A/N Think I'm going to fail my Biology & Chemistry exams on Tuesday and Thursday ... oh well. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for all the reviews :) xxx R&R
Chapter Twelve
Professor Umbridge
Amara ignored Lavender the next morning. She has dressed and left the dormitory with Hermione before the girl had finished doing her hair, and even before Sophie had even got out of bed.
They spotted Harry and Ron in the common room as they came down, Harry looking frustrated and angry.
"What's the matter?" asked Hermione when they caught up. "You look absolutely — oh for heaven's sake."
She'd noticed Fred and George's notice on the board. Amara wondered how on earth she managed to spot it so quickly.
"They are the limit," said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign. "We'll have to talk to them, Ron."
Ron looked positively alarmed at this news.
"Why?"
"Because we're prefects!" said Hermione, as they climbed out through the portrait hole. "It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!" Amara was slightly glad she didn't have to do it - Ron seemed very glum after that.
"Anyway, what's up, Harry?" Hermione continued, as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their own conversation. "You look really angry about something."
"Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who," said Ron succinctly, when Harry did not respond.
"Yes, Lavender thinks so too," Hermione said gloomily.
"Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?" Harry said loudly.
"No," said Amara. "I told her if hex her stupid hair off if she talks about you anymore."
"And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down Amara's, Ron's and my throats, Harry, because if you haven't noticed, we're on your side."
There was a short pause.
"Sorry," said Harry in a low voice.
"That's quite all right," said Hermione with dignity. Then she shook her head. "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the end-of-term feast last year?"
Amara, Harry and Ron looked at her blankly, and Hermione sighed again.
"About You-Know-Who. He said, 'His gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust —' "
"How do you remember stuff like that?" asked Ron, shaking his head at the thought if even trying.
"I listen, Ron," said Hermione with a touch of asperity.
"So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what —"
"The point," Hermione pressed on loudly, "is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who's only been back two months, and we've started fighting among our- selves. And the Sorting Hat's warning was the same — stand together, be united —"
"And Harry said it last night," retorted Ron, "if that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins, fat chance."
"Well, I think it's a pity we're not trying for a bit of inter-House unity," said Hermione crossly.
"Yeah 'cos they'll be real nice to us," muttered Amara as they walked down the marble staircase. Some fourth-year Ravenclaws were crossing the entrance hall (Amara wondered where they'd been) and as soon as they saw Harry they practically ran into the Great Hall.
"Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that," said Harry sarcastically.
Once in the Great Hall they automatically glanced at the teacher's table to see if Hagrid was there: he wasn't. The sky was still murky and grey – it looked even worse in daylight without the night to cover it. Amara hoped they didn't have to go outside today.
"Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying," he said, as they made their way across to the Gryffindor table. Amara noted Ethan was there with Eddie, as well as Tessie and the two girls from the day before.
"Maybe . . ." said Hermione thoughtfully.
"What?" said both Harry and Ron together. Amara turned to look at her too.
"Well . . . maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here."
"What d'you mean, draw attention to it?" said Ron, half laughing. "How could we not notice?"
Before Hermione could answer, a tall black girl with long, braided hair had marched up to Harry. It was Angelina Johnson, from the same year as Fred and George, and Chaser on the Quidditch team.
"Hi, Angelina," said Harry.
"Hi," she said briskly, "good summer?" And without waiting for an answer (which reminded Amara of what Oliver Wood used to do, the old Quidditch captain), "Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."
"Nice one," said Harry, grinning at her.
"Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in."
"Okay," said Harry, and she smiled at him and departed.
"I'd forgotten Wood had left," said Hermione vaguely, sitting down beside Ron and pulling a plate of toast toward her. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"
"I s'pose," said Harry, taking the bench opposite. "He was a good Keeper. . . ."
"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?" said Ron. Amara nodded in agreement. Ron had always played Keeper when they played Quidditch. Maybe he'd give it a shot?
The owls came with a clatter as they whooshed in through the upper windows (Amara saw Tessie look up in wonder at how many there were) and they began their descent to their owners or people who revieved the Daily Prophet. Amara had cancelled her description because she didn't like it anymore, but she received a letter from Tally with Rugby, the Reynolds' family owl.
Dear Amara,
Hope Hogwarts is alright so far, I'm guessing you're there already. The past few days have been boring compared to our summer. School doesn't start for a few more days, which is just annoying because there's not much to do over here anymore. Mama took me shopping yesterday, but it's no fun without Noah and Jesse too. Papa has gone out to America to see the work he's doing and to decide whether he gets to give up on his education. I think Jesse will kill him if he does. I hope Tessie got sorted into Gryffindor with you!
Say hi to everyone from me
Lots of love Tally xxxxx
"Tally says hi," said Amara, shoving her letter in her bag. She looked up to see a barn owl giving Hermione her copy of the Daily Prophet.
"What are you still getting that for?" said Harry irritably, thinking of Seamus, as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl's leg and it took off again. "I'm not bothering . . . load of rubbish."
"It's best to know what the enemy are saying," said Hermione darkly, and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until Amara, Harry and Ron had finished eating.
"Nothing," she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. "Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything."
Ron and Amara kept eating bits of toast as Professor McGonagall moved along the table handing out timetables.
Amara scanned hers. History of Magic, double Potions, Ancient Runes and double Defence Against the Dark Arts.
"Look at today!" groaned Ron, reading his own. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts . . . Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted. . . ."
"Do mine ears deceive me?" said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Amara. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"
"Look what we've got today," said Ron grumpily, shoving his timetable under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."
"Fair point, little bro," said Fred, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."
"Why's it cheap?" said Ron suspiciously.
"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," said George, helping himself to a kipper.
"Cheers," said Ron moodily as Amara snorted into her tea, "but I think I'll take the lessons."
"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."
"Says who?" said George, looking astonished as Amara and Fred exchanged glances.
"Says me," said Hermione. "And Ron. And Amara too."
"Leave me out of it," said Ron hastily.
"Me?" Amara said in shock.
Hermione glared at Ron and Amara.
"Your sister could take it!"
Amara sighed as Fred and George sniggered.
"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."
"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?" asked Hermione.
"Fifth year's O.W.L. year," said George.
"So?"
"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," said Fred with satisfaction.
"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," said George happily. "Tears and tantrums . . . Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint. . . ."
"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" said Fred reminiscently.
"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pyjamas," said George.
"Oh yeah," said Fred, grinning. "I'd forgotten. . . . Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"
"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow."
"Wonder why," Amara said.
"Yeah . . . you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron.
"Yep," said Fred unconcernedly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."
"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year," said George brightly, "now that we've got —" he seemed to pause "now that we've got our O.W.L.s. I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."
"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand."
"What are you gonna do get the money?" Amara frowned. "You'll need a lot."
"Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Amara, love. C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology."
Fred and George walked away, each carrying a stack of toast.
"What did that mean?" said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron. " 'Ask us no questions . . .' Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?"
"You know, I've been wondering about that," said Ron, his brow furrowed. "They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons. . . ."
"D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?" said Harry.
"Oh yeah," said Ron. "Bound to be, isn't it? O.W.L.s are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what N.E.W.T.s you want to do next year."
"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?" Harry asked them, as they left the Great Hall shortly afterward and set off toward their History of Magic classroom. Amara hadn't really thought about this before. When she was younger she'd wanted to be a teacher, then a doctor. Being a doctor wouldn't be too bad, Amara decided. But she didn't know what she wanted to do for her job outside of Hogwarts.
"Not really," said Ron slowly. "Except . . . well . . ."
He looked slightly sheepish.
"What?" Harry urged him.
"Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," said Ron in an offhand voice.
"Yeah, it would," said Harry fervently.
"But they're, like, the elite," said Ron. "You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione, Amara?"
"I don't know," said Hermione. "I think I'd really like to do something worthwhile."
"An Auror's worthwhile!" said Harry, as though what she said had offended the job.
"Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I mean, if I could take S.P.E.W. further . . ."
"I'm not sure yet," Amara butted in, so that they didn't have to hear about spew again. "Something cool – not an Auror, I don't think. Maybe something in the medical aspect of things?"
One of Amara's worst subjects was History of Magic. It seemed mostly everyone's worst subjects was History of Magic. It could be quite interesting if it wasn't for the fact Professor Binns, the old ghost teacher, taught it in the dullest way possible. Every year, Amara decided she shouldn't count on Hermione's notes to see her through the exams, but every year she did, because of his boring wheezy voice that put everyone and everything into a stupor.
Amara tried her best in the lesson they had that day. It took ten minutes for her, Harry and Ron to get so bored and sleepy that they decided to play hangman on their note taking parchment. It was rather entertaining, but it was dimmed with the fact Hermione kept shooting them filthy glares from the corner of her eye when she figured out what they were doing.
"How would it be," she asked them coldly as they left the classroom for break, Professor Binns just drifted through the blackboard that he sometimes wrote on, "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"
"We'd fail our O.W.L.s," said Ron. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione . . ."
"Well, you'd deserve it," she snapped. "You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"
"We do try," said Ron. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration — you're just cleverer than we are — is it nice to rub it in?"
"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," said Hermione, but Amara knew she liked the sort-of compliment as they walked over the damp courtyard.
A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the yard looked blurred at the edges. Amara, Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday, when someone walked around the corner toward them.
"Hello, Harry!"
It was Cho Chang. Amara nearly groaned (the girl, who had definitely noticed her, was now avoiding looking at her).
"Hi," said Harry, a faint blush on his cheeks. It was because Harry liked Cho that Amara didn't tell her to bugger off, because she annoyed her and reminded her of Cedric.
"You got that stuff off, then?"
"Yeah," said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. "So did you . . . er . . . have a good summer?"
"Yeah, it was quite nice …"
"Is that a Tornados badge?" Ron demanded suddenly, pointing at the front of Cho's robes, to which a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold T was pinned. "You don't support them, do you?"
"Yeah, I do," said Cho.
"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" said Ron.
"I've supported them since I was six," said Cho coolly. "Anyway . . . see you, Harry."
She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron.
"You are so tactless!"
"What? I only asked her if —"
"Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?"
"So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping —"
"What on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team for?"
"Attacking? I wasn't attacking her, I was only —"
"Who cares if she supports the Tornados?"
"Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season —"
"But what does it matter?"
"It means they're not real fans, they're just jumping on the bandwagon —"
"As much as I found that amusing," Amara said as the bell went, and she wanted to shut them up. "Ron you are very, very tactless. Now shut up and let's go to a delightful potions lesson, alright?"
Ron and Hermione did what they were told and followed her and Harry all the way down to the dungeon.
"Settle down," said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him as they entered the dungeon. They headed straight for their usual seats at the back of the classroom so that they didn't have to see Snape up close. Snape was one of those teachers that never had to call silence because the students were all slightly intimidated by him and stopped talking as soon as they entered the dungeon.
"Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my . . . displeasure."
His gaze lingered this time upon Neville, who gulped.
"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."
His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. It was annoying that Amara did actually want to continue with Potions after O. .
"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students.
"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing." Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of the utmost attentiveness and Amara slumped a little lower down on her stool. "The ingredients and method" — Snape flicked his wand — "are on the blackboard" — (they appeared there) — "you will find everything you need" — he flicked his wand again — "in the store cupboard" — (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) — "you have an hour and a half. . . . Start."
The Draught of Peace was a very fiddly, very annoying and very difficult potion to brew. Everything had to be done with perfection or else the whole potion would not work. The ingredients couldn't be added unless the steps beforehand had been done perfectly. Amara, who was better at Potions than Ron and Harry, but not as good as Hermione, did it patiently so that she didn't mess up at all. She was actually quite proud of herself, as when Snape said:
"A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion," with ten minutes left to go, she found her's had a more white vapour, but nearly silver and better than most of the people's in the room (Hermione's was perfect of course). Snape looked at Hermione's without comment, paused at Amara's and raised his eyebrows just slightly before moving onto Harry's.
"That was really unfair," said Hermione fifteen minutes later, after Snape had dismissed them. They were back in the Great Hall for lunch, after Snape was an utter git to Harry in the potions' lesson. He'd vanished Harry's potion eventhough it wasn't as bad as everyone else's, which was so unfair Amara had wanted to hex him. It meant that Harry received zero marks and an even worse temper. He's practically stormed out the dungeon and was already eating shepherd's pie when the other three had arrived "Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire."
"Yeah, well," said Harry, glowering at his plate, "since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"
"I did think he might be a bit better this year," said Hermione in a disappointed voice. "I mean . . . you know . . ." She looked carefully around; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table. ". . . Now he's in the Order and everything."
"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," said Ron sagely.
"Too right," said Amara, nodding whilst eating her pie. "Even when he was there in the summer he wasn't exactly nice was he? In fact, he was a bastard as always!"
Ron nodded in agreement. "Hear, hear," he said, and Amara and he clinked their goblets of pumpkin juice. Hermione looked like she wanted to snap, but she refrained herself from doing so. Harry carried on eating his pie moodily.
Amara was quite glad that she had Ancient Runes after lunch, because it meant a small break from the boring History of Magic, and Snape in his dungeon. Amara sat next to Hermione this year, which was quite fun, because it was just the two of them without Ron to get into an argument with Hermione.
Even though the lesson as fun, Professor Babbling set them homework ontop of all the others that they'd had that day.
Even the Ravenclaw's complained when they walked out.
"We've already got one essay from McGonagall, and another from Flitwick," complained Terry, who Amara sat next to last year.
"We've got one from Binns and Snape," groaned Amara. "Wish us luck for Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Professor Umbridge was already waiting for them when they arrived in the classroom. She was wearing the same pink cardigan that Amara had a strong dislike for and a velvet bow on her curly hair. It looked like her dinner.
The class was quiet as it entered the room, because they didn't know if she wanted them to be or not.
"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down.
A few people mumbled "Good afternoon," in reply.
"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her. Amara was trying not to roll her eyes at how childish it was.
"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."
Wands away was never fun, everyone knew, so they all cast gloomy looks to one another as they shoved them into their bags and pulled out their quills, ink and parchment.
Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once in horrid curly letters:
Defence Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles.
"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.
"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."
She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:
Course aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. Reading them through, Amara did not like the sound of them at all. What was all this about theory? When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she said, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.
"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."
Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad's eyes. Amara turned the page in the book and began to read page five.
The book was not at all knowledgeable, nor was it interesting or fun. Harry didn't seem to be able to take any words in whilst Ron was fiddling with his quill.
Amara tried to read the book as best she could – Professor Umbridge was still observing the class as though they were all juicy flies she was waiting to catch – but everyone else seemed to be just as bored as she was. In fact, most of the people in the class were looking in their direction, which made Amara very concerned for herself indeed. The situation was solved when she looked at Hermione and saw Defensive Magical Theory closed in front of her and her hand in the air. Professor Umbridge was paying no attention, but more of the class were watching her instead of reading the horrible book. Amara, too, abandoned all attempts and looked at her too, because she didn't want to read the passage on page five, which was titles "Basics for Beginners." This offended Amara slightly, because they'd had Defence Against the Dark Arts for four years and were definitely not just "beginners" anymore.
When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.
"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.
"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."
"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.
"And your name is — ?"
"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.
"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.
"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."
There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.
"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly as Amara gaped at her.
"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. — ?"
"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.
Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Amara, Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes went on Amara.
"And your name is?"
"Amara Matthews," Amara said impatiently. Umbridge looked at her slightly, and Amara had a feeling Fudge had told her that she was Cedric's crying girlfriend from June. "Isn't the point of this lesson – Defence Against the Dark Arts – is to practise the defensive spells?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Matthews?" asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.
"Are you?" Amara said rudely. "I mean, how can this be useful for us?"
Professor Umbridge seemed to swell a little at the rudeness. She elected to ignore it.
"You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way —"
"What use is that?" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a —"
"Hand, Mr Potter!" sang Professor Umbridge.
Harry thrust his fist in the air. Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him again, but now several other people had their hands up too.
"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to Dean.
"Dean Thomas."
"Well, Mr Thomas?"
"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free —"
"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"
"No, but —"
Professor Umbridge talked over him.
"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."
"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever —"
"Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —"
"No we haven't," Hermione said, "we just —"
"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"
Hermione put up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her. Amara was getting angrier every time she spoke.
"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you —"
"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads —"
"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" trilled Professor Umbridge.
"Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.
"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"
"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge dismissively.
"Without ever practicing them before?" said Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"
"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough —"
"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.
Professor Umbridge looked up.
"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said softly.
"Isn't it also meant to prepare us for it too?" Amara butted in angrily. "This isn't going to help us prepare for what's out there!"
"There is nothing waiting out there, Miss Matthews."
"Oh yeah?" said Harry.
"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.
"Hmm, let's think . . ." said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice, "maybe Lord Voldemort?"
Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter."
The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry. Amara was glaring at Umbridge as if she hoped she'd shrivel away with the power of it. She knew Umbridge's plan – she had wanted to get Harry into trouble all along.
"Now, let me make a few things quite plain."
Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned toward them, her stubby- fingered hands splayed on her desk.
"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead —"
"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"
"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."
"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"
"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.' "
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half- scared, half-fascinated.
"Harry, no!" Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking. Amara flinched and turned slightly white.
Everyone in the class stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly. Tragic accident? Amara turned angry once again.
"It was murder," said Harry. He was shaking. He had never talked about this before. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."
Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment he thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr Potter, dear."
He kicked his chair aside, strode around Amara, Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk.
Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.
He took it from her without saying a word and left the room. Amara and the rest of the class were left staring after him.
"Please turn to page five and read "Basics foe Beginners." Professor Umbridge acted as though there hadn't been yelling happening in her class for the last five minutes.
Amara opened her book but refused point-blank to read it. Professor Umbridge seemed to want to reprimand her for it, but Amara fixed her with such a death glare that she pretended she hadn't noticed.