Chapter 7

Harry walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts class five minutes late, and took the last seat in the back corner. He was still angry about what Draco had said in Potions class, and if he had it to do all over again, the two weeks of detention would still be worth it. Professor Lupin was still calling the roll, so at least he wasn't missed.

"Harry Potter?"

"Here," he mumbled. The class started murmuring to each other.

Remus looked up. It was easy to figure out why the class was so interested in Harry's presence in class. His nose was red and swollen, and he had several small cuts on one cheek that Madame Pomfrey couldn't get to heal quite right.

"Eventful Potions class?" he asked Harry.

"Very," he replied.

"What happened?" asked Professor Figg, giving Harry a concerned look.

"Harry got in a fight with Draco Malfoy. And Professor Evans gave him detention," Lavender Brown said in a rush.

"No, that was Professor Snape. Professor Evans took points off Slytherin," Dean Thomas corrected her.

"And Gryffindor," Parvati Patil added, giving Hermione a mean stare. "Between the two of you, Gryffindor lost one hundred and five points in one class."

"Well, Slytherin lost one hundred and twenty-five points, so we came out ahead," Ron said, defending Harry and Hermione.

"Ok, enough!" Professor Lupin said, holding up his hands for silence. The class immediately quieted down. "I get the idea."

"I know all of you know Professor Lupin, so let me introduce myself," Mrs. Figg began. "I am Professor Figg. As you know, this is Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Your full attention is incredibly important in this class, especially since Lord Voldemort has risen to power again." Many students winced at the sound of his name.

"Will you be teaching us Dark Magic?" Seamus blurted out.

"No," came the firm reply. "We will teach you everything you need to know to fight Dark Magic, without learning it yourselves. Once you know the Dark Arts, it is too tempting to use them against people," Professor Figg explained.

"Do you know the Dark Arts?" Neville asked, somewhat nervously.

"Professor Figg and I have an extensive knowledge of Dark Magic, and know how to recognize the Dark Arts, but we do not know how to perform the spells. Only those in Lord Voldemort's inner circle know those spells." Remus was impressed by the students' questioning, so he decided to let Parvati ask her question.

"Do you know anyone who can perform the Dark spells who isn't a Death Eater?"

"Honestly, Parvati, I do." The class gasped. "I know one wizard, and one witch, who know how to perform Dark spells. But, that knowledge comes with a price. Neither of them has a good reputation in the wizarding community, not even among other Dark wizards. No one trusts them completely, because there's always a chance that they are double agents. The best thing to do when dealing with the Dark Arts is to know enough to recognize them, defend yourself against them in a fight, and stay away from them otherwise."

Harry sat, puzzled. He figured that the Dark wizard was Snape, but who could Professor Lupin possibly know that was a Dark witch? He looked at Ron, and could tell that he was thinking the same thing.

"For the next few weeks, we will be doing a unit on the Forbidden Forest. In the event that any of you are ever stranded there, you will need to know what creatures you will come up against, and how to fight them. Let me clearly state that none of you are to go into the Forbidden Forest under any circumstances. Some of the most dangerous creatures in the world live there," Professor Figg announced.

"For those of you taking Care of Magical Creatures, this unit will overlap what you will be doing in that class. Professor Weasley," Ron snickered loudly, "will show you many of the creatures that we will study. Because of the danger involved, we will not be able to give you practice defending yourselves against most of the creatures. The first animal we will study is the Acromantula, which is a massive spider capable of human speech." Professor Lupin continued lecturing the class about the spider's characteristics and weaknesses.

"We sure could've used this lesson two years ago," Harry whispered to Ron, who was so petrified at the mention of spiders that he could barely take notes.

"No kidding," Ron whispered back.

After class was over, Ron and Harry patiently waited for Hermione, who was asking questions about the sleeping habits of the spiders. They walked out of class together, looking over their schedules.

"Transfiguration next," Harry said to himself. "Then lunch, then Care of Magical Creatures."

"Ugh," Ron said. "What a pain, having your brother for a professor."

"Would you rather have your aunt for a professor?" Harry retorted.

"Or your father?" Hermione chimed in.

"Ok, so I have the better end of the deal. I wonder who Lupin was talking about – you know, that whole Dark witch and wizard thing."

"Well, it's pretty obvious that Snape's the Dark wizard. But, who's the Dark witch?"

Hermione thought for a minute, and suddenly remembered the conversation she overheard between Snape and Isabelle earlier in the morning. She told Harry and Ron what she heard, as they quickly walked to class.

"What are you trying to say? That my aunt's a Dark witch?"

"She was married to a Dark wizard, remember? Maybe that's where she met Snape," Hermione replied. "Maybe she knows how bad the Dark Arts are, and that's why she doesn't want him going away. Can you save me a seat, please? I think I left my quill in class." She rummaged through her bag.

"I guess," Ron said, walking into the classroom.

A group of Ravenclaw sixth-years walked out of the Transfiguration classroom, giggling. They didn't seem to notice Hermione practically tearing her bag apart, searching for her favorite quill, because they stopped right in front of her, pinning her in the corner.

"Wow," one girl sighed. "Professor Black is so hot." Hermione dropped her book on her toe. Where they talking about her father? She made a face.

"Tell me about it. He has the prettiest eyes."

"And smile. He actually smiled at you, Erika."

"I know," this Erika girl gushed. "I could barely take any notes."

"Me either," giggled the rest of the girls. Hermione finally found her quill, and stood up triumphantly. The Ravenclaw girls suddenly noticed she was there, and hurried away with red faces. She rushed into class, and took her seat.

"Why do you have that look on your face? You look like you've swallowed a lemon," Ron asked her.

"I'll tell you later."

Professor McGonagall began the lesson on transfiguring water into a painting. She handed each student a cup of water, and told them that they had to have some sort of painting by the end of class. Bonus points were awarded if the portrait had oil, not water, based paint.

"I'm not an artist. How am I supposed to come up with a portrait?" Parvati huffed.

"Just turn it into a canvas with a bunch of paint splatters and say that you're imitating Jackson Pollock," Hermione shot back.

"Who's Jackson Pollock?"

"An American avant-garde artist. Well, some say he was from the Surrealist school, others say from Abstract Expressionism. Anyway, his technique was to throw paint splatters against a canvas," she said, without looking up from her glass of water.

"Oh. How do you know about Muggle art, anyway?" Parvati asked.

"Because I'm Muggle-born." She looked up at Sirius, who was standing behind her, and winced. "Sorry. Muggle-raised. I was supposed to go to America to study art when I turned fourteen. But, I got my letter from Hogwarts, and decided to come here, instead."

"So, you can paint?" Lavender asked, looking at Parvati. They had always thought of Hermione as a bookworm without any real talent.

"Paint, draw, sculpture, photography. Anything with the visual arts." Hermione concentrated on her glass of water, carefully transfiguring about a third of it into a stretched piece of canvas.

"Can you sing and dance, too?"

"I can't really sing, but I can dance," she said distractedly, trying to decide whether or not to create a frame for her portrait. Lavender and Parvati looked shocked, and looked down quickly at their glasses to try to hide their amazement.

"Professor Black? Can you help me? My canvas isn't turning out right," Parvati huffed. It was a mess. The edges were jagged, and the canvas resembled Swiss cheese. Sirius walked over to her canvas, giving her pointers on how to make the canvas uniform and square.

After that was finished, Lavender needed help with creating oil based paints out of water. He caught the edge of his robe in the water, and rolled up his sleeves, revealing well-muscled arms. Since his trial, Sirius was on a mission to lose the emaciated Azkaban look, and had succeeded. Five minutes later, Seamus raised his hand for help, so he went to the other side of the classroom.

Lavender and Parvati began giggling. "He is so cute. I can't believe he's Hermione's dad," Parvati whispered.

"I know. Too bad he's way, way too old for us. I think he used to date my mum," Lavender whispered back.

"I know he dated my mum. I've seen the pictures and everything."

"Yeah, well, my father said there weren't many girls at Hogwarts that Professor Black didn't date. Dad said that he married Hermione's mum because she was the only girl left in England that didn't have a broken heart because of him."

Hermione's ears burned. She began to say something, but held her tongue. The Potter family has already lost Gryffindor enough points for one day, she kept repeating to herself. She looked over to Harry and Ron, who were laughing at each other's portraits.

"Mr. Potter? What, exactly, do you call that?" Professor McGonagall wrinkled her nose at the strange picture before her.

"Life without my glasses on," came the reply. Ron began laughing.

"Interesting. And what is your portrait entitled, Mr. Weasley?"

"Fred and George left alone in a room with dynamite."

"Clever." She couldn't help cracking a small smile. She walked over to Hermione's desk, where she was putting the finishing touches on her portrait. She looked at Professor McGonagall with a guilty face.

"I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall, but my portrait isn't an original. It's a copy of another artist's work."

"A very good copy, too, I might add. Five points to Gryffindor," she said. Sirius walked up to Hermione's desk, and paled slightly. "It's been a long time since I've seen this work. What is it called again?" she inquired.

"Angling in Spring, by Vincent van Gogh," Sirius said quietly. "It's lovely, Hermione. Please excuse me for a minute."

Hermione watched him walk out of the door, and looked at Professor McGonagall. "How did he know that? Did I do something wrong?" she asked, slightly upset.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. When your parents were students here, your mother transfigured her glass of water into that very same portrait. It was her favorite piece of art. I remember, because she was the only student that I've ever had to actually copy a piece of art. Everyone else has had to do original works. You're just as good of an artist as she was."

The bell rang for lunch, and the students filed out of the classroom. "Hey, aren't you coming for lunch?" Harry asked Hermione.

"No, I think I'm going to the library for a while," she replied.

"Suit yourself," he said, leaving the room with Ron. She slowly gathered her books together, repairing her ripped bookbag.

"You know, when I did this assignment, my painting looked a lot like Ron's." She looked up at Sirius standing in the doorway.

"Like a bottle of ketchup and mustard exploded on canvas?"

"Exactly. Sorry I left earlier. Your portrait--"

"Looks like my mother's. I know. I'm sorry."

He smiled. "Don't be. She would be very happy that you have her talent. She was always drawing something."

"Do you have lunch plans?" she changed the subject.

"No."

"Good. You do now," she said, standing up.

Sirius was a little surprised that Hermione wanted to have lunch with him, but he wasn't going to question it. Either she was trying to cheer him up, or she was having a bad day. Or possibly both. "So, how are classes so far?"

"Well, Harry and I together lost Gryffindor one hundred and five points. Does that tell you anything?"

Definitely bad day, Sirius decided. "Ok. So, how did you lose the points?" She explained what happened in Potions class, and when she finished, she realized he was laughing.

"You're not mad?" she said in disbelief.

"No, I probably would have said the same thing." They reached the Great Hall, and walked to the far end of the Gryffindor table. "I give. Is there something wrong with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"All morning long, all the girls in my class have been giggling constantly. But, only when I say something, or walk by. Am I paranoid, or do I have something in my teeth?"

"Neither. I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"Telling me what?"

Hermione leaned over the table, so that other people wouldn't hear her. "They're giggling because they fancy you." She watched her father's face turn scarlet.

"You're kidding me."

"I wish." She started batting her eyes. "Oh, Professor Black is so cute," she said, perfectly imitating the Ravenclaw girls. "You're so lucky. He actually smiled at you."

"I thought you were going to the library," Harry said, sitting down at the table. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, looking at Sirius' red face and pained expression.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just telling him about his female fan club. Well, lunch's over," she said, looking at her watch. "Better not be late, Papa. You wouldn't want to deprive your adoring public one minute of your presence." She had an evil grin, as she headed to class. Harry and Ron laughed at the look on Sirius' face.

-----

Isabelle sighed as she entered her Muggle Studies classroom. After today's fiasco in Potions, she was really beginning to doubt her abilities as a teacher. Snape tried to reassure her by informing her that Harry and Draco have had many fights, and this was just the last battle in their ongoing war. But, how in the world were they going to create two weeks' worth of detentions? Distracted, she sat behind her desk, and propped her feet up, closing her eyes.

When she opened her eyes, she realized that something was on her desk. Six somethings, to be exact. Someone had left her half a dozen yellow roses, and a note propped up on the vase. Curious, she flipped open the envelope, and read the note.

"I heard about your first class, and thought you might need cheering up. If I remember correctly, these are your favorite flowers. Break a leg – Andrew"

She smiled. He had remembered correctly. She inhaled the aroma of the flowers, and turned to her lesson plans. Maybe the day was salvageable. Thirty minutes later, the class began filling with students. Finally, it was time to start class. Isabelle cringed, and rose from her desk.

"Good afternoon, class. Welcome to Muggle Studies," she drawled. Every guy's jaw dropped. Isabelle insisted on wearing Muggle clothes while teaching Muggle Studies. After Potions, she changed into a pair of low-rise, boot-cut jeans and a form-fitting, short-sleeved green sweater that matched her eyes perfectly.

"I have never seen a Muggle look like that," Lee Jordan whispered to George Weasley.

"Well, now you have." Lee turned red, as Isabelle continued. "How many of you have read the Daily Prophet in say, the past month?" Twenty-five hands shot in the air. "All of you, huh? So, I'm guessing you know that I've lived in the Muggle culture for the majority of my life?" Everyone nodded. "And that I was married to Sergei Remizov?" More nods.

"You are all seventh-year students, so I am going to be perfectly honest and frank with you. My ex-husband is a Death Eater. What do all Death Eaters have in common?"

"They hate Muggles," Angelina Johnson said in a small voice.

"Exactly. Any of you who were at the last Quiddich World Cup have first-hand knowledge of how Death Eaters like to treat Muggles. But, as much as they love to torture them, they don't bother to learn their culture. Which is why I can be so frank with you, because I know that no child of a Death Eater would ever be in this class. When Death Eaters attack Muggle settlements, it is so obvious that something is about to happen, because they easily stand out in a crowd. Any of you could prevent a Death Eater attack. That is, if you know Muggle culture well enough to know that their attire is inappropriate. Again, think back to the Quiddich World Cup."

"But, how will we be able to tell the difference?" Katie Bell asked.

"Hopefully by the end of the year, I will have taught you exactly that. Starting with this – Accio wands." Twenty-five wands flew into Isabelle's outstretched hand. "You won't need these here. In my classroom, you will behave exactly like Muggles."

She picked up a stack of three-ring binders, notebook paper, and subject dividers, and began passing them around the class. After everyone had their notebook organized, she passed out blue ballpoint pens. "Your homework assignment is to write a two page essay, front and back, about what your former professor taught you in this class. Ok, on to the fun stuff," she said, passing out a syllabus.

"What is this?" Fred asked.

"A syllabus. It's a type of calendar, outlining what subjects we're going to cover throughout the school year. And, what your assignments are and when they're due. If you note, I have planned all major projects around the Quiddich schedule so that you can have maximum practice time."

"Today, we are supposed to go to the Muggle Studies lab. What's that?" Lee asked.

"Right this way." The class followed Isabelle down the hallway, and into a refurbished classroom. One corner of the room had a big screen television, VCR, video game machines and a home entertainment system. Comfortable looking couches and chairs surrounded the TV. In another corner were several laptop computers. Separating the two areas was a mini-kitchen equipped with a refrigerator, microwave, popcorn popper, and various Muggle snacks and beverages. The class looked around in awe.

"One of your requirements for class is to spend two hours a week in the Muggle Studies lab, using all of this equipment. When we get back to class, I am going to give you a manual describing each piece of equipment, and how to use it. That way, I can lecture on other parts of Muggle culture, and leave the practical aspects of class to your lab time." She looked at her watch. "We have time to watch a quick TV show. Ok, everyone grab a seat."

Isabelle took the remote control of the TV, and started flipping channels. "This is called channel surfing," she told them. She flipped past BBC, MTV Europe, and many other channels before finding the American MTV channel.

"What's that?" Fred exclaimed in awe.

"A rerun of MTV Spring Break. This is what Muggles your age do on Easter holidays." The class watched, enraptured, laughing hysterically.

"Who is that?"

"Jerry Springer. He has a talk show, but he hosts a show on Spring Break sometimes."

"What's a talk show?"

"Well, George, you'll just have to find that out in your lab time, huh?"

After about forty-five minutes, Isabelle herded the class back into the classroom, and passed out their manuals. The students eagerly opened them, and began reading how to play Playstation and watch a movie. The bell rang, and Fred, George, and Lee immediately headed back to the lab.

"Ok, where's this TV Guide thing?" Lee rummaged around a stack of magazines.

"Right here, beside the remote," George answered. They searched through the TV Guide, watching shows for another hour. Isabelle walked in, and sat down on the sofa next to Lee.

"Getting a head start on lab time?" she asked them.

"Yep," they chorused.

"Do you have any suggestions?" Fred asked her.

"Hmmm. I'm thinking a movie, but I can't decide on which one. What's a good guy movie?" she puzzled to herself. "Do you want something funny, or serious where people blow up stuff?"

They talked amongst themselves for five minutes, at least. "Serious where people blow up stuff," Fred said.

"Then, I would start with Terminator, and Terminator 2. Terminator 2's really much better, but you won't understand the plot unless you see the first one."

Lee carefully studied his manual, and started the movie. They watched the movie, and barely made a noise until it was over. "That was amazing," Lee said.

"Yeah, put in the second one," George said impatiently.

Two and a half hours later, Fred, George and Lee walked into the Gryffindor common room, laughing and joking loudly. Lee walked over to where Harry and Ron were playing Exploding Snap.

"I just have to say, Harry, that your aunt's the most amazing professor I've ever had," he told him.

"Yeah," Fred added, "first the map, and now the Muggle Studies lab."

"What Muggle Studies lab?" Harry asked, confused. Fred, George and Lee began an animated description of the lab, everything that was in it, and the movies they'd watched all evening.

"Wow," Ron said jealously. "I wish I could get out of Divination for Muggle Studies now."

"Hey, we can always go back and watch TV or a movie or something," George said. "Professor Evans recommended a movie called Dumb and Dumber. She said that only guys like it."

"Cool. Let's go." Ron jumped up.

They went back to the lab. Harry looked up at the clock. "Oh, no," he said.

"What?" Lee asked, searching for the movie in the massive video library.

"Detention starts in five minutes. I guess I had better go." Harry sadly turned to head for the dungeons.

"Hasta la vista, baby," George called after him, in a perfect imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Harry hurried to the dungeon. He didn't want to be late for detention. As bad as he knew this was going to be, it would be much, much worse if he was late. He walked into the dungeon, where Snape and Draco were waiting. A minute later, Isabelle walked in, still wearing her Muggle clothing.

"Welcome to detention," Professor Snape said, in his usual cold tone.

"Yes," Isabelle added, in an unusually harsh tone. "Because you work so poorly together, we have decided to split you up for the next two weeks. Mr. Malfoy, you will work with Professor Snape. And, Mr. Potter, you will work with me. Is that clear?" They nodded. "Alright, let's go." Harry followed Isabelle up to her office, where she shut the door, and motioned for him to take a seat. She sat silently at her desk, reading a magazine, until she heard a knock at the door. "Come in," she called.

Sirius walked in the office, moved a chair around the desk beside Isabelle, and sat down. He, too, had an extremely stern look on his face. Harry gulped. He almost wished that he was back in the dungeon with Snape. Almost.

"Harry, do you respect your aunt as a professor?" he began in a quiet tone.

"Yes, sir," he answered in a small voice.

"Is starting a fight in the middle of class showing respect?"

"No, sir."

"Then why did you do it?" Harry didn't know it, but his answer to this question determined the severity of his detention. Isabelle watched him through narrowed eyes.

"Because he insulted my family – my mom, my dad, Aunt Gina, and Hermione. It had nothing to do with me being in Potions class. I would have punched him if we were in the middle of a Quiddich match. And, I would do it again," he said honestly.

"Do you think Lily would approve of your violent behavior?" Isabelle asked her nephew.

"I don't know. I don't know," he repeated, louder. "I have no idea what my mother would approve of. Or my father. I've never met them. All I have are old photographs, and they don't exactly talk to me. So, you tell me what my mother would think, Aunt Isabelle." He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

"That's exactly what I plan to do," she replied. At long last, she thought, he is being honest with us.

"What?" Harry asked, partially confused, and partially stunned. That was the last response he expected.

"You heard your aunt. Before we continue, let me make one thing perfectly clear. Fighting is completely unacceptable. If I got into a fist fight with every person who insulted our family, I would be back in Azkaban. You have to learn to keep a cool head. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Harry heard a quiet tap at the door.

"Come in," Isabelle said loudly. Hermione walked in, and sat down in the chair next to Harry.

"Did you want to see me?" she asked.

"Yes. After classes today, Sirius and I had a talk, and we're afraid that we've done the two of you a disservice. It's not fair that you have to learn about our family in bits and pieces, at odd times. So, Harry, here's your detention. You will spend alternating nights with Sirius and I for the next two weeks, and take a crash course in family history. We wanted to give you the same opportunity, Hermione, but you don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I want to," she said quickly.

"Here's the deal. Tonight, all four of us will stay together. You can ask any question you want to. Nothing is off limits. We'll decide who goes with who tomorrow night. And, Harry, don't breathe a word of this to Snape. He thinks that you're cleaning my office." Isabelle wrinkled her nose. "He bought that because I hate cleaning."

Isabelle stood, and removed a large notebook from a bookshelf. "Do you know what this is?" Hermione shook her head no. "This is your mother's sketchpad. In it are most of her drawings, and every clothing design she ever made. When I was in the ballet, I used her designs constantly."

Sirius pulled an old, worn notebook from his cloak. "Do you know what this is, Harry?" He shook his head no. "Your father was a Quiddich genius. This notebook has all of the plays that he made up for our House team. Remus kept it all of these years for you."

They spent the rest of the evening looking over the notebooks, and talking. Isabelle really hoped this idea would produce some sort of family unity. Around midnight, she sent Harry and Hermione back to Gryffindor tower.

"Peanut butter," Hermione told the Fat Lady. The portrait swung open, and she and Harry walked into the common room. Fred, George, Lee and Ron were talking and laughing about something called Turbo-Lax.

"Harry, you really missed a great movie. What'd Snape have you do this time?" Ron asked.

"Clean Aunt Isabelle's office," he lied.

"That stinks. Where were you Hermione, with Viktor?"

"No, I wasn't, as a matter of fact. Not that it's your business anyway." She turned on her heel and stomped off to the girls' dormitory.

"You've got it bad, Ron," Fred teased.

"Shut up, Fred."

"Yeah, imagine what her Papa would say if he knew you fancied her," George chimed in.

"He already knows."

"What?" Fred, George and Lee shouted.

"Shh!" Ron hissed. He told the story of what happened on the train to Hogsmeade.

"That could possibly be the most humiliating thing I've ever heard of," George said with pride, clapping Ron on the back. "So, when are you going to tell her?"

"I'm not."

"Why not? Afraid of the wrath of Papa?" Fred said, laughing.

"No," Ron said seriously. "I'm not. She's going through so much already that I don't want to add one more thing to it. If I told her how I felt about her, I just might scare her away forever. I'd rather have her as a friend, than nothing at all." With that, Ron turned and marched towards the boys' dormitory.

If Ron had looked carefully, he would have seen a tall brunette hiding in a shadow as he walked past the girls' dormitory entrance. Hermione had come downstairs to apologize to Ron for snapping at him, and had heard everything. She quietly walked back upstairs, and went to bed, but her mind was too full of thoughts to sleep.