The Defence Club

Everywhere he looked bodies were strewn haphazardly across the bloodied, sodden ground, laying at impossible angles, and yet, some of the men screamed in agony when they had no right to still be alive.

Amongst them all stood but a few figures, equally bloodied, though their own wounds minor in comparison to their fallen foes. Bloodiest of all and breathing heavily from the exertion, his eyes haunted by what lay around him was Charlus Potter, his wand still in hand as he surveyed the scene before him.

Death had certainly been busy gathering souls this day.

"Potter?" another man questioned.

Charlus nodded and stowed his wand up his sleeve as dozens of white-robed figures began attending to those that could perhaps be saved.

Walking away from the battlefield, Harry followed his grandfather.

"Is that all of them?" the unfamiliar man asked.

"For now," Charlus sighed. "There will be more soon enough. There always is."

"War is a damned mess of a thing," the other man murmured sadly, his own robes soiled with the blood and guts of others.

Charlus nodded.

"Where's Arcturus?"

"He's fine. He's getting himself cleaned up. Maybe you should do the same."

Without another word, Charlus entered a nearby trench, ignoring the greetings and nods of respect the men within offered until he entered a room and slammed the door behind him.

For several moments, he leaned against it, simply composing his breathing.

Almost mechanically, he walked towards a mirror in the corner and stook in his appearance.

His expression did not shift as he drew his wand once more and began cleaning himself as he had a dozen times before now.

War truly was a bloody thing.

When he was done, Charlus removed his robes and burned them with a flick of his wand before retrieving another matching set and dressing in them. Checking that no more blood was marring his features; he took a seat on the edge of the bed in the corner and removed a photo from underneath the pillow.

Dorea Black.

The woman in the photo was smiling so innocently, her eyes bright and unburdened by the conflict here, and Harry felt the very same heartbreak Charlus experienced as tears rolled down his cheeks.

He had come to abhor the violence, the smell of blood and excrement and the wailing of dying men, and yet, it would continue and he would play his part.

Often, he reminded himself of why he was here; to ensure Grindelwald paid for what had been done to his father, and to ensure the war never made it to where the woman in the photos was.

He longed for home, longed for the gentle embrace of Dorea and the words she spoke to ensure him he was not a monster.

Charlus knew differently, however.

He was a monster. If he hadn't become one, he would be amongst the dead already, his life cut short by those that wished to bring the world to heel. If his life meant that would not come to pass, so be it, though he would certainly prefer to see the end of this, to live and fulfil the simple desires he harboured.

He cared not for fame nor fortune, but he would see Dorea again and have her be his.

Wiping away his tears as a knock at the door sounded, he replaced the photo before greeting his visitor.

"This just came in," the man said without preamble, handing Charlus a piece of parchment.

"We are to move forty miles east," he murmured.

"From one shithole to another."

Charlus released a deep breath as he nodded.

"Any sign of him, Arcturus?"

The other man smirked.

"Funny you should ask. He was seen where we are going just yesterday."

"Good," Charlus declared. "Maybe if we can put the bastard in the ground the madness will end."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Arcturus sighed. "It will be a hell of a clean-up, and someone will have to answer for all of this. If he's dead, the ICW will have to blame someone, and until they do, we'll be here mopping this crap up."

"Where's your optimism?" Charlus snorted sarcastically.

"Somewhere west from here," Arcturus returned evenly. "I wouldn't get your hopes up of going home soon. What is the saying? out of the cauldron and into the fire. That's going to be us."

Charlus chuckled humourlessly as he clapped Arcturus on the shoulder.

"Then we'd best get ready for the heat."

Harry could only shake his head as he was returned the basement of his coastal home.

He felt for Charlus, he truly did, and he understood why the man had warned him of allowing the war to consume him so much that he would become what it was he was trying to destroy.

Nonetheless, the wars were different in nature.

Where Charlus fought mostly on a battlefield with his comrades at his back, Harry was fighting an all but invisible war where he had so few he could rely on and the odds were stacked so heavily against him.

The battles Harry had fought thus far were not large scale, but where he had been dragged into them unwittingly, for the most part.

He respected his grandfather, but Charlus did not seem to grasp the differences in what each of them faced. On the continent, in an army, Charlus had fought against Grindelwald and his followers.

Here and now, Harry was fighting against some of the most influential and powerful people in his own country, each of whom were determined that he would not live.

At the very head of them was a man who had delved into magicks so vile that he was barely human at all, and Harry was at the top of the list of those he wished to kill.

Harry was doing what was necessary to survive and were his grandfather in such a position during his own war, he would have done the same.

Releasing a deep breath, Harry shifted his attention to the near-catatonic woman on the bed within the cage he'd crafted in the corner of the room.

He hadn't known what he was going to do with Bellatrix Lestrange, but her being allowed to be reunited with her master had simply been out of the question.

As such, she had been brought here and kept sedated with a cocktail of potions and protections to ensure she could not escape, though now he had extracted any useful information he could, Harry was at a loss as to what he should do now.

Gringotts.

Despite her years in Azkaban, Bellatrix's mind had remained strong, and it had taken days for Harry to wear her down enough that she would yield what she tried so dearly to hide.

Amongst the many instances of her wonton bouts of violence and hysterical fanaticism for Voldemort's cause and the man himself was buried one memory she had done her all to ensure Harry did not access.

Had he not been aware of what Tom had done to his soul, it would seem innocuous enough, but the golden cup Bellatrix had been given to guard which had subsequently been placed in her personal vault was of the utmost importance.

How he would obtain it, Harry did not know, but it could not be left within the bowels of the bank.

Eventually, he would have to attempt to retrieve; an undertaking he was not looking forward to.

As Bellatrix began burbling, Harry fed her a dose of The Draught of the Living Death and she soon fell as still and silent as a corpse.

Once a week he would return to check on her and administer the potion, though he knew it was not a long-term solution.

Perhaps he would discuss the matter with Sirius.

Pushing thoughts of the disturbed Bellatrix aside, he shifted his attention to the sealed envelope he had received at breakfast, the hand his name was written in delicate and unfamiliar, although Harry knew who it was from.

He had finally plucked up the courage a few days earlier to write to Katie's parents to offer his condolences and apologies for what had happened. He'd not expected a reply at all, but here it was.

Swallowing nervously, he opened it, knowing that he could not avoid doing so indefinitely.

Dear Harry Potter,

Thank you for your letter. Your words were comforting and heartfelt, and we truly appreciate them.

Our Katie always thought and spoke so highly of you, and I expect she would be cursing us all for not coming together sooner.

We would be most grateful if you would meet with us after the New Year. Myself and Katie's father would like to see for ourselves what it was that made our Katie so happy in her final months.

Please understand, we do not blame you for what happened. Only the man who did what he did can be held responsible and we hope that he one day faces justice for what he did to our daughter.

Although no one saw you at the funeral, I suspected you were there. From what Katie told us about you, we knew you wouldn't have missed it.

Please do write back, and we hope to meet with you soon.

Sarah Bell

It was no easy feat to read the words absolving him of guilt, not when it plagued him so and always would, but they helped more than Harry could have imagined.

With a nod, he placed the letter back in the envelope and resolved to reply to it as a priority.

For now, however, he needed to return to Hogwarts to host the first session of the defence club, even if he felt that the entire thing would be more trouble than it was worth.

Was it not for his respect for Charlus and the man's lesson in helping others were he could, Harry would not have agreed to do it, and though he and his grandfather were not on the most amicable terms, he felt it was a fitting way to honour him.

(Break)

"You told Harry there would only be thirty people here!" Ron hissed as he eyed the five or six dozen students that had arrived on the Quidditch pitch.

"I didn't expect this many would turn up," Hermione whispered worriedly. "There are even a few Slytherins here."

Ron glared at those garbed in the green-trimmed robes.

"He's going to hit the bloody roof."

"Well, he can't say no now, can he?" Hermione returned with a weak smile.

Ron shook his head as Hermione peered over the crowd for any sign of their friend.

"Where is he?"

"He'll be here," Ron assured the girl. "Whether he stays or not is another thing entirely."

"That's not funny, Ronald."

"Who's joking?" the redhead returned. "You'd better do something. They're getting restless."

Clearing her throat, Hermione placed the tip of her wand against it.

"HELLO, CAN EVRYBODY HEAR ME?"

"WHERE'S POTTER?" a voice returned.

"HARRY WILL BE HERE SHORTLY," Hermione assured the students. "WHILST WE WAIT, I THINK EVERYONE SHOULD SPILT UP INTO THEIR YER GROUPS."

It seemed to be the best way to ascertain how many students from each there were, and as they complied, it was clear that the majority were from the fifth, sixth, and seventh years with a few younger students thrown into the mix.

Harry had not specified if he would allow the younger students to attend, so Hermione waited for him to arrive to address.

When he did come only a few moments later, he looked around at those gathered before storming over to Hermione.

"Thirty?" he questioned irritably.

"Does it really matter if there are more?" she asked.

Harry deflated as he shook his head.

"I suppose not," he conceded. "Fine, but you're going to help me with this.," he added as he turned towards the pockets of gathered students. "Well, since you're all here, I guess I should explain what we are going to be doing. For the most part, we will be working on practical magic that will help pass your exams. We can throw some other… yes?"

"What makes you so qualified to teach us?" a boy in Hufflepuff robes demanded to know.

"I never said I was," Harry replied with a shrug. "No one is forcing you to be here, so you can piss off if you don't like it. I'm doing this as a favour. Believe me, I could find better things to do with my time."

"Shut up, Smith!" Hannah Abbott snapped at the boy.

He opened his mouth to argue, but a glare from the blonde silenced him.

"Any other questions?" Harry demanded.

When none raised their hands, he continued with his explanation.

"As I was saying, we will mostly work on things that will see you through your exams, but we will also practice some general defensive work and anything else I think will be worthwhile. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

"I still don't see why you're teaching us and not one of the seventh years," Smith grumbled.

"Because he's better at defence and the most experienced," one of the twins bit back. "If you think you're better, prove it. Go on, face Harry in a duel."

Harry shook his head, but Smith shrugged and stepped forward.

Harry had to hand it to the boy. He was at least willing to step up to the mark where most others would not.

Drawing his wand, he nodded towards Smith, gesturing for him to begin when he was ready.

The attack came in the form of a stunning spell which Harry simply sidestepped. Smith's form wasn't bad, but his wand movements were elaborate and he remained rooted to the spot.

Evidently, he had practiced the spell regularly enough, but had no experience in duelling, or if he did, it was minimal at best.

Next was a disarming charm which Harry, instead of dodging or shielding against, returned towards his opponent with blistering speed, something Smith had not been prepared for.

His wand was torn from his grip, and the boy was sent skidding across the floor, much to the amusement of the other students.

Without saying a word, Harry approached the downed Smith and offered him a hand up. Grumpily, it was accepted.

"Knowing spells is only one thing," he murmured. "You have to know how and when to use them, when to stand your ground, and when to move. You have to be in a position where you can attack but equally defend yourself. It's mastering those things that will keep you alive or win you a duel."

The students were paying rapt attention to him, and Harry returned Smith's wand as he offered him a nod.

"I think it would be best to see what each of you can do," he decided. "Pair up and have a light duel. I will come around and offer some tips and see what things we will need to work on."

Hermione positively beamed at him.

She'd had a suspicion that Harry would be good at this, and she hadn't been wrong. He hadn't attempted to embarrass Smith, even though the boy had been arrogant and dismissive of Harry.

Instead, he'd given him a lesson, and as she faced off against Ron, she shot the occasional glance at Harry to see him working with the other students, giving pointers, adjusting stances, and offering further demonstrations where needed.

Yes, asking Harry to lead this group had been the right thing to do.

WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE?"

Hermione winced at the sound of the unwelcome voice and turned to see the stout woman clad in her infamous pink cardigan, waddling her way so that she was in the middle of the large group of students.

"Defence Club," Harry answered.

"Defence Club?" Umbridge scoffed. "I do not remember giving my consent for such a thing."

"Because you weren't bloody asked," Harry returned with a shrug, his gaze boring into the woman's.

"I am the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor! If there is to be a Defence Club, should it not be I to facilitate it?"

"I thought it would be best to ask someone competent," Harry said evenly. "If you were, this club wouldn't need to exist."

The students gasped collectively at his rebuttal, and the shocked Umbridge quickly reddened in fury.

"How dare you?" she whispered dangerously. "You have been nothing but rude, disrespectful, and a disgrace since the beginning of the year. Not that I expected anything less from the likes of you, Potter."

"And you have been useless, unqualified, and irritating since you arrived. I don't know what Fudge was thinking having you appointed here. Didn't you get a Dreadful in your OWL? You didn't even sit the NEWT in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Evidently, Umbridge had not expected Harry to know that, though it appeared that none of the other students were aware of it either. Even Hermione had been clueless as to just how terrible Umbridge was at the subject.

The woman gaped as she reddened once more, this time in embarrassment.

"What absolute nonsense," she declared, standing as tall her frame would allow her.

"If you say so," Harry said dismissively. "Now, if you don't mind, we are busy. We aren't breaking any rules and would like to continue with our work, Professor."

The students looked on in stunned silence and waited for the inevitable eruption from Dolores Umbridge.

"THAT WILL BE A DETENTION, MR POTTER!"

Harry grinned at the woman almost mockingly, though there appeared to be a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.

The bow he offered her was nothing short of condescending.

"I would love to attend a detention with you, Professor Umbridge. Shall we say, tomorrow evening?"

Umbridge looked as though she was suffering some great pain as she began to breathe, short and shallow breaths.

"Tomorrow at eight pm," she whispered dangerously before storming away from the gathering.

"Alright you lot, get back to it," Harry instructed, nonplussed by the interaction.

"Do you think that was a good idea?" Hermione asked as she approached Harry. "She already hates you."

"I think it's the best idea I've had for a while now," Harry replied with a smile. "She will hate me even more soon enough."

There was an edge of anticipation to his voice and something that made Hermione feel unsettled.

Thus far, he had done all he could to avoid Umbridge, so why would he now provoke her so carelessly? It made no sense to Hermione, but she had no doubt that Harry was up to something.

She watched as he spoke with Colin Creevey for a moment before he moved on, continuing working with those who had gone back to their duelling.

"He's up to something," Hermione said simply to Ron.

"He is," Ron confirmed knowingly. "Trust me, you'll be glad for it when he's done."

"What do you know?"

Ron held up his hands and shook his head.

"There's too many prying ears," he murmured in response. "Just trust me, Hermione. He's doing the right thing."

Hermione frowned, though she was comforted by Ron's confirmation. Something must have happened for the redhead to be so reassuring in the matter, but it appeared she would have to wait until they were alone before she could press him on the matter.

Whatever it was, Ron seemed to be almost as eager for Harry to serve a detention with the woman as the boy himself, which only made her ponder just what it was that had occurred that her two friends knew about.

(Break)

Barty pressed himself into the wall as much as he could as the cloaked figures passed by, daring not even to breathe to avoid being detected. When he once more found himself alone, he deflated beneath his cloak.

Ever since the debacle that had been the Dark Lord's excursion to Azkaban, Barty had been relegated to watching the comings and goings of the Department of Mystery, a dull and uninteresting task if there ever was one.

Nothing had happened in the weeks he had been subjected to the boredom, though at times, he got the unsettling feeling that he wasn't alone.

He had been instructed to look out for any sign that Dumbledore or any of his group had been stationed here, but there had been none.

The feeling that he was not alone stemmed from something else other than a mediocre wizard sitting vigil.

No, this feeling was enough to give him goosebumps, a chill he could not identify, though it was something akin to what the dementors left in their wake when passing the cells in Azkaban.

Barty was convinced that he was often not alone, that whatever lurked here from time to time was aware of his presence just as he was of it.

Shuddering at the thought, Barty allowed himself to slide down the wall and ensured he remained covered by his cloak.

What occurred at Azkaban had not gone to plan.

The Death Eaters within were supposed to be freed, suffering only from their time under the care of the dementors. Potter had ensured that had not happened.

In a way, Barty admired the ruthless tenacity of the boy, and he knew that he could only lay the blame on himself for his part in what Potter had become.

He'd wanted a monster to deal with the likes of the smug Malfoy and those who had forsaken their lord, and that was exactly what Barty had gotten, though he had not anticipated it backfiring on him so tremendously.

Potter had callously removed the hands and tongues of the Death Eaters, gelded the males, and outright murdered Rabastan Lestrange.

Barty could only wonder what had happened to Bellatrix.

That had been the blow the Dark Lord had felt the most. The woman had been his most ardent follower, and most gifted with a wand. Barty would not dispute that.

He had seen Bellatrix in action before the fall of their master and losing a fighter of such calibre truly was a loss to the cause.

Nonetheless, there was nothing to be done about it now.

Barty had no doubt that Potter had taken the woman and tore through her mind as he had the others, leaving her equally as crippled.

He had wanted a monster, and he had indeed gotten it.

What did concern him was what would happen if and when Potter discovered that it had been him to orchestrate all that befell him during the last school year.

Barty was no slouch and he could hide as well as any, but if nothing else, Potter had proven himself to be as tenacious as the Dark Lord, and were he to learn of his involvement, the boy would not rest until he got justice for the Bell girl.

Barty snorted at the thought.

Potter would not live long enough to uncover the truth.

Progress may have been brought to a halt whilst the Dark Lord prepared his next moves, but it was a temporary setback at most. Soon enough, all would be well and Potter would meet his end at the hands of Lord Voldemort.

(Break)

Daphne watched Potter speculatively as he arranged the duelling dummies in the chamber on the third floor. It was here they came for their private lessons, a place they were unlikely to be disturbed.

Much of this part of the castle consisted only of unused classrooms, storage cupboards, and guest quarters that didn't seem as though they had been occupied in many years.

She frowned thoughtfully as Potter went about his task silently, his own brow furrowed.

The exchange with Umbridge had been rather intense, though it was the boy that had gotten the better of it.

Daphne knew that Potter was planning something, though she had expected him to act so soon after their conversation only a few days prior.

"Have you really gotten everything you need to take her down?" she asked curiously.

Potter nodded as he took his place by her side.

"From what you said, it was important to get rid of her as quickly as possible. I don't want anyone else to suffer because of her."

Daphne nodded approvingly.

"But why would you provoke her into giving you a detention?"

"Because it would be best if she was caught in the act, wouldn't it?"

"Do you really think she would be stupid enough to try to use it on you?"

"She's arrogant enough," Potter snorted. "Umbridge is like others I have met. She thinks that she is invincible, and she is far from it."

"You mean, You-Know-Who?"

"You-Know-Who?" Harry replied, quirking an eyebrow.

"People are scared of him for a reason."

"And they should be," the boy said with a shrug. "He's a monster that will do whatever he needs he feels he needs to, to get what he wants. He's powerful, talented, intelligent, and dangerous, but he is not invincible. He was a boy here once, an orphan and a loner who gathered a following by using his heritage as leverage."

"He was at Hogwarts?"

"Where else would he have gone?" Potter questioned. "His name is Tom Riddle. Born to a muggle father who he ended up murdering, and a witch who died giving birth to him."

"Riddle," Daphne whispered confusedly.

She had come across that name.

Her eyes widened in realisation and Potter merely nodded.

"Merope Gaunt was his mother, and her son killed his own father and framed his uncle. He was sixteen when he did it, and his transgressions only got worse."

"That's why you wanted to know about the Gaunt family. You had me looking into his past!"

"I needed to confirm what I thought."

Daphne's nostrils flared in irritation.

"Wait, so he's not even a pureblood?"

"He's not," Harry confirmed, "but as of his uncle's death, he is the heir of Slytherin, I think."

"You think?"

"That is complicated," Potter said dismissively. "Now, shall we begin?"

"Hold on, how do you know all of these things?"

"I make it my business to know all I can about my enemies," Harry answered simply.

"So, you're not as stupid as you look," Daphne said with a smirk.

"If I do look stupid, then that means I will be underestimated."

His words were ominous, and Daphne found herself frowning once more.

"Potter, what is happening out there?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her almost expressionlessly before nodding.

"War," he answered.

It was a single word, but the weight of it was more than Daphne had anticipated. She was no fool. She had known that a war was coming, but from what Potter had insinuated, it had already begun and the boy in front of her was at the very centre of it.

"Azkaban wasn't an accident."

"It wasn't."

Daphne nodded.

"Is Umbridge really a priority for you?"

Potter chuckled.

"You said yourself that when the war is done, and if I win, people will look to me to be some kind of influential figure. It's not something I want, but I've seen what happens when it does happen and it is squandered. Dumbledore could have changed Britain if he hadn't hidden himself here after defeating Grindelwald. I can't say I blame him. I'm sure he has his reasons, but it doesn't change the fact that he could have made a difference."

"And you can, if you win?"

Potter nodded solemnly.

"My ancestors were protectors of their people. They made sacrifices to ensure that those that looked up to them were safe. My grandfather, Charlus, fought against Grindelwald after his father William was killed by him on the continent. Even before them, those who became the Potters did the very same."

It was strange to hear Harry speak so fondly of others, of how he seemingly wished to be just like them.

Although Daphne would not profess to know much about Harry Potter, she had seen what he'd endured the previous year, and yet, there was something within the boy that still gave him the capacity to care for others.

That was why he had agreed help with the defence club, that he was acting so quickly to rid the castle of Dolores Umbridge, and he was embroiled so deeply in whatever was happening outside of the castle.

He hadn't said as much, but Daphne could see it in his eyes. He was just as involved, if not more so, than any other.

In this moment, she saw the boy in a differently light. He was not merely a means to an end for her own gain, but a young man who was sacrificing much for the good of the people as much as for himself.

It was sobering, and yet, Daphne found a new sense of admiration for Harry Potter.

He was often aloof and seemingly uncaring, but if anything, he had proven to be just about the most caring person she had met, and she knew she had barely scratched the surface of just who Harry Potter was, and all he had done.

(Break)

It was not often that Albus felt angry. He prided himself on his state of calmness, but as he looked through the photos Harry had presented him, a cold wave of fury replaced his usually gentle nature.

"It will be dealt with," Harry assured him.

"Why didn't you bring it to me?"

"Because if you made it a school problem to solve, Malfoy would find a way of sweeping it under the rug. This way, it will be a legal matter that cannot be ignored. I have already discussed it with Sirius and have alerted the media to be available."

Albus nodded sadly.

"She always was an unpleasant person, even as a girl, but this? I would not have expected such cruelty."

"Why would you?" Harry asked. "She doesn't hide her disdain, but even I wouldn't have suspected it until I saw it for myself."

Albus deflated as he shook his head.

"I am of a mind to throw her from the castle immediately," he murmured. "The students should never have been subjected to her."

"Ah, but who is to blame for it?" Harry questioned. "You were not given a choice in the matter. Lucius orchestrated her appointment and it was advocated by Fudge. I will ensure everyone knows it."

"I cannot say it brings me much comfort, Harry," Albus sighed. "She has been here for months, and I was clueless to this."

"This is not something you can blame yourself for," Harry said firmly. "Fudge insisted on it, and with what happened, you could hardly have refused. You accepted the measures the Ministry put in place, so the blame lies with them entirely."

Albus nodded, though he remained unconvinced.

"Once again, I find myself in a position where I must offer my gratitude," hr said sincerely. "For what you did at Azkaban…"

Harry waved him off.

"You didn't think I would let you die, did you?"

Albus shook his head.

"No, but it was a risk for you to be there, and to intervene. With the odds stacked so against you."

"Aren't they always?" Harry asked with a dry chuckle.

"They are," Albus returned with a sad smile, "and yet, you always find a way."

"I have to," Harry replied simply. "It will eventually come down to me or him, so, I have to find a way."

Albus nodded.

"Thank you, Harry. I admit, I've had my concerns over the years that you had lost yourself, or that you would. I cannot profess to understand what it is you are dealing with. War is a terrible thing, and you managing it as well as one could expect. It is not a burden many would envy."

"I'd sooner be without it," Harry huffed, "but we have to play with the hand we are dealt. I make do with mine. We won't always agree on what needs to be done, but I will always do what it necessary. I will not look Death in the face regretting what I have done, but I would regret the things I didn't."

"Wise words, if a little macabre in nature, given the circumstances," Albus acknowledged. "I will be present tomorrow evening. In the meantime, I suppose I must consider a replacement for Madam Umbridge. Perhaps I will take the post myself for the remainder of the year."

Harry nodded as he stood.

"I think that would go a long way in restoring some much-needed faith in the school," he offered. "My detention will begin at eight pm. I don't expect it will last long."

"I will ensure I am there when needed."

With that, Harry took his leave from the office and Albus once more looked at the photos he'd been provided, a feeling of disgust filling him.

How hadn't he known?

For the most part, he had done his best to ignore the presence of Dolores, had been ecstatic when he'd heard the rumours of Miss Granger attempting to convince Harry to run a defence club, yet in that, he'd only further ignored Dolores.

Nonetheless, he was grateful for Harry's intervention, and as he leaned back in his chair, he drew his wand from his sleeve.

He'd held onto it, concerned by some of Harry's antics, and fearful that what had occurred in the graveyard would steer him down a path that there was no return from.

In truth, Albus knew it had, but he could not deny that Harry remained a conscientious person who would not abuse the power he could wield. Although he and Tom were so very similar, almost uncannily, Harry retained the ability to care for others.

He would likely scoff at the importance of such a trivial thing, but it truly made all the difference. That very capacity was what set the two apart, and Albus could not be more pleased for it.

Eyeing the wand, he nodded.

Soon, it would be time for it to be returned to the bloodline of those that had been gifted it in the first place. With each of the Hallows and enough time, maybe, just maybe it would be enough to see Harry to victory.

(Break)

The day had dragged by at a snail's pace for Harry who was anticipating finally being rid of Dolores Umbridge. Ever since he had learned what she had been doing to some of the students, he had been obsessed with ensuring she got what she deserved.

With Azkaban out of use and unlikely to be fixed, she would be spared the island prison, but Harry was content knowing she would spend the rest of her days with her reputation in tatters and her experience miserable.

As eight pm approached, he made his way towards her office, knocking three times on the door.

"Come in."

He grimaced at the sickly-sweet nature of her voice as he pushed the door open to be greeted by the stout woman's triumphant smirk.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before I would have you here, Potter," she said gleefully. "Sit!"

Harry did so at the indicated table in front of the woman and frowned at the many cats within plate and portraits that adorned the wall.

"I thought you could write some lines for me tonight, Potter."

Harry watched as she opened the top door of her desk, hesitating for a moment before removing a quill and placing it in front of him with a piece of parchment.

"There's no ink," he pointed out.

"Oh, you won't need any ink," Umbridge said gleefully. "Before you begin, I would like to speak with you. Come, have a cup of tea. This need not be an unpleasant evening."

Harry's frown deepened as he switched chairs to a more comfortable, plush one net to the desk, and eyed the tea that was handed to him suspiciously. Even in the dim light of the office, he could see an almost glossy sheen across the surface and he chuckled.

"Is something funny?" Umbridge questioned.

"If it was only me you had attempted to drug and use that quill on, maybe I could see the humour," he replied as he readied his wand. "I was going to subject you to the same treatment you have several of the students here, but I was convinced otherwise."

"Excuse me?" Umbridge asked.

She was worried and Harry grinned at her malevolently.

"Did you really think you would get away with it, or are you just so arrogant that you think no one would find out?"

"I do not know what you mean," Umbridge said dismissively as she reached for the cup Harry held.

"I don't think so," he said dismissively, flicking his wand and sending her barrelling over the desk with a scream. "Aurors?"

Umbridge's eyes widened as Kingsley and Tonks appeared seemingly from nowhere, and more so as the door to the office opened and the cold gaze of Dumbledore bore into hers.

Harry stood and offered the cup to Kingsley who accepted it carefully.

"Veritaserum?" he asked.

Harry nodded.

"I don't suppose that will go down well in the Wizengamot."

"It will not," Dumbledore interjected firmly as Tonks restrained the shocked Umbridge.

As expected, her silence did not last long.

"Unhand me immediately!" she demanded. "I am the Senior-Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic."

"You're nothing," Harry growled as he stepped towards the woman who cowered. "Do you think Fudge can save you from this? He will be too busy trying save his own arse when this comes out. You're lucky though, Umbridge. If I had my way, I would be dealing with you myself, and believe me, I would have made what you did to the students here look like they'd only scraped their knees."

"Merlin, there's four of the quills in here," Kingsley exclaimed, holding up the offending articles, "and enough veritaserum to have half the castle singing like canaries."

"She's in for it," Tonks declared.

"NO!" Umbridge screeched as he attempted to lunge towards Kingsley, only to fall and her face to smash painfully into the stone floor.

With her hands restrained, she'd been unable to protect herself.

Knowing she was in a helpless position, she sobbed in a heap on the floor until Tonks and Kingsley took her out of the castle via the floo network.

"What a despicable woman," Dumbledore murmured disgustedly. "This will certainly cause a commotion."

"It will," Harry agreed. "Just wait and see how Fudge reacts to seeing her being dragged in front of the Wizengamot. It won't look good on him or Malfoy. You may well even be able to replace him as a school governor."

Dumbledore nodded and squeezed Harry's shoulder in gratitude.

"Thank you, Harry."

Harry waved him off.

"Save your thanks for Sirius," he suggested. "He's the one that is going to be dragging each of them through the mud. "I don't think I've ever seen him so excited when I explained what was happening."

"I expect he will make quite the show of it," Dumbledore deduced.

"Would you expect anything less?" Harry snorted.

"No, I cannot say I would," Dumbledore sighed.