Chapter 11
Defence Against the Dark Arts
Meanwhile, John and his friends were having double Potions with the Slytherins. Professor Parkinson was sitting at her desk, polishing her nails, while cauldrons were exploding all around the classroom due to the non-adequate instructions Parkinson had written on the blackboard.
'Ten points from Gryffindor,' Parkinson was heard shouting across the room at regular intervals, and sometimes she got up in order to try to help some of the Slytherins, temporarily abandoning her manicure session. She was, however, rarely successful in determining what mistake had been made when something was wrong with a potion.
John, Ron and Lizzie were trying as best they could to make a forgetfulness potion, when Parkinson suddenly approached their table. 'So, Evans,' she said, 'Your father's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?'
John looked up at her, warily. 'Yes.'
'Where's your mother then?'
'She's dead.' John said shortly, trying to avoid thinking about it.
'Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that,' Parkinson said, smirking. She didn't look sorry at all. John looked at her incredulously. How could she be so insensitive? But then, she didn't know how recently it had all happened, he supposed.
His mother's death had been hard to accept, perhaps all the more as he hadn't seen her in so many years, and had never got the chance to hear her version of what had happened between her and his dad. He had blamed her for everything for so many years, wanting to have it out with her, to shout at her that she had been wrong to leave his father, and now this would never happen.
He hadn't talked to anyone about it, but somehow, Ron and Lizzie had understood the essence of his feelings anyway, supporting him simply by showing him this with looks and body language.
He had cried himself to sleep on countless occasions during the two years that his mother had been gone, and now he had done so again, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't happen many more times – perhaps never. That part of his life was over now. And Professor Parkinson wouldn't be able to ruin his composure, that was for certain. He looked at her defiantly.
The next second there was a deafening bang from Ron's cauldron, and purple sparks were flying in every direction.
'Twenty points from Gryffindor,' Parkinson snarled, making no attempt to help Ron clean up the mess he had made.
The three of them were worried that they might not make it to the Defence Against the Dark Arts class on time, but they did; they were there before Harry turned up; in fact, they were the very first students there.
While they were waiting, John began to worry slightly about having a lesson with his own father as a teacher. How come Hagrid had been so convinced of Harry's ability to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts? What did he really know about Harry? It was hard for John to believe that his dad, who had been working as a bus driver for as long as he could remember, was skilled at one of the hardest subjects that were taught at Hogwarts. Skilled enough to teach it.
What if his father made a fool of himself? John's stomach churned at the thought of it. And the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that his dad had made a giant blunder in taking this job.
He didn't have time to think much longer, however, since Harry was now coming into the classroom. John looked at him; he was smiling at them, not looking worried or nervous in any way. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.
'Hello, John!' Harry said cheerfully, putting his books and some mysterious objects which John had never seen on the desk. Then he walked over to the three of them.
'These are my friends, Ron Creevey and Lizzie Weasley,' John said, and Ron and Lizzie both said hello to Harry. Did John imagine it or did Harry look a little strangely at Ron? It seemed like he was looking at Ron's red hair, but surely red hair was nothing unusual ... 'They're both in Gryffindor,' John added.
'Yes, I thought so,' Harry said slowly, a quizzical look on his face. 'There are only Gryffindors in this class, you see. And anyway, you always get to know the people from your own house first, don't you?' He went on in a voice that was slightly too cheerful to be entirely natural. Well, maybe Harry was nervous about having to teach after all, John thought.
'Creevey and Weasley,' Harry said thoughtfully, 'those names seem familiar to me ...'
'My dad and my uncle own Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes – maybe you've seen it, it's in Diagon Alley,' Lizzie said.
'Hm, yes, I think I have,' Harry said, smiling smugly. John wondered what was going on.
'And my dad's a photographer for the Daily Prophet,' Ron said. 'Maybe you were at Hogwarts with him?'
'No, I don't think so,' Harry said quickly, averting his eyes.
The classroom was almost full now, and Harry introduced himself to the students. He then let them try to disarm each other, which some of them managed to do rather soon, while others found it quite hard. Wands were flying through the classroom as the students took turns to shout 'Expelliarmus'.
It was a great class, John thought, and it certainly didn't seem as if he would need to worry about his father's teaching abilities anymore. He had succeeded rather well in disarming Ron, and thought that Defence Against the Dark Arts was a great subject, proud that it was his own father who taught it.
The three of them were the last to leave the classroom, as Ron was having trouble gathering all his things; his father had sent him some new photographs that morning and he had been carrying them around from class to class.
'Are you coming then, Ron?' Lizzie asked impatiently, and he hurried towards them. Just as he came to the door, however, he lost control over the large pile of books, papers and photos he was balancing on his right arm and it all slid down onto the floor, forming a large, untidy heap right in the doorway.
'Oh dear,' said Harry, who had been on his way out, too. They all helped Ron pick his things up again, and Harry eyed some of the photos interestedly.
They didn't notice, at first, how Harry suddenly froze at the sight of one of the pictures. But he kept staring at it, and eventually Lizzie turned to look at the photo too, and said:
'Oh, that's my aunt Ginny, Ron's mum. We're cousins, you see.'
Harry picked it up, slowly, still staring at it as if he couldn't believe his eyes. John noticed that Harry's hand holding the photo was shaking.
'What's wrong, Dad?' he asked. 'Do you – did you used to know her? Was she a friend of yours?'
But Harry didn't answer, he just stood there staring, his hand shaking even more, until the picture slipped out of his hand. He neither looked at them nor said anything, but took off, running down the corridor, the classroom door still open.
The three of them looked at each other, not knowing what to think.
Author's Note: Next week I'm going to China for three weeks, so it'll be a while before I update. But don't despair, I'll go on writing as soon as I'm back! For those of you who are also reading Changes, I might have time to update it once more before I go.
Thank you so much for your nice, constructive reviews, I really appreciate them!
Defence Against the Dark Arts
Meanwhile, John and his friends were having double Potions with the Slytherins. Professor Parkinson was sitting at her desk, polishing her nails, while cauldrons were exploding all around the classroom due to the non-adequate instructions Parkinson had written on the blackboard.
'Ten points from Gryffindor,' Parkinson was heard shouting across the room at regular intervals, and sometimes she got up in order to try to help some of the Slytherins, temporarily abandoning her manicure session. She was, however, rarely successful in determining what mistake had been made when something was wrong with a potion.
John, Ron and Lizzie were trying as best they could to make a forgetfulness potion, when Parkinson suddenly approached their table. 'So, Evans,' she said, 'Your father's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?'
John looked up at her, warily. 'Yes.'
'Where's your mother then?'
'She's dead.' John said shortly, trying to avoid thinking about it.
'Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that,' Parkinson said, smirking. She didn't look sorry at all. John looked at her incredulously. How could she be so insensitive? But then, she didn't know how recently it had all happened, he supposed.
His mother's death had been hard to accept, perhaps all the more as he hadn't seen her in so many years, and had never got the chance to hear her version of what had happened between her and his dad. He had blamed her for everything for so many years, wanting to have it out with her, to shout at her that she had been wrong to leave his father, and now this would never happen.
He hadn't talked to anyone about it, but somehow, Ron and Lizzie had understood the essence of his feelings anyway, supporting him simply by showing him this with looks and body language.
He had cried himself to sleep on countless occasions during the two years that his mother had been gone, and now he had done so again, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't happen many more times – perhaps never. That part of his life was over now. And Professor Parkinson wouldn't be able to ruin his composure, that was for certain. He looked at her defiantly.
The next second there was a deafening bang from Ron's cauldron, and purple sparks were flying in every direction.
'Twenty points from Gryffindor,' Parkinson snarled, making no attempt to help Ron clean up the mess he had made.
The three of them were worried that they might not make it to the Defence Against the Dark Arts class on time, but they did; they were there before Harry turned up; in fact, they were the very first students there.
While they were waiting, John began to worry slightly about having a lesson with his own father as a teacher. How come Hagrid had been so convinced of Harry's ability to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts? What did he really know about Harry? It was hard for John to believe that his dad, who had been working as a bus driver for as long as he could remember, was skilled at one of the hardest subjects that were taught at Hogwarts. Skilled enough to teach it.
What if his father made a fool of himself? John's stomach churned at the thought of it. And the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that his dad had made a giant blunder in taking this job.
He didn't have time to think much longer, however, since Harry was now coming into the classroom. John looked at him; he was smiling at them, not looking worried or nervous in any way. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.
'Hello, John!' Harry said cheerfully, putting his books and some mysterious objects which John had never seen on the desk. Then he walked over to the three of them.
'These are my friends, Ron Creevey and Lizzie Weasley,' John said, and Ron and Lizzie both said hello to Harry. Did John imagine it or did Harry look a little strangely at Ron? It seemed like he was looking at Ron's red hair, but surely red hair was nothing unusual ... 'They're both in Gryffindor,' John added.
'Yes, I thought so,' Harry said slowly, a quizzical look on his face. 'There are only Gryffindors in this class, you see. And anyway, you always get to know the people from your own house first, don't you?' He went on in a voice that was slightly too cheerful to be entirely natural. Well, maybe Harry was nervous about having to teach after all, John thought.
'Creevey and Weasley,' Harry said thoughtfully, 'those names seem familiar to me ...'
'My dad and my uncle own Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes – maybe you've seen it, it's in Diagon Alley,' Lizzie said.
'Hm, yes, I think I have,' Harry said, smiling smugly. John wondered what was going on.
'And my dad's a photographer for the Daily Prophet,' Ron said. 'Maybe you were at Hogwarts with him?'
'No, I don't think so,' Harry said quickly, averting his eyes.
The classroom was almost full now, and Harry introduced himself to the students. He then let them try to disarm each other, which some of them managed to do rather soon, while others found it quite hard. Wands were flying through the classroom as the students took turns to shout 'Expelliarmus'.
It was a great class, John thought, and it certainly didn't seem as if he would need to worry about his father's teaching abilities anymore. He had succeeded rather well in disarming Ron, and thought that Defence Against the Dark Arts was a great subject, proud that it was his own father who taught it.
The three of them were the last to leave the classroom, as Ron was having trouble gathering all his things; his father had sent him some new photographs that morning and he had been carrying them around from class to class.
'Are you coming then, Ron?' Lizzie asked impatiently, and he hurried towards them. Just as he came to the door, however, he lost control over the large pile of books, papers and photos he was balancing on his right arm and it all slid down onto the floor, forming a large, untidy heap right in the doorway.
'Oh dear,' said Harry, who had been on his way out, too. They all helped Ron pick his things up again, and Harry eyed some of the photos interestedly.
They didn't notice, at first, how Harry suddenly froze at the sight of one of the pictures. But he kept staring at it, and eventually Lizzie turned to look at the photo too, and said:
'Oh, that's my aunt Ginny, Ron's mum. We're cousins, you see.'
Harry picked it up, slowly, still staring at it as if he couldn't believe his eyes. John noticed that Harry's hand holding the photo was shaking.
'What's wrong, Dad?' he asked. 'Do you – did you used to know her? Was she a friend of yours?'
But Harry didn't answer, he just stood there staring, his hand shaking even more, until the picture slipped out of his hand. He neither looked at them nor said anything, but took off, running down the corridor, the classroom door still open.
The three of them looked at each other, not knowing what to think.
Author's Note: Next week I'm going to China for three weeks, so it'll be a while before I update. But don't despair, I'll go on writing as soon as I'm back! For those of you who are also reading Changes, I might have time to update it once more before I go.
Thank you so much for your nice, constructive reviews, I really appreciate them!
