Discontent with the DADA Professor

The mood around Hogwarts had noticeably darkened. For the younger students, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become the subject of dread rather than excitement. The first, second, third, and fourth years grumbled in the halls, their voices filled with frustration. There was no dueling practice, no practical spellwork, and certainly none of what Professor Snape might refer to as "silly wand-waving." Instead, students were handed endless reading assignments, forced to memorize theoretical concepts and listen to dull lectures.

Harry heard these complaints often, and he couldn't help but feel the weight of the fifth year students' growing discontent, especially as today was his own DADA class. He, too, wasn't looking forward to it. Despite having fuzzy memories of the future, one thing stood out clearly: Dolores Umbridge was a menace.

Stepping into the classroom with Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey at his side, Harry saw the familiar, nauseating pink decor and that same smug smile on Umbridge's face as she sat primly at her desk, quill in hand.

"Good afternoon, class," she simpered, her voice high and sickly sweet. "Please open your books to Chapter Seven, Defensive Magical Theory. Today we shall discuss how magic can be theoretically useful in a duel, though of course, practical use is discouraged. The Ministry prefers its students to be well-behaved citizens, not reckless wand-wavers."

The room tensed. Eyes flicked toward Harry, who sat in the middle of the classroom, his expression darkening by the second. He could feel his patience wearing thin. The students around him were clearly restless, muttering among themselves about the pointlessness of the class. No one wanted theory without practice, and certainly not with Umbridge's condescending attitude.

Harry had had enough. An idea sparked in his mind—a memory of wizarding tradition, one Umbridge would not be able to weasel her way out of. He stood up, casually, and reached into his bag.

"Professor," Harry began, his voice cool but firm, "I'd like to propose a more hands-on approach to learning today."

Umbridge's smile faltered slightly. "Mr. Potter, the Ministry's guidelines—"

Harry cut her off by tossing a glove onto the floor between them, its thud resounding through the now-silent classroom. It was a traditional challenge—a duel. Everyone in the room knew what it meant, and even a Muggle would have understood the significance.

Gasps echoed around the room as students looked on, their eyes wide. Harry smirked, satisfied by the reaction.

"I challenge you to a duel, Professor," Harry said, his voice dripping with confidence. "If I win, you leave your position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. If you win, I'll accept whatever punishment you see fit."

Umbridge's face went through a series of changes—disbelief, anger, and finally a thin, smug smile. She stood, attempting to maintain her superior air. "Mr. Potter, dueling a teacher is highly improper. The Ministry—"

"The Ministry upholds old traditions, does it not?" Harry interrupted again, his voice firm. "Or are you going to ignore tradition when it suits you?"

The students began murmuring excitedly. The idea of Harry dueling Umbridge spread like wildfire, and they were all eager to see how it would unfold. Umbridge's smile faltered, her pride clearly stung.

"Very well," she said, her voice laced with annoyance. "I accept. But I'll have you know that a proper duel is a civilized exchange, Mr. Potter, not a brawl."

Harry raised his wand and flicked it. The desks moved aside, and the students, too, were gently pushed back against the walls. A shimmering barrier formed around the perimeter of the room, blocking any spells from escaping the confined space.

"Let's make this quick," Harry said, twirling his wand with ease. "I have other things to do."

The duel began, and within moments, it was clear that Harry was on a different level. Umbridge tried to cast a series of weak stunning spells, but Harry easily deflected them with a flick of his wrist. He wasn't even trying yet. His counterspells were fast, precise, and relentless. In a matter of seconds, Umbridge found herself disarmed and flung backward into the barrier, her wand clattering to the floor.

The classroom erupted into stifled laughter, and Umbridge's face turned a furious shade of red.

"You've lost," Harry said smoothly, lowering his wand and stepping closer. "As per our agreement, you'll leave your position now."

But Umbridge, still humiliated, rose shakily to her feet. "The Ministry," she hissed, "has granted me a special warrant to continue my post. This duel changes nothing."

Harry's smile turned dangerous. "The Ministry may think it has control, but it doesn't. Not over me."

Days later, Harry found himself alone, sitting in his dorm room, planning his next move. The Ministry, with Umbridge as their puppet, had shown its hand. They were corrupt to the core, and Harry had no intention of letting them get away with it. He had dirt on the Ministry—dark, damning secrets that could ruin them.

But for now, he needed to take a different approach. He needed the right person to spread the word—someone who could make the Ministry's secrets public without hesitation.

Rita Skeeter.

He discussed the plan with his girls—Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey—who agreed without hesitation. Even Fleur, who Harry had been corresponding with, was on board. Rita Skeeter was known for being slippery and morally questionable, but Harry had a feeling he could handle her. More than that, he was certain he could win her over.

It was a Saturday when Harry decided to visit Rita Skeeter. He knew her usual haunts well enough—he'd done his research. After finding her in The Three Broomsticks, he invited her to join him for a drink.

Rita eyed him with curiosity, her quill always at the ready. "Mr. Potter," she began with a smirk, "to what do I owe this... unexpected invitation?"

Harry leaned in, flashing her a confident smile. "I thought you might like an exclusive. One that could shake the wizarding world."

Her eyes gleamed with interest, and as the conversation continued, Harry charmed her effortlessly. By the end of the evening, they had moved from drinks to a private room upstairs, where Rita discovered just how persuasive Harry could be. In her eyes, Harry had become something far more than just a source for news—he was, as she would later call him, a Sex God.

The next day, the wizarding world woke up to a scandalous article in The Daily Prophet, courtesy of Rita Skeeter. The headline read:

"Unsanctioned Experiments: Dark Secrets of the Ministry Exposed!"

The article revealed that the Ministry had been secretly conducting dangerous experiments on dark creatures and magical artifacts, trying to harness their power. Worse still, even Squibs—magically aware but powerless individuals—had been subjected to these inhumane trials.

The backlash was immediate. The Ministry was suddenly under fire, scrambling to control the narrative. But Harry wasn't done. He had more secrets to reveal, and with Rita on his side, the war against the Ministry had only just begun.

Harry grinned as he saw the chaos his actions had caused. The Ministry was in his way, and now, he was determined to tear it down brick by brick.

His journey to uncover the truth about magic's origins and ultimate power would continue. But for now, he had a corrupt institution to dismantle—and Harry Potter was just getting started.