Chapter 40: Sneak
April 1, 2003 – Tuesday
Room of Requirement
During the next DA meeting, the group finally began work on producing Patronuses, an exercise that everyone had eagerly anticipated. Despite their enthusiasm, Harry had repeatedly stressed that conjuring a Patronus in the comfort of a brightly lit classroom, free from danger, was vastly different from summoning one when faced with the chilling presence of a Dementor.
"Oh, don't be such a killjoy," Cho interjected with a bright smile. "They're so pretty!"
Dawn had to agree with Cho. She watched with a sense of wonder as her own Patronus, a majestic phoenix, soared gracefully around the room. The phoenix's plumage shimmered with vibrant hues of red and gold, casting a warm glow over the gathering. Everyone, including Harry and Hermione, had been taken aback by the appearance of Dawn's Patronus. When Harry had asked her what brought her the greatest happiness, Dawn had simply looked at him with a knowing smile. In that moment, Harry understood that what made Dawn truly happy was the deep connection they shared, the mutual admission of their feelings for one another that had brought them closer.
"They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you," Harry said, his voice patient but firm. "What we really need is a Boggart or something; that's how I learned. I had to conjure a Patronus while the Boggart was pretending to be a Dementor — "
"But that would be really scary!" Lavender protested, her eyes wide with apprehension. "And I still — can't — do it!" she added with frustration, her face flushed.
Neville, too, was struggling with the exercise. He furrowed his brow in concentration, sweat dotting his forehead.
"You've got to think of something happy," Harry reminded Neville gently.
"I'm trying," Neville replied, his voice tinged with despair.
"Harry, I think I'm doing it!" Seamus shouted, his excitement palpable. "Look — ah — it's gone... but it was definitely something hairy, Harry!"
Hermione's Patronus, a sleek and shimmering silver otter, danced playfully around her. It frolicked with an almost tangible joy, and Hermione's eyes sparkled with delight as she watched it. "They are sort of nice, aren't they?" she remarked, her tone a mixture of pride and awe.
Dawn rolled her eyes at Hermione's playful comment. "Trying to outdo me, 'Mione?" she teased her sister, her laughter bubbling up as she spoke. The light-heartedness of the moment was briefly interrupted by Hermione's sharp retort.
Hermione, though clearly annoyed, shot Dawn a pointed look. "I think you've outdone everyone here, Dawnie."
Just then, the door of the Room of Requirement swung open and then closed with a soft whoosh. Harry and Dawn glanced over, curious about the disturbance. At first, there was no one to be seen, and the room seemed to settle into a hushed anticipation. The murmurs of the DA members closest to the door dwindled, and an uneasy silence spread among the group.
Suddenly, Harry felt a peculiar tugging sensation on his robes, just near his knee. He looked down, his expression turning to one of astonishment as he saw Dobby, the house-elf, peering up at him from beneath his customary eight woolly hats. Each hat, stacked precariously on top of one another, added to the elf's already comical appearance.
"Hi, Dobby!" Harry exclaimed, his surprise evident. "What are you — What's wrong?"
Dobby's large, bulbous eyes were wide with an unmistakable terror, and he was visibly shaking. The room fell into an even deeper silence as the members of the DA nearest Harry watched the scene unfold with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Dawn, her concern growing, walked over to the trembling elf. "What's wrong, Dobby?" she asked gently, her voice softening as she approached.
The house-elf's voice quivered as he spoke, his words coming out in frantic squeaks. "Harry Potter, sir… Dawn Summers, miss… Dobby has come to warn you both... but the house-elves have been warned not to tell..." His fear was so palpable that he abruptly ran head-first into the wall. The impact, though softened by his stack of hats, was jarring. Harry, instinctively reaching out to help, moved to grab Dobby, but the elf merely bounced off the stone wall, cushioned by the pile of woolen hats.
The sight elicited gasps of fear and sympathy from Hermione and several of the girls, their expressions a mix of horror and concern for the distressed elf.
"What's happened, Dobby?" Harry asked urgently, grabbing the elf's tiny, trembling arm and gently pulling him away from any potential hazards. His voice was filled with a protective concern as he tried to understand the gravity of the situation.
"Harry Potter… Dawn Summers… she... she..." Dobby stammered, his voice fraught with panic. In his distress, he struck himself hard on the nose with his free fist, a gesture of frustration and fear.
Dawn quickly intervened, her grip firm as she seized Dobby's arm. "Who's 'she', Dobby?" she demanded urgently.
Harry, already dreading the answer, let out a horrified exclamation. "Umbridge?" His realization was punctuated by a deep sense of dread.
Dobby's frantic nod was the only confirmation they needed. In his panic, he attempted to bang his head against Harry's knees, but Harry and Dawn restrained him, holding him firmly at arm's length to prevent him from injuring himself further.
"What about her? Dobby — she hasn't found out about this — about us — about the DA?" Dawn asked, her voice taut with anxiety. The look on Dobby's stricken face was answer enough. The elf's expression was a mix of terror and guilt, making it clear that the situation was dire.
"Is she coming?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper but laden with urgency.
Dobby let out a high-pitched howl of distress and began to beat his bare feet furiously against the floor. "Yes, Harry Potter, yes!" he cried, his voice echoing with panic.
Harry, seeing the terror in the eyes of the DA members, straightened up and faced the crowd. His command cut through the chaos. "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" he bellowed, his voice raw with fear. "RUN!"
At his shout, the room erupted into frantic motion. The students scrambled toward the exit, a chaotic mass of limbs and panic. They surged toward the door in a disorganized scramble, each person fighting to get out.
"Harry, come on!" Dawn's voice pierced through the tumult, shrill with urgency from the center of the crowd, where people were jostling for position.
Harry scooped up Dobby, who was still frantically trying to injure himself, and began running with the elf clutched tightly in his arms. He joined the end of the frantic line, weaving through the panicked students.
"Dobby — this is an order — get back down to the kitchen with the other elves and, if she asks you whether you warned me or Dawn, lie and say no!" Harry instructed sharply. His voice was firm, filled with the authority of someone who knew the gravity of the situation. "And I forbid you to hurt yourself!" he added, his command echoing in the narrow space as he finally managed to drag the elf over the threshold and slammed the door behind them.
"Thank you, Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked gratefully. The elf, now relieved of his immediate distress, streaked off toward the kitchens, his small form disappearing quickly down the corridor.
Harry was about to turn and run when he was jolted by a piercing scream from Dawn. In that split second, something coiled around his ankles, sending him sprawling to the floor in a dramatic tumble. The sound of cruel laughter followed, and as he landed with a thud, he rolled onto his back to find Draco Malfoy crouched in a shadowy niche beneath a grotesque, dragon-shaped vase, his face twisted into a mocking grin.
"Trip Jinx, Potter!" Malfoy jeered, his voice dripping with malice. "Hey, Professor — PROFESSOR! I've got two!"
The reality of their predicament struck Harry as he noticed Dawn, sprawled just a few feet away, struggling to regain her footing. Their eyes locked in a moment of mutual frustration and anger before the heavy, deliberate footfalls of Umbridge came into earshot.
Umbridge appeared around the far corner, her face flushed with breathless excitement. Her eyes sparkled with vindictive pleasure at the sight of Harry and Dawn on the floor. "It's them!" she announced jubilantly. "Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good — fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take them from here... stand up, Potter! Summers!"
The mocking gleam in Umbridge's eyes contrasted sharply with the gravity of the situation. Harry and Dawn scrambled to their feet, their faces set in grim determination as they glared at their tormentors.
"You've made a serious mistake, Umbridge," Dawn spat, her voice edged with defiance.
Umbridge, unfazed by Dawn's boldness, gripped their arms with a vice-like force, her expression one of satisfied cruelty. She turned to Malfoy with a broad, triumphant smile. "You hop along and see if you can round up any more of them, Draco," she instructed. "Tell the others to look in the library — anybody out of breath — check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls' ones — off you go — and you two," she added in her softest, most dangerous tone as Malfoy strutted away, "you two can come with me to the Headmaster's office, Potter. Summers."
As they were herded down the corridor, Dawn's eyes locked with Hermione's. With a desperate, silent plea, she mouthed, 'Get Buffy.'
Hermione, her face set in resolute determination, bolted down the corridor with urgency, sprinting towards Buffy's suite.
Dumbledore's Office
They arrived at the stone gargoyle in no time, its grizzled form standing sentinel before the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "Fizzing Whizzbee," Umbridge sang with an air of pompous authority. At her command, the gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the hidden stairway behind it. The wall split open, granting access to the moving stone staircase that spiraled upwards. The walls seemed to close in around them as they ascended, the staircase shifting and twisting in its never-ending motion.
They reached the polished oak door adorned with the griffin knocker, but Umbridge did not waste time with formality. Instead, she strode straight inside, her grip on Harry and Dawn unyielding. The heavy door swung open to reveal a bustling scene within Dumbledore's office.
Dumbledore sat behind his grand, intricately carved desk, his demeanor serene and composed. His long, slender fingers were interlaced, resting lightly on the polished surface. His eyes, though calm, held a sharp glint of awareness as he observed the unfolding scene. Beside him stood Professor McGonagall, her posture rigid and her face etched with tension. The lines of her expression were deep, revealing her disquiet.
By the crackling fire, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, stood rocking slightly on his toes. His face was alight with a smirk of self-satisfied triumph, clearly relishing the moment. Kingsley Shacklebolt and a burly, wiry-haired wizard whom Harry did not recognize were stationed on either side of the door, their presence imposing and watchful, like sentinels guarding a fortress. Percy Weasley, freckled and bespectacled, hovered near the wall, clutching a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and anticipation as he prepared to document the proceedings.
As the door thudded shut behind them, Harry and Dawn wrenched themselves free from Umbridge's iron grip. Cornelius Fudge's eyes locked onto them with a cruel, almost gleeful satisfaction, a smirk stretching across his face.
"Well," Fudge began, his voice dripping with a malignant satisfaction. "Well, well, well..."
"They were heading back to Gryffindor Tower," Umbridge reported with a hint of vindictive pleasure. "The Malfoy boy cornered them."
At that moment, Buffy stormed into the office with a fierce determination. Her presence, filled with unspoken authority and resolve, shifted the room's dynamics.
"Did they, did they?" Fudge said, his tone one of grudging admiration. "I must remember to tell Lucius. Well, Potter… Summers... I expect you both know why you are here?"
Harry and Dawn exchanged glances, their expressions resolute and defiant.
"No," Dawn said, her voice steady and unyielding.
"I beg your pardon?" Fudge's voice was edged with impatience.
"No," Harry and Dawn reiterated firmly, their stance a silent declaration of resistance.
"What is going on here?" Buffy demanded, her voice slicing through the tension with a sharp edge of anger that crackled like electricity in the air. Her eyes blazed with a fierce, protective fury that caused Umbridge to instinctively retreat, her composure faltering under the Slayer's penetrating gaze.
Fudge turned his attention toward Buffy, his expression a mask of bureaucratic indifference. "Professor Summers, your sister and Mr. Potter have broken school rules and Ministry Decrees," he stated, his tone flat and devoid of empathy.
Dawn's eyes widened in confusion and disbelief. "What?" she asked, her voice tinged with hurt and bewilderment.
"There was an illegal student organization that was discovered within this school!" Fudge declared, his voice rising with a sense of grim satisfaction as he relished the severity of the accusations.
Umbridge, her gaze never leaving Buffy, seemed to shrink further under the Slayer's glare. "I think, Minister," she began, her voice quavering slightly with both fear and anticipation, "we might make better progress if I fetch our informant."
"Yes, yes, do," Fudge agreed, his nod brisk and impatient. "There's nothing like a good witness, is there?"
"Nothing at all, Cornelius," Dumbledore responded gravely. His eyes flicked toward Buffy, conveying a silent message of solidarity and anticipation. He seemed to say, "Let's see what they intend to do," with the subtle lift of an eyebrow.
Buffy nodded in understanding, her jaw set with determination.
An uneasy silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the occasional shuffle of feet or rustle of robes. The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity as everyone avoided each other's gaze, their thoughts consumed by the gravity of the situation.
Finally, the door creaked open once more. Umbridge reentered, her face a mask of smug satisfaction. She was gripping Marietta Edgecombe firmly by the shoulder, the girl's face pale and strained. Marietta's eyes were wide and fearful, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Don't be scared, dear, don't be frightened," Professor Umbridge cooed in a sickly sweet tone, her voice dripping with false comfort. "It's quite all right now. You have done the right thing. The Minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been. Marietta's mother, Minister, is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation, Floo Network office — she's been helping us police the Hogwarts lines, you know."
"Jolly good, jolly good!" Fudge responded with an air of hearty approval, though his tone betrayed a hint of impatience. "Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on now, dear, look up, don't be shy, let's hear what you've got to — galloping gargoyles!"
As Marietta slowly lifted her head, the sight that met Fudge's eyes caused him to recoil in shock, stumbling backwards and narrowly avoiding a tumble into the fire. Marietta's face was covered in a hideous rash of close-set purple pustules that spread grotesquely across her nose and cheeks, forming the word 'SNEAK' in glaring, pustular relief. A sharp, collective intake of breath filled the room as everyone saw the disfigurement. Marietta let out a high-pitched wail and yanked her robe up to cover her eyes, but not before the damage had been done.
Dawn stifled a giggle, unable to suppress her amusement at the unintended consequences of Hermione's spell. The grim satisfaction of seeing Umbridge's meticulously planned show of power backfire was a moment of relief amidst the tension.
"Never mind the spots now, dear," Umbridge said with growing impatience, her tone laced with irritation. "Just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister —"
But Marietta responded with another muffled wail, her head shaking frantically. Her fear was palpable, and she remained resolutely silent.
"Oh, very well, you silly girl, I'll tell him," Umbridge snapped, her frustration evident. She turned to Fudge with an air of exasperation. "Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and informed me that she had something she wanted to disclose. She mentioned that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something advantageous. I questioned her further, and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately, at that point this hex," she gestured dismissively at Marietta's concealed face, "came into operation. Upon catching sight of her face in my mirror, the girl became too distressed to provide any further details."
"Well, now," Fudge said, fixing Marietta with what he evidently believed was a kind and fatherly gaze, though it lacked any warmth. "It is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge. You did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?"
Marietta's eyes remained wide with terror, her head shaking in denial. She was clearly too frightened to speak, her fear rendering her mute.
"Haven't we got a counter-jinx for this?" Fudge asked Umbridge impatiently, his frustration evident as he gestured towards Marietta's disfigured face. "So she can speak freely?"
Buffy smirked, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes as the room tensed.
"I have not yet managed to find one," Umbridge admitted begrudgingly, her tone dripping with annoyance. "But it doesn't matter if she won't speak, I can take up the story from here. You will remember, Minister, that I sent you a report back in October stating that Summers and Potter had met a number of fellow students in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade—"
"And what is your evidence for that?" Buffy interjected sharply, her gaze cutting through Umbridge's self-satisfied demeanor.
"I have testimony from Willy Widdershins, Professor Summers," Umbridge replied with a smug smirk. "He happened to be in the bar at the time. He was heavily bandaged, it is true, but his hearing was quite unimpaired," she continued, her voice filled with a self-congratulatory tone. "He heard every word Potter and your sister said and hastened straight to the school to report to me—"
"Oh, so that's why he wasn't prosecuted for setting up all those regurgitating toilets!" Professor McGonagall interjected, her eyebrows raising in a mix of surprise and disapproval.
"What an interesting insight into the justice system!" Buffy added with a touch of sarcasm, her expression a mixture of disbelief and disdain.
"Blatant corruption!" roared the portrait of the corpulent, his voice echoing indignantly through the room. "The Ministry did not cut deals with petty criminals in my day, no sir, they did not!"
"Thank you, Fortescue, that will do," Dumbledore said softly, his voice calm yet firm, cutting off the portrait's tirade.
"The purpose of Summers and Potter's meeting with these students," continued Professor Umbridge, pushing forward with her narrative, "was to persuade them to join an illegal society, whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has deemed inappropriate for school-age children—"
"I think you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores," said Dumbledore quietly, his tone soft but carrying an undercurrent of steel.
Dawn looked between Buffy and Dumbledore, noting the glint of understanding in Buffy's eyes. It was clear that Buffy might either know what Dumbledore was planning or at least suspect it. The atmosphere in the room crackled with anticipation as the two figures faced off.
"Oho!" exclaimed Fudge, his voice rising with a mockingly enthusiastic tone. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, his expression a mix of curiosity and derision. "Yes, do let's hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Potter and Summers out of trouble! Go on, then, Dumbledore, go on — Willy Widdershins was lying, was he? Or was it Potter's identical twin and yet another twin for the Summers' twins in the Hog's Head that day? Or is there the usual simple explanation involving a reversal of time, a dead man coming back to life and a couple of invisible Dementors?"
Percy Weasley, standing near the wall, let out a hearty laugh, his amusement barely concealing his eagerness to see Dumbledore flounder. "Oh, very good, Minister, very good!"
"Cornelius," Dumbledore said, his gaze steady and composed, "I do not deny — and nor, I am sure, do Dawn or Harry — that they were in the Hog's Head that day, nor that they were trying to recruit students to a Defense Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at that time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry Decree banning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after Harry and Dawn's Hogsmeade meeting, so they were not breaking any rules at all in the Hog's Head."
Percy's face went slack, his eyes wide as though he had been struck with something heavy. Fudge remained motionless in mid-bounce, his mouth hanging open in stunned disbelief.
Umbridge, however, was quick to recover, her smile sweet but devoid of warmth. "That's all very fine, Headmaster," she said smoothly, her voice dripping with condescension, "but we are now nearly six months on from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are."
"Well," Dumbledore replied calmly, "they certainly would be, if they had continued after the Decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that any such meetings continued?"
"Evidence?" Umbridge repeated, her voice laced with incredulity. "Have you not been listening, Dumbledore? Why do you think Miss Edgecombe is here?"
"Oh, can she tell us about six months' worth of meetings?" Buffy interjected, her tone laced with skepticism as Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "I was under the impression that she was merely reporting a meeting tonight."
"Miss Edgecombe," said Umbridge at once, her voice dripping with condescension, "tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear. You can simply nod or shake your head; I'm sure that won't make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months? Just nod or shake your head, dear, come on now, that won't re-activate the jinx."
Every eye in the room was riveted on Marietta's disfigured face, the grotesque pustules spelling out 'SNEAK' in angry purple. As the tension mounted, Marietta shook her head slowly, her fear palpable.
Umbridge glanced quickly at Fudge, then returned her gaze to Marietta, her smile tight and strained. "I don't think you understood the question, did you, dear? I'm asking whether you've been going to these meetings for the past six months. You have, haven't you?"
Marietta shook her head again, her movements slow and deliberate, as if each gesture was a monumental effort against her distress.
"What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?" Umbridge demanded, her patience wearing thin. Her voice took on a testy edge, revealing her frustration.
"I would have thought her meaning was quite clear," Buffy said sharply, her tone cutting through the tension like a knife. "There have been no secret meetings for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe?"
Marietta nodded, her movements slight but unmistakable. The room fell into a stunned silence, broken only by the hum of disbelief that hung in the air.
"But there was a meeting tonight!" Umbridge insisted furiously, her face flushed with anger. "There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not? Potter and Summers organized it. Potter, Summers — why are you shaking your head, girl?"
"Well, usually when a person shakes their head," said McGonagall coldly, her voice rich with disapproval, "they mean 'no'. So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign-language as yet unknown to humans —"
Professor Umbridge seized Marietta by the shoulders with a grip that seemed almost cruel, yanking her around to face her and beginning to shake her vigorously. Marietta's face contorted in distress as she struggled to maintain her composure under the onslaught. Her eyes were wide with fear and her body trembled under the harsh treatment.
Suddenly, Buffy intervened with a burst of fury. In a swift, decisive motion, she grabbed Umbridge and flung her across the room. "I will not allow you to manhandle students, Umbridge," Buffy declared, her voice ringing with a fierce protectiveness.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had been watching the scene unfold with a calm and measured demeanor, spoke up in his deep, resonant voice. "You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge," he advised, his tone slow and deliberate. "You don't want to get yourself into trouble, now."
Umbridge, who had been left breathless and disheveled by Buffy's intervention, glared at her with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "No," she muttered, her voice strained. "I mean, yes — you're right, Shacklebolt — I — I forgot myself."
Fudge, who had been observing with a mounting sense of satisfaction, addressed Umbridge with a hint of impatience. "Dolores," he said, "the meeting tonight — the one we know definitely happened —"
"Yes," Umbridge replied, regaining her composure and standing straighter. "Yes... well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off, and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain trustworthy students, so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh floor they were running in every direction. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here." She produced a list of names that had been pinned to the wall of the Room of Requirement and handed it to Fudge with a smug satisfaction. "Miss Parkinson ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind. We needed evidence and the room provided."
Dawn frowned as she watched Umbridge's display. The list of names, now in Fudge's hands, was proof of the clandestine meetings, but Dawn was skeptical of the true implications.
"The moment I saw Summers and Potter's names on the list," Umbridge said softly, her voice dripping with smugness, "I knew what we were dealing with."
"Excellent," said Fudge, a broad smile spreading across his face as he examined the parchment. "Excellent, Dolores. And... by thunder... see what they've named themselves? Dumbledore's Army."
Dumbledore reached out and took the piece of parchment from Fudge with a calm, measured grace. His eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and sadness as he read the name.
Buffy, witnessing the unfolding drama, couldn't suppress a laugh. The realization that Harry and Dawn's defense group had chosen the name "Dumbledore's Army" seemed to her a perfect counter to Fudge's self-satisfied demeanor. It was as if the name itself was a defiant slap in the face to the Minister's authority.
"Well, the game is up," Dumbledore said simply, his voice calm and measured. His gaze was steady, holding the weight of unspoken wisdom. "Would you like a written confession from me, Cornelius — or will a statement before these witnesses suffice?"
Dawn's brow furrowed as she tried to piece together what was happening. Her mind raced, trying to understand the implications of Dumbledore's words and the tension in the room.
Fudge's confusion was palpable. "Statement?" he echoed slowly, his voice laced with bewilderment. "What — I don't — ?"
"Dumbledore's Army, Cornelius," Dumbledore continued, his smile unwavering as he waved the list of names before Fudge's astonished face. "Not Potter's Army. Not Summers' Army. Dumbledore's Army."
The revelation seemed to strike Fudge with a powerful blow. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stammered, "But — but — You?"
"That's right," Dumbledore said pleasantly, his demeanor serene despite the unfolding chaos.
Fudge struggled to grasp the situation. "You organised this?" he asked, his voice faltering with a mix of shock and incredulity.
"I did," Dumbledore confirmed, his tone unwavering.
Fudge's mind raced to catch up with the turn of events. "You recruited these students for — for your army?" he pressed, trying to reconcile the information.
"Tonight was supposed to be the first meeting," Dumbledore explained, his voice steady and authoritative. "Merely to see whether they would be interested in joining me. I see now that it was a mistake to invite Miss Edgecombe, of course."
Marietta nodded, the movement barely perceptible, but enough to confirm the damning truth. Fudge's face reddened as he looked from her to Dumbledore, his chest puffing out with indignation and self-righteousness.
"Then you have been plotting against me!" Fudge roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls with a mix of outrage and betrayal.
"That's right," Dumbledore said cheerfully, his tone remarkably calm despite the chaos swirling around him.
"NO!" shouted Harry and Dawn in unison, their voices blending into a defiant chorus against the unfolding revelations.
Kingsley Shacklebolt shot a sharp look at them, his expression a clear warning to maintain composure. Professor McGonagall's eyes widened, her gaze sharp and authoritative as she signaled her disapproval.
"No — Professor Dumbledore —" Harry began, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination.
"Be quiet, Harry, Dawn, or I am afraid you will have to leave my office," Dumbledore said calmly, his voice carrying an edge of finality that brooked no argument.
"Yes, shut up, Summers, Potter!" Fudge barked, his frustration evident in the harshness of his tone.
Buffy was on her feet in an instant, confronting Fudge with an intensity that could not be ignored. "You will not talk to my sister in that tone. You are already in hot water with me as it is," she said, her voice a fierce and protective growl.
Fudge recoiled slightly, taking a step back from Buffy's imposing presence. "Well, well, well — I came here tonight expecting to expel Summers and Potter and instead —" he began, his voice trailing off as he processed the turn of events.
Buffy's glare was unwavering, her eyes locked onto Fudge's with a promise of retribution. "I warned you, Fudge," she said, her voice cold and unyielding.
"Instead you get to arrest me," Dumbledore said, a wry smile curling at the corners of his lips. "It's like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn't it?" His tone was light, almost mocking, as if to underscore the absurdity of the situation.
"Weasley!" Fudge's voice cut through the tense air, sharp and demanding. "Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he's said, his confession, have you got it?"
"Yes, sir, I think so, sir!" Percy replied, his eagerness barely contained as he clutched his quill and parchment, his eyes alight with fervor.
"The bit about how he's been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he's been working to destabilize me?" Fudge's tone was almost triumphant, his eyes gleaming with a mix of anticipation and vindictiveness.
"Yes, sir, I've got it, yes!" Percy confirmed, his voice high with nervous excitement.
"Very well, then," Fudge said, now positively radiant with glee, his face alight with a self-satisfied smirk. "Duplicate your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the Daily Prophet at once. If we send a fast owl, we should make the morning edition!"
Buffy's smile was a razor-thin line of satisfaction. "Be glad the Prophet is under your control for now, Fudge. Because once my lawsuit is over, I will own the Daily Prophet. And you will no longer be able to slander the names of good people."
Percy, energized by his role in this high-stakes moment, dashed from the room with hurried steps, slamming the door behind him with a forceful bang. The sound reverberated through the chamber, punctuating his swift departure. Fudge turned back to Dumbledore, his expression a mixture of triumph and anticipation. "You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged, then sent to Azkaban to await trial!"
"Ah," Dumbledore said gently, his tone almost soothing in its calmness, "yes. Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag."
"Snag?" Fudge's voice was still vibrating with joy, his face a portrait of unchecked elation. "I see no snag, Dumbledore!"
Buffy laughed, a sound that was both mocking and delighted. "I do. And I bet Albus does as well."
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, acknowledging Buffy's insight with a twinkle in his eye. "You are right, Buffy. I do."
"Oh, really?" Fudge said, his voice edged with skepticism and a trace of frustration.
"Well," Dumbledore continued, his tone gently teasing, "it's just that you seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to—what is the phrase?—come quietly. I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course—but what a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing." His words flowed with an air of nonchalance, masking the gravity of the situation with an almost whimsical disregard.
Fudge stared at Dumbledore, his face a mask of disbelief, as if he had been struck by a sudden, unanticipated blow. His expression shifted between stunned astonishment and incredulous confusion, unable to fully grasp the implications of Dumbledore's statement.
"Don't be silly, Dawlish," Dumbledore said kindly, his tone almost patronizing. "I'm sure you are an excellent Auror—I seem to remember that you achieved 'Outstanding' in all your NEWTs—but if you attempt to—er—'bring me in by force,' I will have to hurt you." The gentle reprimand was laced with an undercurrent of serious warning, directed at the man whose bewildered expression spoke volumes about his hesitance.
Dawlish blinked, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. He glanced uncertainly at Fudge, evidently searching for direction or reassurance on how to proceed in this unexpected standoff.
"So," Fudge sneered, regaining a semblance of composure, "you intend to take on Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Dolores, and myself single-handed, do you, Dumbledore?" His words dripped with a mix of mockery and disbelief, as if he were challenging the very notion of such a confrontation.
Buffy shook her head, her expression resolute and unyielding. "Not alone." Her voice was firm, dismissing the notion of Dumbledore facing the situation by himself.
Fudge suddenly seemed to falter, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. The idea of contending with the formidable Slayer was evidently more daunting than he had anticipated.
"He will not be single-handed!" Professor McGonagall announced loudly, her voice commanding and authoritative. She plunged her hand inside her robes, a decisive gesture that promised further action and support.
"Oh yes he will, Buffy, Minerva!" Dumbledore said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension with an air of urgency and authority. "Hogwarts needs you both!" His gaze lingered on Buffy and McGonagall, conveying an unspoken gratitude and the weight of responsibility that lay on their shoulders.
Buffy nodded in understanding, her eyes reflecting the seriousness of the situation. She knew that her role was crucial, and her agreement was a silent pledge to uphold the safety of the school.
"Enough of this rubbish!" Fudge roared, his patience evidently exhausted. With a swift motion, he drew his wand, its polished surface gleaming ominously under the flickering light. "Dawlish! Shacklebolt! Take him!" The command was issued with a forceful tone, setting the stage for a dramatic confrontation.
A streak of silver light erupted from the wands, its brilliance momentarily blinding. The spell unleashed a deafening bang, reverberating through the room with the force of a gunshot. The floor beneath them trembled, sending ripples through the dust-laden air. Fawkes, the phoenix, emitted a piercing screech as he took to the skies, his vibrant feathers a blur against the chaos below.
In an instant, Buffy reacted with reflexive precision, diving toward Dawn and enveloping her in a protective embrace. She shielded her sister with a fierce determination, her body a barrier against the onslaught.
Dawn's eyes darted around, taking in the scene from her protected vantage point. The room was a whirlwind of motion and sound, the aftermath of the spell creating a disorienting haze.
"Are you all right?" Dumbledore's voice cut through the chaos, his concern evident even amidst the turmoil. His eyes searched Buffy and McGonagall, seeking reassurance.
"Yes!" Buffy and Professor McGonagall responded simultaneously, their voices steady despite the pandemonium.
The dust began to settle, revealing Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley, and Dawlish sprawled motionless on the floor. The four figures lay in a crumpled heap, their wands fallen beside them. Above them, Fawkes soared in wide, graceful circles, his melodic song a soothing counterpoint to the chaos below.
"Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious," Dumbledore said in a low, measured tone. His eyes briefly flickered to Kingsley's still form. "He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe's memory like that while everyone was looking the other way—thank him, for me, won't you, Minerva? Buffy? Now, they will all awaken very soon, and it will be best if they do not know that we had time to communicate—" His voice held a quiet urgency as he outlined their plan.
"Where will you go, Dumbledore?" whispered Dawn, her voice laced with concern and curiosity. "Grimmauld Place?"
"Oh no," Dumbledore said, his expression shifting to a grim smile that spoke of resolve and defiance. "I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he'd never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you."
"Professor Dumbledore..." Harry began, his voice tinged with urgency and a flicker of desperation.
Dumbledore, however, cut Harry off before he could say another word. "Listen to me, Harry," he said, his tone intense and urgent. "You must study Occlumency as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Professor Snape tells you and practice it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind to bad dreams — you will understand why soon enough, but you must promise me —" His words were clipped, weighed down by the gravity of the situation. His eyes darted to Dawlish, who was beginning to stir from the floor. "Remember — close your mind you will understand. Buffy, I think it's time you trained both of your sisters. Dawn will be coming into her abilities soon."
Dawn's eyes widened, her expression shifting from confusion to astonishment. "I'm going to be a Slayer?" The realization hit her with a rush of excitement and trepidation.
Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and concern. "Yes."
Buffy, standing beside her sisters, nodded with a reassuring certainty. "Of course." Her resolve was unshakeable, ready to take on the responsibility of training her siblings.
As the conversation concluded, Fawkes, the majestic phoenix, circled the office with a graceful, almost ethereal presence. He swooped low over Dumbledore, who reached up and grasped the phoenix's long, golden tail with a firm grip. There was a sudden, brilliant flash of fire, a burst of light that filled the room, and in the blink of an eye, both Dumbledore and Fawkes were gone, leaving only the lingering traces of their departure.
The room erupted into chaos. "Where is he?" Fudge bellowed, pushing himself up from the floor with an angry, frantic energy. His eyes searched wildly, his face flushed with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "Where is he?"
"I don't know!" shouted Kingsley, scrambling to his feet, his voice tinged with exasperation.
"Well, he can't have Disapparated!" cried Umbridge, her tone brimming with indignation. "You can't do it from inside this school—"
"The stairs!" cried Dawlish, his voice urgent as he flung himself toward the door. He wrenched it open with a forceful motion and disappeared through the opening, followed closely by Kingsley and Umbridge.
Fudge hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on the door through which the others had fled. He slowly got to his feet, brushing dust off his front with a slow, deliberate motion. The room fell into a long and painful silence, the air thick with the remnants of tension and confusion. The echoes of Dumbledore's sudden departure hung heavily, leaving everyone to grapple with the aftermath of the unexpected turn of events.
"Well, Minerva," Fudge sneered, his voice dripping with malice as he straightened his torn shirtsleeve, which had been scuffed in the chaos, "I'm afraid this is the end of your friend Dumbledore." His words carried a dark satisfaction, as if savoring the finality of the situation.
"You think so, do you?" Buffy retorted scornfully, her eyes narrowing into cold slits as she faced Fudge. Her tone conveyed a fierce defiance, a palpable contempt for his smugness.
"You'd better get those three off to bed," Fudge continued, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand as though their lives were trivial. His command was both condescending and impatient, underscoring his desire to clear the room of anyone who might challenge him further.
Professor McGonagall, her face a mask of restrained fury, said nothing. Her silence was laden with frustration and resolve as she took Harry, Dawn, and Marietta firmly by the arms. Without a word, she marched them to the door, her movements sharp and purposeful. The door swung shut behind them with a resounding thud, sealing their departure and leaving the room in tense stillness.
Phineas Nigellus's portrait, observing from his frame, broke the silence with a wry comment. "You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts... but you cannot deny he's got style..." His voice was tinged with an ironic amusement, a hint of begrudging admiration that contrasted sharply with the tension in the room.
Buffy's gaze remained fixed on Fudge, her expression a mixture of steely resolve and simmering anger. "I already told this to Umbridge," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "But you have made an enemy of the Slayer. If I hear so much as a whisper about my sister or Harry being expelled, you will find yourself at war. And believe me, that is something you don't want." Her words were a dire warning, imbued with the promise of relentless retribution.
Fudge, visibly unnerved, gulped audibly. The weight of Buffy's threat seemed to settle heavily on his shoulders, and he nodded in quick, fearful agreement as she turned on her heel. With a commanding sweep, Buffy exited the room, leaving behind a palpable tension that lingered in the air.