WHEN THEY ENTERED THE Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head.
The class was quiet as it entered the room; Astra had to fight the urge to treat her like she did Snivellus, as Snape couldn't actually do anything that terrible against her.
"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, though Astra grimaced as she did it.
"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."
Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order 'wands away' had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Astra calmly put her wand back and pulled out her quill, 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:
Defense 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 OWL 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. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she asked, "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 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 closely with those pouchy toad's eyes.
Astra, not for the first time since school had even started, wished that Regulus, or James and Lily, were there. Yet, they had decided not to come to any classes, and Astra couldn't really force that on them.
She was disappointed by the course aims, that was very clear, but it was also what she had expected. So, she opened her book; one thing that she had learned over the years (specifically from Professor Snape) was that the best thing you could do to a teacher that hated you was to be perfect at their subject.
She wasn't necessarily intending on breaking any rules of Umbridge (She may like pranks and rebelling, but she also wasn't stupid), but she was definitely going to try and push the line as far as possible.
The book was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. Yet, the simple goal of annoying Umbridge to her end was encouraging her, and by the time that Umbridge said something, she was only one paragraph away from finishing.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" came her high-pitched voice, and Astra looked up to see Hermione raising her hand and the entire class looking at 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.
And Astra had a feeling thatthis wasn't going to end well.
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."
Definitely not going to end well.
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.
"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. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.
"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"
"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.
"No, but--"
"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. 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. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, 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--"
"Actually, yes."
It seemed like almost everyone was waiting for the moment when Astra would enter the conversation, Umbridge most of all. She had stated it in a calm, casual tone, burying all of her current anger towards the professor deep down, forcing herself not to do anything stupid.
"I'm sorry, Miss?"
"You know who I am," Astra stated, "I believe that we do have a right to be afraid of being attacked in this class. Not only was our first teacher a psychopath who had Voldemort -"
Gasps were heard.
"Miss Black -"
"- on the back of his head, our next one was a self-obsessed 'celebrity' who quite frequently practiced memory spells on victims.
"Miss Black -"
"Quirrel personally attacked Harry with the full intent on killing him -"
"Miss Black!"
"While Lockhart cast memory spells on both Harry and Ron. During that same time period, Hermione was in the hospital wing due to a 60-foot long snake that could have killed her because of her blood purity and Ginny Weasley was underneath the school, having her soul sucked out by a diary possessed by the same wizard who returned to life just last year, in which he actually succeeded in killing a Hogwarts student."
Umbridge was red in the face and was now directly in front of Astra, slamming her book down on the desk. Each of her interruptions had grown progressively louder and more angry, and yet Astra remained collected.
"20 points from Gryffindor!"
Astra continued.
"Those were only the first two years of our time at Hogwarts. I suppose I don't need to go into detail of our third year -"
Umbridge looked like she had found a diamond in a coal mine. "Well, don't you know the danger of your third year was due to -"
"My father, yes." Astra nodded, a small smirk on her face. "Yes, the danger that was brought to the school were the dementors, which were caused by my father. However, he shouldn't take total credit; it was also the ministry's decision."
Umbridge faltered, "Miss Black, your father is a mass murdere-"
"Really? I actually don't remember getting any proof of that, but I don't think that's for me to talk about."
Everyone remained silent as they watched the conversation, simultaneously wondering the same thing.
How was Astra able to strike this sort of fear and cooperation with professors?
"Sirius Black has murdered -"
"No one, according to your evidence. In fact, if everyone might have seen the Quibbler going around the school this morning, you might even know that the real murderer had been in our own common room throughout our whole time at Hogwarts."
There were gasps, lots of them. Lavender discreetly pulled out her copy of the Quibbler, and so did Parvati.
Quite fortunately, Umbridge was too focused on Astra to notice the papers spreading throughout the room, though Astra did.
"Don't worry, I'm not here to talk about my father. That wasn't the original topic, though it is something the Ministry could improve on. The real point is that we should realistically be afraid of being either killed, tortured, or having our soul sucked out on these grounds."
"10 more points from Gryffindor, Miss Black," said Umbridge. "And detention with me tomorrow! Now, let's make this quite clear. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead--"
"He wasn't dead," Harry interrupted angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"
"As I was saying," Umbridge spoke over him, "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!"
Astra groaned internally. Harry really wasn't making anything better for himself.
"10 points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter!"
Wow, we're probably already in the negatives.
Umbridge looked like she was going to say more, but she faltered, catching sight of something.
"What is that?" she asked faintly.
The Quibbler was in Neville's hands in the moment, and he looked quite frightened. Astra was really hoping that he would do something; everything really depended on the school's students working together.
Neville glanced around the classroom, but gulped and held up the papers. "It's the Quibbler," he stated firmly.
Astra was impressed.
"The Quibbler?" Umbridge looked at Astra, as if she had been responsible for it (when really, she supposed it could be Lavender's fault at this point). She walked over to his desk and picked up the paper, vaguely skimming through the pages.
"Miss Black, another detention."
"What?" Astra was finding it harder and harder to remain calm. "How is a newspaper my fault?"
"You think that I'm not smart," said Umbridge quietly, growing more furious every second and waving the Quibbler around, "I know that you gave this to Mr. Longbottom! Now, do you want another detention?"
"No," said Astra stiffly, "I want to know why I am to blame for Neville having a piece of paper? Do you have any proof?"
"I don't need proof!" Umbridge exclaimed, "I know that you and that loony girl run the Quibbler -"
"Don't you dare call Luna, loony," Astra finally cracked, standing up and slamming closed her book. "Just because we run part of the Quibbler doesn't mean I gave it to Neville! But I suppose you love framing people without evidence!"
"Fine," Umbridge raised her voice to nearly yelling, "Mr. Longbottom, where did you get this copy of the Quibbler?!"
Neville, and the rest of the class, was silent for a moment; Astra could nearly see him shaking. Finally, Neville stared defiantly at Umbridge and said, "I've got a subscription."
Umbridge backed away. She was nearly as red as Ron's hair. Neville continued.
"After the Prophet started printing rubbish about Harry and Astra, Gran and I decided to invest in a new paper. This shows the real stuff."
"H-how dare you!" she glared at Neville, "And you!" she looked at Harry, "And you!" Umbridge finally turned at Astra, "This is your silly idea, to ruin the Prophet? Creating propaganda to support a newspaper?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
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 no one could 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, Black," said Umbridge, holding out the note to him.
Astra gave her a grimacing smile and stood up, kicking back her chair so it fell down as she did so. When she turned around, she gave warning glances to the others; she had already expected to get in trouble, and no one else was going to as well.
She opened the door, and nearly closed it behind her.
"Have a good day, Umbitch."
Astra closed the door before she could say anything.
She should have gone directly to Professor McGonagall, but there was one last thing.
She heard the footsteps towards the door, and quickly transformed into her owl form, hiding above. She saw Umbridge sticking her head out, before huffing and going back into the classroom.
Returning to her human form, Astra smirked as she took out tape and a small container from her bag and attached it to the door.
In the case, was a stack of new copies of the Quibbler.
Underneath, was a label:
Ministry-Reviewed Newspapers:
The Real Truth
A.
The 'A' was a swirly calligraphical one, one that she had practiced numerous times over summer; After all, if you were going to be infamous, there had to be something to remember you by.
With that, she walked down the hall, not caring about the trouble she would be in.
She would have fun giving Umbitch hell.