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.

63. Chapter 59 - Hit, hit, and sunk

Hello there, again!

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Evil is not something superhuman, it is something less than human.

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Chapter 59 - Hit, hit, and sunk

Dolores poured herself a cup of tea from the steaming pitcher. It was a fine piece of pottery, this one. Of a very elegant white, with touches of green and pink, those of vines and flowers. A gift from Lord Jacques, one her most recent and precious allies. She had finally risen into the ranks she truly belonged to. Atop of the chain, beside the greatest and mightiest.

"Say, dear Draco, why have you refused to become a member of my illustrious Party?" she asked the silent boy.

Draco just tilted his head, and for a brief second his annoyed character made an act of presence within his face. But he'd been trained fairly well into the social arts, this boy. And so he remained neutral.

"Because I find myself far too busy with my everyday life already." Ah, such a plain and well-thought answer. With specs of truth and lie alike. "Exams are around the corner, after all. And the electives are an added weight this year. Also, all I'm focused on right now is next week's Quidditch game. I will win the Cup for Slytherin."

Dolores lunged at the boy as the wounded fawn he was. "I see. Has it been a good year for you so far? I cannot help myself but to put an ear into the rumours. Too many voices speak of your solitude, Draco. I worry about you. Your father is a man I truly respect. A great man, and an even greater lord. And I see a lot of him in you."

The boy moved uncomfortably on his chair. Not so subtly as before. He was getting uneasy.

"I'm fine by myself," he said with a shrug. "My friends from infancy are not as good companionship as I once thought. Some are utter fools, others have become strangers and the rest are traitors. To be in such company, I would rather be alone."

She threaded the needle.

"Ronald Weasley laid waste to your plans two years ago, did he not?" And there it was, surprise in his eyes. Will they ever stop underestimating her? "He was sorted into Slytherin out of nowhere. You saw a ploy in his actions, and said so since the very beginning. No one believed you, though, so you took the matter into your hands. Into your reckless hands, that's it. Greengrass and Zabini left you, allying themselves with the blood-traitor. It was his fault your group broke up. You know that, right?"

"That group was doomed from the first day," he said instead. "We all hated each other. Weasley did nothing. He is not so important."

And she kept threading the needle.

"I can make them pay, you see. Weasley and Potter, but also many more. They've formed a group of misfits, as I'm sure you already know. Wrecking havoc through the school, now that we are free of Dumbledore's awful reign. And you know them quite well, don't you? I believe you've had your fair share of feuds with them. Help me, Draco. Tell me about them, and I will have them gone."

A glint of ambition in his eyes, though fickle. Had it also been of resentment, perhaps? Yes, surely so.

Still he stood up, eyeing her from above. How did he dare?

"I know where this is going," he said. "I don't trust you, Professor. Parkinson trusted you, and look at her now. I'm not a fool, unlike her. Nor a toy to play with and to then throw away once broken. I am a Malfoy, proud and regal."

That said, he just gave her a curt nod and walked away. Though he came to halt at the last second, his hand already upon the door's knob. The boy gave her a sideways glance.

"I wouldn't go after Weasley, if I were you. That bastard is a strange monster, whom even Nott is afraid of. But about Potter… He thinks you've run out of options to punish him, with all his dear people gone. Truth is you have not. Hit him where it will hurt him the most: his friends. That mudblood of Granger and that witless joke of a wizard of Longbottom. Perhaps even some other Weasleys. Or any other member of their stupid Army, if you know about their identities. That will sink him. I'm sure you'll be able to think of a good way to do it. Playing dirty is not something that troubles you, right? Oh, and make sure he knows it is your work. That won't be too difficult, I believe. He's a dubious bastard, after all."

The door closed after him. He'd been quite arrogant and disrespectful, this Malfoy boy. Lucius's son, all in all. Dolores did not care the slightest, however. In fact, all she could do was to smile happily. He'd given her a hell of an idea. A challenging pastime, in which the pieces needed to move subtly through the board. It was time to purge the castle from its vermin.

Rats should never stand to challenge a hawk, after all.

---

In April, Hogwarts sunk into a stillness which many students came to thank wholeheartedly, even if such a reason was the approaching exams. The hallways were way less crowded, and many of the encounters between the Party and the Army now took place in the safety of the library, where neither wands nor words could be crossed.

A domain in which Madam Pince ruled over with an iron fist.

It did not mean the Party had surrendered, of course. Nor the Army. Whereas Umbridge's lackeys tried their hardest to identify as many members as possible, the self-proclaimed rebels were more motivated than ever after the last lesson, in which, without a Professor to watch over them, they had become stronger once more. They moved like shadows through the castle whenever a reunion was held; braver and more confident than ever, yet without putting a foot wrong. And the rest of the time, they acted as regular students, as if they didn't know one another. It made the Party's task almost impossible.

Seamus had drawn more caricatures—showing an artistic excellence Ron had not expected of him—which the rest had been quick to post everywhere. Not only of Umbridge this time, but also of Macnair, Meads, Flint and some other important members of the Party. The twins had gone quiet, too. It was something their enemies had come to thank. Ron, however, could but shudder in fear. Something big was coming, he could tell. And he feared for his brothers to achieve their often joked about expulsion.

Still, it wasn't time to ponder so much about this. Even if there was nothing he could do at the moment, in this class of Charms.

"Isn't the wand motion of this spell a bit strange?" Tracey asked, watching how the layer of ice she had casted upon the floor melted.

"It's like drawing a pointed iceberg, of two sharp mounts," Ron replied with a shrug. "So I used to imagine it when I learned this spell."

Glacius was quite a simple yet useful spell. It surprised him they were to learn it so late into their formation, when the third year was about to end. It was a spell which could be used in combat, yes, but also in many other ways. There wasn't much difficulty to it, either.

"Glacius!" Ron chanted, his wand an elegant weapon in his hands. He managed to turn his table into ice, but that was as far as he could go. His partial Consumption—as Gerd had referred to it—was slowly getting better. Too slowly, in his opinion. He could now cast weak and simple spells, though. Not wandless magic, nor use the Sense as he desidred. Fortunately, Flitwick and the other Professors had been quite understanding of his problem. "Well, there you have."

"How do you do it so fluidly?" Tracey groaned. "I look like a buffon. You look like an artist."

"That's what practice makes to a man," Ron chuckled. "You'll get the knack of it in no time at all. I know it."

The lecture ended; all of them had managed to master the spell by then. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who oftenly only displayed such levels of mastery whenever violence was involved. A certain thought crossed Ron's mind. Could the Party, by any chance, be training its members just as the Army did? They had remarkable wizards and witches in their ranks, certainly.

He dispelled that thought away. Whatever they did, they could do better. The Army had a better teacher, and way more heart to the task.

Going back to the common room, he allowed Tracey to speak her mind about the Quidditch camp; arguing what she should've done and what she shouldn't have. Ron stood silent by her side, though a certain sensation settled within him. There was someone watching him from behind. And he already knew to whom these eyes belonged.

It was Theodore Nott.

Honestly, Ron had not paid much thought to him after their duel. In fact, the thought their already strained relationship could change had not even crossed his mind. There was hatred in his eyes, as per usual. But there was also something new. Something akin to fear. If not a foul-earned respect. Whenever Ron had tried to stare back at him, Nott had refused the exchange.

Ron feared his long rival was waiting for a perfect chance to strike at his back; to achieve his revenge. Nott knew he was unable to defend himself as of today, after all. Still, something told Ron he would not go that way. Nott wanted revenge, undoubtedly, but he wasn't one to attack from behind. His enormous ego, though now wounded beyond repair, would not allow him to do so.

So the day ended without any incident. And Ron saw it in the students' faces, how glad they were to welcome such calm days. To him, however, it felt as the calm before the storm. He could only hope to be wrong.

---

The day was finally here.

The sun shone, the wind stilled and the clouds disappeared. All the students had come to the Quidditch grounds, their eyes set on the fourteen players who would decide to which House the Cup belonged.

Tracey felt funny as she waited for the game to start, yet to leave the tunnel. She was nervous, even more than she'd been in the camp. She felt anxious, but because she wanted to hop on her broom and fly for the skies. Wasn't it a contradictory thing? And she could see the same dilemma in the faces of her teammates.

They tried to hide it from sight, certainly. But it was always the small details. Flint, ever one to bark order after order before the game, was as silent as a crypt. Graham Montague, who always loved to make a joke or two, had set his eyes upon his Nimbus to not raise them again. Malfoy was even paler than usually, holding his new Firebolt with a grip so tight his knuckles had gone white. Bletcher was nowhere to be seen; still in the bathroom, probably. And their beaters, Pucey and Bole, could but repeat the strategy to one another in whispers.

And even funnier it was the fact she trusted them wholeheartedly. These shameful lot, people she did not like a bit. People she even hated. And she trusted them! Quidditch truly was her bane.

"Come on!" Flint barked from the front. "Hold your heads tall and proud. Don't even glance at those bloody lions. Victory is ours today. The Cup is ours. I want to see Oliver Wood cry one last time."

They stormed out of the tunnel, jogging at a decent pace. It didn't take Tracey much time to break the first rule. She glanced at the Gryffindor team, who ran in parallel with them, about ten metres away. Harry's eyes met hers in a silent duel. He wasn't her friend as of this moment. Just a rival she needed to beat.

The grandstands roared alive once more. Most of the cheers were for the lions. People wanted to see Slytherin fall, after all; mainly because they had won the Cup for too many years in a row, but also because five of its players belonged to the Disciplinary Party. Tracey chose to ignore them, now.

They all came to stand in front of Madam Hooch. She had a severe look on her face, and her eyes looked sharper than ever; if that was even possible.

"I want a fair game!" she told them. "You may play aggressive. You may banter with your rival. But I want no dirty plays whatsoever. Glory awaits the winner, the Cup you all desire so fervently. This is your day, not mine. Do not make me intercede, I ask you." They all gave her a firm nod, to which she answered likewise. "Up you go, then!"

The snakes soared into the winds, painting the blue sky with specs of their green and silver. The lions remained on the ground, however, all gathered around Wood, their captain. Even from up there Tracey could hear their chants, until they broke into a mighty and euphoric roar, brooms all raised among them. She saw the fire in their eyes, too. A spoken promise of victory in them.

This was Oliver Wood's last chance to lift the Cup, after all.

Flint had prepared his team for a mighty battle against hungry lions. Which took place in the field was so much more than that. To resist Gryffindor's offence, it felt like fighting against a hurricane. Five minutes into the game and they had already scored three goals; two courtesy of Katie, another from Angelina.

"Here!" Tracey shouted.

The quaffle finally got to her as Montague flew past the girl, slipping away into the Gryffindor side. Alicia Spinnet came forward as Tracey's mark. And she waited, and waited, and… Once her defender was about to catch up to her, Tracey feigned a past to Flint, who'd come in her aid. Alicia bought it, and she could only eye Tracey in surprise as she rocketed past her.

From that point onward it was rather easy. She had Pucey and one bludger covering her, after all. Tracey found no trouble in her flight, quaffle tightly held against her breast. Until she came face to face with Wood. It would be easy. A shot she'd practised countless times. Her arm moved like a whip; a precise and fast shot.

Still it wasn't enough.

Wood seemed to stretch further than a player of his complexion should have. He graced the quaffle with the tip of his fingers, to later capture it in a second chance play. He stared at Tracey dead in the eye. "I will not lose today, Davies," he stated firmly. "I would rather drop dead than lose the Cup to you snakes."

Tracey didn't bother to answer him, so busy she was coming back to defend their play. Not as if it mattered, though, for Katie ended up scoring another goal.

The game kind of stilled after that. Tracey herself scored two goals as Pucey and Bole outplayed the Weasley twins. Montague scored another, yet Angelina answered with one of her own. Gryffindor's fury seemed to run out of fuel, too. They didn't look furious enough to devour their hearts and souls anymore. Now they seemed to set for their hearts alone. Goal after goal followed, until the advantage was reduced to ten points, and soon enough Tracey found herself damped in sweat.

"The hell are they doing?" Pucey shouted from above, having just batted a bludger away.

Katie had the quaffle in her hands, halted well above the arcs Wood guarded. Angelina and Alicia stood watch not so far from her, whereas the twins fought a war of their own against the bludgers and their rivals.

"She's wasting time!" Flint growled as he soared past them. "Put pressure on her, Davies! Montague, be ready to cut their counterattack!"

Tracey followed her captain. They trust Harry to capture the snitch no matter what. And so, all they need to do is to prevent us from scoring far too many goals. Gryffindor's aggressive start had exhausted their players. And the fact they flew on slower brooms didn't help either.

They preyed upon Katie as if eagles upon a rabbit.

Katie just passed the quaffle to Angelina and soared past Flint's mark. Shit! I'd rather defend Alicia, as she's the better scorer. It became a race between the three female chasers. But the time ran in Tracey's favour, because the closer Angelina got to Bletchley's arc, the more she'd be obliged to shoot herself. There was doubt in her bearing, and…

"It's a feint!" Tracey bellowed.

The apparent shot became a pass just when Montague jumped in between the chaser and the arc. Fortunately, Bletchey had heard her shout. So he soared forward to intercept the pass when it was about to reach Alicia's eager hands, much to everyone's shock.

"Forth, Tracey!" he shouted. "Fly for your bloody life!"

She did so. And just when she set her broom into the lions' field, the quaffle fell upon her hands. Katie tried to stop her, of course, but Bole's bludger was faster to cut her path. It was her against Wood once more. Tracey aimed for the left arc, and… She also shot the quaffle there. Little could the keeper do, who had thrown himself to the right arc, thinking of a feint.

And the game was tied.

Tracey was about to fly back yet again, almost out of breath. And then the grandstands erupted alive. It could only mean one thing. She looked up, to see two colourful flashes dancing with the winds. Malfoy's Firebolt granted him a much higher speed in straight lines, but Harry's Nimbus was far easier to manoeuvre around.

Still, it wasn't the brooms which made the difference. It was talent.

Going so flat into his broom that he almost became one with the stick, Harry took all the advantage he needed. It was done, Tracey lamented. All he needed to do was to extend his arm and close his fingers around the snitch. And so he did.

"Impossible!" she mused, surprised.

The snitch had halted so suddenly that Harry's fingers had gone past it. Malfoy couldn't stop in time either, and by the time the two of them turned around, the golden ball wasn't there anymore.

Harry wasn't the only one deep into shock. All the players had stilled, having trouble believing such an unexpected move from the snitch. All but one. It was Flint who carried the quaffle to Tracey. And it was her body which moved by itself when the red ball fell upon her hands. This time she feigned to go for a strong shot to the right. To finally lob it over Wood.

Another goal. Slytherin led by ten points.

Now it was the snakes who played aggressively. Their combination of passes and off-ball cuts, so well trained into automatization, proved to be too much for the exhausted lions; who had almost tasted victory a few minutes ago. Still they scored way less goals than they should have. And there was a reason for that. Oliver Wood had become an unbreachable wall, holding his team together as best as he could.

The next time the snitch appeared, Tracey made herself blind and deaf to it. All that mattered to her was the quaffle she carried in her hands. It was amidst an elusive flight to dodge the bludgers that she came to hear how the crowd gasped in shock once more. Wait, had the snitch just tricked Harry yet again? It did not matter. She just went on to score another goal.

Slytherin led by seventy points now.

"Time out!" Madam Hooch came down to the field. "Called by Gryffindor's captain, Oliver Wood."

Tracey went back to their side of the field, trying to regain what little breath was left in her lungs. Her slow flight allowed her to glance at Harry, who had just come down the skies. There was an awestruck look in his eyes as he stared at his own hands, as if in disbelief the snitch had yet to rest upon them.

She finally made it to where her teammates had gathered. "What happened this time?" she asked in a hurry. "Couldn't see much of the snitch, but I heard the crowd gasping."

"Honestly, I have no bloody idea," Flint confessed, then spat down. "This snitch is a crazy one. It moves like no other I've seen before. And I've seen plenty of them, trust me."

"All the better for us, right?" Montague cut in. "I mean no offence, Malfoy, but Potter is a much better seeker than you."

Malfoy's features remained neutral. Not even his eyes gave away any trace of his wounded pride. Nor did his words. "I will capture the snitch next time it appears," he said firmly. "I've figured out something. I'll beat Potter the one time it does count."

Those were quite the confident words, she reckoned. But all they could do was to take in them, then to believe in him. Malfoy wasn't one to make foul promises anymore. He was a much quieter boy. Still as proud and arrogant, perhaps, but one to willingly prove it with actions rather than plain words.

"We've sunk our teeth into their throats," Flint grunted. "Now it's not the time to let them go. Squeeze harder until they bleed. Squeeze harder until they cry. Squeeze harder until they break. Then and only then you shall let go of them. Was I clear enough?"

The time-out had done wonders to revive the lions. Their aggressiveness had returned to the field. Katie scored two more goals, Alicia scored a third. So did Slytherin. Two by Montague and one by Flint himself. It took little for the game to become a foul one to the sight, though. The passes, once so fast and precise, now suffered to even arrive at one's hands. The shots were weak and imprecise; easy for the keepers to stop. And the bludgers were free to roam the field, as the beaters could not keep up with their frenzied pace anymore.

The players were all fooling themselves and the crowd. Whatever they did, it meant nothing. Only Malfoy and Harry could put the crown atop their captains' heads. Because of that, they all halted and became spectators to the snitch's frenzied dance next time it appeared.

The two seekers seemed to fight against one another and the winds alike. And, once more, it was Harry who rose victorious. The snitch was flying in a quick zig-zag as it went down, closer and closer to the ground with each second. They all knew what was going to happen. It would get so close to ground it would almost become one with it, and then it would soar upward and away from the seekers. It had happened before in countless games.

Harry got a few inches on Malfoy. The two of them seemed to raise the tip of her brooms, about to command them upward as soon as the snitch did so. Tum, tum, tum; Tracey's heart beat. Tum, tum, tum; the seekers got closer to the ground.

And then…

Harry lifted his broom when it was but an inch from the ground. But the snitch hadn't gone upward, as they all had believed. Neither had Malfoy. It all happened in the blink of an eye. The golden ball settled itself upon the ground, its wings as still as a frozen river for a brief instant. Malfoy closed his hand around it. Then he crashed against the ground, his Firebolt snapping in two. There was silence, heavy and full, as the boy laid motionless.

Then he turned around to lay face up and raised his closed fist into the air, a golden gleam seeping through his fingers. And hell was set loose.

---

Harry could not believe what had just happened.

They had lost the one game they'd spent countless hours training for. The one game they've wanted to win like no other before. Not only for themselves, nor because their rival was Slytherin, but because of Wood. Their captain deserved the title. No one had ever put so much heart into the sport, inspiring his teammates to be better, to dream and be passionate. And yet they had failed to make his dream come true.

And all because of Harry, who had not been able to capture the snitch.

What had gone so wrong? He couldn't help but to ask himself again and again. Harry had always believed himself invincible atop of a broom. As if the winds gave him wings, whispering into his ear and caressing his skin. Many people feared it, flying at such speed in so dangerous a mount. He loved it; it filled him with joy and took all his problems away for a while. And he'd found in the snitch a kind rival to always test himself.

Not today.

What little noise there was to hear in the dressing room came from the showers; a constant dripping of water, as if it could erase their failure as it erased the dirt and sweat from their skins. There were no tears anymore. Nor shouts nor words of aghast nor confused questions. As if they'd already come to accept their defeat and its cold embrace; a veil of sadness over them.

Why? Harry asked himself again. Why?

Fortunately, someone finally put an end to the room's stillness. "How's Wood?" Katie asked as she bit her lip. Her damp hair fell all over her shoulders and upper back, just out of the shower. Her Quidditch uniform had been discarded long ago, but she still wore the red and gold of Gryffindor in her clothes.

"Trying to drown himself under the water," Fred replied sourly. It was one of the very few times in which they couldn't find any trace of amusement in his voice. "We asked him if he… Well, if he was going to be okay. He gave us no answer."

"I've never seen him so depressed," George mused. His knuckles were still red and swollen, having punched the wall just after walking into the dressing room. "Fuck my life! I don't think I've been this depressed either."

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised for the hundredth time. His tears had died, long dry by now. All there was left of them was the redness and puffiness of his eyes. He'd never thought defeat could hurt this much. "I should have captured the snitch. I-I don't know what went wrong…"

"Oh, Harry!" Katie lamented. She came to sit by his side, placing a soothing hand upon his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault. No one blames you."

"Maybe. But I do."

There was silence within the room.

"That snitch," Fred started, "it did things no other snitch had done before. Never ever have I seen one halt so suddenly. They are supposed to fly away from the seekers. They always do."

There was a looming accusation in his words. Harry had also thought of it, of course. He'd chastised himself, thinking it was work of his stupid ego. Because Malfoy would have never defeated him unless the game was rigged. But if others believed the same…

"The snitch was not hexed," Angelina cut in. She'd just come out of the shower too, dressed in a white, plain shirt and some jeans. "I thought the same too. That there was no way Harry had lost to Malfoy. So I questioned Madam Hooch about it. She told me that she'd run countless tests on the snitch before and after the game. A snitch she'd kept safe in a locked vault in her chambers. It was not hexed."

And just like that, the weight of defeat fell upon Harry once more.

"Are you not furious?" George asked her, almost accusingly.

"Furious?" the girl repeated, as if tasting the word. "All I want is to lay down, to sleep and never wake up. Furious, he says! A girl cannot be furious unless she tries to break her hand against the wall, it seems!" She left in a hurry, slamming the door closed after her.

"That was stupid," Katie chastised, her hand still atop of Harry's shoulder.

George seemed to sink into the bench he was seated on, ruffling his hair in frustration, "I know, damn it all. I just… I cannot think straight. I'm gonna stuff my stomach full of food and sleep for a week, I think. You coming, Fred?"

Fred rose up with a sigh, "Will you keep an eye on the captain, Katie? I'm really worried about him."

"I will."

They left, and their absence made Harry sink into his thoughts again. Why had the snitch eluded him so many times? Had he failed, grown too confident that Malfoy could never defeat him? Or was there more to it?

"I need a bit of time on my own," Harry said as he stood up. He grabbed his Nimbus and only halted for a moment to glance down at Katie; there was worry in her brown eyes. "I'll be fine, I promise. I just need to think. About the game and way more things."

It still was a warm and windless day outside; too hot for the heavy robes he yet wore. Harry regretted not having changed into more comfy clothes when he had the chance. He found no one in his way, fortunately. He didn't have a certain location in his mind, so all he did was to walk and walk, allowing his legs to carry him wherever they fancied.

They led the boy to Godric's Courtyard, into the steeped and old stairs of white and cracked stone. There was a place he could go, not so far from here. A little, wooden bridge which connected the castle to the closest hill. No one would look for him there, he reckoned.

Why? Why did the snitch halt so suddenly? And why did it come to settle on the ground, so still, so unlike its nature? He was too lost in his thoughts to note anything around him. For a reason he could not understand, however, Harry came to halt at the end of the roofed bridge. He looked backward, to the Courtyard.

Umbridge stood there, dressed in bright pink. She gave him a nod, a soft smile on her face. Then she walked away.

Harry knew what had happened now.

---

Dolores enjoyed the cool in the night in the balcony of her chambers; an ample space delimited by a hip-height handrail, of white and smooth stone, which ran through the entire surface. There was a cup of fine wine in her hands, its aromatic scent pouring into her nostrils with each breath. Her eyes set upon the clouded sky. Shame there were no stars to sight this night. She liked stars. They were bright and beautiful, often taking the night all for themselves.

She took a sip of her wine, enjoying its powerful taste in her tongue. Special wine for a special night, indeed. There were many things to celebrate, after all.

There was a knock on the balcony's door, well behind her. It was time to finish the day on a good note, it seemed.

"Come in!" she said without turning her back.

Alaine Baldwin strode into the balcony. She was a small and cute girl, a second year student from Slytherin. Blue-eyed, of dark hair which fell loose upon her shoulders and back. And those eyes, they spoke louder than they should have! There was hatred and rage in them, so very badly masked. Not so powerful emotions as those which could be found in Potter's eyes, but deep enough.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" the girl asked. She managed to control her voice much better, at least.

Dolores set her cup on the handrail, turning around to look at the girl. "I know for a fact that you are a member of the Army. An elf, a friend of yours, told me. They are not so trustful, you see. They can be swayed quite easily with a little… incentive, let's say."

It amused her greatly to see how the colour drained from Baldwin's face. Dolores hoped to see tears in her eyes too, but the girl managed to refrain from them. What she did not refrain, in fact, was the challenge within her eyes. Oh, she was a brave one!

"Who told you?" the girl asked in a whisper.

"Speak louder, my dear. I cannot hear you."

"Who told you?"

"Tell me what, exactly?"

"That I'm a member of the Army, what else could it be?"

"Oh, no one told me that, actually." The pleasure Dolores felt at seeing how the girl's eyes opened in shock could not be measured. "Elves are not so easily swayed, as I just said. They have some kind of Vow toward the students, in fact. In order to protect them and their privacy. I don't care much about them, honestly. Though I do care about your confession just now. Finally I have solid proof about you, Alaine. I could expel you, perhaps. I could make you serve detention for what's left of this year and the next one. Cleaning the latrines with a brush, a night stroll through the Forest… Unless you are willing to become my friend, that's it. I could pardon you and forget what happened just now. It's your choice, Alaine."

Much to Dolores's anger, she did not hesitate.

"Choose whichever you fancy." And her chin rose tall and proud. "I cannot be bribed. Much less by you, Professor."

This was not the look a rat should direct to a hawk. Never.

"You will come to my office tomorrow," Dolores told her, coldly. "Right before breakfast. It will be a quick detention, so don't worry about missing it."

"Is that all?" Baldwin asked. "Can I go now?"

"Off you go, yes."

The girl left without further preamble, and Dolores was left alone to enjoy what little was left of her wine. She fancied another cup, truly. But that would not happen. Special wine, for a special occasion. Tomorrow would be another day, though. A perfect one to hunt another of these annoying rats.

A perfect one to continue the play she had so carefully written.

---

Susan Bones was a brave girl. She'd always been told so by many people, friends and strangers alike.

Her aunt Amelia, the woman she looked up to the most, had been one of those. And many within her House too, even if others would argue that the concept a Hufflepuff could have about bravery was not a high one. Still, she could not stop her hands from shaking as she made her way to Umbridge's chambers, so early into the morning.

Susan had woken up to a faint nudge on her shoulder. Alarmed, she'd sprung up. Just to discover there was no one in her bed. There had been a short piece of parchment, though. Her summon to that toad's chambers, written in clean and elegant handwriting. And here she was, now. About to enter hell itself.

Harry and Ron had told her of this hellish room. So bright and pink it could almost blind one. She'd come prepared for it, and still it surprised her. Her eyes were quick to ignore such an awful picture, though, and instead settled upon the smiling woman sitting behind the large desk at the end of the room.

"You wanted to see me," Susan said plainly.

"I did," Umbridge nodded. "Come here, dear. Do take a seat." The chair she was offered, although pillowed, was incredibly uncomfortable; it felt as if it was made of stone instead of feathers. "I like you, Susan. I've been told great things about you, by Professors and students alike. Because of that, I am so very disappointed in you. To think the niece of Amelia, a woman to ever respect the order and law above all else, could go against Hogwarts's Headteacher and be part of a rebellion. I do wonder what Amelia will think of this."

"What rebellion?" Susan asked.

She felt as if ice claws had taken hold of her heart, which quickly spread a coldness through her trunk and limbs. There was anger within her, too. This woman had tried to use her beloved aunt against her. If only she knew that Amelia Bones thought of her as a foolish and awful politician…

"Playing the fool, I see," Umbridge hummed in response. "Well, let's get straight to the point." Sha laid a piece of paper on the table. "Come on, read it."

Susan grabbed it. She couldn't get past the first few letters, however. This was a letter written by her own hand and quill. A letter to her aunt, in which Susan had told her, as she always did since her first day in the castle, all there was to know about her life. And that included, of course, her belonging to the Army and the many activities she had carried against Umbridge and her Party. All in the sake of justice and fairness. Valours in which the Bones family firmly believed.

"That's written evidence about your doings; not only against me, but also against many other students," Umbridge pointed out. "Dangerous actions which entail a danger to many students' wellbeing. That's a behaviour which can be punished in many ways, dear Susan. Expulsion included."

Susan was at a loss for words. Then something snapped inside her. Umbridge had committed a very grave mistake here.

She pointed it out for her to see, "You are not allowed to do this. A student's correspondence is a private thing. So the law says. What you did here, Professor, is a very, very grave thing. In the past, there had been a few Headteachers who were discharged because of this, as they felt entitled to do as they pleased. You are to serve the School and its students, remember? It doesn't work the other way around."

Umbridge's grin widened. "You think a fool of me? Really? Us, Headteachers, are meant to serve the School and its students, I agree. That's what I did, in fact. There are a few exceptions to the rule, you see. Done in order to protect the students from themselves. If I am to suspect a student commiting a crime, I may even read their correspondence. If I am to suspect a student endangering others, so can I. The list goes on and on, of course, which includes things such as dealing with illegal items or substances; dealing with private and sensitive information from another student, like pictures. I believe I could charge you with the first two points."

Susan gave in to desperation, then. This couldn't be happening to her. She'd been so careful of her actions. Always seeking fairness yet without stepping past the line, as the Weasley twins often did. And she'd been so innocent to believe herself safe from Umbridge. In Susan's mind, even this woman had been bound to some limits she could not cross. It seemed she'd found a way to unbound herself from them.

Someone knocked on the door, then.

Who stepped into the room was no other than Alaine Baldwin; another founding member of the Army. Their eyes came to meet amidst their surprise. Wait! Don't tell me she was also caught!

"And here you are, dear Alaine!" Umbridg greeted, storing Susan's letter back under her desk. "Just in time." Her hand lingered under the desk. When it came out, there was a crimson quill in them. It was of very beautiful craft, but there was something to it which Susan didn't like one bit. "Do take a seat, please." Another pillowed chair was summoned into the room.

The woman eyed the two students once they were sitting. "This is a very unique quill," she started, showing it to them. "You are going to use it for your detention, which will be held every day at this hour. It's quite a simple one, really. All I ask of you is fifty names, which you will write in this piece of parchment. Those fifty names, it could be those of the Army's members. If so, you will get a rest day for each name you give me. Else, if you still feel so rebellious, you will give me your own names. And no reward will be given."

She turned to Susan, "You will go first, as you are the oldest and bravest."

Susan held the quill in her hands. It was heavier than it looked. She also dragged the parchment through the table until it rested in front of her. She wrote her name once. Nothing happened, save the fact the ink didn't linger in the paper for long. She wrote her name again, and again, and again. A faint itch appeared in the back of her hand. In itch which turned into a bother by the fifth line. A bother which turned into pain by the tenth line.

She glanced down, and discovered her own name written in blood in her hand. "A blood quill," Susan mused, the words flowing out of her by themselves. Her eyes raised in search of Umbridge, who simply smiled at her; softly, mockingly, daringly. "I cannot believe this! You will rot in Azkaban for this!"

"Oh, but will I?" she almost sang. "Let's cut a deal, you and me. If you are able to come up with enough evidence of this hypothetical crime of mine, which you may send to your own aunt for all I care, I will gladly rot in Azkaban. If you do not, however, well, I guess nothing will change, will it? Since you are a very intelligent girl, I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the fact that the law is quite strict in regards to memory revision or even the use of the truth serum. Much more strict than it is in regard to reading a student's correspondence. Oh, and given the fact there is evident hate toward me, as it can be found in your letters, your word might not be taken so seriously if you are to speak of this without further evidence. Cheaper accusations against powerful and important people have already been done in the past by lesser ones, after all."

Umbridge made a brief pause to scratch her chin, "Then, if you manage to come up with such evidence, there's also proving it in trial. Have I mentioned that I do have a seat in the Wizengamot? Plenty of my friends do, too. Oh, but that should not discourage you. Like I said, find the evidence to prove it, then we'll see."

She was right, Susan knew.

"You are the worst person to ever walk this planet," Alaine mused, eyes full of tears. "Why? Why are you like this? What have we done to you?"

"You? You did nothing to me," Umbridge replied calmly. "But the chain must be respected. A rat should never look down upon a hawk. Just as the hawk does not look down upon a dragon. I learnt that lesson long ago. You have yet to learn it, I'm afraid."

The next thirty minutes became ones Susan would never forget. She'd managed to refrain her tears of pain, and she could but sigh in relief when she finished her lines. Just to find out that it was much harder to see others suffering. Alaine sobbed as she wrote her name again and again. Fifty times, she did so. And then they were thrown out of the room, just like that.

As she walked through the hallway, holding a weeping Alaine close to her body, Susan glanced down at her hurting hand. She discovered then that her name, written in blood upon her flesh, had disappeared. And all which had remained was a regular, faint scar. A scar she could not use to prove a thing.

Umbridge had really thought this to the utmost detail.

---

Ron stood with his back leaning onto the wall, arms folded beneath his chest. And he had no idea about what to do.

In front of him, sitting on the last step of a short staircase, were Ginny and Alaine. The girls had fallen silent, after shedding a few tears and not so many words. It wasn't his sister who had wept, but the Slytherin. Umbridge had tricked her into admitting her belonging to the Army and, worst of all, had used the blood quill on her. The poor girl had carried that burden upon her for about a week, solemnly and dutifully. Until she finally broke down.

What Ron wanted to do was to storm into that woman's office and cast a Lux Aeterna on her, and then watch her charred body burn until there were but ashes of her. Obviously, he couldn't do that. Mainly because it would be unwise. Nor did he want to become a murderer, of course, but sometimes the thought was just too tempting…

His sister had sought him to help her comfort Alaine, as she had no idea what to do. Little she knew that Ron knew not how to comfort anyone. Not even himself. All he did, and knew to do, was to move forward. If that didn't work, then he was done for.

"It wasn't your fault, Alaine," he sighed. "She's a very intelligent woman. Hell, she's tricked me before. It was only a matter of time for one of us to fall."

"I will not snitch on any of us," Alaine managed to say over her faint sobbing. "Never, no matter what. But, oh! It hurts so much! That quill hurts so much! It's been a week since I was first punished and, oh, I dread each morning as I've never dreaded anything!"

Oftenly, Ron had wondered why Umbridge had not used the quill on him more frequently. The answer to that question laid on his hand. Where once some words had been carved upon his flesh, nothing but a faint scar remained. She'd made him write far more lines than she did to Alaine; twice the lines, and far longer ones, to be precise. But it seemed frequency was just as important as intensity to not leave incriminating proof.

"I know," he sighed once more. "And I won't tell the rest about this. That's for you to decide. But they will start asking questions soon enough; out of worry and distress for their dear friend. And you'll have to answer them one day."

Alaine gave him a weak sob in response.

It was Ginny who took the word, "What are we going to do, Ron? For much we fight, for much we train and prepare ourselves, we've achieved nothing. Nothing! We are losing our time fighting against the Party. Umbridge is the real problem, and we are doing nothing to stop her."

"I was one of the few who thought the Army was nonsense," Ron told her. "When you all were excited and motivated, I was hesitant. That it was us playing heroes, losing our time. And we've lost plenty of it in our fight against the Party, certainly. But don't you dare to say it was useless. Have you taken a look at your friends, Ginny? Most of them used to cry each week, when there was no one to stop the Party from bullying them. They don't do that anymore. Instead they fight, helping the defenceless. But, in the end, all our efforts will be futile if we don't stop Umbridge once and for all. On that, I agree."

"And how are we going to do that, brother?" Ginny asked in a whisper.

Ron took a step away from the wall, looking at them. There was faith in their eyes, though a faint one. Faith in him. Even when all seemed to be lost, they still trusted him somehow. He couldn't fail them. Not when he had already failed his sister last year.

"I will deal with her myself," Ron stated firmly. "One way or another, I will do it. Not today nor tomorrow, unfortunately. I don't know how much time it will take me, damn it all. But I will not be so passive anymore, waiting for her to fail instead of creating that chance myself. It has been proven it's useless against so clever a witch. All I know is that I will end her. That's a promise."

They gave a faint nod to his words, then followed silence. Not for long, though.

Footsteps came from above, where the staircase ended. This was an unfrequented location deep into the third floor, in which there were no classrooms nor anything of interest for the students to roam about. Ron himself hadn't known of this place before the girls brought him here.

"Be quiet," he hushed them, beckoning them to hide behind him as he took hold of his wand. Still he didn't draw it out, so it remained an invisible threat.

Who came to stand atop of the staircase was someone Ron had never seen before. A short boy, blue-eyed and black-haired. He wore the blue and grey of Ravenclaw, and had that air of apathy around him which most of the eagles shared. And also of arrogance, though not a cruel one.

"I knew you'd be here," he sighed, going downstairs.

"Hector!" Alaine mused, stepping out of Ron's shadow. "What are you doing here?"

It took Ron little time to appreciate their physical likeness. Those two were brother and sister, if he'd ever seen a pair of siblings.

"I'm here because of you, dummy." There was no fineness in the way he pulled a kerchief from his robes. Much less in the way she handed it to his sister, almost throwing it at her. "I told you, did I not? That your silly games would hurt you. And here you are, crying yourself into exhaustion in a place where no one may see you. Ah, what am I going to do with you, Alaine?"

The girl sniffed loudly into the kerchief. "Thank you," she said hoarsely. "Really." Then she turned back, coming face to face with the two dumbfounded Weasleys. "This is my twin brother, Hector. And these two are Ginny and Ronald Weasley. Two of my best friends."

"I know of them," the Ravenclaw said sourly. The way he eyed Ron, as if he was a funny creature, almost made him snort in disbelief. "I've shared lectures with Ginevra. And her brother Ronald is some kind of celebrity in this castle."

"How did you find us?" the redhead asked, a raised brow on his face.

"I've explored this castle from its depths to its heights, alongside my sister. I know her quite well, also. I knew she would come here, if she was to feel depressed enough."

"He's a weird one," Ginny mused into his ear. "Spends most of the time alone, in the library, with his nose buried into a pile of books taller than he himself. He has no friends, but it's said he has no need for them."

"I can hear you, you know that, right?" Hector Baldwin pointed out, to which Ginny could but blush.

Ron ignored their exchange, "And what are you doing here? This is quite the faraway place, you said it yourself."

"I went in search of my sister. I found her. And now she's going to walk back with me into civilization. I believe she's in need of consolation. Things older siblings must do, as I suppose you know quite well."

"You are just a few seconds older than me!" Alaine cut in.

"So I'm older, period." Hector took his sister by the hand, taking her upstairs. All she could do was to turn around, mouthing a silent thank you to them. Still did the Baldwin siblings halt when they were about to disappear into the hallway, and all he could see of them was their heads. "Oh, now that I remember. I saw a bunch of members of the Party walking in this direction. But there was this girl who sent them away with a lie. She's a Slytherin, of your same grade. Parkinson, perhaps? Well, anyway. I thought you should know about it."

That said, they left.

Seconds went by, in which they didn't utter a single word; so confused they still were.

"You said he was a weird one?" Ron huffed. "What an understatement! Even Hermione in her worst was much better at socialising than that little bastard. Hell, did you see the way he glanced at me?"

"He called me Ginevra," Ginny mused. Whether it was anger or disbelief which reigned in her words, it was something he couldn't tell.

Still, for much a strange boy Hector Baldwin was, he'd told Ron a piece of information which had caught him off-guard. Pansy Parkinson, helping him? Odds were that she didn't know he was here, thus her help had been but a way to make the Party lose their time. A petty revenge of hers, all in all. But all he could think about now were the ifs and the whys.

"Reckon you can go back to the Gryffindor Tower on your own?" Ron asked his sister out of the blue. "I might have something to do."

"Please, who do you think I am?" Ginny rolled her eyes. "I could do it with my eyes closed, dear brother."

Her words drew the hint of a smile on his face. This was the Ginny he knew, the one from their childhood. Not the frail girl Tom had used and then discarded like a broken toy. And this change of hers, though still far from ideal, was mainly thanks to Alaine's friendship. I really do owe that girl, Ron thought.

"Glad to know, dear sister," he said instead, a wide grin on his face as he ruffled her hair into a frizzy mess. It earned him a well-deserved slap into his arm, of course. One he welcomed with open arms.

"What about you?" she asked. "Is this something of yours a thing I need to worry about? You aren't so special, brother, even if you got a shiny medal at some competition. I would hate to see your pretty face ruined."

"I guess I'll find out soon enough!"

And soon enough it was, for it didn't take him much to find Parkinson. If there still was something of her left in that shell of a girl she'd become since the Ashwinder scarred her for life. Even at the height of spring, she still wore a sleeve on her left arm below her white blouse; there where her skin had burnt to a charred mess.

"Hi there," Ron greeted her, as if he'd bumped into her by sheer luck. "I didn't fancy you for a girl to roam these deserted areas, Parkinson."

"Oh, do cut the bullshit with me, Weasley," she hissed, coming to stand beside him. "Walk with me. I believe we have much to talk about."

"Oh, we do? Are we friends now, by chance?"

"Friends, he says! I hate you, Ronald Weasley. You were the one to start all my problems, two years ago. But there's someone I hate even more. A woman whose face I see every night in my dreams. A woman I fervently desire to see fall and crumble. I would lay waste to this castle and everyone inside if that meant her end."

"Those are powerful words," he pointed out with an impressed whistle. "Let me guess. Is her name Umbridge?"

Parkinson ignored his sarcastic remark, "You offered me a partnership not so long ago. You wanted to use me to take down her throne. And I refused your proposition back then, of course. Now I ask you if you or your good for nothing Army have thought of something to defeat that toad of a woman. Because I believe she has you all on the ropes."

"Do you want me to be honest? She does have us against the ropes, for sure. Even if my friends have yet to realise how fucked we really are. Now, have I thought of something to get rid of her. Well, I do have certain ideas. Dangerous and foolish, most of them. But there's a few which might work."

These ideas were just a part of the full picture. Umbridge needed to fall, undoubtedly. In a way that her life would be ruined beyond repair. She could not be just expelled from Hogwarts and have her entry to the castle forbidden for life. No, the entire world needed to know how awful a woman she was. How cruel and loathful. Until she was abandoned and forgotten by those she loved. Until she was to suffer all the pain she'd inflicted upon many this year; every one bit of it. Then and only then would Ron be satisfied.

"I've changed my mind," Parkinson said. "I do accept your offer of partnership."

"Why this sudden change of mind?" Ron couldn't help himself but ask, curiosity too powerful a thing.

"Because I've reached my limit," Parkinson confessed. "I cannot stand her anymore. Every time I bump into Umbridge, all I notice about her is her eyes. They way they feign her pity. And her soft voice too, so sickly sweet. She thinks of me as an ill child, Weasley. A broken toy she once enjoyed, and one she regrets not being able to use it any longer. I want to see her suffer and cry, all the more I myself did. Use me as you will, if that means her end. You were one to enjoy chess, were you not? Well, congratulations, you've found yourself a brand new pawn."

Ron came to a halt, his eyes firmly settled on a girl he despised. "Are you sure of this?" he asked seriously. "I might not be as cruel as she is, not nearly, but neither am I a white knight in shining armour. If you offer yourself to me, you leave me with no option but to make use of you in a way you might not like."

She too halted, yet did not turn around to meet his eyes. "I will repeat myself just once. If you promise me to end her, you may use me as you will. Farewell now, Weasley. Do think of me and my thirst for revenge."

Ron could but stand like a fool in the middle of the hallway, ruffling his hand through his hair. "Man, what a mess," he sighed. "Well, there goes another bullet for me to use. All I have to do now is pray for Umbridge to not destroy us all before I come up with something good enough."

---

Harry woke up when the night was still young. He'd rested little; his eyes felt heavy to open and even heavier to keep so. Still he sprung up, pulling open the curtains of his bed. He glanced around the darkness of the room. It was his ears which told him all he needed to know, though.

Dean and Seamus both stuck their heads out of their curtains at the same time.

"We are going for it then, aren't we?" the Irish asked, a nervous touch to his voice. The tip of his wand was set alight, thus the night was dispelled away if just a bit.

Dean had first to suppress a deep yawn, his face full of sleepy tears. "Damn right we are." He was first to stand up, as silent as a shadow. He glanced at Neville's bunk, the only one which remained closed. "Give me a moment to get dressed. The nights are cool still."

Five minutes later, the three of them stood in front of the entrance to the common room. Dean carried the Cloak in his hand, as Harry was too busy trying to read the Marauder's Map. He read through every hallway, from the dungeons to the Astronomy Tower. He found very few names, just as he'd expected.

Some older members of the Party here and there; those who'd been tasked to watch the castle once the night's veil fell upon it. There was Adrian Pucey and Vincent Crabbe just outside the Great Hall. Marcus Belby and Eddie Carmichael, ever the close friends, stood watch near the Ravenclaw Tower, not so far away from the lions themselves. And some others to whom he couldn't put a face to their names. A pair of students on each floor, at least.

There was one name which caught his eye, though.

Faith Gourcuff stood alone atop the Astronomy Tower; so she'd been for several minutes, since Harry first read the Map. She'd changed from one day to another, that woman. She still spurred them to fight and defend themselves, coming into their aid whenever it was possible. But there was a fog in her eyes which made her all the more distant. It wasn't unusual for her to lose her focus during their lessons, eyes set on what little piece of sky which could be seen through the window.

"Our path to Umbridge's chamber is clear," Harry told his friends. "Now or never, I guess."

Dean nodded, shaking the Cloak open as he pulled it over them. He was the tallest by no short margin, so he needed to crouch down a bit if they wanted their feet to remain hidden. "Let's go! Seamus, do the honours."

Seamus pushed the door open, carefully, slowly. So they went through it. So they closed it once outside. The Fat Lady remained deep into slumber, it seemed. "Nice!" the Irish mused. "First step, done. Man, I can't believe we are doing this!"

Harry did not share that problem.

It had been an idea of his, one labelled as a foolish stupidity by Hermione and Neville. That's why they weren't here, by his side, as they always did. Because they didn't seem to want Umbridge to fail as fervently as he did. Dean and Seamus did, though. In fact, it had been them who'd come in search of Harry; a glint of determination in their eyes, as if a growing fire.

Because Susan had told them of her situation. A moment of weakness from her as their squad had made their way up to the Room; a silent whisper at first which later became a confession. Regret had been quick to fill her eyes, but the damage was already done. It was them three alone who knew. It was them three alone who wanted revenge for their friend.

To Harry, there was more to it.

He simply knew that Umbridge was behind the snitch's strange behaviour. She'd cost Gryffindor the Cup. And she could go to hell with the bloody Cup, for all Harry cared. What hurt him the most was to see the shell of a man Wood had become. Once so lively and happy a boy, he hadn't uttered a word in weeks. She'd crushed his dreams. Not because she hated him, but because he was related to Harry.

So spurred they were by that fire, in fact, that all those hallways and staircases they walked through seemed to be gone in the blink of an eye. Here they were, a hallway from a door which led to hell itself; the lair of a rabid and evil beast. Harry came to a halt, and so did his companions. He pulled out the Map and gave it one last read.

There it was, a name which had surprised him to find in such a place. Walden Macnair was inside her chambers. Was he, perhaps, her guardian? Had she grown so paranoid, to need such a man watching over her chambers?

"What if she keeps the quill in her dormitory?" Dean asked. "It is one thing to search her office. Another to venture there, with that beast of a man here."

"If it comes to it, I'll do it myself," Harry replied as he closed the Map. "But let's not think of the worst yet. She's a very arrogant woman. Sees herself as a proud hawk, and thinks of us as pitiful rats. I'm sure she keeps it not so hidden within her office, so confident she is."

"We could also stay with you," Seamus said tentatively, gulping down a lump. "Under the safety of the Cloak, we could knock out Macnair. We could even lunge at her once the quill is secured. Scare her, hurt her, give her a taste of her own pill… The Cloak is infallible. You said it yourself."

It was a tempting thought. Oh, sure it was! Yet Harry refrained from it.

"No. Let's not overreach. One thing at a time. We'll have our fair share of laughs when she's put behind bars." Harry closed the distance with the door. His hand couldn't stop shaking. He put an end to it. "I will open the door. Don't cast a Lumos until we are inside, once we've scanned the office for any trouble."

They gave him a firm nod.

Harry then took a deep breath, and his hand raised. It graced the door, and he swore to hear a very faint click. His fingers closed around the knob. "Okay, I'm gonna do-" Harry let go of the knob and took a step back, dragging Dean and Seamus back. They let themselves be pushed, fortunately. And when the door bursted open, it missed them by an inch.

They flattened themselves against the wall, crouching down in a squat.

"Who was the fool, Walden?" Umbridge's voice reached them from inside.

A shirtless Macnair stormed out of the room, wand alight before him. His skin was pale and filled with gruesome scars, as if bite and claw marks. He glanced about, his cold eyes falling upon the three Gryffidnors. It felt as if some shady fingers upon them; their perverse touch with a promise of pain bond to them. Just to go past the three boys, thanks to the Cloak's shelter.

"No one's here," he grunted.

"That's impossible!" Umbridge finally stepped out of the room, dressed in a full purple nightgown. "My Ward is impeccable! There was someone here, and tried to barge into my chambers."

His wand pointed upwards, he moved it around. "Homenum Revelio!" Whatever was supposed to happen, it did not. "You said it yourself," the man grunted. "There was someone here. Not anymore. Whoever it was, they ran fast." The man eyed the hallway one last time, then stepped into the room.

Umbridge did not, however, and her eyes remained set upon the darkness of the corridor. Harry could hear her ragged breath from their position, and see they way her hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. It filled him with joy. She was in rage. Perhaps in fear too, even if just a bit. Shocked that someone, one of those she considered a rat, had dared to strike her at her very own lair.

After more than one minute of watch, she finally stepped back into her chambers, the door firmly closed behind her. The three lions didn't move for a while longer. Mainly because they wanted to wait danger out, but also because their legs didn't seem to obey their wishes.

Harry was first to move, taking a step forward, tentatively. Dean and Seamus could but follow him, at risk of the Cloak stretching past the point of covering their full frames. Stepping out of its shelter was something none of them wished for. Not uttering a single world, they crossed the hallway in a very slow stride. Then came many more corridors; empty and dark. It took them almost an hour to reach the Gryffindor Tower.

They only came to finally rest once back in the safety of the common room, faces damp in sweat despite being so very well-rested. They could still hear the Fat Lady's muttering from outside, cursing them and their lineage, so angry she was after being woken up in the height of the night.

"Macnair and Umbridge… are they a thing?" Dean asked suddenly, still in shock. "Lovers, I mean."

"Love?" Seamus huffed. "Did you look into his eyes? There was not a bit of fondness there, much less love. Hells above, I doubt that bastard is able to feel anything at all!"

"That's of no importance to us," Harry said coldly, pulling the Cloak off their heads. Gone its firm and soft embrace, he felt naked and defenceless. "We bloody failed! She was waiting for us, that bitch! We had one chance, and we just threw it into the bin!"

"And what comes next?" Dean sighed, going upstairs into the large hall. There was no one there, of course. He led them into a dark corner, where a few couches laid away from the gleaming tongue of the torches.

Harry dropped himself on a couch, "Anything," he replied. "This was my one and only plan. But I don't care. All I'm certain of is the fact I won't surrender. I won't let her win. Even if I end up expelled, I'll take her with me."

There was no hint of doubt in his friends' eyes, and that filled him with relief. He wasn't crazy. They too wanted to see Umbridge pay the consequences of her malice. If the other members of the Army couldn't understand him, it was their fault. If they had seen Wood's tears, if they'd heard Susan's confession, they would surely understand Harry.

That night, Harry had a lot of trouble finding sleep. All he could think about was his most recent failure; another one to add to the large pile. And all he could see, even in his dreams once he fell into slumber, was Umbridge's face. She wasn't scared or angry anymore. Her smile was a smug one, looking at Harry from above. No words were needed to express her contempt.

But still he heard them, "You are mine, Harry. You've been a bad boy. If only you'd taken my hand when I offered it to you… This is all your fault, so proud you were. Now, do suffer."

And he woke up at dawn, startled and sweaty.

---

The day started as any other would. No one seemed to know what had happened at night. No one made a comment about it, at least. But it felt strange, as if walking through a tense cord about to snap.

And snap it did, at last.

It was during lunch, with a Great Hall packed to the brim. Their voices, a loud and constant choir which could be heard from the other end of the castle. Perhaps their merry mood came hand to hand with the wonderful day from outside. Many students had already made plans to enjoy the sun and the clear sky, undoubtedly; trying to free themselves from the stress of the exams and the never-ending war, if only for just a few hours.

Harry himself kind of forgot his most recent failure, reduced to a faint voice at the end of his head as he listened to Hermione's rambling about her last essay, which was a few inches shorter than she wished to.

Umbridge suddenly rose from her seat, walking toward the end of the platform where the Professor's table stood. She cleared her throat loudly, and said with an amplified voice, "A few hours ago, someone tried to sneak into my chambers." The Great Hall sunk into silence, all the heads raised toward her. "With what reason, that I don't know. Not to wish me a good night, I presume. Unfortunately, whoever this fool was, they managed to escape without being seen."

She glanced at one table after the other, her eyes not to linger much in them. "Congratulations are in order, my dear friend, whoever you are. You better enjoy your success while it lasts. Because I will find you, if I haven't already done so. And you will pay the price, in a way you will regret what you did to the end of your life." At last she gave the students a dark grin; one with promises of pain.

If she felt the cold glares from her back, courtesy of the other Professors, she gave no sign of it. Not even when she turned around and they remained there. Just like that, Umbridge sat back to enjoy what little was left of her lunch.

Harry, however, had made a wonderful play of theatre; acting as if the matter had nothing to do with him. It was not bought by Hermione, of course.

She didn't make a scene, nor did she raise her eyes from her salad. But her voice did have a cold touch to it never seen before. "You did it, right? You, a bloody fool, did it."

"Yes." Harry took a short gulp of his glass of water, then took a bit of his roasted pork. "Someone had to do it, Hermione. To try anything at all. All things considered, it seems that if I'm not to move a finger, no one will."

She crushed a slice of tomato with her fork. "And still you have the nerve to speak like that. I cannot believe it."

Harry nodded. "Pass me a bit of salt and pepper, Dean. Thank you." Harry noted several pairs of eyes on him; all those around. Neville, who couldn't suppress his disappointment. Dean and Seamus, doubtful now, yet with no hint of regret in them. "Still I did it. I've reached my limit, Hermione. I've had her heel on my throat for so long that I cannot feel anything else. Wherever I look, there she is, with that arrogant smirk of hers. I don't care what happens to me anymore. I want her to pay, and damned be all if I don't achieve it."

Hermione finally raised her eyes from her food, just to fall upon Harry's. There was sadness in them. "Oh, Harry. You don't get it, do you? So furious you are at her, so blind to all else, you cannot understand you've doomed us all, do you? All we needed to do was to wait, to wait for our chance. Now she will come at us like the rats she thinks we are. A threatened beast is all the more dangerous."

"That chance is not going to come by itself, Hermione," Harry replied coldly. "Ron thought so, and there he is, unable to do a bloody thing since then. Hagrid was first to fall. Then came Remus, and even Dumbledore. Buckbeak paid with his life, too. And still we wait for that bloody chance. You do that. I'll try to end her in the meantime."

Hermione shook her head, all hope lost. So did Neville. And even Dean and Seamus showed a bit of repentance. Harry did not, however, so ablaze with rage he was; like a water pipe about to burst so frenziedly the water flowed through it.

Little did he know then that he would remember Hermione's words for the years to come.

---

The first blow came at the end of that same week, on the eve of May, right after a period of Potions they shared with Slytherin.

It was such a stupid battle, all in truth. A very evident trap, if looked upon in hindsight. Two against eleven; a doomed fight since the very beginning. A few hallways away from the classroom where Snape had remained, Crabbe and Goyle came out of nowhere to fall upon them, their wands alight with strange spells on their tips. It only took Harry a second to raise his own, already glowing red with an Expelliarmus in the making.

Not as if he stood a chance to do a thing, however. It was Ron who reacted faster than anyone else, his wand an elegant yet lethal weapon in his hand. Just a simple twist of his wrist and both Crabbe and Goyle were tied to the walls; hands stuck to their bodies so close they could not move a finger.

"The hell do you think you are doing?" Ron hissed at them, closing the distance between them. "To attack us so in the open? Have you lost your bloody minds? Oh, wait. I get it. There's nothing but air in here, right?"

They grunted and growled, but their mouths had been silenced by another spell.

Then a sudden force pushed them all against the wall, restraining lions and snakes alike there. Many wands dropped to the floor, free of those not so tight grips. Not Harry's, but it wasn't as if he could use it either way.

"No fighting here, my dear children!"

It was Umbridge who stormed into the hallway; like a yellow flash, as such was the colour she wore today. She eyed them all, raising a hand up to her mouth in a very believable mask of horror as she watched the strain her spell put on them. "Oh, I am so very sorry! I heard the commotion and felt the spells, and I lost control of my strength so worried I was to put an end to the brawl, it seems. Here let me help you."

Two steps, and there was a loud cracking beneath her feet. "Oh, what is this?" she crouched down, just to rise up with a broken wand in her hands. It was of ash wood, shorter than most and with a beautifully-crafted handler, or spiralling and raising waves. And it had been split in two, a thin, woollen-like cord of white shade coming from its core. "Oh, no! I'm terribly sorry! I didn't see it."

Neville whimpered, and all the heads turned toward him. There were tears in his eyes already.

Umbridge did too, still a horrified mask on her face, "Oh, is this yours, Longbottom?"

"What's happening here?" a voice snapped from behind. It was Snape, who strode into the hallway with a deep scowl on his face. He eyed them all, raising a brow as he saw all those students pushed into the wall.

Umbridge dropped them, at last. It was a tough fall, sudden and high enough to hurt his back. Harry paid no mind to his pain. His eyes settled upon Neville, who bolted up like an arrow to lunge at Umbridge. He seized his wand back into his own hands, and stared at it as tears ran down his face.

"M-My father's w-wand," he croaked. "I-It's b-broken?"

"Oh, don't tell me it was Frank's wand?" Umbridge had the nerve to gasp.

Harry understood little of what was happening here. What he did understand, however, is that she'd broken Neville's wand on purpose, for a reason which yet escaped him. He was about to rise up, a brewing storm inside him, but Snape came to stand in front of him, giving his back to the boy.

Harry was pushed back, then, and the boy found in the Professor's back a dark wall he couldn't pass through. "Don't be a fool, Potter," he hissed in a whisper. "Not more than you already are, that's it."

He could see little of what unfolded next. But he did hear plenty. There was Neville's whimpering, which rose above the awkward silence of the hallway. There was Umbridge, who took some points from Crabbe and Goyle as she gave them a talk against violence. There was a rush of footsteps and whispers, which came from all around them; early or late, witnesses always arrived to confrontations.

And then he became immune to it all. For the weight of blame fell upon him like a hammer upon glass, shattering it all, his fury included, with little trouble.

It was water clear to him now. Umbridge had set a cheap trap for them. By using two of her lackays to create a confrontation, she had the perfect excuse to meddle in and stop them all. And then she'd broke Neville's precious wand for the sake of it. No, it hadn't been for the sake of it. It had been to punish Harry. Because she knew it was him who'd tried to sneak into her chambers.

Why was Neville's wand so precious to him was a mystery. One he didn't care about. It was very special to his friend. And now it was gone.

When he stood up, still behind Snape's shadow, all Harry could do was to stare at his hurting friend. Minutes went by in what felt like a flash of time, his feet yet rooted to the floor as the hallways emptied. He saw pain, he saw surprise and even a brief semblance of euphoria after Crabbe and Goyle were taken away by Snape. All Harry saw was the ugly truth.

So did Hermione, who tried her best to console Neville despite not knowing what to do. Though she was quick to pass the task onto Tracey, who held Neville close to her and whispered soft words into his ears. They walked him back to the Gryffindor Tower. And the one time she'd glanced at him, he'd seen no accusation in her eyes. But he certainly heard those words she hadn't come to utter.

"I told you. You poked the beast and doomed us all."

And though Umbridge was also gone from the hallway, he could almost feel her lingering hand upon his shoulder. A reminder of the grave mistake he'd committed.

Ron came to stand by his side; he was the only one to remain in the hallway. "It was you who tried to break into her chambers, right?" he mouthed. "To steal the quill from her and use it as evidence of her brutality, I presume. Well, congratulations, you fool. Now there's a storm to withstand."

---

Umbridge did not allow him much time to reflect on his actions. She had to give Harry his final blow, after all.

There was an air of tension around Harry wherever the boy went. People tended to glance at him more than ever; always when they thought he wasn't paying them any attention. Even his friends and comrades from the Army. It was an unspoken secret that he'd been the one to almost break into Umbridge's chambers, it seemed. That didn't trouble him much, all in truth. What troubled him was the fact he didn't know how to act around his friends anymore.

Harry had no heart to talk to Neville, and didn't want to hear Hermione's chastising, for much he deserved it. And then he looked at the rest, and Harry grew extremely frustrated, because he saw little semblance of rebellion within them. Even Dean and Seamus, who had followed him into the beast's lair, seemed to have lost their will.

And worst of all, Umbridge simply acted as if he didn't exist.

Because of all of this, his feet tapped anxiously against the floor as he waited for the lecture of Defence to start. Hermione wasn't here yet, he noted. What if she was attacked? She never arrives late. The tapping increased, and he started to roll his wand in between his fingers, yet in his robes.

There was a knock on the door, and Hermione barged inside the classroom. There was an air of wilderness to her; face sweaty and red, with a ragged breath. She glanced around, then noticed Professor Gourcuff had yet to arrive. She sighed in relief.

Harry stood up when she was about to walk past him, "Are you okay?" he asked in a faint voice.

"What?" she startled. "Oh, yes. I'm okay. A girl bumped into me in the hallway and all my things flew around. It took us a while to gather them all. That's why I'm so sweaty and flushed. I had to run here just to arrive on time."

"A girl?" Harry questioned, suspicious.

"A first-year," Hermione belittled the matter. "Her name was Astoria Greengrass—Daphne's younger sister. She was in a rush too, on her way to the dungeons. I don't think there's more to it, Harry. Just a fortunate encounter."

Was it, though? Harry couldn't help himself but to distrust everything and everyone. The entire castle seemed to dance to Umbridge's tune, after all.

Hermione took in his distant glare, "Cut it, Harry," she said sourly after drinking a sip of her water canteen. She was about to say something else, he could tell, but thought twice and walked to her seat, by Neville's side.

Harry sat alone in that lecture.

It was a boring one, full of theory about Red Caps. He paid no mind to it. He was too busy thinking about his recent conversation. Hermione had told him to not give much thought to her encounter with Greengrass. But there were many questions in his head. Why, of all times, had Hermione bumped into a girl whom they've never crossed paths with? Just when she was alone, with no one to watch her back? Astoria was a Slytherin, a pureblood and highborn girl, educated in the arts of ruse and slyness. Was it all related? Or was he perhaps thinking too much of everything?

There was only one way to find out.

When the lecture ended, he was rather slow to pick up his things. Trying to act distant, as he'd done for the past days. It didn't take long for everyone else to leave the room. He was last to step out, and one to walk in the opposite direction to his classmates. He turned a corner, then sprinted away, toward the dungeons.

Fortunately, he came to meet no one in his path. And once he reached the depths of the castle, sweaty and almost out of breath, he hid behind a column. And he waited, though not for long. Their voices reached him first. A faint cacophony, full of acute notes. They were a strange lot, he noted. Not friends, given the way they all walked so far from one another. At most, a couple of girls and boys walked in pairs. And then, at the far end of the line, was Astoria Greengrass.

Harry took in almost instantly in the many differences there were to her and Daphne. He also took in the disgusted look she shot at her year-mates, falling away from them with each step. It made his task way easier. He just waited for everyone else to walk into the next hallway. Then stepped out.

"A word, if you may," Harry called when she was about to turn the corner.

Astoria Greengrass halted, surprised. But when she turned around there was but a cold mask in her face, a raised brow all semblance of emotion in her face. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry took a step closer. "You bumped into my friend Hermione earlier this morning. Was it a lucky encounter, as she believes it to be? Or is there more to it, as I do."

Her brow arched higher into her forehead. "Have you lost your mind? Tell me you just didn't make me waste my time for such a stupid inquiry. Oh, the nerve." She walked away, shaking her head in disbelief.

Harry spur into action. He cut the distance between them in the blink of an eye, then seized the small girl by her arm, yanking her back into the guarded hallway in a rather violent way. She let out a loud gasp, and when Harry made her face him, he saw shock and pain in her eyes. He let go of her instantly, taking a few steps away. Horrified by his own actions.

"I'm sorry…" he mused. "I'm so sorry…"

There was venom in her eyes now. "You are as much of a fool as she told me," Astoria Greengrass snapped, tears swelling in her eyes. "You deserve every bit of pain that comes your way, Potter. I wish I could see your face when it happens. A shame you'll arrive so late and miss the show."

It took him a few seconds to process those words.

"Hermione!" he let out a gasp.

The way he ran then was a feat he hadn't believed himself to achieve until then. The hallways went by in his eyes one after another, like bright and colourful flashes. All his eyes could truly see was the next tile upon where to set his foot. He did hear the turmoil first.

There were a bunch of students amidst the point where three hallways met, forming a small and round hall, as if a thick wall of flesh. The whispering was loud yet unclear. Or perhaps it was his frenzied mind which didn't allow him to understand a single word. All Harry knew is that he forged his way through the crowd with pushes and pulls.

He came to face a picture he could not understand.

There was a crying girl on the floor. A Ravenclaw, two years older than himself. Two of her friends were bunched to her sides, trying to soothe her. Professor Sprout was also there; she looked aghast and confused, wand in hand. And Hermione, she stood amidst that mess. White-faced, with a quivering lip and tears going down her cheek. Neville stood by her side, a few steps away, and he too looked shocked beyond words.

A too familiar sound reached his ears then. That of throat-clearing.

Harry felt the weight of the world fall upon him.

The crowd parted away to allow Umbridge a free path, as if clouds pulled by the wind to welcome the sun. For a change there was no smirk on her face. She looked dead serious; and such a sight silenced the choir of whispers.

First she came to halt close to the laying girl. "Hush, my dear girl," she said softly, crouching down. "All will be fine. Hush now, and take a deep breath." Her eyes raised, ignoring Harry and everyone else to settle upon Hermione. "I couldn't believe it when I was told. I thought of you as a wise and sensible girl, Granger. But it seems the foul company you kept instilled enough venom in your mind. To think you would go so far as to attack a girl just because she wore the Party's badge. That you would go so far as to attack a Professor when she tried to stop you."

Sprout tried to meddle in, "It wasn't so bad as you make it sound, really. It was a mere impulse, I believe. It was my fault. I should have not appeared so suddenly, much less from a point in which she could not see me well enough. The height of tension can confuse anyone."

"Do not try to defend the undefendable, Pomona," Umbridge warned as she stood up. "You are far too kind. And kindness can be a weakness if shown to the wrong person. She did throw a spell at you. She did try to curse and hurt Miranda. She did break a fair share of rules; not only today, but all through the year. Today's was just the latest and gravest affront. Now, is there anything you wish to say in your defence, Granger?"

"I…" Hermione croaked. "I-I… I don't know… Don't know… I…" Her wand slipped from her shaking fingers then, falling down with a soft thud and rolling away from her.

"That speaks by itself, I believe," Umbridge said sourly. "Come with me, Granger. To my office. You shall have a fair chance to explain yourself. In a calm place, away from prying ears and eyes. But first you must calm yourself. I will wait as long as needed. I don't want this to end so badly, unless you give me no other choice. A thing so grave as this…"

At last she glanced at Harry. "It is worth an expulsion from Hogwarts."

It all seemed to happen so fast and yet so slow at the same time. The crowd started to thin as soon as they saw there would be no more spectacle; not pulled by morbidity anymore. Umbridge took a shocked Hermione with her, and Professor Sprout went after them, still trying to defend her student. Nevilled followed after them from afar, like a ghost from the shadows. And Harry stood blind and deaf to it all.

There was a girl from Hufflepuff who sent him a sorry look. Her hand raised to his shoulder, as if trying to wake him up. She thought better and walked away, shaking her head. She only halted to crouch down and grab something from the floor. Then she was gone.

He only came to snap out of his stupor when he noticed he was alone in the hallway.

The place looked so normal it was hard to believe something so grave and strange had taken place just minutes ago. All which struck him as out of place were a familiar bag and several books, quills and parchments which had come from it; scattered all around the small hall. Harry grabbed Hermione's things from the floor, yet his moves felt so strange. As if he wasn't fully in control of his body. Like being moved by invisible strings.

It was then, once finished, when he noticed something amiss. There was no trace of her water canteen. An impulse surged through him, that of laughing as loud as he could. He had no heart to do so, for much he wanted to drown himself in such a crazed laugh.

His mind went back to the moment in which Susan, in a moment of weakness, had confessed to them the torture she'd been suffering for about a week. And then it raced back to the present, going through every event which had unfolded next.

Harry had always thought of Umbridge as a demon who knew no limits to her cruelty. And still it surprised him to find out how far her evilness could stretch. To think she had come up with such an elaborate plan, in which she had made use of so many subtle pieces without them being aware of it, it left him speechless.

And simply to punish him.

His walk back to the Gryffindor Tower was a cold one.

He heard the rumbling from outside; all those voices, raising their shouts to the skies due to an unjust thing. Or perhaps it was because they could not believe that Hermione could have attacked a Professor and another student.

Or the fact she was about to be expelled.

Harry didn't even glance at his friends, who waited for him beside a large and pictureless wall at the end of the common room. He dared not to meet their eyes. He just walked past them, only halting a second to drop Hermione's things on a table, head bowed so low it seemed to seek shelter into his neck.

Dean sprung up and ran after him, "Wait, Harry!" He seized the boy by his arm, making Harry face him. He could but take a step away after taking a look at his face. So defeated and numb. That of someone who had lost all hopes. "What happened to you, mate? We bloody need our leader! Without him, we are lost! Without him, Umbridge will win!"

"Umbridge needs to pay for what she did to Hermione and Neville!" Seamus cut in, face clenched in fury. "She's gone too far this time! Let's summon the entire Army and swarm her chambers. If we take her by surprise, we can restrain her and seize the quill before help comes her way. And if Macnair's already there, we will take on him too!"

Harry shook himself loose, "There's no hope, Dean," he said in a barely audible whisper. "Umbridge has won, simply as that. I fought like no other. I tried my best. And all I got was to achieve defeat after defeat; so many of them I lost count long ago. But it wasn't me who paid the price. No, that would've been too merciful. It was my friends who suffered from my failures. I will fight no more."

He took the staircase up to his dormitory, feeling too many eyes on his back. Their recriminatory stares, like a bunch of daggers upon his flesh. Yet they hurt way more than cold and simple steel. That pain, he could withstand. This, now? There was no withstanding this.

And so, he threw himself onto his bed. It felt so cold, so unlike how it usually felt. But the room was dark enough, the shutters tightly closed. All he could do was to close the curtains around his bed and to do the same with his eyes. Harry knew it would not protect him from his failures; their presence too heavy a weight upon him. But that way, darkness all around him, it was much easier to let go of everything but his pain.

Of that, he would never let go.

Harry deserved every bit of it, after all.

---

Now, the next few chapters will be some of the most important for the story. Like a turning point. I'm excited to finally reach this point, and about the challenge they'll entail. See you then, whenever it will be!