact that his escape was only made possible by the efforts of his pet phoenix, which some protest is a sign that he is not as wicked as we are claiming here? Madam Umbridge posits an answer for that, too. "While phoenixes have long been considered creatures of goodness that can only be domesticated by those pure of heart, the truth is that we still know so very little about these marvelous creatures, due in large part to the stigma facing those willing to studey them. It could be that they are merely animals like any other, becoming pets to those who treat them well, or perhaps, assuming the folklore has some basis in fact, Dumbledore was merely delusional rather than unrepentantly evil and honestly thought his many, many crimes were justified. Without interrogating him, there is no way to be certain, and even then we may never know the whole story."

Albus Dumbledore is currently at large and is considered extremely dangerous. The DMLE requests that anyone with information that may lead to his capture contact the Auror Office immediately.

For a partial list of Dumbledore's newly revealed crimes, continue to page A6.

Voldemort stared at the newspaper for several seconds in total befuddlement before he finally spoke. "And you are sure this is accurate?"

Because if it was, if the Ministry had truly thrown Dumbledore out of his seat of power with one well-executed blow, then it had become drastically more competent in the three months since Bones took over from Fudge. It would now be more difficult to conquer, but as he considered the ramifications of this gambit, he realized he would not exactly mind if that were the case. After all, he had quite enjoyed his little spat with Bones in Diagon Alley, and now more confrontations were all but assured. While Fudge had been a king on their board of war, impotent and cowering on his back lines, Amelia Bones was a queen, the most powerful piece in the game; unless he had massively misread her, she would insist on being in the thick of the battle, and she had already proven herself to be an able strategist.

Oh, this would be a delightful challenge, no doubt about it.

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius replied, his oily smirk firmly in place. "I double-checked with my source at the Prophet office, and Macnair told me that the Ministry is all abuzz about it. Fudge's position as the Muggle ambassador has, unfortunately, moved him out of the loop, but I suspect he will speak to Umbridge within the next few days, and I can question him then."

"Umbridge, Umbridge… Why does that name sound so familiar?" he wondered aloud. "Is she one of yours?"

"No, Master. Though she supports the Cause itself, her loyalty belongs to the Ministry. Thankfully, it is to the institution as a whole rather than any individual; when you take it over, she will follow you."

"That presumes that she will not bear a grudge for the manner in which I take power." Lucius shrugged, and he made a note to speak to Thaddeus. The eldest Nott was one of his earliest Death Eaters, in fact was an old classmate, and Voldemort knew that the wizard had a far better memory for names and rumors than he did. Perhaps he would be able to shed some light on the subject.

Pulling a vibrating watch from his pocket, the blond wizard quickly checked it before stowing it once again. "What is it this time?" the Dark Lord asked in a mocking voice. "High tea with the Minister? A garden party?"

"A meeting with the rest of the board of governors. Undoubtedly, we are to begin the search for the new headmaster." Lucius hesitated a moment, as though weighing his words. "Is there someone among us who would be best to fill that position?"

"If everything goes according to plan, that will be a moot point soon enough." Voldemort chuckled darkly. "No, pick whomever you wish. The castle's best defender has now been thrown out like a common thief; whom is chosen to succeed him matters not. Just make sure it is not one of Dumbledore's dogs. Hogwarts is the greatest stronghold in the country, and I do not want him regaining access to it."

"I understand. But what about this place?" Lucius asked, gesturing at the walls of Riddle manor. "You said that we would not remain here forever, and Dumbledore is not without his talents. Now that he has nothing to distract him…"

Voldemort nodded in agreement. "Yes, you make a valid point. Have our recent recruits move the maps and dossiers to your estate. I have been working on a new location for our headquarters, one equidistant to our primary targets; I suppose I need to finish that project a little sooner than expected." Turning to his left, he examined the campaign map hanging on the wall. "But just in case, have the beasts moved to their respective rally point 'B's. Once our new base is ready, we will then lead them to their barracks.

"And while they are waiting," he added, "have the werewolves and vampires visit the nearby towns when they aren't practicing for Operation Rampart. I want their numbers to be increased by close to a third when the time comes."

"But it won't be a full moon then," Lucius reminded him.

"No, but that is what we have Augustus for." The former Unspeakable was not as good with potions as Severus, who probably could have come up with a solution already, but unlike the Potions Master, Augustus's loyalty was assured. "Let him worry about his duties, and you handle yours."

"Do you think that got their attention?"

"Yes, brother, I do believe it did."

Fred and George glanced at each other before breaking down in a fit of the giggles as the blasts and booms still echoed behind them even after half an hour. They were hardened pranksters, practically professionals; that meant they could not laugh in public at their own pranks, no matter how massive or hilarious they were. Especially when said prank was as grand as unleashing their Weasley Wildfire Whiz-Bangs in the middle of the Great Hall during dinner. Revealing their displeasure with Dumbledore getting run out of the castle, irritating Umbridge, and showcasing a product that would really get their business taking off; this one trick did them all.

"Weasleys!"

Of course, pulling something like this was also bound to get them in trouble. If it had been a professor coming after them, they probably would have just given up and come along quietly to the new Headmistress's office – that was, after all, the next stage of their plan – but no, it was just Filch. They and the caretaker had been at odds since their first year, when he had hauled them off for playing just a little, tiny prank on a Hufflepuff and threatened to chain them up in the dungeons for the night. The twins looked at each other, and then they ran.

They weren't blood purists or bigots, but really, Filch was a Squib. What did he think he could do to catch them?

"What are you waiting for?" Filch demanded, confusing them both. "Get them!"

George suddenly felt his feet clap together. He tripped to lay sprawled against the stone floor, and a strong force began dragging him toward the caretaker. Ahead of him, Fred fell as well, and George flipped himself over to look at Filch. How had the man gotten magic?!

The house-elf standing at Filch's side caught him staring and shrugged. The little elves were always happy to have students pop in the kitchens for a snack, and George thought he and Fred had established a good rapport with them. Apparently it was not quite as good as he thought if they were willing to turn against the brothers this quickly.

"I've got you this time, you little monsters," the Squib hissed as they were lifted up in the air by their ankles to dangle upside down. Filch turned and walked back the way he had come, Fred and George bobbing along behind him. "No more running away with you, oh no. The Headmistress gave me an elf of my very own to make sure you blighters can't just get away whenever you want anymore. Maybe she'll even reinstate the old punishments; I've kept the chains nicely oiled just in case Dumbledore ever got some sense, but Marchbanks seems like she's got a good head on her shoulders."

The wrinkled old man continued with his threats and bluster the whole way to the Headmaster's Tower, but the twins just tuned him out and waved to the various teens they passed. He had been saying the same things year after year after year; they had lost all their terror a long time ago.

When they reached the gargoyle that stood guard over the stairs to the office, Filch surprisingly did not speak a password but instead fished about in his pockets. A small stone circle was in his hand, and as soon as he held it to the gargoyle's nose, the beast slid out of the way. Up the stairs they went, and then Filch opened the door.

George had only been in this room once, several years previously, but he still remembered what it looked like when Dumbledore had resided there: thin-legged tables scattered throughout the free space, with all manner of silver devices spinning and smoking and singing on the tops. A sturdy perch that Fawkes would sit upon to consider them with his too-wise eyes. A glass bowl full of delicious candies that everyone was free to take from.

In the thirty or so hours that Marchbanks had been Headmistress, all that joy and whimsy had somehow already been sucked out. Several stacks of parchment sat tall on the desk, and a shallow stone basin brimming with light had been placed on one corner. Marchbanks held up a hand as she finished jotting something down, and then she looked up. "Mr. Filch, I take it these are the perpetrators of that disruption I heard coming from downstairs earlier?"

George stared; Marchbanks had not even been there? Dumbledore more often than not took dinner in the Great Hall, and now not only had this witch stolen his position from him, she did not even have the decency to pretend to follow the protocol he had put in place? What was next, publicly promoting Pureblood propaganda in the hallways? That seemed to be the way this takeover, this usurpation, was headed!

"They are. The Weasley twins have been causing trouble ever since they got here. One time they even—"

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time to hear about all their misdeeds just now," the old witch said with a tight smile. "Go ahead and set them down." Filch nodded to the elf, and Fred and George both groaned when their heads impacted the hard stone floor. "I didn't say drop them. Please, Mr. Filch, do use a little sense."

Filch looked at the ground and muttered, "Yes, Headmistress."

"As long as we understand one another. You may go." Man and elf walked out the door, and as soon as it was closed, Marchbanks sighed. "What an odious little man. Well? Stand up, boys, unless you'd really prefer to lie on the floor for an hour."

They exchanged questioning glances and stood, finding the two chairs in front of her already pushed out for them. "So," Marchbanks began, setting her quill on the desk and brushing an ink-stained lock of white hair out of her face, "would you like to tell me just why you thought it was a good idea to set off a store-load of fireworks in the middle of dinner?"

"Because it was funny?" Fred said flippantly.

"Funny?" Marchbanks did not sound at all amused, and she picked up a long roll of parchment the desktop and unfurled it. "This is the initial list of people who were injured by your so-called prank. Do you really find burning an eleven-year-old's face enough to send him to the hospital wing to be funny?" They looked down at their feet; they hadn't meant to hurt anybody, just cause a ruckus. "And here I thought you would have learned that lesson after your second year here."

George's head shot up. "We didn't know she was going to get hurt like that! It was just a mistake!"

"Yes, that time was a mistake, but when you're aware of the consequences and do the same thing again anyway? It's not a mistake anymore." Marchbanks shook her head and leaned back. "Do you have anything to say for yourselves?"

For the first time in a long while, the brothers were of different minds; George opened his mouth to respond, but Fred shook his head and bit out, "No, Headmistress."

Marchbanks looked at George expectantly, but he pressed his lips tight together and shook his head, as well. The Weasley Twins did not show division, not to others. Finally, she seemed to get tired of waiting. "If you have nothing to offer in defense of your actions, then I see no reason to give you leniency. You two will spend every evening for the next four weeks in detention, where you will assist Madam Pomfrey with any and all tasks she gives you. If she tires of you before your punishment is over, you'll then work with Professor Grubbly-Plank cleaning up after the animals. I'm also taking a hundred points from Gryffindor; maybe your housemates' reaction will make you consider the consequences of your actions. If you continue these ill-planned and disruptive pranks, however, I will be forced to take more drastic measures. This is a school, not a circus," she hissed in a tone much like their mother always used when the subject of their business was brought up. "You are dismissed."

Fred stormed out the door, and just a few steps behind him came George. "What was that all about? We were going to make a stand about what they did to Dumbledore—"

"Do you think she would have listened?" Fred demanded. "She already made up her mind about that, just like she made up her mind about us. It was a stupid plan, anyway; there's no way the Ministry would pick someone who wasn't a toady to replace him."

"So that's it? We just do nothing?" They had put way too much planning into this to drop it all now. George even had a speech planned out that, if they were lucky and pulled it off right, might have convinced Marchbanks to look back on what she and the Ministry had done and realize their mistake. Some of the other students were falling for the lies that Dumbledore had somehow 'deserved' to be run out of the castle, but they were Weasleys. They knew better than that, not that anyone else really had an excuse. This was Dumbledore they were talking about, the Leader of the Light! Yet they were really supposed to believe he had used Memory Charms on them? That was like… like saying that Merlin would have made a good Slytherin!

Fred shook his head. "No, we're not going to do nothing. That would be the same as admitting defeat. No," he said, a mad gleam entering his eyes, "we're going to escalate. We've always held back, never caused any real mayhem. I say we do just that. The Ministry chased Dumbledore away because they didn't want to hear what he was saying, and then they put a stooge in his place. I say we make them regret that."

"That might just work," he whispered, his brother's fervor catching. "There's no real point in sticking around, anyway. Not like NEWTs are going to do us any good. And with Dumbledore gone and the Ministry taking over to turn everyone into good little followers…"

"Yep."

They shared matching grins. "Then I reckon a bit of mayhem is exactly what our new Headmistress deserves."

I've added a little puzzle to this chapter for all of you discerning readers and proofreaders out there; anyone who can find the hidden message gets one of Tracey's cookies (they're soft and gooey and oh so yummy!). Bonus points if you figure out the source of the name "William Milner".

Oh, boy. Unfortunately for Fred and George, they (and the rest of the Light) are reading from the canon playbook, where a case could be made for the Ministry illegally seizing Dumbledore's position. Here, though? The situation is a little bit different.

Silently Watches out.