The End and the Beginning of a Reign
Horrific Happenings in Hogwarts — The Daily Prophet, by Dirk Cresswell
Undersecretary of the Minister of Magic found torturing students — The Quibbler, by Xenophilius Lovegood
Parents are incensed: Ministry forced students to swear their unbreakable fidelity — Witch Weekly, Special Edition, by Reginald Cattermole
Albus Dumbledore failing Great Britain — unable to stop torture of innocent children — The Daily Prophet, by Rita Skeeter
Minister Fudge personally responsible for heinous atrocities — The Quibbler, by Xenophilius Lovegood
The atrium of the Ministry of Magic was swarmed when Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, floo'ed in to start another exhausting day as the leader of Wizarding Britain.
Instantly, a horde of Aurors came out of nowhere and placed themselves protectively around him. Fudge did not even have time to question them, as he was immediately hassled by noisy reporters and incensed parents alike.
Shrieks and unintelligible accusations and questions assaulted his tired brain. Grabby hands reached for him and hard balls of crumpled parchment knocked his bowler hat to the ground.
“How could you sent a tyrant to terrorise our innocent children?!” Someone screeched in an insanely high pitch. “You promised to protect our children, Minister!”
Fudge could feel irritation crawling up his spine. What were they talking about? He huffed. Probably some new imagined slight that Dumbledore and that Potter boy had instigated.
“Minister Fudge! What do you have to say to the allegations that you allowed for the torture to happen?”
These maniacs must be more crazy that anything, if the way the Aurors were struggling to keep them back and away from him was any indication. Someone even managed to touch his cloak!
And torture? Why would Fudge need to torture anyone? He certainly did not do this!
Already exhausted, despite the early hour, the Minister rubbed his forehead. Dumbledore had really done it now. Turning the innocent, naïve public against him. Him!
He could only sigh.
Another microphone was let through by his Aurors and shoved into his face. What was going on with everyone today? Since when were his Aurors so incompetent?!
“Minister Fudge, The Prophet; how do you plan to deal with the accusations students levelled against your Undersecretary?”
Almost instantly, indignation built in his chest. The fine Madam Umbridge had done absolutely nothing to warrant these unruly rascals defiling all her hard work!
He barely managed to open his mouth to set these deranged people straight, when someone spoke right over his words.
“Is it true that your Undersecretary tortures our children?” —
“How could you, Minister! You’re a monster, you hear?! A Monster!”
His world exploded in red.
The abrupt stop of the Minister hustling to his office almost sent various Aurors crashing into his back before they could catch themselves. Fudge turned around, taking in the pushing mob.
“I have done no such thing!” He thundered to be heard over all the screaming. “Madam Umbridge is a highly respected member of the Ministry and I value her greatly. She only has the best in mind for our dear children. —“
Derisive scoffs and outraged screaming met his declaration. His protection detail closed ranks around Fudge to keep the pushing crowd at bay, which had somehow gained new vigour. But never let it be said that Minister Fudge could not stand his ground.
“This is a ploy of Dumbledore’s to shake your trust in our upstanding Ministry,” Fudge declared loudly. “No-one is torturing anyone and no-one is getting tortured. Madam Umbridge is doing hard work and answering directly to me. Whatever you have been told: it is not true!”
With that, the Minister continued his track to his office in the middle of the Ministry, the manic horde skilfully silenced. Until —
All hell broke loose. Renewed anger and even hate was spewed at him, lunatics throwing themselves at him with enough force to actually get through the Aurors, who had their hands full keeping back the worst of the offenders. It was only by the skin of his teeth that Fudge escaped to the safety of his office with naught but a few scratches and chunks of hair missing. He took deep breaths while his ears rang in the heavenly silence.
Then his eyes fell on the newspapers laying on his desk — providing evidence to the torture faithful Dolores Umbridge conducted on hundreds of students.
Cornelius Fudge blanched.
Someone knocked on the door.
xXxXxXx
The morning was splendid. Simply splendid.
Her bed was perfectly warm and soft. Her assortment of perfect cat china had woken her with their beautiful choir. And she could still feel her giddy success from the previous day.
Sighing in contentment, she slipped into her pink slippers and pastel bathrobe, the soft fabric gliding smoothly over her skin.
Skipping and humming to herself, Dolores got ready for the beautiful new day ahead.
Today would be amazing, she could already feel it; nothing could go wrong. Not now. Not anymore.
With her favourite, most perfect ribbon clipped into her pretty curls, Dolores twirled around herself and left her quarters.
She had finally reached everything she’d been working towards for all her life. She had reached the top, and nothing and no one would ever be able to push her off it again.
The corridors to the Great Hall were blessedly vacant of the little cretins, and the few that did happen upon her had obviously finally learned proper respect and made way, making sure not to sully the air around her with their stinky breath.
“What a heavenly morning, my dearest colleagues,” Dolores chirped, sitting primly in her chair. If Minerva or Severus answered her, she did not notice — she was too lost in her own mind to pay them much attention.
A look around the Great Hall furthered her feeling of success. There the students all sat — perfectly quiet, not making silly faces, boys and girls properly separated as it should be, and the Potter boy nowhere to be seen.
Umbridge revelled in the silence her reigned achieved. Every bite she took was savoured, as the buttery pancakes melted on her tongue.
It took her by surprise when, without a warning, the doors to the Great Hall opened and in marched a good half dozen Aurors, Senior Auror McGucket at the helm.
Swiftly, Dolores dapped her mouth with a napkin and rose form her seat.
“Hem hem.” The eyes of the Aurors zeroed in on her and she could feel her chest swell with pride as the uniformed men straightened up. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“Dolores Umbridge,” Senior Auror McGucket stated. “We are to escort you to the Ministry forthwith.”
Umbridge tittered. “But of course.” She dusted off her pristine skirt and stepped up to her personal escort. “Shall we?”
With that she strutted out, in full view of the students who where rendered speechless, the awe they felt for the power she held stealing their words. To have an entire squad of Aurors sent just to ensure her safe journey to a personal meeting with the Minister himself.
She glowed. She had finally made it.
xXxXxXx
Hadrian, from his place at the Slytherin table discussing the next tutoring session with Draco and Pansy, looked up as dead silence engulfed the Great Hall, before furious muttering swept through the student body.
He watched, along with everyone else already present, as Aurors escorted a strutting, beaming Umbridge out, coincidentally shielding her from getting near any of the students.
Well, Hadrian commended them, that was quick. Almost anticlimactic… And what was wrong with this woman? Did she not realise she has just been arrested?
“Finally,” someone muttered from beside him, relieved. Hadrian agreed wholeheartedly. “She was horrid.”
Various Slytherins nodded, then did a double take when they finally noticed the Gryffindor in their midst.
“What the —“
“So we’re going to do it like this?” Hadrian asked the two Prefects in hopes of finally being done before the Great Hall filled up any more and more students saw him at this specific table with these specific individuals.
Nodding briefly, Draco waved his hand in dismissal. Hadrian brushed a wild strand of hair out of his face and bundled the loose parchment.
“Then I’ll be gone.” Because the staring of the Slytherins did not lessen in the slightest.
Sure, meeting before breakfast to go over the lesson plans was a good idea so they wouldn’t have to find a time slot where all of them were free. It also had the added benefit of some people seeing them together and getting used to the sight while simultaneously dismissing it as still dreaming. But too much attention too fast could be dangerous.
It was a delicate game they were playing.
Closing his satchel, Hadrian went to say his farewells, when a sudden hand in his hair had him stiffen.
Next to him, Pansy hummed thoughtfully. “Have you ever considered styling your hair?” She asked while her fingers raked through his hair, pulling it this way and that.
Hadrian blinked. “No,” he admitted slowly. “I was just going to grow it out so I could pull it into a ponytail or bun or something. Styling it every day seems like too much work, you know.”
Pansy tsk’ed disapprovingly, even Zabini looked at him unimpressed at that.
“What about braids?” And she was already parting his hair into sections. Humming, Pansy moved his head while already imagining and probably also deciding what to do with this impossible mess. “Blaise? … Draco?”
Blaise chuckled lowly. “I think we have lost our Draco, dear.” His dark eyes swept over to the blond who was intensely preoccupied with eating an apple. “But I, personally, think that braids are a great idea.”
Pansy nodded. “I thought so too. Any objections?” Hadrian must have blinked in morse code, because the next thing he knew Pansy was pressing a kiss to his cheek and waving him off with a bright, “See you after Potions.”
As he stumbled away, he could hear snickering from behind him. Damn Slytherins.
xXxXxXx
The person knocked again, yet Cornelius could not move. Never before had he been so reluctant about a person entering his office.
Cornelius could not rip his eyes away from the photos accompanying the damning articles in the newspapers, his own words from not even five minutes ago echoing in his head.
He was done for. So completely and utterly done for.
He finally gave in when the person, whoever it was, knocked for the third time; obviously, they would not just give up and let him get wasted in peace.
“Enter!” He called out and Cornelius could barely recognise his own voice — it was so… so frail and wavering, barely audible over his rapid heartbeat.
Taking a shaking breath, Fudge tried to straighten up when his door opened. He could not allow himself to be weak. Especially not now.
Upon seeing the unwelcome visitor though, his posture slumped. Prickly, the person closed the pompous door behind himself. Fudge exhaled relieved.
“Lucius, thank Merlin.” Fudge looked up. “I need your help.”
The Lord of the Malfoy family smiled pityingly. “Oh Cornelius,” he purred.
xXxXxXx
Sirius leaned back in his chair. His finger traced the rim of his tumbler as he watched the hustle in his rapidly filling kitchen.
Molly Weasley was, as so often, bustling about and getting food ready, all the while still managing to greet the newcomers and boss around everyone else. She was doing everything to not have to think about the news they’d gotten.
Arthur had taken the morning off work. Or rather, he was on a ‘strike’ after he had received not just a special edition of the Daily Prophet, but also of the Witch Weekly, both newspapers writing about a parent’s worst nightmare happening. Not only that, but the newspapers had also managed to back up their claims with heart shattering evidence.
After reading this, he’d apparently immediately returned to Grimmauld Place just in time to stop Molly from marching up to Hogwarts herself and deal with the venerable Dolores Umbridge.
Their only saving grace had been that no extra post had arrived. The articles in the papers explicitly stated that the parents of every child who had fallen victim to the monstrous woman would be notified by Poppy Pomfrey, the current Healer of Hogwarts.
Sirius did not have such luck. Harry was his godson, yes, but after spending twelve years in Azkaban and two others on the run, he had not yet come around to talk to Harry about maybe — possibly — if he wanted — becomeing Sirius’ ward. So even if Harry had been targeted by this Umbitch, he would get no such letter.
A thud, followed by familiar screeching, brought Sirius back to the present. Seemed like his beloved cousin had arrived.
The Firewhisky burnt down his throat while he ignored the wailing of his mother, as he had done for years now. Soon enough, Tonks’ apologetic face appeared, Walburga’s muffled curses following her entrance.
Looking around the room, an almost reflexive sneer crossed his face when his eyes landed on Snape. Of course the bloody Death Eater would be here! Lurking in the shadows, too fine to sit himself at the table like a normal person. Always so much better, so much…
Sirius looked back down. He was hypnotised by the swirling amber in his tumbler. The liquid was captivating; its colour the same as Moony’s eyes and the taste a familiar comfort. The burn kept him in the present, while the alcohol and its effect brought back the past.
Sighing, Sirius knocked back the rest of his drink. Dumbledore was still not here.
Sirius had not minded the wait when he was still young, but now? He’d already wasted so much precious time.
By now, everyone had a drink and their snack of choice thanks to Molly. Quiet conversations filled the kitchen with lovely noise, bringing at least a little life back into this dreary house.
Dreary… Dreary, Sirius mused, was no longer an apt description for what had become of Grimmauld Place.
He didn’t know what had done it, if it were the constant flow of people, the return of a true — if disgraced — Black, or something else entirely, but for whatever reason, Kreacher had made it his mission to restore the house to its previous glamour. Quite successfully at that.
Maybe Kreacher had taken offence to Molly’s brutal cleaning; not that Sirius cared overly much about this house’s interior. Sometimes though… sometimes he did see Molly still try to remove useless decorations in order to remove everything dark and something — a tight feeling in his chest — would make it hard for Sirius to breathe.
This was his house, his childhood home, and that ‘dark’ vase was one he’d broken when he was, oh, probably eight or nine years old. He had long since replaced it with a convincing knockoff so his parents wouldn’t notice. There was nothing dark about that thing.
And this curse which swallowed everything orange (even occasionally people, when they spoke the forbidden word) was not an old, long-forgotten curse. Rather, his little brother had just always hated carrots, and anything resembling that vegetable was swiftly thrown away, swallowed by his accidental magic.
Sometimes, Sirius caught himself giving Molly the same glare that always graced Kreacher’s face. Other times it was Kreacher who caught him doing it and for once, the mangy elf would keep quiet. The next day, a new book would be on his bedside table, or in his shower, or on his chair, or in his clothes. Every time, it would be a book he’d enjoyed in his childhood before everything had taken a turn for the worse.
Conversations tampered off as Dumbledore, in all his glory, finally stepped through Mundungus’ thick smoke and into the kitchen. Sirius settled back into his chair, his eyes fixed on the older Wizard.
He looked incredibly weary. The usual twinkle in his eyes was visibly dimmed and his garish robes had been exchanged for… slightly less garish ones.
It was quiet while Dumbledore made himself comfortable at the other end of the table. Each and every eye followed his every move and waited for him to open the meeting.
Strangely, Sirius found himself angry when looking at the man. The emotion bubbled up inside of him, sudden and with a ferocity he had not expected. He didn’t even know why.
“Thank you, my dear.” Molly smiled while she set Dumbledore’s tea cup down in front of him. Then, Dumbledore finally let his gaze wander around the packed room. For a second, their eyes met and time seemed to stretch, before Dumbledore looked away and opened his mouth.
“I’m sure you’ve all heard that Dolores Umbridge was arrested this morning.” Everybody nodded. “I have tried to talk to the Minister about this, but he is, unfortunately, not available at this time and Madame Bones is most reluctant to speak about an ongoing case. Nevertheless, we are trying to find out how such dark artefacts could find their way into Hogwarts. At this time, it is also unknown for how long Dolores has employed these methods in her detentions.”
The assembled crowd gasped in dismay.
“So it’s true then?” Molly asked, as though she had not truly believed it before Dumbledore uttered the words, as though she had not already seen the evidence, plain as day, in the Prophet. Ah well, Sirius mused, the Prophet did prefer to embellish their stories and print lies as truth. But this topic was not just published by this one newspaper.
Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I fear it is, my dear. I fear it is. But I assure you, the children are all fine and probably already back on driving my professors up the walls in my absence.” Dumbledore chuckled light-heartedly and even Molly seemed to see his humour; Sirius could only stare at them askance.
This was not really a joking matter, and sure, he probably would have brushed off the whole thing as a child himself, but he was not a child now. He knew the workings of blood quills, and he knew Harry, as well as Molly’s own children. Whatever made her think that they had not been targeted? That they, even if they hadn’t, escaped the time spent with that Ministry devil unharmed?
There was nothing funny about that situation.
A deep rumble came from the shadows in the corner of the room, while Moody’s eye swirled in its socket.
“Doesn’t matter that the kiddies are fine now,” he grumbled. “Those quills shouldn’t have made it into Hogwarts in the first place. CONSTANT VIGILANTE! I always say!”
Dumbledore twinkled at his old friend. “Of course Alastor, my boy. It truly is a tragedy that this incident transpired, however, there is no use in dwelling in the past. In fact, I am far more afraid that Voldemort will use the panic Dolores ignited to further his own agenda.”
Dumbledore ignored the usual squeaks his use of the Dark Lord’s moniker inspired, and leaned comfortably back in his chair, a withered hand running through his beard.
“Should the Ministry sent one of Tom’s people to teach our youth… I fear the consequences.”
“They can’t do that!” Came Diggle’s heated voice, full of alarm and offence. “As Headmaster of the most prestigious school, it is your prerogative to choose the professors! Not the Ministry’s!”
“My friend, as long as Cornelius refuses to see reason, he will continue to do everything in his power to undermine my authority. He is scared, who am I to blame him?”
Still, this did not seem to pacify the Order at all. And Sirius… Sirius was clear-headed enough to recognise bullshit when he heard it. He had to speak with his godson, post-haste.
Dumbledore was getting old, it was expected of him to overlook things and even become senile. Maybe the stress was finally catching up to him? Or maybe Azkaban had done Sirius more damage than he’d previously thought.
Oh, why did Moony have to be with the Werewolf packs right now? Sirius could really use his advice on… everything. It had been too long.
“Tonks, Kingsley — I need you to keep an ear out. Anything and everything you hear can help us, from Hogwarts to the Ministry, even the tiniest rumour could give us the clue we need.” The two nodded solemnly.
“We must continue to protect the Prophecy, now more than ever. Arthur, are you able to take the shift tonight?”
The red-head’s head bopped up and down rapidly. “Of course, Albus,” he affirmed eagerly. “I doubt I would be able to sleep much, anyway. Not after all the excitement this morning.”
Dumbledore nodded. “Good, good. We must —“ Sirius tuned him out. Why should he listen to who-does-what when he wouldn’t be of any help? Dumbledore had made it more than obvious that he did not want Sirius out of the house, not even his proven innocence would sway him.
Once Dumbledore made up his mind about something, then there was basically no changing it. And apparently Sirius was ‘too unstable’ and ‘dangerous’ after twelve years in Azkaban.
He was apparently… not to be trusted.
Once the meeting was finally adjourned, Sirius watched everyone file out of the room, then he stood up. He had decided. He was going to go out. He was going to Hogsmead. His godson needed him.
xXxXxXx
The Hogwarts’ hallway leading to the Potions classroom was slowly filling up with fifth year Gryffindor and Slytherin students.
Out of respect for the man-bat awaiting them on the other side of the door, they all kept their voices soft and quiet, so to not bring unneeded attention to them. Among them, a bushy haired Gryffindor and her red-haired friend exchanged a meaningful glance. A quick nod later and they shouldered their way through the crowd to the missing part of their golden threesome.
“Heya, Harry.” Ron leaned against the wall next to his friend.
“Where were you this morning? You weren’t in the Common Room.” Inquired Hermione, inquisitive concern swirling in her eyes.
“And,” Ron added, seemingly casual, “you were late for breakfast.”
Hadrian shrugged. “There were a few things I needed to clarify.” He didn’t miss the way his vague answer led to a silent exchange between Ron and Hermione. He shrugged once more. Whatever it was, he probably didn’t want to know.
“We could have helped you,” Hermione said eagerly. “It was about Umbridge, wasn’t it? I read it in The Prophet this morning. It’s absolutely horrible that she got away with something like this. I mean, we all knew she was the Worst, but this…” She lowered her voice. “What did Dumbledore say?”
Two pairs of curious eyes zeroed in on him. It took Hadrian a minute to work through Hermione’s word vomit before he could formulate an answer. “I wasn’t with Dumbledore,” he said slowly, almost questioningly. “I actually don’t think I have seen him at all today. He must be in the Ministry helping them investigate. It’s impossible that he wasn’t aware of the torture, the wards should have told him, at the very least. The fact that Dumbledore was completely oblivious to what has been going on with Umbitch shows that there is a serious problem with the wards that are meant keep us safe.”
Unlike Hermione, Hadrian made no effort to speak quietly.
Hermione looked scandalised. Ron scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” he said with conviction. “There is no way Dumbledore would have let this happen if he had known.”
Hermione swatted his arm. “Professor Dumbledore, Ronald. Honestly.” With a huff, she turned back to Hadrian, who was still comfortably leaning against the stone wall. “Don’t you think it’s possible the Headmaster was unable to do anything against her? We have known since the beginning of the school year that the Ministry is interfering with Hogwarts, they could have taken partial control of the wards. You know how hard they are trying to undermine Professor Dumbledore’s authority.”
Hadrian raised an eyebrow. “You are aware that you just accused the Ministry of allowing and advocating torture and non-consensual slavery, right?” The girl blanched as the noise in the hallways notably dropped. “You really should not voice theories like that out in public if you have not even got any evidence! Especially when stating those baseless claims as if they were facts!”
The girl sputtered for a moment. “This is not… you know I didn’t mean it like this… it’s just that Dumbledore wouldn’t —“ She took a deep breath as she held her book tighter against her chest, almost like a shield. “Have you done the Potions assignment yet? You’ve barely been around the last few weeks.” She plastered a bright but brittle smile on her face, hyper aware of the silence the hallway had fallen into.
Slowly, the noise level picked up again, and she tried to ignore the disbelieving scoffs she could hear from the Slytherins.
Hadrian simply nodded and luckily let the subject drop. “Yes, it’s all done.”
“That’s great!” Hermione smiled more easily. “If you want I can help you with the other classes later.”
A whine left Ron’s throat. “Nooo– I’ve been in the library all week! And it’s Friday, we should do something fun! Let’s go flying, eh, Harry?” He shoulder bumped him. “Hermione can burrow herself in those dusty books and we can have a nice afternoon without constant nagging; a win-win!”
Trying to escape the rough handling, Hadrian stepped to the left, his brows furrowed. “I have tutoring this afternoon.” And he needed to hide from Draco’s crazy friends. Unwittingly his eyes looked for Pansy — and found her talking to her friends. Not wanting her to focus on him, he quickly averted his gaze again.
Returning his attention to the two in front of him, Hadrian could see Ron’s eyes had widened in horror, and even Hermione seemed a bit disturbed, but that was quickly shaken off and replaced with a somewhat smugly pleased expression.
“Wow, Harry, that’s… that’s great. I’m so proud of you. It was time that you finally took your studies serious.” Then something akin to hurt entered her eyes. “But you know that you cold have always come to me, right? I’m the smartest in our year. I could have helped you, no problem.”
Hadrian’s initial confusion to their assumption that he had time that afternoon deepened. They thought he was getting tutored? His tutoring sessions had been taking place for a few weeks now, and they were not really discreet, so how did they not know about this? Even the prefects from other houses had all come to him (if not Draco or Pansy) to either request a certain topic to be covered or ask what exactly he was doing in these sessions and if they should advertise it to anyone especially because of that.
Looking into the confused and horrified (Ron) and hurt (Hermione) faces, Hadrian deducted that they had really somehow missed this.
“I’m doing quite well in my classes, so I’m not the one getting tutored. Rather, I help the younger years with any questions they might have about anything.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything, then Hermione gently laid a hand on his arm. “Harry, it’s okay to need help. —“
“I know,” Hadrian interrupted her before she could say anything else. “That’s why I’m encouraging the younger students to ask questions if they don’t know something or don’t understand it. So I can help them. Like I do every Friday.”
Ron mouth fell open as he stared at Hadrian uncomprehendingly. “Why would you sacrifice your holy free time for school and annoying first years?!”
Thud.
Faster than he could react, Hermione’s thick book collided with his head. Ron’s complains and moans of pain went ignored by Hermione in favour of zeroing in on Hadrian.
“What I said still stands true,” she told him sternly. “Why didn’t you ask me? I can help you! If you’d just said anything I could have—“
“— Been quiet and prepared for the lesson.” Professor Snape cut in smoothly. Hermione instantly fell silent as his black eyes narrowed. “Inside, now.”
Snape moved away from the now open door and swept to the front of his classroom, the rest of the Slytherin and Gryffindor students followed quickly, all completely quiet.
Nothing more was said on the subject and so the double potions lesson began.
xXxXxXx
Near the end of the potions lesson — as even one cauldron had yet to either melt, explode or get vanished by Snape — Ron continued to hiss something under his breath, his gaze returning and re-returning to the left side of the room, where the Slytherins sat.
At first, Hadrian chose to ignore it. The more he tried to ignore it, however, the more agitated Ron's muttering seemed to become and the more vigorously he stirred the potion. Finally, after he almost ruined his pre-prepared ingredients by throwing them next to the cauldron instead of into it, Hadrian had enough.
Hadrian hissed at Ron to calm down and then followed his piercing gaze. Upon locking eyes with Pansy, he wished he had just continued to ignore it.
A shiver went down his body.
Pansy’s eyes narrowed and she made a clear gesture which ended with her pointing very clearing, very sharply to him.
I’m watching you.
He shuddered. Bristling, Ron suddenly grabbed Hadrian by his arms and pulled him over, slightly behind him.
“Bloody Parkinson, just as bad as her boyfriend,” he mumbled while Hadrian was trying to not stumble face first into the cauldron.
Once he rightened himself, he peeked around Ron and found Pansy still watching him. Next to her, Draco didn’t even try to hide his amusement.
Hadrian exhaled, long and low. “There is no escape.”
“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione soothed him, her eyes also trained on the two Slytherins. “They can’t do anything. And if they try, we’ll go to Professor Dumbledore. They won’t get away with this.”
Yes, they can and yes, they will, Hadrian wanted to say, but he knew this would just make everything worse. So he resigned himself to being Pansy’s dress-up doll (why did everyone want him as their doll?) and getting braids and loosing “ten points. Each. For talking and not paying attention.”
If Hadrian had turned just slightly, he would have seen Pansy, Draco, Blaise and Theo quietly snickering to themselves.
So unfair.
xXxXxXx
Potions ended at exactly one thirty, and their shared tutoring would start at three, so Hadrian had three options:
First, resign himself to his fate.
Second, get overwhelmed by Ron and Hermione and whatever it was they are trying to find out or rather get out of him without actually telling him anything.
Third, hide and pray she won’t find him.
It was quite the easy choice to make. Ron and Hermione, while probably well meaning, were just too much sometimes, and after martyring himself at seventeen, he’d never resigned himself to fate again without exhausting every other option.
So, without much fanfare, Hadrian kept his head down and swerved skilfully through the pushing crowd. As he reached the door, Draco’s familiar hand slipped into Hadrian’s and linked their fingers together, but even with the extra person, Hadrian did not have to slow down; Draco was quite skilled at weaving through crowds himself.
Once they were through the thick of it, Draco took lead and led Hadrian into the confusing maze that were Hogwarts’ dungeons. Within minutes the voices of the other students had diminished until only the sound of their footsteps remained, echoing through the halls.
Draco continued walking a bit after that until finally coming to a stop in front of a wall decorated with a large stone snake. Hadrian cocked his head. He had seen this before, had been here before, but when?… Where?
The wall slid aside to reveal the nearly empty Slytherin Common room. That… that was perfect! No-one would ever think to look for him here. No-one but —
“Oh, you’re a treasure, Draco, dear,” Pansy purred from where she was elegantly draped over the couch; her voice was think with amusement and dark pleasure.
Hadrian stomach dropped and — his head snapped to Draco, then to their still linked hands. Betrayal filled his chest.
Well, he really only had himself to blame… Still, “I trusted you!”
Clicking his tongue, Draco shook his head. “Terrible choice, really.” He was dragged over to Draco’s evil friends and left to their mercy while Draco got to make himself comfortable.
Hadrian deflated. Oh well, he had tried. And what was the saying anyway? Dread it, run from it, destiny arrives all the same.
A happy cackle was Hadrian’s only warning before he was pushed onto a stool and wrapped in a cloth.
“Now, if you really don’t want to, then I won’t do anything,” Pansy assured him, her Bellatrix Lestrange impression gone for the moment. “But I really can’t stand to look at this… this anymore.” With that she gestured to… not just his hair.
Hadrian narrowed his eyes, then sighed. “I actually don’t really care,” he told her honestly. “I just don’t want it short again. It is untamable like this and everybody always compares me to my father. It’s annoying. So as long as it is out of my face, do with it whatever you want.”
After a second in which he could hear the grin spreading across her face, he quickly added. “It should look good and I don’t want to look like I crawled out of a bleach bottle.”
This time it wasn’t Hadrian who felt the betrayal settle deep into his bones.
“Ohh,” he said once more. “And no pink. Definitely no pink.” They shuddered.
“Yeah,” Pansy assured him quickly. “That won’t be a problem. Now, sit still, I’ve never done this before.” This was not as reassuring as Pansy probably meant it, but Hadrian appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Still, for the next hour, he made sure to barely move and not react to the chopping and pulling and ripping at his hair.
He did not hear the various exclamations of “mhh”, “whoops”, “ehh…”, the silence or the cackling, because he was deep within his mind, strengthening his Occlumency shields and going over everything they had already done and that which still needed to be done.
There was a warm hand on his arms, familiar magic tangling with his own. He finished what he was doing, locked the last memory away and slowly made his way out of his mind again.
The fist thing he became aware of was the crackling of the hearth and low murmuring of the other students. When he opened his eyes he saw the green shine of the Slytherin Common room, his bonded’s silver blond hair gleaming in the candle light.
Blinking a few times, Hadrian’s eyes took in Pansy’s self-satisfied grin and shrewd eyes, fixed on Draco’s hand on his arm. Theo was still sat on the couch, his book open in his lap but disregarded in favour of patting Blaise’s head and listening to his whines and pouts, a sympathetic (amused) look on his face.
Hadrian turned back to Draco, his unspoken question clearly written on his face. Draco rolled his eyes, but complied nonetheless.
“Blaise is upset because he didn’t expect you to look like you just crawled out of his dreams.”
“That’s not true!” Said boy whined. “I’m upset because Draco has a serious case of Only-Child-Syndrome and is chronically unable to share!”
Draco puffed up indignantly. Hadrian did not even know what was going on, though he did feel flattered. “You already have Theo and Pansy,” Draco said accusingly, pointing his finger at him. “I will not be fifth-wheeling to my own boyfriend on top of my friends!”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Theo’s soft voice stopped Blaise’s new whine before it could start. The smile he sent Draco had him narrowing his eyes. “We can watch together.”
Hadrian watched speechlessly as Theo’s book closed itself and hit him on the head — quite a few times actually — while Blaise continued to pout and whine.
Unable to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him by himself, Hadrian was quite grateful for Pansy stepping into his line of sight.
It was weird. He had been with Draco for years now, had seen him at his lowest and angriest and happiest and saddest and scariest and defenseless-est and done-est, yet he had never seen Draco like this. So… so childish and carefree.
But then, he had also never seen him with Pansy and Blaise and Theo after the Second Blood War. As far as he knew, Theo had become a recluse and Blaise had moved back to Italy. He had no idea what had happened with Pansy and, looking at her now, it didn’t matter anyway. She was not the girl he remembered.
“You do actually look good,” she told him. It took Hadrian an embarrassing moment to remember that the reason he was here in the first place was because she had insisted on doing his hair.
“All thanks to you, I think,” he grinned at her. “Do you have—“ A mirror appeared in from of his face before he could finish his question. Familiar, slightly slitted green eyes stared at him for a moment, before he took a hold of the mirror to properly inspect Pansy’s work.
His sides were short. Extremely short. Shorter than they had ever been before. (Apart from the time Aunt Petunia had shaved his head — and then his hair had (thankfully) grown back over night.)
On top of his head were the braids Pansy had wanted to do so badly. The braids were… tight. Like very very tight. So tight not even a single strand would be able to come loose. The loose ends were put into a simple bun.
All in all, it was different. Hadrian didn’t know what he’d expected and he’d never had his hair like this, but it wasn’t bad. It actually looked quite good.
Hadrian hummed. “I like it,” he said as he handed the mirror back and shook his head ferociously. “Nothing’s loose or falling into my eyes. It’s amazing.”
“Duh.” Pansy vanished the mirror with a flick of her wand, then promptly plopped into Hadrian’s lap and lifted his chin. “I made it.”
Hadrian’s brain short-circuited as Pansy then proceeded to ignore him (not like she sat on him or anything). She turned his head this way and that, admiring her work from this new angle.
Pansy hummed pleased. “I love Draco, you know?” Her voice was blasé and her body relaxed, but even Hadrian, as thrown off track as he was, could detect the threat in her tone. Still, she was not looking at him. “I might not know how this happened — with you — but it did, and he’s happy, and you like him, and one day you will tell me, but should you ever hurt him —” Her eyes found Hadrian’s, dark and dangerous. She leaned in close, her warmth breath ghosting over his ear; a shiver ran down his spine as goosebumps raised his skin. “Your worst fears will become something you will wish for. Wholeheartedly.”
Somehow, despite everything Hadrian’s been through, he couldn’t doubt her words. And looking at her, an angelic smile lightening up her face, he really didn’t know what had happened to her.
Exhaling, he looked into her eyes. “Okay,” he simply said. Pansy beamed, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and hopped off his lap.
She clapped her hands. “Come on, boys, stop fighting or we’re going to be late.” She snatched Theo’s book out of the air and kissed the pout from Blaise’s lips.
“Stop riling Draco up, love. If you want someone pretty and tragic we can ask Cho. She’s been oh so sad since her boy-toy died.”
What. A. Whirlwind.
All Hadrian could do was watch and let it all wash over him. Maybe these braids were a bad idea. They seemed to mess with his brain.
xXxXxXx
Tom Marvolo Riddle, known by (almost) all of Wizarding Britain solely as the Dark Lord Voldemort or ‘You-Know-Who’, sat on his throne in Malfoy Manor in gleeful silence.
The reason for that? The delightful news in the newest edition of the Daily Prophet, the Witch Weekly, and even the Quibbler. Not only was that fool Dumbledore loosing his control over Hogwarts, but so was the Minister. Well, current Minister, if what his people in the Ministry were already reporting held any truth.
What could he say? Gossip travelled awfully fast.
Lord Voldemort laughed heartily. Twitching, the Death Eaters exchanged uneasy glances, while Wormtail sniffled in his corner.
“It seems, my friends, the tides are turning in our favour.” A cheer went through the grand ballroom. Lord Voldemort raised his arms, and immediately, the reverent silence returned.
“The public, the naïve fools, are losing their trust in Dumbledore. They believe him mad. Mad that I, the great Lord Voldemort, could have returned. The peasants are fools and the Ministry at the tip of our fingers — ours for the take. Hogwarts is in shambles and without a hand to guide them.”
Abruptly, Lord Voldemort turned around, instantly finding the tall figure of his most faithful spy.
“Ssseverusss,” he hissed pleased. “What news have you got for us on this joyous occasion?”
“My Lord.” Severus kneeled down. “Dumbledore has reassured his Order that he will help the Ministry during this… tragic misunderstanding. He wants us to believe that he was not aware of the going ons in the Castle.” A collective hiss went through the gathered Death Eaters.
As Holder of the Wards of Hogwarts and her Headmaster, there was no way that he had not known about the torture; the magic would have warned him about the danger, while the wards must have been trying to get the reverent Madam Umbridge evicted.
Lord Voldemort laughed. “How droll,” he said, his tone mocking. “His following must have believed him instantly.”
Severus inclined his head. “They did, my Lord.”
“Very well, thank you, Severusss.” He turned around. “Yaxley!” Instantly, the man fell to his knees where he stood. “How far along are we with the Dementors? This alliance will give us the power we need to take on this pathetic Ministry. Our trusted friends will be so thankful.”
The cowering man winced.
“Master,” Yaxley simpered. “After Sirius Black’s successful break out two years ago, the security has been tightened in and around Azkaban. We will not be able t—“ A scream tore out of his mouth when the masterfully cast Cruciatus Curse hit him.
“You will not tell me what we can and cannot do, Yaxley,” Lord Voldemort hissed with narrowed eyes. He was most displeased with his longtime follower. “Tell me, do you think me weak? Incompetent?”
“N-no, my Lord,” stammered Yaxley.
“Then why have you not made any progress?” Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes. “Our numbers are steadily rising, the Ministry and public and Hogwarts in disarray without any help from us. Dumbledore’s power is dwindling and Potter — he is a disgrace to wizardkind. Yet, you have failed me, Yaxley.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Don’t disappoint me again. Or the next time, the great Lord Voldemort might not be so lenient.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
With a last Crucio, Lord Voldemort disregarded the pathetic lump on the floor.
“Alecto — the Prophecy.”
“We are making headway, my Lord,” the female twin said without much fanfare. “Dumbledore has his Order stationed to keep us out, but they won’t stand a chance. We will be ready to collect it during Yule.”
Lord Voldemort let out a pleased hiss. “Excssellent. See if we can’t turn it up with… Luciussss, my slippery friend.”
“My Lord?” Lucius asked as he kneeled down, his face displaying just the right amount of deference and reverence.
“The Minister, how does he faire?”
“Not good, I believe, my Lord.” Lucius tensed while he waited for a curse to come. “He has talked Umbridge high and parents are… more than displeased. I do not think he takes it well.”
“Well, well…” a terrific grin grew on Lord Voldemort’s pale, disfigured face. “It seems the Ministry will soon be looking for a new Minister, Luciusss.”
Regally, Lucius inclined his head. “Of course, my Lord.” His sons would be pleased.
Lord Voldemort laughed self-satisfied. They wouldn’t know what hit them. “Meeting adjourned.”
xXxXxXx
“Lucius, Dolores, she… I can’t even…” Fudge’s breathing was shallow. He still could not believe that the kind, hard-working woman he had known for years would do something so utterly despicable. Desperate eyes looked up at the wise Lord in front of him. “Is it true?” He rasped out.
Pale blue eyes roamed over the pathetic sight the mighty Minister made, disdainfully. With slow, purposeful steps, Cornelius’ long time advisor came closer and closer, until eventually, he stopped directly in front of Cornelius’ massive desk.
Lucius’ picked up Cornelius’ prized name plaque; the gold of it shimmered in the glow of the candles.
“It is,” he finally said. His voice was so bland and downright disinterested, they could have just as well been talking about the weather. Still, this somehow helped quell some of Cornelius’ fears.
If Lucius was so calm about this, then maybe there was hope for him still.
He took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Okay,” he said slowly, trying to draw up on his expertise. “That’s uh… not good. And what I just told these people —“ A strangled noise left his mouth. “I didn’t know,” the man stressed.
“I never would have thought Dolores capable of something so heinous… she was always so nice. How could I have known she would go to such lengths to teach the rascals proper behaviour.”
While pitying himself, Cornelius made the mistake of not looking at his ‘friend’. So when Lucius calmly put the name plaque back down and the soft thud finally had Cornelius’ raise his eyes, his insides turned to ice.
Looming over him, Lucius was every bit the devil the Dumbledore was always going on about.
“Cornelius,” Lucius purred pleasantly, and Fudge trembled where he sat. Cold sweat broke out all over his body, because that voice? It promised Nothing Good. “My sons go to Hogwarts.”
xXxXxXx
Minister Cornelius Fudge resigns after the torture of students comes to light — he “was not aware” and “can never forgive himself for such an oversight” — The Daily Prophet, by Rita Skeeter
Former Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge faces time in Azkaban — the Nation rejoices — The Daily Prophet, by Rita Skeeter