Hermione sat alone at lunch, waiting for her friends and translating the anonymous runes for Harry. She had just come from a rune lesson, and therefore, had a pocket dictionary near at hand. The boys never liked magic cryptography. They believed that wizards had invented so much magic in English alone that one couldn't learn even that in a lifetime. Hermione, on the contrary, had always been excited about that beautiful, monotonous discipline, and lately she revealed a deeper liking towards it than before. Ancient Runes, these days, enrolled at most five students of different ages, and the lessons were more like a social club. Of course, the atmosphere there was not so intimate that Hermione could ask other students or the teacher to help her decipher Harry's letter, but pupils were allowed to talk, walk around the classroom and hand over their homework once a month – a parchment with a few inches of translation. And the Carrows never dropped in, either – which was one more reason for celebration.
So far, today was going pretty quietly. After lunch there was only Potions left, but Hermione had long been accustomed to them. No walking around the classroom, no talking, no looking up, homework – four ninety-inch scrolls. Snape was not going to change, and therefore, he should be tolerated as a necessary evil. Against the background of nightly detentions, the extra two hours in the professor's company were not a big deal. Hermione reminded herself to repeat the Fiendfyre, Chapter 5 after class. This curse was too hard for Hermione, and Snape had mercilessly been skinning her alive. Hermione glanced quickly at the High Table. Snape, who now sat in Dumbledore's place, was talking to McGonagall. He seemed to be in his usual mood – reasonably nasty. Though, it was always hard to understand him...
Hermione returned her gaze to the notebook with the runes. She felt very calm, and it was a sure sign that something was definitely about to go wrong. She tried to ward off the foreboding, concentrating on the text, neatly rewritten in her notebook in a legible, rounded girlish handwriting. The meaning of it did not become any clearer. The style was quite strange, with an unusual grammatical construction. Not like in a textbook, but in the form of an appeal to someone. Hermione frowned – she was quite often reprimanded for her 'book thinking'. Well, of course, she loved runes, but she saw no reason to memorize them enough to use them like a spoken language. It's like Latin – who speaks it nowadays? Strange hobbies had been residing in Hufflepuff!
Memorising terms or generic phrases used in spells – this Hermione could understand, but to learn by heart runic writing entirely… What kind of memory did one need to be able to do that?! It was easier to translate – sometimes it was possible just to guess the meaning. But composing a message without a single error was way more difficult! Though, Hermione did not know for sure whether there were mistakes or not, but, in any case, what she was able to make out was combined quite logically. One rune flowed into another; the phrases claimed a complete meaning: '… please, let's talk again.' Or '…if you don't wish to see me. I beg you… a single scrape of your quill. I know that… I… sorry. Please! Every man… second chance…' Pure stream of consciousness!
The difficulty was also in the fact that school dictionaries normally contained only special terminology, not the entire list of known runes. Hermione could not find many designations and did not know which section to look in. But there was a certain sporting interest in this, as in solving a puzzle. Hermione sighed, carefully underlining the incomprehensible characters with a double line, half-incomprehensible with a single. Checked the boxes above the same curls. 'Please' repeated twice, 'forgive me' three times. Oh, no! Four! It was repeated again at the end, before the incomprehensible last phrase, that was crossed out with five lines in the original letter. Hermione was not sure that she had deciphered it correctly: 'If you forgive me, I swear I will sever all connection… because…'
"Hello to Know-It-All Hermione," Ron said benignly, cheerfully sitting down beside her. He threw his Herbology textbook on the bench and pulled the sausages and broccoli closer with both hands. Not the most desired treat, but given the state of siege, there was nothing to complain about.
"The most difficult tasks are given to me by Professor Longbottom," Hermione admitted, putting aside the complex text with relief. "Where did you lose him, by the way? I thought you were together in supplementary Herbology."
"M-m-m, not quite," Ronald replied, stuffing his mouth with a sausage. "He was going to go to the Owlery. And I decided to come here – I'm starving. A growing body needs nutrition, you know."
There was no need to clarify – clearly, Harry had decided to pick up a fresh supply of Neville's hair while everyone was at lunch. If the Horcruxes puzzle continued to be just as tight, the real Longbottom would go bald ahead of time. Hermione looked affectionately at Weasley munching with gusto. Then she turned grim.
"Look, Ron, we need to get together in a safe place sometime. To discuss our business again. One victory is good, but we need to do more than that."
Classic Hermione! Ron nodded his red head in agreement, hurrying to swallow.
"Sure. Only we still don't have the Pensieve and, without it, it's not clear what to do next," he muttered reasonably.
"I told both of you, I will get the Pensieve as soon as I can!" this topic had already stuck in Hermione's teeth. Her friends casually hinted, from time to time, that, so far, the Pensieve was their only clue, as if she did not know it herself! It would have been better if they had looked for other ways to solve the problem while she was chained to the dungeons! "Professor Snape won't allow even the house-elves in his quarters, Ron. How do you expect me to secretly steal the Pensieve in front of him?"
"Don't worry, Hermione. Sooner or later, he'll go out somewhere –"
"He does not go out while I'm there! Perhaps, after what happened at my first detention. I suspect he still apparates to You-Know-Who, but kicks me out the door first. How many times should I tell you that –"
"Well, then you also stop saying that nobody does anything," Ron sounded slightly offended. "When was the last time you went to a DA meeting?"
Hermione hesitated. Of course, she had not visited these meetings for a long time. Only passed on, through Harry and Ron, the flobberworms stolen from Snape. The vital need for flobberworms was the only valuable information that Hermione had managed to find out about the beast with the unpronounceable name, which had been living in the Room of Requirement for the third month. And it must be said, that, fed with flobberworms, Spooky quickly perked up: his fur shone, feathers glistened, eyes sparkled – all three. Such a prompt recovery of the beast after him feeling down cheered everyone up. Hermione, though, regretted that her book did not mention the practical use of Spooky in magical battles. Thereby, the beast remained a cute… or rather moderately cute pet. The guys had been collecting food for him in the kitchen; luckily the animal was not picky. As for the rest – The Room of Requirement was able to air and clean itself. But only Hermione could forage out the flobberworms. And it was her other small mission in the dungeons. Yes, it was a no-go with the Pensieve, but she still had to attend detention every evening. That's why she could not go to Dumbledore's Army meetings.
"Be sure to come today," Ron advised. "Maybe you can slip away from that ghoul somehow? Just for a while. The thing is that today… Actually, I'll tell you about it later. What's more important is…" Ron leaned over to the girl's ear and whispered: "Lupin should be visiting us today. He'll tell us how the Order of the Phoenix is doing. Perhaps, he'll give us some advice about our situation in Hogwarts. And he promised to teach us the non-verbal shield! I still have problems conjuring it."
Hermione sighed. Without going into details of where the knowledge came from (Granger was not asked about this starting from the second week of the first year), she had already explained three times to the guys in the DA, and personally to Ron twenty times, how to conjure a non-verbal 'Protego'. Well, since neither she nor Professor Snape in his time had succeeded; let Lupin try. He did explain things pretty well.
"And then we'll discuss something else at the meeting," Ron added, his eyes flashing. Clearly, he was impatient to proceed to this topic from the very beginning, but deliberately delayed the sweet moment, preparing to see Hermione's reaction.
"Look!" Ron hastily wiped his fingers on a napkin and opened the pocket of his shabby robes. "Still think we do nothing?"
Hermione blinked, her eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness under the table. Ron had a wand in his pocket. It looked familiar, but most definitely was not his own. Did he want to be as original as Harry, possessing two magic wands? The boys did not always succeed in managing just one. And then it dawned on Hermione, but she refused to believe herself.
"That's right," Ron nodded excitedly, realising from the changed expression on her face that the girl appreciated the scale of the act. "My secret mission. Only Seamus knew, as he's the head of the DA. The wand that killed Professor Dumbledore is now with us."
Hermione felt hot, then cold. She slammed Ron's hand so sharply under the table that the young man cried out in displeasure, and immediately let go of his robes pocket. Hermione was not able to speak for a while, and when she could, she did it in a whistling whisper.
"Morons!" Miss Granger used bad language extremely rarely, but wholeheartedly. "May Salazar damn you, Ronald! Where, in the name of a Leprechaun's dirty pantaloons, were your bloody brains?"
Ron blushed and did not immediately find an answer. He had never thought that girls, especially ones like Hermione, were capable of swearing like a poltergeist. Though, angry Hermione did look like a poltergeist at this moment – her pale face was a perfect match for her mouse-coloured robes and ever-dishevelled hair.
"Hermione, you know –"
"I don't!" the girl hissed even more quietly. "And I don't want to know. Ron, you are a condemned man now, and what for? Do you realise that you've stolen the headmaster's wand? This is not just a cauldron or even the Pensieve, after all. This is not a war, but a personal grievance. Professor Snape will never forgive this. He will get you from under the ground!"
"Well, we'll see about that –" Ronald began uncertainly.
Hermione, cold with fear, tugged at his sleeve:
"Stop looking at him!"
"Why's that?!"
"Because he is a Legilimens, dung brains!"
Ronald tensed and stared at his cold sausages.
"Also, he is a dark wizard and a Death Eater. A wizard who is appreciated even by You-Know-Who, and he does not value many people. Do you wish to make a personal enemy in the form of Severus Snape, Ronald Weasley? Harry's stories were not enough for you? And they are not even enemies! They just… don't get along."
"Okay, okay, let's get out of here. Keep out of his sight."
"No, I'd rather we stay here and sit quietly. Let him leave the Great Hall first. I don't want to draw his attention towards us. Why, in the name of Merlin, did you bring that wand here, Ron?"
"To show you, of course! Hermione, come on," Ron's face became sympathetic. "I understand that Snape has been terrorising you, but I'm not going to hide from that dungeon vampire. Let's see how he'll manage without his wand!"
Hermione looked at her friend, not understanding whether he was joking or being serious. It seemed that he really considered stealing the wand to be a worthwhile affair.
"Ron, can you at least explain," the girl began, changing her tone from condemning to condescendingly insinuating, "why you needed to steal the wand in the first place? I comprehend this is a brave, to put it mildly, act, but… How, by the way, did you manage to steal it? I dread to think!"
"I did it with Seamus," Ronald perked up. "At first, we racked our brains for a long time, thinking how to go about it. And then Seamus said: 'wands don't often get stolen, so all the great ideas are simple – we'll summon it by 'Accio' as soon as he lets it out of his hand'. I was always good at casting 'Accio'. After that it was actually not that difficult. Instead of extra Herbology, we went down into the dungeons. The first years had a Potions class there, and you know what chaos they create at the end of a lesson. While they were packing their bags, washing scoops and cauldrons, removing stains from desks and hands, I just summoned the old bat's wand off his table. Seamus stood by the stairs watching my back."
"And Snape did not notice a thing?"
"I bet he has by now. And back then… I don't think so. He was at the other end of the room, figuring out why some cauldrons had become square."
Hermione was not sure that making eye contact with the headmaster was a good idea. Nevertheless, she dared to look at him and saw nothing new – sallow skin, hooked nose, greasy hair framing his gloomy face in curtains. However, there was no need to kid herself – Snape had noticed the absence of his wand and, obviously, was going to look for it.
Hermione tried to imagine what it would be like to be robbed of her wand. No wizard would have remained indifferent. Even Voldemort would have felt such a loss, no matter that he could perform wandless magic. For the common wizard being deprived of their wand would mean a complete separation from magic. Hermione doubted that this was Snape's case, but that was not the point.
The girl touched her pocket making sure her wand was still there and felt its familiar warmth. Of course, the wand did not actually radiate heat; it was the magic oozing from its core that gave this sensation. Losing a wand, what a disaster! Hermione had bought it herself, chosen it… Or, rather, the wand had chosen her…Like for everyone else, that purchase had become her first step into the wizarding world. She was to become a witch, and the wand was meant to be her assistant on this journey.
Of course, it was possible to find another wand. These days it was not as easy as before – Ollivander's shop had been locked up. However, Death-Eater Snape would definitely find his way, and, perhaps, Ron's trick would cost some wizard dearly. All wands were different, and everyone knew that the one that had chosen you could not be easily replaced. A random wand would not allow you to perform magic as neatly. A wizard (especially an extraordinary one) and his wand were not just a master and his tool, they were something like a single organism or a family – a creative union. To remain without a wand would be similar to losing a hand or an eye. Even worse.
Snape's personality was another factor highlighting the scale of the impending catastrophe – he was entirely absorbed by magic! Mr Weasley might have been amused living as a Muggle for a while – he was affectionate towards the non-magic community. Snape, however, was hardly capable of taking such a situation with a sense of humour. He was full of wittiness, but it was rather sardonic and acidic. The Half-Blood Prince. The only half-blood in Slytherin, not counting the Dark Lord. He had chopped out his non-magical half, crossed it out of his life. Magic had become the essence of his nature. He had even been closing his windows with a wave of his wand, and, most likely would not remember how to do it differently. Oh, how angry he must have become!
To some extent, Hermione sympathised with the headmaster. Or, rather, could put herself in his shoes. She had no clue whether Snape indulged in similar reflections about Ollivander and his, Severus', the one and only magic wand, or was just furious. But he certainly was not happy to find himself in the castle full of hating eyes with magical abilities slightly higher than Filch's. It was as bad as stripping someone and putting them naked on the street! Snape had already been constantly irritated and after this he would definitely fly into a rage. Since only Ron, Seamus and any first-year witnesses were aware of the theft of the headmaster's wand, then it was safe to presume that the entire school must have found out about it by now. Of course, what a great laugh! Hermione could but hope that everyone would be smart enough not to take advantage of this situation and not pull another stupid trick. Because the headmaster could just as easily deprive a first-year Mudblood of their wand and be on the roll again. And then Severus Snape's revenge would begin. If he did not find the culprit – never mind, he would take revenge on everyone. And sure enough, if Snape ever found out that it was Ron's doing, poor Weasley would go through all the agonies of hell. Hermione still could not believe that it was not just a bad dream. Stealing Snape's wand? Insanity!
"It needs to be returned," Hermione said after a long silence.
"No way!" Ronald bristled, protectively covering his robes pocket. "Seamus has already told everyone. The DA is expecting to see it tonight."
She was right – the whole school had been informed of the incident. She could stop rushing around.
"Just explain to me, what's the point of this?!" Hermione snapped. "To humiliate Professor Snape? This will only make him angrier! What good is in it for us? Or do you plan to catch him, conduct a trial and execute him?"
"Nothing of the sort, Hermione, come on!" Ron sounded slightly frightened. "Do you think we are complete idiots? As long as You-Know-Who is alive, there is no point in touching Snape as we would never know who might be sent to replace him. Or they may even just close the school and kill everyone."
"'The speech not of a boy, but of a man.' Why take such a risk then, Ron? He'll just get himself a new wand."
"A new one won't be the same, and you know it!" Ron frowned. "His wand killed Professor Dumbledore, I won't let it bring even more evil."
To her shame, Hermione did not quite grasp the last statement, so she kept silent.
"Let's go? Snape's left, the coast is clear. Don't worry, Hermione, everything will be fine. It's good to hurt that bastard in any possible way. Besides, the DA decided that we wouldn't let him have a quiet life! Did he think he could kill Professor Dumbledore and rest on his laurels? What are you upset about?" Ron could not understand Hermione's mood. "Don't be afraid, Snape will never know who took his wand. If he finds a new one – his business. But his spells would be a bit weaker, so it'll be much easier for us!"
Hermione was disturbed. For some reason, the slight advantages of the situation did not fit in with her manner of thinking.
"Well, we'll see how it's going to be easier right now: in Potions," the girl sighed resignedly, wrapping some sausages in a napkin for Harry who had not come. "You could've, at least, stolen the wand after our lesson!"
"Are you kidding? I'd buy a ticket to see this show!"
They hurried out of the Great Hall.
"I doubt it's going to be highly amusing, Ron… Professor Snape is a rather humourless person."
"Maybe he'll cancel Potions today."
"A disrupted lesson is all I need – he'll compensate his irritation by making my detention twice as hard!"
"He'll probably cancel your detention, too," Ron reassured. "If I were him, I'd be looking for a new wand, and not thinking about detentions! Isn't it great? Now you can come with us and see Lupin!"
"Hermione?" Terry Boot got his nose out of his Advanced Potion-Making, which he was reading on the go, and caught up with the friends at the Great Hall's exit. "Is it true..." he switched to a whisper, "that Gryffindors stole Snape's wand?"
"You'll find out soon enough," Hermione replied gloomily. This query did not surprise her at all. Ron, on the contrary, looked puzzled. "I can hardly believe it myself…"
"You people are insane!" Terry said in admiration. And quickly added: "But don't tell me who did it! If they begin questioning us intensely, I might confess."
"Hey, Weasley!"
Boot hastily waved at them and disappeared, not wishing to interfere with Slytherins.
Ron had no particular desire to communicate with Zabini and Nott either, but for now his classmates just called him politely and there was no reason to walk away. Though, the fact that both boys had their wands at the ready was alarming. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances and stopped in the middle of an empty hallway.
"There are rumours that something has been taken from the headmaster. And that a few Gryffindorians were implicated," Theo Nott, of course, pretended not to notice the Mudblood, even to Ron he spoke out of necessity. "So, tell your friends to give that item back, or you'll all pay."
"What?! Are you threatening us?" Ron thrust his hand in his pocket intending to draw his wand out and froze – there were two wands in there, and he could not distinguish which was which.
"Take it easy, Nott," Hermione said. "If someone has stolen something, think about people in your House, first."
Nott raised his wand higher, but Hermione turned and, grabbing Ronald's arm, walked away in silence. A fight with Slytherins was not good for her robes colour. If she was expelled from Hogwarts, she would never reach the Pensieve.
"You, mouse! If you speak to a pure-blood first again, it'll be the last thing that you do!" Zabini yelled at her. It sounded like a warning, not a threat.
Hermione felt Ron twitch and squeezed his arm tighter, her nails digging into his flesh.
"Don't you dare look back!" she whispered. "Don't speak or even breathe until you get rid of that bloody wand. If it's revealed that we have it, everything is going to be lost! Everything – do you understand?"
"How do they know?" Ron was horrified. "What if Snape asks, too?"
"You wait – he definitely will."
Fortunately, the next person they met was not the headmaster, but Harry. And, oddly enough, he did not start questioning them about Snape's wand.
"I spent half an hour at the Owlery waiting for everyone to leave," he complained on the move. "Ron, why were you absent from Herbology?"
"Okay, I'll tell the story again," Ronald sighed. "You are probably the only person in the castle who doesn't know it yet."
"Here," Hermione thrust Harry the sausages, "you should not listen to this on an empty stomach or it'll give you lump in your throat and indigestion."
Harry tensed:
"Something about the Horcruxes?"
"Nope," Ron reassured him. "It's just, you know… Maybe we'd better skip Potions today? What do you think, Hermione?"
"Skip? Potions?" Harry queried. "Is Slughorn back then?"
"No, Ron just stole Snape's wand," Hermione lost it. "And now we don't know what to expect."
Harry choked on a sausage and stopped sharply before descending into the dungeons.
"What wand?!"
"Magic, of course. You see, this was a secret mission of Dumbledore's Army."
Harry chewed carefully and swallowed.
"Good thing I'm not Potter now," he muttered.
XXX
"I am tired," Severus Snape said.
The usual beginning-of-the-lesson chaos with setting up the cauldrons, taking out books and ingredients ceased. Everyone looked warily at the headmaster – some with an open bag on their knees, others with a feather frozen halfway to an inkwell. No one ever expected anything good from a lesson with Snape, or from Snape in general, but as a rule he, at least, remained faithful to his style. He would burst into the classroom and, throughout the whole lesson, dash between desks like a buzzard, catching his prey and striking. It was sort of… normal. Today they had met him sitting quietly at the teacher's desk. That alone was quite frightening. It looked like the loss of his wand had seriously crippled him. Perhaps, even clouded his mind. Until now, the headmaster had never allowed one to suspect the presence of something human in him, let alone fatigue. To hear such a statement from Snape seemed as inconceivable as to see Voldemort entering the class with a radiant smile and say: 'I am sorry. I realised that I was wrong. Come to me, Mudbloods, let me hug you.'
Professor Snape continued to sit in his place without moving; the shadow making him almost merge with his black robes. Only his thin, pale hands were clearly visible – he rested his elbows on the desk, linking his fingertips together. The rolled sleeve of his robes revealed the Dark Mark imprinted on his skin, but the headmaster did not seem to be bothered by it in the least.
Ron shifted in his seat, looked sideways at Harry. Perhaps he had better give the wand back? But his hand went numb every time it approached his pocket. And the pocket itself felt on fire.
"I am tired," Snape repeated calmly on the verge of hearing, "of your stupidity, arrogance and laziness. Of your senseless, dangerous and idiotic antics. Of obtuse fights and petty meanness to which you devote all your free time, believing that martial law has been introduced at Hogwarts, and this saves you from your direct obligations. All of this exhausts me more than my service to the Dark Lord."
It became as quiet as a graveyard.
"Sometimes," Snape continued thoughtfully, "lately more often, I ask myself if I really need it – Hogwarts with all of you in it. What is Hogwarts today, exactly? A refuge for gangs of ignoramuses? An outpost of the Order of the Phoenix? The tomb of Albus Dumbledore?" his dark, never smiling eyes slid along the frozen rows of pupils. "I draw your attention to the fact that, in this context, the existing regime is not interested in the presence of Hogwarts as such. Generally speaking, no one except you is interested in keeping this school operating. If you are not interested either, or if you are not satisfied with the order established here, the food and attitude – you are free to leave and do what you please beyond these walls." The headmaster slightly changed his position and rested his chin on his clasped hands. "Let me explain to you a simple truth: you either study at Hogwarts, which presumes the learning process along with observing the rules of discipline and cohabitation, or you vacate this place. Make no mistake, I will be delighted to dispose of such a burden as yourselves and seal the doors of this musty castle forever. Neither I, nor the Dark Lord, require apprenticeship in the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The final year resembled a motionless Muggle photograph. Satisfied with the effect, Snape pulled from a drawer a small hourglass with a Slytherin snake wrapped around its waist.
"Now that everyone has received a warning – and that was exactly one, in case someone deceives themselves and thinks that I need a rehearsal before my Christmas speech in the Great Hall," the headmaster said patiently. "I am going to time five minutes. That is how long is given to all those who feel humiliated, dissatisfied and not willing to study, to accept their fate and keep themselves under control, or to leave the school by this evening. Time is about to flow," he snapped the hourglass with his finger and turned it upside down.
It became so quiet in the room that one could practically hear the sparkling black grains of sand falling. Snape leaned back in his chair and for precisely five minutes, silently, without changing position, looked at the class. The students examined their knees, and the chipped tops of their desks were apparently the most interesting things in their lives. Even Malfoy dropped his eyes and pretended to review his homework. Nobody, of course, left. When the last grain of sand fell, Professor Snape, without a word, put the hourglass back in the drawer and rose from his seat.
"Put your cauldrons on a low fire. They will have time to warm through while I explain the topic. Today we are studying…" he approached the blackboard and took a piece of chalk, "magically unstable potions."
Snape with chalk was quite a sight. Approximately like Voldemort with a rake. Even so, no one chuckled. The feathers rustled obediently, albeit with some delay. In the reigning silence, usual for the professor's lessons, the muffled 'Don't!' was distinctly audible.
Harry, for obvious reasons, tried to stay as far away as possible from the headmaster; consequently he sat closest to the Mudbloods' desks, occupied currently only by Dean Thomas. Hermione, who had been penalised since Snape's post-Slughorn lesson, still languished in the front row, desk to desk with the headmaster. Therefore, only Harry saw Dean withdrawing his hand, holding a magic wand, from under the table. The hunted and desperate expression in Dean's eyes gave Potter a feeling that he should not expect anything good from this sudden attack. His intuition was not wrong, although he had enough time only to duck – the spell flew faster than a Bludger. The class gasped. The headmaster was thrown onto the blackboard with less force than one might have expected, but still quite perceptible. Clearly, given the pleasant start to the day, Snape had conjured some shield charm around himself – he could obviously cast it to some extent without his magic wand. Dean's rage, however, had magnified the power of his spell. The pupils were petrified for a split second, and then, all at once, jumped to their feet. The Slytherins Pansy and Daphne rushed towards the headmaster, Draco aimed his wand at Dean, a malicious twinkling in his eyes. Harry, still disguised as Neville, drew his wand in response, too, because Dean stood still like a statue, hands down and was not even trying to fight back. As a matter of fact, everyone, except for Snape, already stood with their wands exposed; another fight between Gryffindor and Slytherin seemed imminent. Hermione raised her wand and guided it into the space between the professor and the class, preparing to erect a double-sided protective shield.
Fortunately, the moment's confusion was over, Professor Snape regained his balance, straightened up the board, and turned to face the class.
"That was Dean Thomas, sir, a Mudblood," Pansy Parkinson shouted immediately and a few more Slytherins hummed in agreement. Dean, however, did not even think to hide.
"A great pleasure. I almost thought that Dumbledore had risen from his grave," the teacher scoffed venomously. "Take your seat, Miss Parkinson, you are not allowed to walk around the room during class." He brushed back the lock of hair which had fallen on his face, saw a smear of blood on his fingers and winced. "How very Gryffindor to attack from behind, seeing that the wizard does not have a wand in his hand."
'Does not have a wand at all!' Hermione thought, taking her seat, afraid to move. Some of the girls hid their faces in their palms, or lay their heads on the desks, covering them with their hands. With or without a wand, Snape could have pulled off something unpredictable. Dean Thomas turned from pale to bright red. He slammed his wand on the desk and yelled:
"And what about you?! Killing wandless Professor Dumbledore! Bastard! Go on, shut Hogwarts down. We'll kill every one of you, and –" he continued to open and close his mouth, but no sound came out – Hermione had waved her wand under the desk, casting a non-verbal 'Silencio' on her classmate.
Instead of Dean they suddenly heard Draco:
"Avada –"
"Draco, sit!"
Apparently, it was some kind of a powerful new spell that one could cast without a wand, because Malfoy reacted similar to muted Dean – stopped abruptly, blinking rapidly. He was definitely wondering whether it would cost him dearly to disobey Snape. Killing a Mudblood – big deal! However, if the headmaster was in a bad mood… Draco's eyes were not much friendlier than Dean's when he looked at the professor. The wand turned around its axis several times in the young man's slender fingers – he had his wand. Still, Malfoy sat down. Demonstratively, he shoved his wand onto his ingredient tray.
"You have wasted ten minutes of the lesson," Snape said. "I will subtract precisely this long of your break. Minus fifty points from Gryffindor… Or, rather, thirty-four. We have not introduced a minus score yet, although we perhaps should. And this is the second warning for you, Mr Thomas. The third will be the last. Mr Longbottom, it is meaningless for you to stay in this classroom. Pour some ink into your cauldron now, and your potion will achieve the same colour as it would by the end of any lesson. Instead, if you are not disdainful of unpure blood, I suggest you take your friend to the Hospital Wing. Hysterics are treated by Madam Pomfrey. I will decide, based on his diagnosis, what punishment to assign Mr Thomas."
The students began to breathe a little more evenly. The usual wave of sarcasm aimed at Neville brought back a sense of reality. Oddly, Harry was quite glad that Snape had bullied him for no reason. At least he could get out of Potions and take the crazy Dean away. Thomas, however, stood rooted to the spot and, it seemed, had lost not only his ability to speak, but also to hear anything.
"Get moving! Do you want a third warning?" Harry quickly grabbed the boy by the sleeve of his robes and pulled him along. "Goodbye, sir," he muttered to Snape for both of them.
The professor did not even turn in their direction.
"So, the rest of you are now waiting for your cauldrons to explode, are you?" he asked sarcastically. "Reduce the flame to a minimum, we haven't yet started theory."
The students hurriedly waved their wands, saving their equipment. Resembling a dark shadow, Snape drifted to a cupboard.
"Remove your textbooks from the desks, I will write the instructions on the blackboard. And place your magic wands in this cupboard, until the end of the lesson."
The pupils exchanged glances.
"Do I need to translate this into simpler English?" Snape asked. "Group A," he pointed to the Slytherins, "will produce a Truth Potion, and Group B," a nod in the direction of the other mixed-together Houses, "is going to brew, which will surprise me enormously, a Free-will Serum. Both of these potions are extremely sensitive to a magical environment, even to the mood of the wizard producing them. Therefore, they must be brewed in a calm state of mind, away from any magical artefacts. If you could read, you would have guessed this by looking at the topic of our lesson. Now, one more time: rise from your seats, Group A will take their ingredients from the right, Group B from the left. And stow your wands in the cupboard."
The pupils walked in single file towards the cupboard. The professor, meanwhile, reached for a dark-glass vial from a shelf, dipped cotton wadding into it and swabbed his cut eyebrow.
With a sigh, under Snape's corrosive gaze, Ron put his wand on the shelf, looking at it as if for the last time. Malfoy was the last in line. He silently laid his wand away from the others, not taking his gloomy defiant glare from the headmaster.
"Twenty-three," Snape slammed the cupboard door shut, locked it and put the key in his pocket. No one smiled again. The professor gave the class a critical look and dived into the laboratory.
"I wonder if everyone will get their wands back," Ron whispered to Hermione as they were returning to their seats.
"Maybe he'll keep all of them," Hermione replied. "Did you expect anything else? Now we'll have one wand between all of us, but it's a special one!"
"You've got a weird sense of humour lately," Ron growled. "Though, quite recognisable."
"You'd better think not about my humour, but about Dean," Hermione said. "He needs to flee, if it's not too late."
"Moony –"
"Not now!"
Snape returned from the realm of his beloved vials and brought two tightly corked phials.
"This is a Potion sample for Group A, and this one is for Group B," he pointed to a pale blue liquid on the right and to a transparent emerald solution on the left. "When you finish brewing, your potions will require some time to settle – three minutes for Group A and seven for Group B. After that you can retrieve your wands and perform a flame test."
He uncorked both phials and struck a match. It took him a couple of tries, but it worked. A fascinating trick for a wizard, but, given the headmaster's half-blood origin, it was quite within his power.
The students, however, actively pretended to be absorbed in sorting the ingredients.
"Eyes on me!" Snape snapped. "Looking at your desks you will not determine the colour of the flame. Supreme magic is not for you," he held a fluttering light over the first phial. "The flame should turn white over a Truth Potion, and… Ouch!" the professor blew on his burned fingers.
The second match – fwoosh, fwoosh… Broke. The third one – fwoosh, fwoosh… Light already! Now the pupils did not dare look away.
"The flame turns pink over a Free-will Serum."
Daphne Greengrass timidly raised her hand, lowered it, looked around and raised it again.
"Miss Greengrass? A question already? I have not even written the recipe yet."
"I just…" the girl hesitantly rose from her seat. "Professor Snape… Sir, you could borrow my wand, if… if you forgot yours."
Snape shot her a quick, Avada Kedavra like, look.
"Thank you, Miss Greengrass, I will not need a wand until the end of the class. You may take your seat."
He picked up the chalk stick, drew a line dividing the blackboard into two and began to write. Pure serpent. Hermione smiled.
"Is something amusing you, Miss Granger?"
Damn, damn, damn!
"If I were you, I would concentrate on your cauldron." Dzin, dzin, dzin – his words were falling on Hermione like little pieces of ice. "At the end of the lesson we will check the efficiency of your potions. Empirically. The test subject will be asked three questions – before the potions, after taking the first serum and after taking the second one. I hasten to add, in case your potions are prepared incorrectly, that there is no antidote."
Hermione, of course, would not dare turn around, but she felt Ron's panicked, horrified look with the back of her head. Quite a situation. It was unlikely that they could produce a different potion from the available ingredients – like Instant Disappearance, for example, or Momentary Obliviousness of Human Speech. Besides, the Slytherins most definitely would not brew a false Truth Potion. Why would they? Maybe she could try to persuade them? Hermione glanced at Zabini, who was sitting across the aisle from her, intently chopping a newt's tail, and abandoned her thoughts. She could only hope that they would prepare their potions incorrectly. Then it would be just poison. As well as Ron's serum, because there was no way that her friend could make his potion right today. The first rule was to brew it with a calm state of mind and Ronald was shaking from head to foot. Not to mention the fact that the boy had a powerful magic artefact in his robes pocket, which he could not get rid of at the moment.
Maybe she could blow up a cauldron again? Today's lesson had gone askew from the beginning anyway. Anything but let Snape run his experiment! It would be a catastrophe if he selected her or Ron for the test subject. Would he really give a student two dubious potions and make them speak the truth? In the best case scenario, only the second question would be dangerous for her. Perhaps, she could take a sip of her potion beforehand? But Ron would not be able to do so of his! All right, Hermione, calm down, being twitchy may provoke suspicion. Snape, of course, had an extravagant, infernal personality, but so far he had never pulled such a stunt, even though it had become a fashion at school to set Slytherins on Gryffindors. Even if the headmaster fulfilled his promise, she, sitting in the first row, should be able to seize a moment and sip a spoonful from her cauldron in advance. That would protect her against the Slytherins potion. As for Ron, the chance that Snape would select him was very small – only a madman would decide that one could take a potion from Weasley's cauldron and stay alive. Why then interfere in Dean Thomas' murder? Give or take one student… How fortunate that Harry was gone!
While thoughts buzzed around like angry bees in Hermione's head, her hands, with the precision of an outstanding student, cut, squeezed, measured and poured. The potion in her cauldron achieved an emerald hue. Hermione raised her hand.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"May I retrieve my wand, sir?" – ('Give me, at least, my wand back, it's difficult to cause an uproar without one.')
Raising a small black whirlwind, the professor approached her desk, the edge of his robes brushed against her hand. He looked into Hermione's cauldron, grimaced. ('Give five points to Gryffindor and I'll kiss you once more! No, again?') Hermione felt almost amused from fear.
"Yes, Miss Granger, you may. Just keep it away from the other cauldrons."
He walked with her through the whole room and unlocked the cupboard with two turns of the key, pretending it was customary for great wizards, not a careless Alohomora from the other end of the class. Hermione winced at the same thought that had first crossed her mind in the Great Hall when she had just found out about the headmaster's wand. Not that Snape looked completely pitiful and lost without his wand, although, to be honest, he did a bit. Hermione had begun to distinguish slightly the shades of the professor's anger. However, there was something totally unnatural in the idea of leaving a wizard without his wand. Wands were usually taken away only in Azkaban. To Hermione the bold act of the DA members had a tinge of an idiotic boyish trick. Kind of like ripping off insects' wings and legs in order to see what will happen.
"Having difficulty in choosing a wand?" Snape inquired, noticing that she hesitated in front of the cupboard. "Take whichever you please, you may even collect several. Those who are late with their potions will not receive one."
Hermione quickly grabbed her wand and darted back to her cauldron. She needed to complete a flame test and snatch a moment to take a spoonful. It would be great to give some potion to Ronald as well, but how?
"Ten minutes until the end of the lesson, finalise your potions," Snape announced, although he knew perfectly well that if Granger had just completed hers, then most of them had not yet moved on to the final stage. Twenty-two wands were still locked in the cupboard.
"We can do the flame test in the process," the professor decided and tenaciously scanned the room. "Mr Weasley, to the front of the class."
Ron jumped as if cursed with Crucio.
"W-why, sir?"
"So I could take a closer look at you, why else?" Snape said innocently. "To test your potion, of course. Time! Your classmates will need to escort you to the Hospital Wing and not be late for their next lesson."
Ronald was completely at a loss, although the professor had not said anything offbeat – he just commonly called a student to the board. If Ron had his own wand at that moment, he would rather cast a Petrificus Totalus onto himself. The boy reluctantly rose to his feet. Everything was clear – Potter was absent, Longbottom, too... The Horror of the Dungeons had got bored and switched to Weasley. Even a wandless Snape was able to simply drag the boy to the teacher's desk; Ron decided to perish with dignity and went on his own accord. There was still time for a miracle. A miracle named Granger sat in the first row; he just had to approach her. Hermione's behaviour was quite promising: she was not nervous, did not try to escape, she just calmly awaited the end of the lesson.
"Your potion! Mr Weasley, are you mocking us or playing for time? We will not be finished without the experiment."
Ron, his legs shaking, returned to his desk. Poorly understanding what he was doing, he tried to take his cauldron by its handles – hot! The boy sharply jerked his hands back, nearly splashing out the entire potion. Perhaps, if he did so, it would be for the best?
The class began giggling.
Ron, mentally cursing Snape, the school, the Dark Lord and all his damn Horcruxes, tried to take his cauldron along with its holder.
"Phenomenal. 'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot'," Snape mused. "Have you finally defeated it, Mr Weasley? Now, place it back and remind me to deduct another ten points from Gryffindor as soon as they appear. Do you think one could drink the whole cauldron? I distinctly remember warning you that there is no antidote."
Ron looked at him with blank, rounded eyes. He would tell the entire class about Harry, about the Horcruxes and, finally, about the headmaster's wand. Surely after that, death would be quite welcome. So, that's why the vile Death Eater had started this bloody circus – to find out who had his wand. Ronald's gaze, fixed on Snape, quickly filled with despair. Snape took pity:
"Minus five more points from Gryffindor – put it on my account. Mr Weasley, would you finally take a ladle? See? It's not difficult at all if you use your brains. Now, pour some of your potion into a vial. Would you like me to bring you your wand so you could levitate the vial, or will you approach me on your own volition?"
Despite the gloomy beginning of the lesson, the class was laughing out loud. Even Hermione smiled involuntarily, immediately covering her mouth with her hand. Traitor! There was nothing funny.
A doom-laden Ronald trudged towards Snape, glancing at Hermione, who had long corked her potion with a crystal stopper and attached a neat label to it. A potion worthy of an 'O' or, at least, of an 'E', if Snape graded it in a good mood. As for Ron's potion… the colour of the serum in his vial would have passed for an emerald only in a black-and-white photograph. Ron cast another doomed glance at Hermione – don't let me die! Hermione shook her head almost imperceptibly – wait for Snape to get out of the way. All the girl could come up with was to create another chaotic incident in the classroom – a pointless, demonstrative antic of the kind that infuriated the headmaster the most. Of which he had warned them about only today. For which he definitely would not pat her on the head and, most likely, would give her a second warning. And even the sparkling surfaces in his laboratory, carefully polished by her hands, would not save her from his rage. That was why Hermione had decided to wait until the last moment – perhaps things would straighten out and she would not have to use her wand. There was no chance in giving Ron a sip of her potion – the whole class was staring at him along with Snape, who stood right next to Hermione's desk, resting his hand on it and openly mocking the chosen victim. As always, he received a great amount of dark pleasure from it. Ronald retrieved his wand but did not look any happier. He held it above the brownish and not-transparent-at-all serum. The flame jerked, turned black and extinguished.
"Well, that will have to do," Snape sighed carnivorously and looked around the class.
Ronald glanced at Hermione in despair and quickly pointed with his eyes at Snape, shifting his wand from hand to hand: 'We have our wands, he doesn't… Should we just...?' Hermione shook her head vigorously: 'Are you mad? Wait!'
"Who of those present has a Boggart that can speak?" the professor asked.
The class rustled, but no one gave a clear answer.
"Is everyone afraid of non-sentient beings?" Snape sounded surprised.
"Longbottom's Boggart could talk," Malfoy scoffed. "But he doesn't like it to be seen."
Hermione covered her mouth with both hands and used Occlumency – better safe than sorry. She tried hard not to burst out, or she would share a Boggart with Neville for the rest of her life. Horror suddenly struck her and she did not feel like laughing anymore. She looked at Ron and, by the expression on his face, realised he was thinking the same way. Today's lesson was fatally threatened with failure. How fortunate that Harry had gone to escort Dean! Snape would most definitely call Longbottom to the board after Malfoy's remark! Never mind the shape of Neville's Boggart – the professor had survived far worse. Harry's Boggart, however, was a Dementor. That would be a total disaster! Everyone would figure it out at once!
The professor switched to his favourite:
"The most attentive, Mr Malfoy, have already noticed that Mr Longbottom is not in class. Therefore, you will demonstrate to us your Boggart. With your intelligence, this is probably something more complicated than Mr Weasley's spider."
Ron shuddered – did the professor know or was it just a lucky guess?
"And bring your Truth Potion as well," Snape finished.
"Me?" Draco said in disbelief.
"Yes, since you decided to honour us with your presence today…"
Draco shrugged and poured his poison into a vial.
"I'm going to need my wand, Professor."
"Certainly. In the meantime, you and Mr Weasley will bring a chest from the laboratory."
Draco gave Ron an icy look. Ronald turned sulky – what did I do? Actually, Ron had already had his wand back and, therefore, could simply levitate the chest, but that would heat the atmosphere up even more – Malfoy had not received his wand yet. This whole wand situation was just crazy. Why did they pitch this idea to Snape?
While the joint Gryffindor-Slytherin team, hissing at each other, was dragging the heavy chest, the professor, with an impenetrable expression on his face, opened the cupboard, took Malfoy's wand out, closed the cupboard, put the wand on his desk, wiped the blackboard with a damp cloth and wrote down the names of several rare books which should be used to prepare for the next lesson. Snape brushed chalk dust from his hands and black robes and stared at the panting boys.
"Mr Weasley, release the Boggart. Mr Malfoy, create something that speaks out of it. Then you, Mr Weasley, will ask the Boggart three control questions and give it, first, Mr Malfoy's potion, and then yours. Do you remember the questions that Boggarts never answer honestly?"
"Erm… That is from DADA, Professor," Ron tried to wriggle out. "We don't have this subject anymore."
He felt much better now, when it turned out that the potions would be drunk not by him, but by Draco Malfoy's Boggart.
"You had this subject in your third year, Mr Weasley. So?"
Oh, what a day! Ronald mused for an answer, but without much hope. He was not worried much, as Gryffindor had zero points anyway.
Hermione, following an ineradicable habit, tried to prompt him.
"I think, it doesn't say its name," Ron translated her gesticulations freely. His head was happy, light and empty.
Hermione slapped her face with her palm from behind the professor.
"Its name?" the headmaster seemed to be losing the last drops of his patience. "Boggarts do not and cannot have a name, Mr Weasley. I will soon be opening a perpetual minus points credit for Gryffindor…"
Hermione raised her hand in resentment, literally grazing the teacher's shoulder, so it was impossible not to notice her. Snape pulled away, as if she was an annoying obstacle, and continued:
"I don't remember a more mediocre year than yours. I understand that Professor Lupin taught you very badly, but there is a library for such a case."
Of course, at school only one person was never confused about who had taught DADA and when, although the teachers had changed like gloves and in a completely random order. In fact, after Hermione a few more students raised their hands, but that did not matter. If Snape decided that no one knew the answer to his question, there was no need in trying. Students dropped their hands hastily – a scintillating reference to DADA and its teachers was brewing, and it was better not to distract the professor from it. The class resembled a pack of lemmings and prepared to listen.
"Pick up your quills," Snape snapped.
The class seethed with displeasure.
"Pick up your quills, you owe me ten minutes," Snape repeated impatiently, jerked his hand towards his pocket, as if to retrieve his wand, cut the gesture off in the middle and returned to the chalk stick. "A Boggart does not say: a - who it is, b - what it is afraid of, and c - where it goes afterwards. And now, we are back to, Merlin forbid, Advanced Potions. Mister Malfoy?"
Malfoy waved his wand over his vial; the flame was white with a slightly noticeable greenish tint.
"Tolerable," Snape said. "Five points to Slytherin."
Odd. He normally gave his snakes more than that…
"Begin!" the professor stepped aside. Ronald opened the chest with an Alohomora, and a shapeless Boggart, one that had not chosen its victim yet, slipped into the classroom. Nobody really tensed – Boggarts were not Inferi after all, although…
The Dark Lord was talked about a lot, but only a few had seen him. And of those who had seen him, only a few survived. And of those who survived, only a few had the desire to talk about the meeting. Draco Malfoy, however, seemed to have had scrutinised and memorised the Dark Lord pretty well, because his Boggart-Formed Voldemort turned out to be very natural and informative – from now on, everyone who was in the class, when meeting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would understand immediately that it was him… Even Snape flinched, and the students promptly retreated to the Mudbloods' seats. Hermione, huddled against the wall, thought, for the third time during the lesson, how good it was that Harry had left. 'Voldemort', true to his style, rose from a dark whirlwind on the floor and lifted his deathly pale, amimic face with red slits instead of eyes. Eerie, ruthless, hypnotising. His robes hung to his toes, hiding his tall, flexible, snake-like figure. His magic wand was clamped in his thin, inhumanly long fingers.
Draco Malfoy backed away, white as death. Either he did not expect such a strong effect, or before his Boggart had had a different shape. As a matter of fact, everyone felt uneasy.
"P-p-put him away!" Pansy Parkinson pleaded.
"Mr Weasley, five minutes until the end of the lesson. Administer the potions and everyone is free to leave," Snape shouted impatiently. "What is the problem? Have you never seen a Boggart before? Proceed. The questions are on the board. I knew that you would instantly forget them!"
Ron swallowed, trying to decide who he feared more. Rationally thinking, the real Snape without his wand was more dangerous than the fake Voldemort with a wand. In a semi-conscious state, Ronald took Malfoy's potion from the table and approached the evil-looking shape-shifter from behind, trying not to get in the way of its gaze.
"Erm… Who are you?"
Generally, Boggarts were not smart creatures, so they could not help but answer a question.
"I am Lord Voldemort," the shape-shifter responded predictably, continuing to stare at Malfoy with its prototype's inquisitiveness.
Well, the Boggart will not be in trouble for mentioning the name in vain…
"Uh… Here, have a drink, Lord," Ronald said, feeling like a complete idiot, and handed the beast the first vial.
The class was quiet; some students moved a bit closer. Snape was definitely enjoying the show.
"Do not interfere, step back," he drove the pupils away. "If you reshape it, we will not end the experiment."
Boggarts were gullible creatures, so it did as it was told to and took the vial from Ron's hand with its cold, bony hand, draining it in one gulp. Ron looked at Hermione, and she nodded imperceptibly – well done.
Ron cleared his throat, stepped back behind the creature, which continued to slowly but surely move towards Malfoy, who was frozen by the teacher's desk, and repeated the question:
"Who are you?"
Voldemort stopped two paces from Draco, raised his wand. Malfoy tried not to close his eyes – the creature from the chest was acting very naturally.
"I am a Boggart. A spirit without a home and peace, doomed to forever embody someone else's fear."
Okay, that was better!
Ron calmed down a little, summoned the second vial from the desk and handed it from behind to the Dark Lord.
"Have another drink, Boggart."
The creature knocked the vial down its throat, turned green, gave a death rattle and collapsed dead.
Snape gave a careful, deliberate applause. Malfoy took a deep breath, it looked like he was glad of the outcome.
"Atypical for the action of a Free-will Serum, but also significant," the Potions Master said venomously. "Congratulations, Mr Weasley, you are a killer. I warn you, the experiment was an academic exercise. If you meet someone else with such a face, do not try to slip them a Truth Potion. Mr Malfoy, return your Boggart to the chest. The lesson is over."
The students began to peel themselves off the walls in disbelief.
"If Snape had been teaching DADA from our first year, we would all be keeping O'Leary company right now," Ron whispered to Hermione as he walked to his desk.
Hermione nodded – she stood in solidarity with her friend here. She did not like Snape's experiment either – all right, let's presume the headmaster had not known what Draco's Boggart was, but why hadn't he stopped the whole thing right after it was revealed? Missed the caring face of his Master so much? Waiting for Ron, who was hastily cleaning his desk, Hermione gazed thoughtfully at the creepiest of all Boggarts. Draco, wiping away the cold sweat, approached Voldemort still sprawled on the floor, and pointed his wand at him, trying not to get too close. The Dark Lord opened the crimson gaps of his eyes and, typically, got resurrected. He rose – more alive than all living beings, his wand at the ready. A lightning-fast, filigree duelling gesture:
"Avada Kedavra!"
Draco yelled and recoiled; the green light emitted by the Boggart's wand flowed around him without causing any harm, of course. However, the young man hardly had time to realise it.
"Ah! Avada Kedavra!"
This time the green light flared up more intensely.
Everyone who had not hidden under the desks after the first Avada did so now. Hermione barely had time to realise that Malfoy's killing spell, passing through the Boggart as if through thin air, was aimed directly at her.
She tried to step aside, but her legs were jelly. Out of the corner of her consciousness the girl understood: she was finished. Hermione could not believe that she was going to meet her death right now and so idiotically.
The students gasped. Ron went white, dropped his cauldron and raised his wand, but Malfoy had already finished the spell. Green light – quick death.
The headmaster, angrier than usual, pushed the sluggish Granger away from the Avada and turned to the distraught Draco.
"Have you lost your mind, Mr Malfoy?!"
Draco certainly looked like he was dangerously close to doing so. Voldemort loomed over the boy, stretching his white, clawed fingers towards him. Retreating, Malfoy bumped into the teacher's chair and fell along with it onto the floor. Now, lying down, he tried to aim at the approaching Lord, but obviously could not gather enough positive emotions for the necessary spell.
"Your wand!" Snape walked over to his desk, staying behind the Boggart's back, and held out his hand. Malfoy did not think to disobey.
"Riddikulus!"
The Dark Lord looked at Snape and then did a strange thing – he turned into a golden phoenix and flew into the chest. The locks clicked into place.
"Why do I have to do everything for you, Draco?!" Snape threw Malfoy's wand back to him, or rather at him. "Minus fifty points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy. What is wrong with you today? You managed to make a problem even out of a Boggart!"
Malfoy, trembling all over and seemingly trying not to burst into tears, got up from the floor. Hermione, also not in the best of moods, got to her feet at the other end of the class and clung to Ronald. Snape, not paying attention to the students crawling out from under the desks, continued to scold Malfoy and, apparently, could not stop:
"Don't you know any other spells besides Avada Kedavra? Do you consider it to be a panacea or just like the way it sounds?"
"No, I… I wanted…" Draco swallowed. Making excuses, moreover in public, was not his style, but he still had not recovered from the horror he had just experienced due to an unscheduled meeting with the aggressive Lord. "I wanted to neutralise him properly... but he suddenly jumped up. He was lying dead!"
"He?! How old are you, Mr Malfoy, that you are talking such nonsense? Eleven? A Boggart cannot be killed with a potion or a spell. A Boggart is a spirit that can only imitate living creatures. It told you that itself a few minutes ago!"
"You shouldn't have left a student alone with a spirit!" Draco snapped nervously, slowly returning to his usual behaviour. "You should have checked that it was neutralised."
"Thank you for reminding me of my responsibilities, Mr Malfoy. I. Have. Checked," the headmaster said in a cold voice. "And you receive a second warning and immediately a third. Never implement the Killing Curse again. You cannot use this spell properly."
"It's not up to you!" Draco bristled. His eyes flashed as maliciously as his Boggart's.
"It is. In this castle," Snape cast him an icy look. "If you are so insecure that I need to save you from a Boggart, don't start with Unforgivable Curses. Occupy your wand with something simpler. And don't point it at yourself. In fact, it would be better, if you didn't wave it without my control. It can be dangerous."
The-Boys-And-Girls-Who-Miraculously-Lived watched the scene with keen interest. Some nudged the neighbours with an elbow, others whispered comments in their ears. Snape regularly delivered devastating scoldings, but to Draco Malfoy? Moreover, in such a mocking form? Most looked at it with approval. Draco was tolerated with varying degrees of success by the Slytherins and solidly disliked by everyone else. However, Draco had already recovered with the adaptability worthy of his House. He slowly nodded, put his wand back in his robes pocket and ran his still slightly trembling hand through his platinum hair.
"Thank you, Headmaster. I will take that into account. This will never happen again," he left the class without even picking up his books.
Snape did not restrain him. He looked at the students, who immediately fell silent and stepped back.
"What are you waiting for? An extra lesson?"
"Sir, our wands… Sorry…" Daphne squeaked.
He jerked his right hand, cut the gesture off in the middle to his robes pocket, harshly walked to the cupboard and unlocked the door. Hermione hesitated – she ought to come and thank him, right? Would it be appropriate or not? Professor Snape was not like normal people. In any case, he did not come to ask how the student, almost killed with an Unforgivable Curse during his lesson, was feeling. He did not look at Hermione at all. Ron was already walking her out of the classroom – they had retrieved their wands a long time ago. Deciding that it would be easier to thank the headmaster during her detention, Hermione followed her friend out of the dungeons. They still had to find Harry and find out what was going on with Dean… How fortunate it was that Harry was absent today!
"Snape and a phoenix?" Ron whispered to her when they were already on the stairs. "That's a strange combination, don't you think? But I didn't notice in the hustle – was the phoenix before or after the Riddikulus? Was it his fear or the transformation of his Boggart?"
"I didn't notice all the more," Hermione answered.