Hogwarts: Too Evil Hogwarts: King of Fiendfyre Hogwarts: Eater Magical Beasts!
“Dumbledore!” Styx staggered as the Apparition released them.
“Give me a warning next time.
I was already angry about missing dinner.
Now you’ve dragged me here for unpaid overtime.
I must have been out of my mind when I agreed to teach at Hogwarts.” He had been far too accommodating.
First chance he got, he was speaking to McGonagall about cutting the old man’s sugar budget permanently.
“My apologies, Lethean.” Dumbledore smoothed his wind-ruffled beard.
The apology carried no real weight.
“I assumed you would prefer to finish the matter quickly.” Styx didn’t bother calling out the lie.
He looked up at the brightly lit manor ahead and frowned.
“You said we were meeting Ministry officials and school governors.
This looks like a full banquet.
Are we in the wrong place?” “Of course not.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.
He had only just learned that Lucius was hosting a pure-blood gathering tonight.
“I wouldn’t ask my professor to work overtime on an empty stomach.
We can eat first, then discuss school business.” “Fine.” Styx’s mouth twisted.
“Overtime pay would be even better.” “You know the school’s finances—” “I know.
Always tight.
And your lemon-drop budget is never enough.” He rolled his eyes and pushed open the gates first.
Inside, the Malfoy manor was pure, unapologetic wealth.
Crystal chandeliers the size of carriages hung from the vaulted ceiling.
The long central table was draped in white linen and crowded with food that made Hogwarts’s opening feast look modest—sizzling joints of roast meat, ice-sculpted displays of seafood, hills of delicate desserts.
Styx, who had considered himself reasonably well-off, suddenly felt like a pauper.
“Work can wait,” he said.
“Dinner first.” By the time Dumbledore finished greeting an elderly governor, Styx was already returning with two plates stacked high.
“You said it yourself.
Eat first.” He held out a dessert.
“I grabbed extras for you.” Dumbledore accepted it with mild surprise.
The young man in front of him was nothing like the elegant, restrained figure he had briefly reminded him of earlier.
That other person would never have charged through a formal banquet carrying two overloaded plates.
They settled in a quiet corner.
Styx had just speared a piece of steak when a familiar voice called out.
“Professor Styx!
Headmaster Dumbledore!” Draco Malfoy hurried over in a black velvet dress robe.
The Southern Rose Brooch glittered at his collar.
His platinum hair was perfectly combed.
He bowed correctly to both of them, then stared at Styx’s mountain of food with wide eyes that quickly narrowed again.
“Good evening, Draco.” Styx spoke around a mouthful of steak.
“Shouldn’t you be at school?
It’s Friday.” “I asked Professor Snape for leave.
Father is hosting a pure-blood banquet and wanted me home to help receive guests.
No classes this weekend anyway.” Styx set his fork down with exaggerated gloom.
A first-year could take official leave for a family banquet while a full professor was dragged into unpaid Friday-night overtime.
The resentment climbed another notch.
“Forget it.
We’re here.
Might as well eat.” He was reaching for the steak again when a voice like syrup poured over broken glass crawled into his ears.
Dolores Umbridge.
She wore a violently pink lace dress and a feathered hat that made her look like a toad that had fallen into a sugar bowl.
A small cluster of Ministry hangers-on trailed behind her.
“Albus!
My dear Albus!
What a delightful surprise!” She seized Dumbledore’s hand in both of hers before he could withdraw it and giggled behind a daisy-embroidered handkerchief.
“I thought you would be at the castle dealing with that dreadful mess.
Especially after such a serious incident.” Her eyes flicked to Styx, who was still eating, and a flash of contempt crossed them before the sugary smile returned.
“This must be Professor Styx.
I’ve heard so much.
I understand you were most helpful in the lavatory yesterday.” Styx didn’t look up.
He speared a piece of lobster and grunted.
Dumbledore reclaimed his hand and took a calm bite of lemon tart.
“Good evening, Dolores.
I didn’t expect a Ministry commissioner at Lucius’s private gathering.
I assumed you had come to Hogwarts to investigate the troll.” “Oh, but of course I have.” Umbridge sighed theatrically, raising her voice just enough for the nearby pure-bloods to hear.
“Minister Fudge is terribly worried.
A troll inside Hogwarts—nearly harming students!
If word spreads, the parents will be frantic.
“Truly, Albus, I must say you are far too lenient.
Three first-years wandering into such danger.
Had anything serious happened, how would you explain it to their families?
Or to the Ministry?” Lucius Malfoy, seated nearby with a glass of wine, allowed himself the smallest of smiles.
Dumbledore dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
“I believe there is a misunderstanding, Dolores.
The children did not wander into danger.
A troll entered Hogwarts.
The more pressing question is how it passed every protective measure and reached the castle in the first place.” Umbridge’s smile faltered.
She covered it with the handkerchief.
“The Ministry will, of course, investigate thoroughly.
But you must admit your management has been… lacking.
Had the Ministry been responsible for school security earlier, this would never have occurred.” “Oh?” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and selected a caramel pudding.
“Does that mean the Ministry already possesses a method to guarantee no danger will ever enter Hogwarts again?
How reassuring.
I seem to recall the Auror Office nearly allowed a Death Eater to escape Azkaban only last year.” A few soft chuckles rose from the surrounding tables.
Umbridge’s face flushed the exact shade of her dress.
The feathers on her hat trembled.
“Albus!
The Ministry’s competence is beyond question!
Minister Fudge has already decided to appoint a permanent commissioner to work with the Board of Governors and oversee school affairs!” “Is that so?” Dumbledore blinked, all innocence.
“Then I must thank the Minister.
Will this commissioner be bringing their own salary and office budget?
School funds are rather tight.
I’m nearly out of lemon drops.” Styx nearly choked on his butterbeer.
He wiped his mouth and kept eating.
Umbridge shook with fury.
She stared at Dumbledore, unable to form a coherent reply, then forced another sticky smile.
“We shall see, Albus.
The Ministry will restore Hogwarts to the standards it ought to maintain.” She turned to leave, then stopped and pivoted slowly toward Styx.
The cloying smile returned.
“Oh, how forgetful of me.
I almost neglected to speak with Professor Styx.” Styx continued scooping chocolate mousse, eyelids lowered.
“My dear, I break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it.
In such a dangerous situation you actually needed three first-year children to protect you.
There’s no shame in lacking experience, of course.
You’re still new to the post.” She dabbed at non-existent tears.
“But I do worry what the parents would think.
They send their children to Hogwarts expecting the professors to protect them.
Instead the children are forced to protect the professor.
Rather disheartening, wouldn’t you agree?” The spoon in Styx’s hand stilled.
Umbridge pressed on before Dumbledore could intervene.
“I heard you were the one who told everyone those three children defeated the troll.
How kind of you—helping them save face.
Kindness is admirable, but responsibility matters more.
If something happens again and you simply invent a convenient story, what then?
The Ministry might begin to think Hogwarts professors are… incompetent.” Styx set the spoon down, wiped his mouth, and looked up.
The casual expression was gone.
Umbridge leaned closer, voice dropping to a private register meant for the three of them alone.
“But don’t worry, my dear.
If Minister Fudge does appoint me commissioner, I shall help you thoroughly.
I’ll regulate your classroom discipline.
I’ll improve your office environment—those messy snacks really ought to go.
And I’ll adjust your hours.
An extra two hours after the final bell every day for marking and pastoral care.
Only then will you become a proper professor.
Isn’t that right?” She finished the stream of veiled insults looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
In her mind the young professor had been publicly and privately crushed and would not dare answer back.
She gathered her pink lace sleeves and turned to leave with elegant finality.
She managed two steps.
Then every shadow in the hall moved.
Shadowkhan erupted from under tables, chairs, and the guests themselves, locking ankles and wrists in iron grips.
Conversation, movement, even the fall of liquid from raised glasses froze mid-air.
Dumbledore was held as securely as everyone else.
“Lethean,” he said quietly, “there is no need for this.” Styx’s voice was flat.
“I respect you, Dumbledore.
You bind your own power.
You tolerate the Ministry and the Board for the sake of the school’s stability.
I admire that.
“I am not you.” His gaze locked on Umbridge.
She tried to draw herself up.
“I am a Ministry commissioner appointed by Minister Fudge—!” Jason stepped out of the nearest shadow.
A single, precise motion.
The wet crack of both femurs breaking was loud in the frozen silence.
Jason lifted her by the collar until her ruined legs dangled and her eyes were forced to meet Styx’s.
The scream that tore out of her was raw.
Styx raised one finger to his lips.
Silence slammed down.
Umbridge convulsed in soundless agony.
When the silencing lifted she immediately began spitting threats and accusations.
Styx’s tone remained arctic.
“From this moment, every word you speak that I find provocative will cost you one tooth.” Art appeared at his shoulder, upending a black bag.
Blood-slicked instruments clattered onto the marble.
He selected a pair of extraction pliers, the metal still wet.
Umbridge tried to speak again.
One word.
One tooth.
The process was methodical.
By the time her mouth was a ruined, bleeding cavity she had stopped making any sound at all.
Styx’s voice carried across the entire hall.
“Crawl back to the Ministry, Umbridge.
Tell Fudge that if he wishes to cause me trouble he should not send clowns.
If he has the courage, he can come to Hogwarts himself.” Killing intent rolled off him in a cold wave.
The temperature in the hall seemed to drop.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco.
The boy stood rigid in the crowd, face bloodless, body trembling.
In a single breath every trace of violence and shadow was drawn back into Styx as though it had never existed.
He looked down at Umbridge curled in her own blood.
“I won’t kill you.
St Mungo’s healers are at least as competent as Madam Pomfrey.
Your legs and your teeth are the price of walking into this hall and opening your mouth.
Remember it.
Not everyone is bound by the Ministry’s rules.” He flicked his fingers.
The Shadowkhan dissolved.
Guests stumbled as control returned.
Umbridge collapsed fully, curling into a shaking ball of pink lace and blood, all arrogance gone, only raw terror left in her eyes.