If Potions class brought Leon the joy of harvesting, then Defence Against the Dark Arts was pure rubbish.
The professor in charge of this course, Umbridge, was a pure British bureaucrat of the highest purity. She played the classic four-stage emergency response to absolute perfection.
The so-called four-stage strategy went like this: Stage One: We claim that nothing has happened. Stage Two: We say that maybe something has happened, but we shouldn't take action. Stage Three: We say that maybe we should take action, but there's nothing we can do. Stage Four: We say that maybe we could have done something originally, but now it's too late.
The current situation at the Ministry of Magic belonged to Stage One: covering things up and claiming nothing had happened.
In the original story during Half-Blood Prince, it was Stage Two. At the end of Half-Blood Prince and the beginning of Deathly Hallows, before the trio embarked on their escape, it was Stage Three. When the Weasley family held the wedding reception, and Kingsley sent his Patronus to warn everyone that the new Minister for Magic, Scrimgeour, was dead and they were coming—that was Stage Four.
It had to be said, Aunt Rowling understood British bureaucrats well.
So as soon as Umbridge started the class, she gave everyone a show of authority.
Defence Against the Dark Arts — A Return to Basic Principles.
When this giant pink toad tapped the blackboard with that short, stubby wand, making two lines of text appear on it, everyone knew things were going south.
"Students, your teaching in this subject has always been intermittent and unsystematic, hasn't it?" Professor Umbridge turned to face the class, her hands clasped together with fingers interlaced, placed squarely on her chest. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom did not seem to follow the Ministry of Magic-approved curriculum standards, has unfortunately left you far below the level you should have reached in your O.W.L. year."
"However, you will be pleased to know that these problems are about to be rectified. This year, we will be studying a carefully arranged, theory-centred Defence Against the Dark Arts course approved by the Ministry of Magic. Please copy these words down."
She tapped the blackboard again, and the two lines of text disappeared, replaced by "Course Aims."
1. Understanding the basic principles of defensive magic.2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.3. Evaluating the use of defensive magic in a context for practical application.
The only sound in the classroom was the rustling of quills on parchment. Two or three minutes later, when every student had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims, she asked, "Does every student have a copy of Wilbert Slinkhard's Defensive Magical Theory?"
A murmur of agreement sounded across the class.
"I think we need to try that again," Professor Umbridge said. "When I ask you a question, I expect you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' Let's try again: Does every student have a copy of Wilbert Slinkhard's Defensive Magical Theory?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the class answered loudly.
"Good," Professor Umbridge said. "I would like you to turn to page five and read 'Chapter One, Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk while you read."
Thus, everyone lowered their heads and began to read.
No—not everyone.
Two people were not reading at all.
One was Leon. He knew what kind of creature Umbridge was, so he resolutely refused to read whatever she wanted them to read, lest it pollute his database.
The other was... Hermione.
Hogwarts often had joint classes. Hufflepuff's most likely partner for joint classes was Ravenclaw, and the classroom atmosphere between those two houses was usually much friendlier and more harmonious than that of Gryffindor and Slytherin.
But this term was slightly different.
First, Umbridge didn't care about classroom atmosphere. To her, it would be a good thing if students started fighting on the spot—because then she would have a reason to physically punish them.
Second, she wasn't a proper teacher. Diligently preparing lessons so that students could learn useful knowledge... why would you even dream of such a thing?
So when she taught, she just randomly picked two classes to combine.
Just like at this moment, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were having a joint class.
Hermione's behaviour surprised everyone present. She actually wasn't reading when she was supposed to read.
She had never failed to follow a teacher's instruction before, yet now she was doing exactly that.
Among the crowd of people with their heads buried in their books, Leon and Hermione not reading made them stand out like sore thumbs. Even Harry noticed something was wrong and shifted his gaze away from the textbook that was making him dizzy.
Hermione hadn't opened her book. Her hand was raised high and straight in the air, like a needle piercing through the dull atmosphere. Her eyes were fixed on Umbridge, tracking her as she moved from the left side of the podium to the right, and then back again, without relaxing for a moment.
"Miss Granger?" Umbridge finally stopped and used that falsely affectionate tone. "Is there a question? If it's a query about the course content, I suggest you read first—"
"Professor," Hermione interrupted her, her voice clear and firm. "I've looked at the course syllabus. In the entire seven pages of the syllabus, the words 'using defensive spells' are not mentioned at all. Not once."
The classroom fell silent. Several drowsy heads lifted.
Umbridge's smile froze on her face; only the corners of her mouth maintained their upward curve, looking as if they had been glued in place. "You are correct, Miss Granger," she said, "because the focus of this course is theory. The study plan formulated by the Ministry of Magic explicitly stipulates the teaching content, aiming to get you through your O.W.L. examinations. In the exams, you will need to write out perfect spell theory, which is far more—"
"But what about us learning to cast spells?" Hermione pressed. "Just reading theory isn't enough, we need—"
"Miss Granger!" Umbridge's voice rose in pitch, a crack appearing in that sickly-sweet falsetto. "Are you questioning the authority of the Ministry of Magic?"
Leon saw Hermione's ears turn red, but she didn't lower her head.
At this moment, another hand was raised.
"Mr. Weasley?" Umbridge squeezed out the name as if she had swallowed a slug.
Ron lowered his hand but didn't stand up, remaining seated. "I just wanted to say, when Professor Lupin taught us, we learned the spell to deal with Boggarts in our very first class. Actual, practical spells—not reading books."
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