The Sword that is Not a Sword
Disclaimer: Wish I did, but I don't. Wish I could, but I can't. I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does. Therefore, you have no cause to sue me. I am merely trying to amuse my extremely sick mind. Author's Notes: I'm jumping several years.to Harry's seventh year. I want this done.
Part 6: Warnings, Teaching, the Sword That is Not a Sword
(A/N: ::blinks:: Wow.pretty short chapter title, considering the other's I've used.)
"I'm sure it's there," I said to my daughter as I paced rapidly back and forth.
"You want me to accept the position and make sure he doesn't get it?" Guenevere asked me, sharpening one of her knives.
"I don't think this is a good idea," Lily said from where she was curled up in an armchair.
I shrugged. "What other options do we have? If he gets the sword, we have no hope."
"Hope is the denial of reality," Guenevere quoted softly.
"Guenevere."
"Yes, Father?"
"Accept the position. Guard the sword with your life."
Guenevere stood up and stretched like a cat. "I'll guard it with my soul."
* * *
"And, finally, I'd like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Elvana," Professor Dumbledore finished. Guenevere stood up, acknowledging the slight applause. She glanced down at the teaching schedule she had been given. The first class she had to teach was 7th year Gryffindors and Slytherins.
"Late, late, late." Guenevere muttered to herself as she dashed to her class. Suddenly, a wave of nostalgia tinged with sadness hit her when she remembered how she and her friends were rarely on time to anything but their favorite classes when they were in school. She opened the door to her classroom to find most of the students talking. She pointed to a student in the middle of the room. "You. Blonde. On your feet."
The boy she had pointed to blinked. "Me? No."
"Now."
"No."
She swept over to him so she looked directly down on him. "Very well. Think fast." He gasped as she plunged a dagger down smack in the center of his desk.right where his hand had been an instant before. "Reflexes in tune," she muttered. "In sore need of an attitude adjustment." To the boy, she said, "What's your name, Blonde?"
"Draco Malfoy," he muttered sullenly.
"Good. Now I know the name you have to earn."
"Excuse me?"
"Until I find you worthy of that illustrious and old name, you will be 'Blonde.' Understood?"
Malfoy nodded, looking slightly panicked.
Guenevere glanced around at the class. "I am here to teach you the fine art of dueling. Lesson 1: Never tangle with the wrong people. Lesson 2: Carry as many weapons as is physically possible. You never know what you might meet."
"God, she sounds like Moody," Ron muttered to Harry.
"I heard that, boy," Guenevere said. "And for that, you may come up here."
Ron gulped, but obeyed. He had learned from Malfoy's example.
"Let's see." Guenevere muttered. "Girl," she said, pointing at Hermione. "Come up." Hermione, looking excited, obeyed. "Braid your hair." She spent the rest of the class demonstrating, on Ron and Hermione, the places you could safely hide a weapon, and the weaker points on the body. (A/N: No, she did not actually hit anybody. She just pointed them out.) When the bell rang, she held them back for a minute. "For homework, you are to find at least ten more places you can safely and prudently hide a weapon on your body. It may be any weapon, any place-that is not obscene-but you may not use any place we discussed in class. Any questions?" The class collectively shook their heads. "Good. Dismissed."
That night, she began to look for her father's ancient sword.
Disclaimer: Wish I did, but I don't. Wish I could, but I can't. I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does. Therefore, you have no cause to sue me. I am merely trying to amuse my extremely sick mind. Author's Notes: I'm jumping several years.to Harry's seventh year. I want this done.
Part 6: Warnings, Teaching, the Sword That is Not a Sword
(A/N: ::blinks:: Wow.pretty short chapter title, considering the other's I've used.)
"I'm sure it's there," I said to my daughter as I paced rapidly back and forth.
"You want me to accept the position and make sure he doesn't get it?" Guenevere asked me, sharpening one of her knives.
"I don't think this is a good idea," Lily said from where she was curled up in an armchair.
I shrugged. "What other options do we have? If he gets the sword, we have no hope."
"Hope is the denial of reality," Guenevere quoted softly.
"Guenevere."
"Yes, Father?"
"Accept the position. Guard the sword with your life."
Guenevere stood up and stretched like a cat. "I'll guard it with my soul."
* * *
"And, finally, I'd like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Elvana," Professor Dumbledore finished. Guenevere stood up, acknowledging the slight applause. She glanced down at the teaching schedule she had been given. The first class she had to teach was 7th year Gryffindors and Slytherins.
"Late, late, late." Guenevere muttered to herself as she dashed to her class. Suddenly, a wave of nostalgia tinged with sadness hit her when she remembered how she and her friends were rarely on time to anything but their favorite classes when they were in school. She opened the door to her classroom to find most of the students talking. She pointed to a student in the middle of the room. "You. Blonde. On your feet."
The boy she had pointed to blinked. "Me? No."
"Now."
"No."
She swept over to him so she looked directly down on him. "Very well. Think fast." He gasped as she plunged a dagger down smack in the center of his desk.right where his hand had been an instant before. "Reflexes in tune," she muttered. "In sore need of an attitude adjustment." To the boy, she said, "What's your name, Blonde?"
"Draco Malfoy," he muttered sullenly.
"Good. Now I know the name you have to earn."
"Excuse me?"
"Until I find you worthy of that illustrious and old name, you will be 'Blonde.' Understood?"
Malfoy nodded, looking slightly panicked.
Guenevere glanced around at the class. "I am here to teach you the fine art of dueling. Lesson 1: Never tangle with the wrong people. Lesson 2: Carry as many weapons as is physically possible. You never know what you might meet."
"God, she sounds like Moody," Ron muttered to Harry.
"I heard that, boy," Guenevere said. "And for that, you may come up here."
Ron gulped, but obeyed. He had learned from Malfoy's example.
"Let's see." Guenevere muttered. "Girl," she said, pointing at Hermione. "Come up." Hermione, looking excited, obeyed. "Braid your hair." She spent the rest of the class demonstrating, on Ron and Hermione, the places you could safely hide a weapon, and the weaker points on the body. (A/N: No, she did not actually hit anybody. She just pointed them out.) When the bell rang, she held them back for a minute. "For homework, you are to find at least ten more places you can safely and prudently hide a weapon on your body. It may be any weapon, any place-that is not obscene-but you may not use any place we discussed in class. Any questions?" The class collectively shook their heads. "Good. Dismissed."
That night, she began to look for her father's ancient sword.