Our next lesson was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Hermione and I didn't speak about our little disagreement before class while walking to meet Harry and Ron before class. Right before we entered the class, I pulled the three of them off to the side.
"I'm warning you from now: you will not like her, you will prefer Snape. Her detentions aren't like the other teachers'. This is not a game she plays fair," I spoke low to them.
Ron didn't take my warning seriously and scoffed at my comment about Snape.
"No professor would ever cause me to like Snape," he chuckled and pulled Harry towards the classroom.
"I'm not joking, Ron!" I followed him in.
When we entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Professor Umbridge was 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 very quiet as they entered the room, not knowing what to expect from the woman in front of them.
"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," we chanted back at her.
"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 you 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."
With great reluctance, I dipped the quill in my ink and wrote down,
Course aims:
1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
2.Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three Course Aims she said, "I can assume everyone has got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard? I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."
Looking down at my opened textbook, I read the title about seven times before looking up at the ceiling in annoyance. Several silent minutes passed. Next to Harry, Ron was absentmindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page; Harry was falling asleep over his textbook, drool threatening to come out of his mouth. But Hermione, on the other hand, hadn't even opened her textbook. Her gaze fixed on Umbridge with her hand in the air.
"Hermione," I whispered at her, nudging her ribs. For a quick second, she shot me a look and turned her attention back at Umbridge.
At the noise of my whisper, Professor Umbridge snapped her eyes up from her own book and looked in our direction.
"No talking," she reminded us, completely ignoring Hermione's hand.
Hermione cleared her throat, calling the attention of Professor Umbridge and the students around her.
"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."
"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 ejaculated loudly.
"Ron!" I whispered warningly.
"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.
"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"
"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense 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."
"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 throwing caution into the wind, I shot my hand up and cleared my throat.
"And your name is?"
"Charlotte Harring."
"Well, Miss Harring?"
"Why do you propose we learn Defense Against the Dark Arts without practising it?" My voice was sickeningly sweet. "Although you think that there isn't a need to practice the defences, it has been quite clear that over the last couple of years there have been attacking at Hogwarts where these spells can help!"
"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at me, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"
"Do you plan on attacking—"
Professor Umbridge didn't let me finish my sentence as she strode over to me.
"If you meet to tell me that you believe that any professor would attack a student then—"
"But there has been; last year someone impersonated Professor—"
"An impersonator, Miss Harring, not a Professor. 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 Harry angrily, "he was—"
"Hand, Mr Potter! 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," I scoffed, "we just —"
"Your hand is not up, Miss Harring!"
Irritation washed over me as I threw my hand up in the air and stood up from my seat. Every alarm in my head rang at once, warning me of how bad of an idea this was, with the odd humming in my veins.
"My hand is up, now," I fumed, keeping my hand up in the air. "Although I stated we have been attacked on Hogwart's grounds, no one forced us to be scared into believing we will be attacked every other day. We have experienced it, therefore we expect it again."
Professor Umbridge said nothing at my outburst and turned to face the blackboard. As I spoke, the odd heat echoed in my body, tingling at my fingers, crying to be let out.
"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you —"
"The impersonator as I said and you agreed," I scoffed with my arm half up in the air.
"Your hand is not up, Miss Harring!" trilled Professor Umbridge.
"If you turn around you'll see that it is!" Hermione gasped next to me, as I raised my voice.
"Now," Professor Umbridge clasped her hands together, "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 Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses 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 practising 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.
"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"
"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."
"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?"
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter," Umbridge barely blinked, "and detention if you continue with these ridiculous outbursts!"
"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.' "
Harry stood up, next to me, and gave me a knowing look. Everyone in the class was staring at him, besides Umbridge.
"Harry," I warned in a whisper.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.
My heart dropped to my stomach. There was a collective gasp in the room, apart from Ron and Hermione, for none of the class had ever heard Harry talk about what happened on the night Cedric died.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.
"He was murdered," I said in a monotone whisper. Harry panted, trying to calm himself down.
"What did you say, Miss Harring?" Umbridge asked from her desk.
Lifting my eyes up from the bracelet around my wrist, I glared at the pink troll.
"I said," I raised my voice, "Cedric Diggory was murdered!"
"Miss Harring, his death—"
"No, don't you try to tell me—! He was killed by Voldemort. Everyone needs to stop lying to themselves and open their fucking eyes."
Hermione sucked in a breath, as did everyone in the room. Harry placed a shaking hand on my shoulder, to reassure me, but it didn't work. The hot humming fire running through my veins didn't allow me to accept any comfort. Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank, with no sign of anger or disappointment.
And in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr Potter and Miss Harring."
Harry kicked his chair aside while I stood up numbly. People watched as we walked over to the teacher's ask, but I didn't care.
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.
"You," she pointed at Harry, "take this to Professor McGonagall, dear; and you," she turned to me, "will walk Mr Potter there. I think you could use a walk."
Without saying a word, Harry and I walked out of the class, together. Harry slammed the door shut and walked ahead of me, not allowing me to catch up.
"Stop running," I called after him.
He said nothing and continued to go down the hall.
"Harry."
He turned the corner and strode off towards the stairs.
"Harry James Potter!"
At his full name, he turned around and faced me instead of going down the rest of the steps.
"What Charlotte?" he spat.
"Talk to me," I said softly.
"About what? Would you like me to feel sorry for you? That your boyfriend died? Should I apologize for not saving him? What would you like me to say?" Harry shouted. "Would you like to pick a fight with me, too, today? Since everything has to be about you?"
"W-what?"
"You heard me," Harry continued to run down the stairs.
"H-Harry," I followed him. "W-why did you—"
"It's what you want, isn't it? You want me to apologize for not being able to save Cedric? Every argument you have has to be about Cedric or make yourself the victim. Boohoo, you're alive– no one's threatening your life– you're not the victim!" Harry turned and walked down the corridor.
"I never claimed to be a victim. I never once made it about me—"
"You're doing it right now! You're probably going to cry to Ron or Hermione or whoever you want to pity you about how horrible I'm being, yeah?" Harry spat. "I didn't need you to defend me in class, I was doing just fine being the crackpot outcast. You had to bring attention to yourself like you always do!"
I stood wordlessly in front of Harry. Never had I thought I'd done all of that.
"I- I was trying to defend you. I've never done anything but try to help everyone. Why are you being so mean?" I breathed.
"See! Now you're the victim. You pretended to be a victim when Ron and Hermione were arguing—
"I've never pretended!"
"—You pretended at the house when I was upset that you hadn't written me—"
"It's not like that," I whispered sadly.
"—when Ron was upset at you for lying—"
"Harry," I said sternly, "shut up."
"—when I showed up with Cedric—
"Shut up!"
"—you cried as if you'd witnessed his murder—"
"SHUT UP ALREADY!"
A door to my left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.
"What on earth are you shouting about, Miss Harring?" she snapped. "Potter? Why aren't you two in class?"
"I've been sent to see you," said Harry stiffly.
"Sent? What do you mean, sent?"
He held out the note from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out, and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line, they became narrower.
"And you?" she looked up at me.
"I've been sent to walk him, like the child he is."
"Why were you yelling?"
Harry and I said nothing as we turned away from each other.
"Come on in, both of you."
Harry followed behind her and I reluctantly followed him. The door closed automatically behind me.
"What were you two arguing about?" Professor McGonagall asked us. Again, Harry and I stayed silent, standing away from each other. "One of you needs to answer me."
"I tried to have him talk to me, but—"
"There you go– play the victim," Harry scoffed. Looking down, I fiddled with my bracelet, ignoring McGonagall's eyes.
"Potter, go stand over by the window. Harring, you stay here," she instructed. Harry went over by the window, staring at the view, while I stayed near the door. "Now, what happened?"
"We got into an argument," I stated quietly.
"I've gathered that. What about?"
"I tried to ask if he was alright but Harry had just gotten mad at me and started to shout about..." I trailed off, looking at Harry.
"I heard the last bit of his comment. Not the entire thing, but the part about Mr Diggory," she whispered to me.
"I don't mean to," I breathed looking up at Professor McGonagall. "Play the victim, I mean."
"Why does Harry believe you do so?"
"Because he knows about me. Professor Dumbledore told everyone at... the house. I'd been upset about not being able to change anything that happened even though I knew it and I guess I had made it more about me than about reassuring my friends," I speculated.
"Hm," McGonagall nodded understandingly. "And what did you do to make Professor Umbridge have you walk Potter here?"
"I tried to defend Harry. I had shouted at Professor Umbridge that Cedric had been murdered by Voldemort," I admitted. "And I cussed in the process," I added softly
Professor McGonagall flinched at my use of Voldemort's name and walked over to her desk, calling Harry over and having us sit next to each other.
"Potter, is this true?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"Is what true?" Harry asked, rather more aggressively than he had intended. "Professor?" he added in an attempt to sound more polite.
"Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"You called her a liar?"
"Yes."
"You told her He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?"
"Yes."
"Did Miss Harring defend you against her?"
"I s'pose," Harry responded, glancing at me quickly. "Yes."
Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, frowning at us. Then she said, "Have a biscuit."
"A what?" we chorused.
"Have a biscuit, both of you," she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin of cookies lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk.
Harry leaned over and grabbed who of the Ginger Newt cookies, handing one to me. He pulled back his hand, almost as if he were to touch me, he'd burn.
Professor McGonagall set down Professor Umbridge's note and looked very seriously at Harry.
"Potter, you need to be careful."
Her tone of voice sent a chill down my spine. It had not been one I was used to; it was not brisk, crisp, or stern; it was low and anxious.
"Misbehavior in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than House points and a detention."
"What do you — ?"
"Potter, use your common sense," snapped Professor McGonagall, with an abrupt return to her usual manner. "You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting. And Miss Harring, I expect more from you. You know more about what is truly going on than any of us here."
"Professor—" I looked up from the cookie.
"No, be more cautious and warn your friends. Truly, you have to," she spoke over me.
The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around us came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move.
"It says here she's given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, looking down at Umbridge's note again.
"Every evening this week?" Harry repeated, horrified.
"Miss Harring, you have a single detention tomorrow."
I nodded.
"But, Professor, couldn't you — ?" Harry tried.
"No, I couldn't," said Professor McGonagall flatly.
"But —"
"She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o'clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: Tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge."
"But I was telling the truth!" said Harry, outraged. "Voldemort's back, you know he is, Professor Dumbledore knows he is —"
"Harry!" I shouted at him.
"For heaven's sake, Potter!" said Professor McGonagall, straightening her glasses angrily. "Do you really think this is about truth or lies? It's about keeping your head down and your temper under control! Didn't you listen to Dolores Umbridge's speech at the start-of-term feast, Potter?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah... she said... progress will be prohibited or... well, it meant that... that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall eyed him for a moment and flickered her gaze at me. She walked around her desk and held open the door for us.
"Well, I'm glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate," she said, pointing us out of her office. "You two better figure out your problems— you'll need each other!"