Remember: smiles over scowls, please.

Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah.

Note: I know I went a bit odd with the classes in this one,
but it's for the sake of a greater cause.

Chapter Three.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the bane of my existence. Literally. No other class gave me so much trouble, or went through so much work to make me look like an idiot.

When I got my O.W.L.s results, both my mum and my dad had nearly suffered heart failure when they saw the verdict for DADA: the dreaded, the disdained "Troll". I didn't have very much of a problem with it, considering I got "Outstandings" and "Exceeds Expectations" in nearly everything else.

But there I was, sitting across my Head-of-House, and she was clucking her tongue like I was a misbehaved owl and I was trying my hardest not to giggle at the absurdity of it all.

"Wonderful O.W.L.s, wonderful," she folded her hands on her lap, "Ms. Milne . . ." she looked at me expectantly, as my eyes had glazed over from the beginnings of a daydream. "Right, then. I do think you went a bit awry with Defense Against the Dark Arts, dear."

"Did I now?"

Her eyebrows scrunched together. "Yes. Yes, you did." She said stoically. "I find this very troubling—you know, only a handful of students in each of the houses make 'Trolls', and usually they also make more than one."

I shrugged. "DADA and I aren't on the best of terms."

"I see that." She said. "Well, are you going to be continuing with the rest of your classes? No changes in electives?"

"Oh, yes. I mean no. I mean . . ." I smiled nervously and bit my bottom lip. "I'll keep Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies, thanks."

"Perfect." She said. "Now, about Defense Against the Dark Arts," she paused and reached into her desk, producing a large, dusty tome. It looked moldy and dirty and horrid. I scooted my chair back a few centimeters, creating a loud groan that burst from the sleek, wooden floor, and slapped against the brick walls.

She didn't seem to notice and flipped the book open halfway. She pushed a pair of reading glasses up her nose and turned a few pages before muttering to herself in approval. I scooted back again when I was sure dust was floating towards me.

"Here we are," she chimed, "the Professor has two classes open for students who did poorly on their O.W.L.s, though you may simply wish to opt out of the class altogether, dear."

I didn't like what she was insinuating. It would've been easier for me to give up the class, sure, and I may have been contemplating skipping out on another year of DADA, but for her to just assume that I didn't want to take just because I made a Troll—well, that was another matter entirely.

"I'm not very sure."

"Pardon me, but you don't seem to enjoy the class very much, and that coupled with your low O.W.L.s score . . ." she shook her head. "Perhaps you should consider another option."

I looked away, suddenly agitated.

"Dear, it really would be in your best interests to—"

"I'll take the class." I muttered.

"What?"

"I said," I proclaimed a bit louder, braver, "I'll take the dumb class."

She puckered her lips and fluffed up like and overgrown chicken, her golden robes flowing over her pudgy body. "Why, Ms. Milne!" She cried. "I hardly think that Defense Against the Dark Arts could be considered 'dumb'."

I grunted, hardly lady-like, "In any case, thanks for helping me get my classes straight." I said. "Have a nice, er, rest of your day." I picked myself up, out of her heavily cushioned chair and eased myself towards the door leading out of her office.

"Ms. Milne—one moment; if you're certain in your decision to take Defense Against the Dark Arts, I need to know if your preference would lie with class A or class B."

"Doesn't matter to me one way or the other, quite frankly."

I heard her 'humph' snootily, as if she wasn't used to dealing with oddball, faintly mean and aggressive teenagers on a daily basis. Then again, perhaps she wasn't, not in Hufflepuff—but I'd gone through enough years being loyal and hardworking, sweet-as-pie and wide-eyed innocent.

Speaking of sweet—I plucked a pastry from my robes pocket, swathed in a napkin and crumbly. My day was getting better already.


"You actually went through with it? You've got more balls than I've dared to imagine you with, Milne!" Marlene chortled at me through a curtain of chocolate hair

"It's not like I wanted to!" I cried.

"But you did."

"Because she was provoking me. Are they even allowed to do that? Can I get her into some sort of trouble?"

We were prodding along rather slowly, making our way to our respective classes. I'd already gone through one strenuous Potions class in which I was forced to partner up with Greta Catchlove of all people. She was so whiny and, for a Ravenclaw, terrible with keeping ingredients from getting mixed up. By the end, our beautification potion looked as if it'd as soon kill a person as make them pretty.

Lily frowned at me. "Of course she wasn't. You said yourself she was telling you how ill-suited you'd be for taking the class when you don't have to."

"Okay, really?" I said. "Whose side are you on?"

"We can't help it that you're a few cards short of a full deck, Iz." Marlene shrugged. " 'Sides, you'll do fine." She said. "So long as it's a class for DADA-morons."

"I'm not a moron!" I snapped. "I just don't see what the point is in learning about—"

"You also see no point in Ancient Runes, but you seem to enjoy that just fine."

Lily looked horrified. "You see no point in Ancient Runes?"

I nearly tripped over my own robes. They were too large for me, and every year I tried to get new ones, but no. "Oh, er, it's . . . see, the thing is, Lily . . ." I stuttered. "Oh, dear. I do believe that's the DADA room!" I scrambled away from my two friends. "I'll catch up with you guys later, hm?"

"Is she all right?" Lily cocked her head, puppy-ish and confused.

Marlene shook her head solemnly. "Got dropped on the head as a baby, I reckon. A lot."

"Ah."