Ch287- Umbridge’s True Fear

Ch287- 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.

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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