3.

"Today, we will learn the theory behind temporal displacement within Charms work. Temporal displacements allow you to do wonderful things to enhance your charm-based spells..."

Professor Flitwick stood in the front of his class on a stack of outdated books and tomes. For the most part, he had the undivided attention of the entire class. Despite his diminutiveness, his squeaky voice, and his goblin-like features, there was no denying his skill and knowledge. He was one of the few Hogwarts professors who could command respect without even trying. Even the Slytherins, who gave the impression that they only respected professors within their own house, held Professor Flitwick in high-esteem. His lectures captivated his students, except Marcus Flint.

Marcus sat in the seat next to Mathis Pritchard, a sturdy slack-jawed lad with coal-black hair and deep grey eyes. Leaning on his elbow, slouched in his chair, Marcus stared at the arched window immediately to his left. His quill continued to scrawl and doodle despite his attention long-since wavering. His eyes darted to his parchment for less than a second before he shifted in his seat, staring overhead. He began counting the web-like cracks on the ceiling, but only made it to thirty-seven before shifting his weight to his other elbow and gawping at his scribbling.

"Flint!" Mathis jeered, elbowing Marcus out of his reverie. "Were you paying attention?"

Marcus scowled in response.

"Sod it all, Flint! I'm not going to get a 'T' in this class because you can't very well pay attention!"

From behind, Hufflepuff Troy Davis leaned over his desk to flout, "Well, waddya expect when you buddy-up with a troll, Pritchard."

Marcus swivelled in his seat, peering at Troy with narrow-eyes. Troy blinked, as if expecting a punch, but did not back down. Indeed, he matched Marcus' derision with a scowl of his own.

"I'm not scared of you, Marcus," he claimed, only slightly convincingly.

"Call me 'troll' one more time and you will be scared of me, Davis," Marcus warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"Whatever," Troy dismissed whilst leaning back into his seat, "flippin' troglox—!"

Troy hardly had time to finish his insult before Marcus lounged at him, practically leaping over the Hufflepuff's table. Troy tried to pull back, but one of Marcus' hands were already grabbing at his throat as the other pounding into his chest.

The closest students jumped from the seats, backing away, while the other students craned their necks to see more. Soon, Marcus and Troy were rolling on the dusty floor and throwing punches, most of which barely made contact despite their close proximity. A chorus of 'fight, fight, fight' reverberated in the room even as Professor Flitwick levitated over to the brawling youths.

"Boys! Boys! Stop that this instant!" he ordered as he hovered above them.

He drew his wand, pointing at Marcus and Troy, and incanted "Cedere Sistere!"

A flash of white light filled the room. As everyone's sight slowly began to return, the other students gawped at Marcus and Troy, who both remained frozen in their pose, teeth gnashed, fists drawn back for a blow, and hate seeping from every pour.

"What... is... happen... ing?" Troy managed to mutter, even though his lips were locked in place.

Professor Flitwick peered down and, with a flick of the wand, pushed the two lads apart. He pointed at Marcus' feet and whispered, "Incedere Head of house."

Marcus' feet began to march in place, as if by its own will. Professor Flitwick folded his arms in front of his diminutive chest and peered at him.

"You will tell Professor Snape that you are to have detention tonight for starting and/or engaging in roughhousing," he ordered, matter-of-factly.

Marcus grunted, but made no attempt to resist as his feet began to walk him towards the door, out of the classroom, and down the steps to the Slytherin dungeons. If Flitwick performed the same spell on Troy and ordered the same punishment, he never found out. He assumed that he did not.

§

"... many of you will hardly believe this is real magic."

Oliver Wood sat wide-eyed in the second row of his Potions class. His face was contorted with an expression of rapt awe for the dark-cloaked professor with the long, jet-black hair that lay as long as his own, except bone straight. Professor Snape exuded power and authority. His movements and stance commanded respect.

"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes," he said, walking slowly around the class, glaring at each student with calculating menace.

When his eyes met with Oliver's, he wrapped himself in the cloak of his robes, which managed to billow, despite the eerie stillness of the room. His eyes widened, as if he found something in Oliver's thoughts that surprised him. Oliver looked away, blushing.

"I can teach you the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses," he said, his eyes burrowing a hole through Oliver, "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death."

The dramatic pause was not lost on the first-years. The room was so stilly, one would think Professor Snape could stop time, as well.

He proceeded to the front of the class as he began his lecture. Like a tidal wave, the students turned and looked inquisitively to each other, hearing a rhythmic cadence of marching feet. Within seconds, the entire class had shifted in their chairs and looked to the back of the room. The louder the footsteps became, the more nervous and stentorian the students' clamouring became, much to their professor's resentment.

The door swung open and Marcus trudged to the front of the class, trying in vain to halt his trainers from continuing. The class could hardly contain themselves. They began to point and snigger, even when Marcus glared at them menacingly.

His chin jutted out and his teeth clench as his eyes met Oliver's, who had the decency to slide down in his chair and hide behind Percy. In stark contrast, however, Percy continued to laugh with the class until Professor Snape silenced them all with a raised hand.

Professor Snape drew his wand, pointed at Marcus' marching feet, and hissed, "Finite Incantatem."

Marcus' feet stopped. To his credit, the indignant and defiant grimace hardly left his face even as Professor Snape towered over him.

"What is the meaning of this interruption, Flint?" he asked, so low Oliver could barely hear.

"Detention… Flitwick—"

"Professor Flitwick," he corrected, again folding his spidery arms within robes. "I will not have a repeat of last year, Marcus. You will not make a fool of the Slytherin House with your complete and utter incompetence."

Oliver tried not to look on, but was mesmerized by his teacher's over-powering authority and Marcus' unwavering rebelliousness.

"You will meet me after your classes for the remainder of the week…"

Only then did Marcus' expression turn to something close to panic.

"But sir…? Quidditch…"

Professor Snape leaned dangerously close to Marcus as he spoke with narrowed eyes.

"Then you should have thought of that before you let your idiocy get the best of you. Besides," he straightened his posture, yet continued to glare down his nose at Marcus as he continued, "If your flying is anywhere near last year's display, I can assure you I would rather have a toad flying on the team than the likes of you."

Percy sniggered, receiving a sharp look from Professor Snape and Marcus.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for sticking noses in places they don't belong."

"But, sir," Percy exclaimed looking shocked and, dare Oliver believe, offended, "that's hardly fair!"

""I can make it twenty, if you like?"

Percy opened his mouth to protest more when Oliver elbowed Percy in the ribs, whispering, "Don't!"

Oliver's eyes glanced back up towards Marcus. Fear coursed through his veins when he saw Marcus' staring back with a most hateful expression on his face; brow furrowed, teeth gnashed, face twisted in anger. Oliver quickly looked away, burying his face in his Potions' tome.

"I expect you here at five o'clock, sharp. Get out of my sight!" Professor Snape barked, turning on his heel and walking to his desk.

For a second, Marcus looked as though he were going to fight his way out of detention. He thought better of it, however, turned on his heel, and left the room.

§

"Bill and Charlie warned me about Professor Snape," Percy prattled on as he, Ethan, and Oliver walked up the stairwell leading out of the dungeons. "But I always thought they were simply trying to scare me."

"Way to lose us ten points, Percy," Ethan admonished through a pout.

Oliver stopped walking, abruptly, palming his forehead, "Oh, man! I think I left my notes in class."

"I'm not going back there," Ethan exclaimed, with a panicked look in his eyes, "Not with Spider-Snape there!"

Oliver turned to head back down the steps, "Go on, then. I'll meet you next class."

"I'll save you a seat!" Percy called out as Oliver ducked from view.

As eerie as the dungeon rooms were during class, they were far creepier when emptied. Eyeing his notes, Oliver took a deep breath and moved swiftly to his desk. He recalled Professor McGonagall's words from earlier, 'you're safe'. He gathered his parchments, put them neatly in his bookbag, and hurried out of the room, breathing a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him.

Once he reached the stairwell, he heard scuffling feet and hushed whispers, followed by a much louder 'ow!' Oliver considered finding a different way out of the dungeons, but he knew too little about Hogwarts and he was already late for his next class.

With renewed resolution, he began to walk up the stairs.

"Ow, Marcus! Stop!"

"Shut up!"

Marcus had a small lad pushed against the corner as the stairs angled to the left. Oliver recognised the first-year from his Potions class. It was Derrick.

"I saw you laughing at me earlier," Marcus said, shoving the poor, frightened boy against the wall.

Derrick's head hit the wall with a small 'thud'. Marcus grabbed a handful of the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to him before slamming him against the wall again.

"Ow!"

"Think it was funny, yeah?"

"No! Marcus, I wasn't laughing! I… Ow!"

"Liar! Don't lie to me, fuckin' poof!"

Marcus practically snarled the words. Derrick looked over Marcus' shoulder to Oliver. Realising he was looking at someone else in the stairwell, Marcus quickly turned to face Oliver, releasing his victim. Taking advantage of Marcus' diverted attention, Derrick darted up the stairs, leaving Oliver alone.

"Bloody hell!" Marcus exclaimed, trying to grab for Derrick. However, it was too late. In an instant, Marcus was atop Oliver, grabbing at his shirt and forcing him to take Derrick's place against the wall.

"I'll take care of Derrick later," Marcus said, his voice guttural.

He leaned closer to Oliver, who trembled in his grip. A sneer stretched across his lips.

"Marcus, I—"

"Shut up!" he yelled, pushing him bodily against the wall.

Slowly, his fist drew back.

"You've been asking for this one, fuckin' poof!"

He was helpless, as usual. He could not raise an arm to defend himself or push Marcus away. All he could do was close his eyes and wait for the inevitable to come.

º