Harry Potter and the Silent Guardian

The sun had barely crested the horizon when Dolores Umbridge, resplendent in her frilly pink cardigan, entered the Great Hall with an air of smug self-importance. She strolled past the rows of students murmuring quietly over their breakfasts, savoring the wary silence that trailed her like a victory banner. In her mind, this was proof of her triumph—the ultimate evidence that her Educational Decrees had crushed all resistance.

She had no idea how quickly that illusion was about to crumble.

At the Ravenclaw table, Harry Potter sat playing with a handful of tiny, glimmering crystals, their surfaces catching the morning light. Reggy leaned over curiously.

"What are those?" he asked.

Harry twirled one crystal between his fingers, his expression unreadable. "Just the key to Umbridge's downfall," he said casually, without looking up.

That was enough to grab Roger's attention. His eyes lit up with excitement as he leaned forward. "Wait—are you finally going to act?"

"Maybe," Harry said, his tone deliberately vague, as he pocketed the crystals. He continued playing with them, leaving his two friends puzzled and whispering among themselves.

---

After breakfast, Harry wandered the corridors without a destination. As he passed members of the Inquisitorial Squad, he moved with practiced ease, his movements subtle yet precise. A flick of his wrist here, a nudge of his fingers there, and another crystal was gone.

The Squad members, for their part, pretended not to notice him. After having seen Harry's strengths and abilities during the Triwizard Tournament, they feared crossing him.

By midday, Harry had distributed the last of his crystals. The tiny artifacts, each no larger than a grain of rice, were special one-time-use prank devices, painstakingly crafted as the first step of his plan to topple Umbridge's reign. Satisfied with his progress, Harry hummed softly to himself as he headed to his next class, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

---

The first incident occurred just before lunch. Harper, a particularly zealous member of the Inquisitorial Squad, was patrolling the corridors as usual, his badge gleaming proudly on his chest. His sharp eyes scanned for rule-breakers, ever on the lookout for something—or someone—to report.

As he passed the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Umbridge stood lost in thought, one of Harry's crystals detected their proximity. It began to glow faintly, its magic readying itself. Harper drew level with the doorway, and the crystal activated.

A sudden, blinding flash of light erupted from Harper, startling everyone nearby. In the same instant, a perfectly aimed Stinging Hex appeared to shoot from Harper's position, striking Umbridge squarely on the ankle.

The High Inquisitor let out an undignified yelp, stumbling backward as pain shot through her leg. She clutched her ankle, her face twisting with rage and embarrassment.

Harper, utterly bewildered, instinctively drew his wand—a reflex drilled into Inquisitorial Squad members to prepare for retaliation against pranksters. He stood frozen, his wand held aloft, looking as startled as everyone else.

Umbridge's head snapped around, her beady eyes locking onto Harper like a hawk spotting prey. Her face reddened to a blotchy pink, and her voice rose into the shrill, ear-piercing pitch that made everyone wince.

"Mr. Harper!" she screeched. "How dare you attack a professor! Your own High Inquisitor!"

"I didn't—I swear I didn't—" Harper stammered, his face drained of color. He stared at his wand as though it had betrayed him, his eyes darting frantically around the corridor. "Professor, I just drew my wand because of the flash! I didn't cast anything!"

"Your wand is in your hand, Mr. Harper," Umbridge said with dangerous sweetness as she straightened herself. Her voice dripped with venomous calm. "Do you expect me to believe hexes simply appear out of thin air?"

If Harry had been there, he might have allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The crystal had worked perfectly, creating a seamless illusion of spellfire that left the hapless Squad member looking guilty. Harper's protests fell on deaf ears as Umbridge began berating him, her shrill tones echoing through the corridor.

It was the first crack in her carefully constructed authority—and the first of many to come.

---

Throughout the day, similar scenes unfolded across the castle. Every time an Inquisitorial Squad member approached Umbridge, one of Harry's enchanted crystals activated, triggering a harmless but humiliating hex. Startled by the sudden flashes of light, the squad members instinctively drew their wands, unwittingly making themselves look guilty.

Pansy Parkinson was mortified when she appeared to cast a Tickling Charm at Umbridge during a corridor patrol, leaving the High Inquisitor doubled over in giggles she couldn't suppress. Warrington's incident was even more spectacular, as he seemed to hit her with a Jelly-Legs Jinx in the middle of a classroom inspection, causing her to wobble and crash into a desk. Each time, the accused student could only stammer out confused denials while Umbridge's fury grew. Her face reddened further with every incident, her already strained patience fraying to its limits.

This continued for days, as Harry dutifully replenished the crystals along the squad's patrol routes. By the end of the week, Umbridge had convinced herself that her own Inquisitorial Squad was conspiring against her.

"Traitors!" she shrieked during a hastily summoned meeting in her office. Her voice trembled with barely contained rage, and her face had turned an alarming shade of puce, clashing horribly with the pink bow perched atop her hair. "All of you! Plotting against me, undermining my authority! You're all dismissed! Every single one of you!"

The squad members looked at one another in stunned disbelief, but none dared to argue. Her accusations left no room for protest.

The news spread like wildfire through the castle. Students gathered in small groups, whispering excitedly about Umbridge's paranoid breakdown. Even the professors struggled to hide their amusement, though they maintained a veneer of professionalism.

Undeterred, Umbridge recruited a second squad, this time consisting mostly of younger students she believed would be more loyal. But Harry simply repeated his routine, planting fresh crystals along their patrol routes. Within two days, the cycle began anew: mysterious hexes, bewildered squad members, and an increasingly frantic Umbridge.

By the time she dismissed her third attempt at forming an Inquisitorial Squad, no student would accept the position. Umbridge was left with no choice but to patrol the corridors alone, her heels clicking against the stone floors as she jumped at shadows and whirled at the faintest sound. Suspicion twisted her face into a permanent scowl, and her once-commanding presence had been reduced to a paranoid prowling figure.

With no squad to protect her, the school's pranksters returned to full force. Dolores Umbridge became the prime target for mischief, and the Weasley twins, in particular, seemed to find new inspiration. Suits of armor developed an uncanny tendency to trip her as she passed. Peeves the Poltergeist gleefully followed her, singing increasingly creative renditions of "The Toad Queen's March."

Doors mysteriously jammed whenever she tried to enter a room. Chalkboards erased themselves mid-lesson. Her prized pink quills inexplicably turned into wriggling worms. Each day brought new challenges, each prank more inventive than the last.

---

Harry's work was far from over. His next masterpiece came during dinner one evening—a specially brewed potion slipped into Dolores Umbridge's goblet through a deft bit of spellcasting. The effect was immediate and utterly spectacular.

One moment, Umbridge sat at the staff table, prattling on in her usual self-important manner. The next, she had transformed into a rather disgruntled-looking toad, complete with a tiny pink bow perched atop her head.

For three full seconds, the Great Hall was silent, as if collectively holding its breath. Then it erupted into uncontrollable laughter. Students doubled over in their seats, tears streaming down their faces, while the staff struggled valiantly—and unsuccessfully—to maintain their composure. McGonagall's lips twitched suspiciously as she stared determinedly at her plate, though her shoulders shook ever so slightly.

"A toad turning into a toad," someone quipped between bursts of laughter. "It's poetic!"

Only Filch moved to help her, his face a mask of concern. He hurried forward, carefully scooping up the transformed Umbridge and wrapping her in a piece of her fallen pink cardigan. For the next two days, he could be seen solemnly carrying a small terrarium around the castle, inside which sat a particularly grumpy-looking toad wearing a miniature bow.

Since none of the professors seemed particularly inclined to assist her, Umbridge had no choice but to wait for the potion's effects to wear off. For two days, she was confined to her amphibian form, glaring balefully at the world from within her glass prison.

When she finally returned to human form, her reputation and authority were irreparably damaged. Students no longer cowered at her approach. If anything, they seemed to be stifling laughter, their faces lighting up with barely concealed grins whenever she passed. Her educational decrees were ignored outright, and pranks continued to plague her every move with renewed vigor.

Harry watched the chaos with quiet satisfaction. The humor and joy surrounding him brought a much-needed balance to his life. Though he still experienced occasional flashes of irritability and nights haunted by vivid nightmares, the laughter and camaraderie at Hogwarts helped ease the weight he carried. Slowly but surely, he was beginning to feel whole again.

Despite the general cheer, Harry still refused to step into the role of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He knew he lacked both the time and the patience this year to lead students through lessons. For now, Umbridge's classes remained a farce, and the students were left to fend for themselves in terms of practical defense.

Even so, Harry didn't leave them entirely without help. When seventh-years came to him worried about their OWLs or NEWTs, he offered them detailed notes on spell theory, carefully written to make self-study or group practice easier. For younger students seeking advanced training, he directed them to Charles's DA meetings.

But as for teaching himself? That was a line he refused to cross. That was not his job.

---

Time moved forward, and each day felt a little freer for the students. But for Harry, a quiet sense of unease grew as Halloween approached. It was Halloween again, and while nothing major had happened this time in the original timeline, Harry had a feeling that with his luck—and the eerie silence from the Dark Alliance—something was bound to go wrong.

The day of the feast arrived. Pumpkins lined the halls, floating candles turned into miniature jack-o'-lanterns, and the Great Hall buzzed with excitement. Oddly, Umbridge was nowhere to be seen. Rumor had it she was hiding in her office, nursing her wounded pride and terrified of another toad-related prank.

The feast itself was cheerful. Platters of roasted vegetables, golden-brown turkey, and sweet pastries shaped like bats and pumpkins filled the tables. Students laughed and swapped stories about the latest pranks, enjoying the festive atmosphere.

At the staff table, Harry noticed another absence: Dumbledore. This year, the headmaster had been an elusive figure. Students barely saw him, and the staff gave no explanation for his constant disappearances. Harry suspected Dumbledore was chasing Horcruxes, trying to prepare for the growing darkness in the world.

Let him, Harry thought with a small, secret smile. With all the Horcruxes already destroyed by Harry's own efforts, the old wizard was off chasing shadows. Hopefully, that would keep Dumbledore from meddling in Harry's plans.

Sitting at the Gryffindor table among his friends, Harry was an unusual sight. He usually avoided the Halloween feast, but tonight, he joined in. Even so, he kept glancing at the empty Headmaster's chair, an uneasy feeling twisting in his stomach. Something told him the night wasn't going to end peacefully, and somehow, it involved Dumbledore. Harry tried to remind himself he wasn't ready for another fight—he was still healing from his last encounter with danger.

"Relax," he muttered under his breath, listening to Fred and George's latest plan to set off fireworks after the feast. "If something bad was happening, there'd be signs. Nothing's happening around Hogwarts."

He tried to focus on the meal. The lively chatter and laughter at the tables helped settle his nerves. Even the sight of the half-empty staff table without Umbridge brought a small grin to his face. Maybe, for once, Halloween would pass without disaster, just like in the original story.

Maybe.

But as the night wore on, the feeling in his gut wouldn't go away. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he couldn't shake the sense that something—somewhere—was wrong. Dumbledore's absence only made the feeling worse, like something big was happening far beyond Hogwarts' walls.

Still, Harry pushed the thoughts aside. For now, he let the warmth of pumpkin spice and happy voices surround him.

If danger came, he'd face it when it arrived. For tonight, a little borrowed peace and laughter would have to do.