The office of Dolores Umbridge was unnaturally quiet. A decorative clock ticked softly on the wall, its dainty chimes far too cheerful for the oppressive stillness of the room. The faint rustle of parchment accompanied the slow turning of glossy pages, the only other sound breaking the quiet.
Umbridge sat primly behind her desk, her posture immaculate as always, a teacup poised delicately between her fingers. To any observer, she appeared the picture of composure—calm, collected, and perfectly in control. A thin, measured smile rested upon her lips, the sort that suggested pleasant thoughts and quiet satisfaction.
But beneath that carefully maintained exterior, something far less pleasant stirred.
Her eyes moved across the page of Witch Weekly, yet she absorbed none of its contents. The smiling faces and frivolous articles might as well have been blank parchment, for her thoughts were far removed from fashion columns and gossip. They circled relentlessly around a single subject, returning to it again and again like a wound she could not help but prod.
A boy.
A boy who had humiliated her in a way she had never experienced before. A boy who had inflicted pain—real pain—upon her, not through brute force, but through something far subtler and infinitely more unsettling. And worst of all, a boy who had managed to do what few ever had.
He had made her afraid.
Her fingers twitched almost imperceptibly as the memory surfaced. The faint scar on the back of her hand prickled, as though recalling the agony etched into her very skin. Slowly, almost unconsciously, her thumb brushed against it.
I will respect authority.
The words were still there, carved into her flesh as clearly as the day they had been written. They had never faded, never softened. They lingered as a constant reminder—of her loss of control, of her vulnerability, and of him.
Her smile tightened, losing whatever warmth it had pretended to hold.
"Mr. Black…" she murmured softly, her voice barely more than a breath in the silent room.
A sharp pop broke the stillness as a house-elf appeared before her desk. The creature was small and hunched, its large eyes wide with the instinctive fear that all such beings seemed to carry. It bowed low immediately, its thin arms trembling slightly.
Umbridge did not startle. She did not even glance up in surprise. The elf's presence was expected—summoned by her command.
"Yes?" she asked, her tone sweet and deceptively gentle.
"Professor…" the elf began, its voice thin and hesitant. "Helios Black… he is seen entering the castle, ma'am."
For the briefest fraction of a second, the teacup in her hand stilled. The delicate porcelain hovered midway to her lips before she slowly lowered it back onto its saucer with precise care.
Her smile widened.
"Has he now?" she said, her voice soft with interest.
Her first instinct rose swiftly and sharply—summon him at once, drag him into her office, and confront him directly. She could already imagine it: stripping away that calm, arrogant composure of his, forcing him to stand before her authority, breaking that infuriating mask he wore so effortlessly.
But just as quickly as the thought appeared, it dissolved.
Because memory intervened.
The quill.
The pain.
The helplessness.
And the way he had looked at her throughout it all—not defiant, not even particularly angry, but distant, as though the entire ordeal were beneath his concern.
As though she were beneath it.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the desk, the polished wood creaking faintly under the pressure.
No.
She would not make that mistake again.
Not alone.
Never alone.
"He is dangerous," she whispered to herself, the softness of her tone doing nothing to lessen the weight of her words. Her lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze darkened. "He hides it well… but I know."
There was a certainty in her voice now, a quiet conviction that hardened her expression.
"I know exactly what he is."
Leaning back in her chair, she allowed herself a moment to think—not react, not lash out, but think. Careful consideration replaced impulse, strategy replacing emotion. Rushing blindly at him had failed once already, and the memory of that failure still burned.
She would not repeat it.
"He slips away from everything," she muttered, her fingers tapping lightly against the desk in a slow, measured rhythm. "Like a snake…"
The comparison lingered for a moment before her lips curled into a slow, cold smile.
"Like a true Slytherin."
He reminded her of someone—someone she knew well enough to recognize the patterns. The polished charm, the calculated intelligence, the effortless manipulation of circumstances… it was all too familiar.
Lucius Malfoy.
The resemblance was not physical, but it was unmistakable all the same. Both possessed that infuriating ability to remain untouchable, to maneuver through situations without ever leaving themselves exposed.
And that, more than anything, made him dangerous.
"I will not make accusations without proof," she said quietly, as though cementing the thought into something tangible. "Not this time."
Her fingers stilled.
This time, she would be thorough.
This time, she would build her case piece by piece, carefully and methodically, until there was no room left for escape. Every misstep he made would be recorded, every violation documented, until the weight of it all crushed him beneath undeniable evidence.
"Detention won't do," she murmured, her voice turning colder. The idea seemed almost laughable now—assigning him trivial punishments, as though he were like any other student. Her lip curled faintly in distaste.
"Cleaning trophies… scrubbing floors… how utterly pointless."
She shook her head slightly.
"No. I want him removed."
The word lingered in the air, satisfying in its finality.
"Yes… removed."
Her eyes gleamed with a sharp, calculating light.
"Suspension… expulsion, if possible."
Gone.
Because only then—only when he was no longer there to interfere—could she turn her attention to more delicate matters.
Her thoughts shifted, settling upon another name with quiet intensity.
Rose Potter.
Her expression darkened, the sweetness draining from her features entirely. That girl was always protected, always watched, always shielded—most of all by him. As long as Helios Black remained within the castle, she was untouchable.
"As long as he is here… I cannot touch her," Umbridge said softly, the words carrying a faint edge of frustration.
There was a brief pause before her voice dropped into something colder, more venomous.
"But remove him…"
A slow smile returned.
"And she stands alone."
The decision settled into place with quiet certainty.
She would wait.
Morning would provide what she needed—witnesses, students, staff… eyes and ears that could be shaped, persuaded, and directed. With the right narrative, even the smallest infraction could be turned into something far more serious.
"I need proof," she said, her tone measured and deliberate. "Solid. Unquestionable."
Rising from her chair, she moved toward the fireplace with her usual composed grace. Not a single movement was wasted, not a single gesture out of place. By the time she reached it, her mask of calm authority was fully restored.
A pinch of Floo powder slipped from her fingers into the hearth, and with a flick of her wrist, green flames roared to life.
She leaned forward slightly, her voice crisp and professional.
"Ministry of Magic."
There was a brief pause before she clarified, her tone sharpening.
"The Auror Office."
The flames shifted as the connection formed, and when she spoke again, there was no trace of hesitation.
"I require assistance."
She named two Aurors—individuals she trusted for their discretion and their loyalty to the Ministry above all else. They would not question her motives, nor would they hesitate to act.
"I need witnesses," she continued firmly. "Witches and wizards who saw Helios Black in Hogsmeade Village yesterday. Unauthorized presence. Non-uniform attire. Possible misuse of the Floo Network."
Her eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction.
"Find them. Bring them to me."
There was a slight pause before she added, her voice lowering just enough to suggest the importance of her final instruction.
"And keep this quiet."
The connection ended, the green flames dying down until the fireplace returned to its dormant state. Umbridge straightened, smoothing her robes with practiced precision.
Everything was in motion now.
The pieces had been set.
All that remained was to watch them fall into place.
Returning to her desk, she seated herself once more, folding her hands neatly before her. The calm, composed smile returned to her lips, as though nothing at all had disturbed her evening.
"Sleep well tonight, Mr. Black…" she said softly, her tone almost gentle.
For a moment, she allowed the silence to settle again.
Then her smile sharpened, losing all pretense of warmth.
"Because tomorrow…"
Her voice lingered, quiet and certain.
"You will answer to me."
The knock came early in the morning, echoing through the quiet corridor like the strike of a gavel. It was not the hesitant tap of a student nor the casual rhythm of a friend—it carried unmistakable authority.
Inside the room, Helios opened his eyes the instant the sound reached him.
Not because it startled him.
But because he had never truly been asleep.
Then it came again.
More insistent.
"Mr. Black."
The voice from the other side of the door was controlled but there was an edge beneath it—a tension that betrayed the speaker's awareness of whom they were addressing.
Helios exhaled softly and pushed himself up from the bed. He dressed with quiet efficiency before finally stepping toward the door.
When he opened it, he found a Slytherin prefect standing outside, expression composed to the point of stiffness. The boy's eyes met Helios's only briefly before settling into that carefully practiced neutrality.
"You are to report to the Headmaster's office immediately," the prefect said.
Helios tilted his head slightly, studying him.
"…already?" he asked, his tone mild, almost curious.
The prefect did not react. If anything, his posture became even more rigid.
"It is not a request."
A faint smirk touched Helios's lips.
"I figured."
The walk through the corridors was conducted in silence.
Helios did not ask questions, and the prefect did not offer any answers. Their footsteps echoed softly against the stone floors, a steady rhythm that drew attention despite its quietness.
Students noticed.
Conversations faltered as they passed. Eyes followed them, curious, wary, speculative. Whispers began almost immediately, spreading from one group to another like ripples across still water.
Something was happening.
That much was clear.
And at the center of it—
Helios Black walked without a trace of concern.
When he stepped into the office of Albus Dumbledore, he did not hesitate at the threshold. His gaze moved across the room in a single, sweeping glance, taking in every detail with quiet precision.
Professor Snape stood near the wall, his arms crossed, his expression as unreadable as ever. His dark eyes flickered briefly toward Helios, assessing but revealing nothing.
Behind the desk, Dumbledore sat calmly, his hands folded, his posture relaxed yet attentive. His gaze rested on Helios with quiet intensity, as though weighing him against something unseen.
To one side stood Dolores Umbridge.
She was smiling.
That same saccharine, suffocating smile.
Beside her stood Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself. His presence alone was enough to shift the atmosphere of the room, adding a layer of official gravity that could not be ignored.
And near the back—
Two unfamiliar figures.
Aurors.
Helios recognized them immediately, not by face, but by presence. The way they stood, the way they observed without speaking—it marked them unmistakably.
This was a performance.
A hearing.
Without a court.
Helios stepped forward, unbothered, his expression unchanged.
"Good morning," he said.
No one returned the greeting.
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, his voice even.
"Mr. Black."
There was no warmth in the address, but neither was there hostility.
"Where were you yesterday?"
Helios did not hesitate.
"Oh, I was exploring the castle," he replied, his tone casual, almost indifferent. "No classes, you see."
"Lies."
Umbridge's voice cut through the air instantly, sharp and triumphant. She leaned forward slightly, her smile widening as though she had been waiting for this moment.
"You lie, Mr. Black," she continued, her voice dripping with certainty. "No one saw you from morning until evening. Not a single student. Not a single teacher."
Her eyes gleamed.
"And you expect us to believe you were simply wandering about?"
Helios turned his head toward her slowly, meeting her gaze without the slightest hint of unease.
"There are many parts of the castle, Professor," he said calmly. "Places where one can spend hours without being seen."
His head tilted slightly, a faint edge of mockery slipping into his voice.
"If you'd like, I can give you a tour."
For the briefest moment, Snape's lips twitched.
Almost invisible.
But it was there.
Umbridge's smile faltered—only for a fraction of a second—before snapping back into place, tighter than before.
Fudge stepped forward, impatience evident in his expression.
"What were you doing in secret?" he demanded.
Helios looked at him directly, his gaze steady and unwavering.
"What I do in my free time…" he said, pausing just long enough for the words to settle, "…is none of your business, Minister."
Fudge's face flushed a deep shade of red.
"How dare you—"
He stopped himself abruptly, his gaze flicking toward Dumbledore, toward the Aurors, toward the room as a whole. Even he understood that this was not a place for open outbursts—not with witnesses present.
Dumbledore raised a hand slightly.
"Let us proceed calmly," he said, his tone gentle but firm. His eyes shifted briefly to Helios, a silent message passing between them—whether it was a warning or a request was unclear.
Fudge exhaled sharply, forcing himself to regain composure before turning to one of the Aurors.
"To the witness," he said.
The man stepped forward, his posture straight though there was a faint tension in his movements.
"Did you see this boy yesterday?" Fudge asked.
The wizard nodded.
"Yes."
His voice was steady, though not entirely free of unease.
"I saw him in Hogsmeade Village."
"He was with two others," the man continued. "They wore hoods, so I couldn't identify them."
He hesitated briefly before pointing.
"But him—I saw him clearly."
Umbridge's smile returned in full force, triumphant and gleaming.
"Well, Mr. Black?" she asked, leaning forward slightly. "What do you say now?"
Helios did not respond immediately.
Instead, he studied the man for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Umbridge, and finally to Fudge.
And then—
He smiled.
"This is the magical world," he said calmly. "Where altering appearances is as simple as breathing."
His gaze settled on Fudge.
"So tell me… are you going to believe whatever a random man tells you?"
The words cut cleanly through the room.
They had expected denial.
Excuses.
But not this.
Not a counterattack.
Umbridge straightened, her voice turning firm and cold.
"We have enough."
She began listing the charges with practiced authority.
"You left Hogwarts grounds without permission. You were seen in Hogsmeade. You refuse to cooperate with this investigation."
Her gaze hardened.
"And you refuse to name your accomplices."
Helios remained silent.
Dumbledore spoke again, his tone quieter now.
"Mr. Black… it would be wise to cooperate."
Helios met his gaze.
Unwavering.
Fudge sighed, frustration evident as he turned toward Umbridge.
"Very well. As High Inquisitor… you may proceed."
Umbridge's smile widened, satisfaction radiating from her.
"Helios Black," she said, her voice carrying the full weight of her authority. "For violation of school regulations, for leaving school grounds without permission, and for refusal to cooperate with an official investigation—"
She paused, letting the moment stretch.
"For these offenses… you are suspended."
The word echoed in the room, heavier than it had any right to be.
"For two weeks."
Even Snape's expression shifted slightly at that, the faintest sign of surprise breaking through his usual indifference.
Dumbledore's gaze lowered briefly, but he did not intervene.
"You will leave Hogwarts immediately," Umbridge continued, her tone final. "And you will not return until your suspension is complete."
Helios gave a single, small nod, as though the outcome had been expected all along.
"Understood."
He turned without protest, without argument, moving toward the door with the same calm he had entered with.
But as he did, something subtle occurred.
A slight movement of his fingers.
A whisper of magic so precise, that it slipped beneath notice entirely.
No one reacted when a couple of strands of hair detached itself from Fudge.
No one noticed when some lifted gently from Umbridge.
Both vanished silently, drawn into Helios's possession.
As he reached the door, Dumbledore's voice followed him.
"Helios."
He paused, his hand resting lightly against the handle, but he did not turn.
"Be careful."
For a brief moment, a faint smile touched Helios's lips.
"I always am."
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