First Lesson

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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"Well, good afternoon, everyone!" said the short, squat woman dressed in bright, in-your-face pink, looking over the classroom with a sickeningly sweet smile.

The class was quiet when they entered the classroom; Umbridge, as yet, was an unknown entity, and nobody knew yet how strict of a disciplinarian she was likely to be.

"Good afternoon," said a few students while the other observed.

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

Quinn, Marcus, and Eddie glanced at each other before shrugging.

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.

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

Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order "wands away" had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Quinn, in expectation, hadn't taken out his wand and only had a notepad and his trusty fountain pen in front of him — neither of which, he thought, was going to come in much use today.

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

>> Defense Against Dark Arts <<

>> > An Ethical Guidance To Budding Wizards < <<

"From what I have been informed and gathered on my own, your learning in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented for the past few years, hasn't it, dears," said Umbridge, turning to face the class, hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constantly changing faculty, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your OWL scores being thoroughly unsatisfactory."

Utter bull crap thought many students in the room, especially the Ravenclaws in the room. A lot briefly glanced towards Quinn as he was the reason that despite the rocky teacher situation, the grades hadn't suffered to a level that Umbridge wanted to make it appear. The students who had genuinely read Quinn's exam notes (everyone bought them) didn't have much problem clearing the exams with grades above Acceptable. Quinn's batchmates' OWL result had a 10% Outstandings, 20% Exceeding Expectations, 50% Acceptables rate, with the remaining scoring below that level — which was a respectable result on any measuring standard.

Quinn, of course, didn't mind anything that came out of Umbridge's mouth. He didn't start the notes initiative because it would be beneficial to students — no, he started it because Padma Patil came to him for notes, and he saw an opportunity and took it to spread his influence in the school. Even if he cared about the entire school's grades — he wouldn't have referred to Umbridge; instead, he would have gone for the report cards to see authentic results.

"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. . . . 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 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 Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Ethicality of Defense Magic.' 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. Quinn looked to both his sides to see Eddie and Marcus flipping through their books. He looked around and saw people dully reading their books.

Quinn closed his eyes and started to do his own thing — expend some magic, practice Occlumency, mess around with stuff. Several silent minutes passed, and silence reigned supreme in the classroom. Next to him, Marcus noticed that Quinn had his eyes closed, and his focus began alternating between his quill and Quinn. Soon, Eddie got bored of the inane book, and he was just staring at Quinn.

After several more silent minutes had passed, however, Eddie and Marcus weren't the only ones watching Quinn. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch the motionless Quinn, wondering if he had gone to sleep. When more than half the class were staring at Quinn rather than at their books, Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

Umbridge got up from her desk and walked to Quinn with her stumpy short legs; the new Professor stood in with hand clasped behind her back. "Are you sleeping, my dear?" she asked, as though he had only just noticed Quinn.

"No ma'am, I'm wide awake," came out from Quinn.

"Then why do you have your eyes closed?"

"I'm simply resting my eyes," said Quinn, "I'm done with my reading."

Umbridge glanced at the table and saw no book on the table, "I don't see your book, dear. If you don't have a copy, why didn't you report it to me when I asked?"

"I have the book. But as I said, I've already completed my assignment. There's no reason to have my book out."

"Then you wouldn't if I asked you to tell the class about the first chapter," said Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth.

"Chapter One: Ethicality of Defense Magic goes over the circumstances when a civilian is ethically and legally allowed to raise his-or-her wand against a fellow magical—"

"I hope you mean wizard, dear," Umbridge's voice became determinedly sweeter, "and I require my students to know the course material by heart — word-for-word — so that they completely and thoroughly understand what's the correct way to use magic; so take out your book and study a little, please; I would take note of your progress at the end of the class," she said before turning to walk back towards her desk.

Quinn finally opened his eyes and glanced at the woman's pink-clad back, and opened his mouth, "What is Defense Magic. . . . Defensive magic is divided into two main branches: jinxes and counter-jinxes. Jinxes deals with the spells that fall into the category, when used by a person, would disable their attacker, stopping the attack on the defender. By contrast, counter-jinxes deal with the spells that are used to deflect. . . ."

Eddie raised one of his brows and removed his eyes from Quinn to his book. He turned back a dozen pages (he was a fast reader even if, in his own words, this was a piss poor and utterly dull read) and reached back to page five.

"Holy shit, he's reciting it word-for-word," muttered Eddie with a chuckle in his voice.

The mutter wasn't as quiet as Eddie was trying for it to be, and it reached many ears, including the ears of one Dolores Umbridge. She slowly turned around and found Quinn staring at her as his mouth spoke a word after another. Umbridge gently placed her hand on Marcus' book and slowly yet forcefully dragged the book; she looked at the page Quinn was supposedly reciting for him, and there it was, Quinn's words matched the books' print.

". . . . that's why instead of engaging your attacker, the first step would be to negotiate to either calm the attacker down or to buy time till an Auror comes to your aid," Quinn finally stopped reciting. "Will that be enough? I have, as you asked, the assignment learned by heart. As I said before, I don't require a book."

"Yes," said Umbridge, smiling, then smiling more widely; she turned her back on Quinn and walked to the front of the class; then faced the entire class, "Don't stop reading, the rest of you. Mr. . ." she faced Quinn to ask, "what's your name, dear?"

"Quinn West," answered Quinn plainly.

"Oh my, I have heard about you, my dear," the smile on Umbridge's face was splitting her toad-like face. "for those who might not be aware, Mr. West scored the highest results in the OWL exams taken last year, and as you can see, he's the perfect example of what all of you can achieve if you follow proper instruction and curriculum."

'The woman is decent,' thought Quinn. She, at the start, probably wanted to make him an example, but when he foiled the plan, she turned it around and turned Quinn into an example, just of another kind.

Quinn once again closed his eyes.

It had been a good two years — two years where Hogwarts had a decent enough Defense Against Dark Arts Professor. Remus Lupin was an excellent teacher and coached students in both theory and practical — he was the best Defense Against Dark Arts Hogwarts had in Quinn's time here. Barty Crouch Junior, disguised as Moody, wasn't a traditional teacher of the subject, but he had been trained by Voldemort himself, and to properly play his part as the ex-Auror, Barty had provided the students with a top-class practically education and extensive demonstration on a wide variety of dark spells.

But now, here she was, the pink monstrosity, Umbridge; Quinn knew this was going to come from, but just staring at the woman made him upset. Even Quirrell was better than her, even though both stuck to the theory. At least, Quirrell's teaching made sense, and at that age, the theory held more weight than practicals. Quinn wasn't worried about himself; he had completed his NEWT education years ago, but he was concerned about the education of his friends.

A war was coming, and Defense Against Dark Arts was of the utmost importance in defending themselves. His friends not getting proper instruction wasn't sitting well with him. He, of course, could train them on his own, and he had been doing that for years — Luna had been under his instruction for a while now; Marcus and Eddie had learned much from their proximity to him, and despite their worries about what subjects to take, both were already past NEWT level in studies because of Quinn's influence — positive peer pressure did wonders when it gave way for positive motivation to arise.

'I might need to push them a bit,' he thought, 'maybe I should put them on the same course as Luna.'

The class ended with Umbridge staring hidden daggers at Quinn while he continued to keep his eyes closed.

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"You should mingle more, you know."

Quinn looked away from the small crowd of Prefects and turned to face Cedric Diggory, who was staring down at him with two butterbeers in hand. He moved a bottle towards him, but Quinn shook his head,

"Butterbeer is a bit too sweet for my taste," said Quinn, raising a flavored soda, "but thank you for offering," he turned to the crowd and pointed with his chin. "Parties aren't my scene; I tend to linger around the corners— it's a habit." All the balls he had been with his grandfather and sister, Quinn had spent in corners, staying away from all the flattery.

"You have been doing fine with commentary," said the newly minted Headboy as he sat beside Quinn. They were inside a classroom that they were unofficially for the Prefect/Headboy-girl party.

"It's just parties," said Quinn watching Harry and Draco exchanging barbed words. "How is the new title feeling?" he asked.

"It's the same thing as Prefect," sighed Cedric. "It's just now I get to decide what you guys do — correction, I get to decide what you and I all do because I'm both a Prefect and Headboy. All I get in return is a new bedroom."

"So, not worth it?"

"Oh no, it's totally worth it when I get out of Hogwarts — I get special commendations and Letter of Recommendations."

"That, along with being a Tri-wizard champion, has you sorted for the recent future. Damn, you have got it all figured out, haven't you."

Cedric laughed; he really looked like he was free on any weight, not something seen in NEWT year students. "NEWTs are still going to be tough, but yeah, I do have things sorted out," he glanced at Quinn and spoke with a change in subject, "I heard that you went head-to-head against the new Professor, the pink one."

"I did no such thing," said Quinn, "I was simply following instructions. She wanted us to rote-memorize the book, I did so; nowhere did she say that I wasn't allowed to rest my eyes and spend my time in peace."

"Oh, come on. . . We both know you lay low in classes, so you can do homework without gaining the ire of the Professors — your grades pretty much ensure that you can do whatever you want in the class as long you don't disturb it. . . . Why this sudden exception to Madam Undersecretary?"

"Her reputation isn't great. . . ."

"That's an understatement," chuckled Cedric, "I sat with the head of the house today, and none of the four are happy with Umbridge; they were actually quite satisfied with your little stunt. . . . But be careful, Quinn. Misbehavior in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more than House points and detentions."

"She won't move against me; at least not like you are suggesting," stated Quinn, a solid fact, "she won't move like that against you or any other student with parents with any decent level of influence. . . . but, first-generation magicals or those without much voice, they won't be spared from her schemes, if she does anything, the chances of that happening are astronomically high."

"I will need to look out for the younger ones and the rowdy ones," said Cedric, sighing, "make sure they don't get out of their way to provoke or have fun with Umbridge."

"She hasn't done anything," Quinn glanced at Cedric, "yet you act like she will act maliciously — your father must not have a positive experience with her."

Cedric nodded, "Dolores Umbridge is an evil woman who represents the very worst of even scum. She's extremely cruel, brutal, corrupt, sadistic, intolerant, power-hungry, and devoid of any kind of moral or ethical center. . . . my father once told me that she will go to any number of lengths to get what she wants. That woman has made my father's job at the goblin liaison office difficult on several occasions — I have seen his hair grey and wrinkles deepen with that woman standing over his head."

It was no secret that Umbridge held a deep dislike for half-breeds and other intelligent humanoid species. As such, the goblin liaison office was one of Umbridge's favored hunting grounds.

"Well. my doors are opened to all and any who need help," said Quinn.

Eventually, the back-and-forth between Draco and Harry was broken up before it turned physical. Draco sat himself down with a heavy thump, away from his Slytherin peers, trying to calm his anger and irritation. He popped open a butterbeer and felt the cold and fizzy go down his throat, cooling him down.

'Potter is an utter twat, tosser,' he thought, his eyes glaring at Harry, who sat among the Gryffindors, chatting it up and laughing as they hadn't fought at all.

"You should frown less, Malfoy. I fear your face will set into that expression."

Draco turned with a heavy frown on his face to suddenly feel a jump of surprise to see Quinn sitting an arm's distance away from him. "When did you get here?" he asked.

"I was here before you," said Quinn, placing a glassy red pellet in his mouth for it to turn into a mist upon touching the tongue. Quinn immediately closed his mouth, but his face went red before red fuming bubbles came steaming out of his nose and ears.

"Oh, that was good. Weasley twins definitely know how to create good stuff," said Quinn before holding up a pellet, "you want to try one? It's like getting drowned in carbonated fizz."

"No, thank you," said Draco.

"So, how it's been going, Malfoy?" said Quinn, making small talk. "By the way, congratulation on becoming a Prefect. You deserved it," Draco had excellent grades and combined that Snape was chummy with Malfoy Senior; he was a shoo-in for the position. "If you get bored during your after-curfew patrols, pop by the office — we will chat it up till it's time to go sleep."

Draco stared at Quinn, who looked as relaxed one could be. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" said Quinn.

"This," he said, pointing between them, "I know you don't like me."

"Now, where did you hear that from. It's not true at all. Even if it was, I don't think it would've made a difference — You and Harry talk enough to be very close acquaintances, and I'm willing to bet my entire fortune that there's no love spared between you two."

Draco made a displeased face at the analogy, and while could argue against it, looking at Quinn, there was no use doing so.

"I never disliked you, Malfoy. I barely know you enough to actually dislike you. If you do want me to dislike you, how about we spend some time together, and then we will see where that takes us," said Quinn, lazily grinning.

"Then why would you get my father in trouble all those years ago?" asked Draco, pointing to the Christmas Ball.

"I did nothing of sorts. You were the one who brought your father into the fray at the ball; I simply brought mine to counter it," said Quinn, "and why are you bringing up something so old. Move on — I barely remember that anymore. . . . though that day was fun — Daphne was easier to tease back then."

Draco stared at Pansy Parkinson sitting with the rest of the Slytherin group. "You're not upset that Pansy got the Prefect position instead of Greengrass?"

"Just the fact that you bring this up shows that you think that Daphne would've been better than Parkinson," smiled Quinn, "hmm, it doesn't really matter if Daphne got the Prefect position or not. It isn't much use to her except the perks that come with it. That, of course, goes for me and you as well. And if she really wanted the position, she would have gotten it."

Quinn checked the time on his pocket watch, got up from the conjured couch. He turned to face Draco and placed the latest-generation AID card beside Draco. "Don't be a stranger, Malfoy. Drop by if you have any problems; I will solve them for you."

Draco stared at the card and then at Quinn's back as he walked away before going back to staring at the card. When the couch was eventually vanished, no card fell on the ground.

With Quinn, he was simply thinking about how it was about time he should try to secure a critical asset as the Malfoy heir in his pocket. He never knew when Draco might just come in handy.

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A/N:

Now, there's something that I want to discuss. I want to talk about Occlumency-aided memory. I realize how this is seen — it's seen as a BEYOND perfect/photographic/eidetic memory.

But this is how I see it. . . . I, in real life, remember the English Alphabet by heart. I can recite it in my sleep without ever slipping. I'm sure it must be like this for everyone, if not the alphabet, then at least 1 to 10 numbers. OR how to write your name. OR your date of birth.

As long it is just this, then everyone has a perfect memory.

But I don't have the English Alphabet in my mind, all the time, 24/7/365. When I need the Alphabet, it pops in my mind. I'm not thinking about it constantly.

So, in my view, people with perfect/photographic/eidetic memory must be able to RECALL EVERYTHING when they IDENTIFY THE NEED for a memory. If they aren't able to relate the situation with a memory, why would they think about it.

For example, if you're watching a very, very good mystery movie/show where the movie/show actually drops the clues throughout the movie so the viewers can actually deduce the truth/twist/climax before it actually happens. . . . Even if you remember every frame of the movie, if you aren't able to connect the dots, it's useless.

Perfect memory doesn't provide that ability to connect dots. (At least in my view). Unlike us, people with perfect memory have all the dots clear in their mind, but ability to connect said dots differs from person-to-person.

What do you think about this topic?

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Quinn West - MC - Slow start to the year.

Dolores Umbridge - "Professor" - Politician through and through.

Cedric Diggory - Headboy - Continues his life after "death."

Draco Malfoy - Fifth-year Slytherin Prefect - It's already started. . . . he just doesn't know it yet.

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