Umbridge's expression shifted with nauseating speed; her beaming, sugary smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, severe mask. She stared intently at Alan, searching for the slightest tremor of fear or a flicker of tension.
Alan didn't give her the satisfaction. He remained as still as deep water, gently setting his glass on the side table. "Oh?" he prompted, his voice flat.
"That's right!" Umbridge marched to the sofa opposite him and sat down, tilting her chin up with a look of feigned, heavy-handed gravity. "Early this morning—hardly two hours ago—you were involved in a violent magical brawl in Regent's Park. I am not mistaken, am I?"
"And?" Alan asked, curious to see where she was taking this.
"And? Don't you realize the magnitude of the trouble you've caused? You have committed a flagrant violation of the Statute of Secrecy. The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery strictly prohibits the use of magic outside of school grounds." Umbridge's voice took on an imperious, threatening edge.
Alan raised an eyebrow. Did this woman truly take him for a naive child, or was she simply so used to bullying students that she thought he didn't know the law? To lead with such a clumsy, low-level scare tactic—he could almost script her next line. She would offer to "smooth things over" in exchange for his total cooperation.
Oblivious to his internal dismissal, Umbridge pressed on. "The law stipulates that the intentional use of magic in Muggle-inhabited areas is a criminal offense. This isn't just a school disciplinary matter anymore; you are suspected of deploying dangerous spells in public. That is a serious felony."
She had conveniently omitted the "in front of Muggles" clause of the Statute. It was a sloppy performance. Alan wondered why the Travers family would send someone so transparent to do their lobbying.
Umbridge leaned in, her eyes focusing sharply on him as she pivoted to the "comforting" phase of her act. "It's a difficult situation to handle. If the Wizengamot finds you guilty, you could be looking at a sentence in Azkaban. But you're fortunate to have met me. With my guidance, we can navigate this difficulty—provided you stop claiming those men were attacking you. I can plead your case, suggest you weren't even involved in the spell-casting, and then you won't have to—"
"Pfft..." Alan had tried to remain stoic, but the sheer absurdity of her pitch broke his composure. He burst into a short, sharp laugh.
Umbridge's face contorted, her feigned sweetness curdling into a look of pure, shrill outrage. She stood up abruptly, looking every bit the sharp-tongued shrew. "Mr. Wilson! I come here out of the goodness of my heart to resolve your crisis, and you respond with such ungratefulness!"
"Heh." Alan sneered, standing up and brushing aside his outer robe to reveal the medal pinned to his chest. "I think the ungrateful one is the woman trying to deceive a recognized hero of the Ministry. I have been honorably awarded the Silver Medal of Valor for my assistance in capturing Death Eaters. Underage sorcery? Believe it or not, I could beat you senseless right here in this room, and Minister Bagnold would probably give me another award for cleaning up the halls."
Alan stepped forward, his eyes fixed ferociously on Umbridge. He allowed his magic to flare, a heavy, oppressive pressure that made the furniture in the lounge creak and groan. Umbridge felt the air leave her lungs, her heart hammering against her ribs. She hadn't expected the boy to be so volatile—or so powerful.
"How dare you!" she shrieked, though her voice lacked its earlier conviction. "How dare you threaten a Ministry official!"
Alan ignored her. His magic coiled around her, lifting her inches off the floor as he drew her closer. "Madam Umbridge, I don't have time for games. Go back to Julia. Tell her that for a hundred thousand Galleons, I might forget the Travers family's recent 'rudeness.' I might even help her settle the mess."
Umbridge's face paled, alternating between shock and fury. How did he know Julia had sent her? How could he be so certain of the connection? And a hundred thousand Galleons? The demand was astronomical.
"Or," Alan continued, his voice dropping to a cold whisper, "she can keep trying her other methods. Perhaps she wants to find a way to silence Torquil before he talks? I imagine she's already discovered she can't get past Moody's guard, which is why she's here talking to me."
He released the magical hold, letting Umbridge stumble back onto the carpet. He sat back down and picked up his glass, appearing entirely bored with her presence. "Oh, and one more thing." He took a slow sip. "Remind her that I have the key."
Umbridge scrambled to her feet, glaring at him with venomous resentment before fleeing the room.
Alan closed his eyes, leaning back against the sofa cushions. He didn't have to wait long. Within minutes, the door opened again. An elegant woman entered. She had long, pale blonde hair and a perfectly maintained appearance that defied her age.
When Julia had received Umbridge's frantic report, she had been shaken to the core. *The key?* What could a schoolboy know about the key? It was hidden with absolute secrecy, and the location of the park duel didn't match any of the family's stashes.
She had initially assumed Torquil had simply bungled an amateur revenge plot against the boy. With him arrested on the spot alongside known fugitives, an acquittal was impossible. The scandal threatened to dismantle the family's entire political standing. Julia had spent the morning trying to reach her uncle, but Moody was holding the man in total isolation.
With no way to influence the prisoners, and with the terrifying mention of "the key," Julia had been forced to come and face the boy herself.