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Harry Potter and the Perversion of Purity

By ACI100

Book 4: The Deadliest of Games

Chapter 15: Gifts and Gags

September 29, 1994
Dolores Umbridge's Office
8:57 PM

Ron winced. Burning pain prickled along the back of his hand. Smears of blood crawled up his hand and forearm in long, crimson fingers and spilled down onto the desk as though carelessly handled by an especially eager child. The place his arm rested was slick with blood — he could feel his hand slip every now and then when he flinched — and the distinct, coppery tang mingled with the sweet perfume drenching the office until an awful, hybrid stench filled the room.

He sucked in a deep breath when he finished yet another stroke on the thick sheet of parchment sitting just in front of him. It was blank but for the specks of blood splattered across its surface like drops of wine spilled across a white, linen cloth.

He pulled his eyes away from the parchment and looked down instead at the back of his hand.

I must not tell lies

It was like the prickling pain grew worse when he looked at the deep gouges Umbridge's quill had made in his skin. The bitch!

The headmistress yawned from her desk. "Let me see your hand, Mister Weasley." Ron got roughly from his chair and strode across the room before offering his still bleeding arm. Umbridge hummed. "I think that will do for tonight, dear. I do hope the message has… sunk in this time."

"Fucking hag," he muttered once outside her office. "It sunk in the first time, you toad-faced whore."

He had yet to write Bill — he was worried what his eldest brother might do if he knew — but the twins said wounds inflicted by something like a blood quill would never fully heal. I'll have these scars forever if they're right.

Ron hated her. He hated her worse than he had ever hated anyone before. His childish loathing towards Malfoy his first two years at Hogwarts was like a flickering candle flame against the roaring wildfire that was his hatred of this foul toad of a woman.

She's gotta be stopped. Never had he missed Dumbledore so much as now. She's torturing about half of Gryffindor. But what could he do? Any resistance just led to more torture and enough might prompt expulsion. She's the headmistress; it's not like any of the other teachers can do anything about it.

Ron climbed the marble staircase with his hand concealed in the pocket of his robes. Memories of the last time he was here came back to him and he shuddered.

Something about that run-in with Potter had just been creepy. The way he looked into his eyes, the sudden headache, the wonder as to whether or not he could really conjure lightning and reduce half a crowd of people to nothing but splattered blood and gore.

Hermione and the twins were waiting for him back up in the common room. A familiar, earthy smelling bowl of murtlap essence waited for him.

"Cheers," he muttered when seated, dipping his still bleeding hand into the bowl. A long sigh escaped his lips as the sharp, burning pain ebbed and the blood still dripping from his hand seeped through the pickled tentacles and gave the solution a bright pink tinge.

The twins' faces were dark and grim. "She's gotta be stopped," said Fred.

"There has to be something we can do," Hermione jumped in. She was wringing her hands and sitting on the edge of her chair. "Blood quills must be illegal — we could go to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or—"

George's bark of laughter cut her off. "Hermione, Umbridge outranks anyone in that office who isn't Amelia Bones and we'd never see her directly. It'd be dismissed way before that."

She slammed her palm against the table and the bowl of murtlap essence shuddered. "There has to be a way! The wizarding world can't just let people torture children! It can't!"

They all stared back at her with solemn faces until she huffed, stood from her chair, and swept up the staircase leading to the girls' dormitories.

"What's wrong with her?" George asked when she was gone.

Ron shrugged the best he could with one hand still buried in the bowl. "She's been like this for a while now. Gets real touchy any time stupid laws or choices are brought up. Should've seen her last year when the dementors were around. It's like she wants everything to just fix itself tomorrow."

Fred stared darkly out the window and out over the dusk-covered grounds. "Wouldn't that just be peachy."

Luna's bright blonde hair and a spreading puddle of blood welled up from the back of his mind and made him shudder. "Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah, it would."

The twins exchanged looks. "We've got something for you," said George as his twin removed his wand and gave it a flick. He must have put up wards.

"For me?" Ron's eyes narrowed. The last time they said something like that, my glass of pumpkin juice turned into a spider. "You lot sure I want it?"

"Quite." Fred reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a blank sheet of parchment.

Ron's suspicion mounted and he leant as far back in his chair as possible. "You're having me on," he said, "you're—"

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," the twins intoned together.

Intricate lines spread out from the parchment's centre like a self-weaving web. The lines intersected and wove together until a complex tapestry of twists, turns, and writing covered every available inch of parchment.

Ron gasped and jerked so harshly that the murtlap essence nearly tumbled from the tabletop. "What's that?"

"It's called the Marauders' Map," explained George. "We have no idea who came up with it, but it's the most brilliant thing detention has ever gotten us."

"Uh… that doesn't say much."

Fred crossed his arms. "Sure it does. We've found all sorts of fun stuff in Filch's office over the years, but this…" he gestured grandly towards the map, "this takes the cake."

Ron reached out with his free hand and plucked the map up off the table. "Blimey." Every detail of the castle was there — including hundreds he had never before known — and there were more names scrawled across the parchment than he had imagined dwelling in the castle. "You can see where everyone is on this." The twins wore a pair of matching smirks and Ron narrowed his eyes again. "Why would you give this to me?"

George raised an eyebrow. "Because you're our darling little brother?"

Ron continued staring, unimpressed by that shameless bit of flattery.

Fred snorted. "You're getting sloppy, George, not even Ron believed that." The grin fell off his lips. "We're gonna be gone to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons for most of the year. It doesn't really make sense for us to have it, and seeing as how much trouble you've got yourself into these past few years…" his voice trailed off.

Luna's lifeless corpse bled its final blood before his mind's eye yet again and dark waters stretched out before him as Harry Potter explained the real story behind Neville's sudden death.

"Thanks," he muttered, turning the map over and over in his hands. "I think I'll find a good use for this."

September 30, 1994
The Great Hall
6:41 PM

Chatter wafted through the Great Hall, thicker than the steaming spirals swirling up towards the smooth, dark grey ceiling. Clouds crept across the modelled grey mass as if choking the final rays of light from the swiftly darkening sky.

"Hem, hem." Umbridge's horrible fake cough sliced through the silence like a knife through butter. Where the school had ignored her during the welcoming feast, now they fell quiet at the faintest hint of her voice.

Ron's fist gripped the hilt of a butter knife hard enough to cramp his wrist. How many people has the fat cow tortured?

Umbridge gave a simpering smile. "As you all know, tonight is the last meal we'll all be sharing together. Those of you departing for Durmstrang tomorrow will leave at first light."

Ron's heart ached and he looked anywhere but at Hermione or the twins. He had never felt so alone in all his life and the lot of them had yet to even leave. No friends, no Quidditch, and that bitch in charge of things. The grief of it all made him want to cry. I hate this year!

"The other schools will be accompanied in their travels by their respected heads, but the ministry feels that stability at Hogwarts is imperative, so I'm afraid I won't be joining all you brave, adventurous children on your journey."

Ron almost snorted. Yeah right, fat chance you'd have ever left.

Muttering had risen around the hall, but Umbridge again quieted it with that same, mocking cough. "Don't worry, children, the ministry has found an excellent replacement. Joining all of you lovely adventurers on your trip across the continent is—"

The double doors burst open with a deafening bang and Umbridge let out an indignant squeak before toppling back into her chair.

Ron howled with laughter and he was not alone. Much of the hall was bent double over their tables, until all at once, a hush fell over the room.

Ron jerked his head up and looked around. His mouth fell open.

Dumbledore was framed in the Great Hall's entrance, wearing brilliant robes of midnight blue, his silver hair and beard glowing more brightly in the candlelight than any of the plates or goblets.

"Oh dear." A frown creased the wizened face, but Ron could not help but notice his blue eyes still sparkled behind those half-moon spectacles. "I appear to have made a scene. I do apologise, Madam Umbridge. It was only my intention to arrive punctually."

"I thought he was gone?" Hermione whispered. "I thought they fired him, I thought—"

Umbridge gave a simpering laugh. Ron had never heard anyone do anything so insincerely. "You are more than punctual, Dumbledore," said Umbridge. "I was just in the middle of introducing the childrens' escort."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore's lips curved up into a beaming smile. "An excellent choice, if I do say so myself. Miss Fawley was an exceptional student and a former Head Girl to boot." Heads turned all along the benches — most of the students still remembered Gemma Fawley; she had been well-liked. "Dearie me," said Dumbledore with an apologetic bow. "I have gone and ruined your big moment. So sorry, Madam Umbridge. The ministry is quite right in saying that my touch is withering away with me."

"Brilliant!" Hermione forced out through muffled giggles. Ron grinned too; Dumbledore was making Umbridge look like a right fool and he was loving every second.

The headmistress's face was bright red now. "Yes," she said, "how silly of you." She raised her voice. "You can come in now, my dear."

Fawley wore emerald-green robes and it was easy imagining her as another student, but there was no crest and something about her had changed. She looks like she owns the place; or thinks she does, anyway.

"As the Supreme Mugwump has so graciously told you, Miss Fawley will be accompanying our adventures and overseeing their journey in addition to her other ministry-related duties. She was an excellent student in her time, a former Head Girl, and is now an important member of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. You are all lucky to be in such a gifted pair of hands."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "So sorry, Madam Umbridge, but I could not help but notice you implied there would be only a single pair of hands guiding them."

Umbridge's beady eyes narrowed. "Pardon, Dumbledore, but you must be misremembering—"

"Oh no." Dumbledore could not keep the smile off his lips. "I'm afraid you are behind the times."

Umbridge's facade strained and her sickeningly sweet voice trembled. "Behind the times?"

"I'm afraid so. You see, the International Confederation of Warlocks agreed this morning that a second chaperone should be assigned given the associated security risks."

Umbridge was no longer smiling. She sat straight and stiff as a wooden board in the gilded, high-backed chair that Dumbledore had occupied for so many years. "And which security risks are these?"

Dumbledore spread his hands wide. "Why, the rampant murderer that is Sirius Black, of course." Ron snorted into his pumpkin juice. He knew little about the Order of the Phoenix, but he knew that they assumed the ministry was pinning most of You-Know-Who's dark deeds on Sirius Black and that the Order assumed the murderer had fled the country.

Dumbledore looked serious now. "Given how worried the ministry was last year about Sirius Black's interest in a member of our travelling party… well, I thought it only prudent to suggest additional protection to the ICW."

Ron could tell that Umbridge wanted nothing more than to scream in Dumbledore's face, but she did not dare. You should have taken all his power while you were at it, Ron thought savagely.

Umbridge's voice was soft as deadly poison. "And who, might I ask, is the second chaperone?"

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

The hunched, misshapen mass of grizzled scars and ugly wounds that was Mad-Eye Moody stomped in through the double doors and stood at attention beside Dumbledore.

Umbridge said nothing, but gaped like a toad trying in vain to snag a nearby fly.

Ron could see, even from a distance, the way Dumbledore's lips twitched. "I thank you for your quiet support, Madam Umbridge." He turned to the hall at large as though nothing had changed and like he was still their acting headmaster. "Shall I show you all how our delegation will travel?"

"He's my hero!" Ron cackled as they all piled out the large oak doors and swept down the sloping lawns towards the Black Lake's bank.

"Ours too," the twins said with matching grins that split their beaming faces.

Hermione giggled again. "I could kiss him if there wasn't so much beard to get through."

George turned up his nose. "Geez, Hermione, it was great and all, but I never knew you were into older men."

Her cheeks went pink. "I didn't mean—"

"No worries!" Fred said with a big thumbs up. "Whatever floats your boat; no judgement here."

Ron howled yet again until the crowd fell quiet. They were all gathered at the lake's edge. It was a cool but windless night. Twilight reigned across the now-dark sky and the lake's surface was smooth as a black sheet of glass.

Dumbledore beamed out at all of them, whilst beside him, Umbridge hunched low beneath the hood of her lurid pink cloak.

"A grand entrance is important for things like this," said Dumbledore. "Half of international magical cooperation is posturing and nobody postures quite like Britain!"

That drew a round of laughter and a chorus of ringing applause that echoed out across the dark water and was thrown back by the flat cliff face on its far bank.

"The tournament organisers agreed that our mode of transportation would be an excellent opportunity for posturing and that it should be equal parts impressive and flamboyantly British."

Dumbledore gave his wand a flourish and the lake began to churn. White ripples sliced across the dark surface and a loud, rumbling sound came from beneath the surface. Bubbles sprayed up from the lake and something massive shattered its surface and sprayed great gouts of water out over the gathered crowd.

There were mutters and gasps, puzzled glances and eager shoving, and even a countless number of high, shrill screams as the thing rose up out of the water.

Ron gasped. Floating in the now churning water, blacker than the dead of night, was a stone dragon half as large as the Hogwarts Express.

Someone whooped and then everyone was shouting, clapping, and thumping their feet against the packed earth until it sounded like a great marching band was celebrating the dragon's birth.

Dumbledore offered them a smile that looked all of a sudden more tired. "I thought it was appropriate." His blue eyes twinkled. "As the founders themselves must have said — because why else would it be our long-lived motto — never tickle a sleeping dragon."

Author's Endnote:

The second half of this chapter might be the most fun I've had writing this story since the penultimate chapter of Book 3. I cannot tell you all how satisfying that was.

Harry and Co are off to Durmstrang next chapter.

Please read and review.

A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.

PS: The next chapter will be out in two weeks. Remember that chapters can be read early on Discord, YouTube, and P*T*E*N! All those links are on my profile, and if any give you trouble, use my website's homepage. That site can be found via a generic Google search of my pen name.