By the time the end of March rolled around, Victor had reached a conclusion: Dolores Umbridge was getting on his nerves.
She had moved past being a mild bureaucratic annoyance and officially become a disruption to his peace. Her time at Hogwarts needed to end.
Late one afternoon in the empty Slytherin common room, Victor sat at desk.
Draco sat on a sofa a few feet away, supposedly reading a Potions text, but mostly throwing nervous glances at his older brother.
Victor dipped his quill in black ink and wrote in sharp, even strokes.
Father,
Forward the enclosed letter to the Minister of Magic's private office. Ensure it arrives anonymously and cannot be traced back to our family. Do not open it. Do not attempt to read it. Do not ask me questions.
Victor
He set it aside to dry and pulled the second sheet toward him.
Fudge was a paranoid man, terrified of losing his position.
Victor knew exactly how to weaponize that. If Fudge believed the person spreading rumors about the Dark Lord's return and the person behind the Gringotts attack were the same, trying to usurp him — Fudge would turn on them instantly.
Victor wrote the second letter, tailoring the words to trigger the Minister's worst fears.
Minister Fudge,
The recent attack on Gringotts and the persistent rumors regarding the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are not random events, nor are they the sole work of Albus Dumbledore.
They are a coordinated plot to destabilize the wizarding economy and your administration.
The true architect of this chaos is currently stationed at Hogwarts. They are using the panic generated by these events to quietly seize control of the school and build their own power base, with the ultimate goal of overthrowing you.
Look closely at the people you have trusted with Ministry authority. The threat to your office is coming from inside your own ranks.
He dipped his quill again and added a postscript.
P.S. I suggest you audit the Ministry's Floo Network registry for Hogwarts on the exact day of the Gringotts breach. You might find the activity in the High Inquisitor's private fireplace quite interesting.
A Concerned Citizen
He blew on the ink, his face settling into unbothered calm, folded the letter, sealed it with plain wax, and slipped it into the envelope addressed to Lucius Malfoy.
"What are you doing?" Draco finally asked, unable to take the silence.
"Writing to Father."
"Why?"
"Because I am going to have the High Inquisitor thrown into Azkaban," Victor said, standing, sliding the envelope into his coat pocket. "And I need the Minister to do the paperwork for me."
Draco's mouth fell open. "You're... you're going to frame a Ministry official for treason?"
"Yes."
"Are you insane? If you get caught—"
"Draco," Victor cut in, eyes like chips of black ice.
"I broke into the deepest vault of Gringotts, stole something important, incinerated a dozen Death Eaters with cursed fire, and was back in bed before breakfast. Framing a woman who wears entirely too much pink is a light evening activity. Go to sleep."
"The tragic flaw of bureaucracy," Victor mused, leaning back in the leather chair, crossing his legs, "is that it meticulously tracks the crime, but never the criminal." He steepled his fingers, looking relaxed.
"The Floo Network is heavily restricted this year. The Ministry logs the flames, the timestamp, the exact destination. But they have no idea who actually steps into the ash."
Draco stared, the color draining from his face. "You used her fire. You used the High Inquisitor's private fireplace to rob Gringotts."
"I prefer the term 'borrowed without intent to return,'" Victor corrected, a thin smile touching his lips.
"It was the only unrestricted grate in the castle. I tracked a rather impressive amount of soot over her hideous pink carpet on my way back. Consider it a down payment on her misery."
Draco looked like he might be sick.
"When Fudge reads this letter, he will panic," Victor continued, voice taking on a dark amusement.
"He will pull the registry for the day of the bank breach. He will see a highly illegal, untraceable trip originating from Dolores Umbridge's locked office."
"Knowing Fudge's particular brand of spiraling paranoia, he won't just think she's a traitor. He will conclude she's staging a violent coup to steal his job."
Draco stared at the parchment in Victor's hand like it was a ticking bomb. His brother was casually orchestrating the destruction of a government official out of petty spite, in the time it took most students to finish a Charms essay.
Victor held the envelope out between two fingers. "By Sunday, Ministry Aurors will be dragging her out of the Great Hall by her sensible tweed lapels," he said, smile widening into something genuinely unsettling. "It should be a wonderful show."
He leaned forward, the amusement sharpening into a smooth command that left no room for hesitation. "Now, Draco. Be a good little brother. Go up to the owlery and deliver the final nail in the toad's coffin."
Draco swallowed hard enough to click in the quiet room, snatched the envelope with a shaking hand, and bolted from the common room, reevaluating every life choice that had led to him sharing DNA with a psychopath.
*****
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