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This was edited with copilot and reedited by me.

My muse is still on walkabout. It took me weeks to write this. I am just not in the mood to write. It hits me in spurts. I did get a job though and I work the graveyard shift, so that does make a difference.

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Harry sat in the library; his eyes fixed on the same paragraph for what felt like an eternity. He was exhausted by Umbridge, her detentions and her endless decrees. Fudge had a lot to answer for, putting her in charge of the school. He was equally frustrated with Dumbledore, who treated him as though he were contagious. It had been ages since the Headmaster had even looked at him, not even when Harry brought up important matters. It was as if Harry didn’t exist to the man.

Helping to organize the DA gave Harry some relief, but it still wasn’t enough. He couldn’t say what would truly make a difference, and he knew he had to take action. Ideas floated around in his head, vague and disconnected. They felt more like hopes and daydreams than actual plans. Visions of Umbridge meeting a grisly end in the courtyard, Fudge being chased out of Diagon Alley by angry goblins, or Dumbledore finally acknowledging him with pride after a heroic accomplishment. He could picture the outcomes, but the steps getting there remained elusive.

Harry blinked hard at the page, trying to force his brain to care about the words in front of him. It wasn’t working. His thoughts kept circling the same drain, Umbridge, detentions, decrees, a useless government, Dumbledore pretending he didn’t exist. His whole skull felt tight. Like a mini tornado was going on in his brain.

Then something nudged his elbow. He looked down and saw a folded piece of parchment gently tapping him like it had a mind of its own. Harry jerked upright and looked around.

Luna Lovegood was sitting across from him.

He hadn’t heard her sit down, hadn’t even seen her approach. She wasn’t looking at him, just calmly flipping through the pages of The Quibbler, upside‑down, as if she’d been there the whole time and he was the one who’d arrived late. “Luna?” he asked, picking up the parchment. “Did you need something?”

“You’re planning something,” she said lightly, still not looking up, “and I approve.”

Harry stared at her, then at the parchment, then back at her. “I’m not planning anything,” he said, and he unfolded the parchment anyway. It was a list. A very specific, yet vague, list.

• something to heal you when you pretend you’re fine
• 1 bezoar
• 2 spare wands
• a cloak that hides you properly
• something that shows where people aren’t
• 1 friend who won’t tell you not to do it

The fourth and fifth items on the list made him do a doubletake. How could she know about his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map? Had Ron or Hermione told her? He didn’t think so, they didn’t talk to Luna much. Ron thought she was crazy, and Hermione thought she was an airhead.  “What do you mean by these two?” he asked, pointing to the two items.

“Oh, you know which items I mean, Harry,” Luna said dreamily, giving him a slow blink and a mysterious smile. “But really, the last one matters most,” she added, her voice soft and distant as she tapped the final line on the list. “I’ll be around when you need someone,” With that, she quietly gathered her things and started drifting from the library.

“But I’m not planning anything,” he called after her, earning a glare from Madam Pince, who shushed him.

“You’re making quite a bit of noise, you know,” Luna said softly, her gaze drifting as she spoke. With a small, absent smile, she went on her way. She disappeared out of the doors, softly humming a tune that Harry couldn’t identify.

Harry stared down at the list again, running his thumb over the ink as if it might rearrange itself into something sensible. Something to heal you when you pretend you’re fine. That one made sense. Too much sense. He already knew which potion would work. Dittany always did, but the fact that Luna thought he’d need it made his stomach twist.

Was he really going to get hurt? On a mission he hadn’t even planned yet?

He shook the thought off and focused on the practical part. A bag. He needed a bag that could hold all of this. That wasn’t hard; this was a castle full of magic. For now, the knapsack that he used in first year would do. He could upgrade later if he had to.

He nodded to himself, settling the decision in his mind. Yes. He’d keep the bag with him. Always. Just in case the world decided to fall apart again, which, knowing his luck, it probably would. Everything on this list would fit in that bag and he’d have it with him when it did.

All except the last item.

That one couldn’t go in a bag. That one had to stay close. He just didn’t know who it was supposed to be yet.

Harry glanced toward the library doors; the ones Luna had drifted through. What did she know? How did she know it? Was she some kind of seer? Would she help him if she were? And if she would… why? The questions sat heavy in his chest, but one thing was clear, Luna Lovegood knew something he didn’t.

And that unsettled him more than the list ever could.

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“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione asked, when she saw he was checking his bag for the fourth time. It had 3 bottles of Essence of Dittany in it, a bezoar, his Invisibility Cloak, and the Marauder’s Map. She could see all of that but had no idea what he was up to. Then again, neither did he. He hadn’t found two extra wands yet and had no idea how to go about finding them.

Harry looked through his bag once more and nodded, proud that he had all but one item from his list, bar the last. “Hermione, do you know where I can find two extra wands?” he asked her instead of answering her question. If anyone knew it would be Hermione. She was the smartest girl in the school.

Hermione froze mid-motion, her eyes widening in surprise as she turned to face him. “What? Why?” she asked, looking at him like he was insane. What on earth did Harry need two more wands for? “Is there something wrong with your wand?” she asked instantly, fearing he had done something stupid and broken his.

Harry pulled a piece of parchment out of his trousers and looked it over. “I need to fulfil this list,” he said, handing her the list Luna had given him. He hadn’t shown it to her before now because it hadn’t been important. Now he was getting desperate. He still didn’t have a plan, but he was working towards one. The more Umbridge did the more he wanted to get rid of her using any means necessary.

Hermione grabbed the list and started reading it quickly. She looked up when she was done and glared at him. “Who told you this? What are you up to? Are you going to get into more trouble?” she asked him, bombarding him with questions. She handed him the list back and snatched the bag away from him and looked over what he had inside.

Harry stared at her in disbelief, feeling a rush of frustration. “What? No, Hermione, I’m just trying to be ready in case something happens,” he insisted, hoping that explanation would ease her worries. To her, the collection of items might look like a bugout bag. A concept she might recognize from the muggle world, where being prepared for the unexpected was perfectly normal.

Hermione sighed and nodded. “Oh, well that’s different,” she said. “What was that last thing on the list. A friend that won’t stop you? Stop you from what?” she asked, tapping her foot in frustration. She would like to think she was that friend, unless it was dangerous.

Harry hesitated, choosing his words carefully. He didn’t want Hermione getting worked up again. “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “I swear I’m not planning anything. I just want to be ready in case something happens.” He took the bag back, slung it over his shoulders, and settled it against his back. “I’m going to keep it with me all the time.”

“I know where you can get wands,” Ron said, coming up to them. He had been watching them from the fireplace, hoping to see them argue again. He was hoping to see Hermione storm off in a huff.

“Where?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowing. Ron had been a bit sadistic lately. It was as if he got off on watching Harry and Hermione have goes at each other. Like he was trying to break up the Golden Trio. Maybe he was hoping to get Harry all to himself? Harry didn’t know, but that was unlikely to happen. Hermione was one of his best friends and he wasn’t going to toss her aside because of a few harsh words.

“The Room of Lost Things is actually one of the rooms within the Room of Requirements,” Ron explained. “If you walk back and forth in front of the wall and ask for the Lost and Found Room, it’ll appear. It’s enormous and filled with a thousand years’ worth of forgotten items. I’m pretty sure you’ll find at least a couple of wands in there.”

“How do you know about it?” Hermione asked, her tone wary. She too had felt that Ron had been off lately.

“Dobby told me. I asked him where I could find some robes when I ran out one morning. All of mine were dirty and he was cleaning in the dorms. He told me about the Room of Lost Things,” Ron said shrugging. It was truly fortunate that Dobby had been cleaning that morning. As always, Dobby proved to be an exceptional house elf who cared deeply for Harry and his friends.

Thanks to Dobby, Ron was able to visit the room and discover a treasure trove of items. Enough clothes and valuables to significantly improve his family's fortunes. With all the coins and jewels Ron found, it looked like he and his family were about to become quite wealthy.

“Good ole Dobby,” Harry said with a smile. He loved that elf. He was such a good friend. He was going to have to do something nice for him.

“Yeah,” Ron said, returning the grin.

“Well, come on, let’s go treasure hunting,” Harry said, getting up and going to the Fat Lady and leaving the common room. He really needed those wands.

“Why do you need only two wands? There are three of us here,” Ron asked as the trio made their way to the Room of Requirement, searching for wands to add to Harry’s bag.

“Like I told Hermione, I am not planning anything. This is just an emergency bag,” Harry said, telling the truth, for the most part. He knew that if there were plans going on it would not be told to anyone yet. Let alone those that would try and stop him. Hermione would definitely try and stop him. She would do anything to keep him out of danger. Even go to the teachers or Dumbledore. Her heart was in the right place, but he didn’t want this to be stopped, whatever this was. Ron on the other hand, might not, but he had been weird lately.

They called up the Room of Lost Things and spent the rest of the hour digging through centuries of forgotten magic. The place felt endless, with piles of robes, broken cauldrons, cracked mirrors, and the faint hum of abandoned spells clinging to the air. By the time curfew crept close, they’d managed to uncover four wands buried among the clutter. Harry tested each one, feeling the uneven pull of unfamiliar cores, and chose the two that responded the strongest. The other two, he set aside with quiet certainty; Neville needed a new wand more than anyone, and Harry wasn’t about to ignore that.

When they slipped back into the common room, Harry didn’t even pause. He beelined towards Neville, determination pushing him forward. He set all four wands on the table between them, letting Neville try each one for himself. Harry would keep the two he needed for the bag, but the rest… well, he’d figure out what to do with the third later. For now, helping Neville came first.

“Hey, Neville, come over here a second, will you?” Harry said, moving to the side of the room. He didn’t want anyone to hear what they were going to talk about. It wasn’t their business.

“Sure, what’s up, Harry?” Neville said, coming to his side.

Harry handed him one of the four wands and said, “Try that one and see if it works better than yours.”

“Where did you get these?” Neville asked, taking the wand and giving it a swish. There was a spark or two, but nothing special. It was more than he got from his dad’s wand, but not by much. So, he picked up the next wand.

“Ron took me to a place where there were a great many old wands. If these don’t work, we’ll go see if we can’t find more,” Harry said, nodding his head. He had no problem taking Neville to the Room of Lost Things. It wasn’t like the Room of Requirements was a secret anymore. They held the DA meetings there. Sure, they didn’t know all the secrets of the Room, but the DA did know they could hide there when they needed to.

“Okay,” Neville said, shaking the next wand and a gush of sparks came flying out and he smiled. “This one will do just fine. It’s not a perfect match, but it’s much better than my wand.” He swished it again and more sparks flew out and he grinned more.

“Good on you, mate,” Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder. He was happy for his friend. He took up the other wand and put it in his bag. He was sure that Luna wouldn’t be upset if there were three wands instead of two.

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Harry trudged down the corridor, cradling his bleeding hand against his chest. The cut wouldn’t stop reopening, no matter how tightly he curled his fingers around it. His whole arm throbbed. He was so tired of this, of her, of feeling like prey in his own school.

Something inside him snapped into place, not a plan, not yet, but the beginning of one.

He slipped his bag off his shoulder, rummaged blindly, and pulled out one of the bottles of Essence of Dittany. The sting made him hiss, but the bleeding slowed, then stopped. Relief washed through him in a shaky breath.

He didn’t go toward Gryffindor Tower. His feet turned on their own, carrying him toward the Astronomy Tower. It was the only place in the castle where he felt like he could think without someone breathing down his neck.

Halfway there, soft footsteps joined his. Luna fell into step beside him as if she’d been waiting in the shadows for him to pass. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even look at him. She just walked, her presence quiet and steady, like she’d always belonged at his side.

They climbed the stairs in silence. Only when they stepped out into the cold night air did she finally turn to him. She reached for his hand, the injured one, and held it gently, her thumb brushing the skin as if she already knew what had happened. “Hello, Harry Potter,” she said, smiling up at him with that soft, faraway certainty that always unsettled him. “I see you’re going to start planning now.”

“I am, but how did you know?” Harry asked, tilting his head to the side with an inquisitive look on his face.

“Oh, the Nargles mentioned it to me,” Luna said dreamily. “I think your plan is rather sensible, Harry. Sometimes, you have to wander through a little darkness before you can find your way back into the light.” She gazed upwards, as if searching for answers among the stars.

“I have everything on your list, I am assuming that you are the friend that won’t stop me,” Harry asked rhetorically, smiling down at her.

"That's right," Luna replied airily, her voice soft and thoughtful. "I'll watch out for you, and if there are any wards, I'll help with those too."

“You know how to break wards?” Harry asked, shocked. That was above seventh year magic.

“Oh, not really, Harry. The wards don’t pay much attention to me, you see,” Luna replied, her tone light and whimsical as she absentmindedly waved her hand. “They just drift right past, as if I’m not even there.”

“I see,” Harry said, not seeing at all.

“You see, wards just don’t seem to notice me,” Luna said, drifting toward the tower’s edge. She peered down at the grounds of Hogwarts, realizing the darkness hid everything from sight. With a gentle turn, she added, “It’s something to do with my aura, I think. If you hold onto me, I can slip us past any ward. They don’t mind me at all.”

“I am sure we won’t run into many here in the castle, but if we do, that will come in handy,” Harry said, thinking that Umbridge might have at least warded her quarters. He had a few things he wanted to do in there. He was going over those plots in his brain and then motioned Luna to come by him and they started planning.

They stayed on the tower for the better part of two hours, the cold air biting at their faces while they whispered through possibilities, contingencies, and the pieces of a plan that still didn’t feel real. When they finally climbed back down, Harry walked Luna to the entrance of her dorms, watching her drift away like she was made of moonlight. Then he turned toward Gryffindor Tower, suddenly heavy with the weight of what they were about to do.

Sleep didn’t come easily. When it finally did, it dragged him under hard. Nightmares clawed at him with flashes of being caught, wands pointed at him, Umbridge’s smile stretching too wide, Fudge having him arrested, Dumbledore turning away again and again. He couldn’t hold onto any of it when he woke, but the evidence was there: his sheets were damp with sweat, twisted around his legs like he’d been fighting something in his sleep.

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The following week, Harry and Luna set their carefully crafted plan into motion. Tuesday’s lunch hour was the perfect window of opportunity. The Great Hall was packed, the corridors nearly empty, and Umbridge was too busy pretending to be adored to notice anything else.

Harry checked the Marauder’s Map one last time, his finger tracing the tiny ink footprints of every professor within a hundred feet. “Clear,” he murmured.

Luna nodded once, her expression unusually sharp. There was none of her dreamy drifting today. She moved with quiet purpose, as if she’d rehearsed this moment in her head long before Harry ever agreed to it.

They slipped beneath the Invisibility Cloak together. The castle felt different like this, every sound was too loud, every shadow was too deep. Harry could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears as they crept down the corridor. A portrait of a sleeping knight snorted awake as they passed. A ghost drifted through a wall, humming to himself.

Harry tightened his grip on the Map and glanced about.

Luna didn’t flinch at any of it. She walked like the castle itself parted for her.

They reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and eased the door open just enough to slip inside. Umbridge’s office was suffocatingly pink, even in the dim light. The kitten plates watched them with wide, painted eyes that seemed to follow their every move, even though they couldn’t be seen.

Harry hated this room. He had been punished too many times in here.

Luna didn’t hesitate. She came from under the Cloak and crossed to the desk with silent, deliberate steps and pulled the vial of poison from her sleeve. Without a word, she tucked it deep into the bottom drawer, beneath a stack of frilly pink parchment and confiscated quills. “It’ll be found,” she whispered, more to the room than to Harry. “Things that want to be noticed always are.”

Harry swallowed hard and nodded.

They moved to the small tea table near the Floo. Luna adjusted the cups with delicate precision. One clean and stained with pink lipstick, one holding just enough poison to be detected. Harry poured tea from the pot, filling it halfway, letting the steam curl into the air like a guilty secret. The whole setup looked disturbingly natural, as if Umbridge had stepped out only moments ago.

Harry felt a shiver crawl up his spine. It wasn’t the grisly demise he wanted, but this was going to have to do.

Luna stepped back, surveying their work with a calm, satisfied breath. “It’s ready,” she said softly. “Now we just need to make sure the right people see it.”

Harry nodded again, but his stomach twisted. This was real now. No turning back.

Luna slipped her hand into his, steady, grounding, and warm. “You had better take the potion now, so it has time to settle,” she told Harry. “It will show that it has been in your system for a while,” she insisted. This was a major part of the plan. If he took it too soon, then it would seem like a setup.

“You’re right,” Harry said, taking out the bottle and swallowing. It burned but wasn’t that bad yet. He knew it was going to get worse later, but he had the bezoar for that reason. It was a slow acting poison. They chose it for that reason.

Their task in the office complete, they made their way toward Umbridge’s private quarters. This was where Luna’s peculiar affinity with wards became invaluable. With a serene confidence, she instructed Harry to rest his hand lightly on her shoulder. Together, Luna leading the way, they glided almost soundlessly into Umbridge’s rooms.

Each of them grabbed one of the extra wands and, together, cast spells on every object in the room, nudging them all just an inch to the right. It was a subtle change, but enough that Umbridge would instantly realize someone had tampered with her belongings. The thought of it would torment her. When she reported this, it would make is seem as if she was crazy, because who would come into her rooms just to move everything an inch to the right?

After finishing, they placed the wands back into Harry’s bag and quietly slipped out of the room. Then Harry grabbed the third wand and left it in the room with the Cruciatus Curse on it. It was also part of the plan. They were going to put her in jail if this poisoning plot didn’t work.

They returned to the Great Hall at different times, slipping in separately so no one would think to link them together. Luna drifted in first, quiet as a breeze.

Harry waited a few minutes longer, letting the tension coil in his stomach until it felt real, because it was. Then he shoved the doors open hard enough that they slammed against the stone walls.

Every head snapped toward him.

“I can’t believe you poisoned me!” Harry shouted, voice cracking just enough to sound genuine. He staggered forward, clutching his stomach, his face pale and tinged with sickly green. He pointed straight at Umbridge, arm shaking, eyes wide with fury and pain.

Gasps rippled through the hall. A fork clattered to the floor. Someone screamed.

“Harry, my boy, what are you talking about?” Dumbledore rose from his seat, his gaze fixed somewhere above Harry’s head instead of on him. “Who are you accusing of such a heinous crime?” He flicked a quick, sharp glance at Snape, who stiffened.

“Umbridge,” Harry ground out, doubling over as another wave of pain hit him. He fumbled in his bag, digging desperately to find it. “Where is it!?” he shouted to be heard. “I know I had one in here,” he made sure to say loud enough. He then found what he was looking for and pulled out the bezoar and shoved it into his mouth. The motion was dramatic, desperate. Exactly what he needed it to look like. He dropped to his knees, groaning. The poison twisted in his gut, burning like fire. It wasn’t acting. It hurt.

Snape, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Pomfrey, and Umbridge rushed toward Harry in a chaotic blur of robes and raised voices, all of them talking over one another. The noise pressed in on him, sharp and overwhelming, but he kept his face twisted in pain, one hand clamped over his stomach.

Madam Pomfrey pushed her way to the front with the force of someone who had dealt with far too many crises to tolerate interference. “Move,” she snapped, flicking her wand in a sharp arc over Harry’s body.

A soft glow washed over him, and her expression tightened instantly.

“He’s been poisoned,” she announced, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “The bezoar is working, but it’s been in his system far too long. I’ll need to keep him in the Hospital Wing overnight. There may already be internal damage.”

A ripple of shock moved through the crowd. Even Snape’s face darkened, his eyes flicking from Harry to Umbridge with something that looked dangerously close to fury.

Harry groaned again, letting his body sag forward. The pain twisting through his gut wasn’t entirely an act, the poison was doing its job a little too well, but it made the scene all the more convincing.

Pomfrey didn’t waste another second. She conjured a stretcher with a sharp flick, her jaw set in grim determination. “Stand back,” she ordered, already preparing to levitate him away.

“Harry, how did this happen?” Dumbledore asked, leaning over his prone body but not looking him in the eye.

“Tea, she poisoned the tea,” Harry croaked out. He moaned and clutched his stomach and curled into a ball.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, and he sighed as he felt some relief.

“We never had tea. The boy did it to himself,” Umbridge said in her simpering voice. “I would never hurt a child.” She looked around at the students as if daring them to contradict her.

Many of the students shrank back as if they’d been slapped, but a good number of them lifted their chins in open defiance. Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna were among the ones who didn’t flinch. Ron looked furious. Hermione looked determined. Neville looked ready to charge someone. And Luna… Luna looked like she was quietly applauding the performance, her expression dreamy and utterly unbothered, as if she’d known this moment was coming all along.

Harry’s friends exchanged confused glances, trying to piece together what was happening, but none of them stepped away from him. If anything, they edged closer.

“I have proof right here on my hand that you torture children all the time,” Harry said, forcing his voice to stay strong. He lifted his injured hand, the carved words stark and angry against his skin. The movement made his stomach twist, and he winced, pressing his other hand tightly against the burning pain. The bezoar was starting to work, but the poison still clawed at him from the inside.

Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonagall stared at the hand in horrified silence. Dumbledore reached out, surprisingly gentle, and took Harry’s wrist. He ran his wand over the wound, and above the torn skin, an image shimmered into view, a black, feathered quill radiating unmistakable malice. “Professor Umbridge,” Dumbledore said, his voice low and dangerous, “did you do this?” His eyes, usually soft, were sharp as glass. “Do you own this quill?”

“Well, I— you see— I—” Umbridge stammered, stumbling back a step. She looked around wildly, surrounded by students who were staring at her like she was something foul scraped off the bottom of a shoe. Her pink smile faltered, cracking at the edges. She had nowhere to run. She was surrounded by children and teenagers that were daring her to lie. They were all staring at her like she was the worst person in the world.

“She used it on me too,” Colin Creevey stated, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. He showed his hand with words written on it.

“Me too,” another student said, raising his hand.

A wave of students echoed the same claim, each raising their hand to reveal the evidence. Snape and McGonagall stared in shock, devastated that they had been unaware of Umbridge’s cruel treatment of their pupils.

Dumbledore, equally shaken, struggled to compose himself. Fixing Umbridge with a piercing glare, he drew his wand and aimed it at her. “It appears we’ll need to involve Madam Bones in this matter,” he said grimly. Though reluctant, he knew he had no choice but to report the situation.

“I will fetch her,” McGonagall stated, hurrying off to do just that.

“Potter, what kind of poison did she use on you?” Snape asked, a sneer on his face. Though this time it was directed at Umbridge.

“I don’t know. She had me in her office after class and made me drink tea. It didn’t hit me until just now. It must have been some kind of slow acting poison. She’s been on me since day one,” Harry said, groaning as another wave of pain hit him.

“Oh dear,” Madam Pomfrey stated, levitating him up and floating him in the direction of the Hospital Wing. “I need to get him settled.” With that she and Harry disappeared from the Great Hall.

Dumbledore still had his wand trained on Umbridge, the tip glowing faintly, but his voice carried easily across the hall. “Everyone return to your meal,” he instructed, calm but unyielding. “I will handle this now. Our competent Aurors will see to the rest.”

He flicked his wand sharply to the side, a silent command for Umbridge to move.

She sniffed, chin trembling, but obeyed, shuffling toward the doors with stiff, jerky steps. “I am the Senior Undersecretary,” she snapped over her shoulder. “You can’t treat me like this.”

“That title does not give you leave to torture students under my care,” Dumbledore replied, his voice steady as stone.

“They are trying to bring down the government,” Umbridge insisted, her tone rising with every word. “I have the right to punish them as I see necessary.”

“You are mistaken,” Dumbledore said, following her into the Entrance Hall. “These are children. They are not plotting to destabilize anyone. They are trying to learn. To grow. Perhaps even to find love.”

Umbridge whirled around, her face blotchy and furious. “Then why are they so adamant that You‑Know‑Who has returned?” she demanded. “Harry Potter is nothing but a liar and a troublemaker. He’s plotting to undermine the Ministry and incite rebellion. You’ll see. You’ll all see.”

A cold silence fell.

Snape stepped forward, his expression twisting into something dark and satisfied. “Is that why you poisoned him?” he asked, voice silky and dangerous. “Because he inconvenienced your narrative?”

“I did no such thing,” Umbridge snapped, stamping her foot like a furious child denied a sweet. “He is trying to frame me. I don’t have any poison on me. I have no need for such measures.”

“No,” Dumbledore said, his voice low and cold, “you only need to torture them with a quill that carves into their skin.” His wand hand trembled slightly. Not from fear, but from the strain of holding it trained on her for so long. Still, he didn’t lower it. Not an inch.

“You can’t prove that,” Dolores insisted, but her voice wavered. Her eyes darted around the Entrance Hall

At that moment, Amelia Bones swept into the Entrance Hall with three Aurors at her back. Her presence alone shifted the air, crisp, controlled, no‑nonsense. She took one look at Umbridge and spoke with the kind of authority that didn’t need to be raised. “No,” she said firmly, “but I will be thoroughly searching your office and your quarters. And if I uncover anything incriminating, you can be certain I will pursue every charge to its fullest extent.” Her arms folded across her chest, a silent warning.

“Amelia,” Dolores simpered, her voice wobbling, “you’re not going to take the word of a child, are you?”

Bones didn’t even dignify that with a verbal answer. She simply arched one eyebrow, a small, sharp gesture that said more than words ever could, then turned to her Aurors. “Check the classroom and her office. When you’re done, go through her quarters. I want no stone left unturned.”

“Yes, ma’am,” all three said at once, and they hurried off, eager to be anywhere but standing next to Umbridge.

Amelia didn’t waste a second. She snapped conjured cuffs onto Dolores’s wrists and then flicked her wand again, attaching a glowing tether that anchored Umbridge to her side. A leash, literal and humiliating. She wasn’t taking chances. Then, with another precise wand movement, she cast a containment spell over Umbridge’s ears. The pink‑clad woman blinked, confused, then horrified as the world went silent around her.

“Take this off me immediately!” Umbridge shrieked, though she couldn’t hear her own voice. Her eyes went wild as she thrashed against the restraints, trying to bolt. The tether yanked her back every time she moved more than five feet from Amelia, dragging her like a misbehaving dog. She stomped her foot, screamed more demands, and repeated her title like it was a shield. “I am the Senior Undersecretary!” she shouted furiously, as if that would magically fix anything.

Amelia didn’t even glance at her. With a flick of her wand, she added a silencing spell for good measure. The sudden quiet was almost peaceful. “I need to speak with Harry Potter,” she said, turning to Dumbledore. Her voice softened, but only slightly. She had been waiting for this moment since the end of the Third Task, wanting to hear the truth from the boy himself. She believed him. She always had, but politics had tied her hands, and Dumbledore had kept Harry out of reach.

Now, finally, she could put an end to the Ministry’s smear campaign. Now she could get the memories she needed. Now she could stop Dolores and Cornelius from burying the truth. And she wasn’t going to let anyone stand in her way.

“Right this way,” Albus said, though he was reluctant to do it. He hated giving anyone from the government access to Harry. He didn’t know their motives, and they might mess up his plans.

They made their way to the Hospital Wing, with Umbridge in tow, where Harry’s friends and Luna were waiting outside for news about how Harry was doing. Luna was getting funny looks from the others, but she didn’t care.

“Headmaster,” Hermione said as she stood to greet them, “Madam Pomfrey won’t tell us how he’s doing.” She wrung her hands in distress.

“I am sure that he is fine, my dear. I will bring you news when we are done speaking to him,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. He patted her on the shoulder as he walked by.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Hermione said, smiling at him.

With that the four adults went into the Hospital Wing to see Harry Potter and get to the bottom of what happened. They walked up to the bed where the boy laid and Amelia said, “Mr. Potter can you tell me what happened today and why you have words carved into your hand?” She pulled out a notebook and pen to take notes. She didn’t care that the pen was muggle, it was simpler to carry around than a quill and ink.

“Umbridge told me to stay after class because she had some questions for me. I did what she asked. She made me drink her tea. It was disgustingly sweet, but I didn’t really think about it at the time. Afterward, I went for a walk, but my stomach started hurting. That’s when I went to the Great Hall and told everyone I thought she’d poisoned me,” Harry said, his tone flat and controlled.

“I see,” Bones said, jotting all that down. Then she looked at the words on his hand and gestured towards them. “And those?”

“The words on my hand, those are from detention,” Harry said with a grimace as if remembering the pain of those detentions. “She gives me this black quill that writes with my blood. Every time I write the lines she makes me do, the words get cut into my hand.”

Umbridge, still unable to hear anything, continued her silent but furious protests. Her face flushed a deep shade of purple as she screamed wordlessly, her mouth open in outrage. She clawed at Amelia, desperate to draw her attention, but Bones remained steadfastly focused on Harry, refusing to acknowledge Umbridge’s frantic attempts.

Amelia wrote all this down, while Dumbledore stood silently with Snape. They were both stunned that this was going on in the school under their noses.

Snape not so much as he had much to do and really didn’t care what happened to the children, at least not overly much. He didn’t want them maimed or killed, but it really wasn’t his problem.

But Dumbledore, he was livid. He did care that the students were being tortured and abused while he was cowering in his tower. He had let this woman play him for a fool. Well, no more. She was going to pay and so was Fudge.

It was about this time that the Aurors came in with their arms full of paraphernalia they had gathered from Umbridge’s office and quarters. There was the tea service, the poison vial, a slew of black quills, and the extra wand. “We found these items in her rooms,” the lead Auror said, putting them on a table that was used for patients’ meals.

“Thank you, Albert. Let’s see what we have here,” Amelia said, taking out her wand and waving it over the items. The tea set proved positive for poison and that it had been used recently. The poison was the same used on Harry. The quills were confirmed to be the ones used on the students. And the wand was shown to have the Cruciatus Curse on it. “This last one will see you in Azkaban for life, if I can prove you used it on a human,” she told Umbridge.

Dolores was shaking her head frantically and pointing at the wand.

Amelia unsilenced her and nodded for her to speak.

“I have never seen that wand in my life,” Umbridge denied forcefully. “He planted it, I tell you. This whole thing is a setup.”

“Are you telling me he carved those words into his own hand?” Bones asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Well, I, you see, I,” Dolores said, trying to come up with a viable explanation.

“You have more than twenty quills in your possession, all of which were used to inflict pain on the students,” Bones said, shaking her head in disbelief. She quickly silenced Umbridge again, deciding there would be time for the truth to emerge later. Whether or not Umbridge was innocent of some charges, the evidence of torture was undeniable. Azkaban awaited her.

Harry was more than happy with that outcome. It got him what he wanted. Umbridge out of the school. He hadn’t started with a plan, but with Luna’s help, he had finished with one. He had hoped to get the woman in a more deadly trap, but Luna had talked him out of it. This would have to suffice. It was too bad that little prank with her quarters was left unused. Oh well, it was fun at the time.

Hphphp

The trial moved quickly, shockingly so, given how slowly the Ministry usually handled anything involving its own. But the evidence was overwhelming, and Amelia Bones wasn’t about to let this one slip through the cracks. Witness statements, the wand, the cursed quills, the poison, and Harry’s poisoning all painted a picture even the most stubborn Wizengamot members couldn’t ignore.

She pleaded that the wand was not hers and they couldn’t conclusively prove it was, so they dropped that charge. However, everything else lined up not in her favor.

In the end, the verdict was unanimous.

Dolores Umbridge was found guilty of torturing students with a Blood Quill, guilty of crafting and possessing the same quills, and guilty of poisoning Harry Potter. The last charge rested solely on Harry’s testimony, Veritaserum was never used on minors, but the court believed him. His word carried more weight than hers ever could. They didn’t even think to question her on the matter, just on the Blood Quills.

Because her cruelty had been targeted, specifically aimed at muggleborns and half‑bloods, the court spared her a life sentence. That technicality saved her from the Dementors’ Kiss, but not from Azkaban itself. Fifteen years. A harsh sentence by wizarding standards. A death sentence for most. Very few survived that long in Azkaban. And none came out whole.

That day in the Hospital Wing, Amelia secured Harry’s memories with his consent, and that changed everything. The moment the Wizengamot saw what he had lived through, Cedric’s death, Voldemort’s return, the graveyard, the Ministry’s smear campaign, the room shifted. The lies Fudge had been peddling for months collapsed under the weight of undeniable truth. For the first time, the wizarding world had to take Harry and Dumbledore seriously.

And they did.

Fudge was voted out within the week, his support evaporating as quickly as his credibility. Amelia Bones was elected Minister of Magic in his place, and she didn’t waste a single second. She declared Voldemort’s return publicly, mobilized the Auror Office, and began preparing the country for war. A real one, not the political theater Fudge had been staging.

Her decisiveness changed the future.

It meant Harry didn’t go running to the Ministry when Voldemort sent him that vision during his OWLs. He didn’t fall for the trap. He didn’t drag his friends into danger. And Sirius lived and for the first time in years, Harry’s future wasn’t shaped by panic, denial, or the Ministry’s incompetence. It was shaped by someone who believed him and acted on it.

Harry and Luna grew even closer after the trial, their strange, steady bond settled into something unmistakably real. By the time Harry reached his sixth year, they were officially together, not loud, not dramatic, just natural, as if the world had always meant for them to find each other.

With Amelia Bones running the Ministry like someone who actually cared about survival, Hogwarts stayed safe. The Death Eaters never gained a foothold in the school. They never breached its walls. For the first time in his life, Harry had a year that felt almost… normal.

His sixth year was his quietest yet. He focused on schoolwork, Quidditch, and the usual Ron‑and‑Hermione drama that flared up every other week. Draco made a few half‑hearted attempts on Dumbledore’s life, but the old man handled those with the same calm irritation he reserved for Peeves.

And then there were the Horcrux lessons, tedious, grim, and frustrating. But Luna told him not to worry too much about them this year. She said it with that serene certainty of hers, the kind that made Harry believe her without question. “We’ll take care of them soon enough,” she’d whisper, fingers brushing his. And somehow, he knew she was right.

For once, the world wasn’t falling apart around him. For once, he wasn’t running toward disaster. For once, Harry Potter got to breathe.

Unfortunately, that was also the year Ron decided he was done being Harry’s best mate. “You’re boring now. I’ve got better things to do than follow you around,” he’d said, shrugging like it was nothing. And maybe to Ron, it was. He’d made a tidy fortune from the treasures he’d scavenged out of the Room of Lost Things, and the money had gone straight to his head.

Harry didn’t argue, and he didn’t chase after him. He just let Ron walk away. Instead, he drifted toward the other boys in his dorm. Boys who didn’t treat him like a sidekick or a burden, Neville especially. The two of them clicked in a way Harry hadn’t expected. They understood each other in ways that didn’t need explaining since they both had grown up in homes shaped by fear. Both had learned to stay small to survive.

Harry helped Neville unlearn that. He taught him how to stand up to his uncle and how to push back against his grandmother’s overbearing expectations. And with his new wand, Neville’s confidence grew fast. He stopped shrinking and apologizing and he started stepping into who he was meant to be. He was becoming a lion.

And Harry, watching it happen, realized he hadn’t lost a friend that year, he’d gained one who truly saw him.

When Harry set out in his seventh year to hunt the Horcruxes, Luna went with him without hesitation. Neville and Hermione followed too, not because they had to, but because they refused to let him walk into darkness alone. Dumbledore still lost his life that summer in pursuit of one of the Horcruxes, but he died on his own terms, leaving Harry with the knowledge, and the burden, of what needed to be done.

Harry was never labeled Public Enemy Number One. Fudge tried, of course, but Amelia Bones shut that down before it could gain traction. Harry didn’t have to run, or starve, or hide from the Ministry. He only had to stay out of sight of the Death Eaters, and even that was easier with Amelia’s Aurors quietly sweeping the country.

Finding the Horcruxes didn’t take nearly as long as anyone expected. Luna seemed to simply know where to go, a quiet certainty that drove Hermione up the wall and left Neville muttering about “Luna‑logic” under his breath. But she was right every time. Forests, ruins, cursed vaults, she led them straight to each one with that serene, unshakable intuition that made Harry trust her more than any map.

Piece by piece, the Dark Lord’s immortality crumbled. And when they were down to the last one, Nagini, there was nothing left to do but confront Voldemort himself.

“Hello, Tom,” Harry said as he, Luna, Hermione, and Neville walked into Malfoy Manor. They had used Luna’s abilities to surpass wards to get in.

“Potter! How did you get in here?” Voldemort asked, standing from his thronelike chair and lifting his wand to his nemesis.

“We walked in,” Harry said, his wand already trained on the snakelike man. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You’ve been looking for me after all.”

“I will be happy to see you dead,” Voldemort said, firing off a Killing Curse.

Harry and his friends scattered and started fighting back. Neville and Hermione fought the Death Eaters, while Luna went after the snake and Harry fought Voldemort.

Luna danced around Nagini with an eerie, effortless grace, her movements light and drifting, as if she were nothing more than a leaf carried by a soft breeze. But every time she flicked her wand forward, a deep, vicious cut opened along the snake’s scales. It was death by a thousand cuts, slow and deliberate, each strike carving away another piece of Voldemort’s last tether to life.

Nagini lunged at her again and again, fangs snapping, venom hissing through the air, but Luna was never where the snake expected her to be. She spun out of reach, gliding across the ground with that strange, serene calm that made her look untouchable.

For five long minutes, they circled each other, predator and prey, though it was no longer clear which was which.

Then Luna saw her opening.

She stepped in, wand slicing through the air in a clean, decisive arc. A deep gash tore across Nagini’s neck. The great serpent let out a long, rattling hiss, a death toll that echoed through the room, before collapsing in on herself. As her body stilled, a wraithlike shadow tore free from her back, shrieking loudly as it drifted upward and dissolved into nothing.

Nagini was gone and Voldemort had just lost his last anchor to this world.

Harry heard the shriek and knew instantly what it meant; Voldemort was mortal. The last Horcrux had fallen. Something inside him snapped into place, sharp and certain. He fought harder. He drove his wand toward the Dark Lord in a violent, sweeping motion, pouring every ounce of emotion he had into his spells, grief, fury, love, fear, all of it. The magic roared out of him, stronger than anything he’d ever cast before. He didn’t hold back. He couldn’t.

He used every spell Sirius had taught him, every piece of Black family magic his godfather insisted he should know “just in case.” The Blacks were infamous for their darker spells, the kind that weren’t illegal but definitely weren’t polite. Harry wielded them like a blade.

Voldemort staggered under the onslaught, his shield buckling, his face twisting with something he hadn’t felt in decades… fear.

Harry didn’t stop. He danced the dance of death, and he wasn’t going to stop until it was over. The spell that finally took the Dark Lord down was one Sirius had warned him about; one meant to end a fight decisively. Harry cast it with a roar, his magic slamming into Voldemort with brutal force.

In an instant, all the skin tore from Voldemort’s body, ripped away in one horrifying sweep, leaving behind nothing but a bloody, ruined corpse collapsing to the ground.

Silence followed. Cold. Heavy. Final.

It was over.

Harry Potter had ended him.

The Death Eaters collapsed almost instantly, dropping like puppets with their strings cut. Whatever magic tied them to Voldemort, the Dark Mark, their oaths, their connection to his soul, snapped the moment he died. Whether they would survive was another question entirely.

Luna didn’t spare them a glance. She ran straight to Harry.

He caught her, arms wrapping around her as if he’d been waiting his whole life for that moment. They were both covered in blood, Nagini’s, Voldemort’s, their own, but neither cared. Luna kissed him, soft and certain, and when they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his. “We did it, Harry,” she whispered, her voice full of quiet wonder. “Now we can go find the Crumpled‑Horned Snorkack.”

Harry laughed, a real one, bright and breathless, because of course that was what she’d say. Of course she was already thinking about the next adventure, the next mystery, the next piece of magic the world still held.

And that’s exactly what they did.

The world was a better place now. The Dark Lord was gone. The Death Eaters were dead or dying. The war ended not with a prophecy or a sacrifice, but with a boy who refused to give up and a girl who danced with death like it was nothing more than a breeze.

Harry and his friends were finally free. Free to live, to grow, to love, to choose their own futures.

And they did.

Happily, ever after.