Umbridge Instigates

After a long and excruciatingly boring lesson, Professor Umbridge allowed her students to leave. If one where standing outside of the DADA classroom as her pupils left, they would have seen very many aggravated-looking teenagers filing past.

Harry stood up and turned toward the door as if to leave. He acted like he was politely waiting for all the students to go ahead of him, but when the last student approached the door he turned and walked to Umbridge's desk.

"Hi-de-ho there, Professor Umbridge." Harry purred sinisterly.

"Mr. Potter." Umbridge greeted in turn.

"How many times must I tell you people, it's Ms. Potter." He growled.

"Now Harry. You are a male, the proper way to address you is by Mr."

"Maybe I don't want to be proper, eh? Maybe I don't want to be a randy obnoxious sod like the rest of my dorm mates!"Harry cried, looking up at Umbridge with teary eyes.

"Ehrm. Right, then. How have your sessions with the therapists been going?" she asked shiftily.

"Do you think I don't know what that was? Trying to make it seem as though this is a part of my mental issues. How dare you, sir?"

"Ma'am." She corrected.

"Now you know how it feels." Harry whispered, voice husky with anger. "You should call me by what I wish to be addressed as."

"No! I don't have any say over the other teachers but I will no longer indulge you in your ridiculous games." Umbridge blinked several times trying to calm her annoyance. "If you absolutely feel the need to rant and unload your feelings, then you should go see the therapist the Headmaster and Madame Pomfrey hired just for your sake."

"Yes, maybe. Maybe I'll tell her about how you've been embarrassing me in class and threatening me with detention when I can't control my emotions. Threatening me even though it's not my fault. Then, perhaps we could go to the Headmaster together and let him in on it."

Umbridge smiled at Harry delightedly. "Oh, Mr. Potter. You sadly overestimate Dumbledore's influence; and your underestimation of my power is even more pathetic." She said in her sickeningly sweet voice; she leant in further and looked down at him threateningly. "No matter what happens, no matter what you do, I cannot be forced out of this school. You go on embarrassing yourself all you'd like, but it won't help you. It only drives the students, and more importantly their parents, right into the ministry's hands. Keep it up Potter, you're doing us a favor." She finished sweetly.

Harry was angry and stunned. Just then, a group of noisy second years entered the DADA classroom.

"Now if you'd excuse me," Umbridge said, "I have a class to attend to."

Before she pushed past him, he stepped in front of her and looked her straight in the eye. "Fine. Whatever. Just remember you brought whatever happens on yourself. I never back down; and I have nothing to lose—remember that too." He said, his voice losing all traces of whininess and innocence.

With that he left the classroom, ignoring the way the second years dashed out of his way and were afraid to turn their backs on him.

/

As a precaution, it was mandatory for Harry to have sessions every night after dinner before retiring.

"Hello, Harry." His therapist said softly.

"Hey Eleanor." He greeted unenthusiastically.

"How are you today?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "The same as every other day."

Her eyebrows twitched slightly from confusion. "…Which would mean?"

"Crappy. Depressed. Angry. Lonely. Mood swingy." He said tonelessly.

"You feel this way every day?" Eleanor asked with genuine concern.

"Yes. But sometimes I feel horny. That's not a type of misery; so I guess it's not all crap." He replied with a great amount of sarcasm.

"Well, that's…good I guess. But it's not enough. We want you to feel happy and stress-free."

"I hate when you say 'we' like that." He grumbled.

"I'm sorry. I want you to be happy. And I hope you do too. That's all I meant."

"I'm never going to not have stress. Not with the Skull-face skulking around out there."

"Skull-face?"

"You know, Voldemort."

"I see. The Prophet would have the world believe that your tale is a lie, or worse a horrible psychological ailment." She said ambiguously.

"Do you believe that?" Harry asked with feigned disinterest.

"I believe you've been lying a lot lately. However, I believe your behavior started recently; After the Magical world seemed to turn its back on you. You don't want attention; you want help. No I don't believe the Prophet, in fact I know what it says is not true." She said truthfully and forcefully. She sounded a bit angry in talking about the Prophet, so he believed her.

Harry stared at the floor "A cry for help? That's what Hermione said too."

"Sounds about right, yeah?"

"Months back, I would have said no way. This was all about revenge, sticking it to the world that insisted I was an attention-seeking liar by becoming the ultimate attention-seeking liar. Now, I'm not sure. I feel—not okay. All the time." Harry said, his voice weak from the embarrassment of admitting his feelings.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes moved to his shoes, making him believe her.

"I know." He said not getting angry at the cliché response. Pity, he knew. But pity was preferable to blame, at least in this case. "I won't stop, though."

"I can't tell you what to do, and I have no right to repeat what is said in here without your permission. You do what you must; but please, don't compromise yourself to get back at the world. They are only afraid; and you know what? A boy with a lying problem is a lot less formidable than the darkest wizard of all time. Who would you choose to fight?" She finished with a sheepish smile.

Harry returned the smile. He did feel better. But his anger at the world remained; that was no excuse. He was only a boy still, and they were supposed to take care of him. The world that tricked him into finally trusting and opening his heart after years of making himself an icicle to survive the Dursleys, had betrayed him at the first sign of trouble. No, he wasn't done with them yet.

/

"Ron."

"No." Ron said, stopping his friend before more madness could ensue.

"You don't even know what I was going to say." Harry said indignantly.

"Well I know there is no way it would have been anything I want to hear."

Harry pouted. "I was just going to say that I need a hug."

Ron blanched. "I was right. And no way am I going to hug you."

"I'm suffering sadness like gas right now and I need a hug." When this got no reaction Harry stepped closer and pouted. "Please? No one ever loved me…" He sniffed sadly.

"Oh for gods' sake! Fine!" He stood up and pressed his forearms over Harry's biceps—keeping his hands away—and let his friend squeeze tightly around his midsection. Ron tried a few times to move away but Harry held fast and the sobbing, which Ron didn't know was fake, made him reluctant to push Harry away.

Harry squeezed his arms tighter a couple times before mumbling something into Ron's chest.

"What was that?" Ron asked in a tight voice.

Harry lifted his head. "I said you're getting a bit pudgy—it's like hugging Santa!"

"Alright get off of me now." This time he did push Harry away.

"What? I meant it in a good way! All that toneless chunk is great for snuggles." Harry said chirpily.

Ron read through the lines on that one. "If I wake up and find you in my bed squeezing me—EVER, I will go straight for a teacher and have you kicked out of the dorm. Understand?"

Harry looked like a kick puppy.

"No! No, that face isn't going to work this time! Do you understand?" Ron asked sternly.

"Yeah, yeah fine. I won't climb in your bed for snuggles while you're sleeping." Harry promised reluctantly.

"Alright then." Ron said, satisfied.

What a fool was he to believe that nonsense.

/

A/n

I figured it would be interesting if the tone of the story fluctuated with his moods. It'll be just like reading the real Harry Potter books!

You remember how it goes:

yay Quidditch—Snape is mean—yay Hogwarts—everyone's hugging their parents, sniff—yay candy—everyone hates me this year—yay Christmas—no presents from the Durselys, sniff, it doesn't bother me, sniff-yay Cho—boo Voldemort—yay candy

J.K, give the boy a bottle (milk or voddie, either would work) and a nap for goodness sake.