Context:This story is set in the 5th year, during Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Umbridge has taken control of the school, and Dumbledore has fled to avoid arrest by the Aurors. The story picks up from that point.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, although I wish I had created it. I am not making any money from this; it is written purely for fun.
New Perspective
Harry dragged himself out of Umbridge's office, the weight of yet another unjust punishment bearing down on him, along with exhaustion from countless sleepless nights. The burning, throbbing hand was a constant reminder of the injustice he had endured. How he wished things could be simpler—his life was already complicated enough without a sadistic Ministry employee adding to the mess.
Harry rubbed his tired eyes for the umpteenth time that evening. His mind wandered, absent, while his footsteps echoed in the deserted corridors.
It was almost curfew, and Hogwarts seemed wrapped in an eerie stillness, far removed from his chaotic thoughts. He felt the need to reach the dormitory, to collapse onto his bed, and forget the weight of the world for a few hours. As his mind drifted, his attention was caught by something—a faint, almost suffocated sob, echoing from a dark corner of the corridor.
Harry stopped; his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He moved closer to the sound, until he spotted a small figure huddled against the wall.A first or second-year boy wearing Slytherin colors. The child was crying, trembling, and he wasn't alone. In front of him, three larger figures loomed menacingly, their faces hidden in the semi-darkness.
"You're a disgrace to our house, you're a traitor—just wait until we're done with you..." the one in the center said, his wand pointed at the boy.
Harry couldn't see who the three bullies were, but he didn't care. Without hesitation, he stepped forward. The memory of his own experiences with Dudley and his gang resurfaced, along with the anger he always kept suppressed. Without thinking of a plan—actually, a pretty stupid move when you think about it—he impulsively stepped forward.
"Leave him alone!" Harry shouted; his wand firmly pointed at the one who had threatened the boy.
The three students turned toward him, but they didn't seem intimidated.
"Oh, look, the Boy-Who-Lied," said the tallest, a sneer spreading across his face.
"This isn't your business. This is a house matter. Get out of here before you regret it, Potter."
Harry didn't respond. Instead, he took a deep breath and mentally braced himself for the fight.
"You know, I didn't think you Slytherins were cowardly enough to gang up on one of your own like this."
This wasn't going to end well. There were three of them, and they were bigger than him. If he wanted to win this duel, it certainly wasn't going to be a fair fight. He didn't wait for a response. He immediately cast a Stupefy at the Slytherin who hadn't spoken yet. The boy fell,
knocked out by surprise. Harry didn't even have time to feel triumphant before two more spells were launched at him. He dodged the first one and raised a shield at the last second against the second spell.
The curses kept coming, most of them dark. Harry dodged and blocked most of them, but the fatigue weighing on him slowed his reflexes. He was struck on the shoulder by a cutting curse. The sharp, throbbing pain made him stagger, but he pushed on.
"Expelliarmus! Diffindo!" Harry shouted, casting one spell after another until one struck his second opponent, injuring him slightly but not taking him down.
Footsteps echoed in the distance.
"Let's go!" one of the boys said, pulling his companion by the cloak. In an instant, they grabbed the third guy, still unconscious, and fled, leaving Harry and the small Slytherin alone.
Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Harry rushed over. The boy was slumped against the wall, unconscious, likely hit by one of the spells in the crossfire.
He reached out to check if the boy was okay when a rough hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder.
He knew, an instant before he was spun around, who it was, and closed his eyes when his suspicions were confirmed
This was bad. No, scrap that—this was damn bad. He was alone in a corridor with no one around, facing an unconscious Slytherin and the Head of Slytherin House: a man who despised him, didn't believe a word he said, and held prejudices against him.
He was dead—bloody well dead. He knew it before even opening his eyes. Not more than two seconds had passed after that thought when he was roughly shoved against the wall. His back slammed painfully into the wall, the impact enough to force his eyes open. What he saw
made him want to close them again.
Snape was furious—he had never seen him this angry. The man radiated rage, hatred, and disgust. His eyes were cold, gleaming with maniacal aura, and his lips were drawn into a hard, unyielding line. Harry knew without a doubt—Snape wanted to hit him. He had recognized the look from his childhood, the one adults gave when they were about to strike him.
Snape's hands were painfully gripping him against the wall, pressing down on his injured shoulder. The man was too close for his comfort. It seemed like an eternity before Snape spoke. His voice was calm,but there was an undercurrent of danger that sent a chill down Harry's spine.
"Potter," he began, staring at him as if he wanted to burn him alive with his gaze. "Isn't it enough for you to behave like an arrogant fool, strutting around like your father? You had to add a Slytherin to your list of trophies, something to flaunt, just like he did."
Harry could feel Snape's hot breath against his face, but he didn't dare move. The pain in his shoulder grew sharper with every word, in step with Snape anger.
"That's all you are, Potter. A self-important little bully who believes he's above consequences. Just like your father... a coward. A pitiful imitation of a pitiful man," Snape continued.
Harry tried to speak, but Snape shoved him back against the wall, his voice turning
into a cold, venomous hiss.
"Not a word, Potter. I know exactly what you are—a liar." His lips curled into cruel sneer "You really think you'll slither your way out of this one with your fame? Dumbledore isn't here to protect you now." A look of dark satisfaction crossed Snape's face as he took in Harry's reaction. "No more excuses. No more leniency. Finally, there's no one left to shield you from the consequences you so richly deserve."
The full weight of Snape's words hit Harry, and he felt his stomach drop. He had always known Snape hated him, but with Dumbledore gone, it felt disturbingly real. This was no longer a game of petty insults. Snape had the upper hand now, and he seemed to relish every second of it, his sneer widening as he saw the effect of his words. Harry's legs felt like jelly, and he wished
desperately that this was all just a nightmare. He wanted to scream, to tear at his hair, to cry. But looking into Snape's icy stare, he knew nothing would help—no excuse, no explanation would sway him now. Snape had already made up his mind.
With a final, sneering glance, Snape turned toward the unconscious Slytherin, studied him for a moment, and nodded, as if reaching a decision. A numbness swept over Harry as he watched his most hated professor quickly check the boy over and lift him onto an invisible
stretcher. Then Snape turned back to him with an unpleasant smile, raising his wand. Harry
didn't even have time to react.
"Incarcerous," Snape murmured, and magical ropes wound tightly around Harry's wrists, wrenching his arms painfully back. The pain in his injured shoulder flared like fire. He barely held back a scream of pain, glaring defiantly at Snape, his look burning with anger and defiance.
"What are you doing, Snape? You can't do this, let me go, bastard!"
Snape's expression twisted into something even darker, his lips curling into a cruel sneer.
"Potter, do you honestly believe anyone will come to your aid? The new headmistress will not be lifting a finger for you... Boy-Who-Lied," Snape said with malice, referencing the nickname from the Daily Prophet and, by extension, the reputation that Harry currently held with the Ministry of Magic and consequently, with Umbridge. Harry's blood boiled, but before he could speak — "Silencio."
He opened his mouth to tell Snape exactly where he could go, and that Umbridge could go there too, as far as he was concerned, but no sound came out. Blinding anger surged inside him—he had never felt so helpless.
"Now, Potter, you'll learn what it feels like to be defenseless. Next time, you'll think twice before bullying someone weaker than you. You'll stay here until I've taken Mr. Trevis to the infirmary." With a final, derisive glance, Snape turned and swept out of the corridor leaving
Harry alone.
Harry's eyes burned. The exhaustion, the pain, and the stinging sense of injustice wrapped around him, making him wish he could rewind the day and stay hidden in bed. His mind wandered, but the humiliation gnawed at him, growing with every passing second. His
anger toward Snape flared hot.
He tried to focus, to think clearly about what happened and what might come next. Surely, he'd be cleared. When the Slytherin woke up, he'd tell the truth, and this entire farce would be over. Harry even imagined the look of disappointment Snape would have when he
realised there was no excuse to expel him. That thought, oddly enough, gave him a small sense of relief. He began to try and build a mental wall, like he'd tried so many times before, but it was no use. The mere thought of Occlumency reminded him of the bat in the dungeons and the anger he felt about the situation.
Time seemed to drag on, but eventually, the sound of footsteps reached his ears. His heart raced, and though he knew it was a ridiculous hope, he couldn't help but wish it was the Potions Master returning to resolve the misunderstanding and finally allow him to return to the Gryffindor Tower.
If only he had known how wrong he was, he probably would have turned and run then and there, to hell with Gryffindor courage. Though, thinking about it, with the spell still in effect, even that wouldn't have been an option
A huge thank you to Ali for making this story so much better! I'm truly grateful for the time and effort you put into helping me revise it and improve the quality of my writing.
A special thanks also goes to Lauren for her valuable advice and the kind words she shared, which truly helped enhance this story.