At this precise moment, when tensions were at their peak and Umbridge seemed on the verge of another outburst, Mr. Diggory spoke up from the side at just the right time.
"Madam Umbridge," he began cautiously, glancing first at Adrian and Dumbledore—as if seeking some kind of silent approval or support before turning his full attention to Umbridge's still-blotchy face,
"we absolutely must adopt a gentler approach toward the Treants going forward. What happened here today may have already severely, perhaps irreparably damaged whatever trust and positive relations once existed between them and the Ministry."
He paused, choosing his next words with care.
"The priority right now isn't to assign blame for this disaster, Rather, we need to focus all our efforts on finding a practical way to repair our relationship with the Treants—or at the very least, prevent them from viewing the entire Ministry of Magic as their permanent enemy. Because if several hundred of them decide we're hostile..."
He left the words lingering, letting everyone's imagination fill in the catastrophic consequences.
Umbridge naturally understood this cold, practical reasoning perfectly well.
It was just... she felt so deeply unwilling to accept it. To swallow her pride and humiliation without revenge or retaliation.
When had she—Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister himself, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts ever been forced into such a pathetic, sorry state? So thoroughly humiliated and beaten?
The answer was: never. Not once in her entire career.
However, despite her burning desire for vengeance and vindication, to avoid the dangerous situation deteriorating even further, this approach was clearly the only viable course of action available now.
The only path forward that didn't lead to disaster.
As for maintaining openly hostile relations with the Treants, declaring them enemies of the Ministry, attempting to exterminate or control them through force?
That was a responsibility with consequences she absolutely couldn't afford to bear, both politically and practically. She'd be blamed for whatever catastrophe followed.
After all, as recent events had so brutally demonstrated, it now appeared quite plainly that the Treants were an even more troublesome and dangerous group than the already-problematic centaurs.
At least the centaurs, despite their pride and hostility toward wizards, didn't possess such overwhelmingly formidable combat capabilities or such devastating physical power.
Umbridge took a long, deep breath, forcibly suppressing and pushing down the surging resentment and impotent fury roiling within her chest. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"If that's the case, Amos," she said through gritted teeth, barely maintaining her composure, "I'll leave this entire matter in your hands. Consider yourself officially appointed."
She gave Amos Diggory a hard stare. "You're now personally responsible for establishing proper diplomatic contact with the Treants. Make absolutely certain to clear up the previous... misunderstanding... and make them understand and believe in the Ministry's goodwill and peaceful intentions."
Mr. Diggory was clearly taken aback by this sudden announcement, his eyes were widening with surprise. He seemed to not have expected Umbridge to abruptly assign such a massive, complex, potentially career-defining… well... perhaps career-ending task directly to him without warning or preparation.
This essentially meant he'd be cleaning up the enormous mess she'd created.
'What a troublesome assignment,' he thought with resignation. He couldn't help but smile bitterly to himself.
'Merlin's beard, I have neither confidence nor any certainty that I can handle this well. How does one even negotiate with sentient trees?'
However...
On second thought, after a moment of consideration, what assignment could possibly be worse than languishing uselessly at the joke of a Centaur Liaison Office doing absolutely nothing day after day, year after year? Watching his career slowly die of neglect and irrelevance?
At least this new responsibility was an actual opportunity to accomplish something meaningful and change his current stagnant situation.
If he succeeded, he'd be the man who established peaceful relations with a powerful new species. That was significant.
He quickly glanced across the clearing toward Dumbledore, seeking some kind of guidance or indication of support.
And he saw the headmaster give him the faint nod of encouragement and approval.
This small gesture helped him make up his mind.
"I understand, Madam Umbridge," he said clearly, straightening his posture and nodding solemnly to her with determination. "I'll do my absolute best. You have my word. I'll find a way to bridge this gap."
Umbridge, still wrapped up in her own turbulent emotions and thoughts, didn't notice or register the brief eye contact and exchange between Mr. Diggory and Dumbledore.
After receiving Diggory's acceptance of responsibility, she merely responded with a curt, dismissive "Very well, then".
At that moment, cutting through the tense atmosphere, the Auror who had been treating MacNair's injuries suddenly let out a sharp, startled cry that made everyone jump: "Madam Umbridge! Professor Dumbledore! You need to come see this immediately! Right now!"
This sudden, urgent shout made everyone's hearts tighten with new anxiety, their bodies were tensing for some new disaster. What now? What else could possibly go wrong?
They immediately crowded around MacNair's body in a tight circle to see what had caused such a reaction.
Adrian also moved closer, though more slowly and calmly than the panicked officials, his curiosity was piqued but his concern was no.
The Auror was pointing with a shaking finger at MacNair's exposed left arm after roughly rolling up his blood-soaked sleeve to continue treatment. His young face was filled with shock and horrified disbelief.
"Look," he said. "Look at this."
On MacNair's pale, blood-drained arm, a sinister pattern was clearly visible.
A serpent emerging from a skull's mouth, rendered in black lines that seemed to wriggle slightly.
The iconic symbol of darkness and terror that every wizard recognized and feared.
It was none other than the dreaded, infamous Dark Mark. The brand of Voldemort's followers. The mark of a Death Eater.
The air itself seemed to freeze solid in that moment, as if someone had cast a powerful stasis charm over the entire clearing. Several people stopped breathing.
What made the discovery even more unsettling and impossible to dismiss as old history was that the mark was actively flickering with a faint, sickly greenish light beneath MacNair's skin, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Clearly, undeniably, this was no forgery or fake tattoo. This was the real thing.
Adrian raised his eyebrows slightly at this revelation, though he wasn't particularly surprised given what his Devil's Snare had detected earlier. His tone remained casual and almost amused as he spoke: "Oh? So, it turns out he's a Death Eater after all. How interesting."
He glanced meaningfully, intentionally at Umbridge, letting his gaze linger on her shocked face. His voice took on just a trace of mockery and false innocence. "Has the Ministry started officially recruiting Death Eaters to important positions now? Is this a new hiring policy?"
The delivery was perfect—Adrian had clearly learned well from a certain Potions professor's distinctive manner of speaking and cutting sarcasm.
The deliberately drawn-out, considering tone, paired with perfectly timed pauses and raised eyebrows at exactly the right moments for maximum impact.
It must be said, the effect was quite outstanding.
Umbridge's face instantly turned ugly, reminding Adrian of Harry after being lectured by Snape.
"No... it's not like that! This isn't what it looks like!" MacNair on the ground struggled desperately to lift his head, fighting against pain and blood loss.
Sweat continuously slid down from his temples, soaking into his filthy collar. "That mark was from before! Years ago! I reformed long ago! I testified before the Wizengamot, signed a detailed confession, cooperated completely with authorities..."
His voice was growing weaker, and more desperate. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has everything on file... documented... verified... I was cleared..."
As he spoke these increasingly frantic justifications, he looked toward Umbridge with a pleading, desperate gaze—silently begging her to confirm his story, to support him, to save him from what was coming.
Umbridge's expression grew increasingly grim and troubled as she processed the implications. Her mind raced through political calculations and damage control scenarios.
She did, of course, know about MacNair's Death Eater identity and history. It wasn't exactly a secret in certain Ministry circles. She'd known when she requested him.
After Voldemort's first fall from power, MacNair had claimed quite convincingly with supposedly supporting evidence from respected witnesses that he'd been acting completely under the Imperius Curse when he pledged his loyalty to the Dark Lord.
Thus, through a combination of testimony, political connections, and perhaps some well-placed bribes, he had successfully escaped imprisonment in Azkaban.
However, the Dark Mark visible before them now, pulsing with that sickly light, was clearly in an activated state.
"If that's the case," Dumbledore said softly, walking up slowly to stand over MacNair's lying body, "I believe using Veritaserum is the most direct and definitive method to establish the truth. The Ministry surely also wishes to ascertain the facts of this matter beyond any doubt."
His tone was perfectly reasonable, impossible to argue against without appearing guilty.
He turned to face Umbridge directly, his blue eyes meeting hers with steady, knowing force. "Do you have any objections to this standard proposal, Professor Umbridge?"
Internally, Umbridge certainly had serious objections—under the influence of Veritaserum, no secrets could be hidden. Every question was answered truthfully, completely, without filter or protection.
Heaven only knew what MacNair would say or reveal when his tongue was loosened. What secrets would spill out. What names he might mention.
What implications might spread to her.
But standing there under everyone's watchful, expectant eyes and Dumbledore's subtle but undeniable pressure with Ministry Aurors, with officials, with witnesses all watching her reaction, she simply couldn't refuse this reasonable and totally proper proposal without appearing complicit.
Refusing would be as good as confessing she had something to hide.
"Of course... no objections," she forced out the words.
"Oh, very good," Dumbledore said calmly.
He turned and beckoned smoothly to Adrian with one hand. "Veritaserum, if you would be so kind."
Adrian muttered softly under his breath, "How did you know I'd be carrying Veritaserum around with me today? I didn't exactly plan for this."
However, no one really cared about such a minor detail now.
Without further comment, Adrian withdrew a small crystal vial from somewhere inside his robes. The vial contained a clear, colorless liquid that swished about.
At Dumbledore's subtle signal and nod, Adrian crouched down smoothly beside MacNair. The man's eyes tracked him with growing panic, understanding what was coming.
Adrian carefully dropped several drops of Veritaserum into MacNair's open, gasping mouth.
The potion quickly took effect.
Within seconds, MacNair's previously pain-filled gaze became vacant and empty, glazed over like a corpse's eyes. His entire body fell into a semi-conscious, trance-like state where conscious resistance was impossible and truth was the only option.
The clearing fell into absolute silence. Even the forest seemed to be holding its breath.
"Whom do you serve now?" Dumbledore asked in a deep voice that resounded to everyone present. "Who is your master?"
Then MacNair answered without any resistance or hesitation, his voice was flat and emotionless: "The Dark Lord."
He paused, then added with certainty, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world: "I am forever loyal to the Dark Lord. Loyal until death. Loyal always."
A suppressed gasp rippled through the crowd. Several people actually stepped back.
Umbridge was absolutely no exception—her face went from green to ash-white in seconds. This was undoubtedly, definitely the answer she had least wanted to hear. The worst possible response.
Dumbledore continued his questioning. "What specific orders has the Dark Lord given you?"
"Wait," MacNair murmured in that same flat, trance-like voice. His eyes stared at nothing. "Wait at the Ministry of Magic... blend in... maintain my position... wait for his signal to act..."
He spoke as if reciting instructions memorized long ago.
This chilling answer sent a wave of cold dread through all the Ministry officials present, their faces went pale with the implications.
A Death Eater still actively loyal to Voldemort had been lurking among them for who knew how many years.
And crucially, this particular person held an important, influential position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, with access to sensitive information. He even enjoyed his direct superior's favor and trust.
And more importantly, as any competent investigator knew: when you find one cockroach scuttling across your kitchen floor, it always means there are dozens more hiding in the shadows and cracks and spaces you can't see.
One was never just one.
This was an enormous, massive scandal for the Ministry of Magic.
The gathered Aurors unconsciously looked at one another, exchanging worried glances, seeing their own fear reflected in their colleagues' faces.
Everyone fell into heavy, troubled silence.
At this moment, Dumbledore's calm voice rang out again. "Who are your accomplices? Give me names."
This was the critical question.
MacNair's lips trembled, his whole body was beginning to shake as if fighting against the potion's compulsion with every ounce of will he possessed. He struggled desperately, visibly, to resist speaking.
The Veritaserum forced truth, but couldn't force someone to know information they didn't have.
Finally, with tremendous effort, he forced out a few halting words: "Don't... know... names."
This frustrating answer once again made everyone's hearts sink with disappointment.
As expected, there was a definite limit to what useful intelligence could be extracted, even with Veritaserum. The Death Eaters had probably planned for this possibility.
But Dumbledore wasn't finished. He leaned forward slightly and asked slowly: "Has Voldemort already been resurrected?"
"Yes," MacNair's weak voice came out, but it exploded like thunder in everyone's ears. "The Dark Lord... has been resurrected... returned... risen again..."
'Oh boy,' Adrian thought, narrowing his eyes and watching the reactions through the crowd. 'Here we go.'
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