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Fudge nodded and prepared to get to the point.
He opened his desk drawer and took out a crystal ball. A light tap of his wand cleared the mist inside, and the image resolved into something unmistakable.
Hermione recognized it immediately. Voldemort's resurrection, exactly as her prophecy had shown.
"Miss Granger," Fudge said, "did you foresee all of this?"
Hermione nodded, her expression perfectly calm. "That's right."
Fudge's face went a little sour.
He cleared his throat, trying to cover his unease. "But, Miss Granger, didn't Deputy Director Lockhart destroy the Dark Lord's Horcrux last year?"
"By any reasonable logic, this sort of thing shouldn't be happening."
Hermione looked at him, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
"And so?" she said. "Minister Fudge, are you trying to get me to admit my prophecy was wrong?"
The bluntness of it knocked the air right out of him. He fumbled, waving both hands.
"No, no, no, that's not what I meant at all."
"It's just — Miss Granger, you understand as well as I do. The magical world needs stability. People need peace."
And I need re-election, he added, strictly to himself.
"A prophecy this alarming, even if true, should not be announced in public."
"It causes panic. Surely you see that."
He paused, then pressed further. "And prophecies, by their very nature, are uncertain things. If we want anyone to truly believe it, I'm afraid we'll need... more. More detail. Something concrete."
Hermione listened to all of this with a straight face, right up until she couldn't anymore, and laughed.
"Minister Fudge," she said, the amusement sharpening into something drier, "you can't be serious."
"Have you ever encountered a prophecy you could just... request? Ask a specific question and get a specific answer?"
"Is that what you think this is? Ordering off a menu? The customer asks, the chef delivers?"
She spread her hands, expression theatrical.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but this is not a magical restaurant. I don't offer customized prophecy service. If you want something made to order, take a right out the door — the Daily Prophet will be thrilled to help. Though I'd book ahead. More people read the paper than consult prophecies, after all."
Fudge knew perfectly well she was right. That didn't stop him from pressing on.
"Miss Granger, in that case, the Ministry has no choice but to treat your prophecy as a rumor."
He let the pause stretch out just long enough to carry its weight.
"If you admit you were mistaken, you go back to school. Life continues as normal. As if none of this happened." Another pause. "But if you refuse — we're left with no option but to treat this as the deliberate spreading of panic-inducing misinformation. That could mean expulsion. It could mean a lifetime ban on magic. Confinement to your home."
Hermione leaned back in her chair, swinging her feet idly, like someone waiting for a very slow train.
"Is that all, Minister?"
Fudge held her gaze for a long moment, then shook his head and turned for the door.
"I hope you'll give my suggestion serious thought, Miss Granger," he said, without looking back.
A few minutes after he left, the door opened again.
Umbridge stepped inside. Behind her came two Aurors, moving with the deliberate, unhurried confidence of people who have never needed to hurry. Hermione took one look and quietly reached out with her senses. These weren't ordinary field agents. Elite, both of them , not quite at the level of Moody or Shacklebolt, but close enough to take seriously.
Umbridge crossed the room and stopped in front of her, satisfaction written all over her face. The cat who'd finally cornered the mouse.
"Miss Granger. Didn't I say so? Now that you're here in the Ministry, I have any number of ways to handle you."
She let that settle.
"You are now officially a suspect, to be formally interrogated by the Ministry of Magic on charges of spreading terrorizing rumors about the Dark Lord's return."
---
Outside, in the reception room.
Fudge, Snape, Lockhart, and a fourth Ministry official sat across from one another. No one spoke.
Snape was staring at the wall in the direction of the interrogation room, jaw tight, something very much like worry etched into his face.
Fudge noticed, and gave a careful cough to break the quiet.
"Professor Snape, there's really no need to concern yourself. The Ministry is simply following standard procedure , a few routine questions, nothing more." He spread his hands in a gesture of open reasonableness. "Miss Granger is a minor. We have no intention of doing anything to her. A bit of a fright, enough to discourage her from making these kinds of statements in future , that's all. Hogwarts really didn't need to send you all this way to look after her."
Snape's gaze moved to Fudge. Slowly. The look on his face was not warm.
"You think I'm here to protect her?"
Fudge blinked. "...Aren't you?"
Snape said nothing. He shook his head once, and returned to staring at the wall.
---
Hermione had settled comfortably back into her chair and was watching Umbridge with the serene expression of someone who had nowhere better to be.
"Minister Umbridge, the way you're phrasing things, one might almost think I've already been convicted."
A light laugh.
"Since when does the Ministry of Magic not need evidence? You're telling me your word alone is enough to secure a sentence now?"
Umbridge's face went flat.
"Miss Granger. Watch your tongue."
"This is the Ministry of Magic, not Hogwarts. You do not get to behave however you like in here."
She gestured toward the Aurors.
"These two will supervise this interrogation in full. If you resist or fail to cooperate in any way, they are authorized to use compulsory measures."
Hermione glanced over at the pair, one eyebrow lifting.
"Compulsory measures."
The corner of her mouth curved, just slightly.
"I'm curious, Minister , what kind of compulsory measures did you have in mind? The Cruciatus? The Imperius?"
Her tone was easy. She could have been discussing the weather.
Umbridge was shaking. She'd expected fear, tears, a plea, anything other than this. This bored, unblinking calm.
"Miss Granger." Her voice came out tight and clipped. "Don't make this harder on yourself. I'm giving you one last chance: tell me honestly why you spread these rumors, and I will see what can be done for you in terms of leniency."
She let the silence do its work.
"Otherwise, you will face the full weight of the Ministry's authority."
Hermione lifted her eyes.
"I'll say it one more time. This is not a rumor. This is a prophecy."
Something cold flashed across Umbridge's face. "Then you've made your choice."
She turned and gave the two Aurors a look.
They stepped forward without expression, taking up positions on either side of Hermione. The magic rolling off them was thick , a dense, quiet pressure that most people would have found very difficult to breathe through.
Umbridge looked down at her, already savoring what came next.
"Now. Write it all down. Every step of how you fabricated this rumor. How you spread it. In detail."
She picked up the quill from the desk and held it out.
Hermione took it.
And in Umbridge's eyes, something gleamed , the quiet, satisfied light of a plan falling perfectly into place.
➤ Next: Fiendfyre Fierce — The Fight Begins
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