Ariana's withdrawal from practical Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons sent a quiet but immediate shockwave through the Hogwarts staff. It was an unprecedented act. Students simply did not refuse to attend a core class. It was insubordination of the highest order. Any other student would have been facing a month of detentions and a stern letter home. But Ariana was not any other student.
A summons arrived before dinner. A crisp, formal note delivered by a fifth-year Gryffindor prefect requested her presence in Professor McGonagall's office at her earliest convenience. When Ariana arrived, she found her Head of House not in her classroom, but in her private study adjacent to it. The room was warmer, more personal, lined with bookshelves filled with seriouslooking tomes on advanced Transfiguration. A fire crackled in the hearth, and a half-finished game of wizard's chess sat on a small table. Professor
McGonagall was seated behind her desk, her expression a formidable mixture of stern duty and deep, weary curiosity. She gestured to the chair opposite her.
"Miss Dumbledore," she began, her voice devoid of its usual classroom sharpness, replaced by a tone of grave seriousness. "I have received your letter. It is, to put it mildly, an extraordinary piece of correspondence." She steepled her fingers, her keen eyes fixed on Ariana. "To be clear, you are refusing to attend a required class?"
"I am refusing to attend a class that fails to provide the service it purports to offer," Ariana corrected gently but firmly. "There is a significant distinction."
McGonagall's lips thinned. "Professor Lockhart is the Ministry-appointed instructor for Defence Against the Dark Arts. His methods may be… unorthodox, but attendance is not optional."
Ariana met her gaze without a flicker of intimidation. Her composure was absolute, her logic a fortress. "Professor, the school has been gracious enough to provide a fund to cover my tuition and expenses. For that, I am profoundly grateful." She paused, allowing the acknowledgement of her debt to settle in the air. "However, that funding, whether from a private trust or my own vault, is a payment for a service. That service is education."
She leaned forward slightly, her tone remaining respectful but taking on the sharp clarity of a Gringotts goblin discussing a contract. "In your class, Professor, I learn the intricate art of Transfiguration. In Professor Flitwick's, I learn the subtleties of Charm-work. In Professor Snape's, despite his… abrasive demeanor, I learn the exact science of Potions. Even Professor Quirrell," she said, her voice betraying no emotion at the name, "taught us about the practical application of curses and counter-curses, albeit from a… unique perspective. In every one of those classes, knowledge is being imparted. A service is being rendered in exchange for the time and money invested."
She leaned back, her point made with surgical precision. "In Professor Lockhart's classroom, I am learning nothing. I am not being armed against the Dark Arts. I am being subjected to narcissistic anecdotes and dangerous incompetence. The release of the Cornish pixies was not a lesson; it was a dereliction of duty that endangered every student in that room. To continue attending would be a waste of my time, and a waste of the school's money, no matter the source of that money. It is an illogical and inefficient allocation of resources. I will not participate in it."
McGonagall was silent for a long, long time. She stared at the eleven-year-old girl sitting opposite her, a girl who was discussing her magical education with the cold, hard logic of a financial analyst. She was not being rebellious or defiant. She was not throwing a tantrum. She was presenting a logical, reasoned argument based on a principle of value and return on investment. It was utterly, maddeningly sound.
In that moment, McGonagall saw a ghost. But it was not the ghost of the tragic girl whose face Ariana wore. It was the ghost of a young Albus Dumbledore. She remembered him in his younger years of Defense Professor— brilliant, powerful, and possessed of a mind that saw the world not as it was, but as a series of interconnected systems and logical constructs. He too had challenged the Headmaster and Magic itself, not with insolence, but with arguments so flawlessly constructed they were impossible to refute. He too had a way of looking at a situation and cutting through the emotional and social clutter to the absolute, unvarnished truth at its core.
A faint, weary sigh escaped McGonagall's lips. How was she supposed to discipline this? How could she punish a student for demanding the very thing Hogwarts was meant to provide: a proper education?
"And what do you propose as an alternative, Miss Dumbledore?" she asked, her voice softer now, tinged with a reluctant admiration. "You cannot simply have a free period while your classmates are in Defence."
"Of course not," Ariana agreed immediately. "I have already procured the full O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. syllabi for Defence Against the Dark Arts. I will engage in a program of independent study in the library during that period. I will submit all written assignments to you for grading, and I will sit the end-of-year practical exam with the rest of my year group. If my performance is found to be substandard, I will accept whatever remedial action you deem appropriate. I am not refusing the education, Professor. I am refusing the instructor."
The proposal was airtight. It was responsible, academically rigorous, and placed the entire burden of proof on herself. She was not asking for an easy way out; she was asking for a more difficult, but more effective, path to the same goal.
McGonagall felt a slow smile tug at the corner of her lips, though she suppressed it quickly. Albus would be delighted by this. He would have found it immensely amusing.
"Your solution is… well-reasoned," she admitted, the words feeling like a massive concession. "And your performance at the end of last year would suggest you are more than capable of independent study in this particular subject." She fixed Ariana with a stern gaze, her professional mask sliding back into place. "Very well, Miss Dumbledore. On a probationary basis, I will grant your request. You will report to the library for a period of supervised independent study during your scheduled Defence lessons. I expect weekly progress reports. And if your grades on the final exam are anything less than 'Outstanding', this… arrangement… will be immediately revoked. Are we clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Professor," Ariana said, her expression unchanging. "Thank you for your time and your consideration."
She stood, gave a respectful nod, and walked out of the office, leaving her Head of House staring at the closed door. Minerva McGonagall shook her head slowly, a mixture of exasperation and profound respect on her face. She had just negotiated terms with a second-year student as if she were a visiting diplomat from the Ministry. And she had the distinct feeling that she had not won.
She looked at the chessboard on the table, at the complex arrangement of pieces. The year was only just beginning, and Minerva had a sudden, certain feeling that Gilderoy Lockhart's tenure at Hogwarts was going to be even more eventful than she had feared.