Erin hated Potions, she hated Snape. But what was the worst? Having Potions as the first lesson after coming back to Hogwarts from the summer holiday.

"Settle down," said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him.

"Didn't it get colder?" Erin whispered to Daphne.

"Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learnt about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my . . . displeasure."

His gaze lingered this time upon Neville, who gulped.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye."

"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing. The ingredients and method" - Snape flicked his wand - "are on the blackboard" - (they appeared there) - "you will find everything you need" - he flicked his wand again - "in the store cupboard" - (the door of the said cup-board sprang open) - "you have an hour and a half. . . . Start."

"This is impossible to make," said Daphne in frustration. "I swear I'll fail Potions on purpose so I don't have to take this class next year."

"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.

Erin looked at her rather light blue vapor. "Hey, Daph, do you reckon there is a chance Snape is colour blind?"

It was only a few moments before Snape appeared in front of her cauldron.

He cleared his throat before smirking evilly. "Mckinnon, I will not count with you next year on my Potion class."

She just stared at him with a blank face until he walked away from her to criticise Daphne's also blue vapour.

***

When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled "Good afternoon," in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "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," they chanted back at her.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

Defence Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles.

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of 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.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:

Course aims:

1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

For a couple of minutes, the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three-course aims she said, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.

"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad's eyes. Erin turned to page five of her copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" Umbridge asked Hermione. It was then when Erin and Daphne noticed the Gryffindor girl staring at Umbridge.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"And your name is - ?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron ejaculated loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. - ?"

"Weasley."

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but -"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way -"

"What use is that?" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a -"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" sang Professor Umbridge.

Harry thrust his fist in the air. Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him again, but now several other people had their hands up too.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free -"

"I repeat," said Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but -" Professor Umbridge talked over him.

"I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean Thomas angrily, "he was the best we ever -"

"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day -"

"No we haven't," Hermione said, "we just -"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!" Hermione put up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her.

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you -"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean Thomas hotly. "Mind you, we still learnt loads -"

"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" trilled Professor Umbridge.

"Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about-"

"But we need to know how to protect ourselves!" Erin didn't usually interrupt professors, but it was her last straw.

"What is your name?"

"Erin Mckinnon."

"Well, Miss Mckinnon, who would try to attack you children?"

"Who- A fucking unicorn." Erin threw her hands in the air. "Voldemort, of course!"

If she and Daphne made a bet about who will lose their temper during this class, she would've bet on Harry, not herself.

Beside Erin, Daphne's body tensed; Ron Weasley gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville Longbottom slipped sideways off his stool.

"You wouldn't want to say his name, Miss Mckinnon. It won't be easy to be in a war like a. . ."

Erin knew what Umbridge wanted to say. "Come on, you weren't scared to call Professor Lupin a Half-Breed. Come on, call me a Mudblood." The woman remained quiet. "But you admit that Voldemort is back, then? That there will be a war."

The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Erin.

"Detention tomorrow evening, Miss Mckinnon. Now, let me make a few things quite plain."

Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned toward them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.

"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead -"

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"

"Be quiet, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. You too, Miss Mckinnon. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners."

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.

"Harry, no!" Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach

.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.

Everyone stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.

"It was murder," interrupted Erin.

"Were you there, Miss Mckinnon?" she asked.

"No, were you?" Erin raised her eyebrow. "Maybe you were and you just don't want people to know it. Maybe you were helping him."

Harry nodded. "Voldemort killed him and you know it!"

Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment they thought she was going to scream at them. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, both of you."

Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry and Erin could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchments and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to Harry. "And you to Professor Snape," she handed the other piece of parchments to Erin.

After the door closed behind them, Erin said to Harry, "Good luck." She then turned away and started walking before Harry stopped her.

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me to Professor McGonagall."

She shrugged. "Yeah, why not."

"You know, it was nice what you've done there," said Harry.

"Look, I didn't know Cedric well, nor did you, I believe."

Harry nodded.

"But he was the nicest person I've ever met and I know that he was killed by Voldemort, by the darkest wizard that ever existed in wizarding history, and people are ignoring that, spreading disinformation! He wouldn't want that, he would've wanted people to know what truly happened that day in the graveyard. So do his parents, friends, girlfriend, and even people he didn't know the name of. I want justice for him."

After a way to McGonagall, on which they met Peeves who managed to ruin their mood even more in a span of a minute, they finally arrived.

A door to their left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.

"What on earth are you shouting about, Potter?" she snapped, as Peeves cackled gleefully and zoomed out of sight. "Why aren't you in class?"

"I've been sent to see you," said Harry stiffly.

McGonagall looked at Erin in confusion because she wasn't in her house. "I've been sent to Snape but I don't like him so. . ."

"Sent? What do you mean, sent?" Harry and Erin held out the notes from Professor Umbridge. Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning, slit it open with a tap of her wand, stretched it out, and began to read. Her eyes zoomed from side to side behind their square spectacles as she read what Umbridge had written, and with each line, they became narrower.

"Come in here, Potter, Mckinnon." He followed her inside her study. The door closed automatically behind him.

"Well?" said Professor McGonagall, rounding on Harry. "Is this true?"

"Is what true, Professor?" he added in an attempt to sound more polite.

"Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"You called her a liar?"

"Yes."

"You told her He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?"

"Yes."

She turned to Erin. "And you, Miss Mckinnon, did you do the same and accused her of being a You-Know-Who's follower?

"Yes," Erin nodded, grinning. "I've never been more proud of myself."

Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, frowning at them both. Then she said, "Have a biscuit, both of you."

"Have - what?" Erin and Harry asked at the same time.

"Have a biscuit," she repeated impatiently, indicating a tartan tin of cookies lying on top of one of the piles of papers on her desk. "And sit down."

________