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The headmaster's office at Hogwarts was supposed to be peaceful in the afternoon.
Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, dancing across the surface of the Pensieve with its swirling silver light, glinting off Fawkes' golden-red feathers, and catching on the curious silver instruments scattered about, each one buzzing softly as if whispering secrets only they could hear.
And yet, the air was heavy… laden with a cold, oppressive stillness, like the low, stifling pressure that settles before a storm breaks.
BANG!
The door to the office slammed open with a violent crash.
Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, stormed in like a charging ox, sweat beading down his forehead beneath a tilted bowler hat that now sat awkwardly askew. His entrance was anything but composed, and right behind him came Professor McGonagall, her expression grim and strained.
"Albus!" Fudge shouted, his voice nearly cracking from agitation. He waved the front page of the Daily Prophet in the air, the paper rustling with sharp, frantic urgency. "This has to stop! Right now — immediately! Dozens of students have been petrified! And it's happening here, in your school, right under your very nose!"
Dumbledore looked up slowly from behind his wide, cluttered desk. He met the deputy headmistress's eyes first and gave her a small nod, silently asking her to leave them for now. Then, with a voice as calm and even as still water, he turned back to Fudge and said, "Please, Cornelius. Sit down. Would you care for some tea? I understand your concerns…"
"Understand?"
Fudge didn't even glance at the chair; instead, he planted both hands on the desk and leaned forward, practically spitting his words in Dumbledore's face. "What good is understanding, Albus? The public needs answers! The Ministry of Magic needs to see action! Hogwarts is turning into a deathtrap for students… we can't let it go on like this!"
At that, Dumbledore finally looked him in the eye. And just like that, Fudge's voice faltered, dropping involuntarily in volume. There was a flicker of unease in his tone now, a subtle note of fear and the distinct urgency of someone desperate to shift blame.
"Then tell me, Cornelius… what exactly is it that you expect me to do?"
Fudge seemed to have been waiting for this question all along. He straightened up immediately, his voice tightening, fast and insistent.
"It's simple! Hand over the culprit! What we need is someone — anyone — who can bring this mess under control quickly. Rubeus Hagrid! He's right there, lives by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, doesn't he? We let him off the hook fifty years ago, but now the attacks have started again… what are the odds? It's just too much of a coincidence! Hand him over to me. That'll calm people down fast. The parents will feel reassured."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees in an instant.
When Dumbledore spoke again, his voice had grown cold, each word laced with quiet, unquestionable authority.
"Cornelius, Rubeus Hagrid is innocent. He was innocent fifty years ago, and he is just as innocent now. I will not permit you to send an innocent man to Azkaban simply for political convenience."
Fudge's face turned a deep, angry shade, dark and mottled like overcooked liver.
"You've got to consider my position as well. I'm under tremendous pressure. I can't just sit here and do nothing. Things are already spiraling out of control, and the Ministry will not remain passive forever. Someone has to take responsibility."
"Oh, Minister, Professor Dumbledore… what a perfectly 'timed' little meeting this is!"
A voice, so sweet it was almost cloying, cut in abruptly from the side.
At some point, unnoticed by the others, the door to the office had been quietly pushed open again. Professor McGonagall had returned, her face still drawn and tight with disapproval. And leaning against the doorframe with theatrical ease was Rita Skeeter, flashing a smile that looked polished to perfection and yet utterly insincere.
Hovering just above her parchment, already poised and trembling with excitement, was her signature acid-green Quick-Quotes Quill, its tip twitching like it could hardly wait to snatch up every word that followed.
"Well now, looks like I've arrived right in the middle of a major scoop, haven't I?"
She sauntered into the room with exaggerated flair, her hips swaying slightly, her eyes scanning the room like twin searchlights. She swept her gaze across both men, one after the other, then offered a dramatic pause.
"For the sake of The Daily Prophet's millions of worried readers — for all those sleepless parents who are praying for answers — would the two of you be willing to grant me, Rita Skeeter, an… hmm… in-depth interview regarding this dreadful Chamber of Secrets attack?"
Her gaze locked unflinchingly onto Dumbledore.
Fudge, seeing the reporter, looked as if he'd been handed a lifeline. Instantly, he straightened his crooked bowler hat, trying to collect himself and assume the stance of someone in full control of the situation.
"Miss Skeeter! Yes… of course. The Ministry is actively involved, working diligently to ensure the safety of all students, and we—"
"Actively involved?" Rita's quill shot into action, scratching furiously against the parchment in rapid strokes.
"Minister, does this mean that you believe Headmaster Dumbledore is no longer capable of managing this crisis? After all, such a large-scale series of attacks has occurred in what's supposed to be the most secure fortress in the wizarding world…"
Without missing a beat, she pivoted, aiming her next line directly at Dumbledore with a smile full of concealed barbs.
"Professor, regarding the Chamber of Secrets, and the creature from Slytherin's legend… do you possess any crucial information that the public hasn't been told? The countless families and concerned citizens out there do have an unquestionable right to know."
Her quill traced a flamboyant question mark in the air as if punctuating her accusation with theatrical flair.
Dumbledore looked calmly at Rita and her floating, malicious quill, his voice still composed, deep, and steady.
"Miss Skeeter, the creature within the Chamber has indeed been dealt with. But the full truth has yet to come to light. At a time like this, any reckless speculation or insinuation will serve no purpose other than to spread needless panic. I advise you not to spread rumors that have not been verified… doing so would make you an accomplice to the darkness we are all striving to resist."
"Oh, dear Professor… rumors, you say?"
Rita's smile deepened, and there was a strange, gleaming light in her eyes, sharp as a needle and just as cruel.
"The public is desperate to know the truth! Especially when a headmaster once held in such high esteem seems to be, shall we say… struggling to cope. If the school cannot provide solid answers or a sense of security, then I imagine the public, and the gentlemen on the school's Board of Governors, will be quite capable of drawing their own conclusions. As for my quill…"
She gestured elegantly toward the twitching green feather, which trembled above the parchment with eagerness and flair.
"…it merely records, with perfect accuracy, the reality unfolding before us."
The quill gave a triumphant little twirl in the air, as if basking in her self-assured declaration.
As if summoned by her words, the office door opened for the third time.
This time, it was Lucius Malfoy who entered, silent and composed, gliding into the room like a shadow cast by candlelight.
He was immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, every inch of him exuding calculated elegance. With each step he took, the silver serpent head of his cane tapped sharply against the stone floor, each crisp sound slicing through the silence like a metronome of authority. There was a cold precision to his every movement, and the weight of his presence seemed to settle over the room like a layer of frost.
His pale face bore no expression, and the grey-blue of his eyes offered no hint of emotion as they passed coolly over the disheveled Cornelius Fudge and the barely contained excitement of Rita Skeeter. At last, his gaze settled on Dumbledore, and though his face remained composed, the disdain and scrutiny in his stare were unmistakable, as if his very presence declared judgment.
"Good afternoon, Minister. Miss Skeeter," he said at last, drawing out each syllable with pointed courtesy, before finally turning to the man behind the desk.
"And… Professor Dumbledore."
The pause before the title, and the deliberate omission of Headmaster, spoke volumes. Every word was carefully chosen, each one designed to make a statement.
Fudge fidgeted, his discomfort clearly growing: "Lucius! You've come at just the right time, we were discussing—"
Malfoy raised a hand ever so slightly, the gesture barely noticeable, yet it silenced Fudge at once. His eyes had never left Dumbledore's.
"There's no need for pleasantries, Minister. I come here today as a representative of the entire Hogwarts Board of Governors."
His voice was steady, cold, and perfectly composed. He reached into his pocket with slow, deliberate grace, retrieving a tightly rolled scroll of parchment sealed with deep violet wax. With smooth, practiced elegance, he placed it at the center of Dumbledore's desk.
"In light of the recent… deeply disturbing and utterly unacceptable series of attacks at Hogwarts," Malfoy's voice carried through the office with chilling clarity, "and the widespread panic that has followed, panic that shows no sign of subsiding, compounded by the increasingly severe doubts surrounding the current state of the school's leadership…"
He paused intentionally, as though savoring the quiet tension that now filled the room, almost as if admiring the composure Dumbledore still managed to maintain in the face of such a coldly delivered assault.
"…the Board of Governors convened for an emergency meeting last night. After extensive discussion, we reached a unanimous conclusion. The current circumstances represent a serious threat not only to the reputation of Hogwarts, but more importantly, to the safety of its students."
He gave the rolled parchment a faint tap with the tip of his cane. It lay at the center of Dumbledore's desk, coiled and still like a serpent waiting to strike.
"This document," he said, "is a suspension order… jointly signed by myself and the other eleven members of the Board."
For a heartbeat, the air in the office seemed to solidified.
Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill went completely wild, scribbling across the parchment with such frenzied speed it looked like it might burst into flames from the friction.
Lucius's lips curled, slowly, ever so slightly, into a thin, triumphant smile. He went on, his voice like polished ice:
"It requires you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, to immediately step down from all duties and powers associated with the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
He rested both hands atop the silver serpent head of his cane, his stance rigid, his tone suddenly blunt, "Until such time as the Board determines the school has returned to a state of proper security and order… or you, personally, identify and eliminate the true source of this current crisis… whichever comes first."
He drew out the final words slowly, deliberately, letting the bitterness drip from every syllable, each one steeped in a biting sarcasm that made no attempt to hide itself.
But Dumbledore did not reach for the suspension order… not right away.
Instead, he stood up, slowly and steadily, rising to his full height with a quiet authority that filled the room without force.
"Lucius," he said, and though his voice remained calm and even, it carried a weight that made it feel as though the floor itself had steadied beneath him, "the Board has every right to exercise the oversight granted to them by the school's charter. That is not in dispute."
His gaze moved to Fudge and Rita, pausing briefly on each of them, taking in their uncertain expressions — Fudge's awkward nervousness, Rita's barely contained glee — before his eyes settled, calm and unwavering, on Malfoy.
"However, the crisis Hogwarts faces now… cannot be resolved with a single scroll of parchment. The creature within the Chamber of Secrets has been dealt with, that much is true… but the real culprit, the one behind it all, still remains at large."
He raised a hand and lightly rested it on the back of the high-backed chair behind his desk: the seat of the Headmaster.
"Whether I sit in this chair or not," he continued, voice calm but unwavering, "the duty to protect the students, to uncover the truth, and to stand against whatever darkness seeks to defile this castle — that responsibility belongs to me, and to every person who truly cares about the future of Hogwarts. It is not something I can walk away from. And it is certainly not something any of us can ignore."
He extended a hand, unhurried, without hesitation, and picked up the suspension order.
He didn't break the violet wax seal.
He didn't even unroll the parchment.
He simply held it in his weathered but steady hand, weighing it thoughtfully, as if feeling the cold weight of the contempt and manipulation wrapped inside it.
"I acknowledge receipt of this order," Dumbledore said quietly, and this time, there was a trace of weariness in his voice… not weakness, but the exhaustion of someone who had long carried more than his share of the burden.
"But before I leave this office," he added, raising his head, "I must remind you all: the true danger we face does not stem from this chair."
His gaze, steady and unshaken behind his half-moon spectacles, swept slowly across the room, resting on each person with a quiet, commanding force.
"Removing me might be simple," he continued. "But removing the darkness that festers deep within this castle — that will require true wisdom. It will require courage that does not shrink in fear or play at politics, and certainly not the kind that clings to petty grudges from the past."
No sooner had the final word left his lips than a sudden flutter of wings broke the silence.
A raven alighted gently on the stone windowsill.
It tilted its head toward the people in the room, studying them with cold, beady eyes… and then, in a voice as flat and eerie as the grave, it spoke:
"The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is located in the girl's lavatory haunted by Moaning Myrtle."
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[Chapter End's]
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