Voldemort takes a DADA lesson
"Now, Dark Arts." Voldemort announced impressively as he strode to the front of the classroom, slit-like crimson eyes surveying the class of trembling first-years.
A small blonde Gryffindor in the second row lifted her hand timidly. "Sir, don't you mean Defence Against the Dark Arts?"
The Dark Lord pointed his wand at her and muttered lazily, "Avada Kedavra."
She dropped dead with a strangled squeak. Everyone in the class stared, awe-struck.
"Sir, what did you do to her?"
"Only killed her. Just kick her to one side, that's it," The Dark Lord instructed casually, watching as a Slytherin boy dragged her off to one side of the classroom. "Right," he continued almost cheerfully, addressing the class once more, "Who here kno--"
A puzzled voice broke the rapt silence. "Volde--Professor, aren't you supposed to be dead?---"
"--Avada Kedavra." Professor Voldemort snarled at a Gryffindor boy in the front row with scruffy black hair and eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad. He was called Harry something… (Voldemort was temporarily deafened by the narrator and several other people cheering). Chucking the now dead hero of the wizarding world to one side by the scruff, Voldemort dusted his hands off as if they'd been contaminated before returning to the front of the classroom.
Another hand rose slowly. "Sir, why are you killing us all and shouldn't you be called Professor Riddle?"
"Avada Kedavra."
The class were understandably quiet by now; not to mention rather pale.
"Right… Anyone else have any questions? – queries? – critiques?" with each question he took a step-glide towards the class, finishing with a spitting hiss as his nose… thing… ended up an inch away from a rather petrified skinny Gryffindor boy's own. The whole class gave a little jump where they sat, a mixture of squeaks, meeps, and shrieks cut short in their throat.
As Voldemort turned around again the boy wiped the spit from his face with a grimace.
"Good. Now we'll start with something basic… ah yes, the killing curse. Can anyone tell me about it?"
A Gryffindor girl with bushy hair started waving her hand frantically in the air. "Please sir, we're only first-years, we aren't supposed to--"
"Avada Kedavra. There we go, thanks for helping with the demonstration miss Mudblo--oh sorry, I mean Granger." By now the whole class was inching towards the door. "All you need to do is wave your wand and repeat the words I just used. Simple really, you've already had four goes at seeing how it works today. Okay, Purebloods snag a Mudblood partner and lets give this Unforgivable Curse a go!" Voldemort instructed excitedly.
Torn between the desire to run for their lives – incidentally here the expression is used literally – or obey a teacher and not fail the subject, the class all shuffled into pairs. A boy with flaming red hair seemed to have been left without a partner.
"Hmm. Well you might as well sit this one out, please, take a seat. Avada Kedavra."
Sure enough the boy slumped back down onto his bench.
"Such lovely obedient students." Voldemort's lip curled. "Right Purebloods, repeat after me. Avada Kedavra…"
"Avada Kedavra!" The half of the class repeated. There was a sudden green flash and several people decided to have a nice nap… for all eternity, mwahahaha! (The narrator pauses here to apologise for anyone who is reading this fan fic to enjoy a happy story where good triumphs over evil. The authors themselves are rather deranged.)
"Very good for first-years." Voldemort nodded happily, observing the dead Mudbloods. What a lovely sight. He was almost smiling sincerely. He could imagine it now… Sorry Headmaster, we had a little accident in the DADA classroom… nothing serious, just a couple of dead students who don't deserve to learn here anyway-- er, I mean poor, poor, muggle borns.
"Sir, this lesson is a little unorthodox." A Gryffindor ventured nervously. "I mean, we've only just started shouldn't we be reading about more simple stuff before moving onto advanced practical?" he was one of the lucky few muggle-borns who's partner had not managed to perform the killing curse correctly.
"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort snapped. "I'm the effing teacher damnit! If I say we're killing each other, we're bloody well going to kill each other!"
"But sir he has – erm, has – a point. If we're doing practical at all shouldn't we be learning simple shielding charms?"
"Avada Kedavra," Another dead student. So tragic. "Fine then, if you want to learn how to use simple defence techniques, I'll teach you."
The class didn't look convinced.
"All you have to do if a dark wizard is about to kill you is put your arms above your face like so. Then wave them frantically and shriek."
The class did a wonderful imitation of large rodents trying to conduct air traffic.
"Brilliant. Perfect." He smirked. "Now to test how strong your defences are." Voldemort rounded on a Gryffindor girl and pointed his wand at her. The girl flapped her arms around, tongue sticking out in concentration.
"Avada Kedavra, Oh dear, seems Miss Brown's defence wasn't strong enough. Do stop whimpering Miss Patil." Another flash of green light accompanied the first. The whimpering stopped for some reason.
"Thank you," Voldemort sighed, becoming slightly annoyed by this time. "Right everyone else keep practising that charm and I'll come around and check you all in turn…"
About five minutes later the class was very silent. Very silent indeed. Voldemort was beaming to himself, crimson gaze once more surveying the students.
"Now, lets see who's left…" Only one was left standing. Damn, how did he escape? "Avada Kedavra! That's for being difficult!" he hissed.
Slumping back onto a chair Voldemort swung his feet up on his desk. Conjuring a piping cup of tea from the air with his wand. He gave a merry giggle as he sipped the warm drink. "Well that lesson didn't go too bad. Lets see, I've got the third year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs next…"
Fin