Umbridge, who had been blustering so arrogantly moments before, fell silent like a chicken with its neck wrung.
She frantically scrambled towards the window, trying to escape through it, but alas, the window was too small, and her incompletely transformed arms couldn't function properly to push herself through. Half her body protruded outside whilst the other half remained in the room, her stubby legs flailing in the air.
The commotion at the door grew louder, followed by an enormous crash—the door was smashed open, and a gang of Death Eaters charged straight in!
Seeing this ludicrous scene, even the raucous Death Eaters fell silent.
"Nott, is this Dolores Umbridge?" came a shrill female voice—Bellatrix, her words clearly dripping with contempt. "The person our Master wants?"
She casually flicked her wand, and Umbridge's bloated body tumbled to the ground like a sack, emitting whimpering sobs.
"I believe so," Nott Sr. replied, his voice low and hoarse. "But I detect the distinct aroma of stupidity... If we kill her here, might it lower our intelligence?"
This remark set all the Death Eaters roaring with laughter, their jeers filling the room.
"Is this the sort of witch produced under Muggle studies?" another Death Eater drawled mockingly. "What's next—throw away her wand to become a Muggle? What's she planning to fight us with, her little fists? One punch to make our heads empty, two punches to turn into a dragon?"
Another burst of uproarious laughter as the Death Eaters doubled over with mirth.
But steadfast Voldemort devotee Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't laughing—she looked absolutely livid:
"Nott! Control your wayward tongue! If the Master hears you're too afraid of lowering your intelligence to kill enemies, imagine how furious he'll be and what punishment you'll all face! Besides, the Master said he wants them alive! He needs our enemies' blood!"
"You've been in Azkaban too long, Lestrange," Nott Sr. retorted dryly, criticising Bellatrix's complete lack of humour. "It was just a joke."
Bellatrix glared at him as if he'd struck her most painful spot:
"Yes, Azkaban—I was willing to endure the Dementors' torment for our Master whilst you lived freely outside. Your loyalty is questionable! Think about your son—I hear he doesn't obey your authority much, but I suppose he'll have to do something for you, otherwise the Master won't be very pleased with you—"
Nott Sr. turned his head away, his voice becoming particularly hoarse:
"That would be his honour... If you had a son, I imagine you'd be eager to send him to block curses for the Master!"
Bellatrix stared at him intently, trying to find any trace of disloyalty on his face.
Then she let out a cold laugh, raising her voice to continue lecturing the assembled Death Eaters:
"I must warn you all—the Dolores Umbridge you're facing is the Master's number one enemy after Potter, Dumbledore, and Jane Yu! Especially you, Nott—you should know exactly how formidable she is, particularly after your son suffered her corruption!"
Nott Sr. moved his lips reluctantly, muttering:
"Your sister's son... Draco Malfoy—he's been corrupted just as thoroughly, completely mad..."
Bellatrix's face seemed to catch fire as she shouted:
"Disgraceful, disgraceful! I tell you, Dolores Umbridge, with her honeyed words and unknown curses, forcibly invaded the mind of a pure-blood family's only son! Her intention is to destroy all ancient families, to turn all wizards into Muggles who can't wield wands—this is an anti-wizard crime, a terrible ideology the Master cannot tolerate!"
This time no one dared laugh. Nott Sr. spat viciously in Umbridge's direction.
"Think more carefully," Bellatrix continued, "whose ideas align perfectly with hers?"
All the Death Eaters fell silent. Several faces showed dawning realisation, whilst others looked alarmed.
"Albus Dumbledore!" Bellatrix snarled viciously.
In an unnoticed corner, one of the armchairs shifted its backrest slightly.
"It's him—forcibly defending those Mudbloods, letting those Mudbloods enrol to study magic; it's him, letting Mudbloods steal wizards' precious achievements; it's him, claiming Muggles aren't much different from us, hiring werewolves and Muggle-lovers to teach at the school!"
"But..." Nott Sr. frowned, "Umbridge's ideology is clearly filthier than Dumbledore's, and she and Fudge once tried to bring Dumbledore down—their political rivalry—"
"Ignorant fool!" Bellatrix roared, cutting off his dangerously close-to-the-truth observation. "Listen, think carefully—why could Umbridge run wild at the school, doing things even Headmaster Dumbledore couldn't do? Why could she successfully corrupt the minds of the excellent pure-blood children we've raised?"
These words whetted the appetite of every Death Eater present, even lifting the lace trim of Jane and Dumbledore—the two armchairs.
"It must be their conspiracy! Umbridge must have been acting on Dumbledore's instructions, because he's seen as a good man in wizards' eyes—he can't openly promote such ideas! He needed a spokesperson, not only to create the false impression of being persecuted by Fudge, but also to use Umbridge to corrupt Slytherin pure-blood children's minds, inciting you to drive political rival Fudge from power! They've been colluding inside and out all along! Nott, you're as stupid as Fudge, played for fools by them!"
Jane turned her chair back slightly to look at the other armchair:
Are they talking about you, Dumbledore?
"But..." Nott Sr. frowned deeply, "she even expelled that girl Dumbledore cultivated, Jane Yu—"
"Stop being stupid, Nott!" Bellatrix rolled her eyes, sharply accusing, "This was absolutely arranged by Dumbledore—Jane Yu is a chess piece he planted in Slytherin! She used her acting skills to make almost every Slytherin student regard her as their spiritual leader! Having Umbridge expel her at this moment was a grand strategy by all three of them, to stir up students' hatred and incite dissatisfaction with Fudge'sMinistry!"
Now the other armchair also turned its back slightly:
Are they talking about you, Jane?
Both armchairs simultaneously sprouted bewildered question marks.
"Damn it!" Realising he'd been played, Nott Sr. spat hatefully on the ground. "I should have thought of it—Umbridge also graduated from Hogwarts, she was a student Dumbledore taught. How did no one notice their teacher-student relationship was so close?"
He waved his wand sharply, and Umbridge's body rolled across the floor twice more.
Her wand fell to one side, her fists clutched frantically to her chest in a defensive posture, unable to say anything but scream.
"Utterly pathetic!" Nott Sr. cursed. "Is this the teaching achievement of the world's greatest white wizard? Can't even use a single decent spell? I bet that Jane Yu is just as stupid—this is the student Dumbledore values! Those he valued before... Potter, Evans... equally pathetic against the Dark Lord, their graves overgrown with weeds!"
Hearing this, Jane momentarily had the urge to crack his skull open with her chair leg.
No matter what happened, they could always find a way to blame her and Dumbledore.
One had to admit, the Death Eaters' corporate culture had achieved remarkable unity in some respects.
Whenever anything didn't go their way, they'd first pick random individuals from her, Harry, and Dumbledore, arrange and combine them, then shift blame to them—this seemed to have become their version of cultural correctness.
She subtly adjusted her chair back, trying to observe Dumbledore's movements—
She'd expected the armchair beside her to intervene, but he didn't move at all, not even his lace trim stirred, as if he were in deep meditation.
Jane realised he was waiting, trying to hear some secrets, perhaps more insider information about the Death Eaters.
But unfortunately, there were no insider secrets—only endless tirades. Nott Sr.'s reaction completely exceeded their expectations.
"Bloody Dumbledore, completely played us for fools! As a headmaster, he should stick to teaching Transfiguration—why meddle in Ministry and Dark Lord affairs? Look what Hogwarts' teaching has become—why doesn't he focus on updating textbooks and hiring teachers? Improving teaching quality?"
Now both armchairs showed movement.
Jane felt her four wooden legs beginning to scratch the floor, whilst Dumbledore's armchair finally wobbled slightly, an aura of embarrassment and awkwardness almost overflowing from him.
But this satisfying tirade didn't quell Nott Sr.'s anger—he directly targeted Dumbledore for sustained verbal assault:
"Transfiguration—look at Uagadou in Africa, doesn't he feel any crisis? Alchemy—can't compare to Beauxbatons in France; Herbology—far inferior to Castelobruxo in Brazil... Those textbooks haven't changed in decades, professors scheduled solid with classes, no time for magical research to improve textbooks and develop new skills... As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, any one of us here could teach better than those idiots who change every year... He doesn't do proper work, just watches our arses all day to see what we're doing—is he fit to be headmaster? We're only trying to purge those Mudbloods and ensure blood purity!"
This seemed to resonate with the Death Eaters present.
Having graduated from Hogwarts, they considered themselves quite qualified to comment on the school's teaching.
They joined the queue to abuse Hogwarts, venting long-accumulated resentment from their student days against teachers. Some Death Eaters with families even revealed school secrets, expressing dissatisfaction with their children's education.
"That History of Magic class is absolute rubbish—Dumbledore's just being cheap! When I was at school, he had a ghost who could only regurgitate textbooks teach us History of Magic, and a Squib with a whip as caretaker! Even now they haven't been sacked!"
"I think Dumbledore's gone senile! Hogwarts' teaching staff keeps getting worse—I'm thinking of sending my child to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons! Look at those Defence Against the Dark Arts professors he hires, changing every year—even werewolves! Not a shred of consistent curriculum standards. I hear from Wizarding Examinations Authority people that Defence scores are unprecedentedly low these years—teaching standards are abysmal, a bunch of dunderheads producing little dunderheads—"
"He's no better himself! My father was his student—apparently when he taught Transfiguration, he'd skip classes every few days to gallivant around Europe. If I were Headmaster Dippet, I'd have expelled such people from the teaching staff long ago—now he's raised a pet who gets Special Awards for Services to the School every year, given green lights and fast-tracked all the way—"
Though the words were harsh, nearly making Jane unable to resist giving them a couple of chair-leg whacks, some individual points were admittedly quite reasonable.
She turned her chair back slightly, trying to observe Dumbledore's reaction.
Is this the insider information you wanted to hear, Dumbledore?
Clearly this wasn't what Dumbledore wanted to hear, as his entire chair body was surrounded by an aura of life-questioning melancholy.
Usually occupying the headmaster's position, he could easily imagine people criticising him behind his back, but no student or professor would curse him out or question the school's teaching quality to his face.
Though these Death Eaters' words contained extreme pure-blood ideology, many prejudices and inaccuracies, suddenly hearing these doubts about teaching quality still made the self-reflective and introspective Dumbledore see black.
He'd rather draw his wand and duel them than listen to their disparagement of Hogwarts' education, into which he'd poured most of his life's work.
In short, this great headmaster's spiritual foundation seemed to be repeatedly testing the edge of collapse.
If this outing was a nightmare, he only hoped he could wake up quickly.
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