But upon hearing her words, Dumbledore paused, his eyes reflecting a touch of emotion:
"Such a suggestion... I truly hadn't expected this... I thought you would harbour feelings of hatred towards her..."
His mood suddenly brightened considerably, a smile spreading across his face as if watching a child suddenly mature:
"Forgiveness is a virtue. We should indeed give her a second chance. I'm very pleased you said that."
He could deeply sense the radiance of humanity shining from Jane!
This was an instinctive respect and care for fellow beings, transcending the boundaries of friend and foe!
Even when facing someone who had once harmed her, who had expelled her—the inwardly evil Dolores Umbridge—
She could still extend a helping hand when the other was defenceless!
"Yes, when she's no longer one of Fudge's subordinates, she's merely a defenceless ordinary wizarding citizen who deserves protection," Dumbledore reflected. "To think this way is truly remarkable—it shows great magnanimity."
Jane made a bewildered "Ah" sound, unable to help but regard Dumbledore with profound respect.
She could only think of lying in wait at Umbridge's place, whilst he could perceive the light of humanity!
Perhaps this was the realm of the greatest white wizard of the age—
Even facing the inwardly dark former enemy Umbridge, he could still offer help and protection.
She and Dumbledore looked at each other, both seeing something moving in the other's eyes.
"Come along, Jane," Dumbledore said softly. "I was planning to have Mundungus keep watch there... but since you've said this, I think I'll go personally. It won't take us very long."
...
After her dismissal, Umbridge's mental state was rather unstable.
"Who gave you permission to enter?"
Almost the instant Jane and Dumbledore stepped into the house, she began shrieking hysterically:
"You conspired to ruin me! And now you actually have the audacity to appear before me!"
The one who opened the door for them—her father, Orford Umbridge—silently retreated into a corner beyond the firelight's reach.
Jane noticed this house had become quite dilapidated: the armchair creaked, numerous wall bricks were cracked, and the iron railings were covered in rust—clearly Umbridge's circumstances weren't particularly comfortable.
As for Umbridge herself, she no longer possessed that sweet, strawberry-frosted cupcake appearance.
She still wore her lace-covered pink ensemble, but the clothes had faded to white. Her squat body was bloated from drinking, her face swollen with stretched wrinkles that looked ready to burst at the slightest touch.
Dumbledore paid her no heed, instead addressing her father warmly:
"It's been quite some time, Orford. Since your retirement from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, we've rarely heard news of you. I hope all is well with you."
The shadowy figure by the fire stirred, and a voice—aged, hoarse, but timid—replied barely audibly:
"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore. I hope the same for you."
"Orford!" Umbridge shrieked. "How dare you greet him! Bugger off and mop your floors!"
Her father fell silent and shrank back into the shadows.
Both Dumbledore and Jane frowned simultaneously.
Though they'd long realised Umbridge was beyond redemption, witnessing her behaviour firsthand was still nauseating.
But Umbridge had clearly suffered a complete breakdown. Eyes bulging, she panted heavily:
"Come to see my humiliation, have you? To see the once-glorious Dolores Umbridge's wretched state after being destroyed by you lot—does that bring you joy? You're absolutely revolting!"
Jane suspected she was describing herself.
Umbridge grabbed a bottle at her feet and hurled it viciously at her, but the bottle was easily intercepted.
Jane flicked her wand, and the bottle returned along its original path in a physics-defying manner, exploding beside Umbridge's ear.
The woman shuddered but still glared at her with bloodshot eyes, cursing venomously:
"It's you—I know it's you—what are you planning to do to me now? You conspired to incite those students to rebel against me, falsely accused me of spreading Muggle ideas—you filthy little wretch, two-faced mongrel, lying fraud! Your supporters are just like you—Slytherins are all liars! Liars!"
Having shed the gorgeous robes of a Ministry senior official, she'd also peeled away that veneer of feigned politeness, revealing her most sordid and dark aspects.
Even to this day, she'd never questioned whether she bore any responsibility, still attributing her failure to Jane, who had opposed her.
Even Dumbledore, whose temper was usually excellent, couldn't tolerate her foul language. His voice rang out decisively:
"Everything is your own doing, Dolores Umbridge. Before blaming others, consider what you've done yourself."
"You came to Hogwarts as a professor solely to find evidence of my supposed conspiracy to overthrow the Ministry, hoping to become someone Fudge trusted and enter the centre of power. From the very beginning, you never came for the purpose of teaching—being driven out by students and parents alike was your deserved outcome!"
Umbridge sneered coldly, showing not the slightest sign of reflection.
Dumbledore looked at her with undisguised, blatant revulsion:
"You relished the conquest and humiliation that power brought you, turning Hogwarts into your personal domain. Everyone knows who you punished most—those from Muggle families or mixed-blood children. You despised them, using school regulations as an excuse to satisfy your desire to abuse the powerless. Most laughably, you yourself are of mixed blood."
These words seemed to strike the most fearful place in Umbridge's heart, shattering her already broken defences into fragments.
"What rubbish are you spouting?" she screamed hysterically, even grabbing a bottle to throw at Dumbledore. "I'm pure-blood! My deceased father was the most distinguished member of the Wizengamot—"
Saying this before Albus Dumbledore, the most distinguished member of the Wizengamot, was utterly preposterous.
Even more preposterous was—
From the shadows by the fire came faint breathing sounds—her unacknowledged, still-living father, Orford Umbridge.
"You can deceive others, but don't deceive yourself," Jane couldn't help interjecting. "Your father's right here, isn't he?"
She seemed to understand Umbridge's psychology:
Perhaps this was the principle of the less one has, the more one pretends to possess—
Falsely claiming pure-blood heritage was merely a fig leaf for her inferiority complex, allowing her to gain others' respect whilst climbing upward.
During this process, she'd gradually brainwashed herself until she truly believed the lies she'd woven.
As soon as her words were spoken, the room suddenly fell quiet.
Umbridge's face showed obvious panic, shame, and fury... her lips trembled, nostrils flaring, unable to utter a single word.
"What... what exactly are you here for?" her voice suddenly became very small, like a mosquito's buzzing. "I haven't got anything you want—I'm insignificant—"
Jane looked down at Umbridge slumped on the sofa and nodded:
"You're quite right, but you do have something Voldemort wants."
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