It's just so unfair," Hermione said. "Yours wasn't even that bad. Goyle's potion looked like lava, and Parkinson's had boiled dry –"
"When has Snape ever been fair to ?" Harry sighed.
"Cheer up, mate, at least he didn't take points from you," Ron said. "'No helping each other.' Cohen just gave a hint. I actually think Cohen's teaching is better than Snape's."
"Don't talk nonsense," Cohen interjected. "Don't make it sound like I'll actually end up teaching – I absolutely hate teaching people."
After lunch, they rested for a bit, then prepared for their Divination class. Harry, Cohen, and Ron had Divination, while Hermione had Arithmancy.
Professor Trelawney's attic had changed its décor again. This ti, it was filled with square cushions for them to sit on, the tables and chairs removed, and the air was thick with grey, smoky incense.
This lesson was about dream interpretation –
"Dream interpretation is a most important thod of foretelling the future, and it is also a question very likely to appear on your O.W.L. exams..." Trelawney said. "Of course, I believe that compared to the sacred art of Divination, passing the exam is quite an unimportant matter. As long as you possess the Inner Eye, those certificates and grades are re trifles..."
"Staring at the gem on top of the water snake's head all day won't make anyone an emperor," Cohen muttered to Harry and Ron. "I think it's best to avoid prophecies."
"Please turn to the Introduction," Professor Trelawney said, giving Cohen's group a stern look, as if scolding him for his disrespectful attitude towards "the art."
"Read what Inmaig says on the subject of dream interpretation, and then attempt to interpret the recent dreams of your classmates."
The incense-filled room, which made everyone sleepy, was hardly an ideal place for dream interpretation; it was much better suited for dreaming. Cohen decided to ponder what na he should use when corresponding with his "pen pal" after class.
"Cohen, have you had any dreams lately?" Ron asked Cohen. "Like last night? After the toad attacked you in the night –"
"I don't really dream much now," Cohen said, idly doodling on his parchnt. "And your phrasing is, dare I say, quite disgusting."
"What about you, Harry?" Ron asked next.
"I don't really rember either," Harry mused, thinking hard. "Who rembers what they dread about before...?"
"Alright..." Ron racked his brain, recalling. "Let see – I think I dread about playing Quidditch again – what does that an?"
Harry flipped through The Dream Oracle, the incense making his eyes droop.
"It probably ans you'll be eaten by a giant marshmallow," Harry said.
"It ans you'll beco a Quidditch player, but the path will be a little bumpy," Cohen said absently.
"Cohen's explanation sounds quite promising," Ron said, nodding, very pleased. "But how will I be able to afford a broom? If there's really no other way..."
"This is why I said 'don't stare at the crystal ball all day'," Cohen told him. "You'll soon abandon so of your principles and beco a volunteer for Fred and George, all because of a casually spoken prophecy."
Ron shivered, as if he'd just thought of Doxy droppings.
"Cohen, what are you writing?" He suddenly noticed the string of words Cohen was writing on the paper.
"What?" Harry also beca interested, thinking Cohen wanted to play ink chess again, or perhaps hangman – anything was more fun than making absurd interpretations of aningless dreams.
"I'm thinking of a na that doesn't reveal my identity but still sounds really cool," Cohen explained. "Do you think 'Sorrowful Cloaked Hero' is better, or 'Mysterious Dark-Robed Monster'? I could also choose sothing others have used, like 'Destroyer Phoenix Man' – but that might be mistaken for Dumbledore..."
"Destroyer Phoenix Man – hahahahahaha –" Harry's drowsiness was instantly banished by Cohen's nas, especially after Cohen linked it to Dumbledore.
Even though Harry hadn't laughed very loudly, Professor Trelawney still heard the commotion and stalked towards them, looking very displeased.
"Are you having so trouble?" Professor Trelawney asked in an unpleasant tone, snatching the paper from Cohen's hand.
Unfortunately, after Trelawney realized that nas like "Sorrowful Cloaked Hero," "Mysterious Dark-Robed Monster," "Destroyer Phoenix Man," and "Bruce Wayne" weren't dreams but ridiculous nicknas, she assigned the three of them even more howork.
"Record two months' worth of dreams?!" Ron's eyes widened. "We already have loads of howork!"
"Divination has only this one assignnt," Trelawney's voice was no longer hazy, in fact, it sounded rather like Professor McGonagall's. "No excuses will be accepted."
"Evil old woman." Ron grumbled resentfully after class.
"At least there's only one more class today," Harry said. "The pink toad's."
"I think your top priority right now is to quickly co up with a god-tier ID for yourselves too," Cohen said.
After six classes in one day, almost every student dragged their tired bodies to the final lesson. When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they found Umbridge already seated behind the teacher's desk.
She was still wearing her fluffy pink cardigan, with a black velvet bow on her head, looking like a fly that had landed on an even larger toad.
"Good afternoon, class!" she chirped after all the students had settled down. Only a handful muttered "good afternoon" in reply.
"Tut, tut." Umbridge seed quite displeased with the students' response, her fake smile still plastered on her face. "This won't do, will it? I expect you to reply thus: 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' Let's try that again. Good afternoon, class!"
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge!" the students replied in a ragged chorus.
The reason for the raggedness was that Harry and Cohen had answered, "Good afternoon, Pink Toady Woman." But due to the chaotic volu, Umbridge couldn't distinguish what specific words were being said in the unusual replies.
"Sounds like it needs more practice," Umbridge said in her simpering voice. "But it's not too difficult, is it? Wands away, quills out."
The students sighed, because when a teacher said "wands away," it ant the class was about to beco a completely dull, theoretical lesson.
Umbridge tapped the blackboard with her stubby wand, and a line of text imdiately appeared:
DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS
A Return to Basic Principles
The subsequent content... Umbridge, using her Ministry-published textbook, re-compiled a set of academic terms with a naming convention Cohen had only seen in old university textbooks, seemingly attempting to confuse the students and thus increase their study ti.
"This thod was definitely copied from Asia," Cohen whispered to Harry.
"You sound as though you have an opinion on our curriculum, Mr. Norton." Umbridge's face was still plastered with a smile, revealing her sharp, tiny teeth.
The previously drowsy atmosphere instantly vanished, and everyone stared fixedly at Cohen.
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