At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

The library in the evening,

This is Hermione Granger's territory.

The last rays of the setting sun slanted through the narrow Gothic window, cutting across the long table and casting dappled shadows.

Her small frame was almost completely swallowed up by the piles of books around her. Her signature thick curly hair, now unkempt, looked even more disheveled, sticking out fluffily over her shoulders like a frightened little lion refusing to let anyone near.

Hermione didn't even look up as Harry and Ron shuffled closer. The setting sun cast a soft, shimmering light on her slightly chubby face and her perfectly aligned front teeth.

Normally, her teeth would tap restlessly against her lower lip as she talked on and on, but now they were tightly bitten into her lips, leaving no gaps.

"Hermione, um..." Harry stammered, trying to break the suffocating silence, "We brought you some smoked meat sandwiches; you didn't eat breakfast or lunch."

Mrs. Pines glanced sideways, clearly noticing the situation. She paused for a moment, then turned back as if nothing had happened.

"Put it there." Hermione's voice was completely flat.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he casually freed one hand and pulled out two rolls of parchment that had been prepared beforehand from under the heavy pile of legal documents on the left.

Those were review outlines for the history of magic and correction notes from Potions class on the handling of moonstone powder; she pushed the two volumes across the table.

"Oh, thank you, Hermione, you really are..." Ron was about to give a relieved smile, but when he saw Hermione's expression, he swallowed his smile back.

Harry's outstretched hand, reaching for the sandwich, froze in mid-air.

He lowered his head and examined the notes closely. The handwriting was neat, and every key point was perfectly marked with different colored ink. Harry's draft paper on vampire defense had been completely altered in red pen.

Hermione kept her head down and continued writing something.

Her face was buried in the pages of the book, and all that could be seen were her tightly pursed, bloodless lips and her eyelashes trembling as she wrote.

Harry awkwardly placed the sandwich on the edge of the pile of books; the steaming, greasy food looked so out of place.

Hermione ignored this.

She dipped her quill into the ink bottle and looked at the "Congress of Wizards Act of 1709 and its Amendments".

Harry glanced at the top of the parchment in front of her.

Legal circumvention and emergency hearing procedures regarding the keeping of high-risk magical animals.

"That's wonderful, Hermione. If you've already dealt with these legal clauses..." Harry looked at the densely written parchment, lowering his voice, his tone filled with humble hope.

"We've contacted Charlie and plan to send the fire dragon away at the Astronomical Tower this weekend. Anyway, we need your help...we'd like you to come with us..."

"Don't misunderstand." Hermione finally put down her pen, looking at Harry, her gaze sweeping over the scar on his forehead. "I helped you organize the notes because I didn't want Gryffindor to be labeled as incompetent because of some people's stupidity and ignorance. As for how you plan to deal with the dragon, how to help Hagrid, how to get to the Astronomy Tower..."

She paused, then forced an awkward smile.

"That's your problem. Don't tell me, and don't involve me. Since you and the principal see the rules as something you can just arbitrarily manipulate, then I don't need to stick to them anymore. I'm not interested in playing games with you anymore."

Hermione's voice trembled, but she still spoke clearly.

Harry felt a dryness in his throat. He realized that Hermione Granger, the one who would scream in the common room to tell Professor McGonagall to stop them from going out at night, had died that night.

Then let's remain silent.

The two boys stood in the suffocating silence for a moment, eventually succumbing to the sense of alienation. They picked up their notes from the table, turned, and left the library.

Until the footsteps completely disappeared at the end of the corridor.

Hermione's quill had already left a smudge on the parchment.

She stared at the stain for a long time, then turned the page and continued writing.

……

Over the next few days, Hogwarts appeared calm on the surface, but underneath, two undercurrents began to pull fiercely at each other.

Potter and Ron were busy trying to cover up the secret. They had to cope with heavy academic workloads, find ways to secretly send Hagrid tons of fresh meat and dead rats, and even use their robes to cover up the marks burned by dragon breath.

As for Hermione's indifferent attitude, they were no longer able to pay attention to it.

……

London, second floor of the Ministry of Magic.

Dolores Umbridge stood in the corridor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, adjusting the pink bow at her collar.

It was 8:30 a.m. The air was thick with the smells of parchment, old ink, and a faint odor of owl droppings. Although that fool Arthur Weasley swore that paper airplanes had solved the hygiene problem, the stench of decay had already seeped into the cracks in the walls.

She looked up and saw hundreds of pale purple interdepartmental memos swirling and swooping down from the ceiling, searching for their respective owners.

Back in office 34B, Dolores sat in the chair with three layers of cushions. A towering pile of parchment lay on the desk.

A purple paper airplane flew in through the open door, bumped into her teacup, and automatically unfolded into an official document.

[Source: Aurora Office Management Team]

[Submission: Dolores Umbridge, Head of the Office of the Office of the Misuse of Magic]

[Subject: Response to a complaint regarding the delayed investigation of magical fluctuations in the Birmingham area]

[Director Umbridge: Regarding your complaint about our Aurors' arrogant attitude and lack of cooperation with the investigation at the Birmingham site, it has been verified that: key physical evidence at the scene has been taken over by the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters, which is a normal procedure in cross-departmental collaboration. If you require access to this evidence, please obtain the Director's signature first, following the established procedure. Please be aware.]

Dolores slowly and deliberately unscrewed the cap of the red ink bottle.

"Shifting blame, arrogance, typical remnants of the old order," she murmured.

Scrimgeour's Aurors, always relying on their pragmatism, held her bureaucratic tendencies in contempt. But they didn't understand that in this system, interpretation always trumps fact.

She wrote her reply on the back of the paper and specially stamped it with an expedited stamp:

[Reply Letter:]

Your reply has been received.

Given that your office has refused to provide crucial evidence citing procedural reasons, severely hindering our assessment of the potential risks posed by underage wizards, there is reasonable suspicion of serious administrative shirking and dereliction of duty in this process.

Recommendation: Please submit a detailed written explanation within three hours, otherwise we will have no choice but to request the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to intervene in the audit.

CC: Office of the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Secretariat of the Minister's Office.

——DJU】

With a flick of her wand, the paper folded back into a paper airplane.

In the Ministry of Magic, written communication is a weapon. She never expected a letter to solve problems; what she wanted was procedural authority.

As long as she subtly copied every hostile reply to the minister's office, Fudge's sensitive nerves would be constantly aroused, leading to the illusion that the whole world was deceiving her and that only Umbridge was telling the truth.

She picked up a document from the table and began to review it. It was a report about a half-blood wizard living in Kent who had used a cleansed device in front of his Muggle neighbors.

[Approval Comments:]

"Insufficient evidence," she wrote, marking a large X with her quill pen. "It is recommended that the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters first erase the memory, and then our department should intervene to investigate whether there are any unstable factors in the family background."

——DJU

The so-called unstable factors usually refer to those who are close to Dumbledore or those who are poor and don't have many Galleons in their pockets.

Then she began drafting the most important document of the day.

A report presented to Minister Cornell Fudge.

Fudge had only been in power for a little over a year and desperately needed someone to whisper in his ear that everything was under control.

Umbridge adjusted his posture, switched to a brand new quill pen, and his handwriting became rounded and respectful.

[Submitted document]

[To: His Excellency Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic]

[From: Dolores Umbridge, Head of the Office for the Improper Use of Magic]

[Subject: Suggestions regarding the recent investigation and public opinion management of potential threats from black magic in northern China]

"Your Excellency Minister," her quill scratched on the parchment,

"Regarding the recent rumors of dark magic fluctuations in the North mentioned in the Daily Prophet, the Office of Improper Use of Magic has completed a comprehensive investigation. I believe this is merely an attempt by certain conservative forces to disrupt the existing order and spread anxiety. Three draft emergency control regulations have been prepared in the appendix..."

After she finished writing, she tapped her wand lightly.

The parchment automatically folded into a purple paper airplane, glided out of the office, and flew towards Fudge's office door.

10:00 AM. Interdepartmental coordination meeting.

In the interagency coordination room next to the Department for Prohibiting the Misuse of Muggle Articles, the smell of tobacco and fireplace ash was unbearable.

"Director Umbridge,"

Arthur Weasley,

The self-degrading, Muggle-exploiting pure-blood traitor was trying to explain his proposal: "I just think we need to clarify the definition of a 'non-combat magic detector'..."

Dolores didn't even look up; she stirred the milk tea with sugar cubes floating on top with a silver spoon.

"Mr. Weasley," she interrupted him.

"Your intentions are certainly good. But the Ministry of Magic's top priority right now is efficiency and order, not wasting precious clerical energy on a few Muggle bread-making machines that bite. I suggest this proposal be sent to the Department of Law for reconsideration and going through the proper procedures."

She felt a surge of satisfaction as she looked at Weasley's flushed face.

This is precisely what makes this bureaucratic system so fascinating:

If you know how to use those lengthy procedures, you can drag anyone you want to get rid of into a quagmire until they suffocate and drown themselves.

Just then, a purple paper airplane landed beside her teacup.

It's the minister's reply.

Dolores eagerly tore it open. Inside was only a simple sentence, written in Fudge's signature shaky handwriting:

"Very insightful. See you at two o'clock. —CF"