[Prof. Umbridge] Chapter 27

That same evening, after dinner, she ascended to the eastern tower where Ingebjorg now resided. Her quarters were bright and spacious, bearing no resemblance to Trelawney’s abode. There were no obvious signs of a seer living there—no mysterious objects in plain sight. Only a complex dreamcatcher made from a bent branch with feathers of a raven and a snowy owl hung in one window, and Chinese wind chimes in another. Massive elk antlers hung on the wall with a wolf pelt draped over them, while a large sofa was covered with a colorful patchwork quilt and another fur blanket.

“Gifts from colleagues,” Ingebjorg explained, noticing her guest’s gaze. “This one is from a Native American from the North. I suspect it's from the same one you've either invited or plan to invite for a seminar. That’s good—I haven’t seen him in a while!”

“How did you guess?”

“By your expression,” the elderly woman replied calmly. “You glanced at the dreamcatcher, pondered something for a moment, and then gave a small nod. A simple chain of logic: that object linked in your thoughts with Native Americans, Native Americans with shamans, and they both teach and practice in America. Where there’s America, there’s Ilvermorny. And since I’ve heard about your lively activities, I figured you wouldn’t miss the chance to invite a representative from another school. No magic involved...”

“...just the work of gray cells?” Marina Nikolaevna continued. “Yes, you’re right. I invited an Ilvermorny instructor, but I’m not sure who they’ll send. They mentioned three candidates, and the one available will come.”

“It will surely be my old friend,” Ingebjorg chuckled. “He hasn’t been able to sit still for a century. Well, we’ll see. But that’s not the topic at hand. What prophecy did you want to discuss?”

Marina Nikolaevna paused to gather her thoughts and then said, “It’s a prophecy concerning Harry Potter and the wizard who calls himself Voldemort. Have you heard of him?”

“About that little sorcerer who imagines himself a Dark Lord?” Ingebjorg asked disdainfully. “Yes, some rumors reached me... You don’t think, Dolores, that Britain is the center of the world and everyone’s dying to know what’s going on here, do you? We have our own troubles, like building new roads without disturbing the hidden folk or offending the trolls!”

“Hmm...”

“Yes, yes... Now Grindelwald—he was much talked about,” she added, “though that was likely due to the great Muggle war; otherwise, he would’ve long been forgotten. So, I’m listening!”

Marina Nikolaevna paused again, then spoke, “Fifteen years ago, Sybill Trelawney—the seer who worked here before—uttered a prophecy about Voldemort. Only Director Dumbledore heard it in full, though someone else overheard just the beginning and passed it on to Voldemort. And he decided to fulfill it based on that snippet…”

“What an idiot!” Ingebjorg exclaimed with admiration. “Go on!”

“The part he heard went, ‘One will come with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.’ There were two children fitting that description, but for some reason, Voldemort chose Potter and tried to kill him. His parents died, but the Avada curse miraculously rebounded from the boy, hitting the killer himself,” Marina Nikolaevna explained. “It left the boy with that scar and a strange connection to Voldemort. He was disembodied, but since he’d already created several Horcruxes, he didn’t die completely. Last year, he managed to regain a body, and now he’s discovered his connection to Potter, which seems to be growing stronger…”

“Fascinating!” Ingebjorg’s eyes sparkled. “So, Trelawney doesn’t remember the prophecy?”

“No. She uttered it and forgot. Though it’s possible Voldemort could access her memories...”

“Aha. I’ve seen her before. She has the gift, but it’s wild. She’s useless as a teacher; I assume she’s kept here to keep her out of that usurper’s hands…”

“Yes, I assumed that too,” Marina Nikolaevna nodded.

“And the beginning of the prophecy… It’s vague. Too vague. Remember, Dolores, when I said you walk a fine line? Well, it seems this Voldemort also walked a fine line, and by acting on the prophecy as he understood it in his limited mind, he set off a chain of events that can no longer be broken.”

“I don’t quite understand you.”

“He could have chosen the other boy and killed him, and then…”

“Wait, Ingebjorg,” Marina Nikolaevna interrupted, “I nearly forgot! Potter grew up in his aunt’s house, his mother’s sister. They send him there every summer, saying he’s under blood protection there. As I understand it, this is because his mother tried to protect him with all her might, and her maternal sacrifice was even stronger than the Avada. And the aunt is Potter’s closest blood relative.”

“Hmm... Well, that supports my theory,” Ingebjorg said thoughtfully. “Again, he could have chosen the other boy. You’ll say another mother would have thrown herself to protect her child? Yes, but he could’ve killed her first, before she said or did anything that would grant such protection to her son. Then Voldemort would have finished him off easily. He hesitated, though. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Marina Nikolaevna shook her head. “Perhaps he wanted to taunt... villains do enjoy dramatic speeches. Or maybe he had some reason not to kill her. They say Lily Potter was very beautiful; maybe he or one of his followers fancied her? Perhaps even the one who betrayed the Potters' location... It’s possible Voldemort said something like, ‘Give up the child, and you’ll live,’ but what mother would agree to that?”

“If she said something like, ‘Better kill me than him,’ sincerely, and he killed her right after, then it’s clear,” Ingebjorg nodded. “The mother’s life was sacrificed. I’m telling you, in such matters, hesitation can be fatal!”

“Almost fatal,” muttered Marina Nikolaevna, “if you account for the Horcruxes.”

“Yes, exactly... In any case, Dolores, I can tell you this: true prophecies always come true. But exactly how—that’s the question! Voldemort chose the path to fulfill his prophecy, without knowing it in full, and he chose his opponent. Now... the picture becomes quite intricate!”

“Yes. And he has realized he was told only a part of the prophecy, so now he’s desperate to know the full text. That’s why he’s trying to get into the Department of Mysteries…”

“I don’t understand,” the seer frowned.

“The records of prophecies are stored there,” Marina Nikolaevna explained (Dolores, by her official position, knew many interesting details about the workings of various Ministry departments). “And that one too. But it can only be taken by the one it concerns—either Potter or Voldemort himself. Two Ministry employees have already suffered—they were apparently forced to try to steal the prophecy, but failed. Now it seems Voldemort is trying to lure Potter there; he wouldn’t trouble himself otherwise…”

“I see you’ve figured it out quite well yourself,” Ingebjorg said. “So why did you need me?”

“Well... I...”

"To check if you were mistaken? But I already told you, I won’t do any divination for you. You’ve chosen your path, so walk it. You know, relying on runes, cards, signs, birds’ calls, or wolves’ leaps is only necessary if you have no head on your shoulders. If you do, divination merely reinforces your decision if you’re hesitating. But, Dolores, you don’t need these crutches," said the seer seriously. "You’ll do what you want anyway. And I think you already know what you should do!"

“Yes,” said Marina Nikolaevna with a smile. “But it’s absolute madness.”

"Sometimes, one has to do mad things,"Ingebjorg replied calmly. "Without them, life is too dull!"

"Minister, I am writing to inform you of troubling news. A reliable source has informed me that it’s not Dumbledore’s people who will likely make the first move on the Department of Mysteries.

Dumbledore’s team is a chaotic mess. In his view, this lack of coordination is the ideal way to keep his people safe, but the reality is that they constantly interfere with each other’s missions, not knowing what each is working on. In short, the Order poses little threat at present; they’re likely to collapse from within, just by following Dumbledore’s instructions.

However, we face a far greater danger, Minister! It seems that the rogue Death Eaters, led by Bellatrix Lestrange, are planning an imminent attack on the Department of Mysteries. They were behind both Bode’s death in St. Mungo’s and Podmore’s arrest, attempting to steal something, but they failed and disposed of them.

That ‘something’ is the prophecy concerning you-know-who and Harry Potter. The Death Eaters, particularly the fanatically loyal Lestrange, believe that if they can hear the prophecy in its entirety, they can restore their leader to full power. They will stop at nothing to achieve this.

As you know, Minister, only those mentioned in a prophecy can retrieve it. I am concerned the Death Eaters may attempt to kidnap Potter and force him to retrieve it. He is safe at Hogwarts, where I have banned him from Hogsmeade and keep a close watch over him.

But the Death Eaters may attempt to break into the Department of Mysteries to either steal the prophecy or shatter it to hear it on the spot. I urge you to strengthen security in the Hall of Prophecies! True security, Minister, with at least ten experienced Aurors on duty day and night, rather than solitary desk-bound officers who doze off!

With your permission, I would like to visit the Hall of Prophecies to personally ensure the item in question is secure, as well as to apply alert charms and inspect the readiness of the guards.

Respectfully, Dolores Umbridge."

Apparently, her letter had unsettled Fudge because she was summoned to the Ministry the very next morning. She arranged for Ingebjorg to cover her fifth-year class and set off.

“Dolores,” the Minister greeted her, “did you write this seriously?”

“I have never been more serious,” Marina Nikolaevna assured him.

“And who is this informant of yours? Can he be trusted?” Fudge asked.

“You know I cannot reveal his identity,” she said, shaking her head. “But he’s someone who once followed you-know-who’s ideas and took the Mark, but became so frightened that he now seeks protection wherever he can find it. He gave up a few Death Eaters in exchange for leniency and is terrified they might find out. He performs minor services for them while... discreetly passing information to me.”

“Why to you?” Fudge asked curiously.

“Because he considered joining Dumbledore, but I got to him first,” she replied with a sweet smile. “He’s a pitiful creature, cowardly but useful. Believe me, he tells me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth...”

“Dolores, using Veritaserum again?” Fudge grinned, visibly cheered up. “Well, as long as the Death Eaters stay quiet.”

“Yes, they’re not in top form since Azkaban, but once they recover and obtain wands... an attack will come.”

“Can’t your informant tell us where they’re hiding?” Fudge suddenly asked, though Marina Nikolaevna was prepared.

“Unfortunately, he cannot. They’ve secured him with an Unbreakable Vow and several other unpleasant oaths. If we wrung him dry, we might get something, but he’d be useless afterward. He may still be needed; these escapees are not the only Death Eaters on the loose! The list is growing, Minister…”

“Yes, it’s a shame,” he sighed. “If only we could strike them all down in one blow... Ah well. The Department of Mysteries is now fully secured, as soon as I could arrange it.”

“Wonderful, Minister! If the Death Eaters attempt to break in, we can capture them there!” Marina Nikolaevna said eagerly, with a gleam of anticipation, much like Dolores when excited. “Now, may I visit the Hall of Prophecies?”

“Of course, Dolores, here’s your authorization,” he said, handing her a scroll. “What would I do without you!”

“Oh, Minister…” she replied bashfully, lowering her gaze.

“I mean it! I don’t know anyone else I can rely on like you, Dolores,” he said seriously. “You’re irreplaceable in the school, bringing order to Dumbledore’s stronghold with minimal resources in such a short time... it’s remarkable!”

“Thank you, Minister,” Marina Nikolaevna replied in the same tone. “I merely follow your directives, but such depths of depravity have surfaced that I cannot ignore them.”

“And you’re absolutely right,” he nodded. “Go on, Dolores; they’ll meet you there.”

“Thank you, Minister, until we meet again,” she said with a broad smile and exited.

Here was the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. No Aurors were visible or audible, but her escort, Mr. Dells, assured her they were stationed, and now that the visitors had crossed an invisible line…

“Impressive camouflage,” she said, startled by a massive guard nearly as large as Hagrid, who appeared suddenly from a hidden niche. “Disillusionment charms?”

“Yes, along with a few professional secrets,” he grinned, checked their documents and wands (for the third time), then merged back into the wall, saying, “Proceed.”

And here was the rotating room with doors leading who knew where... How Dells chose the right one, she didn’t understand, but she didn’t particularly care.

"Here it is, the Hall of Prophecies," he said, opening another door (there were two Aurors stationed here as well, though it was clear they weren't letting Death Eaters through anytime soon).

Rows upon rows of shelves stretched into the distance, lined with dusty glass spheres—each tagged with a tiny, yellowed label. Some spheres glowed with an ominous red light, while others were dark and lifeless, like burned-out bulbs.

"Row ninety-seven," murmured her guide. "To the right. Ah, here it is." The label bore a date from about sixteen years ago, written in fine, almost illegible handwriting, and below it, it read: "S.P.T. - A.P.W.B.D. The Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter."

"Excellent, it’s still in place," said Marina Nikolaevna with satisfaction. "So, no one else can take it?"

"Try it," suggested Dell.

"I won’t damage it?" she asked, just to be sure.

"No."

Marina Nikolaevna reached out her hand, but couldn't actually touch the prophecy. Her fingers either slid just over its surface or passed through it entirely. She tried to grasp the next sphere—with the same result.

"Wonderful!" she said with genuine admiration, glancing at the endless shelves. "So how are they moved?"

"Accio works on them," Dell explained, "but so what? You can move them from place to place, but putting one in your pocket or bag—that’s a no. An outsider can only take a prophecy if the person it's about hands it over directly. Otherwise, they’d have to take it by force."

"So, all these records..." Marina Nikolaevna looked at the dates on the upper shelves. "They're useless? It seems that everyone they refer to has long since passed away."

"Some have, and some haven’t even been born yet," Dell replied impassively. "Well then, are you placing the alarm charms? I think it’s overkill, but if the Minister insists..."

"Better safe than sorry," Marina Nikolaevna nodded, taking out her wand. "I don’t think it will harm the prophecies, and it’ll give us peace of mind."

"Go ahead," he nodded and conveniently turned away.

Marina Nikolaevna was quite adept with nonverbal magic, and Dell froze.

"Take a little nap," she whispered, gently lowering him to the floor.

Next, she cast muffling charms—sound carried well in the hall, and the Aurors by the entrance might overhear something. And finally...

"Accio prophecy," she murmured, pointing at the sphere, and it floated into the air. "Now..."

The sphere dropped and shattered into pieces.

The figure of Trelawney, pearly white like a ghost and flowing like smoke, rose from the glass fragments on the floor and began to speak in a strange, unfamiliar, harsh voice...

Marina Nikolaevna listened, trying to remember the prophecy word for word, and when Trelawney dissolved, she quickly erased all traces of her crime. She knew that memories could be reviewed, so she didn’t write anything down. And besides, she never had trouble remembering things.

Another sphere floated down from the distant top shelf and took the place of the prophecy about Potter and the Dark Lord. Marina Nikolaevna blew off most of the dust—it had looked nearly opaque—and hastily set up the alarm charms. Then she propped up the sleeping Dell and lifted the sleep spell.

"What’s going on, Dell?" she asked loudly, patting his cheeks. "Falling asleep on your feet? Another moment, and you would’ve toppled a whole shelf!"

"Seriously?" he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head. "No, I just zoned out for a second, and there you are grabbing my hand. If I’d broken something here, there would’ve been..."

"Exactly. I was just finishing up, calling for you, and you didn’t respond. I touched your sleeve, and you let out a great snore and started sinking to the floor. Luckily, I caught you! Didn’t hurt yourself?"

"No, thank you," he sighed. "I must’ve overdone it a bit. With all the security measures, we’ve been here nonstop for days... And it's so quiet here; I must’ve just drifted off."

"Go home and get some sleep," Marina Nikolaevna ordered. "I'll let your superiors know—this is unacceptable. Staff collapsing from exhaustion! This isn’t just any archive; it’s the Department of Mysteries… You could’ve collapsed right onto the prophecy itself. What would we have done then?!"

"Don’t get me started," he shuddered, standing up and brushing off his trousers. "I think I’ll actually go ask for a day off."

"Tell them it’s my order," she instructed. "Now, lead me out of this maze, or I’m afraid I won’t find my way out..."