Scala ad Caelum

by GRND

Ages ago, a wizard known as Herpo the Foul defied Death and doomed the world and those who were yet to be born. His ambition was put to an end, yet briefly, for the events of the past are bound to happen again as the ages come and go. It is in the present age, as Voldemort's reign of terror is deemed as over, that the Wizarding World would understand the story had yet to finish.

52. Chapter 48 - The Sicilian Defence

Hello there, again!

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CHAPTER 48 - THE SICILIAN DEFENCE

Jessie Sweeney, dressed in her muggle clothes, kept a strict watch on the door of one of the most luxurious restaurants in the High District, the Jewel of Camelot. And her two objectives were none other but Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge. Perhaps two of the persons she hated the most in this world.

Still she fulfilled her duty, like a proper Auror would, and her mouth remained shut, and her complaints remained confined, as her eyes were set on the two politicians she had been tasked to guard.

It was a very beautiful place, all in truth. It depicted a splendid spectacle of lights, some as bright as the sun in the morning but of far eye-catching colours; such as purple, pink or red. The tables were long and wide, of black wood which seemed to drain the colour around them, and the dishes were of high cuisine undoubtedly; cooked to satisfy the most exigent palates, which hers was not one of them.

There were not many people in the restaurant, because it was Wednesday night; the fourth day since Umbridge was appointed as the new Minister for Education, and the third since it was announced to the world. And such an honour had changed her, but for the worse. She had always been a prideful woman, one full of disdain and hatred towards those she considered to be beneath her, and one full of envy and rage towards those who yet stood above her.

Now it was much worse.

"Albus tried to use the boy against me," she laughed, though it was not a happy sound which came out of it, "but, oh, it sure backfired on him!"

Cornelius gave her a happy smile as he took a sip of his wine, "In what way did it backfire?" His face was red, and his eyes puffy and teary. It was long ago when he should have put his glass down, but he had yet to do it.

"That boy, Potter, is quite easy to read," Umbridge said. On the contrary, her mind was as clear as it could be. "With a simple look, he gave away all his emotions. He loathes me greatly, Cornelius, more so after the accident his dear friend had… Can you believe that he thinks I'm the one to blame? That I, somehow, orchestrated such a terrible tragedy?"

"Unbelievable!" And there it went another sip, long and deep as every other before. "It's just as Lucius says… They feel the need to blame others due to their incompetence… Now that I think about it, I myself have been thrown under the bus many times, whenever something bad happens to our country… But the fingers never pointed at Albus! No, they never pointed at the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot!"

Umbridge was quick to nod at those words, "Anyhow, back to the matter at hand, he surely tried to use the boy against us," the witch went on. "When I first met with Potter in private, he told me that he saw a very special folder atop of Albus's table; the one Alycia Lessard gave to you and the rest. Albus, that fool, thought that I would take his bait as if I was a silly child… And that's what I made them believe; that they had me on the rope, that I yearned for such information. Of course, I did some questions here and there to make it more believable, just as I met with certain individuals to reinforce the farce I had planned. That old man has eyes and ears everywhere, but they are easy to fool. And the same can be said about him, the so-called Great Sorcerer. To him, our threat could be compared to that of a bunch of ants, for he has spent his entire life fighting the worst kind of evil to ever exist. That will be his downfall, Cornelius—his enormous ego and pride."

A silly giggle made it out her throat, "And to think he did not attend the council in which I was appointed as the Minister for Education. It speaks well of his magnificence—to be the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and to act as if its Eyes did not deserve a second of his time. Well, better for us. In the end, he got himself into trouble."

"So," Fudge spluttered, having trouble finding his words, "so… So what?"

"It allowed me to move freely, to deviate the attention from my main focus," Umbridge explained. "Instead, my investigation led me to a very succulent reward, which I will soon share to the world. It will be a huge surprise, Cornelius—our very coup de grace! But we need to be patient, my dear friend. We need to wait for their weakest moment, and then we will strike. We must allow Skeeter to build the road for us, just as I flatten the ground. Soon enough, they will all acclaim your name. And I will be there, by your side, as I have always done."

And Fudge finally emptied his glass with a long sip. "This is all your fault, Albus! Damn you!" he growled, his words coming out perfectly despite his obvious drunkness. Long forgotten was his lucidity, it seemed. Drowned in wine, just like the man himself. "I tried many times to work with you… But you always went on your own, trying to steal all the glory for yourself… You've always thought of yourself to be above Law and every other wizard; and it was me who was labelled as far too ambitious! The bloody Chief Warlock! Oh, I bet you really enjoyed all those moments in which your name was acclaimed above mine. Those in which they begged you to steal my position from me, the man they chose when the War ended. Damn you! This is all your fault!"

Jessie came to a decision just then. With a calm stride, eyes still watchful of any shadow, she made her way to their table. "Pardon the intrusion," she started, "but this might be the best time to go back home. I'm afraid the Minister is in no condition to remain here, where many eyes could…, take notice of his unfavourable state."

Fudge ignored the Auror with a grimace, as if she was a bothersome fly, and it was Umbridge who took the situation by the reins. "This young girl made a wise observation, Cornelius," she said. "I believe we have spent far too much time here. And too much money, also. We should go home and rest while we can. I'm afraid the forthcoming months will be some rough ones, but even greater will be their reward…"

Only then did Fudge stand up, and he followed Umbridge to the exit like a very obedient puppy. Once outside, after bidding farewell to her dear Minister, the witch was quick to Apparate back home, and it was Jessie who was left as a caretaker, more than a personal guard.

"Sir, pardon the offence, but I do not think you are in the right condition to use Apparition," the Auror pointed out.

Fudge, however, did not take any offence, "W-What do you think about Albus Dumbledore, girl?" he asked instead, fighting to get his words out. "You graduated from Hogwarts not long ago… And he was your dear Headmaster… Tell me; what do you think of him?"

"He's a good man, and a greater wizard," Jessie said with a sigh. "That's all."

"So, you don't have any allegiance towards him, do you?"

"My only allegiance is towards this country, its Ministry and its Law," Jessie replied. "I am an Auror; nothing more, nothing less."

Fudge took in those words in silence, but it was a dark gleam which appeared at the far end of his pupils. "I see," he mused. And just like that, his poor state of drunkenness seemed to be long gone as he grabbed Jessie by the shoulders with a grip of steel. "If so, you must be a good Auror and protect me, your Minister for Magic, until the bitter end. I am a very important man, you see, and it is with envy and rage that many look at me and all that I have accomplished… Be a good Auror, girl, and protect me from Albus Dumbledore and his shadowy fingers… Because he will come for me… He and his students, who have been taught to hate me… They are his weapons, girl—his weapons!"

And just then did Jessie understand how much poison Fudge's mind contained, whispered by the likes of Malfoy and his allies, but also by the likes of Umbridge and those who wanted to use this weak man for their own benefit. And she saw no future in the eyes of the man whose grip was starting to hurt her. Because no country could prosper by the hands of such a weak individual.

Still she swallowed her words and worries and swore to protect him, under the feeble light of the waning moon and under the cold embrace of such cold wind. Because she was an Auror, and it was their duty to serve and protect.

---

Ron awaited for Gerdnyaram to return, his left foot tapping against the floor to the beat of an erratic melody.

The Essentia had been absent for more than an hour, but he was not worried about her; of course not. Ron was worried about the news she could bring. As he waited in the safety of the common room, so close to the fireplace his skin almost ached in protest, a meeting was being held at some abandoned classroom in the dungeons, not far from him. Obviously, to spy on some senior students was a feat Ron did not believe himself to be able to carry out, and so, it was her duty to see it done.

The first step to defeat an enemy whose power was far mightier than one's was to gather as much information as possible. About them, or, as it happened this time, about their allies.

Hogwarts had been shocked to the core thanks to the Daily Prophet. In its latest edition, Umbridge's new position had been announced with all kinds of honours, whereas Dumbledore's name had been tarnished to that of a man whose ego was the only source of all the problems the School had suffered in the past years. No one talked about Hagrid anymore, of course; almost as if he had never existed.

That morning, the common room was rather empty. It was Saturday, and also one of the warmest days in the past weeks. The frost had melted outside thanks to the bright sun, and although it still was cold enough to wear nothing lighter than a thick coat and a tight scarf, the students had been quick to seize their chance to enjoy the day outdoors. Tracey, however, slept like a log in her bedroom—the poor girl needed it after the way Flint made the Quidditch team work yesterday.

Just then, a sense of urgency came from his Link with Gerd. So, the redhead stood up with the calm of a person who had nothing to do on Saturday morning and walked to the entrance. There, making sure there was no one around first, he said the password aloud.

Gerd was quick to glide inside, a thoughtful look in her ethereal face, "Is it safe to talk here?" she asked.

Ron gave it a thought, "No," he finally said. "It would be better to talk elsewhere. I don't really fancy going outside right now, so we'll use my bedroom. It's far warmer, and the bed is much more comfortable than those chairs in the abandoned classrooms." He took the lead, then. "You are free to start," he mused. "People cannot hear you. The point is that they cannot see me talking to the air. It wouldn't be a good thing to be known for… Ronald Weasley, the wall-whisperer blood-traitor… It sure does sound nice…"

"It was quite an informal reunion," Gerdnyaram started, gliding by his side at the same pace of his stride. "A bunch of teenagers with a great ego and with no sense of hierarchy. It took them more than thirty minutes to even start—each of them wanted to have the last word on every matter. In the end, that large boy of not-so soft features was appointed as the head of the group once again. It seems he did something which greatly angered the others, and such was the reason why his lead was so questioned."

"Flint?" Ron said in a whisper. "It must be due to the episode he caused in front of the Great Hall yesterday, the one with Lavender. It seems that muscle has it over brains…"

The redhead crossed the common room in the blink of an eye, and no one batted a single look in his direction.

"The very same," the Essentia nodded. "Needless to say, no one seemed really happy with the decision. Anyhow, when they appointed a leader yet again, the real talk began. From what I grasped, Umbridge wants to create a group who will support her in Hogwarts no matter what. Something similar to the Prefects from each House, but vaster in number and efficiency. They were the first she contacted, but she's also given them green light to recruit those of the same interests. Even so, she implored them to gather support in secrecy; for the time being, at least. Now, there were many other things I did not understand, as the witch of old that I am."

"Perhaps, but you got what really matters," Ron said as he pushed open the door of his bedroom. Fortunately, there was no one inside. It was incredibly warm, also, a change he welcomed with open arms. "Thank you, Gerd. Really."

"We are a team," Gerdnyaram replied. "You get rid of the Val'sharn inside my barn and I will get rid of that inside yours."

Ron couldn't do a thing but to turn around and send her a puzzled look. "The hell…" he started. "Wait, won't you mean the saying: you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours?"

Now it was her who sent him a puzzled look, "That's a very stupid saying, if you don't mind the critic."

The boy just shook his head, bewildered, as he took a seat atop of his bed. The soft mattress seemed to pull him downwards, into the green and velvety eiderdown, but he refused its embrace. "By the way, what's a Val'sharn?"

Gerdnyaram had no need to sit down, but she still did it. Amidst the air, to be precise, right in front of him. "A magical creature from the Ancient Times," the Essentia explained. "A small, winged serpent. They remained neutral in the War for the Dawn, for they are pacific creatures; most of the time. They love nature, and even more the food it bears. They had plenty of it with us, whereas the Nightmares could only offer them blood and human flesh… But that's a matter for another day. Let's focus on the main topic."

"Oh, right," Ron sighed. "So, a bloody company to act in her name and to pursue those who are against her. Her sword and shield within Hogwarts, in short." Just one more trouble to add to the pile, which was no short one. "Also, if Hermione was right, which she oftenly is, this has just started. Thanks to her new position, Umbridge will change as many things as she pleases. More so, it will be of great importance to know whether the Board of Governors stand with her or not. We will wait for Tracey's father to confirm this, but I think I already know the answer…"

"And what do you propose?" Gerd raised her brow.

"To wait and observe, and then to act upon her moves," Ron said. "That's what I propose. She will play whites, and I will play blacks. I'm a much better player on the defencive end, either way…"

And so, that's what they did. To wait and observe. But it was not a long wait, for it only took Umbridge two days to announce her move to the entire School. She did it during lunch, the time of the day in which the most students gathered in the Great Hall. And it was with a proud stride that she walked into the Hall; wand ready at hand and with a wide smile on her face.

One by one, all the forks and spoons were dropped on the table, even those of the few Professor's who were there today. Umbridge only came to a halt once she stood right in front of them, and she withstood McGonagall's stern glare with ease.

Then she turned around, "Hello, my dear children," she greeted, her voice amplified by a certain spell Ron did not know about. "Today, it will be a great day! For this School, for the future of this country, but also for me and all of you." Her eyes went from one table to another, from the lions to the snakes. "These past years had been rather chaotic, and your education suffered because of the many scandals Hogwarts saw within its walls. And so did your well-being. I came here to change that, in fact, but I could only watch from afar as a dear student was hurt yet again, due to negligence from a very inexperienced Professor… It is a heavy burden to carry, but my shoulders must and will do it; because you all deserve nothing less."

Umbridge paused for a moment, and she took delight in all the eyes which were set on her figure; she even came to nod in approval. "However, there will be no more!" the witch exclaimed fiercely. "For, as you have already heard, I have been appointed as the new Minister for Education. And my first measure will be to appoint a new Professor of Magical Creatures; one qualified enough to grant this School and its students the best education possible with no risk involved to your health. But there will be more changes, if necessary. Because we, your Ministry, plan to make this country great and proud again, with Hogwarts being its jewel, as it was since the Middle Age and until the Great War."

And now it was a cold shiver what Ron felt, for there were some students who had nodded and even clapped to those words; and they came from each and every House. "This is bad," the redhead grunted in a low voice.

"They are buying her cheap speech," Tracey mused. "I cannot believe this…"

"I can," Ron said with a sigh. He could still hear Umbridge's voice from afar, still as loud as before, but he turned a blind eye to it; and it was easier than he thought. "Quirrell ended up in a coma; the Chamber of Secrets and the many petrifications; and lastly, what happened to Parkinson a few days ago. We know the truth behind those events, but they do not. In the end, that's all which matters… She's making good promises, Tracey."

The girl took a while to answer, eyes and ears still set on the Minister for Education. "If so, we need to change that," she said firmly. "If she's willing to use lies in her favour, then we will fight back with truths."

"We can't do that." There were many secrets they could not tell, due to promises they made long ago, and because the world was not prepared to know about those secrets. And that included Tracey, too, who still remained oblivious to the events of the Stone and the return of Voldemort.

"Well, perhaps not the full picture, but specs of it," she said instead. "They need to know that it was Umbridge who set Hagrid up. That it was her who hurt Pansy. That her promises will only benefit her and her alone…"

"And will they even care?" Ron said sourly. "Because, from what I have learnt in these last years, is the fact people tend to care about themselves, not for anyone else's sake. Never for their sake… Hell, just look at Blaise and Daphne, our dear friends, and how easy it was for them to stand aside as the Heir did as he pleased. Or look at how many breathed in relief as soon as it was theorised that the Heir of Slytherin would only attack the muggle-borns; and those relieved sighs came from every House, Gryffindor included."

"Ron…"

And it took him a great effort to snape out of his gloomy mood. One thing is to be colder, and a very different one to be a hopeless moron. He needed to show resolve and faith. Not for himself, but for his dear friend.

"Sorry," the redhead sighed. "You are right—we must try every card in our hand. But it has to be done from the shadows, more so nowadays, with her bloody Disciplinary Party on the move. Their eyes and ears will be vigilant to every whisper within the castle, avid to reap the rewards they have been promised. I'm afraid Hogwarts will be a hostile place for us from now on…"

And Tracey remained silent after that, though with a fierce gleam in her eyes which dispelled each and every shadow of doubt. A rare sight to behold, but one of those which get stuck in one's memory.

Yet through Ron's mind, much to his dismay, a certain thought forged its way through—that of which role would Tracey play in this game for Hogwarts…

---

It was before noon that Ron went to bed. And he did it in silence, with a thoughtful look on his face.

But she remained behind, in the common room, wrapped up in her thick housecoat and as close to the fireplace as possible. An uncompleted essay was still set atop of the table, alongside her quills and books, but Tracey just couldn't bring herself to care about the Medieval Age and the many witches who faked her burnings back then.

The events of the past days were still too fresh in her mind for that…

It was a total mess; even more confusing that the Chamber of Secrets ever was. Last year, Tracey had known what to do with no trouble at all. To defeat the Heir, and to close the Chamber. However, what could be done against the Ministry and its agents? More so if many people believed them to be right…

Snap out of it, you stupid girl! With an exhausted sigh, Tracey finally stood up; her legs, numb and heavy, ached in protest. Her eyes went from one side of the common room to the other; many students had decided to spend their night with their noses buried into their books, and the scratching of the quills was a melody which triumphed over all else.

It was with a calm stride that she crossed the common room, and no one came to look in her direction. "Dinasty," she mused in front of the large and dark door. It opened with a quiet whisper, and she was welcomed to the cold hallways of the dungeons.

The girl, however, ignored that sense of dread and drew her wand out, "Lumos!" Such a bright light not only warmed the corridor, but her too.

Although her eyes went from one corner to another, keeping track of each and every shadow, she found no obstacle in the short way she walked. Tracey pushed open the first door she found, and then locked it once inside. She found herself in an empty room; an old stockroom more than a classroom, it seemed. It would do it.

She then pulled a bracelet from the inside of her nightgown. It was of hardened shards of glass, tinged with a golden paint and linked by five crimson flowers, of the very same material. A gift from her parents once she made it to Hogwarts. A piece of jewellery which symbolised her bequest to the House of Davis. But also, an enchanted bracelet which allowed her to summon Isis, her dear elf.

And it was with a heavy conscience that Tracey summoned her, for she hated to make use of her friend as if she was a simple owl. It only took her one minute to Apparate in front of the girl.

"Mistress has called for Isis, and here she is!" Isis beamed. A tall elf of sharp features she was, enough to reach up to Tracey's chest. And she was dressed in simple yet elegant cloths; white and crimson, the colours of her House. "Oh, Isis has missed the little Mistress a lot! Isis thought that she would never be called!"

"I've missed you too," Tracey said with a sigh, "but I'm afraid this is not a happy reunion… Say, did you read the letter I sent to my father this Saturday?"

"Isis read it!" the elf squealed. "And she was able to feel your worry and despair through it. Oh, my poor Mistress!"

"The letter, Isis. Has my father seen to it, as I implored?"

"Oh, he certainly did! The noble lord was already on the case before Mistress's letter reached him! But your distress instigated him, to a point in which nothing else seemed to matter!"

"And what did he find out?" She was really fond of Isis, but the elf's inability to talk in a direct way always managed to irk her.

"That the Board of Governors stand by Umbridge's side!" Isis replied with a smile. "But there's more to it! As of today, the Board does not answer to lord Lucius Malfoy anymore! It seems that he has been stripped of its leadership. Mistress's lord father believes it is due to Malfoy's lack of results last year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened!"

Tracey had known that she would hear those words sooner than later, but still they troubled her—another problem to add to the list. "And who's been named leader?" the girl asked instead.

"Jacques Yaxley!" Isis said. "The twin brother of lord Corban Yaxley! So far, he's taken a passive stance towards the matter, even though he has been spurred by lord Malfoy to support the Minister's claim. Mistress's lord father has also implored him, of course, but to act with precaution and to think long and hard about the matter. Unfortunately, lord Marc was ignored too!"

"Well, it wasn't as bad as I first thought…" Tracey sighed.

It was obvious that the Board would stand against Dumbledore, since they all belonged to the Pureblood Elite. Even so, to know that a man likes Jacques Yaxley would be the one to lead them… It kind of put Tracey at ease; more or less. From what little she knew of the wizard, he was a man who greatly enjoyed the many pleasures life could offer. His many disastrous bets and failed investments into business of doubtful future had labelled him as the black sheep of the House of Yaxley. But yet his name was respected, and so were those of his friends; as unique and dangerous as they came.

In the end, whoever could keep Lucius Malfoy from seizing power was a welcomed ally.

And with that thought in her mind, Tracey returned to the common room. She felt incredibly exhausted for a Monday, and her body shuddered in fear when she remembered there was Quidditch practice at first hour in the morning. Yet, sleep took a while to find her; and she moved and moved in her bed, trying to push all the doubts away.

That night, strange dreams visited her. There was a large steeped hill in front of her, one which seemed endless, yet one which its crown she needed to reach. And that's what she did, to run and run. But for much she tried, its end wasn't closer. From behind came a very ominous presence, which seemed to strangle her breath as she lost hope. Until she tripped, and the said presence catched up to her, and…

A light shaking woke her up.

Tracey opened her eyes in surprise, and she came face to face with no other but Millicent Bulstrode. "Graham Montague is outside," she whispered in that faint voice of hers. "He tried to knock the door down for almost a minute… I was the only one to hear him, it seems…" Her eyes went to the third bed of the room, which had its curtains closed tightly around it. Since her accident, Pansy Parkinson just refused to show her face unless it was necessary.

"Oh, Montague, right…" Tracey said, still out of it. Had she really slept at all? If so, why did her eyes feel so heavy? And her limbs so weak? "I have Quidditch practice… Oh, shit! I have Quidditch practice!" Still she stood up with a jump which scared Bulstrode away, back to her own bed. Tracey paid her no attention, of course, and shouted a loud, "I'm coming!" as she put on her training gear.

It took her less than a minute to stumble out of her dormitory, broomstick on her hands.

"Good morning," Graham grunted after taking a bite of his granola bar. "I didn't know that you slept like a bloody log. I've been here, standing like a fool, for more than a damn minute! Anyhow, Marcus sent me here to fetch you, since you were late already. You should thank Merlin that it was me who appeared, and not our dear captain"

"I was tired," Tracey said with a blush. "It won't happen again."

"I hope so…"

With no further words, the two of them walked out of the common room, on their way outside. It was a tough session, more than usual, thanks to the strong wind and its icy touch. Yet it was not enough to stop Marcus Flint, whose sole objective was to lift the Quidditch Cup one last time.

Three hours later, after taking a long shower and eating a succulent, plentiful breakfast, Tracey was back on the move once again. And she spent the entire lecture of Potions in silence, fighting to keep her eyes open. Fortunately, Ron wasn't in a talkative mood today, and he put his all into brewing the Wideye Potion.

"Do you fancy a sip from this?" the redhead asked at some point of the lecture with an amused smile on his face. Perhaps, after witnessing Tracey's struggle to remain awake for the hundredth time. "I'm not a wizard to gloat about his skills, but Snape did not frown when he took a look at it."

And Tracey did not bite back, as she would have done any other day. Instead, she took a peek at the said potion—it was of a deep blue shade, and the smell of its steam was not a really bad one. "Now that you mention it… Do you reckon it will be enough?"

Ron just stared back at his friend as if she had grown a second head, "For real? I mean, it was a joke, Tracey."

"But you said that Snape did not frown at it, right?" the girl pressed on. "That means this is, at worst, a work of art. You know what? Save me a few vials. I'll be your judge!" And so he did, though with a fair share of comments about her lack of sanity first, of course.

After the class, Ron left in a hurry, arguing that he needed to train now, in the morning, because it was far too cold to stay out once the sun was on its way down. And for the first time ever, Tracey did not feel betrayed for being left out.

"Well, let's give this a try!" Quite unceremoniously she took the vial's content in one long gulp. If the smell was bad, the flavour was way worse; to a point in which she almost puked it out. However, it only took her a minute to enjoy its effects. "The hell?" Her exhaustion had disappeared, as if dust carried away by the wind. Not only that, the world around her looked far brighter and warmer; so much that Tracey felt the need to take her scarf out and to unbutton her coat.

Tracey wanted to do a million things, but she settled for the most important one. Hallway after hallway, the girl ran through them all with a wide grin on her face, feeling tireless, almost invincible. She reached her destination in no time at all; the classroom of Defence. There she barged inside, not even thinking about the possibility that, perhaps, Lupin could be in the middle of a lecture. Fortunately, he was not.

She found the wizard seated atop of his table, with a tired yet bright smile on his face. And Harry was sitting in front of him, atop of a desk in the first line. Two pairs of eyes turned to the newcomer, surprised and startled in equal measure.

"Ups," Tracey giggled with a blush, "I'm sorry!" Had Ron forgotten to tell her about the side-effects of his potion? "I just… Well, I don't really know what to say, to be honest."

"Why don't you start by telling us the reason for your spectacular entrance, Tracey?" the Professor said as he gave her the hint of an amused smile. "You caught me totally off guard, that's for sure!"

Tracey's blush became way more prominent, "I wanted to warn you, Professor. About Umbridge, that's it. I think… No, I know that she will come after you next. She orchestrated Hagrid's fall! You need to believe me!"

"And I do," Lupin said softly. "In fact, my dear Harry had your very same idea, only that he was faster to come here. Honestly, it really fills me with joy to know that I have such nice students who worry so much about me; and more so when they belong to different Houses. Anyhow, like I said to him, consider me as warned."

"Oh," the girl mused as her eyes fell over the Gryffindor. "To be honest, my initial idea was to contact you first, Harry. But, well… By the time I realised what I was doing, I was already on my way here…"

The boy just blinked in response, and it was Lupin who took the word, eyeing them both with a raised brow, "This isn't your first rodeo, is it? So, that's the reason why the Headmaster awarded you all with so many points at the end of last year; because you have the habit of sticking your noses into dangerous business… Like I said, I appreciate your kindness, and also your help. However, as the adult and Professor I am, I must implore you two, and the rest who aren't here, to keep a low profile and stay out of danger. It's clear that Umbridge does not care about collateral damages, and I would never forgive myself if some of you got hurt, or expelled, just because you wanted to protect me."

Harry was quick to cut in, "But-"

"There are no buts here, Harry," Lupin stated with a firm voice. "Although phrased in a kind way, it was not a request. Dolores Umbridge is a dangerous woman, and I will not allow any of you to face her for my sake." His harsh features did not take long to disappear, now replaced by… Was that sadness, which Tracey saw within his eyes? "Besides, if she wants me out of Hogwarts, then there's nothing we can do. Not me, not you, and not even the Headmaster."

Tracey and Harry shared a confused look, but Lupin turned a blind eye to their silent inquiry. "I hope it will not come to such a point, but, again, there's nothing we can do. Now, if any of you have any doubt about the next class of Defence, that's a question to which I can answer. If not… I would rather go to the Great Hall and have a feast before it gets too crowded. I hate noisy places, after all."

Like that, the two students understood that nothing else would come out of Lupin's mouth, and so they bid farewell to the Professors before walking out of his classroom.

But they did not walk towards the Great Hall. Instead they allowed their legs to carry them with no specific destination in their minds. "Are you okay, Tracey?" Harry asked after a few minutes of silence. "You've been…, rather hyperactive, let's say. Even now, your fingers can't stop shaking and moving."

"That's the Wideye Potion for you," the girl replied with a huff. "Honestly, I think I overdid the dose… Well, Ron did it, to be fair, since he was the one to divide it into different vials. He also was the one to brew it, so, if this is caused by any secondary effect, it's also his fault. It's all his fault, now that I think about it! Well, not everything. Umbridge isn't, nor the mess we find ourselves in as of today…"

The Gryffindor sent her a weird look, yet refrained himself from making a comment about her behaviour. "I'm worried about what Lupin said…" he mused instead. "He truly sounded hopeless…"

"There are many things we can't do a shit about," Tracey said, her sense of tact long forgotten. "With the bloody Minister for Education at the head of the list, of course. The damn Ministry, the damn Pureblood Elite and the damn Board of Governors… They've all taken her side, can you believe it? Oh, of course you can… You are clever for these things…"

Once more did Harry refrain from making a comment, instead he just went with her flow, "And what is the Board's role in this mess?" the Gryffindor asked. "People tend to mention them from time to time, but I have yet to know why they are a thing."

"They are a bunch of figures who are supposed to oversee the function and state of Hogwarts," Tracey explained. "Like a group of advisors. However, their power is much greater than that of simple advice. If it comes to it, they can even get to sack the Headmaster; as they tried last year, with the Chamber."

"Has it ever come to it?"

"Oh, it has. Once, centuries ago, there was a very selfish Headmaster who used to deviate a part of the School's public funds into his personal account in Gringotts. Of course, the Goblins allowed such things, for they were given a cut. When the matter became public knowledge, it was a huge scandal, and bad things followed, though that's a story for another day… Anyhow, back to the matter at hand, yes, they have a great deal of power, but its use needs to be justified, and approved by the great majority of its members. My father has been part of it for more than twenty years, since he graduated from Hogwarts. But there are others, such as Lucius Malfoy or Jacques Yaxley, who would benefit greatly from sacking Dumbledore…"

The silence of the hallways had led them up to the Seventh Floor, right to the entrance to the Astronomy Tower. "And how is the selection process?" Harry asked as he tried to push the door open. It did not budge an inch, and so, the boy drew out his wand, "Alohomora!" With a faint click, the door opened for them.

"They bought their seats," Tracey said with a shrug. "All of them, my father included, are wizards and witches of great wealth. Purebloods, in their great majority, save from one of them—an old man by the name of Pervanor, who has yet to attend a single reunion since my father bought his membership. He's a very eccentric man, that's all I know about him."

Harry gave a curt nod to her words as he led the way upstairs. It took them around twenty seconds to reach the end of the spiral staircase, of slippery steps due to dry wax from the candles which hung above their heads. It was dark in there, but Harry found the door's knob with no trouble. And when he pushed it open, an icy wind welcomed them to the highest spot of Hogwarts.

Up there, the view was fantastic, so much that it took their words away for more than a minute—a white and green picture, courtesy of the clash of winter against the Forbidden Forest.

"So, you want in, right?" Harry said out of the blue, eyes still set on the far horizon.

"I want to stop Umbridge, if that's what you mean," Tracey replied. "And Ron too, even if he doesn't show it."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" the Gryffindor asked sourly. "Hermione is thinking of a plan to get rid of her, and I will keep her busy meanwhile. But she's very powerful—the Disciplinary Party, the secret Lupin has refused to tell us about… The odds are so against us, and this has just begun…"

"We'll start by telling everyone the truth," Tracey said firmly. "About what she's done, and about what she's planning to do. Whether they chose to believe us or not is another thing, of course, but damned be all if I, at least, don't try my best to stop her!"

"Some will," Harry said. "Gryffindor will not stand aside as that hellish witch tries to turn Hogwarts into her plaything. I've already heard the twins' whispering about making her life a nightmare if she keeps being such a nuisance. We can count on them."

"You do that, then," Tracey nodded. "If necessary, we will rile up the students to fight her away. Hogwarts is very dear to me, and I will not allow her to do as she pleases here, nor to destroy this place which is my second home."

---

The second week of December began the same way its two predecessors had done. With the castle engulfed in a silent embrace, spurred by the frost and the icy winds. So it was for Harry, at least. Even there, sheltered by the warmth's fiery tongues, the boy felt cold and tired. Unlike the witch who sat in front of him, across the long table, whose grin was so wide it threatened to split her face in a half; though it was not warm, nor authentic.

"You met with Remus Lupin in private," Umbridge said, "two days ago, to be precise. Say, my dear boy, were you, perhaps, planning to inform me about this in the next very few seconds? Or have you grown tired of our partnership?"

Harry, however, wore a serious semblance on his face, and for much he tried, he just could not follow her game anymore. "No, I wasn't," he said. "There is nothing you should learn from the said reunion. He was one of my father's closest friends, and we talked about his times at Hogwarts, and I enjoyed his tales. Perhaps just as much as he enjoyed sharing them with me." Done that, he just stared right into her eyes; and he saw no change in them.

"That's wonderful," Umbridge smiled once more. "But I'm afraid it's not enough. Not for me, at least, and neither for the pact we agreed this summer. You told me nothing about Lupin, nothing about Dumbledore, and nothing about your friends and those secret reunions you have held with them… Not like this, Harry. Not like this…" Then, she pulled a strange quill from her robes—one of a crimson shade which Harry had previously seen. "I might not be a teacher, but I am the Minister for Education, and so, it is my duty to educate the children of this beloved country. And to teach them a bit of respect."

Harry was offered the quill, and he took it with no hint of hesitation. It weighed nothing on his hand, as any regular quill would. Still he looked at it with a keen eye, and he appreciated the sharpness of its feathers and ornaments.

"What do you want me to do with this?" the Gryffindor asked.

"To write a few lines; simple as that," she replied. "A very old-fashioned punishment, but one I came to appreciate a lot during my childhood. I'm sure you will also come to appreciate the many virtues it can teach to one…" A piece of parchment appeared on the table; long and of a golden shade, with the Ministry's crest printed on its upper, right corner. "This is what I want you to write: I will be a good boy, and I will behave, and I will be thankful for the chance I was given. Give me a hundred of those, and I will excuse your lack of results, my dear Potter."

Harry turned a blind eye to the wave of shame which fell upon him, and carried out his duty as dutifully as he could. The first line was finished with no trouble but that of his wounded pride, and so he moved onto the second. It was then when the ache began; like a silly scratch in the back of his hand, but it got worse and harder to ignore. By the time he finished the fifth line, a drop of blood fell onto the parchment; a crimson seal.

The Gryffindor looked at his hand, and, shocked, he saw a line written there: I will be a good boy, and I will behave, and I will be thankful for the chance I was given. Harry raised his eyes from the parchment, and they were met by Umbridge's, whose mirth could not be hidden under any mask anymore.

"A wonderful lesson, did I not warn you?" she said with a smirk. "It only took you, such a mischievous and restless child, five lines to understand the weight of your actions… And to think you have yet to write ninety-five more lines! Oh, I'm so excited!"

And Harry went back to the task he had been given, and no complaint came out of his mouth. Nor a tear down his cheek, nor a whimper of pain. Any of those would have meant the same as shouting his defeat to the skies. By the time he reached the thirtieth, his hand became numb by pain, and the lines were written twice on the parchment—one with ink, one with blood. Still he endured it all, under her watchful eyes. One after another they followed; and thirty became fifty, and then seventy and then ninety.

He halted for a brief instance, hand shaking yet still with a firm grip over the quill. Come on! I need to finish this! And so he did. One after another the lines did fall, though with a much slower pace. And when the last dot was tapped into the parchment, he finally allowed the quill to slip from his fingers.

"Done," Harry just said.

"I can see that," Umbridge said sourly. There was a dark look within her eyes yet again, but no further word of punishment came from her mouth. "You are free to leave, Potter. And it would be wise to remember what happens when you cross me… I hope those lines were carved into your mind as firmly as they are carved into your hand. Do not fail me again, much less lie to me."

And the Gryffindor rose from the chair as he gave the witch a curt nod. And he walked out of the room the same way he had entered it; calm and collected. But as soon as the door closed behind him, Harry let out a pained whimper, throwing himself onto the closest wall, under light of a bright candle. "Shit," he growled, clutching his wounded hand with the good one.

It did not feel like any ordinary wound—more like one in which an entire glass of lemon juice had been poured over, and one which did not want to close out. I can't allow myself to be seen this way, Harry thought with a grimace. If they do, they will ask questions, and then they will interfere. No, I must do this on my own—I must defeat her myself. He rushed for his bedroom with that thought in mind. And Harry took delight in such a cold winter for the first time, for it granted him the opportunity to wear gloves at every hour.

Because of that, no questions were asked. Because of that, he came to face Umbridge and her hellish quill two more times in the span of one week. And he suffered a lot, but in silence, taking delight in the way her face changed as no tear was shed in her office.

---

It was on a sunny day, sky as blue and bright as it could be, when Diagon Alley was shaken by the crowd's roaring and clapping. A loud, deafening melody which spurred Cornelius Fudge; red-faced and eyes full of euphory.

The man still stood atop of the large, wooden stage; a violet drape with the golden crest of the Ministry sewed on its centre flapped lightly at his back, just the same colours as the elegant tunic he wore that day. A very eye-catching spectacle his speech had been, one full of promises and measures in search of a bright future. And yet it paled when compared to the huge yet less elegant mass of people who stood around the stage.

Jessie had no trouble to eye them all from her spot atop of Gringotts, as she had done for the past two hours. But it did not mean she had been shaken by such a sight. Well, perhaps she had been, but not for a good reason.

Wonderful and prosperous promises had Fudge given to the common-folk, yet with a dark secret behind them; a second intention. Of that she was sure. And her senior seemed to share her opinion.

"What a pile of crap," Gareth Marshall grunted in a low whisper. They weren't alone, of course, hence the quietness of his voice. Not further than fifteen metres from her position stood John Dawlish, one of Fudge's men of trust. And so did Jack Williamson, but in the opposite direction. "Words Fudge has said, perhaps, but written by Lucius bloody Malfoy."

Jessie agreed with him, yet she remained silent as she kept her watch on the Minister for Magic. Aurors were meant to protect and serve; nothing else. It wasn't her duty to ask questions, and much less to ignore the chain of power within the country's institution.

So far, the evening had gone by in a very peaceful way. Not a single altercation, nor a loud shout and neither a try of sabotage. It almost seemed as if the cold winter was enough to extinguish any flame of rebellion within the people. Or perhaps they just were too tired to do a thing but to hope that a better future would come to them.

Umbridge stood by the Minister's side, to his left, with a wide smile as she softly clapped to his last words. And so did other bigwigs from the Ministry, such as Bartemius Crouch, Ludo Bagman or even Rufus Scrimgeour himself; though the Head Auror did it with a solemn look on his face, as he had done for the past hours. However, there was not a single member from the Pureblood Elite in sight—a well thought move, indeed.

Today, Fudge had slammed his fist on the table, taking countless steps towards another Ministership. A path his allies had cemented for him. Thanks to Rita Skeeter and Barnabas Cuffe, from the Daily Prophet. Thanks to Dolores Umbridge and her work at Hogwarts. Thanks to Lucius Malfoy, to his wealth and wits. And thanks to the lack of fight people like Amelia Bones had put up, his so-called competition.

But Jessie shook all those thoughts away—it has her duty to serve and protect, nothing else.

"Perhaps a good thing or two will come from this," she said instead, her voice nothing but a low whisper. "I still think the creation of a unit of Public Safety is a very welcomed measure. And so did the people today."

"It is, but only on paper," Gareth said, taking a few steps towards her; yet his eyes were still set on the huge crowd below them. "Because, who will command it? Dawlish? Or maybe someone who doesn't even belong to the Auror Corps, as any pureblood fool? And who will be its members? A bunch of inexperienced rookies, or maybe those who lost their passion for the job long ago? Surely, not a single wizard or witch of capable skills will be sent there."

Jessie could only nod to those words.

"Look at us, Sweeney," Gareth went on. "How many of us are here, for this silly event? More than twenty. And as we stand here like fools, Peter Pettigrew and the wizard who saved him are still on the run. Just as the crime rate still rises. Just as there are many bastards from the Pureblood Elite who have yet to rot in Azkaban; their crimes deep buried under a mountain of gold. We are shaming our noble profession. We are insulting all those who died in the Great War—those who trusted us with the duty to make this a better world. Hell, there was a time in which I looked to my sides and I saw people of the likes of Alice and Frank Longbottom, or Alastor Moody and Amelia Bones. Now it is people such as Dawlish and Williamson."

Jessie beckoned his senior to lower his voice with a simple gesture of her hand. And so he did, much to her surprise. "I plan to ask for a relocation," she said. "I want to be part of that Public Safety unit."

"Such a good joke, girl," Gareth grunted, the hint of a mirthless smile on his tough face. "You are Fudge's new toy; a shiny and cute one. He will not let you slip from his fingers so easily. That's your reward for being the most talented trainee we've had in years. Ah, the irony!"

"I will try nonetheless."

Her words, though firm and with an icy touch, hung in the air as Gareth paid them no second thought. Instead he just walked away from her, back to his guard position, as he shook his head in denial. Bit by bit, the crowd started to disperse as the people each went to mind their daily business. Soon enough, Jessie felt the silvery bracelet on his right wrist to heat up.

Her signal to leave her watch.

And so she did—and no one questioned her. The way down through Gringotts was a long one, and longer it felt because of all the hostile looks she was given. If there was something Goblins hated more than a witch, that was a female Auror. But she endured it all with ease, and her eyes remained focused on the path ahead of her. In the pristine floor made of white, shiny slabs, and on the luxurious chandeliers which hung from the ceiling, which was rather similar to the surface she walked through.

At last she stepped outside, and the sun was there to welcome her; she took delight in its weak rays and the little warmth they offered. The stage wasn't far from the bank, but it took Jessie a while to fight her way through the crowd. Her eyes, even if she tried not to, scanned each and every face she found around. Because of that, the Auror was able to detect some of her comrades.

There was Tommy, her childhood friend, who was dressed in muggle clothes in order to fit in with the crowd; he acknowledged her with a curt nod. Gawain Robards was also there, taking a sip from a cup of coffee in the closest restaurant to the plaza. And some of the new trainees whose names she didn't know yet. Except for one—a clumsy girl by the name of Nymphadora Tonks, whose bright, pink hair made her stand out among the crowd.

In short, the great majority of the Auror Corps were here today to protect a man who did not deserve it. To serve and protect, Jessie scolded herself. Not to judge, not to make any decisions by yourself.

At last she made it to the stage, and she went upstairs to meet Rufus. "The Minister is behind the curtains, in the backstage," the Head-Auror said curtly. "Good job today, Sweeney. Be sure to tell the others that." And just like that he left, his tall and imposing figure becoming one with the soon-to-be scattered crowd.

It only took her a few seconds to reach backstage, but there, about to turn a corner into the restroom, some voices made her halt; most she recognised with ease, one she did not. Much to her dismay, her body moved by itself and took cover behind a wooden wall. There she stuck out her head and watched from afar.

The unknown voice belonged to none other but Jacques Yaxley; a tall man of sharp features, with a shaved beard and shoulder-length hair, dark as night itself. "It was a good speech, my dear Cornelius," he laughed. "A good speech, indeed! Now, how about a toast? In the name of our prosperous alliance, I say!"

"Thank you, my friend," the Minister was quick to answer, still red-faced and with a euphoric glint in his eyes. "And I love the way you think. I have the most perfect drink for the occasion, I assure you. Dolores, why don't you do the honours and pour us all a drink?"

"My pleasure." With a flick of her wand, Umbridge summoned four empty glasses of great manufacture and some thin bottle of dark liquor.

"One of the most brilliant harvests of recent times, I say!" Fudge gloated. "Gifted by lord Castilla himself, from his very vineyards in the South of Spain!"

"An old ally of mine," Lucius Malfoy cut in. "I should see that you two meet in person once your next ministership is secured. And you too, Dolores."

"It will be a pleasure," she smiled. "But now there is no time for Spaniards, not when our country took such an important step today. Let's have a toast because of it—for that, and for our great and prosperous alliance!"

The four of them were quick to finish their drinks in a single gulp. Though it was only Fudge who poured himself a second one.

"Well, let's move onto the urgent matters," Yaxley said out of the blue, a wide grin on his face. "Hogwarts! What a splendid job you've done so far, Dolores! Hell, the lead of the Board fell right into my lap because of it. What a funny thing, eh, Lucius?"

If smiles could kill, Malfoy would have proved it. "You will find in no time at all how arduous of a job it can be. I hope you are ready for the task, Jacques."

"Oh, I sure am!"

Umbridge cleared her throat, "My lords, there's no need to have a dispute among ourselves. First of all, thank you very much, lord Jacques—such praise from a wizard of your nobility is more than I deserve. Even so, my job is yet to be finished. It has barely begun, in fact. But to continue my journey to make Hogwarts great again, something needs to be done about Albus Dumbledore, I'm afraid."

Then, Fudge drank down his glass, "Ah, that damn man! It is always him!"

"His reputation has greatly decreased, true enough," Umbridge went on as she smiled fondly at the Minister, "but not so much inside Hogwarts, I'm afraid. However, even there you can already hear whispers against him and his management. Spread by my little birds, of course, but bought by plenty of students."

"But you need more, don't you?" Yaxley smirked.

"You are free to elaborate, Dolores," Malfoy added.

"I need him as busy as he's ever been. I don't care how or why, but I need that old fool out of Hogwarts for as long as possible. Only then I will be able to finally turn the scale in our favour."

"The Board has its ways to keep a Headmaster busy," Malfoy said sweetly; and so was his smile. "However, that's something Jacques must do now. As the Head of the Board he's now…"

"Oh, are you envious of me, Lucius?" the said lord laughed aloud. "Don't worry, I will not steal your spotlight. I will make an announcement tomorrow to our dear Governors, and I will tell them to follow your command. Once accepted by the great majority, it will be me the one to give the final nod, of course, but, at least, it will keep you busy, won't it? Ah, I'm such a good friend!"

"And what about you?" Malfoy was quick to bite back, yet with a calm voice.

"Oh, me? Well, I do have my contacts here and there, you know that very well. They've told me sweet things about our dear Headmaster, about some people he might be…, rather interested to track down. In fact, I believe he went on a little trip to Spain recently, the day Dolores sacked that half-breed from Hogwarts. Now, I will spread my rumours too, as Dolores did, but I will spread them all across Europe. Let's see how dear those strange individuals are to the Great Sorcerer! Perhaps such honey will be sweet enough to make our Queen Bee get out of his hive…"

He suddenly halted, and turned around to look at Jessie. Better said, to where her head had stuck out less than a second ago. "There's someone else here," Yaxley mused, now as serious as he'd ever been. "I can feel it. Such a faint aura it is, but it's there."

To serve and protect. I must not forget it. And Jessie stepped out into the hallway which led to the restroom. Her face was an emotionless mask, her eyes a watchful shadow and her lips a thin line. Though her heart beat fast enough to almost jump out of her body. "I finally found you, Minister," she just said.

Jessie was met with a wide range of looks—Umbridge and Lucius, who looked down at the Auror as if she was an insect to be stepped over, though the lord did conceal it better; Yaxley, whose mistrustful glance was almost enough to make her break a sweat; and Corenelius, who, glass of wine still in his hand, looked at her with adoration.

"Oh, Jessie, my dear girl, here you are!" the Minister laughed. "I've been waiting for you!"

"Sorry, Sir," the Auror apologised. "Rufus wanted to discuss a few things with me. It will not happen again, I swear."

"Nonsense!" the Minister dismissed her comments with a waive of his hand. "Here, here, take a glass for yourself, girl. The finest wine in Europe, I assure you! Celebrations are in order on this glorious day!"

"I must decline, Sir. I shall not drink while on duty. Though I really appreciate your kindness, Minister."

It took her a mighty effort to not deviate her eyes from Fudge. Jessie did not know whether she could withstand Yaxley's piercing eyes without breaking her act. But it didn't come to such a point, as the lord was quick to glance at the clock he pulled out of his black robes.

"It's quite late," Yaxley pointed out. "I'm afraid this is farewell time, at least for me. My wife has a calm temper, but only when compared to that or a rageful Nundu. More so if I show up at home later than I first told her. Anyhow, I'll see you again soon. We'll be in touch."

The wizard left without further preamble, and the small room fell silent once more; though a much tense one, if possible. Lord Malfoy was quick to shatter it, though, as he also announced his leave. In the end, only the three of them remained, those who belonged to the Ministry.

"All was well and controlled out there, I suppose," Umbridge started after a few seconds of calm. "The people looked rather enthusiastic and full of hope; under my eyes, at least."

"That they did," Jessie replied. It pained her to admit that aloud, but such had been her impression from atop of Gringotts. "It was a most boring watch. And that makes me happy and relieved."

"I'm glad to hear that," the Minister for Education hummed, though her eyes showed none of that gladness. "I've read your reports, Sweeney, both from the Academy and once you made it to the Corps. You had a rough debut in Hogwarts, didn't you? Tasked to stop the Heir of Slytherin and to protect the students… And such brilliant work brought you here, as the Minister's personal guard." She then grabbed her purse and buttoned her purple coat, taking a few steps towards Jessie while at it. "We need more Aurors like you—soldiers of trust and with ambitious hearts. Do your job well, and you'll be rewarded. That's all from me."

She left after that, and Jessie was left alone with the Minister for Magic. And she observed it as the man stored the wine bottle back into its wooden box; his eyes wore a gleam which told her that it would be a brief rest for his liver. Perhaps to celebrate his victory today, or maybe because he had taken a dangerous liking to booze.

All she could do was to hope for the latter to not be true. "To serve and protect…" she mused yet again. "To serve and protect…"

And so, Fudge took her arm and she Apparated them back to his household.

---

It started like a silent wave, and as such, it could not be stopped once it was born.

From one day to another the members of the Disciplinary Party started to suffer from inexplicable and unfortunate accidents; a silly slip through the staircase which ended in a sore bone; a sudden stink bomb that came out of nowhere; their bags going missing…

To Ron and to everyone else it all screamed to have the twin's signature, yet no one came to prove it. While most turned a blind eye to it, amused smiles on their faces, the victims just were unable to find any incriminatory proof of any sort. And it all showed in Umbrigde's face, thin-lipped and with a frown each day she stepped into the Great Hall.

But, of course, it all got out of hand.

Mainly because some students had taken Umbridge's side, seduced by her sweet lies. And Ron could not blame them. For someone who knew nothing about the witch herself and her endless malice, they sounded like heaven itself given the past few years at Hogwarts. However, Fred and George Weasley were not of the same opinion as their younger brother. Soon enough their pranks also targeted those unconnected to the Party, and that helped them to set their minds even firmer in the Minister's program for the School.

In a matter of two weeks, Hogwarts had been divided into three large groups—those who supported Dumbledore, those who believed in Umbridge, and those who did not care at all.

Such tense atmosphere had managed to irk even the Professors: McGonagall was stricter than ever, and her frown became a sight of horror at the mere mention of the Minister's name; Flitwick, ever the kind and chirpy wizard, now seemed to have aged twenty years in such a short span of time; Snape, however, was the same as always, though a bit easier to infuriate. And those other Professors who managed to keep their calm always came to lose it as soon as Umbridge stormed into their lectures, arguing that their methods were far too old and that they needed to prepare the students for their exams rather for the problems the Wizarding World could offer.

Because, of course, the Ministry would be there to solve them. What a bloody joke!

Of course, the whispers did not take long to fill the castle's hallways; from every side. And Ron was always there to witness them; eyes and ears as busy as they've ever been.

"Do you buy the latest rumour?" a sixth-year student from Hufflepuff asked her friend. "The one which says that Umbridge orchestrated Hagrid's sacking."

"No way!" her friend replied firmly. "That man was pushing his luck a lot, showing such dangerous creatures to the lower grades. It was just a matter of time till it exploded right in his face."

And then Ron paced through a hallway filled with second-years, and his ears were quick to hear it all.

"I cannot believe that she didn't let us practise such a cool spell!" a Gryffindor by the name of Colin Creevey huffed, to which his friends nodded in agreement.

"Almost as if she didn't want us to practise real magic!" said Martha Jones, a muggle-born witch whom Ginny had once depicted as a 'far too curious girl for her own good'. "Lupin was so disappointed… Poor man!"

And so he did through Godric's Courtyard.

"I did nothing, I swear!" Roger Davies exclaimed, surrounded by Flint and two of his lackeys; Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick, if Ron wasn't mistaken. "You just made up all this crap!"

Flint took a menacing step towards the Ravenclaw, who did not flinch away. Instead he puffed his chest out and came to face the much larger boy. "I said that you insulted the Minister for Education," Flint said with a growl. "And that's it. You'll have a great time with our dear janitor tonight, you pretty boy. Scrubbing the dungeons with your tongue, I hope."

And then came the dungeons, where he used the faint illumination and the many blind spots it offered in his favour.

"I've been told you wanted to join us," Gertrude Meads said with a smirk. She was a tall girl with a pretty face, crowned by a long mane of red hair, and with a body of round proportions. But in these past weeks Ron had come to understand that her blessed physique was bleared by her venomous character once she opened her mouth. "If so, the Disciplinary Party will welcome you with open arms. But make no mistake here, you are nothing but a silly lackey to be ordered around. Now, was I clear enough? Though if you behave correctly, like a good doggy, I myself will keep an eye on you… If you get me."

The poor lad who stood in front of her, a plump boy by the name of Gideon Scalby, who was one year older than Ron himself, nodded to her words like an obedient puppy; all sense of decency gone the moment Gertrude had licked her lips in a rather suggestive manner.

And Ron travelled from one corner of the castle to the furthest, taking in all the information there was to gather.

"My mum says Umbridge is a noble and just woman. She's worked for the Minister for Education for almost a decade, so she'd know!"

"Dumbledore is growing old, don't you think so?"

"No way! He's the greatest sorcerer to ever live! He must be immortal, or so I think!"

"I joined the Disciplinary Party, and then Flint beat the crap out of the bastard who was trying to hit on my little sister. Ha, he's got what he deserved, that son of a bitch!"

"I hate those cunts from the Party! I cannot believe they were given so much power. Honestly, what the hell was Umbridge thinking about?"

"Lower your voice, you moron! We are dead men if they hear us!"

"Lupin's been looking rather downcast recently, once again. Now that I think about it, doesn't he seem to fall ill once every few weeks? Almost as if he planned it, for some reason…"

"Have you seen Pansy Parkinson lately? You know, the third-year girl who was burned by the Ashwinder. She walks with her head down and with a quick stride. And she was said to be one of the proudest girls in the entire School…"

"Potter has been summoned to Umbridge's office for the third time this week. I've heard he always comes back with a pained grimace and with his hand firmly clutched against his body… Do you think…"

"It's none of my business! Potter's a trouble-maker; always have, always will."

And Ron thought about all those whispers he had heard as he ruffled his hair in exasperation, "In just a matter of weeks, the School has turned into a bloody battlefield!" the redhead huffed, safe and sound in his bedroom. "Madness, that's it!"

As per usual, it was Gerdnyaram who remained calm, "If so, use that in your favour," the Essentia said. "It's nothing but another resource for us to make use of. Do it wisely, and the board might tip in our favour. Fail, and it might be our last move…"

Ron heed her advice, though he pushed aside the sense of pressure her words carried, for he had just come up with an idea to tilt the board in their favour.

---

Hermione tried to enjoy the silence and the calm of the common room, short past midnight yet surrounded by countless unfinished essays. Very few students shared her dilemma; their heads and eyes low into their parchments, and the once so-loved sound of a quill scratching the rough paper as the only audible melody. By her side, Neville happened to be one of them.

But he did not have any essays to finish, nor a spell to practise. No, instead, her friend had sacrificed his sleep so he could stay with Hermione. And although she really appreciated his gesture, it also put a bit of shame on her shoulders. Still she said nothing to him, and took delight in his company.

"Are there different types of Puffapods?" Hermione asked in a whisper. "Since there are some pink and others purple, I wondered if they are any different? Or if they are just the same but of a different colour."

"With them, colour is equal to power," Nevilled replied. "The brighter a plant is, the more powerful their spores are. The shade is not so important, though."

Hermione was quick to write it down, and so she was finished with another subject. Only three more to go! With a sigh she grabbed another piece of parchment; a large, empty one. It was time to talk about electricity, which would be discussed in the next lecture of Muggle Studies. She didn't need any advice this time, of course, but the amount of words she's been asked to write was no short one.

But as she was about to grab the next piece of parchment, her eyes fell upon a copy of the Daily Prophet. Fudge's bright smile could be seen even amidst the penumbra of the common room. It was that of a drunk man, she reckoned, but of power instead of booze. Much to her horror, the actual Minister and his supporters had done a splendid job in Diagon Alley; or so did the people think. Finally, the common-folk had been given measures which would make their lives easier. Finally, the Ministry had grown bold and had targeted those great wealths which had run dry the country for as long as it could be remembered.

It was obvious there was a trap there, even if she could not find it yet. If there was something she'd learnt since she came to be a part of the Wizarding World, thanks to all the books about the country's history she'd read, it was how deep the roots of the Sacred Twenty-Eight's power reached within the country and its society. It had withered since the Great War, but those were horrors people had come to forget, if not to also forgive.

Get a hold of yourself! Hermione scolded herself. You have much to do, and so little time! And she started the essay with a heavy hand and tired eyes which fought to remain open.

"How do you manage to be up to date with so many subjects?" Neville asked after a few minutes of silence.

The quill on her hand didn't halt as Hermione replied, "By sacrificing sleep and free time, I guess. But, under my eyes, it's worth the sacrifice." Sometimes that opinion changed, and she'd found herself about to drop some of the electives plenty of times. Yet she always managed to refrain from such impulse. This wasn't an impossible deed to carry out, since other students did it before her—like Percy and William Weasley, who had achieved the best grades in each and every of the subjects.

Was she lesser than them? No, she was not. And she would prove it to all those who still doubted her. To all those who still looked down at her because of the purity of her blood.

And with that thought in mind, Hermione went back to her essay.

But not for long, as Neville was in a talkative mood tonight. "Harry has yet to come back," the boy mused, letting his words hang in the air. "He was summoned to Umbridge's office once again, wasn't he?"

Hermione halted for an instant, yet her quill continued to scratch the paper. "Yes, I think so."

"She's given Harry far too many detentions in so little time, don't you think so? Could she have ended their pact?"

Once more did Hermione halt, yet she could not go back to her essay this time. "Most likely," the girl sighed as she leaned back onto the couch. She then rubbed her eyes, which fought against her will to remain closed. "It probably came to a point in which he couldn't give her anything of interest. Let it be because he truly had nothing, or because he just didn't feel like it. Either way, he's gonna end up losing…"

Neville sent her a worried look, to which she just rolled her eyes in response. "I'm fine!" Hermione huffed. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

He didn't buy her lie, as expected, but still said nothing to contradict it. Instead he looked around, and his eyes were quick to fall over the Weasley twins, who talked in hushed whispers at the far end of the common room. Their best friend, Lee Jordan, was with them, but so did Angelina Johnson and another girl Hermione had rarely seen before; their heads all gathered inches apart from each other.

"What are they planning?" she let out, more to herself than anything. It wasn't a rare sight to see the twins up to no good in such late hours, but usually it was them alone. "Not studying for their OWLs, that's for sure…"

"They've taken the war against Umbridge quite seriously," Neville pointed out.

"Against the Disciplinary Party, better said. After the incident with Lavender, the twins went on a prank rampage. They've been caught a few times, enough to grant them plenty of detentions with Filch. But never with Umbridge. That's for Harry and him alone, it seems."

"About that…" Neville started, "what do you think about this…, let's say, this little war in Hogwarts."

"To be honest, I have no idea," Hermione sighed. "It's something I've given a lot of thought to lately. On the one hand, I do think that it was a mistake to create the Disciplinary Party, mainly because most of what they've done is to anger the students. However, to many others, the prospect of joining them is a very sweet one. Anyhow, it's keeping everyone busy these past weeks, even the Professors. And that, perhaps, was her real reason to create the Party."

Neville gave her words a thought, and so the matter died. However, Hermione just couldn't go back to her essay for much she tried. Not when the face of Umbridge was all she could see now. Like that, in silence, the two friends remained for almost an hour, in which the room emptied around them. By the time her clock told her it was two hours past noon, only the twins had yet to leave.

And when Nevilled stood up, a yawn he could no longer contain being proof of his exhaustion, someone strode into the common room. It was Harry, and there was a stormed look on his eyes; though it quickly died the moment he took notice of them. The boy was fast to pace through the room and to reach them.

"The hell are you doing up so late?" he asked. "Wait a moment, don't tell me you were waiting for me? But I told you not to-"

"We were not," Hermione cut in. "I was trying to finish all the pending essays I had yet to finish, whereas Neville decided to tag along for the night."

"Oh, I see," Harry mumbled, not embarrassed the slightest. "Well, if so, we'll talk tomorrow. All I wanna do now is to throw myself into my bed. Goodnight!"

Yet a couple of steps was all he could walk.

"Wait a moment, Harry!" Nevilled said then. "Show me your hand. Now." Such a commanding voice took both Harry and Hermione by surprise, who stared at Neville with wide eyes.

"I'm tired, mate," Harry said.

But there was a touch of something strange which allowed Hermione to know that, perhaps, there was something wrong. "Do as he says," she said firmly. "Don't make me take my wand out, Harry. You know very well that I'll do it, if necessary."

Harry sent them a cold glare, yet did as told. As slowly as he could, the boy pulled his gloved hand out of his pockets, and then he took his glove out. Words couldn't describe the horror Hermione felt at that moment. The skin at the back of his hand was freshly scarred; red, swollen and bloody. She took a step forward with a sharp gasp, and then took his hand into hers as softly as she could.

'I will not lie,' was written there in blood.

"Harry…" she mused, at a loss for words.

"I-I figured something was wrong with your hand," Neville spluttered. "But… Not this bad…"

"It doesn't hurt so much," the boy sighed, taking his hand away from Hermione's. "Not anymore, at least."

The girl finally managed to speak his mind out. "What's that? Did she do it with her wand? And why?"

"With a quill," Harry explained, "a red one of sharp feathers and corners. When I write a sentence into the parchment, it is also carved into my hand. The more I write, the deeper it gets through my skin. It doesn't get so deep to hurt anything but my skin, so be at ease."

"Be at ease?" Hermione repeated.

"Harry, that's madness," Neville said firmly. "You should tell the Professors about it. Hell, go to Dumbledore! Although questioned, he's still the Headmaster."

"No." His plain answer left the both of them speechless; more so due to the cold way those words had been uttered. "This is between her and me. I will not run with the tail between my legs. If she wants to play this game, I will play it. And once she's out of Hogwarts, once the entire world knows how cruel of a woman she is, then it will be my turn to smile."

The boy left for his bedroom with no further word, and although Nevilled tried to go after him, Hermione stopped him. "Will you at least accept an ointment to treat the pain?" she asked. "Or are you so stubborn and silly that you will also refuse it?"

Harry only stopped for a moment, "I will accept it," he sighed. "Thank you." And so he left as his two friends were left behind once more.

"Do you need any help?" Neville asked after a few seconds of silence. "I'm not the most brilliant mind around, that I know, but herbs are often used in the creation of analgesic ointments. I'd understand if you wanted to work on your own, of course. You already have plenty of things to do, and I might be more of a nuisance than a help…"

Hermione was quick to turn around; although she saw no trace of sadness nor embarrassment, she really wanted to scream at Neville how stupid he was. To scream at him so loud that the entire castle would wake up.

"Of course you will be of help, you silly," Hermione said as she slapped her friend on the arm. "You are far better than me in Herbology, and you know way more about the Wizarding World and its medicine than me… Don't ever doubt yourself like that, Neville. Not in front of me. Because if you do that again, the next slap will not be so soft!"

"Consider me as warned," the boy smiled faintly. "Come on; the sooner we start, the sooner we'll go to sleep."

And so the night did begin for the two of them. And they refused to take any rest until the ointment was finished, a few hours shy from dawn. It was far from perfect, that she knew, but it was the best they could accomplish with the little amount of ingredients they had, and also due to the lack of knowledge about the matter.

Surely, it would help Harry to withstand his punishment a bit better. Or so they hoped.

---

Ron stood at the entrance to the common room, still as the wall over which his back rested. It was Friday morning, and he had plenty of things he would rather do. But times of necessity required extreme measures, that he knew.

And it took his prey a long while to appear. When she stepped into the hallway her eyes were quick to take notice of his presence. Yet she ignored them with ease, and her stride did not falter for an instant.

Not until Ron spoke up, "Do you have a moment, Parkinson?" the redhead sighed as the girl was about to voice out the password.

Pansy Parkinson finally looked at him, "Why would I, blood-traitor?"

Her words did little to unsettle Ron, since it was long ago when he learnt to laugh at such things rather than reacting the way these bigots wanted him to. Even so, what made him hesitant was the haunted look on the witch's face. Sunken eyes rounded by deep bags underneath them; hollow cheeks which showed more bone than she'd ever shown; and messy hair which looked to not have been washed in more than a week.

"Because I have a proposition which, I believe, will be of your interest," Ron said. It amazed the boy how easy it was for him to stare into her eyes and ignore her condition. "Let's not beat around the bush, shall we? I know for a fact that Umbridge set you up. And don't get me wrong, I don't pity you, as I think you deserve every bit of what the Ashwinder did to you. However, we have a common enemy, and you know what they say: the enemy of my enemy is my friend."

It took Parkinson a while to reply, and, of course, she chose to not be as blunt as he had been. "How do you know that?" the girl said as she took a guarded stance.

It almost made Ron snort. "Because Harry overheard your conversation. Near the owlery, if I remember well enough, and then into a classroom once Peeves made an act of presence."

"I'm all ears, enemy of my enemy," she sighed at last.

Ron was tempted to make a remark about the lack of venom in her words, but he refrained just in time. He didn't like Parkinson a bit, but she'd already suffered enough. It wasn't time to rejoice in the lack of pride and backbone these purebloods showed. "I want you to tell your story to the world," Ron said. "Or to the School, at least. To those who already hate that hellish witch, it would prove them that they chose the right side of the story. And to those who support her, well, I guess we'll find out if they are stupid enough to keep supporting her after that."

It was a good plan, he reckoned.

Parkinson, however, was quick to shut it down. "Forget about it," she said, an icy touch in her voice back yet again. "I will have my vengeance on Dolores Umbridge sooner or later, that I know. But I won't do it your way, as it would put me in the spotlight. I'm not a tool you can make use of, Ronald Weasley. Don't ever try again."

This being said, the girl walked past Ron.

Still she came to a halt right in front of the entrance to the common room. "You've really changed," she pointed out, back still turned at him. "In this conversation, I saw no trace of that stupid boy who was sorted into Slytherin two years ago; a boy who couldn't take an insult to his face and neither to that of his friends. Nor of the arrogant fool whom I tried to educate last year. Did I, by chance, manage to accomplish anything at all?"

"You?" It almost made him laugh like he hadn't done in a long while. "Don't make me laugh, please. You aren't so important, Parkinson."

"Now that I've seen your true colours, allow me to say that you aren't so different to Malfoy," she said as the door opened to her. "Not as of today."

"Oh, but I am," Ron gave her the hint of a smile, even if she didn't come to see it, "but I am…" It had been a good try on her behalf, one of those the Pansy Parkinson he knew excelled at. But how could you cry from the sting of a little spider when you'd known the thrust of a poisoned blade? She had a lot to learn from Tom.

All alone in the cold of the dungeons, Ron allowed himself to take a deep sigh; proof of his exasperation. His plan had turned out just as he'd thought it would have; though much faster, if not. "Well, can't say I'm surprised," he said.

"That girl's heart is rotted," Gerdnyaram said as she appeared right in front of him. She did it under a rain of blue sparks, and it left Ron as breathless as it always did. "But not beyond saving. She's only a spoiled girl, no more. Her chance will come one day, and then we will see whether she deserves redemption or not."

"That's a matter for another day, and not for me to worry about. I need to find a way to hurt Umbridge, Gerd. And I'm running out of ideas."

"There's always the reserve plan," Gerd hummed. "Whether you like it or not, it might be our best weapon. Chaos is but a way to accomplish a goal through the seeds of doubts and a sea of endless possibilities."

Ron stared right into the Essentia's eyes, and he saw nothing but a strong faith in her words. "Let the Lord of Chaos rule," she recited, almost to herself. And so the chaos began. And it became his all for the next three days, until the second week of December came to an end.

He started right away, after lunch and before his last lecture of the week, one of Transfiguration. And it was with a bang that he did it. Ron hid under a big armour, that of a great muggle warrior from past ages, and there he waited for Flint and his pals to appear. He had studied them well enough to know they always were in a rush to not arrive late to their lectures, and also that they had a period of Defence next.

The group of four paced past him with Flint at the lead, their loud guffaws filling the hallway's silence. Ron waited, then pointed his wand at them, "This better works," he mused. Non-verbally, as there was no known incantation for the Stinging Spell, a nasty one he'd learned through reading texts above his grade, he casted the hex with a blind trust in his skills.

A white light was rocketed from the tip of his wand, but three more followed it in the blink of an eye. A choir of pained grunts and surprised gasps was heard loud and clear.

"The fuck?" Flint growled between ragged breaths, hands busy massaging his thighs in a poor try of soothing the pain away. "Who did this?" They all turned around, their eyes moving in a frenzy yet failing to locate the aggressor.

Until Ron allowed them to, of course.

"There!" Bole exclaimed as he limped forward as best as he could. "The bastard is running away."

Actually, what he had seen was the end of a black robe, with its hood up, flying into the next hallway. Were they to catch up to it, they would find no one under the thick robe. For it was Gerdnyaram who carried it, and although invisible to the eye, she was not incorporeal. Still none of that mattered, for the Slytherins had taken the bait. They all ran after Gerd, as fast as their pained stride allowed them to.

And the Essentia took them through many corridors, always slow enough to make the boys believe they could hunt her down. Ron was quick to follow them, always an entire hallway in between them yet with no fear of losing track of them; he'd planned this route, after all. Finally the plan reached its zenith, and it took him a huge effort to not look away in shame.

Gerd had disappeared into a long yet thin hole in the ceiling, but she'd taken Flint and his gang right to where Ron needed them to be. When the leader of the Disciplinary Party halted, red-faced and with sheer rage written all over his features, he did it in front of a group of four first-years and amidst their loud laughs. Two from Gryffindor, one from Hufflepuff and one from Ravenclaw.

One of them wore his hood up.

"You bastards thought you were slick, eh?" Flint growled, taking several steps towards the children. "Those bloody Weasley twins told you to come after us, eh?" His goons followed after him, and they all shared the same fury.

"What are you talking about?" Sophie Dorian said, a puzzled look on her face. The girl was brave, Ron reckoned, as there was no trace of fear in her grey eyes. Unlike his friends, who had all gone pale and sweaty. "Aren't you a bit old to make this spectacle?" This girl was either far too brave, or far too silly.

Flint, of course, did not take those words very well, "The bitchy bookworm of Ravenclaw, I see," he grunted, wand now unsheathed. "Yes, you are clever enough to know the Stinging Spell, and nerdy enough to not raise any suspicions… I bet you couldn't be happier when those Weasley bastards came to you with this proposition. It fueled your ego, didn't it? And you thought yourself safe from any harm just because you are a little girl…"

"Again, what are you talking about?" the blond girl said, not faced the slightest. "You make no sense."

Before anyone could even blink, Flint pointed his wand at the girl. She was sent flying into the wall; a silent gasp came out of her as her body twisted in pain. Her friends, the two Gryffindors, were quick to react, as they ran towards Flint in a thoughtless charge. The seventh-year Slytherin swept Darren Davis with a low lick, who landed with the back of his head, then punched the black-haired boy right in the jaw. They both fell to the floor and twisted in pain there.

Needless to say, Flint had reacted just as Ron had expected him to; with extreme and brainless brutality. But his friends did not. In fact, it was Derrick Bole who placed a hand on his leader's shoulder, "Mate, I think that's enough… They surely learnt the lesson…" The other two seemed to share his repudiation towards such aggressive response.

But Flint was in no mood to heed their words. He had reached his limit after many pranks from the twins, and the stinging pain he had felt on his legs had been enough to drown him in rage—to a point in which he had not realised that, perhaps, these four children could not have attacked him by any means.

With a flick of his wand, Sophie Dorian fell to the cold floor, curled up and sobbing. Her friend, a tall Hufflepuff of black skin, had also fallen down, on his knees, and he too was sobbing yet in silence.

"You will all face detention for months, but not with that oaf of a janitor," Flint grunted as he towered above them all. "You four and I will spend many nights together, and I will make you confess! You will admit to Umbridge that it was the Weasleys twins who told you to act against the Disciplinary Party, and I'll finally have the proof I need to prove they've been making my life impossible for weeks!"

It was then when Ron walked away, head lowered in shame and with a heavy regret within his heart. He halted a few corridors away, in front of a classroom where Bathsheda Babbling was teaching Runes, and shouted: "A fight! There's a fight near the Fourth Courtyard! Someone get a Professor, now!" Then he ran away and did not look back, though he came to hear how the door was opened with a loud bang.

Later on, as the sun went down and the moon and a dark sky full of stars replaced it, this incident would become the main talk in the School. Marcus Flint, a seventh-year and the leader of the Disciplinary Party, had given a beating to some poor children.

As it should, Gryffindor had been the first to scream blue murder, as two of his pups were involved. But so did Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. And soon enough, Hogwarts was filled with whispers against Umbridge and the poor choice she'd made when choosing the members of her Disciplinary Party.

The twins, of course, were quick to act under their own justice, and their pranks became far more cruel and heavy by the very next day. And more people were affected by them; even those who did not belong to the Party yet sympathised with it. Soon enough, it became a war among the students.

McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout tried to bring the Party into their offices, so they could serve a long and arduous detention with them, but Umbridge meddled in. Many started to ask for Dumbledore to intervene, but as the days went by the students took notice of how little time he spent in the castle nowadays.

Tracey, as furious as Ron had ever seen her, wrote to her father that very night, and implored him to make the Board of Governors punish Umbrigde for the lack of sense in her decisions. Whether they would act or not was a total mystery, for nothing changed within the castle during the weekend.

Nothing but all the chaos Ron sowed.

A spell in the back of a student so a fight could break; a taunt or an insult from the distance and the darkness of a barely illuminated corner; an assault to Umbridge's office when she wasn't there to watch over her stuff; to fill up McGonagall's office with stink bomb after she gave detention to a fourth-year student from the Party…

By the start of December's third week, Umbridge no longer smiled anywhere she went. Instead, a frown could always be seen in her round face. And she was forced to stay in the castle for much longer, if she wanted to extinguish all those fires which had been set under her watch.

A few times Ron was close to being caught.

The first one, on Saturday morning, he casted another Stinging Spell on Flint as he made his way back to the common room after Quidditch practice. Though Ron slipped this time before he could reach his hideout, and so, Flint was able to catch a peak of his waiving robes. And he had the bad fortune to sprint into a dead-end hallway.

"Shit, I'm so dead!" Ron mused as the grip on his wand tightened. He entered an abandoned classroom just in time, and took shelter into its dark corners; his black robes pulled over his fiery hair and pale face.

Flint's footsteps could be heard from the outside; quick and heavy like no other. And when the door cracked open, when Ron was about to cast desperate stunner, a voice he knew very well came into his aid.

"He went running the other way, Flint," Blaise said aloud, and the door remained half-open; a thin line of light trying to sneak into the classroom. "I saw him. A bastard from Gryffindor, no doubt. A quick, little thing."

"You sure?" Flint asked back. "I swear I saw him coming this way."

"This is a dead-end," Blaise said, "you would've found him already. Besides, it's also of my interest that you find and give that little lion what he deserves. Can you believe they've also targeted me, just because I wear the silver and green? Madness, I'm telling you."

The door finally closed. "Thank you, Zabini," Flint said. "That bastard better pray I don't catch him, because if I do…" His voice died into the distance along with the noise of his footsteps.

On his behalf, Ron waited for the seconds to go by, heart-beat still rushed and with a cold sweat. Even so, his wand was stored back into his robes. Seconds turned into a minute, and only then he did stand up. Outside waited Blaise Zabini himself, his back leaning onto the wall and looking to where Flint had disappeared.

"That was a close call," he pointed out.

"It was," Ron replied, then waited for him to go on. But no further word came from Blaise. "Thank you." Then he left.

However, Blaise would stop him before he could step into the next hallway, "How do you do it?" he asked. "You and Tracey, I mean. No matter against who or what, you always stand up, even if there's no prospect of victory. Even if pain and defeat is all there's to expect."

"It's called backbone," Ron said without turning back. "You just happen to have a lack of it."

And just like that Ron went back to the safety and warmth of his bedroom. Later on, close to noon, Blaise came back, but it was silently, as if Ron didn't exist, that he threw himself onto his bed and closed the curtains around it.

The second time he almost screwed it up came on Sunday afternoon, as he tried to decipher the best way to irk Gertrude Meads. The sixth-year girl was trying to seduce a Prefect from Hufflepuff of her same year, and the poor lad did not stand a chance. However, as she took him by his hand and made their way towards a more discreet place, Ron made the mistake of following them.

Once he stepped into the hallway, the alarm Gertrude had set was activated. Whether it was a Ward or a charm was of no importance to him, because, as a wailing sound filled the corridors, all he could do was to run away and to curse his own recklessness. And he ran so fast and with so little sense of position that he almost crashed against a very tall person.

A person who stopped him with a soft squeeze on his shoulders, "What a funny situation to find ourselves in, eh?" said Albus Dumbledore, an amused glint in his eyes.

"H-Headmaster," Ron spluttered, at a loss for words.

Just then did Gertrude storm into the hallway, and her wide smirk was erased in the blink of an eye as she took notice of who she stood in front of. "Oh, a pleasure to see you, Mrs Meads!" Dumbledore almost sang; even more amused now, if possible. "What an eventful afternoon! I was having a stroll around the castle with Ronald when that alarm took us by surprise. A very well-casted Ward, if you don't mind the praise! Perhaps, a game to be played with a boyfriend of yours, Gertrude?"

"Ehm… You could say so," the girl managed to say. "By any chance, did you happen to spot…, my boyfriend, as he ran to anywhere else?"

"Oh, I did not! What about you, Ronald? Your eyes are far younger and sharper than mine!"

"Me neither. Sorry I cannot be of help… Gertrude, was that your name? Well, sorry, Gertrude. I'm sure you'll find him in no time at all! Though I don't mean any offence, of course, that game of yours sounds rather interesting, to say something."

Gertrude's face turned all red as she failed to come up with a good answer, "Goodbye," she said instead, and soon she disappeared into the distance.

"Your tongue is sharp and quick," Dumbledore snickered. "Just as Fred's and George's, and just as Molly's before you all!"

Ron smiled at that, then he remembered whom he was talking with. "Thank you for that, Headmaster. I screwed it up big time, and she would've killed me if you hadn't appeared to save my ass."

"Back in the business, eh, Ronald?" the Headmaster hummed. "Walk with me for a bit, please." And so he did. "In these past few days, they've tried to keep me as busy as possible—the Ministry, the Board of Governors, and even some friends of old I have not spoken to in many years. It is pretty clear to me: they want to keep me as far from Hogwarts as possible. To help Dolores seize the power here, I believe. Yet, what they did not expect was for the students to answer Hogwarts's call. Your work here has been impeccable, and so it goes for Harry's; although his is of a different kind. However, I must warn you to not reach such ends in the future. The incident with Flint and those poor children should have never happened."

Ron took a while to answer, "I would apologise, but the truth is that I do not feel sorry; not the slightest. However, I do feel a lot of shame and remorse, though not an ounce of regret; if that makes any sense at all. I used them, as I wanted everyone to really hate Flint and his Disciplinary Party. To make them understand how awful it could be here were Umbridge to seize the power."

Dumbledore said nothing, but the amused glint in his eyes was long gone. "I need you to promise me that you will not go this far in the future, ever again."

Finally their eyes met.

Ron could have lied to him—he could have told the Headmaster what he wanted to hear, then do what was necessary. "I promise," he said instead. One look into those blue eyes, filled with so much wisdom and experience, had been enough to know that any action could not be excused because of its end. There were limits one could not cross, no matter the end one tried to accomplish. "I swear."

"You are a good boy, Ronald," the Headmaster smiled softly. "Of strong will and of noble heart. Merlin knows this world needs more people like you and your friends. The future is dark, indeed, but light shines brighter amidst shadows…" Dumbledore walked away as those cryptic words hung into the air. And Ron stood rooted to his spot, eyes set on the man known as the Great Sorcerer.

It would be Gerdnyaram who would pull the boy out of his stupor as she took a seat atop of his shoulder. "I thought we agreed that some sacrifices were necessary," the Essentia said, yet with a lack of reproach in her voice.

"Yes, but the ends do not justify the means," Ron said softly.

Gerd gave the boy the hint of a mirthless smile as her hands softly caressed the back of his neck, "You just reminded me of a man very dear to me."

"Do you want to talk about him?"

"His name was Kadir, and he was like the father I never had."

"The man I saw in your memories, right? Who saved little Gerd when she was about to be executed by a bunch of loony fanatics. More a beast than a man, a mass of muscle and courage and who wielded that double-edged axe… And also, a wizard who was reborn as an Essentia."

This time she remained silent, and Ron did not press on.

Instead he went back to the common room, knowing that his job was done. "Let the Lord of Chaos rule…" Ron recited one of Gerd's quotes. It was time to find out whether following the Lord of Chaos had been a good idea or not.

---

Dolores threw yet another letter at the fire of the warmth, which engulfed it with a delighted hiss. It was a cold night, as per usual, but she wouldn't have felt Winter's icy touch even if the warmth wasn't lit.

She felt enough rage to make her body immune to the cold.

"How do they dare?" Dolores growled as another letter was tossed into the fire. She'd been outplayed; it was obvious to her. But by who? Dumbledore, ever the kind and soft fool, would have never used a bunch of children to turn the tiles against her. It was rather ironic, now that she thought about it—they've used her own technique against her. She'd used that oaf of a gatekeeper, and they'd used that oaf of a student…

There was a knock on her office's door, just before it was pulled open by Cornelius himself. Her features softened, and she was able to mask not only her frustration, but also her disgust towards such a weak man. In what world did a man of his importance lower himself so much? It was Dolores who should've been summoned to his presence, not the other way around.

"What a mess!" the wizard sighed as he dropped himself on the chair in front of hers. "To think they would blame you for the mistakes of a teenager! That boy's a Flint—Merlin knows how foul their character can be! A simple mishap between children, I've told those worried parents. But they paid me no attention! Oh, why did that brute attack the daughter of lady Athena? Wasn't there any other student he could've vent his frustrations on? That woman's gone berserker on the Board!"

Dolores threw all the remaining letters to the warmth. If it had hissed in delight before, now the flames rose higher, euphoric and powerful. "The public opinion does not matter, my friend, not to us" she said in a cold whisper. "It can be changed and moulded so easily, as we've done before. Now they think of me as a villain, of my management, but I will make them forget, make them worry about a far more important matter. I've had this ace up my sleeve all the time, keeping it for a most drastic time. The time has come, it seems."

Cornelius stared at her long and through, confused and surprised. "An ace up your sleeve, you say? Does Lucius know of this? And Jacques?"

"They do not know. But they will approve it."

"Oh, I see! May I know about it?"

"Don't you rather have it as a Christmas surprise?" Dolores said with a smirk. "It will be the first of your gifts, Cornelius. However, you better be prepared to summon all the Eyes to the Wizengamot. Hogwarts will be in need of a new Headmaster soon, I'm afraid."

Dolores expected to see doubt in his friend's face, as it always happened when any bit of courage and backbone was needed. But there was none of it. Instead it was relief what she saw, with a faint touch of resolution. Perhaps there was an ounce of backbone within him.

Later on, once all the workers were finished with their daily routine and their offices were dark and cold, Dolores stepped out of hers. Then she sent her secretary to fetch Barnabas Cuffee. "Yes, a little appetiser is in order," she mused, almost to herself, once the plump, young secretary left in a hurry. "They will read about their horrors for a few days, they will come to fear them, or at least to hate them. And then I will drop the bomb which will end Dumbledore's career…"

To be Headmistress of Hogwarts and Eye of the Wizengamot? Such was a dream who very few could ever hope to even think of, much less to taste it like she did just then.

A shame they lacked her pride and ambition…

---

The third week of December went by in the blink of an eye.

And although far too many things happened, at the same time, it felt as if none had happened; or so Hermione thought. True enough, there was war within Hogwarts—the Weasley twins and those who supported them against the Disciplinary Party. There still were many who couldn't take a side, and they paid the price due to their indecision; either by unfair punishment by the Party, or due to a warning prank by the twins.

However, the odds were now in their favour, for Umbridge's reputation had been very damaged because of Flint's actions. The witch did not smile anymore, and the boy had been stripped of his leadership, replaced by a girl by the name of Gertrude Meads. And although the Daily Prophet had not mentioned the incident, many students had sent letters to their households; such was the power of a news spread from mouth to mouth in a small and close society.

It had also made an effect in the lectures, much to her delight. Umbridge was so busy trying to sweep her problems away that she didn't have any time to supervise any Professor.

"Today, in our very last week before Christmas, we'll talk about Vampires," Lupin started with a smile.

And it was a bright one, unlike his pale face, which was darkened by deep bags under his eyes and hollow cheeks. He'd fallen ill, again. He did that from time to time, now that Hermione thought about it; almost like a pattern. Perhaps he suffers from any kind of immune deficiency? That would explain, certainly. Still, there was something odd there, she could tell; it was like scratch she couldn't get rid of for much she tried. I'm overthinking things, again.

"As of today, Vampires are classified as magical creatures which have the right to live and take part in the Wizarding World," the Professor went on. "Just the same as Werewolves. However, they are much easier to identify, due to their pale features, slim figure and sharp fangs. Now, before any of you can come up with the idea… No, I'm not a vampire, even though I could certainly pose as one of them." He then gave the students a wide smile, showing the lack of sharp teeths.

Most took the joke well, and their laughs and snickering were quick to echo through the room. But Hermione did not.

"Also, they are treated slightly better than Werewolves, most of the time," Lupin explained. "Mainly because they aren't so feared. Just by the bite of a Werewolf when in rage, a human can be turned into one of their kind, but to become a Vampire it is needed to be attacked by a certain kind, those ancient and primal; creatures of myth which have been long forgotten in many places. And, if so, you may wonder why there's still so many Vampires all across the world. Which brings us to a very interesting topic, that of genetics. Once a person is host to the curse of a Vampire, it will be transmitted to their progeny; always. For a Werewolf, this rarely happens, more so in controlled environments, such as this country's."

Hermione listened avidly to the lecture, as this information was new to her. Even so, she wasn't able to shut down the whisper at the back of her mind; the one which involved Lupin's weak condition.

And that damned whisper did not leave her alone for as long as the week went. Until it did at the end of the week, on Sunday, when dawn brought the last morning before Christmas holidays. That day, Hermione woke up as tired as she'd ever been, but rather early nonetheless. She started her day like any other, and left for the Great Hall alone, knowing that his friends were sound asleep on their beds.

But as she paced through the Hall, she discovered something was not right. All the students there had placed their food aside, and their eyes were busy reading through a thick copy of the Daily Prophet; some even came to share their copy with five more pairs of eyes. Not a single sound came from their mouths.

It did not take Hermione long to understand the reason behind the Hall's silence. And when she did, it felt as if the weight of the world had fallen upon her shoulders.

Remus Lupin; a Professor, a Werewolf, and danger to all children.

Such was the headline of the newspaper, written in large, bold letters. It was accompanied by several pictures. That of Lupin, with sickened features and a strange glint in his eyes; that of Dumbledore talking with him in hushed whispers; that of a Werewolf, its jaw and neck covered in blood, as he took a bite from a wizard's shoulder.

Her eyes read through the paper; but not through the entire piece, just fragments of it.

It's a question I never thought I'd ask myself, but here we are: how in the world did a Werewolf end up in such a position? Although it is well-known that Hogwarts has had loads of problems to fill the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts in these past years, having in mind that no Professor lasted more than a single year, it should have never come to this…

They are unpredictable creatures, though dressed in good silk and of kind character when sane, it must not be forgotten that all semblance of humanity is lost once the full moon crowns the sky…

Remus Lupin is a man who's lived with his curse since he was a child. And he, better than anyone else, should have known better than to accept the position he was offered. He's to blame, of course, but not so much as Dumbledore, the so-called Great Sorcerer, who should have never offered such an important position to such an unstable man…

Violence, blood and death is all to be expected from a Werewolf, as it has been proven again and again…

Here, you can see the data about their attacks; the frequency and severity of them…

But we are talking about children! How low has Hogwarts fallen, I wonder…

The Board has already filed a petition to revoke Dumbledore's position of privilege; this fit of madness is the last straw…

The Wizengamot is aghast due to the recent events, and talks of an urgent meeting have already begun…

Now, whether the Chief Warlock will attend or not is also a question worth asking…

Dumbledore is irresponsible, a menace to the children, to their safety and education. And he should be held accountable…

Hermione closed the newspaper and threw it away; a rain of paper fell all over the table. Lupin's picture fell face up; his sunken eyes set on the girl. No one batted an eye in her direction as she strode out of the Great Hall. Nor did they as she let out a loud shout, full of rage and impotence, once she was outside.

And out there she came to face Ron, who was sitting on the first step of the large staircase which led to the upper level of the castle. There was a copy of the Daily Prophet by his side, and he gave her the hint of a mirthless smile when their eyes met.

"I've tried," Ron said. "I swear I did. But you cannot defeat a player who sets the rules of the game as they please. It's check-mate." Hermione then sat by his side, and they both did nothing as the castle woke up.

Umbridge had won. And this time, it was for good.