"HE-WHO-MUSTN'T BE NAMED"
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had been abuzz. All students had been mildly excited for the new year, some of the underclassmen: more than others. Alana was focusing on a paper bird that a student had folded up and enchanted; it fluttered around the classroom, up to the ceiling — around the chandelier and down again: to where it was burned into ashes by Professor Umbridge. "Good morning, children," all of the students' attention were casted onto her, Alana kept her gaze low respectively before her sudden temper would rise.
"Ordinary Wizarding Level Examinations — O — W — L's. Or commonly known as: OWL's. Study hard, and you will be rewarded — fail to do so, and the consequences may be severe, " the pink lady waved her wand towards the stack of books beside her, her toad-like smile widening. The books floated down the rows, drifting individually to a nearby student. "Our previous teaching on the subject has been disturbingly ... uneven," she paused. "From now on you will be following a carefully structured course of defensive magic ..."
The Hufflepuff girl furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and in disgust at the books hat had been automatically laid out in front of her. She observed it, reading its title quietly to herself, "Dark Arts Defense: Basics for Beginners? Oh, go off." She pushed the book aside for her liking, staring at the front of the classroom where Professor Umbridge's toad-like smile had faded as she stared to where Hermione Granger had sat.
Hermione Granger raised her hand, to which Professor Umbridge had allowed for her to speak out: "There is nothing in here about using defensive spells."
The lady shot out of her stance, laughing, "Using spells? I don't imagine why you'd need to use spells in my classroom."
Everyone paused as if in disbelief. Ronald Weasley had looked the most confused of all, he spoke out, "We're not going to be using magic?"
"You're going to be learning spells in a secure, risk-free way," Professor Umbridge had concluded, she nodded.
Harry Potter called out, "What use is that? When we're go—" before being interrupted by Professor Umbridge who had looked toward a Hufflepuff who had quietly risen her hand:
"Professor Umbridge, if I may ask ...," Alana breathed out slowly, very annoyed — her breath ragged and sharp. She rose her vision towards the woman who stood at the front of the classroom questioningly, "whose arse are you kissing up to when the Ministry is content with what Hogwarts has to offer?"
"That'll be detention, Miss Wallace," Professor Umbridge nodded and looked towards the boy-who lived who had stared at Alana is disbelief of what she had said — Harry had been wondering the same thing: except he already knew whose arse Professor Umbridge had been kissing up to. "And what do you have to say?"
"Well, if I may continue:" Harry said slowly, "When we are going to be attacked it is not going to be risk-free. Also, I was wondering the same thing as Alana, except I already know the answer to it."
Umbridge smiled more toad-like, her eyes seeming to form into a bulbous shape and she opened them wide, "It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be sufficient to get you through your examinations. Which: after all is what school is all about."
"And how is theory going to prepare us for what's out there?" Harry called out, outraged.
"Nothing is out there, dear," Professor Umbridge had concluded, she seemed to smile jokingly, "And who would attack children ... like yourself?"
Harry scoffed, "Oh. I don't know? Lord Voldemort?" The room became utterly quiet as a sacred word of terror had been used, all students in the classroom visibly uncomfortable — except for Harry who stood straight-up and stared at Professor Umbridge, who could only stare back.
"Now ... let me make this quite plain: you have been told that a certain dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie," she hissed.
The boy with the glasses and the haunting lightning bolt scar spoke aloud once again to his newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor: "This is not a lie. I saw him — I fought him —"
"Detention, Mr. Potter," Professor Umbridge seemed to have shouted out.
The girl hung her hand high to where her professor could see it, but Umbridge had not apparently. So she spoke out in a hissed tone, her eyebrows practically shaded above her eyes, creating a more dramatic effect: "Professor, you should consider that your points of the argument are less valid than you'd think they are. But ... no — you're just the Lamb sharing the same tongue with a lizard of seven heads and ten horns!"
"You'll be joining Mr. Potter as well for detention as well, Ms. Wallace." She sighed.
"So, according to you Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord?" he retaliated in defense.
Tension grew strong between the two forces that mostly filled the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom that afternoon. Once again Professor Umbridge spoke out, reestablishing her own words, "Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident—"
"It was murder, Lord Voldemort killed him! You must know that!" Harry Potter shouted.
"ENOUGH! ... enough. See me later, Mr. Potter — My office." She laughed, a squeak sounding like a mouse seemed to have escaped from Professor Umbridge's mouth. She looked towards Alana and laughed again, "Both of you."