lviii. strike a king

In Hogwarts, rumors circulated with the kind of practiced efficiency the professors direly wished the students would portray in their classwork, and so by the time Harriet sat down to eat breakfast the next morning, she had already learned the newest bit of scandal involving Neville Longbottom.

"A flying car? Really?" Harriet asked Hermione as she picked over her eggs.

"According to Pansy, who heard it from Parvarti," she said with a delicate sniff that portrayed her regard for idle gossip. "But that's all hearsay. I would imagine that if they had truly crashed a flying Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow, they wouldn't be here this morning."

They both glanced toward the Gryffindor table, where they found Longbottom and Weasley seated with Finnigan and Thomas. None of the four second years looked up from their plates, even when their classmates jostled and pestered them for information.

"He is the Boy Who Lived," Harriet said, old anger prickling along her nerves. "I doubt he could get expelled for anything, short of murder. The Prophet would never let the Headmaster live it down."

Snape came down along the table and passed out schedules for the Slytherins. Harriet took hers and could barely hold back a groan. "Look at this!" she complained once the Potions Master moved off. "Defense and Potions right in the morning! And Astronomy tonight!"

A furrow appeared between Hermione's brows. "And Charms and History of Magic after lunch." Her eyes flickered toward the Head Table, where Professor Selwyn was doctoring his English breakfast tea to his liking. Harriet winced in sympathy.

Elara—eyes scrunched, mouth set in a hard grimace—arrived, and Harriet slid down the bench to give her room. Snape returned, her schedule in hand, and he glowered at the half-asleep witch in warning before he let her take it from him. Elara glanced at the listed classes, grunted, and lowered her head to the table, bumping a platter of sausages. None of the other second years looked pleased either; the Slytherin professors were notably more difficult to handle, even to their own House, and having all four on their first day was dreadful.

Sighing, Harriet managed a few more bites of breakfast, then pulled her school bag onto her shoulder. "I'm going to go now. I don't want to be late." Not after what happened this summer with Slytherin.

"All right. We'll catch up with you in just a few minutes."

Harriet departed the Great Hall and climbed the marble steps, finding her way to the corridor where the Defense classroom and Slytherin's office were kept. The professor never opened the door early—never opened it until he was good and ready to do so—so she sank to the floor by the entrance and leaned on the wall, fishing through her bag until she found Hermione's copy of Gadding With Ghouls. She flicked past the bulky author foreword.

Hermione appeared soon, as promised, walking with a marginally more alert Elara, who was listening to something Daphne Greengrass was saying. The rest of the Slytherins arrived before the Gryffindors—the latter of whom descended with their usual loud raucous centered around L0ngbottom. The Boy Who Lived grinned when Seamus mimicked driving a car and laughed.

"Longbottom," Draco said, narrowing his eyes at the taller boy. "Did you and the Weasel really crash a car into the Whomping Willow?"

The Gryffindors snickered as if in on a good joke, and Longbottom shrugged, the corner of his lips quirked. "Even if I did, why would I tell you anything, Malfoy?"

Draco flushed and mouthed off while Crabbe and Goyle scowled. Harriet, still sitting on the floor with her book, was tempted to tell Malfoy he shouldn't try to be clever since it never seemed to work out for him—but she opted for Slytherin solidarity and said nothing. Elara offered her hand, and Harriet used it to get to her feet.

The classroom door slammed open, putting an effective end to the squabbling in the corridor. Neither House was inclined to go inside; Hermione proved the bravest of the lot by crossing the threshold first, though she did take hold of Harriet's sleeve and drag her in after her. The ill-lit room was as eerie as she recalled, the bones of skeletal creatures casting patterns on the walls, the professor standing still as stone at his lectern with his black robes gleaming in the torchlight like a snake's skin.

Harriet gulped.

Professor Slytherin said nothing as they hurried toward their desks, though his red eyes followed their movements easily enough, a small, cold smile fixed over his mouth. Harriet stuffed Gadding With Ghouls away into her bag and took out her wand, laying it on the desk before her. She missed the weight of Livi's coils and wished she was back in the dorm with him, still sleeping.

Slytherin stepped out from behind his lectern, and a hush fell over the room.

"Welcome to your second year of Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said, lacing his hands together before himself. "You know who I am. Again, I will be your instructor, your guide, into the enticing and perilous realm of the Dark Arts—and ensuing protections, of course. You have been under my tutelage for a year; some of your number have learned well, others…." He sneered, eyes flicking toward the Gryffindor side of the room. "No matter. You have another chance to prove yourselves competent. Last year, we concentrated on the manifestation of shields. This term, we will venture into the use of offensive spells."

"Like dueling?" Dean blurted out.

"Two points from Gryffindor, Thomas," Slytherin said, barely tilting his head to acknowledge the question. "No, not 'like dueling.' I will not be instructing you in dueling. I do not waste my time with ineptitude."

Harriet wrinkled her nose as she watched the wizard idly pace. Why wouldn't he teach them dueling? That seemed strange to her.

"You have been taught the theory and basic use of the Knockback Jinx and have witnessed its use prior in this class. Today, you will learn its practical application. Longbottom!" Slytherin swished his wand toward the opposing end of the aisle, summoning the familiar crimson lion marker. He smirked. "To your mark."

The Boy Who Lived scowled, but showed better restraint than Harriet thought someone else might have when he nodded, rising from his desk to go stand at the glowing lion.

"You have already had experience, Longbottom, and so I expect some semblance of competency from you. Demonstrate the Knockback Jinx upon me."

A few students shared curious looks, and most of the Gryffindors leaned forward in their seats, eager to see their top student jinx the Head of Slytherin. Even Neville grinned, though he was quick to hide the expression when he lifted his wand and faced the professor. "Of course, sir. Flipendo!"

The jinx came quick, like he meant to take the wizard off guard, but Professor Slytherin merely flicked his own wand, and a wordless shield appeared before him, absorbing the spell. "Again."

Twice more Neville fired the Knockback Jinx, and twice more Slytherin deflected it with nothing more than a twitch of his arm. "A passable effort. Sit down, Longbottom."

He did as said, and Professor Slytherin called on Zabini, who took his place at a green snake marker and proceeded to throw spells at their instructor. Harriet could tell the difference in Zabini and Longbottom's casting as soon as he began; Neville's jinxes, when they connected with the barrier, sent ripples through the opaque distortion, whereas Zabini's seemed to strike a solid obstacle. She guessed their spells had differing strengths.

He called on Goyle next—who managed nothing at all—and then Dunbar, who made an acceptable effort, though her third jinx fizzled out before it could actually hit Slytherin's shield. Elara did better, but she didn't show the same competency as Longbottom, and Weasley's wand seemed to be malfunctioning, since it backfired and turned the boy's hair blue.

Harriet watched like the rest of her classmates, but as she watched, her mind drifted back to a chapter she'd read in the "Compendivm" Elara had given her at Yule. The book was thick, and much of it proved beyond either Harriet's comprehension or attention span, but she did recall a section that spoke on magical control. She'd been interested at first because she hoped it might share a few tips to ensure her Transfiguration attempts went less awry, but instead Harriet had read about the importance of stance and movement, how the body acted to build a kind of momentum and applied additional force to outgoing spells.

Magic really was much more complicated than she would have guessed a year ago.

"Miss Potter. You're next."

Harriet blinked, then scrambled to her feet—nearly forgetting her wand on the desk. She snatched it up, then hurried over to the waiting mark on the far end of the aisle, her stomach flopping about in her middle when she faced the waiting wizard. Professor Slytherin arched a brow. "Anytime now, Miss Potter."

Feeling the impatient eyes of her classmates upon her, Harriet shoved aside her thoughts on the Compendivm and did just as she'd seen the others do, flicking her wand at the wrist, calling out, "Flipendo!"

The jinx flew down the aisle. In an instant, Professor Slytherin summoned yet another non-verbal shield, and Harriet's spell dissipated against it without anything more than the slightest of ripples. Neville, on the Gryffindor side of the room, snorted, and his cohorts grinned as if half of them hadn't already failed the bloody exercise. He's like Dudley, she fumed, heat suffusing her cheeks. Every time I went up to the board in class to spell a word or solve a problem, he laughed—no matter if I was wrong or right.

Grinding her teeth, Harriet lifted her wand again. Instead of merely flicking it, she stepped into the motion, brought her arm forward, and shouted, "Flipendo!"

The jinx shot across the space between her and the professor just as it had before. However, when it impacted the summoned shield, the barrier shuddered, the resulting thwack! loud enough to hurt their ears, and Professor Slytherin's eyes widened a fraction as his feet slid several inches on the stone floor. The class gasped.

Emboldened, Harriet lifted her wand again. "Flipendo!"

She couldn't say how she knew it, given that the wizard was using only non-verbals, but the moment he threw up his shield, she knew it was different from the simple one he'd used before. This time, his feet didn't slide and the barrier didn't ripple; Harriet's jinx struck the shield—and then it came flying right back at her. She didn't have time to do anything more than flinch before it hit her, and she slammed into the floor.

Harriet must have passed out, because next she knew, she blinked open bleary eyes to find Professor Slytherin leaning over her, a cruel scowl fixed on his face. For a moment, she felt as if she'd seen those glinting red eyes somewhere else, leering at her in her dreams from the thick shadows of the cupboard, behind every nightmare vision of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, reflected in the Mirror of Erised. She felt cold and terrified.

"Shite," Harriet wheezed when the ache in her back and neck became apparent. He changed spells. He knew that would happen. Why would he do that?!

"Be prepared to catch whatever you throw," Professor Slytherin hissed, straightening. He turned away, robes flaring, and returned to his place at the head of the room. "Five points from Slytherin. We don't curse like Muggle filth in my classroom, Potter."

Trembling, Harriet returned to her seat.