Monday, January 31, 1994
There are few things in life more tragically misunderstood than a Wizengamot session.
To the average wizard, it is a slow, meandering exercise in patience. Long speeches, longer debates, and an almost heroic dedication to making simple matters unbearably complicated.
But to me…
It is entertainment.
I sat comfortably in my seat, one leg crossed over the other, idly observing the chamber as the morning session dragged on. The high, circular room was filled with the usual collection of aged politicians, self-important traditionalists, and the occasional sharp mind buried beneath layers of boredom.
Tiered benches rose in concentric circles, each occupied by witches and wizards in dark, formal robes, their expressions ranging from mildly irritated to barely conscious. Sunlight filtered weakly through the tall, enchanted windows, casting pale patterns across polished stone and ancient wood.
At the center stood the speaking platform.
And currently occupying it was one Dolores Umbridge.
Unfortunate, but not unexpected.
I could have sent a proxy.
Merlin knows more than half the room had done exactly that, stand-ins nodding along dutifully, occasionally raising a wand when prompted, contributing absolutely nothing of value.
Efficient, practical, and utterly joyless.
Where, I ask, is the fun in that?
No, if one is to sit through tedium, one might as well extract some enjoyment from it.
And few things are more enjoyable than watching someone attempt to pass a terrible idea under the guise of public safety.
"Hem, hem."
Ah.
There it was.
That dreadful little cough.
I resisted the urge to sigh aloud.
Umbridge smiled sweetly at the assembly, her expression carefully arranged into something she no doubt believed to be charming.
"So as I was saying," she continued, her voice syrupy enough to induce cavities, "this law will ensure that the Statute of Secrecy is upheld to the highest standard."
I leaned back slightly, already anticipating where this was going.
She gestured delicately with one hand.
"Under this proposal, any Hogwarts student found to be using magic during the holidays will be subject to immediate expulsion. Their wand will be confiscated and destroyed, and they will be permanently barred from participation in the magical world."
A ripple of quiet murmurs spread through the chamber.
Yes.
There it was.
Blatant.
Heavy-handed.
And, most importantly…
Flawed.
I stood, smoothing my robes just a bit.
"Fascinating," I said smoothly.
Umbridge's eyebrow twitched upon hearing my charming voice.
"And why," I continued, clasping my hands behind my back as I regarded her with polite interest, "does this proposed law apply only to Half-bloods and Muggle-born students?"
The room stilled.
There it was again.
The exact point at which a bad idea begins to unravel.
Umbridge's smile tightened.
"Hem, hem."
Of course.
"As I was about to explain," she said, her tone just a shade sharper than before, "pure-blood families do not share living space with Muggles. Therefore, there is no risk of exposure should magic be performed within their homes."
She made a brief pause, unconsciously adjusting the papers in front of her.
"Additionally, such children are under the constant supervision of proper adult witches and wizards."
I nearly snorted.
It was a close call, but I managed to hold back. Decorum, after all, must be maintained.
"That," I said carefully, "is quite possibly the most optimistic assessment of pure-blood behavior I have heard in some time."
A few heads turned.
A few lips twitched.
"There are numerous pure-blood families living in close proximity to Muggles," I went on. "Some by necessity, others by preference. The assumption that they are entirely isolated is, at best, inaccurate."
Umbridge's smile did not falter, but her eyes did.
"And that is before we consider the rather glaring issue of the Trace."
Now the murmurs grew louder.
"As I am sure you are aware," I continued, pacing slowly now, "the Trace does not identify who performed the magic. Only that magic was performed in the vicinity of an underage wizard or witch."
I turned slightly, addressing the wider assembly.
"So let us imagine a scenario," I said. "An adult wizard, passing through a residential area, performs a simple spell. Harmless. Routine."
I raised a brow.
"The Trace activates, and a nearby student is flagged."
I paused just long enough.
"And under your proposal, that student would face expulsion, wand destruction, and permanent exclusion from the magical world."
Silence.
Then there was a shift in the room. Subtle, but unmistakable.
Umbridge spoke quickly now.
"There would, of course, be procedures in place to prevent such errors," she said. "The student would be summoned for a hearing and allowed to present their case."
I smiled, the corners of my mouth rising slowly.
There it was, exactly what I needed to make sure her proposal was immediately rejected.
"Of course," I said, drawing the words out just slightly. "A hearing."
I glanced around the chamber.
"To address what is, in many cases, an entirely accidental or misattributed use of magic."
A few members shifted uncomfortably, but I pressed on.
"And who," I asked lightly, "would be responsible for overseeing these hearings?"
I made a dramatic pause.
"Surely not this august body?"
The reaction was immediate. Murmurs turned into quiet groans.
Several members straightened abruptly, expressions shifting from passive disinterest to active resistance.
Extra work.
The most dangerous phrase in politics.
Umbridge's composure cracked.
"Those details can be refined…" she began.
"Refined," I echoed pleasantly, "into a system that burdens this assembly with minor infractions, misfires of detection magic, and the inevitable appeals of every student caught in its net?"
I tilted my head.
"For the sake of a law that, as it stands, applies unevenly, punishes disproportionately, and relies on an imprecise method of enforcement."
Silence fell.
I inclined my head slightly.
"Ambitious," I added.
Umbridge's face had gone a rather unfortunate shade of red.
The presiding witch cleared her throat, which in this case it was Madam Bones. Dumbledore might be the Chief Warlock, but he can't be present for every regular session.
"Very well," she said briskly. "We will proceed to a vote."
Hands rose slowly at first.
A few, scattered votes in favor.
But there were far more against it.
And just like that, the proposal was completely rejected.
A soft wave of finality moved through the chamber, the kind that signals not just defeat, but dismissal.
Umbridge stood very still at the center of the room, fuming.
I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile as I resumed my seat.
Another dreadful idea neatly dismantled.
Another morning well spent.
I crossed my leg again, settling back comfortably as the next item on the agenda was called.
"Yes," I murmured under my breath.
"Much more entertaining this way."
…
Still riding the pleasant afterglow of a thoroughly deserved victory, I took my time exiting the chamber, offering the occasional nod here, a polite smile there, gracious in triumph, as always.
Then, with purpose renewed, I set out in search of a certain elusive witch.
The Ministry corridors stretched endlessly in their usual bureaucratic fashion; polished floors, enchanted notices fluttering on the walls, witches and wizards hurrying about with stacks of parchment and the faint air of perpetual urgency.
I made my way toward the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, weaving through the flow of officials with practiced ease. Just before reaching the entrance, I paused.
With a subtle flick of my staff, I applied a series of minor but essential adjustments. My robes straightened instantly, creases vanishing as though they had never dared to exist. A second charm smoothed the fabric further, giving it that crisp, freshly tailored look that separates the remarkable from the merely acceptable.
My hair, already excellent, gained a refined sheen, each strand settling into place with effortless perfection.
And, of course, the final touch.
My smile.
I cast a quick charm, ensuring my teeth caught the light just so. Not overly bright, one must avoid vulgarity, but certainly… noticeable.
I produced a small hand mirror, inspecting the results critically.
What I saw was flawlessness incarnate.
"Of course," I murmured, pocketing the mirror back.
With that, I stepped through the doors.
The DMLE was, as ever, a controlled chaos of movement and paperwork. Desks cluttered with reports, quills scratching furiously across parchment, the occasional muttered curse when something refused to cooperate.
I moved through it all with ease, my gaze sweeping the room.
And there she was, exactly where I expected her to be.
Seated behind her desk, nearly buried beneath a precarious mountain of paperwork, her posture slightly hunched, hair a muted shade of… brown, I noted, which in itself was telling.
The unfortunate realities of being a Junior Auror.
I allowed myself a moment to watch her work.
Just a moment.
Then I began my approach with my usual confidence and grace.
Not to forget a fair amount of flair.
My steps slowed slightly, gaining a deliberate rhythm. I adjusted my shoulders, added just the right amount of swagger; not excessive, merely noticeable, and, for good measure, gave my staff a smooth, effortless twirl as I closed the distance.
Timing, after all, is everything.
She looked up just then.
Perfect.
Our eyes met, and for a brief, shining second, everything aligned.
Her eyes widened in recognition, followed by surprise.
Possibly admiration.
And then… something changed.
She froze.
Then hunched forward abruptly, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. Her shoulders began to shake, ever so slightly.
I stopped mid-step.
"…Tonks?" I began, but she did not respond.
If anything, the shaking intensified.
And then, without warning, she bolted.
Up from her chair, hand still clamped over her mouth, she turned and ran, vanishing down the corridor with a speed that would have been impressive under less bewildering circumstances.
I remained where I was.
Hand still half-raised.
Completely alone.
A silence settled around me, broken only by the faint scratching of quills and the distant echo of retreating footsteps.
I blinked slowly.
"…Was she laughing at me?" I asked aloud.
A dangerous possibility.
I lowered my hand, frowning slightly.
"No," I said at once. "That seems unlikely."
I replayed the moment in my mind.
The entrance.
The posture.
The timing.
The twirl.
I glanced down at my staff.
"…Was it the twirl?" I wondered.
I turned it experimentally.
No, that had been excellent.
Perhaps…
Perhaps it had been too excellent.
Overwhelming, even.
Yes.
That seemed far more plausible.
I nodded to myself, reassured.
"Understandable," I murmured.
Still…
I glanced in the direction she had fled, thoughtful now.
She avoided me again.
But just like old Grindelwald said, this was clearly not indifference.
Which meant…
I straightened, adjusted my robes once more, and smiled.
"Well," I said lightly, "this simply means we persist."
After all, if there is one thing I excel at, it is making an impression.
…