Chapter 43

Winds of Change

The alleyway was a dark and winding snake, chipped cobblestones and grimy debris made up its belly with darkened storefronts as its scales. A squat figure hurried along the shadows, cloaked in a long hooded purple cloak with velvet pink trim. The purple hood ventured deeper and deeper into Knockturn Alley, quietly passing eerie storefronts, strange apothecaries and bizarre antique merchants.

Upon reaching a dead end, the purple hood came to an abrupt stop in front of a blank wall and looked about furtively; a stubby hand appeared from within the folds of the cloak and nimbly produced a long wand. Click, clack, clink – the wand deftly tapped a three touch sequence on the bricks and blank wall revolved in on itself to reveal a musty smelling tunnel. The purple hood slinked into the secret tunnel…two shadows detached themselves from a nearby wall and soundlessly followed into the dark hole.

The tunnel continued on for half a mile and then gradually sloped upwards, eventually pouring out into an open air market, filled with the sights, smells and sounds of both the magical and muggle alike – the infamous Black Bazaar. The Black Bazaar was an open secret in underground London, a black market that was tolerated by both the magical and muggle authorities. Bottom feeders and men of quiet disrepute would congregate and sell all manner of wares – valuable artifacts, stolen art work and outlawed weapons could be had for the right prices. Spices, potions, spells, poisons, and even flesh changed hands in the market as often as day turned to night.

Despite the cloistered atmosphere and violent men that the Bazaar attracted, unrest was the exception and not the norm. Somehow, the marketplace policed itself efficiently and ruthlessly – severed hands, feet and even heads were tarred and mounted on spikes around the souk, announcing the punishment for thieving, lying and killing while on market grounds.

The purple hood mixed in with the flowing crowd and entered the market, walking by all manner of shops and oxcarts, pushing past merchants hawking their ill-gotten wares and skirting through constricted walkways lined with crammed together stalls. At the far end of market plaza stood a nondescript red brick building, sandwiched between an exotic apothecary whose sign claimed it was the world's foremost authority in deadly potions and a butcher shop that had all manner of creature hanging from hooks. The purple hood knocked twice on a plain latticed door in front of the brick building and was soon permitted entrance. Two shadows detached themselves from the throng of people lining the market and made quietly followed.

The purple hood entered a smoky parlor decorated in the manner of a prohibition speakeasy. Scantily clad women lounged on velvet and leather sofas, while muscular young men in tight sequined shorts worked the room, handing out drinks and cigarettes to well-dressed patrons. The purple hood walked to a back staircase and ascended quickly to the third floor landing and, without knocking, entered an unnumbered door at the far end of a long wooden hallway.

The door swung shut and the purple hood pushed past a doorway of hanging beads into a small, yet comfortable bedroom. The room was lined with pink wallpaper and hanging pictures of kittens and rainbows. There were several vases standing on ledges lining a few windows, filled with dried flowers of all colors. Pink and white plates decorated a small chest of drawers and a small table was nestled in a corner, with a large pitcher of pink lemonade and two saucers.

In the middle of the room lay a large water bed covered in lacy white bed sheets and pink blankets – a young, doe-eyed girl sat quietly upon the bed, slowly swaying as the water bed settled down. She had smooth white porcelain skin, dirty blond hair and whitish pink eyes, with a sweet, innocent face.

Her lips were laced with a light pink cream and her cheeks had been flecked with sweet smelling talcum powder. Her lithe and delicate body was covered in a pink catholic school girl outfit, replete with long white stockings, a short skirt and pink tie. Her cherubic faces wore no laugh lines or crow's feet, rather, it was smooth and supple, with a youthful exuberance exuding from her shy smile. She could have been fifteen or thirty-five, it was impossible to tell.

The purple hood drank in the sights and smells of the room, and then pushed back a long cowl to reveal a broad, flabby face with a little neck and a very wide, slack mouth. The stout face held large, round, and slightly bulging eyes and a piggish nose – Dolores Umbridge was very pleased with what lay before her. A rather long tongue snaked out from her small white teeth and licked a circle around her red, bulbous lips. Madame Lacroix's was expensive, but my goodness, her wares were certainly worth the price of admission.

Umbridge shed her purple cloak and let it fall to the floor – she wore pink dress robes underneath, a flowing gown that did well to hide her stocky, boyish frame. She sat next to the ravishing creature on the water bed and laid a gentle hand on the girl's knee, as they both swayed with the bed's ripples.

"How are you this evening?" asked Umbridge in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice.

"I'm well, my lady," came the soft voiced reply.

My God, the silky sweet voice is like a warm, comforting bath on a cold night. Umbridge tried to slow her excited breathing – she'd paid two month's salary for this vixen and was determined to squeeze very drop of pleasure from her allotted time. She playfully squeezed the girl's knee, then leaned in to breathe in the intoxicating smell wafting from the girl's freshly shampooed hair.

"I understand you want to apply for admission to my all girls boarding school, is that correct?"

Confusion flashed across the girl's face for just a brief instant, and then it was instantly replaced with a demure smile. The girl cast her eyes shyly to the ground as she replied, "Yes mam, that's correct. I've no family and am searching for a safe place to pursue the fine arts."

"I see, how commendable, but you must understand I only accept the very best. My institution has very…strict standards. What type of skills do you have to…offer?"

Umbridge found herself losing concentration and short of breath, a warmness began spreading throughout her. This creature is truly yummy, I must remember to ask Sylvie where she found this little minx.

The girl stood up and slowly walked in front of Umbridge, a ballerina preparing to stretch before her big performance. She was petite, but stood tall in her high inched, open-toed stilettos. She twirled around like a ballerina and then gave her back to Umbridge while she bent to touch her toes. Umbridge let out a long, yearning sigh and reached a hand out, before quickly pulling back. No, I must show some patience.

Umbridge stood up and walked over to the chest of drawers. She opened the top drawer and slide it open slowly – inside lay white leather gloves, a long handled brush, a small knife, small blackjack and a fearsome looking cat o' nine tails. Her bulging eyes took in each item and she finally reached into the drawer and removed the brush. As she reached turned back to the girl in giddy excitement, a quiet but persistent knock sounded at the door.

Umbridge's smile vanished instantly. "What is this nonsense? We are not to be disturbed!"

"I'm so sorry," squeaked the girl as she quickly scurried off.

The door creaked and soft voices spilled into the room. Umbridge wore an angry scowl and glowered at the girl when she pushed through hanging bead door.

"It's for you miss."

Umbridge gave the girl another angry look and then walked to the door, ready to blast whoever was there. The door was open a slight crack and she pushed her stubby head through – two dark shadows stood in the dark hallway.

"What is it Boggs? You and Harry are supposed to be my unseen guardian angels, not incompetent and bothersome fools!"

"Uh, I'm sorry, Undersecretary, but, umm–"

"Out with it you idiot."

"It's the Minister…he's called another emergency cabinet meeting and your presence is required."

Umbridge stared at her lackey in sullen silence for a few moments, before dismissing him with, "Meet me in the downstairs parlor in 10 minutes."

"But the Minister said to come immedia–"

"Ten minutes!"

Umbridge slammed the door shut in annoyance and stalked back into the bedroom. The house rules at Madame Sylvie Lacroix's were simple yet rigid: no magic, no killing and absolutely no refunds. The girl looked up and smiled when Umbridge entered through the swinging beads, but her smile faltered at the look she received. Umbridge dropped the brush to the floor and stalked angrily over to the open drawer. She pursed her lips in anger as her hand hovered back and forth over the small knife, the blackjack and the over the cat o' nine tails.

When Umbridge finally turned around to the face the girl, a long winding black whip rested in her stubby right hand. The cat o' nine tails was a long winding rope, a terrible cotton cord with nine knotted throngs woven into it. Each hard knot was inlaid with silver and gold and the handle was made of a dark black obsidian. Umbridge snapped the whip against the floor, its spiked end dug into the hardwood floor and tore out a small groove. The girl shrunk back in fear as Umbridge approached, her small delicate hands grabbing the large pink blanket on the bed.

"Miss," the girl's soft voice faltered. "What are you doing?"

Umbridge didn't deign herself to mouth a reply. Instead she walked over to the bed and whirled the whip over her head, swinging it down with alarming power. Crack!

Dolores Umbridge stared sourly out the window of her Ministry town car, watching rain beat against the cold glass pane. On the outside, the town car appeared to be a normal black Mercedes, slowly winding through late night London traffic with its fellow brothers. However, on the inside this particular town car had no backseat – Umbridge sat within a large living room, lounging on a large sofa wide enough to seat four people. A rather large fat man was snoring in a rocking chair and a black haired woman was quietly leafing through a stack of old parchments on the other side of the living room. A spacious kitchen lay next to the living room and there was a dining room as off to the right, which held even more people sitting down to a meal.

The town car pulled off a main thoroughfare and drove down a one-way street that ended into a cul-de-sac lined with rows of expensive cars. The town car stopped in front of a large archway and a white gloved porter rushed out into the rain to open the car door. Umbridge quietly stepped out of the car, took the umbrella held out for her and headed into the Quincy Park hotel.

The renowned hotel was named after a famous colonial British general, but the Quincy family had sold most of its interest in the hotel several generations ago to a well-regarded legal and real estate firm, whose silent majority shareholder was listed as an ancient British family known as the Malfoys. The new proprietors eventually took over the entire ownership of the hotel and its board, after the remaining Quincy family members strangely died within a few months of each other and the other members of the extended family surprisingly showed no interest in claiming their shares. The only aspect that now remained from the original build and decor was the famous hotel name.

Umbridge walked through a magnificent foyer with high ceilings, crystal chandeliers and marbled floors to a bank of glass elevators in a corner. A few minutes later she was ushered into the penthouse apartment of the hotel that took up the entire top floor of the hotel – a large open air balcony and swimming pool, fully stocked bar and full service kitchen, plush sofas, leather backed arms chairs, renowned pieces of art and crystal stemware decorated the lavish suite.

Waiters in black suits and white bowties reminded Umbridge of penguins as they rushed about handing out hors d'oeuvres, glasses of wine and expensive cigars to the assembled guests of high ranking Ministry employees, wizarding public officials and aristocrats with conservative political leanings. In the center of the exclusive party stood Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge, holding court over a few smug looking wizards and fawning witches.

Umbridge took a glass of white wine from a red faced waiter and headed for the open air balcony, nodding hellos to friends and colleagues as she skirted by. Rain was still pouring from a dark sky, but somehow the open air balcony was warm and dry, amazingly impervious to the inclement weather. Umbridge looked down on the city of London, sipping her expensive wine and collecting her thoughts.

I see Finnegan and Taylor have been invited tonight for some reason, I swear to God the Minister sometimes acts just like all the other cronies, favoring weak men over strong women every time. As usual the only women here worth their salt are Sarah and I, the others are simply the usual riff raff and arm candy. Umbridge swallowed down the sudden urge to vomit, frustration crawling along her stubby face.

"Dolores, there you are! Where've you been? We were starting to worry."

Umbridge turned around to face a handsome man with perfect white teeth, matching flawless skin and shoulder length blond hair drawn back in a tight pony tail. Malfoy was decked out in a dark blue suit, checkered white dress shirt, brown shoes and crisp orange tie. His mouth curved upwards in a pointed fashion, somewhere between a snarl and a smile, his eyes alight with cunning and curiosity.

The annoyed look on Umbridge's face slid away and was replaced by her most obsequious smile. "Oh stop it Lucius," came a girlish voice. "I was just finishing up some work at the office, my subordinates need a guiding hand at times."

"You work too hard, you know that right?"

"I only live to serve the greater good," smiled Umbridge. She lived in a constant state of fear that her half-blood heritage might one day come to light and jeopardize the acceptance she had gained and cultivated among the pure blood aristocrats of Britain. "You look so handsome this evening."

"Thank you my dear," winked Lucius, as he took her hand and led her back to the party. "Now let us go back inside, there are some people I want you to meet."

Hours later the penthouse suite had emptied of the waiters, bar tenders, less important ministry officials and politicians and the casual invitees – all the remained were the Minister, his top aides and a few powerful friends. They sat around a large oak table, tossing around ideas, theories and new strategies – each person trying to convince and cajole the others to their way of thinking.

The talking and arguing had been raging for a solid hour:

"Why would Dumbledore want to make such a claim? Why push the lie of Voldemort?

"He wants to consolidate his power! He regrets turning down the position of Minister!"

"He has no proof! He's not back!"

"Why would the boy lie?"

"What do the latest polls show? What does the public think of Dumbledore and how he is running the school?"

Umbridge listened to the back and forth with waning patience. Typical old and fat men, bleating and whining the whole night with not even one of them suggesting a course of action. She caught the eye of Fudge and held his gaze, until he raised his hands for quiet and the shouts died down.

"What do you think Dolores? You've been unusually quiet this evening," said Fudge."

"It's quite obvious isn't?" When no one answered, Umbridge plowed on. "Dumbledore has been slowly and steadily running the credibility of Britain's finest wizarding school into the ground. He's clearly worried about getting sacked and so he's tossed out the biggest smokescreen he can find to divert scrutiny upon himself."

"That is exactly what I've been saying," interjected Malfoy. "As Rookwood and Yaxley have pointed out, the last few years at Hogwarts have been quite shocking, a veritable trove of scandals and black marks have characterized Dumbledore's presidency of the school. He tried to steal Flamel's stone…"

"I was told he was protecting the stone," came a voice from the table.

"Whether he was protecting the stone or scheming to keep it for himself," continued Malfoy as a look of angry annoyance flashed across his face, "Dumbledore never should have brought such a dangerous object onto the school grounds. He put the lives of innocent children in harm's way, my son's life!"

Malfoy stood and slammed a palm onto the oak table with a loud smack. He then pointed at several people seated around the table. "Many of you have children and grandchildren at Hogwarts as well! The next year brought even more vicious attacks on the school! It's a miracle no students died that year! He then brings in a werewolf to teach without consulting the school governors! And finally this year the unthinkable happened! The one thing I have been warning you all finally occurred! A student died Cornelius! And now the old fool is using old fears to take the scrutiny off himself!"

The wizard to the left of Malfoy put a hand on the angry wizard's arm to calm him and try to get him to take his seat, but Malfoy shrugged off the arm. "The man's lost it and we have to act! He's obsessed with power and riches, and now he is terrified he will lose his grip on the school. He has…why, he has close to a million galleons in personal loans to me alone!"

Malfoy sat down in his seat, glaring around the table, daring anyone to challenge him and voice dissension. The eyes around the table slowly shifted from Malfoy to Fudge, who was squirming in his seat and playing with bowler hat in his lap.

It was Augustus Rookwood, seated to the Minister's right, who finally broke the hanging silence. "Cornelius I was hired to lobby on your behalf and advise you in all things, to provide you just counsel no matter the consequences. The child who died was well-liked, came from noble pure blood stock, he died on Hogwarts grounds. This is now the second death of a student that has happened on Dumbledore's watch. This should trigger an immediate review of the Headmaster's ability to continue on in his current capacity. He cannot afford the death to be put down to incompetence…he desperately needs a scape goat. And who would be perfect guilty party, but the vanquished Dark Lord? The very name inspires fear and would buy Dumbledore time to get a plan in place."

"Do not hesitate, do not take our warnings lightly," gently whispered Malfoy.

Other voices of agreement began to chime in and slowly the discussion turned to Harry Potter and the child's credibility and outrageous claims of what happened that night. Umbridge suddenly felt claustrophobic, she could not bear to spend another second in that room, with all those good ole boys and their bleating.

She quietly rose from her chair and found her way back to the open air balcony. The rain was still pouring down in buckets and the wet drops were still disappearing before they touched down on the balcony. Umbridge reached her stubby fingers into a pouch around her waist and pulled out a slender cigarette, as she put it in her mouth the other end instantly sparked into flame and she took a deep inhale of the sweet tasting smoke, letting it fill her mouth and lungs. She exhaled out a dark blue puff and watched it slowly swirl towards the sky.

If the men were too weak to act, I'll take charge. Harry was just a child, what was one meddlesome life in the face of a great changing wind. For too long the blood traitors and mud bloods have been ruining everything, infecting the wizarding world with their evil and vindictive ideas.

If the fools here didn't have the stomach to do what was necessary…I would simply have to take charge. A strong women is worth ten men. The boy would have to be silenced from spreading his lies, he would have to be discredited!

An assassin? Make the child feeble and sick? A well placed poison? Dementors perhaps? I've used them before…they would never talk…