The Dark Lord's Bride (Draco X OC)

Dolores Umbridge

Aria's Pov

Ah, Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the perfect setting for a magical soap opera.

I find myself sitting alone, contemplating life and the existential questions of the wizarding world, when lo and behold, Draco Malfoy decides to grace me with his presence.

"Did you think about it?" He asked, his voice dripping with all the subtlety of a magical quill. "About what?" I respond, a master of obliviousness.

"About being my girlfriend," he whispers into my ears, attempting the classic shoulder lean move.

Classic Draco, always with the impeccable timing, choosing the perfect moment to drop relationship bombshells.

My thoughts, however, are preoccupied with more pressing matters like Cedric's untimely demise and the Voldemort situation.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't," I confess, inadvertently crushing any Draco-related dreams.

"Why didn't you--?" But before he can dive into a pit of teenage heartbreak, enter Umbridge, the pink queen of bureaucracy.

"Good morning, children. Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations. O-W-Ls. More commonly known as OWLs. Study hard and you will be rewarded. Fail and the consequences may be severe,"

I opened the textbook she hands out, hoping for a lifeline in the sea of educational despair, only to find it's as useful as a wandless wizard at a spellcasting contest.

"Your previous instruction in this subject has been disturbingly uneven. But you'll be pleased to know, from now on, you will be following a carefully structured, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic,"

She announced, leaving me to ponder the true meaning of "carefully structured" in Umbridge's magical dictionary.

Ah, the thrilling Defense Against the Dark Arts class, where Dolores Umbridge is busy turning Hogwarts into a magical bureaucracy workshop.

Hermione, the voice of reason, boldly raises her hand, ready to challenge the pink nightmare.

Dolores, with her signature sweetness, calls on Hermione, who gets straight to the point.

"There's nothing in here about using defensive spells?" She questions, giving Umbridge a taste of the Gryffindor spirit.

"Using spells? Well, I can't imagine why you would need to use spells in my classroom," Umbridge dismisses, and I can't help but grip my hands in frustration.

But Draco, ever the sly one, slaps my hand and intertwines our fingers, providing a much-needed distraction from the Ministry madness.

"We're not gonna use magic?" Ron, being Ron, cuts to the chase. Umbridge, in her attempt to be helpful, explains, "You'll be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way."

Harry, always the realist, challenges her, "What use is that? If we're attacked, it won't be risk-free."

"It is the view of the Ministry that theoretical knowledge will be sufficient to get you through your examinations which, after all, is what school is all about," She declares.

I, feeling the urge to push further, raise my free hands. "And how's theory supposed to prepare us for what's out there?" I asked.

"There is nothing out there, dear. Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourself?" Umbridge, in her delusional bubble, responds.

Harry, with a deadpan delivery, drops the V-bomb, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe Lord Voldemort."

The room falls into a pin-drop silence, a temporary truce between Hogwarts' most stubborn minds. But, alas, Dolores Umbridge, the queen of Ministry denial, decides it's time to unleash her version of reality.