Harry and his friends' detention only lasted a week before it mercifully ended, much to everyone's relief.
It wasn't really such a big deal, they'd cleaned the storage room adjacent to the trophy room, organized dusty shelves filled with decades of accumulated junk, and polished tarnished trophies and plaques without magic for seven consecutive evenings.
The work had been tedious, boring, and occasionally disgusting when they discovered what lurked in the back corners, but ultimately was manageable and not particularly punitive.
Filch had watched them like a hawk the entire time, his eyes were gleaming with malicious satisfaction whenever they struggled with a tough stain or heavy box.
Compared to another matter that was rapidly developing and escalating throughout the school, however, cleaning duty seemed utterly insignificant and almost pleasant by comparison.
That matter was Umbridge's increasingly tyrannical Defense Against the Dark Arts class and her reign of terror.
Throughout this past week, Umbridge seemed to have gone completely and utterly mad for some unknown reason, targeting all students relentlessly in her classroom regardless of house affiliation, age, or previous behavior.
She was deducting points from nearly everyone at least once per lesson and sometimes multiple times, finding fault with everything from posture to tone of voice to the speed at which students opened their textbooks to the way they held their quills.
Nothing was too small or insignificant to escape her vindictive attention.
Harry couldn't quite figure out what she was thinking or what had triggered this escalation in her already unpleasant behavior.
Perhaps it was a desperate attempt to re-establish her authority after being publicly humiliated by Professor McGonagall in front of students?
Or maybe it was simply to demonstrate her power and control in front of the students, to remind them constantly who held all the cards and could make their lives miserable?
If that was truly the case, then it was quite a laughable and pathetic notion.
Of course, this reign of terror wasn't entirely without positive effects, though only for Umbridge herself and her inflated ego.
To avoid losing precious house points and facing their housemates' disappointment, anger, and accusations of letting down the team, very few people dared to slack off during Defense Against the Dark Arts class anymore.
They could only force themselves to sit up perfectly straight with stiff spines and listen attentively to those utterly useless theories that would never help them in actual danger, that even made them less prepared to defend themselves.
After actually paying close attention in class for a full week, something Harry had previously avoided doing, preferring to let his mind wander, Harry felt even more intensely just how absurd Umbridge's course truly was.
It wasn't just bad teaching, it was actively harmful.
"When facing potential magical threats of any kind," Umbridge had lectured in that sickly sweet, high-pitched voice during yesterday's lesson, reading from her own poorly-written textbook without any additional insight or practical demonstration,
"the safest and most appropriate action is to immediately use the Standard Distress Charm, then wait calmly in place for Ministry of Magic authorized professionals to arrive and handle the situation properly. Any attempt to deal with danger on your own is extremely irresponsible and shows a dangerous lack of respect for proper authority and established procedures..."
Harry had never encountered this kind of passive, helpless lesson content before in any of his previous Defense Against the Dark Arts classes and found it completely incomprehensible and frankly insulting to their intelligence.
Standard Distress Charm?
What on earth was that? He'd never heard of such a spell before in his entire magical education, not in any book or from any teacher. Was she just making things up? Did such a charm even exist?
And they were supposed to wait patiently and passively for the Ministry to come rescue them while in mortal danger?
If they encountered Voldemort or Death Eaters in a real attack, they'd have eaten their fill of Avada Kedavra curses and been dead and buried long before any Ministry officials could possibly Apparate to their location and file the appropriate paperwork.
The idea was absurd, even suicidal.
Well, the actual lesson content wasn't the most important issue, though it was certainly alarming.
The key problem was that Umbridge's arbitrary, unfair, and excessive point deductions had already caused widespread dissatisfaction and growing anger among the students across all four houses.
Even Slytherin students were beginning to complain, albeit quietly.
Eventually, this brewing conflict even reached the ears of the other professors through student complaints and petitions.
Adrian was no exception to hearing about it, if anything, he heard more than most.
Several students who had good relationships with him had even approached him privately after classes. They'd asked him to please do something about "that brainless woman" before things got completely out of hand.
Adrian found this to be quite a troublesome matter that he'd frankly rather avoid.
Besides, student-teacher conflicts weren't really within his jurisdiction or area of responsibility as Care of Magical Creatures professor.
This issue should properly be left for Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall to worry about and resolve.
On Saturday morning, with weak winter sunlight coming through the tall windows, Adrian brought up the topic of Umbridge with Professor McGonagall during breakfast in the Great Hall.
The hall was less crowded than usual, many students were still sleeping in after a long week taking advantage of the weekend.
Professor McGonagall set down her teacup with a soft clink against the saucer, her brow was furrowing deeply with obvious concern.
"Umbridge has indeed been far too harsh on the students lately. But this isn't difficult to understand from her perspective—deducting points is, after all, a professor's prerogative and right. She's technically within her authority, even if she's abusing it."
Her tone showed she also found this fact frustrating.
Adrian never imagined there would come a day when Professor McGonagall, known throughout Hogwarts for her own strictness and high standards would actually criticize another professor for being too strict with students.
He stirred the coffee in his cup slowly, and said casually, "So we just let her continue like this completely unchecked? This will inevitably cause serious student dissatisfaction to build and fester, and eventually conflicts will erupt, provoking widespread anger throughout the entire school... Oh, perhaps I'm being too dramatic about it."
He paused, as a thought occurred to him.
"Ah, by the way, has Hogwarts ever actually had large-scale student protests against professors before? I seem to recall reading something about it in the archives."
Adrian seemed to recall seeing similar descriptions in Hogwarts' detailed historical records during his research—especially during the tenure of a certain Headmaster surnamed Black who had apparently faced a full student revolt that had nearly shut down the school.
Upon hearing this question, Professor McGonagall's frown deepened considerably. Her expression became grave and somewhat troubled.
"Hogwarts has indeed had a few... rather unpleasant and deeply regrettable teacher-student conflicts throughout its long history," she said carefully. "Oh, don't worry yourself, it won't happen again. Before it reaches that critical point, I will personally intervene in time to prevent any such disaster."
"So, what are Professor Dumbledore's thoughts on this situation now?" Adrian asked curiously, while leisurely taking a sip of his coffee and watching McGonagall's face carefully over the rim of his cup.
After all, none of this really concerned him directly or affected his own classes in any way.
Professor McGonagall smiled with meaningful amusement, her lips quirking slightly. "Actually, I mentioned it to Albus just yesterday evening. Guess what he told me?"
Adrian set down his coffee cup and listened quietly, waiting with raised eyebrows.
Professor McGonagall said, her smile widening slightly with what looked like suppressed amusement, "Albus asked me to consult with you specifically, hoping you could have a private chat with Umbridge about moderating her behavior before things escalate further."
"Me?"
Adrian froze for a moment, his coffee cup pausing halfway to his lips. He looked up in genuine disbelief. "What does this have to do with me?"
Professor McGonagall's smile remained in place, her earlier serious expression having vanished completely as if it had never existed.
"If the relationship between professors and students really reaches the point of erupting into protests, that would be extremely troublesome for everyone including students, staff, and the school's reputation. So, someone needs to intervene in time before things escalate to that point."
She pushed up her glasses with one finger and said earnestly, "You're the best choice for this delicate task, Adrian."
"After all," she added carefully, watching his reaction with attention, "you're Albus's chosen candidate for the next Deputy Headmaster position."
"Huh!?"
Adrian was genuinely shocked, nearly choking on his coffee. He coughed slightly, covering his mouth.
Though, thinking about it more carefully, it seemed like there had been similar hints and incidents before over the years, hadn't there? Dumbledore had even made various subtle comments during their conversations.
But his answer remained exactly the same as always, he was completely unwilling to accept this particular responsibility or position.
The position of Hogwarts Deputy Headmaster was clearly an extremely troublesome, bureaucratic, time-consuming job that would interfere constantly with his research, his teaching, and his peace of mind.
"Forget it, Professor McGonagall," Adrian waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing away the unwanted suggestion. "You still have decades before retirement. This topic is far too premature to discuss seriously."
Professor McGonagall smiled without denying it or confirming it, though a trace of sadness flashed in her eyes behind her spectacles. "Time always passes faster than one imagines, Adrian. We all think we have more of it than we actually do. But for now, we should still focus on the problem at hand."
Adrian shrugged vaguely. "Good luck with Umbridge, Professor McGonagall. I'm sure you'll handle it brilliantly."
In the end, Adrian took absolutely no action regarding the Umbridge situation, leaving it entirely in McGonagall's hands.
Another week passed, and time arrived at mid-January with its deep winter cold and frequent snowfall.
During this week, the students' resistance to Umbridge grew increasingly severe and visible throughout the school.
Every Defense Against the Dark Arts class felt like a tense battlefield, the atmosphere was filled with suppressed hostility and resentment, as if conflict could erupt at any moment.
The castle felt like a powder keg waiting for a spark.
On Thursday afternoon, as Harry was passing by the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on his way to the library to finish an essay for Transfiguration, he encountered an unusual combination.
John and Umbridge in the corridor.
Out of curiosity and concern for his young friend, Harry immediately ducked behind a suit of armor positioned around the corner, pressing himself against the metal and eavesdropping on their conversation with alarm.
He held his breath, trying not to make any sound.
Umbridge appeared to be scolding John with her typical high-pitched, grating voice that set Harry's teeth on edge.
"As a Slytherin student, I think you should know better about following the established rules," she said sharply, waving a gray-covered book in her hand with suspicion. "I don't allow any unauthorized textbooks in my classroom. Only approved Ministry materials are permitted."
John obediently kept his head lowered submissively. "Yes, Professor."
"Then tell me," Umbridge flipped open the pages of the confiscated book, her toad-like face revealing an expression of deep disgust and growing suspicion as she scanned the contents, "who gave you this book? Young wizards aren't suited to reading this sort of advanced and potentially dangerous material. This is completely inappropriate."
"From the library, Professor," John answered obediently.
"The library?" Umbridge let out a cold, disbelieving laugh that echoed unpleasantly down the corridor. "This is from the Restricted Section, isn't it? Don't lie to me, boy. Tell me, who gave you permission to access such materials?"
The Restricted Section!
Hearing those words, Harry felt his heart skip a beat with concern and curiosity.
Though he himself often visited the Restricted Section for legitimate research and occasionally for entertainment when searching for interesting curses to learn, John was only a first-year student. Those books seemed completely inappropriate and dangerous for someone his age, no matter how you looked at it.
What could John possibly need from the Restricted Section?
John raised his head slowly, meeting Umbridge's bulging gaze directly without flinching. His tone remained respectful, showing no fear. "It was Professor Westeros who gave me the written permission slip, Professor. I have some interest in this particular area of study, and he approved my request after I explained my reasoning."
Umbridge's expression froze for an instant, her smile became fixed and strange.
"Westeros..." she murmured, the name coming out almost like a curse between her teeth.
"Yes, Professor," John said, as if he hadn't noticed Umbridge's discomfort and displeasure at the mention of Adrian's name.
He continued in the same polite, innocent tone, "Professor Westeros also asked me to bring him the book tonight after I finished reading. Since you're here now, Professor, why don't you help me deliver the book to Professor Westeros yourself?"
Umbridge's face became quite spectacular to behold showing a speckled combination of red and pale that made her look like a particularly angry toad about to explode.
After a long, uncomfortable pause while she struggled with her emotions and her pride, clearly wanting to argue but unable to find grounds, she finally managed to squeeze out a twisted, painful smile through gritted teeth.
She shoved the book back into John's hands with force that nearly made him stumble.
"Since it was approved by Adrian, then fine," she said in a strangled voice. "But remember very clearly, there won't be a next time. Don't test my patience again."
John accepted the book calmly and bowed politely with perfect, formal courtesy. "Thank you for your understanding, Professor. I'll be more careful in future."
His demeanor was absolutely impeccable.
Umbridge glared fiercely at John with loathing, her bulging eyes were narrowing dangerously as if memorizing his face for future punishment. Then she turned abruptly and strode away quickly down the corridor.
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