Beth awoke before her alarm clock. She felt warm and relaxed; through her closed eyelids she could sense the sunlight peeking through a crack in her canopies. She snuggled down into her pillow, not wanting to open her eyes yet. The first day of her last year of school ... she'd been looking forward to it for six years, but right now she was willing to wait a few more minutes before it began.
The complete emptiness of her mind was welcome. Soon she'd have to start thinking about important things again. But for the moment...
The alarm clock blared. Beth opened her eyes with a sigh. The really nice moments never last.
She endured the usual fight for shower time and spent too long drying her hair afterward; Melissa was in the same bind so they came up to breakfast together, several minutes after most of the house had already left. Professor Snape had apparently just been around with schedules; Beth and Melissa found theirs among a pile in the middle of the table. Bruce extracted his own from the stack and glanced it over before sticking it in his pocket.
"Our last schedules," said Bruce, with relish. He seemed in a much better mood this morning. He raised his orange juice. "Here's to never having to go through this again."
"Cheers," said Aaron Pucey. He clinked his milk against Bruce's glass.
"I'll drink to that," said Antigone von Dervish languidly. She and Warrington joined the toast.
Melissa and Mervin raised their coffee; Beth held up her mug of tea. "To the Slytherin class of '96," said Melissa grandly, "and to the last time for everything."
Six years of living, eating, fighting, and studying together came down to this: a toast at breakfast, and only one year to go.
Beth read down through her schedule. There was no Alchemy, of course: the program only went through three years. Still, with N.E.W.T.s level Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, D.A.D.A. and Arithmancy, plus top-level Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic, her load didn't look a whole lot lighter.
"Going to be a hard year," she commented, to no one in particular.
"Considering that it is your last chance to enjoy true academia," came a cold voice beside her, "it very much ought to be."
Beth looked up. Professor Snape loomed over the table. She stood up. "Yes," she said, running a slight blush. "It should."
Snape's expression, while not friendly, seemed at its least poisonous. "I was wondering, Miss Parson, would you be so kind as to stop by room seven hundred thirty-five just after your second class?"
Room seven thirty-five was the Alchemy classroom. "Sure," said Beth, surprised. She had been intending to avoid that particular chamber of torture at all costs. "Should I bring anything?"
"No." Snape's expression gave no hints. "I expect to see you then, Miss Parson."
"See you then," Beth echoed. She watched as Professor Snape whisked away in the direction of the Gryffindor table, possibly hoping to catch some rule-breakers so he could get a head start on his point-taking for the year.
"Well," said Melissa meaningfully, as Beth sat back down.
"Well what?" Beth got another piece of toast. "I don't know what he wants."
"Exactly," said Mervin, edging into the conversation. "That could either be really good, or really bad."
Beth rolled her eyes. "Or really boring. Probably he's found some information for me about entry-level jobs in the alchemy field. He mentioned it the other year."
"You're going to get one heck of a recommendation letter from him," Bruce observed, soaking up the last of his eggs with a wedge of toast. "Tutoring for him, and whatnot."
"Maybe," said Beth, wanting to change the subject.
"You'll need it," Mervin said dourly. "What with all the you-know-what about You-Know-Who, and the Prophet's losing credibility, the job market's dropping off."
He didn't have time to expound on that theory, although Beth was interested in what he had said; the bell rang for classes and they made their way to Charms, complaining about having to face Flitwick's eternal cheer this early in the morning.
As Beth passed by the Hufflepuff table she thought she saw a few heads turn in her direction. She looked back and a flurry of movement confirmed it. She wiped her mouth to make sure there wasn't any breakfast left on her face.
The same thing happened as they passed a cluster of Gryffindors at the staircase. This time Beth nudged Melissa and muttered, "Is there something on my face?"
Melissa looked her over closely and shook her head.
A pair of Ravenclaws stopped talking as they went by and then started up whispering.
By the time they reached the door of the Charms classroom, Beth was sure she had seen half a dozen people staring directly at her. She pulled Melissa aside at the door.
"This is going to sound really weird," she muttered, casting glances into the crowded hallway with half-ashamed paranoia, "but I think people keep looking at me."
To her surprise, Melissa nodded. "Really, that's to be expected."
"But why?"
Melissa cast her friend a guilty little glance. "Well - they're awkward, I expect. They don't know what to say."
"About what?" said Beth, highly exasperated.
Melissa looked fairly awkward herself. "Well - you know - about Richard."
"Oh." Beth fiddled with the rings around her neck, discomfited. "But nobody was staring at me last night!"
"Well, I expect that those who knew about it told their friends," Melissa said. She didn't look happy to be the one to explain things. "You know how people are - it's gossip, it's interesting."
"It's interesting gossip that my boyfriend's dead?" said Beth, too sharply.
"Eh-" Melissa hesitated.
"Whatever, let them talk." Beth swung her backpack over her shoulder. "We're going to be late."
She stalked into the classroom with Melissa in her wake.
The Charms classes were still divided by house since everyone had the class; although McGonagall and Snape were selective about their N.E.W.T.s level students, Flitwick thought that his subject was unavoidable in "the real world" and continued to teach everybody. He had not changed a bit over the summer, although instead of his usual first-day descriptions of what they would learn during the year, he lectured them all about the importance of the N.E.W.T.s and described the sort of thing that would be on the test. Beth thought it sounded suspiciously like the speech he had given them in fifth-year about the O.W.L.s. Having been through the wizarding levels once before, it was far less impressive this time around. Only Melissa seemed to be seriously taking notes on his advice.
Afterward they made a beeline for the grounds, wanting to take advantage of the last few really nice days, chatting about which parts of the Charms syllabus were really worth learning. The rest of the seventh-years dispersed while Beth, Melissa and Bruce took up a post against a wall of the castle. Leaning against the stone, watching the younger students chase each other around the grounds, Beth once again felt extremely old.
"It seems a bit pointless," said Bruce. He spoke in an undertone; still casual, but quiet enough that passersby wouldn't be able to make out his words. "Here's Flitwick going on about some stupid test, when You-Know-Who's out there planning things."
Beth tended to agree, but Melissa looked shocked.
"Pointless? Just because we're being used as pawns by the Dark Lord doesn't mean we don't have to worry about N.E.W.T.s!"
Bruce's jaw dropped. "Do you ever actually listen to yourself?"
"We're going to need them in the long run," said Melissa firmly, ignoring him. "I wonder if they'll let us set up those extra preparatory sessions like they did for the O.W.L.s?"
Beth let out a huff of disbelief. "Mel, those sessions were not a success," she said impatiently. "We just spent all that time fighting with the other houses."
"But we do that all the time anyway," Melissa argued. "We may as well be studying at the same time. I'm going to talk to the other prefects about it. You will come, won't you, if they agree?"
"Oh, fine," said Beth, watching a hyperactive group of second-years chase each other around the grounds.
"As long as it doesn't overlap Quidditch practice," said Bruce.
Melissa raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Still going to be on the team? Even with the regime change?"
"I'm not giving up Quidditch just for one guy," said Bruce placidly, leaning his head back against the stone wall. "It may not be so bad."
Melissa looked almost impressed. "Brucey, I underestimated you."
Bruce shrugged. "There are worse things around here than Montague." He cast a meaningful glance at Beth.
"By the way," Melissa added, in a casual but low voice, "you may want to read that Society note sometime."
Beth had completely forgotten about the message from the Sorting Feast. It was still in the pocket of her robes; she pulled it out opened it up close to the wall.
Tiny beads of ink welled up from the page and fell into formation.
The Society for Slytherin Advancement within Hogwarts will operate according to
the following guidelines for the duration of the school year.
- There will be no new inductees.
- There will be no meetings.
- Members will avoid both headquarters within the castle walls as well as the one outside of them.
- Members will avoid each other unless common classes or preexisting friendships
render their interactions unsuspicious.
Beth read the note several times to be sure she understood it all. Much of it had been laid out at the end of the previous year; Richard had already suggested canning the meetings and the newbies. Melissa's instructions only took the precautions to their logical ends. The Society was to act as if it didn't exist.
The bell rang for class and Beth stuck the note back in her pocket. She nodded at Melissa to show that she understood, then the two of them dispersed: Melissa to Ancient Runes, Beth to Arithmancy.
Although Arithmancy was considered one of the toughest subjects at Hogwarts, Professor Vector was one of the most lenient professors. She didn't assign any homework, as usual, and spent much of the class chatting about her summer trip to Morocco. She even let them go a few minutes early, with a wave and a cheery warning that on Wednesday the real work would begin.
With those few extra moments, Beth was able to get to room seven thirty-five to meet Professor Snape just before the bell rang for lunch. She waited until the largest flux of students had squeezed out the door before slipping inside and approaching Snape, who stood behind the desk.
"One moment, Miss Parson," he said, gazing at the back row of seats.
The classroom was not empty. Evan Wilkes, dark hair falling into his eyes, sat hunched over a bit of paper, writing furiously. As they watched, he put a final scrawl on his paper and put away his quill. Slinging his knapsack onto a shoulder, he picked up the paper and started for the front of the room.
He approached Professor Snape fearlessly. "I've decided on my project," he said, handing over the parchment to Professor Snape. Beth leaned over to take a look, but she could only make out the shape of a heading and a hastily-scrawled abstract.
"After nearly thirty minutes of deliberation." Snape's eyes rested on the parchment.
For just a moment, the Potions Master was completely silent. His bearing grew chillier than ever; his eyes were riveted to the parchment, flashing quickly from one margin to the other. Evan waited motionlessly.
Finally Snape looked up. "You are absolutely certain that this is what you want to undertake?" Evan gave a curt nod. "Very well. Your grade is yours to destroy." He folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of his robes. "I will hold you to this, Mr. Wilkes."
"I have no intention of changing it," said Evan. He left the room without a glance backward.
Beth watched him go. "What is he going to try to do?" she asked.
She expected a derisive response. Instead, Professor Snape said, in a surprisingly somber tone, "Something very foolish, and very likely impossible."
Before Beth could respond to that, or even realize what he had said, Snape snapped back into his usual crisp demeanor. "You must be relieved to have done with your own final alchemy project. I wonder if you would be willing to put your skills to use."
Beth wasn't sure she had acquired any skills from the project except for extreme cramming under pressure. "How do you mean?" she said politely.
"I expect my schedule to be more demanding this year," said Snape, without explanation, "and could make use of a part-time assistant. Would you be available for a few hours per week?"
"To do what?" said Beth, immediately aware of how stupid her response was. Still, this was the last thing she had been expecting.
Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. "Your job will consist almost exclusively of analyzing failed potions to determine where the student went wrong." By his expression alone, Beth could tell how much he hated doing it himself. "It is not a difficult job, but it is tedious. Such experience could be invaluable to your future, Miss Parson," he added. "And after such extensive application, I expect that earning a N.E.W.T. in the field would be child's play."
That sounded awfully tempting. Beth didn't say anything for a moment, turning over his words in her head, so Professor Snape went on:
"I appreciated your willingness to work with Colin Creevey. Of course since your tutelage he has fallen appallingly behind ... which puts him right on par with the rest of his classmates." His mouth twisted a little into his special I'm-thinking-about-Gryffindors sneer. "Nevertheless Headmaster Dumbledore considers your work a success. And your final project for Alchemy - while hastily concluded-" Beth blushed. "-was one of the better ones handed in to me."
"Thank you," said Beth awkwardly. She didn't mind him knowing it was "hastily concluded" so long as he never found out that she had stolen her key ingredient from Greenhouse Five the night before the potion was due.
Snape finished the conversation briskly. "Then you'll take the job?"
"Yes." Beth sounded more surprised than grateful, and realized it. "Yes, thank you. It sounds great."
"Excellent. Thursday at six o'clock, then."
"That sounds fine."
"The first day's work shall no doubt be the worst," Snape said gravely. Then his mouth twisted slightly upward. "The first-years' boil-reducing potions are a uniform catastrophe."
Beth laughed. She thanked him again and headed up to lunch, cheery.
Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad after all.
"I always look forward to the first D.A.D.A. class," said Melissa idly, at breakfast on Tuesday. "It's like a guessing game. The unknown factor is finally revealed."
"It's more like the lottery," said Mervin, fiddling moodily with his fork. "What'll it be? Werewolf? Egomaniac? Maybe a good old-fashioned Death Eater?"
"I could go for another egomaniac," said Aaron breezily. "He was easy."
"And nice to look at," purred Antigone, from down the table. "So are you, love," she added to Warrington, who looked as though he wasn't sure whether he should be jealous or not. (Then again, Beth thought, "unsure" was Warrington's default expression.)
"I don't care who it is," said Bruce darkly, "so long as they have the sense to leave their boggarts at home."
There were murmurs of assent. Professor Lupin had been their most competent Defense teacher so far, but no one had quite forgiven him for making them face their fears in front of their classmates.
The bell rang for class and the group of them packed up and started outside toward the greenhouses in which Professor Sprout held her classes. Beth's mind was occupied with memories of the boggart from nearly two years ago. Upon seeing her it had turned into her brother Lycaeon, ragged, claiming to have escaped Azkaban and begging for help. She shuddered. She wondered what a boggart would become for her now, since she had seen Lycaeon in person, and stopped herself before she could think of an answer. Some things were not worth knowing.
They trouped out across the grounds. The late-summer sun still rode low in the sky; the richly green grass cushioned their shoes, far-off leaves hinted at the colors they would become. The group of them filed into the furthest greenhouse along with their Ravenclaw counterparts.
Beth hadn't taken Herbology for years. The scent of earth, the feel of leaf, and the pleasure of growth that meant so much to her father were utterly lost on her. She wouldn't even be there if Snape hadn't recommended she take it - an alchemist, he claimed, should be familiar with his ingredients.
To nobody's surprise, she found herself overwhelmingly behind, and Sprout's talk about the N.E.W.T.s only made it worse. She wished she had never gotten any career advice from Snape. Despairing, she waited out the lesson only by imagining all the school greenhouses on fire.
After Herbology they took their time getting back to the castle, loitering around until the bell rang. Then - squinting down the corridors that were so much darker than the sunlit grounds - they worked through the crowd towards DADA.
Professor Umbridge was already there, seated at the teacher's desk and watching them enter. It was slightly unnerving. As they tended to do under scrutiny, the seven of them kept up their banter and paid her no attention at all. They went into their usual seating pattern, and only broke off their chatter as the final bell rang for class.
"Gracious," said Antigone lazily, her voice only just barely audible. "You'd think she would have at least changed her cardigan."
Beth held back a laugh; Melissa didn't bother. Professor Umbridge wore the same awful pink sweater that she had worn at the Sorting Feast. She turned towards the three smirking girls and gave them a wide smile, as if she thought they were laughing at the sheer joy of being there.
When everyone had mostly settled in, Professor Umbridge cleared her throat ("Hem hem!") and held up a hand.
"Good morning, class!" sang Professor Umbridge.
The students looked at each other.
"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "From now on, I should like you all to reply with 'Good morning, Professor Umbridge.' Let's try it again, shall we? Good morning!"
No one spoke. Mervin arched his eyebrow at Beth in amused disbelief. Antigone let out a disdainful snort.
"Well then," said Professor Umbridge, losing none of her honey-coated tone, "there are - let me see - seven of you? Then I suppose that will mean fourteen house points are taken from Slytherin. Good morning, class!"
Bruce gaped. Melissa stared at Umbridge, then shot Beth a 'who-does-she-think-she-is' glance.
"That will be another fourteen points from Slytherin. Good morning, class!"
This time, five or six of them managed a strangled, "Good morning, Professor Umbridge."
The Professor's toothy smile took up most of her broad face. "Much better. I will expect to be greeted at the beginning of every class. It's important that we get to be friends!" Aaron snorted and hastily covered it with a coughing fit. "Now, I'm going to call out your names, please raise your hands nice and high so that I can get to know you!"
She shuffled through her papers until she found the class rolls.
"Miles Bletchley!"
Bruce raised his hand. "I go by Bruce."
Professor Umbridge shook her head. "Tut tut, Mr. Bletchley, you should be proud to take the name your parents gave you. Mervin Fletcher!"
Mervin raised his hand. "I go by Bruce," he said solemnly.
Professor Umbridge narrowed her eyes; her fluttery voice somehow took on a chill without losing its high, flimsy quality. "Now children, must you really play these silly games? I'm afraid I must take another five points from each of you." Bruce cast a furious glance at Mervin, who looked astonished that retribution had been so swift and cold. "I do hope we may continue with no more frivolities. Melissa Ollivander!"
Roll call continued without incident. (Thirty-eight lost house points could do that, Beth admitted to herself.) As soon as it was over, Professor Umbridge rolled up the list with a snap and put it away in her desk. "Wands away, quills out, please!" she sang out.
Beth already had her supplies out. She put her wand in her backpack reluctantly; she had made a habit of carrying it with her all summer, and felt a little nervous without it at hand. Antigone lay out a scroll and quill, got out a file, and went to work on her nails. Warrington, who had forgotten his wand in his nightstand, was equally bereft of paper and ended up borrowing several long pieces of parchment and half a broken pencil from Aaron.
While all this was going on, Professor Umbridge tapped her wand to the board so that two lines appeared in very flowery handwriting: "Defense Against the Dark Arts. A Return to Basic Principles." She turned back to the class with a broad smile.
"Well now," she said, smiling around at all of them, "your instruction in this class has been quite haphazard, hasn't it?"
Melissa nodded sanctimoniously.
"After all those years of disjointed teaching and a constant flux of styles, why, it's no wonder that so many of you are far behind where I should expect at N.E.W.T.s level."
Melissa stopped nodding.
Professor Umbridge tapped the blackboard again.
"Fortunately, I will be following a carefully-structured, theory-centric, Ministry-approved schedule which should bring you all up to par. Your course aims are outlined on the blackboard; please copy them down."
Everybody obeyed except Antigone, which was to be expected; when Professor Umbridge gave her a disapproving look she huffily put down her nail file and scrawled the notes hastily, then got out her nail polish and went back to work. Beth was done before Warrington had finished the second line, which was also to be expected, so she looked over what she had written. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic; learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can be legally used; placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use. It sounded to Beth like a pretty good curriculum: theory, application and not a boggart in sight.
Professor Umbridge waited, her wide smile firmly in place, until Warrington had painstakingly scratched out the last word before she spoke.
"You may have heard," she said, her girlish voice taking on a subtly dangerous tone, "that certain of your schoolmates question the worth of this class, seeing as no actual defensive spells will be performed. Let me quell that notion right now. This is a Ministry-approved curriculum and the theory which you will learn from your textbook will be more than sufficient to carry you through your N.E.W.T.s and into your careers. You will have no curses performed on you in this class, nor will you be forced to fend off dangerous magical creatures. This class will be a safe, structured environment focused on learning. Are there any questions?"
There were not. Her tone had ensured it.
"Excellent." Professor Umbridge smiled around at them. "In that case, will you all please turn to page five in your textbooks and begin reading chapter one, Basics for Beginners. There will be no need to talk."
The class rustled open their textbooks and reluctantly started reading.
The text was horrible. A small, cramped typeface and infinitely long paragraphs only exacerbated the bland, boring words. Halfway through the first page, Beth felt her attention drifting away. By the time she reached the bottom she was staring listlessly at the words. She finished the page and flipped to the next one, and almost instantly realized that she hadn't absorbed a word. She flipped back.
That happened three times before the bell (merciful bell! Blessed bell!) rang to release them from their mutual stupor. Beth blinked herself awake and looked around. Antigone had long since abandoned the book and was putting away her nail file with a set of perfectly manicured fingers. Mervin's hair was sticking up on one side and there was a suspicious red mark on his cheek in the shape of the textbook. Bruce closed his book with a slam, but not before Beth noticed tiny sketches of the Golden Snitch all over the margins.
"Thank you for your wonderful attentiveness!" called Professor Umbridge, without a hint of irony, as they streamed out the door and made a collective rush to lunch.
They refrained from comment until they reached the Great Hall. Then everything spilled forth.
"We've had a lot of nutters for D.A.D.A," said Aaron, with conviction, "but that Umbridge woman, she takes the cake."
"Twenty-eight points because we didn't say hello," Melissa said through her teeth. "I don't think we have twenty-eight points yet. We're in the negative."
"It's going to be the easiest class we ever sat," said Antigone offhandedly, breezing past. Warrington, with his massive arm around her waist, grunted agreement.
"Yes, but are we going to be able to pass our N.E.W.T.s?" Melissa said helplessly, to their backs.
Bruce brought up the rear, fuming in the direction of Mervin. "Why on earth did you pull that?" Bruce growled furiously. "I hate the name Miles. I hate it."
"Steady on," said Mervin, alarmed. "It's just one class. Odds are she'll call you Mister Bletchley anyway."
"You'd better hope so," said Bruce. He flung his books onto the table and dragged a bowl of beef stew toward him moodily.
"And that book," said Melissa. She threw her books down beside Bruce's. "I mean, what rot."
No one responded. Melissa looked round at them expectantly, then reproachfully.
"Did any of you actually read it?"
"No," said Aaron blithely.
"I tried," Beth admitted, "but it was like Binns on paper. I think I just read the first page twenty times."
"I did," said Warrington slowly.
Everyone turned to look at him. Mervin's jaw dropped. Aaron paused with a ladle of soup halfway to his plate. "You what?"
"I read it," said Warrington. He looked very uncomfortable; his deep voice came hesitantly. "Some of it. It said we shouldn't hex people even if they're hexing us." He shook his head disbelievingly. "That's stupid."
"Yes," said Melissa, sounding awed. "Yes, that's precisely what it said."
Warrington turned quite pink.
