Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 676: A Method of Distraction

Perhaps eager to make a name for herself, Umbridge spent barely half a day clearing out her office before returning to the Ministry of Magic overnight.

The next morning, the school was alight with joy. What had started as an ordinary breakfast transformed into a feast, the tables laden with overflowing golden plates.

“How did you manage that?” Fred and George bounded over to the Hufflepuff table, a large jug of pumpkin juice in tow.

“What?” Kyle asked, looking puzzled.

“Umbridge,” Fred said cheerfully, pouring himself a hefty glass of juice.

“Don’t try to fool us,” George added, settling in next to Kyle with a raised eyebrow. “You must know something.”

“Well, I might know a thing or two,” Kyle said with a sly smile. “Fudge had a pressing vacancy to fill, and I just happened to be nearby, so I recommended Umbridge.”

“And he agreed?” George asked, his question striking the others as almost laughable.

“Obviously,” Kyle replied. “Fudge got the ‘perfect’ candidate, Umbridge was happy, and Hogwarts is better off. A win-win-win situation.”

“I couldn’t care less about Fudge or Umbridge...” Fred downed his glass of pumpkin juice with enthusiasm, “but this is truly excellent news for us.”

“Haha! Getting rid of Umbridge makes you a hero, at least to us Gryffindors,” George said, clapping Kyle on the shoulder.

“No exaggeration—we even think you could win the Special Award for Services to the School again for this,” Fred chimed in.

“If only it worked that way,” Kyle said with a laugh. “But let’s be real: Hogwarts isn’t going to give an award just because I got rid of an irritating professor. No matter how much everyone disliked her.”

The joy was infectious, spreading beyond the students. Even the professors seemed unusually cheerful.

At the staff table, Professor McGonagall chatted with Snape, both looking uncharacteristically relaxed. Gone were the stern and serious demeanors they typically wore.

Meanwhile, Professor Trelawney, seated a little farther down, was enthusiastically working her way through glass after glass of sherry. Hogwarts didn’t serve alcohol—not even to the professors—so she had sourced it from The Three Broomsticks. And not just any sherry, but their finest, costing 30 Galleons a bottle.

In the short time since breakfast began, she had already drained two bottles and was opening a third. She had, quite literally, consumed her monthly salary in one sitting.

But not everyone was celebrating.

Tonks sat at the staff table with a blank expression, her face devoid of any trace of a smile. The reality of the situation weighed heavily on her. With Umbridge gone, it was only logical that she, the assistant professor, would step into the role.

The thought alone made her stomach churn. The infamous Curse of the Defence Against the Dark Arts position loomed large in her mind, and suddenly the juicy steak on her plate tasted like dry straw.

“No...” she muttered under her breath, abruptly standing up and leaving the Great Hall. She was determined to write to Fudge and Dumbledore.

Anyone could take that cursed job, but it wasn’t going to be her.

The list of past professors haunted her thoughts:

Moody, the famously cautious and powerful Auror, had been ambushed after just one year of teaching.

Sirius, tortured by Death Eaters, had barely survived six months on the job.

Even Lupin, the lucky exception, hadn’t escaped unscathed. Though he had survived, he’d ended up in the Hospital Wing after being badly injured during his tenure. Reports said several of his bones were broken, and he had been wrapped in bandages for days before he could walk again.

That was Lupin—a werewolf with thick skin and enhanced durability. If even he couldn’t endure unscathed, what chance did she have?

If Dumbledore had been involved in restraining Lupin during his transformation, that would have explained the injuries. But the Headmaster’s skill made it impossible to believe he would have resorted to such heavy-handed measures. And the other professors? They certainly weren’t capable of causing such damage.

Yet, Lupin had still been injured.

This position was cursed, plain and simple.

Tonks shook her head, unwilling to take the risk. Even if she couldn’t be reassigned, Hogwarts needed to find someone else. Three members of the Order of the Phoenix had already suffered in the role, and Dumbledore couldn’t keep sending his allies into the line of fire.

With that resolve, she hurried out.

Her intentions were good—but reality had other plans.

A week later, she received a curt reply from the Ministry of Magic: the Ministry was understaffed and unable to find a replacement for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position at the moment.

As for Dumbledore? No reply. No one seemed to know where he was.

Tonks was desperate. The looming specter of becoming the next Defence Against the Dark Arts professor filled her with dread. Her thoughts spiraled: should she stock up on healing potions? Maybe even find someone willing to part with Phoenix Tears? She had a nagging feeling she might need them before long.

Meanwhile, everyone else at Hogwarts seemed to be reveling in Umbridge’s absence. The atmosphere was so jubilant, it felt like Christmas every day—relaxed, cheerful, and carefree.

Interestingly, many professors seemed to credit Kyle with orchestrating Umbridge’s sudden departure. Professor McGonagall, in particular, was convinced. She had accompanied them to the Ministry of Magic, and the timing of events was too perfect to ignore: no sooner had they returned than Fudge reassigned Umbridge. It couldn’t be a mere coincidence. Someone had to have played a role, and Kyle was the only person with direct access to Fudge at the time.

As a result, Kyle found himself earning extra House points in nearly every class.

Five points for a well-written Transfiguration essay.

Five points for handing Professor Sprout a shovel.

Five more for helping a classmate fix their hand gestures during Charms.

Though small on their own, these frequent additions added up quickly. By the end of the week, Hufflepuff’s hourglass had gained over 100 points, placing them far ahead of the other three houses. It was a commanding lead, one that seemed insurmountable.

“It looks like Professor McGonagall has completely given up on competing for this year’s House Cup,” Fred observed as he gazed at the hourglasses in the Great Hall. “If this keeps up, there’s no way we’ll ever catch up to Hufflepuff.”

“There’s still a chance,” Kyle replied with a sly smile. “All you have to do is stop losing points.”

Fred and George exchanged guilty looks. Since their first year, the twins had been a consistent source of Gryffindor’s point deductions. Though they had become more cautious in their seventh year, avoiding rule-breaking entirely was not in their nature.

Unfortunately for Gryffindor, the twins’ entrepreneurial success had recently caught up with them. After the Christmas holidays, the academic workload for fifth-year students had spiked, making Fred and George’s Skiving Snackboxes more popular than ever. During some lessons, as many as a dozen students would suddenly start vomiting, have their tongues swell, or display other bizarre symptoms.

It wasn’t long before Professor McGonagall began investigating. Following the trail of suspicious illnesses, she traced the cause back to the twins and their best-selling Snackboxes.

The result was as expected: each twin lost 50 points. Gryffindor plummeted from third place to last, their House Cup hopes dashed.

“You should really blame Snape for that,” Fred grumbled, clearly unwilling to shoulder the blame himself. “If he hadn’t given us fewer points to start with, Gryffindor might actually be in first place right now.”

It was a fair point. Snape had never hesitated to dock points from Gryffindor, and with Umbridge gone, he had reclaimed his title as the house’s most hated professor.

Who held second place on that list was still up for debate.

...

Umbridgeʼs departure had lifted much of the oppressive atmosphere that had lingered over Hogwarts. By the end of a dreary March, the sun had finally begun to break through, and even Aprilʼs persistent rain and wind felt far more tolerable in comparison.

The only real downside was for the Quidditch teams, who had to endure training on a soggy pitch full of mud. Even waterproof charms on their badges couldn’t fully shield them from the discomfort.

Dumbledore didn’t reappear at Hogwarts until the day before the Easter holiday, and no one knew where he had been or what he had been doing for over a month. However, news about Umbridge did surface.

“Oh, look at this,” Cedric said, sliding a copy of The Daily Prophet across the table toward Kyle.

The headline read, “Ministry Staff Successfully Thwart Plot by Death Eaters,” accompanied by a photo of Umbridge. She had finally shed her signature pink cardigan and stood on a Muggle street, wand in hand, looking stern and determined.

Cedric began to read aloud:

“This morning, a pipe exploded on a Muggle street, causing chaos among Muggles and injuring dozens.

Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, was the first to arrive at the scene with the Hit Wizards. According to the investigation, the culprit behind this incident was the escaped Death Eater Antonin Dolohov, who was seen fleeing the scene in a panic.

Antonin Dolohov is a known and extremely dangerous Death Eater, infamous for his repeated use of the Killing Curse and attacks on Muggles.

It is believed his intention was to make a public display of his return.

Senior Undersecretary Umbridge, leading the response team, stated, ‘We received the news too late. If we had been informed earlier, we might have apprehended him.’

She urged the public to remain vigilant: ‘Antonin Dolohov is a Death Eater of the worst kind. Anyone who catches a glimpse of him must inform the Ministry of Magic immediately. These are extraordinary times, and only by working together and standing united can we hope to win the war that lies ahead.’”

Cedric lowered the paper, smacking his lips in disbelief. “She’s going to catch Death Eaters now?”

He shook his head, incredulous. During her time at Hogwarts, Umbridge had shown no signs of being capable of—or even interested in—such a responsibility. Her power-hungry ways had been all too clear, but tracking down Death Eaters? Cedric couldn’t imagine her doing anything remotely so brave or noble.

“Who knows…” Kyle replied with a shrug.

But something about the report struck him as oddly familiar. Kyle’s mind wandered back to his last visit to the Ministry of Magic. He had grown bored and wandered into Arthur Weasley’s office for a chat, where he had glimpsed a document lying on Mr. Weasley’s desk.

The report had mentioned an incident involving a prank gone wrong—someone had blown up a trash can on a Muggle street just after work hours. The explosion had injured about fifteen or sixteen people, with flying debris causing much of the damage.

Kyle distinctly remembered Mr. Weasley complaining that someone higher up had dismissed the incident as unimportant, directing them to focus on other tasks instead.

Now, reading today’s Prophet, the details sounded eerily similar: a street explosion, a dozen injured Muggles, and a cover story involving Death Eaters. Kyle couldn’t help but wonder if the two incidents were connected.

Leaning closer, he whispered his suspicions to Cedric and Kanna.

“Are you saying... this is fake news?” Kanna asked incredulously. “The culprit isn’t Antonin Dolohov but someone else?”

“I think that’s probably right,” Kyle said with a nod. “Otherwise, how do you explain Umbridge suddenly becoming so brave?”

Cedric leaned in, his expression skeptical. “Did you know they’d do this all along? Is this Fudge’s plan—to pin something someone else did on the Death Eaters?”

“Well... sort of,” Kyle admitted. “But to be fair, it does serve as a reminder that there are still Death Eaters lurking in the shadows.”

He glanced around. After months of relative calm, it seemed Hogwarts students had grown complacent, their fears of You-Know-Who fading into the background. But today’s Daily Prophet headline brought those fears roaring back. The castle was once again steeped in unease, a quiet anxiety rippling through the halls.

Not everyone believed the news, though. Among the skeptics were Harry and Ron, who knew Umbridge better than most.

“She doesn’t seem like the type to do something like that,” Harry said flatly.

No one at Hogwarts knew more about battling Death Eaters than Harry did—after all, that was what the Order of the Phoenix was all about. And as far as he was concerned, Dolores Umbridge didn’t have it in her to face down someone like Antonin Dolohov. The idea was laughable.

“But that’s what the paper says,” Hermione countered, turning the Daily Prophet over and over in her hands, as if some hidden clue might jump out from the margins. She practically pressed her nose against the page, but nothing new revealed itself.

“It says Umbridge arrived at the street with a team of Hit Wizards, and plenty of people saw her there.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s true,” Ron said firmly. “Remember? A while ago, they were saying You-Know-Who hadn’t come back at all.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. His skepticism ran deep. To him, the idea of Umbridge battling Death Eaters was as absurd as Snape giving Gryffindor extra points.

Harry and Ron weren’t alone in their doubts. Many who had dealt with Umbridge firsthand were equally dubious. But today’s newspaper had also sparked curiosity about the long-absent Headmaster.

“Who remembers when Dumbledore left the school?” a student asked in passing, their question echoed by others.

“I’m not sure—it feels like ages ago.”

“I think it was right after the Christmas holidays.”

“No, it must have been mid-February...”

“I could’ve sworn it was March.”

...

Everyone had their own theories about Dumbledore’s absence, but the one certainty was his continued departure left an undeniable sense of insecurity hanging over Hogwarts.

However, the students didn’t have much time to dwell on these feelings, as the Easter holidays arrived, bringing with them a new source of misery.

At Hogwarts, the two-week Easter holiday was less of a break and more of an assignment carnival. Professors seemed locked in a ruthless competition to see who could assign the most overwhelming amount of homework, driving the students to the brink of madness.

Mikel stared at his holiday assignments with trembling hands. The requirements alone filled an entire parchment. “Are the professors insane?” he croaked. “This amount of homework would take a month to finish!”

“Too bad we only have two weeks,” Ryan replied flatly, not even bothering to look up. “Guess we’ll have to pull all-nighters.”

Mikel let out a dramatic howl of despair.

Sixth years were particularly burdened, but even fifth years—facing their looming O.W.L. exams—were drowning under the sheer volume of work.

Hermione had initially planned to organize a few more D.A. meetings over the holiday, but after seeing the length of the assignment list, she crumpled her carefully made schedule into a ball and tossed it aside. It was impossible. No one had the energy for anything beyond homework, a fact proven by Harry and Ron’s current state.

The two sat slumped in armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, staring into space as if petrified.

“What’s the point of calling it a holiday?” Ron asked hoarsely, his voice devoid of hope.

“I think the professors are trying to make us forget about You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters,” Hermione muttered, glaring at her own parchment.

“Well, they’ve succeeded,” Harry sighed. “For the next two weeks, the only thing we’ll be able to think about is homework.”

Ron suddenly perked up and turned to Hermione with a pleading look. “You’re the only one who can save us now,” he said desperately.

“You should write your assignments yourselves...” Hermione began, but her resolve faltered as she glanced at the list again. “Okay, I’ll try to help, but you’d better not count on me doing everything.”

“Of course not,” Ron and Harry said in unison, nodding eagerly. “We’ve even cancelled Quidditch practice!”

In fact, their team captain, Angelina Johnson, had spoken to them about this earlier. As a seventh year preparing for the N.E.W.T. exams, she was juggling a heavier workload than anyone else.