*I fixed all the periods in the middle of the sentence. For some reason,
it won't let me put a trail of periods. Well, corrected! *
(A/N: Well, I'll finally update now. I'm in the middle of correcting errors in other chapters as well. And I have my final tests scheduled for next week. Shall I study? No, I never study. Anyway, school gets out on May 21st, so after then, updates should be more frequent, unless perchance I go on a bad case of writer's block. Thank you to all who have reviewed! You guys are great *Wipes tears from eyes* I like your guesses on the new DADA teacher!)
Chapter Six
The sweet essence of a hearty meal filled the air, like the smell of a meal freshly cooked by house elves. There was another sweet smell in the air, and it was as if a slight purple mist had engulfed the entire classroom. My senses had been temporarily ensnared, and my eyes had focused on the teacher at the desk, whose legs were propped casually up on the desk.
She was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon.
And she was a teacher. A teacher with long black hair, which shone against the feeble light of the classroom, but that didn't matter; her skin seemed to be giving off its own glow. From beneath the folds of hair that covered part of her faultless face, bright hazel green eyes peered out at the whole of Slytherin Fifth Year curiously.
This alluring new professor let her legs slide down to the floor, then proceeded to stand up, and wave a graceful hand towards the desks that seemed so far off and distant. "You're perfectly welcome to sit your tired selves in a seat," she said softly, but so that all of us heard.
My gaze finally left the new professor, and when I turned my head to the desks, I caught sight of Celeste looking at the woman in awe. After mustering a grin, I looked from Celeste to the desks, which were not at all like the desks I was used to.
The hard wooden chairs were gone, and had been replaced with scarlet cushions that seemed to be make of silk, and fully equipped with armrests. On top of the desks, no room whatsoever was left for a book and quills to take notes with; the desks were filed with some of the most scrumptious looking food I had ever laid eyes upon.
"Feast," said the teacher, smiling at us all. Without further ado, Crabbe and Goyle flew towards a desk each, and devoured what I recognized as their favorite foods; the plates were overflowing with what seemed to be ten servings of something from every group on the food pyramid.
Even Celeste had found her way to a desk, where she sank in, and her blue eyes glazed over with a happiness I had never seen before in her. Kayta was on her left, while Pansy Parkinson flanked her right, piggish face scrunched in delight. Blaise Zabbini looked over to me and shrugged. We might as well join our classmates.
I let my body sink into the soft cushions, as I looked up at the new Professor, who was still smiling smugly at me. I picked up a silver plated fork, which I had not noticed before (intricate designs of wild animals were carved into them. Perhaps I could pocket them and pawn them off for money.) and jabbed my steak with it. A sudden thought struck me, as everyone else was happily stuffing their faces with food.
"Excuse me, Professor?" I asked quietly, raising my hand. No one else seemed to notice me; they were all absorbed in their own pleasures. The beautiful woman at the desk looked at me curiously, a small hint of a smile curling across her lips. "How can I be sure this food is first class and good enough for my gentle stomach?"
"You may be able to judge by the happiness of your classmates, Mister Malfoy," she said. She turned her back, and waved her hand. For the first time, I noticed that she did not carry a wand. A piece of chalk scrawled something across the blackboard, but I had no chance to read it; the sudden wailing from my left side distracted me.
Crabbe had turned into a wild boar, and judging by the popping noise from my right side, Goyle had turned into something similar. Not wasting time, I leaped up from my comfortable desk and ran to the front of the room. I faced the most stunning thing since being transfigured into a ferret by Professor Moody.
Wild animals of all sorts were flying, running, growling, roaring, and fighting in the classroom, and I turned around wildly to the teacher, who was broadly grinning by this moment. She lifted a hand, which was encased in a sheer sleeve of deep blue silk, and pointed to the blackboard.
BE CAREFUL WHOM YOU TRUST!
"Have a seat, Mister Malfoy, and that will be twenty points to Slytherin for your precautionary tactics." She said, reaching forward to pat me on the back. I could feel my heart of stone and ice melting inside my chest. Another thought plagued me.
"How do you know my name?" I asked, turning to face her again. "And who are you?"
"Ah, I know more than you think I know, Mister Malfoy," She said. "Perhaps. yes-" she waved her hands together, and my classmates were found scattered across the room, sprawled on the floor, or handing from the ceiling. "If you will all take your seats, please!" Chirped the woman, flipping her dark hair behind her shoulders.
I rounded on my heels and slumped back into my seat, which had gone hard, rigid, and wooden once again. The Professor gave the class a few minutes to situate, before flourishing her hand at the blackboard again. I noticed how tall she was, and the glow her skin gave seemed to have worn off amongst the chaotic mess that had been the Slytherin Fifth Years.
"I am Professor Circe," she said, as the chalk wrote her name neatly across the board. A familiar picture flashed across my mind. She was on the Chocolate Frog cards! Circe! Why hadn't I recognized her straight away? "You may recognize me-" She paused and looked at me. "Or I may be a completely new face. However, my mission this year shall be to caution you against the alluring ways of the Dark Arts, perhaps the best defense one could ever muster."
The class fell silent. Truthfully, none of us wanted to learn resistance to the Dark Forces; the Dark Forces were our past, present, and future. Professor Circe looked at us curiously, and judging by the intermittent light in her eyes, she knew the truth about us all. I fingered the strap on my bag absently as she impatiently wriggled her fingers against her side.
"Or," she added, letting her eyes flash dangerously. "Defense against yourselves."
The class was still silent, and it was an odd feeling; silence had never graced a room full of Slytherins. We were a rambunctious bunch, but there was something about Circe that kept us all in line. She had to be more than a witch. something more powerful, capable or destruction beyond anything fathomable. Muggles had tales of her island somewhere off the Greek Isles, and Muggles rarely heard of real witchcraft.
I raised my hand feebly.
"Professor, how can we be defended against ourselves?" I asked, trying to rid the eerie silence. "Say we have a perfectly stable mind. Your first lesson was to be weary of others, Professor," I said, trying to sound impressive. It was a failed try; I felt like an idiotic child asking how babies were made.
Circe, however, had a new look of curiosity in her eyes. She casually walked over to my desk, and bent over so she was at eye level with me. "Mister Malfoy," she said, surveying me quickly. There was no other expression on her face now, other than the glint in her eyes. She looked as if she were about to criticize me, but simply whispered, "I know your father."
She stood upright and looked out to the rest of the class, seeming to find each fame vaguely familiar. "Mister Malfoy," she added, looking again at me. "You are very out of touch with yourself." She said, no smile crossing her lips. "You could do well if you paid attention in this class."
My ego took a blow at that moment, as I remembered my singed eyebrow and hair. How stupid I must have looked at that moment, without proper grooming and asking idiotic questions. I now knew the feeling of those I continually poked fun at, and how stupid they must feel when I humiliated them.
"For your first assignment," Circe said, seating herself in her desk, and opening a very thick textbook. After thirty long seconds of examining it, she slammed it shut, and with a single wave of her hand it flew to its spot on the bookshelf. "I want you to compose for me two rolls of parchment with a detailed essay on your interests, and how you will prepare yourself for future tricks and the cons of evil."
I groaned, and gripped my quill angrily; I was surprised it didn't break into two splintered pieces. Circe again propped her legs on top of her desk, and watched us all with vigilant eyes. The silence was broken by students all scrambling in their bags to get their parchment and quills to begin their essay of unnatural length. Two whole rolls!
Perhaps I would not like this new Professor, I decided, quite over my instant liking to her looks. She was cruel and heartless. I shot her a nasty glare, and she looked ready to laugh, as she straightened the front of her azure robes. I longed for a class I could enjoy, such as Professor Snape's.
* * * *
Surprisingly, the rest of the day was much more pleasant. Double Potions was wonderful, as Snape was more vindictive towards Potter than I had ever seen him before. Granger was awarded a detention (a first!) for smarting off to him when he squared his grip on Longbottom.
Only the Defense Against the Dark Arts class nagged at me, yet as I stretched myself out on an emerald couch in the Slytherin common room, I wasn't in the mood to even begin an essay on myself. Why did my personal life matter to Circe? Was it any of her business? Quite frankly, it was not.
Crabbe and Goyle were, for nothing of a change, eating sweets they nicked from the dinner table on the couch in front of me, when I was suddenly struck by the strange notion of being alone. As my cronies were too absorbed in their snack, I was asked no questions as I led myself up the spiraling steps to the boys' dormitory.
I flung myself on my bed, and immediately drifted into thought. What did Circe mean when she said I didn't know myself? She'd only just met me; how could she be the judge of what I knew or did not know? There was something decidedly strange about her, and the cruel part of my mind was wishing she had turned Potter into an ugly beast.
My cursing of Circe was interrupted by something light and papery dropped on my face. It was a letter, and the large owl that had dropped it was fluttering out the window; birds didn't usually stick around the Slytherin Common Room.
I bit my lip as I sat up, recognizing the tall thin writing that had hastily scrawled my name on the envelope. It was from father. I knew that this was going to bring a scolding, or bad news, or something I would rather not hear about, especially at the start of the school year.
I ripped off the seal, and pulled out the letter, which was written in red ink, a truly bad sign from father. Red was his scolding and disgrace color, as it reminded him of Gryffindor. Any friendly letter was written in green ink; I didn't receive letters such as those often.
"Draco," I read, pausing and forcing myself to read on. "I am immensely disappointed in your fracas with Potter, Weasley, and Granger. I expected better from you, and do not wish to speak with you until you have fully regained poise and all of your hair.
"As for punishment, your mother has kindly accepted to take all blows for you. I daresay your usual supply of welcoming sweets will not arrive on time this year. As your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will kindly remind you, WATCH YOURSELF. Thank your mother for her acceptance of your idiocy. Always, Lucius Malfoy."
A terrible pang of guilt erupted inside my chest. Mother was taking my beatings. She was one who did not deserve my punishments; she was a woman slowly deteriorating into someone overprotective and rather off her rocker. I would try my best to be good the rest of the year.
Damn father and his overpowering ways! But that was the role of all husbands, wasn't it? Were they supposed to rule with a strong hand over their wives and children? I made a silent vow to myself to be kinder to my children and wife when I reached that crucial moment in my life.
But another thought was standing alone in my mind. Father told me to watch myself, as my new teacher would say. How did father know Circe? In what way were they acquainted with each other? Had Circe made liaisons with the Dark Side? Who was she, really, besides that enchantress on the back of Chocolate Frog cards?
(A/N: Well, there you have it. I'm rather disappointed with myself; the story has lost most of its angst. Well, within the next few chapters, I shall try and gracefully regain the sadness in Draco, and don't worry, there's no love between Draco and Circe if you've thought that. I'm not that kind of writer! Please review!)
(A/N: Well, I'll finally update now. I'm in the middle of correcting errors in other chapters as well. And I have my final tests scheduled for next week. Shall I study? No, I never study. Anyway, school gets out on May 21st, so after then, updates should be more frequent, unless perchance I go on a bad case of writer's block. Thank you to all who have reviewed! You guys are great *Wipes tears from eyes* I like your guesses on the new DADA teacher!)
Chapter Six
The sweet essence of a hearty meal filled the air, like the smell of a meal freshly cooked by house elves. There was another sweet smell in the air, and it was as if a slight purple mist had engulfed the entire classroom. My senses had been temporarily ensnared, and my eyes had focused on the teacher at the desk, whose legs were propped casually up on the desk.
She was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon.
And she was a teacher. A teacher with long black hair, which shone against the feeble light of the classroom, but that didn't matter; her skin seemed to be giving off its own glow. From beneath the folds of hair that covered part of her faultless face, bright hazel green eyes peered out at the whole of Slytherin Fifth Year curiously.
This alluring new professor let her legs slide down to the floor, then proceeded to stand up, and wave a graceful hand towards the desks that seemed so far off and distant. "You're perfectly welcome to sit your tired selves in a seat," she said softly, but so that all of us heard.
My gaze finally left the new professor, and when I turned my head to the desks, I caught sight of Celeste looking at the woman in awe. After mustering a grin, I looked from Celeste to the desks, which were not at all like the desks I was used to.
The hard wooden chairs were gone, and had been replaced with scarlet cushions that seemed to be make of silk, and fully equipped with armrests. On top of the desks, no room whatsoever was left for a book and quills to take notes with; the desks were filed with some of the most scrumptious looking food I had ever laid eyes upon.
"Feast," said the teacher, smiling at us all. Without further ado, Crabbe and Goyle flew towards a desk each, and devoured what I recognized as their favorite foods; the plates were overflowing with what seemed to be ten servings of something from every group on the food pyramid.
Even Celeste had found her way to a desk, where she sank in, and her blue eyes glazed over with a happiness I had never seen before in her. Kayta was on her left, while Pansy Parkinson flanked her right, piggish face scrunched in delight. Blaise Zabbini looked over to me and shrugged. We might as well join our classmates.
I let my body sink into the soft cushions, as I looked up at the new Professor, who was still smiling smugly at me. I picked up a silver plated fork, which I had not noticed before (intricate designs of wild animals were carved into them. Perhaps I could pocket them and pawn them off for money.) and jabbed my steak with it. A sudden thought struck me, as everyone else was happily stuffing their faces with food.
"Excuse me, Professor?" I asked quietly, raising my hand. No one else seemed to notice me; they were all absorbed in their own pleasures. The beautiful woman at the desk looked at me curiously, a small hint of a smile curling across her lips. "How can I be sure this food is first class and good enough for my gentle stomach?"
"You may be able to judge by the happiness of your classmates, Mister Malfoy," she said. She turned her back, and waved her hand. For the first time, I noticed that she did not carry a wand. A piece of chalk scrawled something across the blackboard, but I had no chance to read it; the sudden wailing from my left side distracted me.
Crabbe had turned into a wild boar, and judging by the popping noise from my right side, Goyle had turned into something similar. Not wasting time, I leaped up from my comfortable desk and ran to the front of the room. I faced the most stunning thing since being transfigured into a ferret by Professor Moody.
Wild animals of all sorts were flying, running, growling, roaring, and fighting in the classroom, and I turned around wildly to the teacher, who was broadly grinning by this moment. She lifted a hand, which was encased in a sheer sleeve of deep blue silk, and pointed to the blackboard.
BE CAREFUL WHOM YOU TRUST!
"Have a seat, Mister Malfoy, and that will be twenty points to Slytherin for your precautionary tactics." She said, reaching forward to pat me on the back. I could feel my heart of stone and ice melting inside my chest. Another thought plagued me.
"How do you know my name?" I asked, turning to face her again. "And who are you?"
"Ah, I know more than you think I know, Mister Malfoy," She said. "Perhaps. yes-" she waved her hands together, and my classmates were found scattered across the room, sprawled on the floor, or handing from the ceiling. "If you will all take your seats, please!" Chirped the woman, flipping her dark hair behind her shoulders.
I rounded on my heels and slumped back into my seat, which had gone hard, rigid, and wooden once again. The Professor gave the class a few minutes to situate, before flourishing her hand at the blackboard again. I noticed how tall she was, and the glow her skin gave seemed to have worn off amongst the chaotic mess that had been the Slytherin Fifth Years.
"I am Professor Circe," she said, as the chalk wrote her name neatly across the board. A familiar picture flashed across my mind. She was on the Chocolate Frog cards! Circe! Why hadn't I recognized her straight away? "You may recognize me-" She paused and looked at me. "Or I may be a completely new face. However, my mission this year shall be to caution you against the alluring ways of the Dark Arts, perhaps the best defense one could ever muster."
The class fell silent. Truthfully, none of us wanted to learn resistance to the Dark Forces; the Dark Forces were our past, present, and future. Professor Circe looked at us curiously, and judging by the intermittent light in her eyes, she knew the truth about us all. I fingered the strap on my bag absently as she impatiently wriggled her fingers against her side.
"Or," she added, letting her eyes flash dangerously. "Defense against yourselves."
The class was still silent, and it was an odd feeling; silence had never graced a room full of Slytherins. We were a rambunctious bunch, but there was something about Circe that kept us all in line. She had to be more than a witch. something more powerful, capable or destruction beyond anything fathomable. Muggles had tales of her island somewhere off the Greek Isles, and Muggles rarely heard of real witchcraft.
I raised my hand feebly.
"Professor, how can we be defended against ourselves?" I asked, trying to rid the eerie silence. "Say we have a perfectly stable mind. Your first lesson was to be weary of others, Professor," I said, trying to sound impressive. It was a failed try; I felt like an idiotic child asking how babies were made.
Circe, however, had a new look of curiosity in her eyes. She casually walked over to my desk, and bent over so she was at eye level with me. "Mister Malfoy," she said, surveying me quickly. There was no other expression on her face now, other than the glint in her eyes. She looked as if she were about to criticize me, but simply whispered, "I know your father."
She stood upright and looked out to the rest of the class, seeming to find each fame vaguely familiar. "Mister Malfoy," she added, looking again at me. "You are very out of touch with yourself." She said, no smile crossing her lips. "You could do well if you paid attention in this class."
My ego took a blow at that moment, as I remembered my singed eyebrow and hair. How stupid I must have looked at that moment, without proper grooming and asking idiotic questions. I now knew the feeling of those I continually poked fun at, and how stupid they must feel when I humiliated them.
"For your first assignment," Circe said, seating herself in her desk, and opening a very thick textbook. After thirty long seconds of examining it, she slammed it shut, and with a single wave of her hand it flew to its spot on the bookshelf. "I want you to compose for me two rolls of parchment with a detailed essay on your interests, and how you will prepare yourself for future tricks and the cons of evil."
I groaned, and gripped my quill angrily; I was surprised it didn't break into two splintered pieces. Circe again propped her legs on top of her desk, and watched us all with vigilant eyes. The silence was broken by students all scrambling in their bags to get their parchment and quills to begin their essay of unnatural length. Two whole rolls!
Perhaps I would not like this new Professor, I decided, quite over my instant liking to her looks. She was cruel and heartless. I shot her a nasty glare, and she looked ready to laugh, as she straightened the front of her azure robes. I longed for a class I could enjoy, such as Professor Snape's.
* * * *
Surprisingly, the rest of the day was much more pleasant. Double Potions was wonderful, as Snape was more vindictive towards Potter than I had ever seen him before. Granger was awarded a detention (a first!) for smarting off to him when he squared his grip on Longbottom.
Only the Defense Against the Dark Arts class nagged at me, yet as I stretched myself out on an emerald couch in the Slytherin common room, I wasn't in the mood to even begin an essay on myself. Why did my personal life matter to Circe? Was it any of her business? Quite frankly, it was not.
Crabbe and Goyle were, for nothing of a change, eating sweets they nicked from the dinner table on the couch in front of me, when I was suddenly struck by the strange notion of being alone. As my cronies were too absorbed in their snack, I was asked no questions as I led myself up the spiraling steps to the boys' dormitory.
I flung myself on my bed, and immediately drifted into thought. What did Circe mean when she said I didn't know myself? She'd only just met me; how could she be the judge of what I knew or did not know? There was something decidedly strange about her, and the cruel part of my mind was wishing she had turned Potter into an ugly beast.
My cursing of Circe was interrupted by something light and papery dropped on my face. It was a letter, and the large owl that had dropped it was fluttering out the window; birds didn't usually stick around the Slytherin Common Room.
I bit my lip as I sat up, recognizing the tall thin writing that had hastily scrawled my name on the envelope. It was from father. I knew that this was going to bring a scolding, or bad news, or something I would rather not hear about, especially at the start of the school year.
I ripped off the seal, and pulled out the letter, which was written in red ink, a truly bad sign from father. Red was his scolding and disgrace color, as it reminded him of Gryffindor. Any friendly letter was written in green ink; I didn't receive letters such as those often.
"Draco," I read, pausing and forcing myself to read on. "I am immensely disappointed in your fracas with Potter, Weasley, and Granger. I expected better from you, and do not wish to speak with you until you have fully regained poise and all of your hair.
"As for punishment, your mother has kindly accepted to take all blows for you. I daresay your usual supply of welcoming sweets will not arrive on time this year. As your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will kindly remind you, WATCH YOURSELF. Thank your mother for her acceptance of your idiocy. Always, Lucius Malfoy."
A terrible pang of guilt erupted inside my chest. Mother was taking my beatings. She was one who did not deserve my punishments; she was a woman slowly deteriorating into someone overprotective and rather off her rocker. I would try my best to be good the rest of the year.
Damn father and his overpowering ways! But that was the role of all husbands, wasn't it? Were they supposed to rule with a strong hand over their wives and children? I made a silent vow to myself to be kinder to my children and wife when I reached that crucial moment in my life.
But another thought was standing alone in my mind. Father told me to watch myself, as my new teacher would say. How did father know Circe? In what way were they acquainted with each other? Had Circe made liaisons with the Dark Side? Who was she, really, besides that enchantress on the back of Chocolate Frog cards?
(A/N: Well, there you have it. I'm rather disappointed with myself; the story has lost most of its angst. Well, within the next few chapters, I shall try and gracefully regain the sadness in Draco, and don't worry, there's no love between Draco and Circe if you've thought that. I'm not that kind of writer! Please review!)