Posted 4/13/2015
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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.
Chapter Sixty-Seven - Umbridge
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Hermione fought down a yawn.
"All right," Daphne said, pursing her lips. "Let's see if I... Yes. Rummy. Sorry, Harry," she said with a chuckle at his groan, putting the cards on the table. "All right, nine, ten, Jack, Queen, King, that's forty-nine. Three fours, and –"
"What... ?" Ron's shout interrupted.
Harry turned in his seat. "Oh, morning," he greeted. "Didn't know you were up already."
The redhead mouthed 'already' before he glanced at each occupant in the room – uncertainly in Daphne's direction, confused in Harry's, and questioning in Hermione's. "What's... going on here?" he asked, still rooted to his spot by the stairs.
"Playing cards," Harry replied.
"Losing at cards, you mean," Daphne put in with a smile, causing Hermione to snort.
"But I guess," Harry continued with a roll of his eyes, "it's time for breakfast. Must've lost track of time down here."
"Yeah, breakfast sounds good," Daphne agreed, "I'm mostly done anyway. Kreacher?"
The elf appeared, looking at her expectantly.
"It's time for breakfast," she told him, adding with a quick glance to Harry and Hermione, "and maybe some omelets or something similar? Or pancakes?"
"Not for me, thank you," Hermione replied.
"Does Miss Granger want more tea?" the elf asked.
Ron's eyes widened comically. "Miss Granger?" he asked, dumb-struck.
"A bit of tea might be nice," Hermione said with a quick, warning glance to Ron, "thank you."
When he got no more orders, Kreacher popped away to do as he was told.
"Miss Granger?" Ron repeated impatiently.
"Well," she replied with a shrug, fighting down the smile, "we're not really on a first-name basis right now, are we? So Miss Granger it is."
"A recent development. You'll get used to it," Harry put in, adding with a wave to the table, "Have a seat."
"What's been going on here? What have you done?" Ron asked, his jaw clenching as he looked around once more. When his eyes fell on Daphne, a little spark of anger showed on his face.
Hermione kept from sighing. While she could understand him somewhat, particularly the possible feeling of being left out, and might have reacted the same way if she had walked into the room to find the atmosphere and world around her drastically changed with no apparent explanation, she could see Ron jumping to conclusions. As far as he knew, they might have just gotten up a hour or two ago. Kreacher might have been ordered to treat Hermione with some respect. And Hermione might have simply chosen to play cards instead of glaring at Daphne.
"Done?" Harry repeated, raising an eyebrow. "We played cards. That's what has been going on. When I returned last night, we chatted a bit, which led to us having a bit of tea and a late-night snack, and started a game or two just to pass the time. Hermione brought up Muggle games, one thing led to another... We lost track of time?" he offered half-heartedly, apparently ignoring the slight thinning of Hermione's lips or the twitch on Daphne's.
"Oh," Ron said, sagging a bit, his anger leaving him as he started to get caught up. "And you just stayed awake? And played games?"
"And talked a bit, yes," Hermione supplied, suppressing the urge to look at Harry or Daphne. She knew there had been more than an idle chat between the two, and she knew Harry wasn't downplaying it for his sake. Whatever he wasn't saying concerned Daphne and her mood over the last few days. Although Hermione didn't know what it was, she had kept from prying – Daphne's private business was hers. Would Hermione have shown the same restraint weeks ago? She wasn't sure, and it was that doubt that strengthened her resolve.
"I'm sorry," she added to Ron after a moment, "I would have told you, but by the time we got around to playing, you had already gone to bed. When I checked on you around twelve..."
"You sat and played games all night?" Ron asked with a look of disbelief. "With her?"
"And Harry, yes," Hermione told him with a warning look, her tone growing noticeably colder at the unwelcome reminder of her own reservations from before.
Whatever Ron was about to say – probably something he really shouldn't – he wisely chose not to voice it. Instead, he swallowed and put on a fake smile. "Well, sounds like you had fun. So, breakfast then?"
"Sure," Daphne said, "I'll just..." She put her other cards on the table. "There. Rummy, like I said."
"Which puts Harry last, I think," Hermione laughed with a slightly dishonest smile, putting her cards in front of her and scribbling on a piece of parchment.
"Sorry, Harry. Guess you had no luck, eh?" Daphne laughed, patting his hand in mock consolation.
"I'm saving it for when I need it," Harry said in a dignified tone, but with a childish pout, which caused a smirking Daphne to poke him in the ribs.
Catching their eyes, Hermione gave them a questioning look before glancing pointedly at Ron. Harry shook his head slightly and indicating she should be patient. She guessed it was a good idea, considering how Ron could be on an empty stomach.
"Kreacher returns with bread," the elf announced, a tray and some dishes following him.
"Finally," Ron grumbled, falling into the seat next to Hermione.
Breakfast was spent with the occasional chatter, and with Ron getting properly fed and shaking off the last residues of sleepiness, his mood improved considerably. By the time they had finished, Kreacher returned from a short shopping trip with a copy of the Daily Prophet.
"It's going to be a nice evening, they say," Harry spoke up, already looking at a piece about a group of criminals posing as Ministry officials getting arrested for their misdeeds. "And the Chudley Cannons lost," Harry added, with a roll of his eyes, passing the paper to Hermione. "Supposedly because the team was hung over after a party."
"They'll win one day," Ron grumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly.
"A nice evening, no rain," Hermione said, glancing to Harry for confirmation. At his side, Daphne tensed slightly.
He nodded. "We'd better get some sleep. Departure at six?"
Hermione pursed her lips. "Sounds about right, but we should –"
"Err, Umbridge?" Ron guessed. "You're planning on going after... her? Tonight?"
"It's been almost too long since she got her new job," Harry told him. "If we don't act now... Well, people might not get it, then. Unless I leave a message or something, but I'd like this one to speak for itself."
Ron scratched the back of his neck. "You... No. Do it, then. Just – good luck, I guess."
"We're not gone yet," Harry reminded him.
"But we should probably go over everything before we leave," Hermione pointed out. "You know, just to make sure everything's in order and ready for tonight."
"Well," Daphne said, grabbing another slice of bread with a slightly shaky hand, "have fun. Or good luck? Or... I don't know. Don't do anything foolish?"
Hermione kept from sighing. Asking Harry to not do something foolish seemed like an exercise in futility – he was a master at daring folly, after all. It was just his luck that fortune seemed to favour the brave as far as he was concerned.
Ron snorted, apparently agreeing with Hermione's thoughts, but stopped after a warning look from Harry.
"I'm pretty good at getting out of tight spots," he assured Daphne with a soft smile, turning in his seat to direct the words at her specifically. She smiled back, their eyes meeting.
Hermione pointedly looked away to give them as much privacy as she could manage.
Ron didn't.
"Err, Harry?" he spoke up in a confused voice that had Hermione sorely tempted to whack him around the head in frustration.
From the twitch of his eye and the hint of a snarl, Harry seemed to share the sentiment.
"One of yours," Daphne whispered with a suppressed smile, almost too low for Hermione to catch it. Ron didn't, making him glower at her in suspicion.
"Ron?" Harry replied in a carefully controlled voice, turning to face the redhead.
An uncomfortable silence followed that was only disturbed by the occasional clanking of pots and pans from where Kreacher busied himself with cleaning. The silence gave Ron enough time to look at everyone at the table, his eyes finally coming to rest on a slightly blushing Daphne.
"Wait," he said, narrowing his eyes as understanding seemed to come to him. "Wait. No. No, you wouldn't." He looked at Harry. "No, no. That's –"
"Not really for you to decide," Harry interrupted with a note of finality, "but yes."
"But –"
"Why not?" Daphne spoke up, straightening in her seat. "He's an okay bloke, isn't he?"
Put on the spot, Ron turned to Hermione for help. She shrugged in an attempt to hide her annoyance. "Well, he is, I guess." When he continued to stare at her, Hermione rolled her eyes. "It came up last night."
Ron whirled around. "And you've kept me in the dark, eh? Let's not tell Ron?"
"First of all," Harry answered, raising an eyebrow, "as Hermione just said, it came up last night when you were already in bed. What, drag you down here just to tell you? I know how you can be when you're woken up, Ron. And I fail to see why you'd have any right to know."
"I'm your best friend!" Ron shouted.
"Why would that give you any say in my life, let alone my love life? Daphne and I are a couple. So what? Do you lose out on an opportunity because of that? Did you have any plans that are now useless?"
"Well, no –" Ron tried, but Harry interrupted him again.
"So it doesn't affect you. I already asked you to act civil towards Daphne, so it shouldn't affect your treatment of her either. So why should we have told you?"
"Best friends don't have secrets," Ron explained.
"Well, I do," Harry replied. "I don't tell Hermione everything despite her being a best friend of mine. Do you tell her everything?"
"Yes," Ron said with certainty, only to quaver from a pointed look from Harry and add, "What's important. You and her, that is important."
"And private," Harry told him, "and mostly Daphne's and my concern."
"We didn't have any ill intent on not telling you," Daphne spoke up, taking pity on Ron. "It just never came up."
"Ron," Hermione said, "I think Harry's old enough to decide for himself. He also knows Daphne best out of all of us, so –"
"Daphne?" Ron groused. "Still, she's –"
"What, a Slytherin?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow.
He didn't answer her and instead kept his eyes on Harry. "So you're... ? It never came up?" he repeated. "So you did keep it from us?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, it was kind of fun to have a secret, yeah. But honestly? It really never did come up, and technically, we only really made that step last night." He ignored Hermione's questioning glance, but Daphne nodded slightly with a small smile and blush. "How much sooner should we have told you?" Harry asked Ron whose face showed a multitude of emotions that definitely didn't fit on a tea spoon.
"And..." Ron pursed his lips, hesitating, "and you're... ?"
"For the last time, Ron, yes. Do you have any issues with my choice?"
Ron held his friend's gaze. "You've chosen," he replied in a defeated tone. "Not for me to decide what you do, is it? Not my business what you get up to." It seemed as if he had lost more than just the argument.
"You're happy, aren't you?" Hermione interrupted, looking at Harry and Daphne. Their small smiles said enough.
"Well," Hermione told Harry with a sigh, "I guess that's it, then. I'll..." She checked her watch. "Ten to six. I'd better get ready."
"You do that," Harry replied, brushing over the piece of parchment on the table. He heard her leave and straightened up.
Umbridge. Should he have offered the opportunity to Hermione? She had a special kind of hatred for their former teacher. Harry guessed it might have resentment over Umbridge disabusing Hermione of seeing authority as working for – or at least, not against – society. As much as Snape was a jerk, as much as Lockhart had been a lying opportunist, Umbridge was a woman with a lot of power, all of which she used to harm and hinder. In a way, Umbridge was as influential as Hermione might want to be one day, yet failed horribly at acting responsibly. Umbridge was the anti-thesis of ultimately well-intentioned Professor McGonagall, which might explain their conflict and the need to remove the latter from Hogwarts in fifth year.
For a moment, Harry wondered why Umbridge hadn't taken more direct actions against McGonagall in their fifth year. With the might of the Ministry at her beck and call, she could have the problematic Professor sent to Azkaban or maybe assassinated in her sleep. Did the lack of action mean even Umbridge wasn't stupid enough to challenge McGonagall directly?
With a smirk, Harry realized he wasn't keen on going against the Transfiguration Mistress. Should he ask Neville to open communications with her? She would be a useful ally, if nothing else.
His gaze drifted into the distance as he considered the possibilities. She would be a useful spy in the same way Pettigrew could have been. She could covertly train whoever Neville, Ginny, and Luna could recruit for the Resistance at Hogwarts.
But then, wasn't she also very likely closely watched? Harry knew he would order his followers to keep an eye on McGonagall, so Voldemort would have done the same. An issue for another day, Harry decided, focusing back on the task ahead of him.
With a flick of his wand, he tested his little surprise for everyone. The miniature of a drawn hand bathed the room in red light, making it look almost like blood dripping from the walls. With a snort at his planned joke, Harry dispelled his mockery of the Dark Mark that he had made up specifically for this occasion and walked over to his bed and the clothes laid out for the mission. It had been Hermione's idea; if he was to go up against Aurors, he would need as much mobility as possible. Also, to be on the safe side, he would also need more pockets than robes usually offered, which had led to the simple, grey Muggle clothes, complete with a shabby, green vest.
He had just tied the boots when he heard someone enter the room behind him. With a suppressed smile, he turned around. "Wanted a pri...?" The smile vanished as quickly as it had come. "Ron."
"Yeah," the redhead replied, looking uncomfortable. "I thought I'd see how you're doing, I guess. Heard Hermione coming down, so..." He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. How are you doing?"
"All right, so far," Harry told Ron, raising a challenging eyebrow that hopefully sent the message to get to the point.
"Right. Well, there's something I... Hmm. Greengrass, she's –"
Harry barely kept from groaning. "Ron, I thought –"
"Wait, hear me out, at least. It's... Greengrasses. There's something off about them, not just her. Or at least Mum said so, and –"
"Stop," Harry ordered. "Stop. You want to tell me something about Daphne? Or rather, you want to warn me about something concerning her family that you heard from your mother? Ignoring you offer hearsay at best, I'd rather hear about from Daphne. If there were something, she'd know more about it than you or your mother. And I trust Daphne. If it affected me, she'd tell me. As far as you know, she might already have told me. Did you consider I might already be aware of whatever it is and don't care? Or that I might not put too much stock in hearsay? Or that I have enough secrets myself that I can't judge her based on whatever your mother told you? Or that your mother may be misinformed?"
"I'm not saying Greengrass is... evil as such," Ron said with a mixture of urgency, discomfort, and a hint of doubt. "Slytherin, yes, and maybe not... Anyway, she's a pureblood –"
"So are you," Harry interrupted.
"She's a pureblood," Ron repeated, "and people do talk, and they hear some things. About other families, I mean. Weasleys, they're poor. Blacks, they're all about blood purity. Malfoys, they're slippery. Bones, they're just. Potters, they're... they were charmers."
"Where did you hear that?" Harry wondered.
"Well, Mum, mostly, but it fits. Your grandfather married a Black, his son a Muggleborn. But was he blasted off the tapestry? Others were for lesser reasons, right? Charmers, see?"
"Fair point, but not the one you were trying to make," Harry reminded him.
"Right, well, Greengrasses, there's something as well."
"And that's bad," Harry summarized.
"Yes. Well, no, but –"
"I've already said my part," Harry interrupted. "I trust Daphne, and I respect her privacy. It seems to have worked reasonably well so far, and I see no reason to change my mind now. I doubt she's poisonous like some snakes. She also doesn't seem to come with any curse that I can see or have noticed affecting me. What's the worst – ? No, wait. Let me rephrase that. I believe it won't be as bad as you fear. You don't have to like her, Ron. All I ask is being civil to her. And maybe apologizing to her, but I know how hard that is for you, so I'm not asking you to." When Ron didn't reply, but looked hesitant, Harry continued, "Was there anything else?"
Ron frowned. "Well, yes. It's... What I mean is... Hermione. You've kept her busy all week, and I didn't see much of her. Which is fine, you know? Because she's... Well, you know, she's Hermione." He made a vague gesture to his head that explained little. "And I know she's the best there is, and I know if anyone can... help you, it's her." With a shrug, he added, "Or Tonks. Or Moody, but –"
"Yeah?" Harry prompted, forcing himself to not pinch his nose as he got a feeling what it was about.
"Well, it'll be Aurors tonight, you know? Aurors. They –"
"I'll keep an eye on her, just as she's keeping one on me," Harry promised. "But you worry over nothing. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, and Hermione –"
"Ah, no," Ron interrupted. "It's not..." He broke off, glancing to the side. "Aurors, Harry. You two are up against people who know how to fight. And it won't be the last time, right? That's kind of the point of war, having to fight them eventually. My point is, we – Hermione and I – we will be by your side. But you taking her with you tonight, it got me thinking. Are we ready for that? You might be, but... I'm just Ron, you know? I'm just a guy way in over his head. Do I have what it takes to take on a skilled fighter, let alone Aurors or You-Know-Who's most trusted?"
"You're better than you might think," Harry replied, unsure whether it was a lie or not.
"Still, I thought that maybe we should start preparing for that. Continue our lessons. Or... do more of them, actually. I know I could use it. Hermione might as well. See, you're... really good. You know this stuff. Fighting. Harming. And I don't mean real harm, I mean something Hermione and I could use without feeling too bad. Without..." He grimaced. Without holding back, Harry guessed. "Something that'll give us a real edge. Something even Aurors or You-Know-Who's most skilled can't shake off that easily."
"Pick up training, got it," Harry replied. "But for tonight, I don't plan on picking a fight. Which," he added with a chuckle as he saw Ron swallowing, "means we'll probably stumble into one anyway, you're right, and everything'll fall apart. But don't worry. We've prepared. We know what we're doing. And if push comes to shove, I know Hermione will be ready for it."
An uncomfortable silence descended around them as Ron glanced around. "So... this is it, then? What you've come up with?" He gestured at the assorted items lying on chairs or the table and finally at Harry's clothes.
"Some, yes. Back-ups, in case something goes wrong," Harry explained as he walked over, pocketing a few healing potions. "Hermione made some flash grenades – magical ones, I mean – and I did a bit of testing of my own." Lifting a pocket knife, he added, "It's a Portkey. If anything goes wrong, we'll be out of there in no time." Harry wisely refrained from telling his friend that he knew the wards protecting Umbridge's house would interfere with Portkeys.
"And a knife?" Ron wondered.
"Could be useful one day, and until then, it's a rather unique shape and texture. Less chance of confusing it with something else. Hermione's got one as well – a Muggle pen."
"Useful either way," Ron agreed with a nod. "Makes sense."
"Brooms," Harry continued, pushing an old one in one of his extended pockets. "Never know when you'd need a quick escape. I wish I could take my Firebolt, but... Well, there aren't that many around, you know? So it'd be either transfiguring it or –"
"I get it," Ron interrupted, paling slightly at the idea of messing with a professional broom.
"And my personal addition to my toy collection – repulsor coins." Harry took one of them from the wristband lying on the table, holding it up, "Blue ones."
"What are they for?" Ron asked.
With a smile and a wink, Harry flicked the coin under a vacant chair. The moment it hit the ground, the chair was thrown into the air and smashed against the ceiling with an audible crunch.
"When they hit the ground or a wall with a bit of speed," Harry explained, summoning the coin with a lazy flick of his hand, "they repulse whatever is above or in front of them, whether it's a chair, a small table... a person."
"Ouch," Ron laughed.
"Yes, that's the idea," Harry agreed, storing the coin back in its pouch on the wristband. "The prototypes were a bit... stronger, I guess. Fun, that was."
At seeing Ron's confused look, Harry laughed. "I have green coins lying around. Strong enough to fling pigs or people a couple dozen feet. And I have red ones. They're... Hmm." He pointed to a news article from a Muggle paper pinned to the wall, the headline reading Red Rain Confirmed to be Pig Blood – Police Baffled.
"An accident," Harry added, shrugging, "and a bit too powerful. Nearly took me as well at first and left a sizeable crater, but it became funny after a while."
"At first?" Ron repeated worriedly. "You mean you tested it more than once?"
"Of course I did," Harry confirmed. "I needed to see whether it always blew up or activated at even small impulses instead of hitting something. Also, it was kind of funny. Maybe I'll get around to fixing the flaws one day, but right now, I'm not itching to become collateral damage of my own invention. Now then, I guess it's time." He took the lead, and on the ground floor, he found Hermione already waiting, nervously glancing around the hallway.
"Well, this is it, isn't it?" she greeted her friends.
"Last chance to back out," Harry told her with a chuckle, already knowing her answer.
"As if you'd get rid of me that easily," she replied, shaking her head.
"You're leaving?" Daphne spoke up, coming down the stairs behind Harry. She looked quite worried – not that Harry could fault her.
"We'll be back before long," he promised.
"Ron," Hermione interrupted, waving her friend over, "while we're gone, could you do me a favour? I did a check on our potions supply yesterday, and I thought you could restock a bit. Don't look at me like that, it's nothing too complicated, but... Well, I made a list and already collected the instructions, but I didn't get down to actually brewing." Still talking, she glanced to Harry and Daphne for the briefest of moments before refocusing on Ron. "It's not urgent, of course, and I guess I could do it once we return," she rambled on, looking slightly nervous all of a sudden.
Daphne took the opportunity to close the distance, hugging Harry quickly, but fiercely. Their eyes met as she leaned back slightly, his arms around her waist, to get a good look at his face.
"And once you do," Hermione's voice drifted over, only to be interrupted by Ron's, "I know. I already said I'd –"
"Well, yes, but please be sure to... err... label them or something. The burn salve and the Draught of Calming seem similar enough in the early stages, but if you get them mixed up in that state –"
Daphne seemed to have seen enough of Harry, as she leaned in for a kiss – a short, quite chaste one that had Harry smiling against her lips – before she hugged him once more.
"Make sure you do," she whispered in his ear. "Don't die." After a moment, she added, "And don't get hurt."
"Will you give it a rest, Hermione?" Ron groaned. "C'mon, Harry, tell her... Oi! I mean –"
"Ron," Hermione interrupted with a clear warning in her voice, adding, "Harry, it's time to leave. Ron, please remember what I told you. We'll be back around midnight at latest."
"I know, Hermione!" Ron hissed angrily, but whether because she had taken Daphne's side or because he was annoyed about her orders, Harry didn't know or particularly care. Instead, he used the opportunity that presented itself to him to answer his girlfriend.
"Will do," he whispered back, giving Daphne in his arms a reassuring squeeze before letting go. "Right," he announced. "We're off."
He marched to the front door. When he reached the still speechless Ron, he gave him a hug as well, albeit a quick one. "We'll be back before you know it. Hermione?"
"Oh, as if I was the one who dawdled," she grumbled good-naturedly, but she pulled out her wand and cast some quick transfigurations on his face while Harry spelled her hair into a black, short bob. A few spells later, and she had droopy eyes and thick eyebrows. Just for the sake of it, he added a big, wart-covered nose.
"Good enough," she spoke up, looking at her own work.
"Very handsome," Daphne agreed with a laugh from the stairs.
"Let's go," Harry said, and Hermione followed after a quick wave to Ron and a glance and curt nod to Daphne.
Just as Harry's hand closed around the doorknob, Kreacher appeared out of thin air.
"Master is leaving?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"For a bit, yes," Harry confirmed.
"To go to the witch he talked about?" Kreacher grumbled, shuffling a step closer.
Harry exchanged a look with Hermione who shrugged, but kept quiet.
"Umbridge, yes," Harry replied, "and we'll be back before long."
The old elf hesitated – an odd sight, for sure, to see him on the verge of speaking – before he snapped his fingers, making a small box appear in front of Harry. "Master will miss dinner, Kreacher thinks. Master should take something with him, but he seems to have forgotten, so Kreacher made something for him and Miss Granger."
Whether it was the absurdity of the situation or the general tension she felt, Hermione snorted, quickly hiding a laugh behind her hand.
"Well," Harry managed without laughing as well, "thank you for your concern, Kreacher."
This caused Hermione to cough rather unconvincingly, and Harry quickly pocketed the box, dragging Hermione out of the house and through the tight tube of Apparition.
They arrived next to a deserted road in the middle of nowhere and a short walk away from Umbridge's home. Harry immediately scanning the surroundings, Hermione doubling over in silent laughter.
"It wasn't that funny, you know?" he hissed, relaxing slightly at seeing no danger.
"Right, sorry. But you should've seen your face," Hermione snorted. "Anyway, let's move."
Harry nodded, quickly pulling out his trusted cloak from one of his pockets and throwing it over both of them. Meanwhile, Hermione cast silencing spells on their shoes.
Silently, they marched across the meadow and over to a thicket on a small hill. Left of it was a Muggle village that had been built who-knew-when around a farmhouse that had been transformed into a shabby bar of sorts – in fact, it looked very much like a den of thieves and highway robbers. On the right side of the hill, hidden by the trees and a fair bit of magic, lived Dolores Umbridge. Hermione had found it oddly fitting when he had told her – Umbridge, the evil witch, hiding in the woods.
With little trouble, Harry led them past the Muggle Repelling Wards and more general bits of magic that were meant to keep those away who didn't know what they could find on the clearing a little further on.
When they stepped over the last of the outer protections, the house popped into existence. Unlike the nearby Muggle houses, it had no rural charm nor did it look remotely appropriate on the clearing. Its walls of white with the tall windows and wrought iron fence looked like a cheap imitation of a manor, lacking in size and slightly too orderly to be believable. Hermione breathed audibly next to Harry.
"You didn't lie," she whispered.
"Like she wants to be what she isn't," Harry repeated his earlier statement.
"As if it's more important how it looks instead of what it is," Hermione agreed. "The sad thing is, it could actually be rather nice – like a holiday home for the well-to-do. Add a bit of a garden, maybe a greenhouse or a pond..." She shook her head, checking her watch. "Twenty past six," she told Harry with a nod.
"It's okay," he assured her, pointing towards the front door. "Riley's over there, behind the pillar. That's good; he's still young and inexperienced. Riley's here, so... Ah, Finkle. Over by the trees on the other side. She's doing a perimeter check, I guess." Harry indicated the direction.
"Good so far," Hermione put in. "Apparition spot's over there, then. I can see it."
"Light's on on the first floor," Harry pointed out. "She's already here." A moment later, he added, "Movement on the ground floor, second window to the left. Dining room."
"Makes sense. Riley and Finkle," Hermione mused.
"Not a problem," Harry assured her. "He's inexperienced; she's thorough, but weak. Or rather –"
"Yes," Hermione interrupted, "because, I know."
"I can take them," Harry mused.
"Daphne wouldn't be happy about that," Hermione whispered. "I'm guessing you told her –"
"That I won't die or get hurt," Harry said with a half-hearted shrug. "I didn't say I wouldn't put myself in danger."
Hermione remained quiet, watching the house intently. "Well, let's hope you won't have to, but I won't let you do it alone. Any idea who'll be inside?"
Harry shrugged. "Not really, no. But it doesn't matter. Outside, not inside is the problem. Doors can be locked."
After a few moments, Hermione leaned into Harry. "And now we wait," she sighed. Obviously looking for something to do, she nudged him. "Go on then, let's see what Kreacher's given you."
With a snort, Harry pulled the box out and opened it.
"Cookies," Hermione said, blinking rapidly. "He made you cookies?"
"And sandwiches," Harry added with a chuckle, pulling a Thermos out of the secretly extended box. "And this seems like... it is. Soup."
"And sweet bread," Hermione told him with a nod towards it. "Dear Merlin, that might even count as a full meal."
"Odd, old elf," Harry mused, shaking his head, unsure what had brought it on. "Well, shall we?" He indicated a trunk a few feet away, and together, Hermione and Harry crept over and ate their packed food.
At five past seven, the box mostly empty, they rose again and walked over to the apparition spot just barely past the inner perimeter and the alarms put in place by the Ministry.
As they waited for the time to continue with their plan while they were hidden behind a tree, Harry kept a close eye on the movements in the house.
"Dinner's done," Hermione whispered.
"Light in the living room," Harry observed.
"And the corridor," Hermione added.
They continued their silent watch. Riley and Finkle kept close to the door, trusting the wards to announce any visitor, even the ones that were expected. It had been decided to not mess with the wards or alarms and instead sneak past them at the right moment. While Harry was still confident he could remove any protection in place, there was also the danger of someone noticing it and Umbridge trying to escape. Hunting her down would only complicate things, in that respect, Harry and Hermione agreed. The less time their opponents would have to adapt, the higher the chance of success.
"Y'know," Harry whispered when Riley was reprimanded by his partner before ducking into the house for a moment, "Ron told me he'd hardly seen you over the last week."
"We were busy," she offered, not looking at Harry, but blushing slightly. "Riley's back. Looks relieved."
"Not so he wouldn't have seen you," Harry replied. "I was away a lot."
Hermione tensed at his side. "I know, but I had a lot on my mind. I had to... Well."
Harry nudged her as a silent question. She glared, but Harry only nudged her once more.
"Daphne," Hermione admitted. "Kept an eye on her since you didn't. Someone had to."
"You said as much already," Harry whispered with a bit of an edge to his voice.
"Sorry, I didn't... Well, I did, I guess, but I shouldn't have," Hermione sighed, rubbing her eyes. "And you did bring it upon yourself."
"It's fine," Harry told her, not sure whether he had lied or not. It all came down to whether Hermione had any right to reprimand him for his actions over the last week. Daphne had, but Hermione?
"How did you survive days like this?" she wondered next to him. "This is –"
"Boring?" he offered.
"Getting on my nerves," Hermione answered. "Change of light. Living room's less bright."
"Probably getting cosy," Harry guessed, thinking back to his previous surveillance excursions as he scratched the stubbly, scarred chin that wasn't really his. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Hermione sighed. "Finkle's moving."
Harry nodded. "Repositioning. She knows it can't be long now." He glanced over to the guards. "Any preference which one you'll take?"
Hermione glared at him.
"Just asking," Harry pointed out. "And anyway, the offer still stands."
"And I won't change my –" He broke off as just in that moment, a lonely figure appeared a few feet from them. Hermione tensed next to Harry, but started moving with him.
The figure turned out to be a balding, bellied man with a pointy face and an overbite. He brushed off his robes and, hissing in annoyance, walked towards the perimeter, not knowing that Hermione and Harry were closing in behind him.
As the man passed the wards, the silent alarms went off inside the house. At the same time, Finkle tensed visibly, wand at the ready for the arrival.
"Castor Bulstrode," the man announced, stopping once a spotlight was directed at him from the second floor of the house, "here on orders to deliver reports for the Head of Magical Law Enforcement."
Harry had to suppress a chuckle at seeing Hermione's wide-eyed surprise, but kept silent as the seconds passed and the success of their plan was most at risk. If they were noticed, if Finkle or someone else had added something to tell how many people had crossed the borders, they'd have to adapt and possibly fight their way past the guards – enough time for Umbridge to be ready for them.
"Come here," Riley called over, stepping forward with a nervous look.
Harry and Hermione stayed where they were. Fragments of Bulstrode's hushed talk with Riley drifted over, but the instructions and written orders Bulstrode had brought passed the inspection. He followed Riley, and both were followed by Harry and Hermione hiding under the Invisibility Cloak the moment the spotlight was gone.
Bulstrode was allowed inside, but Harry and Hermione stayed outside as planned and waited. Time seemed to pass more slowly. Riley tried impressing his partner, watching the grounds like a hawk and yet not knowing about the two teenagers standing rooted to the spot barely fifteen feet away on the path. Finkle went through a number of random security spells, but likewise didn't notice anything.
A small part of Harry was disappointed. While he did want the plan to go off without any trouble, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing out on a thrilling fight. Even if he knew the wish to best his enemies personally and proving himself superior was neither wise nor really Harry's, he was still curious how it might have played out.
Bulstrode reappeared, grunting in a way that made Harry think of the large girl he knew from school. "Good night," he told Finkle with a nod and sent Riley, who had almost dropped his wand in surprise, a sympathetic smile.
Once Bulstrode was out of hearing range, Finkle sighed. "Don't make such stupid mistakes," she told her partner. "That could have cost you your life in a fight. Keep your grip on your wand. Don't they teach the basics any more?"
"'m sorry," Riley replied, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.
"You're lucky it was him," Finkle added with a shake of her head.
They relapsed into silence while the still invisible Harry kept an eye on Bulstrode's retreating back. Once he had crossed the wards, he vanished from sight with a pop that was still audible where Harry stood.
Hermione's steadying breath told him she was readying herself for the next phase of the plan. Harry quickly tapped both of them with his wand, watching as they disappeared from view even to each other.
Disillusionment had its upsides and downsides. On one hand, there was less risk of anyone seeing them lift the cloak enough to poke their wands out; on the other hand, it also meant no longer seeing each other and having to rely on either other forms of silent communication or talking. Since they didn't want to risk the latter, they were forced to use the former – Hermione's hand found Harry's.
Up on the second floor, a window was closed. It was time to strike, and Harry and Hermione crept closer at what could only be described as snail's pace until they were standing less than an arm's reach away from the guards. From the way Hermione's hand twisted in his, Harry knew she was facing Riley, which left Finkle for him. Once he was in position, she put her foot on his and let go of his hand. The cloak moved as Hermione lifted her side of it. Harry mirrored her, poking his invisible wand out from under the cloak and hoping neither guard would see the inside of it. So far, no magic he had come across had been able to hide the cloak itself.
Hermione's foot pressed down – Harry cast his spell. Two flashes of red jumped in the night, the distance to small to allow for much light. Finkle went down just barely realizing what had hit her.
"Propping up," Hermione breathed, and Harry complied.
With a lazy flick, he conjured a crude frame to support the unconscious Finkle before levitating his victim into position to make her look alert. Turning around, he found Hermione finishing her part as well and flicked his wand at the door, adding a few choice enchantments that would keep it locked long enough to keep anyone inside from getting out for a while, particularly Aurors on duty.
"I'll remove the spell," Harry whispered, quickly cancelling the now unnecessary disillusionments. "Looking good," he joked as the pale-faced Hermione shimmered into view.
Together, they walked along the wall over to where they knew the living room was.
Through the windows and curtains, they could see the dim light shining inside. It was Hermione who noticed their mark first.
"There," she hissed, pointing to a shadow on the left of the room. "I think that's her."
With a quick spell, Harry silenced the part of the wall with a localized spell while Hermione pocketed the Invisibility Cloak. Phase three began without any sign of trouble so far. When he was done, Harry glanced to Hermione next to him. Bobbing his head once, twice, thrice, he cast his spell, blowing out a chunk of the wall. Hermione didn't miss a beat and jumped inside, sending a Stunner straight at where she assumed Umbridge would be.
Luck wasn't on their side, it seemed. While Hermione's aim was flawless, her spell only hit the back of the armchair instead of the dumpy witch sitting inside it. The element of surprise lost, Harry and Hermione's next spells missed – Umbridge had ducked behind the furniture and, in a moment of brilliance and madness, seemed to have banished it, sending it flying towards her assailants. Harry had to deflect it, barely ducking out of the way of a purplish spell that missed him only due to his reflexes. Again, luck wasn't on his side – just as he was about to retaliate, a bright flash of maybe a dozen suns blinded him.
He threw himself to the side, hoping to avoid whatever Umbridge might have up her sleeves. The noise of the armchair crashing into the wall mixed with the unmistakeable sizzle and cracks of spellfire. Hermione was still up and fighting, then, and had been more lucky than Harry for once.
The after-images of the flash lessened just enough that Harry could see it happen – Hermione's spell sizzled out against a shield; Umbridge's retaliation of a wide slicing spell was dead-on, but instead of shielding, Hermione threw herself to the side, Umbridge's attack passing inches from her face. Casting mid-fall, Hermione surprised both Harry and Umbridge with her aim, and too slow to evade or protect against it, Umbridge was hit in the chest. She froze in place like a stature.
Hermione hit the ground with a resounding thump, but almost immediately pointed her wand at her former teacher.
Umbridge fell backward, still the rigid figure Hermione's spell had made her.
As Harry and Hermione got to their feet, their eyes met.
"Got her," she announced unnecessarily, sounding slightly disbelieving.
Snorting as he fought with laughter, Harry nodded. "Good job. What'd you do?"
"Froze her," Hermione replied, coughing as she touched her ribs tenderly. She was bleeding slightly from a cut on her right leg, and held her left arm pressed close to her body. "Didn't expect her to put up such a fight." Her eyes went to the wall behind Harry. Following her gaze, he saw the curtains cut cleanly about four feet above the ground. In the corner, the remains of an outrageously pink Ottoman burned with greenish flames that looked anything but welcoming or warm, and one wall seemed to be bleeding a greyish, bubbling muck. The floor was cracked and covered in burn marks that hadn't been there moments ago.
Harry nodded, impressed with the damage around them. "Bad luck. Good job, though," he summarized, walking over to the stiff Umbridge lying on her back. Her eyes moved, and Harry was reminded of his first year when Hermione had used a similar spell on Neville. "Hello, Madam Umbridge," he greeted in a false tone of nicety and a mocking bow. "As you've probably figured out by now," he told her with a smile, "we're here for you."
Hermione stepped up to him, staring down with, if Harry was right, a look of hatred on her assumed face.
"Now then, it's time for business," Harry told Umbridge, straightening up. "I would say it's nothing personal, but..." He drifted off pointedly, shrugging in such a way that it might have seemed almost apologetic. "Oh well." Just as he pointed his wand at the downed woman, he heard footsteps from the hallway. It seemed the unplanned fight had attracted attention, which complicated matters slightly. Hadn't he joked with Ron that something was guaranteed to go wrong?
Not taking the risk, Harry used his own freezing spell, but a literal one. With a flick of his wand, he shattered the frozen body in large chunks, but felt cheated out of the closure he had hoped for. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, though, and turned to face the door just it was blown open by the new challengers.
Hermione's shield absorbed the first Stunner sent their way while she threw herself behind an overturned couch. Harry bent slightly at the hip and just enough to let another spell fly past him, but he too didn't waste time and retaliated. A wild burst of multi-coloured lightning shot from his wand, the impact jumping from left to right as it zigzagged across the floor in front of Harry's feet towards the door. Whatever it hit exploded into flames or a shower of shrapnel; when it hit the door frame, some of the resulting splinters almost tore off square-jawed Auror O' Kealy's face, leaving half of it in shreds. Her partner, likely Thompson, dragged her out of sight as Harry's spell shattered part of the wall and caused a rain of debris. The heat radiating off of the tip of his wand made him end the spell only moments later and likely not a second too soon. Crouching down, he conjured a small stretch of wall as a cover. Just as it had risen to his hip, a rain of spells came from around the frame as a whirlwind of red jumped through the door, followed moments later by a chunk of brown that turned out to be a wooden chest landing just right for the stocky Farrow to hide behind.
Hermione immediately targeted the Auror, which left Harry to take care of the one's providing cover for Farrow. Firing a few spells that forced those behind the door frame to hide, he flicked his wrist, flinging a blue coin against the corridor wall he could see.
The coin worked very well, repulsing both the dust in the air as well as – if the grunts were any indication – smashing those hiding in the corridor into the opposite wall. With a quick flick, Harry summoned the coin back into his hand, spinning to thrust his wand out against the chest that still provided cover for Farrow and had withstood Hermione's attacks so far despite the serious damage done to it. Harry's spell made the difference, transfiguring the chest in a blink of an eye into a burst of flames that left nothing behind. Hermione's follow-up of crimson that seemed like condensed darkness in comparison passed through the explosion. Though the smoke and ash, Harry saw Farrow falling backwards with singed robes, but before he had time to really enjoy the grim satisfaction of the small victory, someone hollerred from the hallway.
Farrow down, O' Kealy possibly still injured and at least one other Auror outside, the latter two likely warned now, Harry gritted his teeth. Should he take his attention away from the entrance to clear an escape path and risk a counter-attack from whoever was outside? Or should he try to hold the position and keep those in the hallway from forcing their way inside?
The wandtip poking around the corner was all the warning Harry got, and a split second later, a wall of fire erupted that Harry had the sense to drop to the ground. The wall in front of him cracked from the heat, but whoever had unleashed the inferno couldn't or wouldn't keep it up and switched to a wide shower of spells that managed to keep Harry pinned in his spot. Thompson used the opportunity and flung himself into the room – counter-attack two had begun as the Auror ran across the room. Even the best of duellists were in trouble if they had to divide their attention between two threats. However, the same was of course also true the other way around, and even though he added his own spells to provide his cover, Thompson couldn't shield himself against Hermione's spell that hit him in the back and flung him against the wall he had been heading for with a sickening crunch.
Harry used his opportunity. If they wanted fire, he was all-too-willing to provide. With a wild whip-like motion, he sent a ball of flames into the hallway, and while it would lose momentum as soon as something would come between the fire and his wand, it might still buy them precious time.
It worked in a way, as whoever had been hidden behind the door frame ducked out of the way with a shout. While his fire stopped the guards' attack, only moments later, they were swallowed by a vortex of a howling wind. Just as Harry was about to prepare for the next clash, the next attempt at taking him and Hermione down, she unleashed a surprise of her own she had prepared while Harry had forced their attackers' retreat; she sent a pack of dogs into the hallway. Smart witch, Harry mused, hearing the barking and wild shouts echoing out, to give the guards something else to fight. With the entrance temporarily secured, Harry hastily closed it with a conjured wall he knew wouldn't hold for long.
"We've got to leave," Hermione told him with a horrified expression.
Harry looked down the slowly thawing chunks of meat left of what had moments ago been Umbridge. Should've boiled her from inside out, a small part of Harry groused, or popped her like a balloon, but that voice was quickly drowned out by the voice of reason. He'd set out to kill her; he did.
"Let's leave," he agreed with Hermione, pulling the broom out of his pocket before quickly rapping Hermione on the head. The disillusionment washed over her while he mounted the broom, and once he felt her arms wrap themselves tightly around him, he disillusioned himself and pointed his wand at the outer wall.
The room was torn apart in front of them, the wall exploding outward, and before the rubble had fallen on the grass outside, Harry kicked off with practised ease, flying into the night sky.
They rose higher and higher. Amidst the dust, Harry could make out people moving below in the ruins of the living room they had left – too many for a simple guard, in fact, so reinforcements had to have arrived at some time. Don't feel bad about the injured, he reminded himself. It had been necessary, and they probably weren't seriously hurt. There were times when magic defied reality in very real and useful ways, and healing injuries in minutes that would take Muggles weeks or months was one of them.
Hermione's grip around him tightened. He knew they were mostly done, but there was still one thing was left to do. He pointed his wand into the sky and created his salute to Voldemort and the Ministry. The rapidly expanding sign painted the area red as blood – a drawing of a rude hand gesture.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione groaned. "Really?"
"My statement," he chuckled and flew away from the scene of crime as spells shot past them into the night's sky, hoping someone would try dispelling his handiwork once they were gone.
Alternate title: A Toad Croaks It.
