For the next several days, Umbridge mercifully failed to materialize in any other professors' classrooms.
Orli suspected her reign of educational terror might finally be drawing to a close. She found herself wondering whether Snape had endured his own inspection, and if so, how he'd navigated those treacherous waters. The thought of Umbridge attempting to intimidate the Potions Master was almost amusing—like watching a pink toad try to stare down a particularly venomous serpent.
She was tempted to contact him through the Two-Way Mirror, but the risk hardly seemed justified for mere curiosity. Since the term began, Snape hadn't remained at the castle every night. His duties as a double agent frequently called him away—sometimes to gather intelligence, sometimes to return to that man's side with carefully curated information that wouldn't compromise the Order. Consequently, they hadn't used the mirrors in weeks, their secret communication relegated to brief, meaningful glances across the Great Hall.
"Orli, are you listening?"Hermione's voice cut through her brooding like a blade through silk. Orli lifted her head from the mountain of parchment threatening to bury her alive, discovering three pairs of eyes fixed on her with varying degrees of concern and expectation.
"Sorry, I was getting drowsy,"Orli said, manufacturing a convincing yawn. "What were you discussing?"
"I was explaining that Umbridge is absolutely catastrophic—we're learning precisely nothing about Defense Against the Dark Arts from her ridiculous textbook sessions,"Hermione said with the passionate intensity she usually reserved for discussing S.P.E.W. or library regulations. "We need to take action ourselves, especially considering the current... circumstances."
"I still vote for poison,"Ron declared with the matter-of-fact tone of someone suggesting they pass the salt. "Something that makes her voice disappear permanently. Or maybe just makes her disappear permanently."
"No, I mean something more constructive..."Hermione said, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic note of hesitation. "I was thinking we should simply... handle our education ourselves."
"Handle what ourselves?"Harry asked, his confusion evident in the way his eyebrows attempted to disappear into his unruly fringe.
"Learn Defense Against the Dark Arts properly,"Hermione clarified. "Real defensive magic, not Umbridge's theoretical nonsense about 'conflict resolution through diplomatic discourse.'"
"Brilliant, more work,"Ron groaned, slumping dramatically in his chair. "As if we don't have enough homework drowning us already, and it's only the second week of term! At this rate, I'll be fossilized under parchment before Halloween."
"This is infinitely more important than homework!"Hermione declared with such fervor that the other three stared at her as if she'd announced her intention to burn down the library.
"I'm sorry, did Hermione Granger just say something was more important than homework?"Ron asked, his tone carrying a distinctly acidic edge that made Orli suppress a knowing smile. "Should I check you for Polyjuice Potion? Maybe summon Madam Pomfrey?"
"Don't be ridiculous,"Hermione replied, shooting him a look that was half-exasperated, half-fond—the kind of expression that made Harry and Orli exchange meaningful glances while desperately maintaining innocent expressions.
"What I mean is, we need to prepare for whatever's waiting beyond these walls,"Hermione continued, her voice growing more urgent. "We must ensure we can defend ourselves properly—because if we spend an entire year learning nothing but theory, we'll be helpless when it matters most."
"We can't accomplish much on our own,"Ron said with the defeated air of someone who'd already accepted inevitable doom. "I mean, sure, we could research jinxes in the library, and we learned some defensive spells last year, but practical application..."
"Exactly—we shouldn't rely solely on books,"Hermione interrupted. "We need proper instruction. Someone who can demonstrate spells, teach us combat techniques, correct our form when we inevitably mess everything up."
"Who did you have in mind? Someone from the Order?"Harry asked, though his tone suggested he already suspected the answer wouldn't be that simple.
"No, absolutely not,"Hermione said, shaking her head emphatically. "Order members could only meet us during Hogsmeade weekends at best, and that's nowhere near sufficient for proper training."
"Then who?"Harry's confusion deepened, his green eyes darting between his friends as if searching for clues in their expressions.
Hermione drew a deep, steadying breath, the kind people take before diving into deep, uncertain waters.
"Can't you see? I'm talking about you, Harry. And you, Orli. Both of you."
Silence descended like a heavy curtain. Outside, autumn wind rattled the ancient windows with ghostly fingers, the only sound in a room suddenly thick with possibility and trepidation.
"Hermione,"Orli said carefully, as if testing the words for hidden traps, "are you suggesting that we... teach you spellcasting?"
"That's actually brilliant,"Ron said suddenly, his earlier pessimism evaporating like morning mist. "Absolutely brilliant. Why didn't we think of this sooner?"
"Wait, hold on... what?"Harry stared at them with the expression of someone who'd just discovered his friends speaking an entirely foreign language. "What exactly are you all talking about?"
"You and Orli, teaching everyone Defense Against the Dark Arts,"Ron explained with growing enthusiasm. "Real defense, not Umbridge's theoretical rubbish about 'understanding your opponent's emotional needs.'"
The idea hung in the air between them, dangerous and thrilling as a live wire, waiting to see who would be brave enough—or foolish enough—to grasp it first.
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