Because every professor teaches differently, each classroom carries a strong personal imprint.
For example, the professor of History of Magic is a ghost, so his classroom always has an eerie, chilly atmosphere. Even in the height of summer, there's no need for any cooling charms.
Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom, on the other hand, is all about efficiency and simplicity. It perfectly reflects her direct, upright nature and her emphasis on practicality and results...
Even the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, which changes professors almost every year, seems to follow this unspoken rule. Despite the constant turnover, it never feels out of place.
From the first year's classroom that reeked of a foul stench that never dissipated, to the walls plastered with Lockhart's award posters, to the third year's room that was so clean it looked as if it had been looted, and finally to the bizarre laboratory filled with living specimens for Moody… no, Barty Crouch Jr., to demonstrate all kinds of cruel Dark Magic.
This constantly shifting style from year to year was the most vivid and unforgettable example of all.
Simply put, if you want to understand a professor, stepping into their classroom will usually tell you everything you need to know...
...
This year's Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom left the young wizards utterly stunned.
Pink.
Pink.
Still pink.
The walls, desks, chairs, lectern, the entire room from corner to corner, down to the quills used for writing, everything was drenched in pink.
Pink could be a soothing color, and it wasn't that it didn't belong here at all. But there was a reason people said moderation mattered.
A little was fine. This much, however, was overwhelming enough to make one feel sick.
More than that, staying too long in this pink-saturated space gave rise to a terrible sensation, as if the color itself were slowly swallowing you whole...
"Uncomfortable."
The moment she sat down, Pansy stuck out her tongue and leaned sideways against Draco. Her body went completely limp, like a desert traveler who'd gone too long without water, making Draco chuckle as he pinched her cheek.
The texture was, admittedly, excellent, earning him a resentful glare from Pansy.
In short, "uncomfortable" was the only way to describe how it felt.
After indulging his mischievous side, Draco frowned and looked around the room.
"Something's definitely wrong."
"It really is," Pansy replied weakly. "From a color psychology standpoint, this shouldn't create this kind of mental pressure. But seriously… how much does she like pink?"
"Color psychology?" Draco asked. "Is that even a subject at Hogwarts?"
"Of course not. That's Muggle knowledge. And wait, is that really the point right now?"
After snapping at the boneless, utterly defeated Pansy, Hermione turned to Draco, rubbing her temples as well.
She glanced away from the other wizards around them, who were in much the same state.
"Ever since we walked into this classroom, I've felt this strange irritation. Now I finally understand why Angelina and the others said what they did. It feels like you could lose your temper at any moment… Hmm?"
Her hand froze mid-motion as a thought struck her. She suddenly tugged at Draco's sleeve.
"Could this be…?"
Faced with Hermione's hesitant tone, Draco gave a firm answer.
"There's no doubt about it. This is some kind of unknown charm. As for what it does… that's something we'll have to ask Professor Umbridge, who still hasn't shown up."
Draco, who had already mastered Occlumency, naturally wasn't going to be easily affected by tricks like this.
"But why do this?" Hermione asked. "A test? Or does she have some other purpose?"
As he said this, Draco lowered his gaze to Pansy, who had somehow ended up sprawled across his thigh, and to Hermione, who was tapping her foot repeatedly to vent her irritation.
It was about time he taught them Occlumency...
Each professor enjoys a great deal of autonomy over their lessons.
As long as students aren't harmed, not even Dumbledore can dictate what a professor teaches or how fast they progress.
That was precisely why, the previous year, even when Barty Crouch Jr. used the three Unforgivable Curses in class, no one intervened. There were no investigations, no punishments, not even a warning.
Not to mention the year Gilderoy Lockhart served as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, when entire lessons revolved around the topic of which colors Lockhart liked. That year alone, students learned absolutely nothing.
If Lockhart hadn't had such an overwhelming number of fans and fangirls, his level of resentment probably wouldn't have been much better than Umbridge's current standing...
So, before Umbridge appeared, all the students could do was silently endure this pink hell.
Just as most of the young wizards were starting to fidget, the equally pink-clad Umbridge finally strolled into the classroom.
Today, Umbridge was wearing the same fluffy pink cardigan she'd had on the night before. The black velvet bow perched atop her head stood out as the only non-pink color in the entire room.
If one were to borrow Gryffindor's description from last night, it looked like a big fly foolishly landing on an even bigger pink toad...
In any case, the moment Umbridge entered the classroom, everyone instinctively quieted their breathing. The recent detentions and punishments had clearly left a deep impression.
No one dared cause trouble now.
Umbridge set her book down with satisfaction.
"Good afternoon, students."
"...Good afternoon."
"No, no, no. That won't do. I want you to answer like this: 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' So let's try again. Students, good afternoon!"
Catching the cold glint in Umbridge's eyes, the entire class snapped to attention as if by reflex.
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge!"
"That's better. Not too difficult, was it? Now, please put away your wands and take out your quills."
Hermione's eyes widened as she instinctively raised her hand to object, but Draco, having anticipated it, caught her hand and shook his head. Hermione hesitated, then reluctantly abandoned the idea.
At the same time, she suddenly realized how impulsive she'd become.
It had to be the influence of that unknown spell...