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TWENTY-FIVE SWEET LIKE CINNAMON
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IT'S ONLY THE FIRST day of classes, and yet somehow, Delia's homework has already begun to pile up. She's got a massive essay on the Giant Wars in Binns' class, one on the use of moonstones for Snape, and now she's got a month's dream diary from Trelawney. Yes, she's complaining. Even though Delia knows that she can get it all done easily and get high marks on it, that doesn't change the fact that it's so time consuming, and not to mention, boring. She's got a million other things that she'd rather do. Because sure, Delia loves learning new things, (mostly becoming the best at them), but she loathes homework. Especially because she understands everything the very first time she learns it. (Thanks photographic memory!)
All Delia can do is hope that Umbridge doesn't also assign homework. But, when she walks into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Delia becomes certain that it's extremely unlikely. Considering how Umbridge is already seated at the teacher's desk with her arms folded across the wooden surface. As Delia takes a seat beside Pansy, she sighs. This is going to be long.
"Well, good afternoon!" says Umbridge, once everyone is seated — the Gryffindors on the opposite side of the room than the Slytherins. Delia looks over to the Gryffindor side of the room and sees Harry with his brows furrowed, carefully watching Umbride. Looking away from Harry and sitting up straighter in her chair, Delia looks at Umbridge with the smallest of smiles and mutters a good afternoon with some of the other students. Umbridge makes a noise — tut, tut — and Delia tries not to frown. She doesn't know how to feel about this. "That won't do, now, will it?" I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge."
"There now," says Umbridge, in the sort-of voice that adults use to talk to children. Delia stiffens. She is not a child. She is almost sixteen. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wanda away and quills out, please."
Exchanging a look with Pansy, Delia places her wand back into her bag — slightly confused at what's happening — and pulls out her ink, a quills, and two pieces of parchment (just in case). When she looks back up, Umbridge has written something on the blackboard.
Defence Agains the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles
"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" Delia wouldn't know, she only came here last year. But if she's only referring to last year, then she would hardly count it as a real class. Especially since it ended up that her teacher tried to kill her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year."
