[Prof. Umbridge] Chapter 48

"Minister,
I beg your pardon for not replying sooner. After enduring the stress of defending a school filled with children from an attack by Death Eaters, Dementors, and Inferi, I must admit I was utterly exhausted. I managed to hear Berkeley's report and attend to Dumbledore, who has suffered grievous injuries, but from that point, my memory falters.

I trust Williamson has already briefed you, but I will reiterate: nearly all the attackers were apprehended in a well-coordinated operation. Among them were the Lestranges, Carrow, Dolohov, and others. The infamous werewolf Fenrir Greyback was killed—ironically, by a Muggle-made explosive round to the head. Some Death Eaters were killed, others gravely injured, while the Dementors and Inferi were completely eradicated. Auror losses were minimal—three killed and a few lightly wounded, who are expected to return to duty soon.

Hogwarts sustained minor damage, but the house-elves have already restored the premises. There is no panic among the students, and classes will soon resume as scheduled.

Thank you for entrusting me with this position, Minister! While McGonagall is undoubtedly a noble lady and an experienced teacher, the current circumstances demand a different skill set from the headmaster. I hope I will not disappoint you!

Please, rest assured that the coup attempt will not gain traction. I am confident that Williamson and Percy Weasley, like all of us, are committed to rooting out this rebellious plague once and for all, paving the way for a harmonious and prosperous society under your wise leadership.

P.S. I sustained some injuries during the battle, so please excuse the uneven handwriting.
Your loyal servant,
Dolores Umbridge."

"Letty, deliver this, please," Marina Nikolaevna instructed as she sealed the envelope.

Writing while lying down, using someone else's back as support for the parchment, was far from convenient, but she was reluctant to get up. Still, she had no choice: she needed to appear in full regalia by the second breakfast.

"I'm heading to my quarters," Marina Nikolaevna said, glancing around for her clothing. Thankfully, it was neatly folded on a chair—undoubtedly, Letty's doing.

Snape merely nodded in silence, a blot of ink on his shoulder resembling a second Dark Mark.

"We're almost at the finish line," he said quietly. "If we've understood everything correctly, the only Horcruxes left are the diadem and the snake. And..."

"We'll figure something out," Marina Nikolaevna said firmly. "I’m certain there’s a way to destroy Potter’s Horcrux. For now, let’s tackle problems as they arise. Speaking of the diadem... Letty!"

"Yes, madam?" Letty appeared immediately. "Letty delivered the letter to the Minister. The Minister is very, very busy—he’s arguing with the Wizengamot representatives."

"And who’s winning?" Marina Nikolaevna inquired.

"The Minister, because he has the Aurors," Letty replied guilelessly. "They’ve confiscated wands from the dissenters, called them troublemakers and other strange words, and placed them under house arrest—or simply in custody. Minister said it’s to keep them out of the way. The rest are calmer now, but it might take a while..."

"I can imagine," Snape sneered. "Looks like the Minister is enjoying himself!"

"Hopefully, Percy and Williamson will guide him towards reason," Marina Nikolaevna said. "Letty, please take me to my room. Then, investigate the items brought from the Room of Requirement. Remember you mentioned the locket and cup had unique magic? Look for a diadem, crown, or something similar. If it's not there... I suppose we’ll have to search the entire castle!"

"Letty will search," the elf nodded, offering her hand to her mistress.

"Yes, mistress," the mirror replied respectfully as Marina Nikolaevna adjusted her ceremonial robes, fastening a medal to her chest to project an air of authority. "If only you were taller, no one could take their eyes off you! As it is, you look like a little imp—though they say good things come in small packages!"

"Have you been conversing with Professor Snape’s mirror by any chance?" she asked suspiciously.

"Occasionally," the mirror admitted. "It gets boring otherwise. You don’t preen in front of me as often as you used to."

"I’ve been rather busy," she sighed. "Fine, talk to whomever you please, but keep the gossip to a minimum."

"How could you accuse me of that?" the mirror protested. "I’m a respectable mirror! Now, turn a bit to your left... more... see that on your neck?"

"I see it, thanks," she muttered, brushing away the mark while silently cursing Snape. "Anything else compromising?"

"Turn... All clear, mistress," the mirror assured her. "You look splendid!"

"Good," she said. "Time to go." Glancing at the clock, she left her room, arriving at the door just in time to hear a knock.

"Yes, who is it?"

"Madam Umbridge!" came the voice of an Auror. "Chief Williamson is here to see you. May we come in?"

"Enter," she said, unlocking the door. "Good morning."

"A good morning to you as well," Williamson replied cheerfully, looking around. "Where are your famous kittens?"

"Mr. Williamson, are you here to discuss business or my office decor?" Marina Nikolaevna asked pointedly.

"Business, of course," he said, quickly sobering. "With your permission, I’ll be present in the Great Hall. I need to inform the students about the state of emergency and your appointment. Do you object?"

"Not at all," she replied. "What about the prisoners?"

"We interrogated them all night," Williamson reported. "We’ve extracted quite a bit. Voldemort still has a considerable following, but they’re mostly foot soldiers—what he calls ‘hunters.’ Mid-tier wizards, werewolves, likely more Inferi and Dementors. There’s talk he plans to bring giants, but that won’t happen overnight..."

"Should we evacuate the students?"

"No need," Williamson shook his head, the motion making his long chestnut ponytail bounce. "We discussed this... off the record. The students are safer here, under constant supervision, with the castle's protections. If they’re sent home, even mediocre Death Eaters could capture the Muggle-borns easily, and the consequences for them and their families... well, you can imagine. Children defending themselves alone—or even with their families—isn’t viable."

"True enough..."

"Additionally, there are quite a few Death Eater children here," Williamson added, narrowing his eyes. "The more rational parents won’t be overly aggressive and will hold their forces back. Not all are as fanatical as the Lestranges and Carrows... Speaking of which, no one seems to know where Bellatrix Lestrange has gone! Her husband mentioned Voldemort himself has been searching for her."

"Oh, don’t worry," Marina Nikolaevna waved dismissively. "It so happens that she’s... um... already been neutralized. We can provide the body if needed."

"Be sure to do so, but that can wait," Williamson said seriously. "One less headache for us!"

"Indeed," she agreed. "However, with her disappearance, I suspect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might visit Gringotts. Something has gone missing from there," she said vaguely, "but he’s unsure. I believe he’ll want to verify."

“Let the goblins deal with the bank themselves,” muttered Williamson. “They always claim human wars don’t concern them! Well, let’s make it concern them, and we’ll see how they sing then. Voldemort isn’t likely to start stealing gold, is he? If not, honest depositors have nothing to worry about, and we’ll also get a good look at that so-called unbeatable Gringotts security!”

“And what about martial law?” asked Marina Nikolaevna suddenly.

“Standard,” he shrugged. “Freedoms temporarily suspended. Floo Networks are under strict control, Portkeys too, though we can’t get rid of illegal ones overnight… Apparition is banned within a couple of miles of key locations. We’re locking down everything we can—Ministry, St. Mungo’s, our bases, and so on. The list is long. And,” Williamson added, “there will be no rambling debates in the Wizengamot. Wartime laws apply, including expedited trials.”

“Do you remember how such a trial ended for Sirius Black?” Marina Nikolaevna squinted at him.

“Sirius Black wasn’t tried at all,” Williamson reminded her. “And I understand your concern, Madam Umbridge. Military excesses, lawlessness, illegal confiscations, right? I know how things went with Muggles—we got a solid history education in the Corps. Not about the Goblin Wars, though, but… let’s just say more recent times. And I’ll tell you this...” He paused before continuing, “The temptation to stage a coup is great. I’m sure Scrimgeour would have succumbed to it. Fudge, though, lacks the guts. For him, even pulling his head out of the sand and reining in the Wizengamot elders is an accomplishment!”

“And you? Are you tempted?”

“I’m too busy for that; I’ve got work to do,” Williamson smirked. “We have an elected Minister; let him stay in his place. It suits him just fine. Our job is to keep his chair steady so it doesn’t topple. If chaos starts at the top, there’s no telling where it’ll end...”

Marina Nikolaevna reluctantly agreed. She remembered such chaos well from her previous life and had no desire to see it repeated in the wizarding world. Especially since here, there wasn’t even anyone to “storm the tank” except the Aurors, and capable ones like Williamson wouldn’t do it, while ambitious types like Scrimgeour needed to be brought down before they even got a chance!

“Let’s go; everyone’s probably gathered already,” Williamson said, rising to his feet. “Oh, by the way, Berkeley mentioned you had a... disagreement with Dumbledore. True?”

“There was no other choice,” she replied. “He’s alive. He’ll recover soon.”

“I heard that much,” Williamson nodded, gallantly holding the door open for her. “But why was it necessary to... uh... incapacitate him?”

“For his own good,” she repeated. “It’s a long story, Mr. Williamson, but I’ll share it with you once we’ve dealt with the current problems. It’s all connected but no longer particularly relevant. The important thing is that Dumbledore is temporarily neutralized and won’t be interfering!”

“Hah, I know his type—they can cause trouble even from their deathbed,” Williamson chuckled. “Or the grave, for that matter! No worries, though; I’ve stationed guards to keep an eye on him.”

Several Aurors fell in behind them like an honor guard. The castle was bustling with people. Alongside crimson Auror robes, there was plenty of civilian attire. Suddenly...

Marina Nikolaevna stopped as if she’d hit an invisible wall. At the turn of the staircase, a group of fighters was quietly conversing, and she recognized one of them.

“What are you doing here?!” she exclaimed involuntarily.

“And good morning to you too,” replied the silver-haired man in unassuming clothes, a large case slung over his shoulder. “Haven’t you heard? Full mobilization.”

“Oh, right...”

“So, I asked to be stationed near the front lines, to shake off the rust,” he finished.

“And...?”

“Meg will keep an eye on things. Don’t worry,” he said, stepping onto the staircase just as it reached the required floor.

Marina Nikolaevna watched him go, shook her head, and moved on. Meg—a kind old witch neighbor—had agreed to help, thankfully.

“Madam, do you know the Basilisk?” Williamson asked softly, trying to match his long stride to hers.

“The what?” she didn’t understand until he nodded toward the staircase. “That’s my father, actually.”

Williamson stumbled on a meticulously hidden step.

“And his last name doesn’t ring any bells for you?” Marina Nikolaevna asked, puzzled.

“Cleaners’ surnames are only known to their direct superiors,” Williamson muttered. “To the rest, they’re known by their nicknames. Especially Sweepers, particularly those long retired... uh...”

“Sweepers?”

“They’re an elite subset of Cleaners,” Williamson explained. “The logic is simple: Cleaners deal with threats—sometimes noisily—while Sweepers clean up so that no one can trace anything back.”

“Why is he called the Basilisk? Do you know?” she asked quickly, adding, “My father’s never gone into detail about his work.”

“As far as I know, because no one has ever seen him. And if they did, they couldn’t tell anyone about it afterward,” Williamson said, scratching his head and dislodging his ponytail to one side. “No wonder... that explains your sharp personality—it’s clearly hereditary. No offense.”

“None taken... But let’s keep our family connection under wraps.”

“Of course,” Williamson said seriously, letting her pass ahead into the Great Hall.

The students were already seated, nervously eyeing the increased number of Aurors and the empty Headmaster’s chair at the staff table.

Marina Nikolaevna spotted Malfoy—he was pale as a sheet but wasn’t about to keel over. His usual cronies were glancing at him with newfound respect. Fine, their Head of House could handle them if need be.

And there was Potter—escorted out of the hospital wing earlier that morning without a chance to see Dumbledore, then placed under guard in the Gryffindor Tower. Now he was fidgeting in his seat, clearly trying to catch wind of the night’s events. Not that he could have heard much—students had been locked in their dormitories until morning!

“Silence in the hall,” Williamson said, his voice firm yet calm as he ascended the staff table platform and offered Marina Nikolaevna his hand. “For those unaware, I’m Derek Williamson, Head of the Auror Office. As you may have heard, the school was attacked last night. The attackers have been apprehended and neutralized.”

He waited for the murmur of voices to die down before continuing.

“I must also inform you that martial law has been declared across the country. The school is under secure protection. At this moment, Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain, so you will remain here until the situation is resolved. Hopefully, that will be before Christmas. Otherwise, you will spend the holidays at school.”

The hall erupted in protest.

“This is a Ministry directive and is not up for discussion!” Williamson raised his voice, effortlessly silencing the crowd. His voice was commanding. “To answer anticipated questions: you may contact your families, but all incoming and outgoing mail will be thoroughly screened. The Owlery is locked, the Floo Network is blocked, and I strongly advise against seeking alternative means of communication. We have enough trouble without your antics!”

"Where is the Headmaster?" Potter called out from his seat.

"Alright," said Williamson, "Young man, yes, you with the 'Do Not Enter – Dangerous' sign on your forehead, stand up! Name?"

"Harry Potter," he grumbled.

"Sir," the Auror emphasized.

"You don't have to call me 'sir'!" Harry snapped.

"This is worse than I thought," Williamson sighed, shaking his head. He turned to someone nearby. "Murphy, take this young man under your wing after classes."

"Boot camp, sir?" Murphy asked enthusiastically.

"Not yet. For now, he can start by scrubbing floors. Thoroughly. Then we'll see."

"Understood, sir."

"Excuse me, but this is my student, and—" McGonagall began to object, rising from her chair. Williamson turned sharply to her.

"If this is your student, ma'am, then why is someone his age so ignorant of subordination and discipline? Furthermore," he added, "in accordance with Educational Decree Number—do I need to quote it, or does everyone remember?"

"Dolores!"

"Yes, Minerva?" Marina Nikolaevna asked calmly, glancing at the red-faced Potter.
"Mr. Williamson is correct: this is a complex situation. For the time being, we’ll have to prioritize order over the rights and freedoms of individuals. I will not tolerate chaos and anarchy in this school."

The Great Hall fell silent.

"Now then," Williamson continued, his timing impeccable, "as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, Professor Dumbledore has been relieved of his duties for health reasons. He was injured in a night attack and is unable to fulfill the responsibilities of Headmaster."

"And who—" began Slughorn, but Williamson ignored him and finished his announcement.
"Congratulations, Headmistress Umbridge!"

"Thank you," she nodded and walked to the central chair at the staff table. With a wave of her wand, she transformed its upholstery into subtle Slytherin shades—crimson and gold accents were never to her taste.

Filch, glowing with excitement, respectfully pulled out the chair for her and seemed on the verge of tears.

"I knew it," Ingebjorg muttered.

"Well, it was bound to happen," Grubbly-Plank exclaimed and clapped heartily.

"Congratulations!" Sprout added, followed by Flitwick.

"The rightful reward for a hero," Snape commented, and the Slytherin table gave a restrained round of applause, as if on cue.

"Congratulations," McGonagall said tersely. "I assume you’ll select your own deputy? Given that my competence has been publicly questioned..."

"Now, now, Minerva," Marina Nikolaevna said calmly, "you are irreplaceable as Deputy for Administrative Affairs. However, for the role of Deputy for Disciplinary Work, I would like to nominate Madam Ingebjorg, if she has no objections."

"None whatsoever," Ingebjorg replied, casting a glance around the Great Hall that made most present—including the Aurors—shiver. "I would be glad to help."

"Thank you," Marina Nikolaevna nodded and took her seat. "Now, let’s have breakfast and get to lessons!"

"Exactly," said Grubbly-Plank, "war or not, breakfast is on schedule. And lunch too."

"Hard to fight on an empty stomach," Ingebjorg agreed.

"Dolores," McGonagall asked quietly, "will you be taking Dumbledore's office?"

"No," she shook her head. "Too many portraits. I don’t like anyone watching over my shoulder. Of course, I'll use it for official meetings, but nothing more. My quarters suit me just fine."

Breakfast ended in silence, and students headed off to classes. Marina Nikolaevna, walking into the hallway, suddenly remembered something. She snapped her fingers and called, "Trinky!"

"Yes, Madam Headmistress?" A house-elf appeared immediately, bowing so deeply its ears brushed the floor.

"Tell me, is the free elf Dobby still in the school?"

"Yes, Madam Headmistress."

"Keep an eye on him," she instructed. "He might try to leave Hogwarts, especially if Harry Potter asks him to."

"Madam Headmistress, perhaps we should expel him from the school?" Trinky ventured 

cautiously. "He was hired by the previous Headmaster, but—"

"But Dobby is a free elf and would just return," Marina Nikolaevna sighed. "Do something to neutralize him. Lock him up or freeze him temporarily—you have powerful magic, don’t you? I don’t care how, just keep him out of my way."

"Wouldn’t it be simpler to kill him, Madam Headmistress?" Trinky asked politely, and she choked.

"No, let’s avoid radical solutions. Tie him up—that's enough."

"As you wish, Madam Headmistress," the elf bowed again and disappeared.

Almost immediately, another elf, Letty, appeared, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Madam!" she whispered. "Letty found something strange! Several things, in fact!"

"Did you now? And what about the matter I asked you to look into?"

"There are similar items, Madam," Letty reported. "Letty took them to your chambers."

"Good work!" Marina Nikolaevna nodded. "Pass on—never mind, I’ll handle it after lessons. Guard them for now; I have a class."

"Yes, Madam!"

The lesson, to be honest, was a disaster. The second-years were so overexcited that they forgot all their theory, let alone any practical skills. Marina Nikolaevna had to answer countless questions about what had happened during the night, who had attacked, how many there were, and how they had been defeated. At least she managed to tie some of the answers back to the lesson.

"Madam Umbridge," Abercrombie said seriously, lingering after class. "I wanted to say..."

"Speak quickly, or I’ll have to escort you to your next lesson," she reminded him. "Did you forget? No one moves alone in the castle!"

"Yes... I just wanted to say that it’s probably for the best if there’s no Christmas holiday this year!" he blurted out.

"And why is that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well... I was going to ask to stay at school anyway. But it’s lonely being the only one here..." he sighed heavily.

"Last year, if I’m not mistaken, you went home for the holidays quite eagerly?" she recalled.

"That was last year..." Abercrombie sighed even more heavily.

"Alright, let’s walk. You can tell me everything on the way to Transfiguration. Why don’t you want to go home for Christmas?" She offered him her hand.

"Well, Madam Umbridge," he began carefully, as was his habit, "my grandmother was a witch, but my grandfather wasn’t. My father is a wizard, but my mother isn’t, and..."

"And what follows from that?"

"Well..." Abercrombie hung his head, carefully combed hair falling into his face. "I lived with my grandmother and grandfather because Dad... Dad was in the service. He was an Auror. Almost."

"What do you mean, 'almost'?"

"That’s what Gran always said. I don’t know why," he shrugged. "I barely remember him, and he definitely didn’t have one of those crimson robes. He died when I was little. At least, that’s what they told me. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral. All I have is his magical photo, but it’s in the dormitory..."

"I see..."

"And Mom didn’t live with us," he added. "She has another husband now, and I have two brothers. But they’re not wizards, of course."

"And why don’t you want to stay with your grandparents?"

"Because Gran passed away," he said quietly, "and now I can’t use magic at home. Grandpa doesn’t like it—even talking about it. He always argued with Dad about becoming an Auror instead of... a Healer or something else." He sniffed and added, "When I grow up, I want to be like Dad! But, oh, will I have to work hard for it..."

"With your determination, Abercrombie, I believe you can achieve that," sighed Marina Nikolaevna. "And here's the deal: even if the situation is resolved by Christmas, which I sincerely hope happens, you are welcome to stay at the school for the holidays. I assume your grandfather and mother wouldn't object?"

"Thank you, Madam Umbridge!" he said happily, looking up at her. "They won't! I asked my grandfather back in the fall, and I even have a note. And my mom always goes... somewhere far away for Christmas. So I'll just send them postcards, that's allowed, right?"

"Of course," she said, absently adjusting his collar. "Now, off to class."

‘Almost an Auror? Could he have been a Cleaner too?’ she thought involuntarily. ‘Or is it just a coincidence? After all, Aurors have plenty of auxiliary divisions—they aren't all frontline fighters! There are analysts, and healers too... But they don’t usually get killed, that's the thing! Well, I'll have to look into it.’