Shattered
Harry Potter was not in a good mood.
Maybe it was the fact that he woke up in a silent scream, sweat covering his forehead and neck after having a nightmare full of Voldemort, dementors, and worst of all, Cedric’s cold dead body. Maybe it was the fact that Ron and Hermione have been all strange around him since he mentioned he could see the thestrals when they entered the carriages to Hogwarts. This was of course one consequence for them recognizing him as Harry rather than the Boy Who Lived, sometimes they forget the murderous psychopath killing everyone he may care about. Or maybe his encounter with Malfoy has put him at the edge. All he knew was that Harry was at an edge of a metaphorical cliff with his emotions or rather, dangling off, being held up by one string only. As long as he keeps his head down for whatever new teacher there is going to be in Defense Against Dark Arts, Harry would survive.
All these somewhat hopeful thoughts vanished when he saw who was at the front of the dingy old classroom. Why of course, of course the ministry cannot let the child who just watched their friend die have a day off.
What a load of rubbish his life was.
There in all of her pink frilly glory was Professor Umbridge, short for Satan herself. Harry knew he should’ve listened to what Hermione was rambling about during breakfast today or even perhaps took one look around the dining hall. He cursed himself and his tortuous existence as he slowly and quietly tried to make his way to a seat with Ron. It almost seemed as if she was waiting for him to enter by the way her crooked teeth widened upon his entrance. Her arms moved to her hips as she moved closer to Harry’s side of the classroom while greeting a couple Ravenclaws.
Harry had forgotten how annoying her voice was at the trial but now all the memories came flooding back as she opened her mouth. Her voice grated against his ears in the most unpleasant ways and caused him to grip the wooden table in front of him to prevent him from getting up and leaving the classroom. Her pleasantries were meaningless to Harry, it was only a disguise for the evil and callous nature she held within. Of all the people in the ministry that Harry stood before this summer, she was the only one so adamant that Harry was lying. Harry had no doubt that she would only try to prove the same this year, watching Harry’s every step and waiting until he so even chose to breathe wrong.
The sound of Umbridge’s wand cutting through the air brought Harry’s attention back to the front of the classroom. A closed mouth smile sat upon the lips of the professor as piles of textbooks levitated towards the students. Harry heard the sigh of Ron next to him, agonizing on what this new teacher was going to bring to the class.
“Your previous instruction in this subject has been disturbingly… uneven. However, you’ll be pleased to know from now on you will be following a carefully structured, ministry approved, course of defensive magic.” The class paused silently, glancing at one another to confirm that this is not a joke but the truth. Harry stared down the book that was laid in front of him, Dark Arts Defense: Basics for Beginners. He scoffed at the title, it was almost as if this woman ignored the files on their previous history with teachers of this subject. Each and every Hogwarts student who had taken this class was way beyond the skill level of a beginner. Harry began to feel the pinpricks of anger along his spine and in an effort to ignore it, he started pulling at the strings from his robe.
Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one who noticed the absurdity of this textbook. Hermione’s hand shot up in the air as soon as Umbridge paused in her speech, “There’s nothing in here about using defensive spells.”
“Using spells? I can’t imagine why you would need to use spells in my classroom.”
Deep breaths Harry, deep breaths. With every word coming out of this pink woman’s mouth, Harry felt magic from his very core beginning to rise within him. He saw Cedric dead, he saw Dementors try to attack him, he knows how many lives could be saved if they just learned these spells before the war. Pictures of those who sat around him, laying cold and dead flashed through Harry’s mind. Ron’s exasperated response was lost on him but unfortunately, Umbridge’s comment was as clear as day and with it, Harry felt everything he had been holding in over the summer snap.
“You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way.” She must have been doing this to purposely set off Harry it almost seems like. The worst part was, it had worked.
“What use is that if we’re going to be attacked? It won’t be risk free.” Okay, so maybe his tone was not the most respectful towards the woman who is praying for his downfall but she was the most incompetent Defense teacher Hogwarts has ever had and that’s saying something.
“Students will raise their hands when they speak in my class.” As if she didn’t let students before Harry speak without permission. She was making it painfully obvious that she was goading Harry to fail. “It is the view of the ministry that theoretical knowledge would be sufficient to get you through your examinations which after all, is what school is for.”
“And how are theories supposed to prepare us for what’s out there?”
“There’s nothing out there dear, who do you imagine wants to attack children?” The dead body of Cedric briefly appeared before Harry in his mind as soon as Umbridge finished her sentence. His death was for nothing in the eyes of the ministry, in the eyes of everyone who is exactly like the woman who stood in front of him.
“I don’t know, maybe Lord Voldemort?” The room went silent at the mention of the name which should never be uttered. Every eye in the room focused on the two as Umbridge moved closer to Harry’s end of the desk with the same tight lipped smile but a new rage in her eyes.
As almost a whisper, her voice broke the silence and grew in volume with each word. “Let me make myself abundantly clear, you have been told that a certain dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.”
With that, Harry slammed his palms on the wood in front of him seeing white rage surround the woman staring down at him. He could vaguely feel the bodily heat Ron’s hand grabbing his wrist as a form of warning, to stop him before he gives Umbridge much more of a reason to oppose Harry. “I saw him, I fought him.” His words were almost pleading, begging for one person in the classroom to truly believe him for once.
“Detention, Mr. Potter!”
With the mention of his last name, reminded him of the snide comments of his blond haired enemy just hours earlier. If he wasn’t angry before, now he was furious that he was being punished for telling the truth.
“So according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord?!” The words were rushed, coming out as more of an exhale than produced naturally. Somehow this rage was reviving him, allowing him to breathe during the period of drowning he felt trapped in.
“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accident.”
Accident is how the ministry worded it. The screams of his friend, one of the boys who offered him salvation from the Dursleys, his death was one everyone preferred to ignore. His death was only an accident.
“It was murder! Voldemort killed him! You must know this–”
“Enough!” The professor’s shrill voice rang through the dark classroom, piercing Harry’s ears as it echoed. “See me later Mr. Potter, my office.”
There was no damn way that anyone in that room was going to make Harry stay for one more bloody minute. Damn his textbook, damn this class, and damn his life was repeating through his mind as he picked up his bag and hurriedly made his exit.
No one followed him, he realized after a few minutes of standing outside the classroom.
Of course, it was ridiculous to expect anyone to do that for him. He single handedly killed Lord Voldemort as a child, why would someone even need to consider checking up on him for a pesky encounter with a professor. He gradually turned down a cobblestone wall and began to make his way down it with no destination in mind. Before he knew it, he was in front of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom with his knuckle white as it gripped around his wand.
He threw the door open as he stomped in, he vaguely heard Myrtle gasp but he was too focused on the rage that was burning within. Magic was flowing off of him in waves and as he stared at the mirror in front of him, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. He felt his shoulders moving up and down to the rhythm of his harsh breaths as well as his hands gripping the porcelain sink in front of him. Dark became light as he looked into his green eyes that were full of fire hidden behind his glasses. His hair was everywhere from his hands running through it on his walk over and his cheeks were flushed on his tan skin from the exhilaration of fury.
It was ugly. This is not supposed to be who Harry Potter is.
Harry Potter should not have a tear silently make its way down his cheek, leaving a shiny trail in its wake. Harry Potter should not let more tears flow down, an army dedicated to following the leader. And damn well, Harry Potter should bloody not be crying over his life.
A scream ripped out of his chest, raw and emotional as it carried back to Harry’s ears with an echo across the bathroom tiles. His hands let go of the sink in front of him and carved them into fists that hit Harry’s head over and over. Stupid Harry Potter, that’s what everyone would say if they saw him right now. With one glance up to the mirror and his hideous appearance, the mirror shattered. It was almost beautiful in the way it did, its sound almost rang like the windchimes that Petunia used to hang up. The pieces landed around him, in the sink, and a few feet away from him.
From the shatter came silence. Maybe it was a silence to see if anyone would come check on the sound that had rung out or maybe it was the realization of what Harry had just done.
No one came.
Looking down at his shoes there was a particular large shard of glass resting upon his left foot. Harry quietly watched as it reflected the left half of his face in the bottom portion of the shard.
This was the Harry Potter that no one will ever see. This is the Harry Potter that will die with him during the war.
With a shaky breath, Harry moved to his wand that had dropped from where he had set it on the sink. With a quick whisk of the wand, the mirror gradually repaired itself as if nothing had ever occurred. Harry stared at himself one more time, practicing a smile that particularly hid the puffy pink stained parts of his eyelids.
He was Harry Potter once more.