Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 680: The Gaunt Shack

Kyle also learned from Chris what had transpired that morning.

The sequence of events was relatively straightforward. Umbridge had led a team of Hit Wizards to Hampshire early in the day, aiming to gather material for the front page of The Daily Prophet. This wasn’t her first time orchestrating such efforts; she was well-versed in these operations and had brought along seasoned veterans accustomed to working with her.

Upon arriving, the Hit Wizards dispersed expertly to search for clues. But as fate would have it, they encountered a Death Eater carrying out some task.

Later, when the Hit Wizards regrouped, they witnessed an extraordinary and startling scene: the haughty and overconfident Umbridge writhing on the ground in pain, pleading for mercy, while Bellatrix Lestrange stood nearby, wand in hand, laughing hysterically.

Almost instinctively, one of the Hit Wizards snapped a photo of the shocking moment. However, the Ministry ultimately opted not to use that particular image for the newspaper, choosing a less damning one instead.

“So, Umbridge approached them deliberately?” Kyle asked, incredulous.

“Sort of...” Chris replied. “Since You-Know-Who hasn’t shown himself lately, it’s clear he’s keeping something under wraps. Normally, Death Eaters wouldn’t waste their time on something so trivial unless they were coerced into it.”

“But Umbridge is an exception. Everyone knows her fierce opposition to Death Eaters, and her rhetoric is even more extreme than Barty Crouch’s back in the day.”

“And Bellatrix? She’s one of You-Know-Who’s most fanatical and loyal followers. Running into Umbridge must have felt like the perfect opportunity to eliminate a threat for her master.”

“Why not just use the Killing Curse?” Kyle glanced at the photo in the paper. “That spell can’t actually kill anyone.”

“I suspect she wanted to extract some useful information from Umbridge,” Chris said after a thoughtful pause. “Things like the Ministry’s plans or even the location of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. That’s her usual method.”

“She thinks Umbridge is part of the Order of the Phoenix?” Kyle asked, puzzled.

Chris gave him a strange look, clearly surprised by the question.

“What do you think?” he said dryly. “Is there anyone who seems more like a member of the Order of the Phoenix than Umbridge?”

“Well... I suppose that’s true,” Kyle muttered.

Considering Umbridge’s recent actions, she did seem to embody the qualities of an Order member more than some of its actual members, like Sirius or Moody. This impression was only reinforced by her alignment with Dumbledore, the last figure featured prominently in the paper.

“Umbridge might actually be pleased,” Kyle mused aloud. “Overnight, she’s suddenly an ‘important member’ of the Order of the Phoenix. It fits with her promise to fight to the death against the Death Eaters in the paper.”

Chris shook his head but remained silent.

Half an hour later, Kyle left the Magical Creatures Control Department and returned to his office.

To his surprise, Fudge seemed unusually composed about the situation. Though Bellatrix’s appearance and actions had undoubtedly shocked him, he quickly regained his usual demeanor, as if Voldemort’s resurrection was now an accepted fact.

By midday, at Fudge’s request, Kyle accompanied him to St. Mungo’s to visit Umbridge.

As they approached the fifth floor, Kyle could hear her shrill voice echoing down the corridor.

“I need to leave... I must see the Minister!”

“It’s not safe here; that lunatic could show up at any moment...”

“You can’t stop me! I’m a senior minister in the Ministry of Magic—get out of my way!”

Hearing her last statement, Fudge’s expression darkened slightly. If Umbridge was a senior minister, what did that make him?

Then, abruptly, the yelling ceased.

Moments later, a flustered Healer emerged from the room, sweating profusely, and froze when he saw Fudge standing in the corridor.

“Sorry, Minister, I didn’t realize you were here,” the Healer said hastily. “Madam Umbridge’s screams were so loud that we had to put her to sleep temporarily to avoid disturbing the other patients.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Fudge replied with a smile, showing no trace of displeasure. “You did what was necessary. Screaming like that isn’t appropriate here, and you handled it correctly.”

Hearing this, the Healer sighed in relief.

“Looks like we’ve come on a wild goose chase,” Fudge said, glancing at Kyle with a meaningful expression. “I think we should let her rest for now—it’ll aid her recovery.”

“Yes, Minister,” Kyle agreed. Since Fudge had spoken, he saw no reason to argue.

Still, he couldn’t help but find Umbridge remarkable in her own way. Despite having been tortured by the Cruciatus Curse, she’d managed to summon the energy to scream so ferociously. That wasn’t something most people could do. Sirius, for example, had been weak for days after enduring the curse, and Kyle doubted Bellatrix’s version of the Cruciatus was any less potent than others’.

With that, Fudge merely toured the fifth floor of St. Mungo’s briefly before heading straight back to the Ministry of Magic, not even stepping into Umbridge’s ward.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Kyle returned to his usual state of idleness. With nothing pressing to do, he spent his time playing automatic wizard chess in his office.

Opting to play with the black pieces, Kyle made his moves while the white pieces responded automatically. It was a perfect way to pass the time when alone.

The day passed uneventfully, and when Kyle returned to Hogwarts, he found the castle abuzz with talk about the morning’s newspaper.

Although The Daily Prophet had been regularly publishing news about the Death Eaters, it typically repeated statements from Hit Wizards or other sources, making it seem as though the Ministry was perpetually trailing behind the Death Eaters without ever catching them.

Today’s edition, however, featured a clear photo of Bellatrix in one of her characteristic fits of madness, which reignited a wave of panic among readers.

Fortunately, some had noticed a fleeting image of Dumbledore in the background of the photo.

“The Headmaster was there too…” a Gryffindor girl said in a relieved tone. “That Death Eater is definitely done for.”

“No wonder the Headmaster hasn’t been at school much lately—he’s been dealing with the Death Eaters…”

“But what if the Death Eaters decide to attack Hogwarts while the Headmaster is away?” someone else asked nervously.

“Don’t worry. Let’s not forget Professor McGonagall…”

“That’s right,” another student chimed in. “With the professors here, the Death Eaters would be making a huge mistake if they tried anything.”

...

The Great Hall buzzed with discussion, and the voices of students could be heard everywhere. However, this lively atmosphere didn’t last long.

With exams less than a week away, the mounting workload quickly shifted everyoneʼs focus. The looming tests left little room for distractions. Adding to the academic pressure, the Quidditch finals, originally scheduled for this week, had been postponed by Professor McGonagall to a date after the exams. Perhaps she felt that revising for exams was a more appropriate distraction than playing Quidditch.

After a Transfiguration class, the students received their exam timetables along with specific guidelines.

“The N.E.W.T. exams, like the O.W.L.s, will span two full weeks,” Cedric explained during dinner. “One subject per day—written theory in the morning and practical application in the afternoon. The rest of the time, we can use for reviewing.”

“I’d prefer to get it all over with as quickly as possible,” said Mikel with a grimace, as if recalling the stress of the previous year. “To be honest, I was so nervous during the O.W.L. exams that I couldn’t focus on anything. How about you?”

“I’m fine,” Cedric replied confidently. “I think I can pass.”

Despite his calm words, Kyle noticed Cedric fidgeting with his hands and occasionally taking deep breaths. It seemed that, despite his outward composure, Cedric was feeling the pressure of the upcoming exams too.

Hogwarts settled into the tension of exam week.

Meanwhile, far from the castle, a flame erupted out of thin air on an empty country road. From the fire emerged an old man with a long beard, followed closely by a stern-looking man draped in a black cloak.

“Dumbledore, your plan has succeeded,” Snape said curtly. “The Dark Lord seems to believe he’s already eliminated Ogden before you could reach him.”

“Severus, believe it or not, it was never my plan for Umbridge to appear there,” Dumbledore replied evenly.

Snape scoffed, his derision clear. The timing of Umbridge’s arrival had been too coincidental—just as Bellatrix had discovered Ogden’s location, Umbridge showed up. If that wasn’t orchestrated, what was?

Seeing Snape’s skeptical expression, Dumbledore sighed. He knew it was futile to argue, even though he was telling the truth. It really had been a coincidence. With more pressing matters to attend to, he let the issue drop.

“You’ve done enough, Severus. You should return to Hogwarts.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Snape said flatly, remaining rooted to his spot. “The Dark Lord is already displeased with me. I need to know what you’re planning.”

Dumbledore turned to him, his expression serious. “Trust me, Severus. If you were to reveal what I’m about to do, Tom would kill you on the spot.”

“This concerns his greatest secret, one he will not tolerate anyone uncovering.”

Snape stood silent for a moment, then spoke.

“It’s a Horcrux, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone low. “What have you uncovered?”

“Ogden’s memories should provide some vital clues,” Dumbledore replied.

He didn’t press Snape to leave but instead resumed walking, stopping at a wooden signpost. Two arrows pointed in opposite directions: Great Hangleton, 5 miles and Little Hangleton, 1 mile.

Dumbledore turned toward Little Hangleton, and Snape followed him without a word.

As they walked along a narrow path flanked by tall hedges, they descended into a valley. Nestled between steep slopes was a small village. Across the valley, perched on a hillside, stood a grand and imposing mansion.

“Is that where Riddle lived?” Snape frowned, eyeing the mansion in the distance. “So that’s our destination? Then why take such a roundabout route?”

To Snape’s surprise, Dumbledore didn’t head toward the village or the mansion. Instead, he veered off onto a narrow side path, turned right, and vanished through an opening in the hedge.

It was a hidden entrance, similar to those used for St. Mungo’s or the Ministry of Magic. Before the invention of the Muggle-Repelling Charm, older wizards often relied on such measures to conceal themselves, and they remained surprisingly effective.

Snape hurried to follow.

The path led to a narrower, desolate dirt road. It was overgrown and forgotten, with loose stones scattered across its uneven surface. Vines crept along the edges, making it clear that no one had ventured here in a long time.

The road twisted and turned, eventually leading to a dark forest. Upon reaching the forest’s edge, Dumbledore drew his wand and waved it gently.

The tangled branches ahead separated as if moved by invisible hands, revealing a peculiar-looking house concealed within.

The structure appeared long-abandoned, with its door completely obscured by lush, overgrown vines. The house resembled a giant cocoon, as if nature itself had tried to swallow it.

Dumbledore flicked his wand again, and the vines parted. The long-unused door creaked loudly as it swung open.

Snape noticed a snake etched onto the door, its vivid colors oddly fresh—as though the carving had been made only yesterday—out of place against the surrounding decay.

“Where are we?” Snape asked sharply.

“The Gaunt Shack,” Dumbledore replied, stooping to enter the decrepit house.

“Gaunt...” Snape’s expression stiffened.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, “the last residence of Tom’s mother. Be cautious; I don’t know if Tom placed additional protections here. It’s best not to touch anything.”

“I’m not an amateur,” Snape snapped.

“Bob Ogden,” Dumbledore continued as they stepped inside, “a former member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, once came here on official business. That’s how I learned of this place.”

Every step they took elicited a sharp creak from the rotting floorboards. Though it was daytime, the house was steeped in an unnatural darkness, as if the dense forest outside blocked every ray of sunlight.

“What are you looking for?” Snape asked, glancing around. The interior was even more decrepit than he had expected. Most of the furnishings were gone, leaving behind only broken furniture and chipped mugs.

Dumbledore didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he wandered through the house until he stopped in front of a small table with long, thin legs.

Snape guessed the table had once held delicate, valuable ornaments, but now it bore nothing but a thick layer of dust.

“Not a particularly clever hiding spot,” Dumbledore murmured. “It seems this isn’t where Tom relied on magic for protection.”

He tapped the table lightly with his wand.

The surface of the table flipped over like a lid being removed, revealing an unsightly gold ring with a large, black gemstone set in the center.

Snape examined the ring closely. It looked oddly familiar.

Dumbledore, too, stared at it, his gaze fixed on the black gem. His breathing grew heavier, and without thinking, he extended his hand toward it.

“Stop!” Snape shouted. “Something’s wrong with that ring. It’s cursed—terribly cursed!”

But Dumbledore didn’t seem to hear him. His hand continued moving toward the ring, as if drawn by an unseen force.

Snape’s heart pounded as he realized he couldn’t reach him in time.

Suddenly, thin golden threads materialized on Dumbledore’s arm, wrapping around it like ropes. They pulled taut, halting his hand mere inches from the ring.

Instinctively, Dumbledore resisted, trying to free himself, but the threads dug into his skin. Pain seared through his arm as the golden restraints left deep, bloody marks.

The sharp pain jolted Dumbledore from his trance. Gasping, he stared at the cursed ring, his mind clearing.

“I...” he began, but Snape was already moving toward him, his focus on the blood oozing from Dumbledore’s arm.

Snape seemed not to notice the glowing golden threads. All he saw was how dangerously close Dumbledore’s hand was to the ring.

“Damn it, don’t touch that thing!” Snape growled.

In his panic, he acted without hesitation. Lifting his foot, he kicked Dumbledore hard.

With a dull thud, Dumbledore stumbled backward, the impact sending a sharp pain through his body. The world spun briefly as he landed on the dusty floor.

By the time he looked up, still dazed, he was greeted by the sight of Snape’s boot sole.