Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Cedric was the first to stand.

He trusted Harry—his instincts told him to.

And as the undisputed leader of Hufflepuff, the other Badgers followed his lead without hesitation.

Before long, the Hufflepuff table became as empty as Gryffindor's.

Cho Chang immediately stood up as well, leaving with her boyfriend—

And her departure spurred many of the Ravenclaws into action.

In the blink of an eye—

The Great Hall had been all but abandoned.

Only Slytherin House remained—

And half of Ravenclaw.

Even among the Slytherins, however, some had left—

A few half-bloods—

And even some purebloods.

Umbridge took a deep breath, forcing her lips into a sickly-sweet smile.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," she said, "it seems Hogwarts is in a truly appalling state."

"The students are utterly undisciplined—"

"This is completely unacceptable. They act as if this school is their playground."

Snape fought the urge to snort.

He said nothing.

The other professors remained stoically silent.

Dumbledore, ever the picture of innocence, merely blinked at her.

"Perhaps I have been too indulgent, dear Madam Umbridge," he said lightly.

"According to the Educational Decrees," Umbridge declared, lifting her chin, "I will be assuming full administrative control of Hogwarts."

Dumbledore nodded.

He did not protest.

Smugly, Umbridge swept her gaze over the professors.

Then, with grandiose arrogance, she stood up and strode out of the hall—

Only to abruptly stop halfway.

Realizing she hadn't eaten, she quickly turned on her heel—

And stomped back to her seat.

Dumbledore finished his dinner at a leisurely pace.

By the time he returned to his office—

There was already someone inside.

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore said, genuinely surprised. "How did you get in?"

Harry spoke casually.

"Fawkes let me in."

Dumbledore glanced over.

The majestic phoenix, curled up on Harry's lap, lifted its head proudly.

"You and Fawkes truly do get along," Dumbledore remarked, whistling softly as he walked to his chair.

He absentmindedly pulled out a tin of Cockroach Clusters—

But just as he was about to open it—

Harry interjected.

"Fawkes just dropped a few live cockroaches inside."

Dumbledore's hand froze mid-motion.

Slowly, he turned his head to Fawkes.

The phoenix nodded.

"Harry," Dumbledore sighed, setting the tin down. "You shouldn't—"

"It wasn't me," Harry cut in.

"When I got here, I watched Fawkes do it. He was very practiced—this wasn't his first time."

Dumbledore's expression darkened.

For the first time in years, he looked genuinely disturbed.

His mind raced—

Trying to recall—

Had he ever tasted something... odd?

"Fawkes," Dumbledore muttered, staring at his phoenix.

"You've changed."

Harry, with mock solemnity, nodded.

"Must be the Sorting Hat's influence."

From its perch, Godric Gryffindor's portrait agreed.

"Absolutely. I saw it with my own eyes."

Dumbledore cast a slow, betrayed glance across the entire office.

The portraits.

The artifacts.

Even the enchanted photographs.

All complicit.

All silent.

All had watched—

And never once warned him.

"Sigh..."

"Alright, Harry," Dumbledore finally said, rubbing his face.

"Let's discuss real business."

Harry set "Turkey"—the phoenix—aside and stood up.

Dumbledore, still shaken, sighed again.

"Harry," he said, "there was nothing I could do."

"The Ministry has positioned itself as the enemy of the Death Eaters—"

"At least, on the surface."

"The Aurors are patrolling—"

"And as far as the public is concerned, they stand on the side of law and order."

Harry said nothing.

"Harry," Dumbledore sighed.

"I'm fortunate to have you."

His blue eyes darkened slightly.

"I don't know if allowing you this much freedom is right or wrong."

"But I need you to understand something."

"You break the rules—"

"Because the rules have been twisted."

"But that does not mean you get to create them—"

Harry cut him off.

"Spare me the lecture, Professor Dumbledore."

"What you're actually saying is that the Ministry is now under Voldemort's control."

"That Thicknesse is a Death Eater."

"That many top Ministry officials are also Death Eaters."

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"Yes."

"Your suspicions were correct."

"Thicknesse is a Death Eater."

Dumbledore sighed again, shaking his head.

"Hard to imagine someone like him joining Voldemort."

Harry's expression turned cold.

"You really shouldn't be this naïve."

Dumbledore looked away, sighing once more.

Almost unconsciously, he reached for his Cockroach Clusters—

Then paused—

Glanced at Fawkes—

And wisely put them back.

With a flick of his fingers, he summoned a caramel pudding instead.

"Severus only returned to Hogwarts this morning," Dumbledore continued, picking up his spoon.

"He confirmed it all. I meant to call you earlier—"

"But you had class."

"You saw it yourself, Harry."

"Severus' hand—Voldemort restored it."

Harry nodded.

"I saw it."

"Snape must loathe Voldemort right now."

Dumbledore nodded as well.

"You should be kinder to Severus."

Harry scoffed.

"You mean Severus should be kinder to himself, dear Albus."

"Even if you haven't eaten any Cockroach Clusters—"

"I think some cockroaches have crawled into your brain."

Dumbledore sighed dramatically.

"I swear, I'm going to give up this candy soon."

He poked at his pudding, disgruntled.

"I simply hoped you might influence him."

Harry snorted.

"Now that's delusional."

Dumbledore set his spoon down.

"Perhaps—"

"I suspect the Ministry will continue to tighten its grip on Hogwarts."

"Harry, I can't stop them."

"But I need you to understand—"

"Your role is to fix the broken rules—"

"Not destroy them entirely."

Harry stared at him.

Then, softly—

"Dumbledore."

Dumbledore paused.

Then, chuckling wearily, he nodded.

"Alright, alright."

"I've lectured enough."

"Harry, you always know your limits."

Harry stretched lazily.

"Dumbledore," he said with a grin, "I'm relieved I don't have to pretend to respect you anymore."

Dumbledore shook his head, smiling.

Harry waved him off.

And left.

As he stepped out of the Headmaster's office, he rubbed his face.

At last—

He had a legitimate reason to unleash all his fury on the Ministry.

Finally.

This was going to be fun.

The inevitable happened—Sirius was forced to leave.

Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had absolute faith in him, but Dumbledore...

Dumbledore had always been too willing to compromise with the rules.

Still—

The Ministry failed to detain Sirius.

As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore had finally exercised a fraction of his authority—forcing the Ministry to provide actual evidence to justify their accusations.

With no real proof, they couldn't convict Sirius.

However—

He was still under house arrest at Grimmauld Place.

He couldn't go anywhere.

Umbridge's arrival didn't bring the chaos many had expected.

The pink toad was surprisingly quiet.

For an entire week, she kept to herself—

Only posting a few harmless decrees on the Hogwarts bulletin board.

Educational Decree No. 1: Students are forbidden from possessing Auto-Quills—violators will be punished.

Educational Decree No. 2: Students are prohibited from owning Fanged Frisbees—violators will be punished.

Educational Decree No. 9: Students are banned from possessing any products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—violators will be punished.

Each decree was stamped with the seal of the Ministry of Magic.

But in reality—

They were pointless rules, redundant at best.

More suited to Filch's job than an actual professor.

Still—

These decrees were stricter than Hogwarts' original rules.

And Umbridge enforced them with alarming precision—

Targeting everyone except Harry—

And his closest friends.

The punishments?

Not simple deductions of house points.

Not harmless detentions.

But physical discipline.

Students were forced to scrub corridors, polish trophies, and more.

Some were even subjected to more extreme measures—

Whippings.

Suspensions from the castle walls.

Filch had threatened to do these things for years—

But now?

Umbridge was actually approving them.

Still—

For an entire week—

She never once crossed paths with Harry.

But—

She was the self-proclaimed Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

Sooner or later—

She would have to meet her students.

The new week arrived.

Monday afternoon.

The first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term.

When the Gryffindors entered the classroom—

They almost thought they had walked into the wrong room.

Sirius's training dummies? Gone.

The Foe Glass? Vanished.

The caged Dark creatures? Nowhere to be seen.

The once active and dynamic classroom—

Had been transformed into a lifeless study hall.

Neat rows of wooden desks filled the space.

Nothing else.

No practice areas.

No interactive tools.

Just... desks.

Harry and his friends took their seats.

When the bell rang—

Umbridge finally appeared.

She descended from the upper level, wearing an obnoxiously bright red robe.

"Good afternoon, class," she said sweetly.

The students' response was scattered and half-hearted.

"No, no, no," Umbridge tutted, wagging a plump finger.

"I am your professor."

"And you are students."

"As students, you must show respect to your professors."

"Now—"

"Let's try that again."

Her syrupy voice dripped with forced patience.

"I will greet you once more—"

"And this time—"

"You will respond properly."

"When I say, 'Good afternoon, class'—"

"You will all answer in unison: 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.'"

"Understood?"

She inhaled, preparing to repeat her greeting.

But just as she opened her mouth—

Harry interrupted.

"This is Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Not the Ministry's propaganda hour."

"Start the lesson."

The words landed like a slap.

Umbridge's chest puffed up in outrage.

"Mr. Potter," she said sharply, struggling to maintain her fake politeness.

"You should show more respect to—"

Harry casually flicked his wand.

"Waddiwasi."

A piece of chalk shot from the blackboard—

And smacked Umbridge square in the forehead.

"Respect is earned through skill," Harry said blandly.

"Not through meaningless speeches."

"Start the lesson."

Umbridge's jaw clenched.

Her round face flushed deep pink.

"A hundred points from Gryffindor!" she snapped.

"For insulting a professor—"

"And mocking authority!"

The Gryffindors—

Didn't even flinch.

House points?

Who cared?

"Now—"

"All of you, put away your wands."

"We will begin today's lesson."

The entire class froze.

Put away... their wands?

Ron gawked.

"This is Defense Against the Dark Arts," he blurted.

Umbridge glared at him.

"In my class, Mr. Weasley—"

"You must raise your hand before speaking."

"Because of your rudeness—"

"Gryffindor loses ten points."

"In my classroom—"

"Wands are not necessary."

"Now—"

"Put them away."

The class stared at her in disbelief.

Had they heard her wrong?

A Defense Against the Dark Arts class...

With no magic?

Harry tapped his fingertips against his desk.

Then, without changing his expression—

He spoke coldly.

"Apologies."

"But this is no longer your class."

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Powerstones?

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