[165] The Door of No Return

Rita watched as the faceless doll gradually replicated her features. Her heart trembled. What was this thing for?

Hall took the doll from her. She instinctively clenched it. He looked at her with a half-smile. She released her grip.

"How about it? Interesting?" Hall squeezed the doll.

Rita felt her entire body enveloped by a powerful force. Pain spread through her. Her eyes bulged.

Dark magic. Some spell that extracted a wizard's soul and linked it to the doll.

She couldn't speak. Cold sweat soaked her back. Her soul was in a demon's grasp.

Hall watched her expression shift — fear, terror, submission, and finally fawning.

"Mr Weasley!" Her voice was hoarse. "Mr Weasley, is there anything I can do for you? I assure you, I have no ill intentions!"

Anyone watching would think Rita Skeeter was his house-elf.

"Don't worry. All I need you to do is write articles."

Hall's objective hadn't changed. The doll was just to scare her. Rita was ambitious — the illegal Animagus threat only worked once. Once she was free, it lost its power. If Hall didn't give her something to fear, she'd be arrogant again quickly.

A famous public figure was useful.

"Cooperate, and I won't hurt you. I might even give you stories you like. Your position at the Daily Prophet could go higher."

Carrot and stick.

Rita's fawning smile returned. "Mr Weasley, there's no need for formality between us. Go ahead! I'll write it as quickly as possible!"

"What a terrible semester." Draco sat at the Slytherin table, spreading jam on his toast. "Those Dementors. Fudge, that madman."

The others nodded. School had only just begun and they'd already seen Dementors surrounding Hogwarts. Even after they'd been driven off, the Dementors had taken up a permanent post outside the gates. Just in case. As if Death Eaters had escaped into the school.

Anyone with sense would roll their eyes.

"Dumbledore's the Headmaster — shouldn't he be reprimanding Fudge? Instead he condones it?"

"He has his difficulties," Hall said. "The Dementors didn't enter Hogwarts. Dumbledore resolved it."

Draco was incredulous. Most students came from wizarding families — they were the next generation. Putting them near Dementors?

"Fudge's desire to control Hogwarts isn't new. He's Minister for Magic, he holds immense power. But Hogwarts has independent administration. An ambitious man like Fudge can't accept that. He just never had an opportunity. With Dumbledore around, he couldn't use underhanded tactics. Now he has his chance. Going mad? He doesn't care, as long as it gets him Hogwarts."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice, looking at the flurry of newspapers with disgust. She'd rather read The Quibbler.

Then she heard exclamations around her. She picked up a paper.

The front page headline: "Behind the Unprecedented Mass Escape from Azkaban — A Chain of Pure-Blood Wizards' Assistance, or Cornelius Fudge's Catastrophic Mistake?"

Hermione's eyes widened. Since setting her sights on becoming Minister, she'd been studying wizarding politics. She could read a lot from that headline.

The article mentioned Sirius and Malfoy — but only briefly, analysing from a practical perspective why they had no reason to take such a risk. The remaining two-thirds tore into Fudge, labelling him ambitious but incompetent.

"Well written!" Ron exclaimed. "Let me see who wrote this — wait!" He stared at the byline.

Harry looked bewildered. "Does the Daily Prophet have two reporters named Rita Skeeter?"

Hermione looked down. Rita Skeeter. She was certain.

"Has she gone mad?" Hermione muttered.

Ron shrugged. "Who cares! It's a good thing!"

Harry agreed. Why Rita wrote it wasn't their problem.

But Hermione didn't join their celebration. This wasn't Rita's style. She'd normally throw as much mud as possible. Directing it all at Fudge...

She could only think of one person.

She turned to look at Hall's back at the Slytherin table.

He turned around, gave her a big smile, and winked.

At the professors' table, Lupin shook the newspaper. "That's not like that reporter at all."

Sirius laughed. "Fudge deserves it! Although..." He frowned. "Lucius Malfoy was singled out too. He's clearly that man's subordinate."

"Sirius!" Lupin sighed.

He thought the same, but the Malfoys had been cleared. Their speculation was baseless.

Sirius snorted and said nothing.

"How did you do that?"

After dinner, Draco lingered near Hall and whispered in his ear.

Hall looked at him with surprise.

"What do you mean by that look?!" Draco nearly exploded. "You think I wouldn't find out? What kind of image do you have of me?!"

Hall coughed, eyes darting away guiltily. "I didn't mean that. I'm just surprised you noticed. I thought I was being discreet."

Draco snorted, giving him a disdainful look. His platinum blonde hair shimmered under the light. Every part of him seemed to say: you're overthinking it.

They walked through the moving staircases. Hall stepped precisely onto one that appeared before him.

"This is very much your style." Draco crossed his arms, chin raised. "People who don't know you well probably won't notice. But those who deal with you regularly..." He trailed off meaningfully.

Hall coughed again. Hermione had noticed earlier too. And if Draco had figured it out — Snape and Dumbledore probably knew as well.

He shrugged. It wasn't a big deal. He hadn't done anything antisocial.

In the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore and Snape were discussing the same thing.

"Today's Daily Prophet is very interesting," Dumbledore said, eyes crinkling.

Snape snorted. "This is adult business. Not a child's concern."

He stopped. Of course Dumbledore had noticed — the article had Hall's fingerprints all over it.

"I know that boy is capable," Dumbledore said with a smile, a tacit admission. "But how exactly he did it..."

"If you knew that, you'd be Hall Weasley," Snape said flatly.

Dumbledore laughed, unwrapping a honey candy. He'd wondered about Hall's secrets. But the boy was a Weasley. Unlikely to go down a dark path. He could rest easy.

In the Room of Requirement, Hall sneezed. "Good thing I wasn't doing alchemy — those materials are expensive."

Dragon liver, dragon blood, evening primrose, gold, silver, copper, iron. Potion-making materials he could get from Snape's stores. But alchemy — neither Snape nor Dumbledore nor even Grindelwald would have what he needed.

He sipped hot tea, then approached the workbench.

"The spell I'm best at engraving right now is Stunner." He could cast it wandlessly, perfectly. Better than Harry Potter, even.

He wanted more powerful coins. A blinding flash, a binding, a disarming strike.

The simpler the spell, the easier to inscribe. But simple didn't mean weak. Even a basic Lumos, used right, could blind an opponent.

Hall focused. Three spells: Lumos (enhanced), Incarcerous, Expelliarmus.

The idea: flashbang - bind - disarm. Flexible order.

The enhanced Lumos coin kept failing. Hall successfully made several Binding coins and one Expelliarmus coin. But the Lumos coin wouldn't cooperate.

He stepped back from the workbench, grabbed some desserts and pumpkin juice. With his sugar levels restored, inspiration struck.

Maybe the problem wasn't alchemy. Maybe it was the spell itself.