𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼𝗰𝗸, harry potter

˗ˋ 153

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
AND FIFTY THREE
✧
-: fifth year :-

── IN WHICH THE DISASTER
BECOMES APPARENT

. . .

Aviana looked up in shock, the hand on the back of her neck pulling her tighter against Harry's side, out of the way. The room was still filled with a cloud of dust, obscuring her vision. She saw a dark figure fall to the ground before them, there came a shriek, a thud, somebody cried "No!". 

Then the sound of breaking glass, frantically scuffling footsteps, and a groan - then silence. Aviana cleared her throat, which was as dry as anything, and managed to see who was holding then down. McGonagall was crouched beside them, one hand forcing herself and Harry down, the other Marietta, keeping them out of harm's way. 

Dust was still floating gently down through the air onto them, but slowly clearing to reveal the scene before them. Dumbledore stepped over something and stopped in front of them four. "Are you all right?" He asked, panting slightly. 

"Yes!" Professor McGonagall replied, getting up and the three of them got up.

The wreckage of the office loomed in to view as they did so. Dumbledore's desk had been overturned, the various papers and oddments kept upon it scattered all over the floor beneath, glass crunching under the headmaster's feet. All of the spindly tables around had been knocked to the floor and similarly, the silver instruments sat on their shiny wooden tops were in pieces. And, as Aviana turned to face behind her, she found Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley and Dawlish laid motionless on the floor, covered in dust. 

Fawkes the phoenix soared in wide circles above them, singing softly. 

It was an oddly beautiful scene, one of pure destruction, a kind of poetic justice to their self-centredness and firm lack of awareness of what was happening around them. Cedric Diggory had died, several Death Eaters had escaped from prison, there were deaths and disappearances reported weekly in the Daily Prophet and yet somehow they could still deny that Voldemort hadn't returned. 

And Aviana had never been so happy to see people collapsed on the floor, unconscious. Save for Kingsley, of course, he was the only reason why Sirius could live as comfortably as possible in Grimmauld Place, despite being on the run. On the other hand, Umbridge, the woman who had been torturing her for the entirety of the year laying, passively, upon the floor, and the man who facilitated it all beside her. Dawlish... well, she just didn't like him, even before this. He was a slimy, rude man, and she had no time for people like him. 

"Miss Rosier, your ankle?" Dumbledore asked, and she turned back to them. "I hope the rush and need to fall behind cover did not further injure you." He said, and there was a twinkle in his eye. 

"It's fine." She said. "I wasn't going to let her drag us here without a fuss." 

Dumbledore nodded knowingly. "Unfortunately, as you can see, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious." He said in a low voice. "He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe's memory like that while everyone was looking the other way - thank him for me, won't you Minerva?" 

He glanced around the bodies upon the floor. "Now, they will awake very soon and it will be best if they do not know we had time to communicate - you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember-"