CHAPTER 22 – NEW BEGINNINGS IN ACADEMIA

The Sunday evening following Madam Umbridge's hasty departure from the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, Harry found himself on the receiving end of a rather enigmatic summons to the Headmaster's office. Unlike previous invitations, this one bore his name alone, omitting the usual inclusion of his steadfast companions, Fleur and Hermione. Puzzled, he queried his friends, only to be met with laughter and playful taunts.

"Are you afraid of facing the big, bad Headmaster on your own?" teased Hermione, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Harry," reassured Fleur, her elegant demeanor concealing a hint of curiosity. "Just let us know what he wants when you return."

Thus, Harry ventured alone to the mysterious confines of Dumbledore's office, a sense of discomfort settling over him as he took his seat in front of the ancient desk. The Headmaster regarded him with a gaze that seemed to pierce through layers of secrecy, leaving Harry uneasy in a way he had never experienced before. It was as if Dumbledore held the key to all his hidden truths, or at least, believed he did.

"I assume you are content with the resolution of Madam Umbridge's tenure here, Harry?" Dumbledore's voice broke the silence, the tone measured and contemplative.

Harry shifted in his seat, grappling with the unexpected intensity of the Headmaster's scrutiny. "It would have been better if she'd never shown up at all," he grumbled, a touch of frustration coloring his words. "But at least she's gone now, and the Minister won't meddle in our affairs any longer."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled knowingly, and a faint smile played on his lips. "Ah, the ebb and flow of politics. A delicate dance indeed. However, I called you here not merely to discuss Madam Umbridge's departure but to delve into matters that concern you specifically, my dear boy."

The cryptic statement hung in the air, leaving Harry to ponder what secrets Dumbledore might be alluding to. The conversation that followed unfolded in a tapestry of dialogue, as the Headmaster guided Harry through reflections on his past, revelations about the present, and hints at an enigmatic future. The office, once a bastion of familiarity, became a chamber of mysteries, and Harry found himself entangled in a discourse that would shape the course of his journey at Hogwarts and beyond.

The Headmaster had already declared his intention to personally take charge of Defense Against the Dark Arts for the remainder of the academic year, and Harry couldn't help but be intrigued by the prospect of witnessing Dumbledore's unique approach to teaching the subject. While Dumbledore's credentials as a wizard of unparalleled skill were unquestionable, Harry couldn't shake the knowledge that the Headmaster had once held the post of Transfiguration Professor. The transition from one specialized field to another was bound to be intriguing, if not a tad unconventional. Still, Dumbledore's legacy as the vanquisher of the previous dark lord added an air of anticipation to the upcoming lessons. Besides, as Harry mused, he couldn't be any worse than some of the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors who had graced Hogwarts during his tenure.

"Yes, indeed," Dumbledore replied with a genial smile. "It has been too long since I've been in a classroom, and I look forward to teaching once again, even if it is only for a short time."

Harry nodded, expressing his anticipation of having Dumbledore as a teacher, but an expectant silence hung in the air as he waited for the Headmaster to unveil the true purpose behind the summons.

"Now, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore began, his eyes glinting with a keen intelligence, "I would appreciate it if you would enlighten me about this club that you and your friends have organized."

Harry's eyes widened in astonishment, grappling with the revelation that Dumbledore was aware of the clandestine club. Despite their meticulous efforts to conceal it not only from Umbridge but from all the professors, it now seemed almost absurd to discover that Dumbledore had been privy to their activities all along.

"How did you know about the club?" Harry blurted out, a mixture of shock and confusion coloring his tone. He quickly added, realizing the impertinence of his question, "I'm sorry, Professor, I—"

"It is nothing, Harry," Dumbledore assured him with a benevolent smile. "But let's just say that while it is impossible for me to be privy to every detail within these castle walls, I do make an effort to stay informed about significant occurrences. Your initiative, I would classify as one such noteworthy event. May I presume that the genesis of this endeavor was a response to the shortcomings of Madam Umbridge's instructional methods?"

"Yes, sir," Harry confirmed. "Auror Moody emphasized the importance of practical application, and we thought it would be beneficial to extend that knowledge to others as well."

"Very prudent, Harry," Dumbledore commended. "The question at hand is, what are your plans for this initiative now that Madam Umbridge has vacated the Defense Professorship?"

The question caught Harry off guard, his relief at Umbridge's departure overshadowing any consideration of the club's future.

"I don't know, sir," he admitted. "I suppose with a proper professor in place, the club may no longer be necessary."

Dumbledore arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "You don't believe it is?"

Harry hesitated, uncertain about the club's continued relevance in light of improved instruction. "You think we should keep it, sir?"

The Headmaster leaned back in his chair, regarding Harry with a thoughtful expression. "I should think that your opinion on the matter carries more weight than mine. You and your friends identified a need and took proactive steps to address it, demonstrating initiative and organization. However, now that the prospect of enhanced instruction looms—hopefully, at least," Dumbledore added with a self-deprecating chuckle, "it doesn't necessarily follow that the club has outlived its purpose."

"You think we should continue it?" Harry inquired, seeking the Headmaster's guidance.

Dumbledore sighed, adopting a more contemplative demeanor as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. His eyes bore into Harry with an intensity that hinted at the gravity of his words. "You know that dark times are approaching, Harry," he stated. "In fact, with the return of Voldemort last June, one could truthfully say that dark times are already upon us.

"The truth of the matter is that the education you receive at Hogwarts, though valuable, will likely be insufficient to navigate the challenges ahead. I consented to have Alastor teach you because I believed it would benefit you, aiding in your improvement and better equipping you to defend yourself. I view this club as a continuation of that effort, Harry, and I cannot commend your foresight in organizing it enough."

"I wasn't exactly keen on the idea at the beginning, sir," Harry confessed bashfully. "Hermione and Fleur had to talk me into it."

"And that is precisely why they are such good friends and positive influences on you," Dumbledore remarked sagely. "It is said that behind every great man is a great woman—or, I daresay, even two—urging him on the path to greatness. Listen to their counsel. Their feelings for you, their desire to see you succeed, are such that they will never lead you astray, should you choose to allow them to inspire you."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied automatically, his mind absorbing the weight of Dumbledore's words.

"Now, regarding the composition of this club," Dumbledore continued, shifting the focus. "I understand that it is primarily made up of upper years?"

"There are a few younger ones, but most are at least fourth year and higher," Harry clarified.

"Excellent," Dumbledore remarked. "That is about the time when one becomes capable of learning to truly defend oneself, not to mention having the magical prowess required for effective defense. Now, please share with me the list of individuals you've invited to join your club."

Harry proceeded to provide the Headmaster with the names of those they had extended invitations to, along with details about the location and the covert methods they had employed to reach the meeting room undetected—although he conceded that the latter precaution might be less necessary now.

"It seems you have everything under control," Dumbledore finally responded with a measure of approval. "I have, however, noticed that Slytherin house is conspicuously absent from your club."

"I'm not exactly on friendly terms with anyone from Slytherin," Harry replied defensively. "Besides, I wouldn't want to teach Malfoy how to beat me."

"I understand your reasoning, Harry," Dumbledore acknowledged. "But I would caution you against painting the entire house with the same brush. Not all Slytherins are affiliated with the Death Eaters, just as not everyone in Gryffindor is noble and true. Peter Pettigrew serves as a poignant reminder of that, does he not?"

"He does, sir."

"Furthermore, even Mr. Malfoy may, one day, regret his behavior and choose a different path. Second chances should always be available for those who are genuinely penitent."

Harry found himself taken aback—was Dumbledore truly suggesting that Draco Malfoy could ever transform into something other than a cold, bigoted, ferrety individual with a lifelong ambition for the destruction of those he considered "inferior"? The idea seemed far-fetched to Harry.

"With all due respect, sir," he responded cautiously, "the only time Malfoy wants a second chance is when his hex misses you the first time."

With a sigh, Dumbledore removed his half-moon glasses and rubbed his temples. "Unfortunately, I fear you are correct. Mr. Malfoy seems to eagerly embrace his father's teachings and shows no inclination to see reason.

"I am not suggesting you unilaterally forgive and accept Mr. Malfoy and those of his circle," Dumbledore said, putting his glasses back on and regarding Harry with a grave expression. "I daresay he has made life uncomfortable for you and your friends since your arrival at Hogwarts, and the situation between you is such that there is little to be done to close the gap. All I suggest is that you keep an open mind about others and remember that sometimes things are not as they seem."

"I understand, sir."

"Very well then. I am now officially sanctioning your club, granting you full rights to hold your meetings without the secrecy that was necessary when Madam Umbridge was in residence at this school. You will, of course, need a staff sponsor, whether or not they attend your meetings. Have you given any thought to whom you would ask to be your sponsor?"

"We hadn't really, sir," Harry responded slowly. "Our goal was to keep it from everyone on the staff so that if we were discovered, they couldn't use it against you. But I have heard that Professor Flitwick was a well-known duelist."

"He was indeed. I will leave it to you to approach him. I only ask that you do so before your next meeting."

Harry agreed, and after a few more minutes of conversation with the Headmaster, he left to return to the common room, his mind buzzing with the implications of Dumbledore's counsel and the newfound legitimacy of their club.

The revelation that Dumbledore had been aware of their activities sent an initial shock through the trio, but soon a pragmatic understanding settled over them. As Hermione astutely pointed out, there were various means by which the Headmaster could have kept tabs on their covert activities, especially with Umbridge causing chaos in the school. Whether through the use of house-elves, discreet questioning of portraits, or simply relying on his legendary wisdom to deduce their actions, Dumbledore had proven himself to be a vigilant overseer.

The news of Dumbledore taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts duties brought an air of excitement to the school. The recent history of the Headmaster's triumph over Grindelwald and his reputation as the only wizard Voldemort feared fueled curiosity among the younger generation. The prospect of witnessing Dumbledore in action stirred interest, as none of the students had ever had the opportunity to see the esteemed wizard teach.

However, the transition did necessitate some changes. Due to time constraints imposed by his responsibilities as Headmaster, Dumbledore couldn't adhere to the existing schedule. As a result, each year's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was combined into one large group. Instead of meeting twice a week, one of the classes was extended, while the other was canceled. For the fifth-year students, whose Defense class was originally scheduled for Monday and Wednesday afternoons, the new arrangement meant that their Monday class was extended by an hour, while their Wednesday class was canceled.

The revised schedule made Mondays even busier for the fifth years, as Defense would now seamlessly lead into the dinner hour. On the other hand, Wednesdays became a bit lighter, affording more time for preparation before the Defense Club meeting. Despite the inconvenience, the changes also meant that Harry and his Gryffindor peers would now share their Defense class with all the fifth years, including Malfoy and the other Slytherins. Despite this adjustment, the overall sentiment among Harry and his Gryffindor year-mates was one of eagerness and anticipation to receive instruction from such a renowned wizard.

The day following Umbridge's departure, the entire fifth-year cohort of Hogwarts streamed into their new classroom. The official Defense classroom couldn't accommodate their numbers, so they were directed to a larger room closer to the Great Hall. Once the house-elves had worked their magic, transferring desks, blackboards, and various teaching paraphernalia, the room took on a welcoming aura, reminiscent of the traditional Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, albeit on a grander scale.

As the students settled into their seats, Malfoy and his lackeys swaggered into the room, choosing seats behind and slightly to the side of Harry and his friends.

"Hey Scarface, I bet you're crying in relief that the big bad Defense Professor is gone," Malfoy sniped. "The Creature's daddy had to come and chase her away from you, didn't he?"

"I guess I'm starting to take some lessons from you, Ferret," Harry retorted. "You taught me through your excellent example of hiding behind Daddy's robes every time the going gets rough."

"Now, let's have enough of that and be civil, shall we not?" interrupted Dumbledore as he strode into the room. He halted and peered at the two adversaries, Harry abashed and Malfoy defiant. "I understand there is no love lost between you two, but in class, you may suspend your rivalry and act like young men should be expected to act. That will be three points from you, Mr. Malfoy, for provoking a confrontation, and an additional five points for your insult to Miss Delacour. Mr. Potter, that will also be three points from you for your own insults."

Draco sputtered in indignation. "Why does he only get three points?"

"I believe I already told you why, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore stated pointedly. "Had Mr. Potter fired the first shot, his would have been the greater penalty."

Malfoy looked like he wanted to protest further, but he was cut off by the Headmaster. "Do you wish to earn further point deductions, Mr. Malfoy?"

Malfoy's mouth snapped shut, and he stared sulkily back at the Headmaster. Satisfied, Dumbledore turned away and made his way toward the front of the class. Harry, smirking at his nemesis, mouthed, "When my father hears," at Malfoy, gleefully noting the redness of the boy's rage. He then pointedly ignored Malfoy, focusing on the Headmaster, who had turned to address the class.

"Welcome to Defense class," said Dumbledore, sweeping the class with his gaze. "I am happy to be with you all today. It has been many years since I taught, and I must admit that I have been looking forward to it immensely."

He began to pace in front of them, his brows furrowed in thought. "I understand that your Defense experience this year has been somewhat… lacking, especially in the realm of practical application. We have already lost two months of study, and my schedule will not allow for me to take all the classes as they were originally scheduled. You will, therefore, be working at a much quicker pace, and much of the practice of the things you learn will need to be on your own time. I believe, however, that you are all capable of learning what you will need to know."

Stopping in his tracks, Dumbledore once again allowed his gaze to sweep across the attentive class. A twinkle in his eye suggested that he was about to embark on an enlightening discussion.

"Before we delve into the magical intricacies, my dear students, let's establish a firm foundation for our exploration," Dumbledore began, his voice resonating through the room. "Can anyone elucidate on what precisely defines the dark arts?" A knowing glance found Hermione, her hand raised in eager anticipation.

A gentle nod from the Headmaster indicated that Hermione should proceed. With an air of confidence, she articulated, "The dark arts encompass any form of magic primarily designed to inflict harm."

Dumbledore acknowledged her response with a warm smile. "An exemplary definition, Miss Granger. Two points for Gryffindor. But, let us not merely stick to the textbook. Does anyone here take issue with Miss Granger's interpretation?" The room fell silent until Susan Bones raised a thoughtful query.

"What about will and intent, Professor?" she inquired. "Shouldn't any spell intended to cause harm be considered dark magic?"

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with approval. "A fascinating perspective, Miss Bones. Let's delve into it, shall we? Can anyone cite a spell that, at its core, can be wielded to cause harm?"

Terry Boot was quick to respond. "The cutting curse, Professor."

"Indeed, Mr. Boot, splendid example," Dumbledore commended. "Now, let us explore the depths of its potential harm. How might the cutting curse be employed in a malevolent manner?"

"Well," Terry began, contemplating the question, "you could, in a duel, sever the head of your adversary with it."

Dumbledore chuckled, his laughter resonating through the room. "A rather extreme application, Mr. Boot, though not impossible with a highly potent cutting curse. But, consider this: are there any redeeming qualities to the cutting curse? Can it, in any scenario, be put to a beneficial use?"

Padma Patil's contribution added a refreshing layer to the discussion. "You can use it to cut off the stalk of a plant, or to slice an orange in half," she chimed in.

"Very astute, Miss Patil," Dumbledore commended, his eyes glinting with approval. Surveying the faces of the intrigued students, he continued, "We have a single spell with the versatility to serve both virtuous and malicious purposes. Hence, in this case, it becomes evident that while the spell possesses the potential for harm, it was not inherently crafted as a dark incantation. The will and intent of the caster play a pivotal role in determining whether the spell takes on a malevolent nature."

A contemplative hush fell over the classroom as Dumbledore's words sank in. Harry, whose experiences with Defense Professors had been less than stellar during his time at Hogwarts, found himself relishing this philosophical discussion. Remus's class had delved into practical aspects and the study of dark creatures, but a discourse on the nature of dark magic had been conspicuously absent from the curriculum.

"As we ponder this, my dear students, consider: Are all spells governed by the same principle? Does the intent of the caster invariably decide whether a spell is used in a dark manner, or are there instances where spells, potions, wards, and acts are inherently harmful?" Dumbledore posed these questions to the class, inviting contemplation.

Harry seized the opportunity when Dumbledore gestured for him to speak. "There are spells that, by their very nature, embody darkness," he stated. "The Unforgivables, for instance, are inherently dark spells with no conceivable light applications. Their very essence is steeped in malevolence."

Draco's derisive scoff echoed from behind, and Dumbledore, ever calm, raised an eyebrow in the direction of the Malfoy scion. "You have a different opinion, Mr. Malfoy?" he inquired, inviting the young wizard to share his perspective.

Inflating with self-importance, Draco responded with pomp, "My father told me that there is no light or dark. There is merely power and those with the right and ability to exercise that power."

Dumbledore's gaze remained steady, and he probed further, "And who decides who has that right, Mr. Malfoy?"

With a casual shrug, Draco asserted, "Those with the right know it. There are those who are superior by their very existence as heirs of many generations of magical ability. Those who are so chosen have no need to justify their actions, for they work for the betterment of the Wizarding world in the prevention of its tainting by those of a lesser station."

Harry observed, a frown etching his features. Though he had always been aware of Malfoy's beliefs, hearing the blond state them with such clarity in a public forum was disconcerting. This was a dangerous individual, much like his father and his father's malevolent master. Despite Dumbledore's noble desire to redeem people like Malfoy, Harry harbored little hope for change. The teachings of Draco's father were deeply ingrained, allowing no room for alternative viewpoints.

"I am unsurprised your father has taught such things, given what I have seen of his behavior," Dumbledore responded, a tinge of sadness seeping into his voice. "But regardless of what you have been told, there is a distinct delineation between the dark arts and other magic. Not all magic can have a benevolent application." The Headmaster's words hung in the air, a gentle reminder of the complexities that surrounded the moral landscape of the magical world.

Dumbledore's inquiry shifted to a darker realm as he delved into the intricacies of the killing curse. "For example, let us speak of the killing curse. For most of those in this room, casting a killing curse at me would do next to nothing. Can anyone tell me why?"

Ron, at Dumbledore's signal, promptly responded, "The killing curse takes a lot of power to cast."

"Very good, Mr. Weasley. Your answer is correct, but only part of the answer. Can anyone tell me what else is necessary to properly cast the killing curse?"

When prompted by Dumbledore, Harry spoke up, "The killing curse is also powered by hate, Professor."

"Exactly, Mr. Potter—take two more points for Gryffindor." Dumbledore paused, his eyes scanning the class once more. "Yes, the killing curse requires a significant level of power to cast, but it is also fueled by the caster's hate. You could state the incantation and summon the necessary power, but if you have not summoned the hatred necessary to truly cast the spell, it would have little effect. Given that, is there any practical application for the curse? For example, could you perform a mercy killing for a terminally ill patient?"

Daphne Greengrass interjected, "Not unless you hated that person."

"Exactly," Dumbledore affirmed. "Beyond the ethical concerns of performing a mercy killing, the killing curse is not useful in such circumstances, as you would have to power the curse with hate."

"But Professor," Harry interjected, leaning forward, "I know that the killing curse requires hatred, but not everyone is killed by someone who hates them. Death Eaters don't necessarily even know everyone they kill."

"Very interesting point, Mr. Potter," approved Dumbledore. "Can anyone shed any light on this seeming contradiction?"

The classroom fell into a thoughtful silence as the students pondered the enigma. Harry, confident he knew the answer, chose to remain silent, allowing someone else to contribute.

After a brief pause, Padma Patil raised her hand somewhat tentatively. Dumbledore nodded to her, inviting her to speak. "I think that the hate does not need to be specifically directed at someone to be effective. Death Eaters, for example, hate those with what they consider to be lesser bloodlines in general. Thus, when they cast that specific spell, their hatred is more general in nature than specific."

"Very good, Miss Patil. Take two points for Ravenclaw," Dumbledore acknowledged, his approval evident.

Dumbledore surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on each student, before resuming his discourse. "Miss Patil has indeed hit upon the crux of the issue. The hatred need not be directed at a person for the curse to be effective, though it may very well be. Hatred is something which the human race in general seems to possess in abundance, and that hatred may be harnessed in order to allow a person to kill another. You will do well to remember that a killing curse may potentially come from an unexpected quarter—the caster does not have to hate you in order to kill you with it."

"In the example we were discussing, though your hate may allow you to cast the spell, a healer does not work in that fashion. The healer would more likely feel compassion than hatred. Though perhaps it is technically possible for a healer to use the curse to euthanize a patient, his oaths as a healer would prevent him from actually doing so.

"Thus, there is no practical application for using the curse, other than to kill an enemy whom you hate. I trust that for most of us in this room, evoking the necessary level of hatred would be impossible.

"There is indeed a branch of magic called the dark arts, and regardless of what you have been told," here Dumbledore did glance at a visibly dismissive Malfoy, "there are no good applications for this magic. Dark arts include the three Unforgivables, a few other curses, certain potions which are meant only to harm, and different rituals and other magics which are specifically intended to cause harm, or which cause harm in the process of completing them. Make no mistake about it—if you perform a ritual which benefits you, but which harms someone else, the magic is dark in nature."

Dumbledore paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the minds of the students. Harry discreetly glanced around, noticing a shift in the atmosphere. While Malfoy remained nonchalant and dismissive, the majority of the class appeared thoughtful. Even some Slytherins, whom Harry had stereotyped as uniformly dark, seemed contemplative. The Headmaster's words sparked a fresh line of thinking for Harry—he had never interacted much with the Slytherins, painting them largely with the same brush as Malfoy. Perhaps there was more to them than met the eye, as the Headmaster had suggested the previous day.

"Now, some of you may be wondering why I'm telling you this," Dumbledore continued. "There are several reasons. The first is because we have not been able to keep a Defense Professor for more than a year at a time; I'm not certain exactly what your professors have taught you.

"The second reason is that despite what our Minister is saying, our Mr. Potter did indeed witness the rebirth of the Dark Lord last year."

Harry felt a blush creeping across his face as the sudden scrutiny of the entire classroom focused on him. A murmur of conversation erupted, a reminder that, despite the widespread knowledge of his adventures, he had never shared the tales in such a public forum.

"Therefore, I want everyone to be aware of the seriousness of the situation," Dumbledore's voice cut through the buzzing discussions. "Everyone here knows that Voldemort's Death Eaters have a propensity toward heavy usage of the dark arts."

The audible winces at the mention of the Dark Lord's name caused Dumbledore to pause briefly. He continued in a slightly admonishing tone, "The fear to use a contrived name merely grants Voldemort a power to which he has no claim. It is only a name—not even the one with which he was born—and none of us should fear to say it.

"Now, to continue, I wish for everyone at this school to understand what we are dealing with when we oppose the dark arts. What you should all take from this discussion is that the dark arts can and will be used against you, if a Death Eater ever gets the opportunity. You must know the dark arts to be able to defend yourself and your loved ones, whether you are able to strike back or not. The ability to defend until you are able to flee may keep you alive one day. Now, I believe we should begin as we have much to cover."

The weight of Dumbledore's words hung in the air as the class shifted its focus from the revelations to the impending lessons on defense against the dark arts. With a nod from the Headmaster, the students settled into their seats, bracing themselves for the challenges that lay ahead.

It became increasingly apparent that the Headmaster was not just a powerful wizard; he possessed a profound understanding of the dark arts and an extensive knowledge of how to combat them. Moreover, he demonstrated a remarkable teaching ability, patiently guiding the students with a combination of demonstration, explanation, and encouragement. Harry marveled at the thought that if Dumbledore had been the Defense teacher throughout his time at the school, everyone would likely have excelled in the subject.

The class proved to be an enjoyable and enlightening experience, surpassing any Defense class Harry had attended before. However, the only downside was the inevitable end of this instructive period. As the Headmaster, Dumbledore couldn't be expected to continue teaching the class indefinitely, especially since he had announced the arrival of a new Defense Professor after the winter holidays. Until then, the students would have to seize the opportunity to learn from one of the greatest leaders of their time.

As the class continued, the time seemed to slip away, and they neared the end of the allotted period. In the latter half of the class, Dumbledore had been pairing students off for dueling practice, even arranging for several pairs to engage in practice duels in front of the class for direct observation. He provided feedback, highlighting mistakes and successes, aiming to foster learning through practical experience.

Scanning the room, Dumbledore's eyes settled on Harry and Hermione, and he flashed them a warm smile. "Miss Granger, I have been watching you and Mr. Potter for some time now. Perhaps you could both come up here and demonstrate your abilities for the rest of the class?"

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione. While he wasn't thrilled about being put on display, Fleur's advice to strive for exceptionalism resonated in his mind. Demonstrating their skills could be a good way to set an example for the rest of the class.

"A Mudblood and a teacher's pet," a sneering voice muttered behind him.

Deciding to ignore the derogatory remark, Harry held his head high. However, the words were spoken just loudly enough for Dumbledore to hear. The Headmaster addressed the comment without missing a beat.

"Would you like to speak up, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore's gaze focused on the blond Slytherin.

Malfoy, though displaying a hint of discomfort, lacked the audacity to back down. "I said that you favor them. It's obvious the way you fawn over Potter, and Granger is not much better. It's really quite sickening—neither is anything special."

Dumbledore responded with a touch of steel in his voice, "I was not aware that I had treated anyone in this class differently. In fact, I distinctly remember Mr. Potter and Miss Granger instinctively grasping today's lesson with little help from me—I have only exchanged a few words with them the entire class."

Malfoy's face reddened, and he remained silent in response to the Headmaster's defense.

"Surely you must have some other reason for your words, Mr. Malfoy. Shall you not share them? Or perhaps you would prefer to be paired up with Mr. Potter or Miss Granger for our last practice duel of the day."

Malfoy sneered, displaying unwavering confidence. "I was taught by my father. I have no doubt that I would be able to beat either of them with little trouble. There is no way that either of them could match up with me."

"In that case, you will be given a chance to back up your words," Dumbledore stated, his gaze shifting between Harry and Hermione. Harry secretly hoped Dumbledore would choose him, relishing the opportunity to put Malfoy in his place without facing consequences.

After a moment's consideration, Dumbledore smiled at Hermione and motioned for her to step forward. "Miss Granger, I believe you would be perfect for this little demonstration, if you will oblige the class."

Malfoy couldn't resist the opportunity to sneer, "The Mudblood? At least Potter might stand a chance—with her, it will be over before it even begins."

Dumbledore's response was swift and firm. "That will be five points for the use of that disgusting word, Mr. Malfoy. Do not repeat it again, as the next time I hear it from your mouth will cost you a week's detention."

Glaring at the Headmaster, Malfoy chose to remain silent. Gripping his wand tightly, he walked to the center of the classroom, directing his baleful glare at Hermione.

Hermione, unfazed by Malfoy's bravado, had faced him down countless times before. It was widely known—except to Malfoy and his followers—that his confidence far exceeded his competence. Despite his misplaced arrogance, Harry had no doubt that this practice duel would be brief, and Hermione would emerge victorious.

The two opponents faced each other, Dumbledore positioned as the referee between them. "Remember, no questionable curses," he reminded them, casting a stern glance at Malfoy. "Your goal is to disable so your opponent is no longer able to continue."

Ensuring both combatants accepted the rules, Dumbledore stepped back and conjured a large shield charm, enveloping Hermione and Malfoy while safeguarding the observing students. After a moment, sparks erupted from Dumbledore's wand, signaling the commencement of the match.

"Bombarda!" Malfoy launched an offensive assault, expecting a swift victory in his favor. However, Hermione gracefully sidestepped, deftly avoiding the hex. In rapid succession, she erected a shield charm before countering, "Stupefy!" in response to Malfoy's bludgeoning spell.

Quick on his feet, Malfoy cast a shield charm, retaliating with a sharp, "Diffindo!"

Once again, Hermione effortlessly evaded the hex, her wand moving with fluid precision. "Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!"

The spells flowed seamlessly from her lips, forcing Malfoy to desperately maneuver his wand to deflect or shield against each one. He successfully dodged the first, but the two stunning hexes struck his shield. The Petrificus Totalus, however, tore through the remnants of Malfoy's defense, hitting him square in the chest. Instantaneously, Malfoy's limbs snapped together, and he crumpled to the floor, his wand slipping from his grasp and rolling away.

The expression on Malfoy's face was almost comical—a mix of rage, shame, and an underlying, almost murderous anger at being defeated by what he deemed a mere Mudblood. Cat-calls and whistles filled the room as Dumbledore lowered the shield and congratulated Hermione. She acknowledged the applause with a bow and a gracious smile, never once casting a glance in Malfoy's direction, depriving him of the satisfaction of her taunts, a move Harry would undoubtedly have relished.

Approaching the fallen Slytherin, Dumbledore quickly cast Finite, releasing Malfoy from his magical restraint. The boy leaped to his feet, fists clenched in anger, glaring fiercely at Hermione. Unfazed, she looked at him disinterestedly. Harry, Ron, and Neville instinctively moved to flank her, directing stern glares at Malfoy.

"Did you have something you wished to say, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore inquired. His expression remained placid, almost genial, but his voice carried a hard edge that demanded attention.

Malfoy scowled once again, picking up his wand and returning to stand with his friends, who appeared more stunned than they had a right to be.

"Now, can anyone tell me exactly what went wrong for Mr. Malfoy and, conversely, what Miss Granger did right?"

"Malfoy was overconfident," Harry stated with a contemptuous glance at his nemesis. "He assumed that he was better than Hermione and believed he would win easily."

"Not that the ponce would have beaten her anyway," Ron added in a stage whisper.

Gleeful snorts and suppressed giggles erupted throughout the room, like a contagious wave of amusement. Malfoy, wearing a mask of simmering annoyance, shot dark looks at the source of the commotion. Despite Ron's taunting comment, Malfoy managed to maintain an outward facade of indifference, but the deeper scowl etched on his face revealed the churning tempest of emotions within him. Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling mischievously, observed the unfolding spectacle.

"Mr. Weasley, your jesting nature deserves acknowledgment, but it also warrants a consequence. Two points from Gryffindor for unkind taunting," Dumbledore declared, his tone laced with a blend of sternness and amusement. "It is not wise to provoke one who has tasted defeat, even if the circumstances are, shall we say, educational."

As the points were deducted, Harry, ever observant, watched the subtle signs of Malfoy's displeasure. The flare of nostrils and the narrowing of eyes betrayed his wounded pride, especially at the audacious claim of Hermione's superiority. Malfoy, keeping his temper in check, unleashed a baleful glare that shifted between Hermione, Harry, and Dumbledore, a silent challenge lingering in his gaze.

"In essence, Mr. Potter's observation is astute," Dumbledore continued, his words slicing through the tension. "Mr. Malfoy, by underestimating Miss Granger, faced the consequences of his arrogance."

Dumbledore's gaze swept across the class as he posed a question that hung in the air like a challenge. "Now, can anyone pinpoint the specific actions taken by Miss Granger that led to her triumph? It seems, my dear students, that the task is not as straightforward as some might think."

The room fell into a pensive silence as the students grappled with the query. Hermione's victory had been a satisfying spectacle of comeuppance, but articulating the specific strategies behind her success proved to be a more challenging task than anticipated.

Susan Bones, breaking the silence tentatively, ventured, "Her spells were cast swiftly, Professor?"

The hesitation in her voice mirrored the uncertainty that hung over the class. Dumbledore, however, encouraged further exploration with a twinkle in his eye, inviting students to delve deeper into the intricacies of magical combat.

"Very astute, Miss Bones," Dumbledore acknowledged with a nod of approval. "Indeed, the key to Miss Granger's success lay in her swift transition from defense to offense. The ability to counter and retaliate in quick succession is a crucial skill in magical combat, as it disrupts the opponent's rhythm and control."

His gaze swept across the attentive faces of the students, each absorbing the lesson in their own way. Dumbledore's demeanor shifted to one of gravity, his words carrying the weight of wisdom as he addressed the gathered wizards and witches.

"Let this be a lesson etched in your minds," Dumbledore continued, his tone serious and stern. "Whether your adversary is the most formidable wizard in existence or the freshest first-year in this school, underestimating them can prove to be a fatal mistake. Consistently defending against an opponent's attacks leaves you vulnerable; seize the opportunity to turn the tables and take charge."

The Headmaster's eyes focused pointedly on Malfoy as he delved into the deeper issue at hand. "Moreover, it has come to my attention that part of Mr. Malfoy's error was rooted in dismissing Miss Granger based on their respective backgrounds." Dumbledore's gaze bore into Malfoy's defiant expression, his words resonating with the authority of a seasoned wizard. Malfoy, however, maintained his silence, his glare a testament to his unwillingness to yield.

"Allow me to clarify," Dumbledore declared with unwavering authority. "Your lineage, the magical heritage of your family, is inconsequential. Some of the most formidable wizards and witches I've had the privilege to know were Muggleborn, while equally capable Purebloods have graced these halls. I implore each of you to focus on your studies and hone your abilities. In this classroom and every other, I demand respect for one another. Dismissing someone based on their background is a perilous path. Do not succumb to the fallacy that your worth is dictated by your ancestry. In the end, we are all human, irrespective of our lineage."

The class dispersed in a flurry of chatter, the aftermath of the showdown fueling animated discussions. Harry, flanked by his friends and classmates, encircled Hermione, showering her with congratulations for her triumph over the haughty Pureblood. Malfoy stormed off, his posse trailing behind, seething with rage. Meanwhile, a few Slytherins, usually on the fringes of Malfoy's inner circle, observed the scene with calculating expressions, distancing themselves from his blatant fury.

Unperturbed by the lingering Slytherin gazes, Harry couldn't contain his pride in Hermione's poise during the duel.

"Bravo, Hermione!" Ron cheered, pulling her into a bear hug.

"Thank you, Ronald," Hermione replied graciously after extricating herself from the embrace. "He's hardly a challenge—remember third year?"

Her mention of the bloodied nose incident prompted a wave of conversation and laughter, drawing in more curious onlookers. By the time the other fifth years trickled out of the classroom, Malfoy's veneer of credibility lay utterly shattered. It seemed unlikely that anyone would view him as anything beyond a petulant Pureblood propped up by his domineering father.

Exiting the classroom, the memory of Malfoy lingered like an unshakeable shadow. He appeared to have lain in wait, ready to confront the Gryffindors. As soon as Hermione stepped into the hallway, he positioned himself squarely in her path, his glare seething with aggression as he jabbed a finger accusingly in her direction.

In a sudden eruption of tension, Malfoy's venomous words cut through the air, slashing at Hermione's identity with the vile slur. His voice dripped with disdain, the very essence of contempt lacing every syllable. Yet, Hermione's response wasn't one of cowering fear, but rather a steely retort fueled by years of resilience.

"Filthy little Mudblood, eh?" Hermione's tone sliced back with a mix of indignation and defiance, her words a calculated strike. "Quite the choice of words from someone who's always been overcompensating for his lack of skill with an overabundance of arrogance."

Malfoy's face contorted into a mask of pure malice, wand aimed with malicious intent. "You don't get to talk to me, you—"

"Save your breath, Malfoy," Hermione interjected, her voice cutting through his tirade. "Your family's twisted ideology and inflated sense of superiority are as outdated as your fashion sense."

The standoff crackled with tension, the Gryffindors rallying around Hermione, each poised with wands aimed in unison. Harry's glare could've withered the toughest of souls, his wand fixed unwaveringly at Malfoy's face, a reflection of his years of disdain and resentment.

"Try it, ferret," Harry growled with a barely contained rage. "Give me a reason to settle the score for every bit of trouble you've brewed up."

Meanwhile, the remaining Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, seasoned members of the Defense Club, strategically flanked the Gryffindors, adding a formidable reinforcement to their united front. The Slytherins who sided with Malfoy found themselves uneasily outnumbered, glancing around at the wall of wands leveled against them.

But amidst the charged atmosphere, Malfoy's focus remained fixated solely on Hermione, a burning fury igniting in his eyes, eclipsing any rational thought.

"You're just a jumped-up Half-blood, Potter," Malfoy spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "And this Mudblood—"

"Enough!" Dumbledore's voice resonated like thunder, abruptly interrupting the escalating tension as he emerged from the Defense classroom, Padma Patil trailing behind, her expression fraught with concern. "Lower your wands this instant!"

The command sliced through the heated air, commanding attention and forcing a momentary ceasefire in the standoff.

As if choreographed, the wands lowered, their hums silenced, as Dumbledore's command swathed the hall in an air of obedience and deference.

"Wands," Dumbledore's voice resonated through the tension, cutting through the charged atmosphere with its weight, "are instruments for channeling one's magic, not for engaging in hostilities within these hallowed corridors."

Moving gracefully between the adversaries, the Headmaster's gaze swept over each student, his expression a mix of disappointment and stern resolve. "For every wand drawn, there shall be a deduction—let this be a lesson, for no such displays of aggression shall be tolerated within Hogwarts again."

Grumbles and muted protests swirled in the aftermath, but a respectful silence prevailed. Harry, begrudgingly, acknowledged the fairness of the punishment meted out by Dumbledore, irrespective of who instigated the conflict or the reasons that prompted the wands to be raised in defense or defiance.

Dumbledore's unwavering attention honed in on Draco Malfoy, his tone carrying a weighty reprimand. "Mr. Malfoy, scarcely moments after our discussion about the gravity of that abhorrent insult and its repercussions, I find you employing it once more. Fifteen points from Slytherin, and a week's detention with Mr. Filch. I strongly advise against a repeat, as the consequences will be significantly more severe."

The Slytherin scion's response was limited to a subtle tightening of his lips and an unyielding glare. Dumbledore seemed to interpret the lack of verbal acknowledgment as an acceptance of the consequences. It wasn't the transformation Dumbledore might have hoped for, considering their conversation with Harry just the day before about his concerns for Malfoy's potential for change.

"Now," Dumbledore's tone softened, becoming more contemplative, "you are all dismissed. Yet, bear in mind, this institution is not a battleground. Continued behavior of this nature may result in suspensions or even expulsions."

The weight of his words lingered in the air, a reminder of the consequences of allowing tensions to escalate within the school's walls. With that final admonition, the students dispersed, the gravity of Dumbledore's warning settling heavily upon them.

In the aftermath of the confrontation, Malfoy's retreating figure cut a sharp line through the tension, followed closely by his cohorts. Harry exchanged a solemn glance with his friends before turning to stride toward the Great Hall, the anticipation of dinner a welcome distraction from the lingering discord. Yet, their departure was abruptly halted by Dumbledore's beckoning voice, calling Harry to linger behind.

As the other fifth years filtered away, Dumbledore addressed Harry with a mixture of understanding and concern. "Mr. Potter, while I recognize your defense of your friend and Mr. Malfoy's role as the provocateur, I implore you to exercise greater restraint. The lessons you learn in Defense Against the Dark Arts, those you impart in your club, they are invaluable. But equally crucial is discerning when to apply that knowledge and when to step away from conflict."

Harry nodded, acknowledging Dumbledore's counsel. "I understand, Headmaster. But if Malfoy pushes, we will push back. He won't like the outcome."

With a sigh, Dumbledore expressed his understanding, guiding Harry gently toward the Great Hall, a paternal pat resting on his shoulders. "I understand your sentiments, Harry. I foresaw the path Mr. Malfoy might take, as we discussed yesterday. You and your friends have displayed commendable restraint, not escalating this rivalry beyond its current state. Yet, I must ask for your patience. Mr. Malfoy was deeply agitated today, and I bear some responsibility for the situation. My intention was to teach a lesson, yet it seems to have exacerbated the enmity."

"It would've worsened regardless," Harry replied firmly. "Malfoy's been nothing but trouble since our first encounter on the train. We won't seek conflict with him or his companions, but we won't endure his bullying either."

Their exchange held an air of resolute determination, the unspoken understanding that while they sought peace, they were equally prepared to defend themselves if need be. With a nod, Dumbledore acknowledged Harry's resolve, allowing him to rejoin his friends, the echoes of their conversation lingering in the air, a testament to the delicate balance between restraint and the resolve to stand against injustice.

Harry observed Dumbledore's departure, acknowledging the wisdom in his words, yet an instinctual understanding lingered within him. He couldn't shake the certainty that Malfoy was beyond anyone's reach. He'd inevitably tread the path of a Death Eater, a fate Harry couldn't accept. In his mind, there was only one acceptable conclusion: Azkaban or worse. Anything less would allow Malfoy to continue his malevolence, a threat to everyone Harry held dear. No harm would come to his friends under his watch.

As Harry grappled with these thoughts, Fleur, unaware of the recent tensions, found herself navigating her own challenges. Departing from her last class of the day, she sought solace in the company of her older friends, their presence a comforting respite. Knowing Defense class would likely run late, she opted to immerse herself in charms research before meeting Harry for dinner.

The library, cloaked in its customary silence, presented an oasis of tranquility before the evening rush of studious scholars. Fleur moved gracefully through the shelves, selecting the books relevant to her forthcoming charms project. With a purposeful stride, she settled at the table that Hermione favored, the very spot that seemed to exude an aura of academic prowess. Flipping through the pages, Fleur sought the elusive details essential for her task, her focus unwavering amidst the anticipation of the evening's studying fervor.

Unbeknownst to her, the echoes of tension that had rippled through the school earlier lingered only in the atmosphere, yet to reach her ears. In this quiet moment, she remained immersed in her own academic pursuit, the world around her fading into the background as she delved deeper into the world of magical scholarship.

Fleur couldn't help but appreciate the allure of Hermione's chosen table as she delved into her research. Its seclusion, proximity to diverse subjects, and the tantalizing nearness of the restricted section, accessible with the proper clearance, made it a coveted spot. Plus, its spaciousness allowed for collaborative studying, a haven for diligent minds. She marveled at Hermione's knack for discovering such treasures within the library's confines.

Her thoughts were disrupted by the unexpected creak of a chair. Looking up, Fleur was taken aback to find Roger grinning at her, a sight that failed to invigorate the same enthusiasm within her. She masked her lackluster greeting with a feeble smile, hoping to dissuade any prolonged interaction—a hope that wasn't entirely convincing.

"Hello, Roger," she greeted, attempting to hide her subtle lack of eagerness at his company.

Roger seemed unfazed by her lukewarm reception, his grin widening. "Hey, Fleur—surprise meeting, right?"

"Just doing a bit of research before dinner," Fleur replied, hoping her brevity might hint at her desire for solitude.

Unfortunately, Roger seemed more intent on conversation than she desired. "So, what's your project about?"

"Just seeking more information for our charms assignment," Fleur answered, burying herself back into the book, hoping he'd take the cue and allow her to focus.

"Ah, the charms assignment," Roger responded with a knowing smile. "How's it going?"

Fleur closed the book with a sigh, realizing that progress might be smoother if she wasn't sharing the space with a certain persistent individual. "Still in the planning and research phase, but I'm making progress. How about yours?"

Roger affected an air of casualness. "Getting there. But I was thinking, maybe we could combine our projects—work on it together."

Fleur hesitated, considering his proposal. Collaboration might expedite the process, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Roger's intentions weren't solely focused on academics. "I appreciate the offer, but I prefer working independently on this assignment. I find it helps me focus better."

Fleur's frown deepened as she mulled over Roger's persistence. Professor Flitwick's explicit instructions for the individual nature of the project echoed in her mind. This assignment held weight in her NEWTs grading, a risk she wasn't willing to take by veering off the set guidelines.

"I believe it's better to adhere to Professor Flitwick's instructions," she explained, trying to convey her stance diplomatically. "This project is meant to be completed independently."

Despite her clear statement, Roger's response was unsettling. He moved his chair closer, his hand reaching for hers, a gesture that made her instinctively withdraw.

"I'm not suggesting cheating," he reassured, his touch attempting to coax familiarity. "Just collaboration, mutual support, brainstorming—teamwork, you know?"

Fleur's shock morphed into outright alarm. She pulled her hand away, glaring at him. "That's inappropriate, Roger."

He persisted, reaching out once more, his actions now crossing a boundary. "It's not inappropriate. Let's get closer like last year. Maybe we can pick up where we left off."

In a swift motion, he leaned in for a kiss, prompting Fleur to stand abruptly, distancing herself. "Roger, this behavior is entirely unacceptable."

Roger remained unfazed, a half-smile gracing his face. "Why should it be inappropriate for two people who care about each other to show affection?"

Fleur's unease intensified, his persistence and disregard for her discomfort unsettling her deeply. "Because it's unwanted. I've made it clear this is inappropriate, and I ask you to stop."

Her firmness didn't seem to deter him, leaving Fleur to grapple with the uncomfortable reality that her words weren't resonating with Roger, who seemed insistent on crossing boundaries that she had firmly set.

Fleur's tone turned forceful as she rebutted Roger's advances. "You're exaggerating my feelings. There are none, and even if there were, I am now betrothed."

Roger's features contorted into a sneer, his words laced with venom. "Betrothed to a boy with delusions of grandeur—someone who is undeservedly put on a pedestal, praised for doing nothing to earn it."

Stunned by the sudden vitriol, Fleur regarded him with astonishment. Roger had never previously displayed such disdain for Harry, nor had he expressed these sentiments.

"It seems you don't know Harry," Fleur replied, shaking her head. "He's not as you described. He'd be the first to dismiss any praise for surviving the Killing Curse as something beyond his control."

"It doesn't matter," Roger retorted, advancing toward her once more, hand outstretched. Fleur instinctively stepped back, maintaining her distance.

"Come on, Fleur. We had something last year. I know you felt it too. Why can't we have a little fun and romance while we're young? There's nothing holding you back now."

"I'm betrothed!" Fleur snapped, her patience wearing thin. "That's what holds me back."

"But Potter is always with that Granger girl," Roger persisted. "Who knows what he's up to with her—why shouldn't you have similar opportunities?"

Fleur recoiled, appalled by Roger's insinuations. "That's none of your concern. My relationship with Viktor is my priority. And Harry and Hermione are friends—there's nothing suspicious about that."

Fleur stood her ground, refusing to entertain Roger's distortions. "I trust Harry and Hermione implicitly. And I believe you're greatly exaggerating any supposed relationship between us. We had one date at the Yule Ball, which I found far from enjoyable. Even if Harry hadn't come into my life, I certainly wouldn't be pining for you."

Roger's expression twisted into a sneer, reminding Fleur of a certain Pureblood bigot she'd encountered before. "You owe me, Fleur!" he accused, jabbing a finger at her. "Things were going well at the Yule Ball until you tricked me with your Veela powers and abandoned me in the garden."

"I owe you nothing," Fleur retorted sharply. "Whatever you thought was between us was a figment of your imagination. I'm happy with Harry. You were never a consideration."

"In that case, I hope you're content with the attention-seeking fame-chaser," Roger spat bitterly. "He's just right for someone like you. He wanders around with you and that other girl like a lost puppy, clueless even when holding your hand. Enjoy your time with your little puppy—soon enough, you'll regret your choice."

With those spiteful words, Roger stormed out of the library, leaving Fleur bewildered by the sudden turn of events. Was it jealousy, the aftermath of what happened after the ball, or something else fueling Roger's resentment? His accusations about Harry troubled her, though she knew better than to lend them any credibility. His outburst seemed a storm brewed from unknown motivations, leaving Fleur grappling with the perplexing aftermath of their confrontation.

Fleur's mind swirled with conflicting thoughts after Roger's outburst. While she felt comfortable with Harry, a small part of her pondered whether their relationship needed a nudge forward. Perhaps it was time to explore and deepen their connection. Yet, she lacked clear answers, understanding that they were both navigating their newfound status as best they could.

Dismissive of Roger's accusations about Harry, she attributed them to nothing more than jealousy. She had faith in Harry's character, knowing he wasn't the person Roger had portrayed. Harry's genuineness and commitment to making her happy reassured her. They simply needed time to find their footing together.

As her thoughts settled, a sense of calm washed over Fleur. She organized her belongings, returning the books to their shelves with deliberate care. She made a resolve to have a conversation with Harry soon about the trajectory of their relationship. Together, they'd navigate and determine the best way forward, supporting each other as they figured things out.

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