Chapter 42: Out of the Fire
June 20, 2003 – Friday
Great Hall
"I'm not going… I don't need the hospital wing… I don't want…" Harry muttered, his voice raw with frustration as he tugged away from Professor Tofty's steady grip. His limbs felt weak, like they might give way at any moment, but sheer will kept him upright. The Entrance Hall buzzed with whispers from the students surrounding them, eyes full of curiosity and concern. Professor Tofty, his bushy eyebrows furrowing with worry, kept a firm hand on Harry's arm, guiding him gently despite the boy's protest.
"I'm—I'm fine, sir," Harry stammered, breathless, his pulse pounding in his ears. The words felt false even as they left his lips, but he couldn't stop them. "Really... I just fell asleep... had a nightmare..." The admission hung in the air, fragile and bare, but Harry's mind was spinning with more than just fatigue.
"Pressure of examinations!" Professor Tofty said, his voice filled with a practiced sympathy as he patted Harry's shoulder with a trembling hand. The old wizard's touch, though gentle, seemed to send a jolt through Harry's already frayed nerves. "It happens, young man, it happens! Now, a cooling drink of water, and perhaps you will be ready to return to the Great Hall? The examination is nearly over, but you may be able to round off your last answer nicely?"
"Yes," Harry replied wildly, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape. "I mean... no... I've done—done as much as I can, I think..." His voice cracked, betraying the swirling anxiety he was barely holding at bay.
"Very well, very well," Professor Tofty said softly, his voice carrying a note of understanding as if he could sense Harry's turmoil. "I shall go and collect your examination paper, and I suggest that you go and have a nice lie down."
"I'll do that," Harry nodded, perhaps a little too vigorously, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thanks very much." His heart was racing, and his mind felt trapped between here and the nightmare he couldn't shake.
From across the hall, Dawn, who had been watching the entire exchange, hastily scribbled her last answer and handed her test to Professor Tofty as he passed by. The worried crease in her brow deepened as she gathered her things and hurried out after Harry. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft but urgent as her fingers found his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Harry looked at Dawn, his face tight with unease, but he said nothing. Instead, he tugged her along with a sudden urgency, pulling her up the marble staircase with quick, uneven strides. They moved through the castle's winding corridors, the echo of their footsteps lost in the hollow silence.
Hospital Wing
At last, Harry flung open the double doors of the hospital wing, the force of his entrance startling Madam Pomfrey, who let out a sharp shriek of alarm.
"Potter! Summers!" Madam Pomfrey barked, her hands clutching her apron as she eyed the two of them with disapproval. "What do you two think you're doing, bursting in here like that?"
"I need to see Professor McGonagall," Harry gasped, his chest heaving as if the very words cost him all his strength. "Now... it's urgent!"
Madam Pomfrey's expression softened into something akin to sorrow as she shook her head. "She's not here, Potter," she said quietly, her voice laced with regret. "She was transferred to St Mungo's this morning. Four Stunning Spells straight to the chest at her age? It's a wonder they didn't kill her."
"She's... gone?" Harry's voice came out in a stunned whisper, the words barely forming as the shock set in. His mind felt numb, as though everything around him had slowed to a crawl. The stark reality of Madam Pomfrey's words hit him like a blow to the chest, leaving him disoriented. He stood frozen, his wide eyes locked onto Madam Pomfrey, searching for some kind of reassurance, but finding none. The truth was laid bare, and it felt heavier than he could bear.
Just outside the dormitory, the bell rang, its chime a strange contrast to the heaviness in the air. The sound was distant, almost hollow in Harry's ears, like it belonged to another world. Dawn, standing beside him, watched him closely, concern clouding her face. Harry hadn't uttered a word about why he needed to see Professor McGonagall, and now, with her gone, his silence stretched on, as if something inside him had shut down.
"I don't wonder you're shocked, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, her voice growing sharp with a mixture of frustration and outrage. "As if one of them could have Stunned Minerva McGonagall face-on by daylight! Cowardice, that's what it was... despicable cowardice..." Her hands balled into fists, her eyes blazing with indignation. "If I wasn't worried what would happen to you students without me, I'd resign in protest."
"Yes," Harry replied, his voice sounding distant, almost hollow, as though he hadn't truly heard her. His mind was elsewhere, swirling in a maelstrom of thoughts that refused to settle.
Corridors of Hogwarts
Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel, pulling Dawn with him as he stumbled out of the hospital wing and into the bustling corridor. The contrast between the quiet tension inside and the chaos of students outside was jarring, but Harry barely noticed. He stood in the middle of the corridor, still dazed, as students bustled around him, their voices and laughter muffled like background noise.
Dawn looked at him with growing worry, her brows furrowed in concern. "Harry, what's going on?" she asked, her voice soft yet urgent, desperate for answers that Harry seemed too distracted to provide.
Harry blinked, finally turning to meet her gaze, but his mind was racing, thoughts jumbled and incomplete. "Go find Buffy," he said abruptly, his voice tense. "Tell her I need to see her. I will be in her suite momentarily as soon as I find Ron and Hermione."
Dawn nodded quickly, sensing the urgency in his tone. She didn't ask any further questions, instead darting off into the sea of students, her figure disappearing down the hallway as Harry watched her go for only a moment.
He took a deep breath, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a suffocating force. With renewed determination, he tore off in the opposite direction, his feet moving faster than his mind. The corridors blurred around him as he searched, dodging past students, his heart pounding not just from exertion, but from the rising dread that gnawed at him.
Finally, he spotted Ron and Hermione on the marble staircase, making their way up, their familiar faces a small relief amidst the chaos in his head.
"Harry!" Hermione's voice rang out, sharp with alarm as she hurried towards him, her face a mask of panic. Her wide eyes scanned him frantically, as if searching for signs of injury or illness. "What happened? Are you all right? Are you ill?" Her questions tumbled out, barely giving her room to breathe. Her hands twitched nervously, as if she was ready to grab hold of him at any moment, afraid he might collapse.
"Where have you been?" Ron's voice was just as urgent, his brows knitted together in confusion. He looked Harry up and down, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with mounting concern.
"Come with me," Harry interrupted quickly, his voice strained with a sense of urgency that sent a ripple of anxiety through his friends. He glanced around, lowering his voice but keeping it firm. "Come on, I've got to tell you something."
Without another word, Harry spun on his heel, leading them with hurried strides down the castle corridors, his heart thudding in his chest. His mind raced ahead of him, replaying the terrifying images that had invaded his sleep. He couldn't shake the sight of Sirius—trapped, tortured, his fate hanging by a thread.
Buffy's Suite
As they reached Buffy's suite, Harry gave the password as the portrait swung open, his nerves wound tight as he realized Buffy and Dawn hadn't arrived yet.
"Voldemort's got Sirius," he said, his voice low but intense, the weight of the revelation dropping like a bomb.
Ron's face went slack with shock, his eyes widening as if he hadn't quite heard correctly. "What?" he whispered, disbelief etched into every syllable.
"How d'you—?" Hermione began, but her voice faltered as the horror of Harry's words sunk in.
"Saw it," Harry replied grimly, his hands clenched into fists as he recalled the vision, the pain of it still fresh in his mind. "Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam."
"But—but where? How?" Hermione stammered, her face going stark white. She looked like the ground beneath her had shifted, and she couldn't find her footing. Her mind raced for answers, but she was grasping at nothing, unable to comprehend the gravity of what Harry was saying.
"I dunno how," Harry said, frustration bubbling beneath his words as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "But I know exactly where." He took a breath, trying to steady himself, but the urgency in his voice was undeniable. "There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls, and they're at the end of row ninety-seven... he's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there..." His voice shook with desperation now. "He's torturing him... said he'll end by killing him! How're we going to get there?"
The room fell into a thick, suffocating silence. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, their minds spinning as they tried to make sense of it all. The reality of what Harry was telling them settled in slowly, like a cold weight in their stomachs.
Finally, Ron's voice broke the silence, though it trembled with uncertainty. "G-get there?" he repeated, as if the words themselves were hard to grasp.
"Get to the Department of Mysteries, so we can rescue Sirius!" Harry said loudly, his frustration boiling over, his fists clenched tightly by his sides. His heart pounded in his chest, and his eyes were wide with determination. There was no time to waste—Sirius's life hung in the balance, and they were his only hope.
"But—Harry..." Ron's voice was barely above a whisper, the weight of everything bearing down on him.
"What? What?" Harry snapped, his patience hanging by a thread. His eyes darted between his friends, desperate for them to understand the urgency he felt, the fear that was gnawing at his insides.
"Harry," Hermione said, her voice shaky, her expression taut with worry. She took a cautious step towards him, her eyes filled with apprehension. "Er... how... how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realizing he was there?"
Harry's frustration surged, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "How do I know?" he bellowed, his voice echoing harshly off the walls. "The question is how we're going to get in there!"
"But... Harry, think about this," Hermione urged, her voice pleading, as if she could pull him back from the edge of his panic. She stepped closer still, her brow furrowed with anxiety. "It's five o'clock in the afternoon... the Ministry of Magic must be full of workers... how would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen? Harry..." She paused, her voice lowering, trying to make him see the impossibility of it all. "They're probably the two most wanted wizards in the world... you think they could get into a building full of Aurors undetected?"
Harry's chest heaved as the desperation clawed at him. His mind was a whirl of chaotic thoughts, each one more frantic than the last. "I dunno, Voldemort used an Invisibility Cloak or something!" he shouted, the words spilling out in a furious rush. "Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has always been completely empty whenever I've been —"
"You've never been there, Harry," Hermione interrupted quietly, her voice trembling as she looked at him with wide, worried eyes. "You've dreamed about the place, that's all."
"They're not normal dreams!" Harry roared, stepping towards her, the anger and frustration boiling over. He was inches from her now, his voice harsh and desperate as he shouted in her face. "How d'you explain Ron's dad then, what was all that about, how come I knew what had happened to him? You saw it also, remember?" His breath was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he relived that moment in his mind—the fear, the helplessness, the undeniable reality of it.
Ron shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between Hermione and Harry. "He's got a point," he said quietly, as if trying to find some solid ground amidst the growing tension. His eyes lingered on Hermione, hoping she'd see what Harry was clinging to.
Hermione bit her lip, her face twisting with frustration and desperation. "But this is just—just so unlikely!" she exclaimed, her voice rising as her own fear began to surface. She ran a hand through her bushy hair, her mind racing for a solution, something that made sense. "Harry, how on earth could Voldemort have got hold of Sirius when he's been in Grimmauld Place all the time?"
"Sirius might've cracked and just wanted some fresh air," Ron said, his voice heavy with worry. He looked at Harry, his face tight with concern, the weight of their situation settling in. "He's been desperate to get out of that house for ages—" His words were rushed, as if he were trying to convince not just Harry, but himself, that there was some logical explanation for what Harry had seen.
"But why," Hermione pressed, refusing to let go of her doubts. Her voice was tense, her mind racing for a thread of logic. "Why on earth would Voldemort want to use Sirius to get the weapon, or whatever the thing is?" Her face was pale, her expression sharp with confusion. She was grasping for some understanding in all of this, her frustration rising as none of it made sense to her. Hermione's voice was laced with fear, not just for Sirius but for all of them if they were wrong.
"I dunno, there could be loads of reasons!" Harry shouted back, his voice full of raw emotion, his patience wearing thin. His fists clenched as he paced the room, his thoughts spinning wildly. "Maybe Sirius is just someone Voldemort doesn't care about seeing hurt—" The words tasted bitter in his mouth, the idea of Sirius being used so cruelly twisting something deep inside him. His chest heaved as he glared at Hermione, willing her to understand, to believe him.
Ron, who had been silent for a moment, suddenly spoke in a hushed, almost startled tone. "You know what, I've just thought of something," he said, glancing at Harry and Hermione as if piecing together a puzzle. "Sirius's brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon!" His voice carried a strange mixture of excitement and dread, as though this theory, however flimsy, offered some clarity in the chaos.
"Yeah—and that's why Dumbledore's been so keen to keep Sirius locked up all the time!" Harry added, the realization hitting him like a wave. His mind latched onto this new idea, his heart pounding with a sense of urgency. It all seemed to fit now, Sirius's frustration, Dumbledore's insistence on keeping him hidden. The pieces were falling into place, and Harry felt a surge of adrenaline.
But Hermione wasn't convinced. "Look, I'm sorry," she cried, her voice breaking through their hurried theories, her face a mix of desperation and fear. She looked between Harry and Ron, her hands shaking slightly as she spoke. "But neither of you is making sense, and we've got no proof for any of this, no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there—" Her voice trembled, the rational side of her brain screaming that this was too dangerous, too uncertain. She wanted to believe Harry, but the risks were too great, and the evidence too thin.
"Hermione, Harry's seen them!" Ron said, turning on her with a fierce look, his voice filled with frustration. His loyalty to Harry was unwavering, but even he could feel the weight of Hermione's words. He stepped closer to her, his face tight with determination, willing her to trust what Harry had seen.
"OK," Hermione said, her voice a mixture of fear and resolve as she took a deep breath. She wasn't backing down, but the tension between them was palpable. She looked at Harry, her eyes filled with concern, as if she knew what she was about to say might hurt him. "I've just got to say this—" Her voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on, unable to hold it back any longer.
"What?" Harry snapped, turning to her, his patience nearly gone. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, as if every second wasted was a second too long.
"You… this isn't a criticism, Harry!" Hermione began, her words rushed, stumbling over themselves as she tried to soften the blow. "But you do… sort of… I mean—don't you think you've got a bit of a—a—saving-people thing?" Her voice was gentle, but the words hung in the air like a heavy truth.
Harry glared at her, his green eyes flashing dangerously. His fists clenched at his sides, and his body was rigid with barely-contained frustration. "And what's that supposed to mean, a 'saving-people thing'?" His voice was sharp, each word cutting through the tension that hung thick in the air. He stared at Hermione, waiting for an explanation, but already feeling the sting of what she was implying.
Hermione bit her lip, looking more apprehensive than ever. Her eyes flicked nervously from Harry to Ron and back again, clearly dreading the conversation she had just started. "Well… you…" she stammered, her voice softening as if trying to cushion the blow. "I mean… last year, for instance… in the lake… during the Tournament…" Her voice grew smaller with each word, as though the memory might defuse Harry's anger, but instead, it only seemed to harden his gaze. "You shouldn't have… I mean, you didn't need to save that little Delacour girl… you got a bit… carried away… I mean, it was really great of you and everything. Everyone thought it was a wonderful thing to do—"
"That's funny," Harry interrupted, his voice cold and sharp like broken glass, "because I definitely remember Ron saying I'd wasted time acting the hero… is that what you think this is?" He took a step closer, his breath coming out harshly as he tried to hold back the anger welling up inside him. "You reckon I want to act the hero again?"
Hermione's face drained of color, and she shook her head frantically, her hands flying up in defense. "No, no, no!" she cried, looking aghast at the thought. "That's not what I mean at all!" Her voice trembled, desperate to make him understand, but she could see the storm brewing in Harry's eyes, and it terrified her.
"Well, spit out what you've got to say, because we're wasting time here!" Harry shouted, his patience fraying. His heart pounded with frustration, his body tense with the urgency he felt to act before it was too late. He couldn't afford to stand around and argue while Sirius was in danger.
Hermione swallowed hard, gathering her thoughts as quickly as she could, knowing she had to say this—no matter how hard it was for Harry to hear. "I'm trying to say—Voldemort knows you, Harry!" she said, her voice wavering with emotion but firm in her conviction. "He took Ginny down into the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it's the kind of thing he does, he knows you're the—the sort of person who'd go to Sirius's aid!" She looked at him with wide, pleading eyes, her words tumbling out in a rush. "What if he's just trying to get you into the Department of Myst—?"
"Hermione, it doesn't matter if he's done it to get me there or not!" Harry snapped, cutting her off. His voice was fierce, the tension in him growing with every second. "They've taken McGonagall to St Mungo's, Buffy's the only one of the Order left at Hogwarts who we can tell, and even she can't make reports anymore, am I right?" His question was sharp, almost accusing, as if daring her to say otherwise.
Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the situation. She nodded reluctantly, her voice small but resigned. "Umbridge is watching her Floo now, yes."
"So if we don't go, Sirius is dead!" Harry's voice rang out in the room, filled with a desperate certainty. His chest heaved with the force of his words, the conviction behind them clear. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to act, to save Sirius before it was too late.
"But Harry—what if your dream was—was just that, a dream?" Hermione asked quietly, her voice breaking slightly.
"You don't get it!" Harry shouted at Hermione, his voice echoing off the stone walls, raw with frustration and desperation. His whole body was tense, trembling with the force of his emotions. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath coming fast as if he'd just run a mile. "I'm not having nightmares, I'm not just dreaming! What d'you think all the Occlumency was for, why d'you think Dumbledore wanted me prevented from seeing these things?" His voice was almost shaking now, his anger barely controlled. "Because they're real, Hermione—Sirius is trapped, I've seen him. Voldemort's got him, and no one else knows, and that means we're the only ones who can save him!" His voice rose, fierce and determined, a fire burning in his eyes. "And if you don't want to do it, fine, but I'm going, understand?"
He rounded on Ron, his temper still flaring, unable to stop now that it had all come pouring out. "And if I remember rightly, you didn't have a problem with my saving-people thing when it was you I was saving from the Dementors, or—" His voice was hard, biting off the words. He turned back to Hermione, his frustration brimming over. "—when it was your sister I was saving from the Basilisk—" His eyes flashed dangerously as he looked at her again. "—or when Dawn's life was in danger from Glory."
Ron flushed, his ears turning pink, but he snapped back without hesitation. "I never said I had a problem!" he said heatedly, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. The intensity of the moment weighed heavily between them, and for a second, it seemed like everything might explode.
Hermione looked taken aback, her expression shifting from shock to a mix of guilt and concern. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but hesitated. Harry was right, and she knew it. She had never doubted him when it came to Dawn—she was grateful that Harry was there, that he had her sister's back. But now… "But Harry, you've just said it—Dumbledore wanted you to learn to shut these things out of your mind," she said, her voice softer, almost pleading. "If you'd done Occlumency properly, you'd never have seen this—"
"IF YOU THINK I'M JUST GOING TO ACT LIKE I HAVEN'T SEEN—" Harry's voice was like a thunderclap, cutting across Hermione's words as he glared at her. His fists clenched, his chest heaving with the force of his emotions. He couldn't believe she wasn't getting it—this was Sirius. He wouldn't—couldn't—ignore that.
"Sirius told you there was nothing more important than you learning to close your mind!" Hermione interrupted, her voice sharp with urgency. She knew she had to get through to him somehow, had to make him see what was at stake. But her words only seemed to fuel the fire in Harry's eyes.
"WELL, I EXPECT HE'D SAY SOMETHING DIFFERENT IF HE KNEW WHAT I'D JUST—" Harry began, his voice rising again, but before he could finish, the portrait hole to Buffy's suite swung open with a creak.
All three of them whipped around, startled, as Dawn, Buffy, Ginny, and Luna walked in. The tension in the air was palpable, and for a moment, no one spoke. Harry's eyes narrowed, his frustration shifting its focus.
"Dawn," Harry snapped, his voice sharp with irritation, "I thought you were just getting Buffy. Why are Ginny and Luna here?" His voice was cold, clipped, barely masking his anger. He didn't have time for this—he couldn't deal with more people getting involved, complicating things.
Dawn sighed, clearly expecting his reaction, but she stood her ground. "They overheard Buffy and me talking on our way back," she said, her voice calm but firm. "They want to help."
"Well, they can't," said Harry shortly, his tone final. His gaze hardened as he looked at Dawn, then at the others.
"You're being rather rude, you know," said Luna serenely, her dreamy voice cutting through the rising tension in the room like a calm breeze. She gazed at Harry with her usual unruffled expression, as though his sharpness hadn't phased her in the slightest. Her large, protuberant eyes blinked slowly, observing the situation with a calm detachment that seemed almost alien in the midst of the frantic energy swirling around them.
Harry swore under his breath and turned away, running his hands through his messy hair, pulling at the strands as frustration coursed through him like wildfire. His heart was pounding with urgency, every beat reminding him of Sirius trapped, tortured, needing him now. Every second wasted felt like an eternity, a step further from rescuing his godfather.
"Wait," said Hermione suddenly, her voice urgent and cutting through the chaos in Harry's mind. "Wait… Harry, they can help."
Harry and Ron both looked at her, their expressions shifting from confusion to skepticism. Harry's impatience was palpable, his jaw clenched tight as he struggled to reign in the surge of emotions that threatened to boil over. He was in no mood to entertain more arguments or delays. His eyes, dark and filled with desperation, bore into Hermione, waiting for her to explain herself.
"Listen," Hermione said, her tone quick and pleading. There was a sharp edge of fear in her voice now, and she stepped closer to Harry, her face pale with determination. "Harry, we need to establish whether Sirius really has left Headquarters."
"I've told you, I saw—" Harry began fiercely, his voice thick with frustration and a stubborn certainty. He could feel his pulse quicken again, the urgency gnawing at him with every word. Why couldn't they just understand? He knew what he'd seen, what Voldemort was doing to Sirius.
Buffy's eyes went wide in realization. The gravity of the situation hit her fully now, and she glanced at Harry with alarm. "Dang," she muttered, shaking her head. "Now I wish I hadn't burned that bridge with Umbridge. I could have used the Floo to contact Sirius." Her face twisted with regret, knowing her strained relationship with the Ministry official had closed off that avenue of communication.
Hermione's expression softened but her desperation only grew. She took a step closer to Harry, her voice trembling now. "Harry, I'm begging you, please!" she implored, her brown eyes wide with worry, shimmering as if she was on the verge of tears. "Please, let's just check that Sirius isn't at home before we go charging off to London. If we find out he's not there, then I swear I won't try to stop you." Her voice cracked slightly, but her resolve was clear. "I'll come, I'll d—do whatever it takes to try and save him."
Harry's fists clenched tighter at his sides, his knuckles white. The internal battle raging within him was visible on his face, torn between his instinct to act and the possibility that Hermione might be right. His breath was coming fast and shallow, his heart still hammering with the thought of Sirius being tortured now.
"Sirius is being tortured now!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with emotion. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, filled with anger and fear. "We haven't got time to waste."
Buffy stepped forward, placing a firm but gentle hand on Harry's arm, grounding him for just a moment. Her voice, calm but with an underlying strength, broke the tension. "Hermione is right, Harry," Buffy said, her blue eyes serious as they met his. "What if it's a trick? We've got to check, we've got to be sure."
"How?" Harry demanded, his voice sharp with impatience, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. His eyes darted between them, his mind racing for any plan that didn't involve waiting. The desperation in him was palpable, an urgent storm threatening to spill over if they didn't act now.
"We'll have to use Umbridge's fire and see if you and I can contact him," said Dawn, her voice calm but firm as she met Harry's gaze. There was no hesitation in her tone, only the steady resolve that Harry knew all too well from her and Buffy. She glanced at the others, quickly mapping out the plan in her head. "Ron will draw Umbridge away, but we'll need lookouts, and that's where we can use Buffy, Ginny, and Luna. Hermione will be with us just in case." Dawn's voice didn't falter, her words carrying a weight of determination that seemed to bring a momentary hush over the group.
Ginny, though clearly struggling to fully understand the gravity of what was happening, didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, we'll do it," she said immediately, her jaw set with fierce determination. Her brown eyes were unwavering, showing no sign of hesitation, even though her heart was hammering in her chest.
Luna, as serene as ever, blinked at them curiously. "When you say 'Sirius', are you talking about Stubby Boardman?" she asked, her voice light, as though they were discussing something far less urgent. Her gaze drifted dreamily, and for a brief second, it was as if they were discussing a favorite story rather than a rescue mission.
Nobody answered her. Harry's face tightened, his thoughts already racing ahead. The clock was ticking, every moment they stood here felt like a moment lost to Voldemort's cruel hands.
"OK," Harry said, after a tense beat of silence. His voice was harsh, but there was an edge of reluctant acceptance. "OK, if you can think of a way of doing this quickly, I'm with you, otherwise I'm going to the Department of Mysteries right now." His green eyes flashed with urgency, his determination to act still pushing against the need for caution. His fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body on edge.
Luna, still gazing at him with mild surprise, tilted her head slightly. "The Department of Mysteries?" she echoed, her soft voice carrying just a touch of curiosity. "But how are you going to get there?" She asked the question as though it was as simple as planning a leisurely walk through the castle, not the life-threatening mission it truly was.
"Right," Buffy cut in, her voice steady as she took a step closer to Harry, her eyes focused. "And I will help you, Harry. But we need to make sure it's not a trick." There was a firmness in her voice, one that brokered no argument. She was just as ready to fight, to leap into action, but she knew better than to rush headlong without a plan. "Ron, go and find Umbridge and—and send her off in the wrong direction, keep her away from her office. You could tell her—I don't know—that Peeves is up to something awful as usual…"
Ron straightened at once, the hint of a grin flickering on his face despite the tension in the room. "I'll do it," he said quickly, the fire of determination lighting in his blue eyes. "I'll tell her Peeves is smashing up the Transfiguration department or something, it's miles away from her office. Come to think of it, I could probably persuade Peeves to do it if I met him on the way." His face took on a slightly mischievous gleam, the prospect of sending Peeves into chaos almost a bright spot in this grim situation.
"OK," Hermione said, nodding as she began pacing, her mind working furiously. Her brow furrowed as she laid out the next part of the plan, her words coming in a quick, focused stream. "Now, we need to keep students right away from her office while we force entry, or some Slytherin's bound to go and tip her off."
"Luna and I can stand at either end of the corridor," said Ginny promptly, her voice steady with determination. Though her face was set in concentration, there was a gleam of mischief in her eyes. "We'll warn people not to go down there because someone's let off a load of Garrotting Gas. Fred and George were planning to do it before they left." The mention of Fred and George, those twin masters of chaos, brought a flicker of fondness into her tone, but her focus remained sharp.
Buffy, standing tall beside Ginny, nodded firmly. "I'll help Ginny and Luna keep watch," she said. Her tone was practical, but there was an undercurrent of fierce protectiveness. "It'll make it easier if there's a professor backing them up." She understood the gravity of what they were attempting, and her role as their support in this dangerous game was clear. Her eyes darted to Harry for a moment, her expression unreadable yet firm. She wasn't going to let anything happen to any of them if she could help it.
"OK," Hermione said, her voice tight with focus as she mapped out the rest of the plan. "Well then, Harry—you, Dawn, and I will be under the Invisibility Cloak, and we'll sneak into the office. You can talk to Sirius—"
"He's not there, Hermione!" Harry snapped, his frustration bubbling up, his fists clenching at his sides. He could feel the seconds slipping away, the image of Sirius in pain, trapped, flooding his mind. The need to act was burning a hole through his patience.
"I mean," Hermione continued hastily, unflinching in the face of Harry's outburst, "you can—can check whether Sirius is at home or not, while Dawn and I keep watch." Her voice wavered only slightly as she glanced at him, her expression softening with understanding. "I don't think you should be in there alone, Lee's already proved the windows are a weak spot, sending those Nifflers through it." She was trying to balance caution with action, though it was clear the tension in the room was starting to wear on her.
Dawn nodded in agreement, stepping closer to Harry, her eyes filled with concern. "And I don't want you to be in there alone either. I'd worry about you," she added softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her worry for Sirius was palpable, but so too was her fear for Harry. She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently, hoping the warmth of her touch might ease the storm in him, if only just a little.
Harry looked at Dawn, his frustration softening for a brief moment as he saw the worry etched deeply in her features. Her eyes were locked on his, filled with an unspoken plea, and he could feel the weight of her care for him settle in his chest. Not just for Sirius, but for him too. A part of him felt a surge of gratitude, the warmth of knowing that she had his back, that she was there, holding him steady when everything around them felt like it was crumbling. He nodded, more to himself than anyone else. "Okay," he said, his voice quieter now, more resolved.
"Okay," Buffy echoed, her tone a touch gentler as she caught the shift in Harry's demeanor. But the urgency still remained. "I don't think we're going to be able to bank on more than five minutes," she warned, her eyes scanning the group with a serious expression. "Not with Filch and the wretched Inquisitorial Squad floating around."
"Five minutes'll be enough," said Harry, determination flaring in his voice again. His mind was set, his path clear. "C'mon, let's go."
Buffy gave a curt nod, her eyes narrowing slightly in resolve. "You go and get the Invisibility Cloak, and we'll meet you at the end of Umbridge's corridor, OK?" Her voice had the steady authority of someone who had led more than one dangerous mission before, and there was a quiet strength in her gaze as she locked eyes with Harry.
Harry nodded once, sharply, before turning on his heel and heading for the door. His heart pounded in his chest, each step taking him closer to action. Every second felt critical, and the weight of what lay ahead pressed on him like a physical burden. Still, with Dawn's worry lingering in his mind and the silent support of his friends, he felt a sliver of hope cut through the panic.
Umbridge's Office
Ten minutes later, the corridor buzzed with the low murmur of students shuffling between classes. Harry, eyes sharp and determined, came bounding up the corridor, his breath visible in the cool, dim light of the castle. He was clutching the Invisibility Cloak tightly in his hands, its folds spilling over his arm. "Got it. Ready to go, then?" he asked, his voice edged with urgency and anticipation.
"All right," Hermione whispered, her gaze darting nervously down the corridor as she took in the sight of Ron striding away with purpose. "So Ron—you go and head Umbridge off…" Her voice trailed off as she turned to the others. "Ginny, Buffy, Luna, if you can start moving people out of the corridor…" Her instructions were precise, each word calculated to ensure their plan would unfold without a hitch. "Harry, Dawn and I will get under the Cloak and wait until the coast is clear…"
Ron, already striding purposefully, moved with a determined air, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. Ginny, Buffy, and Luna wove through the throng of students, their movements a blend of assertiveness and tact. They gently but firmly steered the students away, guiding them in the opposite direction with practiced ease. The corridor began to clear as the crowd dissipated, murmurs of confusion and complaints rising faintly in the air.
"Get over here," Hermione muttered urgently, her hand gripping Dawn's and Harry's wrists. She tugged them into a shadowed recess, where the ugly stone head of a medieval wizard stood on a column, muttering endlessly in its archaic Latin. The dim, flickering light of the torches cast eerie shadows on its grotesque features.
Dawn, her face etched with concern, looked up at Harry. "Are—are you sure you're OK, Harry? You're still very pale." Her voice was soft, carrying a note of worry that belied her usual bravado. Her eyes searched his face, hoping to find any sign that he was truly alright.
"I'm fine," Harry said, his voice brisk but softening as he leaned in to give Dawn a quick peck on the cheek. It was a fleeting gesture of reassurance, one that spoke volumes more than words could. He then reached into his bag and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak, its shimmering fabric catching the faint light. "Here," he said, his tone resolute. He threw the Cloak over himself, Dawn, and Hermione, the heavy material settling around them like a protective shroud.
The three of them huddled together, the Cloak's edges rustling softly. They stood in silence, straining their ears to catch any sound over the Latin mumblings of the bust before them. The heavy, damp air of the corridor felt thick with anticipation and tension, every small noise amplified in the quiet.
"You can't come down here!" Buffy's voice rang out with authoritative firmness, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. "No, sorry, you're going to have to go round by the swivelling staircase, someone's let off Garrotting Gas just along here—"
The crowd began to grumble, a few voices rising in protest. One particularly surly voice muttered, "I can't see no gas."
"That's because it's colorless," Ginny retorted with a convincing tone of exasperation, her voice carrying a sharp edge. "But if you want to walk through it, carry on, then we'll have your body as proof for the next idiot who doesn't believe Professor Summers."
The crowd thinned gradually, their movements growing slower as the rumor of Garrotting Gas spread like wildfire. The air seemed to clear as fewer students ventured near, their paths diverting away from the now eerily quiet corridor.
When at last the corridor was sufficiently clear, the silence broken only by the faint echoes of distant footsteps, Hermione leaned closer to Harry and Dawn. Her face was set with determination, a stark contrast to her earlier anxiety. "I think that's as good as we're going to get, Harry, Dawn—come on, let's do it." Her voice was barely a whisper, but the urgency in it was unmistakable.
Harry, Dawn, and Hermione moved forward under the Invisibility Cloak, their footsteps muffled against the cold stone floor. The Cloak shimmered faintly in the dim light, wrapping them in its concealing fabric. As they edged past Buffy and Ginny, Hermione leaned in, her breath warm against the chill of the corridor. "Good one… don't forget the signal."
"What's the signal?" Harry muttered back, his voice tinged with impatience and tension as they approached Umbridge's office door.
"A loud chorus of 'Weasley is our King' if they see Umbridge coming," Dawn replied, her tone calm but urgent. Harry nodded in understanding and turned his focus back to the task at hand. With practiced precision, he pulled out Sirius's knife and inserted its blade into the crack between the door and the wall. The metal clicked and shifted, and the lock gave way with a soft snick. The door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit interior of Umbridge's office.
"I thought she might have added extra security after the second Niffler," Hermione said, her voice tinged with both relief and concern.
They quickly shed the Cloak, Hermione darting over to the window. She positioned herself out of sight, her wand ready in her hand as she peered cautiously down into the grounds below, her gaze searching for any signs of danger.
Dawn turned to Harry, her hand reaching out to give his a reassuring squeeze. Harry responded with a nod, then dashed over to the fireplace, his movements swift and purposeful. He seized the pot of Floo powder, the cool metal cold against his fingers. With a decisive flick of his wrist, he threw a generous pinch into the grate. The powder ignited in a burst of emerald flames that roared to life, casting flickering shadows across the room. Harry knelt quickly, his heart pounding as he thrust his head into the fiery portal. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" he called out, his voice echoing with a mixture of hope and urgency.
Dawn watched anxiously, her eyes fixed on Harry's face as he disappeared into the fire. Time seemed to stretch as she waited for any sign of connection. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the office door creaking open. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw Umbridge glide into the room, her presence as oppressive as ever. A frown tugged at Dawn's lips; the anticipated warning had not come.
Her concern deepened as Neville, Ginny, Ron, and Luna were ushered into the room, their hands bound and their mouths gagged. The sight was both alarming and heart-wrenching, each one of them appearing disheveled and distressed.
Umbridge's cold gaze swept over the scene as she advanced on Harry. She reached into the fire with a quick, ruthless motion and seized Harry, dragging him backward with a strength that belied her deceptively delicate appearance. Her voice was a low, menacing whisper as she leaned in close. "You think," she said, her words dripping with a cruel satisfaction, "that after two Nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy."
Her command was swift and brutal. "Take his wand," she barked, her voice cutting through the tension. "Theirs, too."
Dawn's gaze followed in helpless frustration as Umbridge's minions moved to disarm them. Her wand was taken, followed by Hermione's and Harry's, each wand seized with clinical efficiency.
"I want to know why you are in my office," Umbridge said, her voice cold and authoritative, slicing through the oppressive silence like a razor-sharp blade.
"I was — trying to get my Firebolt!" Harry croaked, the words escaping his throat with a strained effort as he struggled to regain his composure. The impact of being thrown against the desk had left him winded, his ribs throbbing with pain.
"Liar," Umbridge retorted, her tone dripping with disdain. "Your Firebolt is under strict guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?" Her eyes narrowed into slits of icy suspicion.
"No one —" Harry began to protest, but his voice was weak, and the words faltered under Umbridge's relentless gaze.
"Liar!" Umbridge shouted, her face reddening with anger. She propelled him roughly away from the desk, and Harry slammed into it, the sharp edge biting into his side. He gasped, the pain shooting through him.
"Got 'em all," said Warrington, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He poked a thick finger at Neville, who was bound and struggling futilely. "That one," he said, indicating Neville, "tried to stop me taking her," he pointed at Ginny, who was also restrained and fighting against her bonds. "So I brought him along too."
"Good, good," Umbridge said, her eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure as she watched Ginny's desperate struggles. "Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it? Go find Summers. Bring her in here as well." Her gaze flicked to Dawn and Hermione, a smirk spreading across her face. "This is about to be a Summers-free zone as well. I finally got the Minister's approval to terminate your sister and expel the both of you."
"So, Potter," Umbridge continued, her voice dripping with scorn. "You stationed lookouts around my office and sent this buffoon," she gestured dismissively at Ron, who was glaring furiously, "to tell me that the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes—Mr. Filch having just informed me so. Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone. And I know it can't be Buffy Summers since she is still here."
"It's none of your business who I talk to," Harry snarled, his voice raw with defiance and frustration.
Umbridge's slack face seemed to tighten, her expression a mask of cold determination. "Very well. Very well, Mr. Potter… I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Draco—fetch Professor Snape."
Malfoy stowed Harry's wand inside his robes with an air of smug satisfaction before striding out of the room, leaving behind a lingering sense of triumph. The door clicked shut behind him, and Harry turned his gaze towards Umbridge. Her eyes were fixed on him with a predatory gleam, and he fought to maintain an expression of calm detachment, his features deliberately smooth and blank. The air in the room was thick with tension, each second stretching into what felt like an eternity.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, and after a few minutes, Draco Malfoy reappeared, his usual sneer even more pronounced. Trailing behind him was Severus Snape, his dark, imposing figure cutting a stark contrast to the bright, grotesque office.
"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?" Snape's voice was a low, measured drawl, his expression inscrutable.
"Ah, Professor Snape," Umbridge said, her face brightening with a wide, saccharine smile as she stood up from her desk. "Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please."
Snape's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of disdain crossing his features. "You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter," he said coolly. "Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient."
Umbridge's cheeks flushed a mottled shade of pink, her eyes narrowing in irritation. "You can make some more, can't you?" she snapped, her tone turning impatient.
"Certainly," Snape replied, his lip curling with a hint of scorn. "It takes a full moon-cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month."
"A month?" Umbridge squawked, her face swelling to an even more unpleasant hue. "A month! But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!"
"Really?" Snape said, his interest piqued for the first time. He turned his gaze towards Harry, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation with a calculating look. "Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules."
"I wish to interrogate him!" Umbridge repeated angrily, her voice rising in frustration. "I need you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!"
"I have already told you," said Snape smoothly, his voice a silken veneer masking underlying contempt, "that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter—and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did—I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling."
Umbridge's face flushed with fury, her eyes narrowing into thin slits as she glared at Snape. "You are on probation!" she shrieked, her voice a high-pitched wail. "You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better; Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!"
Snape offered her a mockingly elaborate bow, his lips curling in a disdainful smile, and turned to leave. The door slammed shut behind him with a sharp, decisive snap, reverberating through the room like the final note of a grim symphony.
Umbridge, now alone, seethed with barely contained rage. She drew her wand from her desk with a flourish, her movements precise but tinged with a palpable sense of grim determination. "Very well," she said, her voice a low, resolute murmur. "I am left with no alternative… this is more than a matter of school discipline… this is an issue of Ministry security… yes… yes… You are forcing me, Potter… I do not want to, but sometimes circumstances justify the use… I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice… The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue," she added, her tone chillingly calm.
"No!" shrieked Hermione, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. "Professor Umbridge—it's illegal."
But Umbridge's face remained impassive, her attention unwavering. She was deaf to Hermione's protests, her mind already set on the path she had chosen. Dawn's eyes darted around the room, her concern growing as she wondered about Buffy's delay. What could be taking her so long?
"The Minister wouldn't want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!" Hermione cried, her voice rising in urgency.
"What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him," Umbridge replied with a cold, calculating edge. "He never knew I ordered Dementors to go after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same."
Harry's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "It was you?" he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "You sent the Dementors after me? Buffy was right—it was someone inside the Ministry."
"Somebody had to act," breathed Umbridge, her voice a sinister whisper as her wand came to rest, its tip pressing menacingly against Harry's forehead. The air in the room seemed to thicken with her malevolent intent. "They were all bleating about silencing you and Ms. Summers somehow—discrediting you both—but I was the one who actually did something about it… only you wriggled out of that one, didn't you, Potter? Not today though, not now—" With a steely resolve, she took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing with cold determination, and cried, "Cruc—"
"NO!" shouted Dawn, her voice breaking through the tension like a desperate cry for help. "No — Harry — we'll have to tell her!"
"No way!" yelled Harry, his eyes wide with panic, focusing on the fleeting glimpses of Dawn he could see through the dimly lit room.
"We'll have to, Harry," Dawn sobbed weakly, tears streaming down her face, her voice trembling with fear and resignation. "She'll force it out of you anyway, what's . . . what's the point?"
Umbridge's smile grew wider, a cruel glint of satisfaction dancing in her eyes. "Well, well, well!" she exclaimed, her tone dripping with malice. "Ms. Summers is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!"
"Dawn!" Ron shouted through his gag, his voice strained and muffled but full of urgent concern.
"I'm—I'm sorry everyone," Dawn choked out between sobs, her resolve crumbling under the pressure. "But—I can't stand it—"
"That's right, that's right, girl!" Umbridge said with a vicious gleam in her eye. She seized Dawn by the shoulders with a rough, unfeeling grip, shoving her into the abandoned chintz chair with a harsh shove. Leaning over her with an intimidating presence, she demanded, "Now then… with whom was Potter communicating just now?"
Dawn, her hands covering her face in a futile attempt to shield her emotions, mumbled through her fingers, "Well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore."
Hermione's eyes softened with a mixture of admiration and sadness as she looked at her twin. She understood what Dawn was attempting to do, sacrificing their position in a desperate bid to buy time.
"Dumbledore?" Umbridge's eyes widened with a dangerous mix of eagerness and curiosity. "You know where Dumbledore is, then?"
"Well… no!" sobbed Dawn, her voice breaking as she struggled to keep her composure. Her hands clutched tightly to her face, not merely out of emotional distress but to conceal the lack of genuine tears that might betray her calm determination. "We've tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog's Head —"
"Idiot girl—Dumbledore won't be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry's looking for him!" shouted Umbridge, her voice rising in frustration. The lines of disappointment were stark and deep on her sagging face, a portrait of her growing vexation.
"But—but we needed to tell him something important!" wailed Dawn, her voice cracking with a mixture of fear and resolve. Her hands tightened further over her face, masking the lack of tears while she braced herself against Umbridge's wrath.
"Yes?" said Umbridge, a sudden glimmer of excitement flickering in her eyes, overshadowing her earlier irritation. "What was it you wanted to tell him?"
"We… we wanted to tell him it's r—ready!" choked Dawn, her breath hitching as she forced the words out.
"What's ready?" demanded Umbridge, her impatience boiling over. Her hand shot out, grabbing Dawn by the shoulders and shaking her slightly, her grip like iron. "What's ready, girl?"
"The… the weapon," Dawn managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart racing as she watched Umbridge's reaction.
"Weapon? Weapon?" Umbridge echoed, her eyes widening with a mix of disbelief and eagerness. "You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore's orders, of course?"
The room's atmosphere shifted abruptly as the door burst open and several people stormed in, breaking the charged silence. Dawn's face lit up with a relieved smile. Now she understood where Buffy had disappeared to—back to her suite, rallying reinforcements.
"And there she is," Dawn said, her voice gaining strength as she indicated the newcomers.
Umbridge's expression dropped as she turned to face the new arrivals. Buffy stepped into the room with a determined stride, flanked by Faith, Willow, and Tara. Two Slayers and two of the most formidable Wiccan witches in the world.
"I told you, Umbridge. You push me over the line, we would go to war." Buffy's voice was firm, carrying an edge of authority. "You just declared war. I have with me here Faith Lehane, the other Slayer. And two Wiccan witches, Willow Rosenberg and Tara Maclay. You think you can beat us? Be my guest."
"Buffy, she tried to use the Cruciatus on Harry," Dawn said, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air as Buffy absorbed the severity of Dawn's words.
Buffy, with her ever-determined gaze, held up her wand, its surface gleaming under the flickering light. Faith, her fierce demeanor unwavering, unsheathed the sword strapped securely to her back, its blade catching the light with a menacing glint. Meanwhile, Willow and Tara, their faces set with a resolute focus, began chanting in unison. The ancient, rhythmic incantations wove through the air, weaving a spell of sleep so powerful it caught the Inquisitorial Squad completely off guard. Within moments, their resistance crumbled, and they slumped to the floor, rendered unconscious by the magical assault.
Umbridge's eyes darted around, her expression shifting from defiance to stark realization. She understood, with bitter clarity, that she was outmatched. The formidable trio before her—Buffy, Faith, and the witches—was far beyond her capacity to confront. Yet, her pride and desperation spurred her to fight back. With a flick of her wand, she cast "Expelliarmus!" her voice sharp and filled with strained determination.
Buffy, however, was ready. With the swift agility that came from years of Slaying, she dodged the spell with a graceful leap to the side. Her smile was both confident and taunting. "Nice try. Did you forget I'm a Slayer?" she retorted, her wand already raised. "Expelliarmus!"
The force of Buffy's counter-spell struck Umbridge squarely in the chest. The impact sent her hurtling backward, crashing against the stone wall with a resounding thud. The room echoed with the sound of her fall, and for a moment, a heavy silence settled, punctuated only by the faint crackle of magical energy still lingering in the air.
Buffy's voice cut through the silence with a steely edge. "This can end in one of two ways, Umbridge. You can either walk out of here now, resign your post at the Ministry and here at Hogwarts, or I could have you arrested and imprisoned for attempting to use the Cruciatus on a student. Your choice," she declared with a fierce glare. "And believe me, I would so prefer to see you in Azkaban."
Umbridge's face twisted into a scowl as she weighed her limited options. The thought of Azkaban, with its icy cold and the wretched despair it represented, was more than she could bear. She had no real choice. "I will resign," she finally admitted, her voice tight and defeated.
Buffy's expression softened into a satisfied smile. "Good. Faith here will stand guard over you while you write up the necessary resignation letters. Once they are in her hands, she will escort you to the edge of the grounds where you can Apparate away. If I ever see you again, I will not be so lenient next time." Her gaze then shifted to Harry, concern and urgency clear in her eyes. "Did you talk to Sirius?"
Harry shook his head, his face etched with frustration. "No, Kreacher said he went to the Ministry."
Buffy nodded decisively, her gaze scanning the room with a steely determination. "Then we too will go to the Ministry," she declared, her voice steady and resolute. Her eyes fell on Willow and Tara, the two powerful witches who had proven their strength with their spell. "Willow, Tara, I need you both with me." Their nods of agreement were swift, their faces set with unwavering focus, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
She turned to the others, her expression brooking no argument. "Harry, Dawn, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna—you're coming also." Each name was met with a nod or an expression of determination, their resolve strengthening in the face of the looming confrontation.
Neville, who had been standing quietly but attentively, straightened at Buffy's command. His usual calm demeanor was replaced by a focused urgency. "Neville, find the other professors," Buffy instructed. "Let them know what has transpired here and that Faith here is acting Headmistress until I or Dumbledore return." The weight of the responsibility was evident on Neville's face as he nodded, understanding the importance of the task.
"And Dumbledore will be returning," Buffy added, her tone brooking no doubt. Her conviction was clear, a promise to herself and her friends that the headmaster would not remain absent forever.