"That went about as well as could be expected," Dumbledore observed mildly.
"They'll keep investigating," Professor Professor McGonagall said. "Fudge doesn't like unknowns, and you're a very large unknown, Adrian."
"Let them investigate," Adrian said, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of maintaining careful control over his words for so long. "They won't find anything unless I want them to."
"Confident," Snape said from his corner.
"Realistic," Adrian corrected slowly. "The truth about what really happened—none of that is recorded anywhere. It exists only in my head and Dumbledore's, because I chose to tell him. The Ministry can investigate for years and never understand what actually occurred."
"The question," Professor Professor McGonagall said thoughtfully, "is what they'll do with their frustration about that fact."
It was a good question. Adrian didn't have a good answer.
The resolution of Dolores Umbridge's situation ca two days after the Ministry interrogation, and it ca with considerably less warning and significantly more drama.
Adrian was in the middle of teaching a fourth-year class about Bowtruckles demonstrating proper handling techniques with the assistance of a remarkably friendly specin nad Twig when Professor Professor McGonagall appeared at the edge of the outdoor classroom with an expression that suggested significant developnts requiring attention.
"Professor Westeros," she called. "A word, if you please."
Adrian handed Twig to a nearby student with instructions to continue the demonstration, then walked over to where Professor McGonagall stood with her lips pressed into a thin, serious line.
"Umbridge has woken up," Professor McGonagall said directly. "The Imperius Curse broke when Voldemort died. She's been conscious for approximately an hour, very confused and extrely agitated. Dumbledore requests your presence in the hospital wing."
Adrian had almost forgotten about Umbridge in the chaos of everything else—the battle, Harry's healing, his sister's recovery, the Ministry investigation. But of course, the Imperius Curse would break when its caster died. Of course, Umbridge would wake.
"I'll co imdiately," he said.
The walk to the hospital wing felt longer than it should have. Adrian found himself wondering what Umbridge would rember, how much awareness she'd had while under Voldemort's control, whether she would understand what had happened to her.
The hospital wing, when he arrived, was full of people. Dumbledore stood near Umbridge's bed with the patient, careful expression of soone managing a delicate situation.
Madam Pomfrey hovered with various monitoring spells active, clearly tracking Umbridge's physical and ntal state. And Kingsley Shacklebolt was there as well, along with another Auror, their presence was showing this had already beco an official investigation.
And in the bed, sitting up but looking absolutely shattered, was Dolores Umbridge.
She looked terrible but psychologically devastated in a way that was imdiately apparent. Her usually precisely styled hair was disheveled. Her face was pale and drawn. Her hands shook where they gripped the blanket. And her eyes, when they found Adrian entering the room, were filled with an emotion he'd never seen there before.
"You," she said, her voice was breaking.
"What about ?" Adrian said gently, stopping a respectful distance from the bed. "Professor Umbridge, do you understand what happened to you?"
"They said—" Her voice caught, and she had to start again. "They said I've been under the Imperius Curse. For weeks. That You-Know-Who was controlling ." She looked at Dumbledore desperately. "Is that true? Did I—did he make do things?"
"You were not responsible for your actions while under the curse," Dumbledore said with sympathy. "Whatever occurred during that ti, the bla rests entirely with Voldemort, not with you."
"But what did I do?" Umbridge asked, and now she was crying, tears were streaming down her face in a way that seed entirely distant to her usual personality.
"I can't rember clearly. It's all fragnted, like watching through thick fog. But I rember—fragnts. Inspecting classrooms. Writing reports. Writing so many reports." Her hands tightened on the blanket. "Who was I reporting to? What was I telling them?"
"You were reporting to Voldemort," Kingsley said quietly. "Providing him with information about Hogwarts, its defenses, Professor Westeros's activities. You were, well, a spy in the castle, though you had no choice or awareness in the matter."
Umbridge made a small, broken sound.
"Professor Umbridge," Adrian said, drawing her attention back to him. "I was not aware that you were under the Imperius Curse."
She stared at him for a long mont, her expression was cycling through several complex emotions—anger, confusion, understanding, and exhaustion.
"You killed him," she said finally. "You-Know-Who. They said you killed him."
"Yes."
"So it's over. The curse is broken because he's gone."
"Yes."
Umbridge was quiet for a while, processing this. Then she said: "I rember fragnts. Monts when I could almost think clearly, almost understand what was happening. There was a day—"
Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "There was a day when I tried to write a note. To warn soone. But my hand wouldn't obey . It wrote sothing completely different. His words, not mine."
The horror in that admission rang in the air.
"Professor Umbridge," Kingsley said, his deep voice was gentle but professional.
"The Ministry needs to conduct a formal investigation into what occurred during the period you were under the curse. I want to assure you that you're not under suspicion—you're recognized as a victim in this situation. But we need to understand what information may have been compromised, what actions were taken using your authority."
"I understand," Umbridge said numbly.
The investigation took most of the day. Adrian and so other Professor were present for portions of it, providing context about their own observations of Umbridge's behavior, verifying that she had indeed shown signs of Imperius control. By evening, a clearer picture had erged.
Under Voldemort's control, Umbridge had been conducting what appeared to be legitimate Ministry-ordered inspections of Hogwarts, but had actually been gathering intelligence for the Dark Lord.
She'd reported on defensive asures, on staff capabilities, on student activities. She'd helped Voldemort understand the castle's vulnerabilities and identify his best targets. And she'd written countless reports which were all destroyed now or hidden sowhere only Voldemort had known, detailing everything she'd observed.
But she had also, unknowingly, provided false information about Adrian and his activities.
In an odd way, Umbridge had been helpful despite being compromised.
The Ministry's decision on her case ca down three days later: complete exoneration of criminal wrongdoing, recognition as a victim of dark magic, but forced resignation from all Ministry positions and strong recomndation that she take extended leave to recover from her trauma.
It was, Adrian thought, probably the best outco available given the circumstances. Umbridge was innocent of intent but had still been the chanism through which significant harm had nearly occurred. She couldn't continue in authority, but she also didn't deserve punishnt if excluding her private affairs.
She ca to visit Adrian from the hospital wing before she left Hogwarts, she was carrying her belongings that didn't quite hide the shakiness of her hands.
"Professor Westeros," she said without looking at him.
"I wanted to say goodbye and to apologize—"
Adrian was listening quietly. "It is not necessary; I did what I should do."
"No," Umbridge agreed. "It is necessary. There's a difference." She parke her small suitcase with a decisive snap. "You saved everyone, Professor Westeros. You defeated You-Know-Who. I suppose I should be grateful I survived to be one of the few living who were controlled by his Imperius Curse."
It wasn't apology exactly. But it was sothing which was more than Adrian had expected.
"What will you do?" he asked.
"Leave Britain," Umbridge said. "For a while, at least. Travel. Try to rember who I was before all this. Try to forget what it felt like to be a puppet." She picked up her suitcase. "Goodbye, Professor Westeros. I hope I never see you again, I just want to leave all of this behind."
"I understand," Adrian said. "Goodbye, Professor Umbridge. I hope you find peace."
She left without another word.
The Order of the Phoenix eting happened on Friday evening at Grimmauld Place, and Adrian had been specifically requested to attend by Sirius himself, who had sent an owl that afternoon that read simply: "Get here tonight. We're celebrating. And you're the guest of honor whether you like it or not."
Adrian didn't particularly want to be anyone's guest of honor, but he recognized the importance of the gathering. The Order deserved to celebrate this victory, and he needed to face whatever questions they had about Voldemort's defeat rather than avoiding them.
He arrived via Floo to find the house transford.
The gloomy, oppressive atmosphere that usually characterized Grimmauld Place had been temporarily banished by decorations, actual cheerful decorations, including chard lights that floated near the ceiling and banners that read "VOLDEMORT DEFEATED" in bright, bold letters.
The portraits of Black family ancestors had been covered with sheets, presumably to prevent them from ruining the mood with their usual bigoted comntary.
The dining room was packed.
Most of the Order was there—Sirius and Remus were looking happier than Adrian had seen them in months, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley already emotional, Tonks with her hair a celebratory bright gold, Moody in his corner looking slightly less suspicious than usual, Kingsley having apparently co directly from his Auror duties, and many others.
Even Mundungus Fletcher was there, though he was clearly more interested in the refreshnts than the formal celebration.
And Harry was there, looking healthy and whole and entirely himself for perhaps the first ti since Adrian had t him. The boy spotted Adrian imdiately and worked his way through the crowd with Ron and Hermione following in his trail.
"Professor Westeros," Harry said, and then seed at a loss for additional words.
"Harry," Adrian replied warmly. "You look well. Much better than last week."
"I feel well," Harry said. "Really well. Better than I've felt in years, actually."
He paused. "I wanted to thank you again, properly. For everything you did."
"You already thanked in the hospital wing," Adrian said. "You don't need to—"
"Yes, I do," Harry interrupted with unusual firmness. "You saved my life. You healed my soul. You defeated Voldemort alone. And you did all of it while teaching us about magical creatures and grading our essays like nothing extraordinary was happening."
He shook his head with sothing like awe. "How did you even manage all that?"
"Carefully," Adrian said dryly, which surprised a laugh from all three of them.
Before the conversation could continue, Sirius called for attention from the head of the table. The room gradually quieted, though the atmosphere remained festive and warm.
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