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Chapter 46 - A demon dressed in pink

Sirius Black knew very well that his search was just a waste of time; an unfathomable deed only fueled by those delusions of a madman, many would say. He would agree with them, most of the days, but then, all he had to do was to remember.

To remember the face of James and Lily as they held a newborn Harry. To remember the day when the Marauders were founded. To remember the day in which he, in an act of foolishness like no other, proposed Peter as their Secret Keeper. Oh, that's all he needed to do for the rage to come back, to find that purpose he so desired…

This journey had taken Sirius across all Europe. Ireland and Scotland seemed such impossible locations that he'd instantly discarded them, and so he'd also done with Romania, Bulgaria and Croatia, countries he'd already visited last year, when Gerard still shared his ambition. Now he walked alone, indeed, but it was long ago when he learnt how to survive all by himself.

It was law in Azkaban, after all.

That day, a bright sun shone upon a clear sky, and its rays fell all over the green, flowery fields of Goldener Felsen. Just as they fell over the young man, whose open robe allowed them to bathe his nude chest. Sirius enjoyed them alone, in the balcony of the dormitory he'd been granted as lord Black. Because, even if he hated his surname with all his might, it still carried a lot of power within Europe, and he would be a fool to not make use of it.

An elf suddenly knocked on the door, and the smell of breakfast poured through his nostrils. "Leave the tray on the floor," Sirius grunted, not bothering to look back. "I will get it myself once I feel like it!" It was quite the rude comment to make, that he knew, but he'd always disliked elves.

They reminded him of his childhood under the cold roof of Grimmauld Place. Of Kreacher, that old bastard who always seemed to really want to punish him whenever Sirius disobeyed his lady mother. To see such hatred in those little, round pupils… He just closed his eyes and leaned back onto the comfy hammock, clearing his mind from all useless rubbish.

There he was once again, knees deep into the pureblood society he hated so much. It's for a good cause, Sirius reminded himself. To find Peter he needed some shady contacts that only lord Black would have access to… With a sigh, and with a gesture of his hand, he opened the balcony's door, then he used a Summoning Charm to get his breakfast. The tray landed right in front of him, on his knees.

The smell was good, maybe just as much as the looks. Two large pieces of bread with fresh tomatoes buttered over them and countless slices of ham, red and greasy like no other he'd ever seen. Not the most German breakfast I've ever seen, that's for sure. Still, he devoured it as if it was the last breakfast of his life. It seemed he was a bit hungover from yesterday's whiskey…

The morning went by in the blink of an eye, but Sirius made use of his time. He walked through the Palace's corridors one last time; they were made of chiselled marble and golden stone. Whenever he went, beautiful and expensive tapestries were there to cover the walls, just a red, velvety carpet covered the floor. In all of them, stories of past times were told, stories about the Great House of Krause. It was a pureblood tradition, one each and every family of pure heritage respected.

And they sure had a lot to tell.

It all began many centuries ago, just past the Ancient Times. A Great House born out of the rubble, founded by a wizard by the name of Eldron, who wed his cousin, a witch of sharp features and silvery locks by the name Gadriel. They made enemies of his neighbours from those countries which were known in the present as Denmark, France and Austria. Blood was shed, as it always happened in these stories, and the Great House of Krause endured it all; of course they did! Many more lords and ladies of sharp and light features followed the great Eldron and the beautiful Gadriel, and they all carried out their duty towards their House, making it more notable and more respected…

An epic tale of survival and hardships in which they always were the good guys of the story, the oppressed and the victims who fought against the storm. "What utter rubbish," Sirius snorted as he walked past the tapestries, a bit amused in a dark way.

For any reason, they always avoided telling the whole picture. What about those wizards and witches they murdered just for a piece of land or a mine of gold? What about those who once refused to marry their daughters to the second or third son of lord Krause? What about all those poor souls, slaves in all but name, who lost their lives in the gold mines, from which the wealth of the Great House of Krause came?

Sirius just shook those thoughts away; there was just no point to think about them as of today. Finally, he made it to the entrance, a great hall of colossal dimensions with a ceiling made of large surfaces of glass put in a dome-like structure. There was no decoration whatsoever in it, which made it look far larger, far more intimidating.

However, a tall man dressed in red and gold silk stood at the middle of it, atop of a carpet made of the same colours. Sewed on it was a blazon known all over the world, that of a golden, two-headed leon over a red background. The lord's head was fully shaved, unlike his beard, oiled, well-trimmed and full of ashen hairs. "So, the time to separate our paths finally arrived," lord Franz Krause said, eyes set on Sirius.

"It did, I'm afraid," Sirius replied with a curt nod. He needed to show respect to his host, but not too much. Krause and Black were Houses of the same importance and heritage, after all. "I have abused your hospitality for the past week, lord Franz. I came to Germany with a purpose in mind, but it seems that I will not get to see my ambition satisfied so early. There is no need to prolong my stay here, not when it could entail a bother to your many businesses."

Now, his mother would have been proud of such a speech.

"Well, if so, who am I to retain you here?" Krause said with a faint smile, no hint of warmness in his eyes. "Now, excuse my rudeness, but may I ask you one last question?" Sirius nodded to his petition; not as if he could do another thing, either way. "Black is a House noble and ancient like very few others, but, in the past decades, it has been razed by many tragedies. Your father, lord Orion, was a great man, a firm believer of Blood Supremacy, however, we can both agree that it was your mother, lady Walburga, who did the most for your House when alive. Oh, what a woman! Cold and regal like very few!"

"Oh, she was," Sirius huffed in response, memories of all those regal and cold punishments his mother loved so much coming to his mind. She was also rather creative when she wanted. A cold and regal lady like no other, indeed.

"Also, there is the death of your little brother, poor Regulus," Krause went on. "I believe he too was a firm believer of Blood Supremacy. Perhaps, a bit too much for his own good, from what little I know… Either way, my point stands the same. Your family is not as powerful as it once was. True, there must be plenty of gold in Gringotts, just as you must still hold most of the prosperous business your mother controlled. Even so, you are all alone in England, lord Sirius. It is not wise to be alone in such a dangerous place…"

"In return, allow me to ask you one question, too, lord Franz," Sirius cut in. "Why did you offer to host me here, in Goldener Felsen, your House's ancient seat?"

"Because I wanted to make an ally of you," Krause said. He was an honest man, at least. A trait not many pureblood lords shared. "Once, you were disowned, the gravest insult someone like you, the heir to a Great House, can receive. However, all those of your same flesh and blood died, and so, by the laws of the Ancient Council, your disownment was abolished—a Great House cannot disappear unless there is no salvation for it. I know very well that you do not share our beliefs and traditions, yet, I had to give it a try. There was much to gain and nothing to lose. However, such a hopeless bet could only end up in a fiasco, now I see. A shame, truly. They will eat you alive, lord Sirius."

"They can try," Sirius sneered, turning around in search of the entrance door. "I know them all quite well, lord Franz. I fought against most of them in the Great War, and I survived them. Those whom I really feared either died long ago or will remain the rest of their lives in Azkaban. No, I think I will be safe and sound. Thank you for your hospitality, lord Franz. Thank you for your food and the insightful conversations we held in your halls. If it ever comes to it, my roof will be yours to sleep under and my bread will be yours to soothe your hunger… Farewell."

Sirius then began his walk out of Goldener Felsen. The large doors of white wood opened to him, and so, a huge weight was taken off his shoulders. He fumbled around the many bracelets in his left arm, in search of the fake one, of the portkey which would take him back home. Although he had no desire to abandon his hunt yet again, Sirius had made a promise to Harry, and he would fulfil it this time.

Yet, his word would not be the one to close the conversation…

"Farewell, lord Sirius Black," Krause said, his voice faint like a whisper yet perfectly audible. "Remember: Toujours Pur… Always Pure, my lord…"


Countless leaves of a brownish shade fell from the tree, as if a colourful rain only proper of Autumn.

"Protego!" Ron chanted, then. A translucent wall appeared in front of his body, his Shield. With the left hand he shoved it forward, putting all his might into the task. The Shield flashed for a fickle instant, weakened due to his loss of focus, but it held out in the end. Ron closed his fist, and the Shield shrunk; maybe, a tad too much. Either way, it was enough to jail most of the leaves inside of it.

Finally, he'd succeeded!

"About damn time," the redhead grunted at last, putting an end to his new, and especial, Shield. All in truth, it was a blatant copy of Ume's; quite a poor one. Still, it was a week ago when he proposed himself to be able to control his Shields, to mould and change them as the situation required it. The way was long and unfinished, but now he had strong legs to walk it.

"It was perfect," Gerdnyaram nodded from above, seated on the oak whose leaves had rained all over the clearing. She wore a proud smile on her face, a sight Ron was becoming quite used to it.

He'd seen plenty of them in the past, although they had turned out to be false; just a way to manipulate a silly kid in need of attention. However, these felt different, real. "It wasn't perfect, by any means," Ron huffed in denial. "I made it, yes, but I also screwed it up at the end. It shouldn't have shrunk so much!"

Gerd hopped down the tree, her long dress unfaced by the fall. "Small details, those are," she said, gliding towards him. "Those leaves were quite the tough objective to aim at. There were many of them, some moved by the breeze in one direction while others did it in the opposite. Against a person, it would have worked, period."

Ron took a seat under the huge oak, exhausted yet relieved. "If so, I take back what I just said." A solitary leaf fell onto his hand. It felt rough and cold to the touch when he rolled it between his fingers. "So, we just fulfilled one of the objectives we set up for November. The only one, actually, now that I think about it. Next, there are many things I want to try, those I saw at the Minor. Let's focus on those Shawn did. What do you think about them?"

"You better forget about the spectres of magic," Gerd said as she took a seat right in front of him, legs crossed underneath. "That's a skill out of my knowledge. Then, we have those wandless stunners he used… That's a much easier thing, however, we should start with the basics of Wandless Magic fist. I believe that's an art you have yet to learn at Hogwarts, right?"

"I think the first notions about it start around fifth or sixth year," Ron replied. "Non-verbal Magic always goes first, from what I know. Speaking of which, I can cast many spells non-verbally although I didn't practise it, those I came to master long ago… Well, I won't complain about that, for sure."

"Ideally, magic should flow within you in its purest state," Gerd said. "Without the need to use a wand, and without the need to voice out the incantations. All in truth, I wish we'd had these wonders back in the Ancient Times. They make magic much easier to control, even to those who aren't so adept at it. Many of my comrades, those blessed with incredible talent, would have branded it as impure, almost an insult to Magic herself. Even so, I'm pretty sure that opinion wouldn't have lasted long. Anyhow, I think that's a good idea, to start with Wandless Magic as soon as possible. It will make you a much better wizard, and not only at fighting but in all fields."

"Great!" Ron said. "Now, how about the rest? There is Shawn's ability to alter his magical aura at will, making it so faint he almost feels like a muggle… Lepenant's perfectly timed parries… Ume's polished spell chains… Our competitors outclass us greatly, Gerd; each and every of them. Hell, even Nott would still beat me."

"That they do," the Essentia hummed, looking unbothered by that fact. "All those things will come at you with practice, for they are nothing extraordinary; it's just a matter of time and effort. The Sense is, however, and you control it better than them, not counting Shawn. The Anticipation is, however, and no one else in the world has such a Talent. Those are our greatest weapons, once we manage to control them well enough. All else is of less importance, I'm afraid."

Ron nodded to her plan. If he had an objective in mind, then he could go for it.

Later on, the moon would replace the sun atop of the sky. Where the first brought a blue curtain, the second brought a darker and colder one; with no stars to paint it, since they were covered by a sea of thick, dark clouds, just as they did with the full moon. It already smelled like rain, Ron noticed as he made his way to the castle.

That night, a storm would lay siege to Hogwarts, however, Ron would take notice of it the next day, as he ate his breakfast in the Great Hall with Tracey by his side. Down there, in the dungeons, he was safe from all sound and light from above. Ron devoured his toast, and took his time observing all those around him. His eyes fell over Harry, who, in a not so subtle way, glared daggers at Umbridge. By his side, Hermione frowned as her eyes scanned the newspaper.

He fell into rhythm as the morning progressed. First came an Herbology lecture, in which they learnt about the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, a plant which produced a slimy fluid of rancid smell and deep green colour. In theory, it could be used to help many ill animals and even some magical creatures. It seemed Centaurs were quite adept with it. Of course, Neville was the one to get the best results.

Then came a lesson of History, dull and long like no other. Binns rambled about the Medieval Age, in which the magical kin was persecuted, more so the witches; it was even less interesting than the Goblin Rebellion. However, Ron paid him no attention at all, his mind busy listening to Gerd's tale, a much more interesting source of history.

"In my age, we lived all together in many settlements," the Essentia said. "Those who you call muggles in this age, magical creatures of many sorts and us, the Wizarding Kin, one much more diverse and disjointed. Also, all over the world, in those great cities the muggles built, such as Athens, Rome and Sparta, the concept of being able to use magic was treated with a very different angle. Those who made use of their powers were not hunted, they were worshipped as Demigods. Some of us, I may add, those with dreams of greatness, used that fact in their favour. A friend of mine by the name of Circe reached further than anyone else. As of today, her name is still remembered, that of a minor deity in Greek mythology… All in truth, she was nothing special; just a very ambitious witch who knew very well what she wanted."

Ron beckoned her to continue with a subtle nod of his head.

"Certainly, we believed ourselves to be the superior race," she went on with a sigh. "More so after the War for the Dawn ended… How could we not, I still ask myself? We had just put an end to an eternal conflict, almost wiping out our natural predators. I also think such was the way of many to deal with all those friends and comrades we lost. To live a proud life and to hold their heads as high as they could. It did not end there, of course. Some of us, like the Alazthi Elite, believed themselves to be above all, for their role in the War had been greater. Herpo was one of those too, and so were we, his comrades. Oh, I now realise that this has not changed at all… How much more blood needs to be spilt, I wonder…"

Just like that, with such sombre words, her tale came to an end. On his behalf, Ron really wanted to know more about the Ancient Times; partly because he was really interested in those past times, and also because, eventually, he would come to cross paths with some of Gerd's comrades. Still, he didn't press her to continue.

And so, Ron fell prey to Binn's monotonous voice; a force way mightier than any known spell to send someone to the oneiric world. After History, they got a free period which they used to finish a very problematic essay of Potions, one about an antidote to regular poisons.

"Snape has lost it, definitely," Tracey huffed as she dropped herself further into the couch. "He's always loved to bombard us with essay after essay, sure enough, but this is utter madness! What's more, I heard he even took a few points from a fellow Slytherin because she made too much noise near his office! Can you believe it?"

"I can," Ron replied, not too focused on his friend's rambling. He needed to give the final touch to his essay, otherwise, he'd be the one to be roasted by Snape. "He's been quite irascible this year. More than usual, I mean."

"Rumour has it that he lost his mind when Lupin was appointed as the Professor of Defence," Tracey went on with a thoughtful look. "It seems he has pursued that role for more than a decade, and he has yet to find any result. Honestly, he cannot be worse than Quirrell or Lockhart."

Now, his hand was starting to really hurt. "Lupin is the best Professor ever," Ron said. He came to a halt out of the blue—could this be the perfect moment to write about bezoars a bit more in depth? Snape seemed to love them, taking into account how much he's mentioned them. "As I was saying, he's the best. No matter the topic at hand, he always manages to make his lectures funny and interesting. And he allows us to practise against real creatures."

"And yet, he's the one Umbridge has targeted the most," Tracey added with a frown. "Do you reckon why?"

Ron finally rose his eyes from the parchment and dropped his quill. "I have no idea," he said. "But, please, don't you get started about that bloody woman too. I have more than enough with Harry cursing her name and existence each damn time she steps into a classroom. Umbridge is an idiot, period, but she ain't not a big thing. One day, hopefully, she'll have the great idea to meddle into one of Snape's lectures, and then, she'll finally be gone."

Tracey seemed to nod at his words, although she did not look very convinced by them.

Later on, her worry would prove to be justified.

Ron strode into the classroom of Defence along with everyone else, however, Remus Lupin was not there to welcome them with one of his warm smiles. Instead, it was a very different smile the one to receive them, a wide yet cold one.

"Hello, my dear children," Umbridge beamed at them. She stood in front of the table, over which a thick book rested. "Come on, get inside so we can begin. Oh, there is no need to get your wand out, Draco. Today will be a theoretical lesson!"

Ron and Tracey shared a look as they made their way towards their table; one far too close to Umbridge for their liking.

"May I ask where's Professor Lupin?" Blaise asked suddenly. He was sat by Bulstrode's side, who lowered her head the moment Blaise put the spotlight on them. "Just out of worry, of course."

"It seems our dear Lupin is feeling quite ill today, and he's in no condition to teach today," Umbridge replied with a twisted smile. "But that's a quite sensitive matter, I'm afraid, and I'm no one to discuss it. Will anyone be kind enough to tell me which topics have you seen through the year? Lupin has not left any records about them."

"Boggarts," Malfoy started, "Kappas, Grindylows and Red Caps."

"Well, isn't that quite the complete list?" Umbridge hummed. "I wonder if it isn't a tad too complete, perhaps. After all, you'll never come to face any of those creatures here, in our dear country. Anyhow, let's not waste any more time." She summoned the thick book to her hands, and then she fickled through it. "Oh, here it is! Werewolves, one of the most worrisome matters the Ministry faces as of today!"

Ron took a quick look around—no one else seemed to really care about this sudden change in the subject, none but Nott, who, for once, perked up, interested in the matter at hand.

"Werewolves are creatures which live among our kin, even in the very streets of Diagon Alley, but in no way are they part of our society," Umbridge explained, eyes jumping from one student to another. "Fortunately, you can count with the fingers of one hand those who manage to avoid our measures against them, because we take very seriously our duty to protect each and every citizen. However, it is extremely difficult to bar them from our cities. Because, unless under the effect of a full moon, when their true nature gets revealed and their need for blood and fresh manifest, they can pose as ordinary witches and wizards."

"When they turn into beasts, all semblance of humanity is long forgotten, and the need to consume human flesh and blood becomes their one and only law," she continued. "That's the way they turn us into one of their own, through bite. Unfortunately, there's no way to reverse the effects of the bite, and so, us, the Ministry, are forced to take severe measures against them; precaution is our best weapon here. In these books you'll find all there is to know about them. From the way to treat the wound, to the way to kill them if it ever comes to it. Now, does anyone have any questions?"

No one uttered a word for a few seconds. All in truth, and much to Ron's dismay, she'd said nothing wrong. Werewolves were dangerous creatures, everyone knew that. Even so, she'd omitted many things in her speech. For starters, there was a potion which could help them regain their sense even during a night of full moon, therefore, most of the attacks could be prevented without the need to exile anyone.

"I have a doubt," Malfoy asked suddenly. "What would happen if a werewolf, still in his human form, was to bite a wizard? Would the curse still tarnish his blood, or would it remain one of us?"

"That's a very good question, Draco," Umbridge clapped. "In such a case, quite the rare one, the wizard would only acquire lupine tendencies; such as fondness for raw meat or even an increase in rageful tendencies. From what we know, there's no risk of them turning into monsters. Even so, such a scenario should never come to occur. Like I said, we have a list with the names of all werewolves citizens of this country, and they are kept under a very strict watch. In fact, it's my office which works closely with the Aurors to make this happen."

The class went on, and although there weren't any more questions from the students, it didn't stop Umbridge. The witch just rambled and rambled about how dangerous werewolves were, about the way her laws had made the country much safer.

Ron, of course, paid no second thought to the lecture, although his eyes remained set on the First Counselor, faking an interest he didn't have. He almost broke out of character when she handed them homework, a large piece about how to recognise and kill a werewolf; two rolls of parchment by Monday morning. It was madness.

"And remember, my dear children," Umbridge said once all the students were about to exit the class. "Even those closest to us can hide such a horrendous secret to us. Always suspect of those who tend to…, disappear from time to time. You might discover quite the pattern when looking closely…"

Of course, you bloody lunatic. If there was one advantage to sitting so close to the Professor, that was to be able to exit the class faster. "What a waste of time!" Ron huffed once they were far and safe enough. "I wonder who's more evil, Voldemort or a damn werewolf? Because, after the way she rambled against them, I'm a bit lost here!"

Tracey gasped at the mention of the forbidden name. "Ron!" she mused. "Don't say such things aloud!" The redhead rolled his eyes at that, yet ended up mumbling an apology for her sake. "Thank you. Although I must say that I share your point—she really pictured them as the worst sort to ever walk this planet. That's just a blatant lie, and she's a horrible person to spread such bullshit."

Ron raised his brow at that, surprised by the strength of her words.

"Hey, don't look at me like that!" Tracey huffed. "I might not be as fervent about this matter as Hermione is, but I'm ready to call out unfairness when I see it. True enough, there are werewolves who need to be controlled and kept under a strict watch; those who live in the wild and fall deep into their curse. However, there are many who can live among us with no trouble. In fact, there is this man who works for my father, a kind fellow by the name of Steve, and he's a werewolf. He does guard duty around the terrains of our manor, most of the time, but he's also helped us many times when doing household duties."

"I didn't know that," Ron said.

They were just in time to hop into a moving staircase, one which led directly to the dungeons. Behind them, Blaise and Bulstrode didn't make it, and so, they stood there like fools. Ron searched for Blaise's eyes, but he just avoided his gaze. Bloody coward.

"Of course, he's barren from our properties during the full moon nights," the girl went on, unaware of Ron's annoyance with his old friend. "My father supplies him with a dose of Wolfsbane Potion each time that happens, but still, both sides agreed to take as much precaution as possible; better safe than sorry, as they say."

Ron did not press on the matter and allowed the girl to speak her mind—he was quite pissed off thanks to Blaise bloody Zabini, and it wasn't as if werewolves' problems troubled him much. He already had far too many problems of his own to worry about every single unfairness.

I'm not a hero, Ron said to himself, shutting down that fickle spark of rebellion within himself, never been, never will. This is an unfair world, and I can only do so little to help those who I love. It is what it is…


Hermione followed the game with trouble, her eyes not used to such fast and violent movements. By her side stood Neville, up on his feet and leaning into the wooden handrail. He wore an excited look on his face, yet remained silent, unlike their two other companions.

"Come on, Katie, that ball is yours!" Dean shouted atop of his lungs, his sense of decency long forgotten.

"That's it, George!" Seamus exclaimed like a madman. "You get those bludgers off our chasers! That pretty boy of Diggory can't win!"

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione tried to ignore them as best as she could. Atop of them all, even above the other players, Harry ploughed through the skies. His form atop a broom was truly remarkable, even to someone as inexpert as Hermione. Even so, the game had come to a stalemate, the famous golden snitch yet to be seen.

Oh, come on! I have much better things to do! Not only did she have more subjects than everyone else, which meant an absurd amount of homework, but also, Hermione had set her mind on a new goal. It was, of course, a secret of hers. Mainly, because people, even his friends, would laugh at it, arguing that it was both unreasonable and unrealistic in equal measure. And it was, most likely. However, she just could not turn a blind eye to it anymore.

No, there was something she could do, surely.

She stood up from the grandstands, her legs showing relief at that, and just walked away from Neville and the others. They were so immersed into the game they did not notice her leave—boys will be boys! On the way down, no one paid her a single thought, and so, it didn't take her long to reach the ground. Down there, rain poured all over her, the safety of the grandstand's awnings long gone.

And so, she took an umbrella from her bag; of a bright purple shade, it had been a Christmas's gift from her cousin. Slowly but surely, Hermione made her way back to the castle. She walked with caution, for the path was damped and slippery. In the end, the girl made it in one piece, although she'd been about to sprain her ankles a dozen times. I really need to do some exercise from time to time! I'm almost out of breath! Well, she would find time for that later on… Probably.

Hermione paced through the empty corridors, taking delight in such silence and solitude after almost an hour of constant shouting. Well, now, where are the kitchens supposed to be? It was well known that the elves could be found in the kitchens. Even so, that was rather problematic when one had no idea about their location.

"Susan Bones said something about them being close to the Hufflepuff common room," Hermioned mused, lost deep in thought as she went down a long staircase. "But, where exactly?"

It took her a while to reach the basement, and there, she wished to have brought a warmer coat. It was even colder than outside! Many torches tried their best to warm the corridor, yet failed quite miserably at it. Because of that, her stride became faster, and so, Hermione walked through hallway after hallway, getting more and more lost with each one she left behind.

I cannot believe it, I'm lost! The truth hit her like a bludger, coming to a halt out of the blue. She'd left behind the entrance to the dungeons, that she knew, but there was no trace of the kitchens nor of the Hufflepuff common room! About to lose her mind, Hermione heard some voices from afar; faint whispers carried by the echo of such a sombre place.

She walked towards them, hoping to find a Hufflepuff who, like herself, did not care about Quidditch. However, her surprise was quite the big one when she found out to whom the voices belonged. There, at the far end of the corridor, stood Ginny Weasley and Alaine Baldwin, who stared back at her with surprised features.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" Ginny asked once they got close enough.

To be fair, Hermione had never been close to Ginny, but still, she'd taken notice of her drastic change. She, too, was a victim of Voldemort, also known as Thomas Riddle. Her role in that mess was still a mystery for all but Ginny herself and Ron, but Hermione had her suspicions. After all, that cursed diary did appear in Ron's bag out of the blue…

"Well, I had some things to do here," Hermione replied, trying to avert those sombre thoughts from her mind. "Now, what are you doing here, Ginny? I thought that you loved Quidditch."

"I do, but…" Ginny just looked to be at a loss for words.

"We do love Quidditch," Alaine Baldwin cut in with a wide grin, "but there's something else we love even more. That's food! We were heading towards the kitchens. You know, since everyone is outside, we have a free pass to raid them!"

Hermione's eyes brightened at that. "Really? If so, do you mind if I go with you?"

That erased the smile from Baldwin's face. "Wait a moment… Didn't you just say you had things to do? Oh, got it… I didn't strike you as a girl with a vigorous appetite, Granger."

That comment made the Gryffindor girl blush. "It isn't like… Well, and what about it? Is there any problem?" Yes, it was better to make use of this chance.

"I mean, there's one big problem," Baldwin replied. "In all truth, I just lied to you. We were not on our way to the kitchens. However, since we are done exploring this area of the castle, I wouldn't mind taking you there, for whatever business you have there. It was my idea to take Ginny there another day, but, well, one better be ready to improvise on the fly!"

Hermione thought about her proposition, but only for a brief time. "That would be lovely, thank you," the Gryffindor girl finally said. "I don't fancy making you waste your free time on me, but, since it was you the one to offer help, it would be quite impolite to deny it now."

The two second-year girls sent Hermione a weird look. "There's no need to be so formal," Baldwin said. "And I thought it was us, Slytherins, the ones to walk around with a stick shoved up our butts." Ginny snickered at such obscenity, whereas Hermione just blinked, a bit taken aback. "Oh, I said that last part aloud, didn't I? Ups, sorry!" Definitely, there was a mischievous glint in those round eyes of hers.

"Ehm, okay…" Hermione cleared her throat. "Lead the way, please."

And that's what Baldwin did, eyes set on the path ahead of her although, probably, still thinking about the way she'd made Hermione freak out a bit—this girl was, in her opinion, the strangest Slytherin ever!

It turned out the kitchens weren't so far from all those corridors she'd walked through again and again. What's more, Hermione had walked past them twice or thrice. But, in her defence, who on earth could have come up with the idea to tickle a bloody apple among the countless fruits on some random picture on an even more random wall? Not her, that's for sure.

Just a tickle on the apple and the picture banished to reveal a secret room, hidden after a round door of dark wood. "Voilá!" Baldwin grinned, arms open in a dramatic gesture. "Welcome to Hogwarts, a most magical place!"

"An apple," Hermione muttered under her breath, quite annoyed with whoever came up with such stupid idea. "A bloody apple…"

Ginny sent her a sympathetic look. "It would have happened to anyone else, Hermione. It isn't your fault you couldn't find them."

"It didn't happen to either of you," Hermione pointed out.

"Fred and George are my brothers," Ginny said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"And I'm Alaine Baldwin! Nice to meet you!" the Slytherin cut in. "Last year, my brother and I spent most of our free time exploring every corner of the castle, from the dungeons to the Astronomy Tower. I would love to say that I'm a genius explorer, but the truth is that we got lost so many times we lost track of them before Christmas. Anyhow, why the hell are we talking so much? Come on, food awaits!"

The Slytherin pushed the door open, and a bright light blinded the three of them for an instant. Because of that, it was their ears who did the work. Many voices came from inside, all high-pitched. Hermione could only catch some of the conversations—one talked about the bathrooms of the sixth floor; others had quite a fervent argument about the courtyard and its maintenance; a couple of them whistle to the tune of a catchy melody as some others gave plenty of orders above each and every noise…

In short, it was a complete mess.

This time, Hermione was the first to step inside, and there, she discovered a room as large as any common room. However, instead of students enjoying life at Hogwarts, this place was filled with a hundred elves dressed in nothing but simple, old rags. At the end of the room, a large brick fireplace brightened and warmed it, but so did the countless ovens and steaming pans on the sides. In the middle, there were four large tables of simple wood and with no ornamentation; as of this moment, they were clean and empty.

"Four tables, one for each House," Baldwin said. "Pinky, an elf I befriended, told me that they are enchanted with some kind of Ward that moves whichever dish you put on them to the Great Hall." The Slytherin strode into the kitchens, waving at some elves and grabbing an apple for herself from the closest worktop. "Hmh, tasty! Anyhow, here we are. Now, will you tell us why you wanted to come here, Granger?"

Ginny set her gaze on Hermione, just as Baldwin did, both showing evident curiosity in their eyes. Still, Hermione paid them no second thought. She was, after all, far too busy eyeing the horrible picture in front of her. "This is slavery…" she mused, almost to herself.

Even so, her comment did not go unnoticed to her two companions.

"What?" Ginny looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. "They are elves, Hermione. This is what they do. Go ask them, if you aren't sure about this, but I have a feeling that you will not like their answer."

Baldwin, however, sent her a sympathetic look. "I know what you mean," she let out a deep sigh. "When I found out about this, it also hit me pretty hard. Me, being the half-blood I am, well, this sight brought me back those stories of past ages I studied at school, in which the life of some humans was just another form of currency to those who held the power. Because of that, I started to ask questions, and the answers I got did nothing but to confuse me even more."

Just then, a pair of elves Apparated into the kitchens, their faces and heads covered by cloth masks and hats. "Those greenhouses from the first to the sixth are clean and fixed!" the shorter elf exclaimed with a chirpy voice. "And lady Pomona was there to congratulate Yihab! She's the very best!"

"They love this," Baldwin went on. "I suppose it is because they have never known any other life. But, when I confronted them, when I mentioned the word freedom, they looked at me as if I had just insulted them. To them, this is their purpose; this and nothing else." She made a pause and threw the almost-intact apple into a bin, a sour grimace in her face. "It's wrong, that I know, but, if it's any consolation, Hogwarts's elves are treated very, very well. Much better when compared to those who live under the yoke of most pureblood families."

"That's a whole different thing," Ginny cut in, almost offended. "It was long ago when an elf last stepped into a Weasley household. We've always condemned the cruelty against them, which, sadly, happens to far too many all around the world. However, elves are meant to behave this way. It has always been like this since the world is round and the ocean is salty. My grandfather, who was quite the odd character, tried many times to change their views on the world, to show them that life was more than to obey the orders from some wealthy, cruel wizard. However, for much he tried, he got no result. Elves do not wish to be free, Hermione. All they wish for is to serve a noble and kind master."

"That's because they don't know any other way of life!" Hermione exploded. All around them, many elves turned their heads towards the student, and yet they did nothing. "This is horrible! How can such an evil tradition be so overlooked in the present? I refuse to believe that nonsense about this being their true nature. If someone were to help them, to really try, I'm sure they would accept change with open arms."

Ginny was about to reply back, an annoyed frown on her face, but Baldwin beat her to it. "I'm sure she meant no offence to your family, Ginny," the Slytherin said. "She's just horrible with words—passionate and with a good heart, but terrible with words. Now, back to your point, Hermione… Their nature it's the one it is, period. Perhaps, some elves rebelled against their own kin in search of freedom. Maybe they accomplished their goal, or maybe not. All I know is that I would hate and resent such a horrible life. But I'm a witch, not an elf."

Surprised, Hermione pondered about the girl's words, then she realised her mistake. And she accepted it. "I'm so sorry, Ginny," she said with a blush. "I just said what first came to my mind. In any way I did mean to insult your family, much less to put them in the same sack as that of Malfoy and the likes. However, I stand by what I said. I believe that if someone were to help the elves, to show them other ways of life, eventually, they would see the light."

"Who knows?" Baldwin asked back, a sour grimace on her face. "I don't think anyone can change them, unfortunately. Also, if they don't want to, I don't think anyone should force them to change. Now, a whole different thing would be to turn a blind eye to the atrocities a lot of them suffer in many pureblood households. That's something which needs to change. But, for that to happen, someone powerful enough needs to make a change. That ain't us, I'm afraid."

She snapped out of her gloomy mood with a furious sigh. "Anyhow, I'm pretty sure you've already seen all there was to see here. Now, do you mind if we go back to the castle? I reckon the game might be over already, given the fact Potter is playing, and I have loads of homework to do. You can stay here if you fancy so, of course, but we'll be on our way."

The two girls left after that, but Hermione stayed there, in the kitchens. Wherever she looked, happy smiles were all she saw. Also, no elf seemed to be malnourished, much less with any trace of violence inflicted upon them. It meant nothing, though. To someone who'd never seen the sun, a torch would be the brightest of the lights.

This was just another matter to add to the list of unfairness. It was a rather long one, with werewolves, vampires and even muggle-borns like Hermione herself on it. And the problem was that it seemed longer with each thing she understood of the Wizarding World.

Change was needed, indeed, but was it even possible to accomplish? Could she, a third-year student from Gryffindor, do anything to make a difference? As per usual, doubts appeared. As per usual, they were casted away with a simple look back to that article she read about the crimes committed by werewolves and vampires. Yes, the world was rotted to its core thanks to selfish politicians like Umbridge and her cabinet, thanks to pureblood lords of the likes of Malfoy and Nott…

It might prove to be an impossible venture, but damned be all if Hermione Granger wasn't, at least, to give it a try.


November went by in the blink of an eye.

Unlike in the first two months of school, many things had happened in the third one. To begin with, Harry had taken part in a duelling tournament for the first time in his life, and he'd managed an outstanding top eight finish; more so, being eliminated by the final victor. Then, he managed to beat Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff's seeker, in a close battle for the snitch, granting Gryffindor its first win and the chance to win the Cup for the first time in many years.

Of course, not everything was all fun and laughs. He'd spend countless hours in the library by Hermione's side, trying to survive the absurd amount of homework they were given; the essay about werewolves being the worst of them, by far.

Still, none of that mattered right now. Up there, in the owlery, right outside through a little window which granted access to a small balcony, the boy was seated against the stone wall, seeking refuge from the cold wind as his gloved hands clenched tightly around a letter from Sirius.

He'd been true to his promise, it seemed.

Dear Harry, it's been a while, hasn't it?

As I promised this summer, I did not allow rage and despair to seize control of my stupid self. Obviously, I went in search of Peter, which, surely, it won't surprise you the slightest. I travelled through many countries, through high peaks and deep oceans. I met with friends of old and got to know a bunch of good lads. I also made a few enemies in the way, of course.

In short, I lived all kinds of adventures, which I'm excited to share with you this Christmas.

However, I failed yet again, for I could not find any trace of Peter at all. You know as well as I do that I will not give up, ever. Even so, I still remember your words, and I'm ready to accept that life is much more than vengeance and hatred.

Also, I've learned about your success at the Minor of Hogsmeade—nicely done, you cheeky bastard! Oh, I wish I could've been there to see you kick some asses, but I promise I will be there for the next one!

With love, Sirius.

Harry smiled in a silly way, glad that there was on one there to see him. However, his mirth did not last long, for some loud whistles from below reached his ear; the call for the owls to eat. "Shit, I'm gonna be late!" the boy cursed as he stood up.

It didn't take him long to exit the owlery, and much less to run through all the large corridors of the seventh floor, at the West Tower. It helped him to fight the cold away, and no drop of sweat beaded his forehead. Down and down went Harry, finding no soul in his way. Until he did. Just about to turn a corner, a faint whispering reached his ears.

At first, he paid no second thought to it, but still, his body stopped on his own. Then, Harry threw himself after a large armour, placed right at the intersection between two corridors. The voices got louder as they got closer, and then, he understood why his body had come to a halt.

"I'm so glad you answered my call, Mrs Parkinson," Umbridge said sweetly. Harry then started to sweat, and it wasn't due to a sudden sprout of warmth. "I have a proposal for you, one which, were you to accept it and give me good results, it could benefit you greatly."

Harry risked it all and stuck his head out of his hide spot. There he saw them—Umbridge, dressed in those pink, hellish robes of hers, and Parkinson, dressed in the thick, black coat which was part of the Winter uniform. They both sent sweet smiles to each other, but neither seemed to reach their eyes.

"I'm all ears!" Parkinson giggled. "Truly, it's such an honour to be noticed by the First Counselor herself. My father has you in a great steem, you know? And so does my mother."

"And so do I with them," Umbridge beamed. "It's been a while since I last had some tea with lady Beatrice, but I'm sure we will soon meet again. Anyhow, since you are to be in class in less than thirty minutes, let's move on to the matter of concern, shall we?"

As they went deep into the corridor, their voices became nothing but a weak echo. I should have brought my Cloak with me! Harry then decided to take the next step and risk his neck. As silently as he could, he left the armour behind and sprinted after his objective. Fortunately, corridors in the West Tower seemed to have a different architecture, and there were countless columns of creamy stone holding the ceiling, which he used in his favour.

"Say, what do you think of Hogwarts's faculty?" Umbridge asked.

"It has seen better days," Parkinson said with a shrug. "McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape are tough and strict, but they excel in their craft. No one really cares about Herbology, Astronomy and some of the electives, so there's no point in making a comment about them. And then…" She seemed to doubt, but Umbridge encouraged her with a smile. "Trelawny is a complete fraud, that is well known, but at least she harms no one. Now, those who really piss me off are Lupin and that half-wit of a gatekeeper. One made us face Boggarts, and the other to mount Hippogriffs and interact with many other dangerous creatures… Can you believe it!"

"Madness, that's it," Umbridge hummed in agreement. "For the record, I share your point. However, it cannot be said the same about many others. People outside Hogwarts do not know about the terrible state of the School's faculty, whereas those inside, the students to be precise, might feel a bit…, fearful to voice out their opinion, let's say."

"But you believe that I'm not one of those, right?" Parkinson said.

"That's right."

"What do you want me to do?" the Slytherin asked with a sigh.

The two females came to a halt amidst the corridor, and so did Harry behind a column. At that moment, the sound of his heartbeat resembled that of a storm, but still, he could hear them as if they were whispering into his ears.

"I want you to…" Umbridge's words were cut by a sudden noise, that of an explosion. She drew out her wand in the blink of an eye, while Parkinson took a few steps back, taking cover behind the older witch. On his behalf, Harry, surprised and scared in equal measure, stuck closer to the column, trying to become one with it.

Then, a new voice put an end to their tension. "Oh, Filchy-boy!" Peeves sang, his voice getting weaker with each second. "You are slow like a turtle, and silly like a panda! Oh, Filchy-boy, run faster and you may catch me, but not so much, or you might trip and fall!" His laughter finally died as if carried away by the wind.

"Perhaps, we should discuss this in a more private location," Umbrigde said, thin-lipped. "There are many unwanted ears here, in Hogwarts, and most of them belong to Albus Dumbledore. Yes, follow me, Pansy. I'm sure we'll find an abandoned classroom in no time at all. I will cast a privacy charm there, just in case."

True to her word, they didn't take much to find a classroom they could use. Umbridge opened the door, eyeing her surroundings with a keen eye as Parkinson stepped inside. Meanwhile, Harry saw it all from afar. The boy understood he'd lost when the door closed after the witch.

"Fuck my life," Harry grunted, punching the wall by his side out of anger. "Damned be Peeves, Filch and their bloody, endless dispute!" Furious and full of adrenaline, Harry turned around and began his way down.

As of that moment, there was nothing he wanted to do more than hearing Umbridge's conversation, however, as impossible as it was, all he could do was to run with the tail between his legs. Also, there was a period of Magical Creatures next, and he'd never arrive late to one of Hagrid's lectures.

At least, that was what Harry told himself as he went down, on his way to the Forbidden Forest.

No matter how cold the day was, or even how strong the wind blew, there was no way for him to cool down. And his face must have shown it, for when he arrived at the clearing behind Hagrid's hut, his friends just observed him with worry in their eyes; not a single question was thrown in his direction.

"Hello there, all of you!" Hagrid greeted them with a chirpy voice. Today, he wore his usual old coat of brown wool, however, unlike other days, there were some bulges in its front pockets, which, if looked closely, were moving. Many eyed him with clear mistrust in their eyes, and Harry couldn't blame them. "Finally, I managed to get my hands on a true beauty! I'm talking about a fine Ashwinder!"

Some students, like Hermione and Tracey, shared a look between them, but most remained neutral to those words.

"These little fellas are some of the most interesting creatures on this planet," Hagrid went on, looking quite excited. "They are born out of a magical fire which hasn't been extinguished as it should, but their life is quite short, around an hour or so. Now, you might wonder what's so amazing about them… Well, it all is! When an Ashwinder is born, its sole purpose is to lay as many eggs as possible in such a brief time. Of course, its offspring don't share the same conditions. No, these will remain alive for as much time as any other serpent would."

Hagrid finished his speech with a wide grin, which weakened a bit as soon as he realised not many shared his awe towards these magical creatures. "Anyhow," he went on, clearing his throat loudly, "I got quite a few of them here, stored in my coat. Professor Dumbledore casted a special Shield around them, so they couldn't burn my robes, that's it. Here, take a look y'all."

Unceremoniously, Hagrid took off his coat and shook it like there was no tomorrow. A rain of reptiles fell to the ground under a choir of gasps from many students, who took some steps away from the small creatures. All in truth, Ashwinders were small serpents, the largest of this bunch no longer than half a metre. However, they were quite special in their own way. Mainly because of their scales, of a bright red colour. But then, Harry looked into their eyes, and he was left speechless, for flames seemed to dance inside them like a furious storm.

"Wow," Ron mused to his side. "That's beautiful… Scary, yes, but also beautiful." Harry agreed wholeheartedly on that.

The Ashwinders were quick to slither towards the students. Most, like Ron and Harry himself, just took a step back, eyes set on the creatures and watchful of any sudden movement. Then there was Nott, who drew out his wand with no hint of doubt.

Hagrid, however, was quick to act. The Professor pulled a thick net from under his jacket, just to throw it all over the Ashwinders. "Don't point at them with your wand, Mr Nott," he said, not so chirpy anymore. "You will scare them." The creatures seemed to move in a frenzy inside the net, but none tried to escape through the large holes.

Just then, Pansy Parkinson strode into the clearing, rather calm and collected for someone who had arrived several minutes late to the lecture. "Sorry for being late," she started, eyes set on the Ashwinders with a disgusted grimace on her face. "I got lost."

Hagrid just stared at the Slytherin girl, seeming to be at a loss for words. Fortunately, Lavender broke the sudden silence by voicing out the one doubt in everyone's mind. "Won't they escape from that? I mean, they can clearly slither through those holes…"

It took Hagrid a few seconds to regain his composure, eyes still set on Parkinson. "Nope, they won't!" he finally replied. "This net has also been enchanted by Dumbledore himself. They stand no chance!" That seemed to put most at ease, and so, his confidence came back. "Now, what's also funny about these little fellas is the fact they aren't so valuable to us by themselves. No, it's their eggs which can be used for many things. For example, they can be used to brew some potions, such as the Love Potion or the Edurus Potion, but also… Wait, who's ready to tell me another of their uses?"

To no one's surprise, Hermione raised her hand. "If they are eaten as a whole, they can be used to cure the Ague, a disease characterised by fits of fever, chills and sweating!"

"Very well said!" Hagrid clapped loudly. "Five points for Gryffindor!" This news was received by the Slytherins with a roll of their eyes. "Ashwinder's eggs are a very precious item, and also quite expensive. Most of the time, they appear in those fireplaces in which floo powder has been tossed and not cleaned correctly. But not so much these days! Long ago, some dude from Madagascar decided to create a new sort of powder to correct this outcome, and so, these little ones rarely appear in our houses as of today. A pity!"

"Blessed be this wizard, whoever he was ," Tracey mused. "These little fellas, as Hagrid calls them, can burn entire households in the blink of an eye. Honestly, I preferred Hippogriffs… Brownie was much cuter."

In the end, they all got sorted into groups of five; although many, the Slytherins in particular, did as they pleased. Malfoy, Nott and Zabini gathered in silence, far from any other group. Parkinson, a sweet smile on her face, jumped between Crabbe and Goyle, surprising the two boys who didn't seem to know how to react. Then there was Bulstrode, who stood alone not so far from Hagrid. Of course, Ron and Tracey were in Harry's group, whereas all the remaining Gryffindors had formed a group of seven.

It did not seem to bother Hagrid at all, who stood aside with an excited gleam in his eyes, about to lift the net from the Ashwinders. "They are harmless creatures," he started. "As long as they don't feel in danger, of course. Just limit yourselves to observe them. You can sit close to them, but don't make sudden or aggressive movements; that could scare them. If we are lucky, we'll see one of them shedding its skin!"

Five Ashwinders slithered towards them bit by bit, as if distrustful of the students.

"Well, he said to act calm and collected," Ron sighed, taking a seat on the ground with his legs crossed underneath. "I reckon this is the best I can manage, though." Still, his right hand remained inside his pockets; most likely, tightened around his wand.

"Should I smile at them?" Tracey asked, taking a seat by Ron's side. "Or would it be too much?"

Harry and Neville mirrored them, but Hermione chose to remain up on her feet. "Look, they are charring the grass beneath them," she mused. "I read in the Monster Book that Ashwinders can reach very high temperatures in two cases. One, when they feel at risk, and two, when they are about to lay their eggs. Either of them will kill them, and that's why they are, mostly, harmless to us."

Meanwhile, Hagrid walked around the many groups, taking a look at them and making sure no one could commit any foolishness. "Yeah, just like that, Blaise! Hey, Dean, don't get so close to them!"

The serpents finally reached their position, just to slither around them. "Their eyes are beautiful," Neville whispered. "The more I look into them, the brighter those flames seem to get…"

"It's an optical illusion, right?" Tracey asked, not so sure of her words. "I mean, there's no way there are flames inside their eyes… Right?"

"Of course it is," Hermione said, now kneeling on the ground. "However, their scales are truly bathed in fire. In fact, it is what causes the peeling; a sudden combustion of those flames beneath the skin."

They are pretty cool, but not as much as Hippogriffs were. Harry, a bit bored of these creatures, raised his eyes from the ground and took a look around. As if pulled by a magnet, his eyes fell onto Vincent Crabbe, who, much to his shock, seemed to be asking a serious question to Hagrid. In fact, the Professor looked just as shocked as Harry was, but he still snapped out of his stupor in no time at all to answer his student's doubt, a kind smile brightening his face.

It all screamed trouble to Harry.

"What's the matter, mate?" Ron asked suddenly, eyeing his friend with a raised brow. "You've turned all serious out of the blue, not to mention the huge frown on your face."

"Look there," Harry said.

They all followed the nod of his chin. "Okay, that's weird," Neville said.

"Perhaps, he wants to take his studies seriously," Hermione said, having trouble believing those words herself. "I mean, he and Malfoy don't seem to be on good terms lately. Maybe…"

A bloodcurdling scream shut her down.

Ron was the first to stand up, wand ready at hand and eyes narrow and sharp. Harry followed after him, and he was quick to find the source of the commotion. Near the edge of the clearing stood Pansy Parkinson, jumping and moving around in a frenzy. Her cries were so loud and they expressed such agony that everyone stood rooted to their spots. By her side, Goyle stepped away, eyes open in sheer horror.

"Move aside, everyone!" Hagrid made himself heard, shoving Crabbe aside as he sprinted towards Parkinson.

It was then when the smell of burnt flesh reached Harry's nostrils, and when he spotted the faint cloud of smoke pouring from Parkinson's arms. "Oh, shit," Ron cursed in a low voice. "This doesn't look good…"

Parkinson threw herself on the ground, smacking her arm against the ground again and again. Yet, in response, the Ashwinder seemed to coil itself around her arm with even more strength. By the time Hagrid reached where the girl laid, she had stopped moving, turned into a whimpering mass on the ground.

There was no trace of the Ashwinder which had attacked her, just of its ashes, for just as Hermione had said, it had consumed itself within its own flames.

In silence, Harry and Ron made their way towards Hagrid, whose trembling hands raised the crying girl from the ground. "N-No one i-is to move from here," he spluttered, face pale and sweaty. "T-The class is f-finished…" And just like that, he stormed out of the Forest, carrying Parkinson in his arms.

"It looked very bad," Ron said in a whisper. Around them, no one dared to raise their voices. No, instead, they discussed the incident in rushed and low whispers. "I took a glimpse of it from here. Her flesh was charred and bloodied, and the sleeves of her robes stuck to the dead skin. It was gross like very few things I've seen."

Harry's gaze was still set on the path Hagrid had taken, and the words came out by themselves. "It was intentional. I have no doubt about it."

Ron frowned at that. "I like her even less than you do, mate, but that couldn't have been intentional. Did you hear those screams? They were of true horror and agony."

Wait, am I committing a mistake here? Am I being too biassed against her? But then Harry remembered what he had seen this morning, the conversation he could not listen to. "She met with Umbridge before this class," Harry confessed, which made Ron look at him with a quizzical look. "In the West Tower, right outside the owlery. They didn't know I was there, spying on them. Umbridge asked for Parkinson's opinion of the different Professors, and she replied that she despised Hagrid and Lupin above all. Umbridge's eyes gleamed like a star with that answer, Ron. They planned this, I know!"

The redhead seemed to ponder about those words, but it was his eyes that told Harry the truth. He did not believe them. "Umbridge is pure evil in the body of a witch, Ron," the Gryffindor pressed on, about to lose his temper. "I've told you all countless times! They want to hurt Dumbledore and those around him, and Hagrid is just the perfect scapegoat. Just as it happened when the Chamber was opened! Can't you see it?"

The harshness of those words seemed to offend Ron, whose frown became way more prominent. Fortunately, for the two of them, it was Hermione who came out of nowhere and who took the word.

"On this, I'm with Harry," she said sourly, stepping in between the two boys. The girl shushed Ron as he opened his mouth, ready to argue back. "I've listened to what he just said, and it makes a lot of sense, Ronald. Umbridge has passed many laws which have ruined the lives of many downtrodden, such as werewolves and vampires, and which have favoured those who already stand at the top of the chain, those of pure blood and wealthy pockets. She's here to tarnish Dumbledore's name and that of those who are loyal to him; an emissary of the Minister himself. Out there, it is the press which does the dirty work for Fudge, but here, at Hogwarts, it's her. And I don't think such a despicable woman would have any qualms about playing dirty."

"So, you two think this is just another step in Fudge's great plan to reduce Dumbeldore's influence," Ron mused, almost to himself. At last he nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. "Yes, it could be as you say. Hagrid has no prior experience as a Professor, and many have put in doubt whether he is ready to assume such a heavy duty, more so in a delicate subject like this one is. This takes me back to last summer, now that I think about it. There were people in Diagon Alley, working in many shops, talking shit about Dumbledore."

Harry nodded fervently to that. "See? It was all planned! Hell, now that I take a look back, it all could have been avoided! Oh, I'm so stupid! It was Parkinson who paired with Crabbe and Goyle when she'd never liked them. And it was Crabbe who distracted Hagrid when he was keeping an eye on everyone!" Harry was as furious as he'd ever been, but then he realised that Hermione's eyes were full of tears. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"It isn't Dumbledore who worries me," she mused as her lip quivered a bit. "It's Hagrid. Ashwinders burns are said to leave permanent scars, and you heard the way Ron described what he saw. They've destroyed Hagrid's career, Harry. The fact Umbridge probably used Parkinson—because I think she did, that she also lied to her about the risks of her plan—does not make a difference. This is a blatant case of negligence. Ashwinders are classified as dangerous creatures, and us, third-years, are not supposed to deal with their sort until fifth year…"

And as the wind carried away Hermione's whispers, as the Ashwinders slithered deep into the Forbidden Forest, now free of all restraints, Harry's hatred for that woman grew to unsuspected limits, like a fire spurred by strong gales.

Umbridge had outplayed him, and Hagrid had paid the price of his mistake.