Chapter 317: Chapter 317: "The Scars of Victory"
At nearly the same hour that Voldemort and his alliance were plotting to free Grindelwald, Harry Potter trudged into Hogwarts through a seldom-used side entrance. The door yielded easily to the discrete password override he'd engineered months ago. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, both physically and mentally, but beneath the fatigue was a faint, satisfying hum of victory. Winning, it seemed, had a way of dulling the sting of bruises and the toll of adrenaline.
His head throbbed, his eyelids heavy, but the castle's wards greeted him like an old friend, wrapping him in their familiar warmth the moment he stepped inside. The early light of dawn filtered through the tall windows, bathing the stone corridor in muted gold. Harry sighed, his footsteps echoing softly as he made his way to the Head Boy room.
Once inside, he kicked off his boots and all but collapsed onto his bed, too tired to even bother with undressing. A few hours of sleep would have to do before classes began. But as soon as he closed his eyes, the battlefield surged into his mind: the deadly dance of Fiendfyre, the guttural hiss of dying vampires, and the pained roars of wounded werewolves. His rest was shallow, haunted, and far from peaceful.
When he finally woke, the sun was already well above the horizon. He glanced at the clock—he'd managed perhaps two hours of sleep. It would have to suffice.
"Another morning," he muttered to himself. "Another day at Hogwarts."
Rolling out of bed, Harry rummaged through his trunk and pulled out two vials: an Invigoration Draught and a mild Focus Serum. He downed them quickly, feeling their effects ripple through him, sharpening his mind and steadying his body. With a deep breath, he cast a refreshing charm to clear any lingering traces of fatigue. The spell worked as intended; outwardly, he looked as though he'd slept like a baby. No one would suspect a thing.
Harry straightened his robes, grabbed his school bag, and stepped into the bustling castle halls, the weight of his dual life neatly hidden behind an air of practiced nonchalance.
---
The day's lessons passed in a blur. Harry found himself uncharacteristically irritable, snapping at a second-year Ravenclaw who had timidly asked for help in Transfiguration. Though he muttered a curt apology afterward, the incident gnawed at him. Skipping the rest of his classes, he resolved to find out why he'd lost control so easily. Meditation and Occlumency seemed like the best way to uncover the cause.
He retreated to a quiet alcove in a seldom-used tower corridor, settling onto a cold stone bench. The distant murmur of the castle seemed muffled here, as though the space itself held its breath. Harry closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Meditation came first, the familiar rhythm of his breathing calming the frayed edges of his nerves. Then came the practiced mental exercises of Occlumency, each one forcing him to confront the source of his frustration.
The truth was obvious, even before the exercises had begun. It wasn't lack of sleep or the stress of classes. The haunting weight of what he had done the night before—killing so many foes—hung heavily in his mind. Vampires, werewolves, and other dark creatures, all falling by his hand. Rationalizing the situation ("They attacked me; I had no choice") did little to quiet the horror of it. Nightmares had already begun to take hold, replaying the faces and screams of his enemies.
I'm not used to this, he thought grimly, his mind drifting through each vivid memory. He'd fought before, and he'd killed before, but never like this. Never so many, and never with such calculated precision. Inferi and Acromantula had been easier to distance himself from—they weren't truly alive, not like this. But last night, he had been a warrior on a battlefield, not a defender fending off mindless monsters.
The aftermath was clear now: his fuse was shorter, his frustrations bubbling over into interactions that once wouldn't have bothered him. A simple question from a young student had been enough to tip him into irritation, and he hated how easily he had snapped.
The solution, if there was one, lay in more meditation, more Occlumency—a mental regimen he'd honed to withstand outside intrusion. But cleansing emotional scars was far more difficult than blocking unwanted thoughts. He let out a weary sigh, realizing it would take days, perhaps weeks, to regain balance. Until then, he would need to keep his distance from others. He couldn't afford to lash out again, or worse, hurt someone out of reflex.
"So I keep my distance," he murmured to himself, eyes still closed. It was a temporary measure, he told himself, a necessary step to regain control. With time and discipline, he would find his equilibrium again.
For now, he just had to endure.
---
Days blurred into a haze of half-drowsy classes and forced politeness. Things were not progressing well. Several times, friends or professors tried to engage him, but Harry deflected them with excuses—extra Head Boy duties, urgent library research, private study. In truth, he just needed distance, a safe buffer from the weight of his thoughts.
When the pressure threatened to break him, Harry sought solace in the one place that brought him peace: Fleur Delacour. That night, as curfew descended, he slipped away to France to see her.
"Mon Dieu, 'Arry," she whispered during the first of his nightly visits, her fingers brushing back his unruly hair to reveal the dark circles beneath his eyes. "You look exhausted. What has happened?"
At first, he resisted, giving vague reassurances. But her gaze grew stern, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Eventually, he relented, recounting a compressed version of the confrontation at his mountain sanctuary: the vampire hordes, the werewolves, the illusions, the savage chaos. He spared her the grisliest details—the screams silenced by conjured flames, the clash of steel against flesh—but it was enough.
"You… alone?!" Fleur gasped, her accent tightening with alarm. "C'est insensé! You could have died!"
Harry shrugged, though guilt weighed heavily on him. "I made sure I was prepared. I wouldn't have done it otherwise."
Her grip on his hand tightened, her blue eyes swimming with a fierce mix of worry and anger.
"This is not about whether you were prepared, mon amour. You are…" She exhaled sharply. "Oh, 'Arry, you are too reckless. You must let me know next time. Even if I cannot fight your battles, I can call for help if it goes badly!"
"I'd never endanger you," he murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, inhaling the soft, floral scent of her hair, grounding himself in her presence.
Fleur pulled back slightly, her tone half-scolding, half-affectionate. "I am not so fragile, mon amour. At the very least, let me be informed. The not knowing… c'est pire. It is worse."
He nodded, though uncertainty lingered in his heart. His protective instinct rebelled at the idea of involving her in the life-and-death struggles that defined his days. Yet he couldn't deny how her presence eased the storm in his mind. In her company, he felt a fleeting calm, a fragile peace that dulled the sharp edges of his burdens.
They spent the evening talking softly, sipping tea, or strolling under the moonlight. The quiet moments steadied him, the warmth of her presence melting the tension that coiled in his chest. Each night, as he prepared to leave, he felt fractionally better, the weight on his heart lighter. It wasn't a cure, but it gave him just enough strength to face the next day.
---
Meanwhile, as Harry fought his mental battles, the atmosphere at Hogwarts grew increasingly strained under the oppressive weight of High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge. More Educational Decrees sprouted on the notice boards daily, stripping students of their few remaining freedoms. Quidditch teams were disbanded, student groups banned, and the once-vibrant castle was plunged into a bleak, joyless routine. A pervasive gloom hung over the halls, suffocating any spark of happiness.
The castle's lively energy dulled into silence. Students trudged from class to class, avoiding eye contact with the pink-robed figure who glided through the corridors like a vulture circling its prey. In the Great Hall, conversations dropped to whispers whenever she passed, her saccharine smile as chilling as a Dementor's presence.
Adding to the misery, Umbridge's newly formed Inquisitorial Squad prowled the halls, eager to hand out detentions for the smallest perceived infraction. The Weasley twins—once unstoppable pranksters—were frequent targets, their mischief stifled under the squad's relentless watch. Detentions piled up for them and others, though thankfully Harry had intervened early to remove the blood quills. Instead of enduring that cruel torture, students were now simply made to write lines with normal quills—boring, but harmless.
Harry felt a stab of frustration every time he saw Umbridge impose her humiliating rules unchecked. Under different circumstances, he would have relished the chance to undermine her at every turn. But in his current state, physically and mentally drained, he avoided confrontation. His self-control felt fragile, and he feared that if he tried anything now, he might not be able to accurately control the power, leading to much worse consequences. Therefore, for now, she had free rein to spread her misery.
Defense Against the Dark Arts devolved into a farce, little more than silent reading sessions. No spells, no demonstrations. For the older students, the tension reached a breaking point. OWLs and NEWTs loomed ahead, and they needed real defensive training.
It was Charles Potter, along with Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, who seized the opportunity. With a tip from Dobby, Charles discovered the Room of Requirement—a hidden space perfect for secret practice. They began inviting trusted friends, slowly building a group to teach and learn proper defensive magic. They named their secret group Dumbledore's Army, quietly defying Umbridge's oppressive decrees.
Harry learned of their plan by accident, overhearing a whisper from a Ravenclaw friend. He found himself impressed that the DA in the canon was still formed however he was annoyed about the discovery of Room of Requirements. That place been his secret spot. But the castle was large, and secrets rarely stayed hidden forever. He'd already moved anything truly important out of that place anyway, especially the Vanishing Cabinet (which he had relocated to his sanctuary for secure travel between his home and the Black Castle).
He sighed, resigned to their use of the space. "Let them have their fun," he mused. "If they can learn to defend themselves, that's a good thing. I'll keep watch from the shadows."
By the end of the week, Harry felt marginally better. Potions, short naps, and Fleur's unwavering support had soothed the worst of his mental strain. The nightmares receded, though they didn't vanish entirely. Time, and Fleur's calming presence, helped him compartmentalize the horrors of the mountain battle.
As he regained his balance, Harry began noticing the strain on his friends. The Weasley twins, though often in trouble, seemed subdued, their pranks all but forgotten. Roger, Cedric, and the Quidditch teams were frustrated at losing practice time in their final year. Fifth and seventh years, desperate to prepare for their exams, whispered openly about their frustration. Though rumors of Charles Potter's secret group spread, not everyone trusted Charles—or wanted to join his circle.
Some lamented that Harry, the Head Boy and the Hogwarts Champion, appeared indifferent to their plight.
Harry knew he could no longer remain idle. If he let Umbridge's reign go unchallenged, the morale at Hogwarts might fracture beyond repair. And while he wasn't ready for direct, violent confrontation, there were other ways to fight. Subtle sabotage, clever pranks—methods that wouldn't compromise his fragile control.
He smirked faintly, recalling the humiliating toad-croaking curse he'd once cast on her. Perhaps it was time for a repeat performance—or something equally devious.
"Yes," he murmured to himself, rising with renewed determination. "I'll act."
His friends had pleaded for him to do something, anything, to restore some semblance of hope and dignity. If the students needed preparation for their NEWTs, and the twins needed inspiration to return to mischief, he had a reputation to uphold—and plenty of ideas to unleash.
Chapter 318: Chapter 318: “A Most Toadsome Rebellion”
The sun had barely crested the horizon when Dolores Umbridge, resplendent in her frilly pink cardigan, entered the Great Hall with an air of smug self-importance. She strolled past the rows of students murmuring quietly over their breakfasts, savoring the wary silence that trailed her like a victory banner. In her mind, this was proof of her triumph—the ultimate evidence that her Educational Decrees had crushed all resistance.
She had no idea how quickly that illusion was about to crumble.
At the Ravenclaw table, Harry Potter sat playing with a handful of tiny, glimmering crystals, their surfaces catching the morning light. Reggy leaned over curiously.
"What are those?" he asked.
Harry twirled one crystal between his fingers, his expression unreadable. "Just the key to Umbridge's downfall," he said casually, without looking up.
That was enough to grab Roger's attention. His eyes lit up with excitement as he leaned forward. "Wait—are you finally going to act?"
"Maybe," Harry said, his tone deliberately vague, as he pocketed the crystals. He continued playing with them, leaving his two friends puzzled and whispering among themselves.
---
After breakfast, Harry wandered the corridors without a destination. As he passed members of the Inquisitorial Squad, he moved with practiced ease, his movements subtle yet precise. A flick of his wrist here, a nudge of his fingers there, and another crystal was gone.
The Squad members, for their part, pretended not to notice him. After having seen Harry's strengths and abilities during the Triwizard Tournament, they feared crossing him.
By midday, Harry had distributed the last of his crystals. The tiny artifacts, each no larger than a grain of rice, were special one-time-use prank devices, painstakingly crafted as the first step of his plan to topple Umbridge's reign. Satisfied with his progress, Harry hummed softly to himself as he headed to his next class, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
---
The first incident occurred just before lunch. Harper, a particularly zealous member of the Inquisitorial Squad, was patrolling the corridors as usual, his badge gleaming proudly on his chest. His sharp eyes scanned for rule-breakers, ever on the lookout for something—or someone—to report.
As he passed the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Umbridge stood lost in thought, one of Harry's crystals detected their proximity. It began to glow faintly, its magic readying itself. Harper drew level with the doorway, and the crystal activated.
A sudden, blinding flash of light erupted from Harper, startling everyone nearby. In the same instant, a perfectly aimed Stinging Hex appeared to shoot from Harper's position, striking Umbridge squarely on the ankle.
The High Inquisitor let out an undignified yelp, stumbling backward as pain shot through her leg. She clutched her ankle, her face twisting with rage and embarrassment.
Harper, utterly bewildered, instinctively drew his wand—a reflex drilled into Inquisitorial Squad members to prepare for retaliation against pranksters. He stood frozen, his wand held aloft, looking as startled as everyone else.
Umbridge's head snapped around, her beady eyes locking onto Harper like a hawk spotting prey. Her face reddened to a blotchy pink, and her voice rose into the shrill, ear-piercing pitch that made everyone wince.
"Mr. Harper!" she screeched. "How dare you attack a professor! Your own High Inquisitor!"
"I didn't—I swear I didn't—" Harper stammered, his face drained of color. He stared at his wand as though it had betrayed him, his eyes darting frantically around the corridor. "Professor, I just drew my wand because of the flash! I didn't cast anything!"
"Your wand is in your hand, Mr. Harper," Umbridge said with dangerous sweetness as she straightened herself. Her voice dripped with venomous calm. "Do you expect me to believe hexes simply appear out of thin air?"
If Harry had been there, he might have allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The crystal had worked perfectly, creating a seamless illusion of spellfire that left the hapless Squad member looking guilty. Harper's protests fell on deaf ears as Umbridge began berating him, her shrill tones echoing through the corridor.
It was the first crack in her carefully constructed authority—and the first of many to come.
---
Throughout the day, similar scenes unfolded across the castle. Every time an Inquisitorial Squad member approached Umbridge, one of Harry's enchanted crystals activated, triggering a harmless but humiliating hex. Startled by the sudden flashes of light, the squad members instinctively drew their wands, unwittingly making themselves look guilty.
Pansy Parkinson was mortified when she appeared to cast a Tickling Charm at Umbridge during a corridor patrol, leaving the High Inquisitor doubled over in giggles she couldn't suppress. Warrington's incident was even more spectacular, as he seemed to hit her with a Jelly-Legs Jinx in the middle of a classroom inspection, causing her to wobble and crash into a desk. Each time, the accused student could only stammer out confused denials while Umbridge's fury grew. Her face reddened further with every incident, her already strained patience fraying to its limits.
This continued for days, as Harry dutifully replenished the crystals along the squad's patrol routes. By the end of the week, Umbridge had convinced herself that her own Inquisitorial Squad was conspiring against her.
"Traitors!" she shrieked during a hastily summoned meeting in her office. Her voice trembled with barely contained rage, and her face had turned an alarming shade of puce, clashing horribly with the pink bow perched atop her hair. "All of you! Plotting against me, undermining my authority! You're all dismissed! Every single one of you!"
The squad members looked at one another in stunned disbelief, but none dared to argue. Her accusations left no room for protest.
The news spread like wildfire through the castle. Students gathered in small groups, whispering excitedly about Umbridge's paranoid breakdown. Even the professors struggled to hide their amusement, though they maintained a veneer of professionalism.
Undeterred, Umbridge recruited a second squad, this time consisting mostly of younger students she believed would be more loyal. But Harry simply repeated his routine, planting fresh crystals along their patrol routes. Within two days, the cycle began anew: mysterious hexes, bewildered squad members, and an increasingly frantic Umbridge.
By the time she dismissed her third attempt at forming an Inquisitorial Squad, no student would accept the position. Umbridge was left with no choice but to patrol the corridors alone, her heels clicking against the stone floors as she jumped at shadows and whirled at the faintest sound. Suspicion twisted her face into a permanent scowl, and her once-commanding presence had been reduced to a paranoid prowling figure.
With no squad to protect her, the school's pranksters returned to full force. Dolores Umbridge became the prime target for mischief, and the Weasley twins, in particular, seemed to find new inspiration. Suits of armor developed an uncanny tendency to trip her as she passed. Peeves the Poltergeist gleefully followed her, singing increasingly creative renditions of "The Toad Queen's March."
Doors mysteriously jammed whenever she tried to enter a room. Chalkboards erased themselves mid-lesson. Her prized pink quills inexplicably turned into wriggling worms. Each day brought new challenges, each prank more inventive than the last.
---
Harry's work was far from over. His next masterpiece came during dinner one evening—a specially brewed potion slipped into Dolores Umbridge's goblet through a deft bit of spellcasting. The effect was immediate and utterly spectacular.
One moment, Umbridge sat at the staff table, prattling on in her usual self-important manner. The next, she had transformed into a rather disgruntled-looking toad, complete with a tiny pink bow perched atop her head.
For three full seconds, the Great Hall was silent, as if collectively holding its breath. Then it erupted into uncontrollable laughter. Students doubled over in their seats, tears streaming down their faces, while the staff struggled valiantly—and unsuccessfully—to maintain their composure. McGonagall's lips twitched suspiciously as she stared determinedly at her plate, though her shoulders shook ever so slightly.
"A toad turning into a toad," someone quipped between bursts of laughter. "It's poetic!"
Only Filch moved to help her, his face a mask of concern. He hurried forward, carefully scooping up the transformed Umbridge and wrapping her in a piece of her fallen pink cardigan. For the next two days, he could be seen solemnly carrying a small terrarium around the castle, inside which sat a particularly grumpy-looking toad wearing a miniature bow.
Since none of the professors seemed particularly inclined to assist her, Umbridge had no choice but to wait for the potion's effects to wear off. For two days, she was confined to her amphibian form, glaring balefully at the world from within her glass prison.
When she finally returned to human form, her reputation and authority were irreparably damaged. Students no longer cowered at her approach. If anything, they seemed to be stifling laughter, their faces lighting up with barely concealed grins whenever she passed. Her educational decrees were ignored outright, and pranks continued to plague her every move with renewed vigor.
Harry watched the chaos with quiet satisfaction. The humor and joy surrounding him brought a much-needed balance to his life. Though he still experienced occasional flashes of irritability and nights haunted by vivid nightmares, the laughter and camaraderie at Hogwarts helped ease the weight he carried. Slowly but surely, he was beginning to feel whole again.
Despite the general cheer, Harry still refused to step into the role of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He knew he lacked both the time and the patience this year to lead students through lessons. For now, Umbridge's classes remained a farce, and the students were left to fend for themselves in terms of practical defense.
Even so, Harry didn't leave them entirely without help. When seventh-years came to him worried about their OWLs or NEWTs, he offered them detailed notes on spell theory, carefully written to make self-study or group practice easier. For younger students seeking advanced training, he directed them to Charles's DA meetings.
But as for teaching himself? That was a line he refused to cross. That was not his job.
---
Time moved forward, and each day felt a little freer for the students. But for Harry, a quiet sense of unease grew as Halloween approached. It was Halloween again, and while nothing major had happened this time in the original timeline, Harry had a feeling that with his luck—and the eerie silence from the Dark Alliance—something was bound to go wrong.
The day of the feast arrived. Pumpkins lined the halls, floating candles turned into miniature jack-o'-lanterns, and the Great Hall buzzed with excitement. Oddly, Umbridge was nowhere to be seen. Rumor had it she was hiding in her office, nursing her wounded pride and terrified of another toad-related prank.
The feast itself was cheerful. Platters of roasted vegetables, golden-brown turkey, and sweet pastries shaped like bats and pumpkins filled the tables. Students laughed and swapped stories about the latest pranks, enjoying the festive atmosphere.
At the staff table, Harry noticed another absence: Dumbledore. This year, the headmaster had been an elusive figure. Students barely saw him, and the staff gave no explanation for his constant disappearances. Harry suspected Dumbledore was chasing Horcruxes, trying to prepare for the growing darkness in the world.
Let him, Harry thought with a small, secret smile. With all the Horcruxes already destroyed by Harry's own efforts, the old wizard was off chasing shadows. Hopefully, that would keep Dumbledore from meddling in Harry's plans.
Sitting at the Gryffindor table among his friends, Harry was an unusual sight. He usually avoided the Halloween feast, but tonight, he joined in. Even so, he kept glancing at the empty Headmaster's chair, an uneasy feeling twisting in his stomach. Something told him the night wasn't going to end peacefully, and somehow, it involved Dumbledore. Harry tried to remind himself he wasn't ready for another fight—he was still healing from his last encounter with danger.
"Relax," he muttered under his breath, listening to Fred and George's latest plan to set off fireworks after the feast. "If something bad was happening, there'd be signs. Nothing's happening around Hogwarts."
He tried to focus on the meal. The lively chatter and laughter at the tables helped settle his nerves. Even the sight of the half-empty staff table without Umbridge brought a small grin to his face. Maybe, for once, Halloween would pass without disaster, just like in the original story.
Maybe.
But as the night wore on, the feeling in his gut wouldn't go away. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he couldn't shake the sense that something—somewhere—was wrong. Dumbledore's absence only made the feeling worse, like something big was happening far beyond Hogwarts' walls.
Still, Harry pushed the thoughts aside. For now, he let the warmth of pumpkin spice and happy voices surround him.
If danger came, he'd face it when it arrived. For tonight, a little borrowed peace and laughter would have to do.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
TalesByJaz
TalesByJaz
Happy New Year, everyone! Thank you for sticking with me on this journey for so long. As we step into 2025, I want to take a moment to wish all of you a year filled with magic, joy, and exciting new adventures—both in stories and in life. Your support and encouragement truly mean the world to me.
Here's to a new year full of inspiring stories, amazing adventures, and happy endings. Cheers to all of you! Let’s make this year unforgettable!
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