Walking back from the Headmaster’s office was a slog. Even the torches lining the corridor seemed dimmer.

Fred kicked the bottom step hard enough to rattle it. “Should’ve hexed him. Right there.”

George muttered, “Would’ve helped.”

“I hate him. He enjoys it. You saw that.” Lee snapped. “I hate that smug, broom-handle-arse, bat-faced tw-.”

Pansy turned. “Oi.”

Lee spun on her. “What?”

“You don’t get to call him that. Show some respect.”

Parvati glanced over. “None of us like him, but come off it.”

“He’s the one who stopped us,” Lee said, sharp. “If Professor R. dies…”

“Then he’ll have done his job,” Daphne said, cold. “Same as the rest of them.”

That shut him up. Didn’t look like she liked saying it either.

Tracey shoved her hands into her pockets. “We’re wasting time.”

Hermione turned. “And what’s the alternative? Rushing off into a war zone with half a plan? That’s suicide, not bravery.”

“He’s not just ‘someone,’ Hermione,” Fred said. “It’s Professor R.”

“I know,” she said. “But the Headmaster’s with him. He’s not alone.”

“That doesn’t stop a killing curse,” George said.

“Harry saw him die,” Ron said.

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “Visions can lie. Twist things. That’s why he had Harry take Occlumency classes last year.”

Neville kept walking, head down. “Still doesn’t mean we sit here.”

Cedric sighed. “We should’ve trusted Professors. If Professor Rosier says stay, we stay.”

Neville shifted. “Even if he’s wrong?”

“He’s not.” Cedric kept walking. “You’ve seen him work. He doesn’t leave things to chance.”

Harry’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets. He hadn’t said a word since they left the office. His shoulders were tight.

Ginny slowed beside him. “You alright?”

He didn’t answer.

Pansy’s arms were crossed tight. “I hate this.”

Tracey muttered, “He’d hate us more if we went and ruined everything.”

They didn’t speak for a while after that. Just kept walking.

They froze when someone called, “Wait.”

Harry turned, expecting another Professor scolding them, but when he saw who it was, his shoulders dropped.

“Keep walking,” he muttered.

No one was in the mood anyway. They moved on.

Ginny nudged Tracey. “Did you really get the password just because you saw him eat baklava?”

Tracey shrugged. “Headmaster has a pattern. I just followed it.”

Ron looked over. “Now I want some of that.”

“Let’s try the kitchens,” Tracey said. “Right now I need something sweet or I’m hexing the next person who says the word ‘Ministry.'”

“Seconded,” said Pansy, already peeling away toward the Dungeons.

George rubbed his neck. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I might fight someone over pudding.”

“You think the Kitchen has any left?” Neville asked.

“I hope so,” said Luna. Licking her lips.

Before they reached the corner, the voice snapped again, shriller than before.

“I said wait!”

They didn’t.

Ginny muttered, “If we ignore her long enough, maybe she’ll vanish.”

Then, behind them, Umbridge’s wand flashed out.

“You damned kids-!” Her voice cracked on the last word.

They turned fast.

Cedric’s wand was already raised. Tracey followed. Fred and George looked like they’d been waiting for someone to try it.

“What do you want?” Fred asked, flat.

Umbridge’s cheeks flushed deep pink. “You dare draw wands on me?!”

Lee shrugged. “You’re not a Professor. And you drew yours first. Why should I give a damn?”

Her mouth twisted. Her wand shook slightly.

“You’ll respect my authority!”

Then, with a loud pop, she turned into a toad.

Not a metaphor. Full squat, wart-covered, bulging-eyed toad. Her wand clattered to the floor beside.

They all stared.

Then from behind a nearby column came a voice.

“Wotcher, brats?”

The relief was immediate. Half the group lit up.

“Prof-” Neville started.

Then stopped.

Cassian stepped fully into view, one hand perched on his hip, the other resting across his waist like he was waiting for applause. He cocked one leg, chin up, striking a pose that felt… very not-him.

They all stared.

Fred’s wand came back up. “Who are you?”

Cassian’s grin widened, then melted.

Literally.

His face rippled, softened, reshaped, until a familiar mop of bubblegum-pink hair settled into place.

Cedric let out a breath. “Big Sis Tonks.”

Others blinked. Ginny’s eyes went wide. Luna tilted her head. Fred, George, and Lee grinned in unison.

Tonks twirled her wand and gave it a flick.

A small cage blinked into existence mid-air, snapping around the toad. It squeaked indignantly.

Tonks caught it one-handed.

“Ministry’s puppet,” she said, shaking the cage slightly. “Didn’t even last a full sentence.”

George snorted.

Fred smacked Lee on the arm. “Next time, let her monologue. Could’ve saved us a show.”

Luna leaned closer to the toad. “I think she’s still trying to hex us.”

“Let her try,” Tonks said. “She’ll need legs first.”

“Who is this?” Harry asked, eyes narrowed.

Cedric let out a breath, grinned faintly. “Hufflepuff’s finest. N-“

“Ah-ah,” Tonks cut in, squinting at him like he’d just insulted her nan. “Little brat. Did you grow courage while I was away?”

Cedric gulped. “She’s Tonks. Graduated the year you lot started.”

That earned a few blinks. The Cedric they knew didn’t usually look this timid, even when faced that elemental last year. If he was looking spooked, she had to be the real deal.

Harry exchanged a look with Ron. Ginny tilted her head, half-smile forming. She loved strong women.

Tonks grinned. “Professor R told me to deal with this toad…” she shook the cage for emphasis, “and to keep an eye on you lot.”

The toad made a muffled croak of rage. Tonks smiled sweetly at it.

“So,” she said, spinning on her heel, “let’s get you back to your dorms before someone else tries to do the job less colourfully. Things are about to get a bit… heated.”

Ginny’s brow twitched. “How heated?”

Tonks looked over her shoulder. “On a scale of ‘polite disagreement’ to ‘oops, the carpet’s on fire’… let’s just say, bring snacks. And maybe don’t sit near windows.”

Pansy whistled. “She’s already my favourite person.”

“Obviously,” said Tonks, gesturing them down the corridor. “Now move before I put one of you in the cage with her.”

No one argued.

She shoved the toad cage into Fred’s hands as they passed, without explanation. Fred held it like it might explode.

Ron leaned close to Harry. “Think Professor Rosier really sent her?”

Tonks glanced back. “Yes, Weasley. Now stop whispering or I’ll tell your mum.”

Ron froze. “She knows my mum.”

***

Elsewhere in the castle…

Bathsheda stood at the front of the arch, shoulder to shoulder with McGonagall. Flitwick was to her right, hands folded. Sprout stood planted like she’d decided this was her ground now. Amelia Bones was a half-step behind them, wand already in hand. Regulus Rosier stood quietly at Bathsheda’s other side, gaze fixed on the doors.

Behind them, the rest waited. Professors. Aurors. Heads of old families who hadn’t bothered hiding where they stood.

The doors swung open.

Fudge walked in first, flanked by his people. He took three steps in and stopped dead.

His eyes dragged across the room. Too many familiar faces. Too many who weren’t meant to be here.

Lucius Malfoy smirked.

Selwyn’s smile widened.

“There,” Lucius said lightly, tipping his cane toward the front line. “See? Ready to fight.”

Fudge swallowed. Sweat broke at his temples.

Before he could speak, someone moved.

The Flint patriarch stepped away from the group behind him.

Gasps followed him. A few wands twitched.

He didn’t look back. Walked straight across the floor and stopped beside Regulus Rosier. Dipping his head.

Fudge’s side watched, hands clenched on wands.

He turned on Fudge.

“Cornelius,” he said, voice flat, “you absolute fool.”

Fudge opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“For a year,” he went on, “you let them steer you. Every panic, every order, every rushed decision. You never once asked who benefited.”

Lucius stiffened.

Selwyn’s smile thinned.

“Voldemort is back,” the Flint patriarch said. “I saw him. Same as everyone standing behind you. They knelt. All of them. And this…” he gestured around the room, “is part of his strike on the Ministry.”

Fudge stared at him. “That’s impos-“

“It is possible,” he snapped. “Lucius and Selwyn fed you lies until you emptied your own house. Aurors pulled. Offices cleared. Defences thinned. All so he could walk in without resistance.”

Lucius’s grip tightened on his cane until the wood cracked.

Flint stared hard enough that Fudge flinched.

“And the man you’ve been so busy fearing?” He jerked his chin toward Regulus. “Cassian Rosier is at the Ministry right now, keeping what’s left of it standing.”

Lucius and Selwyn broke into a cold sweat. Cassian and others knew. They knew everything, every thread of the plan unraveled and laid bare. The Ministry. The school. The exam. All of it.

There was no time left. They had to send word… now.

Lucius moved.

Bathsheda lifted her hand.

Runes bloomed across the walls, crawling over stone and air alike. The floor hummed. The doors sealed with a heavy thud.

“No one leaves,” Bathsheda said, smiling.

Wands snapped up too late. Magic slid off the wards like rain off glass.

Lucius turned, jaw tight. “Why?”

The word cracked louder than it should’ve. The sealed chamber felt too small now, too many eyes pinned on them.

He took a step toward the Flint Patriarch. “You absolute traitor. You’re… what? Siding with Rosier? With them?”

Selwyn’s voice followed, raging. “You handed him our names. Our plans. I’ll make sure your soul never has a rest.”

His eyes flicked to the doors. To the walls. Anywhere, as if searching for an exit.

A few others murmured. Doubt. Confusion. Fury.

The Flint patriarch raised his chin and looked at them like they were toddlers who’d tracked mud into his study.

Then he snorted.

“Cassian Rosier helped my grandson.”

The old man’s voice was unapologetic.

“Didn’t write him off when he acted like a brawling pub rat. Didn’t laugh when the boy mouthed off at teachers and threw fists more than spells. Stuck with him. Week after week. Gave him a damn job when nobody else would’ve let him polish a bloody wand.”

He glanced around the room like daring anyone to speak.

“Boy’s straightened out now,” he went on. “Head up. Eyes clear. He walks like he’s worth something. Because Rosier made sure he knew he was.”

He turned back to Lucius. Then to Selwyn.

“And who the hell is Voldemort?”

The question hit like a hammer.

“A self-important corpse in a cloak. A low-tier Dark Lord playing war by terrorising children and blowing up Muggle spaces. You think that’s power? That’s desperation.”

Selwyn bristled. “You’re choosing a schoolteacher over a movement.”

“I’m choosing someone who doesn’t hide behind snake masks and stories of fake honour,” Flint said sharply. “You lot want to call him our saviour? He hasn’t saved a thing. Cassian walks into fire, not away from it. He’s got nothing but spite and bones holding him up, and still he stands.”

Flint turned away, back to the others now flanking him.

“He’s worth ten of you. Maybe more.”

The Flint patriarch turned back to the group behind Fudge.

“I’ll tell you this plainly,” he said. “You have no hope of winning.”

He looked at Lucius. At Selwyn.

“Drop your wands,” he said, “and surrender. Then maybe you can live, groveling cunts.”

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