Chapter 149: The Cruciatus and the Choice
The flames in Umbridge's office flickered with a sickly orange glow, casting long shadows across the walls. Harry was bound to a chair, his wrists secured by invisible bonds that burned whenever he struggled. Ron and Hermione were held by two hulking members of the Inquisitorial Squad—Crabbe and Goyle, their faces blank with that particular stupidity that came from following orders without question.
Umbridge stood before Harry, her wand raised, her toad-like face split in a smile of pure, malicious delight.
"Now, Mr. Potter," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You will tell me where you were going. You will tell me how you planned to contact Dumbledore. And if you refuse..." She tapped her wand against her palm. "I have authorization from the Ministry to use any means necessary to extract information from students suspected of subversive activities."
"You don't have any such authorization," Hermione spat, struggling against Goyle's grip. "The Ministry would never—"
"The Ministry," Umbridge interrupted, turning her magnified eyes on Hermione, "will believe whatever I tell them, you filthy little Mudblood. Now, unless you want to join Mr. Potter in experiencing the Cruciatus Curse, I suggest you remain silent."
Hermione's face went pale, but she didn't look away. Her eyes, defiant and furious, met Umbridge's without flinching.
"One last chance, Potter." Umbridge raised her wand. "Where were you going?"
Harry's jaw tightened. He thought of Sirius—of the vision he'd seen, so clear, so real: his godfather lying on the floor of the Department of Mysteries, writhing in pain. It had to be real. It had to be.
But even as the fear for Sirius consumed him, another thought pierced through: Elian. If only Elian were here.
As if summoned by the thought itself, a golden circle of light erupted in the centre of the room.
Umbridge screamed and stumbled backward. Crabbe and Goyle released Ron and Hermione, gaping at the impossible sight. A ring of fire—no, not fire, something else, something golden and shimmering—hung in the air, and through it stepped Elian Thorne.
He moved with the calm, unhurried grace of someone entering his own sitting room. His grey eyes swept the scene in an instant—Harry bound, Hermione and Ron freed by the shock of his arrival, Umbridge cowering behind her desk, her wand still raised.
"Lin Xiao!" Umbridge's voice was shrill with fury and fear. "You—how dare you—this is my office! I am the Headmistress!"
Elian ignored her completely. He walked to Harry's chair, raised his hand, and the golden light that still clung to his fingers sliced through the invisible bonds. Harry gasped as they dissolved, rubbing his wrists.
"You all right?" Elian asked quietly.
Harry nodded, though his eyes were wild with worry. "Sirius. I saw him—he's in danger—I have to—"
"I know." Elian's voice was calm, steadying. "We'll deal with it. But first..." He turned to face Umbridge.
She stood behind her desk, wand pointed at Elian, her face a mask of hatred. "You will regret this, Thorne. Breaking into the Headmistress's office. Freeing detained students. Attacking members of the Inquisitorial Squad." Her eyes flicked to Crabbe and Goyle, who were still staring at the fading portal with expressions of profound confusion. "I will have you expelled. I will have you arrested. I will—"
"You'll do nothing." Elian's voice cut through her tirade like a blade. "Because if you try, I'll tell the Minister exactly what I saw when I arrived."
Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "And what did you see? A Headmistress questioning students about their illegal activities?"
"I saw a woman with her wand raised, about to cast an Unforgivable Curse on a student." Elian's tone was flat, factual. "The Cruciatus Curse, if I'm not mistaken. Tell me, Professor, does the Ministry's authorization extend to torture?"
The colour drained from Umbridge's face. "You have no proof."
"I have witnesses." Elian gestured to Ron, to Hermione. "I have my own eyes. And I have..." He reached into his robes and produced a small, gleaming object—a Quick-Quotes Quill, its enchanted tip still dripping with green ink. "Evidence."
Umbridge's wand wavered. "That's mine. You stole from my office."
"I borrowed it. It's been recording everything since I walked through that door." Elian held it up, letting the green ink catch the firelight. "Shall we play it back for the Minister? I'm sure he'd love to hear how his appointed Headmistress handles discipline."
For a long, terrible moment, no one moved. Umbridge's face cycled through expressions—fury, fear, calculation, more fear. Her wand hand trembled.
Then, slowly, she lowered it.
"Get out," she whispered. "All of you. Get out of my office."
Elian didn't move. "The detention ends. Now. Permanently. For all of them."
"Get. Out."
"Say it."
Umbridge's eyes bulged. "The detention is—is rescinded. For all students involved. Now leave."
Elian nodded once, satisfied. He turned to Harry, to Hermione, to Ron. "Let's go."
They moved toward the door, past the still-stunned Crabbe and Goyle, past the shattered portrait of Fudge that lay on the floor. As Harry reached the threshold, he glanced back.
Umbridge stood alone behind her desk, her wand hanging limply at her side, her face a ruin of thwarted rage. She looked smaller than she had before—diminished, defeated.
But Harry knew better than to think it was over. People like Umbridge didn't stay defeated for long.
They emerged into the corridor, the door closing behind them with a soft click. Ron let out a long, shaky breath. "Blimey. That was—that was—"
"Terrifying," Hermione finished. Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking. "She was going to—she actually—"
"She wasn't going to do anything," Elian said quietly. "She wanted to scare you. Make you talk. The Cruciatus was a threat, not a promise."
"You don't know that," Harry said. His voice was rough, urgent. "You didn't see her face. She would have done it. She wanted to do it." He grabbed Elian's arm. "But that doesn't matter now. Sirius—I have to go. I have to find him. The vision—"
"Harry." Elian's voice was firm. "Listen to me. I know you're scared. I know you want to run to the Ministry right now and save him. But if you do that—if you go rushing in without thinking—you'll be walking straight into a trap."
"A trap? How do you know?"
Elian hesitated. How could he explain? The visions were real—he knew that. Voldemort was using the connection between their minds to lure Harry to the Department of Mysteries. But Harry wouldn't believe that. Couldn't believe it, not when his godfather's life was at stake.
"Because I've seen it before," he said carefully. "Voldemort knows about the connection. He's been waiting for an opportunity to use it against you. What better way than to make you think someone you love is in danger?"
Harry shook his head violently. "You don't understand. It wasn't like the other dreams. It was—it was real. I saw him, Elian. I heard him scream."
"And you will see him again. You'll see him alive and well, if you trust me." Elian gripped Harry's shoulder. "Go to Grimmauld Place. Check on Sirius. Use the Floo network, use a Patronus, use whatever you have to. But don't go to the Ministry. Not yet."
Harry stared at him, conflict raging in his green eyes. Every instinct screamed at him to go, to fight, to save the only family he had left. But Elian had never steered him wrong. Not once.
"Promise me," Harry whispered. "Promise me he's all right."
Elian met his gaze. "I can't promise that. I'm not a seer. But I can promise you this: if you go to the Ministry now, you'll lose him. Voldemort is counting on your fear. Don't give him what he wants."
A long, terrible silence.
Then, slowly, Harry nodded.
"Good." Elian released his shoulder. "Now go. Check on Sirius. And when you find out he's safe—which you will—come find me. We have a lot to discuss."
Harry turned and ran, Ron at his heels. Hermione lingered a moment, looking at Elian with those intelligent, searching eyes.
"You knew," she said quietly. "You knew she was going to use the Cruciatus. That's why you came."
Elian didn't deny it.
"How?"
He looked at her—at the worry etched into her features, at the trust she placed in him despite everything. "I pay attention," he said. "To the people who matter."
Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, gratitude, something warmer. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a distant scream echoed from behind Umbridge's door.
They both froze.
The scream came again—higher, more desperate—followed by the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor.
Hermione looked at Elian, horror dawning. "You don't think she—she wouldn't—"
Elian's expression didn't change. "She's alone in there. With her wand. And no one to stop her."
Another crash. Another scream.
"She's torturing herself," Hermione whispered. "The frustration, the rage—she's taking it out on the only target available."
Elian turned and began walking down the corridor.
"Where are you going?"
"To find Harry. To prepare." He didn't look back. "Umbridge just proved she's willing to use Unforgivable Curses. That makes her dangerous. But it also makes her predictable."
"And the screaming?"
Elian paused. For a moment, something almost like satisfaction flickered across his features.
"Let her scream. Let her rage. Every minute she spends destroying her own office is a minute she's not destroying someone else."
He continued walking, leaving Hermione standing alone in the corridor, the sounds of Umbridge's private meltdown echoing behind her.
She should have felt pity. She should have felt horror.
Instead, as she turned to follow Elian, she felt something else entirely: hope.
(End of Chapter)
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