The walk down to their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Umbridge felt less like heading to a class and more like marching into enemy territory. The air in the corridor was thick with a nervous, resentful energy.
Just before they reached the classroom, Ariana pulled Harry aside, her expression serious. Hermione, Daphne, and Ron instinctively formed a protective circle around them.
"Harry," she began, her voice low and direct. "A word of strategic counsel. Inside that room, you are not a student. You are a political target. Umbridge's primary objective today is to provoke you into an outburst that she can use as justification for punishment and to further discredit you."
"So I should just sit there and say nothing?" Harry asked, his frustration already simmering.
"No," Ariana corrected. "Silence can be interpreted as dissent. You must engage, but you must control the narrative. Under no circumstances are you to mention Lord Voldemort."
"But he's back! People need to know!"
"The people in that room do not want to know," she stated, her logic cold and absolute. "And Umbridge will use his name as the trigger for your 'instability'. Therefore, we will reframe the argument." She met his eyes, her own sharp and clear. "If she questions the need for practical defence, you will not speak of a dark lord who the Ministry denies exists. You will speak of the threats the Ministry acknowledges. Peter Pettigrew, an escaped traitor and proven murderer. Bellatrix Lestrange, a sadistically violent and escaped Azkaban inmate. And Fenrir Greyback, a known, vicious werewolf who preys on children and is still at large. These are Ministry acknowledged, undeniable threats. Argue for the need to defend yourselves against them. Frame it as a matter of civic preparedness. She cannot logically refute the need to defend against threats her own government has failed to contain. You will be reasonable, you will be logical, and you will give her no ammunition."
It was a brilliant piece of verbal judo, a way to argue for defensive training without ever touching the third rail of Voldemort's name. Harry nodded, a new, determined glint in his eye. He had a strategy.
The classroom had been scrubbed of all personality. The fascinating, often gruesome, artifacts of previous professors were gone, replaced by a series of twee plates decorated with frolicking kittens. At the front of the room, Professor Umbridge sat behind her desk, her sickly sweet smile firmly in place, radiating an aura of condescending authority.
She began the lesson with another simpering speech about "a well-structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic." She then had them put away their wands and open their new textbook: Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard.
Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Professor, there's nothing in here about how to use defensive spells."
"Use them?" Umbridge repeated with a soft, tinkling laugh. "My dear girl, I can't imagine why you would need to use defensive spells in my classroom. Surely you aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
"But the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice!" Harry interjected, unable to help himself.
"Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, her smile tightening slightly. "Your hand was not up. As I was saying, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough, you should be able to pass your examination without any trouble."
"And what good is theory in the real world?" Harry shot back, his temper rising.
"Harry, the acknowledged threats," Ariana murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, a quiet, steadying anchor.
Harry took a breath, remembering her counsel. He raised his hand. Umbridge ignored him. He kept it raised. Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, she called on him.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"Professor," Harry began, his voice now calm and measured, just as Ariana had instructed. "I understand the importance of theory. But the Ministry itself has warned us of several extremely dangerous fugitives at large. Peter Pettigrew, who murdered twelve people. Bellatrix Lestrange, who tortured the Longbottoms into insanity. Not to mention werewolves like Fenrir Greyback. Surely, we need to learn how to practically defend ourselves and our families from these known criminals?"
He had done it perfectly. He had used her own Ministry's failures as the justification for practical magic. A wave of murmurs went through the class. The argument was sound.
Umbridge's sickly smile vanished completely. Her toad-like face hardened. She had expected a shouting match about Voldemort, an emotional outburst she could easily punish. She was not prepared for this calm, logical, and publicly irrefutable argument. She could not deny the existence of these threats.
Her bulging eyes flickered around the room, and for a single, telling moment, they passed over Ariana. For that one second, Umbridge did not look at her. She looked through her. It was a complete, deliberate, and chilling dismissal.
And in that moment, Ariana understood. Umbridge had been briefed. She knew who Ariana was, of course she did. She knew about her Order of Merlin, her legal takedown of the Ministry at Harry's hearing was probably still a nightmare for her. And she had made a strategic decision. She knew she could not win a direct confrontation with Ariana. Ariana's logic was a weapon she had no defense against. So, she had classified her not as a student to be provoked, but as a threat to be contained. Her strategy was to ignore her, to render her invisible within the classroom, to deny her any platform or opportunity to challenge her authority.
It was a smart move. A cowardly move. And it was the most dangerous warning as well as the strongest validation Ariana could have received.
Lockhart had been a fool, easily provoked and dispatched. But Umbridge was different. She was not a blustering fraud; she was a political operative with the full, unchecked power of a corrupt Ministry behind her. She recognized Ariana not as a child to be bullied, but as an opposing power on the chessboard. Her refusal to engage was a sign of respect for Ariana's capabilities, and that was far more terrifying, yet flattering than any open hostility.
The class ended in a tense stalemate. Umbridge had been unable to punish Harry, but she had refused to concede his point, simply stating that Ministry-approved theory was sufficient. As the students filed out, Hermione was fuming.
"She's deliberately not teaching us! It's outrageous!"
"It's a containment strategy," Ariana said quietly, her mind already processing the new variables. "She intends to leave us defenseless."
"Well, we can't let her," Harry said, his voice full of a new, steely resolve. "If she won't teach us, we'll have to learn ourselves."
The seed of Dumbledore's Army had just been planted, not in a fit of rebellious anger, but as a logical, necessary response to a direct and insidious threat.
As they walked away, Ariana glanced back at the classroom door. Dolores Umbridge, the woman in pink who refused to even look at her, had just declared herself to be her most interesting opponent yet.