Hell Heart ❤️‍🔥 Harry Potter [1]

iv. Thea has 'Butterflies'

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iv. Thea has 'Butterflies'
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WHEN THEA IS dragged into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom by Dean that afternoon, she sits down near the back. She's about to panic when she notices Harry walk in moments later, his hand on the chair next to hers. Dean smiles at her reassuringly, before turning to Harry.

"Sorry mate. Need to talk to T about something."

Thea feels awful. She smiles weakly at Harry, who nods once, before taking a seat next to Ron.

The seat under her is cold and the overly sweet decorations peering down at her from the walls seem to watch her. They burn little holes into her skin and her heart will not stop racing, no matter how much slow breathing she does. Thea can't stop the words of her mother's letter that was delivered at lunch pulsing around her mind, warning her to stay away from Harry. Warning her that if she does anything else to go against Umbridge, she will take her out of school. Warning her of the psychological phenomenon that if you tell yourself something enough times, you start to believe it.

Umbridge has been sitting at her desk since the class entered, still in the awful pink cardigan that Thea thinks should be shredded for the good of everyone with eyes. Her gaze lingers on Thea for a moment, making it plain to her that sitting at the back won't hide her; that there is nowhere to hide from Umbridge. She looks at her desk, her heart thundering, and her flames flickering in her chest.

"Well, good afternoon!"

Thea's newly instilled fear of the woman forces her into the apathetic chorus with a few others around her, "Good afternoon."

"Now that won't do, will it?" Umbridge tuts patronisingly.

Thea thinks her mother must be insane for willingly spending a single minute with this woman.

"I should like you, please, to reply, "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," everyone drones.

"There, now. That wasn't too difficult, was it?"

Shivers flicker down her spine, and they're the horrible kind, the cold kind that war brings.

"Wands away, and quills out, please,"

Thea huffs to herself quietly, reaching into her bag to retrieve her quill and ink and to put her wand away.

Umbridge then starts to tap the board with her wand, and the following words appear.

Defence Against the Dark Arts

A Return to Basic Principles

Thea mentally rolls her eyes.

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?"

Thea's hands clench into fists. The only one she ever really learned off is Professor Lupin. The other three should have been in Azkaban, not teaching kids in school. Umbridge seems to be taking after Quirrell, Lockhart and 'Moody'.

"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 being rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."