The garden at Malfoy Manor had not had a good month.
It had, in fact, been systematically disassembled — not by storm or time but by something more deliberate and considerably worse. The flower beds were ash. The ornamental trees were splinters. The stone fountain was rubble. The garden walls had been brought down and not replaced.
The manor itself was immaculate. Voldemort had no interest in the interior. His interest was the space outside it, which served as a practice area for a problem he had been working on since Draco came home and provided him with everything he needed.
Kevin Croft's spells. All of them. The fire control, the elemental commands, the precise mechanics of the techniques that had given Voldemort pause in the graveyard.
He had spent a month reverse-engineering each one from the memories extracted from Draco, and he had done what he always did with knowledge: he had taken it, improved on it, and made it his.
He stood in the ruined garden and turned the commands over, one after another — fire, lightning, wind, black water — with the detached satisfaction of a craftsman examining completed work.
"You are remarkable, Kevin," he said, to no one in particular. "But you hesitate. That is the flaw. That is always the flaw."
He closed his fist.
At Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy stopped mid-step in the corridor, grabbed his chest, and pressed himself against the wall.
The pain was precise and deliberate — a reminder, not a punishment. The curse Voldemort had seated in Draco's heart was not currently being activated; it was simply being demonstrated. The distinction was one Draco understood very well and found unrestful.
He stood against the wall until it passed. His breathing steadied. His face, when the pain left, was very controlled.
Goyle and Crabbe materialized from the corridor behind him, wearing the particular expressions of people who had been given new instructions and were enjoying the relative authority it granted them.
"Long way from the Gryffindor dinner table," Goyle said.
Draco straightened up. He didn't answer immediately. He looked at them both with the cold, measuring expression he'd learned from his father, and he raised his wand.
Two red flashes.
They hit the far wall with enough force to raise dust from the stonework.
Draco walked past them without altering his pace. "When I want your commentary," he said, not looking back, "I'll ask for it."
Goyle and Crabbe watched him go. Their expressions had changed.
A month into term. The Dumbledore's Army sessions had accumulated attendance until the Room of Requirement was reliably half-full on weekend mornings, and the badges were visible on robes across three houses. The Ministry had noticed.
Today, the letter arrived.
Dumbledore's office. Kevin, Harry, Hermione, and Ron stood in a semicircle around the desk while Umbridge — Moody, today, maintaining a slightly improved Umbridge than the one who'd delivered the opening feast speech — remained in character near the fireplace.
"Fudge wants the Advanced Class shut down," Kevin said, reading the letter before passing it to Harry. "And a public statement acknowledging that the resurrection account was an irresponsible fabrication."
Harry read it. His expression went through several stages.
"He's losing it," Ron said, with visible satisfaction.
"He's losing control of the narrative," Kevin said. "Which is not the same thing, but the effects are similar." He looked at Dumbledore. "The Ministry can't actually compel us to close a student study group."
"No," Dumbledore agreed. "They cannot." He produced a second letter from his desk. "However, Fudge has sent this alongside the first. He's concerned that the situation at Hogwarts requires more management than a single oversight representative can provide. He's proposing to send a second Ministry official — someone to support Professor Umbridge's assessment activities."
"Support," Hermione said, with the precision of someone who recognized the word being used as packaging.
"Quite. No formal title, no teaching position. Someone to observe, report, and generally be present." Dumbledore set the letter down. "He cannot require us to accommodate this person in any official capacity, because there are no official openings. But they will be here."
"Can we—" Ron started.
"No," Hermione said.
"We can't keep doing the same trick indefinitely," she continued, before Ron could explain what trick he'd had in mind. "We already have one Ministry official contained. If a second one vanishes — even temporarily — the Ministry will have enough to act on, and Kevin's position here becomes untenable."
Kevin looked at Dumbledore. "She's right."
"She frequently is," Dumbledore said, warmly. "The answer here is simpler than a second operation. Keep the D.A. running. Don't give this person anything to formally report on. Let them observe a school that is functioning normally and productively." He looked at Harry and Kevin both. "That, in itself, is the counter-argument."
Kevin and Harry exchanged a glance.
"Business as usual," Kevin said.
Harry nodded.
---
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