After class I together with other prefects, except Ron and Draco, who considered the presence of absolutely all prefects on the same route superfluous, went to pick up first-years from Transfiguration and lead them to another class—Herbology. And only after that we went to the dungeons for Potions class.
"Folks, I have a constructive proposal," I attracted attention when we passed through the hall, moving to the stairs.
"Constructive?" Anthony Goldstein, Ravenclaw prefect, questioningly arched an eyebrow. "Then please."
"Let's compare our first-years' schedules."
Having exchanged copies of these schedules, we came to a disappointing conclusion—everyone will have classes together only in Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Astronomy. The rest—separated.
"Understand what you wanted," Anthony nodded. "But, it seems, won't work."
"Yes, pity. Would be convenient to divide looking after little ones into shifts."
Reaching the dungeons, we started the difficult science of studying potions and the process of their manufacture. Mostly, of course, the latter—the first five years practical skills of using certain ingredients are given, which is why the list of studied potions sometimes seems ridiculous to horror. Actually, similar situation with other practical disciplines.
Today's topic—Draught of Peace. According to Snape, this is a quite frequently encountered recipe at OWLs, so we must brew it with full dedication and responsibility. Result? Well, the only one who got a scolding from the professor—Potter. Someone would think that Snape is picking on, and even to some extent it was so, because far from everyone not just did not make a good potion, but generally ruined it to trash. Except the only one who neglected the recipe, missing one of the stages, was Potter. The rest made mistakes in time, in stirring, in temperature, but not in ingredients, therefore did not deserve to feel the professor's displeasure. As I have noticed more than once—from first to fifth year we are taught to work with ingredients and banally follow the recipe. Such a gross violation is worthy of censure. Did Potter understand the reason? Judging by the face and how he looked into the cauldrons of those who ruined the potion—doesn't reach at all. Well okay.
After potions went either Divination or Ancient Runes, and few, as before, went to classes specifically on Runes. Of course, first we, prefects, again went for our wards, True, worth noting that we have an addition in the person of Parkinson—the girl renounced Divination, and correctly, as for me. This is not the discipline that can be learned. I am sure that here, as in the fragments of the elf's memories, for such a discipline one needs to have a certain gift in the form of features of brain structure and slightly different worldview.
Well, and after Runes came the time of the long-awaited Defense Against the Dark Arts. Everyone, including me, was damn interesting to know how and what this short ministerial pink lady will broadcast about. For this very reason absolutely everyone appeared for the start of classes without delay. Everyone laid out textbooks, notebooks, parchments in front of them—in general, everything needed, including their wands, as one of the main tools in these classes. I myself sat next to Daphne. Personally for me it was pleasant that our relationship gradually comes out into the public in some way.
The classroom, by the way, Professor Umbridge decided not to change in her own way, leaving the entourage from Moody—modestly, neatly, with various diagrams, sketches and certificates in frames on the walls, with various teaching aids and a monstrous system of a stationary Sneakoscope—the scheme of lenses and mirrors was impressive.
Exactly at the appointed moment the door to the adjacent office opened, usually being the working office of the professor, and sometimes chambers for this school employee. In general, the door opened, from there came out this short plump lady in a sugary-pink business suit of thick natural fabric. Dead silence stood.
"Hello!" she said, smiling sweetly and cloyingly, folding her hands in front of her. In the right was a wand, worth noting.
Only a few people answered her—such a thing is not practiced with us. If Umbridge decides that we should greet her generally in the Japanese manner—this will be a disaster among students. I can see it: "Stand up. Bow. Sit down". Well or something like that... Hmm... But it would be funny.
"Stop-stop-stop," she continued to smile, although she shook her head in disapproval. "Well no, my friends, this is no good. I would ask you to answer like this: 'Hello, Professor Umbridge'. Once again, please. Hello, students!"
"Hello, Professor Umbridge!" everyone, or almost everyone, answered already. I, for example, just out of light youthful mischievousness, simply "lip-synced". Like Daphne.
"That's good," she almost sang. "After all, not difficult at all, right? Put away magic wands, take out quills."
"Arrived," I whispered quietly, stating the fact of general dissatisfaction, but put the wand away in the holster on the forearm.
Umbridge approached the chalkboard and tapped it with her wand. A moment, and text reflecting the essence of this course appeared. "Defense Against the Dark Arts. A Return to Basic Principles."
"Will note for a start that until now your study of this subject has been rather fragmentary and patchy. Isn't it?" Umbridge smiled flatteringly, but held herself with disdain and superiority. "Teachers constantly changed, and not all of them considered it necessary to follow any Ministry-approved program. The result, unfortunately, is that you are much below the level that we have the right to expect from you in the year preceding the OWL exams. You, however, will be pleased to know that we will now correct these shortcomings. In the current school year you will study defensive magic according to a carefully compiled, theoretically verified, Ministry-approved program. Please write down the course aims."
She tapped the board again, and the previous record changed to a new one, the essence of which I, as a lover of practicing magic, did not really like. Although, what difference does it make to me? Textbooks for past years are in the library, and I studied DADA including them. I have spell practice, and according to several programs. But I may have problems as a prefect, because students definitely do not like this anymore. What exactly? Aims: Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic; Learning to recognize situations in which the use of defensive magic is permissible and does not contradict the law; Incorporating defensive magic into a general system of concepts for practical use.
I see in these aims a complete lack of practice, and very, very much theory about what, when and why can be used. It is, on the one hand, understandable, because "Defensive" magic in its majority is more attacking or counterattacking, and the word "Defense" is not very appropriate in this context. Obviously, the Ministry in the person of Umbridge wants us not to defend ourselves at all, well or, as noticed at the feast—go mad and ourselves hand her some dirt, because from the side of legality, I am sure, need first to become a victim or die, and defense of own rights, investigation and so on leave at the mercy of "professionals" who will defend you post factum, so to speak. Unpleasant.
The guys in the class unquestioningly wrote down the text from the board, and as soon as the last of us finished this business, Umbridge asked:
"Does everyone have copies of 'Defensive Magical Theory' by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
No one hurried to answer, and Umbridge asked again, wanting to hear an answer from everyone at once.
In general, we began not reading, not analyzing the text, but banal rewriting into notebooks of what is written in the textbook. Must note that so far this textbook produced the impression of the most "watery" water that I have ever met in books on magic, and the beginning was about such primitive, and even wand basics, that it makes me want to puke, honest pioneer...
I, of course, wrote, looking into the text with one eye. Careless handwriting—although for some it would be the height of calligraphic art—measuredly and quickly fell on the pages of the notebook. My main attention was riveted to Hermione, who didn't even open the textbook—sat, raising her hand and calmly waited for Umbridge to ask her. Umbridge endured for a long time. Very long. Even her eye, it seemed, began to twitch. In the end, when most of the students rewrote the assigned passage, the professor deigned to turn her attention to Hermione.
"Do you want to ask a question about the chapter, my dear?"
"A question, but not about the chapter."
"You see, now we are reading," Umbridge smiled. "All other unclear points we can resolve with you at the end of the lesson."
"I am unclear about the aims of your course," sister continued her thought.
"Oh, in vain," Daphne sighed. "Although, Gryffindor."
"What to do," I answered quietly, shrugging. "She is like that."
"Your name, please."
"Hermione Granger."
"You see, Miss Granger, the aims of the course, as it seems to me, should be perfectly clear if read carefully," Umbridge said deliberately affectionately.
"They are incomprehensible to me," Hermione cut off sternly. "There is nothing said there about using defensive spells."
"Using defensive spells?" Umbridge chuckled. "I somehow cannot imagine a situation in this class, Miss Granger, when you would need to resort to a defensive spell. Or do you think that during the lesson someone can attack you?"
"Are we not going to use magic?"
Of course, the owner of such a loud voice was Ron, and I, slightly bending over Daphne's ear, whispered:
"Maybe I should attack her? So that she doesn't have such thoughts?"
"And can you do it and not give yourself away?"
"I can. I am generally... mighty," I slightly twitched the corner of my lips, depicting a smile.
"My parents would say that need to learn to ignore idiots," Daphne smirked, and Malfoy sitting in front of us suddenly chuckled quietly—he could distinguish our words. "But you know, I would wait for the next lesson. Now worth finding out as much as possible about her and her thoughts. Sure, Gryffs will cope with this, drawing fire on themselves."
While we were whispering, the dispute of Gryffindors with Umbridge, in which Potter with Dean Thomas also joined, gained momentum.
"...repeat," Umbridge spoke strictly, without unnecessary smiles. "Do you expect an attack during my lesson?"
"No, but..."
Around me were mainly Slytherins and Ravens, and we all kept silent, watched how the most restless continued the dispute, trying to give arguments, but Umbridge aggravated the situation, mentioning now a bad program, now dangerous werewolves in the role of teacher, now a psycho... It was funny that she is right—these are dubious teachers, but they were good exactly as... Mentors. Not teachers who follow instructions, and in themselves should be a kind of standard of these instructions from above, but mentors.
The conversation moved from dangers in the classroom to dangers in the outside world, but here too Umbridge parried that, supposedly, in modern society there is no place for dangers, especially there are specialists who provide security. Yeah, right, keep your pocket wider. Even the most narrow-minded blockhead understands that the magic world—is one big concentrated danger. I also looked at such a thing somewhat incorrectly, succumbing to the stereotype, like: "End of the twentieth century, normal society and all that, risks are minimal". Wrong position.
Potter mentioned the Dark Lord. It seems, Harry fervently believes Dumbledore. What am I leading to—among my acquaintances there are many who doubt the Headmaster's words. Many, judging by some rumors that I have already managed to collect in large quantities, believe newspapers and other periodicals, and there is not a word about the Dark Lord, but, as I understood, very much about Dumbledore's mental state. In general, public opinion and propaganda came into play.
The result of the dispute—Potter didn't give up, infuriated Umbridge and received a punishment. Umbridge herself let slip that the Ministry completely denies the rebirth of any Dark Lords, and she here—is the voice of the Ministry. The latter was said not in plain text, but between the lines.
In general, the lesson was almost disrupted, Potter and Umbridge properly yelled at each other, she sent our hero with a note to McGonagall, and our lesson continued. Well, like "lesson"—rewriting the textbook.
"Everything is clear," Daphne nodded, and I too understood the policy of the "party".
"Yes," I nodded, just as quietly whispering. "No DADA this year for us."
"Saddened?"
"Don't care. There is the Club—we will practice there. There are books in the library, if needed. Everything is in our hands."
"In his hands..." Draco leaned back slightly in his chair, but continued to write. "Look, so that nothing falls out of hands. Duel on Wednesday?"
"Duel on Wednesday."
"Boys..."
It seems this will be a really difficult year. Eh... Don't like difficulties.
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