Chapter 13: Halloween Fallout

PRESENT: NOVEMBER

Defense Against the Dark Arts on November 1 was a complete and utter nightmare. With Professor Ebony still in the hospital wing, it was a foregone conclusion that Snape would be teaching in her place, and no one who concluded it was proven wrong. Directly after lunch, the fifth year Gryffindors arrived at Ebony's classroom to find Snape already there, haunting the room like an angel of death. He seemed in an even worse temper than usual, and there was little reassurance to be found in the note, in Ebony's handwriting, tacked to the classroom door. Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged pensive looks, then took their seats.

There was cold silence in the room for a seeming eternity while Snape took the time to glare at each student individually. The mood was altered somewhat by a raised hand.

"Yes, Miss Allen?" Snape enunciated, the words dangerously clipped.

Jessie Allen swallowed, but didn't back down. "I was just wondering . . . how Professor Ebony's doing."

"Professor Ebony is recovering as quickly as may be expected," Snape answered cryptically. "She may return to teaching as early as tomorrow; she will definitely be back by the day after." He glared at the class as if daring them to cheer. No one took the bait. "Now," he continued, "you should all have with you your de Morte text books."

There was a sound of wild scrambling as everyone pulled out and opened the indicated book.

"Turn to page two hundred seventy-three," Snape ordered. "We start today on Chapter Seven: Deadly Curses."

Ron caught Harry's eye and swallowed eloquently. Ebony had told their class that this was their most difficult text; she had promised to lead them slowly through the material. This was starting to look just like Snape's lecture on werewolves two years before— out of order and completely unnecessary and cruel.

Sure enough, Hermione raised her hand. "But Professor Snape, we've only just finished Chapter One—"

"I directed you to Chapter Seven, Miss Granger," Snape snarled. "Our lesson is in Chapter Seven, and any further challenges on the subject will result in point deductions from Gryffindor."

So chastened, even Hermione relented. Snape put them through a thoroughly miserable hour, lecturing on the different families of deadly curses, some of which were quite disgusting. During an overview of the Sangriatus series, in the middle of a graphic description of the Sangriatus Venarupturum Explosivus, Neville emptied out his lunch on the floor, prompting a loss of ten points and a hissy fit from Snape. The overview of the Suffocatus series caused Parvati and Lavendar to hyperventilate, leading to another twenty point dock.

By the end of the lecture, everyone was actually looking forward to Double Potions the following period, but even that faint ray of hope was threatened by clouds when Snape announced their homework.

"By class time tomorrow, you are to have read the first quarter of Chapter Seven, up through the Suffocatus series. You will also write an essay three to five scrolls in length discussing and summarizing each of the five series thus far covered in your reading and the lecture."

It was a dismal procession down to the dungeons, with only a few sparks of anger to keep it at all alive. Ron was one such spark.

"It's an insult!" he fumed. "Chapter Seven is over a hundred pages long, and he thinks we'll have time to get a quarter of it read and written on by class tomorrow?! What's he playing at?"

"Seems like he's just being his usual self," Dean said glumly. "Remember what it was like when he taught for Lupin?"

"Lupin always canceled Snape's assignments, though," Harry pointed out. "I'm not sure Ebony will."

"Why not?" Ron retorted. "She's reasonable, isn't she? Snape just did it to spite us—it's not as if she'd have assigned it."

"Better safe than sorry," Hermione declared firmly. "I'm going to do it, just in case."

"I'm not," Ron muttered. "It's a point of honor."

Dean and a few others were nodding their agreement. Ron looked to Harry.

Harry bit his lip. "But Ron, if Ebony really does want us to do the work . . ." He trailed off again, visions of her temper dancing in his memory; he did not want to see her angry again. Even Dudley had cowered in fear for weeks after Ebony had lost it one day. "Trust me," he said after a moment. "It's better safe than sorry."

Ron was disgusted. "Oh, sure, take Hermione's side," he growled as they entered the dungeons proper.

"I'm not taking anyone's side," Harry protested. "I'm just saying this isn't necessarily the same as it was before."

"Well, fine. You do it, then," Ron huffed. "I've got better things to do with my life, thanks."

Harry looked at Hermione and shrugged. She seemed torn between exasperation at Ron and something else—jealousy, perhaps? Could it be that she was jealous of someone whose conscience permitted him to write off some homework assignments?

"Don't worry," Harry murmured to her as they sat down at a worktable in the Potions room. "I have a feeling you're right this time."

She smiled gratefully, then set to work copying down the day's potion, which Zarekael had already laid out on the board.

That evening, Harry was at first hard-pressed not to look on jealously as the other fifth-year Gryffindors sat talking and laughing and playing games while he and Hermione read about deadly curses. The reading went a bit faster than anticipated, though, and the Sangriatus series alone contained more than enough information for five scrolls. There were five basic curses to that family, and any number of colorful embellishments for each of them.

"What I don't understand," Hermione remarked as they were penning their essays, "is why Sangriatus Vomitum isn't part of the Vomitus family. I mean, you are vomiting blood, but it's still vomit."

Harry clenched his teeth as his stomach roiled. "Could we change the subject?" he asked faintly.

Hermione glanced his way, did a double-take, then smiled in chagrin. "Oh. Sorry." Her eyes darted across the room to find Ron, who was in the middle of an animated game of wizard's chess. "D'you suppose any of them checked with Ebony to see if the assignment's genuine?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so," he replied. "Except for the skipping to Chapter Seven part of it, I could see her assigning this. Besides," he added as a stray thought clicked, "she and Snape seem to be friends. Even if he took a liberty with the lecture, I could see her backing him up on it."

Ron, as if sensing that they were watching him, looked up at waved smugly. Hermione leveled a fierce glare at him, and he suddenly immersed himself in his game again. "How's she likely to react if we're the only ones handing in homework?" she asked.

Harry swallowed, remembering the first of three times he'd seen Ebony's temper go off in class. "Depends on her mood," he said. "In the best possible case . . . she'll be like Snape was in class today."

Hermione's eyes widened. "And the worst-case scenario?" she prompted, her tone indicating that she really didn't want to know.

"We'll spend all afternoon tomorrow wishing we'd never been born."

Suddenly, Hermione was scribbling furiously. "I'm turning in seven scrolls," she said hurriedly. "No, eight."

Harry smiled in spite of himself, then also returned to the grisly work at hand.

Meli heard a low murmuring of voices outside her private room, then a moment later, the door opened and Zarekael entered, looking highly amused.

She held up a hand, smiling. "Don't tell me," she ordered. "You heard a new joke you want to share, and you had to come all the way to the hospital wing to find someone who hadn't heard the one about the werewolf, the vampire, and the boggart—and yet, though I'm sorry to disappoint you, I'm the one who first taught it to Severus."

"Er, no," Zarekael replied, and though he seemed appropriately amused by the comment, he was still uncertain how to proceed.

Something odd just happened, Meli surmised. Well, if I can formulate and guess at the most ridiculous thing possible, maybe he'll be able to articulate what really happened. "Let me guess," she said aloud. "You posed as a suitor to slip past Poppy in order to see me."

"Exactly," he replied, deadpan.

She arched an eyebrow. "Um, was that paying me sarcasm for sarcasm, or are you serious?"

His amusement returned. "Oh, I'm quite serious," he assured her. "It wasn't intended, but when Poppy opened the door . . ."

"Like any good Slytherin, you took advantage," she finished, grinning at Zarekael's nod. "As a quasi-Slytherin, I might have done the same," she admitted, "though not with as stunning of a success, I'm sure."

"You appear to be feeling much better than you did last night," Zarekael observed.

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "My language is much more refined than it was last night." She smiled wryly. "Oh, and by the way, I'm sure Severus is quite thankful for your costume idea."

He nodded his acknowledgment of the point, then looked at her far more narrowly. "How are you, really?"

Saw right through that one, didn't you. "I'm . . . still a little sore," she admitted, chagrined.

"A little . . . sore," Zarekael repeated dryly. "My, Professor Ebony, you have quite the gift for understatement."

"My, Zarekael Sel Dar Jerrikhan," Meli countered with a smirk, "you have quite the gift for keen observation."

He, too, smirked. "Bluffing one's way out of the hospital wing is not new to me," he told her. "I do believe you're a good enough actress to make it past Poppy; my congratulations."

"I see I've found a kindred spirit," Meli remarked.

"Yes." He paused, then shifted the topic. "I feel I must congratulate you for something else, as well: You're only the second person to use my name properly. Thank you."

She blinked in surprise. "You're welcome," she replied, a bit startled. "I wasn't aware it was so difficult." She realized belatedly that he was still standing, so she gestured to the room's only chair. "Sorry. Please, have a seat."

Zarekael sat, then returned immediately to the subject at hand. "Sometimes the difficulty is that people don't realize that Sel Dar Jerrikhan is a title. Other times, they mispronounce it."

"I can see how mispronunciation would be irritating," Meli said.

"It's more than just irritation," Zarekael explained. "In mispronouncing a name, you change its meaning, which is highly insulting."

She raised her eyebrows. "And in changing the meaning, you misrepresent the person bearing the name?"

"You more than misrepresent the person," he countered. "The name is the person. In destroying the name, you destroy the person and deny both name and person their being."

Meli felt her eyes widen. Note to self: Never mispronounce Zarekael's name. "I knew from our previous conversation about names that they're important, but I didn't realize they were that important."

"That's why my people so carefully guard our names," Zarekael told her. "And why we are so adamant about their proper use."

"I can see why you would have need for a progression through the names," she said. "I can only imagine what a mistake with the third name would do."

"That would be grounds for a blood-feud," he replied, matter-of-factly.

Oh, really, then! Further note to self: Never mispronounce Zarekael's name.

"Which is why we're very careful about whom we give our names to," he continued.

She nodded, showing interest, but she was unsure of how best to reply to that statement.

Zarekael paused, looking hesitant, then, coming to an apparent decision, spoke with a dignity and formality she had not before heard from him. "Meli Ailsa Ebony," he began.

Meli started, surprised. This was a disturbing beginning.

"I consider you a friend," he went on, either not seeing or not acknowledging her reaction, "and I would like to give you my second name. Will you accept it?"

Oh, thank God! I thought he was proposing. She restrained a sigh of relief. Instead, she forced her voice to harden a bit and looked him directly in the eye. "Look, Zarekael," she said quietly. "There' s something you should know about me first. People who come too close to me get killed by Death Eaters—horribly killed."

He nodded solemnly. "It wouldn't be the first time my life has been so endangered," he told her. "And I, too, know what it's like to have those close to you so terribly terminated."

She looked measuringly at him for a moment, gauging his understanding and resolve, then she slowly nodded. "Since you know what you're getting into, I accept."

Now he drew himself up slightly and spoke deliberately. "My name is Zarekael Ruthvencairn Sel Dar Jerrikhan," he said.

There seemed some need for a formal reply, so Meli cleared her throat and did the best she could on short notice and with little cultural context: "I'm honored to be entrusted with your second name." She offered a small smile. "But how, exactly, would I properly use it?"

"It has many uses," Zarekael replied. "But generally it is used only between you and me, or when others are present who know it."

"So . . . would I call you Zarekael Ruthvencairn, or just Ruthvencairn?"

"Just Ruthvencairn."

Meli paused, then recalling their earlier conversation, asked, "Do you mind if I ask what Ruthvencairn means?"

He quirked a sardonic eyebrow, mildly amused. "I wouldn't have given the name to you if I minded giving you the meaning," he pointed out. "It doesn't translate precisely because there is no frame of reference for the creature in question, but the closest English equivalent is 'sly fox'."

"An apt name for a Slytherin," Meli observed, with a half-smile. "Are names chosen for their meanings?"

"Yes," he replied. "By age five, a person will possess all four names. The first name isn't always as fitting as the later ones prove to be."

"Ah."

Before either of them could say anything further, Poppy popped her head in through the doorway. "I just dropped by to see how you're doing," she assured them.

"We're fine, Poppy," Meli told her calmly. Leave, leave, leave, leave!

Poppy left, but not before she gave each one a meaningful look and burst into giggles.

Meli exchanged pained looks with Zarekael. "No offense at all intended," she told him, "but . . . no."

"None taken, I assure you," he said, then paused, looking highly embarrassed. "I'm not sure how best to extract myself from this predicament."

Meli shook her head. "Don't try," she advised. "The harder you try, the worse it will become. Just ask Trelawney—if you dare—what happened when she tried to dispel the rumors about her and Professor Binns."

The contemplation, however brief, of that pairing, drew a troubled look to Zarekael's face. He set the disturbing thought aside, though, and smirked. "In any case, I suppose they'll figure it out sooner or later," he said.

"Hopefully sooner than later," Meli replied. "I'd rather not have to deal with a lot of awkward rumors."

Meli was still in pain on November 2, but since she had recovered enough to fake her way past Poppy, she returned to teaching. She usually leaned against her desk to lecture, so she thought she could manage pretty well, provided her Slytherin classes didn't push her too far.

Unfortunately, she had not counted on the effects of Snape having subbed for her. Her first class was fourth year Ravenclaws, and they had not done either the assigned reading or the assigned essay. When she calmly asked for their reasoning, she was rewarded with a most unacceptable answer.

"You see, Professor," one of the students said, "anytime Snape subs for Dark Arts, he goes overboard on the homework and the regular teacher always cancels the assignment. It was a waste of time to do it when there was a major Arithmancy project to work on."

Meli managed to hold onto her composure, but she discerned plainly the writing on the wall. If even the Ravenclaws had slacked, she could count on identical responses from all of her classes. She laid out in advance a well-thought-out plan of punishment for everyone—one which seemed unduly harsh now, but which she was confident would seem unduly kind by day's end—then began administering the medicine, starting with the Ravenclaws. As standing and pacing increased her pain, her patience wore thinner and thinner with each succeeding class until she at last reached a breaking point.

Said breaking point came in her second-to-last class of the day, which happened to be the fifth year Gryffindors. She knew already that she looked a bit dangerous, but the expression on Harry's face when he caught sight of her confirmed it. He had seen her lose it before when she taught in Surrey; he knew what was probably coming.

"First things first!" she snapped. "I want your essays on my desk now!"

Only two students stepped forward—Harry and Hermione. Meli watched them come up and deposit their scrolls, watched them retake their seats, all in perfect, deadly silence.

"And who would like to inform me of the reason why the rest of you did not do the homework!" she demanded, her tone brittle. The Gryffindors looked as if they were suddenly looking forward to Potions the following hour.

Surprisingly, it was Neville who raised his hand. "P-please, P-professor," he stammered. "He t-took us to a d-different unit and g-gave us a b-big assignment."

Ordinarily, Meli would have tempered her response with some compassion, but she had no temper left to spare, not even for Neville Longbottom. "I fail to see the point, Longbottom," she replied coldly, sounding to her own ears very much like Snape.

"Usually when that happens," Hermione broke in quietly, "the regular teacher tells us we don't have to do it."

"And yet you did it, Miss Granger," Meli pointed out mercilessly.

"Just in case," Hermione muttered, then fell silent.

"I see." Meli's breath came suddenly very short, similar to a wracking sob, but this was of anger, not of grief. "Well, since it would seem that, without consulting me, this class has arbitrarily decided to pull us a day behind, I, as the teacher, have arbitrarily counter-decided to bring us two days ahead!" Her voice had risen to a shout that tore at her throat and bounced around the room in taunting echoes. "By the next time we meet, you will all have done the assignment you didn't do for today, with one difference. Three to five scrolls are sufficient for those who bothered to do them on time; the rest of you will write out a minimum of ten. When you've finished that, you will also complete the full reading for the unit on deadly curses, and you will write for me a further fifteen scrolls on that most fascinating subject. You will turn into me the whole lot at the beginning of our next class period, and in future you had better ask me if you are ever unsure of an assignment! I don't think I need point out to you that there was, prominently displayed on the door, a notice telling you as much yesterday!" She paused to get control of her breathing and forced herself to lower her voice. Poppy's going to kill me for damaging my voice this way. "I would also advise you," she said quietly and dangerously, "to take Professor Snape at face value whenever he teaches in my stead. He may not like you much, but his greatest concern is that you know what can save you. Perhaps you think him petty . . . but in automatically discounting whatever he says in this class, you are no less petty than you think him to be."

She looked around at them now. Facial expressions ranged from anger to shame to sheepishness. At least there was none of the outright hatred she'd been receiving from Slytherins all day.

"Now," she said after a moment of this observation. "I am not entirely without grace. You have the remainder of the period to start on your homework." Her voice hardened again. "But if you are doing anything other than reading that unit or writing those essays, be aware that my patience is gone and I will catch you." She smiled nastily. "I'll leave to your imaginations what the result will be."

Meli sat stonily at her desk for the duration of the period, anger simmering. It had not been compassion at all that had led her to allow time for studying; she had done it with all of her classes to allow time for her to sit, sparing her body the further stress of standing for hours on end.

Following this period, she had a free period—her first of the day that Snape also had free. When the bell rang, she stood, leaving the room while the cowed Gryffindors were still packing their bags.

The fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins had Defense Against the Dark Arts on either side of Potions. Meli took a far more circuitous route to the dungeons that the Gryffindors did, intentionally allowing most of them to take their seats before she entered the classroom.

Zarekael caught sight of her before any of the students did, and he gave her a look of veiled amused curiosity that lost all trace of humor as soon as he saw her blazing eyes. The students, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, followed his gaze to find her standing, seething, just inside the room. Sheer terror ripped across several Gryffindor faces, while the Slytherins seemed more confused and vaguely worried. Without a word, Meli stepped deliberately forward, nodded curtly to Zarekael, crossed the front of the room, and entered Snape's office.

Snape stood at her entrance, then did a double-take. "Is there a problem, Meli?" he asked quietly.

"You could say that," she replied through her teeth. "May I speak with you out in the corridor, Severus?"

They could have spoken just as effectively in his office, but rather than pointing that out, Snape quirked his mouth and nodded. Zarekael watched, once more slightly amused, as they crossed the front of the room and walked out to the corridor. He had, Meli noticed in passing, already put up on the board the ingredients and proportions of the day's potion.

"All right, Meli," Snape said, turning to face her. "What is it that requires you to make a public show of angrily speaking to me?"

She smiled, knowing it wasn't a nice smile as she did. "Do you know, Severus, that you're held in so little regard that no one felt the need to do the homework you assigned yesterday? And, moreover, that I'm held in so little regard that no one bothered to ask me about it?"

Snape was most definitely no longer amused. "What."

"Only one or two students in each class—regardless of their House—did the assigned work. The rest assumed it was superfluous." She shrugged. "So I thought I'd let you know that the error will be repeated only by those who very much enjoy pain, and that I'm going to be excessively harsh to your fifth year Slytherins with a great deal of malice aforethought."

"Just the fifth years?" he countered mildly.

"Oh, I haven't been kind to any of them," she assured him. "But it so happens that I've just had an extreme tantrum with the fifth year Gryffindors, and fair's fair." She smirked. "We don't want Slytherin feeling slighted, now do we?"

Snape's eyes glittered wickedly. "Most certainly not," he affirmed. "Rest assured, Meli, that you can count on my support"—his eyes darted to look into the classroom—"and Zarekael's in your disciplinary efforts."

Meli bowed from the neck. "Thank you, Severus."

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." He re-entered the classroom and moved immediately to Zarekael's side. The apprentice must have heard the entire conversation; those pointed ears of his, as Meli had discovered, were sharper even than Crimson Fell's. Snape spoke no more than ten words to Zarekael, who nodded shrewdly, spoke a brief reply, and waved a hand at the board. Several of the ingredients and all of their measurements changed. Snape examined Zarekael's handiwork, nodded in satisfaction, and retreated to his office.

Meli, meanwhile, surveyed the board, torn between horror and admiration. She was hardly the potions genius Snape was, but she knew what certain things did when mixed with certain others, and Zarekael had created a nasty recipe. His eerie blue eyes found hers; she smiled evilly, nodded her gratitude, and left the dungeons once more.

In retrospect, Meli reflected that she should have smelled a rat immediately when Lavendar Brown and Parvati Patil (sarcastically known among many of the teachers as "Trelawney's adepts") approached her after class the following day. Her mind still fresh from the lecture, however, she made the understandable mistake of thinking that their question would center on academics.

It was, therefore, a nasty shock when Parvati opened the conversation by saying, "Are you lonely, Professor Ebony?"

Meli forced herself to swallow the sip of water she had just taken, though the temptation to sputter and spew it all over the students in front of her was almost more than she could stand. "Am I what?" she forced herself to reply. She was pleased to note that her tone was more or less even, betraying no trace of the laughter and horror that battled for dominance.

"You seem so solitary and so . . . upset," Lavendar said, almost mournfully. "Haven't you ever wanted to share your life with someone?"

It was utterly surreal; Meli felt half as though she had tumbled through the looking-glass. She shook off the thought; a conversation with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum would make far more sense than this did.

She cleared her throat. "Do you have someone in mind?" she asked, horror taking an upper hand.

Parvati and Lavendar traded delighted looks. "What would you say," the former whispered excitedly, "if Zarekael were to ask you out?"

Meli permitted herself a highly regulated smile as horror unexpectedly went into its death throes. "I'd ask him when he'd last had a CAT scan," she replied. "Have you talked with him about this yet?"

"We just wanted to be certain first that you'd say yes," Lavendar said with a grin.

"We were already pretty sure," Parvati added. "Both of us, and Professor Trelawney, agreed on what we saw in the crystal ball."

What an unfortunate coincidence. "Ah." Meli could barely restrain her laughter. "Well, rest assured, ladies, that if Zarekael ever asked me, I would say yes." Granted, Earth will fall into the sun before that day comes, she added silently, but one unlikely word deserves another.

Her students left giggling, and Meli rolled her eyes skyward. "Zarekael," she murmured, "look out."