Disclaimer: I have borrowed from Rowling.
Author's Note:
I don't want to spoil anything, but be careful with this chapter: it's from a totally different point of view and can probably be confusing. I most likely wont do this perspective anymore, but writing it was fun. I blame part of this chapter's tardiness on FF.N and mostly on myself, by the way. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.
Prologue:
Chapter V:
Abstract Relations
Today was the start of a very bad day. As Neville Longbottom stumbled along to the Great Hall for lunch, he tripped for the third time and went sprawling on his humbly round stomach. No, today was not his day. And what day ever was, he thought cynically. It was the beginning of term, of the new school year, first day, and already he had spilt his juice at breakfast, bumped into Hermione twice, lost 15 points for Gryffendor, forgot his quill in the Common Room, missed a homework assignment and fallen asleep in History of Magic. And that was all this morning. He dejectedly picked up his scattered books and a few homework scrolls thinking about his perpetual bad luck. At least half of the day was left, he sighed. Realizing he still had Potions to go to, he shivered. Potions was Neville Longbottom's least favorite class. One could even go so far to say he hated it. Eventually he reached the Great Hall and his lunch.
He sat down at Gryffendor table and picked up whatever was on the school's menu. As he began chewing on a, what turned out to be, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he glanced over at Ron who was chatting animatedly with Hermione. It was barely the first day of school and already Ron was in the 'Quidditch frame of mind', demonstrating different things he had learned over the summer with his hands to an unresponsive Hermione. Neville could see why: she had a dark purple book open against her glass of water. Ron seemed to have noticed this too, for at that moment he turned to look at Neville and smiled.
"Hey, Neville, how's your day been so far?"
"Erm - okay…"
Ron grimaced, remembering the morning's breakfast and History of Magic.
"Oh, sorry."
"It's okay, the day's almost over anyway, what about yours?"
"Good, if I can survive Potions this afternoon."
Neville groaned. "Don't remind me."
Ron did just that and changed the subject. Now Neville was the subject of Ron's eccentric hand motions and Quidditch terms, most of which he didn't know.
"Now Fred came up with this new plan that will surely win us the cup this year - though I haven't explained it to Harry yet, but I'm sure he'll approve - I mean, it's just bound to work, and it uses an ingenious play of the Porskoff Ploy and a Parkin's Pincer. Fred's a genius! You see, this is what happens: here are the goal baskets," (he moved some thinly sliced apples into position on his plate), "and here is the opposite scoring area," (more situating of apples), "now about, lets say, ten minutes into the game - or whenever Harry and the rest of the team want to - a Chaser will go here," (a dot of honey mustard), "another here," (another dot), "and here is Harry," (a dot of ketchup).
"Now this is where the Parkin's Pincer will come in, or that is what the opposite team will think. Just as the third Chaser comes in for the squeeze, he will abruptly fly vertical, you know, like a backwards Wrongski Feint, straight up into the sky, trying to score. The opposite team will be a little confused, but follow him nonetheless. That's when the said Chaser performs the Porskoff Ploy and lets the Quaffle drop to one Chaser seemingly left below. And then - he'll score while the other team is trying to follow it all! Isn't it beautiful?"
Ron sighed as he sat back a little flushed, looking over his mutilated plate. Dots and lines of red and yellow where all over his platter, one particular big yellow dot on a particular thinly sliced apple. Hermione looked over at the two of them, rolled her eyes and went back to reading. Neville suddenly realized something.
"Hey, where's Harry?" He asked, looking down the table at the rest of the Gryffendor House. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a figure trot in though the Great Hall's massive archway, closely followed by another and walk over to their table.
"Harry!" Seamus hallooed to the newcomer. It was indeed the Boy Who Lived, and Neville watched, interested, as he sat down beside Ron while the second figure, which turned out to be Draco Malfoy, stalked over to the Slytherin table.
"No need to look so concerned. It was only Malfoy causing trouble." Harry said wearily and held up two tattered-looking halves of a backpack.
"And if that wasn't bad enough, Snape came strolling along and immediately assumed that I had caused the disturbance."
Neville decided to concentrate on his lunch. Hearing about his least favorite teacher wasn't going to help his nerves.
When the last of his second sandwich was finished, Neville Longbottom followed Seamus and Dean out of the Great Hall. They walked together to Divination, up to that dusty tower and up the tottery latter. The smoky, thick scent filled Neville's nostrils like water rushing into a collapsed hole. Instantly he became dizzy. Finding his seat towards the back of the room he rested his spinning head on folded arms. Before he ever heard Professor Trelawney speak at all, he was sleeping like a baby.
"Neville! Come on, Neville, do you want to be late for Potions?" Someone nudged him again, harder, almost pushing him out of his seat. He awoke with a start and looked around. He was still in the heady, pungent Divination classroom, if you could call Trelawney's sanctuary that. Seamus was standing beside him looking aggravated and urgent. He looked expectantly at Neville as the sleepy boy blinked and yawned a little.
"Do you want to be late to Potions? I wouldn't want to get on our Professor's bad side already, if I were you."
Neville jumped out of his seat rather quickly and grabbed his books and bag. No one was left in the classroom; even Trelawney was away in her private study connected to the schoolroom. Neville rushed to the loft's portal and clambered down the ladder followed by a hurried Seamus.
"That's more like it!" Seamus gasped out as the two went running down the hallways towards the Dungeons. Neville could feel the hairs on his arms prickling with both cold and agitation. When they caught up with the rest of the Gryffendors, they slowed and caught their breath. A few of them shot Neville and Seamus curious looks but soon went back to chatting gaily.
By the time Neville was able to breathe normally, the door to the potion's lab came into view, looming. Neville could feel his doom creeping through him, and a disappointment already laying a heavy hand on his shoulders for the accident he was bound to commit in the next hour. As the crowd of Gryffendors shuffled through the doors Neville followed with his head held low. When he looked up he discovered the greatest surprise he had found all day.
The Potions classroom looked as though nothing had changed. The narrow rows of desks were all clean yet not polished in a dull sort of negligence. The cauldrons all loomed from the exact same places and the stone washing faucets with faces of gargoyles jutting out were still staring from the same positions as Neville remembered. No, this wasn't what surprised him so…
It was the worst thing about potions, about the gloomy dungeons. This thing made his eyes grow that confused, large size.
It wasn't the sinister, menacing atmosphere with its stone, dark walls and dull lighting. It wasn't the Slytherin crowd that snickered at him and tripped him in the halls. No, it was none of those things. It was the professor, or, more specifically: Professor Severus Snape.
Yes, that was just it. He wasn't there.
Instead of the normally looming figure of Severus Snape at his desk scanning the classroom or glaring at certain Gryffendors, Neville saw a thin lady with dark autumn-brown hair. He didn't pay much attention to her at first, too engulfed in the fact that the person in front of the class was not his hated professor.
A clumsy grin sprung up on his round face and he walked with more of a bounce to his seat next to Hermione.
"Isn't this great? I hope he's sick!" He whispered to Hermione as the woman took out a dirtied scroll of paper.
"Who?" Hermione asked as she, herself, took out her Potions textbook.
"Snape, of course! Maybe he'll be sick for a whole week!"
Hermione raised an eyebrow in question but wasn't able to voice her objection as the unnamed woman stood up and stared at the class, waiting for silence. Like Snape, she had the power of keeping the class silent without effort. Her eyes looked as if they could catch anything and anyone: they were a deep blue, swirling and dark; and in little more then a few seconds both rival houses were dead silent. Her gaze sparkled, now, as it roved over each student and then looked down at the yellowed scroll.
"Good afternoon, students. This is Potions, as you know of course, and I am here to teach you how to master brewing skills of the magical broth. You will learn how to create antidotes that will cure the majority of diseases, potages of the nastiest animal innards and brews that can make you clean up your lunch off the floor."
It would have been better for Neville if her smile was friendly and not so chilly. Neville felt the trademark confusion bubbling up inside him.
The very source of this confusion, the professor in Snape's stead, cut off his frantic musings, abruptly. "I am Professor Winters, and don't worry, I don't do nauseating potions often."
Neville turned quickly to Hermione with a bewildered look plastered on his features. Hermione whispered so only he could hear her.
"Snape doesn't teach Potions any longer," she paused for a moment as Professor Winters turned, giving Neville a few seconds of suspended silence.
It was too good to be true. Right? He turned his eyes on Weasley, quickly. Ron looked content enough, not quite as glum as he usually looked with the Head of Slytherin teaching, but still looked rather unsettled. Neville couldn't blame him, for the Gryffendors weren't rid of the Slytherins, and their new professor didn't look exactly saintly. Eventually the wheels began to turn correctly in his jumbled head and Neville Longbottom began to accept the shocking information. Besides, he concluded, when was the last time Hermione was ever wrong?
Neville was so happy at the news, now convinced that it was true, he felt like Harry Potter on a broomstick flying towards the golden Snitch…
"He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts, now," Hermione finished calmly. Neville suddenly fell off his imaginary broom.
Why hadn't they announced the change and new professor during breakfast?
'Oh, but remember?' -his usually silent memory spoke up- 'You were in the Dining Hall for Breakfast all of 2 minutes…' Neville recalled suddenly: After spilling orange juice all over his robes, he had scampered to his dormitory to change before the classes started. He had barely made it back in time.
The Potion's Professor began to call roll, not looking up at anyone, and before long she was assigning partners for the rest of the year, and passing out long scrolls to everyone. Blaise Zabini from Slytherin was partnered with the doomed Neville, Harry with Seamus, Ron with Dean, and a very unlucky Hermione with the bullish Millicent Bulstrode.
Everyone seemed to be scanning the long scrolls and Neville followed their example. He groaned out loud. A thirty-five inch scroll lay out before him, and at the top, in an emerald, very needle-like sliding hand it said very simply: 'Potions Sixth Year Quiz'. Had anyone known that there was a test? He surely hadn't. He looked at Hermione, which afterwards he decided wasn't the best of choices, for she was looking eagerly at the pop quiz. Instead he turned to Harry who looked about just as he did.
"You have until the bell rings. Professor Snape told me you have studied all of this. You should have no real problems. Any questions before we begin?" She didn't really expect a response and she didn't wait for one either.
"You may begin."
Neville set down his quill with a heavy inward sigh. He was sure he failed the unexpected test, but at least, he thought, he didn't knock over a cauldron or blow up the classroom, which he was sure he would have done today. He still had a few minutes till the bell rang, uncommon as that was, so he let his mind wander like an unleashed dog.
At least Winters wasn't quite so prejudice as Snape had been. Then again, Neville wasn't rid of him, but in any case they didn't have Defense against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins. Neville shivered.
He eyed the Potion Professor. She would have been pretty if she didn't have that cold look in her eyes. Her hair looked soft, her skin was rather pale, but it seemed smooth and maybe too delicate for a Potions professor. She was thin, but with that slight muscular build that suggested she wasn't scrawny. Her height was threatening, and Neville guessed her to be maybe no more then six inches shorter then the former Potions Master. She looked sharp, shrewd even, and reminded Neville of a person who could read into a person for information. Neville hoped she wasn't quite as inexorable as Snape had been -- he wouldn't be able to handle fearing Potions *and* Defense Against the Dark Arts as much as he would if she was another draconian.
Hermione had finished long before him and was scribbling frantically on a scroll with a book in her lap. It looked rather thick, and didn't remind Neville of any of his classes, gratefully.
Before he knew it the bell was ringing and students were gathering their things. The Professor didn't even look up. No homework? For the first time that day, Neville's face broke into a huge, genuine smile.
"I can't believe it, really?" Ron said shocked, as Neville leaned closer listening to the conversation at the Dinner Table that afternoon. Obviously the tête-à-tête at lunch had not proven at all effective enough for Ron to speak his mind at the earlier incident between Harry and Malfoy. It had only been a few hours since Potions and Neville's spirits were heightened. He didn't have Defense until Thursday.
"He almost took points from Gryffendor, too." Harry added.
"What are you talking about?" Neville asked a little dumbly.
Harry, noticing him for the first time, turned and explained the conversation.
"This morning, do you remember when Malfoy split my bag?" Neville only shook his head in bewilderment, still very confused.
"When I almost got detention from Snape?" Neville was starting to catch on and nodded.
"Well," Harry added turning to face Hermione and Ron as he spoke, "I didn't."
"Why?" Neville ventured.
"Professor -err, Winters - stopped him, but it wasn't much better then getting detention. She practically sided with him. Snape still looked rather mad, though, and he practically forgot Malfoy and I where even there."
He nodded up to the Head Table where a very poisonous-looking Defense professor was brooding and their Potions Master sat, eating her meal slowly. Neither of them spoke much to anyone, at all. Just short, terse things to questions like, "Could you pass the gravy, please?" Or no response at all.
Neville wondered what could have made their day worse then his used to be.
"Conscindo!" A whiney voice spat out. Harry spun around only to be confronted with a sneering Draco Malfoy and the infuriating tearing sound of leather in his ears. He unconsciously reached around and felt the old backpack that was hitched over his shoulder. It was torn, as he had guessed, considering Malfoy's spell was well targeted and the syllables of the Latin phrase were perfectly pronounced, he already knew that his bag was split.
Before he knew what he was doing, Harry leveled his wand at his arch-rival and glared ominously at Draco.
"What the bloody hell was that for!" He practically shouted. His fingers tightened on his wand and a spark flickered from the end of it.
Malfoy seemed to be considering something, then his pointed face broke into its trademark smirk. His eyes seemed to level above and beyond Harry's head and Harry suddenly had the feeling Draco was no longer looking at him anymore.
"Potter," said a softly cold voice from behind, "what exactly do you think you're doing?"
He knew before he ever turned around that it was Severus Snape, the one teacher who had singled him out the first day of his first year at Hogwarts school.
"Malfoy split my bag, Sir." He said calmly, though he didn't feel quite so calm. Nothing including Snape and Malfoy combined could ever have a good result.
Turning, Harry was surprised to see someone else with Snape: Professor Winters. She smiled serenely at both boys before allowing Snape to sweep past her.
"Unfortunately I did not see that part of your little display," he said, the greasy smirk practically dripping from his lips.
Harry felt his face burn as a million remarks came to the tip of his tongue and were promptly swallowed down with a bitter aftertaste. Draco snickered behind him, softly, spurring Harry to say something.
"I haven't done anything wrong."
"He almost cursed me professor."
The two conflicting statements floated in the air like a deadly gas mixing waiting for a spark to ignite a blaze. Snape quirked a sharp eyebrow and his eyes narrowed onto Harry. Before he could say anything biting, Winters slid up in such a way that Harry was temporarily distracted into thinking of how much it resembled a serpent.
"He's right, he didn't do anything," Sasha said slowly looking first from Harry to Draco, then back at Harry. "I know how taunting a Malfoy can be."
It was the way she had said those few last words that made a vein tick in all three people around her. It all seemed to strike a nerve and twist it sharply within them. Malfoy looked like he had been hit in the face, and if Harry himself had been thinking properly he would have predicted an owl to Luscius Malfoy. Harry himself felt as though he had been insulted, not truly by the words, but by something more in her tone. Then there was Snape, who looked as though his fingernails were digging their own graves in the flesh of his palms.
"This is none of your concern Winters," Snape said as he turned his back on Harry and Draco to face her. His eyes turned a pitch black with malice.
Something flared deep in her eyes, something Snape had surely seen, for he was no less as shrewd as she; something akin to defiance. It subsided quickly and she lowered her eyes slightly, submitting to him.
Snape was beginning to clench and un-clench his fists and he swiveled to look at Harry and Malfoy before stalking away not unlike a mountain cat on the prowl, long black robes billowing predictably out behind him.
Sasha looked up slowly, confronting two pairs of glittering eyes, and said softly, "you boys had better get to lunch. Young growing bodies need food. Off with you." Harry turned quickly on his heel, not wanting to be around either of them any longer and wanting to sort out his thoughts. Malfoy simply shrugged and turned after Harry.
Winters waited until they were out of sight and a comfortable distance without any sounds of a further disturbance before turning her back on them and began down the corridor Snape had taken.
***
Next chapter coming soon...
Author's Note:
I don't want to spoil anything, but be careful with this chapter: it's from a totally different point of view and can probably be confusing. I most likely wont do this perspective anymore, but writing it was fun. I blame part of this chapter's tardiness on FF.N and mostly on myself, by the way. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.
Prologue:
Chapter V:
Abstract Relations
Today was the start of a very bad day. As Neville Longbottom stumbled along to the Great Hall for lunch, he tripped for the third time and went sprawling on his humbly round stomach. No, today was not his day. And what day ever was, he thought cynically. It was the beginning of term, of the new school year, first day, and already he had spilt his juice at breakfast, bumped into Hermione twice, lost 15 points for Gryffendor, forgot his quill in the Common Room, missed a homework assignment and fallen asleep in History of Magic. And that was all this morning. He dejectedly picked up his scattered books and a few homework scrolls thinking about his perpetual bad luck. At least half of the day was left, he sighed. Realizing he still had Potions to go to, he shivered. Potions was Neville Longbottom's least favorite class. One could even go so far to say he hated it. Eventually he reached the Great Hall and his lunch.
He sat down at Gryffendor table and picked up whatever was on the school's menu. As he began chewing on a, what turned out to be, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he glanced over at Ron who was chatting animatedly with Hermione. It was barely the first day of school and already Ron was in the 'Quidditch frame of mind', demonstrating different things he had learned over the summer with his hands to an unresponsive Hermione. Neville could see why: she had a dark purple book open against her glass of water. Ron seemed to have noticed this too, for at that moment he turned to look at Neville and smiled.
"Hey, Neville, how's your day been so far?"
"Erm - okay…"
Ron grimaced, remembering the morning's breakfast and History of Magic.
"Oh, sorry."
"It's okay, the day's almost over anyway, what about yours?"
"Good, if I can survive Potions this afternoon."
Neville groaned. "Don't remind me."
Ron did just that and changed the subject. Now Neville was the subject of Ron's eccentric hand motions and Quidditch terms, most of which he didn't know.
"Now Fred came up with this new plan that will surely win us the cup this year - though I haven't explained it to Harry yet, but I'm sure he'll approve - I mean, it's just bound to work, and it uses an ingenious play of the Porskoff Ploy and a Parkin's Pincer. Fred's a genius! You see, this is what happens: here are the goal baskets," (he moved some thinly sliced apples into position on his plate), "and here is the opposite scoring area," (more situating of apples), "now about, lets say, ten minutes into the game - or whenever Harry and the rest of the team want to - a Chaser will go here," (a dot of honey mustard), "another here," (another dot), "and here is Harry," (a dot of ketchup).
"Now this is where the Parkin's Pincer will come in, or that is what the opposite team will think. Just as the third Chaser comes in for the squeeze, he will abruptly fly vertical, you know, like a backwards Wrongski Feint, straight up into the sky, trying to score. The opposite team will be a little confused, but follow him nonetheless. That's when the said Chaser performs the Porskoff Ploy and lets the Quaffle drop to one Chaser seemingly left below. And then - he'll score while the other team is trying to follow it all! Isn't it beautiful?"
Ron sighed as he sat back a little flushed, looking over his mutilated plate. Dots and lines of red and yellow where all over his platter, one particular big yellow dot on a particular thinly sliced apple. Hermione looked over at the two of them, rolled her eyes and went back to reading. Neville suddenly realized something.
"Hey, where's Harry?" He asked, looking down the table at the rest of the Gryffendor House. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a figure trot in though the Great Hall's massive archway, closely followed by another and walk over to their table.
"Harry!" Seamus hallooed to the newcomer. It was indeed the Boy Who Lived, and Neville watched, interested, as he sat down beside Ron while the second figure, which turned out to be Draco Malfoy, stalked over to the Slytherin table.
"No need to look so concerned. It was only Malfoy causing trouble." Harry said wearily and held up two tattered-looking halves of a backpack.
"And if that wasn't bad enough, Snape came strolling along and immediately assumed that I had caused the disturbance."
Neville decided to concentrate on his lunch. Hearing about his least favorite teacher wasn't going to help his nerves.
When the last of his second sandwich was finished, Neville Longbottom followed Seamus and Dean out of the Great Hall. They walked together to Divination, up to that dusty tower and up the tottery latter. The smoky, thick scent filled Neville's nostrils like water rushing into a collapsed hole. Instantly he became dizzy. Finding his seat towards the back of the room he rested his spinning head on folded arms. Before he ever heard Professor Trelawney speak at all, he was sleeping like a baby.
"Neville! Come on, Neville, do you want to be late for Potions?" Someone nudged him again, harder, almost pushing him out of his seat. He awoke with a start and looked around. He was still in the heady, pungent Divination classroom, if you could call Trelawney's sanctuary that. Seamus was standing beside him looking aggravated and urgent. He looked expectantly at Neville as the sleepy boy blinked and yawned a little.
"Do you want to be late to Potions? I wouldn't want to get on our Professor's bad side already, if I were you."
Neville jumped out of his seat rather quickly and grabbed his books and bag. No one was left in the classroom; even Trelawney was away in her private study connected to the schoolroom. Neville rushed to the loft's portal and clambered down the ladder followed by a hurried Seamus.
"That's more like it!" Seamus gasped out as the two went running down the hallways towards the Dungeons. Neville could feel the hairs on his arms prickling with both cold and agitation. When they caught up with the rest of the Gryffendors, they slowed and caught their breath. A few of them shot Neville and Seamus curious looks but soon went back to chatting gaily.
By the time Neville was able to breathe normally, the door to the potion's lab came into view, looming. Neville could feel his doom creeping through him, and a disappointment already laying a heavy hand on his shoulders for the accident he was bound to commit in the next hour. As the crowd of Gryffendors shuffled through the doors Neville followed with his head held low. When he looked up he discovered the greatest surprise he had found all day.
The Potions classroom looked as though nothing had changed. The narrow rows of desks were all clean yet not polished in a dull sort of negligence. The cauldrons all loomed from the exact same places and the stone washing faucets with faces of gargoyles jutting out were still staring from the same positions as Neville remembered. No, this wasn't what surprised him so…
It was the worst thing about potions, about the gloomy dungeons. This thing made his eyes grow that confused, large size.
It wasn't the sinister, menacing atmosphere with its stone, dark walls and dull lighting. It wasn't the Slytherin crowd that snickered at him and tripped him in the halls. No, it was none of those things. It was the professor, or, more specifically: Professor Severus Snape.
Yes, that was just it. He wasn't there.
Instead of the normally looming figure of Severus Snape at his desk scanning the classroom or glaring at certain Gryffendors, Neville saw a thin lady with dark autumn-brown hair. He didn't pay much attention to her at first, too engulfed in the fact that the person in front of the class was not his hated professor.
A clumsy grin sprung up on his round face and he walked with more of a bounce to his seat next to Hermione.
"Isn't this great? I hope he's sick!" He whispered to Hermione as the woman took out a dirtied scroll of paper.
"Who?" Hermione asked as she, herself, took out her Potions textbook.
"Snape, of course! Maybe he'll be sick for a whole week!"
Hermione raised an eyebrow in question but wasn't able to voice her objection as the unnamed woman stood up and stared at the class, waiting for silence. Like Snape, she had the power of keeping the class silent without effort. Her eyes looked as if they could catch anything and anyone: they were a deep blue, swirling and dark; and in little more then a few seconds both rival houses were dead silent. Her gaze sparkled, now, as it roved over each student and then looked down at the yellowed scroll.
"Good afternoon, students. This is Potions, as you know of course, and I am here to teach you how to master brewing skills of the magical broth. You will learn how to create antidotes that will cure the majority of diseases, potages of the nastiest animal innards and brews that can make you clean up your lunch off the floor."
It would have been better for Neville if her smile was friendly and not so chilly. Neville felt the trademark confusion bubbling up inside him.
The very source of this confusion, the professor in Snape's stead, cut off his frantic musings, abruptly. "I am Professor Winters, and don't worry, I don't do nauseating potions often."
Neville turned quickly to Hermione with a bewildered look plastered on his features. Hermione whispered so only he could hear her.
"Snape doesn't teach Potions any longer," she paused for a moment as Professor Winters turned, giving Neville a few seconds of suspended silence.
It was too good to be true. Right? He turned his eyes on Weasley, quickly. Ron looked content enough, not quite as glum as he usually looked with the Head of Slytherin teaching, but still looked rather unsettled. Neville couldn't blame him, for the Gryffendors weren't rid of the Slytherins, and their new professor didn't look exactly saintly. Eventually the wheels began to turn correctly in his jumbled head and Neville Longbottom began to accept the shocking information. Besides, he concluded, when was the last time Hermione was ever wrong?
Neville was so happy at the news, now convinced that it was true, he felt like Harry Potter on a broomstick flying towards the golden Snitch…
"He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts, now," Hermione finished calmly. Neville suddenly fell off his imaginary broom.
Why hadn't they announced the change and new professor during breakfast?
'Oh, but remember?' -his usually silent memory spoke up- 'You were in the Dining Hall for Breakfast all of 2 minutes…' Neville recalled suddenly: After spilling orange juice all over his robes, he had scampered to his dormitory to change before the classes started. He had barely made it back in time.
The Potion's Professor began to call roll, not looking up at anyone, and before long she was assigning partners for the rest of the year, and passing out long scrolls to everyone. Blaise Zabini from Slytherin was partnered with the doomed Neville, Harry with Seamus, Ron with Dean, and a very unlucky Hermione with the bullish Millicent Bulstrode.
Everyone seemed to be scanning the long scrolls and Neville followed their example. He groaned out loud. A thirty-five inch scroll lay out before him, and at the top, in an emerald, very needle-like sliding hand it said very simply: 'Potions Sixth Year Quiz'. Had anyone known that there was a test? He surely hadn't. He looked at Hermione, which afterwards he decided wasn't the best of choices, for she was looking eagerly at the pop quiz. Instead he turned to Harry who looked about just as he did.
"You have until the bell rings. Professor Snape told me you have studied all of this. You should have no real problems. Any questions before we begin?" She didn't really expect a response and she didn't wait for one either.
"You may begin."
Neville set down his quill with a heavy inward sigh. He was sure he failed the unexpected test, but at least, he thought, he didn't knock over a cauldron or blow up the classroom, which he was sure he would have done today. He still had a few minutes till the bell rang, uncommon as that was, so he let his mind wander like an unleashed dog.
At least Winters wasn't quite so prejudice as Snape had been. Then again, Neville wasn't rid of him, but in any case they didn't have Defense against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins. Neville shivered.
He eyed the Potion Professor. She would have been pretty if she didn't have that cold look in her eyes. Her hair looked soft, her skin was rather pale, but it seemed smooth and maybe too delicate for a Potions professor. She was thin, but with that slight muscular build that suggested she wasn't scrawny. Her height was threatening, and Neville guessed her to be maybe no more then six inches shorter then the former Potions Master. She looked sharp, shrewd even, and reminded Neville of a person who could read into a person for information. Neville hoped she wasn't quite as inexorable as Snape had been -- he wouldn't be able to handle fearing Potions *and* Defense Against the Dark Arts as much as he would if she was another draconian.
Hermione had finished long before him and was scribbling frantically on a scroll with a book in her lap. It looked rather thick, and didn't remind Neville of any of his classes, gratefully.
Before he knew it the bell was ringing and students were gathering their things. The Professor didn't even look up. No homework? For the first time that day, Neville's face broke into a huge, genuine smile.
"I can't believe it, really?" Ron said shocked, as Neville leaned closer listening to the conversation at the Dinner Table that afternoon. Obviously the tête-à-tête at lunch had not proven at all effective enough for Ron to speak his mind at the earlier incident between Harry and Malfoy. It had only been a few hours since Potions and Neville's spirits were heightened. He didn't have Defense until Thursday.
"He almost took points from Gryffendor, too." Harry added.
"What are you talking about?" Neville asked a little dumbly.
Harry, noticing him for the first time, turned and explained the conversation.
"This morning, do you remember when Malfoy split my bag?" Neville only shook his head in bewilderment, still very confused.
"When I almost got detention from Snape?" Neville was starting to catch on and nodded.
"Well," Harry added turning to face Hermione and Ron as he spoke, "I didn't."
"Why?" Neville ventured.
"Professor -err, Winters - stopped him, but it wasn't much better then getting detention. She practically sided with him. Snape still looked rather mad, though, and he practically forgot Malfoy and I where even there."
He nodded up to the Head Table where a very poisonous-looking Defense professor was brooding and their Potions Master sat, eating her meal slowly. Neither of them spoke much to anyone, at all. Just short, terse things to questions like, "Could you pass the gravy, please?" Or no response at all.
Neville wondered what could have made their day worse then his used to be.
"Conscindo!" A whiney voice spat out. Harry spun around only to be confronted with a sneering Draco Malfoy and the infuriating tearing sound of leather in his ears. He unconsciously reached around and felt the old backpack that was hitched over his shoulder. It was torn, as he had guessed, considering Malfoy's spell was well targeted and the syllables of the Latin phrase were perfectly pronounced, he already knew that his bag was split.
Before he knew what he was doing, Harry leveled his wand at his arch-rival and glared ominously at Draco.
"What the bloody hell was that for!" He practically shouted. His fingers tightened on his wand and a spark flickered from the end of it.
Malfoy seemed to be considering something, then his pointed face broke into its trademark smirk. His eyes seemed to level above and beyond Harry's head and Harry suddenly had the feeling Draco was no longer looking at him anymore.
"Potter," said a softly cold voice from behind, "what exactly do you think you're doing?"
He knew before he ever turned around that it was Severus Snape, the one teacher who had singled him out the first day of his first year at Hogwarts school.
"Malfoy split my bag, Sir." He said calmly, though he didn't feel quite so calm. Nothing including Snape and Malfoy combined could ever have a good result.
Turning, Harry was surprised to see someone else with Snape: Professor Winters. She smiled serenely at both boys before allowing Snape to sweep past her.
"Unfortunately I did not see that part of your little display," he said, the greasy smirk practically dripping from his lips.
Harry felt his face burn as a million remarks came to the tip of his tongue and were promptly swallowed down with a bitter aftertaste. Draco snickered behind him, softly, spurring Harry to say something.
"I haven't done anything wrong."
"He almost cursed me professor."
The two conflicting statements floated in the air like a deadly gas mixing waiting for a spark to ignite a blaze. Snape quirked a sharp eyebrow and his eyes narrowed onto Harry. Before he could say anything biting, Winters slid up in such a way that Harry was temporarily distracted into thinking of how much it resembled a serpent.
"He's right, he didn't do anything," Sasha said slowly looking first from Harry to Draco, then back at Harry. "I know how taunting a Malfoy can be."
It was the way she had said those few last words that made a vein tick in all three people around her. It all seemed to strike a nerve and twist it sharply within them. Malfoy looked like he had been hit in the face, and if Harry himself had been thinking properly he would have predicted an owl to Luscius Malfoy. Harry himself felt as though he had been insulted, not truly by the words, but by something more in her tone. Then there was Snape, who looked as though his fingernails were digging their own graves in the flesh of his palms.
"This is none of your concern Winters," Snape said as he turned his back on Harry and Draco to face her. His eyes turned a pitch black with malice.
Something flared deep in her eyes, something Snape had surely seen, for he was no less as shrewd as she; something akin to defiance. It subsided quickly and she lowered her eyes slightly, submitting to him.
Snape was beginning to clench and un-clench his fists and he swiveled to look at Harry and Malfoy before stalking away not unlike a mountain cat on the prowl, long black robes billowing predictably out behind him.
Sasha looked up slowly, confronting two pairs of glittering eyes, and said softly, "you boys had better get to lunch. Young growing bodies need food. Off with you." Harry turned quickly on his heel, not wanting to be around either of them any longer and wanting to sort out his thoughts. Malfoy simply shrugged and turned after Harry.
Winters waited until they were out of sight and a comfortable distance without any sounds of a further disturbance before turning her back on them and began down the corridor Snape had taken.
***
Next chapter coming soon...
