Wednesday, 10 November 1993
DADA Classroom
Madam Pomfrey released Mary for classes on Monday with the caveat that she was not to attempt anything too strenuous for the remainder of the week, while her newly-healed bones continued to strengthen themselves. For the most part, she felt herself again, though she still had no idea what she had been thinking, allowing Snape to erase her memories of Sunday afternoon and early evening. Apparently that had included at least a few conversations, because Hermione appeared at the Slytherin table at lunch to clarify whether she had wanted more information about dementors in general, or just how to get rid of them.
Mary had no recollection of any such conversation, but thought that learning how to get rid of dementors sounded like a fantastic idea. Apparently the answer, or at least the one that Hermione had managed to find with minimal research in the non-restricted part of the library, was to learn to cast the Patronus Charm. The problem was, the charm was a NEWT level defensive spell. All of the NEWT students had covered it in their first two weeks of DADA, but most of them still couldn't cast it properly.
The Ravenclaws who had mastered it had laughed derisively when Mary asked them whether they would be willing to teach her, telling her they had better things to do with their time than waste hours trying to teach NEWT material to thirteen-year-olds. The Slytherins she spoken to had been happy to do so… for a favor. Mary had told them that she would think about it, but that was a strategy of last resort: she had no desire whatsoever to have another favor hanging over her head when she had only just got free of the last one. So it was that Mary decided to stay behind after their Wednesday Defense lesson to ask Remus whether he had any ideas (or, failing that, whether he would teach them the spell himself). Lilian, her morbid curiosity recovered somewhat since Mabon, decided to tag along.
"Did you two want a closer look at the Kappa?" the professor asked as the last of the Hufflepuffs filed out.
"Not exactly," Lilian answered, with her trademark cheeky grin. "Liz?"
Mary sighed. "We were wondering if you knew anything about dementors."
"Is this about the Quidditch match?" Remus asked, taking a seat at his desk.
The girls nodded.
Now it was Remus' turn to heave a sigh. "I see. And you want to know why they affect you so strongly?"
Mary was somewhat taken aback, which let Lilian have the next word: "Actually, we want to know how to get rid of them, but that's a good question. Why do they make Liz pass out?"
The professor massaged his temples gently, as though regretting having made the assumption. "What do you know about dementors?" he asked them, rather hesitantly.
"Nobody seems to know much about them," Mary shrugged. "Except that the Patronus can get rid of them, but that's NEWT Charms." That wasn't strictly speaking true – they hadn't asked anyone else about anything other than how to fend them off, and Hermione hadn't yet managed to find more information for them. Apparently all the books that talked about them in detail were hidden away in the Restricted Section.
"They make you re-live your worst memories, right?" Lilian asked with a shudder. Mary squeezed her hand tightly. "Like a boggart shows you your fears?"
"Yes, in a manner of speaking," Remus said softly. "Dementors are among the foulest creatures to walk this Earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places. They glory in decay and despair. They drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even muggles can feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a dementor, and every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself – soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. And the worst that happened to you, Mary, is more than enough to make anyone collapse. There's nothing to feel ashamed of."
"But…" Mary hesitated, unwilling to contradict the professor in front of another student, even if they were both her friends.
"But what?"
"But, well… it's not that bad. They make me remember the Dark Lord killing my mother, but compared to, like, Luna, or Ginny Weasley, my worst memories aren't that bad. I didn't even know what was happening at the time – I couldn't see Thestrals until last year. And they didn't pass out, like on the train."
Remus shook his head slowly. "It's not just… a matter of how bad the experience was at the time. They make you re-live points where everything in your life went wrong. The memories connected to the most sorrow or pain. And they can change as you subconsciously connect events. In your case, when your parents were killed, you were sent to live with Petunia and Vernon – that memory isn't just about your parents dying, it's the moment when you were doomed to live with that neglectful, spiteful family, and denied a childhood full of magic."
"Oh." Mary couldn't really think of anything else to say to that.
Thankfully, Lilian seemed to realize this, and changed the subject. "Why did they show up at the match?"
Remus seemed just as eager to change the subject as Mary was. "They're getting hungry," he explained. "Dumbledore won't let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up. I don't think they could resist the excitement around the Quidditch field. All that excitement, with emotions running high… it would be their idea of a feast."
Both girls shivered. "But they're kept out, now?" Lilian asked, doubtless thinking of the fact that they had played their re-match only a day after the swarm – and she hadn't even seen it in person.
"Professor Dumbledore has reinforced the wards on the stands against them, and the Ministry sent a representative to clarify their orders: they are only to come to the grounds if they sense Black's presence."
"Is that going to be enough?" Mary asked.
Remus made a face. "That's exactly what your Head of House asked." Mary tried and failed to hide a proud smile. It was always a compliment for a Slytherin to be compared to Snape, unless it was in regards to their appearance. "There's also going to be a rotation," the Defense professor admitted. "Sending the dementors back to Azkaban on a regular basis so they don't get too… hungry."
"I can't believe they just let them feed on the prisoners," the younger Slytherin groused. Personally, she thought she'd rather just be killed outright than left with a dementor for any length of time.
"Better them than us, Liz," Lilian reminded her – this was the main argument for keeping prisoners at Azkaban, according to the articles that had run in the Prophet immediately after Black's escape: if they didn't, the dementors were liable to spread throughout the Isles looking for other prey. "Anyway, Professor, could you teach us to fend them off, just in case?"
"The Patronus Charm is the only one that works, unfortunately," he responded, after the slightest hesitation. "And as you know, it is very advanced magic."
"Please?" Mary gave the professor her best puppy-dog eyes.
"Mary…"
"I can't stay trapped in the castle forever, Remus! I have to at least try to learn to defend myself! If you won't teach me, I'll ask one of the seventh-years." She would, too. Even if it meant she had to owe them a favor. But she would ask Professor Flitwick, first, and maybe even Snape.
Whatever he saw on her face must have convinced him, because he capitulated with ill grace. "Oh, all right. But it'll have to wait until next term. I've got a lot to do before the holidays, and I've business to attend to in France over the break."
"Can I learn too?" Lilian asked excitedly.
Remus groaned. "I suppose. But neither of you are to attempt the spell unsupervised in the meanwhile."
"Yes, sir," the girls chorused, grinning.
"I'm serious! The Patronus is a very powerful spell, and there is every chance that you will exhaust yourselves badly in the attempt, possibly to the point that you cannot make it to the hospital wing."
They nodded again, more solemnly, before Lilian asked, "What about Hermione?"
Mary rolled her eyes. If anyone was likely to exhaust themselves trying to learn NEWT magic, it was their Ravenclaw friend, but Lilian was right: she would want to learn anything they were learning.
"Fine, but just the three of you," Remus insisted. "Don't go telling everyone, either. It'll be difficult enough with just you, and Madam Pomfrey will have my head if underclassmen start showing up in droves after reaching for magic beyond their grasp."
"Thanks, Remus," Mary said, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It wasn't much, but a promise that he would try to teach her was far, far better than nothing at all.
"Thank you, professor," Lilian echoed, and Remus rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, now get going, before my next class shows up, eh?"
The girls took off giggling and debating how to tell Hermione that they had signed her up for more lessons. It hardly mattered: she was bound to be excited, either way.
Friday, 12 November 1993
Great Hall
"Don't tell anyone," Tracey announced at breakfast a few days later, "but I heard the Board of Governors is holding a vote on Monday for new standards for professors starting next term."
It escaped nobody's notice that she made this announcement loud enough for the Hufflepuffs to overhear. The whole school would know about it by dinner. Mary nearly dropped her fork in surprise. She had lost track of the state of the Binns and Hagrid petitions while distracted by Quidditch Drama and subsequent Dementor Problems.
"Where did you hear that?" Daphne asked skeptically, as Draco pouted, and deliberately started a very loud conversation with Vinnie and Greg about Quidditch practice. He was still sore that his father had been chucked out of the Board at the end of the year prior.
"I had it from Brown, who overheard Longbottom telling the Little Weasel," the gossip explained defensively.
Daphne rolled her eyes. "Of course. Zimmerman, Smith, and Diggory on the board, and it's Longbottom who can't keep his mouth shut."
"So you already knew, too?" Blaise asked, poking her in the ribs. She flinched with an eep and smacked at his hand. Mary was glad to see they had made up their little tiff, though she still had no idea what they had been fighting over.
"Of course I did. Who do you think keeps daddy appraised of the atmosphere among the student body? Since the Hufflepuffs haven't been up in arms, I suppose they've all been told to keep it quiet as well." She glared at Tracey, who shrugged unrepentantly.
"So what's going on?" Lilian asked eagerly.
"Well," Daphne said, with an air of supreme satisfaction, as even some of the older students leaned in to hear her analysis. "I suppose I can tell you, now that the kneazle's loose. From what I've gathered, and from what Prefect Chesterfield has said, it sounds like Madam Marchbanks is likely to vote aye, because she's been complaining about falling standards in History and DADA for years; my father and Mr. Chesterfield are both of the mind that we need new blood in History, so they, along with their bloc, Grey and Fawley, will also be voting aye, so that's the Ravenclaw and Slytherin chairs. Madam Longbottom is the last Slytherin vote, and she's introducing the proposal. She's generally pro-Dumbledore, but she's been saying the board ought to have some control over the DADA appointment since the seventies – her son was an Auror, so she thinks Defense is very important.
"For Gryffindor, Fawley's in the bloc, and Price is anti-halfbreed, so Draco, Lilian, you two got him with your Hagrid petition. Diggory of Gryffindor and Zimmerman of Ravenclaw tend to be pro-Dumbledore, so they'll probably vote nay, but they'll be outweighed in both of their chairs.
"The real question is Hufflepuff: Hopkirk has been very anti-Dumbledore forever, so he'll also vote aye, and of course Smith is so ridiculously hide-bound he'll vote nay because he thinks Binns is an institution. Pierce owes my father and the bloc for her appointment, so she ought to go aye and give us the Hufflepuff chair, but there's no guarantee she'll follow through on that. But if we get all three of the other chairs, it will pass regardless."
"How does voting work, again?" Theo asked. Mary was glad he did – she was rather confused herself.
Daphne rolled her eyes. "There are twelve seats: four chairs with three seats each. The chairs are named after the Founders, and each chair gets one final vote. Each seat gets a preliminary vote, which helps to determine the final chair vote. If it comes down to two chairs against the other two, it's decided by simple majority of the preliminary votes. If the votes are completely evenly distributed, the Headmaster gets a tie-breaker vote."
"That sounds unnecessarily complicated," Lilian observed.
The heiress shrugged. "It's more complicated to change a governor. When Malfoy was kicked out, I think Smith and Hopkirk eventually had to abstain because they couldn't settle on a replacement candidate, so they needed at least two chairs and a simple majority to vote in Pierce."
Draco's 'I'm not listening to you' conversation increased substantially in volume when Daphne brought up his father. Mary smirked, and wondered briefly if she should have been taking notes. "So what happens after the vote?"
"Officially, they form a committee to discuss the new measures they want to institute, but unofficially, they've been throwing basic requirements around since Camille was here."
("Camille?" Alex asked.)
("Her older sister," Blaise stage-whispered across the table, to the younger boys' amusement.)
"Daddy says this is the first time there's been enough public support that they wouldn't have faced severe consequences in the Wizengamot for acting against Dumbledore," Daphne continued, ignoring the by-play. "He's not supposed to have that much influence over them, but he's well-known for using one body to influence the other. Anyway, they'll most likely propose and vote on each specific measure, and hopefully have something hashed out either this Monday, or in two weeks."
"If Dumbledore's smart, he's already looking for History, Creatures, and Divination professors to take over after Yule," Tracey opined with a rather sharp grin.
"Exactly," Daphne concurred.
"Excellent," Hermione said brightly, nodding at the news. The entire knot of Slytherins turned their attention to her. She looked around at them, momentarily flustered, before saying, "What? It's about time we got some fresh blood in the History classroom."
"Don't you mean in the History professor?" Lilian snarked, and the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively.
"Quite." The Ravenclaw's smirk was almost worthy of the snakes. "Lizzie, could I talk to you for a minute?"
Mary blinked a couple of times in surprise, looking wistfully at her half-finished bowl, and wondering if curiosity was worth foregoing the remainder of her porridge. "What about?" she asked, standing up reluctantly. Her housemates' attention quickly devolved. Even Lilian was drawn into a conversation with Pansy, rather than eavesdrop on them.
Hermione sighed. "It's about the MSA." She must have seen Mary's face grow grim, because she quickly added, "I know you don't want to give up the Dueling Club, and that was right – I shouldn't have asked you to – you have a responsibility as one of the founders to go to that. I just wanted to let you know that a lot of the others wanted to go, too, so we've re-scheduled the MSA so it doesn't conflict. The next meeting will be tomorrow evening, instead of Sunday."
Now it was Mary's turn to sigh. "Look, Hermione," she started, trying to keep the whining tone from her voice and eyeing the other Slytherins warily. She was certain that if she or Hermione said anything too interesting, they would abandon their own conversations in a heartbeat, and she truly did not care to discuss her actual reasons to avoid the MSA in public any more now than she had the month before. "We talked about this. I thought you understood. It's not just the scheduling conflict."
The older girl glowered. "I wish you'd just give it another try. It's not all like the first meeting, you know."
"It doesn't matter, Maia. I just – I don't have time, okay? Just drop it."
Hermione hesitated. For a long moment, Mary thought she might finally have extricated herself from the awkwardness that was the Muggleborns' club without isolating herself from Hermione yet again. But then Tracey bloody Davis had to open her powers-bedamned mouth.
"Will you still be attending Daphne's little get-together on Sunday? She was ever so excited that you agreed to attend again," the dark girl smirked viciously. Was she actively trying to drive a wedge between Mary and Hermione? Mary could hardly believe the nerve of that bitch!
"What's on Sunday?" the Ravenclaw asked suspiciously.
Tracey put on a look of affected innocence. "It's a rather private affair, with a somewhat… selective guest list. For the right people, you see…"
"It's a tea party," Mary scoffed, "for Daphne's little clique," but the damage was already done.
There was genuine hurt in Hermione's tone as she blustered, "Oh, I see how it is! You have time to hang about all afternoon sipping tea and talking about boys and beauty spells with a bunch of air-headed purebloods and half-blood wanna-bes, but not to spend one measly hour with the muggleborns discussing things that actually matter! You don't even like tea!"
Before Mary could think of a response (unreasonably thrown by the fact that she still did not like tea, despite years of attempting to accustom herself to the flavor, and a general unwillingness to discuss the political ramifications of her decision not to alienate Daphne in the middle of the Great Hall), Hermione turned on her heel and left. Even then, all she could think was that it had been nice being on good terms with the older girl again while it had lasted.
Well, that and that she was incredibly pissed off at her fellow Slytherin. "Count your blessings for Rule One, Davis," she snarled at the other witch, before abandoning the table as well. She would have to try to come up with an appropriate retaliation for her interference, but in the meantime, making it clear to the rest of the House that they were no longer on first-name terms (when she had been on first-name terms with all of the girls in her year for ages, even if she didn't much appreciate their company) would have to do.
Sunday, 21 November 1993
Great Hall
Mary ducked under a bright red Disarming charm and pivoted quickly to avoid a series of quick stunners, throwing off her aim and causing her own expelliarmus to go wide. It was close enough, though, that Lisa Turpin, her current opponent, switched to the defensive, casting a rather weak and wavering shield charm. It broke on the third stupefy, and Lisa dodged the wrong direction with a mouse-like eep, diving straight into the fourth.
Mary sat at the edge of the stage, breathing rather hard, as Ernie Macmillan revived Lisa and checked to make sure she hadn't hit her head when she collapsed. When he was assured that the Ravenclaw was well, he escorted her to sit beside Mary.
"Good match, Turpin!" she said brightly.
Lisa rolled her eyes. "I got stunned."
"Yeah, but you had her on the run for nearly five minutes," the little Weasel pointed out. He had been keeping time, as the two girls danced around each other, while Lilian and Neville Longbottom marked down the points for each defensive and offensive spell.
"How'd we do?" she asked them, trying to peer over Lilian's shoulder.
"Well, you won, right?" Lisa grumbled.
"Mary had two more offensive spells," Neville noted, comparing his tallies to Lilian's. "But Lisa actually engaged and deflected seven more than Mary, so that puts you one point ahead, Lisa, just behind Macmillan. Mary, you lose one, so you're tied with me for last place now."
Lisa looked rather pleased at this, though it was all Mary could do not to mutter under her breath about how stupid Nym's Game was. Professor Flitwick had apparently introduced this game at the end of the last meeting. Mary assumed that it was intended to keep things interesting despite the fact that they were still restricted to three spells. Mostly it was just frustrating: she had won every one of her duels so far, by the classic measure of still having her wand and not getting stunned, but she was losing terribly at Nym's.
The rules were pretty simple: everyone in the group started at zero. Whenever a pair fought, the judges would tally how many 'strikes' and 'engagements' each duelist made and compare them, figuring the difference. Strikes, or offensive spells that actually came within a shield-radius of the target, were worth three engagements or blocks at the end, and then the absolute difference in spells cast was translated into points: the person with the point-deficit at the end lost those points to the winner. Mary had cast two more strikes than Lisa, but the other girl had deflected seven more spells with shields, so she was still one ahead when the math was said and done, hence the one transferred point.
Mary was now at negative six.
The main problem was that she was too inclined to just dodge everything she could, and send as many offensive spells as possible in the meanwhile. This seemed to be a good strategy for the older students, but her aim wasn't as good when she was dodging, so many of her additional attempted strikes had gone wide. Then again, the one time she had tried intercepting everything she could, Weasley had trapped her on the defensive. She had disarmed him eventually, but lost four points along the way (which was part of the reason he was currently in the lead).
"Does that mean you and I have to go now?" she asked Neville, who was scribbling something on a tally-sheet.
"Um… no. You just went twice in a row, so we can wait a round if you want. Which makes the next-closest pair… Lisa and Lilian. And Ron, Ernie, it's your turn to keep score." Weasley grumbled a bit about being far enough in the lead that he didn't get to actually duel, but took Neville's tally-book. Personally, Mary thought he should just shut his face, but seeing as she had disarmed him and Macmillan had stunned him, he probably did need more practice. She guessed that most people won their duels when they won points in Nym's Game, but that didn't seem to be how it was working out for their group.
Professor Flitwick had assigned students to practice groups during the last meeting, while she had been in the hospital wing (and detention… simultaneously), supposedly by skill level. Mary suspected that some thought had also been given to mixing the houses, as she and Lilian had been assigned to a group with a Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff, and two Gryffindors. The rest of their year had been split into four other groups: one clearly less-adept at spellcasting and two which obviously had more experience dueling, but all of which were equally integrated as far as houses went. The last seemed to be at about the same level as the one Mary had been assigned to "based on the facility you've shown in your Charms lessons, Miss Potter!" but had already had an even number of students.
Mary didn't mind; she was happy to be in the same group as Lilian, though she wished Hermione had come as well. It had been over a week, and the Ravenclaw still wasn't speaking to her. It was impossible to say whether this was because Mary was rejecting the MSA, or because Hermione was jealous that Mary had other friends (or at least friendly acquaintances) now, and social obligations within Slytherin. Lilian said it was the latter, but Mary thought that would be awfully hypocritical of her, seeing that neither of the Slytherins had complained when Hermione started spending more time with her own housemates the year before, especially since the older girl had a time turner, and was still 'too busy' to just hang out even when they were talking.
She watched absently as the fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect ducked a Disarming Charm by a hair and stunned her opponent in the ankle. "Mary!" Neville said, rather emphatically, prodding her in the arm. He had obviously been trying to get her attention for some time.
"Huh? Sorry, Long – Neville," she corrected herself, still not used to calling him by his first name. "What did you say?"
The shy boy gave her a hesitant smile. "I asked if you wanted to keep time."
"Um, no, you'd better. I think I need to grab a glass of water." Dueling was thirsty work.
He nodded, and almost immediately began counting Lilian and Lisa in. Mary wound her way through the many, many dueling platforms that filled the Great Hall. Each of them was about ten meters long, and two wide, with space between them for the group-members not dueling to circle and observe. Eventually she reached the water pitchers and glasses set up at the back of the hall. Professor Flitwick was there as well, though his attention seemed to be more on the first-years casting weak disarming charms at each other on the nearest platform than on the refreshments.
She was not expecting him to speak to her. "What do you think, Miss Potter?"
"Erm… what do I think of what, sir?"
Professor Flitwick chuckled. "Why, the club, of course! I must say, I think the students have taken to it quite well!"
Mary grinned. The Charms professor's cheer was almost always contagious. "Definitely. Thank you again for agreeing to supervise it, and doing all the organizing and, well, everything."
"Oh, yes, yes, well, it's the least I could do. It's been too long since we've had a proper dueling club here at Hogwarts. Not since, oh… the year before you arrived, I believe. Professor Dahlworth managed to revive it after the fiasco with Maccabee." There was more scorn and anger than Mary had ever heard in the little professor's voice when he mentioned Maccabee, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "I'm afraid popularity rather waned during Reinholdt's tenure. Professor Mathieu managed to bring it back a bit as well, but she discovered she was pregnant just after the winter holiday, and I'm afraid I was a bit overextended at the time, so it was allowed to fall to the wayside."
She supposed that did explain how Professor Flitwick had managed to pull the club together so easily. She felt a bit stupid, actually, for thinking that Lockhart was the first to propose it. "Professor Mathieu? And Reinholdt and, um… Maccabee? Were they Defense Professors?"
"Oh, indeed! Ms. Mathieu was one of the good ones." The Slytherin smiled slightly at the implication that the others weren't 'good ones.' The Charms professor continued a bit less vivaciously. "But that was the year young Quirrell went on sabbatical, and Mr. Pierce did not feel confident taking on the Gobstones and Muggle Studies Clubs in his first year of teaching, so I was supervising those as well as Charms Club, and simply didn't have the time for this as well. Hopefully we'll be able to keep up interest, aye?"
"Definitely! It's a lot harder than I thought it would be, but it's fun," she volunteered.
The professor chuckled again. "Well, it only gets harder from here, I'm afraid. How are you doing with Nym's Game?"
Mary made a face. "I'm tied for last," she admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "I've been winning the duels, but I lose on points. I think I'm dodging too much."
"Ah, I see… perhaps this will help: Do you know the reason we play Nym's Game, Miss Potter?"
"I, um… I thought it was just to keep things interesting, sir."
"Partly, Miss Potter, partly. But like all games, Nym's is a learning opportunity – it teaches you to think, even in the heat of battle – developing a strategy that accounts for your opponent's actions is key." Obviously seeing her confusion, he added: "For example: you play Quidditch. Tell me, would you catch the Snitch if your team was losing on points?"
Mary was slightly thrown, as she didn't see how Quidditch was an example for anything. "Um, I suppose it depends where we stood with the Cup. I mean, I would if we could make up the difference in the next match, or if we had enough of a lead that it wouldn't matter, or if conditions were bad and there was a chance the other seeker would spot it before I could because of rain, like at the last match."
"But in fair weather, in, say, the first match of the season?"
"Well, no, I'd probably try to distract the other seeker, and wait for our chasers to catch up. Unless we were getting stomped – then I guess I'd catch it as soon as possible to minimize the damage. But most of the time I'd wait."
"Just so!" the Head of Ravenclaw crowed triumphantly.
"I, um… I don't understand, sir."
"In Quidditch as the seeker, or in Nym's, the choice of when and how to end the match is as fundamental to a complete strategy as the choice to dodge or intercept, to cast a shield or an attack, to spend your time seeking diligently or to help the chasers score more points. The rate of point accumulation on both sides plays a factor in when and how you want to end the match."
The seeker actually felt the connection click as she understood. "So I need to keep the match going long enough to get enough strikes that it doesn't matter if I dodge?"
The professor made a hmm-sound. "It is certainly easier to dodge, especially when one is just starting out, and dodging has its place in dueling, when you advance to using spells that are not easily blocked, but consider: points are awarded for using shields for a reason. The focus and speed you gain in repeatedly casting and dropping shields, switching between defense and offense, will stand you in good stead as you progress in dueling, much as the agility you have honed flying with the chasers aids you in dodging bludgers and chasing the snitch." His eyes danced as he explained, clearly on the verge of chuckling again.
"Right," she laughed. "Learning experience."
"Indeed," the tiny wizard winked. "Now, I do believe you have a match to return to, Miss Potter!"
"Thanks, professor!" she said sincerely, before wending her way back through the platforms and other duelists. When he put it like that, trying to think about strategy made much more sense. She managed to score two points off of Neville in their next duel (moving her up to negative four), and then Lilian scored one point off Macmillan. Before Lilian and Weasley could square off for the next match, however, Professor Flitwick called everyone to gather around one of the central platforms, to watch a pair of seventh-years give a demonstration of what he called Single-Spell Sparring.
"Creativity is key!" he chirped from the center of the stage. "Each duelist must choose one spell or one spell-class, which is the only magic they will be allowed to use in the course of the duel! For the demonstration, I think, Miss Thrush, Mr. Abbott, I will allow spell-classes. Aside from spell restrictions, the standard ICW rules apply. Now, if you are ready, we shall choose your weapons. Miss Thrush, your preference?"
"Oh, well, put me on the spot, professor," the Ravenclaw girl said with a pensive hum. "I suppose I could do shield spells."
"Ooh, a tricky challenge indeed. Mr. Abbott?"
The Hufflepuff looked completely nonplussed, as did most of the crowd around Mary. How in the nine hells did Thrush expect to fight using only shield spells? "I guess I'll do conjuration," he said eventually. His designated opponent scowled furiously. Mary presumed that whatever she had been planning would have worked better against charms than transfiguration.
"Excellent! Brilliant!" Professor Flitwick looked like he was about to jump up and down with excitement. "For those of you in the back, Mr. Abbott will restrict himself to conjuration, and Miss Thrush will use only various shield charms! The match will be concluded at third-blood, or when one of the two is unable to continue due to unconsciousness or concession!" He backed away from the center of the stage, where he obviously intended to remain as a referee, before he called for them to bow.
Abbott immediately took the offensive, conjuring a bolt of cloth to blind Thrush. She quickly cast an expanding shield-bubble around herself, tearing the fabric away to regain visibility, and protecting herself from the deluge of water that followed the cloth. Apparently that gave him some clue as to what shield she was using, because he quickly created several flights of birds that began to dive-bomb her, completely unimpeded.
Thrush ducked, and dropped the expanding bubble, instead encasing each of the small flocks in a sphere that glowed briefly with a sick, yellowish light, before both shield and birds blinked out of existence. She began to make better use of her end of the stage, moving to avoid several more birds – crows attacking individually instead of a flock of canaries – and a shower of falling rocks. Thorny vines began to creep toward her ankles from mid-stage, but withered beneath a solid purple blanket of magic. This held long enough for the Ravenclaw to throw a spell toward Abbott, which created a translucent wall and reflected his next attempt at long-distance conjuration – an oil slick – back at him. He skidded to his knees, but pausing long enough to throw that shield at Abbott had cost Thrush: one of his birds swooped down, clawing at her face.
"First blood to Mr. Abbott!" Professor Flitwick announced.
Abbott's slipping and sliding had sent him careening through the shield wall between himself and Thrush – apparently it only blocked magic. As she used the same yellow-flashing shield to vanish the remaining birds, he followed up with a swarm of giant wasps. These flew in more intricate patterns than the flocks of birds, and were more coordinated than the individual crows. The Ravenclaw, who was now beginning to look rather bedraggled, dove to the floor to avoid their first pass. She tried to trap them to be vanished, but they were nimble, and she was stabbed in the shoulder with a stinger ("Second blood to Mr. Abbott!") before she resorted to casting some sort of protection directly on herself. By that point she was being harried by a pair of conjured badgers as well, but the blue force-field over her robes and hands seemed to be proof against all of the animals.
She yelped as the Hufflepuff began firing arrows at her, dodging as quickly as she could with the badgers underfoot, and deflecting several with a small silver shield that followed her left hand. She missed one, though, and yelped again as it hit her already-wounded shoulder. It bounced off, but Mary was willing to bet it would leave a heck of a bruise. A look of grim determination washed over the Ravenclaw's face – Mary had to wonder if she considered the arrows below the belt. Abbott looked almost as tired as Thrush clearly was – conjuring was very difficult magic, and they had been going all-out for several minutes. She swept him off his feet with a green sphere, which left him hovering at about head-height, then dropped it and him before very clearly enunciating the spell Snape used to contain exploding cauldrons (when they couldn't simply be vanished) and directing it at Abbott's wand-hand: "Gludiog!"
She looked almost as surprised as Abbott when he realized that he could not reach through the spell to retrieve his wand, the bright pink of the shield having sealed around both hand and wand like a glove. And he obviously couldn't cast magic through it either. He could evidently still move his fingers, but even when he tried to pull his wand away from his affected hand from outside, the shield just stretched, as though it was made of rubber, snapping back when he let it go, strongly enough that he winced visibly when the wand impacted his trapped hand.
After a few long, baffled seconds, the Hufflepuff looked to Professor Flitwick with a shrug. "I guess I concede, then," he admitted, though it sounded rather like a question to Mary.
The two seventh-years bowed to each other again, this time with Abbott dipping significantly lower than Thrush, and she freed his hand with a simple finite. The crowd broke out into excited babbling, with several whoops and cheers from the Ravenclaws among them.
"That was brilliant," Mary whispered to Neville, who was the nearest person she recognized. Somehow they seemed to have gotten separated from the rest of their group by a pack of sixth or seventh-year Badgers. He nodded fervently, eyes wide.
The Charms Professor giggled delightedly. "I shall be most excited to share this latest use for Severus' containment charm with him. Five points to Ravenclaw, Miss Thrush!"
"Thank you, sir," the witch said, flushing slightly.
The seventh-years set about vanishing the remnants of their duel as the professor continued: "An excellent example of the sort of thing we will all aim for in two weeks' time! Everybody, please give a round of applause for Miss Thrush and Mr. Abbott!" Almost everyone clapped enthusiastically. "Thank you! First through fourth-years, each of you should prepare at least one spell for our next meeting! Fifth through seventh-years, you may use a full spell-class! If you are uncertain what counts as a spell-class, please ask me before you head back to your dormitories. If you wish to learn a new spell for this challenge, or need advice on which spells are most versatile, I advise you all to consult your senior students – and of course you all know my office hours!" Several students laughed. Out of all the professors, Flitwick had the most office hours, every day before breakfast and after dinner. "Remember: Be inventive! Be creative! That's all for tonight! Dismissed!"
Thrush and Abbott hopped off the stage, and the professor caused it (and all of the others) to disappear with an elaborate wand-gesture, before shouting for Thrush, presumably to discuss one or more of her shield spells. Most of the students started meandering toward the exits, Mary and Neville along with them.
"What spell do you think you'll use?" she asked him excitedly. She was thinking of the Summoning Charm. She was very good at it, and could imagine playing all sorts of havoc by summoning clothes or shoes or even wands while someone was trying to cast.
Neville shrugged. "No idea. Maybe a charm? Gran says it's a soft option, but I'm better at charms than transfiguration."
"Transfiguring would be hard, anyway," she pointed out. "Unless you did like Abbott and conjured, it's not like there's much to work with. You'd have to like, change my robes into, I dunno, ropes or something."
Neville eyed her robes closely, then announced, "I might actually be able to do that. Cotton and linen make good rope, right?"
"Incarcarious is easier," Mary shrugged, just as Lilian found them. "Hey, Lils. Know what spell you want to do yet?"
"What's that charm you found that makes things crash into the ground?"
"The Grounding Spell, vi ál teró."
"That could be fun," she laughed, miming trying to wave her wand and doing a face-plant as the crowd between themselves and the nearest doors thinned.
"Oi! Nev!" the Little Weasel called, heading toward them as well. "What are you doing over here? Dean and Seamus are waiting to walk up with us." Then he got close enough to see who his dorm-mate was talking to. He gave them a look of complete disgust and Mary realized that he hadn't spoken a word to her directly over the entire evening. Apparently he was ignoring them, because he said, as though they weren't right there, "Come off it, mate! First you want them to call you by your first name, and now you're chatting them up all chummy? What next? Going to ask Potter to Hogsmeade?"
Neville stammered and flushed to the tips of his ears, tripping over his tongue as he tried desperately to explain that he hadn't been intending to do so – not that he'd be opposed, and he didn't want to offend, but he hadn't been planning to ask anyone, and…
Mary, blushing, she was certain, almost as fiercely as the boy, took pity on him. "It's okay. I, um… I'm not allowed to go, anyway."
Relief warred with disappointment on the chunky Gryffindor's features, but she was distracted from trying to determine which would win out by Lilian snapping at the Weasel: "What is your problem, Weasley? Neville has been nothing but polite all evening, and you've been nothing but a git!"
The red-head joined Mary and Neville in red-faced awkwardness, though his apparently stemmed from anger, rather than embarrassment. "What's my problem? You want to know what my problem is?! It's you! You and your stupid petition! Hagrid's a good person, and you're getting him sacked!"
Mary's jaw dropped open. Word had come around days ago through the usual channels (gossip and letters from Emma and Catherine) that the new standards for professors had passed the board almost unanimously: they now needed to have an 'O' NEWT (or equivalent) in their subject (a Mastery was preferred), and at least four other NEWTs to prove they were well-rounded; they needed at least five years' teaching experience, either at another academy, or as a tutor, with references; and they needed to be licensed and able to carry a wand.
"Hagrid? You're pissed with me about Hagrid?! Of all the stupid – FLOBBERWORMS, Weasley! We had three weeks of flobberworms!"
The Headmaster had been visibly irritated at meals for the past three days, but Mary didn't think that the restrictions sounded too stringent. She had been briefly concerned about Remus' position, but he assured her that there was an exception in place for Defense Instructors: one year of experience was sufficient so long as a 'real' professor reviewed their lesson plans and evaluated their teaching style. Since he had several years of seasonal OWL-equivalent tutoring for homeschooled students in France and the States, and the Professor had written a letter endorsing him, there should be no problem.
"Yeah, because your slimy git boyfriend couldn't handle a bloody hippogriff!"
Hagrid and Binns, on the other hand, would definitely be affected. Hagrid, never having taken his OWLs, failed on all three points, and Binns on the last. Mary noted with grim amusement that even Weasley didn't seem to have a problem with Binns being replaced.
Lilian looked furious. "One: Draco is not my boyfriend, and two: so what? That doesn't make Hagrid any less of a shite professor!"
If possible, this made Weasley even angrier. Mary surreptitiously performed the first two movements of the Trigger-Drop Disarming Charm, just in case it was needed. Neville was fingering his wand as though trying to decide if and how to step in. Thankfully (or perhaps not, from Lilian's perspective), that was when Professor Flitwick came over to see what was taking them so long.
"Miss Moon!" he snapped, in his most-disappointed tone. "Five points from Slytherin for disrespecting a teacher, and language most unbecoming!"
Weasley, still red-faced, managed an approximation of a smirk as Lilian made an inarticulate sound of frustration. "Let's go, Neville," he said sharply, as though he had done something to be proud of, and stalked off. The other boy muttered an embarrassed farewell and something about seeing them in Potions before scrambling to join his fellow Gryffindors. Lilian apologized to Professor Flitwick before stalking off toward a side-door, rather than pass by the Gryffindors.
Mary was left shaking her head, wondering whether she was impressed by the fact that Neville had managed to go against his dorm-mates and be civil with the Slytherins in the first place, or disappointed at the way he followed Weasley like a scolded puppy. Maybe it was both, she decided, following Lilian toward the dungeons at a much slower pace.
Thursday, 25 November 1993
Potions Classroom
The Slytherins did, indeed, see Neville in Potions later in the week. He managed to explode a foul concoction that was definitely not a Pepper-up Potion while Professor Snape was making sure that Vinnie and Greg didn't do exactly the same thing on the other side of the classroom. This resulted in magic-resistant acid-burns for half the Gryffindors (who were briskly dusted with plain, muggle baking soda and sent to Madam Pomfrey), an early-release for the entire class (with an essay assignment "Four feet on what Longbottom did wrong this time and why muggle measures were necessary to counteract the effects"), and a decree that there would be a new seating-chart the following week ("in order to minimize the idiocy inherent in this class in the future").
Mary and Lilian were lingering over their nearly-exactly-on-target potion, reluctant to vanish all that work, and slowly packing up everything else instead. They were alone in the classroom, carefully cleaning knives and mortars one at a time, when Lilian hissed, "Ask him."
"Are you insane?" she whispered back. "He's bound to be in a foul mood."
"But we agreed it was important!" They had woken up to an aura of general discontent and ennui around the Castle, stronger, it felt like, than it had been all month. The Headmaster had announced at breakfast that a new shift of Dementors had arrived, and that the pervasive depression they exuded should lessen in 'just a few short days.' Unfortunately, there was 'nothing to be done, I'm afraid,' until then. Even Cheering Charms, which were on Professor Flitwick's syllabus for the end of the year, failed to make an impact on the misery.
"He was already going to be in a bad mood before this happened," Mary muttered, dragging her feet back to their workstation.
"He's not –"
"He can hear you," Snape drawled, cutting them off, as he cleaned up scattered ingredients and baking soda with a tiny cyclone. "And your Pepper-up has now been simmering for two minutes too long. Vanish it, ask your question, finish cleaning up, and then leave," he glared at them. "Your incessant whispering is hardly adequate thanks for an extra half-free."
Mary rolled her eyes. His sarcasm truly was less intimidating when you knew he didn't really hate you. Lilian appeared to agree, because she snorted before saying, "Thank you, sir, we truly do appreciate the additional free-time," in her best unimpressed monotone, then directed an evanesco at the contents of their cauldron. It took two more tries before the last of the mess was gone. She began scrubbing the residue out of the pewter pot, leaving Mary to ask their question as Snape began to restore the acid-pitted tables.
"I'm waiting, Miss Potter," he said impatiently, not looking up from his task.
"I, um… that is…"
"Gods and Powers, don't stutter, Miss Potter."
"Yes, sir. It's about dementors, sir."
"What about the dementors?" he asked irritably.
"Do you know anything about them? Or how to make them, well… less horrible?"
Snape raised an eyebrow at that. "Surely this is a question for your friend the Defense Professor," he observed scathingly.
"We've already asked him," Mary admitted. "He says that the only thing for them is the Patronus Charm, and he doesn't have time to teach us until after the holiday."
The Potions professor snorted slightly, likely, she thought, in reaction to the idea of teaching third-years the NEWT-standard charm. Or perhaps not. "I suppose he gave you that spiel about the damned things sucking happiness out of you, and feeding on memories, destroying the soul over prolonged exposure."
"Yes," Lilian said, returning from the sinks. "But we looked up the Patronus, and it's supposed to be a guardian construct made of happy memories, right? And that doesn't make sense. Wouldn't they just eat it?"
"The construct itself," Snape corrected her, "is made of light magic, motivated and directed by a happy memory – specifically a memory of something you would protect with your own life. And based on my observations over the course of these past few months, I am inclined to suspect that they feed not on happiness, but on misery. The aura suppresses happy memories and, in close proximity, leads you to dwell on those that make you most miserable, anxious, and depressed, dragging those feelings to the surface. While the Patronus Charm is the only common spell used to repel them, advanced Occlumency can be used to ameliorate the effects to a degree – don't even ask – it is far more difficult to learn Occlumency than it is to learn the Patronus," he informed Mary pre-emptively. She hadn't even opened her mouth.
"Blaise knows Occlumency," Lilian said. "He showed us how to manipulate a boggart."
The professor rolled his eyes. "Mr. Zabini has been studying Occlumency for nearly seven years. The Patronus charm requires a good deal of power, but once you find the proper memory, I assure you, it will not take you nearly half so long to cast as would learning sufficient mental discipline to negate the Dementor Effect."
"Can you – that is, would you show us, sir?" Mary asked hopefully. It would be good to see what they were aiming for, even if they wouldn't be starting to learn it until January.
Snape cocked his head to the side, as though he was considering a matter of great importance, before nodding slowly. He waved the girls out of the way, then closed his eyes and described a languid, open reversed-infinity movement, with an up-swoop at the seventh mark, and a quick downward slash at the end. The incantation was expecto patronum, its last syllable falling on the up-swoop. A beautiful, silvery light shot forth, to form a full-sized deer between themselves and the professor, prancing slightly in place. She – somehow Mary was sure it was a she – radiated a sense of safety and love and wellbeing. It was slightly surprising that Professor Snape, of all people, was capable of that much positive emotion, though she would never say so.
"She's beautiful," Lilian whispered, holding a hand out to the construct, much as she had when they had seen the unicorn. Unlike the unicorn, the Patronus nuzzled against her hand. She giggled slightly, and Mary realized that the fug which had been surrounding them all day appeared to have vanished. "Is it always a doe?" the older Slytherin asked, her eyes still on the creature of light.
"The shape of the Patronus varies by caster," the professor answered, gazing on the Patronus with something like actual fondness, calmer and more relaxed than Mary had ever seen. "But it generally remains stable once you have found it, based on the nature of the memory used to create it."
"Why?" Mary asked, stroking the gracile snout. It felt like warmth and magic – slightly tingly, with little physical resistance.
"Why does it take the shape that it does?" Snape asked to clarify. She nodded. "Well, conventional texts say that it is a representative of the soul of the person who casts it."
"You don't agree, sir?" Lilian observed rhetorically.
"My soul was never so pure as this," he said sardonically, nodding at the doe. "You do recall my saying that the memory behind the Patronus must be linked to something you would protect with your life, and this shapes the construct? I believe it is more accurate to say that the Patronus guardian takes a shape representative of that which you would die to protect. The doe has a whole slew of symbolic meanings in the general way of things, among them subtlety and trust."
"And in the not-so-general way of things, sir?" Lilian asked, just as Mary was wondering whether she dared.
"There is a bit of lore regarding the Patronus that suggests the form may shift to match or complement that of your beloved. Matching is especially associated with unrequited love. If you are familiar with the Tale of Parallax and Quincey, it was a key plot-point." The girls exchanged a blank look. The wizard rolled his eyes. "It's a modern classic, look it up! The point is, the Patronus can symbolize a person, rather than an abstract idea."
"Does yours?" Mary half-expected Snape to send Lilian running from the room in tears for asking so personal a question, but he just snorted.
"No. Certain people think so, however, so it would behoove you not to mention that fact outside of this room." The girls nodded eagerly, and he hesitated only slightly before he admitted: "Lily Evans also had a doe Patronus. Mine is based in a childhood memory, and an abstract idea. Hers, she always said, was based on mine."
Lilian grinned. "So Lizzie's mum was in love with you?"
"No." Snape shot her a quelling look.
"But –"
Snape let the Patronus fade away, and cut the older girl off before she could finish her question. "In answer to your initial question, Miss Potter, there is no magical means short of a Patronus to dispel the aura of the Dementor. The best you can do is to indulge in whatever activities generally give you a sense of security and pleasure until our latest cadre of 'guards' is sated, and the aura is naturally reduced."
"Yes, sir," the girls chorused.
"If that is all…"
"Yes, sir," Mary repeated. "Thank you, sir." Lilian echoed her, and they fled before a shoo-ing motion and a significant look at the door.