"The Ministry of Magic is preparing something."
Great Hall.
The Golden Trio had gathered together, and Hermione was speaking in a low voice.
Ron was stuffing sausages into his mouth and mumbled through a full mouth, "Preparing what?"
"Don't you think it's strange," Hermione glanced around and whispered, "that the Ministry is suddenly interfering in Hogwarts' education?"
"Didn't you say last time that Barty Crouch came to power and started reforms?" Ron finally swallowed what was in his mouth.
Hermione's eyes widened—furious at his lack of awareness.
Harry suddenly said, "Voldemort."
"What?" Ron looked at him in surprise.
Harry continued, "Crouch knows about Voldemort's return. He's training students so they'll have the power to protect themselves."
As he spoke, he looked over at Neville, who was buried in writing a letter, and said in a low voice, "Crouch isn't satisfied with Dumbledore's teaching—he wants his own army."
"Army?!" Ron exclaimed, then leaned closer and lowered his voice, "You mean the Ministry wants to turn Hogwarts into a weapons factory?"
"I'm afraid so." Harry went on, "Crouch isn't just unhappy with education—he's dissatisfied with Dumbledore's current influence. He wants to boost the Ministry's power."
Hermione cut in, "That's not necessarily a bad thing—I mean, as long as he's willing to fight You-Know-Who."
"It's also possible that Voldemort's target will be Hogwarts."
Harry had a particularly sharp instinct about certain matters.
"But Crouch picked the wrong person," Ron looked at the back of Harry's hand and grumbled, "Umbridge isn't a good person."
"There's one question," Hermione asked with a frown, "why doesn't Crouch team up with Dumbledore?"
"He doesn't like Dumbledore's influence," Harry analyzed, "or rather, in his eyes, there's no difference between Dumbledore and Voldemort."
One is a white Dark Lord, the other a black one.
Hermione gasped—this was not a good sign.
From their perspective, Dumbledore had never shown that kind of ambition. But Crouch's baseless suspicion might lead to something bad.
"I swear, Dumbledore's never wanted to control the wizarding world," Ron said indignantly.
"But he has the ability to, doesn't he?" Hermione, with her sharp political sense, said seriously, "The point isn't whether he wants to—it's whether he could."
"I don't want to end up in Crouch's army going to war against Dumbledore," Ron said angrily.
Hermione also thought that scenario sounded terrible—at least for them, it wouldn't be a good thing.
...
While they were discussing the possibilities for Hogwarts' future, Umbridge's investigation operations were quietly underway.
In class, her figure could always be seen.
Professor Flitwick was conducting orchestra practice when Umbridge showed up uninvited.
Professor Flitwick looked rather helpless, and that helplessness cracked a little when Umbridge took out her ruler.
During Snape's classes, he could always feel a gaze coming from the corner of the room—his carefully crafted elegant phrasing was swallowed back down.
Professor McGonagall hated people interfering during her lessons, but Umbridge did exactly that.
Eventually, it even led to a confrontation between McGonagall and Umbridge.
Boys and girls who were sitting together were forcibly separated just because Umbridge walked by. Students with distinctive personal style were forced to change their appearance.
To put it another way, even a dog passing by would get "corrected" by Umbridge.
Her control freak tendencies were suffocating.
John watched as Tom, upon returning, spun around furiously in place—it looked like she wanted to bite something just to let off steam.
"The effect might've been a little too good," John mused.
He had originally intended to use Umbridge to chip away at Dumbledore's prestige, but the results had gone a bit overboard.
He had underestimated Umbridge—now all of Hogwarts was filled with complaints.
There weren't many complaints about the Ministry itself, though, thanks to another professor sent by them.
Professor Oz Hield was widely praised. She taught material the previous professors hadn't covered, and no one had to worry she was secretly some terrifying creature in disguise.
Given the friction between Oz Hield and Umbridge, no one believed the Ministry had intentionally sent someone just to torment them.
Dumbledore had temporarily stepped down from his position as headmaster, but the students who had hoped he would step forward to save them received no response.
When faced with adversity, the strong try to turn the tide, while the weak point fingers at those with power.
Clearly, Hogwarts was still a place where the weak were the majority.
They believed the rumors and lashed out at the powerful.
Just as they had once criticized Dumbledore for being too lenient, now they complained in the same breath.
Why, as headmaster of Hogwarts, couldn't you fight for better treatment on our behalf?
You're Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in the magical world.
You're supposed to stand with us.
Perhaps to Dumbledore, things hadn't yet reached a point where they were unbearable.
But discontent among the students had already begun to quietly brew.
…
Hogsmeade.
John accompanied Daphne to The Literati's Nook.
Although John thought the stationery sold here couldn't possibly compare to what he could make himself, Daphne liked shopping here.
Aside from ink and quills, they also bought some parchment.
"What do you think of this color?" Daphne asked with great interest, holding up a bottle of sky-blue ink, like a girl showing off a new outfit and asking if it looked good.
John picked it up and examined it, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "This is invisible ink. Are you planning to write secrets?"
"Ah?" Daphne looked flustered. "No, I just grabbed it at random."
"This kind of ink doesn't offer much confidentiality," John said, shaking his head. "A simple Revelio charm would expose everything."
Putting the ink back, John added in a soft voice, "If you need a type of confidential ink, I can get you something better."
"Alright," Daphne said, a little disappointed.
John glanced outside, raising an eyebrow.
Daphne noticed his expression and asked, "What is it?"
"Feel like checking out a new place?"
John extended the invitation, and Daphne happily accepted.
They walked out of The Literati's Nook, and John offered his small satchel, loading the quills inside.
Recalling how quickly Daphne went through ink and quills, he spoke as they walked, "If you don't mind…"
"What?" Daphne leaned in closer to John and quietly grabbed his sleeve.
John thought for a moment and said, "I can make you a new quill."
"That would be great!" Daphne said in surprise and delight.
When they arrived at the destination, the smile on Daphne's face stiffened.
As they pushed the door open, a strong smell of mutton hit them.
The place wasn't exactly welcoming.
Thick grime coated several bulging windows, barely letting in any light. On the coarse wooden tables sat stubby candle ends and a heavy layer of dust.
The cups looked like they hadn't been washed in ages.
Coming from a well-off family, Daphne's pretty face was full of disgust.
The bar owner looked up and saw John, seeming a little surprised.
They sat down at a small table, and John tapped it lightly—dust and grease instantly fell away.
It looked almost like a newly purchased table.
John pulled a silver bottle of liquor from his satchel and conjured two cups with a flick of his hand.
"No outside drinks allowed here," grumbled the bar owner—a tall, thin old man with a strange temperament, his long hair and beard a dusty gray-white.
He stared at John with clear hostility.
There were a few other people in the bar, and they looked at John with amused expressions.
A young lad bringing a girl along.
That was the impression they had of John.
They wanted to see how this boy would avoid embarrassing himself in front of the girl.
Mocking gazes gathered on John.
He ignored them and opened the bottle. A fragrant aroma of wine wafted out, seemingly stirring a few cravings.
The clean, clear crystal wine glass was filled with the liquor, and the scent became even more alluring.
Gulp.
No one knew who made the sound—it seemed someone had been enticed.
John poured the glass a third full, then handed it to Daphne like a gentleman.
Daphne smiled sweetly and said Thank you.
The bar owner looked like he was about to explode, his chest heaving violently, and then…
He turned around and went back to the bar.
The people who had been expecting a show were stunned. Was this really the same owner of the Hog's Head?
Like a prince and princess who had wandered among commoners, the two of them drank their fine, luxurious wine as if the dingy setting around them didn't exist.
__________
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