[Prof. Umbridge] Chapter 34

Sorry, guys, but I will be taking a break this Sunday and Monday since I missed out on Remembrance Day this past Monday while building up the backlog.

I will be out of town, so I won't be able to post the next chapter for Prof. Umbridge as it needs a bit more time in the oven.

However, I will post Mad Tiger and Castling tomorrow. Those two are ready and just need a quick edit.

Sorry!

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For a couple of weeks, Marina Nikolaevna stayed with her family. She found that they were all doing well, liked the new house, Dennis and Mary had found jobs, and the girls had made a bunch of new friends. Conveniently, an old witch lived nearby, whom all the local kids would visit to hear scary stories, and who immediately recognized the wizarding nature of Orford and his granddaughters. She had never attended any school herself but knew a lot of interesting things, especially about healing and potion-making. Marina Nikolaevna wrote down a few recipes, figuring Snape would find this ancient knowledge at the very least interesting! Maybe there are better methods now, but sometimes everything new is simply something old that's been forgotten...

And, of course, Orford’s lessons weren’t neglected; he seemed eager to demonstrate his skills to his daughter. Granted, you can’t learn much in just two weeks, but it was still helpful!

Meanwhile, Percy Weasley flooded his unexpected mentor with letters; while he could handle and analyze information well, he often struggled with people. Eventually, Marina Nikolaevna got so fed up with it that she found a good psychologist in London (judging by the reviews) and dragged Percy there, firmly instructing him not to mention magic and to focus only on work and family issues.

The effect was unexpected. After the third therapy session, Percy went home and made peace with his parents. He didn’t move back, saying he now had his own life, but after the fifth session, he bluntly told the minister that he “couldn’t see the forest for the trees.” And, further, that “sticking your head in the sand might be comfortable, but it leaves your rear wide open for anyone who wants to take a shot!”

To say that Fudge was shocked would be an understatement. He was even more stunned when Marina Nikolaevna backed Percy’s opinion, adding that while the minister was right to exercise caution, it should be reasonable caution! She pointed out that there was already some unrest, and that some were eyeing a more decisive leader to fill his position...

“Who?!” Fudge asked, alarmed.

“Scrimgeour, Minister,” Percy answered grimly.

“What?! The Head of the Auror Office?!”

“Yes, him,” Marina Nikolaevna nodded. “And considering that he also tends to stick his head in the sand, along with his militaristic habits... He’ll just undo everything you’ve achieved with one stroke of a pen! He’s pure-blooded, isn’t he? Well, I guarantee you, the Squib Reintegration Program will be forgotten. The expanded Muggle Studies curriculum at Hogwarts will be scrapped. And I’ll probably be dismissed for being your loyal aide!”

“If I may offer my opinion,” Percy chimed in, “Mr. Scrimgeour is a terrible careerist, and everyone knows it. If he were to become minister, that would be the pinnacle of his dreams. He wouldn’t actually do anything, unlike you, Minister Fudge! Madam Umbridge is right—he’d shut down every new project, pretend everything is fine, everything is on track... but things are already bad! And if you’re trying to fix things, he’d just sweep everything under the rug, I assure you!”

“What exactly is wrong?” Fudge asked weakly, fanning himself with a folder.

“Well, Death Eaters are on the loose, dreaming of restoring you-know-who’s former power,” Marina Nikolaevna reminded him. “The Dementors have broken free and are roaming Muggle villages. Azkaban is practically unguarded, and we don’t know where to put criminals. In such a difficult situation, a backstab is the last thing we need!”

“Understood,” the minister suddenly pulled himself together. “Scrimgeour needs to be sidelined. Let him supervise Azkaban’s security. But who should take his place? Dawlish?”

“He’s a good Auror, but too much of a yes-man,” Marina Nikolaevna replied. “He’ll serve whoever’s in charge.”

“Hm... Shacklebolt?”

“He’s one of Dumbledore’s people.”

“Then who do you suggest?”

“If I may, Minister, I would recommend Derek Williamson,” Percy suggested, prompted by a nudge from Marina Nikolaevna.

“Williamson? Ah, yes, I remember him! Do you think he’s up to it? He doesn’t seem... particularly impressive!”

“Williamson is an excellent Auror, sir!” Percy stated firmly. “He’s good at working with subordinates, doesn’t abuse his position, holds progressive views like you, and believes in addressing issues as they arise instead of burying them until it’s too late!”

“He’s also a very diligent worker,” added Marina Nikolaevna, “and don’t let his somewhat casual appearance bother you. Bill Weasley has a free spirited hairdo, too, but at Gringotts, they value him highly, right, Percy?”

“Yes, Madam Umbridge,” Percy nodded, adding, “I don’t approve, but if an earring doesn’t interfere with his duties, then let it be.”

“And also,” Marina Nikolaevna said, “Williamson has a nephew. A Squib.”

“Well, you could have started with that!” Fudge exclaimed, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Here you are talking about earrings and hair... Weasley, prepare the order for Scrimgeour’s transfer to Azkaban. Let him handle security there. And, accordingly, the order to appoint Williamson as head of the Auror Office. He can choose his own deputies... Now, about your research?”

“Here are the interim results!” Percy proudly said, waving his wand to produce a hefty stack of files on the minister’s desk. “This is just from the Squib Protection Society’s data. As you can imagine, Minister, it’s not easy gathering this information on my own…”

“So much?!” Fudge was horrified by the towering stack.

“This covers the last century and a half,” Marina Nikolaevna reassured him. “But it’s still quite a lot.”

“Good thing we’re addressing this now…” Fudge took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow again. “A little more, and this tower might have collapsed on top of us all!”

“Perfectly said, Minister,” Percy commented.

“No need for flattery,” Fudge waved him off, picking up the top file. “Now, go back to work! I want those orders on my desk in half an hour!”

“It’ll be done, Minister!” Percy replied smartly and left.

“Yes, Dolores, it seems we’ve unleashed quite a force…” Fudge muttered as he skimmed through the files, recognizing some of the names. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t consume us too.”

“It won’t. After all, we intend to set it upon our opponents, remember?” she smiled. “Well, I’ll take my leave, Minister. I have some preparations to make for the new school year.”

“Traveling by train again?”

“Of course,” she nodded. “There are new prefects for the fifth year, and I don’t quite trust the older students to convey the full weight of responsibility that falls on them. One year isn’t nearly enough to instill such skills! But they’ll adapt...”

“Yes, the Board speaks highly of the new Divination teacher,” Fudge recalled. “And the students are said to be thrilled. And this cultural exchange...”

“I think this year we’ll manage to invite someone from China or India—Patil’s father apparently has connections there,” Marina Nikolaevna noted.

“Wonderful!” Fudge said, just as Percy re-entered with the prepared documents. “Excellent... Here’s one… and two. Distribute copies to the departments, Weasley, and get back to your assignment. You’re making progress… maybe even deserving of a bonus!”

"Glad to be of service, Minister!" he blurted out, grabbed the signed orders, and dashed off.

"I told you, all the young man needed was a bit of proper motivation," said Marina Nikolaevna seriously. "With your permission..."

"Until we meet again, Dolores, and please do keep me informed about everything at Hogwarts!"

"Of course, Minister. Until next time."

“Dolores,” Fudge called out just as she reached for the door handle. “Tell me honestly… are you planning to take my seat as Minister yourself?”

His voice held tension, even fear, and Marina Nikolaevna paused before answering.

“A few years ago, I might have considered it, Minister, but I’ve since realized that I misjudged my priorities. Dealing with adults, seasoned politicians, and schemers... it’s interesting, but it’s draining, and it hardens you. Especially for a woman—there’s no other way to compete with men in that arena… But no,” she preempted his next question, “I have no intention of doing so. Raising the next generation to be decent people—that, in my view, is a much greater challenge. So, Minister, the position of Hogwarts Headmistress is all I need for my modest happiness!”

“Oh...” Fudge muttered somewhat foolishly, dropping his quill. A look of great relief washed over his face. “So that's it! All your initiatives and educational reforms… that’s what it’s all been leading to!”

“You object?”

“Oh, goodness, no!” he exclaimed, standing up, stepping over to her, and shaking her hand. “On the contrary! I’ll be incredibly pleased to see you as the Headmistress of Hogwarts! Then I’ll finally be able to rest easy...”

“There’s just one small obstacle,” she sighed, “and that’s getting Dumbledore out of the way!”

“I’m confident you can manage it,” the minister beamed with a broad grin. “Oh, Dolores, you’ve lifted such a weight off my shoulders...”

“That weight was imaginary,” she replied seriously, then left.

The Ministry corridors were as crowded as ever, but today, they seemed unusually loud. Marina Nikolaevna quickly understood why when, in the next hall, she found herself facing a crowd—a veritable sea of red Auror robes. She tried to back away, but it was too late; she was already surrounded.

“Madam Umbridge!” called a tall Auror with long hair tied back in a ponytail, practically down to his waist. “So, that little Weasley wasn’t joking?!”

“Have you ever known Percy Weasley to joke?” she asked, eyeing possible escape routes.

“Yes. Three times in the past two weeks,” admitted Williamson honestly, then unexpectedly scooped her up. “Lift Madam Umbridge!”

“No! Put me down this instant, Mr. Williamson, or you’ll be the first head of the Auror Department not to last an hour in the role!” Marina Nikolaevna shouted over him.

“So it’s true? It’s true?!” He gave her a slight lift but immediately set her down again, even smoothing her robes. Then he added bluntly, “And to think I once called you an old toad...”

“Mr. Williamson, I am only three years older than you, for your information,” she said irritably. “And now, if you’ll let me pass!”

“Madam Umbridge, just a moment... a quick word,” he waved his colleagues away, and they swiftly blocked the onlookers. “Is it true that Scrimgeour’s been sent to manage Azkaban?”

“Yes.”

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to get rid of a few more... shall we say, ancient relics... Scrimgeour will need assistants, after all.”

“You’re planning to help him gather a team of sympathizers, Mr. Williamson? I thought better of your foresight.”

“Got carried away...” he sighed. “Alright, I’ll transfer them somewhere remote. And... Madam Umbridge, do you know who the Cleaners are?”

“I’m aware,” she said cautiously, “but why do you ask?”

“I want all Aurors to be trained the same way,” Williamson replied seriously. “I’ve talked to a few of them... they say the best way to handle werewolves is to take them down with explosives—head one way, paws the other, no magic necessary...”

“You’re the head of the Auror Department now; it’s up to you to decide how to train your subordinates,” said Marina Nikolaevna.

“And the funding?!”

“Oh, good grief... Fine, send me your proposal, and we’ll see what I can convince the Minister of,” she sighed.

“They say the best way to reach Fudge is through you since you have influence over him,” Williamson smirked.

“If you even imply that I have influence over him via... certain means,” she began.

“I’d be the first head of the Auror Department dismissed within an hour?”

“No, I’d just break your nose,” she answered seriously. “And stop wasting time, or I really might regret recommending you!”

“My apologies,” Williamson said more seriously. “Just overjoyed, you see...”

“Channel that joy or direct those positive emotions into work,” said Marina Nikolaevna. “And please send some skilled specialists to help guard Hogwarts this year. Ones who, during their shifts, could show the students something... well, you understand?”

“Oh, like extracurricular activities? No problem! Plenty of retirees would sign up for that,” he said. “Those who just recently retired. They might not be fit for active duty, but they can still teach the younger ones a thing or two!”

“That would work too. I’ll look forward to your suggestions, Mr. Williamson. And congratulations on your appointment,” she added, finally making her escape.

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As summer neared its end, Marina Nikolaevna decided to take a stroll through Diagon Alley. She had some shopping to do and wanted to listen in on what people were saying.

It was easy to spot the new first-years, especially those from Muggle families. Back in spring, Marina Nikolaevna had made it a requirement for senior prefects who were of age and could Apparate to accompany them. After all, the professors couldn’t be everywhere at once. Of course, if any parents had doubts about sending their children to Hogwarts, they’d get a visit from the stern and reliable McGonagall, the persuasive and kind Sprout, or Snape, who could silence any objections with a single glance. But everyone else could be guided by the prefects. For those who lived in London and nearby, it was even simpler—no Apparition needed, just a walk through the Leaky Cauldron!

“Madam Umbridge!” called out Val Hawkins, a seventh-year prefect from Ravenclaw. “Good afternoon!”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hawkins,” she nodded, looking at the young children huddled close to their tall guide, wide-eyed as they took in their surroundings. “Are you managing with the new students?”

“Of course! I’m trying to convince them to choose Ravenclaw, but they keep saying, ‘Nooo, we’re not smart enough, we can’t do it...’”

“Low self-esteem is a terrible thing,” Marina Nikolaevna said seriously. “But we’ll see! Hmm, Mr. Hawkins, is there some kind of competition to persuade as many newcomers as possible to consider your house?”

“How did you know, ma’am?” he asked, surprised.

“I just saw Miss Percu from Hufflepuff, passionately explaining things to her charges... see, over there, by the apothecary? And just before, I ran into Miss Llewellyn from Slytherin; she was treating the children to ice cream and explaining school rules to them.”

"Well, yeah, we kind of figured the Hat’s the Hat, but it can be persuaded too," Hawkins grinned. "It wanted to send me to Gryffindor, but I just wouldn’t have it—no way!"

"And why’s that?"

"Well, I’d already heard enough on the train about the Gryffindor troublemakers," he said bluntly, "so I decided I’d be better off somewhere calmer. I’m, you know, my parents’ only son. No regrets about my choice, if you’re wondering."

"Wonderful, Mr. Hawkins," Marina Nikolaevna sighed. "See you at school!"

"See you, ma’am!"

After a moment’s thought, she turned down a side alley to avoid running into students, their parents, Ministry staff, and other people every couple of minutes... And then she suddenly spotted a very familiar face.

The person was selling an assortment of odds and ends from a small stand: ceramic mugs, clearly Muggle-made, with London scenes, magnets, silverware, various trinkets, books, and a few items that had a distinct air of dark magic—a quality Marina Nikolaevna (that is, Dolores) could sense immediately.

“Ahem…” she said, stepping closer. “And what do we have here, my good man?”

“Oh, have a look, ma’am,” he fawned, sensing a paying customer. “All sorts of treasures, worth every knut! Here’s a goblet, real silver, genuine goblin craftsmanship, I swear… books, trinkets…”

Marina Nikolaevna examined one item after another, keeping a bored, slightly disdainful expression on her face, until her hand came across a large gold locket. She would have put it aside too, had it not been for the symbol on the lid…

The same snakes she’d seen on the doors of the Chamber of Secrets.

"Valuable, meaningful, unique items…" she recalled, and tried to open the locket, but without success.

“Tell me, good sir,” she said, “do you happen to have a license for trading in dark magic artifacts, of which I count about a dozen here?”

“Uh…”

“Do you or do you not? If not, I’ll be obliged to arrest you and bring you to the Ministry for further investigation.”

“Oh, no… I mean, I… no… not at all…” stammered Fletcher, a member of the Order of the Phoenix. “All of this was my granny’s, you see—found it in her attic. Had no idea it was forbidden!”

“And which attic would that be, exactly, that you found silverware bearing the Black family crest?” Marina Nikolaevna inquired. “You wouldn’t happen to be a relative?”

“Me?! No, no way, it just… came my way…”

“Disappear,” she said sternly. “If I see you again, you won’t get off so easily!”

“Yes, yes, I’m gone already!” He bundled his wares into a bag and disapparated.

The golden locket remained clenched in Marina Nikolaevna’s hand—the thief Fletcher hadn’t even noticed he’d left it behind…