If Professor Quirrell's classes were a dull recitation of textbooks, and Professor Lockhart's were a theatrical performance laced with a smattering of useful knowledge, then Professor Umbridge's lessons were nothing short of a complete waste of everyone's time.
In her classroom, the only task was to sit obediently in one's chair, quietly flipping through a textbook prescribed by Ministry of Magic "experts" as the "most suitable for learning"—a book utterly useless for passing exams.
Harry had already discerned Umbridge's—or rather, the Ministry's—intentions from her speech the previous day. He had no intention of getting involved in the conflict between the Ministry and Dumbledore. However, the girl sitting beside him, Miss Granger, clearly had other ideas.
Hermione's hand shot up high, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on Professor Umbridge. The copy of Defensive Magical Theory in front of her remained unopened.
Harry gestured for Hermione to let it go and focus on something else, but she only shook her head slightly, her gaze unwavering on Umbridge. Meanwhile, Umbridge's eyes were just as resolutely fixed in the opposite direction.
Umbridge seemed determined to ignore Hermione's raised hand entirely, but when half the class turned to look at her, she realized she could no longer pretend not to notice.
"Dear, do you have a question about this chapter?" Umbridge turned to Hermione with a saccharine smile, as if only just noticing her.
"No, it's not about the chapter," Hermione said, standing up and meeting Umbridge's gaze directly.
"Oh, we're reading right now," Umbridge maintained her fake smile, revealing small, pointed teeth. "If you have other questions, we can discuss them after class."
"I have a question about your course objectives," Hermione pressed.
Umbridge raised an eyebrow, adopting an unshakably syrupy tone. "Miss Granger, I believe the course objectives are quite clear if you'd only read them carefully from start to finish…"
"But I don't think they are," Hermione said bluntly. "There's not a single word about how we're supposed to practice defensive spells."
A brief silence fell. Many students turned to scrutinize the three course objectives still written on the blackboard:
Course Objectives:
Understand the basic principles of defensive magic.
Learn to identify situations where defensive magic may be legally used.
Evaluate defensive magic in practical contexts.
"Practice defensive spells?" Umbridge repeated with a soft chuckle. "Oh, my dear, I'm sorry, but I can't imagine any situation in my classroom where you'd need to use defensive spells, Miss Granger. Surely you don't expect to be attacked during class?"
"We can't use magic at all?" Before Hermione could respond, Ron shouted at Umbridge from across the room.
Umbridge turned her head toward Ron, her smile unwavering. "Miss Granger, please sit down. Lest anyone forget, I'll remind you again: in my class, students must raise their hands to speak. And you are—?"
"Weasley, Ron Weasley," Ron said, hastily raising his hand.
Umbridge's smile grew even more patronizing. She turned away, attempting to ignore Ron, but then Seamus raised his hand. As she shifted her gaze, Hermione's hand began waving insistently under her nose.
Umbridge's bulging eyes lingered on Hermione for a moment before she forced another smile and asked, "What is it, Miss Granger? Another question?"
"Yes," Hermione said. "The overall purpose of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells, isn't it?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" Umbridge asked in her sickeningly sweet voice.
"No, but—"
"Then I'm afraid you're hardly qualified to judge what the 'overall purpose' of any course is." Being repeatedly challenged by the same person was starting to wear on Umbridge, and her fake smile was beginning to falter.
"Our latest curriculum was designed by witches and wizards far older and wiser than you. In my class, you will learn defensive spells in a safe, risk-free manner…"
"What's the point of that?" Seamus raised his hand and called out loudly. "If we're in danger, it's not going to be in some—"
"I've already said," Umbridge interrupted, "you won't face any danger in my class. And… who might you be?"
"Seamus Finnigan," he replied, hand still raised. But Umbridge, true to form, immediately turned her face elsewhere. By now, however, inspired by Hermione and the others, students in nearly every direction had their hands raised.
As the questions piled up, Umbridge grew increasingly impatient. More importantly, the one person she'd expected to challenge her had remained silent. Determined to provoke a reaction, she decided to stoke the fire further.
She returned to the front of the room, placed both hands on the desk, and surveyed the indignant faces before her. "Let's clarify something," she began. "Last summer, someone disappeared for an entire night and returned to school after an attack on the Ministry by another individual who was, shall we say, identical to them, claiming to have witnessed the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"
"There's ample evidence proving Harry wasn't the one who attacked the Ministry!" Hermione shot to her feet, shouting passionately at Umbridge.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Umbridge said, her eyes narrowing as she studied Hermione. Her fake smile vanished, and her voice turned cold and clipped. "Miss Granger, sit down. I haven't finished."
Hermione sat down, fuming. Harry reached over, gently taking her left hand and giving it a reassuring pat. In her mind, his voice sounded softly: "Don't fall for it, Hermione. She's deliberately trying to provoke us."
Hermione glanced at Harry with concern, but his gentle smile reassured her that he was unfazed by Umbridge's words.
Umbridge paused, then continued, "This is nonsense. The Ministry assures you there's no danger from any dark wizards. If you still have doubts, please come see me after class. And if someone is frightening you with tales of dark wizards rising from the dead, I'd be happy to hear about it. Remember, I'm always here to help. I'm your friend. Now, please continue reading page five, 'Basic Principles of Defense.'"
With that, Umbridge sat behind her desk. The students glanced between her and those who had spoken—most eyes settling on Hermione.
Hermione wanted to stand and demand answers about Barty Crouch Jr., but she couldn't—Harry was firmly holding her leg down.
After class, Umbridge left the room with a hint of disappointment.
On the way to the Great Hall, Hermione, still seething, swung her copy of Defensive Magical Theory at Harry's shoulder. "That woman's arguments were full of holes! Why didn't you let me argue back?"
"Because I don't want you getting into trouble, Hermione," Harry said softly, looking into her eyes. "Last year, your name ended up in the Goblet of Fire, and we still don't know why. I strongly suspect Voldemort intended to use you to lure me out of Hogwarts, though for some reason he abandoned that plan. The clouds hanging over us haven't cleared—they've only grown darker. Yes, I've defeated Voldemort before, and in June, I even killed him once. But as Dumbledore said, he lost to Voldemort over the summer. We still know so little about what Voldemort's up to. Now isn't the time to waste on Umbridge."
"But what about our exams?" Hermione asked, her tone heavy with worry. "A whole year of this kind of Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and we'll never pass our O.W.L.s…"
"Isn't that exactly why the S.O.S. group exists?"
That evening, while Harry and Hermione scribbled away at their homework and Ron roamed about inviting people to play chess, George and Fred, as usual, prepared to sneak out for a stroll.
Harry glanced at the clock, noting it was nearly curfew, and said to the twins, "Have you ever considered just staying quietly in the common room?"
"Harry, what kind of joke is that?" Fred (or possibly George) said with a cheerful grin. "Nighttime wandering is a core Gryffindor tradition!"
"Besides, we've got that—no way we'll get caught!" George (or possibly Fred) winked at Harry.
As the twins vanished through the portrait hole, Harry let out a long sigh and returned to his homework.
The next day, Hagrid was still absent, but most of the school was preoccupied with another matter: that morning, the hourglasses tracking house points showed a significant deduction for all four houses.
Through whispers from those in the know, the truth came out. The previous night, Filch and the new castle caretaker had caught thirty-seven students out after curfew—including the infamous Weasley twins!
Everyone was shocked by the prowess of the new caretaker, Walton Gridelwald. But Harry and Hermione, privy to the real story, suspected Gellert Grindelwald was merely taking his usual evening stroll.
It was Charms and Transfiguration day. Both Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall spent a full fifteen minutes stressing the importance of the O.W.L.s.
"You must understand," squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched as usual on a stack of books to see over his desk, "these exams could shape your future for years to come! If you haven't seriously considered your careers yet, now's the time. And to ensure you all perform at your best, I'm afraid we'll need to work harder than ever!"
Flitwick had them review the Summoning Charm for over an hour and assigned a hefty pile of Charms homework.
Professor McGonagall, however, didn't review last term's Transfiguration.
"If you don't study, practice, and apply yourselves seriously," she said sternly from the front of the class, "you won't pass your O.W.L.s. I believe everyone in this room, with enough time and effort, has no excuse not to earn an O.W.L. in Transfiguration."
After her brief speech, she began teaching the Vanishing Spell. As she explained, it was one of the most difficult spells on the O.W.L. exam, and she didn't expect anyone to master it in just two lessons. However, as an incentive, anyone who successfully vanished their snail by the end of class would be exempt from that day's homework.
McGonagall's reward sparked enthusiasm in the room, but the students quickly realized the Vanishing Spell was even trickier than she'd described. Hermione succeeded on her third attempt, and by the end of class, only she and Harry had managed to vanish their snails.
The two earned twenty points for Gryffindor and a pass on the homework. Everyone else was tasked with practicing the spell overnight for another attempt the next afternoon.
That evening, thanks to the mountain of homework from their professors, Ron—uncharacteristically—didn't seek out chess opponents. Instead, he worked alongside Harry and Hermione, who, free from Transfiguration homework, sat comfortably by the fire, reviewing for the next day's lessons under Ron's occasional envious glances.
By ten o'clock, most students had gone to bed, but Ron and others were still racing to finish their assignments. Harry stood, walked over to Ron, and glanced at his Transfiguration essay. "Hey, Ron, you've got a mistake here. It's not 'Invisible,' it's 'Intangible.' The Vanishing Spell doesn't make things invisible—it banishes them to…"
"Oh, come on, Harry," Ron groaned, snatching his essay back and scribbling corrections. "Don't turn into another Hermione. One's more than enough!"
Harry eyed the untouched Divination and Charms assignments next to Ron. "At this rate… you still coming to morning practice?"
Ron hesitated, then shook his head. "No, Harry. I've thought about it. The gap between me and you two is too big. Instead of wasting time on dueling, which I'm rubbish at, I'd rather focus on what I'm good at. So… not just tomorrow's practice, I might skip them all from now on."
"Suit yourself," Harry said with a yawn, nodding to Hermione before heading to his dormitory.
The next day, in the Room of Requirement, Neville glanced at Harry and Hermione, then looked behind them curiously. "Harry, where's Ron and the others?"
"They're not coming," Harry said with a shrug.