Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

“Come off it,” groaned Ron. “You want us to do extra work? D’you realise Harry and I are behind on homework again and it’s only the second week?”

“But this is much more important than homework!” said Hermione.

Harry and Ron goggled at her.

“I didn’t think there was anything in the universe more important than homework!” said Ron.

“Don’t be silly, of course there is,” said Hermione, and Harry saw, with an ominous feeling, that her face was suddenly alight with the kind of fervour that S.P.E.W. usually inspired in her. “It’s about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge’s first lesson, for what’s waiting for us out there. It’s about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don’t learn anything for a whole year—”

“We can’t do much by ourselves,” said Ron in a defeated voice. “I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practise them, I suppose—”

“No, I agree, we’ve gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books,” said Hermione. “We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we’re going wrong.”

“If you’re talking about Lupin…” Harry began.

“No, no, I’m not talking about Lupin,” said Hermione. “He’s too busy with the Order and, anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that’s not nearly often enough.”

“Who, then?” said Harry, frowning at her.

Hermione heaved a very deep sigh.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “I’m talking about you, Harry.”

There was a moment’s silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron, and the fire guttered.

“About me what?” said Harry.

“I’m talking about you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

Harry stared at her. Then he turned to Ron, ready to exchange the exasperated looks they sometimes shared when Hermione elaborated on far-fetched schemes like S.P.E.W. To Harry’s consternation, however, Ron did not look exasperated.

He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, “That’s an idea.”

“What’s an idea?” said Harry.

“You,” said Ron. “Teaching us to do it.”

“But…”

Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg.

“But I’m not a teacher, I can’t—”

“Harry, you’re the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts,” said Hermione.

“Me?” said Harry, now grinning more broadly than ever. “No I’m not, you’ve beaten me in every test—”

“Actually, I haven’t,” said Hermione coolly. “You beat me in our third year—the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I’m not talking about test results, Harry. Think what you’ve done!”

“How d’you mean?”

“You know what, I’m not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,” Ron said to Hermione, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry.

“Let’s think,” he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. “Uh… first year—you saved the Philosopher’s Stone from You-Know-Who.”

“But that was luck,” said Harry, “it wasn’t skill—”

“Second year,” Ron interrupted, “you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle.”

“Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn’t turned up, I—”

“Third year,” said Ron, louder still, “you fought off about a hundred Dementors at once—”

“You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn’t—”

“Last year,” Ron said, almost shouting now, “you fought off You-Know-Who again—”

“Listen to me!” said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. “Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck—I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, I didn’t plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help—”

Ron and Hermione were still smirking and Harry felt his temper rise; he wasn’t even sure why he was feeling so angry.

“Don’t sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn’t I?” he said heatedly. “I know what went on, all right? And I didn’t get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because—because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right—but I just blundered through it all, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing—STOP LAUGHING!”

The bowl of Murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed. He became aware that he was on his feet, though he couldn’t remember standing up. Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa. Ron and Hermione’s smiles had vanished.