Toji Potter
(This Chapter covers the Events of the fifth Year)
The mood around Hogwarts had noticeably darkened. For the younger students, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become the subject of dread rather than excitement. The first, second, third, and fourth years grumbled in the halls, their voices filled with frustration. There was no dueling practice, no practical spellwork, and certainly none of what Professor Snape might refer to as "silly wand-waving." Instead, students were handed endless reading assignments, forced to memorize theoretical concepts and listen to dull lectures.
Harry heard these complaints often, and he couldn't help but feel the weight of the fifth year students' growing discontent, especially as today was his own DADA class. He, too, wasn't looking forward to it. Despite having fuzzy memories of the future, one thing stood out clearly: Dolores Umbridge was a menace.
Stepping into the classroom with Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey at his side, Harry saw the familiar, nauseating pink decor and that same smug smile on Umbridge's face as she sat primly at her desk, quill in hand.
"Good afternoon, class," she simpered, her voice high and sickly sweet. "Please open your books to Chapter Seven, Defensive Magical Theory. Today we shall discuss how magic can be theoretically useful in a duel, though of course, practical use is discouraged. The Ministry prefers its students to be well-behaved citizens, not reckless wand-wavers."
The room tensed. Eyes flicked toward Harry, who sat in the middle of the classroom, his expression darkening by the second. He could feel his patience wearing thin. The students around him were clearly restless, muttering among themselves about the pointlessness of the class. No one wanted theory without practice, and certainly not with Umbridge's condescending attitude.
Harry had had enough. An idea sparked in his mind—a memory of wizarding tradition, one Umbridge would not be able to weasel her way out of. He stood up, casually, and reached into his bag.
"Professor," Harry began, his voice cool but firm, "I'd like to propose a more hands-on approach to learning today."
Umbridge's smile faltered slightly. "Mr. Potter, the Ministry's guidelines—"
Harry cut her off by tossing a glove onto the floor between them, its thud resounding through the now-silent classroom. It was a traditional challenge—a duel. Everyone in the room knew what it meant, and even a Muggle would have understood the significance.
Gasps echoed around the room as students looked on, their eyes wide. Harry smirked, satisfied by the reaction.
"I challenge you to a duel, Professor," Harry said, his voice dripping with confidence. "If I win, you leave your position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. If you win, I'll accept whatever punishment you see fit."
Umbridge's face went through a series of changes—disbelief, anger, and finally a thin, smug smile. She stood, attempting to maintain her superior air. "Mr. Potter, dueling a teacher is highly improper. The Ministry—"
"The Ministry upholds old traditions, does it not?" Harry interrupted again, his voice firm. "Or are you going to ignore tradition when it suits you?"
The students began murmuring excitedly. The idea of Harry dueling Umbridge spread like wildfire, and they were all eager to see how it would unfold. Umbridge's smile faltered, her pride clearly stung.
"Very well," she said, her voice laced with annoyance. "I accept. But I'll have you know that a proper duel is a civilized exchange, Mr. Potter, not a brawl."
Harry raised his wand and flicked it. The desks moved aside, and the students, too, were gently pushed back against the walls. A shimmering barrier formed around the perimeter of the room, blocking any spells from escaping the confined space.
"Let's make this quick," Harry said, twirling his wand with ease. "I have other things to do."
The duel began, and within moments, it was clear that Harry was on a different level. Umbridge tried to cast a series of weak stunning spells, but Harry easily deflected them with a flick of his wrist. He wasn't even trying yet. His counterspells were fast, precise, and relentless. In a matter of seconds, Umbridge found herself disarmed and flung backward into the barrier, her wand clattering to the floor.
The classroom erupted into stifled laughter, and Umbridge's face turned a furious shade of red.
"You've lost," Harry said smoothly, lowering his wand and stepping closer. "As per our agreement, you'll leave your position now."
But Umbridge, still humiliated, rose shakily to her feet. "The Ministry," she hissed, "has granted me a special warrant to continue my post. This duel changes nothing."
Harry's smile turned dangerous. "The Ministry may think it has control, but it doesn't. Not over me."
Days later, Harry found himself alone, sitting in his dorm room, planning his next move. The Ministry, with Umbridge as their puppet, had shown its hand. They were corrupt to the core, and Harry had no intention of letting them get away with it. He had dirt on the Ministry—dark, damning secrets that could ruin them.
But for now, he needed to take a different approach. He needed the right person to spread the word—someone who could make the Ministry's secrets public without hesitation.
Rita Skeeter.
He discussed the plan with his girls—Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey—who agreed without hesitation. Even Fleur, who Harry had been corresponding with, was on board. Rita Skeeter was known for being slippery and morally questionable, but Harry had a feeling he could handle her. More than that, he was certain he could win her over.
It was a Saturday when Harry decided to visit Rita Skeeter. He knew her usual haunts well enough—he'd done his research. After finding her in The Three Broomsticks, he invited her to join him for a drink.
Rita eyed him with curiosity, her quill always at the ready. "Mr. Potter," she began with a smirk, "to what do I owe this... unexpected invitation?"
Harry leaned in, flashing her a confident smile. "I thought you might like an exclusive. One that could shake the wizarding world."
Her eyes gleamed with interest, and as the conversation continued, Harry charmed her effortlessly. By the end of the evening, they had moved from drinks to a private room upstairs, where Rita discovered just how persuasive Harry could be. In her eyes, Harry had become something far more than just a source for news—he was, as she would later call him, a Sex God.
The next day, the wizarding world woke up to a scandalous article in The Daily Prophet, courtesy of Rita Skeeter. The headline read:
"Unsanctioned Experiments: Dark Secrets of the Ministry Exposed!"
The article revealed that the Ministry had been secretly conducting dangerous experiments on dark creatures and magical artifacts, trying to harness their power. Worse still, even Squibs—magically aware but powerless individuals—had been subjected to these inhumane trials.
The backlash was immediate. The Ministry was suddenly under fire, scrambling to control the narrative. But Harry wasn't done. He had more secrets to reveal, and with Rita on his side, the war against the Ministry had only just begun.
Harry grinned as he saw the chaos his actions had caused. The Ministry was in his way, and now, he was determined to tear it down brick by brick.
His journey to uncover the truth about magic's origins and ultimate power would continue. But for now, he had a corrupt institution to dismantle—and Harry Potter was just getting started.
It was a chilly Saturday evening in The Three Broomsticks, and Harry found himself once again in the company of Rita Skeeter. The smoky tavern was dimly lit, its warmth contrasting the cold winds outside. Rita sat across from Harry, her quill scribbling away at the parchment in front of her as he fed her more damning secrets about the Ministry.
This wasn't just a business relationship anymore—Rita had long since become smitten with Harry, and the time they spent together, well, let's just say she cherished their 'exclusive' moments. The last article about unsanctioned experiments had been a hit, sending shockwaves through the wizarding world. Now, Harry was preparing her for something even bigger.
Rita leaned closer, her red lips curling into a smile. "So, what's the next move, Harry? You've already put the Ministry on the defensive. What else have you got up your sleeve?"
Harry took a slow sip of his butterbeer, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Memory charms, Imperius curses, and other... unapproved spells. The Ministry has been using them to manipulate events, covering up their messes—on both wizards and Muggles. I've got proof."
Her quill froze midair. She licked her lips, clearly thrilled by the idea. "How juicy! You know, Harry, the more dirt you dig up, the more... interesting our meetings become." Rita's hand found its way to Harry's, giving it a suggestive squeeze. She had long since fallen under his charm, captivated by his wit and power, but it was Harry's way of making her feel like she was special—that their secret dealings were not just about information, but about them.
Harry smiled, leaning in. "There's more where that came from, Rita. But we release this when I say so. Timing is everything. And I'll make sure the Ministry never recovers."
Later, after their discussion had shifted to more 'private' matters in an upstairs room, Rita found herself lost in the embrace of what she could only describe as a Sex God. Every encounter seemed more intense than the last, leaving her weak and utterly besotted by Harry's dominance, both in the political arena and... otherwise.
Back at Hogwarts, the atmosphere had shifted dramatically. Dolores Umbridge was becoming a bigger problem by the day. Her petty rules were beginning to suffocate the student body, and her latest appointment as High Inquisitor meant she now had even more authority to abuse.
The pink-clad woman strutted through the corridors, her wide smile and condescending air making Harry's blood boil—though he didn't let it show. She had been doing her best to provoke him for weeks now, hoping to land him in detention and humiliate him. But every time she tried, Harry shut her down with quick-witted responses that chipped away at her carefully constructed image.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Umbridge's lectures had become increasingly unbearable, filled with ministry propaganda. Today was no different.
"Mr. Potter," she said, her saccharine voice dripping with false concern, "I hear you've been spending time in less... desirable company. Trying to continue your little fame-chasing games, are you?"
The class shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension.
Harry didn't miss a beat. He leaned back in his chair, offering a casual smile. "Only undesirable thing I've encountered lately is your teaching, Professor. Or should I say... lack thereof?"
The students snickered. Umbridge's smile tightened. "My methods are approved by the Ministry, Potter. I would suggest you watch your tone."
He shrugged. "Funny, I thought we were here to learn magic, not read a textbook like first-years. Or perhaps that's beyond your capabilities?"
Umbridge's face flushed pink, and Harry could tell she was close to snapping. Her attempts to insult him only backfired, each retort of his chipping away at her composure.
Meanwhile, Harry, Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey had been organizing something of their own. The suffocating restrictions on wand use, enforced by Umbridge, had driven them underground—literally. With the help of the Room of Requirement, they created a sanctuary for students who wanted to actually learn and practice magic.
They called it the Dueling Club, though it encompassed far more than just dueling. Harry and his girls had made it their mission to ensure students could defend themselves, especially with the looming threat of Voldemort's return.
In the room, various students practiced shield charms, jinxes, and hexes. Harry moved among them, correcting stances, adjusting wand movements, and giving practical advice. Hermione was teaching a group of first-years how to properly use Expelliarmus, while Daphne and Tracey ran a mock duel with some of the older students, showcasing advanced defensive spells.
The secret meetings had quickly gained popularity, and even students from other houses—like Gryffindor and Ravenclaw—attended regularly. What started as a small group of Slytherins had grown into a school-wide movement. Harry had ensured that everything was kept discreet. The Room of Requirement provided the perfect cover, and with Harry's knowledge of secret passages, they could come and go undetected.
Of course, it was only a matter of time before Umbridge caught wind of their activities. She had been snooping around, trying to find any evidence of defiance. One afternoon, after an exhausting practice session in the Room of Requirement, Harry overheard some whispers in the corridors: Umbridge had found out about the club.
Instead of panicking, Harry remained calm. He had been preparing for this eventuality. When Umbridge came storming down the hallway, her beady eyes gleaming with excitement, she barged into the Room of Requirement only to find it... completely empty.
Her face twisted in confusion as she searched for signs of any wrongdoing. But there was nothing—no wands, no students, no evidence.
As she fumed and began barking orders at Filch to search the castle, Harry and the other students had already escaped through an enchanted portal leading directly to the Chamber of Secrets. Harry had anticipated this moment, creating an elaborate escape route that connected the Room of Requirement to various hidden locations, including each house's common room. The portals were inactive unless Harry himself activated them, keeping them safe from prying eyes.
As Umbridge stomped through the castle, Harry couldn't help but smirk. She was outplayed, and for now, the Dueling Club was safe.
Days later, Harry met Rita Skeeter once again. This time, he provided her with the next bombshell piece of information.
"The Ministry has been using memory charms and the Imperius curse on Muggles and wizards alike," Harry said, watching her eyes widen with excitement. "They've been covering up their own mistakes for years, manipulating events, erasing memories—it's all there."
Rita grinned, scribbling furiously. "This will be front-page news, Harry. You really are something else."
"I'm just getting started," Harry replied with a wink. He left her with another kiss, knowing that when the time was right, the Ministry would be facing yet another storm of controversy—this time, one they couldn't charm their way out of.
With the Ministry in his sights and Umbridge constantly at his heels, Harry knew he had the upper hand. His battle was only beginning, and as long as he kept his cards close, there was no stopping him.
The Hogwarts students had reached that pivotal point in their education where career advice was required. The castle was buzzing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety as fifth-year students prepared to meet their respective Heads of House. The prospect of OWLs loomed over everyone, but for now, all thoughts were directed towards their futures.
In the dimly lit Slytherin Common Room, Harry sat in the chair across from Severus Snape, who looked as disinterested as ever. His dark eyes scanned Harry's file with a flicker of curiosity, but his face remained unreadable.
"Potter," Snape said flatly, not even looking up from the parchment, "career advice seems pointless in your case, doesn't it? You already have everything. Fame. Money. Power."
Harry smirked, crossing his arms. "Oh, I don't know, Professor. A man has to have hobbies."
Snape's lips curled in the slightest sneer. "Hobbies, yes. Unfortunately, destroying Dark Lords and becoming a fashion icon are not career paths most would suggest."
Harry chuckled, appreciating Snape's biting humor even more than before. "What about an Auror? Or a professor like you?"
Snape's expression darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "An Auror is more suited to someone like you. Chasing after Death Eaters, risking your life at every turn. But you're also not just anyone, are you? Potter, if you really wanted, you could do just about anything. So why bother with this meeting?"
Harry's smirk widened. "You make a good point. I guess I'm here out of tradition."
Snape closed the file and leaned back in his chair, his gaze piercing. "Then my advice, Potter, is simple: don't let the world define you. Define yourself. Now get out of my office."
Harry left Snape's office feeling a strange sense of satisfaction, knowing that, despite everything, Snape respected him in his own way.
Later that week, Harry held Quidditch training sessions for Slytherin House. As the newly appointed captain, he had been relentless in his training regime. The Slytherin team was full of talented players, but Harry's intensity was wearing them down.
They met on the Quidditch pitch under the dim sky, the chill in the air doing little to dampen Harry's enthusiasm. He had the team go through a series of grueling exercises, including flight drills that involved sharp dives and quick ascents, dodging Bludgers, and long-distance passes that seemed almost impossible to pull off.
"Come on, you lot!" Harry yelled, flying circles around the team on his broom. "I've seen first-years with more energy! Faster, tighter turns, and those passes need to be crisp! You're playing like Hufflepuffs!"
The team groaned but pushed harder, driven by Harry's expectations. His own skill on the broom was unparalleled, and he made it clear that nothing less than perfection would be accepted. After several hours, the exhausted Slytherins finally finished the session, some looking ready to collapse.
"Same time tomorrow," Harry called out, grinning as the players groaned again. "If you want to win the Cup, this is how we do it."
Despite the tough regimen, the team was improving, and they knew Harry's methods would pay off when the matches began.
A few days later, Harry attended the prestigious Stylish Wizard of the Year event. It was a glamorous affair, held in one of London's most luxurious wizarding venues. Wizards and witches from all over the world had gathered, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. The competition was fierce, with magical fashion designers showcasing their finest creations.
But when Harry entered the room, all eyes turned to him. He was dressed in an exquisite set of flowing robes, decorated with intricate Chinese dragon designs that shimmered with magic. The deep emerald-green fabric flowed around him like water, the dragon scales catching the light with every movement. His accessories included a silver-engraved belt and elegant wrist cuffs, adorned with ancient runes that glowed softly.
The real showstopper, however, was his staff—a stunningly crafted artifact fused from his original wand and another magical staff. The dark wood gleamed with an otherworldly aura, and with a wave of his hand, it would appear and disappear into a space pocket, creating an air of mystery.
To top it all off, Harry exuded an aura that left the room in awe. Dark, swirling smoke seemed to billow around him—a manifestation of the Deathly Hallows' power he now wielded. His presence was both elegant and intimidating, giving off an impression of someone who had not just mastered magic but transcended it.
The crowd was captivated, and when the judges announced the winner, it was no surprise to anyone that Harry had taken first place, hailed once again as the wizarding world's icon of both fashion and power.
Back at Hogwarts, the pressure of the OWL exams began to bear down on the students. There was no rest for the fifth years, as teachers piled on extra assignments and revision sessions.
Harry and his friends were already ahead of most, balancing their studies and magic practice with ease. In secret, the Dueling Club had been preparing them for more than just their exams. Harry continued to lead the sessions in the Room of Requirement, where the students could practice magic without fear of Umbridge's interference.
The High Inquisitor, as she now liked to be called, had been cracking down on the school with her ridiculous rules. Every day, Filch hammered more plaques onto the walls, each announcing a new decree. No laughing in the corridors. No groups larger than three. No magic in the halls. Harry's favorite rule, however, was when she tried to ban "unapproved clubs."
Naturally, Harry ignored every single one of her decrees.
"What a charming little castle you're destroying," Harry said to Umbridge one morning as she watched Filch hammer another plaque onto the wall.
She gave him a tight smile, her toad-like face twitching in irritation. "Disrespectful behavior, Mr. Potter, will not be tolerated."
"Really? I was just concerned about the structural integrity of the castle. You know, with all that hammering, Filch might accidentally bring the whole thing down."
Umbridge glared, her eyes narrowing. "Watch yourself, Potter."
Harry only smirked. "You should be more worried about yourself, Professor."
It was only a matter of time before Harry's plan against Umbridge was put into motion, but for now, he kept his cards close. He'd waited long enough, and it was time for her to feel the consequences of underestimating him.
Meanwhile, Harry, Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey had been hard at work, quietly organizing a club that operated under Umbridge's nose. In the Room of Requirement, students practiced spells and defense techniques, turning the club into a secret force of students preparing to defend themselves against the dangers that lay beyond Hogwarts.
The club became more than just a place to learn—it was a rebellion against Umbridge's tyranny. The students rallied together, and with Harry as their leader, they felt empowered.
However, Umbridge's prying eyes were always looking for evidence. She had started to suspect Harry of organizing something behind her back, but despite all her efforts, she could never catch him in the act. What she didn't know was that Harry had cleverly created portals that led from the Room of Requirement to the Chamber of Secrets, and from there, to each common room. The exits were untraceable unless Harry wanted them to be found.
One evening, Umbridge stormed through the halls with her Inquisitorial Squad, convinced that she would finally expose Harry's secret club. But once again, when she barged into the Room of Requirement, all she found was an empty room.
Frustrated, she left, not realizing that Harry and the students had already escaped into the Chamber of Secrets, laughing at how easy it was to outsmart her.
The war against Umbridge had begun, and Harry knew that, sooner or later, she would fall.
The Room of Requirement was buzzing with energy as the Dueling Club gathered for their latest training session. Word had spread quickly about the dueling tournament Harry had organized, and nearly every member was present, eager to test their skills.
Harry stood at the front of the room, his expression determined but calm as he looked out over his classmates. Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey stood beside him, ready to assist with instruction as they had over the past months. Harry had been teaching the club how to fight with not only spells but also with their physical bodies, pushing them beyond traditional dueling skills.
"All right, everyone," Harry called, bringing the chatter to a hush. "Today's focus is on fusion—not just with your wand, but with every movement you make. A good duelist doesn't rely solely on spells. You have to be able to move seamlessly, blending spellwork with bodywork."
Harry held up his wand, the smooth wood familiar in his grip. "Watch closely."
With a flick of his wrist, he cast a Stupefy at a target across the room, immediately following up with a sweeping kick, which, in his mind, fused with the magic he wielded. His spell and movement were one, flowing without pause.
"To truly master dueling, you'll need to understand this rhythm," he explained. "Start with your spells, but integrate your body movements. Think of your wand as an extension of yourself. Every step, every twist, should be part of your spellwork."
He moved through a series of demonstrations, showing how he could seamlessly cast a Protego while lunging forward, blending defense with offense. Then he followed it with a nonverbal Expelliarmus, combined with a feint to the side. The students watched with rapt attention, trying to mimic his moves.
"Now, here's the advanced part," Harry said, lowering his voice slightly as he addressed the group. "If you can master wandless casting, then this fusion isn't necessary—you can cast from any part of yourself. It's a skill that takes time to learn, but once you've got it, your opponents won't know what hit them."
The students exchanged eager glances, some already itching to try the techniques. Harry grinned and clapped his hands. "Pair up! Start small and practice. Focus on moving with your spells—let the magic and movement flow together."
For the next hour, Harry coached his classmates, watching as they adapted to the new approach. Some stumbled, their movements clumsy at first, while others took to the techniques with surprising ease. Harry moved from pair to pair, offering tips and correcting stances, his eyes always sharp and encouraging.
The next day, the fifth year students had an official Charms class with Professor Flitwick. The students filed into the classroom, chatting excitedly about the recent tournament. They had expected a regular lesson, but to their surprise, Flitwick had something different in mind.
The tiny professor climbed up onto his desk, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "Good afternoon, class! Today, we'll do something a bit special. I'll be showing you a few advanced dueling techniques. And to help with the demonstration, I'd like a volunteer."
Without hesitation, he looked straight at Harry, his face breaking into a grin. "Harry, would you do us the honor?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, feeling the excitement ripple through the room. He stepped forward, giving a respectful nod. "I'd be honored, Professor."
The students quickly cleared the floor space, creating a wide circle around them. Flitwick moved with surprising agility, drawing his wand and squaring off against Harry with the grace of a seasoned duelist.
"This will be a controlled duel," Flitwick announced to the class. "Observe closely. Notice our movements, our use of spells and the environment around us. Duels are about more than brute force; they're about strategy, timing, and adaptability."
Flitwick bowed to Harry, who returned the gesture. And with that, the duel began.
Flitwick opened with a swift Expelliarmus, his wand flashing with incredible speed. Harry deflected it with a quick Protego, countering immediately with Stupefy. Flitwick darted to the side, ducking behind a nearby desk before casting Diffindo, slicing a chair into splinters that scattered across the floor.
Harry dodged, twisting his body to avoid the debris. As he moved, he launched a Petrificus Totalus towards Flitwick, who rolled to evade it, sending a stunning Bombarda back at Harry. The spell exploded against the floor, sending a cloud of dust and rubble into the air.
"Think on your feet, Harry!" Flitwick called, sending a series of rapid Stinging Hexes in Harry's direction.
Harry weaved through the barrage, feeling the impact of one spell graze his shoulder. He retaliated with a Leviosa Maxima, hoisting a broken desk into the air and flinging it toward Flitwick. The professor countered with Reducto, shattering the desk into countless pieces that rained down.
Flitwick was relentless, his spells coming faster now—Impedimenta, Incarcerous, and a precisely aimed Aguamenti that sent a jet of water straight toward Harry. Harry blocked it with Protego and dashed forward, closing the gap between them as he fired off a non-verbal Expelliarmus. Flitwick sidestepped, moving with such precision that Harry barely had time to prepare for the next spell.
"Very good, Harry!" Flitwick praised, his voice tinged with excitement. He raised his wand and cast Bombarda Maxima, causing a shockwave that shook the room, sending desks and fragments scattering everywhere.
Thinking fast, Harry saw the swirling debris and an idea sparked. He transfigured the remnants of broken wood and stone into a thick layer of mist that filled the room, obscuring their vision. Silently, he slipped through the fog, his footsteps soundless as he circled behind Flitwick.
With a swift, decisive move, Harry raised his wand and cast Expelliarmus, disarming Flitwick and catching the professor's wand midair.
The class erupted into applause, their excitement filling the room. Flitwick, slightly out of breath but beaming, gave Harry an approving nod. "Excellent, Harry. Well done, indeed."
Harry grinned, bowing respectfully. "Thank you, Professor. It was an honor."
Flitwick chuckled, addressing the class. "Remember, it's not about the power of each spell, but how you use them together. Practice, and you'll be dueling like this before you know it."
The following morning, a ripple of nervous anticipation spread through the school. The OWL exams had been officially announced, and fifth years across all Houses were feeling the weight of their impending tests. In the Slytherin Common Room, Harry, Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey gathered over their notes, reviewing charms, hexes, and defensive spells.
"You think the duel was a hint?" Tracey asked, glancing up from her textbook.
Harry shrugged. "Possibly. But whatever's coming, we're ready."
As they settled in to study, Harry couldn't shake the thrill of the recent duel. The upcoming exams might test them, but he knew they were more prepared than ever.
The atmosphere in the examination hall was tense as the fifth-year students took their seats for the first of their OWL exams. A quiet hum of anxiety permeated the room as the students focused on their parchments, quills ready and nerves on edge. Harry, however, was unbothered, his expression relaxed as he counted down the minutes. He had something in mind. Two minutes to go.
A memory stirred in him of Sybill Trelawney, who, though once doubted by students and staff alike, had taken his advice to heart and become a respected teacher. She had made an effort to teach meaningful lessons, treating each student with genuine care and proving that people could, indeed, change. So, when Umbridge had marched into her classroom a month back and booted Trelawney out without warning, it had hit a nerve in many students.
Harry smiled, sensing the arrival of two very familiar troublemakers.
As if on cue, a pair of loud bangs shattered the silence, and Fred and George Weasley came rocketing through the exam hall on their brooms, zigzagging wildly through the air with reckless abandon. The students erupted in laughter as the twins unleashed a rainbow of prank items—fireworks crackled, smoke bombs fizzed, and clouds of sparking, glittering dust hung in the air, obscuring Umbridge's furious face.
Fred swooped over the teachers' desk, tossing down a small device that exploded into a cloud of pink smoke, making Umbridge gag and stumble. George dropped enchanted paper planes that darted around her head, chirping insults and blowing raspberries.
"Umbridge wanted to stop us from our 'silly wand-waving' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, eh?" Fred called, his voice ringing out above the laughter. "We'll show her silly!"
Umbridge's shrieks grew louder as she was forced to dodge a series of charmed fireworks that went off around her, illuminating her face in brilliant hues of red, blue, and green. Her hair was singed, her robes torn, and her high-pitched screams were barely audible over the uproarious laughter of the students.
The classroom doors burst open, and Albus Dumbledore swept in, calm yet authoritative, his presence commanding immediate respect. He gazed at Umbridge, his expression hardening. The students watched with bated breath.
"Dolores," he said coolly, "I believe your tenure here is over."
"But—Headmaster, you don't have the authority—" she spluttered, waving her wand desperately to try to clear the pink smoke from her face.
"On the contrary," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice low but resolute. "You have defiled the castle with your authoritarian presence for too long. Consider your position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, as well as High Inquisitor, revoked."
And with that, Umbridge, red-faced and humiliated, was escorted out of the room to thunderous applause.
As the school year drew to a close and the chaos subsided, the fifth years completed their rescheduled OWLs. The students were relieved, pleased with their performance, and hopeful for good results.
Meanwhile, Harry's attention turned to an urgent matter within the Order of the Phoenix. At their next meeting, a sense of dread filled the room as Dumbledore revealed that two members, Arthur and Molly Weasley, had been taken hostage by none other than Lord Voldemort.
"We believe he intends to exchange them for access to a prophecy," Dumbledore explained, his voice heavy. He glanced at Harry before continuing. "The prophecy concerns you, Harry—and Voldemort."
Dumbledore took a deep breath and shared the prophecy in full, revealing that it foretold a fated confrontation between Harry and Voldemort, a battle in which only one could survive. The silence that followed was heavy.
Harry squared his shoulders, the calm intensity in his gaze unwavering. "I've faced Voldemort before, and I'll do it again if it means saving lives," he declared firmly.
With a nod, Dumbledore and the Order prepared for what would be a dangerous mission.
Harry moved stealthily through the shadows of the Department of Mysteries, the prophecy in hand, and his mind alert for any signs of ambush. It came swiftly—Death Eaters emerged from the shadows, and soon, spells and curses were flying in every direction.
Harry dodged a series of curses, his movements fluid and precise. He didn't hesitate as he countered, launching a volley of spells at his attackers with pinpoint accuracy. He recognized Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy among them and smirked, feeling a strange thrill of anticipation.
Bellatrix lunged at him, her face twisted with malice as she fired a Killing Curse. Harry sidestepped it, sending her reeling backward with a silent, wandless Petrificus Totalus. Lucius Malfoy struck next, but Harry was faster—he conjured a shimmering shield and then dropped it to send a piercing spell toward Lucius's legs, buckling them.
He continued battling, whirling and weaving as he dispatched each Death Eater with ruthless efficiency, leaving a path of incapacitated enemies in his wake. Finally, only one remained.
Voldemort appeared, his face twisted in rage and disbelief as he took in the sight of his fallen followers.
"Interesting, Harry," Voldemort hissed, his crimson eyes narrowing. "So full of darkness, yet so...capable. I can feel it in you—the potential to be great, even if you remain tragically ignorant of the true power of magic."
Harry didn't respond, his face impassive. He simply raised his wand, a flicker of determination in his eyes. With lightning speed, Voldemort launched a torrent of curses, each spell laced with deadly intent. Harry countered with fierce, relentless precision, his reflexes honed and his magic brimming with intensity.
The duel was a deadly dance of spells, with Voldemort trying to push Harry back with dark curses and Harry meeting each one with a deft counter or a fierce retaliation. Fire erupted from Voldemort's wand, and Harry cast a Glacius charm, the flame extinguishing into mist as he shot a silent, dark Sectumsempra that sliced across Voldemort's shoulder.
The Dark Lord's shock was palpable. "Such curses, Potter," he sneered, taken aback. "Has Dumbledore's golden boy fallen so far?"
"Hardly," Harry shot back, his voice cold. "You'd be wise to remember that I'm not your average hero."
A faint glimmer of triumph flashed across Voldemort's face, but Harry seized the opportunity, diving into Voldemort's mind for any trace of the Weasleys' location. Within moments, he found the coordinates, then sent a brutal Reducto to force Voldemort back before apparating to the hostages.
With a few quick spells, he freed Arthur and Molly, escorting them to safety and returning with them to the Order's headquarters.
Back at the headquarters, Harry gave a word-for-word recount of the night's events to the Order. The room was silent, each person hanging on his every word.
When he finished, a satisfied smirk crept onto Harry's face. "Voldemort," he said, his voice laced with disdain, "is not only the most cowardly excuse for a dark lord, but also the dumbest villain I've ever encountered."
The Order members chuckled, their spirits lifting as they processed Harry's words. For the first time in a long while, a glimmer of hope filled the room.
The year had grown darker, with Voldemort's presence pressing more urgently on the magical world. With each passing week, reports of Death Eater attacks were more frequent and devastating. Homes destroyed, families torn apart, and fearful whispers of Voldemort's growing power swept through the Wizarding World. Harry took each report personally, the weight of his role pressing him forward with determination.
One evening, after a particularly intense Order meeting, Dumbledore approached Harry in his calm, thoughtful way, his face drawn with purpose. "It's time, Harry," he said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "There are pieces of Voldemort's soul—Horcruxes. They must be destroyed if he is to be defeated once and for all."
Harry had anticipated this moment, feeling a mixture of determination and a twinge of excitement. This mission went far beyond a school year's worth of lessons, but Dumbledore promised him guidance and knowledge, including some of the rarest magic few had ever learned.
Their training was rigorous. Dumbledore, with his vast knowledge, began teaching Harry lost magics, sharing ancient spells that had faded into obscurity over centuries. These magics included slayer spells—powerful and dangerous, with specific slayer magic geared toward combating certain creatures, like dragons, serpents, and creatures dark and monstrous. The spellwork was demanding, but Harry's commitment and passion carried him through the intense lessons.
Dumbledore's voice was often serious when training Harry, but outside of that, they found themselves sharing more than just spells and techniques. Harry introduced the old wizard to modern slang and, even more amusingly, fresh insults for Voldemort. Dumbledore took to it with good humor, chuckling as Harry offered some choice phrases he knew would infuriate the Dark Lord.
"Tell me, Harry," Dumbledore said one evening, a mischievous glint in his eye, "is 'Snake-Face' really the preferred nickname these days?"
Harry grinned. "Only if you want to get under his skin, Professor."
The two of them continued like this, training hard by day, and sharing moments of lighthearted friendship by night. With each Horcrux they destroyed, Harry's confidence grew, and he felt himself growing closer to the Headmaster, as if they were kindred spirits in this fight.
To better prepare for battles with dark wizards, Dumbledore suggested they spar—a suggestion that left Harry both eager and slightly intimidated. Dumbledore was a master duelist, and even though Harry had faced Voldemort himself, he knew the experience would be invaluable.
Their spars became a routine part of their training. Each session, Harry grew quicker, more adept at blending advanced spellwork with physical agility and wandless casting. Dumbledore didn't hold back, his spells complex and unpredictable, forcing Harry to think on his feet, to adapt mid-battle.
"Excellent, Harry," Dumbledore praised, after Harry dodged a particularly well-aimed hex and countered with a creative, multi-layered shield charm. "Your instinct to combine spells into one fluid motion is impressive."
Harry grinned, feeling a new rush of pride as he continued his training. Dumbledore's praise meant everything to him, and their sessions gave him a level of skill that he could test elsewhere. Throughout the summer, Harry entered a series of dueling tournaments and wizarding championships, winning rare artifacts, medals, and accolades. Word spread quickly of his prowess, and wherever there was a Death Eater attack, if Harry was nearby, he put it down with unwavering confidence.
Dumbledore had one last task for Harry before the school year: helping to convince Horace Slughorn to return to Hogwarts to teach Potions. They visited the aging professor together, finally managing to lure him out of his comfortable retirement. Slughorn, charmed by Harry's fame and strength, agreed with enthusiasm, though not without his usual stipulations. When Dumbledore informed him that Severus Snape would be moving to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Slughorn's face lit up with interest.
Returning to the Order's headquarters that night, Harry told his girlfriends, Daphne, Tracey, and Hermione, about the faculty change, eager to see their reactions.
"No way! Slughorn?" Hermione gasped, unable to contain her excitement.
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Slug Club parties, then? And Snape in Defense? Oh, this year will be… interesting."
Harry laughed at the mix of excitement and horror on their faces, secretly looking forward to how the year would unfold.
Before long, it was time for the girls' birthdays, and Harry, determined to make it memorable, planned a grand celebration. The four of them gathered with close friends in a secluded section of Diagon Alley. Harry had even arranged for Fleur to attend as a surprise, her graceful presence adding to the festivity.
As they celebrated, there was a noticeable shift in the evening. They were no longer just students; they were adults, facing dangerous missions and carrying heavy responsibilities, but that night, none of it mattered. They laughed, danced, and drank together, savoring every moment. The night culminated in a private moment they shared, a memory that would bond them all deeply in ways beyond magic. Harry stayed beside each of them, devoted to the love and warmth they gave him, reminding him of the strength that came from companionship.
As the morning of the Hogwarts Express departure arrived, Harry felt a surge of excitement. This was his sixth year—his second-to-last year at Hogwarts. He boarded the train, spotting his friends as they waved him over. They chatted eagerly about the upcoming year, speculating on what Snape would be like in Defense Against the Dark Arts and imagining what new challenges Slughorn would introduce in Potions.
As the train wound its way to Hogwarts, Harry watched the countryside rush by, a confident smile on his face. He felt prepared, stronger than ever. He was ready to face whatever Voldemort or the year might throw at him. He had his friends, his girlfriends, and the trust of Dumbledore. And with each Horcrux destroyed, they were one step closer to victory.
The excitement buzzing in the air was contagious. Harry's girlfriends chattered about their hopes for the year, Hermione already pulling out some fresh parchment to make a study plan. They all had their eyes set on the future, and Harry was more than ready for the year to begin.
Author's note. this one was a little shorter and the next one will probably be aswell, I am thinking of making the 7th year more fleshed out and longer aswell. For those who liked reading the longer chapters, sorry.