Chapter 17 - The right man in the wrong place

Tonks made her way down the dark and twisted hallways of the ancient house of horrors that was supposed to be her mother's old family home. She could never imagine growing up in a place like this. While she had always been partial to a reasonable amount of doom and gloom in her life, this place was slowly making her reevaluate that choice.

There was tasteful quirky madness, and then there was full batshit insane. And you never went full batshit insane outside the bedroom.

Thunk!

Bugger.

"MUDBLOODS! TRAITORS TO THE HOUSE OF BLACK! NEVER IN ALL MY YEARS—"

Case and point. At least the silencing charm seemed to be doing its work for now. She guessed it could be worse, though. It was certainly as pristine as a dark gloomy house of horrors could get. And yet she had somehow managed to trip over the one Merlin-damned piece of junk still sitting around anyway.

"Get a move on, Nymphadora. Meeting's already started," grumbled the not-so-mortal incarnation of sadism.

She didn't give him the satisfaction of reacting to the name. Merlin knew the bastard was getting a kick out of pretending he didn't even notice. The walking patchwork who was more scar than skin shot her a look with his one good eye, before snapping his gaze to the umbrella stand she had tripped over. "One month into active duty and you're already losing your edge?"

Someone was about to lose something else if he didn't shut up. But she didn't dare voice that with flipping Dumbledore standing there in the middle of the room.

"As I explained last time, I myself will be otherwise occupied with a task sadly only I can perform. The public will be in much greater danger if I pass this along."

Oh. It was about that again. It was nuts how quickly she had gotten used to all this cloak and dagger secret hidden Order stuff. But she supposed you could get used to anything if you were used to what Mad-Eye lovingly referred to as basic training.

If it had been up to her, she'd have brought her actual boss in on this as well. But Moody had quickly knocked that idea out of her mind. The ministry was above all else an institution of law. And the Dark Lord knew that. It was the whole reason why he had almost won the first time around, and why so many of his followers had gotten away with a slap on the wrist. When the Ministry stood by and let innocent people get hurt because to act would violate some piece of text written hundreds of years ago... That wasn't what she had signed up for. Sometimes the law just didn't cut it when it came to doing the right thing.

Hence, her current presence in the house that was trying its best to eat her alive. She threw another challenging glare at the silently shouting image of the woman who was apparently her great-aunt. She'd tried her very best to burn that image into her mind just to be extra sure she'd never match a single facial feature with that hag in the future.

Unless she went Muggle. She'd gladly wear her face for the whole duration of that mission with glee.

Where was she? Ah, right.

"...One of you."

Wait, what?

"It cannot be me," replied the dungeon bat dryly.

"I'll say!" growled her one sane uncle.

Dumbledore took a long breath, before replying, "As much as I think you would be best suited to the task, Severus, I have to agree. Your cover is too important, and leaving this role to you would place you in an impossible position regarding your loyalty."

Snape answered that with a simple nod.

"I reckon I could give it a go," Shack spoke up.

"Alas, you'll be busy with your obligations as an Auror, I'm afraid."

Tonks shot a helpless look at Moody, then at Sirius, hoping that someone would explain what was going on. They hadn't gotten to that part in the last meeting.

"Minerva, perhaps if you—"

"No, Albus. My first priority must be the safety of the students. I will not be discussing this again."

"What about you, Arthur?" Sirius asked the redhead standing next to him. "I don't think the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department will have much to do that day..."

Said man shifted nervously as suddenly every single gaze in the room was foisted upon him. "Me? I mean... I don't really know much about runes and all that..."

"That isn't necessary at all. The most important thing is to show resolute, unfaltering will, no matter the situation," explained Dumbledore calmly.

Eyes darted around the room, some of them landing on her. And she still had no idea what this was all about. She wasn't about to be volunteered for some insane plot if she didn't even know what it was about!

"Still... I don't know if I... I mean, we're talking about You-Know-Who here... Wouldn't it be better to—"

"Wait, what about you?" Tonks interjected, shooting Sirius a raised eyebrow. "How about you volunteer instead of trying to foist it off on others?"

She really hadn't seen the cheeky bugger much ever since he had returned from Azkaban. But she did remember him from her childhood. He had by far been her favorite uncle. Basically the only one, really. The Death-Eater nutcases didn't count. And if there was one thing she knew it was that Sirius would stand by his beliefs, even if everyone else disagreed. Her mum had once explained that he had even been kicked out of his own family for that, much like mum herself.

But much more importantly, he had taken great pleasure in letting everyone know the fact he had changed her diapers once almost twenty years ago, so he had every single authority to call her all sorts of embarrassing names that she had refused to keep track of.

Yeah. Those definitely had been the reasons why she had volunteered him for whatever this was, and in no way post-decision rationalizations. No, sir.

"Come on. Me? I mean..." he chuckled, looking left to right, but grew silent as he noticed all the expectant stares on him. "You realize I've not exactly been the epitome of sanity until quite recently?"

"You trying to convince us that you ever were?" Tonks doubled down, even as a slow niggling voice entered her mind that perhaps volunteering someone who had been enjoying the pleasures of Azkaban for the past ten years for a task that required extraordinary strength of will was... okay, maybe, not even that bad of an idea. Only a madman would manage to stay sane through that.

That, or someone with an extraordinarily strong will. Merlin, she was a genius to have thought of that from the start.

"Still. I can't even do the soul judgment, much less anything more fancy. I really don't think that I'd be—"

"On the contrary, Sirius. I can hardly imagine a better person for the task."

Yes! Crisis averted. Dumbledore for the win.

Sirius shot her a betrayed look, and she gave him a completely innocent and not at all cheeky grin in return.

The meeting continued from there, with Dumbledore slowly convincing Sirius to take the role she had foisted upon him, which would apparently play a centerpiece in the plan. And it would for some reason involve Hagrid. She was kind of baffled how long they could keep talking about this topic with her still none the wiser what the actual plan was. But she wasn't about to ask and hand the one-eyed git next to her even more reasons to perform another surprise drill or something.

"Thought you were being clever, eh?"

Bugger. Apparently, said surprise drill might be coming sooner than expected.

"This how you behave on the job once my back's turned?"

"You saying I was wrong?" she offered her weak rebuttal.

"I'm saying perhaps I oughta have a word with Amelia. Obviously, she's not pushing you hard enough."

Perfect. Just perfect.

~V~

Somehow, she wasn't dead yet. And somehow, she wasn't in pain either. But she was also painfully aware of the gaping hole in her chest. How was she still alive then?

Well, apparently, shadows didn't just have no need for air, they also couldn't bleed, either. That didn't change a thing about the fact that she was basically a walking corpse right now. She had just managed to buy some time. Time until she either had to return to the land of the living and continue dying, or until she would lose her mind and start devouring the townsfolk out of boredom.

There was only one place she knew she could get the help she needed. But that was half-way across the bloody country. And the thoughts still hadn't quite gone away after her last trip...

She had no time to waste. She needed to get back to Hogwarts.

~V~

"What exactly is this about, Dolores?

"As I said, I found the perfect angle on Dumbledore," Dolores simpered, quickening her small steps. "We don't have time to waste."

"Then why don't you just tell me what it is?" Cornelius repeated, breathing heavily.

"Because Dumbledore has people in place. Our best chance is to act before they have any chance to realize what is going on. Every second counts, Minister," Dolores declared cheerfully, unable to hold back a smile.

Cornelius shot a wary glance at Dawlish keeping step with him, who just gave a nonchalant shrug. The Auror hadn't exactly been happy when he had realized that Dolores had been acting on her own instead of on behalf of the Minister when she had approached him earlier. But he, at least, shared their common goal. So as soon as he noticed Cornelius would be involved, Dawlish simply deferred to him instead and quietly followed along, luckily without asking any difficult questions. Both of them had been assuming the other knew what this was about, and now they were both too awkward to ask for confirmation, even if they finally suspected that none of them did.

They turned a corner, and headed down the hallway towards the large iron door that would lead into the Department of Mysteries. Dolores glanced around nervously, her eyes flitting over all the empty, dark corners of the corridor, as if looking for something, something lurking in the shadow.

But she tried her best not to let it show, firmed her expression and set a brisk pace down the hallway. If Dawlish had been correct, Dumbledore had people watching this corridor for some reason. Likely, to prevent someone from doing exactly what they were about to do.

"Quick now, Minister. if we don't make it to the Chamber of Time on time, well, you know how the Unspeakables can be about their passion projects..."

"No, I don't. Also why are we—"

"There's no time. We're already late!" Dolores quickly cut him off, with yet another surreptitious glance around the empty corridor.

Merlin. Right here, deep within the very heart of the Ministry. She shuddered to think what else the headmaster could have infiltrated. It was high time someone put a stop to that madman. And hopefully, today she'd manage exactly that.

Her hand came to rest on the heavy brass door knob, and taking a breath, she pushed. A door like this should definitely at least give a low creak, a groan, something. Or maybe, the silence was just getting to her.

She just hoped that the memo she had sent had already—

"Finally. What is this about, Cornelius?"

Across from them, in the center of the large round hall walled with doors to all sides stood a single, tall, robed figure. Probably a man, at least, judging from his voice. And even though she could see his face, she couldn't make out anything of significance whatsoever.

The only thing distinguishing him from the number of other employees of this department was the necklace with a golden triangle dangling from the tip.

"Croaker. Thank Merlin. I... wait. You don't know? I thought that—"

Dolores took a breath, and stepped forward.

"We're here to retrieve and inspect a prophecy."

Heavy silence followed that statement. Cornelius shot her a confused and slightly betrayed look. She could almost feel the glares of everyone else in the room on her, but Dolores forged onwards. She had come this far, she had to see this through.

"Prophecies cannot be removed by anyone except those whom they are about. They are charmed to prevent exactly that, and the spells are designed so that they cannot even be removed by us, so long as the prophecy is still active."

"That's right. But if it weren't?"

The nondescript man gave her a long look. "If the prophecy were already fulfilled, then yes, we could remove it. But can you be sure that it is?"

"The prophecy is about You-Know-Who and Harry Potter."

A sharp gasp from Cornelius, and Dawlish cursed something underneath his breath.

"Indeed... But that still leaves another issue. The prophecy, like all others, is property of the Department of Mysteries. I simply cannot allow any of them to be removed for reasons outside of department business."

"Of course you can't. Again with the bloody secrecy," snarled Dawlish next to her.

Dolores smiled, and simply continued. "Unless, of course, you were given a direct order by the Minister himself."

It was hard to tell, but she would bet some galleons that Croaker was frowning right now. He slowly turned to face the Minister, who seemed to shrink a bit under his gaze.

Cornelius shot her a look, looking for reassurance that she knew what she was doing. But she knew that the moment she mentioned who the prophecy was supposedly about, there was no way he'd back out now.

Finally, he gathered himself, thrust out his chest, and spoke up. "I'm sorry, Saul. But it's necessary. We need to see this prophecy."

Dawlish straightened his trench coat, and made a show of edging slightly closer to Cornelius. Good boy.

"Very well. Follow me."

And with that, all that needed to be said had been said. Dolores quickly took step next to Cornelius and the centerpiece of her plan. Croaker seemingly picked one of the doors at random, pushed it open and led them through. They followed through a rounded, empty room with a small cylindrical podium at the center. It held a large, crystalline contraption that seemed to merge all the way together at the top into a small translucent platform. They made their way past the contraption, all the way to a door on the other side, which upon being opened, revealed a massive dark hall filled with rows and rows of shelves. On each of them set countless tiny translucent orbs of glass, filled with a milky substance. Some of them were glowing in a bright white, while most of them just sat in a dull, dark gray.

"A- are all of those..." Cornelius muttered, apparently having never been down here before.

"Prophecies."

Cornelius' gaze darted left to right, taking in all the shelves, until he voiced another question. "And... why are only some of them—"

"Upon creation, they glow in a bright light, marking them as active, and also signifying that their protection is absolute. Once events start to unfold, and a prophecy starts to bear weight, you will notice it start to move, to swirl on its own. And finally, when it is inevitably fulfilled, the light fades, and it becomes a static, unmoving, dull gray. It is at this point—when Fate would no longer be meddled with—that the protections can, if necessary, be lifted."

Next to her, Dawlish shook his head and mumbled something about Fate. Croaker approached a podium at the center of the room, upon which a heavy tome sat. He pulled the leather apart, parting the pages, and flipped through them, until his finger came to rest on a particular spot.

He hesitated for only a moment, before nodding, and turning to the left, gesturing for them to follow. They passed some more shelves, each of them loaded with yet another uncountably large number of tiny glass orbs, with occasionally one or two of them glowing brightly, like tiny stars dotting their surroundings, piercing the darkness with a pale white glow. Finally, they came to rest in front of one particular shelf, and Dolores stepped closer to get a better look.

Harry Potter and The Dark Lord

Sybill Patricia Trelawney to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

"You said that it can only be heard once the light fades, correct?" Dolores asked.

"Correct," replied the Unspeakable simply.

Dolores stared at the dull gray orb, the shapes within almost too dark to even make out.

"Then how... do you know whom it is about?" she queried, gesturing at the name tag.

"Through the same process that we receive the prophecy in the first place. The details are complicated, but suffice to say it is related to divination, with all its benefits and pitfalls. Upon creation, as soon as the prophecy becomes sealed, the names of the subjects and witnesses are divined by the same process, and the prophecy is marked and stored, until it can one day be retrieved. It is accurate more often than not, but since divination is involved, there can be errors. But even if the names are inaccurate, most of the time it is at least very close to the mark."

Dolores stared at the tiny glass orb for some time, pondering the implications. So while it wasn't certain, there was at least a high chance that at least part of what the girl had told her had been correct. Her current guess was that they had both been spot-on, and the prophecy said exactly what the Potter girl had said, and not what Dumbledore had implied. That either would kill the other, which Potter had. Hence, it was now no longer glowing. And soon, she'd have proof. All she needed was to get Dawlish to admit the thing into evidence, and then Dumbledore would be as good as arrested. Or at least, he would be, once he tried to use this very prophecy as a basis for his coup. Oh, the look on his face, when he'd try to make his grand play, and she'd instead simply pull out a tiny glass orb to shatter all of his plans into pieces. She already felt giddy just at the thought of it. Dolores simply loved the poetic idea of having one tiny thing be the cause for all his plans to come falling apart.

"Well? How do we remove this protection, Croaker?" Dawlish sighed impatiently.

"As I said, by Ministerial decree."

Dolores' eyes flicked over to Cornelius who immediately stood a little straighter. He had always seemed to enjoy those times where he'd get to issue a magical command, to have magic itself bow to his authority through nothing but his voice.

Dolores would never admit it, but she felt just a tad jealous. Yes, she enjoyed the power that the stroke of a quill could wield, but a simple word, power in its most ancient sense, held a quality of its own. Like a king of old, a pharaoh of the Nile. No magic, no tricks, no deception. Just one word, and they'd all follow. Of their own free will.

"By the authority of the Minister of Magic, I, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, command the protections of this prophecy to be lifted."

For all of his faults, when it came to public speaking—well, at least, prepared public speaking—he did really come out of his shell, didn't he?

Dolores' small smile turned away from Cornelius, and back onto the small crystal ball, which still sat there, completely unchanged, on the dark wooden shelf.

Well, that had been kind of anticlimactic.

Cornelius shifted a bit, his expression seeming to waver slightly, slowly growing unsure if he had done it correctly. Dawlish frowned, and so did Dolores, as Croaker finally broke his silence, and began to move with particularly slow deliberation.

"Of course, Minister."

He reached for his collar, then slowly began to draw the golden chain off his neck, lifted it above his head, until he held the triangle within one hand.

One day, she'd find a way to wipe the smirk off his face that the Unspeakable was definitely wearing beneath his spell right now.

"Croaker..." growled Dawlish under his breath, probably palming his wand underneath his trench coat, but the Head Unspeakable seemed unintimidated.

He raised his hand, moved it over towards the small glass orb, and slowly began to move the golden triangle, until he fit it neatly right over the orb, and it gave a golden flash. And with that, it was over as quickly as it had begun.

"So it's safe to touch now?" snapped Dawlish, earning an entirely professional nod from Croaker.

"Great." And with that, Dawlish snapped up the glass orb from the shelf, and turned around. Only then, he stopped, took a breath, and said in a slow, deliberate voice, "What exactly do we need to do to watch it?"

"You can use the viewing room. It's the one through which we passed to get here."

And without so much as a thank you, Dawlish set off down the dark aisle, Cornelius and herself in tow. He reached the podium, turned right, stepped through the singular door standing in the middle of the empty aisle without any wall surrounding it, pulled it open, and they found themselves in the empty circular room once more.

Dawlish approached the center podium, stared at it for a moment, glass orb in hand, hesitating. Finally, he turned, and shot a flat look at the man who had just entered behind them. "And how exactly do we watch it?"

"You insert the prophecy into the focus receptacle at the top, then tune the prism at the bottom to match the particular intensity of each of the aspects, which depend on the length, the age, the number of people involved..."

Dawlish growled something underneath his breath.

"Of course, should you need my help, all you have to do is ask..."

"Saul, please," Cornelius thankfully cut in, before spells could start flying. "We really need to see this prophecy. The future of the Ministry is at stake here."

Dolores wisely held her tongue, and let the three men get over with their little pissing contest. More time spent quarreling meant less time actually questioning her weak reasoning behind why they were here.

"...Of course, Minister," came the monotone reply. As if the very motions pained him, Croaker stepped up to the rugged Auror, held out a hand, and with a snarl, Dawlish placed the orb back into his hand, just a little more forcefully than necessary.

Croaker nodded, then stepped up to the podium at the center, held up the orb, and then, slowly, raised his wand up to it. A bright white light burst from the tip, and he held it behind the orb, then lifted it up to his eye as if to inspect it.

Dolores stared mesmerized at the rays of color refracting from the tiny orb in all directions, shimmering, shifting, and moving along to the swirling mist contained within.

"This... No. This can't be..." the Unspeakable whispered.

"What is it now?" sighed Dawlish. "Some of us do have somewhere to be."

"This is impossible. It is clearly marked as fulfilled, yet... yet the mists of Fate are still in motion. I've never seen anything like it..."

"As interesting as that is," Dolores cut in, before this could get any further off track. "We really do need to see the prophecy now. Dumbledore might have already gotten wind of us being here, there's no telling what he might do."

Cornelius nodded along with her words. "Saul, while I admire your dedication, please. We have no time to waste."

"Don't you understand what this means?!" hissed the Head Unspeakable. "The mists are still in motion. This means that events are still unfolding, that the prophecy still bears weight! Despite it already being fulfilled!"

"So what?" Dawlish lost the rest of his patience. "You heard the minister. Just place the damn thing in the contraption already, Croaker."

"You imbecile! If you hear the prophecy while it still bears weight, you will be meddling with Fate! An action that is even more ill-advised than meddling with Time! It is the exact reason why the protective enchantment is placed in the first place! I never should have removed it to begin with. If I can't find a way to restore the enchantment, I suspect we will have to destroy it."

"Destroy? Have you lost your mind?"

Croaker completely ignored Dawlish now and turned towards Cornelius. "I'm sorry, Cornelius. Even if I wanted to, I can't allow you to do this. Bad things happen to people who meddle with Fate. The only ones who should meddle with prophecies are those whom they are about. It has always been this way."

"You don't understand!" exclaimed Cornelius, backed into a corner. "We have to! If we don't learn the contents of this prophecy, Dumbledore will use it to perform a coup! He already knows it, he was the one who received it! It said so on the plaque!"

Dolores carefully took a few steps back, watching as events unfolded. She had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but she had still planned for it anyway. The future of her career, of Cornelius' career, of the whole Ministry, even the whole country. It all came down to this very moment, this very room, to one single man, who held all the power to decide the outcome. And she had made very sure to pick exactly the right man for the job. A man who not only would stay with Cornelius even if he had to move slightly outside the law, but more importantly, a man who held a personal grudge against the one person standing in her way. Ah, whom was she kidding. She had very much hoped it would come to this.

"You heard the Minister, Croaker. Put the damn thing in there."

Dawlish, confronted with both a challenge to Cornelius' authority, and a man he personally despised, had finally drawn his wand. Croaker, with his wand still in his hand, made to turn towards Dawlish, but before his own wand could come even half-way to bear, Dawlish gave him a vicious look.

"Oh, please try it. You draw a wand on the Minister, I will arrest you."

Never mind the fact that he wasn't about to aim his wand at Cornelius, but at Dawlish instead. Dolores tried so very hard not to smile. It was all coming together now.

Cornelius was nervously shifting back and forth, but in the end, he firmed his expression, and spoke once more. "Saul, please. I know these are exceptional circumstances. I'm sorry, but there really is no other way."

The three men were still locked in their standoff, but internally, Dolores was already sipping a cup of tea in victory.

"On your head be it. I will have nothing to do with this," stated Croaker firmly, and whirled to face the contraption once more.

He raised the glass sphere, placed it at the top, causing a bright ray of white light to burst from the bottom of the tall crystalline contraption and illuminate the glass orb at the top, turning it into a similar glow as the few active prophecies they had encountered.

He began twisting the black obsidian dials with strange symbols at the sides of the contraption, causing the ray of light below the orb to split apart, bend back towards the center and converge back into the orb at the top. He then twisted another dial, causing the single rays of colors to shift and move, until it came to rest on a very particular position, upon which, he twisted the first one again, collapsing the beam back into a white light.

Finally he stepped back, perched himself in a corner of the room, and probably glared back at them.

"Was that it? How do we watch it?" demanded Dawlish with a glare.

"To watch you just need to press down on the orb at the top. And I will not be the one responsible for this. Mark my words, you will regret this decision."

"Sure. But if this is a trap, Croaker..."

Cornelius sighed. "Thank you, Saul. I am sorry, but it simply has to be this way."

The Head Unspeakable just gave a single, sharp nod, but didn't speak again.

Dawlish took a step forward, and with one single, deliberate motion, pressed down on the small glass orb, causing it to sink half-way into the podium. The light split from a beam into countless rays of color, emanating from the orb in all directions. The light seemed to swirl, converge, until the room was filled with a white mist. Within the fog, an outline took shape, slowly gaining detail, until she recognized the woman. Sybill Trelawney, as it had said on the tin.

Her eyes glazed over in a misty white, her head tilted a bit too far back, until she took a deep raspy breath, and began to speak in a voice that held a strange sort of power.

"The one with the power to vanquish V̶̛̪o̸̰̍l̶͇͂d̴̖̂̈́͆ḙ̸̢̹̥̟̣̔̍̑͐̽͆m̶̠̬͔̺͋̓̑̀̋̋̇̀̒̊̇͒̑͝ ̷̨̦͈̌̅̇̒͒̒ ̸̢̧̢͚̤̲͔͖̟͙͎̬̖͎͔̝̈́̒̉̓̇̽̿̀͜͠ ̶̡̛͈̤̩̜̺̌̀̄̈́͛͆̂̿̓̚͝ ̶̧̜̣̭̖̭̺̟̺̠̫̌̑́͌̄̀̈́̓̿ ̴̯̂̍̅̑͂̀̍̃͛͛̚ ̴̝̺̙̦̞̤̥͈̖̱̯̯̥̖̲̹̇ͅ "

Everything exploded into deafening noise, heat, and blinding white light. All of her senses were screaming, and something else was there, even above all the sensory overload, part of a word, swirling and shifting, incomplete, waiting, yearning for more, moving around but not finding purchase.

What in Merlin's name had just happened?

Dolores rubbed her face, trying to get something out of her eyes that wasn't there, trying to swallow to clear her ears of something just as imaginary. Only then, she realized that she had fallen to the ground. She shifted, trying to get to her feet, and slowly, shapes began to resolve through the blinding afterimage of a blazing star.

"W-What in Merlin's name? What was that?" exclaimed Cornelius, slowly gathering himself.

Dolores blinked again, then tried her best to take in the situation. All of them had fallen to the ground, and the prophecy had been cut short. Upon further inspection, she realized the cause. The top of the contraption, the small crystalline podium, was entirely shattered. And the prophecy with it. Just what in Merlin's name had...

Her eyes trailed back towards the final person in the room, hunched against the wall, who was clutching a wand in his hand. Croaker.

"You!" she pointed an accusing finger. "You destroyed it! Do you realize what you have done?!"

"I... I had no choice..." whispered the Head Unspeakable.

"This is treason! You violated a direct order, and even endangered the Minister! What if you had missed? What if you had hit him with that spell?!" Dolores screamed in desperation, as she watched her plan fall apart at the hands of this one man.

"I had no choice," Croaker reiterated. "She was about to say the Dark Lord's name."

That statement caused any arguments she had to freeze on her lips. That... that had been... What?

But... there was no way. You-Know-Who's name, what nonsense. Nobody but him and those closest to him could even speak it. And even then, they never did, unless in the most special of circumstances. No, if anything, this was an excuse. A convenient statement that could not be denied after the fact to justify him getting his way in the end. She had clearly pushed the man too far, and hadn't expected him to lash out like that.

Dolores sighed, then gathered herself. If her plan was a failure anyway, the least she could do was make sure that the man who had foiled it would go down along with it. "What nonsense. Everyone knows that the Dark Lord's name cannot be spoken aloud. You saw what happened, Dawlish! He attacked Cornelius! He disobeyed a direct order! He—"

"No," came the whispered reply.

"Excuse me?" she whispered, now turning her gaze back to Dawlish, who still just stood there, wand hanging limply from his side, staring at the destroyed contraption at the center of the room as if he had seen a ghost.

"No. He... he is right."

He was what?

"The Dark Lord's name. I only ever heard it spoken once, just vaguely, from a distance. The sound of it... still haunts me to this day. And what I heard just now, the way it sounded, the way it felt..." he took a deep, shuddering breath, and then whispered, "There's no mistaking it. It was the Dark Lord's name."

Dolores looked between the beaten Auror, and the slumped Unspeakable, over to the Minister who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else right now.

"But... even still, there was no need to destroy it, we could have still—"

"No," Dawlish reiterated flatly, then turned towards Cornelius. "I only faintly heard it then, and I still just barely came out of it with my mind intact. And with all respect, Minister, I know that you... most certainly would not."

This... he... Merlin damn it all to hell! Croaker had just blown up the prophecy right in their face, and her ace in the hole refused to even so much as judge him for it, much less try to arrest him, as he should!

This was bad. This was...

They had learned nothing! Nothing except that... a prophecy, which was about Harry Potter and the Dark Lord, had stated that the one with the power to vanquish him, would... whatever would have come next. But that still left one major revelation. The girl had been right. The prophecy did at least say that someone, most likely Harry Potter, would be able to vanquish him, which he did. Sadly, however, she did not know the whole thing. And even if there had been something else in there, which she could have used to contradict whatever Dumbledore would come up with, it was now lost to her.

If anything, however, it had firmly proven that the Potter girl was on her side in all of this. Nobody had had any idea about this, yet the girl had just told her, despite never having had any of the she did claim that she knew the whole thing... There might yet still be some way to use that; use her to get at Dumbledore. After all, Dumbledore seemed to trust her on some level.

Yes. Maybe, this had been worthwhile after all.