Umbridge never expected Augustus to speak up for Harry at such a moment. Evidently, Augustus had personally brought back the news of Voldemort's resurrection. Umbridge seemed unaware of the details and inadvertently provoked Augustus, forcing him to abandon his spectator role and join the debate.
"As you can see, that night, Voldemort, in a place we'll call... the Riddle graveyard, used an ancient dark magic to resurrect himself. Unfortunately, I arrived too late to stop it. Of course, what followed was a pleasant negotiation regarding Potter's life and death. You see, it was a rather serious topic. In the spirit of a mutually amicable atmosphere, Potter was eventually allowed to leave alive. The price? Naturally, it was to avoid a war that would have destroyed the newly resurrected Death Eaters. I am, after all, someone who values peace. So, whether his revival is a good or bad thing, it is undeniable that it happened," Augustus said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, as though recounting a perilous encounter with the casual monotony of Professor Binns' lectures.
"Mr. Augustus, surely you're joking?" Umbridge asked nervously. "I remember seeing you as a child at noble banquets. Perhaps you don't recall me, but you should know that Minister Fudge has always had a good relationship with your father."
Augustus's eyes glinted coldly with a trace of disdain. "Do you think I would waste my breath telling such an elaborate story as a joke?"
"N-no, that's not what I meant." Umbridge's saccharine tone wavered, her hand discreetly wiping sweat from her forehead. "But you see, Minister Fudge..."
"This is Hogwarts," Augustus interrupted her bluntly. "Fudge has no authority here. The headmaster is Dumbledore."
Harry could hardly believe what he was witnessing. From the very first day of term, Umbridge had ignored Dumbledore and the other professors, imposing her will with authority. Yet here she was, cowering like a meek kitten before Augustus. Clearly, her reliance on Fudge as her trump card was utterly ineffective against him.
"You're absolutely right, Mr. Augustus," Umbridge said, desperation flashing in her eyes as she looked toward the students, her gaze landing on Lilian beside Augustus. Suddenly, her face brightened with a forced smile. "Ah, Miss Lilian! I recall working under the Department of Mysteries at the same time as your father. A pleasure to see you."
Lilian smirked disdainfully. "And? What of it?"
Umbridge opened her mouth but quickly closed it again. The rest of the lesson passed in a distracted daze, with Umbridge hastily wrapping things up before dismissing the class.
Before leaving, she summoned Harry to the front and handed him a scroll of pink parchment. "Take this to Professor McGonagall," she instructed with a venomous glint in her eyes.
Harry, riding the high of the moment, barely paid attention to the significance of the parchment as he raced toward the staff office, descending the nearest staircase.
As he approached, a door to his left opened, and Professor McGonagall emerged, her stern face showing traces of exhaustion.
"What are you doing, Potter? Running around like this?" she scolded.
"Professor Umbridge asked me to deliver this to you," Harry said cheerfully, handing over the parchment.
McGonagall took it, frowning as she tapped it open with her wand. Her eyes moved rapidly behind her square glasses as she read. With each line, her frown deepened.
"Come inside, Potter," she said briskly, leading him into her office.
"What's this about?" McGonagall asked sharply. "Did you really say, in front of the entire class, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned?"
"Yes, I did," Harry replied, confused. "Why? Isn't it true? Besides, Augustus outright detailed Voldemort's resurrection and all its specifics."
McGonagall shook her head, her expression heavy. She sighed, then said, "Have a biscuit, Potter."
"Sorry, what?"
"Have a biscuit," she repeated impatiently.
Harry hesitantly bit into a ginger newt biscuit as McGonagall continued, "Potter, you need to understand something. Augustus... he's not like you, me, or even Dumbledore."
"Not like us?" Harry asked, puzzled.
McGonagall smiled kindly but wearily. "No, not in terms of character or morals. Augustus was one of the most extraordinary students I've ever taught at Hogwarts. His thirst for knowledge and immense power at his age rivals that of legendary wizards. He's courteous, intelligent, and remarkable in many ways. But that's not the difference I mean."
Harry looked at her, waiting for her to explain.
"The difference is his lineage," McGonagall said solemnly. "He comes from one of the oldest and most prestigious wizarding noble families in Britain. Over half of all past Ministers for Magic have come from his family. Do you understand what that means?"
Harry stiffened, his defiance barely contained. "Not really."
"It means," McGonagall said heavily, "that there are things you, I, and even Dumbledore cannot say. But Augustus can speak freely because his status and influence shield him. Do you understand now, Potter?"
Harry's lips curved into a stubborn smile. "I understand, Professor. But even so, there are things that, when they need to be said, I'll always be the first to stand up and say them. That's the spirit of Gryffindor. Ever since I was sorted, the Sorting Hat told me that Gryffindor was where the brave at heart dwell, with daring, nerve, and chivalry. Those words will guide me for life. Professor McGonagall, as a Gryffindor, allow me to uphold the values and courage that have defined this house since Godric Gryffindor himself."
His voice, clear and resolute, carried a youthful conviction. A shaft of sunlight fell on Harry's slight shoulders, framing him like an eager young lion roaring for the first time. The legacy of Gryffindor's spirit, courage, and will shone anew in the boy who bore its name.
May we always hold fast to our beliefs and dreams, never forgetting the convictions that anchor us.
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