The Greatest Weapon, Chapter 1

AN: This was inspired by a very good fanfiction called Poison Pen, although it will definitely be a different story. If you like this, by all means check it out; it's very well written.

Contrary to the opinions of some, Harry Potter was not an idiot. Oh, he certainly played stupid. After a lifetime of abuse for doing better than Dudley, you could say that he learned the hard way. He'd learned that authority figures were the least trustworthy of people, he'd learned that it was safest for him to keep a low profile, he'd learned how to fend for and defend himself. But there was only so much laying low he could take.

It wasn't even just Umbridge that was bothering him. He could deal with her if he just ignored her inanities about book learning without practicals, and Voldemort being gone for good. No, it was everything: the Dursleys, Sirius's unjust imprisonment, Snape's humiliating behavior to him in class, and a growing suspicion that Dumbledore was not all he said he was.

Something had to be done. That something, however, had to be done right. The press was mauling him right now, and no one would listen to anything he said, be it about Voldemort or about the nightmare Umbridge. But there was an idea percolating in the back of his mind. What if it wasn't him? Rita Skeeter was a "respected" journalist, and he had a nice bit of dirt on her. He also, as he'd discovered during an unsupervised visit to the goblins, had enough money to bribe both her and the Daily Prophet and what was stopping him from using a pen name? Or skattering flyers? It was, admittedly, a very Slytherin approach, but there was no way he could say any of what he wanted to as Harry Potter.

And he had to get another owl, too. He felt bad about it; Hedwig would feel passed-over, but she was too remarkable an owl to be seen carrying the missives he needed to send. He wondered idly if you could order an owl by owl-order. And then he had another, fairly good idea.

"Dobby!"

""Master Harry Potter sir calls Dobby?" The diminutive elf was bouncing on his heels in excitement. "What can Master Harry sir be wanting?"

"If I give you the gold, can you get me two nondescript owls and sneak them into the owlry without anyone knowing?"

"Yes Master Harry Potter sir, all elves be shopping for their masters!"

"Thanks." Harry rummaged in his truck, ending up pulling out a sack full of galleons from his last Gringotts run. "But please call me Harry. I'm not your master."

"Yes Mas- yes Harry sir." Dobby adjusted one of his three brightly colored hats over his ears, and took the gold. "I be going Harry sir."

Harry supposed "Harry sir" was the best he was going to get.

In the time it had taken Harry to finish Potions, have dinner in the Great Hall, and be roped into a pickup Quiddich game, Dobby went out and procured two little grey owls, looking, except for the brand, to be regular mail owls. Harry grinned as the overexcited elf dragged him into the owlry to look at them. They were absolutely perfect! Dobby, when he told him that, burst into tears and started hugging Harry's legs.

The next morning, Harry got up by candlelight and crept down to the Common Room before even the Seventh Years, taking with him a muggle notebook, which he proceeded to ward with a "selected view" ward, that Sirius had taught him. Granted, Sirius had intended it to be used for concealing Wizarding porn, but this slightly more helpful (and healthy) variation of the spell would conceal all of his plans as sketching, which, while maybe causing a bit of good natured ribbing, would not cause anyone to stage an intervention.

And then he got started. His list, at first, was not very long. He, as well as Ron and some muggleborn fifth years, had been treated to detention with the lovely toad, and with Rita's help, he could stir up a proper fervor over illegal artifacts being used on minors. He also planned on engineering Sirius's acquittal, and, all things going well, get several marked Death Eaters, like Lucius Malfoy, in deep dirt. And maybe, at some point, get the people of the Wizarding world to wake up and learn to defend themselves against Volde, provided that they could be persuaded that he was back in the first place. Come to think of it, this would be a good time to reveal Voldemort's half-blood status. The ministry wouldn't oppose it, as he was supposed to be dead anyway. Harry grinned and started drafting his first project, and his first letter to Rita.

The fireworks started the very next morning.

"Oh my God, Harry, look at this!" Hermione said, almost shoving the Daily Prophet in his face.

Harry glanced up from stuffing bacon in his mouth in a marginally more mannerly way than Ron, and tried to act as if he hadn't drafted and sent the exact same letter the previous evening. "Well, what is it, 'Mione?"

"Rita Skeeter! It's about Umbridge!"

"Hey, can I see? Is it juicy?" Ron asked, eyes sparkling. It was a mark of how much Umbridge was universally hated that even Hermione didn't begrudge him his enthusiasm.

Harry knew exactly what it said; after all, it was one of the two articles he'd spent all night writing. The other, as it was merely a letter to the editor, would probably come out the next week, but this one he'd sent to Rita, in outline format, and apparently she'd written it and sent it in to The Prophet post haste, just in time for the morning addition.

Hogwarts Professor Tortures Students! screamed the headlines.

Hogwarts is supposed to be have the best teachers, and standards, of Britain. Recent events, however, are beginning to discredit these claims. Is it a good learning environment when Defense students are taught theory only, despite the fact that OWL's, and NEWT's, are coming up for some of them? Is it a good environment when said teacher assigns detentions for disagreeing with her, detentions in which she forces students to write lines with a blood quill?

Hogwarts has had its run of bad teachers: frauds, werewolves, half-giants, and polyjuiced Death Eaters, but even the infamous Potion Master Snape had never stooped to physical torture! A ministry flunkie, with not even the minimum of NEWT's required for an auror, and only an A on her Defense NEWT, nevermind a mastery, and having records of being drunk on duty, is torturing our precious children, including the boy hero, Harry Potter! The boy is not available for comment, but reputable sources have mentioned that he has permanent scars from blood quill use on his left hand.

May I also mention that had it not been for minister Fudge's interference, she would have spent her life patrolling Azkaban, due to undisclosed circumstances? According to Senior Auror Moody, "The bitch aught to have been gone a long time ago. I suspect a cover up, possibly fraud."

Surely this ministry-sanctioned sabotage must be quelled, before any more of our children can be hurt! Surely even if Dumbledore sits back and ignores this monstrosity, we, as voters, as citizens, as parents, can take action!

Umbridge was choking incoherently at the staff table, too angry even to come up with a "hem hem". Most of the teachers looked a mixture of horrified and amused; even Snape's lip was twitching as though he couldn't control his amusement, and Mcgonagall looked ready to take on both the ministry and Umbridge herself at one and the same time, and give them a piece of her mind for hurting her lions. And every single student, even in Slytherin, was passing the Daily Prophet among themselves, gossiping and whispering until the entire hall was one wall of sussurating voices.