Chapitre 287: Umbridge's True Fear
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Standing before Dolores was Cornelius Fudge, dressed in his formal Ministry robes, but his expression was cold, detached, unlike the friendly and supportive man she had always known. He raised a parchment high above his head, his voice booming in an official tone. "I, Cornelius Fudge, hereby declare all wizards and witches, regardless of blood purity, to be granted equal rights under Ministry law."
Umbridge's eyes widened in horror. She took a step back, shaking her head. "No... no, that can't be."
But Fudge continued, as if he couldn't hear her. "This includes all half-bloods, Muggle-borns, and non-human magical creatures. The Ministry will now ensure their fair treatment and integration into wizarding society." He signed the parchment with a flourish and handed it to someone standing beside him.
Umbridge's mouth fell open in shock as she saw who took the parchment—a towering centaur, its proud gaze sweeping over the new law as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Behind the centaur stood a goblin, a house-elf, and a group of Muggle-born witches and wizards, all dressed in official Ministry robes, their faces filled with satisfaction.
Fudge turned to face Umbridge, his expression stern and unforgiving. "Dolores," he said, his voice sharp. "Your services are no longer required. We need people who are open to change—people who can see the value in all magical beings, not just pure-bloods." He gestured dismissively at her as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience. "You are hereby demoted, effective immediately."
Her wand fell from her trembling hand, and she took another step back, shaking her head violently. "No! This isn't right! I've worked for the Ministry my whole life! I've upheld the rules, the traditions—"
"You've upheld hatred and division," Fudge interrupted coldly. "There's no place for that in the Ministry anymore. Consider this your final warning."
Then, as if to hammer the point home, the centaur stepped forward, its hooves echoing ominously on the ground as it placed the Ministry's official seal on the document. "We will make sure the changes are carried out, starting today."
Umbridge stared in disbelief, her legs buckling as she sank to the floor. Around her, the crowd of non-human creatures and Muggle-born wizards grew larger, their eyes fixed on her with contempt. Fudge turned his back on her, walking away as if she were nothing more than a forgotten relic of the past.
The goblin looked down at her, a sneer on its face. "Your kind has no power here anymore, Umbridge. It's time you understood that."
Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as the scene around her became more surreal. Centaurs took up positions of authority, Muggle-borns sat in places of power, and the Ministry itself was a place she no longer recognized. It was everything she feared—a world where her beliefs were irrelevant, where she had no control, no voice.
She tried to scream, to cast a spell, anything—but her voice was lost in the overwhelming noise of equality and change.
Students watching looked at her in disgust. This woman's biggest fear was equal rights for wizards with different blood statuses and other magical beings? It was pathetic.
Flitwick stood by, his eyes narrowing as he took in the vision, his usual calm demeanor hardening. "Unbelievable," he muttered, voice low. Hagrid, who had been silent, shifted uncomfortably in the back, his large hands clenched into fists.
The other students began to exchange glances, murmuring amongst themselves. Most were shocked at the realization of how deep Umbridge's prejudices ran, while others—those from pureblood families who had grown up hearing similar rhetoric—looked uncomfortable but said nothing. It was a moment of raw exposure, a true look at the twisted ideals the woman clung to so desperately.
Harry stayed silent, watching the scene play out. Umbridge's biggest fear wasn't losing control, it was equality. The idea that others, those she considered beneath her, could stand on equal footing terrified her more than any dark creature ever could.
Across the room, Zabini let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Pathetic, really. Afraid of centaurs and goblins like they're going to overthrow the world."
Draco, standing beside him, simply smirked. "People like her are relics of the past. They just haven't realized it yet."
Harry's eyes flicked to them briefly before returning to Umbridge, who was still scrambling in her panic. The Dementors had vanished, replaced by the haunting vision of her demotion and the rising power of those she had always deemed lesser. It was a poetic kind of justice, one that Harry didn't need to interfere with. She had trapped herself in this fear.
"Shows you exactly who she is," one of the students muttered, loud enough for those around to hear. "All that talk about purity, and it's all just fear."
"She's nothing but a coward," another voice added from the back, their tone laced with disdain.
Dumbledore stood from his seat, eyes glinting with faint amusement. "I believe this demonstration has gone on long enough. Riddikulus." With a swift wave of his wand, the haunting vision of Umbridge's worst fear shifted, turning into a ridiculous circus with clowns tumbling out of the chest, honking horns and juggling wildly. The boggart, now powerless, was sealed back into the chest, which locked itself with a sharp click.
Umbridge, pale and disoriented, blinked rapidly as she came back to herself. She turned slowly, her eyes wide, and saw the entire school watching her. The silence in the room was thick, the students and professors alike staring at her with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and disgust.
Dumbledore gestured toward the door. "Perhaps it would be best if we all returned to our usual activities," he suggested smoothly, his tone polite but with an edge that was hard to miss.
Umbridge, her face still pale, didn't respond. She simply stumbled out of the room, her robes dragging behind her as she fled from the eyes of the students.
As soon as she was gone, the murmur of conversation began to rise again, the students exchanging incredulous glances, a few stifling laughter.
Harry stood in the middle of the Duelling Club, a slight smile playing on his lips as he addressed the room. "Right then, everyone," he began, his voice carrying easily through the space. "The Duelling Club has a couple of new additions for those interested in some advanced magic practice."
He motioned toward two cloaked figures lurking in the shadows at the back of the room. "These are Dementors," he said simply, as though introducing a pair of ordinary magical creatures. "They've agreed to help us out—willingly, of course—and will be here for those wanting to work on their Patronus Charms. We also have a Boggart on hand for those needing practice with Riddikulus. Anyone who wants to learn these spells can train with me, one of the professors, or some of the seventh years."
The room buzzed with interest, some students exchanging glances, clearly excited by the prospect of such intense training.
A seventh year Hufflepuff raised an eyebrow from where he stood off to the side, looking unimpressed. "Training with Dementors now, Potter? Isn't that a bit reckless."
Harry shot him a sidelong glance, his expression casual. "Better to practice in a controlled environment than be caught off guard out there. Or would you rather rely on the Ministry's basic defensive spells?"
The crowd chuckled, some students openly laughing as they recalled Umbridge's earlier, embarrassing performance. No one pressed the issue further; it seemed everyone had enjoyed the spectacle enough.
A student called, "No thank you. The Ministry's basic defensive spells weren't quite enough to handle a Boggart?" The comment was met with a ripple of laughter from the students, though the professors maintained their professional decorum, merely nodding at Harry as they filed out of the room.
Once the professors were gone, the students started shifting about, eager to begin practicing. The seventh years quickly organized themselves, stepping up to monitor the room and help the younger students with the Dementors and Boggarts. As they moved, small groups began forming, each focused on mastering their Patronus or improving their technique with the Riddikulus charm. It wasn't long before the room was buzzing with activity.
Students paired up or sought help from the seventh years. Harry noted that some seemed more confident than others, but overall, they were eager to improve. The sight of so many students working together, each determined to get stronger was the success of Duelling Club, Harry's heritage to Hogwarts.
As more students engaged with the Dementors, a light chill spread through the room, but the presence of skilled seventh years ensured no one faltered for long. Harry continued to observe, offering occasional advice but staying mostly in the background, letting the others take the lead for now. The seventh years had the training under control, and Harry didn't feel the need to micromanage their efforts. He simply leaned against the wall, eyes scanning the room for anyone who might need extra assistance.
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