It was Monday morning, and light was shining into Gryffindor tower. Frisk awoke to the sounds of people moving around her. After debating on the virtues of 'just a few more minutes', she forced herself up, put her class robes on, took her wand from her bedside table, and made her way first down to the common room.
She arrived to find Asriel standing in front of the notice board, where he was reading an elaborate, maybe even gaudy, new sign, advertising "Gallons of Galleons!" Frisk came up beside him, so did a number of others, as others finished and began talking to each other as they filed out of the common room.
"Huh. What do you think they're up to?" Frisk asked Asriel, as they both turned away, only stopping when they heard Chara calling from behind them.
"I don't know," Asriel said, shrugging. "Fred & George are advertising work," he said to Chara's questioning look. He pointed behind them at the sign. "But it's at the 'applicant's own risk'," he finished. "I don't think that's the way to start a healthy school year."
Frisk and Chara giggled. "Probably not," Frisk said, as Chara led the way down the Great Staircase, and down towards the main hall for breakfast. They were one of the first ones down there, and managed to get all of their first selections of food.
After they concluded with firsts (and in Chara's case, moved on to seconds), the mail arrived. Frisk was greeted by a rather larger owl than normal, carrying a cloth bag between both its talons. It landed slowly, allowing the bag to settle on the table, then perched next to it. Frisk held up a goblet of pumpkin juice, allowing the owl to drink deeply, before flapping away again.
"What's in the bag, Frisk?" Ginny asked, as McGonagall began to come down the row, handing out the class schedules for the term.
Frisk opened up the bag revealing a textbook sized tome: "Power of the Soul: The Limits and Endless Possibilities," she read aloud. "By Animus."
"That didn't take long, did it?" Asriel said, peering over at the cover. "I wonder if that was one of the ones they used at the monster school. I didn't actually study it, I was a little too young before..." he stopped, with his face telling Frisk it was because Chara had most likely elbowed him under the table. "Well, you know."
"Oh, neat!" Ginny said, sitting down across from Frisk. "Are you going to study that in your free time? If you do, don't tell Hermione, she'll ask you to tutor her." She grinned, looking at the prefect sitting a good deal up the table, though the fifth year was currently buried in a newspaper. "I don't want to think what that would be like."
Frisk had the sudden vision of Hermione hanging on her every word, asking increasingly complex questions that she could barely hope to answer – until Hermione was tutoring her because she'd finished the book in one day. "I'd rather learn at my own pace, I think," Frisk said, pushing that thought aside.
McGonagall had reached them, she handed Asriel and Chara their schedules first, then Frisk's, then reached across the table to give Ginny hers, greeting all with a crisp, "Welcome back, Dreemurs, Ms. Weasley," before continuing on down the table.
"Double potions this morning, as always, with the Slytherins," Frisk read. "Defense against the Dark Arts with the new professor this afternoon."
"We've had a werewolf and Moody in the last two years," observed Ginny. "Think she's going to be a reanimated mummy? A vampire? Something made up from spare parts in search of a soul of its own?"
Frisk stifled a giggle, glancing up to the staff table, seeing the new Professor Umbridge sitting there. She could hear the 'hem'ming from here. Or maybe that was in her mind from last night. Frisk tried to push that thought away too, it wouldn't be fair to the new professor to judge her on one speech would it? "What do you all have?" Frisk asked.
"I've got Defense this morning. Second period." Opal said, from the table behind Frisk. "I'll let you know how it goes."
"Transfiguration this morning," Asriel reported, consulting his own schedule. "Then History of Magic. I suppose it's better than the other way around. What would starting a Monday with History be like?"
"Like you had a desperate need to sleep in," Ginny told him. "That's not a combination I would wish on anyone. Sleep is guaranteed in fifteen minutes. Ten when the weather's warm. At least Professor Binns doesn't notice, usually."
The bell for the end of breakfast rang, marking five minutes before their first class of the term. "Okay, have a good day everyone!" Frisk said, hefting her bag and heading toward the stairway down towards Professor Snape's dungeon classroom.
"Hey Frisk," called a voice approaching from the other side of the great hall. "You alright?"
"Good morning Steven," Frisk said, turning to acknowledge her Slytherin potions partner. "I'm doing okay this morning. How about yourself?"
"Doing alright myself," Steven said, as they started down the stone steps into the gloomy basement. "Not sure about this new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I really didn't like how she tried to take over the welcome speech from Dumbledore. She hasn't earned that respect yet."
They were one of the first people down into dungeon proper, and talked to others in their year as they came down. While the group wasn't nearly as integrated as Steven and Frisk had gotten them that one day last term (one of Dumbledore's "Challenges"), the other students were still more social then the complete stand offs they'd been before, so that was something, at least.
Exactly as the bell rang, the dungeon door opened with a bang. Professor Snape watched from the desk as the students filed into the classroom. While most of her Gryffindor classmates sat to her left, and most of the Slytherins were set up to her right, there was one other pairing that crossed houses, Walter Wilcox and Athena Pakenson set up on the table behind them.
"If I were to recall last term's exams," the professor drawled, "There was a universal lack of knowledge on the subject of the Girding potion. So this term, we shall begin there. First, you shall start by brewing up a sample. Directions are on the blackboard. Begin."
Frisk and Steven set to work, first confirming they'd copied down the directions correctly, then on chopping the luminescent mushrooms called for in the first step.
As they worked, Snape prowled the class. His sardonic, almost caustic tone, echoed through the Gryffindor side of the class. It was more prevalent then it had been, even if it still wasn't back to the levels of virulence she'd experienced directly her first year.
It was weird, he'd warned her about this at the end of last term. But she could only guess at the 'why'. It almost certainly had something to do with the impending return of the Dark Lord. Headmaster Dumbledore had put into motion several plans when he and Minister Fudge had their falling out, but hadn't given them any details of what actually was happening.
But through all of it, he still didn't go after Frisk or her partner. Which was both good and bad in mostly the same way – by not being singled out, she felt singled out.
"Frisk, you're about to stir it the wrong direction, aren't you?" Steven said.
Frisk had quick glimpse of when she'd done something similar in her first year, and she went back to working on her potion. She eventually bottled it and took it up to the Professor's desk. It was a yellow mustard colored liquid, with the bottle feeling like it was charged with static electricity. She'd made this potion before, and it felt similar to the last time she'd made it. So, she was reasonably confident she hadn't made the exact same mistake twice.
"Looks pretty good Frisk, we should get full marks," Steven said, as they wrote down their essay assignment (a full roll on the uses and hazards of using the Girding potion), and packed up their potion making kits, and headed back out of the dungeon.
"If your dad is in the Wizengamot," Frisk said, "Do you know anything about Professor Umbridge?"
"Sorry, I don't," Steven said as they went up they climbed back towards the Great Hall for lunch. "All he knew is that she was the senior undersecretary to the minister. If Minister Fudge took ill, for example, she'd fill in for him until he returned."
"That's too bad," Frisk said. "Time for Charms. See you in Creatures!" Frisk called, as her friend turned to go out towards his first Herbology class of the term.
Frisk was looking forward, as she returned to the great hall for lunch, to talking to Opal about the new teacher. She would have liked to know something about her going in – but there was no sign of her. She frowned and double checked. No, there was no sign of her anywhere. Why would that be? She finally gave up and sat down next Chara.
"How did classes go, Frisk?" Chara asked her as Frisk reached for a cup of pumpkin juice.
"About as expected, Chara," Frisk told her. "Professor Snape is cranky about something, though. Might need to be careful. Do you have potions this afternoon?"
"No. Charms," Chara said. "Potions is Wednesday."
Just before the end of lunch period, Opal ran in. Her eyes were bloodshot, making Frisk think she'd been crying, but the expression on her face was one of anger. She ran to an open spot at the Hufflepuff table and grabbed a sandwich for herself.
"Opal?" Frisk asked, staring at the Hufflepuff. Opal whirled about at her name just as the five minute warning bell rang. "What happened?"
"She's horrible, Frisk," Opal said, and her voice dripped with venom. "She... she..." Opal took a deep breath. "I'll tell you at dinner. Don't be late to her class. You do not want to be late."
Frisk had half expected for Opal to be called out by at least one of her classmates, but while a good number of them were looking on with interest, the ones in their year were pointedly avoiding looking at her friend. Opal didn't seem to be in the mood to care, either. "Are you sure, Opal?" Frisk asked, but Opal was already heading, sandwich still in hand, toward the main door.
Frisk was sorely tempted to chase after her – but decided eventually against it. She was warned not to be late to Prof. Umbridge's class. So, with the other Gryffindors of her year, she headed up the grand staircase to the new Defense against the Dark Arts class.
Upon arrival, she was struck with the difference of tone between this classroom and her previous two. Professor Lupin's was full of illustrations of magical creatures. Professor Moody, albeit a faker, still has a room that was full of the things you would expect to find with a former auror. Posters about what to do if a Dark Wizard attacked, notices reminding one about common defensive charms, that kind of thing.
In contrast, this classroom was spartan. There was a blackboard, there were desks, and that was it. It was impossible to look at Prof. Umbridge without Frisk flashing back to Asriel's observation that she resembled a Froggit, no matter how hard Frisk tried. The almost stereotypical bow on her head made her look like something out of a poorly written children's cartoon where they needed something to prove to the viewer that a character was feminine.
After they'd taken their seats, they were forced to chorus a 'Good Afternoon, Professor Umbridge' and told to put away their wands and pull out their quills (Frisk's pen got a real hard look). Neither instruction was inherently the kiss of death for a class... but neither had great history behind it, either. Frisk's heart sank further as Umbridge had indirectly slapped down both their former teachers, she introduced the course outline, consisting of three things: 1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognize in which defensive magic can legally be used. 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
There was mutterings around the class.
"Now, you will pull out your books, turn to page five, and read chapter one. There will be no need for talking, or for questions." And that was it.
Frisk tried to read the instructed material, but it was dry and flavorless. Frisk found herself comparing it to one of Professor Binz's History of Magic lectures – which couldn't end well for anyone. It wasn't that the the ideas presented in the basics were bad – the chapter was based on the idea that one would not commonly need to actually use defensive magic, and how to defuse such situations. But the presentation was terrible.
Frisk was nothing if not determined though, and she made it through about halfway the chapter before she looked up and realized how many other people were struggling, and it seemed like that they very much had questions, but no one was brave enough to challenge that 'No need for questions' qualifier.
When the bell rang, the Professor smiled at them all. "That was very good class. I look forward to seeing you again later this week."
"Professor," Frisk said, taking advantage of her speaking. "When are we going to practice any of these things?"
Professor Umbridge's bow tilted dangerously on her head as she shifted her gaze to Frisk. "What things did you expect to be able to practice?" she asked in a syrupy sweet voice.
"De-escalation," Frisk said, looking up at Professor Umbridge with half-lidded eyes. "I mean, if we're going to study it, we should be able to use it." She saw the Professor's skeptical face, and hurried. "I mean, it's something that would be useful here at school, I'm not the only one that's been bullied."
"Bullies," the professor told her primly, "are a reason to call a teacher or a prefect. You certainly shouldn't expect yourself to stand up to them. That is why there are prefects and teachers."
Frisk stared at her, open mouthed, unable to articulate her shock. Had she just been told to leave conflict to her betters – in not so many words? Why were they bothering with this book if she didn't intend to make use of it somehow?
"Professor," Walter chimed in, while Frisk was reeling, "When are we going to learn actual defensive charms?"
Professor Umbridge studied Walter's robe for a moment. "Mr. Wilcox, do you expect to be attacked in class?"
There were nervous giggles through the classroom. "Actually, Professor. Professor Moody did attack us at random points during last year's exam..."
"Which is why," Professor Umbridge said, with a carefully controlled voice, "the Ministry has elected to take direct control of this particular class. Werewolves and criminals, we do not know what Dumbledore was thinking. But I am here, and I will make sure every student gets a proper education."
"Did you just," Keith Duncan began, but he was elbowed quickly by Kevin, and fell silent. Once they were clear of the classroom and the professor's immediate presence, he exploded. "Did she just compare Professor Lupin with the person who helped kill Cedric?" Frisk didn't want to think about it, she really didn't want to think about it.
Other people were, though. She could hear Kevin Masterson muttering angrily that they learned far more in the first lesson with Professor Lupin then they had in this new professor's first try at the job. Romilda Vane remarked that he hadn't seen the need to talk down to them even after an entire year, even where they were first years.
The muttering continued all the way to Transfiguration. But none of them were going to complain to Professor McGonagall, not yet, at least.
"And was there any hint that we might learn any of those charms?" Opal shouted. They were outside the castle, and only a few students were around to stare at her. Frisk had convinced Opal to go for a run, on the theory that it might calm her down. They had stopped, Frisk panting, Opal still looking fresh, near one corner of the castle.
"No," whispered Frisk. Partially because she found that whispering caused other people to lower their own voice, but mostly because she was out of breath.
"No," agreed Opal, at a more conversational volume, though no less vehement. "When she asked if we were expecting to be attacked, I reminded her that not only were students attacked on campus each of the last two years, two years ago by dementors that the ministry themselves brought on campus, but a student had died last year."
"She didn't take it well, did she?" Frisk asked. "You didn't attack her, did you?" Frisk had a mental image of Opal flipping Umbridge onto her back, and then Opal getting cursed.
"No, I didn't attack her. But I got a detention anyway," Opal said. "I'm supposed to take it next Friday – after dinner," Opal said. "I do not care. I will do it again next week, if I have to. I am not going to let her or the ministry forget what happened to Cedric!"
"I understand that, Opal," Frisk said. "But it's not going to do you any good if you get kicked out. Don't let one teacher consume you like this!"
"It's not going to be just me," Opal predicted. "I wasn't the only Hufflepuff who admired Cedric. Or thinks that this Umbridge woman stinks at Defense Against the Dark Arts. Problems don't get solved because you ignore them, Frisk."
"No, you're right, Opal. That is a terrible way to solve a problem. I think she has a point though, there hasn't been any attempt at combat resolution. It wouldn't be a bad thing to teach."
"You would think that, Frisk," Opal said. "You know who is back, and I don't think you're going to be able to talk him out of attacking people."
"Well, Professor Umbridge does have one other thing thing going for her," Frisk told her friend.
"What could that possibly be?" Opal asked.
"She didn't assign us any homework," Frisk said brightly.
Opal stopped, thought for a second, and laughed.
On the other hand, Opal's prophecy did come true pretty quickly. By dinner, word had spread among the student body that both Opal Oxtoby and Harry Potter had gotten detentions on their first day of school.