The Quetzal's Fire

Harry Potter

I'm trying to start a Harry Potter fanfiction message board. Email me or go to my homepage link and sign up for my totally subjective admittance process. As always: idiots need not apply. Fools, of course, are more than welcome.

A/N: I am in the midst of a transitional phase of the plot. The length is limited, I know, but that is typical of me on writing fanfiction. My goal with these short chapters is to make it entertaining and enriching; character development, relationships- they're just as important to me in this case as the big picture. I apologize if it is boring, but my aims with this story (I believe) are very clear.

Part Eleven: Who's Your Daddy?

The atmosphere the next morning was electric. Dumbledore's speech was, obviously, not a calming one. Questions abounded: what was Voldemort's next goal? Who was a target? What were his methods? Nobody would have dreamed of asking the inaccessible Headmaster or a member of the faculty such things. So, naturally, those who were once in the DA were singled out for questioning. Harry had hardly made it to the common room before he was surrounded by babbling Gryffindors.

"Oy! OY!" Ron shouted, coming down behind Harry. "Clear out! What's the problem? I'm a prefect, you know! Detention if you don't let us through!"

Ron's threats, though well intentioned, had no effect. Hermione took drastic measures.

"Silence!" she roared over the exploding sparks she had launched from her wand. "Everyone to the Great Hall, now!"

The three of them started laughing after the last first year had disappeared.
-
Upon arriving in the Great Hall, Harry felt a sharp tug on his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"That couldn't have hurt, Potter," snapped Professor McGonagall. "I want to have a word with you."

"I didn't notice," muttered Harry, rubbing his shoulder.

"I'd give you detention for that, Potter, if it weren't for the fact that you need to set up quidditch practices. Let it suffice for to say I doubt Professor Snape will have such reservations. Do you understand the general picture, Potter?"

Harry nodded, anger forgotten (or at least redirected).

"Good. Distribute these schedules."

McGonagall returned to the faculty table.

Harry passed out the schedules to the other Gryffindor sixth years and took a seat next to Ginny.

"What've you got?" she asked, turning the schedule towards her. "Pretty good day,"

"Yeah," Harry replied, looking at the parchment for the first time. "Defense, transfiguration, charms."

Ron plunked himself across from Harry. "Excellent! We've got defense first."

"Damn it, we won't be able to sleep!" moaned Seamus Finnigan. "Defense is my favorite,"

"You always slept in defense last year, mate," Dean Thomas pointed out.

"Yeah, wonder why that is?"

"Bloody hell!" shouted Ron. A few first years jumped. He scowled at them and turned back to the sixth years. "We've got that and transfiguration with the Slytherins."

"Damn it," said Harry, slamming his fist onto the table.

"Welcome back," said Hermione sagely.

After positively shoving Ron from his place (he was on his third plate of sausage), Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the defense against the dark arts classroom with high expectations. Professor al Rahman had made a good impression on them.

The classroom was almost full and the Gryffindors were abuzz with anticipation. The majority of the Slytherins aimed to look as malcontent as possible. Certainly if Gryffindors liked the teacher, then he had to be a bad one. Harry, Ron, and Hermione took seats near Dean, Seamus, and Neville, as always seemed to happen. Malfoy said nothing upon entering. Nor did he glance at Harry. Not that Harry minded; it was too early in the year and the day to have to have to worry about verbal sparring. Harry and Dean chatted amiably and insubstantially about the holidays until al Rahman entered.

"Ah, good morning!" said al Rahman, positively beaming. He continued in his clipped accent. "That is, for me it is. I hope that you all are properly indisposed towards starting." The rookie teacher surveyed the room. "Judging by Mr. Finnigain's reaction, I appear to be correct."

Most of the class laughed, barring the most hardcore of Slytherins. Indeed, Seamus's reservations appeared to have vanished. He was slumped forward onto his desk.

"So. I will be going over course aims and goals for the year today. I am very sorry. Also, it has been quite a long time since I have spoken exclusively English. I do not doubt that I will improve as the year wears on, but until then. Yes, mister… Malfoy, is it?" al Rahman checked his class list.

"Yes. I guess you can read, then?" drawled Malfoy nonchalantly.

al Rahman's smile slowly disappeared, but he said nothing.

"Do you have a proper question, Mr. Malfoy, or are you here to promote some sort of agenda?"

"You could say that," Malfoy said with a smirk.

al Rahman regarded him coolly. "Your strategy is lacking, Mr. Malfoy, if that is the case."

Malfoy kept smirking nonetheless. "Yeah, I guess you'd know a whole lot about strategy, since the Orient has such advanced and sophisticated politics." The lordling snorted. al Rahman's neck went tauter than Harry had ever seen anyone's go before.

"Seventy points from Slytherin, Draco Malfoy. Do not speak ill of my bloodlines again." Malfoy said nothing, but kept up his façade of nonchalance. al Rahman glared at Malfoy, but continued in a measured tone.

"I had hoped that such idiocy would not find its way into the classroom. Certainly this institution is exalted enough that I would not have suspected it. I thought that the British Isles had changed since I lived here first, but it would not seem as such. Perhaps it was naïve of me to think that things had." al Rahman, in expert motion, produced his wand and directed it at Malfoy. Abd shouted an incomprehensible incantation and Malfoy found himself reprising his award winning role as a ferret. "You will find, Mr.Malfoy, that Professor McGonagall probably would not have any objections to this form of punishment on this particular occasion. Please do tell your dear father that Abd al Rahman does not tolerate the insults of the degenerate son of a degenerate line attempting to reclaim the glories of their morally bankrupt zenith. Your family's opportunism is breathtaking, Malfoy. Your lack of loyalty is disturbing, just as is your lack of creative thought. Perhaps through a year of my tutelage you can learn to develop an independent mindset." With that, Abd hurled Malfoy the ferret through the open window.

As his class sat stunned in their desks, the would-be Caliph returned to his podium and reassumed his academic guise with a smile.

"Now, course aims."