Toads and Snakes

If someone were to tell me Dolores Umbridge would be my next Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, I would have told them they were going mad. She is not a teacher. Goodness, she is barely a human being! The blood stained mark on Harry’s hand was proof of that. Nevertheless, as we walked into the classroom, there she stood: clad in pink and looking like a hell spawned toad sent from the underworld. On days like this I really question the world.

“Good morning, children.” If cough syrup had a sound, it would be her voice. It was too sweet. It trickled down my ears, filled my mind, and made me want to fire off any curse known to witches. Maybe Fred and George could invent something to change it; for purely educational reasons, of course.

Ignoring the rest of the student’s muffled responses, I swept my eyes across the room once more. A lot had changed in the past year. The rich mahogany colored floors were just as pristine, but they lacked the scratches and smudges it had acquired every year. The desks were pushed back together in rows of two and the blackboard was back at the front of the room. But the most striking difference was the lack of space. There was no room for dueling.

“Granger,” I cut my gaze to the sound. Daphne. Gods, was it good to see her. She sat in the left seat of my usual spot. I don’t think I would ever tire of gazing at her. Her hair fell in soft waves down her back, the platinum blond color a stark contrast to the chocolate like colors of her eyes. Moreover, she was still as pale as the ghosts that haunt the castle and just as icy. But just like all our other encounters, she simply sat there with a smirk curling across her lips.

“Greengrass,” Giving her a small frown, I muttered the muffliato charm and sat down in the right seat. We agreed months ago that it was too much of a gamble to be seen in public like this. She was an heir to one of the Sacred Twenty Eight families and daughter to two of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named pathetic followers. There would be more then her surname lost if we were found out.

“Have you been drinking again? We both know it’s risky for you to do this,”

“I take offense to that. As for that problem, don’t worry. It’s just going to look like I had nowhere else to sit,”

“Daph, come on, we c-”

But before my protest could continue, she spoke.

“We’ll talk about this later,” She hissed before canceling the spell. The sentiment was clear: the time for warmth has passed. We must be no more then acquaintances now, if not bitter rivals. This was the part I hated about having to hide our relationship. We can’t be free, she can’t be free. Damn purebloods.

“The Ministry was kind enough to update your outdated and poorly done curriculum and I will be teaching it. Pull out your textbook and begin reading from Chapter one.”

Our former school years were not the best, but we at least learned the proper topics. We had an escaped convict as our professor last year, and we were taught more. This class seems to be more about theory then application, which is useless on it’s own. The Unforgivables we learned in our 4th year may be labeled “dark” but they serve a purpose. The killing curse teaches that death can be a mercy, the Cruciatus curse that pain solves nothing, and the Imperious curse shows that freedom is not to be taken for granted. The year before him also gave us insight into how to properly win a fight. We faced boggarts, defensive spells, dueling matches, and proper technique. Remus Lupin may have been the best teacher we ever had. This class now is as much of a joke as first year was.

“By making us read a book? How will that help us defeat Voldemort?” Communicating his anger was never Harry’s strong suit, but pissing other people off was. Red splotched appeared in Umbridge’s cheeks and her eye twitched at the ease he spilled his name out. The taboo surrounding it was still hard to shake.

“He is NOT back! He is dead, Mr. Potter, and you’d do well to remember that! Do not say his name in my presence!”

All hell broke free after that.


Word count: 603