At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

Chapter 55 Cracks in Order

Professor Minerva McGonagall stood at the corner of the third-floor corridor, watching the scene unfold before her.

The two Gryffindors gripped their wands tightly, glaring angrily at the three Slytherins opposite them, the tension palpable.

This is the fourth conflict she has dealt with today.

Ever since Hagrid's cabin caught fire that night, the friction between the two houses escalated rapidly from verbal arguments to sneak attacks in the corridor.

"Put your wands away, everyone."

McGonagall's voice wasn't loud, but it was irresistible.

The students dispersed dejectedly, but the look Slytherin gave her before leaving made McGonagall uneasy, not about her personally, but about the order of the entire school.

Back in her office, McGonagall sat in a wooden chair, looking at several reports awaiting signature on her desk.

Her temples throbbed; the days of frustration had left her utterly exhausted.

As the vice-principal, she had to uphold the seriousness of the school rules; but as Dumbledore's deputy, she was required to remain silent about something that could lead the Board of Governors to dismiss Hagrid or even expel Harry Potter.

The fire at Hagrid's cabin was not an accident.

She knew very well what had happened that night: illegal dragon breeding, smuggling, and minors violating regulations late at night.

According to the principles she had adhered to her entire life, she should now be at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, submitting a detailed investigation report.

But Dumbledore issued a gag order.

"To protect the situation, Minerva," Dumbledore said.

But McGonagall discovered that this protection came at a price. The price was that she had to watch helplessly as Gryffindor's discipline crumbled.

Dumbledore's silence had a far wider impact than he had anticipated.

It not only restricted her movements, but also subtly sent a dangerous signal to the sensitive students:

The rules of Hogwarts do not apply equally to everyone.

This wavering of understanding is the root cause of the breakdown in discipline.

Harry and Ron have been arriving late and leaving early late lately, their eyes are darting around, and their robes occasionally have a strange burnt smell.

She should have reprimanded them severely, but because she knew that big secret, every admonition she gave seemed ineffective.

She is condoning their lies.

What worries her even more is the pulling process.

These past few days, the Slytherin students have become unusually active. Draco Malfoy, no longer shouting around as before, has started frequently visiting Owl's Hut, and each time he sees her, he gives her an almost sympathetic politeness.

On the other hand, the Gryffindors were like cats whose tails had been stepped on, each one irritable and easily angered. Yesterday, Seamus Finnigan flew into a rage simply because Neville accidentally stepped on his foot, and in the common room, rumors about Slytherin snitching had already brought the children's relationship to a freezing point.

The conflict is escalating.

McGonagall noticed an increase in groups of students in the corridors, with students huddled together in twos and threes, each holding a wand at all times.

This atmosphere of near-universal fear indicates that students no longer believe the school can protect them.

At the same time, the Ministry of Magic's actions also seemed unusual.

This afternoon, she saw three official documents copied to the office for the improper use of magic.

The stamp on it made her heart sink.

Lucius Malfoy's idea was already common knowledge.

Order is crumbling from within, and she, as the gatekeeper, is being asked to personally remove the bolts from the gate.

Saturday night.

Professor McGonagall disobeyed Dumbledore's instructions. He told her to stay in her room and not to come out no matter what she heard.

But for an orderly person, this unknowing pardon was a humiliation for her.

She changed into a dark robe and walked towards the bottom of the astronomical tower.

She stopped at the bottom of the tower.

A muffled thud of a heavy object being dragged came from above the tower, interspersed with the screeching sound of stones rubbing together.

She heard Harry's rapid breathing and Ron's muffled curses.

Even through the thick stone wall, she could hear the roar of the young dragon.

In that instant, McGonagall's hand reached for the wand in her pocket.

If she rushes up now and grabs them, this matter can still be controlled within the scope of serious disciplinary violations on campus.

She could use the last bit of time before the Ministry of Magic intervened to control the situation.

But she didn't move.

Because she remembered Dumbledore's eyes and the external pressures the school was facing.

If she were to capture Potter at this critical juncture, it would be tantamount to handing evidence directly to Malfoy and the Ministry of Magic.

She discovered she was assisting in smuggling.

She stood in the darkness, listening to the whistling above; it meant the people who were supposed to meet the dragon had arrived.

McGonagall felt an indescribable exhaustion, not physical, but moral.

The justice she pursued her whole life turned into a self-deceiving performance at this moment.

In order to save Hagrid and Potter, she chose to abandon her professional ethics as vice principal.

Just then, she keenly caught the sound coming from the direction of the castle gate.

Not a student, not Filch.

Footsteps echoed on the stone path, tap, tap, tap.

McGonagall turned her head weakly toward the castle entrance.

In the dim moonlight, she saw several figures dressed in dark gray robes quickly crossing the courtyard.

Those are people from the Ministry of Magic.

They directly invoked their administrative intervention authority.

McGonagall realized that the other side had no intention of giving them a chance to breathe.

She looked up at Harry and Ron, who were still struggling to carry the goods.

She desperately wanted to run up and tell them to run, but she didn't move.

As a guardian of order, she chose to stand still for the last time.

She watched as the uninvited guests rushed into the tower.

At that moment, the whistling from the top of the Astronomy Tower suddenly stopped, replaced by a clear laugh belonging to Dolores Umbridge.

McGonagall closed her eyes and whispered, "It's all too late."