Janney had left her some notes in a crabbed, Victorian hand that she had given up trying to decipher after a week and countless Neatening Charms. If even a neatening Charm couldn't clear up the writing, it was hopeless--though she thought she had the gist of where he had left off. Unfortunately, his techniques had been current with Rasputin, somewhat outdated with Grindelwald, and completely archaic now against Voldemort.
After all, she had seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins today, with their Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff counterparts the next day. She had to make certain they'd be ready for the fight by the end of classes--nine months to turn them into ready fighters. Considering the botched job she had experienced in her years at Hogwarts, it was a miracle she had turned out as decently as she had.
She ticked off the teachers she had been through on her fingers, trying to figure which the seventh years had been taught by. Suffered from is more like it. The list ran like a Hall of Infamy for the most part. First was Quirrel, Voldemort's nervous servant. Then it had been Lockhart, the useless and lying git. A spot of light had been Lupin, who had been promising but then had been forced to leave. Then it was Crouch, who subtly had been undermining them in his disguise as Moody. Fifth year was Gerard, the American whose lessons had been quite good, but Voldemort ambushed and killed her just before the year ended. Then there had been well meaning but outmoded Janney for sixth and seventh year, and the years since up until her appointment. So her seventh years had been through classes with Gerard for a year, and Janney for five. She made a face. Lots of ground to make up, indeed.
She sighed and dressed in a pair of plain black trousers and white blouse, shrugging on her unbuttoned black summer robes. Using hairclips to keep her hair out of her eyes, she wondered wistfully if she could get away with jeans and a t-shirt someday. Well, perhaps when she had been here longer. She didn't want a diatribe from Binns, who had been at Hogwarts when Victoria ascended the throne and would shout at the very idea of a woman covered less than neck to toe.
Stepping into her favorite black lace-up boots, she stuck her wand up her sleeve, gathered up the portfolio with her syllabus and the like, and headed for the Great Hall. She arrived and grabbed one of the two open seats at the staff table. The other was between Trelawney and Binns. Binns, of course, didn't eat, but still attended meals as a matter of routine and appearance. She giggled to see Severus stalking in a minute later and grimacing when he saw where he had to sit.
"Ooh, his two favorite people," Aylmeri Hooch said with a snicker next to her. "The Mistress of Doom and Excessive Incense, and Mister I-Don't-Have-Any-Fun-So-You-Won't-Either."
"Oh yes. If Trelawney doesn't predict his death by the end of the meal I'll be surprised," she said lightly, slathering strawberry preserves on a piece of toast and taking a bite. She swallowed. "Were you nervous your first day?" she asked.
"Probably not as much as you," Aylmeri grimaced. "After all, it doesn't rather matter in the war if they can pass my class, truly. Matters if they can counter curses and all. Still, they have to have confidence in you, that they hired you." Hermione nodded, relieved at that.
Once the meal was over, she hurried to the classroom she had chosen to use. It was a large, spacious room above the dungeons, with plenty of light and fresh air. She turned to the chalkboard, picking up the chalk and writing her name in large letters. Stupid, really: they all knew who she was, as they had been here when she finished her seventh year. But it was a welcome distraction, so that she wouldn't be wringing her hands or the like. She heard them filing in, recognizing the low murmur of conversation. For a moment she thought stupidly that she had spelled her own name incorrectly, but then dropped the chalk on the ledge, dusting off her hands, and studying them.
Fifteen students sat there: seven Gryffindor and eight Slytherin. With the seventeen Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs tomorrow, that meant that eight of the forty who had been Sorted her fifth year had been killed. Three were dead by the time she had left, but it was sobering to see the decimation outside Hogwarts reflected in the absence of those eight.
She cleared her throat. "Well, I suppose you know who I am," she began. Even for the non-Gryffindors, they'd recognize her as having been their Head Girl for a year. "However, I'll make it clear now that what I was is not what I am. I am your instructor, and as such, I am not a Gryffindor. So please do not think some of you will be favored," she eyed the Gryffindors, "or be held against," the Slytherins. The Slytherins looked a little more at ease now.
"This is not going to be an easy year. You're old enough to know what's going on outside this castle, and you probably realize that in nine months, you will be out there in it, no matter if you're an Auror or a pet shop keeper. Voldemort's not particular about who he kills," she said seriously. "There is much Professor Janney hasn't taught you that is vital to your education at this time. As such, I will work you hard. You may not like me for it, but you may thank me someday when it saves your life."
"Sounds like bleedin' Snape," she heard a faint mutter from the Gryffindor side. She picked out the offender and smiled.
"Care to repeat that, Mister Jennings?" Adam Jennings shook his head hastily. "Very well. I'm going to conduct today in this manner. I want to see where each of you is in your development. As such, I would ask that after I am finished explaining, you all remove yourselves to the corridor. I will bring you in one-by-one and evaluate you. No, this is not for a grade," she reassured. "It's just so I know where to begin."
Dermot McGrail raised his hand amongst the Slytherins. "What do you propose to test us on?" he asked politely. "Knowledge of curses or what?"
"Good question, but I'm not going to tell you," she replied. "Dark wizards aren't going to tell you what they're going to throw your way."
With that, they filed into the corridor, looking nervous. She looked at the list and randomly selected one of them. Didn't want to go alphabetically and give those at the end the sense that they were safe for a time. She leaned out the door and called, "William Monk." She then cast a Silencing Charm on the room.
The tall, slender young Slytherin followed her silently into the classroom. She sat down at her desk and turned to see him standing about ten feet away, wand at the ready. She grinned a little. "Very good." Anticipated I might do something. "You may sit, Mister Monk." He sat in a chair in the front row. "How are things for you?" she asked casually.
"All right, Professor Granger," he replied, a slight look of bewilderment in his clear grey eyes. She noticed he put his wand down on the desk in front of him, ready to grab it. "So…what are you after here?" he asked. She noticed that his lilting Northumbrian accent had faded some in three years. He kept his eyes firmly on what she was doing instead of meeting her eyes. Good sign.
"What do you know about the Myalgia Curse?"
He looked thoughtful, running a hand through his dark hair and furrowing his brows. "Developed by Jenkins in 1801. It causes your muscles to ache so badly you literally can't move. Very effective little piece of work for stopping an opponent, as opposed to, say, the Furnunculus." He kept elaborating upon everything he knew about it, concentration on what she was doing slipping a little, while Hermione carefully slipped her wand out of her sleeve.
She quickly aimed it at him and shouted, "Disorientio!" The Vertigo Curse: it so disoriented you that you didn't know which way was up or where your opponent was. She was quite pleased to see him snatch up his wand and get the correct countercurse almost in place before it hit him. Hadn't tricked him into expecting the Myalgia Curse, thank God. She finished the countercurse, noticing he was keeping his eyes tightly shut, because opening them would have him completely struck by the curse's effect. "Very good. Send Mister Kingsley in, please?" She looked at him as he left. "Breathe one word to the rest and it's fifty points from Slytherin." He grinned, nodded, and headed out the door. Kingsley, a rather large, blond Gryffindor, entered the room.
He proved to be a near-disaster. Kept his wand firmly up his sleeve, met her eyes instead of watching what she was doing, and was promptly hit by the Petrificus Totalus before he even had his wand out. At least he knows a lot about the Shrinking Curse, she thought wearily, awaiting Hester Latterly.
It was a long class. They weren't completely hopeless. Monk, Latterly, and Slytherin's Freeman were actually quite promising. However, on the whole the Slytherins had done much better at not letting their guard down. They were by nature wary, whereas Gryffindors came in, confident of her trustworthiness. Perhaps some of Monk's Slytherin habits had rubbed off on his fiancée that she had done so oddly well for a Gryffindor. Kingsley was probably the worst-case scenario. Most of the Gryffindors had done better, though. It's a place to start, she thought. After all, she too had been that naïve and trusting before she had begun spying with Snape.
Their theoretical knowledge of curses was quite profound. She intended to give a quiz during the next class to plumb just how well they knew them. And then she was going solidly to practical lessons. Knowing what something like what the Inverse Curse did to you really wasn't worth a damn if you were unable to protect yourself from it.
Wearily she trudged off to lunch, plunking down in the seat next to Severus. "Didn't let them walk all over you, did you?" he asked calmly, taking a bite of chicken.
"Hardly," she said, eating some of her consommé and savoring the taste. "I scared the hell out of most of them."
"Haven't heard about it," he replied. "Surprising, as fast as word travels around Hogwarts. And the idea of you as a holy terror would be bound to spread."
"I threatened two hundred points from the house that told what I did today before I got my hands on the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs tomorrow," she answered.
"My. Quite the mercenary, aren't you? So what did you do to frighten the poor dears?"
She explained her technique, pleased that he approved. "And your judgment of them?" he asked.
"I never thought I'd say this," she muttered. "The Slytherins are in better shape than the Gryffindors," she admitted. "They're such a suspicious lot that it was harder to trick them."
She let him have a quick smirk of satisfaction at that. "However, they all need work," she concluded. "Janney's let them down miserably."
"Still, you turned out well," Snape replied, "after you got rid of that disgustingly Pollyanna view of life."
"Why, thank you Severus," she replied sharply, giving him a bright smile at the left-handed compliment. It was first years after lunch, and she was confident of her ability to handle them. After all, starting them off right from the very beginning would be much easier than trying to correct six years of bad teaching for the seventh years.
"They'll be all right for Potions?" he queried calmly.
"No, I didn't maul them. Don't let them give you excuses," she chuckled.
"I never do. And they're the better for it, I think." Myself as well.
The seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins filed into the dungeons after lunch, and Snape studied them. They looked rather tired, and he recognized some of the aftereffects of curses: Petrifying, Vertigo, Myalgia, and the sort. He raised his eyebrows, thinking, She really has put them through the mill. Not that she had used the truly nasty, painful curses, but she hadn't hit them with a gentle Leg-Locker either.
"Firebomb Potions," he began. "Who can tell me the ingredients?" A hand was wearily raised after a few moments of silence. The ingredients were listed, and the potion's effect explained. He then proceeded to relate precisely how the potion was of practical use. Lobbing or magically hurling a bottle of Firebomb Potion at an enemy had much the same effect as a Molotov cocktail did for Muggles, without the danger of having to light a wick, and being on the whole more powerful. It could be used at a much greater distance than any curse, which was of great assistance.
He set them to work brewing, debating whether to cast a surreptitious Energizing Charm over the lot of them so that they wouldn't collapse into their cauldrons. No, they'll have to get used to doing tasks when they're worn out if they're going to fight, he thought.
As he couldn't really test the potions without a lot of doing in setting it up to be completely harmless, he was thankful the Firebomb Potion was easily given away visually for correctness. A correctly done potion would be a bright red, whereas even the slightest mistake would turn it a shade of chartreuse.
In between quietly reminding Monk and Latterly to focus on their potion rather than each other, and trying to prevent Lownes and Xavier from putting merman hair rather than required mermaid hair into the potion, it went fairly well. Better than the fourth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that morning, that was for certain. It was still with relief that he cleaned up the dungeons and retired up to the Great Hall for dinner.
Another year begun--he had to face first year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs tomorrow. Maybe they wouldn't be a complete bunch of dunderheads. He saw Hermione sitting next to Minerva, the two of them in animated conversation, and headed for a seat beside Flitwick. It would be an hour of listening to the little professor chortle about Ravenclaw beating Slytherin last year for the Quidditch Cup. Monk, Slytherin's captain, was still annoyed over it. He had come to Snape right after Potions and asked to have tryouts right that week so as to get an early start. Permission granted; he had marched off to probably post bulletins about it.
As predicted, Flitwick turned to him. "Think your Quidditch team has a chance this year, Severus?" he asked gleefully.
"No, Athol, Ravenclaw will flatten them," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Of course they do." Do they have a chance against Voldemort, though? That was a much more important question.