Harry sighed inwardly; his dormitory mates just couldn't seem to keep their chatter at a reasonable volume, and, as had become routine, he was rudely awoken by his fellow Gryffindors.
He was exhausted, and the fatigue was making him irritable. All he wanted to do was pull the covers over his head and sleep forever.
Pressing his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to block out the irritating noise, he gritted his teeth as a particularly shrill laugh pierced through the dormitory like a knife.
Did they really have nothing better to do?
Frustrated, he let out a huff and threw the covers off in one swift motion. There was no point trying to rest in these conditions.
Pulling back the curtains around his four-poster bed, he scanned the room. Ron was still fast asleep, as were most of their other dorm mates—except Dean and Seamus, who were huddled together, laughing like a pair of hyenas over something.
They didn't even notice Harry's deathly glares, which, as usual, were entirely wasted.
Sighing again, he grabbed some clothes and made his way to the bathroom. Changing quickly, he decided he would take a walk to shake off the exhaustion, even though it wouldn't do much to make up for the sleep he'd lost.
As he washed his face, he glanced briefly at himself in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes were impossible to ignore, but he paid them little attention. His mind was too preoccupied with the events of the previous evening—The torture of McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey's sudden dismissal.
And Snape… Snape had been acting strangely. His usual hostility seemed to have softened, and Harry couldn't make sense of it. It was too much of a puzzle for his tired brain to solve.
Running a hand distractedly through his hair, he felt the weight of everything pressing down on him. The lack of sleep was only making it worse.
After making himself presentable-at least as much as he could manage—
Harry left the dormitory without looking back. He wanted to talk to his friends, but one glance at Ron was enough to know he'd have to wait.
Sometimes, Harry envied his best friend's ability to sleep soundly no matter the situation.
His own light sleeping habits, no doubt a leftover from life with the Dursleys, had been a survival mechanism back on Privet Drive, where he'd had to be alert to every creak and shift in the house.
Here at Hogwarts, though, it often felt like a curse. He'd lost count of how many times his sleep had been disrupted by his dorm mates' noise.
He remembered how, at eleven years old, he'd struggled to adjust to the noisy, chaotic Gryffindor common room. Every sound had startled him, kept him on edge. Though he'd adapted over time, some things never really changed.
And so, with less than two hours of sleep, he found himself wandering the semi-deserted corridors of Hogwarts.
Only a handful of students were awake and about, and Harry recognised only a couple of them.
No one greeted him, but that was to be expected. Hogwarts had a way of collectively ignoring him whenever public opinion turned against him.
It still amazed him how easily people let themselves be swayed by whatever rubbish the Daily Prophet published.
He'd lost track of the number of times that wretched newspaper had—
A loud crash snapped him out of his thoughts, and he barely managed to stay on his feet. He'd run straight into something—or someone—and from the lack of resistance, he must have been quite small.
Straightening himself, he looked down to see a heap of robes on the floor and a younger student fumbling to get up.
Harry stepped forward to help the boy, who was muttering apologies under his breath.
"Sorry… sorry, I didn't see you, I was—"
The boy trailed off as he looked up, and despite Harry's exhaustion, recognition clicked instantly.
"Trevis!" Harry interrupted the boy's rambling.
The Slytherin boy looked up properly for the first time, lifting his gaze from his shoes.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked again when the boy didn't immediately reply. Now that he was looking more closely, Harry noticed how pale Trevis was. He was trembling slightly, and his face was ashen.
"I'm… I'm fine," Trevis stammered. "I was just—"
They were interrupted by a Hufflepuff who had apparently witnessed part of the encounter.
"Are you okay, Mark? Is Potter bothering you?" the Hufflepuff asked, eyeing Harry with suspicion.
Harry sighed internally. Yet another example of how everyone at Hogwarts always assumed the worst of him, no matter how often he proved otherwise.
"No… no, it's fine, Teddy," Trevis said quickly. "Harry didn't do anything. We were just talking."
The Hufflepuff still looked dubious but gave a short nod before walking away, casting one last suspicious glance at Harry as he left.
Once they were alone again, Trevis spoke first, his tone unusually solemn.
"I never got the chance to thank you properly. I should've come sooner, but I wasn't sure if my thanks would even be welcome."
Harry blinked, confused. Lately, it felt like he was constantly struggling to understand what was being said.
Trevis must have noticed his confusion because he hurried to explain, his words tumbling out in a rush.
"Well, it's just… everyone thinks it was you who hurt me," Trevis said, his voice tinged with guilt. "I've tried to tell them it wasn't true, that it wasn't you, but no one seems to believe me. I'm sorry," he added earnestly. "That's why I wasn't sure if you'd want my thanks—or if you'd think I was spreading more rumours or—"
"Hey, hey, slow down," Harry interrupted, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "I don't blame you. I'm just glad you're okay now."
Trevis visibly brightened at Harry's words, and Harry felt a small sense of satisfaction at being able to reassure him.
But under the glow of the lanterns, Harry couldn't help but notice how sickly Trevis still looked. His trembling, his pallor, the occasional nervous twitch in his hand—it all painted a troubling picture.
And Harry wondered if this was just the result of his time in the infirmary or something else.
A sense of foreboding crept over Harry.
Looking into Trevis's hazel eyes, he asked directly, "Have you been to see Umbridge?"
The boy's reaction gave Harry his answer before a single word was spoken.
Closing his eyes briefly, Harry swore silently.
Damn her. That vile woman.
What was he supposed to do now?
He prided himself on being able to handle things on his own, but this was different. This was bigger than him.
Think, Harry. Think.
And then, almost as if a voice were whispering in his ear, he remembered the words someone else had spoken to him recently—accusing him of not knowing when to seek help, of not recognising when he was up against something insurmountable.
This was one of those times. This wasn't just about him. This was about protecting an innocent child.
Opening his eyes again, he met Trevis's nervous gaze.
"It's going to be all right," Harry said firmly. "I'll help you."
The words seemed to break something in the boy. Silent tears began to stream down Trevis's face, quickly turning into sobs.
Harry stood awkwardly as the boy flung himself into his arms.
He was terrible at comforting people, a legacy of growing up in a loveless household, but he awkwardly patted Trevis on the back.
Before Harry could think of anything else to say, the boy pulled away, wiping his nose on his sleeve and mumbling an embarrassed apology.
Harry brushed it off, his mind already racing ahead.
Never in a million years would he have imagined willingly going to Snape's office. But here he was, about to knock on the door for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.
The absurdity of the situation almost made him laugh.
There was no alternative, though. The previous night, Snape had been the logical choice as the only available member of the Order. Today, he was the only one with authority over Trevis as his Head of House—and with Madam Pomfrey gone, there was no one else to turn to.
If someone had told Harry a week ago that he'd willingly knock on Snape's door, he'd have laughed and made some sarcastic comment about it being more likely for Trelawney To predict a prophecy that actually comes true .
Yet here he was, standing in front of the dark wooden door again, Trevis by his side.
It had taken a lot of convincing to get the boy to come. Trevis had been terrified—not of Snape's anger, but of disappointing him.
That, Harry thought, was strange. But then again, Snape treated his Slytherins very differently from the rest of the students. Perhaps it wasn't so odd that Trevis wasn't afraid of Snape's wrath.
Harry's blood boiled with anger as he thought about what Umbridge had done to this child. He was careful not to let it show, not wanting to upset Trevis further, but inwardly, his fury was overwhelming .
Before he could dwell on it, the door suddenly swung open.
Snape stood there, his expression as inscrutable as ever. His black eyes flicked to Harry, and for a brief moment, a flash of the usual disgust that always accompanied Snape's gaze when he saw a Potter crossed his face.
But just as quickly, it was replaced by something else—something Harry couldn't quite place.
There was no time to psychoanalyse Snape. Instead, Harry stepped aside, revealing Trevis, who had instinctively shifted behind him.
Snape's gaze moved to the boy, and whatever emotion Harry had seen before turned into something dark and menacing.
To Harry's surprise—and immense relief—Snape didn't immediately blame him.
The Potions Master's fury was palpable, but it wasn't directed at Harry.
Without a word, Snape gestured for them to enter his office.
Once inside, Snape's voice was low and venomous.
"Explain."
It wasn't a request. It was an order.
Harry looked at the child, who seemed entirely unwilling to speak, his gaze firmly fixed on the floor. He glanced at Snape, whose fury seemed to grow with each passing second. Deciding he needed to take the initiative, Harry stepped forward—he was a Gryffindor, after all.
"I found him like this… in the corridor," Harry began, his voice steady despite Snape's piercing glare, which was as menacing as ever and enough to make him falter.
Clearing his throat, he pressed on. Snape didn't appear inclined to bite his head off for speaking—yet. Still, the man's expression was utterly terrifying, like a coiled serpent ready to strike.
"I think his condition is because of a detention…" Harry hesitated, anger flaring again as he forced himself to continue, "…with Umbridge."
Harry looked away, feeling his own fury reignite at the mention of her name. Snape remained silent, and the lack of response pushed Harry to keep going.
The renewed anger coursing through him blurred all sense of caution. He forgot, for a moment, the clear danger Snape represented, distracted as he was by his own sense of outrage.
Harry trembled slightly, his fists clenched at his sides, unable to hold back the flood of emotion that overcame him. His voice was sharp, accusatory, as he turned on Snape.
"How many times does this have to happen before you adults do something?" he demanded, his voice rising. "How many more injustices do we have to endure while you all look the other way and pretend nothing's happening?"
Snape stiffened, and Harry knew he was pushing past the point of no return, but he couldn't stop himself. Not when his rage was boiling over.
The words spilled out in a torrent, fuelled by years of injustice, powerlessness, and suppressed anger.
"It was your job to protect him!" Harry shouted, his voice trembling with frustration. "And instead… instead, that witch is still here, at Hogwarts, torturing children! Children, Snape! A first year! And you lot just let her get away with it! You accused me of not relying on adults, but how can I? How could I, when the adults around me let a toad like her use the Unforgivable Curses whenever she pleases?"
Snape's jaw clenched so tightly that Harry was surprised the man's teeth hadn't shattered. Harry could sense that Snape was struggling to maintain control, but then, all at once, he moved. Despite the anger blazing within him, Harry found himself taking a step back.
He glanced at Mark, whose wide eyes and dropped jaw made it clear he'd been taken aback by Harry's outburst. Well, it had been quite a spectacle, Harry thought distractedly.
"Don't you dare speak to me that way, Potter," Snape snarled, looming over him. "Do you think I'm unaware of what that odious woman is doing?" His voice dropped into a dangerous hiss. "Do you think those of us with eyes don't see? That anyone with a shred of decency doesn't feel the same revulsion you do?"
Snape leaned forward slightly, his presence suffocating. Harry heard a sharp intake of breath from where he knew Mark stood, and he fought to suppress his own.
"If you think dealing with Dolores Umbridge is as simple as waving your wand at her, Potter, then you're even more foolish than I imagined. Do you honestly believe it's a matter of reckless bravery and theatrical displays? If it were that simple, minds far sharper and more capable than yours would have resolved the issue already."
Snape's attention shifted momentarily to his Slytherin, muttering Latin incantations as he brandished his wand.
Harry felt no offense from Snape's words., though he couldn't deny that his mind had already begun forming a plan to deal with the toad-like woman. The same defiance that had filled him the night before surged through him again—a need to stand up against injustice, to speak for those who couldn't defend themselves.
"I refuse to believe there's nothing that can be done," Harry said firmly. "I won't accept it."
Snape's glare intensified, his voice icy as he replied. "If you know what's good for you, Potter, you'll abandon whatever ridiculous ideas you've concocted. I assure you, what that woman has done will not go unpunished. For once, Potter, leave it to the adults."
Snape turned his attention back to Mark, his tone sharp and commanding. "Now leave. I need to tend to Mr. Trevis and his condition, and I must inform the other professors of this situation. There's no room for your involvement here, Potter."
Harry shot one last seething look before turning his attention to Mark, who seemed to regard him with an apologetic expression. Harry gave the boy a quick farewell and left the office, shutting the door behind him before Snape could yell at him again.
Standing in the corridor, Harry was still fuming. This had gone far enough.
He was tired—sick and tired of being told that the adults would handle it.
In his experience, adults never solved his problems. Adults had never provided him with safety or protection.
He'd seen the professors' inaction the previous night; they hadn't lifted a finger—not even tried.
And despite all of Snape's words, all his explanations about the power Umbridge wielded, Harry didn't believe him.
He refused to believe there was truly nothing that could be done. He couldn't accept it as normal that Umbridge was still strutting through the castle corridors, as if she hadn't tortured children.
Harry wasn't naïve. He knew the world was full of terrible things. But it was beyond comprehension that something this horrific could go unchecked.
This wasn't just humiliation. It was outright torture—using dark artefacts and Unforgivable Curses.
Enough was enough.
They weren't powerless.
Harry was no longer willing to wait, nor to place his trust in the empty promises of adults.
He knew that Hogwarts was full of students who thought like he did—who hated Umbridge, who saw her actions as an affront not only to the school but to everything magic itself stood for.
He could sense it—that bubbling undercurrent of rebellion running through every student, the desire to break free from oppression, from tyranny.
The foundations for a revolt were already there, Harry realised. For weeks, students from different houses had been talking to one another, forming alliances. What was missing was the spark to ignite it all.
And Harry realised they had reached the point of no return. Umbridge had to be stopped. The torture of an eleven-year-old child was the breaking point, and Harry wouldn't wait any longer.
Why should they continue to endure this?
Why wait for the adults, bound by rules and politics, to intervene?
Perhaps the adults couldn't act, but he and his fellow students could.
It was time to unite the houses.
A year ago, Harry would have thought the idea impossible.
Now, he wasn't so sure. He'd seen the change in the relationships between the houses, seen how students had started cooperating in the face of an internal threat.
And he knew that together, they would be a force to be reckoned with.
Harry moved quickly, a renewed sense of determination driving him. He didn't have a solid plan yet, but he knew where to start.
He entered the Gryffindor common room and found Hermione and Ron. They still had some time before lessons began.
Their faces lit up when they saw him, but they quickly approached as they noticed the seriousness etched onto his features.
"We've got a problem," Harry announced without preamble. He sat down on the sofa and gestured for them to join him. "And I need your help."
They exchanged a look before both nodding, and Harry felt a rush of gratitude for having friends like them.
He cast a quick privacy charm to keep their conversation from being overheard and launched into an explanation of events, recounting Umbridge's torture of Trevis, the vision, And the dismissal of Pomfrey.
When he finished, he could see the same anger burning in his friends' eyes.
"It's time we fought back," Harry said, his words firm and filled with determination.
In their expressions, Harry saw no hesitation. They were ready for this.
"I've been waiting for you to say that ever since that witch dared to use an Unforgivable on you," Ron said, a glint of malice in his eyes.
Hermione nodded at Ron's words, and Harry was struck by it. Usually, she was the most rational of the three, often the one to temper their riskier plans.
"Don't look at me like that, Harry. That woman's gone too far. We can't just stand by anymore—we have to act. But we need to be careful and strategic. We need a plan."
Harry smiled at his friends, infinitely grateful for their support.
For the remaining time before lessons, they worked together to devise a plan for how they could communicate with the other houses without Umbridge finding out.
They concluded that they would need to speak to one student from each house—someone who could pass the message along and help set their plan in motion.
The logical choice would be the prefects, but with Umbridge's increasingly frequent inspections, gathering them all at once without arousing suspicion would be difficult.
They would have to be discreet, approaching each student individually and convincing them.
To their surprise, it wasn't as difficult as they'd anticipated. Throughout the day, they sought out the students during shared lessons with other houses.
Ernie Macmillan, Hufflepuff prefect, and Anthony Goldstein, Ravenclaw prefect, were the first to be contacted, and both readily agreed to the meeting Harry proposed.
Draco or Pansy, however, were another matter entirely. They proved more difficult to get in touch with.
During Potions, Harry wracked his brain for ways to approach Malfoy, who seemed completely oblivious to any attempts at subtle communication. It was truly infuriating.
At the end of the two-hour class, Harry hastily scribbled on a piece of parchment:
"6:00, seventh floor, Barnabas the Barmy's statue."
He sincerely hoped Malfoy would show up. He slipped the note to the Slytherin as discreetly as he could and watched as Malfoy's eyes narrowed with suspicion. The blond took the note cautiously, reading its contents quickly.
Malfoy studied Harry, and to Harry's genuine surprise, the Slytherin gave him a faint nod of agreement.
Well, that was something. Times really were changing.
Not that Harry hadn't noticed some shifts before—like the time Malfoy had helped him when he was injured—but seeing how dramatically things could change still surprised him.
What Harry failed to notice in his contemplation were the suspicious glances Snape kept throwing his way.
The afternoon dragged on painfully slowly. The day's lessons seemed endless, and Harry found himself checking the clock every few minutes, growing more impatient by the second.
His sense of impatience only grew after hearing from his friends what had happened during breakfast—a meal he'd missed thanks to his not-so-civil conversation with Snape.
Apparently, Umbridge had branded McGonagall a criminal, theatrically claiming that the deputy headmistress had broken the law and that this had forced her removal.
Her announcement had caused an uproar among the Gryffindors, who were outraged.
Even without knowing the full story, the lions refused to believe what Umbridge was saying about their head of house. A true Gryffindor wouldn't stay silent in the face of such injustice, and their loyalty to McGonagall wouldn't allow them to accept this defamation.
This gave Umbridge the perfect excuse to punish every member of the red-and-gold house.
Hearing this only strengthened Harry's resolve, Umbridge could not be allowed to torture all those students.
With McGonagall and Pomfrey gone, Umbridge had wasted no time bringing in two Ministry lackeys she trusted—something that complicated their plans considerably.
Still, Harry smiled to himself. The days of bowing their heads and enduring were over.
It was time to act.
It was time to prove that together, even as children, they were a force to be reckoned with.
And with that thought, Harry glanced at the clock as it struck six. He turned to face the doors of the Room of Requirement and saw the people he hoped would become his allies.
Let the revolution begin, he thought with a flicker of excitement.
Hello everyone, here I am with a new chapter. I can sense a feeling of change in the air. What do you think?
