Sylv: Hi everybody! Sorry for the long wait, but I had a lot of tests and projects to do… That's over now, thankfully. Once again, I do not own Harry Potter nor am I making any money from this. I am, however, finding myself ever more obsessed with Azriel as time goes by, especially with Azriel in his third plus year… anyway, we're not that far yet, but this chapter should still be interesting! Now on with the story!
Dark Lords Ascending
Chapter 6: Lessons Learned and Lessons Planned
Azriel wished they had had a few days to get used to Hogwarts before the classes began. Professor McGonagall, their Head of House, passed out their timetables at breakfast on Monday and the first-years spent the rest of the day getting lost in the multitude of corridors at Hogwarts and coming late to class. Hermione and Azriel spent the rest of the day (after doing their homework, of course) dragging Ron around the entire castle (avoiding both the caretaker Filch who was as nasty as his name implied and his equally mean cat Mrs Norris) so they would know where to go for their classes. Ron grumbled the whole way about how he'd much rather play chess or Quidditch or anything, but come Tuesday he admitted that it had been worth it – they were still one of the few who came on time to every single class.
The classes themselves frustrated Azriel to no end. On one hand, he knew most of the theory already as he had read all his school books and a number of other books on the subjects, too. On the other hand, he had not thought to practice using a wand beforehand, so he had to struggle just as much as the others with his spells. His knowledge of wandless magic proved useless: the first time he tried to transfigure a matchstick into a needle in their first Transfiguration class it exploded, blasting a hole into the table. McGonagall repaired the table and told Azriel to put less power into the spell next time.
By the end of the class, only Hermione had managed to make any noteworthy changes to her matchstick: McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all shiny and pointy. She awarded Hermione with five house points and told everyone to practice the spell for homework.
Needless to say, Azriel was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. The other classes did nothing to improve his temper, either; History of Magic was taught by a ghost who was easily the most boring teacher you could imagine. As he droned on and on about the goblin wars, Azriel decided he would have to do some independent research if he wanted to learn anything about history.
Charms was the last subject of the day (thank the Goddess), and Azriel decided he couldn't stand the tiny Professor Flitwick: He started the class by taking the register and when he came to the name Harry Potter, he squeaked and toppled off the pile of books he was standing on.
Azriel was starting to hate that name; everywhere he went, whispers and stares followed him, but nobody was ever actually brave enough to ask if they could see his scar. Azriel solved the problem in his house by announcing to everyone one evening that he would answer any questions they had now if they stopped treating him like a curiosity from the zoo. That helped a lot and gave him peace and quiet in his own house, at least, but the other three houses still whispered constantly. Had he been able to use his magic, Azriel would have hexed them all into oblivion by now.
His other classes were slightly better; Professor Quirrel, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, seemed to know his subject very well and started them off with what Azriel knew to be one of the most vital type of spells in duels: shields and nullifying spells. Of course, dodging was always preferable, as that saved one's magical energy for attacking, but without shields one could quickly forget winning against any well-trained duellist.
Azriel enjoyed Herbology immensely: he worked well with plants, and here was a subject where his overpowering of spells would not be a problem. Professor Sprout, the plump, kindly witch that taught the class, was easily the friendliest and most open of the professors – naturally, as she was Hufflepuff's Head of House.
By far the most fascinating subject, however, was Astronomy. Every Wednesday night they would climb up to the highest tower and observe the celestial stars and planets visible in the dark night's sky through their telescopes. They were required to learn the movements of the planets and the parallaxes of the stars, a task which Azriel set himself to with great fervour. He knew that perfect knowledge of the stars was the basis of real astrology, the art of divining the past, present and future through the influences of the celestial orbs high up in the heavens.
So far, though he was frustrated by his lack of progress in most of the subjects, Azriel disliked none of his classes. By the time Friday had passed, that had changed. Azriel did not dislike potions. He admired the gentle shimmering of the liquids in the cauldron, the mysterious way seemingly arbitrary objects combined to make such powerful brews. No, he did not hate potions. The professor, however… the professor was about as annoying as Draco Malfoy, and twice as dangerous.
Professor Snape was an imposing figure, with his flowing black robes and piercing glare. He reminded Azriel of Voldemort in a vague way, though he could not say exactly how. This fact alone made Azriel want to do well in potions; by the end of the first class he knew he would never get more than a passing grade in the class, no matter how excellent his potions turned out to be.
Azriel might find Snape merely annoying; it was clear, however, that Snape loathed Harry Potter. Like Flitwick, Snape began the class by taking the register, and like Flitwick, he paused at the name. 'Ah, yes,' he said softly. 'Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.'
Draco and his cronies sniggered. Azriel ignored them, focused on calming his ire. Why did yet another person have to mention his celebrity status in this world? He was starting to wish he'd stayed with the Dursleys; he might have been hated and abused by them, but at least they ignored him most of the time, along with the rest of the muggles.
Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class, fixing each of them in turn with his cold stare. 'You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,' he began. 'As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.'
Azriel sighed mentally. It had been such a brilliant speech up to that last sentence, such oratory skill… why did Snape have to destroy that effect with such an inane comment?
'Potter!' Snape said suddenly. 'What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'
'You would get the Draught of Living Death,' Azriel answered immediately.
'And what, pray, is that exactly?' Snape asked with a sneer.
'It is an immensely powerful sleeping potion,' came the prompt answer.
Snape's lips curled. 'And where, Potter, would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?'
'I would look in the stomach of a goat.'
Snape's look of displeasure deepened. 'What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane, Potter?'
'There is none; they are the same plant, though the proper name is aconite.'
Snape's mouth was by now naught but a thin line. He looked as if he was about to ask Azriel another question, but thought better of it and said instead, 'Well, book knowledge isn't everything, Potter. Learning the course books by heart won't help you brew a potion precisely.'
Things went on much like this for the rest of the lesson. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. Azriel let Ron and Hermione partner up while he joined Neville, who was shaking with nervousness at the thought of brewing a potion under Snape's deadly glare. 'Calm down,' Azriel muttered to him. 'Just do exactly what I tell you and nothing will go wrong.'
And indeed, even though Snape hovered around the classroom like an overgrown bat, criticising everyone but the Malfoy brat, Azriel and Neville managed to complete the potion without any problems. None of the other's cauldrons exploded, either, though when Snape snapped at them at the end of class to bring him a sample of their work, Azriel saw that only very few potions were the opaque baby-blue described in their potions book. Snape took one look at the perfect potion that Azriel handed him and stared down at Azriel with pure hate shining from his eyes. Azriel wondered what he had ever done to incite the hate of the potions professor. Maybe Snape had been a Death Eater? But then why was he allowed to teach at Hogwarts?
'Uhg, I can't believe he gave us homework, too!' Ron groaned as they left the potions classroom. 'How am I ever supposed to write ten inches on the use of nettles in potions for healing skin defects?'
'Our potion was exactly the right colour!' Hermione gushed. 'But I saw the look Professor Snape threw at you, Harry. What did you do?'
Azriel shrugged. 'Nothing, except for giving him no reason to ridicule me in class. The only way he can now insult me is by calling me a know-it-all or something like that.' He sighed dramatically. 'Poor, poor Snape. Deprived of his one reason to teach us "dunderheads"… maybe I should purposefully explode a cauldron next time just so he has a reason to shout at me?'
Hermione gasped at Azriel's irreverent talk, but giggled despite herself. 'Harry! You shouldn't talk about teachers like that! It's disrespectful!'
'If you explode a cauldron next time, can you at least make it Malfoys cauldron?' Ron asked hopefully. 'I would love to see Snape's reaction to that…'
'Well, maybe not next time, but if Draco annoys me enough…' Azriel trailed of with a meaningful glare towards the blond further down the corridor. Draco had taken every opportunity to taunt Azriel, trying to get him to retaliate. Azriel amused himself by not even reacting to him and thus infuriating the Malfoy brat until he was the one who stormed off in a huff. Nevertheless, his constant verbal attacks were rather tiresome. Sometimes Azriel dearly wished he could just cut his vocal cords to make him be quiet for once.
That was another factor that added to Azriel's bad mood: here at Hogwarts, the only way he could release his frustrations was by meditating or practicing martial arts at five in the morning out on the grounds, and while that always calmed him down effectively, Azriel felt an ever-growing desire within himself to main, kill, cause pain. But it would be too suspicious if a student just vanished suddenly, and he couldn't just leave in the dead of night, as the wards around Hogwarts made sure no student could escape without notice. Azriel often thought with longing of the still-far away winter holidays when he could finally leave the castle and go hunting. Until then, he would just have to endure.
As if all that wasn't enough, Azriel still couldn't access his magic properly, and while it looked like all he needed was some time to get used to the ambient magic at Hogwarts, he knew he wouldn't ever be able to sense other people magically while he was here. Hogwarts' energy masked any other energy centres that were floating around. Azriel desperately needed to find some other way to sense when somebody was approaching, but he had a feeling he wouldn't find any books on the subject – and he was sure such books existed – in the main part of the school library. He thought there might be something in the restricted section, but he couldn't use that section without a teacher's permission and he didn't know any teacher whom he would willingly tell his reason for wanting to use it, so for now his best bet was that book, Darke Magics, which he had bought in Borgin & Burkes. But with all the homework they got and the extra practice Azriel needed to control the power behind his spells, he had hardly any time for any personal projects.
Their limited time was cut down even more when their flying classes started. All the boys had cheered when they saw the notice; the only thing that had dampened their spirits was that they had the class with the Slytherins. This annoyed Azriel double: for one, he would be wasting precious researching time on flying of all things; for another, he would have to put up with the Malfoy brat. To add to Azriel's ever-growing irritation, suddenly everyone was boasting about their flying skills. If one was to believe their tales, all the first-year boys had spent half their life avoiding helicopters and almost getting spotted by muggles while flying over some obscure little town or other. Azriel only wished they would all shut up about their supposed exploits after their first flying lesson.
Thus it was that Azriel was almost glad when on Thursday they all trooped down to a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest. Both the Slytherins and the brooms were already there; Azriel was glad when their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived before Draco started aggravating him again. He was in no mood for stupid games today.
'Well, what are you all waiting for?' Madam Hooch barked. 'Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.'
Azriel took care to choose a broom that did not look too battered; none of its twigs were stuck out, at least.
'Stick out your right hand over the broom,' Madam Hooch instructed, 'and say, "Up!"'
'UP!' everyone shouted.
Even though Azriel had not raised his voice, his broom jumped into his hand at once. As he glanced around, he noticed with satisfaction that most other brooms were still lying on the ground. Finally something where he wasn't handicapped by his own power!
Madam Hooch went around and showed them all how to mount their brooms and grip the handle correctly. Azriel felt a small stab of satisfaction when Madam Hooch told Draco he'd been doing it wrong for years.
'Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,' Madam Hooch said. 'Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –'
before she had a chance to blow her whistle, Neville had already kicked off from the ground and was now rising higher and higher, eyes wide open in terror and face ghostly white.
'Come back, boy!' Madam Hooch shouted, but Neville's broom only spiralled further up, ten feet, twenty feet; Neville glanced down at the ground and lost his grip on the broom and with a thud and a nasty crack, Neville was lying sprawled on the ground, the broom floating off into the Forbidden Forest.
Madam Hooch leaned over Neville, pale and tight-lipped, carefully probing his wrist.
'Broken wrist,' Azriel heard her mutter. 'Come on, boy – it's all right, up you get.'
She turned towards the rest of the class.
'None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say "Quidditch". Come on, dear.'
No sooner had Madam Hooch led Neville away from the group that Draco started laughing.
'Did you see is face, that idiot?'
The other Slytherins joined in.
'Shut up, Malfoy,' Hermione said.
'Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom, are you?' Pansy Parkinson asked nastily. 'Want to marry him to get into the higher circles of society? Forget it, no matter what you do, all you'll ever be is a cheap Mudbl–'
'How dare you insult her like that!' Ron growled, lunging at the girl. Azriel quickly grabbed the back of his robes before he could do anything that would get him in trouble. 'Don't, Ron,' he muttered lowly. 'We'll get her back later.'
'What was she about to say?' Hermione asked quietly, worry evident in her voice. 'Why is Ron so angry?'
'She called you a Mudblood,' Azriel answered just as quietly. 'It's one of the worst possible insults for a Muggleborn.'
Of course, Hermione was a Mudblood, but he wasn't about to tell her that. After all, he had to play the good little muggle-brought up Gryffindor.
Draco evidently disliked the fact that everyone's attention had wandered away from him, for he picked up something glittering in the grass and said in an overly loud voice, 'Look what I found! It's that stupid glass ball Longbottom's gran sent him.'
Azriel suppressed a sigh of annoyance. Trust the Malfoy brat to stir things up.
Said Malfoy smiled nastily at the glaring Gryffindors. 'I think I'll leave this somewhere for Longbottom to find,' he said with what he evidently thought was a superior sneer. 'How about up on a tree, for instance?'
'Give it BACK!' Ron shouted, struggling to get out of Azriel's grip. 'Let him dig his own grave,' he muttered so only Ron could hear him.
Malfoy laughed at Ron and leaped onto his broom, flying towards the nearest trees and hovering near the topmost branches of the tallest oak to the applause and laughter of the Slytherins and the angry shouts of the Gryffindors. He seemed a little disappointed when none of the Gryffindors followed him, but he hid this with an elaborately dramatic gesture, placing the glittering Remembrall in a fork between two branches right at the top of the tree. With a victorious grin he flew gracefully back down and got off the broom with an elegant, mocking bow to the livid Gryffindors.
Azriel decided he had to step in before the whole thing developed into a brawl and they all got into unnecessary trouble. 'Let us play a game,' he announced loudly.
'A game, Potter?' the Malfoy brat asked with a derisive smirk. 'Come now, I thought you were more mature than that. Games are for children.'
Azriel smiled. 'Ah, but is not Quidditch a game, too?'
Draco scowled. 'That's different, Potter,' he ground out.
Azriel shrugged. 'You do not have to play. But for anyone who's interested, here are the rules: find a partner and clasp hands. If at anytime during the game you let go of your partner's hand, you have automatically lost. If you or your partner step on a broom, you've lost. The game itself is simple: you must try to catch me. The pair that catches me first can name a subject of their choice. I will do their homework for them in that subject for a week. The game ends when someone catches me or when Madam Hooch comes back.'
Murmurs spread through the class. Slowly people found together and clasped hands. Finally even Draco joined in, though he complained, 'Why do we have to hold hands like babies?'
'Simple. Otherwise it would be far too easy for you to catch me.'
With that, Azriel sprang into the air, shouting 'BEGIN!' and the game was off. Azriel had chosen a rather small area around the brooms for the game and amused himself by running in one direction and, just when someone was about to catch up with him, jumping up into the air and landing ten feet away from the confused pair whose quarry had just vanished right in front of their eyes. Even more amusing was the fact that, since the playing field was so small, the pairs kept running into each other. He was so absorbed in this game that at first he did not notice Madam Hooch standing a few paces away from the playing field and laughing at her student's antics. Azriel leaped into the air again and landed a few feet in front of her. 'Game over!' he called to the other students. 'I won!'
'Well, you don't seem to need a broom to fly,' Madam Hooch said with a laugh. 'What was that all about? And how did you manage to make Gryffindors and Slytherins play civilly together?'
'Well, it wasn't exactly civil,' Azriel said, 'I left a lot of room for sabotaging each other. Basically they had to partner up and try to catch me; I said I would do all the homework in one subject for a week of the pair that catches me.'
'So you were pretty confident you'd win, then?' Madam Hooch asked with a glitter in her eyes.
'Yes, that's right,' Azriel said, feeling better than he had in a long while. He hadn't killed anyone, but at least it had been quite a challenge to avoid ten pairs of overeager first-years. It wasn't ideal, but it had helped release at least a little of his frustrations.
'Alright everybody, return to your brooms!' Madam Hooch called. 'Lets finish this lesson quickly so you have time for all that homework which you will have to do all by yourself!'
There was a collective groan at the reminder that no-one had managed to catch Azriel. Azriel grinned at Madam Hooch who returned the favour with a sly smile.
The rest of the lesson flew past rather uneventfully, and just as the sun was nearing the edge of the horizon, Madam Hooch released them all to go to dinner. Azriel made sure everyone was out of earshot before he asked madam Hooch, 'Could you perhaps get down Neville's Remembrall from that tree over there? Malfoy put it up there while you were gone.'
Madam Hooch turned white with anger. 'He did what? I don't care how influential his father is, that boy carelessly put himself in danger just for a stupid schoolboy prank!'
Azriel shrugged. 'I would have held him back, but he doesn't exactly listen to me, and then we would have ended up with a huge fight between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. After all, it's not really my concern how he endangers his health.'
'He will be dealt with accordingly.' Madam Hooch said tightly. 'I don't suppose his father will stand having him thrown out of Hogwarts, but I'm sure we can organise a detention and relieve Slytherin of some points. Now, do you remember exactly where Mr Malfoy put the Remembrall?'
'Yes, I do,' Azriel answered calmly. 'Right up at the top of that tallest oak over there.'
'Very well, come with me and guide me where to where exactly,' Madam Hooch ordered, then mounted the broom and flew up towards the oak Azriel had pointed out.
'A bit more to the left,' Azriel called, 'Yes, now that fork there, between those two branches –'
'I've got it!' Madam Hooch said, flying back down and handing Azriel the glittering glass orb. 'Would you give this to Mr Longbottom, please? He should be out of the Hospital Wing by now.'
'I will,' Azriel answered gravely. 'May I take my leave?'
'You may,' Madam Hooch said with a smile. 'Go eat! You boys are always so ravenous.'
Azriel grinned and followed her advice. He was rather hungry, but he wasn't exactly looking forward to dinner – there still was too much meat and not enough salad. He hadn't had time to search for the kitchens yet; perhaps the Weasley twins knew where they were? They seemed to know Hogwarts like their own pockets. Azriel filed this idea away for later and concentrated on getting to the Great Hall as fast as possible.
Most students had already started eating, Azriel sat down next to Ron who turned around and asked, 'Where were you?' spraying crumbs of bread al over Azriel.
Azriel shook them off distastefully and glared at Ron. 'Would you mind not doing that?' he demanded angrily.
'Sorry,' Ron answered sheepishly around a mouthful of chicken.
Azriel shook his head; here was a hopeless case, it seemed. 'I got Draco what he deserves. Madam Hooch will make sure he at the very least gets a detention or two for flying when she had forbidden it.'
'Good for you!' Hermione said with a grin. 'I was hoping you'd inform her instead of doing something yourself as revenge. But why won't she kick him out? That's what she threatened us with, at least.'
'Yeah, but he's a Malfoy,' Ron answered with disgust. 'They're way too influential to simply be kicked out. And his father is on the board of governors. He'd never allow it.'
'We'll need to think of a suitable punishment for Pansy,' Azriel said, carefully steering the conversation away from the Malfoys and their unfair privileges. 'Telling a teacher won't work in this case, a few points off Slytherin won't teach her a lesson.'
'Well, I'm not sure we can punish her for it this time,' Hermione answered, 'it's not immediate enough. If we do something now, it'll just be petty revenge. But perhaps we can do something that will only affect her the next time she calls someone that…'
A slow grin spread across Azriel's face. 'I like that idea, Hermione. Preferably something that everyone can see, so her embarrassment will be public.'
'Maybe we can do it to all the Slytherins!' Ron said with excitement. 'That way, it won't be so obvious that we did it as revenge for Hermione!'
'That's an excellent idea, Ron,' Azriel said approvingly. 'Does either of you have any specific ideas? If not, we'll have to do some research.'
Both of them looked thoughtful for a moment, but then Hermione shook her head. 'Research it is, I suppose,' she said.
'Oh great, more time spent in the library,' Ron said gloomily.
'Oh don't worry, you'll learn to like it eventually,' Hermione said sweetly.
'And if I don't?'
'I'll make you like it,' Hermione answered with an uncharacteristic smirk.
'Why does that idea not fill me with joy?' Ron muttered sarcastically.
'Probably for a good reason,' Azriel muttered back.
It would be the first evening in a long while that he would fall asleep with a relaxed look rather than a frustrated grimace.
XXX
Sylv: Well? How'd you like it? I actually managed to make that dialogue (trialogue?) between Ron, Hermione and Azriel at the end work! I find it extraordinarily difficult to include all three in conversations. Usually either Ron or Hermione end up saying nothing at all… Do you think Azriel was a bit out of character there during flying lessons? Poor guy was so frustrated I had to think of some way to cheer him up a little… Anyway, please review! I want to know what you thought of this chapter! And, as always, if you find any mistakes (stupid misspellings, Hermione calling Harry Azriel constantly), please tell me! Thanks!
