Day 2

E vidivi entro terribile stipa

Di serpenti, e di si diversa mena

Che la memoria il sangue ancor mi scipa

(And I beheld therein a terrible throng

Of serpents, and of such a monstrous kind,

That the remembrance still congeals my blood)

The Divine Comedy, Inferno, XXIV.82-4

When the DADA class finally arrived, the students awaited it with a bit of trepidation. But just a bit. After all, the declaration of horror had occurred yesterday, and by now the students had enforced their courage by imbibing various beverages, quite a few of them – alcoholic.

Millicent plopped on one of the frontal seats – as usual. She was asked rarely anyways, even by Snape, so it mattered little as to where she sat.

Out of the corner of her eye she noted that Grainger and her friends sat in the front row too – small surprise there!

But that Pansy Parkinson sat behind her – now that was displeasing.

"Gee, Millie, where were you last night?" Pansy asked the bigger girl with a cruel smile. "We missed you so much at Hogsmeade!"

"Then next time maybe you should take her with you!" snapped Blaise, as she came over to the other two girls. "'Cause last night she constantly distracted me from my novel!"

"Gee, too bad. Some of us don't need novels to get aroused!"

"Yeah, I know that element of population too. They're called hookers."

"Ooh, how witty, Blaise."

"Hey, any more wit and I'd lose you, Pansy."

"Girls, girls," out of nowhere appeared Draco with his trademark goons, Crabbe and Goyle. "Fighting already, are we? Except for Millie, of course – now that's a good girl."

'We'll see what you'll say,' Millicent thought vengefully, 'once my ring's on your finger, and my hands on your neck!' But outloud she naught, and just… stole a look in the Grainger's direction – how was she doing?

Hermione was doing not really better.

"So, 'Mione, are you ready to experience the excitement that is Snape?" Ron spoke, as he, Hermione and Harry sat the class's front. Personally, Ron would've rather sat in the back, but Harry and Hermione had outvoted his decision, and so now he suffered. Well, not really suffered, more like he felt jittery in awaiting the suffering that was Snape.

And the latter didn't disappoint. The latter… just appeared in the doorway, carrying a hefty-looking staff, the same staff that was used yesterday by Dumbledore to teleport. This time Hermione was able to see it in greater detail… and what she saw caused her to frown in concern. She didn't like the look of that staff at all.

"Greetings, class!" professor Snape meanwhile continued, ignoring the students' glares – as always. "I am going to teach you DADA via the special and secret Death Eater program, so special, that the Death Eaters themselves don't know about it yet, never mind Voldemort. The program is based on the statements of ancient scriptures, dated far before the births of the Founders and the super-modern and super-secret methods, developed specifically for the Aurors by the Untouchables at the request of the Ministry of Magic."

There was a pause, and the skeptical grins started to appear on the faces of various students, especially those of male gender, like Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy.

"You don't believe me?" professor Snape asked unusually mildly. Immediately, everybody stiffened, remembering that their problems were just beginning. "Very well. I'll make a demonstration. Serpentsortia!"

There was a pause in the air, and suddenly there were three huge, mean-looking serpents, glaring at the Potion Master. For a few seconds they looked at the man, and then they struck.

For the next few minutes the class just stared in shock at the twisting knot of sinewy bodies, and then something flashed – once, and twice, and thrice, and the walls were splattered with something dark and sticky, and the knot fell apart, and professor Snape arose, unharmed.

"Proof enough?" he said, without any mildness now.

In reply, about a third of the student body present promptly fainted.

It was some time later. Due to the faintings the today's class was dismissed earlier, and Millicent took that opportunity to catch and "frog-march" Hermione to their yesterday's meeting place again.

"You know, this is getting repetitious," Hermione grumbled at the older girl without much fear. This lack of fear made Millicent oddly surprised, almost pleased. "What do you want now?"

"Information," Millicent replied immediately. "This was real?"

"You have no idea just how real. That staff – I've read about such magical items – it was made by High Elves long ago before the Founders were born indeed!"

"High Elves? Are we talking about house elves here?"

"No, 'our house elves' were the Hufflepuff Mudbloods of the elven race," Hermione explained. "Look, let's just say that that staff is a very ancient and powerful magical artifact and be done with it, okay?"

"No, not okay. How did it end-up in Dumbledore's hands?"

"Don't look at me," Hermione shook her head. "There are too many variables to make a serious statement."

"So make a non-serious one," Millicent suggested.

Hermione glared, but Millicent was made of sterner stuff than most other students and didn't flinch. "No, really, make one, and don't say that it's against the Grainger family code."

Hermione paused, visibly struggling, and finally admitted. "There are two versions. One is that Dumbledore has pulled the staff out of the 'larder' of the Ministry, but that's doubtful-"

"Wait. Why is it doubtful?"

"Hello, last year's events!"

"Yeah, but now it's over, right? The minister is on Dumbledore's side now?"

"Millicent, I'll reveal to you a terrible secret: the minister decides nothing in the Ministry. He can change our lives but he can't affect the Ministry. And it is the Ministry and its' workers that are not on Dumbledore's side or on Death Eaters'. The Ministry is looking out for itself!"

Millicent frowned in thought. "So it's not so much a two-way fight as a three-way fight? That's not good."

"No, because the loser may end up winning nothing more than a field of junk, if you know what I mean."

"The implications are clear enough. So the Ministry and Dumbledore aren't finished with each other yet and even You-Know-Who can't fundamentally change it. Then how did the staff get here?"

"The Forbidden Forest."

"You mean the centaurs?"

"Or somebody – or something – else. I really don't trust that forest, you know? It's full of wild magic and sorcery."

"Right," Millicent shrugged. "So Dumbledore got the staff on loan or something? I don't believe it."

"Me neither. And another thing-"

Sudden footsteps and voices in the main corridor interrupted Hermione before she could finish what she was saying, because they belonged to Harry and Ron.

Frantically and almost scared the two girls looked at each other. "We'll talk tomorrow," Hermione promised.

"Tomorrow is no DADA!"

"Tomorrow we have Care of the Magical Creatures! See you then!" and Hermione ran away.

Millicent Bulstrode remained behind, genuinely confused: how did what happened happen?

"So, Ron, what did disturb you so much that you couldn't wait to tell me?" Hermione asked her best friend Ron Weasley in a huff.

"Hey, don't take that tone with me, 'Mione," Ron said quite huffily himself. "After all, where have you vanished after the lesson?"

"Maybe I got sick and hid to relieve myself?"

"Err-" Ron froze, startled by that sudden vision that was so… unmatching to his mind's-eye view of Hermione.

"Harry?" Hermione turned to her other best friend, seeing that Ron apparently went into a stupor. Fortunately for both Hermione and Ron, Harry was quite coherent and sane.

"Look, Hermione, it's nothing, it's just that Ron had sort-of sent a message to his dad about the last day's event, and we discovered that the whole thing with the theoretical antidotes was a trick – Dumbledore had tricked us!"

"The bastard!" echoed Ron in a rumbling, sounding like one of his older brothers – Bill or Charlie. "I wish that we could pay him back!"

"Hmm," Hermione said, "I think I have a sort of an idea. Can you two keep quiet and let me think?"

Once again, Millicent was spending her evening alone, save for Blaise, who busy reading her usual Gothic novel. Only this time – things were different.

Different… that may have been too optimistic a word. So what if she and the Gryffindor seemed to have finally found some shared interests and what-not? That didn't have to do anything serious, nothing important! After all, say what you would, but Grainger did have friends – and they were good friends! And Millicent… had nothing. That was so depressing!

"Stop sighing already!" Blaise suddenly yelled, not breaking away from her book. "I'm trying to read here!"

That was a bad thing. Millicent's face darkened abruptly and she half-turned, intent on giving herself a good physical on behalf of Blaise, and that was nothing to smirk about – Millicent was - probably - the third strongest Slytherin after Crabbe and Goyle. Thus, if she had landed just one good punch at Blaise's head (her favorite place), the smaller girl would've knocked unconscious with ease. But, at that moment…

"Millicent Bulstrode?" some third year appeared in the dormitory doorway.

"What?" Millicent whirled around like an angry bear.

"Quiet!" added Blaise in her shrill voice.

In short, the third year just gave Millicent the note and quickly fled, unwilling to deal with two such formidable opponents, leaving the message to Millicent to read.

"…Well? What is it?" Blaise asked after a while, seeing that the bigger girl was keeping silence as she read.

"None of your business."

"Aw, come on!"

"It's a promise to make me an honorary Gryffindor?"

"Yeah, right!"

"Oh well, I tried to tell you…"

"And now with more feeling."

"Do you want to have your butt kicked from here to Wales?"

"Fine!" Blaise snorted and returned to her book.

Millicent smiled and went to sleep.

After a while, when it became obvious that Millicent was asleep and Pansy and the rest of the six years were coming back, Blaise Zabini put her book down and wondered, just what had her fellow Slytherin got herself into? And if she did, what was it to her, Blaise?

And why couldn't she find answers to those questions?

It was the last bit that disturbed Blaise most of all in all probability – that she didn't have any answers. That was bad, and her only potential source of information – Millicent – was downright dangerous: she could easily kick Blaise's butt, even land her in the infirmary, as it almost happened to another girl some time ago: Millicent never joked around and couldn't tolerate humor at all.

So… what to do? Return to her novel? Blaise shook her head: this was much more exciting – and Voldemort-free, and that was the best thing.

Blaise finally smiled, and went to bed. She wasn't sure what was going to happen tomorrow, but she was going to keep an eye on Bulstrode all the same.