Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

"Sorry?"

Umbridge stared at Harry in shock.

Her brain momentarily froze, unable to process what she had just heard.

Her first reaction was surprise—disbelief, even.

Potter... apologizing to her? Had he realized his mistake?

But as soon as that self-satisfying thought vanished, she grasped the rest of his words—"This is no longer your Defense Against the Dark Arts class"—and he had used past tense.

Harry didn't give her time to dwell on it. He raised his wand and flicked it lightly.

A Levitation Charm lifted her extravagant pink coat, and with a sharp motion, he sent it flying in an arc. It landed with a heavy thud outside the classroom.

Then—

Bang!

The classroom door slammed shut.

Umbridge gawked at the wall in front of her, barely a fist's distance away. She took a deep breath. She had just been treated worse than Scrimgeour—just last week, the Minister had been kicked out too, but he had only been pushed out. She, however, had been thrown.

A Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—thrown out of her own classroom by a student.

Her face turned red with fury, and she clenched her fists.

Humiliation!

Utter disgrace!

How could this happen to her?

She braced herself on the floor, flipped over, and struggled to her feet. She stomped back toward the classroom and shoved the door open with a loud crash.

"Potter, you—"

Obstacle after obstacle!

Before she could even take in the classroom scene, a jinx struck her squarely, sending her tumbling backward.

Tongue-Tying Curse!

Before she could get out another word, another jinx hit her—silencing her completely.

Transfiguration!

Filch's worst nightmare—Hogwarts' corridor bricks twisting and shifting. He would rather clean an entire bathroom defiled by the Weasley twins' stink pellets and fireworks than deal with transfigured hallways—even if it was just a first-year spell changing the walls' color.

And Filch was a Squib. He couldn't reverse it.

Four disembodied hands emerged from the walls, grabbed Umbridge by her limbs, and hoisted her onto the ceiling.

Inside the classroom—

A Hufflepuff student gaped at Harry. "Potter... she's a professor—"

"She's not," Harry corrected. "Tell me—has any real Defense Against the Dark Arts professor ever told us to put away our wands?"

"Think about what this class is called."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," the student murmured.

"So, if you ever face a Dark wizard, are you planning to recite textbook passages at them?"

Hermione chimed in, "And we're already in our fifth year. OWLs are coming up at the end of the term. We've been lucky the past few years—Professor Lupin, then Moody, then Professor Black. But if we suddenly have a professor who only makes us read, how are we supposed to do well on the OWLs?"

Ron joked, "I guess we'll have to become owls."

No one laughed.

Ron gave a weak chuckle and ducked his head in embarrassment.

The Hufflepuff opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"But... Professor Black..." another Hufflepuff hesitated. They had read that morning's newspaper—the Ministry was investigating anyone suspected of being a Death Eater, and Sirius Black was among them.

Harry waved dismissively. "Don't worry."

"Ron, your turn."

Caught off guard, Ron froze. He stared at Harry, confused, then pointed at himself uncertainly. "Me?"

Harry nodded. "You are a Gryffindor Prefect." 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"But—" Ron hesitated, glancing between Harry and Hermione.

They were both better than him.

Harry didn't argue.

Ron had also sparred with him in Dueling Club and had more losses than wins.

"You've seen Sirius's lesson plans," Harry encouraged. "Just follow those."

Ron took a deep breath. "Alright... okay."

Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws eyed Ron skeptically. It wasn't that they completely doubted him—it was just that Ron had never stood out on his own. His most defining trait had always been being Harry Potter's friend, which made even his third-ranked grades seem unremarkable.

At the start of the term, many had wondered—why was Ron made Prefect instead of Harry? Was it just some Weasley family tradition?

Ron stepped onto the platform, took a deep breath, and started speaking hesitantly.

The podium felt unfamiliar.

Being the center of attention felt even more so.

He had never been the focus before. Even when sitting at the long Gryffindor table, recounting Harry's adventures to younger students, he had always known that Harry was the real main character.

Still, at least he knew Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had read Sirius's lesson plans—at least, some of them.

He started awkwardly but gradually found his rhythm.

Ron wasn't a great teacher—not as thorough as Lupin, not as passionate as Sirius—but his lesson was far better than Quirrell's or Lockhart's.

The bell rang.

The Hufflepuff students applauded, making Ron's face turn bright red.

As they left, they opened the door—

And froze.

The sight of the huge pink toad dangling from the ceiling startled them—but they quickly ignored her, laughing and chatting as they walked away.

Harry didn't bother undoing the spells.

Filch came by, looking miserable. But no matter how worried he was, he had no magic. He could only go find another professor.

Dumbledore was unavailable.

Snape was gone too.

Professor Sprout claimed she was busy disciplining students. Professor Flitwick said he was feeling unwell. That left only McGonagall, who agreed—but only after she dealt with yet another Slytherin brawl. The Prefects kept fighting their own housemates, and Snape refused to intervene, so all the responsibility fell on her.

Defense Against the Dark Arts had ended at 4:30 PM.

McGonagall arrived almost five hours later.

She waved her wand, restoring the wall. Thud!

Umbridge crashed to the floor with a loud yelp.

"Apologies, Professor Umbridge," McGonagall said calmly. "There was... an issue in Slytherin that delayed me."

Umbridge bared her teeth. "Two hundred points from Gryffindor!"

"Potter was completely out of line! How dare he—"

McGonagall nodded. "Yes, Potter was out of line. But he's always been that way. As far as I know, every Defense Against the Dark Arts professor before you has been beaten up by Mr. Potter."

Umbridge blinked.

"It's practically a school tradition," McGonagall said matter-of-factly. "From Year One to Five—even Snape, who only substituted, wasn't spared."

Umbridge took a deep breath. "How does Hogwarts tolerate a student like that?!"

"He must be punished, McGonagall!"

"Of course. I punish him all the time." McGonagall cut her off smoothly. "Mr. Potter is constantly in detention."

"Then your disciplinary methods must be lacking! He's still—"

Umbridge's voice turned sweet again. "I think you should hand him over to me. Let me properly discipline him—"

McGonagall's face was expressionless. "You do have that right, Professor Umbridge. You were appointed by the Ministry. You can put any student in detention."

"Any student."

"But," she added slowly, "if you want to assign a detention, you should tell the student directly—unless, of course, you're planning to punish me?"

"I should remind you..."

"At Hogwarts, professors cannot give other professors detention."

Umbridge could hardly breathe.

Tell Harry Potter he had detention?

With his temperament, she'd probably end up hanging from the ceiling again before she could even finish her sentence.

McGonagall gave a polite nod. "I'll be going now—still have work to do." She left swiftly, giving Umbridge no chance to stop her.

—

That evening, in Gryffindor Tower—

The snow had stopped, but the wind remained bitterly cold.

Most students abandoned their romantic date ideas, retreating indoors.

And someone unexpected appeared.

Cedric Diggory.

"Harry," he greeted cheerfully at the entrance.

Harry frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Cedric grinned. "Just wanted to say thanks. We all had Umbridge's lesson—completely useless. Honestly, it's a relief that you took over today's class."

"Thank Ron," Harry corrected.

"Of course. I'll thank Weasley separately," Cedric said. "But I also wanted to ask you something."

Harry watched him quietly.

"I don't like speaking ill of professors," Cedric admitted. "But Umbridge is so obsessed with Ministry rules that she's ignoring our education."

"We need Defense Against the Dark Arts. Our NEWTs are this year."

"If this keeps up... we're all going to fail."

"So, Harry... we know you're good at Defense. Could you teach us? Hufflepuff... and Ravenclaw, too."

He looked at Harry anxiously.

Harry smirked. "You joke like Ron. You two should get along."

"As for lessons? Yeah. No problem."

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Powerstones?

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