As everyone began to make their way out of the Great Hall, the number of people trying to get a glimpse of Harry Potter increased — as did the number of people making snide remarks about his sanity. The one saving grace was that Hufflepuff House was mostly silent on the matter; they knew he and Cedric had been friends, and they (hopefully) knew that he wouldn't have lied about the older boy's death for attention.
"Come on, Harry. I know the password, let's get out of here," Neville urged, nudging him gently. "Don't listen to them. It's just because we're new back — once they settle in and remember they like you and the Prophet's a bunch of crap, it'll be fine."
Harry wished he could have Neville's optimism, but he was no stranger to the school at large hating him. He just hoped he had enough friends spread throughout the houses to stop things getting too bad — and hoped that, regardless of what they thought about him and about Voldemort, the students would be offended by the very concept of the Ministry interfering at the school.
Ginny appeared at his side just as they reached the doors, and she was scowling. "Did you hear what that Umbridge woman was saying?" she hissed angrily, but Harry cut her off with a sharp look.
"Not here," he warned under his breath, tapping his ear and then looking at the crowd around them, hoping she got the picture; there were far too many people listening.
Her shoulders tensed, then she nodded sharply, and they were silent for the rest of the walk up to Gryffindor Tower. Neville gave the password — explaining delightedly how it was the name of a species of rare plant he'd gotten for his birthday, so he was sure to remember it — and Harry couldn't help the way his heart eased at the sight of the Gryffindor common room. His first real home.
Not many people had made it up thus far — the three of them had squeezed past the crowd and taken a few shortcuts, not wanting to be gawked at. "We can talk things over properly at the weekend," Harry said, keeping his voice low as he looked at Ginny. "Best to just observe for now."
She didn't look happy about it, but she nodded all the same. "I'm going to bed, then. Goodnight, boys." Seemingly without thinking, she leaned up on her toes and gave Neville a kiss on the cheek. When she pulled back, they were both blushing furiously, and Ginny disappeared with a squeak, practically sprinting to her dorm. Harry watched her go, then looked back at his dazed friend. "It's been far too long a day to get into that," he decided, shaking his head and dragging Neville towards the stairs up to the boys' dorms.
"It's… complicated," Neville agreed, sounding wistful.
Whatever it was, Harry hoped it was sorted out this year. He'd finally rid himself of the Ongoing Saga of Ron and Hermione; he didn't need to be party to another romantic disaster.
Changing into his pyjamas up in the dorm, Harry wished he could talk to Sirius. He'd have to get the second mirror to Snape as soon as possible, so it could be passed on to his godfather.
Dean and Seamus entered just as Harry was pulling on his shirt, going abruptly silent when they saw him. Harry offered the pair a strained smile.
"Alright, Harry," Dean greeted, somewhat awkward. "How was your summer?"
"Oh, y'know," Harry replied evasively, shrugging — that was a can of worms he absolutely did not want to get into. "Yours?"
Dean looked at him, then glanced at his best friend. "…Better than Seamus'," he settled on. Harry sent the Irish boy a curious glance.
"Me mam didn't want me to come back," Seamus said eventually, focusing most of his attention on the quidditch poster he was putting up.
"Why not?" Neville asked curiously.
Seamus went quiet, his gaze flicking to Harry, and Harry put the pieces together with a heavy heart.
"She reads the Prophet, doesn't she?" he said knowingly. "What, didn't want you sharing a room with a lunatic?" There was more bite to his voice than he probably should've let out, but he was tired, and of all the places to deal with this shit he hadn't expected his own dormitory to be one of them.
Seamus scowled at him. "Don't you dare say anything about my mother," he snapped back. "The hell are we supposed to think, what with you showing up with Cedric Diggory's bloody corpse last year?"
Harry flinched.
"Oi," Neville said sharply, surprising everyone, including himself. "Don't, Seamus. We all know what happened there."
"But we don't, do we?" Seamus retorted. "We just know what he said." He waved a dismissive hand at Harry. "Him and Dumbledore, dropping cryptic shit about You-Know-Who being back and then buggering off for the summer."
"I can't control what Dumbledore does," Harry said hotly. "And I can't control what the Prophet writes. But after seeing my friend murdered in front of me and then being used in a ritual to resurrect a Dark Lord, I think I deserved a bit of bloody peace and quiet!" He tossed his school shirt at his bed, roughly grabbing his toiletries bag from his trunk.
"And we're just supposed to believe that, are we? No proof but your word?"
"Look at it this way," Harry roared, eyes flashing. "You can sit there and think I'm crazy; fuck knows I can't stop you. You can think I'm a liar and a lunatic and everything else the Prophet says about me. But on the off chance I'm not lying and Voldemort is actually out there, do you really want to take the chance of not being prepared?"
Seamus was milk-white at Harry's words, and even Dean had gone ashen-faced. Harry snorted. "Thought not." Then he stalked past them, heading for the bathroom just as the door opened to admit Ron.
Harry just wanted to brush his teeth and go to sleep, and hope to hell he didn't dream of that fucking corridor again.
.-.
Cool grey eyes surveyed the Slytherin common room, watching the assorted students greet each other after a summer apart, no longer on display in the Great Hall. They were still far more reserved than most, but Draco could see the tension leave each pair of shoulders as they stepped into their dungeon haven.
He watched closely, seeing the way certain students gravitated towards others, avoided some. The lines were already being drawn. Those with parents in the Dark knew the storm was coming, and they had instructed their children to ensure they remained on the correct side, to make sure they kept away from their classmates whose loyalties could not be certain. Even right down to the brand new first years, currently getting the 'Welcome to Slytherin' speech from Pansy, Draco could tell which way their parents leaned just by watching them interact with their peers.
It made the knot in his stomach tighten. He was going to have to walk those lines very carefully. A large number of people in this school knew his true feelings on the matter — he just had to hope they kept his secrets as well as they kept Harry's.
Draco wasn't so naive to think that he too wasn't being watched. Being Lucius Malfoy's son wasn't enough to give him immunity — if anything, it would make him a beacon. A shining example of how the future soldiers of the Dark Lord's army should act. A very tall pedestal from which to fall, if he were caught.
If he was sensible, he'd keep his head down; befriend all the other Junior Death Eaters, avoid Harry Potter entirely, and hope the war ended before he was forced to make a clear choice.
But he'd long ago lost the ability to be that sensible. Right about the time he realised his heart skipped a beat when those vivid green eyes looked at him with joy instead of anger.
He looked across the room, meeting Blaise Zabini's even stare. They had talked about it, in encoded letters, over the summer. As much as Draco would love to help nudge his fellow Slytherins out of the Dark Lord's clutches, he was in far too precarious a position for that. Blaise, on the other hand, was a known neutral party. His mother lived in Italy, and couldn't give a single fuck about any Dark Lords.
Blaise would be the beacon for the light, lurking in the shadows. Blaise would quietly position himself to be the guiding hand for any students questioning their desire to follow their parents' footsteps. To become everything the rest of the world said Slytherins were. To fall right into the trap Dumbledore had spent decades priming.
It was dangerous. Blaise knew it, and so did Draco. But someone had to do it, or Slytherin House may crumble, and that wasn't a possibility they were willing to risk.
Draco turned away from Blaise — their friendship would have to end here, in public. If Blaise was about to start making overtures to the light, Draco couldn't be seen to approve it. Just another relationship for him to keep hidden.
"Draco, darling, stop lurking over there and show the boys to their dormitory," Pansy called, offering a slight smile. She was in the same boat as him — worse, even, because her father was already surveying the ranks of eligible young men in the Dark faction, and might not wait until Pansy was graduated to make a decision.
"Coming, dear," he assured drily, stepping forward to do his duty.
At least he had some of his friends, still.
Crossing the common room, he almost bumped into a tall figure, and reached a hand out to steady himself.
"Oh, sorry, Draco. I wasn't looking." Cassius Warrington offered the weakest attempt at a smile. "Long day, you know? See you in the morning." He was off before Draco could say anything — if Draco wasn't mistaken, there was an ever so slight limp to his walk. Draco scowled to himself. He'd have to watch that one carefully. Cassius didn't have the luxury of time, like the rest of them.
.-.-.-.
Severus was scowling as he stepped out of the fireplace at Seren Du. A minute later, Remus appeared opposite him, holding on to Ceri's hand. The house elf vanished as quickly as she'd appeared, leaving the greying werewolf behind. "Sev?" Remus greeted, perplexed. "What's the matter?"
"Umbridge," he growled out. Breathing steadily and trying not to shatter the crockery, Severus explained the scene he'd been blindsided with upon his arrival at the welcoming feast. Remus' eyes grew more horrified with every word.
"How could they allow that bitch to teach children??" he gasped. Severus glared at the wall.
"Albus was unable to find a suitable appointment, so the Ministry was forced to step in." If this wasn't a long-standing plan of Fudge's — and likely Lucius Malfoy's — Severus would eat his cauldrons. He was surprised Lucius hadn't mentioned it to him; then again, he didn't often talk to Severus about his Ministry dealings, except to gloat when they were successful. And Severus had been avoiding him somewhat, this summer.
"You should've heard the speech she gave. The Ministry don't like the things Dumbledore's spouting, so they're determined to interfere in Hogwarts and undermine him. No doubt Fudge has his little sycophant searching for something he can use to get Albus sacked." Truly, Severus wouldn't mind that outcome — if there was any way to trust that whoever the Ministry replaced him with wouldn't be a thousand times worse. Better the devil you know, after all.
"Well, that explains the bloody Slinkhard book," Remus muttered derisively. "I suppose we should be grateful she didn't set someone more like Argent."
Just the name of the man who wrote books detailing the number of ways to dispose of werewolves and other dark creatures made Severus hiss angrily. "No, instead we'll have a whole year of children learning nothing but theory, and being told to shut up and let the Ministry handle everything," he spat. "And I have to sit at the same bloody table as her for every meal of the day and somehow not slip poison in her tea."
The woman was utterly foul — responsible for half the woes of the last fifteen years of Remus' life, and here to cause trouble in his school besides.
Remus stepped forward, hands sliding over Severus' shoulders, kneading at the tense muscle. "With any luck, the curse on the position will take care of that for us," he joked quietly, brushing a kiss across Severus' cheek. The Potions Master couldn't help but lean into the touch, turning towards his Gryffindor like a flower seeking the sun. "She'll come after you," Remus murmured knowingly. Severus was a Marked Death Eater, and they knew damn well Fudge didn't believe anything about him being a spy for Dumbledore. "But not until after she's already gone for Hagrid, and Flitwick, and every teacher on staff who takes offence at her presence. She's there to keep the students downtrodden and complacent — who does that better than Professor Severus Snape?"
His amber eyes were dancing teasingly, Severus could hardly believe how calm he was being. The woman had made his life hell, would be making his family's life hell for the next year, and here he was making jokes. Severus would have been plotting a dozen or more accidents for her to befall while on staff.
He already had eight lined up in his mind.
Soft lips pressed to his, a hand cradling the back of his neck. "She'll be after Harry," Remus continued. "And his friends, if she ever realises they're just a year or two away from completely tearing her beloved Ministry apart. And look on the bright side — if she's busy at the school, she won't have the time to pass any more of her barbaric creature laws." Remus paused, looking up at him. "Has Dumbledore taken proxy of her seat?"
It was hard for Severus to think with those gentle fingers stroking the short hairs at the base of his neck, and it took a couple of seconds for him to answer. "No, she's kept it. Fudge's doing, I'm sure." Remus frowned, but stepped in closer.
"Shame. But this isn't the end of the world, Severus. This is an enemy we know. And this is an enemy you, my devious snake, can easily outwit." When the Gryffindor pulled back, his eyes were glowing, lips curled in a wolfish grin. "She's going to think she can take on our cub, and she's wrong. He and his friends will knock her down before she even realises what they've done. All you have to do," he leaned in for a slow, chaste kiss, "is protect Harry while he puts that ridiculous Potter luck to good use. Which you had already planned to do this year. Anything you can do to infuriate that bitch is just a bonus."
Severus' lips twitched in a reluctant smile. "Sounds like you've got it all figured out," he drawled lightly. Remus smirked at him.
"She's a hideous excuse for a human, and she's going to get exactly what she deserves, one way or another." The satisfaction in his tone while talking about the downfall of that odious Ministry hag, the delight he was taking in the idea of her comeuppance — that was the man Severus knew and loved, innocent on the surface but devious underneath. And it was doing things to Severus' libido, heat gathering low in his gut.
"I don't want to talk about Dolores Umbridge anymore," he said intently, reaching out to take Remus' hand. He should be getting back to the school — first night back often ended with some homesick first year at his door — but he wasn't sure when he could get away again, and it would take a stronger man than him to walk away from Remus Lupin with that look in his eyes.
"Good." The werewolf's fingers tightened around his, tugging him towards the staircase. "Neither do I."
.-.-.-.
When Harry first got down to breakfast, he was momentarily disappointed at the sight of four solid blocks of same-colour robes; had all their progress last year been for nothing?
Then his drowsy brain noticed the four heads of house handing out schedules, and he blinked — oh, that made sense. No need to send the teachers all over the hall. With any luck, they'd be back to their mingling by lunch.
Ignoring the feeling of eyes on him, Harry and Neville went to sit with their three favourite Weasleys. "Morning, lads," George greeted chirpily. "Ready for your first day of OWL lessons?"
"You ready for your first day of NEWTs?" Harry retorted dryly, making the redhead laugh.
"Oh, I think we'll manage just fine."
Harry and Neville looked up as McGonagall floated a pair of schedules towards them, and Harry shot her a quick grin in thanks. "Let's see what we've got, then." Harry looked at his schedule, and sucked in a sharp breath.
"Blimey; not giving you an easy start, are they?" George remarked, peering over Harry's shoulder, his own schedule ignored in his hand. "Binns, Snape, Trelawney and Umbridge all in one day. What a winning combination."
It seemed to be a unanimous agreement that Umbridge's classes were going to be awful. Harry grimaced — at least with double Potions he'd have a chance to relax.
He paused, running that thought back through his head.
Oh, how things had changed.
"Fred! George!" The screech made Harry wince, and the twins whipped around to see a furious Hermione storming over, a poster in hand. Harry recognised it as one of the advertisements for product testers the twins had shown him before leaving Grimmauld, planning on putting up in all the common rooms. "I should put you both in detention for this! You can't advertise for testers in the common room!"
"Please, O' Wise Prefect, point us to the exact section of the school rules that says we can't," Fred asked, grinning. Hermione's eyes narrowed.
"You shouldn't need to see the rules, it should be common sense!"
"There's a warning about the risks," Ginny pointed out mildly from the opposite side of the table. "As long as everyone consents, they're fine."
The twins shared a smirk as Hermione's anger grew, her nostrils flaring. "That can't be within the rules," she hissed. "Back me up, Ron!"
"Leave me out of this!" Ron yelped, already sat at the table further up and piling his plate high with breakfast foods. Hermione glared at him, then turned back to Fred and George.
"If I catch you two giving anyone one of your untested disasters, you'll regret it," she warned them, then stalked off to go and sit with Ron. Harry looked over at the two sixth year prefects, who were sat with a bunch of first years and helping them figure out their schedules.
"She does realise that there are other prefects in Gryffindor, right? And that one of them is your roommate?" he asked, frowning in confusion. "It's not all down to her."
"Kenny doesn't care what we do as long as we don't test it on him," George agreed cheerfully. "Don't worry, Little Miss Rulebook will learn eventually. She won't be able to keep an eye on everyone and still revise for her OWLs — especially not the way she studies."
"And with Ron as her prefect partner," Fred added, rolling his eyes.
"Well, on that shining note, we're gonna see if we can sell a few things before Herbology," George said, patting his satchel with a conspiratorial wink. "Good luck with your Hell Monday, chaps." He used a spell to ruffle Ginny's hair with a grin, and then the two of them were off. Neville snickered as Ginny tried to re-do her hair, then looked down at his schedule in dismay.
"It really is awful," he sighed. Harry shrugged. "Could be worse," he mused, though he wasn't sure exactly how.
At least the rest of his schedule wasn't too bad — though, considering it was OWL year, there was probably no 'easy' configuration of classes. Harry was determined to apply himself this year, though; Dumbledore knew the compulsions were broken, there was no need to downplay his academic abilities. As long as he didn't perform any enormously strong feats of magic, he would be fine.
He was sick of holding back for the sake of others. He didn't have to worry about upsetting Hermione, or making Ron jealous. He liked learning — maybe not as much as the Ravenclaws — and he wanted to do well this year.
He wanted his godfathers to be proud of his exam results. Hell, he wanted Snape to be proud, too.
With that in mind, Harry finished his breakfast, and he and Neville headed off to Binns' classroom.
.-.
History of Magic was perhaps not the greatest class to begin his resolution to do well in class; everyone knew the only way to actually get a good grade in that subject was to self-study and ignore Binns entirely. Still, instead of using the forty-five minute period to doze off like he might have done in the past — or to doodle like Ron seemed to be doing — Harry sat in the back with Neville and a cluster of his Hufflepuff friends, making plans for the first study group of the year. The regular study group, not the heirs one; though Susan had a determined look in her eye that made Harry wonder what she had in mind to combat Umbridge's influence.
He was secretly very, very glad that Susan was the one spearheading the whole Wizengamot Takeover situation; she knew more about wizarding politics than he ever would, and had far more clear ideas and solutions than Harry. Also, he had other priorities; namely training to kill a Dark Lord, and getting rid of Dumbledore.
He would work on his end of the bargain, and Susan would deal with the rest.
In Potions, Harry was happy to partner with Neville, despite the skeptical look Snape levelled at him when no one else was looking. He wasn't going to abandon his friend in his least-favourite subject, even if it would be more of a political statement to sit with one of the Slytherins. Perhaps later in the term, if he could get Neville's confidence up, they could split up and sit with Blaise and Daphne; the only two 'safe' Slytherins now Voldemort had returned.
Harry tried his best not to look at the back of Draco's head while he stirred his Draught of Peace. Snape was throwing them right in at the deep end, setting a tricky potion that required precise measurements and careful timing. "You're doing great, Nev," Harry murmured supportively, looking over at his friend's cauldron. It wasn't quite the same shade of lilac as Harry's, but it was still purple.
Neville's hand trembled around his knife. "I can't do this," he moaned, voice quiet. "I'm going to fail Potions."
"No you're not," Harry insisted. "Come on, just take a breath. You're ace at Herbology — you know exactly what every one of these plants does, and how they interact with each other. Just think of it an an extension of that." If he could get Neville to get over his fear of Snape, the other Gryffindor would probably do very well in the subject.
If only he could tell his friend that the Potions professor wasn't as awful as he made out to be.
He kept on top of his potion the best he could while also quietly coaching Neville through his, going silent every time Snape was even remotely near their corner of the classroom. It didn't stop the man from strolling by and making snide remarks every five minutes or so, but that didn't bother Harry; he just had to remind himself that, unlike in the summer, he had to refrain from replying. He kept his head down, focusing on his Draught of Peace — which he'd brewed before under Snape's instruction, at Seren Du — and by the end of the class, Harry and Hermione were the only two Gryffindors whose potions were emitting a delicate silver vapour. Neville's was puffing out clouds of pale grey smoke, which seemed a much better outcome than either of them anticipated. Certainly better than Ron's, which was spitting green sparks.
"What is this, Potter?" Snape drawled, giving the cauldron a look of disgust. Harry fought down a smirk.
"Draught of Peace, sir." He tried not to sound too confident, but he knew damn well there was nothing Snape could properly criticise about it. Snape knew, too, if the blink-and-you'll-miss-it flash of approval in his eyes was anything to go by.
"We'll see about that, won't we?" came the cool response, before Snape gave one last disparaging glance at Neville's cauldron and continued back up to the front of the classroom, barking out orders to bring a flagon of potion up for grading. Harry allowed himself a small smile as he bottled his draught. Snape could belittle him and his father and his skills as much as he wanted during class, Harry knew it was all for show. And even if he found a way to give Harry a failing grade for every single piece of classwork, it would have no bearing on his exam grade.
Harry was going to get that O in Potions if it killed him.
.-.-.
Giving Ron and Hermione a wide berth at lunch — Ron was complaining about Potions, while Hermione was furiously marking up her class schedule and comparing it to her revision timetable — Harry and Neville went to sit at the Hufflepuff table instead, with Hannah and Ernie.
Harry's first instinct had been the Ravenclaw table, but then he'd realised that beside Luna, Ginny was sat flirting up a storm with Michael Corner. He wasn't going to subject Neville to that.
"Have you had a class with her yet?" Hannah asked quietly, eyes flicking up to the pink-clad woman at the head table. Neville shook his head.
"This afternoon, we've got a double," he said, grimacing.
"We've got her tomorrow," Ernie supplied. "You'll have to let us know how it goes."
"When's Susan thinking?" Harry asked, knowing the redhead would want everyone to meet soon. The two Hufflepuffs shrugged.
"Figured we'd let everyone settle in first, see when clubs and quidditch and everything are meeting. But soon," Hannah said. "There's a lot to talk about."
The four of them shared a knowing glance.
They spent the whole lunch hour at the Hufflepuff table, then reluctantly headed for the North Tower, where Divination awaited them. "I wish I could drop this bloody subject," Harry muttered, sitting on the stone floor beneath the silver ladder. They were early; the first ones there, in fact.
"At least it's one less exam to really study for?" Neville attempted optimistically. Harry snorted — Sirius had told him that the exam was going to take more than just making up a bunch of predictions. He would actually have to have knowledge about the different manners of divination, and when each was best used.
If only he could let on early that he planned to take the tests for Arithmancy and Runes, then he could drop classes. But that would make Dumbledore far too suspicious.
And so, with a sigh, Harry clambered up the ladder into the heavily-perfumed classroom. Not begrudging Neville as he went to go sit with Terry and Anthony — his usual class companions, since Harry had previously always sat with Ron — Harry looked around somewhat helplessly. "Harry," a soft voice called, and he turned to see Parvati Patil gesturing to an empty armchair at the table she shared with Lavender. Harry beamed at the two girls, happily joining them — just in time to see Ron throw himself in his usual seat, then blink at the empty chair beside him.
"You're lifesavers, you are," the dark-haired Gryffindor declared under his breath, making the girls giggle.
"Figured you might want a save," Lavender told him. Then she put on a mock-severe expression. "But there's no slacking off at this table, Potter. We have a reputation to uphold you know."
Before Harry could answer, Professor Trelawney swept into the classroom. She blinked owlishly at the new seating arrangements — Dean had sat with Ron, whether through choice or through pity Harry wasn't sure.
As Trelawney began to talk about dream interpretation, Harry was surprised to see his table-mates writing neat little notes in vivid purple ink, frowns of concentration on their faces.
"You two really care about this subject, don't you?" he remarked softly, once the three of them were bent over the copy of The Dream Oracle.
"A lot of people think it's a load of waffle, but it's actually really interesting. Even if you don't have the Sight," Lavender insisted.
"It's not for everyone," Parvati acknowledged with a smile, "but we like it."
"Do either of you have the Sight?"
"Lavender has a little bit," Parvati said, a touch of envy in her tone. "I don't, but my grandmother does so I grew up with a lot of respect for the subject. Not all Seers are as …odd as Lovegood."
She spoke with such confidence, and of course, it made perfect sense that Luna was a Seer, like Ginny had always wondered. All those odd creatures she spoke of and the way they affected people, the way she seemed to just know things.
Not many other people seemed to have figured it out, though, judging by the way Luna was treated by her peers.
"Don't worry, Harry." Parvati pat him on the arm, grinning. "Stick with us, we'll make sure you get at leastan E in this class." Her expression turned conspiratorial. "Word is you're aiming to upset Granger from her top spot this year."
The Hogwarts rumour mill would never fail to amaze Harry. "We've had two classes!" How could people already be talking about his dedication to his studies??
The two girls shared a look, then giggled, and demanded he recount a dream for them to interpret.
"I— can we do one of yours, instead?" he pleaded, grimacing. "My dreams… aren't great. After the third task…" He trailed off, and Lavender gasped, wide eyes filling with sadness.
"Oh, of course," she breathed, horrified. "Oh, you poor thing. Have you asked Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping potion?"
"Can't take it every night, what's the point?" he confessed grimly. The pair shared sympathetic expressions, and huddled in a little closer, while Lavender happily relayed her dream about looking for her childhood pet hamster in the Herbology greenhouses.
The bell went before they could move on to Parvati's dream, and it caught Harry by surprise — the class went much faster when he wasn't hating every second of it and mocking the whole subject with Ron. As he stepped down from the ladder, a shoulder shoved roughly against him. "You three looked pretty cosy up there," Ron remarked bitingly. "Thought you were queer, mate?" His face was full of accusation, and Harry just rolled his eyes.
"Struggling to see what friendship looks like, Ron?" he retorted. "What a surprise." He picked up his pace, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the redhead as possible, and the two girls jogged to catch up with him.
"Was he always that awful?" Parvati remarked in disgust. Harry shrugged.
"If he was, I never realised. I think he's gotten worse since last year though."
"He's been going downhill since the Yule Ball," Lavender said. "The whole Viktor Krum thing."
Now that Harry thought about it, she was right — somewhere between Hermione's relationship with Krum, and Harry coming out in the Quibbler, Ron had become mighty sensitive on the topic of relationships.
"It's not my fault he can't get his head out of his arse where Hermione's concerned," Harry groused. "They spent the whole summer together, he had plenty of opportunities."
"Are Hermione and Krum over for good, then?" Lavender asked, always keen for gossip. Harry shrugged.
"He told me she hardly wrote to him over the summer, so I'd imagine so." That reminded him, he had to write to Viktor at the weekend, now he was away from Grimmauld.
"You kept in touch? That's so nice." Parvati smiled. "If he's single again, think you could put in a good word for us?" she joked, and she and Lavender both giggled as Harry blushed.
The good mood died quickly as they reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, waiting outside. To no one's surprise, they shared this class with the Slytherins, too — Dumbledore did love pairing the two volatile houses together in the more potentially catastrophic subjects.
"Nice to see you've lost your shadows, Potter," Blaise drawled in greeting, giving a pointed glance over to Ron and Hermione further down the hall. Harry smirked briefly.
"These things happen. How was your summer?" He focused on the Italian boy purely to stop himself from staring at Draco. The blond Slytherin looked exceptionally attractive today, his slightly-longer hair swept neatly away from his face.
Blaise was saved having to answer by the classroom door swinging open. The Slytherin eyed it warily, then stepped back, giving an 'after you' gesture. Harry rolled his eyes, leading the way into the classroom.
Over the years, he had seen this room in a lot of different ways; from the dozens of portraits of Gilderoy Lockhart, to the huge stockpile of Dark Detectors Crouch-As-Moody had chosen to decorate with. But he'd never seen it so…bare.
There was nothing on the walls. The shelves contained only piles of extra Slinkhard books — Defensive Magical Theory, and the others that the younger students were using — and at the front of the class was only a single blackboard. And Umbridge, in that fluffy pink cardigan, smiling like a spider might at a fly caught in its web.
A shiver of trepidation ran down Harry's spine. He pushed past it, heading for a free desk in the middle row, behind Fay and Sophie. Hermione, of course, went straight for the front row, dragging Ron with her.
Everyone was silent as they sat. Umbridge just smiled wider.
The chorused-greeting she insisted on like they were at muggle primary school was bad enough, and when she instructed them to put away their wands Harry knew it was going to be awful.
Her 'Ministry-approved' course aims made him want to gag. Of course Fudge didn't want students actually learning anything remotely useful in this class. If he admitted there was need for defensive spells, he might actually have to admit there was something out there worth defending against.
He hadn't actually had the chance to read his copy of Defensive Magical Theory yet, as it had only arrived that morning, but as he skimmed through the introductory chapter he could tell it was going to be just as dry and useless as every other Slinkhard book he'd ever read. Which, admittedly, was only one — Remus had caught him reading it and gone on a very long-winded rant about how Wilbert Slinkhard wouldn't know so much as a Disarming charm if it stripped him bare and slapped him on the arse.
He glanced up to see how the rest of the class was handling it, and was surprised to see Hermione in front of him with her book closed and her hand in the air. He looked across at the Slytherin side of the room — they all had one eye on the curly-haired Gryffindor, waiting for the show to begin.
Umbridge, who was sat at the desk and blithely ignoring her student's imploring gaze, lasted a whole lot longer than Harry anticipated. Eventually, when she could no longer pretend Hermione wasn't there, she smiled at the girl as if she'd only just noticed her. "Did you have a question about the chapter, dear?" she asked sweetly.
Harry was marginally surprised at Hermione's blatant disrespect. The Hermione Granger he'd met in first year would never dare question authority. Perhaps three years of friendship with Harry Potter had done more to her than he'd thought.
Or perhaps she just rejected any authority that wasn't Dumbledore's.
"We're not going to use magic?" Ron blurted incredulously, drawing Umbridge's ire to himself.
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" Umbridge asked when Hermione continued to argue.
"Are you, Professor?" Harry cut in, unable to help himself. He might have shed his compulsions, but he was still a Gryffindor — and Umbridge couldn't be allowed to just patronise them so completely. He couldn't let her get away with spewing her Ministry bullshit; more than that, he couldn't let people think he in any way supported it."Hand, Mr Potter!" she barked, and Harry flung his hand in the air.
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Professor Umbridge?" he repeated with false innocence. "Only, I thought for sure you were the Undersecretary to the Minister. I'd really love to hear about your teaching qualifications."
Someone sniggered from the back of the classroom. It might have been Pansy Parkinson. Umbridge scowled.
"Senior Undersecretary, Mr Potter," she corrected pointedly. "And I do not believe it is your place to question my teaching ability. Minister Fudge and the Department of Magical Education have appointed me to this role, and that is all you need to know. Furthermore, my curriculum has been designed by the Ministry's best and brightest minds in education, and is guaranteed to correct the erroneous and downright irresponsible teaching you have previously suffered under."
Harry's hand was still in the air. "And we're supposed to pass our OWLs without ever having performed the spells we're to use in the exams, are we?"
"With a firm enough understanding of the theory, you will all be perfectly capable of performing the necessary spells under controlled exam conditions," Umbridge assured, her smile turning vicious.
"And Merlin forbid we ever need to use those spells again in our lifetime, in non exam conditions," Harry retorted. Umbridge's beady eyes narrowed.
"What use would you have for those spells once you leave this school, Mr Potter?" She gave a girlish giggle. "You speak as if you expect to be attacked the moment you step foot outside the castle!"
Harry clenched his jaw; so this was her angle, was it? He should have known. She was here to discredit him, to goad him into shouting about Voldemort's return so she could call him a lunatic and make him look like a foolish child in front of his classmates.
Well, two could play at that game.
"I don't know, Professor, I certainly could have used some of those spells this summer when a dementor sucked the soul out of my muggle cousin."
Several sharp intakes of breath sounded around him. Umbridge's face turned the same sort of colour Harry usually saw on Uncle Vernon, right before Harry got the living daylights beaten out of him.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter," she snapped.
"For making a true statement?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "You can't deny it, Professor — the Auror Department case notes are available for anyone who wants to look." Everyone in the class was staring at him now, their books utterly abandoned. Harry's pulse thudded in his neck, though his hands were steady; Umbridge wasn't even close to the most intimidating thing Harry had ever experienced.
"What happened to your cousin is of course, a devastating accident," Umbridge relented, "but you cannot use one outlying example as a call for everyone to have free use of offensive magics. The laws are there for a reason, after all, Mr Potter. The Ministry exists to protect its citizens."
"So my cousin didn't count because he's a muggle?"
"That is not the point, Mr Potter."
"What about Cedric Diggory?" Harry was on a roll now. "Where was the Ministry to protect him when a Death Eater hit him with a Killing curse?"
Umbridge stilled. "Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said, venomously sweet. She looked away from Harry, facing the class at large. "You have all been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead," she announced. "That is, of course, a lie. Certain members of our community are trying to scare you into believing this Dark wizard is at large, and that sort of fear-mongering will not be tolerated."
"If I'm lying about Voldemort, what happened to Cedric? Or are you blaming that one on the Triwizard Tournament? Because I'll remind you, Professor, that Minister Fudge was one of the most staunch supporters of bringing back the tournament, despite peoples' fears over the previous death averages, and he was the one to assure everyone that steps had been taken to prevent a lethal outcome." He smiled coolly. "So which is it?"
"Detention, Mr Potter!" Umbridge screeched. "Tomorrow evening, five o'clock. My office. And I will kindly ask you to cease disturbing your classmates and return to your reading."
Harry paused, anger bubbling within him, trying desperately to remember everything Snape had taught him over the summer about not letting his emotions get the better of him.
"One last question, Professor. About your course aims." He plastered an innocent smile on his face. He was starting to lose feeling in his hand, from how long it had been in the air.
"What now, Mr Potter?"
"If the Ministry's stance is that none of us will ever need to use defensive spells outside of class, and the only time we should cast them is in controlled exam conditions, why do we bother learning them?" She stared at him, and he stared back, unflinching.
"I beg your pardon?" Her falsely-girlish voice was painfully saccharine.
"Well I thought the whole point of school was to learn things that would benefit us as adults, in the real world. So if defensive spells are not necessary in the real world, why are they on the Ministry's curriculum?"
"For those looking to pursue a career as an auror—"
"Then why not leave them all til auror training?" Harry cut in, trying not to outwardly smirk when she scowled.
"Another ten points for interrupting me, Mr Potter," she said immediately. "Now, as I was saying, for those looking to pursue a career as an auror, a firm grasp of the theory of these spells is necessary."
"The aurors only know the theory, too? That explains a lot," Harry remarked cheerily, earning another wave of hastily-muffled giggles from his classmates.
A vein in Umbridge's temple twitched.
"Come here, Mr Potter," she beckoned softly. Harry got to his feet, striding calmly up to stand in front of the desk. He wondered if she was going to curse him, or perhaps smack him across the hands with a ruler like in muggle schools. The whole class held their breath.
Instead, Umbridge pulled out a small roll of pink parchment, and scrawled a note that Harry could not see. When she was done, she sealed it with a tap of her wand and held it out to him. "Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear. Now, please," she requested.
Hiding his confusion, Harry did as bid, stopping at his desk to gather his things — he wouldn't be coming back, even if he had time left. He didn't look at anyone on his way out.
Let Umbridge try and salvage that one, then.