Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Damaged Bridges	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 46870 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, all rights belong to Rowling and Warner Bros, nor do I make any money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
The Iron Lady

“R.A.B. is Regulus Black...” Harry told Hermione excitedly. “Regulus Arcturus Black. I remember Sirius showing me on the family tapestry. He told me Regulus had joined the Death Eaters and that he had been killed on Voldemort’s orders when he tried to get out...”
Hermione gave Harry a skeptical look. “Are you sure Harry? I don’t think he can have been very high up, and I would have thought that one of Voldemort’s inner-circle might have stood a better chance of finding out about his horcruxes.”
“Yeah! I’m dead certain!” Harry insisted. “One of the days we were all cleaning Number Twelve my scar started hurting a bit. I thought I was just sensing Voldemort in a mood at the time, but Sirius was chucking out a gold locket... It was Slytherin’s Locket. I know it was! You remember Hokey the House Elf’s memory don’t you? ...when Hepzibah Smith showed Tom Riddle the locket?”
Hermione nodded, frowning pensively and biting her lip.
“It was the same locket Hermione! ... It had the exact same ‘S’ on it, and I think I might have been sensing that it was a horcrux too...”
“Well, usually you have to really focus and try and shut Voldemort out - turn off the connection between you two - before you can be sure it’s the horcruxes and not him...” Hermione pointed out reasonably. Harry started to huff in exasperation, but Hermione was still talking.
“...Voldemort was far away in Albania without even a body in second year, probably not able to feel much of anything. So it makes sense that it was most likely the Diary making your scar hurt then. It would have been hard to be certain once Voldemort was back in Britain, especially as it was after he’d regained a proper body. ... But still... I think I remember the locket. It was the one we all looked at and tried to open, isn’t it?”
“Yeah! Yeah, that’s right...” Harry’s face lit up again. “It was the locket... right? ...the one from Hokey’s memory?” Harry peered at Hermione imploringly, hoping that her memory - usually far better than his - would confirm his own recollection.
“Yes... I think it was, Harry,” said Hermione, nodding after a few more moments of careful consideration. “I think you’re right...”
Harry pumped his fist and grinned.
“We should tell Dumbledore straight away then,” he began.
“...There’s just one problem,” Hermione moaned, her face falling. “Sirius threw it in a sack.”
Harry groaned, slumping back on his pillow, making his head throb again. Then he remembered something else.
“Wait...” he said, feeling a new surge of hope. “Kreacher kept nicking things out of the sack. Maybe...”
“...maybe Kreacher hid it in his cupboard in the kitchen,” Hermione gasped, her eyes widening. “Oh Harry, we might still have a chance to find it.”
“Come on, let’s go tell Dumbledore...”
Sharp clicks on the floor of the hospital wing suggested approaching footsteps, and Harry fell silent. Hermione nearly fell off the bed, blushing furiously. Madam Pomfrey regarded her patient and his guest cannily, raising her eyebrows, and for a brief horrible moment Harry wondered if she was going to turf Hermione out of the hospital wing after all.
“Good to see you back among the living, Mr Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey crisply, the barest hint of a smile hovering at the corners of her lips. “Now, what’s this I hear about you leaving the hospital wing? I am sorry, but that is out of the question until tomorrow morning - concussions are serious business....”
“But I need to see Professor Dumbledore now,” Harry protested. “It’s urgent!”
“It really is important, Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione chimed in. “We have some information Professor Dumbledore needs right away.”
“Very well then,” Madam Pomfrey sighed. “I’ll send for the headmaster myself...”
“And for Dora too... I mean Auror Tonks,” said Harry. “She should know too.”
“Alright then Mr Potter, Miss Granger. ... I’ll inform the headmaster at once. But please remain here in the meantime Mr Potter. Not one foot out of that bed.”
Harry and Hermione fidgeted impatiently while they waited. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Madam Pomfrey returned with Professor Dumbledore and Dora in tow. Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office and shut the door, leaving them all to it.
“Wotcher Harry,” said Dora, looking relieved to see him awake. “That was a rather nasty shot to the head you took.”
“Yeah! I’m feeling loads better though,” said Harry, nodding, then wincing. “...As long as I don’t do that,” he muttered.
“Which is why Madam Pomfrey is well within her authority to keep you here overnight, Harry,” said Dumbledore, a twinkle in his eyes. “Now, I am told that you and Miss Granger have some important information to impart?”
“I know who R.A.B. is,” said Harry as he rubbed his head, which was still throbbing. “And maybe where the Locket is...”
“Harry thinks it’s Regulus Black,” Hermione interjected, picking up a vial of pain potion from the nightstand beside the hospital bed and passing it to Harry, giving him a severe look. Harry took the potion meekly and downed it, laying back against his pillow.
“And it’s possible that the Locket is at Number Twelve,” Hermione went on, once she was satisfied that Harry was resting properly.
“Blimey!” Dora’s eyebrows shot up. “I forgot about Regulus. I never met ‘im.”
“Regulus Black! Indeed,” said Dumbledore, stroking his beard, “I was certainly considering the possibility...”
“You were?” Harry looked surprised, then frowned, having thought Dumbledore would have told him.
“Oh yes!” Dumbledore replied. “He is on my list of possibles which I have been investigating. I had not reached him yet, as my inquiries were currently focused on those higher up the food chain.”
Dumbledore conjured a piece of parchment from thin air and passed it to Hermione, who held it up so that Harry could read it too. There were a number of names on the list, written in alphabetical order. The only surnames familiar to Harry besides Regulus’s, were those belonging to someone whom he presumed to be a relative of Millicent Bulstrode, and to someone who was surely related to Caractacus Burkes.

Roselyn Agnes Bagnold
Roland Archimedes Bennett
Regulus Arcturus Black
Romulus Agamemnon Blackthorn
Reuben Aeschylus Bloodstone
Rupert Archibald Bracken
Roger Aristocles Bulstrode
Regina Agatha Burkes

“Roselyn Bagnold?” Hermione murmured. “Was she...”
“...related to Millicent Bagnold, the Minister prior to Fudge? Quite so, Miss Granger,” confirmed the headmaster. “In any case, please tell me more.”
Dumbledore’s eyes began to gleam as Hermione relayed everything that Harry had told her.
“...And you believe the locket may be in this kitchen cupboard - this nest of Kreacher’s?” Dumbledore asked Harry.
“If Kreacher nicked it from the sack, then yeah,” said Harry. “It’ll be in the boiler cupboard... Kreacher’s bed is under the boiler.”
“Maybe we should go ‘ave a look right now,” said Dora eagerly.
“Yes! I think we shall, Tonks,” Dumbledore agreed, nodding as he propelled himself up from the chair. He gave Harry a regretful look. “My apologies Harry, I have no doubt that you wish to accompany us, but Madam Pomfrey would be most upset if I were to allow you to do so.”
“I know,” Harry sighed. “I’ll manage.”
“Don’t worry Harry. Hang tight,” said Dora. “We shouldn’t be too long.”
Hermione gave Harry’s hand a comforting squeeze as Dumbledore and Dora departed, knowing how much Harry hated being left behind. Hermione felt much the same way. This time the wait was even more painful as the clock ticked on interminably...

~o0o~
Following her late-afternoon meeting with Alecto Carrow, the Senior Undersecretary bade goodnight to her secretary and made her way to the elevator. One rickety ride later, she found herself in the Atrium of the Ministry. Spying the Assistant to the Minister with the Minister himself, both heading for the public floos together, a nagging feeling niggled at the back of her mind. She coughed twice, prepping her voice to use her most dulcet tones.
“Ah, good evening Rufus, Percy,” said Dolores Umbridge sweetly. “Off to dinner are you? Where are you both headed tonight?” she asked, fairly certain she knew the answer.
“Good evening Dolores,” said the Minister, looking as dour and grim as always. “I’m off to the Dragon’s Breath, and you?”
“And I’m just headed home,” said Percy glumly. “Penelope stood me up again.”
Dolores felt a flicker of relief, but perhaps it was best to be certain that Percy didn’t decide to join Scrimgeour at the last minute.
“Oh, you poor dear,” she said to Percy sympathetically. “I’ll be dining at the Leaky Cauldron tonight. Would you care to join me, Percy? I would be ever so delighted for some company.”
“Oh... er, yeah!” Percy brightened slightly. “That’d be lovely, Dolores.”
“Splendid!” Dolores gushed, taking Percy’s arm. She nodded at the Minister. “Till Monday then, Rufus. Do be careful out there, won’t you?”
“Always!” said Scrimgeour, before stepping up to the Floo and calling out, “Cardiff, Dragon’s Breath Pub...” He entered the bright green flames flaring in the hearth and vanished.
“Well then Percy, shall we?” Dolores gestured at the Floo next to the one from which the Minister had just departed.
“By all means,” Percy replied. “After you,” he offered politely.
Dinner in the Leaky Cauldron went swimmingly. Dolores was certain she had made the right decision. Percy was potentially a valuable asset, his being a Weasley a delicious irony indeed which could be an immense advantage to her goals. Percy’s mind-set was right, having cast aside the subversive pro-muggle views of his father. With a little prodding in the right direction, and a bit of encouragement, Dolores had little doubt that Percy would fit in nicely with the coming changes.
“...That’s a lovely locket, by the way,” Percy was saying after a bite of steak and kidney pie. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wearing it before.”
“Pardon?” Startled out of her rumination, Dolores glanced down. She took the golden locket in hand and peered at it as it glinted in the candlelight. “Oh, yes... yes it is. It’s a family heirloom passed on to me recently when my great aunt died - Aunt Victoria - she was a Selwyn, you know...”

~o0o~
More than three hours had passed, and the deep plum skies of dusk had long given way to night, a diamond studded black tapestry embracing the mountains surrounding Hogwarts, but Dora and Dumbledore still hadn’t returned. Harry and Hermione had whiled away the time chatting at first, then gradually fallen into silence.
The quiet grew thick; sensing Harry’s increasing agitation, and seeing him unconsciously and repeatedly rub at his forehead despite the pain potion he had taken, Hermione couldn’t bear it any longer. She glanced around the hospital wing. Reassured that Madam Pomfrey wasn’t ready to pounce, Hermione decided it was worth the risk. She leaned over the bed, and pressed her lips to Harry’s.
Harry was startled at first when Hermione began snogging him, but soon lost himself to the kiss, grateful for the distraction, his hands caught up in her tangle of hair. Moments later, they fell apart, both slightly breathless. Hermione peered at him a bit bashfully.
“Better?” she asked, looking hopeful.
“Loads!” said Harry, grinning.
At that moment the doors opened with a creak; Harry and Hermione both turned slightly pink, thankful that they hadn’t been caught in mid-snog. Dumbledore and Dora entered the hospital wing.
Harry opened his mouth to eagerly ask if they’d found the locket, but closed it again, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Dumbledore’s weary demeanor and Dora’s listless hair spoke volumes.
“What happened?” asked Hermione.
“It wasn’t there - just a dead mouse,” Dora moaned. “And we bloody looked everywhere - not just the Boiler cupboard, Regulus’s old room as well, the attic, and anywhere else which seemed likely. ... We turned the whole house upside down.”
“This is most unfortunate,” said Dumbledore, taking note of Harry’s disappointed features. “Though we should not give up all hope. I do not doubt that you are correct Harry, that at one time the locket was at Number Twelve. I will simply have to try and track down the items that were cleared out during the purge...”
“Wait,” said Harry, unwilling to give up on Number Twelve just yet. “Why not ask Kreacher? Maybe he hid it somewhere you didn’t think to look.”
Dumbledore blinked several times, looking slightly embarrassed.
“Indeed, Harry,” Dumbledore agreed, nodding. “It is quite possible that Kreacher could have hidden the locket with his magic, rendering it undetectable to a wizard. If so, it is likely that he would only reveal its hiding place to his Master. If you would, by all means summon him.”
Feeling another surge of hope, Harry raised his voice and called out, “Kreacher!”
A loud crack reverberated in the hospital wing, and out of thin air the wizened old House Elf appeared, peering around at everyone with his bulbous, bloodshot eyes. Harry swallowed, noting uncomfortably that Kreacher was still wearing the ragged, filthy loincloth he had worn the day they met.
“Master calls,” Kreacher muttered contemptuously, his bat-like ears quivering as he bowed and shot a dirty look at Hermione who was sitting on the bed, holding Harry’s hand. “What service would Master and his Mudblood require of poor Kreacher, that he could not receive from a House-Elf of the Blood-Traitor headmaster?”
“Shut-up!” Harry snapped, his revulsion momentarily overwhelming his pity, reminded that Kreacher had betrayed Sirius. “Don’t ever call Hermione a Mudblood again... or anyone else for that matter. I never want you to say that word again - I forbid it!”
“Whatever Master says,” the House Elf croaked, giving Harry a look of deep loathing. “Kreacher is bound to obey his Blood-Traitor Master’s every whim.”
Harry opened his mouth to order Kreacher not to use the word blood-traitor either, but instead he took a deep breath, trying his hardest to remember that Kreacher was a slave, and that Sirius hadn’t been particularly nice to him. It curdled Harry’s stomach to be reminded that he actually owned another sentient being - a person in their own right - and that he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter for the foreseeable future.
Angrily, Harry tried to forget about that and focus on the problem at hand. Hopefully, one day Voldemort would be gone, and then Harry could do Kreacher and himself both a favour and set him free to choose his own Master.
“Right then,” said Harry curtly, “I need to ask you some questions, Kreacher, and I... I order you to answer them truthfully.”
“Yes, Master,” said Kreacher, his malevolent gaze flicking again to Hermione, who was regarding him with a deeply pitying look.
“The summer before last - when we were all cleaning up Number Twelve, we found a big gold locket with an ‘S’ on it in the upstairs parlour, and we threw it out. Did you take it back?”
Kreacher tore his glare away from Hermione and looked Harry straight in the eye.
“Yes!” he croaked boldly, as if daring Harry to punish him for stealing back the locket. He was startled when Harry pumped his fist and gleefully said, “Excellent! ...”
“That’s brilliant Kreacher!” Harry went on, “Okay, what did you do with it? Where did you hide it? We need to see it.”
For a moment Kreacher said nothing, then the House-Elf shut his eyes tightly and began to shake.
“Gone,” he whimpered.
“What? Gone?” Harry stared at Kreacher blankly, not sure he’d heard correctly. “How could it be gone?”
Kreacher’s trembling increased, and he began to totter.
“Kreacher,” said Harry again, “I need you to tell me...”
“Fletcher,” the ancient elf moaned as he grasped his flapping ears, “Mundungus Fletcher! He stole it... all of it... Fletcher stole the lot... Miss Bella’s and Miss Cissy’s pictures, my Mistress’s gloves, the silverware, the goblets... and... and... the locket...”
Kreacher began to sob, his chest heaving, and he wailed as mournfully as any House-Elf that Harry had ever heard crying - Winky sobbing for her Master - Dobby bawling at Harry’s kindness. Harry looked on in horror as Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened painfully.
“He stole Master Regulus’s locket! Kreacher failed his Master!” Kreacher shrieked, tearing at his ears, “Kreacher is bad House-Elf! ... Bad House-Elf! Kreacher failed his orders!”
Harry knew what was going to happen next, but before anyone could stop Kreacher, the aged House-Elf was slamming his head into the floor. Hermione screamed.
“STOP! Kreacher, I order you to stop!” Harry shouted as he leapt off the hospital bed, forgetting his own painful head. Harry was on top of the elf in an instant, trying to hold him still. “Do you hear me? I said stop punishing yourself.”
The wretched House-Elf continued to shudder with wracking sobs, but he appeared to finally hear Harry, and stopped trying to hit his bleeding head on the floor.
Taking a chance to let go of Kreacher, Harry wiped his own wet cheeks and stinging eyes on his t-shirt. Harry glanced around at the faces of the others with him; tears streamed down Hermione’s cheeks and Dora had a hand clapped over her mouth, her own eyes glistening wetly, and Dumbledore looked as sad as he had ever seen him.
“Bloody Dung!” said Dora furiously, catching Harry’s eye again. “I’m sorry Harry! I’m sorry I was so nonchalant about Dung when you caught ‘im sellin’ the stuff ‘e’d nicked! I shoulda gone after ‘im, tracked that rotten bastard down...”
“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “You were right Dora! I was just too upset at the time to accept that he’d escaped...”
“I’ll have some Order members begin a search for Mundungus at once - maybe Shacklebolt...” Dumbledore began.
“Wait, I’ve got a better idea,” said Harry as Kreacher continued weeping inconsolably in his arms. “Professor, do you still have the other locket... the fake one...?”
“Of course, Harry,” Dumbledore affirmed, looking slightly puzzled. “I have it with me right now in fact.”
“May I have it?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Dumbledore as he caught on to the meaning in Harry’s eyes. “It really isn’t necessary after all. I only kept it as a reminder of sorts of our current mission.” Dumbledore retrieved the fake locket from one of the pockets in his gaudy robes and gave it to Harry.
The golden locket glittered in the warm light emanating from the ceiling lanterns as it dangled from the chain in Harry’s hand when he held it above Kreacher. Curious, the House-Elf’s loud sobs quieted to sniffles; he almost looked hypnotised as his protuberant eyes darted back and forth, watching it swing.
“Kreacher, this belonged to Regulus too,” said Harry. “I’d, er.... I’d really like you to have it. I’m really sorry you don’t have any mementos of your family left...”
“M...Master wants me to have Master Regulus’s locket?” Kreacher eyed Harry in bewilderment.
“Yes, I do, Kreacher,” Harry nodded. “And I wish I had more stuff from the Black family to give you. Maybe one day, I’ll have a chance to look in the Black family vault at Gringotts, and I’ll be able to find some other pictures or something. ... But for now, I want you to have this.”
Fresh tears welled up in the House-Elf’s bloodshot eyes as he took the locket from Harry’s hand. He glanced at Harry again, still looking a bit puzzled.
“And, er... and how would you like to help us by finding Mundungus Fletcher?” Harry asked. “We really need that locket - the locket he stole...”
“The Dark Lord’s locket,” Kreacher hissed, his whole demeanor changing as his eyes gleamed, “Yes, Kreacher will find Mundungus Fletcher for Master Harry. Maybe Master Harry’s magic is powerful enough to destroy the locket he stole, and Kreacher will be Good Elf again...”
This time it was Harry’s turn to look surprised. “You... you know it needs to be destroyed?” he gasped.
“Oh, yes, Master Harry,” Kreacher nodded vigorously. “That was Master Regulus’s last order to Kreacher, before Master Regulus died in the Cursed Cave. He told Kreacher to leave with the locket and destroy it as... as the Dead Ones dragged him into the lake...”
Kreacher couldn’t help letting out a miserable squeak at the painful memory, and several of the new tears dripped from his cheeks.
“And Kreacher was Bad Elf, Kreacher failed to destroy the Locket...” he wailed.
Hermione couldn‘t help herself, crying out, “Oh, Kreacher...” and looking like she desperately wanted to hug him.
Kreacher’s eyes flickered towards Hermione again, this time looking more confused than anything.
“The... the locket that Master Harry gives Kreacher, it is the locket Master Regulus left in the basin after Master Regulus drank the Potion,” the House-Elf continued. “Master Harry and his friends must be powerful wizards to defeat the Dead Ones and escape the Cave. Kreacher will help Master Harry. ... Kreacher will find Mundungus Fletcher and bring him back, and Master Harry will destroy the Dark Lord’s Locket...”
“I will,” said Harry resolutely, “I will destroy the Locket, Kreacher - as soon as we find it. I promise! But when you find Mundungus, take him straight to Dumbledore, alright? It, er... it might be a bit awkward if you show up with Mundungus while I’m in the middle of class.”
“Of course, Master Harry!” Kreacher gave him a sweeping bow.
“Good luck, Kreacher,” said Hermione as she knelt on the floor next to Harry, her hand on his shoulder, and held out her hanky for the House-Elf with her other hand.
Kreacher peered at her again uncertainly.
“For your cut.” Hermione pointed at his still bleeding forehead. “You really should get that looked at before you go,” she added kindly.
“She’s right, you know,” said Harry.
Kreacher hesitated, his eyes flicking back and forth several times between Harry and Hermione as if looking for something, then tentatively, he reached out and took the hanky from Hermione.
“Thank you, M...M...Mistress.” The aged House-Elf made a jerky little half bow as he dabbed his forehead with the hanky. “House Elfs is knowing some healing magic. Kreacher will make do.” Then Kreacher vanished with a loud crack.
Hermione turned to Harry and gave him a befuddled look.
“Harry, he called me Mistress! ... instead of Mudblood?”
“Er...” Harry shrugged, returning Hermione’s baffled expression. “I dunno. Just go with it...”
“I think he thinks you two’re married,” Dora giggled. “That’d make ‘im your House-Elf too, Hermione.”
“A very reasonable assumption, Tonks,” Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling. “The terms Master and Mistress are reserved by House-Elves for their owners and the families of their owners. Kreacher knows that Miss Granger is not Harry’s sister, or other such biological relation, yet his magic senses a relationship between them both that can only be a familial bond of some sort, which he apparently interprets as marriage.”
Harry and Hermione both turned pink at that.
“In any case,” Dumbledore continued. “Even with his magic, it may take Kreacher some time to locate Mundungus Fletcher, if Fletcher has gone to ground. I suggest we all get a good night’s sleep and go about our business until Kreacher returns with our wayward thief.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Dora. “Alright then, g’night you two. Sleep tight.”
Once Dumbledore and Dora were both gone, and the Hospital Wing was clear, Harry clambered back into bed. Hermione glanced at the cot beside Harry’s and bit her lip. Finally, she climbed onto Harry’s bed next to him, on top of the now quite rumpled linen sheet.
Harry raised his eyebrows and grinned as Hermione snuggled into the crook of his shoulder and put an arm around his middle.
“I don’t care if Pomfrey finds us like this,” said Hermione almost defiantly.

~o0o~
There was still no sign of Kreacher by the following morning when Madam Pomfrey released Harry from the Hospital Wing, but the atmosphere in the Great Hall when he and Hermione finally arrived for breakfast after cleaning up in their quarters seemed to crackle with perplexion. A number of owls were still flitting in and out with the morning post.
Harry and Hermione both glanced up at the staff table where the professors seemed to be deep in conversation looking worried.
“Morning Harry,” said Ron.
“Hi Harry. Hello Hermione,” said Lavender. Parvati waved, smiling but looking slightly agitated.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked as he took his seat, wondering where Neville was.
“Not sure really,” Ron shrugged. “Something about the Minister I think. I heard Hannah Abbott say something about the Minister to Neville - they’re at the Hufflepuff table looking at the...” Ron was interrupted by a great flap of wings as Hedwig soared past him and dropped a Daily Prophet in Hermione’s lap.
Hermione picked up the newspaper and gasped, “Oh no!”
“What?” asked Harry.
Hermione scrunched up her face with a pained expression and held up the morning paper for all to see the headline.

Scrimgeour Missing!
Senior Undersecretary Ratified as Acting Minister
by Rita Skeeter
Under the headline was a picture of Umbridge with a decidedly trying-very-hard-not-to-look-gleeful-under-the-horrible-circumstances Percy Weasley at her side. Harry’s face turned ashen as the blood drained from his cheeks. Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth as she quickly scanned the article.
“This is awful!” said Hermione. “It says here that an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot Committee for Appointments and Adjudications was called for early this morning after Aurors discovered evidence of foul play late last night in an alley near the Dragon’s Breath Pub after a commotion was heard, and Scrimgeour never returned home according to his maid.
“The Committee made Umbridge Acting Minister, citing the need for ‘continuity in leadership in these troubled times,’ and she picked Percy as her Senior Undersecretary...”
Pumpkin juice sprayed from Ron’s mouth.
“Blimey!” he said, wiping his lips with a napkin as he gave Lavender an apologetic look, “No wonder Percy looks so happy about Scrimgeour vanishing...”
“It gets worse,” Hermione moaned. “Umbridge is apparently ordering the Auror Office to look into the possibility that Dumbledore is behind the disappearance, citing a ‘long-standing feud’ between Scrimgeour and Dumbledore.”
“No way!” Harry snarled. “That’s bloody ridiculous! Nobody would ever believe Dumbledore would do something evil... especially if Umbridge says it.”
“I don’t know about that, Harry,” said Hermione, her expression distraught. “Loads of people believe what they read in the Daily Prophet, and Skeeter makes Dumbledore and Scrimgeour’s disagreements seem much worse than they really are, giving credence to Umbridge’s point of view.”
“But everyone knows that Umbridge is a liar after Harry was proved right about You-Know-Who being back, don’t they?” said Parvati.
“It doesn’t matter,” Harry sighed, as it sank in that Hermione was probably correct. “Umbridge would just blame it all on Fudge - say he made her do it...”
“That’s exactly right Harry,” Hermione affirmed. “There’s even a quote here by Umbridge to that effect. ... She says, ‘Of course, we all know by now that Cornelius’s incompetence led to the disaster at the Ministry last year, and I am sorry to say that I fell victim to his myopic attitude, bound as I was as his Senior Undersecretary to carry out his foolhardy proposals.
“... ‘Nevertheless, Cornelius was undoubtedly swayed by Dumbledore’s dubious record, given the headmaster’s penchant for long-standing blood-feuds and hiring dangerous half-breeds and criminals. Clearly, given Dumbledore’s unsavoury history, an in-depth investigation is called for.
“‘Indeed, a proper inquiry could throw many of the views of recent history currently accepted as self-evident into question, and may even lead us to conclude that some of You-Know-Who’s grievances may not be entirely without merit - despite his reckless and unruly behaviour. After all, some of the most respected wizarding families in Britain apparently supported his goals - which is something we should all take into consideration if we are to judge the current situation fairly. There are undoubtedly some very fine people on both sides.’”
Hermione looked as if she might be ill as she finished reading Umbridge’s quote aloud.
Harry groaned. Things had just got a whole lot more complicated in the wizard world.

~o0o~
Hermione tried her best to distract Harry from his darkening mood, suggesting that they spend a few hours studying in the library before taking the rest of Sunday off. But she found that her own attention was wandering, preoccupied as she was by the implications of Umbridge’s statement to the press.
Umbridge had certainly never been shy about expressing her views of half-breeds, but her comments about “fine people on both sides” seemed to shed new light on her persecution of Harry, especially given Umbridge’s creation of the Inquisitorial Squad, made up entirely of the worst Slytherins - Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Warrington, and Graham Montague.
Umbridge had also been the one to sic Dementors on Harry after all - in what could only be seen as an assassination attempt in retrospect - a fact which had never been made public as there was no real proof. Umbridge would have denied that she had ever admitted it, and certainly the members of the Inquisitorial Squad who had been present would have denied that Umbridge had openly confessed to ordering the Dementor attack.
But why would Umbridge have gone to such extremes, and taken such a great risk, as to order a Dementor attack on Harry? Hermione began wondering if the Dementor attacks on Harry during third year had been as “incidental” as everyone had seemed to believe at the time.
The visitation by one of the wraiths on the Hogwarts Express hadn’t seemed to be focused on Harry necessarily - and it hadn’t been an attack per se - but of the incidents at the quidditch match, and at the end of third year, there could be no question - Harry had been deliberately targeted by the Dementors. Perhaps Umbridge had ordered those assaults as well.
While Harry was still attempting to study his Third Year Runes book, Hermione slipped into the Restricted Section with her Prefect Pass and began going through the school records. Finally Hermione found the proof she was looking for.
“I knew it,” Hermione fumed as she made her way back to Harry. “I just knew it!”
“Knew what?” asked Harry, glad for a distraction, as he had been absentmindedly staring at the same paragraph for the last half hour.
“She was a Slytherin!” said Hermione. “Umbridge was a Slytherin.”
“So? I mean - yeah, I reckoned as much, and I know loads are rotten, but they’re not all as awful as the Malfoys and their pals. Look at Slughorn and Dora’s mum. ... I dunno about Zabini yet, but it’s looking like he might be alright after all too.”
“Yes, that’s very true,” Hermione agreed. “But it makes it much more likely that she’s a Pureblood Supremacist, especially as she is apparently a close acquaintance of Draco’s father. That’s why she only picked the vilest, most racist Slytherins for the Inquisitorial Squad, and that explains why she’s obsessed with you as well.”
“It does?”
“Yes Harry. You’re a living symbol of the defeat of the Pureblood Agenda - that’s why you’re generally so popular with muggleborns, and loads of halfbloods with muggle family members as well...”
“Wish they’d stuck up for me a bit more then,” Harry growled, thinking about how nearly every other year at Hogwarts he’d been about as popular as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. “Second Year I was the ‘Heir of Slytherin’ ... Fourth Year I was a ‘Cheater’ ... and last year I was a Deranged Nutter.
“It seems like most of the school nearly always thinks I’m an attention seeking prat and that I actually like the fact that I’m famous because I survived when my parents were murdered. Even Ron sort of thinks like that sometimes - at least when he’s in a jealous mood - and he’s my best mate.”
“Well, obviously a lot of people are easily swayed by stupid rumours and the rubbish they read in the Prophet, and Ron, well as you said, it’s really only when he’s feeling a bit jealous,” Hermione sighed. “But still, loads of people - not just current Hogwarts students - really want to believe you’re the Chosen One - especially those who have good relationships with their muggle relatives.
“Anyway, because you’re associated with the defeat of the Pureblood Agenda, forcing them back underground, that simply won’t stand for someone like Umbridge. She clearly wants to reinstate an openly Pureblood Supremacist Order - she obviously has many of the same goals as Voldemort - including doing you in eventually, Harry.
“As long as you’re alive - as long as you have political credibility - you’re an icon for muggleborns to rally around in their struggle for greater representation in the Wizengamot and the Ministry.
“That’s why she hates you Harry - it’s not got anything to do with breaking a few rules. Loads of students have done accidental magic or broken rules over the years - but she didn’t obsess over them. It’s only you that she’s after - and Dumbledore, and probably Mr Weasley as well - because you all stick up for muggles and muggleborns. You were right and Sirius was wrong, Harry - Umbridge is more or less a Death Eater, in all but name.”
“Blimey!” Harry’s eyebrows shot up, vanishing under his unkempt fringe. “Of course! It all makes sense now! I never really understood why she hated me so much, especially after Sirius dismissed my Death Eater theory. ... Bloody Hell! I knew this was bad, Hermione, but it’s even worse than I thought. If she’s in charge now...”
“...then Voldemort has as good as taken over the Ministry, but nobody knows it,” Hermione concluded grimly.
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Damaged Bridges