The owls did not stop coming.
Morning, afternoon, midnight—it no longer mattered. The Ministry of Magic had become a fortress under siege, not by dark wizards or dark creatures, but by parchment, feathers, and public outrage.
Every office floor echoed with screeching owls slamming against windows, dropping letters in overflowing piles across desks already buried beneath paperwork. Ministry workers had stopped reacting normally to the noise hours ago. Some simply stepped over scattered envelopes while others hid inside offices pretending not to hear the constant explosions of Howlers.
Inside the Minister's office, Cornelius Fudge visibly flinched as another owl battered itself against the glass.
"Not another one," he groaned.
His exhausted assistant stood near the doorway clutching a clipboard with the expression of a man considering resignation.
"…That makes forty-seven today, Minister."
Fudge looked horrified. "Forty-seven Howlers?"
"…Forty-seven confirmed," the assistant corrected weakly. "There are still more in the holding room."
Before Fudge could even respond, the scarlet envelope lying on his desk suddenly burst open.
"YOU DISGRACEFUL OLD FOOL!"
The voice boomed through the office with enough force to shake the windows.
"CHEATING ON YOUR WIFE WITH THAT PINK TOAD—"
Fudge grabbed the Howler in panic and hurled it directly into the fireplace, but the damage had already been done. Outside his office, several Ministry workers abruptly became very interested in nearby filing cabinets to hide their laughter.
One wizard actually snorted so loudly he had to fake a coughing fit afterward.
Fudge collapsed heavily into his chair, burying his face in his hands.
"This cannot be happening…"
Elsewhere in the Ministry, Dolores Umbridge was enduring an even worse humiliation.
Three unopened Howlers sat ominously on her desk like unexploded bombs. Two others had already detonated earlier that morning.
One released thick green smoke that temporarily turned her hair bright blue.
Another screamed increasingly creative insults about her appearance for nearly ten uninterrupted minutes before finally bursting into flames.
The latest letter had been cursed.
The moment she touched it, painful boils spread rapidly across her fingers.
"This is harassment!" Umbridge shrieked furiously, clutching her hand.
Nobody answered.
Not even her own assistants.
The same workers who once rushed desperately to please her now avoided eye contact whenever possible. Conversations stopped whenever she entered a room, only to resume in whispers the moment she passed.
"Did you see the photograph?"
"They say it's been going on for years."
"No wonder she got promoted fast…"
Umbridge's eye twitched violently every time she heard another whisper.
Meanwhile, Rita Skeeter had not slowed down.
If anything—
She had become worse.
The Daily Prophet had completely abandoned any illusion of neutrality. Every edition now carried the vicious energy of a predator that had finally found wounded prey.
And Rita Skeeter was enjoying every second of it.
The morning after the kissing scandal, the newest edition of the Prophet arrived with another massive headline dominating the front page.
MINISTER'S SECRET DEALS EXPOSED
Beneath the title, a moving photograph showed Cornelius Fudge shaking hands enthusiastically with Damian Ironwood, one of Britain's wealthiest potion exporters.
The article itself was devastating.
Rita detailed hidden Ministry contracts, manipulated bidding processes, and quiet donations routed into mysterious "special funds." She exposed secret monopoly agreements that granted Ironwood exclusive export rights without any public competition.
And worst of all—
She included numbers.
Dates.
Documents.
Enough evidence to make denial nearly impossible.
Fudge looked physically ill when he read it.
"How does she know these things?!" he shouted, slamming the paper onto his desk hard enough to spill ink everywhere.
"She cannot possibly know—"
But Rita Skeeter always knew.
That was what made her dangerous.
She listened where others ignored. She manipulated information out of careless people. She flirted, bribed, threatened, and tricked her way into secrets others spent years trying to bury.
And once she found weakness—
She never stopped digging.
At first, Fudge attempted diplomacy.
A private meeting was arranged with the Prophet's editorial board late one evening inside a heavily warded conference room. Fudge arrived prepared with promises and quiet offers of Ministry favors.
The meeting ended disastrously.
Will Rivers, the Prophet's Editorial Chief, reportedly laughed directly in the Minister's face.
"We protected you for years," Rivers had said coldly. "And the moment things became difficult, you abandoned us to save yourself."
Fudge remembered the conversation with growing fury every time another article appeared.
Now the Prophet was returning the favor.
Every edition brought fresh humiliation.
Fresh scandals.
And the worst part?
The public loved it.
Wizarding Britain had become addicted to the chaos.
At Hogwarts, students fought each other over copies of the newspaper before breakfast. In pubs across the country, crowds gathered nightly to read Rita's latest article aloud between drinks. Shopkeepers in Diagon Alley openly discussed Ministry corruption with customers in broad daylight.
The authority of the Ministry was collapsing piece by piece.
And Cornelius Fudge knew it.
That was why, three nights later, an emergency Wizengamot session was called.
The chamber buzzed with tension long before the proceedings officially began. Purple-robed members filled the ancient seats in small clusters, whispering quietly among themselves.
Some looked irritated.
Others curious.
At the center of the chamber stood Cornelius Fudge himself, pale and exhausted beneath the harsh magical lighting. Beside him stood Dolores Umbridge, rigid with fury.
Fudge struck his cane sharply against the stone floor.
"The Ministry," he declared loudly, "can no longer tolerate these reckless attacks upon lawful governance."
Immediate murmurs spread through the chamber.
Fudge continued before anyone could interrupt.
"The Daily Prophet has crossed every acceptable line of decency and legality. They publish stolen information, unverified accusations, and defamatory material specifically intended to destabilize public confidence in the Ministry of Magic."
Umbridge stepped forward smoothly beside him.
"Freedom of the press," she said sweetly, "does not include freedom to spread chaos."
Several Wizengamot members exchanged sharp glances at that.
An elderly witch seated near the center raised her hand immediately.
"And your solution?" she asked coldly.
Fudge inhaled deeply before answering.
"We are proposing formal prosecution."
The chamber instantly exploded into noise.
"Prosecution?!"
"You cannot arrest journalists for embarrassing you!"
"That is not law—that is revenge!"
"On what charges?!"
Fudge slammed his cane down again, face reddening.
"Defamation! Illegal acquisition of Ministry information! Threatening governmental stability!"
The shouting only worsened.
Several members rose from their seats entirely, arguing openly across the chamber while others whispered quietly among themselves.
Because everyone understood what this truly was.
Fear.
The Ministry was panicking.
Even after Dolores Umbridge stopped appearing in the corridors, traces of her remained everywhere. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom still looked like a nightmare made entirely from lace and sugar. Pink curtains hung beside ancient stone walls that had witnessed centuries of war and magic. Decorative plates with smiling kittens continued blinking lazily from the walls, while stacks of fluffy pink quills rested neatly across her desk.
But without Umbridge herself present, the decorations somehow looked ridiculous instead of threatening.
For nearly two full weeks, she did not return to Hogwarts.
At first, the students celebrated openly.
Fred and George Weasley had nearly started a party in the Gryffindor common room the third day after her disappearance. Lee Jordan loudly claimed Hogwarts itself seemed happier without her. Even the professors appeared noticeably calmer.
But as days passed, excitement slowly turned into suspicion.
Something bigger was happening.
And the newspapers quickly explained why.
The Ministry scandal had exploded beyond control.
Every morning, new headlines arrived with breakfast. Every edition of the Daily Prophet carried fresh accusations, fresh leaks, fresh humiliations. Wizarding Britain had become vicious in its appetite for scandal, and nowhere was that cruelty focused more heavily than on Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge.
Inside the Ministry itself, the atmosphere had become poisonous.
Workers no longer bothered hiding their whispers. Some employees openly smirked when they thought she could not see them. Others avoided her entirely, refusing even basic eye contact.
The fear she once inspired had vanished almost overnight.
And Cornelius Fudge—the same man who once praised her endlessly in public meetings—had started distancing himself from her more with each passing day.
At first it had been subtle.
"Minister, we need to discuss the Hogwarts situation."
"Later, Dolores."
Then colder.
"Minister, the Educational Decrees require—"
"Handle it yourself."
And eventually—
"Minister—"
"Not now."
Every conversation became shorter than the last.
More uncomfortable.
Because the rumors were no longer rumors anymore. They had become public entertainment.
Everywhere Fudge and Umbridge went, people stared.
The Wizengamot only made things worse.
Once financial investigations began spreading through the Ministry, many older political families grew deeply nervous. Questions started appearing during formal sessions. Records were reviewed. Salaries examined. Appointments questioned publicly.
One particularly elderly witch had finally voiced what many were already whispering.
"How exactly," she demanded sharply during session, "was Dolores Umbridge simultaneously acting as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and a Hogwarts authority while receiving compensation for both positions?"
The chamber erupted immediately afterward.
Fudge had already been cornered politically by then. Too many scandals surrounded him. Too many allies were backing away quietly. And for the first time in years, protecting Dolores Umbridge became politically dangerous.
So the first sacrifice came quickly.
The title of High Inquisitor of Hogwarts was revoked entirely.
All authority attached to it disappeared overnight. Educational Decrees specifically tied to her office were frozen pending Ministry review, while several were quietly challenged by the Wizengamot itself.
Just like that, Dolores Umbridge went from being the single most feared authority figure inside Hogwarts—
To merely another professor.
When she received official notice, she nearly shattered an entire tea set.
"You cannot do this to me!"
The office shook slightly as she slammed the parchment against Fudge's desk.
Cornelius Fudge looked exhausted. There were dark circles beneath his eyes now, and his hands shook faintly whenever he reached for papers.
"I don't have a choice, Dolores."
"You gave me that authority!"
"And now it's destroying me!" Fudge snapped suddenly.
Umbridge froze in shock.
Because for the first time since she had known him, Cornelius Fudge sounded angry at her instead of with her.
Fudge rubbed his forehead tiredly before speaking again.
"The Wizengamot is examining every decision I've made over the last three years. Every appointment. Every expense. Every promotion."
His voice lowered further.
"You cannot remain my Undersecretary right now."
The words struck harder than any curse.
Umbridge stared at him as the meaning settled in.
"What…?"
"For now," Fudge said carefully, avoiding her eyes, "you'll return to Hogwarts full-time."
"No."
The answer came instantly.
Almost desperate.
"I am not going back there as some ordinary professor."
Fudge's expression hardened visibly.
"You don't have a choice."
Two weeks earlier she had stood at the height of her authority. Professors feared her. Students obeyed her. Ministry power flowed directly through her hands.
Now—
She was being discarded.
Temporarily, Fudge insisted.
"When things calm down," he said quietly, "we can restore your position."
But even he sounded uncertain now.
Umbridge clenched her fists tightly.
"What about the rumors?"
Fudge immediately looked away.
"That," he admitted quietly, "is exactly why we need distance."
The sentence humiliated her more than anything else had.
As though she were the scandal dragging him downward.
"I cannot have my Undersecretary following me everywhere while Britain believes we're—"
He stopped himself abruptly.
But the damage was already done.
Umbridge understood perfectly.
"So you're abandoning me."
"No!" Fudge answered quickly.
Then, less confidently—
"…temporarily."
Everything had become temporary now.
Temporary loyalty.
Temporary protection.
But the worst part was that she truly had no choice anymore.
The Wizengamot's ruling had been clear. No dual employment. No dual salaries. No Ministry authority over Hogwarts while simultaneously serving as staff within the school.
Legally, politically, and publicly—
She had lost.
The courtroom was full long before the trial officially began.
Members of the Wizengamot filled the upper rows while Ministry workers crowded near the back entrances pretending they were there for "professional interest." Reporters packed entire sections with enchanted quills already moving across parchment before the proceedings had even started.
Because this was no ordinary hearing.
This was the Ministry of Magic against the Daily Prophet itself.
And everyone in Britain wanted to see blood.
At the center of the chamber sat Will Rivers, the Editorial Chief of the Daily Prophet. Unlike Cornelius Fudge, he looked remarkably calm. Tired, certainly, but calm.
Fudge, meanwhile, looked furious.
The weeks since the scandal broke had aged him visibly. His robes were wrinkled, his eyes ringed with exhaustion, and every expression on his face carried the desperation of a man slowly losing control.
Opposite to him sat Dolores Umbridge, stiff and silent in violently pink robes that somehow looked even more ridiculous inside the grim courtroom.
The Chief Warlock struck the floor once with his staff.
"This hearing will now begin."
Fudge rose first.
"The Ministry of Magic," he declared loudly, "brings formal charges against Will Rivers and the Daily Prophet for fabrication, defamation, unlawful publication of false information, and deliberate attempts to destabilize lawful governance."
Murmurs spread through the chamber.
Fudge continued quickly before anyone could interrupt.
"The article regarding myself and Senior Undersecretary Umbridge was entirely fabricated for political purposes and personal revenge against this Ministry."
His voice sharpened further.
"The Prophet knowingly spread falsehoods to damage public confidence and incite unrest."
Several Wizengamot members exchanged doubtful looks already.
Because the problem was simple.
Too many people had seen the photograph.
Too many people had witnessed the pair together in Hogsmeade.
And worst of all—
Too many people already disliked Fudge.
Still, the proceedings continued.
When Rita Skeeter was called forward as a witness, the entire courtroom became noticeably more alert.
Rita arrived smiling.
She took her seat gracefully, crossing her legs as if attending a social event rather than a legal hearing.
The Ministry prosecutor adjusted his papers stiffly.
"Miss Skeeter, did you personally write the article regarding Minister Fudge and Dolores Umbridge?"
"I did," Rita answered pleasantly.
"And did you knowingly publish false information?"
Rita blinked in exaggerated confusion.
"False?"
The prosecutor's expression tightened.
"The accusation is that you fabricated the encounter entirely."
Rita actually laughed.
"Oh, please."
Several reporters immediately leaned forward eagerly.
Rita folded her hands calmly.
"I did not even go to Hogsmeade looking for the Minister."
The prosecutor frowned.
"I was there for a completely different story," Rita replied smoothly. "A student story, actually."
Her smile widened faintly.
"I intended to capture a rather interesting meeting between Rose Potter and Helios Black."
That instantly caused murmuring throughout the courtroom.
Even now, those two names attracted attention.
Rita continued casually.
"My photographer and I merely happened to notice Minister Fudge and Dolores Umbridge behaving rather suspiciously."
Umbridge's face flushed pink with fury.
"So you admit the article was motivated by personal gain."
"My dear man," Rita said sweetly, "every newspaper article is motivated by personal gain."
Several people snorted loudly at that.
The prosecutor visibly lost patience.
"Did you or did you not fabricate the relationship?"
"No," Rita answered instantly.
Then she leaned back slightly.
"And frankly, the amount of witnesses present made fabrication rather unnecessary."
That line damaged the Ministry immediately.
Because one by one, witnesses were called forward afterward.
Witches.
Wizards.
Shopkeepers.
More than twenty separate testimonies confirmed seeing Fudge and Umbridge together throughout Hogsmeade that day.
Some described them walking through side streets together.
Others recalled seeing them avoiding crowds.
One witch nervously admitted she saw them kissing behind a closed apothecary.
By the time the eighth witness testified, Fudge already looked ill.
But the true disaster arrived when the defense finally stood.
Andromeda Tonks approached the center of the chamber calmly, dressed in dark professional robes with her silver-blonde hair tied neatly behind her.
The atmosphere shifted immediately.
Because unlike Rita Skeeter—
Andromeda was respected.
Deeply respected.
She placed several documents onto the table before looking directly toward the Wizengamot.
"The Ministry's argument," she began calmly, "is that the Daily Prophet acted irresponsibly by publishing a story based upon witness testimony."
She paused briefly.
"Very well."
Her gaze shifted directly toward Cornelius Fudge.
"Then perhaps the Ministry would care to explain why witness testimony becomes acceptable only when convenient."
Fudge stiffened instantly.
Andromeda continued smoothly.
"Only weeks ago, Minister Fudge personally approved the suspension of my nephew from Hogwarts."
Now the chamber grew interested.
Andromeda's expression remained perfectly calm.
"Because a single witness claimed to have seen Helios Black inside Hogsmeade village without permission."
The room immediately erupted into whispers.
Andromeda pressed forward relentlessly.
"One eyewitness statement was considered sufficient justification to suspend a student from Hogwarts."
Then she gestured calmly around the courtroom.
"And yet today, the Ministry claims the Daily Prophet acted illegally despite possessing over twenty eyewitness accounts regarding Minister Fudge and Senior Undersecretary Umbridge."
Silence hit the chamber like a hammer.
Andromeda's next words landed even harder.
"So I ask this court directly…"
Her eyes locked onto Fudge.
"What right does the Minister of Magic possess that ordinary citizens of magical Britain do not?"
Nobody answered.
Because there was no answer.
The logic was devastatingly simple.
And the entire chamber knew it.
Several Wizengamot members openly nodded now while others whispered quietly among themselves. Even those still loyal to Fudge looked deeply uncomfortable.
The prosecution's case collapsed almost immediately afterward.
The trial technically continued for several more minutes, but the outcome had already become obvious.
The Daily Prophet would not be convicted.
And Cornelius Fudge knew it.
But unlike Fudge—
Umbridge's thoughts had moved elsewhere entirely.
As the courtroom descended into arguments and political shouting, Umbridge sat silently with her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Because suddenly—
Everything fit together.
Helios Black.
The smile he wore during their conversations.
And most importantly—
His words.
In the wizarding world, appearances can be changed as easily as breathing.
Author's Note:
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