CHAPTER 8 – THE CLASH OF BATTLE AND STRATEGY
In the wake of the trial, the Monday that followed saw Harry assembling with his newfound betrothed and a growing circle of loyal friends. They awaited the arrival of their combat instructor, a man whose expertise Harry was increasingly convinced he would need sooner rather than later.
Their group had expanded beyond Harry and Fleur's initial expectations. As he surveyed the room, Harry reflected on the bonds he had forged with each of his companions and the compelling reasons that had drawn them to this mission. Hermione and Ron, the stalwart duo, were the most obvious choices. Their friendship had been forged through four years of almost constant companionship, and despite the strain that had briefly marred Harry's relationship with Ron during the Triwizard Tournament, he knew that Ron would stand by his side when it mattered most. Ron could be a bit unpredictable at times, but his loyalty was unwavering. Hermione, on the other hand, was a certainty. In one way or another, Harry had been the center of her world since their fateful meeting on the train, and she would never be excluded from any situation where he was involved.
Fleur, as Harry thought about it, was a given in this endeavor. Not only was she now his intended, but in the brief span of days they had had to become better acquainted, he had discovered her fierce determination to protect those she considered family. It was evident that Harry had now earned a place in that cherished group. The sense of being considered part of a real family, something he had yearned for his entire life, was humbling and overwhelming. Harry couldn't help but be grateful for her boundless care and concern.
Ginny's motivations, in the meantime, were no longer shrouded in mystery, thanks to Hermione's elucidation. What truly surprised Harry about Ginny was the apparent transformation she had undergone in just the two days since they had reconnected. When Ginny arrived at the ambassador's manor, she had visibly summoned her courage and approached Harry without any of the embarrassment or shyness he had anticipated from her in the past. That annoying squeak in her voice had disappeared, much to Harry's delight. He looked forward to getting to know her better, as he suspected that she could evolve into a close friend who shared his growing sense of purpose.
The twins, Fred and George, could be found casually lounging in the corner of the room, their hushed conversations betraying their unmistakable plotting of pranks for the upcoming school year. They were not just enjoyable companions; Harry had a deep-seated trust in them. He knew that when the going got tough, the twins would have his back. While their pranks spared no one, at least Harry was confident that their jests were never intended with malice. Their presence in the group was a given, for they had consistently supported him throughout their friendship.
More perplexing were the last two individuals in the room. Neville Longbottom was engrossed in a quiet conversation with Hermione, displaying his characteristic shyness and self-effacing demeanor. His appearance that morning had been in line with his usual demeanor. It was Hermione who had proposed including Neville, and, with Harry's concurrence, she had extended the invitation. Harry had been pleasantly taken aback when Neville agreed. Though he had not yet had a chance to engage Neville in a substantial conversation, he knew that the young wizard had grappled with a sense of personal failure. This venture could undoubtedly bolster Neville's confidence, and Harry surmised that this was at least part of the reason for his participation.
Lastly, Harry's gaze settled on the last member of their intimate assembly: Luna Lovegood. Unfamiliar with her to any significant degree, Harry was left somewhat uncertain about her presence. He knew that she had been a childhood friend of Ginny's, who had extended the invitation to her, but beyond that, his interactions with her had been limited to a few morning greetings. Luna sat by herself, a faint, enigmatic smile gracing her face, her distant gaze locked on something that only she seemed to perceive. Hermione had informed Harry that Luna was exceptionally intelligent, but her mannerisms were whimsical and peculiar. Opting to reserve judgment and form his opinion, Harry had extended a friendly greeting, which she had reciprocated with a similar sentiment.
Harry had high hopes that, together, this eclectic group of allies would coalesce into a formidable force in the ongoing battle against Voldemort. With the exception of Neville, whose track record of mishaps was notorious, and Luna, an enigmatic figure shrouded in mystery, the rest of them were undeniably among the most potent witches and wizards of their age. Harry believed that their power would only burgeon as they continued to mature and refine their magical prowess.
As they waited, the professor's distinctive approach was unmistakable—the heavy thud and stomp of his footfalls resonated through the door. The man entered, his magical eye whirring erratically, presumably scanning for potential threats. He paused just inside the threshold and regarded the assembled group of young wizards and witches with an inscrutable expression.
"So, you're the recruits I'm stuck with," he grumbled, his voice gruff and unwelcoming.
From behind the professor, Jean-Sebastian slipped into the room, a wry smile playing on his lips as he observed the standoff between the teacher and his eager students. Taking a seat in a chair at the back of the room, he settled in to watch the proceedings unfold.
"Alright then, line up side by side and face me," Moody barked, his back turned as he closed the door. His expectation was clear: immediate obedience.
Within moments, the young students were arranged to Moody's satisfaction. He pivoted to face them again, his expression as unreadable as ever. With meticulous precision, he prowled around the room, scrutinizing his charges. He corrected posture where he found it lacking, reprimanded those who had been careless with their wands, and scolded anyone whose expression did not exude the necessary gravitas. Notably, the Weasley twins were chastised for their irrepressible humor and lightheartedness.
After a meticulous inspection of his new charges, Moody returned to the front of the group, still scrutinizing them with a critical eye.
"First and foremost, you must understand that this is no frivolous endeavor," he declared sternly, his gaze piercing through each individual in turn. "Anyone who fails to approach this with the requisite seriousness will be asked to depart—without exception."
He commenced his deliberate pacing once more, making his way in front of Harry and his companions, his gaze unwavering as he passed each of them. "Death Eaters are not to be taken lightly. They are deadly serious, and they rely on ruthlessness and brute force to sow terror among their adversaries. They possess the power and the resolve to employ their knowledge in service of their malevolent master. In short, they will kill—and have killed—without hesitation. But even killing is not the extent of their heinous acts. Each and every one of you is a target, be it due to circumstance, your family's political and social affiliations, or simply by virtue of your birth."
"I am here to impart the fundamental skills needed to defend yourselves," Moody continued, his voice resolute, "not only through curses and hexes, but also by mastering various tactics, outsmarting your opponents, and, above all, knowing when to fight and when to withdraw. That last point might just be the most crucial lesson you'll ever learn. You must never let pride blind you to the fact that you're outmatched—surviving to fight another day should always be your paramount objective in any engagement, as dying in an untenable situation benefits no one."
Moody had now circled around to the rear of the group, but the trainees kept their gaze fixed straight ahead. His demeanor, words, and teaching style evoked images of old war movies that Harry had glimpsed on occasion in his uncle's house. Vernon had fancied himself something of a connoisseur of such films and had watched them frequently.
"Now, I won't have the luxury of teaching you everything," Moody pressed on. "In two weeks, you'll return to Hogwarts, where I won't be on the faculty this year. Furthermore, I have other pressing obligations that demand my attention, leaving me unavailable to coddle any of you. My aim is to impart a portion of my experience, so that when you leave here, you'll be better equipped."
He completed his circuit and halted in front of the group, resuming his unwavering gaze upon the students, his countenance as inscrutable as when he had first entered the room.
"Let's establish some ground rules, shall we?" Moody's voice rang with authority. "I expect unwavering obedience to my commands without question. Each of you is expected to give your absolute best effort; there's no room for anything less. Finally, I insist on constant vigilance. You can never be certain if someone might be a Death Eater unless you can check their arm. Moreover, the friend you think you know might not be who they appear to be, as there are countless ways for an enemy to infiltrate your ranks. The use of a simple Polyjuice Potion can turn a friend into a foe, not to mention the Imperius Curse, which has the power to twist your friends into adversaries. Practicing constant vigilance and the ability to detect deception may one day save your lives."
His piercing gaze swept over the group once more before fixing on Harry. "Mr. Potter!" Moody's voice reverberated, causing Harry to instinctively stand even straighter. "I believe you've had the displeasure of witnessing the Unforgivable Curses in action. Tell me, what's the most effective defense against an Unforgivable Curse?"
Harry took a moment to consider the question. "I would venture to say, it's best not to be caught in the path of the curse in the first place."
A strange smile, almost resembling a grimace, crept onto Moody's face. "A very astute defense indeed. Mark Mr. Potter's words carefully—no shield will serve as protection against Unforgivable Curses, and your best recourse is not being in their path to begin with.
"Beyond that, the only way to defend against these curses is by using the Summoning Charm to intercept the curse, a rather intricate feat, I must say, or employing Battle Transfiguration for the same purpose. We will delve into both of these defenses, though I don't anticipate any of you mastering them in the near future. What I do expect is your unwavering commitment to learning the fundamentals, which you will then practice diligently.
"We will also delve into the art of dueling, imparting some fundamental principles that duelists use to gain an advantage over their opponents. However, remember that while dueling forms a crucial foundation, it won't be sufficient to navigate a life-and-death confrontation in a true combat situation. Dueling adheres to a set of rules that each participant must follow, but in reality, there are no rules in a genuine battle, and you cannot expect a Death Eater to play fair even if rules were in place.
"A clash with a Death Eater is typically swift and ruthless, with each of you employing every trick at your disposal to outmatch the other. Rid your mind of the drawn-out, epic struggles between legendary adversaries found in literature, as they hold no place in the real world. I will first teach you how to duel, and then I will instruct you on the art of combat. There are numerous techniques and strategies you can learn that will provide an upper hand, and I'm confident that some of the other adults will also have invaluable insights to share. Absorb every scrap of knowledge—you never know when a seemingly insignificant detail might save your life."
Once more, Moody paused and gazed upon each of the young faces before him. "I want to emphasize that it's improbable for you to master these techniques in the limited time we have. Nonetheless, by the time you return to Hogwarts, you will have a strong foundation in these subjects, and I will provide you with additional exercises to refine your skills while you're at school. Assuming you all perform well, we will continue these training sessions next summer."
"Now, does everyone comprehend?" Moody inquired.
"Yes, sir," the group responded in unison.
The day's training commenced with the professor imparting fundamental stances, emphasizing the importance of proper positioning and movement. Moody underscored that maintaining good balance was crucial for both offense and defense. From this foundational instruction, they transitioned into a series of exercises designed to facilitate seamless transitions between stances, the ability to evade, roll, and efficiently maneuver during combat situations, all while remaining prepared to respond to attacks. While some of the students grumbled, eager to jump straight into dueling and fighting, Moody remained resolute, stressing that they had to master the basics before progressing to more advanced techniques.
Throughout the day, what Harry found particularly striking was Moody himself. The man was a paragon of fairness and strictness, demanding unwavering commitment from his pupils and investing wholeheartedly in their instruction. His knowledge was undeniable, with a wealth of experience from his years as a top Auror, and his teaching style was marked by precision and clarity. His words and demonstrations were designed for quick comprehension and action. When queried, he explained that the methods he was teaching closely mirrored what trainee Aurors learned, albeit with some adjustments to account for their younger age and incomplete magical education. Moody was generous with his praise, particularly for Harry, whom he seemed to regard as a prodigy under his personal tutelage. In turn, Harry reciprocated by giving his all, easily grasping the exercises and offering guidance to fellow students when needed. Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been Harry's favorite subject, and he relished every moment of the training.
What astonished Harry most throughout the day was the eerie sense of familiarity he felt with the professor. In fact, had he not known that the Professor Moody he remembered from his fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts class was an impostor, he would have been utterly convinced that they were the same person. Barty Crouch, Jr., the man who had masqueraded as Moody, was clearly no stranger to the art of acting. He should have been awarded an Academy Award based on the painstaking precision with which he had embodied the grizzled Auror.
One particular incident stood out during their training. Moody had instructed the students to practice basic spell casting using the stances he had just taught them, and he came to an abrupt halt when he noticed Neville struggling to cast a simple spell through his wand.
"Mr. Longbottom! Is something the matter?" Moody demanded.
Neville, blushing and stammering, attempted to assure the observant Auror that everything was fine, but Moody remained unconvinced.
"Son, don't try to conceal your difficulties," Moody admonished sternly. "It seems like you're attempting to force your spell through your wand, when your magic should be working in concert with the wand to produce the intended effect. Where did you get that wand?"
"It belonged to my G-Grandmother," Neville stammered. "It was my father's."
Moody's one remaining eye widened at Neville's revelation, and he extended his hand to receive the wand, inspecting it carefully once Neville had handed it over.
"I knew your parents, Mr. Longbottom," Moody said in a soft, somber tone, "just as I knew Mr. Potter's." He nodded in Harry's direction. "They were good people, excellent Aurors. I had the privilege of serving alongside them."
"It seems, though," he continued, his gaze still fixed on Neville, "that your current wand is not a proper fit for you, making spell casting quite a challenge. I strongly recommend a visit to Mr. Ollivander's shop to acquire a new wand that will be a better match for you. If you don't, you'll encounter significant difficulties when trying to perform even the simplest magic for the rest of your life."
Neville appeared taken aback. "Really? But Gran... I thought I could use my father's wand because of our close connection."
Moody shook his head and placed a reassuring hand on Neville's shoulder. "While it's true that there can be an affinity between children and their parents' wands, we are all unique, and there are no guarantees. After we finish here today, I want you to go and get a new wand. Tell your grandmother it's my insistence. I believe she'll understand. You'll always have a part of your father with you as long as you have his wand."
Expressing his gratitude, Neville stepped away to resume his exercises, appearing deep in thought. Harry felt relieved for his friend. While he could appreciate Neville's desire to keep something belonging to his parents close, Mr. Ollivander's words from his own wand selection still echoed in his mind: "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter." With a new wand, Neville would likely see improvement in his magical abilities.
The day concluded with another motivational talk from the professor, and they all went their separate ways. In Harry's heart and mind, it felt as if he was at last acquiring the skills necessary to confront Voldemort. It was a reassuring and empowering sensation.
"I hereby call this session of the Wizengamot of Britain to order!"
Albus Dumbledore surveyed the Wizengamot chambers, his thoughts wandering somewhat as he contemplated that this was the first meeting of the English legislative body since Harry's trial the previous week. He anticipated that there would be some sparks flying, particularly due to a certain piece of legislation he had discovered through his contacts. He was not disappointed.
The meeting began much like any other, with discussions regarding the state of the country, updates on the activities of known Death Eaters (Fudge's stubborn denial of Voldemort's return had rendered the topic of Voldemort itself taboo), budgetary matters—including a proposal for the Ministry to increase funding for the Auror division, a suggestion Dumbledore had put forward himself—and the other mundane but necessary minutiae that typically defined such gatherings of this esteemed body.
The advent of the legislative segment of the meeting signaled the onset of the true battle that would unfold that day. After the Ministry's proposals had been addressed, Dumbledore opened the floor to private members' bills, and as expected, the Minister's subordinate, clad in her garish, pink cardigan, stood up and cleared her throat with her customary, "Hem, hem."
"Honored members," she began in her shrill voice, "I stand before you today, incensed as one of our time-honored institutions is under assault from forces that seek to sully its reputation and diminish it to a mere shadow of its former grandeur."
A stir of disapproval coursed through the chamber at the woman's audacious and provocative words, and Dumbledore leaned back, watching with a faint smile on his face. This was politics at its zenith (so to speak): impassioned speeches, righteous indignation, and the artful manipulation of emotions, traditions, and the unity of the assembly to achieve a specific objective.
Nonetheless, Dumbledore mused with a sardonic smile, Umbridge was a novice in the realm of politics, and her words, despite her commendable efforts to sprinkle her speech with incendiary statements, did not carry the same impact as they might have if they were delivered by a seasoned orator. Umbridge, along with Minister Fudge and, Dumbledore assumed, his financial backer, Malfoy, would lose the vote today, even without Dumbledore's ace in the hole.
"While there may be some among you who are not fully aware of the threat to our way of life, I am confident that all will be outraged by what I have to share today. Our beloved national institution of learning, Hogwarts, where many of you in this chamber received your education in your youth, is perilously close to admitting those who should truly be kept far from its venerable halls.
"For example, I draw your attention to our revered Headmaster, who also presides over this body, and question some of the decisions he has made regarding who may enter our cherished institution. We are all well aware of the dark creature he allowed to instruct our children, and it is common knowledge that this very same dark creature once attended Hogwarts as a student. How can he justify this travesty?"
She cast a disdainful glare at Dumbledore, her sneer a stark contrast to the garish pink of her attire and the whiny tone of her voice. Dumbledore nearly burst into laughter at the spectacle she was creating and wondered why the minister would subject himself to her—probably because she was the only one willing to take him seriously.
A swift glimpse at the Minister revealed his focus on the woman in pink, his visage revealing no emotion as he absorbed her words. Dumbledore was well aware that Minister Fudge was a willing co-conspirator in this endeavor, but the original idea had been the brainchild of the Undersecretary. The Minister himself preferred to maintain an air of detachment and continue the façade that he represented the interests of the people rather than the highest bidder, which was why he had left the task to her.
"In response to this dire threat, I stand before this assembly today to present a proposal to prevent the unworthy from gaining admission to our cherished institution, as well as any of our other schools in Britain." The woman's eyes practically gleamed with her zealous devotion and self-righteous anger as she swept her gaze around the chamber, her look almost imperiously demanding the cooperation of the Wizengamot. "Copies of the proposed legislation are being distributed by the clerks. As you deliberate upon this bill, I beseech each of you to contemplate what is truly in the best interests of our nation and whether we desire to educate those creatures with malicious intentions, enabling them to further carry out their nefarious deeds against us all. I thank you for your time and humbly request your support and your esteemed attention to this matter."
The member took her seat, and Dumbledore, after receiving a copy of the parchment outlining the Undersecretary's proposal, perused the contents, absorbing the details of her ill-conceived plan. It bore similarities to other documents he had encountered over the years, brimming with pureblood dogma and replete with defamatory and inflammatory statements. It was precisely what he had expected from such a narrow-minded individual.
After a few moments of contemplation, Dumbledore gently set the parchment down on the desk in front of him and interlaced his fingers in front, mulling over the matter at hand. The Wizengamot was indeed a conservative body, but it was not inherently a forum for blood purists and bigots. Like any other organization, it housed a spectrum of factions, from the truly fanatical pureblood zealots all the way down to moderates who recognized the baselessness of Voldemort's ideology. In fact, the truly fanatical members were a minority, and those who sympathized with their beliefs but did not openly support the Dark Lord were only slightly more numerous. As is often the case with groups of intelligent individuals, the majority in the assembly were reasonable, rational, and honest, with only a few zealots who occasionally tarnished the entire group's reputation.
This was what left Dumbledore somewhat perplexed about the Minister's move. Even without the threat of Harry leaving Britain to attend Beauxbatons, there was scant likelihood of this bill ever passing. Dumbledore believed he had ample support to easily quash Umbridge's proposal. What, then, could Fudge be aiming for? Was this a precursor to something else, or did the Minister truly believe he could push this nonsense through just because he wished it?
Perhaps it was a problem for another time, for now, the rustling of parchment had largely subsided, and more than one member was now looking to him for the commencement of the debate.
"Thank you, Madam Umbridge," Dumbledore stated, rising to his feet. "A proposal for a new law has been presented before the Wizengamot. I now invite discussion on the bill before we proceed to a vote."
There was a low murmur in the chamber as the members engaged in quiet discussions about the issue. A man rose from his seat at the far end of the chambers, signaling his desire to speak. Dumbledore offered a gracious nod and acknowledged him. "Jonas Strong, you have the floor."
Strong reciprocated the gesture with a bow before addressing the assembly. He was a tall, middle-aged man, typically known for his intelligence and moderate views, but he had a perplexing tendency to align with the Pureblood faction on seemingly arbitrary occasions.
"Thank you, Chief Warlock. Before we delve into a discussion of this... bill presented by Madam Umbridge, I would like to address the issue she raised about a werewolf who attended Hogwarts. I must admit that I, along with many of my colleagues, were taken aback to discover not only that such a dark creature had attended the institution but also that he was appointed to teach one of the core courses. I request that the Headmaster provide an explanation for this."
Dumbledore smiled and stood to face the assembly. "I would like to remind Member Strong that, while werewolves are technically classified as dark creatures, they pose a genuine threat only on one night each lunar month, unless they are, as in the case of Fenrir Greyback, known to be criminally insane. The student in question was never a danger to the student body, as he was isolated during his monthly transformation. Moreover, in accordance with the Hogwarts charter, I possess no authority to deny education to anyone who seeks it, as I recently informed our esteemed Minister," he nodded at Minister Fudge, who displayed a faint frown, "the charter is unequivocal on this matter."
Dumbledore scanned the room, noting the approving nods on several faces. This was the true essence of politics, and at heart, Dumbledore was a skilled political operator. "Regarding the professor, the same precautions were observed during his tenure. I trust you are all aware of the challenges in finding suitable candidates for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, and the demanding nature of seeking a new professor every year. Moreover, I believe that if you were to consult the students, the majority of them would attest that the aforementioned professor was the most competent teacher I have appointed to the position in several years. Were it not for the public outcry regarding his employment at Hogwarts, I can assure you he would still be on the faculty."
Strong remained silent in response, offering a nod before retaking his seat, appearing to contemplate the issue thoughtfully.
Madam Longbottom interjected, "This is all quite fascinating, but I believe it would be prudent to concentrate on the present rather than delving into the past."
The Longbottoms had long served as beacons of light in the wizarding world, upholding their principles for centuries. The current matriarch was a formidable, no-nonsense woman who had stood at the helm of her family for more than three decades since the passing of her late husband. It was a challenging task to find a more potent political adversary, although her choice of headwear could be considered somewhat questionable...
"Madam Umbridge, your proposal is indeed... intriguing." The Undersecretary's countenance soured as Lady Longbottom voiced her opinion of the bill in a disdainful tone. "But fundamentally, I understand that this legislation is intended to prevent undesirable individuals from enrolling in any of our educational institutions, is that correct?"
Umbridge nodded, wearing a fake and somewhat saccharine smile on her face.
"In that instance, Undersecretary, I find myself questioning the phrasing of your proposal. Specifically, you employ the term 'entity' repeatedly throughout this document. However, I am curious to know who would be responsible for defining this term, given the diverse range of individuals we encounter daily."
"I echo Madam Longbottom's inquiry," Dumbledore interjected. "Does the term 'entity' encompass all non-human beings, and if so, how should we classify individuals of mixed heritage? There are those with goblin, giant, and even fairy ancestry, among others. How do they fit within your proposed definition?"
"An essential matter, indeed," Umbridge responded sweetly. "We will establish a committee to thoroughly examine this issue and arrive at a precise definition."
"A committee appointed by you?" Amelia Bones retorted.
"The Minister holds the responsibility of implementing the laws endorsed by this council. They will establish the commission to establish the specific criteria for individuals eligible for our educational system."
"Do you not believe it poses a significant risk to enact a law without clearly outlining its objectives, Madam Umbridge?" Lady Longbottom, her emerald-green robes adorned with intricate silver embroidery, inquired. Her pointed hat bore the emblem of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, speaking to her deep heritage in the wizarding world. "It appears to me that if your intent is to restrict certain individuals from enjoying the benefits of our society, it is crucial to precisely define what and who is to be excluded."
"Exactly!" chimed in another voice. Porter Friesinger, a moderate whose family had migrated to Britain from Germany several centuries ago and was rumored to have fairy ancestry in their lineage, although the family had been largely Pureblood since their arrival. He nervously adjusted his pinstripe robes, a stark contrast to Lady Longbottom's traditional attire. "I cannot support a law that would deny my own family the opportunity for education."
"Mr. Friesinger, I am confident we can find a compromise and create exceptions for individuals of exemplary reputation, known loyalty, and distinguished lineage," Umbridge replied with an increasingly irritable tone. Her small, round glasses perched precariously on her sharp nose, and her pink, frilly attire stood in stark contrast to the more conservative fashion choices of her colleagues. However, her response, upon completion, made her error in judgment evident. To secure majority support, she needed to persuade those moderate members who harbored elitist tendencies. Yet, her suggestion of a selective ban now revealed the inherent intolerance of her proposal, casting a shadow of doubt across the room.
"You can't have it both ways," Lady Longbottom's voice carried a tone of stern disapproval, her words echoing off the walls of the grand chamber. She stood with a graceful air, her elegant emerald-green robes, adorned with intricate silver embroidery, hinting at her deep heritage in the wizarding world. "You propose to bar all 'creatures' from attending, citing the danger of educating them, and now you suggest there can be exceptions. Are there exceptions to the safety of our children? Could there be creatures who pose a threat but will still be eligible to attend due to some...exception? And who will decide who gets these exceptions? Frankly, Madam Umbridge, it appears you may not have given this matter the careful consideration it deserves. I would recommend revising your proposal. If it focused on excluding genuinely dangerous creatures like vampires or giants from Hogwarts, I might be inclined to support it. However, considering we've never had such creatures attempt to infiltrate our education system in the past, your bill seems as valuable as the parchment on which it is printed. I kindly request you avoid wasting the Wizengamot's precious time."
Umbridge's face turned mottled red, a visible indicator of her impatience. Yet Dumbledore, sensing it was time to put an end to this charade of a proposal, intervened before she could retort.
"Madam Umbridge, let's be candid with each other, shall we?" His voice carried a mix of wisdom and skepticism, as his keen blue eyes met Umbridge's gaze. "I daresay there isn't a single soul in this chamber who doesn't grasp the reason behind your reluctance to define your terms. Your strategy seems to involve pushing this law through and leaving the Minister to further define your target group...or specific individuals you aim to target, am I not correct?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," the Undersecretary snapped, her irritation palpable.
"On the contrary, Madam, I believe you understand me perfectly," Dumbledore's response held an unwavering resolve. His piercing blue eyes bore into her, and she had no choice but to avert her gaze. He wore a grim, knowing smile.
"Your proposal is, in essence, devoid of meaning. The more amicable beings, like goblins and centaurs, regard our brand of magic with disdain and have no inclination to attend Hogwarts, even if we were to extend an invitation. On the other hand, the more sinister factions have no interest in receiving education from us and would remain incompatible with our society even if they did.
"As for those individuals whom you might categorize as 'creatures,' lycanthropy is a well-documented ailment that does not strip a person of their humanity. And as for Veela..."
No one in the room missed Dumbledore's pointed emphasis, especially not Umbridge. "Yes, I'm well aware of the underlying intent of this...this abomination," Dumbledore asserted, his voice carrying a tone of righteous indignation as he brandished the parchment in the air before dramatically crushing it in his fist. Any trace of the kindly grandfatherly persona he often projected had vanished, replaced by a display of his formidable presence when provoked.
"Let there be no misunderstanding, esteemed members," he continued, addressing the entire assembly. "Should this bill pass and deny Miss Delacour the opportunity to attend Hogwarts alongside her betrothed, it is entirely possible that Mr. Potter will decide he's had enough of us. I've corresponded with my French counterpart, and Madame Maxine has assured me that Harry Potter will always find a warm welcome at Beauxbatons. If you wish to be the agents responsible for driving one of our nation's greatest heroes away from our shores, then by all means, support this bill. But if you're a person of reason and fairness, then the choice is clear—Madam Umbridge's proposal is a stain on our principles and an act of discrimination. It must be rejected.
"Now, I call for a vote on the member's private bill."
"Seconded!" exclaimed Amelia Bones, her support unwavering.
Needless to say, the members of the Wizengamot, unwilling to risk the public perception of driving Harry Potter away from Britain, were cowed by Dumbledore's impassioned words. The motion was decisively defeated.
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic of Magical Britain, sat behind his grand desk, wearing an expression that seemed to toggle between amusement and irritation as he observed the spectacle playing out before him. The meeting of the Wizengamot had concluded over an hour earlier, yet his senior Undersecretary had arrived almost ten minutes ago and had not ceased her ranting and raving since stepping foot into his office. She paced in front of his desk, her shrill voice grating on his nerves, the exaggerated hand gestures she employed to emphasize her points giving her a rather absurd, almost comical appearance.
Such an absurd thought to have at such a time, he reflected with a shake of his head and a bemused smile, considering the juxtaposition of that idea with the current situation. On the other hand, it was rather difficult to resist such thoughts about this rather absurd woman. Unfortunately, his smile didn't go unnoticed by his animated companion.
"...and I cannot countenance such effrontery, such disregard for the standing and honor of those of us—"
Fudge, his patience finally exhausted, interrupted her tirade. "Dolores, please, that's enough. The matter has been decided. It's time to move on."
Umbridge came to a sudden halt, her round face flushed a furious shade of crimson. She rounded on the Minister, her shrill voice even higher-pitched in her agitated state. "Minister!" she demanded, her eyes narrowed and her demeanor seething with indignation. "How can you wear a smile at a time like this? These... creatures are endangering our society, our way of life, and our very existence as an esteemed social order that should be the envy of the entire world. Can you even entertain such a thought?"
"Madam Undersecretary, I fully understand your right to be deeply upset about the defeat of your proposal in the Wizengamot," Fudge replied, although he harbored little loyalty to anything beyond his own interests. What concerned him most was maintaining his hold on power. Unless Umbridge cooperated with his plans, her ability to advance her own agenda would be significantly hindered. "However, you must consider that the success of your motion was far from assured, especially given the state of the Wizengamot following Mr. Potter's recent acquittal. I must say that your defeat was nearly inevitable."
Umbridge narrowed her eyes, glaring at the Minister with suspicion. "Are you telling me that you anticipated the defeat of my motion?" she demanded, her indignation unmistakable.
The expression on Fudge's face seemed to confirm her suspicion, and her demeanor grew even more resolute as she looked at him with a mix of annoyance and disdain. "In that case, Minister, I wonder why you let me make a spectacle of myself in front of the Wizengamot and even appeared to encourage me to do so."
"You certainly don't require any encouragement to make a spectacle of yourself," Fudge thought to himself, but he held back the comment.
Instead, he gestured for her to take a seat and leaned back in his own, contemplating a response that would ensure her loyalty while keeping her focused on her role as his personal enforcer, particularly when it came to opposing Dumbledore and his allies.
"Madam Umbridge, I must admit I'm quite surprised," he finally said with a touch of reproof in his tone. "I would have expected a woman of your political savvy to have recognized the strategic nature of my decision to let you present your legislation."
Umbridge's demeanor softened in response to the flattery, and she appeared to become more contemplative. In truth, her grasp of politics was limited, and her actions were primarily driven by her biases and a vision of a society in which her definition of what was "right" and "proper" reigned supreme.
Fudge continued to appeal to her ego, choosing his words carefully. "I can only assume that you might have misinterpreted what you saw due to your fervent dedication," he said. "The circumstances in the Wizengamot were such that any motion that seemed even remotely unfavorable to young Harry Potter had a slim chance of succeeding. If you had perhaps framed your proposal in more... moderate language, there might have been a slight chance of it passing, but the odds were never in its favor, particularly now that Potter has been acquitted and publicly linked to the Veela."
"In essence, I permitted you to proceed as a distraction to Dumbledore," Fudge continued, "given the ongoing power struggle between him and me for control of our government, as you are well aware. If he were to outmaneuver me, it would jeopardize the society we hold dear. We could see an influx of Muggle-borns and individuals with mixed ancestry, eroding our way of life."
The silence lingered for a while, and though her glare persisted, she finally spoke. "So you used me as a... diversion!" she spat out the word with a mix of frustration and anger.
"I allowed you to create a diversion," Fudge responded with a measured tone. "There's a subtle distinction. You, yourself, are not the diversion, but your proposal was. Dumbledore now must be vigilant and concerned about a modified version of your proposal slipping through, diverting his attention from other matters, including your upcoming role at Hogwarts. You haven't forgotten that, have you?"
"I haven't," she replied, her response deliberate.
Fudge knew he had her – she had relished the fact that he had entrusted her with such a significant role since he first informed her of it.
"Excellent," Fudge said, conveying his approval through his voice. She was indeed a valuable instrument, throwing herself zealously into whatever he directed her to do. If she went too far, he could easily disavow her actions, given her reputation as a zealous fanatic. Hopefully, in this instance, she would be able to restrain her natural inclinations and achieve a complete takeover of the school.
"Always keep your focus on the ultimate objective, Madam," he cautioned. "Liberating Hogwarts from the Headmaster's grasp is the initial stride in our strategy to weaken him. Once we can establish that he is unfit for that role, it will be more straightforward to unseat him from the Wizengamot and render him entirely insignificant. Without Dumbledore's backing, Harry Potter will be utterly powerless. When we've cleared the way by removing Dumbledore and sidelining Potter, we can claim the moral high ground, quash any absurd notions of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and advance the construction of a society that will be the envy of the world."
"But to realize this goal," he emphasized, "you must adhere to the plan and gradually assert control over the school. Displace Dumbledore from his positions of authority, Madam, and then we shall hold the upper hand."
Umbridge's smile took on an even more sinister quality, or at least she seemed to intend it to be so. However, Fudge couldn't help but find the sight of this petite, pink-clad woman attempting to exude a predatory air quite unsettling. It was a disturbing image that would require a substantial amount of brandy to erase from his memory.
After another grueling day of training with the demanding and uncompromising Alastor Moody, Ron Weasley stumbled out of the Floo Network, paying little attention to the siblings who trailed behind him. He wearily ascended the creaky stairs to his room at the Burrow, grateful that yet another exhausting day had drawn to a close. Every fiber of his being seemed to ache, and he was convinced he had never exerted himself this intensely before in his life. Moody, it appeared, was determined to push them to their limits—and beyond.
Nevertheless, despite Ron's reputation as a somewhat less-than-motivated and studious individual, the training and the knowledge he had acquired filled him with a sense of... pride, for lack of a better term. Pride in the purpose he had found. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, and his closest friend, Harry, remained the prime target. Ron had no intention of remaining on the sidelines while Harry's safety was at stake—he was determined to stand up and confront the threat head-on.
On the other front, Ron's thoughts turned to Hermione, and a wry grimace crossed his face. He had never wavered in his determination to win the affections of his brilliant friend, and he was beginning to realize that Hermione was not the plain, studious girl he had always perceived her to be. She was blossoming and maturing, transforming into someone who would likely capture a great deal of attention. While he regretted that his initial desire to be with her had been driven by the competitive edge against Harry, that had shifted. Hermione might not be the classic beauty he had once considered, but she held her own charm. Their constant bickering...
Ron forcefully pushed that thought aside. Their arguments had, as everyone suggested, the hallmarks of a seasoned married couple's dynamic. It was logical to assume—as his hopeful relationship material was so fond of asserting—that their connection was ready to transition into the more official romantic realm he yearned for. If only it were that straightforward...
He was making an effort—truly, he was. He attempted to tone down their disputes, initiated conversations about her interests, and worked to demonstrate his genuine care. Yet, it didn't appear to be working. Hermione acted somewhat skeptically around him, as if she suspected he had ulterior motives. Furthermore, she seemed to see through his attempts to show interest in her passions with ease. If only she shared his enthusiasm for the subjects he cared about—he could talk about Quidditch and chess for hours!
The door to Ron's room swung open abruptly, and he sat up in surprise as his two elder brothers sauntered in.
"Hello Ronnikins, fancy meeting you here!" one twin exclaimed with mock astonishment.
"It's quite a surprise to find our brother in his own room, Gred."
"No, perhaps not, Forge. It just felt like a good way to kick off the conversation."
The other twin nodded sagely, while Ron, clearly not in the mood for his perpetually exuberant siblings, demanded, "Do you two have a reason for bugging me?"
The twins shared a knowing smirk. "Is that a touch of surliness I detected from our ever-grateful brother?"
"I believe it was," the other replied. "And it's remarkably impolite of him, especially considering we came to lend him a hand, don't you think?"
"I wholeheartedly agree, brother."
"Help you with what?" Ron questioned.
"Well, Ron, it seems your attempts to win the heart of the charming Miss Granger have hit a snag."
Ron tried to maintain an air of indifference. "What are you two on about?"
Fred raised an eyebrow. "It seems that little Ronnie is playing the 'I have no idea what you're talking about' card."
"An act he excels at, I must say."
Seeing that Ron was on the brink of an explosion, George quickly interjected to prevent his brother from erupting. "Ron, don't ever think we're oblivious. The only person you're not fooling with your puppy dog devotion is Moody, and I doubt he can tear his focus away from his paranoid obsessions long enough to notice your romantic efforts."
"But worry not, for George and I have come to your aid."
Though Ron remained suspicious and frustrated by his brothers' teasing, he was desperate enough to clutch at any lifeline. "What do you mean?"
The faint sound of something landing on his bed diverted Ron's attention from his brothers. A book? What good could that possibly do?
"That book, Ronnie, is your golden ticket to successfully winning over your lovely lady."
"Read the title, Ron."
Looking down, Ron took in the wizarding illustration on the book's cover – a young woman, hand in hand with a young man, strolling down a street with a look of complete adoration on her face. Delicate flowers and vines twined around them, a subtle visual representation of the connection between the couple. The book's title was boldly emblazoned in vivid red letters at the top: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.
Ron glanced back up at his smirking brothers. "Just read the book, Ron. It offers insights on how to transform yourself into boyfriend material."
"No guarantees that she'll agree to go out with you, but at least you'll have a fighting chance."
With identical mischievous grins, they turned in unison and left the room, leaving Ron alone with the book. Intrigued, Ron opened it and started flipping through its pages. The irony of using a book to win Hermione's affections was not lost on him, but in his desperation, he was willing to try just about anything. He hoped that it would convey his sincere intent to connect with her.
"I realize that you are deeply offended by this, Jean-Sebastian, but I believe that, for the time being, there is no response to offer," Dumbledore replied with a calm demeanor.
Jean-Sebastian halted his restless pacing and fixed a piercing gaze on Dumbledore. "A member of your government has just made an attempt to label my daughters as 'creatures,' and all you suggest is that I should let this insult go unchallenged? At the very least, I should provide a strongly worded rebuke to your Minister, if not withdraw Fleur and Harry from Hogwarts immediately."
Dumbledore offered a faint smile. "I understand your need to protect your daughter. However, I think it would be quite futile to directly confront the Minister. It might only provide him with potential grounds to call for your removal from your position."
"As if my own Minister would heed his words," Jean-Sebastian retorted with a derisive snort. "Alain's opinion of Fudge is perhaps even lower than my own."
"That might be true," Dumbledore concurred with an amicable tone. "However, the matter has been resolved. Even without my reminder to the Wizengamot about the repercussions of excluding your daughter from Hogwarts, I believe Fudge fell far short of the required votes to pass such a law. This was nothing more than a diversionary tactic, and a rather transparent one at that."
Though Jean-Sebastian disliked what Dumbledore was implying, he recognized that charging into the British Minister's office and issuing threats would be counterproductive, no matter how much he wished to do just that.
Sinking into a chair, Jean-Sebastian considered his companion, all the while working to rein in his heightened emotions.
"What is your suggestion, then?"
A noncommittal shrug was the response, causing Jean-Sebastian to narrow his eyes.
"No need for that look, Jean-Sebastian," Dumbledore remarked with a chuckle. "At this juncture, all we can do is await Fudge's next move. I have no doubt it will be aimed at undermining me – your family enjoys diplomatic immunity, after all, and I doubt he'll be foolish enough to directly target you."
The man was undeniably correct – even though Jean-Sebastian fervently wished otherwise. However, that didn't alter his determination to shield his family, including Harry, from any persecution by the British government.
"I won't allow your government to target my family, Dumbledore, whether it's through official or unofficial means. If Fudge attempts to make life difficult for Fleur, I'll leave the country without a second thought."
"I understand," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Yet, I would implore you to have faith in us. My staff and I will ensure Fleur's safety and well-being at Hogwarts, and I'll maintain vigilance in the Wizengamot, though I suspect Fudge won't make another attempt so soon."
It was the best Jean-Sebastian could hope for at this moment. He knew what he had signed up for when he agreed to Sirius' plan to assist Harry, and he had no choice but to weather the storm. Nonetheless, it did not escape him that he had not anticipated such overt opposition from the Minister himself. Perhaps a change in leadership was necessary...
"I entrust it to your capable hands, Dumbledore," Jean-Sebastian finally replied. "But I think it is high time we addressed the matter of your Minister. He has taken no action regarding Voldemort's return, and I believe it is prudent for us to initiate plans for his eventual removal."
"Agreed. It will become the central focus of the Order, in addition to our ongoing efforts against Voldemort."
The two men held a conversation that stretched deep into the night. They discussed, strategized, discarded ideas, and, while they didn't reach a final consensus, they felt they were approaching a framework for achieving their shared goal. Jean-Sebastian remained anxious about his children, but he had confidence that they would be safeguarded at Hogwarts. He recognized that he had his own role to play, from persuading the British government to acknowledge the threat of Voldemort to serving as a liaison with his own government. He harbored no illusions that the Voldemort issue was solely a British concern.
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