A hundred Howlers burst open like a chain of exploding barrels, the first victim being Dolores Umbridge herself. She felt as though her eardrums had been punctured, hearing nothing but a piercing buzz, unable to make out a single word.
The next unfortunate target was the room itself.
The deafening tide of sound shattered the walls of the office, and soon an entire floor of the Ministry was engulfed in the thunderous roars. The chaos echoed so violently that even the floors above and below could hear it crystal clear.
Inside the Minister's office, Cornelius Fudge spilled his coffee all over his robes. The door burst open as the Ministry's alarm wailed. A group of Aurors stormed in, casting Muffliato on themselves as they rushed to shield him.
After a whirlwind of confusion, Umbridge managed to stammer out an explanation, revealing it was nothing more than a false alarm.
All that remained were the ashes of burned Howlers scattered across the floor—yet not a single soul had truly understood what they were shouting.
Fudge, his face red with fury, barked,
"Set up a letter reception office immediately! Staff it with people skilled in countering Howler enchantments! From now on, no letter reaches me without a full inspection!"
He shot a furious glare at Umbridge, who was trembling like a leaf.
She couldn't even handle a few blasted letters! If she weren't so adept at groveling, Fudge would have replaced her long ago.
"Cornelius."
A calm, steady voice cut through the air. From the crowd, Lady Greengrass stepped forward. Fudge instantly smoothed his expression, trading rage for a warm smile.
"Director Greengrass!"
Though technically the Minister outranked her, Fudge never dared to treat Lady Greengrass casually. He favored the pure-blood faction, and the Greengrass family was deeply rooted among them. In the Department of Magical Transportation, her influence rivaled even that of Amelia Bones, the Ministry's formidable second-in-command. She was not someone Fudge could afford to offend.
Not just Lady Greengrass—Fudge's attitude was always the same toward anyone who carried influence and prestige, provided they posed no threat to his power.
"I know the contents of those Howlers," Lady Greengrass said evenly. "Because I wrote one myself."
Fudge's eyes widened in alarm, his mind racing, desperately trying to recall what he might have done to anger her.
"Let's continue this in your office, Cornelius," Lady Greengrass continued, summoning several others forward—each a parent with a child currently studying at Hogwarts.
…
Meanwhile, inside the castle of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore was experiencing the exact same ordeal as Fudge.
Another hundred Howlers had arrived, though the Great Hall, being far larger, absorbed the noise differently. Because owls came in waves from varying distances, the arrival of the letters was staggered. Amidst the chaotic mix of overlapping shouts, the students still managed to catch plenty of words clearly.
And what words they were.
The young witches and wizards sat gaping, eyes wide with astonishment. They had never heard such a spectacular barrage of insults. In a single morning, they learned more curse words than they had in their entire lives combined. The more studious among them had already pulled out parchment and quills, diligently recording the choicest phrases to use in future arguments.
The Howlers hurled every variety of affectionate abuse at Dumbledore and Lockhart—though, of course, neither of them was present, robbing the show of some of its drama.
But with the targets absent, the professors at the High Table became the stand-ins.
The faculty looked as though they wanted to sink straight into their plates. The Heads of Houses clenched their fists. Professor Flitwick had ducked entirely behind the table, his small frame vanishing from sight.
Even Severus Snape, who usually delighted in watching others' misery, found no joy in it today. Parents were lambasting the professors as useless incompetents. Most of the fury was aimed at Lockhart, but the rest of the staff weren't spared—after all, they were colleagues, and in the parents' eyes, all cut from the same cloth.
Professor McGonagall's fur seemed to bristle like an angry cat's. She swallowed her last bite of smoked herring, then stormed out of the hall in long, sharp strides, every inch the picture of a feline with its hackles raised.
Tom was busy.
Every time a Howler reached the end of its tirade, he cast a spell to prevent it from self-combusting, carefully collecting each one.
"Tom, why are you keeping those?" Astoria asked curiously. She spoke with gestures—Tom had already cast Muffliato charms on her and Daphne to protect their ears.
The boy simply pointed upward. Astoria's eyes lit up with realization.
Of course! The intended recipients hadn't heard a word of it yet. Letting the Howlers burn themselves out would be a complete waste. With a quick Reparo, they could be played back again. And with a little time before class, Tom knew exactly who to deliver them to.
He sent Daphne off to Transfiguration and hauled the sack of Howlers onto his shoulder, jogging toward the top floor.
The stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office came alive as he approached, its mouth curling into a mischievous grin.
"Back again, boy? Come to argue with Dumbledore?"
"Not this time. This one's from the parents." Tom looked around, frowning. "Where do I put these letters, anyway? You don't even have a postbox."
"Normally they go straight inside. But if the Headmaster isn't here… well, you can leave them in my mouth."
The gargoyle waggled its stony brows at him.
Tom arched his own.
"Then open wide."
He tugged the sack open, revealing a mountain of crimson envelopes.
"Go on. Mouth open. I'm not in the mood today."
The gargoyle's eyes widened in horror.
"That many Howlers? All for Dumbledore?"
"Of course. They're the heartfelt words of Hogwarts' loving parents. You'd better keep them safe."
Grabbing its jaw, Tom upended the sack.
Gulp—gulp—gulp!
The gargoyle's belly swelled visibly, doubling in size. Tom gave its stone stomach a firm pat—solid as granite.
"Right then. Tell the Headmaster to come fetch them before they go off inside you. Wouldn't want you exploding on my account."
With that, Tom scampered off, leaving the poor gargoyle groaning and smoking at the mouth.
"Dumbledore! Hurry up! The boy's heart is black as coal!" the gargoyle bellowed.
Nearly five minutes later, Dumbledore emerged from his office, wearing an expression of weary resignation. By then, smoke was already curling from the gargoyle's lips.