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The truth hung in the scorched air of the Atrium like a guillotine blade. The gazes directed at Dolores Umbridge weren't just angry; they were predatory.
If it weren't for this pink toad's pathetic attempt to play Grand Inquisitor, the Aurors wouldn't be picking marble shards out of their skin, and the Minister for Magic wouldn't be smelling like a burnt marshmallow. They looked at her not as a superior, but as a corpse that simply hadn't stopped twitching yet.
Fudge was catatonic. He stared at Umbridge, his mouth working silently. He had wanted to intimidate Hermione, yes. A little political pressure, a stern talking-to in a scary office—that was the plan. He knew Dumbledore valued the girl, evidenced by the presence of Snape, the Headmaster's most lethal lieutenant.
But Umbridge? That brainless, power-drunk idiot had actually tried to torture her.
Umbridge stood in the center of the wreckage, her face the color of curdled milk. She was used to throwing her weight around the Ministry halls, where a sharp word from the Senior Undersecretary was law. She had assumed that Hermione, being a mere Muggle-born, would fold under the first sign of pain. She had assumed two elite Aurors and her own "authority" were enough to subdue a child.
She had failed to realize that Hermione Granger didn't play by the rules of bureaucracy. She played by the rules of power. And in that room, the Undersecretary was the smallest person present.
Sensing the shift in the room—the way even Fudge was distancing himself—Umbridge made a final, desperate play.
"No! It wasn't me! It's her!" she shrieked, pointing a stubby, trembling finger at Hermione. "The prophecy! She fabricated it to aid Voldemort's return! She's his agent! Everything today was a coordinated strike to cripple the Ministry!"
She looked around, her bulging eyes searching for one face that showed belief. She found only disgust.
Idiot, the Aurors thought. Even if it were true, you don't say that to the girl holding the living fire. Do you want her to finish the job?
"Silencio!"
Before Umbridge could utter another syllable of suicide, "Ethan Hunt" acted. With a flick of his wand and a look of righteous duty, he sealed her mouth shut. The silence that followed was blissful.
Lockhart stepped forward, adjusting his singed turquoise cuffs. He looked at Hermione with the gentle, weary smile of a teacher dealing with a gifted but difficult student.
"Hermione, the truth is out," Lockhart said softly. "Please, give me the honor of releasing the Minister and these brave men. I promise you—Gilderoy Lockhart promises you—a satisfactory resolution."
Hermione's eyes flickered with amusement. She looked at Lockhart, then at the pathetic, cowering Fudge. "I wouldn't do this for anyone else," she said, her voice carrying across the ruins. "But I'll give Professor Lockhart the face he's earned."
She waved her wand. The Mirror Dimension shattered with a sound like a thousand crystal bells. Reality snapped back. The distorted space vanished, leaving only the physical wreckage behind.
Fudge nearly fell over from the sudden shift in gravity. He scrambled to his feet, smoothing his pinstriped vest, and plastered a wide, frantic smile on his face.
"Gr... Your Highness! Miss Witch!" Fudge stammered. "A thousand apologies! A total misunderstanding! My Undersecretary acted without orders. To make amends, please... you are welcome to any seized magical artifacts in our vaults. We shall not be stingy!"
Hermione nodded, her expression unreadable. Snape watched the exchange, his eyes shifting between Lockhart and Hermione. He began to realize the sheer scale of the play being performed here.
"Quickly!" Fudge barked at his men. "Escort Miss Granger to the Department of Mysteries! Ensure she is satisfied!"
As Hermione was led away by a vanguard of bowing Aurors, Fudge turned to Lockhart, clutching his hand as if he were a long-lost brother.
"Director Lockhart! Thank Merlin for you!"
Lockhart smiled modestly. "Minister, please. I am merely the Deputy Director. It was my duty."
"No, no," Fudge said, his tone turning grave and urgent. "I am speaking to the Director. The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is retiring. I have been searching for a man of action, a man of the people. Director Lockhart, would you take the position? Immediately?"
Lockhart feigned a look of immense surprise. "Minister, surely I lack the seniority—"
"The capable must lead!" Fudge interrupted, supported by a chorus of cheering Aurors behind him. "The Ministry needs men like you! And young Ethan here!"
Fudge turned to the Dark Lord in disguise, his eyes shining with relief. "Ethan, my boy! Formidable! To stand against the Witch... your bravery will be rewarded. Director Lockhart, you have an eye for talent!"
Tom Riddle bowed his head, his face a mask of humble justice. "My strength is but a shadow of Director Lockhart's," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "After all, he is the one who 'trained' the Witch."
Fudge beamed, his heart full of pride. "The best decision of my life was hiring you two! Today could have been the end, but you saved us."
Finally, Fudge's eyes fell on the silenced, shivering Umbridge. The warmth vanished from his face. "Director Lockhart... I leave the interrogation of this 'unfortunate' woman to you."
Lockhart nodded solemnly. "Of course, Minister. We will get to the bottom of her... lapse in judgment."
Umbridge's eyes filled with pure, unadulterated despair as she was dragged away by the very Aurors she had commanded an hour ago. She was the perfect scapegoat. Fudge's hands were clean, Lockhart had a promotion, and the Dark Lord had a front-row seat to the Ministry's secrets.
As the dust settled, the Ministry of Magic looked like a war zone, but the political landscape had been reshaped more thoroughly than the marble walls.
Would you like me to follow Hermione into the Department of Mysteries or see what Lockhart does with Umbridge?