High Hopes (Harry Potter)

3: Maybe... Lord Voldemort?

Margo and I joined the line of fifth years pressed against the wall outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The cold of the stone bricks seeped through my robes and I shivered, pulling them closer around me. The others were all deep in conversation, no doubt about the new professor. The babble of chatter rose and echoed in the wide corridor. I turned to Margo to add my input on the conversation.

Before I could open my mouth she asked, "What do you think of her?" 

I shrugged noncommittally. "If she teaches anything like how she gives speeches, I'm going to hate her," I confessed. "She really got on my nerves last week."

Margo sighed and crossed her arms, surveying the corridor. She turned toward the door, which was now open to the students filing in. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike exchanged looks as they entered the classroom. That wasn't a good sign. She spoke up just as we walked through the door. "Whatever she's like, I bet she won't be half as good as Professor Lupin was."

We took our seats, a few rows from the back. It looked as if everyone had the same idea as I did, wanting to sit as far away from Professor Umbridge as possible. She was already seated at her desk and she surveyed the classroom with a bitter smile and a regal-like attitude.

Unsurprisingly, no one dared speak. No one knew what she was like, but the impression she made the week before wasn't a good one.

"Well good afternoon!" she greeted, in that high-pitched girly voice of hers. I shuddered. It sounded like nails scraping a chalkboard to me. Several replies could be heard, rippling through the silence. Professor Umbridge frowned and even from my position in the classroom I could see the creases on her face as a result. It wasn't pretty. Then again, neither was she.

"Tut tut," she scolded. "That won't do, now will it? I should like you to please reply 'Good afternoon Professor Umbridge'. One more time please. Good afternoon class!"

I sighed and exchanged a look with Margo. It was obvious she was thinking the same thing as me. With a slight incline of her head, I knew she was warning me not to get on Professor Umbridge's bad side. I rolled my eyes dismissively. I wouldn't get on her bad side. I was generally likeable to most teachers. Surely this frilly pink woman wouldn't be the exception?

It took approximately ten minutes for her to prove to us that she was in charge and she wasn't going to spare us much patience. Every wand was stowed away in a schoolbag and the silence was broken only by the weirdly pleasing scratching of quills on parchment. The board displayed the words "Course Aims" in large cursive writing. Underneath this were the three apparent aims for the year.

1) Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic
2) Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can be legally used
3) Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use

I couldn't fathom a reason why she needed to notify us of her own personal goals, but I wrote them down just like everybody else did. 

It was clear that Professor Umbridge believed that reading was the next step to a good retaining of knowledge and so five minutes later, that's what we had been assigned. Reading. And I was bored senseless. You'd think a Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook would be interesting, but no. At least, Chapter 1 wasn't. I looked around the classroom, at the various books lining the shelves, the ornaments and the students. 

Something caught my eye in the corner of the room and I turned to see what it was. Hermione was sat upright in her seat and was staring intently at Professor Umbridge. Her hand was stiff as a board, straight in the air. On a second inspection, it dawned on me that more than half of the class were watching Hermione's silent struggle to be noticed. Umbridge, who had been pointedly averting her gaze for the past few minutes, finally looked to Hermione.