I'm Albus Fucking Dumbledore - Chapter 39

Chapter 39

6th of September 1991

Hogwarts

Minerva McGonagall approached the grand doors to the Board of Governors' meeting room. Her sensible shoes, scuffed and worn from decades of service, made little noise, but the gravity of the moment seemed to amplify even the faintest sound. A storm of concern churned within her, a deep unease she hadn’t felt in years. Albus Dumbledore had always been careful, always managed to navigate the treacherous waters of Hogwarts politics with the grace of a seasoned sailor. But today, Lucius Malfoy had outmaneuvered him, exploiting a rare lapse to call this Extraordinary Board Meeting—a meeting that, by some twisted manipulation of the school’s ancient charter, Dumbledore was forbidden from attending.

She pushed open the heavy oak doors, stepping into the meeting room. The grandeur of the space was almost overwhelming, its high vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate carvings, and the walls lined with tapestries that whispered stories of Hogwarts’ long and storied past. A faint scent of aged wood and parchment hung in the air, a reminder of the centuries of decisions that had been made within these walls. At the center of the room stood the round table, gleaming darkly under the soft light of enchanted chandeliers. Legend whispered that this was the very Round Table of Arthurian lore, brought to Hogwarts by a long-forgotten headmaster who fancied himself a modern-day Merlin. Minerva had never put much stock in such tales, but today, the sight of the empty Headmaster’s chair at the table’s head was a harsh reminder of the precariousness of their situation.

She had expected to be the first to arrive, eager for a few moments to gather her thoughts in solitude. But as she stepped into the room, her eyes narrowed at the sight of Dolores Umbridge already seated, a pink-clad toad nestled comfortably in one of the large, high-backed chairs. The pink cardigan she wore clashed hideously with the rich, dark wood of the room, and her saccharine smile was stretched across her face like a banner of false goodwill.

“McGonagall,” Umbridge simpered, her voice a honeyed drawl that made Minerva’s skin crawl. “I see you’ve managed to drag yourself here in time. Such dedication.”

“Umbridge,” Minerva replied, her tone sharp as the crack of a whip. She avoided titles, as did Umbridge—it was a subtle, mutual insult, a refusal to acknowledge any respect or deference. “I see you’ve beaten everyone here. I suppose punctuality is something you pride yourself on.”

Umbridge’s smile widened, though it didn’t reach her eyes, which remained as cold and calculating as ever. “Oh, indeed. It’s always wise to be early when there’s so much at stake. One wouldn’t want to miss anything important.”

The tension between them crackled in the air like a live wire, and Minerva felt a surge of irritation. The woman was insufferable, always lurking, always ready with that sickly sweet façade that barely concealed her venomous nature. Dolores Umbridge was one of the Ministry’s representatives on the board—a direct agent of Cornelius Fudge, and through him, Lucius Malfoy. Minerva knew better than to underestimate her, no matter how ridiculous she appeared in her frilly pink attire.

Minerva moved to one of the chairs along the wall, a row of seats reserved for the press and the Heads of House. These chairs were set back from the main table, an intentional design that separated the decision-makers from the observers. Of course, there had been no press present at these meetings for years. Not because of any lack of interest, but because the board’s influence had effectively silenced any potential journalists who might have been brave—or foolish—enough to try. The power that Lucius Malfoy and his allies wielded was too great, too pervasive.

The Board of Governors at Hogwarts was not established until long after the school’s founding. In the seventeenth century, when Hogwarts faced financial difficulties, the decision was made to avoid imposing tuition fees on students. Instead, "Shares" of Hogwarts were distributed among the wealthiest supporters, and the twelve most significant donors were granted seats on the Board. This current legislature had been instated two years ago, so they were to stay here for three more years. These Board members were given the authority to vote on changes to certain aspects of the Hogwarts Charter—though many decisions remained under the discretion of the Headmaster, staff, and teachers—and to select half of the incoming students each year. By the nineteenth century, as the Ministry of Magic became more powerful and organized, the structure of the Board was altered. The number of seats reserved for donors was reduced to nine, and three seats were designated for Ministry representatives, ensuring the Ministry's influence within the school. The second Ministry representative was a man who had just entered the room—Clifford Bentham, a nondescript bureaucrat with thinning hair and an unimpressive stature. Bentham was a shadowy figure, a Ministry drone whose loyalty was entirely to Fudge, and by extension, to Lucius Malfoy. He was a man who faded into the background, unremarkable in every way. But he voted where Malfoy told him to vote. Bentham offered a brief nod to Umbridge, who returned it with her usual saccharine smile, and then he took his seat without a word, his expression as blank as parchment.

The room began to fill slowly, each new arrival bringing with them a wave of whispered conversation and the subtle shifting of power. Next to enter was Arvind Patil - not a true Patil, a secondary member of a branch family-, a tall, dignified man with dark skin and sharp, intelligent eyes. His robes were a deep maroon, edged with gold—traditional attire that spoke of both his wealth and the ancient lineage of the Patil Steward family. The Patils were a family of Brahmanes, of considerable influence in India, one of the oldest wizarding families in the country, and even their Steward carried himself with the calm assurance of someone who was used to wielding power - though, Minerva suspected, he would have been a lot more humble were he back in India. He offered Minerva a respectful nod as he took his seat at the table, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts.

Behind him came Zhao Wen, the representative of the UK-China Friendship Group - a foreign influence "think-tank" that served the Emperor's interests in UK. He was an elderly man, his long white beard immaculately groomed, and his robes embroidered with delicate patterns of dragons and phoenixes. Wen was a servant of one of the Chinese Emperor’s Mandarins, and his presence on the board was a reflection of the intricate alliances that had been forged between the British and Chinese wizarding communities over the centuries.Zhao Wen moved with the deliberate grace of a man fully aware of the weight of his position. His robes whispered against the stone floor as he took his seat, his sharp eyes flicking to Arvind Patil with a nod of acknowledgment. Their conversation, held in hushed tones, floated like smoke in the room, heavy with implications and old alliances.

Minerva’s gaze sharpened as the door creaked open once more. Three figures entered, each commanding attention in their own way. Amelia Bones led the trio, her strides purposeful, her posture radiating authority. Her robes, tailored to perfection, clung to her curves in a way that was not very professional, her milky skin a striking contrast to the dark fabric. The monocle she wore glinted as her keen eyes scanned the room, assessing, calculating, while her lips curled into a faint smile. Beside her, Bartemius Crouch moved with the rigid discipline of a man who lived by the rules. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, took in the room with swift precision. He nodded briefly to Minerva, already absorbed in the mechanics of the meeting to come.

Trailing behind them was Augusta Longbottom, a figure impossible to ignore. The very, very old witch moved slowly, each step deliberate, as if the weight of her years pressed down on her thin frame. Her hat, a towering creation crowned with a stuffed vulture, was as much a part of her identity as the cane she leaned on. The hat might have seemed ridiculous on another, but on Augusta, it was a badge of stubborn pride, a declaration that she had outlasted—and outlived—nearly everyone else in the room. She offered Minerva a smile, her eyes bright and sharp despite the deep lines etched into her ancient face.

The three exchanged polite greetings as they took their seats at the round table. They were here in their qualities of Lord and ladies, of private donors - not as Ministry officials. Amelia’s voice was smooth, polished, carrying with it the assurance of someone who knew her power both in the Ministry and beyond. Crouch remained mostly silent, his focus already on the business at hand, while Augusta settled herself carefully, the vulture on her hat bobbing as she did.

The door creaked again, and a large, lumbering figure entered the room. Vincent Crabbe Sr. hesitated for a moment, his face creased with uncertainty. His bulk filled the doorway, and his eyes, small and somewhat dull, scanned the room before he spotted an empty chair. Without acknowledging anyone, he moved toward it and sat heavily, the chair groaning under his weight. Crabbe's discomfort was evident, his attempts to appear composed undercut by the sense that he was out of his depth.

The room quieted as the door opened one final time, and the figure who stepped through commanded immediate attention. Lucius Malfoy, President of the Board, tall and aristocratic, moved with the smooth, predatory grace of a serpent. His platinum-blond hair was pulled back neatly, gleaming in the light, and his sharp, pale features were as cold and refined as cut marble. His eyes, icy and calculating, took in the room with a glance, offering polite nods to each of the board members—except Minerva, whom he pointedly ignored.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lucius began, his voice a rich, velvety drawl that seemed to glide through the air, dripping with a charm that felt as dangerous as it was enticing. He took his seat with the poise of a man who knew he was in control. Lucius was the only one in the room to hold two seats. As Lord Malfoy, one of the nine largest donors to Hogwarts, his wealth ensured his voice carried significant weight. His second seat, as a representative of the Ministry, solidified his influence, extending his reach far beyond the walls of the school.

And then, almost unnoticed, came the Senior Unspeakable. Shrouded in a long, dark cloak, their face obscured by a hood, the Unspeakable’s presence was more felt than seen. They moved with an eerie silence, their steps making no sound as they took a seat at the far end of the room. The air seemed to grow colder, heavier, as they settled into place - standing, behind the President's chair. The Senior Unspeakable was there to ensure the Board adhered strictly to the Original Charter, the contract that had been made at the creation of the Board.

As Filius, Severus—oddly cheerful—and Pomona entered, the room seemed to tighten with expectation. Only two chairs remained empty, and once filled, the meeting could begin.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors creaked open, and the entire room turned to see the unexpected arrival of Andromeda Black. Silence fell like a blanket, suffocating the murmurs of conversation as she stepped into the room with a confidence that radiated from every pore. She was not the Andromeda most remembered—a rebellious young witch who had turned her back on her pure-blood heritage—but a woman who had returned with a vengeance. Andromeda’s robes were a deep, stormy gray, tailored to perfection with sharp lines that spoke of power and poise. The fabric hugged her body, following the contours of her figure in a way that was neither modest nor overt, but suggestive in its precise craftsmanship. Her chest, full and firm, pressed against the silk of her robes, each breath accentuating the subtle rise and fall of her braless breasts. The fabric hinted at the shape beneath, the outlines of her nipples faintly visible. Her skin, pale as moonlight, seemed to glow under the enchanted chandeliers, smooth and unmarred, with a softness that belied the steely resolve beneath. Her hair, thick and dark as raven feathers, was swept back into an elegant chignon, with a few loose strands framing her face, drawing attention to her high cheekbones and the sharpness of her jawline. Her eyes, a piercing shade of blue, seemed to capture and hold the gaze of everyone she looked at, commanding attention with an almost hypnotic pull.

She moved with a languid grace, each step deliberate, her hips swaying ever so slightly with a rhythm that spoke of both confidence and sensuality. Her smile—cool, sly, the corners of her lips quirked upward as if she were in on a secret no one else knew—revealed a row of teeth that were unnervingly perfect. There was something almost predatory in the way she carried herself, as if she were a lioness among lambs, fully aware of the power she wielded in this room mostly full of men who thought themselves wolves.

Amelia Bones, seated at the table, blinked in surprise, her composure momentarily slipping. “Andromeda?” she asked, her voice edged with the surprise of seeing an old friend in such unexpected circumstances. They had been at Hogwarts together, once upon a time, though their paths had diverged drastically since then.

Andromeda’s smile broadened, her eyes flashing with something akin to amusement as she turned to Amelia. “Amelia,” she purred, her voice low, almost velvet in its softness, “It’s been far too long, hasn’t it?” She didn’t pause for a response, her attention already moving to the others in the room. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she added, her tone dripping with a blend of courtesy and superiority.

Without waiting for permission or acknowledgement, Andromeda strode forward and took one of the empty seats at the round table, her movements smooth, unhurried, as if she had every right to be there.

The shock was palpable. Dolores Umbridge’s face flushed an angry pink as she shot to her feet, her toad-like features contorted with outrage. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her voice shrill and grating. “You have no place here! This is a board meeting, not some—”

Lucius Malfoy’s expression remained unreadable, his icy eyes revealing nothing as they flicked briefly toward Andromeda. He was the picture of composure, but the tension in the room was palpable, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the next move.

A low, resonant cough came from the far end of the table, silencing the room. The Unspeakable, cloaked in shadowy robes that seemed to drink in the light, spoke with a calm authority that cut through the air. “The Board is now complete.”

“What?” Bartemius Crouch’s voice was sharp, disbelief etched into his stern features. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “There are still two members absent. How can the board be complete?”

Surprise flickered across the faces of the gathered members, but before anyone else could react, Arvind Patil, the dignified steward, stood up. His dark eyes held a calm assurance as he addressed the room, though everyone knew his words were directed squarely at Malfoy.

“Mr. Crouch,” Patil began, his tone measured, “there has been a significant development that I believe the board should be made aware of - even though you should already know it as it is written in the Original Charter. The calling of an Extraordinary Meeting has, in fact, triggered a recalculation of the donation standings for the next five years.”

Lucius Malfoy’s expression remained impassive, but there was a subtle tightening around his eyes as Patil continued. Of course, he knew…But he had a look at the donation files when he summoned the Board! Nobody had changed…even though it was a few days ago…

“As a result,” Patil said, his voice steady and clear, “the previous two members, the one you were waiting for, have been ousted, and new members have been appointed based on the updated records.”

A ripple of shock went through the room. Andromeda’s smile remained, confident and knowing, as she sat back in her chair.

“The first new member,” Patil went on, his eyes now firmly on Malfoy, “is Andromeda Black, reinstated as Lady Black, as, as per yesterday, the Black Family is one of Hogwarts’ most significant and recent donors.”

There was a collective intake of breath. Andromeda’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

“And the second member,” Patil added, his gaze unwavering, “is also Andromeda Black, representing the Society of Occultism, Cryptic Knowledge, and Sorcery—a newly made society that has also made substantial contributions to Hogwarts.”

Andromeda Black leaned back in her seat, her lips curling into a feral smile. Her eyes, dark and gleaming with confidence, swept over the room, holding each gaze a moment too long. “Shall we begin the meeting?” she purred, her voice low and velvety.