The Ministry of Magic thrummed with its usual weekday bustle, but beneath the clatter of enchanted typewriters and the chatter of witches and wizards, something new had taken root. Rumors.
They ran like fire through parchment, whispered in lift rides and passed across desks in folded memos: A child at Hogwarts had bonded with a phoenix. Not just any phoenix—an undocumented species. Black as midnight, eyes like galaxies, wings that shimmered with blue flame.
"It can't be true," muttered a clerk from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes as she rifled through reports."My cousin's boy's at Hogwarts," another insisted, lowering his voice, "says it perched on the Slytherin table one evening and silenced the whole hall with a look.""A black phoenix? No record of such a thing in any registry.""That's the problem, isn't it?"
By the time the whispers reached the Atrium, they had twisted into more dangerous speculation. Some said the bird had nearly killed a squad of students with fire. Others swore it could vanish into shadow and reappear at will. No one had seen it themselves, but everyone had heard.
And so the rumors found their way to the highest office in the Ministry.
Cornelius Fudge paced across the plush carpet of his office, bowler hat clutched in both hands. His face, usually flushed with self-importance, was pale. He muttered as he went, half to himself, half to the papers scattered across his desk.
"First goblins, now this… a phoenix, and in the hands of a child—how will it look, how will it look in the Prophet if we do nothing? Parents will be outraged. Dangerous creature, running loose in a school. They'll call it incompetence, dereliction. They'll—oh, heavens—demand a vote of no confidence."
His muttering stopped only when a polite cough cut the air.
Dolores Umbridge stood primly at the far end of the office, dressed in her usual sickly pink cardigan, hands folded neatly over a clipboard. Her toadlike face wore the expression she thought was most soothing—a tight-lipped smile that never touched her eyes.
"Minister," she said in her simpering, syrupy tone. "You mustn't work yourself into such a state. The situation is most… unfortunate, yes, but entirely manageable. Provided, of course, the proper authority asserts itself."
Fudge blinked at her, hat twisting between his fingers. "Manageable? Dolores, we are talking about an undocumented phoenix. No registry entry, no known magical properties—Merlin knows what havoc it could wreak if it turns on those children. Why, the Board of Governors could—"
"Minister," Umbridge interrupted gently, though her smile sharpened, "I quite agree. Such a creature is far too unpredictable to be left in the hands of an untrained boy."
Fudge nodded quickly, though sweat beaded his brow. "Yes, yes, exactly. A first-year, of all things. What if it—what if it breathes fire on a dormitory? What if the parents pull their children out of school? Disaster, Dolores, disaster!"
Umbridge stepped closer, her shoes clicking softly against the carpet. She tilted her head, her tone dipping into a coo. "And who better to ensure order, to protect both the children and the Ministry's good name, than yourself, Minister?"
Fudge froze mid-pace, staring at her. "…Myself?"
"But of course." Her voice dripped with false sweetness. "Surely the public would feel safest if they knew the phoenix had been secured directly under the Ministry's care. And not just the Ministry's, no, no… under your care, Minister Fudge. A triumph of leadership. A beacon of stability in uncertain times."
The color returned to his cheeks at once, pride flickering where fear had lived a moment before. He adjusted his bowler hat, preening. "Yes… yes, I see your meaning. Yes, that might reassure the public. If the Prophet ran the headline, say—'Minister Secures Phoenix for Public Safety'—well, that would… that would silence my critics rather quickly, wouldn't it?"
"Indeed," Umbridge said smoothly, her eyes glittering. "And should the matter require a face, someone to… explain the dangers of magical irresponsibility, I would be only too happy to lend my voice."
"Yes, yes, very good, Dolores," Fudge said, already nodding. "We must act quickly, decisively. Contain the bird before Dumbledore makes some spectacle of it. Last thing we need is him spinning it as a sign of… of destiny or whatnot."
He tossed his hat back onto the desk, voice growing more confident with each word. "Yes. We'll send a team. Quietly, of course. Aurors. Make it official, make it proper. They'll secure the phoenix and bring it to the Ministry for safe keeping. Yes, yes, perfect. The public will see me as a man of action, a protector."
Umbridge's smile widened, the barest croak of amusement slipping through her throat. "Oh, how wise, Minister. How very wise."
Fudge turned to his papers, hands already rifling for forms and seals. "I'll authorize the dispatch immediately. Yes, yes, immediately. The sooner we act, the sooner the Prophet will have something useful to print."
Behind him, Umbridge's eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.
In the corridors below, word had already spread further. Aurors whispered among themselves about a mission—an unusual one, quiet, with no details yet given. The rumor followed them into the lifts, through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and down to the Auror briefing rooms.
A mission involving Hogwarts.
And a phoenix.
The Minister's seal burned red against parchment, still warm from the wax. Fudge pressed it down with shaking fingers, then leaned back in his chair as though the act alone had steadied the world.
"There," he said, exhaling loudly. "Official. Containment order, priority classification. Hogwarts will cooperate—they must. I'll have the bird secured before Dumbledore can spin it into some romantic nonsense about destiny."
Across from him, Dolores Umbridge clasped her hands neatly over her clipboard, her lips stretching into a smile that showed more teeth than warmth. "Brilliant, Minister. Absolutely brilliant. The public will see you as decisive. Protective. They'll know their children are safe only because you acted."
Fudge preened, adjusting his bowler hat in the reflection of the office window. "Yes, yes… 'Minister Protects Students from Dangerous Beast.' That'll play well. Very well indeed."
The words were still hanging in the air when a knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," Fudge barked, the confidence returning to his voice.
Dawlish, tall and broad-shouldered in his dark Auror robes, stepped in with a brisk salute. "You asked for a squad, Minister?"
"Yes, Dawlish, yes." Fudge gestured him closer, fumbling at his stack of papers until he found the signed order. He pushed it across the desk with an air of great importance. "You'll take three of your best, discreetly. Hogwarts is to be approached without spectacle. Contain the bird, bring it back here. No delays, no excuses."
Dawlish glanced at the parchment, brows furrowing. "A phoenix, sir?"
"Yes, yes, a black phoenix. Undocumented species, highly dangerous. In the hands of a boy, no less."
Dawlish's frown deepened. "If it's bonded—"
"Bonded?" Fudge spluttered. "Nonsense. A child can't bond with something like that. It's a wild beast, that's all. Hogwarts has been careless—again. Our job is to correct that mistake before it becomes a headline."
Dawlish hesitated, then gave a short nod. "As you say, Minister. I'll brief the squad immediately."
When he left, the door clicking shut behind him, Umbridge let out a soft laugh that sounded more like a croak. "He doubts, but he'll obey. Aurors always do."
Fudge puffed out his chest. "And they'll thank me once it's secured. They'll all thank me."
Down in the Auror briefing room, Dawlish unrolled the parchment on the long oak table. Three others gathered around—Tonks, her bubblegum-pink hair clashing wildly with the dark robes; Shacklebolt, silent and steady; and Proudfoot, expression sharp with curiosity.
"A mission to Hogwarts," Dawlish said, voice clipped. "Minister's orders. Priority classification."
Tonks leaned forward, eyes widening as she scanned the lines. "Containment of… a phoenix?"
Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of a black one."
"Nor I," Proudfoot muttered. "Sounds like rumor."
Dawlish's jaw tightened. "Rumor or not, the Minister's signed the order. We're to depart tomorrow, dawn. No notice, no correspondence. Official line is containment for public safety."
Tonks pursed her lips. "And the Headmaster? He's not exactly fond of uninvited guests."
"That's not our concern," Dawlish said firmly. "Orders are orders. We secure the bird, bring it back. End of story."
The parchment lay flat on the table, the Minister's seal glaring red at its bottom edge.
Meanwhile, in the higher offices of the Ministry, whispers spread further.
Some clerks muttered that the Minister was overreaching, that a phoenix was no simple beast to be caged. Others, those loyal to Umbridge's brand of bureaucratic cruelty, smirked at the thought of Dumbledore's frustration when the Ministry swooped in.
By the time the lifts rattled to a stop for the evening, the mission was common knowledge among the right ears. Not officially announced, not printed, but known.
And in the quiet corners of the wizarding world, bets were already being placed on who would triumph: the Ministry, or the boy with the galaxy-eyed bird.
Fudge, however, slept soundly that night, dreaming of Prophet headlines singing his praises.