Harry had used magic in front of his Muggle cousin Dudley, and the news spread quickly throughout the wizarding world. The Ministry of Magic summoned him to explain himself, and after a tense trial, they decided that Hogwarts needed stricter oversight. Dolores Umbridge, a pristine Ministry official with a taste for control and order, was appointed the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Her arrival sent a ripple of unease through the school. Rumors of her strict rules and obsession with theory over practice preceded her, and students knew immediately that lessons in real defense would be replaced with Ministry-approved, risk-free instruction.

Umbridge: "Your previous instruction in this subject has been disturbingly uneven. But you will be pleased to know that from this moment forward, you shall follow a carefully structured, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic—safe, proper, and entirely under my supervision."

The students shifted in their seats uncomfortably, exchanging quick, worried glances. Hermione’s hand shot up, her quill momentarily frozen in midair.

Hermione: "There’s nothing in here about actually using defensive spells."

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though her sweet smile never faltered. She tilted her head, fingernails clicking softly against the edge of her desk.

Umbridge: "Using spells? Ha ha! I cannot imagine why you would need to use spells in my classroom."

Ron blinked, staring at her in disbelief. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, jaw tight.

Ron: "We’re not gonna use magic?"

Umbridge’s hands fluttered as she adjusted her cardigan, each movement precise, measured, almost like a dance designed to frustrate.

Umbridge: "You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way."

Harry’s fingers curled around his wand in his pocket, though he did not draw it. His voice rose, tinged with exasperation.

Harry: "Well, what use is that? If we’re gonna be attacked, it won’t be risk-free."

Umbridge’s head tilted, her smile softening into a saccharine expression that did nothing to hide the glint of steel in her eyes. She tapped a finger against her desk, the sound echoing unnaturally in the quiet room.

Umbridge: "Students will raise their hands when they speak in my class."

She paused, letting the silence stretch, watching each student squirm under her gaze. Hermione fidgeted with her quill, Ron drummed his fingers on the desk, and Harry’s eyes burned with restrained anger.

Umbridge: "It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be sufficient to get you through your examinations, which, after all, is what school is all about."

Harry slammed his notebook shut lightly, earning a sharp glance from Umbridge. He stood, leaning slightly forward, his voice low but intense.

Harry: "And how’s theory supposed to prepare us for what’s out there?"

Umbridge’s hand rose in a delicate gesture, as if brushing away an invisible inconvenience. She blinked slowly, her eyes sweetly patronizing.

Umbridge: "There is nothing out there, dear! Who do you imagine would want to attack children like yourself?"

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.

Harry: "Oh, I don’t know… maybe Lord Voldemort!"

The room froze. Even the faint hum of the magical wards seemed to falter. Hermione’s hand hovered over her book, her mouth slightly open. Ron’s jaw dropped slightly, and a few students whispered under their breath.

Umbridge: "Now let me make this quite plain. You have been told that a certain dark wizard is at large once again. This… is… a… lie."

Harry: "It’s not a lie! I saw him! I fought him!"

Umbridge’s wand flicked up sharply. Her eyes glinted dangerously, her voice slicing through the tension like a knife.

Umbridge: "DETENTION, Mr. Potter!"

The room shivered under her words. Students slumped, some hiding relieved smiles, others watching Harry with fear and sympathy. Umbridge’s sickly-sweet control pressed down on them, a stark contrast to the freedom of real lessons elsewhere.