(A/N sorry for the delay in publishing the chapter it was my works Christmas party and I was slightly distracted. Enjoy the chapter)
Umbridge droned on and on. Harry blinked, his eyes heavy. It should have been impossible to fall asleep with what Umbridge had done to her classroom, walls shaded pink and lined with ornamental plates, decorated with kittens. Hell, her fluffy pink cardigan should have ensured he was blinded, rather than sleepy.
But he hadn't slept well, not with thoughts of Horcruxes running through his mind. Voldemort had made himself immortal, unkillable. Harry had delved deep into his own mind, resisting the agony of memories that had been deliberately buried away. Horcruxes, six of them. And the seventh fragment of the soul inside Voldemort himself.
Harry had destroyed one already, the diary. But five more remained. Some of which he had glimpses of their location. He'd need to undertake missions to destroy them.
But not yet. He couldn't risk alerting Voldemort, lest he move them. When he was more powerful, more sure of besting the man in a fight, with many more allies — then he could destroy them.
"It doesn't matter." He murmured to himself, staring at the same page of Defensive Magical Theory, the words swimming together. The arduous task was still arduous, the journey still long. But as long as he kept taking steps, he could make it.
But the greater worry niggled at the back of his mind. He was already taking the same steps Tom had, once. The same path, at least.
Would he too splinter his soul?
"What doesn't matter?" Hermione hissed out of the side of her mouth. He looked at her in surprise, and then up at Umbridge, who was humming to herself as she knit a lacy doily in her lap. Hermione, talking in class?
She rolled her eyes. "It's not like we're learning anything." She whispered.
Harry smirked, casting his eye over her. She was wearing her winter wear, a Gryffindor red woolly cardigan with white stripes and big buttons, firmly buttoned tight — one that he knew she'd picked out deliberately, hoping the thick itchy wool would drive him away. He'd amused himself half of the lesson already by shortening her skirt when she wasn't looking, such that it sat high on her thighs, above her white ruffle-topped stockings.
Hermione blushed — she'd had to button her cardigan firmly up to hide the cum stains he'd made her keep on her white tank top underneath. She'd jerked him off that morning, lying on the cushioned reading nook in her dormitory while the other girls were at breakfast, her legs spread, panties pulled aside at his orders.
Harry had kept his eyes on her enticing slit, her flower just begging to be opened up. Soon.
She was almost ready.
She'd even taken some tentative laps of his cockhead, her bushy eyebrows knitting together in distress. And she'd cleaned up much of his pooled cum on her white top, ducking her head to avoid his amused gaze as she slurped. She couldn't hide her moan at his taste though. The pure power of Potter magic.
He'd learned the key to her heart — as long as he spent the night with her, cuddling and talking about old memories, she'd do whatever he asked.
She needed to feel loved. Cuddling at night, he reminded her of the time he'd tried to help her get over her fear of flying, and she'd ended up head over ass, skirt upside down, hanging onto the broomstick and screaming bloody murder, high over Hogwarts' lake. And while they giggled, he placed her hand on his cock under the sheets. She stroked him obediently.
"I didn't talk to you for a week." She'd snorted.
"It was like, three hours, Mione. You couldn't do without me for a week." Harry's arm tightened around her.
"True. I don't know why I put up with you." She'd admitted, twisting her palm under his mushroom head like he liked.
Harry blinked himself out of his thoughts as he was met by Hermione's very real glare.
"Stop staring at me like I'm a prize cow." She scowled.
"Can you help me with something?" Harry said suddenly. Umbridge stared out at the classroom abruptly — they both went silent — and then she returned to her knitting.
"Not again, Harry."
"No, I mean, this." Harry slipped her the letter he'd got from his blackmailer — a letter he'd torn in two to ensure Hermione only saw the riddle. "I'm getting blackmailed and I need to reply soon."
She tried to meet his eyes. Harry knew he'd sparked her curiosity and she wouldn't let it go, but he needed her help. "Blackmailed for what?"
"It doesn't matter."
"If you want my help—"
"Hem, hem," Professor Umbridge coughed. "Passing notes in class, are we?" Her voice controlled in a deliberate sweetness. "Such sweet romance, but not appropriate for the classroom. Detention tonight for you, Mr. Potter, dear."
Harry groaned. He had better things — and girls — to do, than spend an hour or two with fucking Umbridge.
The bitch wasn't done. She unpeeled the note, peering with her pouchy toad's eyes. "I make a loud sound when I'm changing. When I do change, I get bigger but weigh less. What am I?" She read, her tone confused.
Lavender Brown raised her hand, thinking it was a question for the class. "Is it a supermodel? I hear they have crazy diets."
Ron coughed to hide his laughter.
"Hermione has been making loud sounds when she changes." Parvati quipped, giggling.
"I do not!" Hermione snapped. Harry noticed Ron's smile had slipped away.
"That's quite enough!" Umbridge trilled. "Your hand is not up, Miss Patil. Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, as you well know." She said sweetly. "Now, return to your textbooks. Mr. Potter, this evening, five o'clock, my office."
As she walked back to her desk, she dropped the riddle note in a trashcan. "What nonsense. Good riddance to bad rubbish." Umbridge muttered to herself, her sickly sweet smile slipping from her face, like she was affronted about the very existence of the note.
Harry saw some of Vernon Dursley in her — her ignorance, her insecurity, her anger at being unable to solve the riddle turning to anger at the very thing itself.
Beside him, Hermione mouthed an apology.
Harry just shook his head.
She covered her mouth with her hand. "Popcorn."
He raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze firmly on his textbook.
"Popcorn is the answer." Hermione whispered. "Mum and Dad do riddles when the six o'clock news gets boring."
Popcorn. Harry grimaced. He was hoping the riddle's answer would give him a clue as to the riddler.
He considered Hermione's words.
Maybe it did.
Purebloods didn't eat popcorn. Did they? It was a flavor of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. But he'd never seen a wizard make popcorn like Dudley did, heating the bag of kernels in a microwave, coating them in tons of butter. They ate Fizzing Whizzbees or Cockroach Clusters.
Maybe the riddler was a Muggleborn, or a half-blood.
Whatever.
Umbridge started humming again.
He had more important things to worry about. And detention.
###
Harry knocked on Umbridge's door, steeling himself. Her office was even more foul than her classroom, a lurid pink attack on the senses that started with dried flowers and kittens on vases and ended with Umbridge herself, dressed like Barbie if she'd had three kids and two divorces.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter."
"Evening."
"Sit down, please."
Harry perched himself in the wooden chair — the seat had a lace doily cover. On the table, blank parchment.
Umbridge smiled sweetly. "I thought, since you like writing notes, you can write some more." She placed a long black quill on the table.
"I want you to write 'Celebrities should not interfere in the electoral process,'" she said softly.
Harry snorted. He couldn't help himself. "Is that what this is about?" He'd done his best to keep his mouth shut and stay out of the toad's way — but he'd felt her glares, her jibes in class rolling off his back. He wasn't the immature boy she wanted to enrage, desperate to trap him in endless detentions.
"The Ministry is a beautiful institution, Mr. Potter." Umbridge was smiling widely, like she always did when she got a rise out of him. "It runs on the two most important things in life. Rules and regulations."
"I'm sorry, Professor." Harry batted his eyes. "I wasn't aware I did break a rule when I used my free speech to endorse a candidate."
"The Ministry cannot run smoothly when high profile figures use it to advance their own means, Mr. Potter. The public, the good working people of this great country, should be able to vote unencumbered by the fickle flights of elitist celebrities."
Harry rested his chin on his steepled fingers. "Weren't you Fudge's right hand? He was always after my endorsement."
Her sweet smile turned sickly. "That's Minister Fudge to you. Start writing, Mr. Potter." She waddled back to her desk and sat down with a heavy sigh.
"I need ink, Professor."
"It's not an ink quill, Mr. Potter." She said triumphantly.
Harry frowned and tried the quill. His hand itched in pain, even as the parchment filled with shining red ink. And, to Harry's widening eyes, the words cut into his skin, like they were being traced by a knife.
Harry couldn't help himself.
He started laughing. He laughed so hard his ribs began hurting, his breath wheezing as he saw Umbridge's bulging toad-face turn puce-like.
This was her idea? Her torture?
When he closed his eyes, he saw the rape of countless women. He saw his own hand dismember women, men, children. Their eyes turned lifeless, their organs spilled, hands clutching at spouting blood. Harry watched his own hands kill his father, James, and Lily too.
He shared minds with a man become monster.
This was not torture.
Tom had once chained a man up for a week, watching the magic-hungering magisanguijuelas leeches of Chile's rain forest slowly devour a man. First he'd placed them on the man's testicles, until they were drained dry, slowly falling off his body like lint brushed from a shoulder.
Tom hadn't even wanted anything from the man.
In what world could this pen scare him?
"Is there something amusing, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge said quietly.
"No, no." He wiped his eyes. "Sorry, I'm a bit giddy. I'm writing, don't worry."
"A bout of hysteria, perhaps." She suggested, her eyes narrowing.
"Yes, maybe." Harry bit down on his fist to stop himself giggling. Line after line, pressed into the parchment, pressed into the skin. He lost himself in the rhythm of it. It wasn't so bad. The pain was nothing and it gave him time to think.
Voldemort may have gained a certain type of immortality, but he'd paid too high a price. Splintering his soul had made him lose what little humanity he already had, any chance of redemption, any understanding of love or friendship or kindness.
Harry knew love, now. And he knew it well enough to know he could never turn his back on it.
By the time Umbridge called time and sent him away, her triumphant smile turned sour at his lack of reaction, Harry was actually feeling good. He was forging his own path.
Outside the office, somebody slid out from behind a statue. Hannah, wringing her hands together.
"Are you okay?" She bit her lip. "I heard you had detention with that awful witch."
"It's fine, Han." He reassured her. "You didn't need to wait up for me."
She patted him down, checking him over, and then gasped when she saw his hands.
"Blood quill. Lines on the parchment are written in my blood, and replicated on my skin." Harry inspected his own hand in fascination. Blood quills were an interesting artifact — he wondered where Umbridge had gotten one from.
Hannah stilled. "She took your blood? She hurt you?" Her face snapped up, murderous.
"I'm fine, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead.
"I'll kill her."
"You'll do no such thing." He patted her rump. "Don't worry, I'll handle her. Or she'll be gone as soon as Amelia wins the election."
He preferred waiting her out, simply because he couldn't figure her out. Umbridge was a fool, there was no doubt. Only a fool would use a blood quill on a Lord, let alone the Lord of House Potter.
But fools could be dangerous too. What he couldn't understand was if she was a true believer or a grifter, playing the game for money and power. And until he understood her motives, he didn't want to try to use her, manipulate her or get rid of her.
"She can't hurt you again, Harry." Hannah's doe eyes looked up at him. He tugged on one of her pigtails affectionately.
"Enough about that. Why are you stealing Dark Arts books from the Restricted Section?" He smirked. "Is my Huffleslut becoming a Dark Lady?"
She blushed, looking down. "I want — I, I mean, I need to be powerful, to be with you, to remain in your favor."
"Hannah," He admonished. "You don't need to—"
"But I do! The others, they're Veela or heads of Houses. Pureblood nobles. I just have, what?" She gestured at herself. "Big tits." She said despondently.
"They are lovely—"
She didn't hear him. "And when you have Susan…" Hannah trailed off and then stomped her foot. "No! I'll be powerful." Her shining eyes looked up at him. "And you need power, right? So you can drain it from us when you need it."
He considered her for a long moment, holding her tight in the cold of the Hogwarts hallway. She nuzzled his chest.
She wasn't wrong.
"My Hannah," He tugged her pigtails back sharply so he could kiss her rosy lips. "I'll pick out some books for you."
###
The next evening, it was time for their Defense Association meeting again, rescheduled because so many members were getting detentions with Umbridge.
As the election drew closer, she was getting rather manic — Seamus told him that she'd started screaming at her third-year class when they all started simultaneously sweating, vomiting and bleeding. Fred and George had ramped up production of their Skiving Snackboxes, it seemed.
Umbridge-itis was doing the rounds along with the winter flu.
"No Marietta today?" He asked Cho as she brushed by him — she too was wearing a low tanktop. Professor McGonagall had been trying to clamp down on the dress code, but as always, the Hogwarts girls were one step ahead. Since the Head of Gryffindor was insisting that everyone had to wear proper shirts with collars, they were inserting fake shirt collars under their blouses, tanktops and tees. Even Hermione was doing it.
She gave him a winning smile. "Sick today. Had a fever from lunchtime."
"No biggie."
Attendance was good otherwise. Ernie's family loss and subsequent desire to learn how to kill had, rather than scare them off, made them all even more emboldened to learn from him. And Harry had a lot to teach.
He was enjoying it too. Not just having a receptive audience, but being able to get hands on. Hands on Cho's thigh to fix her dueling stance. Hands on Daphne's rear to stop her falling after taking a nasty curse from Susan. Her resulting flinch reminded him he really needed to remove the buttplug he was making her use.
She was trembling and twitching throughout every duel.
"You're sweating, Daphne. I hope you haven't got Marietta's fever." Harry said innocently.
"I'm fine." Daphne snapped. But her locks were stuck to her forehead and she was breathing heavy.
"Maybe if you could make a proper shield." Susan jabbed.
"Why don't you shut your—" Daphne was interrupted by a pop and a piercing shriek from Lavender.
It was Dobby, his ears flopped low. The elf's eyes were wide, glistening, his whole body shaking. He tugged at Harry's robes and then began hitting himself in the face.
"Harry Potter, sir, Dobby should not but…Dobby must!"
"What's happened, Dobby?" Harry asked, grabbing the elf's arm.
Dobby looked at up him, cross-eyed but eyes full of unmistakable panic. "She is coming!"
Harry swore. He turned to all the DA members. "What the fuck are you waiting for? RUN!"
His words sparked them to movement. At once, they all pelted towards the exit. The door was too narrow, the queue too large.
Harry gripped Fred's shoulder. "Boys, we might need some distractions. Something to keep Umbridge from seeing our faces."
Fred and George grinned in unison. "Harry, we thought you'd never ask." They chorused. Their bulky robes opened up — and inside, strapped to every part of their limb and torso, their inventions. Skiving Snackboxes, Canary Creams, a whole box of Nosebleed Nougats.
"Harry, come on!" shrieked Hannah from the front of the queue.
"This, young Harry," Fred showed him a red box. "This is a Basic Blaze Box. A good selection of our famous Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs."
"But," George continued as they tried to push forward into the scrum of panicked deserters. "We think you deserve our Deflagration Deluxe."
"Ooh, the premium model." Fred chimed in, already lighting one firework. Out of the hallway, the fireworks blasted off. Dragons of green and gold, roaring up the corridor. Pink wheels whizzed across the stone and then high into the ceiling, ricocheting. Silver rockets mixed with swearword sparklers — and they only grew bigger and bigger.
Harry couldn't help but laugh. The twins were brilliant.
"Harry!" Hermione tugged at his hand. He pushed her away.
"Don't worry, I've got this. Hide in the bathroom until they're gone." He said confidently, slamming the door behind him.
He didn't mind getting caught himself, as long as the others weren't. He wanted to understand what made Umbridge tick.
The old Harry would have ran away, letting her lord herself over him for months on end, living in fear of saying the wrong thing. But that wasn't him anymore.
In their detention, he'd seen her anger bubbling up, her rage at losing her patron in Fudge, losing her chance at power, her compensation for years of sucking up to the right people.
Maybe he could use her. Through the flame and sparks, he saw them. Filch and Umbridge. Malfoy, Parkinson. Draco's face lit up in glee when he saw him.
Harry let himself be hit by the boy's Tripping Jinx.
"Professor, I got him! Red-handed!" Draco crowed.
Umbridge wore a delighted grin. "Good job, Draco. Filch, get rid of these fireworks—ah!" She hastily dodged a silver rocket that aimed for her face. "Draco, check the bathrooms. Miss Parkinson, you too, see what other rats we can catch."
Harry grimaced as Umbridge snatched at his wrist and pulled him up, counting the sins she was accruing.
"And you, Mr. Potter, you can come with me to my office." She said, her voice soft and dangerous.
Harry trembled with glee. Just like that, in a single sentence, he understood her. Because if she cared about the rules, cared about him breaking them, cared about authority and enforcement and the Ministry, she would have brought him to Dumbledore's office.
Demanded him expelled, for breaking Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four.
But she didn't, and she couldn't. Because Dumbledore would have refused, and there was no Fudge to bring in now, no higher power to demand the Decree be executed.
She brought him to her office, because this was what she cared about. Humiliation, pressing the foot on the neck of something lesser — anything lesser. It wasn't about holding power. It wasn't even about having power. It was about using it on those that couldn't fight back.
Harry knew these people well. Tom had recruited many of them.
In her office, she pushed him into the same wooden chair. Umbridge looked jubilant.
"You have broken Decree twenty four, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid expulsion from Hogwarts is the—what are you doing?"
Harry was naked, his robes pooled on the floor with a swish of his wand. He settled the wand on the table and slowly, languidly, wrapped his hand around his cock.
And began to stroke it.
Umbridge's eyes bulged.
"I'm showing you, Professor," Harry said silkily. "You have no power." He jerked the skin up his shaft slowly, enjoying the sensation.
The sensation of power.
Umbridge choked. Her face was reddening, like she was sitting in a sauna. "Potter, I will report to the Ministry, I will have this in the Prophet, this—this perversion, this disgusting arrogance—"
"No, you won't." Harry waved his wand and his chair turned into a throne. A Transfiguration Tom had done many a time. He spread both of his legs on the throne's armrest and reclined back, slowly stroking his cock. "There's a reason you didn't take me to Dumbledore, because he wouldn't expel me. And imagine the papers? Lord Potter expelled for running a Defence Association to protect students against Death Eaters."
"B-but!" Umbridge spluttered. "Edgecombe, she'll corrobate! She saw Dark Arts! Dark wizardry!"
Harry shrugged. "Defense spells. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement gave me verbal approval to use Unforgivables, who's going to care about a bad curse?"
Umbridge snarled, vibrating with fury. "You are a nasty stain on this world, Potter. You disgust me. You think there are no repercussions for your behavior?"
She cracked her hand down on her desk. "Tell me what you were doing in there. An army for Dumbledore?" She snatched her wand up and jabbed it at him, sparks flying from her wand. "Are you trying to take over the Ministry?"
Harry stroked his cock faster. "I was trying to imagine you when you were younger, I bet you were a hot little thing, weren't you?"
"Diffindo!" She cried, pointing at his hand, or maybe his cock. Harry didn't even stop stroking — the pendant on his chest protected him from lowly powered spells. Narcissa had insisted he get one too.
And he could smell Umbridge. She was weak.
"Gotta do better than that, sexy." Harry taunted, wrapping both hands around his cock. "Oh, I love your saggy tits—"
"Confringo!" She screeched. Her anger gave her power but not enough to explode him — he thought his heart beat slightly faster. His pendant shook, a crack appearing in its gem.
"Better, but not good enough. Can you come closer, I want to cover you in my cum—"
"Aaargh!" Umbridge shrieked. "Crucio!"
Harry shuddered as the Cruciatus ran through him, an unending red blast of color holding him like a dog leash. But he'd suffered under the Cruciatus many times. Tom had felt the agony of a dozen tutors, of failing Dark wizards and witches before he became too powerful to need tutelage, before he became too mighty to lose duels, on the underground circuit, in back alleys and bar rooms, in countries far and wide. He'd become mighty through suffering.
Compared to those, this was nothing. Harry gasped as water ran from his eyes, but he gave Umbridge a shaky grin. "Finally. Keep going, feels so good." He groaned, stroking his cock, which felt harder than steel.
She broke off, gasping, her eyes wide with fear.
"There it is." Harry smirked. "It's rough when the shoe is on the other foot, isn't it?"
He stood, stretched and dressed himself. "Mr. Potter, I really think we should discuss your beh—"
"Ah, it's too late to put the mask back on, Dolly." He rearranged a decorative plate on her wall that had gone askew. "Let's go end this, shall we?"
"Mr. Potter, do not take one step outside this door…"
Harry whistled as he walked out. The castle was still thumping and shaking — the twin's fireworks really were an incredible achievement.
He cast a spell to amplify his voice. "Line up, line up, all and sundry! Free tickets to the end of Umbridge, taking place now in the Great Hall!" He announced.
Students were all over Hogwarts already, investigating the fireworks, with teachers too. The DA members peeked their faces out of broom cupboards and bathrooms.
Harry strolled onward cheerfully. "Umbridge is leaving, don't miss it. The event of the year. Just follow me!"
"Mr. Potter, come back here this instant!" Umbridge shrieked. "Everyone, back to your rooms."
Nobody listened, because who could punish them when Harry was amassing all the trouble on himself? They followed him, more and more, Slytherins streaming from the dungeons, Ravenclaws from their tower, Hufflepuffs from their rooms by the kitchens. And the Gryffindors cheered as the parade grew bigger.
By the time they reached the Great Hall, the laughter and the buzz of excitement drowned out all of Umbridge's shrieks. The Professors had come too, trying in vain to control the crowds.
Harry leapt up onto the tables. "Headmaster Dumbledore!"
"Harry?" The crowds split to reveal the Headmaster, who was wearing an odd mix of dress robes and lurid pajamas.
"Headmaster, you will not believe the behavior—" Umbridge attempted.
"Professor Umbridge cast the Cruciatus Curse on me just now." He shuddered as if in pain.
Dumbledore's eyes tightened in fury. "Is this true, Dolores?"
"The boy is creating fanciful stories," She laughed nervously. "I discovered his secret club meeting, his Dark perversions—"
Ron, bless him, snatched her wand from her hand and presented it to Dumbledore. "Sir, can't you do that like, Priori thing? Cedric's dad did it at the tournament last year."
"Headmaster, this is ridiculous!" Umbridge squealed.
Dumbledore nodded, eyebrows knitting together as he saw the huge crowds quiet with anticipation. He touched his wand to Umbridge's.
"Priori Incantato." He muttered. An echo of the Cruciatus erupted from both wands, a chilling red chain of sparks blasting high into the air.
"Oh, Dolores." Dumbledore said sadly.
Umbridge wilted, suddenly looking pathetic in her fuzzy pink cardigan, her anger extinguished as she stared around at the students, searching for an ally.
"As Lord Potter, I demand that she be removed from Hogwarts immediately." Harry said quietly.
"House Macmillan supports." Ernie climbed onto the Hufflepuff bench.
"Harry," Dumbledore pursed his lips. "If I had power over the edicts of the Ministry, she would never be here. I cannot remove her." A chorus of anger began and stopped at his raised hand. "I can request the Aurors, certainly."
Harry frowned as he saw a look pass between Dora, in the crowd, and the Headmaster. What were those two colluding on? There was an Auror right there, but Dumbledore didn't to reveal her secret. Why? Because he needed her in Hogwarts still…needed her close to Harry, perhaps.
"I can go talk to Auntie, Harry." Susan said.
Umbridge stomped her foot, red-faced. "You must see through this charade, someone, anyone-" A dozen Silencing charms hit her at once.
"Fucking finally." Dean muttered. The Headmaster pursed his lips.
If Dumbledore won 't do it, I will.
"It'll be too late. And, until Amelia takes office, Umbridge will have the support of whatever allies she has there. No," Harry shook his head. "This won't do. I believe I promised everyone a show. Bring me Fred and George." He demanded.
"Harry, this isn't the right way to do things." Dumbledore warned.
"House Potter demands retribution." Harry countered. Now the crowds had gathered, they wanted blood.
He could sense it.
Tom knew these crowds.
The crowds parted to reveal two grinning redheads. Between them, they were carrying a large wooden chest.
"Liking your style, Harry."
"Gonna let us loose again, boss?"
"Boys," Harry dropped to the ground, his shoes clapping against the stone. He put two hands on their shoulders. "Whatever happens now, House Potter will be responsible for it. I will cover any legal bills. I will keep funding the new premises, no matter what. Whatever happens, I will take care of it."
Fred and George were practically vibrating, their faces split with wide smiles. "Say it, say it, say it." They chanted.
"Harry, this, all this, it isn't Hogwarts. We need to restore order." Dumbledore pleaded, his eyes no longer twinkling.
"We can't do that as long as my fellow students and I are being tortured." Harry looked out over the crowds of students. "And I know all you Professors have your hands tied, but we still aren't being protected."
He hummed with a sudden thought. "Everyone, put your hands up if Umbridge has given you an unfair detention."
Hundreds of hands went up.
"Keep them up if she made you use a blood quill."
Many hands remained.
"Me too." Harry said softly, holding his hand aloft. "Look how many sons and daughters of Hogwarts she's hurt. This has to be done. Umbridge has to be removed. Who's with me?"
The student body roared with cheers.
"Misters Weasley," Dumbledore warned. "As much as I hurt to see the pain she's caused, I cannot condone the assault on a teacher. If you do this, there is no redemption."
The twins weren't even listening, their gazes locked on Harry's.
Harry's lips twitched. "Fred, George? I want this bitch gone."
They whooped with glee. The chest opened.
And out came mayhem. Fireworks screeched into the hall. Above, Peeves stared down proudly.
Fred held his hand and a summoned broom smacked into it. "If anyone fancies buying the best fireworks, the best pranks, Portable Swamps, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley — Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," he announced. "Our new retail shop in partnership with Lord Potter himself!"
Firecrackers shot into the ceiling of the great hall, spelling out everything from "POO" to "FUCK". In the midst of the madness, the students were backing off — smartly, as the fireworks seemed to be aiming at Umbridge.
She ducked as a Catherine rotating-wheel firework span towards her, glowing a rainbow of colors. It enclosed her head like a ring, her hair alight for a single moment.
Umbridge growled, snatching her wand back from Dumbledore and pointed to herself. Her Silencing Charm gone, she tried to vanish the fireworks.
That only multiplied the fireworks, one rocket becoming ten that shot straight at her. Her clothes lit up like a torch, until she was doused by ten over-zealous Aguamenti's from the students.
The Headmaster was trying to contain the students, barking out orders, disabling fireworks, until he realized he wasn't being heard. Then, like the other Professors, he just watched from the side of the Hall.
Dolores' face paled — and she suddenly realized she was in real trouble. Fred and George took to the skies on their brooms, releasing more and more mayhem. A Portable Swamp dropped on the Slytherin table and expanded fast, the smell foul and the swamp-water spreading through the stone's floorcracks.
The twins threw Dungbombs down, pelting Umbridge with them, and more besides, until she was covered in something brown and gross. Dragons mixed with Dungbombs, sparklers mixed with swamps.
She tried to run for it — but together, both twins swooped down on their brooms and hoisted her between them, an arm under both of her shoulders.
Through the hall windows. The crowds stampeded to follow them, laughing and cheering as Umbridge's legs waddled uselessly in the air, a toad in flight. The students bumped shoulders and pointed at the flying Weasleys and their new pink Bludger, over Hogwarts, over the lake, and then over the forest, into the horizon, until they could no longer be seen.
Fireworks advertised their shop's address in the blue sky. Harry rested his elbow on Ron's shoulder as they both watched.
"Brilliant." Ron muttered. "Absolutely brilliant."
"You said it, mate." Harry smiled to himself. Neville was almost crying in relief. Professor McGonagall had a faint smile on her face, even though she shook her head in disapproval.
Dumbledore had disappeared.
Marietta was nowhere to be seen, but Cho mouthed sorry to him, before he lost sight of her behind a fiery dragon firework.
He couldn't wait to tell Sirius.
First years up to the seventh, all their faces were glowing. That was the reward he needed for the price he'd pay, with Dumbledore and all the other teachers, for the few that would dislike his grandstanding.
When this story entered Hogwarts legend, they'd remember him and the twins as the ones that removed Umbridge. Not the Aurors, not Dumbledore, not even Umbridge's own foolish decisions.
He'd bought himself goodwill with the most impressionable young minds of an entire magical generation. Now, he just needed to figure out how to spend it. How many panties could he drop?
"You were so brave." Katie beamed at him.
"Does it hurt, Harry?" Susan worried. "I can't believe she used that curse on you."
"I'll tell mum about this. The Ministry can't protect her." Cho assured him.
Hermione stared into the horizon, a faint smile on her face. "Good riddance." She squeezed his hand for a second, her thumb tracing over the word-scars etched on his skin.
"Good riddance to bad rubbish." Harry added.