The Hogwarts students had reached that pivotal point in their education where career advice was required. The castle was buzzing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety as fifth-year students prepared to meet their respective Heads of House. The prospect of OWLs loomed over everyone, but for now, all thoughts were directed towards their futures.
In the dimly lit Slytherin Common Room, Harry sat in the chair across from Severus Snape, who looked as disinterested as ever. His dark eyes scanned Harry's file with a flicker of curiosity, but his face remained unreadable.
"Potter," Snape said flatly, not even looking up from the parchment, "career advice seems pointless in your case, doesn't it? You already have everything. Fame. Money. Power."
Harry smirked, crossing his arms. "Oh, I don't know, Professor. A man has to have hobbies."
Snape's lips curled in the slightest sneer. "Hobbies, yes. Unfortunately, destroying Dark Lords and becoming a fashion icon are not career paths most would suggest."
Harry chuckled, appreciating Snape's biting humor even more than before. "What about an Auror? Or a professor like you?"
Snape's expression darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "An Auror is more suited to someone like you. Chasing after Death Eaters, risking your life at every turn. But you're also not just anyone, are you? Potter, if you really wanted, you could do just about anything. So why bother with this meeting?"
Harry's smirk widened. "You make a good point. I guess I'm here out of tradition."
Snape closed the file and leaned back in his chair, his gaze piercing. "Then my advice, Potter, is simple: don't let the world define you. Define yourself. Now get out of my office."
Harry left Snape's office feeling a strange sense of satisfaction, knowing that, despite everything, Snape respected him in his own way.
Later that week, Harry held Quidditch training sessions for Slytherin House. As the newly appointed captain, he had been relentless in his training regime. The Slytherin team was full of talented players, but Harry's intensity was wearing them down.
They met on the Quidditch pitch under the dim sky, the chill in the air doing little to dampen Harry's enthusiasm. He had the team go through a series of grueling exercises, including flight drills that involved sharp dives and quick ascents, dodging Bludgers, and long-distance passes that seemed almost impossible to pull off.
"Come on, you lot!" Harry yelled, flying circles around the team on his broom. "I've seen first-years with more energy! Faster, tighter turns, and those passes need to be crisp! You're playing like Hufflepuffs!"
The team groaned but pushed harder, driven by Harry's expectations. His own skill on the broom was unparalleled, and he made it clear that nothing less than perfection would be accepted. After several hours, the exhausted Slytherins finally finished the session, some looking ready to collapse.
"Same time tomorrow," Harry called out, grinning as the players groaned again. "If you want to win the Cup, this is how we do it."
Despite the tough regimen, the team was improving, and they knew Harry's methods would pay off when the matches began.
A few days later, Harry attended the prestigious Stylish Wizard of the Year event. It was a glamorous affair, held in one of London's most luxurious wizarding venues. Wizards and witches from all over the world had gathered, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. The competition was fierce, with magical fashion designers showcasing their finest creations.
But when Harry entered the room, all eyes turned to him. He was dressed in an exquisite set of flowing robes, decorated with intricate Chinese dragon designs that shimmered with magic. The deep emerald-green fabric flowed around him like water, the dragon scales catching the light with every movement. His accessories included a silver-engraved belt and elegant wrist cuffs, adorned with ancient runes that glowed softly.
The real showstopper, however, was his staff—a stunningly crafted artifact fused from his original wand and another magical staff. The dark wood gleamed with an otherworldly aura, and with a wave of his hand, it would appear and disappear into a space pocket, creating an air of mystery.
To top it all off, Harry exuded an aura that left the room in awe. Dark, swirling smoke seemed to billow around him—a manifestation of the Deathly Hallows' power he now wielded. His presence was both elegant and intimidating, giving off an impression of someone who had not just mastered magic but transcended it.
The crowd was captivated, and when the judges announced the winner, it was no surprise to anyone that Harry had taken first place, hailed once again as the wizarding world's icon of both fashion and power.
Back at Hogwarts, the pressure of the OWL exams began to bear down on the students. There was no rest for the fifth years, as teachers piled on extra assignments and revision sessions.
Harry and his friends were already ahead of most, balancing their studies and magic practice with ease. In secret, the Dueling Club had been preparing them for more than just their exams. Harry continued to lead the sessions in the Room of Requirement, where the students could practice magic without fear of Umbridge's interference.
The High Inquisitor, as she now liked to be called, had been cracking down on the school with her ridiculous rules. Every day, Filch hammered more plaques onto the walls, each announcing a new decree. No laughing in the corridors. No groups larger than three. No magic in the halls. Harry's favorite rule, however, was when she tried to ban "unapproved clubs."
Naturally, Harry ignored every single one of her decrees.
"What a charming little castle you're destroying," Harry said to Umbridge one morning as she watched Filch hammer another plaque onto the wall.
She gave him a tight smile, her toad-like face twitching in irritation. "Disrespectful behavior, Mr. Potter, will not be tolerated."
"Really? I was just concerned about the structural integrity of the castle. You know, with all that hammering, Filch might accidentally bring the whole thing down."
Umbridge glared, her eyes narrowing. "Watch yourself, Potter."
Harry only smirked. "You should be more worried about yourself, Professor."
It was only a matter of time before Harry's plan against Umbridge was put into motion, but for now, he kept his cards close. He'd waited long enough, and it was time for her to feel the consequences of underestimating him.
Meanwhile, Harry, Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey had been hard at work, quietly organizing a club that operated under Umbridge's nose. In the Room of Requirement, students practiced spells and defense techniques, turning the club into a secret force of students preparing to defend themselves against the dangers that lay beyond Hogwarts.
The club became more than just a place to learn—it was a rebellion against Umbridge's tyranny. The students rallied together, and with Harry as their leader, they felt empowered.
However, Umbridge's prying eyes were always looking for evidence. She had started to suspect Harry of organizing something behind her back, but despite all her efforts, she could never catch him in the act. What she didn't know was that Harry had cleverly created portals that led from the Room of Requirement to the Chamber of Secrets, and from there, to each common room. The exits were untraceable unless Harry wanted them to be found.
One evening, Umbridge stormed through the halls with her Inquisitorial Squad, convinced that she would finally expose Harry's secret club. But once again, when she barged into the Room of Requirement, all she found was an empty room.
Frustrated, she left, not realizing that Harry and the students had already escaped into the Chamber of Secrets, laughing at how easy it was to outsmart her.
The war against Umbridge had begun, and Harry knew that, sooner or later, she would fall.