I know if I were in Harry's shoes during his fifth year, I would have milked those crazy accusations until I lost my sanity for real. Oh, the wasted potential!

Damage Control

"My dear child, from whom would children, such as yourselves, need to defend themselves against?" Asked Umbridge, in a tone that clearly indicated she was unaware her students were teenagers and not five-year-olds. The Slytherins smirked, those naughty cynical buggers being more than aware of the many dangers facing children in this world.

Harry could not help himself. Well, maybe he could, but unfortunately he did not know he needed help-ah, obliviousness. "Uh… you do know that children, over time, become adults, right?" He paused here for dramatic effect. "And adults do need to know how to defend themselves against all sorts of…stuff." He said matter-of-factly, finishing off with an ominous warning. "Plus, well…I hate to bring down a fog of awkwardness and despondency but, haven't you ever heard of-", he dropped his voice to a whisper, "-pedophiles?"

For a moment Umbridge was speechless and horrified; but she got over it remarkably quickly, as any sociopath feigning compassion would do. "Oh…tch, tch, tch. You poor disturbed child. I understand that you have a lot of anger, but I am your professor, and I can't allow you to speak so disrespectfully to me." She smiled a sweet, sympathetic little smile at him. It looked horribly gross.

"I wasn't trying to be disrespectful, sir. I was merely offering some insight; obviously you mistakenly believed that one, children are completely safe in this world; and two, children never become adults. Really, I wouldn't want you to go through life looking like a fool." He bit half of his bottom lip and puppy-dogged his eyes; typically this was the picture of innocence, but at his age it suggested insanity and cheek.

Umbridge, who was well acquainted with false facial expressions, was unmoved. "That's it Mr. Potter; get up to the front of the class; you will apologize to me for what you said and to the class for wasting their time."

"Okay, fiiine." He got up and trudged to the front of the classroom.

He stood facing the class. He saw satisfied smirks, grimaces from his friends (all three of them), and a few maniacally sneering faces which rather scared him. He was not very popular amongst his peers these days.

"I'm sorry that I seem to know more about biology than you professor-"

"Try again, Mr. Potter." Cut in Umbridge's disgustingly sweet voice.

He let out a ridiculously loud sigh-which sounded like a large quadruped giving birth, it was quite obnoxious really. "I don't see how you could possibly expect anything normal or proper from me when you're so convinced I'm insane and delusional. I mean really, what is this 1820? You're not supposed to ostracize and torture a pupil with emotional issues; you are supposed to be supporting me and trying to get me help. What the hell is wrong with you people? Why do I not get sympathy after what I saw last year? WHY WON'T YOU BE NICER TO ME?"

"That is quite enough from you-" Umbridge began sounding harassed. She was cut off by Harry's pathetically and completely un-heroic whiny voice.

"I'm just a girl, standing in front a room full of people, asking them…to love me!" He cried hysterically. Afterward he scanned the room for reactions to his dramatic declaration. Several wide eyes blinked back at him, some students' eyebrows were scrunched so close the students' eyes seemed to disappear. One lone Neanderthal-like Slytherin boy snickered mockingly.

Harry glanced at his friends. They looked stuck between laughter and worry, agonizingly waiting to see if their friend would show signs of having been joking.

And so he showed that he was indeed joking, unfortunately he did this by falling to his knees in hysterical barking laughter. They too laughed out of loyalty, trying their bestest to make it seem like one big joke they were all in on. Harry's guffaws quickly faded into breathless sobs of laughter.

The students looked to their teacher for protection, but she could only look back at them at a loss. Suddenly Harry stopped laughing abruptly-too abruptly to be considered normal. He stood up calmly.

"May I be excused?" he asked his teacher politely as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"You should go to the Hospital Ward, immediately." Replied Umbridge who sounded quite ready to stupefy Harry need be. The women even clutched her wand protectively at her side.

"Pssh! It's Hospital Wing you silly goose-pimple." Harry corrected condescendingly. Despite his disrespectful answer, he obediently pranced out of the room without grabbing any of his things or awaiting a response. His confused schoolmates watched him go with gaping mouths; Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks.

Harry entered the Hospital Wing and sat on the furthest bed to the left. Noticing the absence of the nurse, he bounced three times then hopped off and crawled under the cot. He proceeded to curl up like a jumbo shrimp and giggle like a little girl.

After a time of this, he heard the tapping of practical nursing shoes.

He saw the hem of a burgundy robe and worn old world boots stop before the bed. The Madame bent down to see whom that little girl was that was giggling beneath the hospital bed.

When she saw that it was Harry, she stared at him in disbelief. Disbelief because she had yet to see to or evaluate his mental/emotional state despite the reports in the Newspaper that stated he was disturbed and delusional, or at the very least unhealthily desperate for attention. Apparently, in the world of magic people sometimes believe the news and sometimes they…just…don't. One can surmise this as acceptable being as newsin the magic world is not restricted by frivolous things like truth or, pfft, facts.

The Madame grabbed the boy's hair-after all, in the magic world teachers and staff are allowed to physically and verbally abuse the students-and dragged him from beneath the cot. She plopped him non-too-gently unto it.

Harry took the physical abuse in stride; the poor neglected whelp knew nothing of normal behavior and so allowed anyone to do anything they wanted to him. Snape last year tore a tendon in his neck when trying to stop him and Ron from talking. Dumbledore pat him a little too hard on the back-cracked his collarbone he did, Uncle-dearest threw him into the hall, and there was something about a frying pan in the face. The list goes on and on.

She plopped him on the bed, where he curled up in the fetal position and fell asleep. Madame Pomfrey decided to let poor, pitiful, skinny, abused, abnormal (not because he's a wizard, mind you, but because he just is!) sickly, pale, eye bag carrying, yet still somehow apparently sexy to his overzealous fans Harry sleep his crazy away.

End, For now

I picture Harry as very much like Fluttershy ("You're going to LOVE ME!")

I can see him screaming that even in canon, book canon of course.