CHAPTER 4

First Day of Classes

The first day of classes started off with a bang.

A thunderstorm, to be precise.

At breakfast, the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall faithfully reproduced the leaden skies outside the castle. The buzz of conversation carried on, punctuated by sporadic flashes of lightning and peals of thunder. The storm sounded like it was centered directly over the castle. Harry reflected that candlelight really did have its merits. He sighed. It was hard enough getting up in the morning, he felt, without the weather itself conspiring to make you want to linger in bed, bundled up to the ears in warm blankets.

Breakfast itself was uneventful. The morning owl-post was light, since none but the most clinging parents had had time to miss their offspring after only a single day's absence.

Just before the meal ended, Professor Dumbledore rose and waited for the voices to slowly die away.

"Good morning to you all," he said. "I should like to remind all sixth-year students to remain in the Great Hall for discussion of your NEWT studies. The rest of you may go to your scheduled classes."

The Great Hall emptied rapidly, with the exception of forty sixth-year students and a handful of faculty, including Madam Pomfrey. Professor McGonagall motioned to the students to gather at the front of the room. She waved her wand at the tables and said, "Reducio!" All but four of the tables disappeared. Professor McGonagall stowed her wand in a pocket of her robe.

"Most of you," she said, "have decided on a particular career or area in which you wish to pursue further, specialized knowledge. Your faculty advisor for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts will be determined by your particular area of interest, but--" she fixed them with a stern eye-- "you must demonstrate proficiency in several different subjects in order to obtain your NEWTs at the end of your seventh and final year."

She turned to the other teachers. "If you please?" Professors Snape, Lovejoy, and Flitwick each went to stand at separate tables. Madam Pomfrey joined Snape at his table. Hermione's eyebrows rose with curiosity. Professor McGonagall resumed.

"You will report to the table that represents your particular area of study. If you have not yet decided where your interest lies, remain where you are for the present. Now, those of you who have an interest in hexes, incantations, and charms, please join Professor Flitwick." The diminutive teacher beamed as several students made their way to his table.

"Everyone interested in Potions or Healing should report to Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey." Several more students, including Hermione and Malfoy, chose to do so.

"Those of you with an interest in furthering your working knowledge of Transfiguration will be under my supervision; kindly come to this table," said Professor McGonagall, with a regal wave toward the table in front of her. About half the remaining students joined her there.

"Everyone wishing to pursue a career as an Auror," she continued, "will please report to Professor Lovejoy." The Auror group was comprised of Harry, Ron, Neville, Ernie McMillan, Susan Bones, and Parvati and Padma Patil.

A handful of students remained unsorted, Crabbe and Goyle among them. Seeing this, Malfoy rolled his eyes in disgust, then ostentatiously turned his back on them. His two erstwhile henchmen huddled together uncomfortably, no longer certain of their status in the face of this unexpected development.

Ron nudged Harry. "Probably wondering where the future Death Eaters are supposed to report, eh?" he sniggered.

Professor McGonagall surveyed the groups for a moment. Then she addressed the undecided students.

"Those of you who have not yet chosen an area of specialization will return to your house common rooms for now. However," she continued in a raised voice as Crabbe and Goyle edged toward the door, "all of you will report to your Heads of House at four o'clock this afternoon to discuss this matter further." She looked at them over the top of her spectacles.

"The very fact that you have made it as far as your sixth year indicates that you have the potential to make something of yourselves," she said. "Pray do not squander this opportunity due to mere indecision. I strongly suggest you spend your day giving serious thought to your futures." The undecided few shuffled off to their classes with guilty backward glances.

Professor McGonagall addressed the remaining students.

"You will now go with your teachers to your respective classrooms, where you will discuss the requirements for your particular courses of study," she said briskly. "Although you will partake in a variety of subjects as part of your chosen fields, your new groups' faculty advisors will guide your overall progress through the completion of your NEWTs. Good luck to you all."

The professors shepherded their students out of the Great Hall. Professor Lovejoy smiled warmly at her assembly of would-be Aurors.

"Well!" she said brightly. "We are a small group--but a select one, I have no doubt. Let us proceed!" She led the way out of the Great Hall and up the main staircase to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. When they entered, Harry was relieved to see that all traces of the previous occupant, Professor Umbridge, were gone--no sign of anything pink, no slightest scrap of lace doily remained. Instead, several large posters had been hung on the walls, each displaying a different kind of dangerous magical being and recommendations for how to handle it. Among them Harry noted vampires, werewolves, and boggarts--with the last two of which he had gained rather more experience in his third year than he'd really wanted.

Professor Lovejoy followed the students into the room and shut the door firmly. She strode briskly to the front of the room and turned to face them, leaning against the front of her desk.

"Hmm, it is rather dark in here," she said. Although the windows in the classroom were quite tall, only a halfhearted kind of watery light entered due to the ongoing storm outside. Taking her wand from a pocket of her voluminous robes, she flicked it at each of the six candle-filled chandeliers that marched the length of the ceiling. Instantly a warm yellow glow emanated from them, dissipating the gloom and making even the cavernous classroom feel cozy.

"Much better," said Professor Lovejoy. "There will be enough talk of Dark doings in this room as it is; we might as well have as much light as possible! Now then. I'm interested to see that so few people have chosen to become Aurors. I should like to find out just why you lot did so. Let's take a moment so that each of you can tell us your reasons for wanting to be an Auror; it will help me learn a bit more about you, as well as perhaps helping you to clarify in your own minds the reasons for your wishing to tread this difficult and perilous path."

She pointed at Susan. "Susan Bones, will you go first?"

Susan colored slightly upon finding herself the focus of everyone's attention. "Er, my auntie works for the Ministry of Magic and she's told me about some of the things Aurors do," she said. "I think it's fantastic that they're out there all the time, working to keep us safe and everything. And not just us, but Muggles too. My auntie is always saying there are never enough Aurors, and they're pretty important to have around, so I feel kind of like it's my--well, my duty to volunteer." She stumbled to a stop, then added, "I was thinking I might like to be a Healer, but I thought if there were more Aurors, perhaps we'd need fewer Healers."

Professor Lovejoy laughed. "You do have a point, Susan. Thank you. Ernie McMillan?"

Ernie got to his feet. He had grown and seemed to have developed more of a presence over the summer. He aimed his steady gaze at his classmates. "A lot of my friends are either Muggles or part-Muggle. I think they'd be the first to suffer if someone like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were to gain too much power. I felt the best way to help them, and us too, was to become an Auror."

Professor Lovejoy clapped her hands. "Well put, Mr McMillan. Selflessness and loyalty--worthwhile qualities indeed." She looked around. "Neville Longbottom?"

Neville got to his feet. He raised his eyes to look directly at Professor Lovejoy. His voice was low and shook a little as he said, "My mum and da were tortured by the Dark Lord until they went mad. He used the Cruciatus curse on them. They're in the Mental Maladies ward of St. Mungo's, probably for the rest of their lives." His fists clenched, and he said fiercely, "I want him dead."

His friends stared with surprise at the usually diffident Neville. This cold implacability was a side of him they had never seen.

Without waiting to be called on, Harry rose and put a hand on Neville's shoulder.

"I want Voldemort dead, too," he stated baldly. "Him and his Death-Eaters, and any more like them."

Silently, Parvati, Padma, and Ron rose to their feet as well.

"I think we all feel the same way," Ron said. "You-Know-Who--sorry, Harry, I still can't quite bring myself to say his name--has hurt people we know and will keep on unless--no, until he's stopped. We can't live our lives just waiting for someone else to stop him. We all know that Harry's life is at stake, that either he or You-Know-Who has to die, and Dumbledore believes the prophecy is true. Well, I for one am not willing to sit and wait for the Dark Lord to come calling. When he does, I want to be ready to do anything I can to help Harry beat him. And frankly," he finished, "the thought of all those Death-Eaters on the loose gives me the creeps anyway." The other students giggled, breaking the tension a little.

Ron looked at Professor Lovejoy, an apprehensive look on his freckled face. "Do you think it will ever really be over?" he asked. She looked at them gravely.

"It's difficult to say, Ron. Scattered as they have been without the Dark Lord to guide them until recently, the Death Eaters may be a bit unorganized perhaps, but they all are certainly capable of enough evil deeds to make them considerably dangerous even on their own. And it doesn't stop with them, you know." She turned to the nearest poster.

"There are many forms of evil in the world, just waiting to pounce on the unwary." She indicated a poster depicting a mountain troll. "Some, like these, are fairly mindless killing machines. They simply go and go until they are stopped. But many are more devious, more cunning, and well able to think for themselves. You must remember, however that this doesn't necessarily make them any more dangerous; it just changes the approach one must take in order to successfully combat them."

Professor Lovejoy cleared her throat. "My next question may seem...unnecessary, especially since you are all here by choice. But I don't know how many of you have actually thought about this in so many words. You've explained why you have chosen to become Aurors. Now I'd like to hear just what you think an Auror is." She smiled encouragingly. "If there are any gross misapprehensions about what this job involves, we'd best address them before you get in too deep." Her eyes roamed over the small group. "Who would like to go first?"

Parvati raised her hand and stood, bashfully facing the class. In a voice that was barely audible, she said, "The Aurors are like a magical police force. They find out who is doing Dark magic and arrest them."

Her twin sister, Padma, stood as well. "Yes--they are magical law enforcers," she said.

Professor Lovejoy tilted her head to one side, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Aurors are constantly on the watch for Dark magic, it's true," she said, "but it's not that simple. The Ministry does have the Improper Use of Magic office to deal with general abuse of magical powers, you know. So Aurors are not precisely policemen." Padma and Parvati sat down, looking slightly chagrined. Harry waved his hand in the air, and Professor Lovejoy motioned for him to speak. He stood.

"I think it's more specific than just looking for Dark magic," he said. "Aurors do that, but I think their main purpose is to destroy Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Although as for Voldemort himself..." His voice trailed off as he thought of the prophecy. "I don't know if the Aurors will be able to do anything about him. Not to sound conceited or anything," he said apologetically," but I rather think maybe...I might have to do that myself."

Professor Lovejoy said, "Actually, Aurors have existed since long before the Dark Lord's time. It's entirely true that one of their main tasks these days is, as you say, Harry, to maintain a watch over him and his followers and prevent their evil deeds as far as possible. And on the rare occasions when the identity of a Death Eater is found out, the Ministry of course tries to act on that information immediately and take them out of circulation." She looked at Harry, compassion in her eyes. "I don't know what is destined to happen between you and the Dark Lord, Harry. You may be right. No matter how much planning is done and how many leads the Aurors get, it may be that they will somehow be prevented from coming to your assistance, leaving you to face him on your own."

"However," she continued, "Dark Lord or no Dark Lord, we must always strive to remember that evil comes in many forms--" she indicated the posters around the room-- "and Aurors must learn how to deal with them all." She strode to the blackboard and, with a wave of her wand, the word AUROR appeared. She turned to the class.

"Can anyone tell me the origin of this word?" she asked. No one leaped to answer, but after a moment of silence Neville rose.

"Does it come from aura?" he asked hopefully.

Professor Lovejoy nodded. "That's a good guess. The word 'Auror' is believed to have its roots either in the word aurora, meaning light, or aurum, meaning gold. In a way they both refer to the same thing: light, brightness, shining. In short, an Auror's job is to bring Light into the Dark--to expose the evil hidden there and root it out." She smiled sympathetically at the students, who looked somewhat overwhelmed by this grandiose-sounding goal. "Cheer up, you lot," she said, laughing. "We don't have to do it all in one day!"

She went to the row of cupboards beneath the windows and, opening one, peered inside. "Ah, here we are. Ron and...let me see...Susan, will you please distribute these books among the class?" She held up a copy of Mischief or Maleficence: When Should an Auror Intervene? "This is not your main textbook for the year, but it does have some helpful ideas about how Aurors determine whether to get involved in a given situation." Ron and Susan thumped a copy of the book down on each person's desk and returned to their seats. Everyone had opened their books and was leafing through the pages at random.

Professor Lovejoy said, "As you are aware, you will be continuing your studies in several areas for these next two years. As Professor McGonagall said, I will be your main faculty advisor from now until your graduation in two years. Defense Against the Dark Arts will be a major part of your studies, of course. However, you will also be expected to continue your work in Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions."

Harry and Ron groaned. They weren't looking forward to two more years of study under Snape, especially since a good portion of their NEWTs depended on their performance in his class.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape, it must be said, shared their lack of enthusiasm.

After lunch the Auror group reported to the dungeon classroom where Snape taught Potions. After this first, introductory day with just their own group, they would meet for Potions classes in combination with the Potions and Healing NEWT students on alternate days.

No one wanted to be up front under Snape's scrutiny, so there was a certain amount of jostling involved in determining seating arrangements. When it became obvious that all seven students were sitting as far at the back as possible, Susan, Ernie, and Neville--with martyred sighs--moved slightly closer to the front.

No sooner had they reseated themselves than Snape exploded into the classroom in a whirl of robes, his swift passage to the front of the room blowing more than one roll of parchment onto the floor. Although his usual furious mode of entry never failed to strike terror into the hearts of students for the first year and sometimes even longer, for the most part the sixth-years had grown accustomed to it. It probably didn't bode well for his mood, but that was not unusual either.

Snape reached the podium and turned to face the class, his usual sour expression in place. He surveyed the group with distaste, then rolled his eyes when he saw that most of them were bunched up at the back of the dungeon.

"Move to the front. All of you. Now," he snapped. A bit sheepishly, everyone moved up to occupy the first two rows of desks. Snape tapped his fingers impatiently on the edge of the podium as he waited. Finally they were settled, and the rustle of robes and shuffling of feet died down. Snape gave the podium one final tap, loudly. More of a bang, really. All fidgeting stopped instantly.

"So. You have managed to make it to your sixth year," he sneered. Eyes flicking briefly in Harry's direction, he muttered, "Evidence, apparently, that miracles really do happen." For Snape this was a mild insult indeed. Harry supposed he was just warming up and there was worse to come.

"By now," said Snape, stalking back and forth in front of the classroom with an impatient flourish of his robes at every turn, "you should--should, I say--" with another glare at Harry-- "have a grasp of basic potion-making knowledge. You should know, for instance, what can happen if you do not follow directions precisely, if you do not time your potions exactly, or if you mistake your ingredients. If you do not possess this knowledge you do not belong in this classroom and you should leave. Now." He crossed his arms and waited, fingers tapping, lips compressed in a tight line. No one moved. With a disgusted look, Snape resumed pacing.

"Do not expect the next two years to be easy. The mere fact that you have chosen to become Aurors--" he spat the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth-- "is no guarantee that you will obtain NEWTs in my class. If you want credit you'll earn it. You will not be mollycoddled with constant direction and correction. If you don't understand something, ask. If you pay attention, there should be no need to ask. There is no excuse for failure."

He smacked his wand against the blackboard, and a list of instructions appeared.

"This is the routine you will follow for the next two years." He turned to the class, who were listening attentively. "Well?" he barked. "Why aren't you writing this down?" Harry thought resentfully that you just couldn't win with Snape. If you weren't writing, you got barked at. If you were taking notes, as he had in his first year from the moment Snape began to speak, it didn't matter. You still got scolded. The students belatedly dragged quills and ink out of their bags and copied down the schedule, which read:

Monday: New potion. Memorize ingredients and list the function of each.

Tuesday: Memorize instructions for potion. Recite ingredients aloud in class from Monday's memorization.

Wednesday: Discuss uses for potion, and antidotes if applicable.

Thursday: Prepare potion.

Friday: Library research for term project. Project is due on the last day of term and will consist of six feet of parchment on an assigned potion as well as manufacture of the potion itself. Your essay will cover ingredients, uses for the potion, antidotes if applicable, and instructions for manufacture including step-by-step observations of your own results.

There was much whispered grumbling and exclamation about the nature and length of the research project assignment--six feet of parchment!--mixed with the scratching of quills, as the schedule was assiduously copied onto seven pieces of parchment.

"Silence!" thundered Snape. The grumbling and exclamations ceased abruptly. He waved his wand at the board again and the schedule disappeared to be replaced with the assignment for the current week--Veritaserum--followed by a long list of ingredients. Ron tsk'd loudly. Snape's head whipped around.

"Is there a problem, Weasley?" he inquired silkily. Ron reddened and averted his eyes.

"Well--it's just--I hadn't quite finished--" he stammered, falling silent under Snape's supercilious regard. He sighed, and began scribbling furiously to copy down the list of ingredients for the Veritaserum potion before that, too, should be whisked away. He looked up to see Harry staring fixedly at him in an attempt to get his attention.

"What?" Ron mouthed.

"You can copy mine," Harry whispered. "After class." Ron nodded, relieved. He turned back to his parchment to find Snape standing in front of his desk, a furious expression on his face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape told him. "There will be no idle chit-chat during this class. Visit with your--friends--later." To the class in general he said, "You would be well advised to do your own work. At NEWT level I should not be forced to put anti-cheating spells on your parchments...but I will if I feel it is necessary." He stalked back to the front of the class.

"Pay attention. I will not tell you twice. Veritaserum is one of the most important potions you will use if you do indeed, by the grace of all the powers that be, somehow manage to become Aurors." His expression said he doubted this eventuality. "Potter. Read the list of ingredients aloud and tell me the function of each. The rest of you: Pay. Attention. All of you will memorize this list and be able to recite it in class tomorrow."

Harry opened his mouth to read the first ingredient. Snape growled, "Standing, Potter. You will show some respect in my classroom." Harry stood, face burning with resentment, and, avoiding eye contact with Snape, he began to read aloud.

The same thought was in everyone's mind: this was going to be a very long year.