a/n: pretty long chapter!1!!!!111
...
Harry gazed at Darcy from afar, not knowing how to feel about her, or his attitude towards her. He felt bad, that was for sure, but also a different tingle that sent sparks up his body. And watching Darcy leave, with Gemma, Theodore Nott, and Hermione following after, really made those sparks intense.
"You alright, Harry?" Ron asked. "I know Seamus this morning really put a damper on your mood..."
When Harry said nothing, Ron continued with caution. "But the way you acted towards Darcy was very unlike you... And I really don't think that being mad at her for nothing in particular is the best--"
"Why, Ron," Harry snapped, "just because I was foul to her, doesn't mean you have to as well."
"Well, I--" Ron stuttered. "I know that! It's just--uh--it as very unlike you."
Harry only stared at his friend, and then realized what was happening. "You like her, don't you?"
Ron's face flushed redder than ever and he shook his head. "I don't see how you got that."
Harry guessed that maybe that was why Ron was so flustered at Grimmauld. He was always red around Darcy, and now that Harry had called his best friend out on it, it was clearer. Though, that tingle still lingered, and Harry couldn't help but feel even more bitter. Of course, Darcy had grown out of her shell in the two years she spent at Hogwarts. She could now speak, permanently hopefully, and it gave her a boost of confidence that Harry often envied and adored about her.
And Harry liked her. He liked her this morning, and the night before, and the day they spent together the beginning of summer. Harry liked how she smiled, and liked how it was them two that really understood each other, and were left out together. He liked that when she talked, she was so sure and just of her voice.
The Yule Ball, when she pretended to step on his feet whenever he tripped, just to share the embarrassment. He hadn't felt it fully then, but as he thought of it, his heart would trip over itself.
He liked that he saw her grow up (granted, everyone did). He especially liked the evening before the Quidditch game in fourth year, and how she had said to him: "I feel closer to you sometimes. Like we can tell each other anything."
Yes, Harry liked Darcy, and he assumed Ron did too--who already felt like he was the second. Harry couldn't...He didn't how to feel about that. He could tell Ron, but that would lead to Ron backing down, and a potential remake of last years fight...
And did Darcy not look at Harry, earlier the morning, differently? He saw the expectant look in her eyes. Did she think differently of him this year, just as he had?
A little note in the back of Harry's head sang not to put himself down like that--to let go of Darcy...But he looked levelly at Ron. "If you like Darcy--"
"It's not about Darcy--blimey, Harry!" Ron interrupted, shoving his shoulder. "I'm talking about you, mate. You've been foul since we got here."
Harry frowned at him. "Then why do you get so flushed around her? At Grimmauld place--"
His best friend turned an incredulous eye at him. "Have you not heard what I just said? The topic is on you, mate."
This time it was Harry's face that turned beet-red. He shook his head--feeling rather silly, because Ron was right. Harry was too caught up with his thoughts of Darcy, that he used that as a defense against speaking about what he really felt.
Since Voldemort returned, Harry had always gotten the same dream every night or so. It would appear out of nowhere, this dark hallway illuminated by white lights. It was a place he had never seen, and he couldn't help but feel like this was connected, just like how the graveyard was connected to Voldemort.
Before the two boys could speak again, they were scurried off into class.
. . .
A fine, misty drizzle was coming, so that the people standing in huddles in the yard looked fuzzed at the edges. Harry, Ron, and Hermione--who snipped at them about them not paying attention to Binns and was even more snappy about their notes.
"Hello, Harry!"
Cho Chang--thankfully--saved both Ron and Harry from Hermione's lecture. Again, like the time at the train, she was alone which was very odd since Harry always saw her with other giggly girls.
His though veered to Darcy, his eyes darting the courtyard for her--and he spotted her. She was walking along with Theodore Nott, who's arm was draped over her and Gemma's. He saw that a small smile was plastered on Darcy's face, and there was a skip in her step--
A cough from Ron drew Harry back, his face now hot. "Hi,
he said to Cho.
"You got that stuff off, then?" The stinksap that Nevelle's plant had threw at him. He was not very fond of that memory.
"Yeah," said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny as opposed to mortifying. "So did you . . . er . . . have a good summer?"
The moment he had said this he wished he hadn't: Cedric had been Cho's boyfriend and the memory of his death must have affected her holiday almost as badly as it had affected Harry's. . . . Something seemed to tauten in her face, but she said, "Oh, it was all right, you know. . . ."
Harry nodded, though he had lost a little interest. He had no idea what she was doing here--or why he was talking to him. It couldn't justbe because she wanted to talk to him.
"So long as it was a good summer," said Harry simply, and his gaze unintentionally landed on Darcy again--who was smiling brightly at Theodore.
Heat sparked in Harry's chest, and his fists curled slightly. He hated feeling jealous.
Knowing that the conversation was over, Cho had waved good-bye and left.
That was when Hermione turned her talons on him.
"I've got a bone to pick with you," she said and pointed her finger at Harry. "You've got to really pick up your act."
Harry groaned. He knew she was going to say the same thing Ron did that morning.
"You've got to do something about your attitude," she said, closing her book. "This morning was out of line. How could you be so blind--?"
"Blind?" Harry interrupted. "Why would I be blind? I just wasn't in the mood to speak to anyone."
Harry was very uncomfortable, talking about Darcy when she was across the courtyard. He just really wasn't in the mood to speak anyone this morning after Seamus's outburst last night. But, Harry knew he couldn't blame Seamus for his attitude.
Ron asked, "But, Hermione, give Harry a break. He's got to worry about all the rubbish of him in the paper--and not to mention Seamus last night. He
"That still doesn't excuse the way Harry brushed her off," Hermione said levelly. "She was very worried about you. With all this talk about you. You know, you're not alone Harry, you can always talk about this stuff with her, or Ron and I."
"Hermione," warned Harry. "I'll tell you when I feel like it."
Hermione huffed. "You're such an insensible boy--you know that, right? Try to talk to Darcy, make up for this morning."
Once again, there was that odd obligation that felt like something a significant other would do--and that was something he and Darcy were not.
It did excite him to think of her as a significant other...
. . .
The last class--the one who everyone was most curious about--Defense class.
When they entered the Defense 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. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad.
Darcy sat at one table in front of her two friends. Harry quickly took the seat beside her, and she looked at hi, surprised.
"Hey," he said, his smile small and timid.
Resting herself back, Darcy grinned back. "Feeling better now?"
"Much."
The class was quiet as it settled into the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew yet how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.
"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down.
A few people mumbled "Good afternoon," in reply while Darcy, from beside Harry, said, "Three hells, I'm going to hate her."
This caused a low laugh from Harry--and a small smile from Darcy.
"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.
"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."
Harry could hear Darcy grumbling about this stupidity of that.
Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order "wands away" had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled out 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 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, theorycentered, 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 recognize 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 said, "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.
"Yes, Professor, shut up," Darcy whispered under breath, causing Harry to snort.
"Good," said Professor 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 with those pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read.
It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absentmindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air.
"Am I seeing correctly?" Darcy marveled, her eyes trained on Hermione.
Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. He looked at her questioningly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.
After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry and Darcy were not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye than to struggle on with "Basics for Beginners."
When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.
"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."
Darcy let out a low whistle.
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 ejaculated 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 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. 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. Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him again, 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 —"
Professor Umbridge talked over him.
"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 Dean Thomas angrily, "he was the best we ever —"
"Hand, Mr. Thomas!"
"Oh, please!" Darcy interrupted, her hand thrusting upwards as she spoke. "Enough with the hands--you've just spewed a derogatory word at a class of fifteen-year olds, professor. I, personally, do not appreciate that!"
Umbridge turned her steely eyes to her--and a sight frown was evident.
"You are?"
"Darcy Black," Darcy said. "And as Dean said before, Remus was the best teacher we've ever had! The only irresponsible teacher we've had so far is you, not teaching us how to use spells!"
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," Hermione said, "we just —"
"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!" Hermione put up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her.
"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you —"
"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean Thomas hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads —"
"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" trilled Professor Umbridge. "Now, 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 practicing 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.
"I don't live in the real-world?" Theodore inquired "I guess everything in this school must be fake. Just like Gemma, here, has fake skin--a fake heart--also, maybe even a fake eye. It looks a little glassy--"
"Mr. Nott," warned Umbridge, but Harry spoke before she could lecture again.
"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. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point.
"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?"
Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.
"Now, let me make a few things quite plain."
Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned toward them, her stubbyfingered hands splayed on her desk.
"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-notmake-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.'"
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.
"Harry, no!" Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.
There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron, Hermione and Darcy, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night that Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.
"It was murder," said Harry. He could feel himself shaking.
He had hardly talked to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."
Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment he thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."
He kicked his chair aside, feeling the light feather-touch of Darcy's hand on his arm as strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next.
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. 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, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him.
He took it from her without saying a word and left the room.
. . .
"Quite a trouble-maker," tittered Umbridge, relaxing into her chair. "He'll be shipped to St. Mungo's with that attitude of his.'
"Professor," said Darcy loudly, "with all due respect--although there is hardly any--shut up."
"Ms. Black--"
"No," Darcy said, standing from her desk and lifting a hand. "You should send me out. I think that if I stay in this class any longer, I will most definitely make things worse."
With that--Darcy was given perhaps the same letter that Harry was given and she disappeared out of the classroom, her hands crumpling the parchment in her hands.