I'm Albus Fucking Dumbledore - Chapter 40

Chapter 40

6th of September 1991

Hogwarts

Arvind Patil, the second son of the second son of the third son of the Main Patil Family, sat quietly as the grand doors opened and Andromeda Black entered the room. She commanded attention, not just with her striking looks but with the air of authority she carried. Her robes, tailored to perfection, hinted at the power she held beneath the surface, and Arvind couldn't help but recall their recent meeting. She had been dressed even more provocatively then, her attire flirting with the line between distraction and command. Yet it wasn’t her appearance that left a mark on him—it was her sharp mind, her ability to read him so clearly. There had been nothing inappropriate in their exchange, but she had wielded her presence like a weapon, using it to carve out an advantage.

He suspected she had paid a similar visit to Zhao Wen. The old strategist from China was a veteran of these political games, entrenched deeply in British wizarding politics, and if Andromeda had managed to sway him as well, then her return was far more calculated than anyone had realized.

Arvind’s place on the Board was a matter of family legacy. For centuries, the Patil family had sent their children to Hogwarts, not just for the education but for the access it granted to the school’s unparalleled library. The books, the ancient texts, the forbidden knowledge—these were the true prizes, far more valuable than the lessons in the classroom. His role was to ensure that this tradition continued, that the Patil name remained synonymous with power and knowledge. His donations weren’t charity; they were a strategic investment in his family’s future, securing their place among the elite of wizarding Britain.

"What?", said Crouch. Oh, it was beginning thought Patil - as he started to explain exactly what had happened and was Andromeda was here - a favor she had asked of him.

As he humored her, he glanced at Zhao Wen, whose expression remained as unreadable as ever. Wen was here for the same reason, to protect his own country’s interests within the British wizarding world. But Wen played the game with an added layer of intrigue, his ties to the Chinese Emperor’s court giving him an edge that Arvind could only respect from a distance. Andromeda, it seemed, was aware of this too. She wasn’t just targeting the easy marks—she was aiming for the power brokers, the ones who truly mattered.

As the Senior Unspeakable rose to speak, Arvind felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. The figure was cloaked in shadows, their very presence a reminder of the darker corners of the wizarding world. Arvind had heard stories during the colonization wars, whispers about the Unspeakables who operated outside the bounds of morality, their loyalty bound only to ancient pacts and secret oaths. The Aurors had been a joke - but the Unspeakables…The Unspeakable’s voice, when it came, was a low, resonant tone that seemed to vibrate in Arvind’s bones.

“Convocatio nunc aperitur", he said.

The meeting had officially begun.

Dolores Umbridge wasted no time, her voice dripping with that insufferable sweetness. “Esteemed members,” she began, her smile as tight as a noose, “we’ve been summoned to address a grave issue. It seems Headmaster Dumbledore has taken it upon himself to appoint a new Head of House for Slytherin without proper authorization, replacing Professor Snape with—” she let the name hang in the air like a bad smell, “Andromeda Tonks.”

Across the table, Andromeda’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Patil noticed the flicker of annoyance that crossed her face before she quickly masked it with a serene expression. The name “Tonks” clearly didn’t sit well with her, and Patil stored that reaction away for future use.

Umbridge continued, her tone growing more sanctimonious. “Such a blatant disregard for protocol cannot be overlooked. I motion for the immediate removal of Headmaster Dumbledore.” She paused, her eyes gleaming as she gauged the room’s reaction. “Of course, this is a serious action, but it reflects the severity of the situation.”

Patil’s gaze slid to Lucius Malfoy, who sat like a statue, his face betraying nothing. This was classic Malfoy—propose something extreme to make the actual goal seem reasonable by comparison. The call for Dumbledore’s removal wasn’t intended to succeed; it was a setup for whatever came next.

Vincent Crabbe Sr. nodded vigorously, eager to play his part. “I second that motion,” he rumbled, his words heavy and blunt, a stark contrast to the delicate maneuvering at play.

But before anyone could respond, the Senior Unspeakable’s voice sliced through the air. “The motion is invalid. There is no Andromeda Tonks recognized by the Ministry.”

The room froze. Patil’s mind clicked into place. So this was Malfoy’s real aim—confirming whether Andromeda had been reinstated as a Black, and by extension, as a member of a Most Ancient and Noble family. Clever, indeed. The Unspeakables had access to copies of records from all Ancient, Noble and Old Families…He glanced at Lucius, whose cool exterior showed no cracks, but the whitened knuckles gripping his cane told a different story. The serpent was seething beneath the surface.

Umbridge’s saccharine demeanor shifted in an instant. “My apologies, Lady Black,” she corrected herself, the change in her tone almost nauseating. She almost looked like she wanted to lick Andromeda's ass know that she was sure she was a Lady of the most Ancient and Noble House. Something Malfoy had probably told her wasn't the case. However, she kept going. “I reiterate my motion, correctly naming Andromeda Black.”

But before she could continue, Zhao Wen’s smooth voice interrupted. “I must question the validity of this motion as well.” His words were calm, but Patil recognized the edge beneath them. “If I’m not mistaken—and I rarely am—the Hogwarts Charter permits a member of this board to act as Head of House with the Headmaster’s approval.”

Patil almost allowed himself a smile. So Andromeda had also visited Wen.  Clifford Bentham, ever the loyal puppet, piped up.

“But Lady Black wasn’t a member of the Board when she was appointed. Surely that matters.”

Augusta Longbottom, frail but sharp as ever, leaned forward. “What matters,” she snapped, “is that Dumbledore did what was necessary. Snape was unavailable, and the students needed leadership. This is a waste of time.”

The room erupted into a flurry of voices, each member jockeying for position, their words clashing like swords in a duel. Patil watched it unfold, his mind racing through the possibilities. The room buzzed with a low hum of tension as the Senior Unspeakable’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “We will now proceed to a vote on the motion.”

Lucius Malfoy moved with a practiced elegance, raising his hand. “For the removal of Headmaster Dumbledore,” he said, his voice steady, yet there was a slight edge that betrayed his expectation of victory. His words were quickly echoed by Clifford Bentham, nodding eagerly, Dolores Umbridge with her sharp, saccharine tone, and Vincent Crabbe, who grunted his agreement like a man carrying out an order. Five votes in favor, just as expected.

But they knew it was not enough. Amelia Bones, her expression resolute, cast her vote against, her monocle flashing as she did so. Bartemius Crouch, ever the stickler for rules, followed suit with a firm “No.” Augusta Longbottom, frail in appearance but with eyes that still held a spark of defiance, added her vote. Zhao Wen, calculating as always, offered a simple, clipped refusal. Patil himself voted against, followed by Andromeda Black, her voice calm yet carrying the weight of finality. Seven against.

“The motion does not pass,” the Unspeakable stated, his tone carrying no hint of surprise, just cold finality. The room seemed to release a collective breath, but Patil’s eyes were on Malfoy. The man’s mask of cool composure didn’t falter, but there was a flicker—an almost imperceptible tightening around the eyes. Malfoy wasn’t just displeased; he was furious, though he hid it well.

Just as Lucius seemed ready to speak, Andromeda Black moved. With a swift flick of her fingers, she summoned a stack of parchments from her ring without uttering a word.

“Members of the Board,” Andromeda began, her voice steady and commanding, “I invoke my right to propose a change to the Hogwarts Charter. Given that this is an extraordinary session, only eight votes are required to pass this motion.”

All eyes turned to her, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension in their expressions. Malfoy’s lips curled into a smile, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes—a mask hiding his realization that he’d been outmaneuvered. Dumbledore’s plan had been set in motion from the start, and Lucius, thinking he was playing his own game, had been led straight into a trap.

Andromeda snapped her fingers again, and the parchments floated from her hand, gently landing in front of each board member. The speed and ease of her wandless magic drew a ripple of surprise across the room. Though the act itself wasn’t a great feat, the casual way she performed it spoke volumes about her control and confidence. Even the Heads of House, who had been watching with guarded expressions, received their copies. The flicker of surprise in their eyes told Patil they hadn’t been briefed on this plan either. Dumbledore had kept his cards close, revealing them only at the critical moment. For he - and probably Wen, too, knew for a fact Dumbledore was behind the S.O.C.K.S. The old man had told him that personally when he came to make the deal.

The Unspeakable took the parchment with a slow, methodical movement, his eyes scanning the document as though each word might hold a hidden trap. The room was silent, the weight of anticipation heavy in the air. Andromeda Black, unperturbed by the scrutiny, shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. The subtle motion drew the room’s attention, her elegant robes parting just enough to reveal the smooth line of her calf.

“I’ll provide a summary of the contents,” Andromeda began, her voice clear and steady, cutting through the tension.

The Unspeakable raised a hand, his tone authoritative. “After Lady Black’s explanation, we will take a thirty-minute recess before the vote. This will allow all members time to read the proposal in full.”

Andromeda acknowledged the instruction with a slight nod, then turned her focus back to the room. “What you have before you is a proposal carefully crafted under the guidance of my superior, the President of the Society of Occultism, Cryptic Knowledge, and Sorcery, or SOCKS as it’s more commonly known.”

A murmur ran through the room. It was no secret that Dumbledore was the mastermind behind the newly formed SOCKS, even if few said it openly - not because they did not dare, but in case thy were the only one to have guessed it, as they wanted to keep an advantage on the others, even one so slight. Malfoy’s face remained a mask of indifference, though Patil could see his eyes moving rapidly over the parchment, as though he might gain an advantage by understanding it before the others.

Andromeda’s voice took on a sharper edge as she continued, “In the last fifty years, Hogwarts has seen a significant decline in the quality of its education. This is not due to the efforts—or lack thereof—of our teachers or even the Headmaster, but rather due to the insufficient funding and oversight provided by this very Board.”

Minerva McGonagall stiffened, her expression a mix of irritation and defensiveness. But Andromeda pressed on, not allowing the moment to break her stride. “Consider the workload of a professor teaching Transfiguration or Charms. Each one is responsible for about three hours per week per class, managing two groups per year. That’s around forty-two hours of instruction each week. Then add grading, patrolling the castle, administrative duties—tell me, how can we expect them to perform at their best under these conditions?”

Minerva, Filius Flitwick, and Pomona Sprout exchanged glances, the truth of Andromeda’s words undeniable. Patil noted with interest that Severus Snape remained impassive, as though he had been expecting this. Clearly, Dumbledore had trusted Snape with more information than the others—something Patil would make sure to report in his intelligence letters.

“The Board,” Andromeda continued, her voice cutting through any remaining doubt, “was established to ensure Hogwarts had the resources necessary to provide the highest quality education. We have failed in this duty. The degradation of the school’s infrastructure and the overwhelming demands placed on our educators are a direct result of our negligence.”

The Heads of House glanced at one another, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They had all seen the strain, felt the effects of the Board’s decisions and investments—or lack thereof. Each of them only gave enough to become a board member - which was a far cry from what the school needed.

Andromeda let the room settle before speaking again, knowing she had everyone's full attention. “This year, I personally donated 272,108 Galleons to Hogwarts,” she announced, her voice steady but carrying the weight of the statement. The room froze. Patil quickly ran the numbers in his head—7.35 dollars per Galleon—that was exactly two million dollars. An enormous sum, especially for a single donor. Dumbledore had guaranteed he would rerun Hogwarts. But this much…

She allowed the gravity of her contribution to sink in before continuing, “Additionally, the Society of Occultism, Cryptic Knowledge, and Sorcery has contributed 1,088,000 Galleons.”

A heavy silence followed. Patil, usually unflappable, found himself momentarily stunned. He quickly did the math—over eight million dollars from SOCKS, plus Andromeda’s two million, making it a staggering total of ten million dollars. While not colossal in the grand scheme of global finance, it was a monumental amount compared to the paltry sums the other board members usually donated to maintain their influence at Hogwarts. For most of them, every dollar given to Hogwarts was seen as a loss, a contribution with no financial return. Only Patil and Wen, whose families viewed Hogwarts as an investment in power and legacy, ever contributed anything substantial. Yet even they never approached the scale of what Andromeda and Dumbledore had just committed. This was not just charity; it was a calculated move to reshape the future of the school.

Exactly what Dumbledore had promised in exchange for his vote - even more. A lot more.

Andromeda didn’t give them time to recover. “With these funds, we will be hiring two administrative staff members to handle the growing demands of Hogwarts. Each professor will receive a teaching assistant, ensuring they are no longer burdened by an unmanageable workload. We will also hire two professors per discipline, ensuring that each subject is given the attention it deserves.”

Minerva McGonagall’s eyes brightened with hope as she absorbed the implications of Andromeda’s plan. The prospect of real support, of finally being able to focus on teaching rather than being overwhelmed by administrative tasks, was a revelation.

Andromeda continued, her voice gaining momentum. “We will also elevate Arithmancy from an elective to a core discipline, ensuring that students receive a more comprehensive education. In addition, we will introduce two new subjects: Humanities and Basic Wizarding Skills, providing our students with a well-rounded education that goes beyond the basics.”

Flitwick leaned forward in his chair, clearly intrigued by the possibilities this new funding could unlock. Pomona Sprout, usually reserved, could barely contain her excitement. However, Lucius Malfoy, who had been quietly seething, finally spoke up. “Those subjects are not part of the OWL and NEWT curricula,” he said.

Andromeda met his gaze with a calm, knowing smile. “Indeed, they are not,” she replied smoothly. “But that does not mean they cannot be taught.”

The room fell silent again, the tension thick as everyone processed Andromeda’s words.

Andromeda’s gaze lingered on Malfoy just long enough to let her point sink in before she turned her attention to the rest of the room. “Those are the main changes,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk. “But I encourage you to review the details for yourselves. Everything is laid out in those documents—the funding for new brooms, the recruitment plans for additional faculty, and the full curricula for the new Humanities courses. It’s all there.”

The Senior Unspeakable, who had been watching with a steady, unreadable gaze, finally spoke. “This meeting is adjourned. The vote will take place in half an hour.”