[Prof Umbridge] Chapter 49

The day was a whirlwind of activity, leaving barely enough time to carve out a quarter of an hour to visit the infirmary and check on Dumbledore’s condition.

Madam Pomfrey, who was just changing the bandages on Colhoun (the cheerful, freckled young man who had suffered an attack by Inferi), nodded towards the screen partitioning off a distant corner and said:
“He’s fine, Dolores, but he refuses to talk. He’s not entirely here, you might say. Stares right through you, answers when he feels like it, but not every time.”

“May I see him?”

“Of course. And you—hold still!” she added, addressing Colhoun. “Brave enough to face Inferi, but can’t tolerate five minutes of treatment?”

“I’m not brave!” protested the Auror. “It’s just... fighting under Polyjuice... ow! Fighting’s so much harder—it’s a different body, coordination’s off, reflexes are foreign... ouch! And there wasn’t time for proper training...”

“You’ll live,” Pomfrey grumbled, thrusting a large mug of potion into his hands. “Drink it all!”

Dolores carefully peeked behind the screen. Dumbledore lay under a sheet pulled up to his chin, staring at the ceiling. It was hard to tell if he heard any of what Hagrid, sitting beside him and muttering incessantly, was saying. Hagrid’s face was decorated with fresh bruises.

“How is he?” she asked softly.

Hagrid started and turned to her, dabbing his nose with what appeared to be a checkered tablecloth. 

“Alive,” he rumbled in a low whisper, “but he won’t talk... What happened, ma’am? The Death Eaters came for Harry, didn’t they? And the headmaster wanted to protect him, so he led him away, relying on the teachers and Aurors to defend the school. But he—”

“Who told you that?” Dolores interrupted, her tone sharp.

“He did,” Hagrid replied guilelessly. “Said if anything happened, Harry had to be saved first—because without him, You-Know-Who can’t be beaten! Said the Death Eaters would move mountains to get to him, but if he wasn’t at the school, they wouldn’t bother anyone else. Their own kids are here, after all!”

“I see...”

“Yeah... And I swore I’d protect Harry, the school, and the headmaster himself!”

“I heard you distinguished yourself in the battle,” Dolores said seriously.

“Eh, I got there near the end. Couldn’t get through the barriers they put up everywhere,” Hagrid sighed. “Saw someone in a mask running past, clearly trying to escape, so I threw my club at them...”

“Good aim,” she reassured him.

“Ma’am...” Hagrid hesitated, sniffled, then added quietly, “I heard Harry’s been punished?”

“Correct.”

“Maybe don’t be too hard on the lad? He’s been through a lot... Send him my way, like Professor Dumbledore used to—”

“Hagrid,” Dolores sighed heavily, “Harry is no longer a ‘lad,’ as you put it. He’s a young man now. And no, I won’t send him to you for tea. He’s not leaving the castle unescorted. You’ve understood correctly: the Death Eaters and their master want him, so no one’s taking their eyes off him! As for the punishment, it’s a minor one, nothing more than what he’s had to endure with Mr. Filch before...”

“Well, maybe...” Hagrid scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Still, when you work with your hands, it clears your head a bit!”

“Exactly. Take care, Hagrid. If Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak, call me.”

As she left, Dolores happened to run into Ingebjorg in the corridor.

“Dumbledore didn’t want to talk?” Ingebjorg inquired with genuine curiosity. Dolores shrugged.

“As expected. He said far too much last night and now has to think it over—along with how to untangle the web of lies he’s been spinning for years. He’s trapped himself in his own net.”

“Seems so... Do you know where he went last night with Potter? You fixed the boy’s memory, but I didn’t think to ask then. Now Hagrid’s saying Dumbledore was trying to protect Harry from the Death Eaters!”

“I know, but not from Harry. He had no idea where or why he was being taken.” Ingebjorg turned toward the stairs. “Dumbledore realized time was running out, and the Horcruxes were still missing. He found the ring, that much is true, the diary’s long destroyed, and he recently traced a medallion.”

“He mentioned this last night?”

“Yes, half-delirious—an unfortunate side effect of the emerald potion,” Ingebjorg nodded. “If you ask the right questions, you get interesting answers. And asking questions is my trade...”

Dolores was silent for a moment before asking, “From what we learned about the medallion, does that mean... he really intended for Potter to drink the potion?”

“Well, it didn’t come to that,” Ingebjorg shook her silver head. “He planned to drink it himself.”

“But he didn’t know the medallion was fake...” Dolores murmured. “Ah, I didn’t tell you about that yet!”

After a brief explanation, Ingebjorg simply nodded.

“Fake or not, Dumbledore would have drunk the potion. Following his plan, he’d have gained nothing but lost much...”

“Are you saying he lost nothing now?”

“If you mean his hand, Dolores, that’s a trifle,” Ingebjorg smiled. “What he gained, I hope, is understanding—and he kept his life. I doubt he’d have survived the potion, cursed as he is, without supervision...”

“But he also gained torment,” Dolores muttered.

“Who says gain must always bring joy, or loss always bring grief?”

“True...” Dolores paused, collected her thoughts, and then glanced around to ensure no one was listening. “Ingebjorg, be honest—what was in your flask?”

“I’ve already answered that question once today, around six in the morning,” Ingebjorg replied calmly. “No mind-expanding potions, then or now. Want me to drink it in front of you?”

Dolores shook her head.

“So it was that bad?” Ingebjorg asked with interest.

“It’s not that,” Dolores replied darkly. “It’s just...”

“Ridiculous, inappropriate, and ill-timed?”

“Exactly. And that stupid joke!”

“Well, our colleague has a rather peculiar sense of humor,” Ingebjorg nodded. “But think, Dolores—hasn’t he always acted this way?”

“No,” Dolores replied almost immediately. “He’s already... hmm... made jokes with textbooks, and before that, with another matter of ours. And I’ll bet he turned a blind eye to the headmaster’s left-handedness, even though he must have noticed Letty’s antics!”

“And what does this behavior resemble?”

“Certainly not that of an adult,” Dolores answered grimly. She paused, then asked hesitantly, “Ingebjorg, you’re not suggesting...”

“Why suggest what you already know, Dolores?” Ingebjorg looked at her slyly. “Our colleague may appear to be an accomplished Master, but deep down, he’s an awkward teenager with no sense of tact. Most of them are, with few exceptions. ‘What’s the big deal?’ That’s their favorite phrase! And they genuinely don’t see the problem...”

“I’ve thought about this before,” Dolores admitted. “That he’s spent two-thirds of his life at this school, with no chance to learn how to interact with others beyond... uh... professional boundaries.”

"Are you more upset with yourself? For failing to stay within the boundaries of the rules you set for yourself?"

"Yes," she nodded. "In this case, I have only myself to blame. Never before have two sips affected me so much, and to such a degree!"

"It's not as if you end up in situations like this every day," sighed Ingebjorg. "There's no point in blaming yourself. What's done is done—grind it down, and you'll have flour. By the way, here's your note. He was too scared to return it himself, said your hand was far too heavy..."

"The bearer of this note consents to perform any actions I command," Marina Nikolaevna read aloud, the words written in her own hand. She was at a loss for words.

"As if I didn't already have enough troublesome teenagers..." she finally muttered. "Speaking of which, Ingebjorg! Could you perhaps take on Potter?"

"No," the seer replied immediately. "As your deputy, of course, I’ll assign him yet another detention. But if you're talking about mentorship—no, no, and again no!"

"Why not?"

"Because, Dolores, those who come to me seek knowledge," said Ingebjorg. "Even if they don't fully understand what they're looking for, they strive for something greater—something they believe I can give them. Take Hrafn: when he came to me, he could barely communicate like a normal human being. But he knew, with absolute certainty, that he wanted to learn skills to restore his clan's glory. He spent years as my apprentice, doing dirty and arduous work, learning our language. Only when he was able to clearly articulate his desire—and when I was certain it wasn't mere whimsy—did I accept him as a student."

She paused and added, "You see, he stayed with me. Perhaps, after so many years, his dream of becoming the ruler of a few surviving dvergar clans faded, replaced by something else. I think even Hrafn himself doesn't yet understand what that is, but he'll find his path. At this point, he knows and can do enough not to lose his way."

"So you're saying that if someone doesn't want to learn, you can't force them?" Marina Nikolaevna asked.

"Precisely. But that boy who always clings to you—I would take him," Ingebjorg replied, completely seriously. "He's too young for apprenticeship now, but he has all the makings of a great student. And if he doesn't lose his inner fire by the time he's of age, I would gladly welcome him to my hearth."

"You mean Abercrombie? That little second-year Gryffindor?" she clarified, waiting for Ingebjorg's nod before adding, "He’ll probably be thrilled."

"Of course he will. As if it’s not obvious... A curious mind paired with a pure heart and kind soul is a rare find," the seer smirked. "But your Potter... He was once clever, but he's forgotten his wit, replacing it with a companion. He was once kind, but he's lost that kindness and instinct, replacing it with a friend. You can’t blame him for this—it wasn't his choice, nor his doing."

"Can he be helped?"

"Only if someone comes along who can take him in and warm him, like a frozen bird in their hands," said Ingebjorg, pausing. "And that’s not a task for a day or two; it's for life. His godfather won't help—his fire only burns cities down. The Weasley matriarch? Even less so—she’d smother him with her love, like a heavy quilt. He has no one nearby. No one to both hold him steady and give him rest."

"So, will he just be lost?" Marina Nikolaevna asked quietly.

"Perhaps he’ll find a friend," Ingebjorg replied gravely. "One who wants nothing—no glory, no heroics, neither theirs nor his. But, as I said, there’s no one like that here in the school. Maybe later, he'll meet someone. For now, we’re powerless, Dolores."

"And the Auror Department is no option for him."

"Gods forbid!" she exclaimed. "As if you’ve never seen Aurors before! Speaking of which, they’re right on cue..."

"Madam Umbridge—uh, I mean, Headmistress," O’Leary appeared unexpectedly, as usual. "We need you for five minutes."

"Of course," she replied. "What’s the matter?"

"Eliminators are here," he said in a low voice.

"I beg your pardon?" she frowned.

"The guys from the Department for the Regulation of Dangerous Creatures," Berkeley clarified, appearing on the other side. "They’ve already taken out two groups of giants moving toward Hogwarts. They were likely heading to support you-know-who but never made it... And now we’ve got the Forbidden Forest right at our doorstep."

"They’ve already surveyed the forest from above," O’Leary continued, "and found a massive acromantula nest—one. And two, giant tracks. Just one giant, but still..."

"Wait..." Marina Nikolaevna held her head. "That forest has centaurs, hippogriffs, unicorns, thestrals, and..."

"And who knows what else," Berkeley finished. "All within walking distance of the school. Ordinary creatures won’t bother people, and centaurs keep to themselves. But giants and acromantulas? The eliminators are asking for permission to handle it."

"Handle it—as in destroy it?" she asked softly.

"Yes. Do you want a breeding ground for such threats right next door?"

"No, but... where did the giant come from?"

"Now that’s an interesting question," O’Leary said. "They’ll try to capture it alive if possible—maybe they can figure out how it got here, who brought it, and which routes it used. Giants aren’t stupid, but they’re hard to negotiate with!"

"Perhaps Hrafn can help," Ingebjorg said quietly. "He knows how to communicate with the Jotnar and may find common ground with this one."

"That would be splendid, madam," Berkeley nodded. "As for the spiders, though... their nest will have to be burned."

"The centaurs will be furious," Marina Nikolaevna sighed.

"Then they should stay out of it," O’Leary shrugged. "Can’t we send Firenze as a mediator?"

"No, he’s an outcast. They’d kill him if he entered the forest," she explained.

"Too bad. Well, they can wait until the spider lair burns out—retreat to the ravine, perhaps. The eliminators won’t let the fire spread to the forest. And as for the rest... Lightning could’ve caused such a fire anyway," he chuckled. "The creatures will flee on their own—they’re not stupid. So, Headmistress, do we have your approval?"

"What choice do I have?" she muttered. "But seriously, try to avoid unnecessary casualties!"

"We’ll start with flashbangs," O’Leary said. "Those Weasley twins invented some great stuff! The noise and light will drive most creatures away. Then the eliminators will surround and neutralize the spiders. We’ve got sleeping potions ready, among other things..."

"And if the centaurs show up with their arrows," Berkeley added with a smirk, "they’ll be dealt with quickly. As for the giant, a special unit will handle it."

"Alright, proceed," Marina Nikolaevna nodded. "Ingebjorg, will you explain to Hrafn what’s needed of him?"

"Of course."

The Forbidden Forest had long been a source of anxiety for her, but there had been no time to deal with it. The thestrals and other creatures generally kept to themselves, avoiding humans. But still...

"I’ll keep watch to ensure no harm comes to the peaceful creatures," Ingebjorg said. From seemingly nowhere, Hrafn appeared, handing her a fur cloak and standing by her side. "Let’s go, gentlemen. Dolores?"

"I’m counting on you," Marina Nikolaevna nodded and headed toward the stairs—there was no shortage of other matters to attend to, especially after what Letty had uncovered!

The artifacts were neatly arranged on the table, and Marina Nikolaevna made a wide detour around it: the unknown artifacts were "radiating" noticeably, as she recalled the appropriate term.

Here was a heavy chain with a pendant shaped like a skull with ruby eyes and pearl teeth, and there, a bracelet—or perhaps a shackle? How had they ended up in the Room of Requirement? And when? No answers…

"There were a few crowns, Madam," Letty said, appearing by her side. "But only one is special, and the rest are just objects with strange powers."

"This one, you mean?" Marina Nikolaevna pointed to a modest diadem among the other treasures. "It seems like there's something engraved on it. Can you read it?"

She had no desire to pick up the object herself.

"It says, 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,'" Letty read, squinting at the diadem.

"Fitting… But there's only one way to confirm if it's the real thing," thought Marina Nikolaevna and instructed: "Fly to Professor Snape and tell him I need to see him. And have him bring the fang."

"Yes, Madam!" Letty replied.

It took a while for her to return, and when she did, she reappeared arm-in-arm with Snape, who Letty promptly explained had been busy with a conversation, then writing a letter, then busy again, and then…

"Stalling for time," Marina Nikolaevna concluded. "Severus, really, what were you doing?"

"And do you think it's simple to compose a letter to Malfoy—one that ensures the Dark Lord doesn’t catch on to what's really happening here?" he snapped. "Lucius only cares about Draco, but as for me—how do you expect me to manage? 'Oh, my Lord, the castle is crawling with Aurors, but they’re such incompetents they missed the attack and only overwhelmed the intruders with sheer numbers! No, my Lord, I haven’t lost control of the situation! Dumbledore’s in the infirmary, and the Minister is so terrified he appointed some… ahem…"

"A chicken," she supplied.

"What, would it have been better to write 'manticore'?" Snape asked dryly. "Though you're far worse than a manticore… All right, let’s get to the point."

"Here," Marina Nikolaevna nodded at the table. "The Room of Requirement yielded a lot of interesting items, but this diadem seems to be what we’re after. Although, as a precaution, we could test the fang on the other objects too…"

"And what if we ruin them?" he asked with genuine curiosity, eyeing the pendant shaped like a skull. The lower jaw of the pendant was visibly moving, and he had no desire to stick a finger in its teeth. "Let’s start with the diadem—if it’s a Horcrux, we’ll know immediately."

"Then get on with it. What are you waiting for?"

Crack. The diadem split in two, and as if echoing the sharp sound, something distant burst with a crackling explosion.

"Another attack?!" Snape was the first to rush to the window.

"No, it’s the exterminators chasing off the spiders," Marina Nikolaevna said, moving aside to peer at the fireworks over the Forbidden Forest.

From the depths of the forest, thestrals and hippogriffs soared into the air, shrieking and crying as they scattered to the edges. Flashes of spells, bursts of gunfire, and someone’s roaring could be heard.

"It would look better at night," Snape muttered.

"At night, the Acromantulas would be active, and now they haven’t fully woken up yet," Marina Nikolaevna explained. "Why waste time?"

"Indeed…" He kept looking into the distance. "Dolores… so only two Horcruxes remain? The snake and…"

"Yes. Figuring out how to get the snake won’t be too difficult. But as for the other one…" She paused before saying, "I have an idea. I just need to consult with Ingebjorg—this kind of thing is her specialty."

"You might as well tell me what isn’t her specialty," Snape muttered, still staring toward the Forbidden Forest.

Marina Nikolaevna carefully placed a hand on his chest—his heart was racing, sometimes skipping a beat, like that of a frightened bird.

"Severus, we’ll figure something out," she said seriously. "I don’t know what yet, but Harry will survive. I’m certain."

"Really?" he asked quietly, covering her hand with his own.

"Absolutely," she repeated.