After a day spent planning his attack on Umbridge, Harry waited for the perfect moment. As the class silently copied notes from Slinkheart's book for what felt like the hundredth time, he struck.

"Umbridge, when the escaped Death Eaters attack us, how far do we have to run away to be safe?" Harry called, with as much disrespect as he could manage.

Heads shot up across the room, students exchanging wide-eyed glances. A few quills hovered mid-air, their owners too stunned to continue writing.

As he'd expected, Umbridge froze in place, clearly struggling with just which part of his insolence to react to first.

Finally, she rose from her stupor, pointing her chubby finger at him. "Detention, Mr. Potter. For your lack of respect, speaking without raising your hand, and for asking subversive questions."

"You could've just said you have no idea how to handle a Death Eater," Harry immediately shot back, his voice ringing through the room. "I'm sure that's a big relief to everyone here, who's been wondering just how worthless your class is."

"A week's detention!" she proclaimed, her voice shaking with earnest fury.

"No."

Umbridge froze again, blinking as though she hadn't heard him correctly. "Excuse me?"

Harry tilted his head, his tone sharp as a knife. "Are you deaf as well as dumb? I said no. As in, I'm not going to detention. How's that for you?"

Umbridge's face turned a mottled shade of pink, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Mr. Potter," she hissed, her voice rising in pitch. "Refusing a direct order is grounds for immediate disciplinary action!"

"Is it?" Harry asked coolly, leaning back in his chair. "Because as far as I know, detentions are optional if they're issued unfairly. You wouldn't want me to waste my time on something so meaningless, would you?"

Her hand trembled as she pointed a stubby finger at him. "You will go to Professor Flitwick's office right now, and he will deal with you accordingly."

Harry raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with feigned curiosity. "Professor Flitwick? Why would I need him to sort this out? Aren't you the one in charge? Or do you need someone with actual authority to handle a student who won't roll over for you?"

The class was silent, save for the faint scratching of quills hastily stopping. All eyes darted between Harry and Umbridge, tension crackling in the air like a brewing storm.

Umbridge's eyes bulged, her hand clenching around the pointer she carried. "I am more than capable of dealing with insolence like yours, Potter!" she snapped, though her voice wavered slightly. "But if you continue to defy me—"

"Defy you?" Harry interrupted, his tone calm but cutting. "You asked me to sit in detention for asking a question. When I pointed out your inability to handle Death Eaters, you escalated to a week's detention. And now, you're trying to run to Professor Flitwick for help." He leaned forward slightly, his green eyes glinting. "You're not exactly inspiring confidence in your authority."

The words hit their mark. Umbridge froze, her face twitching as though she couldn't decide whether to explode or retreat. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

Harry tilted his head, his voice carrying a faint hint of mockery. "So, what's it going to be? Are you handling this, or are you proving to everyone here that you need someone else to bail you out?"

"Class dismissed!" She finally choked out, "Except for you, Mr. Potter. We are going to the Headmaster's office."

"Excellent." Harry grinned. "Come along then, I don't have all day."

Umbridge's face turned an alarming shade of pink, her breathing coming in short, furious bursts. "You will watch your tone, Mr. Potter," she snapped, her voice trembling with barely-contained rage.

"Of course," Harry replied, his grin widening as he held the door open for her. "After you."

The class remained frozen, a mix of stunned silence and barely-suppressed curiosity hanging in the air. As Harry stepped into the corridor, Umbridge followed close behind, her stubby legs churning as she struggled to keep up with his brisk pace.

"I said we are going to the Headmaster's office!" she barked, nearly tripping over her own feet.

"And that's where we're going," Harry replied over his shoulder, his pace never faltering. "You do know where his office is, don't you?"

"Potter!" Umbridge's shrill voice echoed down the hall, but Harry only sped up, his footsteps echoing in time with hers. "You will walk at a respectable pace!"

Harry turned his head slightly, green eyes glinting with mischief as he added, "Oh, my apologies, Professor. I wasn't aware we were being graded on form. Would you like me to slow down, or shall I meet you there?"

The faint sound of laughter drifted from the classroom behind them, quickly muffled but unmistakable. Umbridge's face darkened further, her stubby finger stabbing the air. "Enough of this insolence! You will stop—"

Stopping abruptly, he spun on his heel to face her, forcing her to stumble to avoid colliding with him. "Stop?" he interrupted, his tone faux-innocent. "But I thought you wanted to get to the Headmaster's office quickly. Don't tell me you're already out of breath. Come on Umbridge, as this rate we aren't going to get anywhere!"

Umbridge's mouth opened and closed, her face flushing a deeper shade of red. "You will not address me in such a manner, Mr. Potter!" she spat, her voice trembling with fury. "And you will not dictate the pace of this—this—disciplinary action!"

Harry raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. "You're the one leading this little march," he replied smoothly. "I'm just following your orders, Professor. Or are you saying you can't keep up with a student?"

Her hand trembled as she gripped her wand, but she didn't draw it. "You insolent—"

"Careful now," Harry interrupted, his tone laced with mock concern. "Wouldn't want you getting too worked up. You might trip over your authority."

The sound of more laughter echoed faintly from the direction of the classroom, and Harry caught the briefest flicker of doubt in Umbridge's eyes. She glanced down the hallway, as though considering her next move, but Harry didn't give her the chance to regroup.

"Shall we?" he prompted, gesturing forward as though inviting her to lead. "After all, we wouldn't want to keep the Headmaster waiting. It wouldn't look good if you couldn't handle a simple walk to his office, would it?"

For a moment, Umbridge seemed frozen in place, her face twitching with the effort of holding back whatever torrent of frustration was threatening to escape. Finally, she let out a strangled sound and began stomping down the corridor, her pace now matching Harry's.

Harry followed alongside her, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. "You know," he said conversationally, "this might go faster if you'd just admit you don't know what to do with me."

"Oh, I know exactly how to treat troublesome boys like you, Mr. Potter." She bit out through gritted teeth.

"Ha, you really don't." He replied coldly, letting his magical aura spread out.

By the time they reached the Headmaster's office, Umbridge was breathing heavily, her face still a mottled shade of pink. The stone gargoyle slid aside at her barked password, and she marched up the spiral staircase without a backward glance at Harry, who followed at an unhurried pace.

Dumbledore looked up from behind his desk as they entered, his expression calm but curious. Fawkes let out a low trill from his perch, and the soft hum of magical devices filled the air.

"Professor Umbridge," Dumbledore greeted, inclining his head slightly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Umbridge jabbed her stubby finger toward Harry, her voice rising into a shrill tirade. "This boy has shown an appalling lack of respect! Disrupting my class, refusing detention, mocking my authority—"

Dumbledore raised a hand, his calm demeanor never wavering. "One moment, Dolores. Perhaps we should allow Mr. Potter to explain himself before we proceed."

Umbridge's mouth snapped shut, though her expression suggested she might explode at any moment. Dumbledore turned to Harry, his blue eyes twinkling faintly. "Harry, would you care to share your perspective on this matter?"

Harry clasped his hands behind his back, his expression the picture of contrition. "Oh, I didn't realize Professor Umbridge was taking such offense to my questions," he said, his voice light with feigned surprise. "I do apologize, Professor. I assure you I'll do better next time."

Dumbledore's brows lifted slightly, but his expression remained otherwise unreadable. "Your questions, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry continued smoothly. "I was simply asking for clarification during class. I wanted to know how far we'd need to run to escape Death Eaters during an attack. It's an important question, don't you think?"

Umbridge made a choking noise, her hand flying to her throat as though Harry's words had physically struck her.

"An important question indeed," Dumbledore agreed, his voice perfectly neutral. "I assume you had some difficulty answering it, Dolores?"

"I—well—that is hardly the point!" she sputtered, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of her pink cardigan. "His tone was entirely inappropriate, his behavior disruptive, and his refusal to follow orders utterly unacceptable!"

Dumbledore leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze shifting between Umbridge and Harry. "It seems there has been some miscommunication. Harry, do you believe your tone could have been misinterpreted?"

Harry nodded solemnly, though his lips twitched as though fighting back a smile. "Perhaps, sir. I'll make sure to be more careful in the future."

"Ah, well there we are then!" Dumbledore announced cheerfully, "Nothing wrong with some simple misunderstanding. Is that all, Dolores?"

"That most certainly is not all! There is the matter of his detention, which he has refused to show up to!"

"Oh… Do you think that is still necessary? Harry here has just apologised for his actions." Dumbledore frowned, acting out his feigned confusion perfectly.

"Of course it is necessary!" Umbridge insisted, incensed. "Apology or not, he has done his best to embarrass me and undermine my authority in front of my class. That is well deserving of punishment."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his gaze steady as he regarded Umbridge. "I see. And how long were you thinking this detention should last?"

"A week," Umbridge snapped, her voice sharp and trembling. "At the very least."

Dumbledore raised his brows, tilting his head slightly. "A week? That does seem rather excessive for what you yourself have described as a misunderstanding."

"It was not a misunderstanding!" she screeched, her hands balling into fists. "It was deliberate insubordination!"

Harry cleared his throat, drawing both pairs of eyes to him. "If I may, Professor Dumbledore," he began, his tone calm, almost bored, "I believe Professor Umbridge mentioned earlier that she thought my detention would teach me respect. In which case I am in agreement that a week of detentions would be quite deserving."

"Ah… Well then, it seems that is that then, is it not Dolores?" Dumbledore asked, quickly working through his surprise.

Umbridge blinked, clearly startled by Harry's response. Her mouth opened and closed for a moment before she managed to sputter, "Well—good. I should think so."

Harry inclined his head slightly, his expression as serene as if he'd just agreed to tea. "Of course. I wouldn't want anyone to think I'm not taking this seriously. Respect is such an important lesson, after all."

Dumbledore's gaze lingered on Harry, his expression neutral but his eyes glinting with something close to amusement. "Quite right, Harry. A commendable attitude to take."

Harry clasped his hands behind his back, turning his attention to Umbridge. "Shall we begin tonight, Professor? I assume you'll want to make the most of the time."

For a moment, she seemed at a loss, her pink-clad chest heaving as she struggled to respond. "Yes," she bit out finally, her voice tight with frustration. "Tonight. My office. Six o'clock sharp."

"Looking forward to it," Harry replied smoothly, his lips curling into a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Dumbledore straightened slightly in his chair, folding his hands atop his desk. "Well then, it seems the matter is settled. Harry, thank you for your cooperation. Dolores, I trust this arrangement will meet your satisfaction?"

Umbridge nodded stiffly, her face still flushed. "Yes. Quite."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said pleasantly, his gaze shifting between them. "Unless there is anything else, I believe we are done here."

When Harry reached her office, he shouldered it open instead of knocking, disturbing Umbridge who'd been carefully preparing her tea. "Evening Toad, what do you want me doing for this detention?" He asked casually, sinking into the chair across from her.

Umbridge's teacup rattled against its saucer as she set it down, her face twitching at his casual tone. "Mr. Potter," she said sharply, standing straighter and smoothing the front of her cardigan. "You will address me with respect during these detentions."

Harry leaned back in the chair, one leg crossing over the other. "Of course, Professor," he replied, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Respect is what we're here to learn, isn't it?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing as she shuffled toward her desk. Pulling open a drawer, she retrieved a small black quill, its sharp tip gleaming faintly in the dim light. "Indeed," she said coldly. "And I assure you, you will learn plenty tonight."

Harry's gaze flicked to the quill, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Lines, then? Classic."

"You will write," Umbridge said, her voice thick with satisfaction. "And you will write until I am satisfied you understand the gravity of your actions."

She placed the quill deliberately in front of him, her stubby fingers lingering on the handle. "No ink is required," she added, a cruel smile curling her lips. "The quill provides its own… means of inscription."

Harry met her gaze evenly, his smirk widening just enough to make her fingers twitch. "How thoughtful of you," he murmured, picking up the quill and holding it between his fingers. The sharp tip glinted ominously, but Harry remained unflinching.

"And what am I writing tonight?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes gleaming with something harder.

Her smile widened, as though she believed she'd finally gained the upper hand. "You will write: I must not undermine authority. Over and over, until I deem you finished."

Harry turned his attention to the blank sheet of parchment on the desk before him, his fingers tightening slightly around the quill. The sharp tip gleamed, it's dark magic visible to his mage sight as it reached hungrily toward his free hand.

The same hand that had been connected to the arm Voldemort had severed the summer before— now nothing but an illusion, a construct of mithril controlled by three powerful gemstones. The quill's magic latched on anyway, it's dark tendrils probing for flesh to carve its lesson into.

With a sound like nails screeching on glass, silver flakes forced their way from the quill onto the parchment, accompanied by a faint hiss as the enchantment scraped against the Gauntlet's surface.

A thin, shallow line scratched itself into the mithril, until the quill shuddered violently in Harry's grip, its enchantments straining against the unyielding material.

Which was as far as it got before it combusted, collapsing into a molten puddle before their eyes.

"What… What did you do!" Umbridge demanded, horrified.

Harry glanced at the smoldering remains of the quill, then back at her, his expression bored. "Ah, it seems like your quill didn't agree with my metal arm, idiot," he said, his tone flat but cutting.

Before she could respond, he shifted the illusion on his arm to reveal a more typical prosthetic, keeping the true Gauntlet hidden. "Your Minister was even there when I came out of the maze armless," he continued, his voice dripping with mock incredulity. "Did you think it just grew back or something?"

Umbridge's eyes remained locked on the metal arm, her expression frozen somewhere between horror and fascination. She barely seemed to register Harry's words, her gaze flitting across the illusion of his prosthetic as though searching for a way to rationalize what she was seeing.

Harry leaned back in his chair, his lips curling into a faint, cold smile. "You know, I can tell you aren't a weak witch," he began, his tone conversational but laced with something sharper. "I'd even say you're almost above average—which is impressive work from someone like you."

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, her mouth opening slightly as though to protest, but Harry continued, his words cutting through her composure like a blade.

"You seem like the type of person who got that power from practice and dedication. The type who shows up at Hogwarts with nothing but subpar abilities and the determination to crawl out of whatever hole you grew up in."

Umbridge's cheeks flushed, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she remained silent, transfixed by his words.

"I bet you were the teacher's pet in class—not because you liked the attention, but because you felt good about making others look stupid. And the bullying?" Harry shrugged, his eyes glinting with cold amusement. "I bet it just spurred you on. You didn't have a social life, but you knew the library better than anyone else. Why else would you know to close it to attack me?"

Her hand trembled against the desk, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge for support. Still, she said nothing.

"And then you left school," Harry went on, his voice growing quieter, more deliberate, "and you were nothing again. Just another pawn in the Ministry. But you clawed and threatened and blackmailed your way up, didn't you? All the way to the highest position you could get without needing the one thing you could never force: popularity."

He tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction with a detached curiosity. "How close am I?"

Umbridge's lips pressed into a thin line, her hand trembling as she pointed toward the door. "You may leave, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice tight and strained. "This detention is over."

Harry didn't move. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady and unflinching. "Over?" he repeated, his tone calm but laced with something cold. "I haven't finished yet."

Her eyes widened, her usual smug confidence faltering. "What are you talking about? I've dismissed you!"

Harry leaned forward slowly, resting his forearms on the desk between them. The faint scrape of his chair echoed in the tense silence. "No," he said quietly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "Not until we're done."

Umbridge froze, her breath hitching as Harry's green eyes bore into hers.

"I didn't care about you or your efforts before this," Harry began, his words sharp and deliberate. "It was insignificant to me. The added work of helping Cedric cover for your lack of teaching? That was a hassle, sure. But I could handle that."

He tilted his head slightly, watching her like a predator sizing up its prey. "But then you went after people I care about. Hagrid. Luna. People who don't deserve to be dragged into your pathetic attempts to make yourself feel important."

Her hand gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles white as he continued. "And now," Harry said, his voice softening to a deadly calm, "you're a problem I need to deal with."

He let the words hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the room. Then, leaning back once more, he gave her a faint, humorless smile. "So tell me, Dolores… are you glad you've finally gotten my attention?"

For a moment, Umbridge's hand trembled on the desk, her face pale and her lips pressed into a thin line. But then, like a mask snapping into place, her composure returned. Her chin lifted slightly, and she folded her hands neatly in front of her.

"Mr. Potter," she began, her voice suddenly calm, almost patronizing. "I should warn you that threats against a Ministry official are a very serious matter. I will be reporting this incident to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Harry raised an eyebrow, his expression remaining calm and unbothered, even as her gaze sharpened.

"And let's not forget," she continued, her tone hardening, "you've just destroyed Ministry property. That quill is not easily replaced, you know. I'll be reporting you for that as well."

For a moment, Harry simply stared at her, his silence dragging on long enough to make her shift slightly in her seat. Then, to her obvious surprise, he laughed. A low, amused sound that filled the small office.

"What's so funny?" she snapped, her veneer of calm cracking just slightly.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "What exactly are you going to tell them?" he asked, his voice laced with mock curiosity. "'Oh, yes, the evil Mr. Potter took my torture quill and destroyed it when I made him use it!'"

He pitched his voice higher, a cruel imitation of her sickly sweet tone. "'Please, Aurors, you must understand—my favourite tool for carving words into students' hands has been ruined by that horrible boy!'"

Her face flushed an alarming shade of red as she sputtered, struggling to form a response. Harry sat back in his chair, his grin widening.

"You'd be laughed out of the Ministry, and you know it," he said, his tone turning cold again. "But by all means, go ahead. Make that report. I'd love to see how that plays out for you."

Umbridge's lips trembled, her face still flushed as she gripped the desk for support. For several long moments, the room was silent save for the faint ticking of the ornate clock on the wall. Finally, she drew a shaky breath, her voice unsteady but laced with forced calm.

"You may think yourself clever, Mr. Potter," she said, her words clipped. "But cleverness is not immunity. I suggest you watch yourself."

Harry smiled faintly, tilting his head as if considering her words. "That's good advice," he said lightly. "You might want to follow it yourself."

Her knuckles whitened further, but she managed to regain some of her composure, lifting her chin and forcing a tight smile onto her face. "You're dismissed," she said coldly. "And Mr. Potter?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, pausing as he stood.

"This office is not a playground," she added, her voice sharpening. "Do not make the mistake of treating it as one."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment before offering a faint nod, his expression unreadable. "Goodnight, Toad," he said, his voice dripping with mock politeness. "I'll see you tomorrow. Same time, I assume? Oh, and do feel free to give me more toys to break."

The muscle in her jaw twitched, but she said nothing as he turned and strode toward the door. He didn't look back as he left, the faint click of the latch echoing in the tense silence.

The next day, as the other students filed out of the Charms classroom, Professor Flitwick called out in his high-pitched voice, "Mr. Potter, if you could stay behind for a moment?"

Lingering by the doorway, Harry watched as the last of his classmates trickled out. Once the room had emptied, he turned back toward Flitwick, who was busy stacking a set of small wooden blocks used for practicing the slowing charm.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said with a nod of appreciation as Harry scooped up a few stray blocks. "These can be tricky to catch when they're not behaving."

Setting the blocks carefully on the nearest desk, Harry remarked lightly, "They're not too bad once you get the timing right."

"For you, perhaps." Flitwick chuckled, climbing up onto his usual stack of books behind his desk. His sharp eyes twinkled as he regarded Harry. "It seems, Mr. Potter," he began lightly, "that your detention schedule has become something of a hot topic among the staff."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Indeed," Flitwick replied with a faint smile. "Professor Umbridge, it seems, had reassigned your detention to me. Something about the Headmaster being far too lenient and wanting to ensure you receive proper discipline."

"And I take it you didn't agree?"

Flitwick's eyes sparkled with quiet amusement as he chuckled. "I didn't get the chance to disagree! Let's just say that Professor Dumbledore has already… rectified the situation. Your detention is back with Professor Umbridge."

Appreciating the man's humour, Harry couldn't help grinning. "What a shame. I was looking forward to some quality time with you, Professor."

With a small laugh, Flitwick gave a theatrical sigh. "Alas, I fear Professor Umbridge will demand all the credit for shaping your character. But—" His tone shifted, the humor softening into something quieter. "Mr. Potter, I'm not unaware of the games being played here. Nor am I blind to the risks you're taking."

The grin slipped from Harry's face. He straightened slightly, meeting Flitwick's gaze. "I'm careful," he said after a moment, his tone measured.

Tilting his head, Flitwick studied him, his sharp gaze probing as though searching for cracks in Harry's composure. "Careful, perhaps. But Professor Umbridge is dangerous, and while it's clear that you and the Headmaster are playing a long game, I would caution you not to let your… enjoyment of these exchanges cloud your judgment."

Harry hesitated, the weight of Flitwick's words settling over him. "I'm not trying to get reckless," he said finally, his voice quieter. "But she's hurting people I care about. I can't just stand by."

Flitwick nodded slowly, his expression softening. "I understand. But remember this: even the sharpest blade can dull if it's used too recklessly."

The words lingered between them, heavy with meaning. Harry held Flitwick's gaze for a moment longer before nodding. "I'll keep that in mind, Professor."

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at Flitwick's lips. "Good. Now off you go."

When Harry reached Umbridge's office that evening, he shouldered the door open without knocking, just as he had the night before. The loud creak of the hinges made her jump, nearly upsetting the neat stack of parchment on her desk.

"Evening, Toad," Harry said casually, striding into the room as though it were his own. "What's on the agenda tonight? More toys for me to break?"

Umbridge's hands twitched toward the parchment, her expression snapping from surprise to irritation in an instant. "Mr. Potter," she snapped, her tone sharp and clipped. "You will not enter my office in such a manner again. Do you have no respect for proper decorum?"

Harry sank into the chair across from her, resting one arm on the desk with deliberate ease. "Proper decorum," he echoed lightly, as though tasting the words. "That's a good one. I thought I was giving you all the respect you deserved."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her chest rising and falling in sharp breaths as she fought for composure. Finally, with visible effort, she smoothed her expression into something resembling calm and folded her hands neatly on the desk.

"Well," she said, her voice softening into its familiar, saccharine tone, "before we begin tonight's work, I thought we might have a little… discussion."

Harry raised an eyebrow, his casual demeanour not shifting. "A discussion?" he repeated, his tone cool and detached. "That's new. Go on, then."

Umbridge's smile widened, but there was something predatory in the way her eyes glinted. "I've been thinking about something you said last night, Mr. Potter. About Mr. Cedric Diggory."

Umbridge's smile widened as she leaned back in her chair, her stubby fingers curling together as though she were holding an invisible prize. "Training with Cedric," she said, her voice low and triumphant. "Oh, you've made a mistake there, Potter. A very big mistake."

Harry tilted his head slightly, his expression calm but faintly amused. "Have I?" he asked lightly.

She chuckled, the sound as sharp and grating as nails on a chalkboard. "Boys who think they're clever," she said, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "They always give themselves away. You've been careless, Mr. Potter. Very careless."

Her eyes gleamed with a malicious satisfaction as she leaned forward, fixing him with her most self-assured stare. "You see, I know what you've been up to with Cedric Diggory. Oh, yes, it's all quite clear now."

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest of smirks. "Is it?"

"Oh, don't play coy," she said sharply. "Unauthorized training, organizing students—it all adds up. I could have you and Diggory expelled in a heartbeat. The Ministry doesn't take kindly to rule-breaking on this scale."

Harry let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "Ohh, I'm so scared," he said mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What will the Ministry do, Dolores? Send me a strongly worded letter? Or maybe they'll write to me with one of your quills."

Her face darkened, her triumphant smile faltering for a brief moment. "You think this is a joke?" she hissed.

"No, no," Harry replied, his tone light but carrying a dangerous edge. "I think it's hilarious. Just what evidence do you think you have, exactly?"

He tilted his head, his green eyes gleaming with something sharp. "Am I going to have to write to Amos Diggory and let him know you've been stalking his son? That's not a good look for a Ministry official, is it?"

Umbridge's hand twitched, her fingers tightening around the edge of her desk. "You think you're clever, don't you, Mr. Potter?" she said, her voice trembling slightly before settling into a low, venomous tone. "But let me remind you, I am a representative of the Ministry of Magic. My authority extends far beyond this school."

Harry raised an eyebrow, his expression bored. "So you keep saying. But, please, go on. Enlighten me, Dolores—what exactly do you plan to tell the Ministry? That Cedric and I have been secretly meeting in some dark corner of the castle? Do you even know where these so-called 'lessons' are happening?"

Her eyes narrowed, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the desk. "It won't take much to find out," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And when I do, you'll regret ever underestimating me."

Harry chuckled again, leaning forward slightly, his tone turning icy. "I think you're overestimating yourself, Professor. But please, feel free to waste your time chasing ghosts. I'm sure the Ministry will be thrilled to hear how efficiently you're using their resources."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her face flushing as she glared at him. "You're walking a very dangerous line, Mr. Potter," she snapped. "I would suggest you tread carefully."

Harry's grin widened, his green eyes glinting. "Thanks for the advice. But you should probably take it yourself. After all, Dolores, how does it feel to be back at Hogwarts—still the butt of the students' jokes?"

Umbridge's face twitched, her jaw tightening as Harry's words lingered in the air. Without a word, she reached into her desk drawer and retrieved a plain quill, its ordinary appearance a stark contrast to the sinister tool she'd used the night before.

"If you're so determined to make a mockery of this detention, Mr. Potter," she said coldly, sliding the quill and a blank sheet of parchment across the desk, "then we'll do this the traditional way. You'll write your lines. Now."

Harry glanced at the quill, then back at her, his grin softening into something colder. "Of course, Professor," he said smoothly, picking up the quill with deliberate care.

For a moment, he simply turned it over in his hand, studying it as though it were a curious artifact. Then, with a subtle flick of his fingers, the quill glowed red-hot and combusted, crumbling to ash between his fingers.

The smell of burnt feathers filled the room as a faint wisp of smoke curled into the air. Harry dusted his hands off, letting the remnants of the quill fall onto the desk. "Oops," he said, his tone dripping with mock innocence. "Looks like I'm a bit too rough on your toys."

Umbridge's mouth opened and closed, her face a patchwork of pink and red as she sputtered incoherently. Harry leaned forward slightly, his voice low and calm. "Care to give me another? I'll keep practicing until I get the hang of it."

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as Umbridge's chest rose and fell in sharp, angry breaths. Finally, she broke it, her voice trembling with barely-contained rage. "I really hate children, you know. But I think I'm starting to hate you the most."

"Well, that's not a very nice thing to say to your student, is it?" Harry replied, pouting theatrically as a grin tugged at his lips.

Umbridge's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of her desk, her gaze hard and unblinking. "You think this is funny, don't you?" she spat, her voice low and trembling with fury. "Mocking a Ministry official, disrupting detention—do you have any idea what kind of trouble you're courting?"

Harry tilted his head, his grin softening into something colder. "Trouble, Professor?" he repeated. "You mean like when you used an enchanted quill to carve words into Luna's hand? Or when you tried to humiliate Hagrid in front of the entire school? That kind of trouble?"

Her mouth snapped shut, and for a brief moment, the only sound in the room was her sharp, shallow breathing.

"You've gotten too comfortable here," Harry continued, his voice dropping lower, almost to a whisper. "You think you can do whatever you want because you've got the Ministry backing you. But here's the thing—you're not in the Ministry. You're in Hogwarts. And this school doesn't take kindly to people like you."

Umbridge stood abruptly, the chair behind her scraping loudly against the floor. "Get out," she hissed, pointing toward the door with a trembling hand.

Harry didn't move. He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms casually over his chest. "You're sure you want me to leave? I haven't even started writing my lines yet."

Her finger wavered, but she steadied it, her face now a blotchy shade of red. "Out," she repeated, her voice cracking slightly.

Harry rose slowly, his movements deliberate. He slung his bag over his shoulder, pausing at the door to glance back at her. "Same time tomorrow, then?" he asked lightly. "Or are you going to beg Dumbledore to move it to Flitwick again?"

The colour drained from her face, but she said nothing. With a faint smirk, Harry turned and strolled out of the office, letting the door swing shut behind him.

When Harry reached Umbridge's office for the third night in a row, he this time kicked the door open, the sound echoing loudly through the room.

This time, Umbridge didn't jump. Instead, she looked up from her desk with a tight, forced smile, her hands neatly folded in front of her. "Mr. Potter," she said sweetly. "How lovely of you to join me."

Harry paused, raising an eyebrow at the teacup sitting conspicuously in the centre of the desk. Steam curled lazily from the delicate porcelain, and the faint scent of chamomile filled the room.

"You seem prepared," Harry remarked, striding into the office and dropping into the chair across from her. "That's new."

"I thought we might try a more… civilized approach," Umbridge replied, her voice dripping with saccharine charm. She gestured to the cup. "I even made you tea."

Harry glanced at the cup, then back at her, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he reached out and picked up the teacup, cradling it between his fingers.

"Tea," he said thoughtfully, holding her gaze. "How kind of you."

Before she could respond, he tipped the cup over, the steaming liquid spilling across the desk and soaking into the stack of parchment she'd been carefully arranging. The faint clatter of porcelain echoed as he set the empty cup back down with deliberate precision.

Umbridge froze, her lips parting in shock as her eyes darted to the spreading stain. For a moment, the room was silent.

"Oops," Harry said, his voice flat. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Looks like I'll need another."

Her hands trembled as she reached for a handkerchief, dabbing furiously at the desk. "You—how dare you!" she sputtered, her saccharine tone replaced by venom.

Harry smirked, tilting his head slightly. "That's not a very polite reaction for someone trying to be civilized, Professor," he said lightly. "Now, are you going to make me another cup, or was this just for show?"

For a moment, Umbridge simply stared at the mess, her face twitching with barely contained rage. Then, to Harry's surprise, she rose from her chair, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Of course, Mr. Potter," she said tightly. "I'll make you another."

Harry watched her bustle over to the small tea set in the corner, the clink of porcelain and the faint whistle of a kettle filling the silence. Her movements were a little too deliberate, her forced cheer a little too bright.

With a quiet sigh, Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin on his hand. "You're not even trying to be subtle, are you?" he murmured under his breath, his words too soft for her to hear.

When she returned, her triumphant smile had returned, though it wavered slightly under Harry's unflinching gaze. She placed the cup in front of him with exaggerated care. "There you are, Mr. Potter. A fresh cup. Do be careful this time."

Harry looked at the tea, then at her, his expression carefully neutral. "You've outdone yourself, Professor," he said flatly, lifting the cup to his lips. He took a deliberate sip, the warm liquid sliding down his throat.

Almost immediately, he felt the Veritaserum trying to take hold—a subtle pressure at the edges of his mind, like an insistent whisper demanding he open his mouth and speak. But as quickly as it came, the sensation faded, the Mithrilium embedded in his head humming faintly as it neutralized the potion's effects.

Harry lowered the cup slowly, his eyes meeting hers across the desk. "Delicious," he said simply, setting the cup down with deliberate care. "You've really got a talent for this, Professor."

Umbridge's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I'm so glad you think so, Mr. Potter. Now then… let's have a little chat, shall we?"

Harry tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. "Of course," he said lightly, folding his hands on the desk. "What would you like to discuss?"

Umbridge leaned forward slightly, her smile sharp and predatory. "Let's start simple, Mr. Potter," she began, her voice syrupy-sweet. "Where were you during the first term? You were… absent for quite some time."

Harry tilted his head, his expression calm. "I was on an educational tour," he said smoothly. "Hagrid and a foreign professor took me to learn how magic is used in different scenarios—practical applications, survival techniques, that sort of thing. It was very enlightening."

Her smile faltered slightly, but she quickly recovered. "How… interesting," she said, though her tone dripped with scepticism. "And these lessons you've been running with Cedric Diggory? What exactly are you teaching?"

Harry's lips twitched into a faint smile. "We're teaching students how to defend themselves when they're attacked," he said lightly. "How to recognize and counter threats, and how to prevent people from taking advantage of them. You know, basic self-preservation skills."

Umbridge's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the desk, though her fixed smile didn't waver. "Self-preservation," she echoed, her voice syrupy. "How noble of you. And tell me, where are you teaching them?"

"Oh, in our training room," Harry replied smoothly.

"And where is that?" she pressed, her tone sharpening.

"Not here," Harry said with a grin, leaning back in his chair.

Umbridge's smile faltered, her composure cracking just slightly. With a low growl of frustration, she changed tactics. "Mr. Potter, what is the Headmaster planning? Surely you've been privy to his… schemes."

Harry let out a low chuckle, tilting his chair back slightly. "Oh, Dumbledore's planning a lot," he said, his tone casual. "Right now, I suppose he's planning for next term. Probably figuring out how to stop Voldemort from taking over, too."

The name landed like a thunderclap, and Umbridge flinched, her smile slipping entirely for a moment. "You will not say that name in my presence!" she snapped, her composure cracking.

"Why not?" Harry asked innocently, leaning forward again. "He's just a man. A very dangerous one, sure, but still just a man. Someone has to stop him, don't you think?"

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Harry's calm defiance left her visibly off-balance, her carefully constructed façade crumbling at the edges.

Finally, she straightened, smoothing her cardigan with trembling fingers. "And the Third Task?" she asked sharply, her tone hardening. "How did you really lose your arm?"

Harry's gaze darkened slightly, but his tone remained steady. "Voldemort cut it off," he said simply. "Used a dark curse. I managed to escape back to Hogwarts before he could finish the job, but my arm and wand didn't come with me."

The silence that followed was thick and oppressive. Umbridge stared at him, her lips slightly parted, her face a patchwork of shock and disbelief.

"You wanted to know the truth, didn't you?" Harry asked, his voice calm but cold. "Well, there it is. And in case you're wondering, yes, I can resist Veritaserum. But everything I said was true. Does that soothe your soul, knowing I wasn't lying about Voldemort resurrecting himself?"

"You are lying, you must be!" she hissed, her voice trembling with passion.

Harry leaned back in his chair, letting out a soft, humourless laugh. "I wish I was. But let's say I made a mistake. Maybe it wasn't Voldemort. Maybe one of his followers disguised themselves as him, reassembled the old group, and kidnapped me under Dumbledore's nose. Does that actually make it better, Professor?"

He tilted his head, his green eyes gleaming coldly. "Because let's not forget—they did it all at Hogwarts, the safest place in the wizarding world."

Umbridge's hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles white. Her breathing quickened, and her lips moved soundlessly for a moment before she found her voice. "You're exaggerating," she whispered, though the crack in her tone betrayed her uncertainty.

"Am I?" Harry asked quietly. He leaned forward, his voice soft but charged with meaning. "You've seen what I can do, Dolores. Imagine someone who's even better. Someone lurking, pretending to be him. Is that really the kind of threat you're comfortable ignoring?"

Umbridge's face twisted, her trembling hands slamming down onto the desk. "Enough!" she shrieked, her voice cracking as she rose abruptly from her chair. Her wand appeared in her hand, trembling slightly as she pointed it at Harry. "You will not speak to me like this, boy!"

Harry remained seated, his expression cold and unflinching. Tilting his head slightly, he brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "Did I hit a nerve?" he asked softly, his tone sharp as a blade.

"Do not mock me!" she screamed, her wand jerking as she fired a blue hex at him. Harry leaned away easily, the spell sizzling past him and dissipating into the wall.

Slowly, he straightened, his green eyes blazing as he met her gaze. "Feel better?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Umbridge's breathing came in short, furious bursts, her face a blotchy red. Her hand twitched around her wand, trembling as she pointed it directly at his chest. "You will respect me, Potter," she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. "You have no idea what I am capable of."

Harry tilted his head, his voice calm but cutting. "Oh, I think I do," he said. "Go ahead, Dolores. Show me."

Her hand tightened around the wand, her knuckles white. For a moment, it seemed as though she might strike. The air between them was thick and suffocating, charged with the weight of her desperation and his unyielding defiance.

But then, with a choked gasp, she pulled back, her breathing ragged as she lowered the wand slightly.

"You—you are nothing but an insolent child," she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "Mark my words, Potter—you'll regret this."

Harry rose slowly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm sure I will," he said lightly, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "Same time tomorrow?"

"You are insufferable," she spat. "Get out of my office. Now."

The cool stone corridors of the castle stretched ahead of Harry as he strolled away from Umbridge's office, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet. The faint flicker of torchlight danced along the walls, but something prickled at the edge of his awareness—a subtle tug at his magical senses, like a presence lurking just out of sight.

He didn't look back, keeping his pace steady as he focused on the faint disturbance. A shadow shifted against the wall behind him, the scrape of hurried footsteps following a heartbeat later. He let out a quiet sigh, the corners of his lips twitching upward in amusement.

Without breaking stride, Harry slowed just enough to let the footsteps close in. Then, with deliberate care, he turned on his heel, his green eyes gleaming as they locked onto a figure ducking into an alcove.

"Professor," he called casually, his voice carrying through the corridor. "Did you need something?"

The shadow froze. For a long, silent moment, nothing moved. Then, with a sudden flurry of motion, Umbridge darted out of the alcove and started walking briskly in the opposite direction.

Harry's grin widened as he quickened his pace, closing the gap between them in just a few strides. "Professor," he said again, his tone light but laced with mockery. "You seem to be in a hurry. Can I help you with something?"

Umbridge stopped abruptly, her back stiff as she slowly turned to face him. Her blotchy face was pinched into a tight, forced smile, though her eyes darted nervously.

"Mr. Potter," she said, her voice overly sweet. "I was simply… ensuring you were heading straight to your dormitory. After all, it is quite late."

Harry raised an eyebrow, folding his arms as he regarded her. "That's very thoughtful of you, Professor," he said smoothly. "But I couldn't help noticing you were walking the wrong way for the staff quarters. Are you lost?"

Her jaw tightened, the false cheer in her expression cracking. "I am perfectly capable of navigating the castle, thank you," she snapped, her tone sharper now. "You would do well to keep to your own business."

Harry stepped closer, his gaze unflinching. "Oh, but this is my business," he said, his voice soft and deliberate. "You see, when someone follows me in the dark, I tend to get curious. And we wouldn't want any misunderstandings, would we?"

Umbridge took a step back, her stubby fingers clutching the edge of her cardigan. "That will be all, Mr. Potter," she said hastily, her voice trembling slightly. "Return to your dormitory at once."

Harry held her gaze for a long moment before tilting his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Of course, Professor," he said lightly. "Goodnight."

With that, he turned and strolled away, his pace unhurried. He didn't need to look back to know she wouldn't follow him this time.

Spinning his sceptre in a flick, Harry sent a gust of wind that bashed the last of the dummies against the wall. The wooden figure hit the stone with a satisfying crack, leaving silence in its wake.

A soft creak broke the stillness as the door opened. Harry didn't look up, but his grip on his wand tightened slightly before the familiar drawl reached his ears.

"Surprised you haven't removed me from the permissions yet," Draco said, his tone light but edged with curiosity.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Haven't had a reason to," he replied with a shrug. "Are you planning to give me one?"

Draco smirked faintly, stepping further into the room. "Not tonight. Though, if you're looking for one, Umbridge might have you covered."

That piqued Harry's interest. He turned fully to face Draco, his wand slipping back into his sleeve. "What's she done now?"

"She busted Cedric's little study group. Caught them red-handed in the Room of Requirement. Dragged Diggory and a couple of others straight to Dumbledore's office. And now she wants you, too." Draco leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Harry's lips, though he didn't elaborate. "And she sent you to bring me in?"

Draco shrugged, his smirk fading slightly. "I volunteered. Figured I'd rather deal with you than stand around pretending to care about Diggory's study group."

He pushed off the wall, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve before continuing. "If anyone asks, I was a model little henchman who dragged you there kicking and screaming. But between us? I don't care what you do when you get there. Just don't make me look bad."

Harry studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before snorting softly and shaking his head. "You're really enjoying this double life, aren't you?"

Draco's smirk returned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "It's the role of a lifetime," he said dryly. "Now, are you coming willingly, or do I have to hex you for the crowd?"

Raising an eyebrow, Harry gestured toward the shattered dummies. "You can try hexing me, if you want."

"Yeah, no, I'm not going to do that," Draco replied solemnly.

Harry let out a low chuckle. "Lead the way, Malfoy. Let's not keep our dear Professor Toad waiting."

Draco stepped aside, gesturing toward the door with a mock flourish. "After you."

As Harry walked past him, Draco's voice dropped to a quiet whisper. "But do be careful, Potter. They're both waiting for you."

Harry's expression didn't change, but a faint gleam appeared in his eyes. "Good to know."

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