Chapter 12 – Of Bats and Toads
The school year beginning in September 1995 was an oddity in that September the first was a Friday. As such, after the welcoming feast and the first night in the castle, the next two days fell on the weekend and first classes did not begin until Monday. That did not mean the days were uneventful—in fact, nothing could be further from the truth.
As Angelina had been made the Quidditch captain that year, she had decided that she wanted to get the team squared away as soon as possible, so they could get down to practicing. This was her one chance to win the Quidditch Cup as the team's captain—as she would graduate the next June—and she wanted to make certain that she did everything in her power to ensure that Gryffindor prevailed. The one problem the Gryffindor Quidditch team would face that year was the loss of their keeper, Oliver Wood, who, it was rumored, was trying out for a professional team. Therefore, the position would need to be filled. If Wood's replacement was even marginally competent, Angelina felt her squad had a very good shot at winning the cup again that year, as the rest of the team was returning and had won the cup two years earlier, the previous year being cancelled due to the Triwizard tournament.
Therefore, on the day after the feast, the hopefuls of Gryffindor house all trooped down to the Quidditch pitch for the anticipated tryouts, and though everyone knew there was only one starting spot available, Angelina had insisted on there being fair tryouts for all positions, regardless of how long they had been on the team, or how secure their position was considered.
Of course, the tryouts went almost exactly as expected. Fred and George Weasley were clearly the class of those who tried out and were named the team's beaters, while Katie Bell, Alicia Spinet along with Angelina Johnson were the team's chasers. The three girls had played together so long it seemed almost uncanny how well in tune they were with each other. Of course, Harry's position as seeker was secure, though an arrogant sixth year by the name of Cormac McLaggen had been bragging all the way to the pitch how he would take Harry's spot from him. But no one in the school could out-fly Harry, and he caught the snitch in every trial. McLaggen was not best pleased, but he left the pitch in a huff once it became apparent he would not be making good on his boasts.
The final position was taken by Ron Weasley. Ron had dreamed of the day when he would be able to make the Quidditch team since long before arriving at Hogwarts, and though the trial was somewhat anticlimactic—he was the only one to try out for the spot—he performed competently and was named the starting keeper.
The one true surprise, however, was the reserve team. The usual suspects, such as Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas, were again made reserves, but the fact that Fleur Delacour had also tried out and made the team as a reserve chaser, induced many raised eyebrows. It had all come about due to a discussion several days before the start of school.
"Harry?"
Turning to the person of his betrothed, Harry smiled. "Yes?" he asked, noting that she appeared nervous. They had been sitting in one of the rooms of the manor for the past hour and though Harry had been leafing through his transfiguration textbook for the coming year, it had not escaped his attention that she appeared a little nervous and out of sorts. She had been working up to this the whole time they had been in the room.
"I'm just wondering…" she began, her words coming out slowly, proclaiming her hesitance, "What are the others in my year at Hogwarts like?"
"I only really know those in Gryffindor," Harry replied. He supposed he should have expected this to a certain extent. Fleur had not had a good history with others her own age, and she would undoubtedly be concerned about how she would be accepted.
"Well, how are they then?" Fleur asked. "I suspect I'll end up there with you anyway?"
"What, you don't want to go in with the snakes?" Harry teased gently.
"Oh, Harry, don't even suggest such a thing!" Hermione exclaimed from where she had been following the conversation in a nearby chair.
"But Hermione," Harry innocently replied, "you know that not all Slytherins are greasy bastards and slimy gits like Malfoy and Snape, right?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. But the house does have a preponderance of bigots. Fleur would never fit in there."
"Just Gryffindor house please," Fleur interjected, apparently attempting to get the conversation back on its original track.
"Well, you've already met Fred and George. Lee Jordan is the other guy in seventh year and he's pretty laid back and fun. He spends a lot of time with the twins actually."
"So I should watch out for him then?" Fleur asked with an arch of an eyebrow. "Is he likely to prank me too?"
"Nah, Lee's cool. I think he sometimes helps the twins plan their pranks, but he generally lets them do the dirty work. Then you have Angelina and Alicia—they're on the Quidditch team too, along with me and the twins."
"That's 'the twins and me,' Harry," Hermione corrected him. Harry merely grinned at her impishly, having known that she would try to correct his grammar. Hermione shook her head at him and turned to Fleur.
"Angelina and Alicia are very nice; I think you'll get along well with them."
Fleur nodded, but her distraction showed in her unfocused eyes. "I don't have… a good history when it comes to making friends."
"Just be yourself, Fleur," Hermione urged. "You'll be fine. Besides, you're hogtied to him," Hermione jerked a thumb at Harry, "so you shouldn't have any trouble with jealous girlfriends."
"Hey!" Harry protested. "I'll have you know that I'm considered to be a fine catch."
"Methinks someone is obtaining a rather large head," Hermione said in a sing-song, teasing tone.
"I know!" Harry said, snapping his fingers. It was time to move this conversation away from the tangent in which it had proceeded. "You can fly pretty well, right?"
"I am a witch, Harry," Fleur replied primly.
"So is she," Harry retorted, returning Hermione's earlier gesture and pointing his thumb at her.
"Be nice!" Hermione said while reaching over to slap him on the shoulder. Harry could tell from her grin that she was taking his comment in the spirit in which it was meant.
"Yes, I can fly," Fleur affirmed. "I may not possess the death-defying skills and fearless ability to out-fly a dragon, but I'm pretty good."
Harry ignored that comment. "Then why don't you try out for the Quidditch team?" Harry asked. He was more than a little excited about the prospect, the more that he thought about it. It would be nice to have his betrothed on the team, as it would allow them to spend a little more time together and learn more about one another.
"Harry, that's a great idea!" Hermione exclaimed.
Fleur, however, did not seem to understand.
"I wouldn't exactly suggest that Angelina and Alicia are Quidditch fanatics," Harry hastened to explain, "but they do enjoy the game. Trying out would be a way to get their respect pretty much instantly. I think it would be a good way to meet others, especially the two girls you'd be sharing a dorm with. And Katie's on the team too. She's a year younger, but she's really nice. You could get to know her too."
"Well, I have played a little in the Beauxbatons recreation league," Fleur began slowly.
"That would be perfect," Harry assured her. "Unless you're a great flyer, you're unlikely to unseat any of the three starting chasers, but you could be an alternate, and maybe get into some of the games."
Smiling, Fleur nodded her head; it seemed that the Gryffindor Quidditch team would have another member trying out this year.
It turned out that Harry's advice was almost prophetic in nature. Angelina had praised Fleur's flying ability and her determination, and a bridge had been built between Fleur and the three chasers. And though perhaps she could not at this point consider the three girls close friends, she could at least consider them strong acquaintances. Time spent together would do the rest. It was a heady realization for a young woman who had largely been lonely throughout her school experience.
Another thing of note that weekend was the behavior of one Ron Weasley, which raised some eyebrows, not to mention provoking some smirks and muted laughter at times. Simply put, Ron had decided it was time to seriously woo his chosen love, and though he was earnest and sincere, his efforts were at times so blatantly obvious that a blind man could see them.
The twins—who knew what he was about, given the fact that they had gifted him with the book—sat back to enjoy the show for the most part, poking fun at their brother whenever they got the chance. For his part, Harry stayed well clear of the torturous mating ritual, knowing that Ron's short temper would be ignited if he suspected his closest friend was not only aware of his attempts, but found them vastly amusing.
As for the recipient of Ron's attempts at courtship, Hermione found herself more embarrassed than anything else. She was flattered that he felt that way about her—she truly was—but the more she thought about her conversation with Fleur, the more she understood that the French witch was absolutely correct in her assessment of the situation. She and Ron were not compatible, and she had no interest in dating him.
The problem, of course, was how to tell Ron in a manner which would not only not hurt his feelings, but induce him to accept the situation with grace. She attempted to indicate to him gently that she did not return his feelings, but he either misread her attempts, or blatantly ignored them. After a few days of this, Hermione finally decided that the best way to handle the situation would be to wait for him to finally come to the point and let him down gently. Now all she had to do was to endure his attentions until he decided to do so.
As for her other topic of conversation with Fleur, Hermione had firmly decided that to enter into a relationship with Harry when he was already involved with Fleur was not a decision she could make on the spur of the moment. There were so many things to consider: her feelings—which were as strong as they had ever been—her parents' reactions, whether she could actually share her husband, to name a few. It would take much thought before she felt she could even begin to determine what she wanted to do. For the time being, she resolved to think about it, while intimating to Fleur that she was considering it, and would appreciate some time to do so. Fleur, who truly liked Hermione, was quick to assure her friend that she would not press her. Of course, Harry remained blissfully ignorant of the situation.
While Harry had been happy to return to Hogwarts for his fifth year, the first day of classes—and indeed every succeeding Monday—was not exactly something to be anticipated. Not only did Monday start out with History—the most boring class in existence, in Harry's opinion—but it was followed up with a double potions class with Slytherin, and then Defense after lunch with the newly appointed Umbridge. Potions was always fun with Snape at the helm, especially when Gryffindor was paired with Slytherin, but Defense, which had always been a favorite of Harry's, now promised to be just as trying.
Therefore, following the History class—a class in which Harry had actually managed to stay conscious, despite the inducement to catch up on his sleep—Harry and his friends made their way toward the dungeons, wondering what the Slytherin potions master had in store for them this year.
"Harry, you need to relax," Hermione said from his side. "Potions isn't all that bad."
"Speak for yourself, Hermione," Neville said somewhat morosely. "You aren't Snape's favorite chew toy."
Turning to look at her friend, Hermione tried to cheer the young man. "You just need to follow the instructions, Neville. The problems you've had in the past are because you did something in the wrong order."
Neville snorted. "That would be good advice, but Snape hovers around and I get flustered. I think he does it on purpose."
"Don't be ridiculous, Neville," responded Hermione, somewhat primly it was to be admitted.
"You know he does, Hermione," interjected Harry. "The plonker has a vendetta against me and Neville—you know he does."
"Neville and me, Harry," said Hermione offhandedly, to which Harry grinned and winked at Neville. It had become something of a game in the past few weeks for Harry to deliberately say something which would cause Hermione to correct him, though to be honest she had been doing it since they had met.
Hermione completely missed the exchange, however, as she appeared to be deep in thought. And although she appeared as though she wanted to refute his claim, years of experiencing the professor's treatment of Harry suggested otherwise, and Hermione was certainly smart enough to see it. The man was a professional—that could not be denied. He was acknowledged as a true master of the subject of potions, and Harry could never detect any deficiency in his knowledge. In addition, he was also a competent teacher, relating and instructing the students with a flair which could be infectious, if the man himself was not so personally distasteful.
The major problem with him was the fact that although he was a professional, he did not act in a professional manner, allowing his dislike for any not of his own house, and a few in particular, to color his interpersonal relationships with his students. The man was a bit of a bully.
"I've had a few choice words from him myself," interjected Ron.
Hermione sighed. "He is a little… strict."
"Hermione, I could stand strict," said Harry. "It's the unfairness, the bullying and the outright intimidation I don't particularly like. The man is skilled, no doubt about it, but he's still a child in the way he acts. I'll bet you he wouldn't act that way if my parents were alive."
"You're right, Harry," Hermione said. "But you'd better stop talking. We're here now."
"Well, the Snape-free summer was nice while it lasted."
They entered the classroom to discover the potions master still blessedly absent—in fact, only a few of the Slytherins had arrived. Taking a seat near the middle of the classroom, Harry suppressed a smile when Hermione sat down next to him, prompting a glare from Ron, and then pulled his textbook from his backpack and arranged his things on his desk in preparation for class. He knew from experience, after all, that being ready for the beginning of the day's lecture would earn him a small measure of grudging respect from Snape. At the very least it gave the man one less thing to complain about.
For the few minutes before the other students began to file in, the four friends spoke in low voices, about potions and school, but Defense in particular. Harry had already made certain to pass Jean-Sebastian's warning about Umbridge on the express, but the specifics of what the woman would be attempting were still unknown. They had made an agreement, therefore, to support one another and ensure she was given no reason to make an example of them, regardless of how difficult she made it for them in class.
A few moments before the beginning of class, Malfoy and his friends walked into the room and took their seats at the very back of the class. In the two days since the confrontation on the train, Harry had seen the Malfoy scion several times, but every time the blond twit had declined to bait his favorite target, making Harry hope that he had finally been able to get through to the ponce. Unfortunately, the moment Draco entered the room, Harry's hope was dashed.
"Hey Scarhead, congratulations on your engagement."
Harry ignored him—as long as he said nothing against Fleur, the little bigot could spout whatever he liked.
"Good thing he landed a betrothal," Parkinson sneered. "No one would have him otherwise."
Harry just laughed at Pansy's stupidity—if anything, the unwanted fame of being the Boy-Who-Lived made it easy for him to find a girlfriend, if all he wanted was a shallow relationship with a girl who wanted nothing more than his fame.
"It seems like even the bollicking I gave you on the express hasn't managed to knock some sense into your empty head, Bad Faith.
"And as for you, Parkinson," he continued, fixing the girl with a glare, "even a betrothal contract wouldn't be enough to get you attached. Your family would have to pay someone to take you off their hands, and even then they would have to throw a bag over your pug face."
Parkinson colored and looked to be gathering a retort, when Draco threw himself back into the fray. "I hear you're claiming that the Dark Lord is back. Has he come after you yet? I bet you're crying in your bed at night wondering when he will finally show up teach you a lesson."
"And I've heard that he hasn't been able to go anywhere," countered Harry with an evil smirk. "The scuttlebutt is that your lips have been magically attached to his arse all summer."
Furious, Malfoy grabbed his wand and directed a hex at Harry. But Harry, who had been expecting this from the Slytherin, blocked it easily and hit him in the chest with a stinging hex of his own, causing the blond to yelp in pain. The Gryffindors laughed at the ponce's girly squeak, while the rest of the Slytherins looked on, for the most part impassively.
Of course, Snape chose that exact moment to enter the classroom.
"Potter!" he yelled. "That will be five points and detention for hexing a classmate."
"Don't look now," Harry whispered to Hermione, "but His Lugubriousness has arrived."
Hermione let out a soft giggle at Harry's quip, an action which was covered nicely by Ron's protestations.
"What about Malfoy?" Ron demanded. "He started it and threw the first curse."
Snape turned his dark glare on the redhead. "Perhaps you'd like to join your friend in detention for lying, Weasley?"
"He wasn't lying, sir," Neville said in a rare show of backbone in front of his nemesis.
Snape regarded Neville as though he was an insect. "I only saw Potter's actions. Any further discussion on this subject will result in more points and detentions."
Harry said nothing, content with sitting back in his chair and glaring at a now smirking Malfoy. He reviewed the confrontation, noting the attempt to get a rise out of him by the Slytherins. He did not know if it had been planned from the start, though he doubted that Snape would conspire with a group of students to hand out a detention to another, not when he was so gifted at managing it all himself. But if Harry had to guess, he thought that Snape had probably been waiting outside the classroom door—waiting for an opportunity, knowing the mutual hatred which existed between the two boys. He would have to think about it further, and figure out a way to turn the tables on the Slytherins.
The rest of potions class went much the same as it usually did. Harry, by virtue of being Hermione's lab partner—not to mention his newfound dedication to his studies—was able to brew the potion assigned. He was even able to induce Snape to pronounce the potion "acceptable," though he was certain the professor would almost rather have gouged out his own eyes than praise the son of his enemy. Hermione's potion was, as usual, impeccable. Even Ron and Neville were able to gain acceptable grades for the day's work, though their potions were not exactly the right shade Snape had expected.
As they left the potions laboratory, Harry made it a point to ignore the Slytherins who were still heckling him as he walked from the classroom, he mind still working over the problem of Snape and his unprofessional attitude.
"Harry," Hermione said gently, "you really should know better than to respond to Malfoy. Can't you just ignore him like you're doing now?"
"Do you suppose he waited outside the classroom to try to catch me doing something?"
"Doesn't he always?" was Ron's pessimistic statement.
Expecting Hermione to scoff at his suggestion, Harry was surprised when she thought about it before responding. "He does seem to have near perfect timing, doesn't he?"
"That and he's a bigoted, unprofessional, childish git, who can't see past the fact that I'm James Potter's son," groused Harry.
"You seemed to take the fact that he assigned you a detention rather calmly."
"He's done it before and he'll do it again," was Harry's shrugged response. "The more I protest, the worse it gets, so why bother?"
"But it's not right!"
"Tell it to Snape," said Harry, and with a grin he put his arm around her shoulders, ignoring Ron's dark look at his actions. "Look, Hermione, you're right about allowing Malfoy to provoke me into a response. We promised Jean-Sebastian that we wouldn't let Umbridge trick us into doing something she could use against us, and I go and let Draco do the same. I'll have to apply that same principle to Malfoy and Snape."
The look Hermione gave him was proud and a little mischievous. "That's a rather mature attitude, Harry. I didn't think you had it in you."
Harry waggled his eyebrows, provoking a laugh from his friend. "Maybe it is. I guess we all have to grow up at some time."
"All right you two, what's so funny?" Ron demanded, hurrying up to them.
It was all Harry could do not to roll his eyes—even after informing Ron that he had no designs on Hermione, the redhead still regarded them with suspicion when they so much as glanced at one another. He should know better, as they had behaved in this manner practically since the first day they had become friends. Really, Harry wished Ron would just settle down—he would have a much better chance with Hermione if he was not so tense and jealous of her interactions.
"We were just talking about how to deal with Snape and Malfoy," said Hermione, while disengaging herself from Harry's arm. The apologetic sidelong glance at Harry nearly prompted his laughter in response. He did manage to control himself, but it was a near thing.
Ron turned and looked at Harry. "What, you're going to banish them through a wall? Or maybe hex their bits off?"
"Nah, I'll just ignore them. That's what Jean-Sebastian told us to do with Umbridge—why shouldn't it work for the bat and the ferret?"
Though Ron looked a little dubious—simply ignoring Malfoy had never actually been on the table before. He said nothing though, and the foursome entered the Great Hall for lunch.
They found Fleur sitting with the twins and the chasers halfway down the Gryffindor table and sat beside them, Harry sitting next to Fleur with Hermione on his other side. The talk turned to the morning's classes—the seventh years had begun the year with charms—and though the twins pressed them, knowing they had had potions that morning, Harry brushed them off, saying it had been just another potions class. It was a sad fact that Harry spoke nothing but the truth—unfortunately, Snape's behavior that morning had not been anything out of the ordinary.
That afternoon, their Monday continued with the dreaded Ministry-appointed Umbridge. Though the class had not yet started, a sense of foreboding had settled over the joint Hufflepuff/Gryffindor class.
It was perhaps ridiculous, Hermione thought to herself, considering the fact that none of them knew the woman personally, and most of the class had little clue of what to expect from her. Even her words on the night of the feast had contained very little real information as to how she would run the class that year, and had said nothing of her teaching methods.
Of course, the textbook they had been assigned was not the best—it was vague and contained relatively little information, especially considering this was an OWL year. But again, that in and of itself did not account for the nervousness Hermione felt from her classmates.
Regardless, the nervousness was present, perhaps to a greater degree than it had been even during first year—firsties are nervous about everything—and fourth year, when an unpredictable, yet decorated Auror had been contracted to instruct at the school. The fact that Voldemort's return had been publicized, though completely denied by the current Minister, added to the atmosphere, but Hermione had to attribute the uncertainty to the fact that Umbridge was known as a vehement supporter of the Minister, and a cruel detractor of anything not Pureblood.
As the bell sounded, the door to the woman's office opened, and she stepped through, directing a sweet smile—which was patently false—at the assembled students. Hermione snorted inwardly; the woman herself certainly projected no overt threat. How could she? Unless one's greatest fear was short, pudgy women, dressed tastelessly from head to toe in pink, she could hardly intimidate. In fact, she reminded Hermione more of a pink Care Bear than a Defense Professor.
"Hem, hem, welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts class," she simpered once she had reached the desk at the front of the room. "I thank you all for coming to class on time. I trust you are all ready to learn as you never have before!"
In private, Hermione had to suppress the urge to gape at the woman as though she was stupid—it was an OWL year, after all. Why would they show up if not to learn? To her side, she thought she sensed Harry suppressing a snicker, but when she glanced at him his face was placid and controlled. A thrill of affection raced through her, and she considered the events of the summer and how he had grown and matured since fourth year. The old Harry would likely already have started becoming impatient with the woman and her prattle.
Umbridge scanned the room, her eyes coming to a stop on Harry for the briefest of moments before moving on, and though her expression did not change, Hermione could almost sense the malevolence hidden below the surface. It was completely beyond her how something so pink and fluffy could be considered malevolent, and it was that thought which had her suppressing another laugh. She hoped that Harry would be able to continue to control his temper as this woman would almost certainly test it.
"Well now, class, I understand your education to be somewhat fractured in this class, is that not so? We at the Ministry are well aware of the fact that not one professor has lasted for more than one year for some time now."
When the class grumbled their assent, the woman smiled and continued. "This year shall be different. The best minds at the Ministry have toiled over the summer months to determine a curriculum which will not only provide you with the best education, but will do so in a safe, Ministry-sanctioned environment. As such, I will share with you the goals for this course for the coming year."
At a wave of her wand, a short list appeared on the blackboard.
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
Though Hermione wondered exactly what the woman was up to, she dutifully copied the points down on her parchment, along with the other members of the class.
"Now, I presume everyone has a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?" said Umbridge once the scratching of quills had ceased.
A murmured assent met her query, to which she frowned. "Perhaps your previous professors ran their classes in a lackadaisical manner, but when I went to school, we raised our hands when we wished to speak in class, and when the professor asks a question we respond, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' Now, shall we try that again?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the class intoned, and though Hermione could definitely detect a certain mocking quality from several quarters, it seemed to satisfy the professor.
"Much better. Now, if you will all open to chapter one, let us jump right into the material."
The material was dry. In fact, it was worse than dry. Even Hermione, who had never had trouble staying awake in History of Magic—though perhaps she was the only one—found the text to be almost hypnotizing. The author, though perhaps possessing a certain competent knowledge of defensive magic, had obviously never actually cast such a spell in his life, as the text was littered with theory, conjecture, and anecdotal accounts of possible uses of defensive spells. In short, as Hermione had expected, the material was useless.
Umbridge ran the class much as Hermione remember from her second grade in the local primary school. Anyone who wished to speak was required to raise their hand, and Umbridge demanded that she be referred to as "Professor Umbridge." The level of formality was not so much the issue, as that was how she generally referred to all of her professors. It was more that Umbridge seemed to be trying to stamp her authority on the class, and not only because she was teaching it.
Underneath it all, Umbridge seemed to be watching the class with an almost ferocious glee. She clearly expected someone to say something about the text, and the way she gazed at Harry suggested that she expected it to be him. Harry, however, merely read along with the rest of the class and contributed his not inconsiderable knowledge to the conversation at the appropriate times, though he never offered an answer without prompting. The times he did speak, it was due to Umbridge calling on him, hoping, Hermione suspected, to obtain a rise out of him.
Hermione, knowing that she was not the target that Harry was decided it was up to her to poke at the woman a little in an attempt to discover exactly what she was up to. At a short pause in the discussion, Hermione raised her hand, speaking once Umbridge had acknowledged her with a sickly sweet smile.
"I'm just wondering," said Hermione in as diffident a manner as she could manage. "This theory is… interesting, but in previous years we would already have begun practicing the material by now. When will we get to that?"
Umbridge's smile was patronizing and her answer even more so. "My dear child, surely the subject is interesting enough that you are not already dissatisfied?"
"No, Professor. I am merely inquiring as to when we will be allowed to use what we are studying."
Umbridge let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you a Ministry-accredited instructor, Miss…?"
"Granger," Hermione answered. "And no I am not. I'm just wondering—that's all."
Though Umbridge looked suspicious, she merely answered the question with the same condescension as she had showed earlier. "Well then, the answer is very simple, Miss Granger. We will not actually be casting spells in this class, as it is unnecessary."
The faces around the room darkened at the implication.
"But Professor, isn't practical application in Defense the most important aspect?" queried Susan Bones.
Hermione did not truly know Susan—as a Hufflepuff she tended to keep to herself and fly under the radar, as many Hufflepuffs did. However, what she knew of the girl suggested that she was intelligent and hardworking, and perhaps most importantly, protected. Her aunt was the director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, after all, and Hermione doubted Umbridge would incur the wrath of the DMLE head unless Susan truly did something to merit punishment.
"You could injure yourself using these spells, Miss Bones."
"Wouldn't we be more injured if a dark curse actually hit us because we have not practiced the proper counter?" demanded Ron.
Umbridge turned her sickly smile on Ron. "Now where could you possibly come into contact with a dark curse, Mr. Weasley? Do you not think our institution is safe?"
Harry and Hermione shared an amused look—given what had happened every year of their education at Hogwarts, a very strong case could be made that it was most certainly not safe. However, pointing that out to Umbridge would likely prompt her anger in return, so the friends kept silent.
"Oh the school is safe," replied Ron, though perhaps only a few of his closest friends caught the irony in his voice. "But what happens if I am attacked in Diagon Alley?"
"Then you should call in the Aurors, Mr. Weasley. Is that not what they are there for?"
"To apprehend criminals, perhaps," said Susan Bones, a hint of steel in her voice, "but the Aurors cannot be everywhere at once. If you wait for Aurors to arrive on the scene, you may be dead already."
"What an imagination you have, Miss Bones. I assure you that Diagon Alley—and any other wizarding area—is completely safe. There is no need to fear."
"Pardon me, Professor, but that is not what my aunt says. She has told me on multiple occasions that she has far too few Aurors to properly protect the populace, and that it is every citizen's right and responsibility to protect themselves. We all carry a deadly weapon on us at all times, after all."
A flash of annoyance spread over Umbridge's face, but she masked it in an instant. Clearly, the woman was upset that the niece of the DMLE head had torn her arguments apart so effortlessly.
"A deadly weapon? What fanciful nonsense are you speaking?"
"A wand," Harry's voice rang out through the room.
"Pardon me Mr. Potter?"
Harry gazed at the woman with the placid look he had adopted since she had entered the room plastered across his face. "The weapon Susan referred to, Professor, is a wand. Each of us carries with us a tool which is capable of bludgeoning, stinging, cutting, causing a person to itch, regurgitate slugs, and a whole host of other unpleasant things. And given what the fake Professor Moody demonstrated last year, it can also be used to torture, kill, and force someone to do what you want them to do."
"And are you planning on committing such nefarious deeds, Mr. Potter?"
Hermione almost chuckled at the stupidity of the question, and wondered if Umbridge truly expected Harry to respond incorrectly. Did she truly consider him an imbecile? The woman was about as subtle as a high-speed bludger.
"Of course not, Professor," replied Harry. "I'm merely pointing out some of the things which are theoretically possible with a tool which we all carry on our persons at all times."
Umbridge shook her head, her visage sorrowful. "And that is what I am speaking of. Obviously your experiences last year with your Defense professor have skewed your views. You should not consider your wand to be a weapon—only hooligans and misfits would think in such a manner. Rather, you should think of it as a tool which can be used to perform amazing feats of magic."
"Oh, I do, Professor," said Harry with an entirely feigned measure of earnestness. It was all Hermione could do not to laugh at the way Harry was baiting her without appear to be baiting her.
It was again clear from the almost constipated expression of disappointment she sported, that Harry's brief and concise answer irritated Umbridge. She was sent to the school to attempt to marginalize Harry—and likely Dumbledore—that much was certain. But she was obviously having difficulty determining exactly how to go about accomplishing this mission, given the fact that Harry was not behaving as she had expected him to. Hermione was proud of Harry all over again—Hermione did not know what the toad had planned, but Harry certainly was not making it easy for her.
"But Professor," Parvati Patil chimed in with a perky and seemingly innocent enthusiasm, "you just said there was no danger in the magical world. Shouldn't that suggest that there are no 'hooligans' and 'misfits?'"
The entire class had to stifle their laughter at such blatant challenge of the professor had told them. Though Umbridge's eyes narrowed for a moment, her sickly sweet smile never left her face.
"Please put your hand up if you wish to speak, Miss Patil. I will not have this class degenerate into a group of rowdies all clamoring for attention.
"In answer to your question, I did say that the wizarding world is safe, but I also said that if you stumble into a dangerous situation, you should allow the Aurors to handle it. They are the professionals, after all."
Hermione could almost hear the rolling of eyes at Umbridge's statement. The woman must truly consider them to be nothing more than eight year-old children, if she expected them to be taken in by her blatant obfuscation.
"But Professor," Dean Thomas chimed in, "it's our OWL year. How are we supposed to pass our practical exams if we don't practice the spells?"
"Raise your hand, Mr. Thomas!" Umbridge squealed.
Dean raised his hand and waved it around in an exaggerated manner, repeating his question once Umbridge had motioned for him to do so.
"There will be enough theoretical knowledge in the course of the year, that when it comes time for you to take the practical portion of your exam, you should have no problems."
"So we'll need to cast the spells in an examination situation, without ever having performed them before?" demanded Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had until that moment remained silent.
"Is that a problem?"
"Casting a spell without practice?" said Ron. "It sure is!"
Murmurs of agreement echoed from all sides of the room.
"It usually takes some practice time before I can properly cast a spell, and I'm not the only one," Ron continued. "Not all of us can be Harry Potter, after all."
A gleam entered Umbridge's eye as she turned her attention on Harry. Knowing Harry as she did, Hermione guessed that Harry would like to smack Ron upside the head for unnecessarily drawing attention to him.
"We can't all be Mr. Potter, is it? I must admit that I was unaware of the presence of a prodigy in our midst."
Harry shook his head. "I'm not a prodigy, Professor. I'm just a student trying to study my hardest, get the best grades I can, and have a little fun at school."
"Don't let him fool you," Dean spoke up. "Harry's better at defense than all the rest of us put together."
"Don't give him a bigger head than he already has," Seamus said in a stage whisper, accompanied by a glare at Harry. He had not been overt, but since they had returned for classes, Seamus had seemed a little colder to Harry than he had been in the past
"Hands, Mr. Thomas, Mr. Finnegan," Umbridge said absently, while still gazing at Harry. "Is this so, Mr. Potter?"
Harry's answering gaze was calm and implacable. "I don't know about that, Professor Umbridge—I don't really want to get into bragging about myself, you understand. Defense is my best subject, and I usually pick up the spells quite quickly, but I'm sure there are others who do as well."
"And did you pick up last year's lessons as well as you normally do?"
Harry paused and looked up, while cupping his hand in his chin, in apparent thought. "Well, of course we didn't try to cast the Unforgivables—I guess that's a line that not even Barty Crouch Jr. would dare to cross. But whatever you say about the man, he was an effective teacher—I suppose it was because of the fact that he was so familiar with the dark arts himself, being a previous follower of the Dark Lord and all."
All of Umbridge's affected sweetness was by now completely missing from her manner. The way her eyes were fixed on Harry, Hermione suspected that if she could pierce him through with just her gaze, Harry would be bleeding on the floor even now. However, even she could not take exception to what he said.
"A Dark Lord you claim has returned, if I recall correctly, Mr. Potter."
Hermione held her breath—Umbridge was now not only openly tempting Harry to respond, she was obviously attempting to get him to lose his temper by insinuating that he was either lying or delusional about Voldemort's return. With the Minister's insistence that the Dark Lord could not have returned, it was clear to see what she hoped to accomplish.
"I've told my story, Professor Umbridge, and I see no reason to continue to discuss it. Obviously, given your faith in Minister Fudge and Madam Bones, they are handling the situation—as a mere student, I don't see that it's my place to become involved any further."
"There is no situation to be handled, Mr. Potter, as the Dark Lord has not returned."
"Then I have nothing to worry about," replied Harry with a shrug.
She continued to stare at Harry with a hint of consternation entering into her eyes. It was but a moment, however, before she once again resumed her veneer of sweetness.
"If you are as good as the rest of the class seems to think, then you should have no problem with the Defense OWL exam."
"I don't rightly know, Professor," responded Harry with a genial smile. "We've only just begun the year, and this is just the first class."
Harry's smile became brighter and Hermione thought she could detect a hint of deviousness in his eyes. "If you would like me to provide an assessment of your class once the year is complete, I'd be happy to do so, but I don't think I could do so now with so little practical experience."
Umbridge's eyes widened in surprise. Obviously she had not expected an answer from him, and the concept of a student rating a teacher was not something which had made its way into the magical world. However, Umbridge merely looked away and returned to her desk, her disappointment palpable.
"If the interruptions are finished, I believe we should return to the lesson. I trust you all still have your books open?"
The rest of the class passed in the same manner the first part had, with sections of the book read to the class while the professor expounded on certain points. Her observations were insipid, and downright stupid on some cases, while in others, she merely restated exactly what the book said, with the words merely rearranged to give her the appearance of expanding upon the subject. In other words, the woman had proved beyond a doubt her lack of any detailed knowledge, and just exactly how little use her class would be in preparing them for their OWL exams. With a useless text and a useless professor, this class would perhaps be even worse than Lockhart's class.
What Hermione could not decide was what to do about it. Could they have Professor Moody come and tutor them to get some practical application? But that would almost certainly draw the attention—and the ire—of the esteemed toad-woman, who would almost certainly object, not to mention giving her some ammunition to proceed with whatever plans still percolated in her ugly head. It was a dilemma to be certain, and one which would require some thought.
At length, the class was dismissed. The four friends filed from the room and out in the hallway, pausing for a brief moment to let the Hufflepuffs and the rest of the Gryffindors to clear the area.
"Can you believe that woman?" Neville began in an undertone.
"I'm more concerned about Harry," said Hermione. "I'm proud of you, Harry—you ignored her insults and kept your temper."
Harry shrugged and then grinned at her. "I won't say I wasn't tempted. But she's so full of it that I figured it was a waste of my time to play her game."
"Good on you, mate," said Ron, stepping forward and putting his arm around Hermione's shoulders.
Hermione was just able to keep herself from rolling her eyes at him before she disengaged his arm from her shoulders with a gentle twist. Speaking of blatant, Ron had been getting more and more obvious since they had arrived at school. It was not difficult to keep him at bay, but it was a little annoying.
"It's no big deal," said Harry. "I appreciate your support, but in the end, it's just like Jean-Sebastian said. She's just not worth the effort.
"I'll tell you this, though," he continued with more than a little steel in his voice. "If all she does is try to get me to respond, I can handle her. But I won't take, or allow my friends to take any abuse from her or anyone else, just like I told Malfoy."
The boys murmured their agreement to his sentiments, and they set off for Gryffindor tower. Hermione was of two minds about Harry's declaration. On the one hand, she knew that they all need to stand up for one another and push back against the bullies. However, Umbridge truly was not worth it and Harry would only get himself into hot water with her if he pushed back.
But then again, he would not be Harry if he just lay down and took whatever Umbridge dished out. He was far too noble for that.
It was later that evening when the friends were gathered in the Gryffindor common room. Fleur was sitting beside Harry, with Hermione on her other side, while Ron tried to get as close as possible to Hermione in a nearby armchair. Neville and the twins sat on the other side of a table from them, and the chasers were all close by. Nominally the group was glancing over their respective school work and textbooks for the next day. In reality, however, there was very little studying actually occurring. The group was more engrossed in discussing the day's events than anything else.
When the older students heard what had happened in Defense, there was some groaning and moaning about having to put up with that woman for a whole year. However, there was an equal number of smirks for the way that Harry had dealt with her.
Fleur's true interest, however, appeared to be captured when the account of the morning's potions class was shared. Harry, though in truth he still despised Snape as much as the sentiment was returned by the greasy bat, treated the episode as though it were nothing more than a joke. And to him it was—he had been dealing with it since he started at Hogwarts.
Fleur, however, did not see it in quite that manner.
"Is this the way the potions professor normally behaves?" Her voice was flinty and her expression hard.
"Don't worry, Fleur, I've learned to deal with Snape."
Throwing her hands up in the air with some exasperation, Fleur glared at him. "That's not the point, Harry. A professor has an obligation to the students he teaches. He must be fair, teach his subject in a manner which can be understood, help those who require additional help, and ultimately, to guide his students through their studies so that they succeed. It sounds to me like Snape is a pretty poor teacher."
Hermione sighed. "Actually, Snape is a good teacher. He understands potions, and is very good at explaining how different ingredients work together to create the proper effect. That is, when he takes the time to do so."
"Yeah, but too bad he's such a failure as a human being," said Harry with a snort.
"Are you the only one he picks on?"
Harry shared a glance with Neville. "He favors his own house without a doubt. It's always seemed to me that he singles Neville and me out more often than not."
"Do you know why?"
"As for me, it's probably because I'm pants at potions," said Neville with a certain note of dejection in his voice.
"Have you ever attempted to make a potion without that bully standing over you?"
An embarrassed Neville just shrugged his shoulders in response.
"And you, Harry?"
Leaning back on the sofa, Harry thought about it for several moments. Fleur did have a point about Neville's performance, and he knew that though he himself would never be a master at potion making, his new confidence induced by a loving family had given him a sense of determination to do better, something which would likely affect his potion making skills.
Even more than the aspect of his potion making, Harry found that he truly liked this side of Fleur which he had never seen before. Not only did she exude a righteous anger, and a sense of determination for a cause, but he also found it made her already stunning beauty somehow more enticing.
"In my case it has to do more with my parents than with me, I think," Harry responded at length. "Sirius told me that my Dad and Snape were rivals at school, and that their rivalry sometimes got out of hand. As for my Mum, apparently she and Snape were close friends before coming to Hogwarts. But they drifted apart over the years and Snape blamed my father for their estrangement."
"So, a professor, at what is widely considered to be the premier magical school in Europe—if not the world—essentially picks on three quarters of the student population and singles out certain students for special treatment. This is bullying, Harry. Normally a student would only have to worry about bullying from other students, not from their teachers."
Harry nodded his head with the others—what Fleur had said was only the truth.
"Have you appealed the detention and points?"
Harry merely looked blankly at her, while Hermione started and peered at her with some surprise.
"Appealed?" queried Hermione. "You can do that?"
Fleur rolled her eyes. "Of course you can. Surely you have such a process in the Muggle school system as well?"
"Well, yes, but…" Hermione trailed off.
Knowing what Hermione was thinking, Harry understood her reluctance to speak. It was known—even by many Purebloods, who had never had any interaction whatsoever with the Muggle world—that socially the magical world was many decades behind their Muggle counterparts. However, it was one thing to understand it, and quite another to have it pointed out to you.
Luckily, either Fleur did not understand Hermione's reticence, or she chose the simple expedient of ignoring it. "Hermione, I would be very surprised if there was not an appeals process at Hogwarts. There is certainly one at Beauxbatons. Though the house system and house points do not exist there, I still have seen it used to protest detentions, or even essay results. There must be something similar at Hogwarts."
"I've never heard of one," Angelina chimed in.
Many of the other students who had been listening to the conversation murmured in agreement. It was a general consensus that had such a process been known, it would have been used long before to protest Snape's treatment of Gryffindors in general.
Thoughtful Harry wondered if such a process did exist, and if so, if it could be used to get the greasy bat off of his back. It was certainly worth a try.
"All right," he finally said, responding to Fleur's unspoken question. "I'll go to Dumbledore tomorrow and talk to him about what happened in potions today."
A bright smile met his declaration. "Good choice, Harry. I will go with you. If Dumbledore refuses to do anything, we can always involve my father."
Harry frowned. "I'm not sure we need to call your father, Fleur. Like I said, I've handled Snape for the past four years—I'm sure I can continue to do so."
"But you don't need to, nor should you have to," said Fleur with an affectionate pat on his hand. "Snape undermines the entire educational process when he behaves like a bully, and a generation of Hogwarts students has not had the potions experience they should have had due to his actions. That needs to be corrected.
"And besides, you now have my family to help look out for you. You don't need to do it all yourself."
This was at the crux of the issue, Harry mused. He had always been required to be self sufficient and make certain he looked out for himself—the Dursleys certainly could never be bothered to have his best interests at heart. Even after he had arrived at Hogwarts and made friends who would look out for him, it had not been the same as having a parent to watch over him. Rather than feel smothered like he would have expected, Harry found that he liked the sensation. It felt good to know he was no longer alone.
Updated 05/23/2013