The OWLs, Umbridge's downfall and dep. of Mysteries

The atmosphere in the examination hall was tense as the fifth-year students took their seats for the first of their OWL exams. A quiet hum of anxiety permeated the room as the students focused on their parchments, quills ready and nerves on edge. Harry, however, was unbothered, his expression relaxed as he counted down the minutes. He had something in mind. Two minutes to go.

A memory stirred in him of Sybill Trelawney, who, though once doubted by students and staff alike, had taken his advice to heart and become a respected teacher. She had made an effort to teach meaningful lessons, treating each student with genuine care and proving that people could, indeed, change. So, when Umbridge had marched into her classroom a month back and booted Trelawney out without warning, it had hit a nerve in many students.

Harry smiled, sensing the arrival of two very familiar troublemakers.

As if on cue, a pair of loud bangs shattered the silence, and Fred and George Weasley came rocketing through the exam hall on their brooms, zigzagging wildly through the air with reckless abandon. The students erupted in laughter as the twins unleashed a rainbow of prank items—fireworks crackled, smoke bombs fizzed, and clouds of sparking, glittering dust hung in the air, obscuring Umbridge's furious face.

Fred swooped over the teachers' desk, tossing down a small device that exploded into a cloud of pink smoke, making Umbridge gag and stumble. George dropped enchanted paper planes that darted around her head, chirping insults and blowing raspberries.

"Umbridge wanted to stop us from our 'silly wand-waving' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, eh?" Fred called, his voice ringing out above the laughter. "We'll show her silly!"

Umbridge's shrieks grew louder as she was forced to dodge a series of charmed fireworks that went off around her, illuminating her face in brilliant hues of red, blue, and green. Her hair was singed, her robes torn, and her high-pitched screams were barely audible over the uproarious laughter of the students.

The classroom doors burst open, and Albus Dumbledore swept in, calm yet authoritative, his presence commanding immediate respect. He gazed at Umbridge, his expression hardening. The students watched with bated breath.

"Dolores," he said coolly, "I believe your tenure here is over."

"But—Headmaster, you don't have the authority—" she spluttered, waving her wand desperately to try to clear the pink smoke from her face.

"On the contrary," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice low but resolute. "You have defiled the castle with your authoritarian presence for too long. Consider your position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, as well as High Inquisitor, revoked."

And with that, Umbridge, red-faced and humiliated, was escorted out of the room to thunderous applause.

As the school year drew to a close and the chaos subsided, the fifth years completed their rescheduled OWLs. The students were relieved, pleased with their performance, and hopeful for good results.

Meanwhile, Harry's attention turned to an urgent matter within the Order of the Phoenix. At their next meeting, a sense of dread filled the room as Dumbledore revealed that two members, Arthur and Molly Weasley, had been taken hostage by none other than Lord Voldemort.

"We believe he intends to exchange them for access to a prophecy," Dumbledore explained, his voice heavy. He glanced at Harry before continuing. "The prophecy concerns you, Harry—and Voldemort."

Dumbledore took a deep breath and shared the prophecy in full, revealing that it foretold a fated confrontation between Harry and Voldemort, a battle in which only one could survive. The silence that followed was heavy.

Harry squared his shoulders, the calm intensity in his gaze unwavering. "I've faced Voldemort before, and I'll do it again if it means saving lives," he declared firmly.

With a nod, Dumbledore and the Order prepared for what would be a dangerous mission.

Harry moved stealthily through the shadows of the Department of Mysteries, the prophecy in hand, and his mind alert for any signs of ambush. It came swiftly—Death Eaters emerged from the shadows, and soon, spells and curses were flying in every direction.

Harry dodged a series of curses, his movements fluid and precise. He didn't hesitate as he countered, launching a volley of spells at his attackers with pinpoint accuracy. He recognized Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy among them and smirked, feeling a strange thrill of anticipation.

Bellatrix lunged at him, her face twisted with malice as she fired a Killing Curse. Harry sidestepped it, sending her reeling backward with a silent, wandless Petrificus Totalus. Lucius Malfoy struck next, but Harry was faster—he conjured a shimmering shield and then dropped it to send a piercing spell toward Lucius's legs, buckling them.

He continued battling, whirling and weaving as he dispatched each Death Eater with ruthless efficiency, leaving a path of incapacitated enemies in his wake. Finally, only one remained.

Voldemort appeared, his face twisted in rage and disbelief as he took in the sight of his fallen followers.

"Interesting, Harry," Voldemort hissed, his crimson eyes narrowing. "So full of darkness, yet so...capable. I can feel it in you—the potential to be great, even if you remain tragically ignorant of the true power of magic."

Harry didn't respond, his face impassive. He simply raised his wand, a flicker of determination in his eyes. With lightning speed, Voldemort launched a torrent of curses, each spell laced with deadly intent. Harry countered with fierce, relentless precision, his reflexes honed and his magic brimming with intensity.

The duel was a deadly dance of spells, with Voldemort trying to push Harry back with dark curses and Harry meeting each one with a deft counter or a fierce retaliation. Fire erupted from Voldemort's wand, and Harry cast a Glacius charm, the flame extinguishing into mist as he shot a silent, dark Sectumsempra that sliced across Voldemort's shoulder.

The Dark Lord's shock was palpable. "Such curses, Potter," he sneered, taken aback. "Has Dumbledore's golden boy fallen so far?"

"Hardly," Harry shot back, his voice cold. "You'd be wise to remember that I'm not your average hero."

A faint glimmer of triumph flashed across Voldemort's face, but Harry seized the opportunity, diving into Voldemort's mind for any trace of the Weasleys' location. Within moments, he found the coordinates, then sent a brutal Reducto to force Voldemort back before apparating to the hostages.

With a few quick spells, he freed Arthur and Molly, escorting them to safety and returning with them to the Order's headquarters.

Back at the headquarters, Harry gave a word-for-word recount of the night's events to the Order. The room was silent, each person hanging on his every word.

When he finished, a satisfied smirk crept onto Harry's face. "Voldemort," he said, his voice laced with disdain, "is not only the most cowardly excuse for a dark lord, but also the dumbest villain I've ever encountered."

The Order members chuckled, their spirits lifting as they processed Harry's words. For the first time in a long while, a glimmer of hope filled the room.