~ 💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 60→1ch | 100→2ch | 200→5ch ⏰ Resets Monday! Thanks!
Whoever had flushed Myrtle, at least they hadn't been foolish enough to wander the corridors afterward. Henry made his way through the moonlit hallways, past a row of silent suits of armor. He checked a few empty classrooms, listening for hiding students, but heard only the hushed whispers of portraits gossiping about a landscape painting on the third floor being moved from its usual spot.
"Violet didn't speak all afternoon," said a witch so slender she looked sharp.
"No!" gasped a bald wizard.
A man with a walrus mustache chimed in, "She wanted to visit the forest, hear the latest news. But the frame faced a statue instead—you know, the one-eyed witch. No one passes by there. Violet waited all morning. Heard nothing but chatter about Summoning Charms and exams."
The bald wizard nodded sympathetically. "Unfortunate. I rather liked that idea of the red-headed boys sending a snake to knock on doors… Why can't people just stand under frames and whisper secrets every day?"
Henry slipped away silently. He had a pretty good idea where the Weasley twins' fifty lost house points had come from.
By the time he returned to the second-floor corridor, Henry was in a good mood. It had been a successful round of hide-and-seek.
He hadn't run into any students. He could only assume Filch, Snape, and Umbridge hadn't either.
He knocked on the door of Myrtle's bathroom. Only the echo of his knock answered him, along with the steady drip-drip-drip of water. He checked the Room of Requirement and the abandoned bathroom where Travers brewed her potions, though he intentionally skipped the kitchens. If the culprit was enjoying a plate of chips right now, they were one lucky bastard.
His steps were light as he reached his office door. He took out his key, slid it into the lock. That's when he heard it. A sound like a dozen Roger Snakes playing a hissing Parseltongue recording all at once.
Henry froze. Tilted his head, listening. The sound didn't come again. He was still puzzling over where it could have come from when something even stranger happened.
Dolores Umbridge walked out of Myrtle's bathroom.
It wasn't Umbridge herself that shocked him. It was her face. Pale. Ghostly pale. In the flickering torchlight, she looked like another specter floating out of the plumbing.
"Evening?" Henry murmured, a question in his tone.
Silence.
Umbridge stopped. Turned her head slowly toward him.
Henry regretted speaking instantly. A weird, prickling feeling crawled up his spine. The kind you get in a dark alley, an urge to run from a strangely angled bin or a plastic bag slithering across the pavement.
"Ah. Professor Anthony." Umbridge's eyes swept over him. "What are you doing here?"
The weird feeling vanished.
"Returning to my office," Henry said. "As you can see."
Umbridge's gaze shifted to the wooden door behind him. "I see." She gave a tiny, precise nod, her face a mask of polite skepticism, and continued toward the stairs.
"A moment, Madam Umbridge." Henry kept his voice mild. "Myrtle mentioned she encountered a student out after hours. One who… flushed her. I was wondering. Could you tell me, did you see this student, Madam Umbridge?"
"Regrettably, no." Umbridge turned, her voice sugary. "And I do believe instilling proper discipline is so very important. Do keep up the enthusiasm, Professor Anthony…"
"In that case, was there anything… notable in the girls' bathroom?"
Umbridge's eyebrows arched.
"Perhaps asking the resident ghost would be more appropriate." Her tone was sharper than it needed to be. "Or ask yourself. This is not the first time I've found you… lurking here."
Henry studied her. Hadn't she heard that strange, malevolent hissing? Only now did he notice her pink cardigan was rumpled. The large bow atop her head was missing. Her patent leather shoes were smeared with something muddy and foul—the kind of thing that would make Filch's cheeks twitch violently.
"Right," Henry said. "Well. Pleasant evening."
"You as well, Professor Anthony." Her voice was high and thin.
He watched her until she disappeared around the corner.
"Who was that?" a voice said behind him.
"Myrtle!" Henry turned. The ghost's translucent head was poking through the bathroom door, staring after Umbridge.
Myrtle floated out completely. "Who is she, Professor Anthony?" She did two loops around him, gleeful. "Haha! She's so ugly! She'll be laughed at forever!"
The rest of the Easter holidays passed without incident. The weather warmed day by day. Spring sunlight glittered brilliantly on the surface of the Black Lake. Henry spent a considerable amount of time haunting the Restricted Section of the library or vanishing into the Room of Requirement, avoiding all eyes as if he truly were plotting some dark conspiracy.
When term started again, Lockhart's 'Lock Up Your Heart' club immediately held another meeting, right in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Henry passed by just in time to see Umbridge emerge, her expression sour, shutting Lockhart's cheerful voice behind her. She flashed Henry a sickly sweet smile, clutched her little pink handbag, and vanished down the corridor.
"She visited the Charms classroom today too," Professor Flitwick told Henry at dinner. "I was preparing the ravens and frogs. In she walks, starts asking the most tangential questions—pumpkin juice?"
Henry sighed. "What does she want now?" He glanced down the staff table. Umbridge hadn't arrived for dinner yet. Only Filch sat there, leaning down and muttering with satisfaction to his bony cat, Mrs. Norris, probably recounting the total ban on Roger Snake. Mrs. Norris was intently shredding a napkin.
"No idea, but she'd best not pester Minerva." A spark of glee lit Flitwick's eyes as he took a bite of apple pie. "Minerva's temper is rather short these days."
Henry asked, concerned, "What's wrong with Minerva?" He helped himself to a slice of pie, pleased to find it still warm and fragrant from the oven.
"The usual," Flitwick said happily. "Busy. Teaching. Dealing with rule-breakers. Handling most of the mail for the Headmaster's office. Sorting third-year electives for the second-years. Attending Transfiguration conferences. Yelling at Wood…"
"What are you two discussing?" Professor McGonagall asked, pulling out the chair to Flitwick's left. "Evening, Filius, Henry. Oh, butter-fried potatoes."
"Yes, some?" Flitwick nudged the dish of golden potatoes toward her. Henry took another slice of pie.
"Thank you. Henry, next year's Muggle Studies elective list is finalized. I've sent owls to you and Charity. Do let me know your timetable preferences for next term."
Henry nodded. "Will do. Thanks, Minerva."
"Will Dolores still be with us next term?" Flitwick asked.
McGonagall looked weary. "I don't know. What has she done now?"
So Henry and Flitwick recounted the recent events.
"It seems she's decided to resume her… investigation. Whatever it is." McGonagall's lips were a thin line. "She's requested a meeting in my office tomorrow. We shall see how that goes."
"A furious Deputy Headmistress?" Flitwick suggested.
"A battle-scarred office?" Henry added.
"A fleeing Senior Inquisitor?" Flitwick guessed.
"More likely a litany of complaints about Albus." McGonagall's face was stern. "He should never have agreed to that absurd demand in the first place! I fail to comprehend—Peter Pettigrew dies in Azkaban, killed by the Ministry and their own Dementors, yet they act as if Albus silenced him!"
"What?" Flitwick gasped, his fork pausing mid-air.
Henry seized the opportunity to take the last slice of apple pie.
Back in his office, Henry found two owls waiting outside his window. One, unsurprisingly, carried the third-year elective list. The other bore a note.
Dear Professor Henry Anthony,
I note you have not responded to the previous Investigative Report which required a response. (Henry vaguely recalled skimming it, assigning a grade, and shoving it into a drawer, never reading the subsequent 'Pursuant to Statute such-and-such' or 'Please be advised.') In light of this, I must conduct a face-to-face discussion to clarify several matters.
You are hereby invited to meet in my office this Wednesday at 2 p.m. for a detailed conversation. Refusal will be considered willful obstruction of a legitimate Ministry inquiry.
I expect your punctual attendance.
Yours sincerely,
Dolores Jane Umbridge (Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Hogwarts High Inquisitor)
Henry shooed away the glaring owl and slipped the Wraith Mouse into his pocket. The owl pecked at him in displeasure before the Wraith Chicken swooped in and chased it off.
The chicken flapped down onto the desk, stretching its neck, tilting its head to study Umbridge's note. A low, ominous cluck-cluck rumbled in its throat.
"Not good news, chick," Henry said. He called across the room, "Cat! Want some paper to shred?"
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
📚 BOOK COMPLETED ON PATREON!📚
This story has reached its conclusion on my Patreon!
🔥 Full story available now
💎 Exclusive bonus content & early access to new books
👉 Join my Patreon community today!
✨patreon(.)com/GoldenLong
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━