Disclaimer: It's mine, mine, I tell you, all mine! BWAHAHAHAHA! *ahem* Anyway, what is really ALL MINE is only the stuff that you don't recognize as something that the goddess that is JK would have stuck in her books, which really narrows it down to almost nothing besides the plot and the lovely Professor Larvae, that is really a whole lot of fun to write.
Speaking of Iridis, this whole chapter's about her, and how Defence Against the Dark Arts is after Umbridge. One of my betas said she loved it, but she was also worried that I would continue in this 'write-a-whole-chapter-on-one-class' thread. Do not worry, that will not be the case, this is just to let you know about Larvae, who is a MAJOR character here, and the next chapter might have a lot about Quidditch (but there's reason behind that) and after that the plot will thicken again. Not to worry, not to worry.
I was really afraid to write this chapter, and I kept on stalling from doing so, but, once I started I had a lot of fun with it, and I had to keep myself from adding really pretty useless things in just for the fun of it. I hope you enjoy as much as I did.
Harry Potter and the Bite of No Mortibus
Chapter 8: Professor Larvae
Harry was confused. He'd just left his first Potions lessons since his return to Hogwarts. And it had not gone as might be expected.
For one thing, since he'd missed a week and a half of lessons, he'd expected to be lost and very far behind with the lesson plan. And he wasn't, but maybe that could have been because he'd taken Hermione's study notes as his new Bible.
He'd have thought to find some excruciatingly difficult potion waiting for him on the instruction board, but he didn't. It was a rather simple calming draught that even Neville would have been almost successful at - if he'd managed to get into Snape's advanced courses.
And strangest of all was Snape himself. Despite the fact that Harry was nearly encompassed in a sea of Slytherins, the Potion teacher hadn't jabbed at him, sneered at him, or, for that matter, even acknowledged him. He'd behaved in a very Dumbledore-not-looking-at-Harry-throughout-fifth-year sort of way, only difference being, Snape would look at him without the slightest hint of emotion being revealed.
And his behaviour seemed to hinder the Slytherins' thirst for barbs at the Boy-Who-Lived, or his 'dead' best friend as well.
Another thing about Snape was that he seemed completely unaware that he was supposed to be teaching Harry Occlumency again, and that the potion master was about a month and a half behind on those lessons. He really didn't know what to think about this. It wasn't making any sense at all really.
Before his departure from Hogwarts at the end of fifth year, from the various discussions, it had appeared that Dumbledore himself would take over Occlumency. Then on his birthday he'd said that it would be Snape teaching him yet again. On hindsight he should have asked himself why that was.
"Because obviously Dumbledore told him to give the both of you another chance and start over," Hermione's voice came from within himself. He nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He was used to her presence always within himself, was comfortable with it, but when she piped up like that, so suddenly, he always ended up startled because she spoke in his mind, not at his side where he always thought she was.
He shook his head to clear his mind and get back on the track of conversation. "But he never showed up for it," he pointed out to her.
"Well, he very well couldn't the day after your birthday," she explained logically, "after all the Death Eaters escaped, if you remember. I'm sure Dumbledore kept him very busy then."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, "but what of after that?"
"Why don't you ask him?" She questioned reasonably. "If he doesn't answer you, you can always ask Dumbledore. Besides, I think he's been rather civil to you today."
"He ignored me," he pointed out.
"I think that's the only civility he is capable of openly demonstrating," she answered so matter-of-factly, that Harry couldn't contain the wry grin that spread over his face, startling many of the people that saw him as he crossed the hallways. "Besides, at least today he didn't try to break you potion sample." She added, as though to drive the point home.
Harry nearly chuckled. "I think that's because he saw me cast an unbreakable charm on the glass vial."
"You did?" She asked surprised.
"Yeah," Harry replied. "I thought you could…sense that."
"I try not to pry too much into your mind," she told him sheepishly. "I can sense what you feel, and I could probably follow lessons with you, but I'd get frustrated being there but not actually being there. I also think we still need to keep our individuality somehow."
Harry agreed with her, as he practically always did. "Changing the subject," he said, "You were really quiet yesterday, even though you were awake."
"Yes, well, the Lestranges were keeping watch of me. I didn't want to let them know that I was conscious yet. They all think I'm still sleeping, and I want to draw this out as much as possible."
Harry nearly screeched to a halt. "How long do you think you can keep it up?"
She seemed to think for a bit. "Well, it's hard to keep track of time since it's so dark in here, and they sleep most of the time. They go hunting when they finish stocks, so I guess I could keep it up another couple of weeks at least, until they realize that they've been here longer than they think."
A couple of weeks, that wasn't a heck of a lot of time, really, and what would they do to her when she did wake up?
"Have you had Care of Magical Creatures yet?" She asked curious, changing the subject rather admirably.
"Yesterday, before McGonagall's," he supplied quickly.
"Was Hagrid teaching it?" She sounded concerned, and, honestly, Harry couldn't blame her, as he was so himself before attending the lesson.
"Yeah," he told her, "I was worried that he was out of teaching for good last term, but he said that, since all of Umbridge's decisions were of questionable intent, they were all being cleared to be inspected on further notice."
"How so?" A few traces of lingering apprehension could be detected in her question.
"Throughout the year there will be two members of the Wizarding Examination Authority checking on him at intervals to see what he's teaching, and if he's following his own schedule well," he reassured her. "His lesson programs have already been approved by both of them."
He could feel, more than hear, her sigh of relief. "Well, that sounds decent enough if he's already gotten that approved. I hope his examiners are nice, and that they don't have reserves on his mixed blood."
"He said he already met them, and that they seemed like nice folk," he relayed.
"I reckon that should go well enough then," she seemed to speak more to herself than to him, the way she often did when she was thinking things over. "How was his lesson?"
Harry's lip curled at the memory with a cross between a grin and a sneer. "Fairies," he told her simply.
Her voice held surprised amusement. "Fairies?"
"Yes, fairies," he realized his tone was rather disgruntled.
"And what's wrong with them?" He could practically hear her grin.
"Nothing besides the incessant giggling, the braided hair, and Lavender and Parvati cooing like pigeons," Hermione laughed at that, and Harry couldn't help but wonder at how he'd missed the sound.
"Yes, I bet they loved that one, didn't they?" The smile was detectable in her voice.
"Yeah," he replied with a shrug.
"So what class do you have next?" She asked curiously.
"Defence Against the Dark Arts," he replied quickly.
"Oh!" She exclaimed in excitement. "Have you had that yet? Do you know what she's like?" By her tone of voice he could practically see her besides him bouncing on the balls of her feet and balancing her armload of books as she did so. It was a very endearing mental image, he had to admit.
"No, this'll be the first lesson I have with her," he told her.
"Oh, it must be interesting to have someone like her teaching," Her voice was rather wistful as she said this.
"You can sit in if you want," he offered, hearing by her tone of how she wanted to be there, although he had to admit that 'sitting in' was a strange way of putting it. She hesitated in answering, contemplating the matter.
"I'd better not," her tone of voice was regretful, and Harry didn't know what made her come to that conclusion. "Just…make sure to tell me everything, ok?"
Harry sighed. "Alright." And with that he felt her drawing away slightly, though she was still somewhat within him, connected, yet not interacting.
And so he stepped into the new Defence classroom, wondering what exactly it might look like this time. And, considering that the teacher was very well blind, it was not what he would have expected at all.
Colour was everywhere.
Thick, luscious velvet drapes were hung from the tall cathedral ceiling down to the floor all around the room, strategically covering nooks and crannies that Harry remembered very well, concealing what was behind in a display of rainbow hues that seemed to lift his spirits instantly and dissipate his worries.
All around was light, because the windows had all been left purposely free of coverage, and somehow it seemed that the warm glow of day was enhanced by the room itself-which, as far as Harry's memory went, always seemed rather dark-and there were-globes-of what seemed to be light captured in a pulse of colour-all around the room, providing a spectrum of light at various different heights of the room. They must have had a purpose, and he was sure Hermione would have been able to tell him what they were for, but, as it were, she was giving him his own privacy in this, leaving him entirely in the dark.
Finally crossing the threshold, overcoming his initial shock and finally freeing the doorway to step inside, he found that the room was already half full (strange for such an early time, even considering what class this was), and that there were only a few seats left available up front.
The seats themselves were different from what they usually were in all his other classes, where two or even three people could pair off at a table. Here there were no tables at all, but comfortable looking seats made of wood with no armrests, spacious, but not space consuming. These were spread rather far apart, so that a teacher could very well walk through and inspect each individual student, but Harry wondered how he was supposed to take notes if he didn't have a writing plane to lay his parchment on.
Looking around at his peers that were already seated-and noticing with satisfaction that all of them were from the DA-he saw that they obviously didn't have this problem, for, where they were seated, either the left or right side of the chair had an armrest that extended to cover the person's lap in a practical writing board that didn't confine the occupant in the least.
Curious, he saw a chair next to Neville unoccupied on the first row, and, uncertainly, let himself down in it. On his right side (must adapt to the wand hand, he thought idly), he saw the wood grow as though it was still alive, to form the desk like surface that he saw on the other occupied seats, covered entirely in intricate carvings representing scenes that had unmistakable links to the battles against the dark arts, so light that one had to pay close attention to notice them, and, within those, something that he thought he'd seen before but couldn't recognize right away. It seemed just a bunch of dots that bumped the wood lightly, but there was a definite pattern to them, and, as Harry ran his hand over them, he remembered them for what they were; the letters that formed the Braille alphabet. It made perfect sense of course, since the teacher couldn't see the conventional written language, but how could she grade their papers then?
"Pretty neat, huh, Harry?" Neville asked enthusiastically from his left. "Professor Larvae charmed these herself the first day."
"In class?" Harry asked surprised.
Neville nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, we were her first class of the year, and when we sat down at the usual desks, she said that she couldn't work with us so close together, because our energy or something became blurred with who was next to us, so she had us stand up while she changed them."
"Couldn't she have done that before class started?" Harry replied confused.
"She thought she didn't need to," at this he pointed at the spheres of light over their head, one coming close to Harry as though trying to inspect him. There was a definite feel of magic and power coming from it, unsettling, but rather soothing at the same time. "See those? They're supposed to help separate each of us for her, but, apparently, when class first started we were all either really sad or really scared of her, so it kind of gave her a headache. I think that when we're in too tight a group and all feeling the same things it hits her harder than it does when we're individuals."
"And she told you all this stuff?" Needless to say, the Boy-Who-Lived was a little sceptical, especially since he'd figured that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was a living enigma and thrived in being such.
"Yeah, well," Neville had an almost rueful grin, "Lavender and Parvati were practically squirming in their chair the first day, and they asked as soon as they sat down. She didn't seem too happy about that, but I don't think she had a choice."
Harry was about to ask what the Oculus Immensus was like as a teacher, but before he could phrase his query, he felt the omniscient sight fixed on him from somewhere within the classroom. He didn't know how he knew that she was studying him, but he thought he found her 'glance' to be quite different from any other he'd ever felt, and quite easy to pick up on himself. So he looked around for a suitable change of subject, finding one as he eyes landed on Neville's scribing plane. "You got a new wand," he pointed out to his peer, who lit up at Harry.
"Yeah, yew, dragon heart string," he pointed out proudly picking it up from the indentation in the wood where it was sitting seconds earlier. "Gran almost had a stroke when I told her my dad's broke, but I think she was kind of proud when I told her how it happened," Harry wished he hadn't said that. It reminded him of just how Neville's former wand had broken, in the Department of Mysteries, which, of course, led him to think about what happened after the Department of Mysteries, which in turn led him to remember about the prophecy he heard in Dumbledore's office, and how he had been chosen.
He felt a surge of bitterness flood him for a second as he realized that the boy happily rambling about his new wand could have been the one to have to bear it all, and he had to suppress it before he felt the urge to lash out, which was already bubbling beneath the surface.
Harry blinked surprised. Where had that come from? He didn't want to hurt Neville. Sometimes he wished that it was his classmate that had all this weighing down on him, but he didn't wish him any harm, no matter how much contempt he bared for his own faith. And the ones of those around me, he thought desperately, as the image of Hermione's lifeless face came back from the recesses of his mind to haunt his vision before he pushed the traumatising picture back to where it came from. It almost felt like these thoughts were coming from the outside, not provided by his own mind. Harry sighed, as he realized what this meant. Voldemort was still poisoning his conscious, and this time, he was being more careful, subtler, so that the lack of violence didn't raise his suspicions. But they did. Because when Hermione was not in the forefront of his mind, and her reassuring presence wasn't palpable, those tainted thoughts were like an assault to his inner self.
Harry repressed the urge to shake his head as he forced the intrusion from his mind to focus back on Neville, who was telling him how much better his magic was now that he had a wand that was his alone. There was still a twinge of regret within Harry that he doubted would ever leave him, because he knew that Neville had nobody's death on his heart the way Harry did, and Harry envied that.
Thankfully, Neville's attention was captured by someone else at that moment, which gave Harry the chance to shift his own away from his thoughts to swirl in nothingness as he stared down at the desk. He noticed that there were several indentations in the desk that seemed to be placed there for a purpose. One was definitely for his quill and ink bottle, and he pulled those out to set them there, along with parchment and a few other things that he liked to keep when he had to take notes, a space that seemed made for his book, which he readily placed there, and an elongated straight one that had to be a wand holder, just as it was on Neville's desk. It was just the right length, width and depth for his own wand and he found that everything was placed precisely as he liked it around him, as though the desk knew what he wanted.
He really never had seen the Defence classroom quite as it was now. Looking around the room again he could see that there were definite hints that this was actually a class on the study of Dark Arts and its deflection, one just had to look for it. There were charts on dark creatures displayed along the banister of the stair leading to the teacher's private office (he'd been there many times, and wondered what it might be like now-definitely not the disgustingly flowery thing that it was just a few months prior), and behind the exquisite drapery he could see some kind of movement, and unusual sounds, that indicated there might actually be creatures to be studied concealed within (he smiled as this reminded him of Lupin), and the free wall space was occupied by more charts (of wands and other magical items), and by myriads of bookshelves all filled with tomes that seemed to promise many interesting spells and would have made his fingers itch if it hadn't been that the side binds showed the titles in Braille, which he couldn't read.
And it was then that he noticed that the corner closest to him, where the books were grouped more heavily and the sun shined brightest, was a desk, surprisingly bare compared to all the other times he'd seen it, and currently occupied by a ghostly figure in ethereal robes which seemed to be burning holes into him. She'd been studying him probably since he'd walked in, which meant her 'gaze' wasn't as detectable as he would have believed, and her brow, though smooth as always, seemed to be knit in deep thought (how exactly it could look smooth and knit at the same time he did not know, but it did indeed).
He'd seen her eyes up close once, and after he'd noticed that, though entirely white, both her iris and pupil seemed to have a shadow around themselves, it was actually easy for him to see in which direction her 'sight' was pointing, even at a distance, and, even if it was mostly trained on him, he'd seen it flicker once toward Neville, and then towards several seats on his right. Following her gaze he saw Ron, sitting between Dean and Seamus, even though he remembered clearly that there was a seat behind him that had been unoccupied for quite sometime.
He found himself looking back at his new teacher, her unseeing stare fixed upon him again as though she were trying to remind him of what she'd told him just the day before.
He understood now why Hermione didn't want to 'sit in' for this lesson. She had probably feared that her exuberance and enthusiasm in learning new things would show too clearly through Harry and give her presence within him away. The constant scrutiny was unsettling him greatly, when, finally, the door closed by itself to announce that the lesson was to commence, allowing him to sigh in relief. It wasn't likely that she'd give up on her study of him, yet, at least, it was bound to be less focused on him with an entire class to teach.
As she stood with a fluidity that only seemed to enhance the ethereal vibe that already seeped out of every pore, she stood, quiet and imposing, addressing the class with that startling deep, rich tone filled with throaty vitality to indicate the start of lesson. "Good morning, class," she greeted in a very Umbridge like way, Harry realized, although her salutation was welcomed much more warmly than the former teacher's ever had.
"Good morning, Professor Larvae," the class replied in unison, not in that bored, disrespectful drone that had been donned the previous year, but in a pleasant, almost reverent way. She showed no expression at this, but she seemed to radiate warmth at their response, as though she were smiling without having to. The air itself seemed to tingle when she walked by, her robes billowing in a manner resembling the theatrics of Professor Snape without the crankiness.
This particularly tickled Harry, as he wanted to know as much as Hermione had just what this teacher could give them, yet, as the class wore on with the Professor asking questions, he began to doubt. She was asking second year questions.
Simple second year questions.
That most of his classmates were not answering correctly.
He frowned to himself. What was going on? His weariness continued to grow as the lesson went on and the teacher went into extreme detail of all that they had covered in second as though this were the first time that they'd had to learn it.
Eventually, his uncertainty must have been too much to bear, because the Oculus Immensus saw all of it, and called him on it.
"Is there something wrong, Mr Potter?" Her tone of voice was neither unpleasant nor annoyed, both of which would have been the case if this were Professor Snape-which, thankfully, she wasn't-but rather…amused.
"Er, no, Professor Larvae," he answered uncertainly, rather fearful that she might find his problem offending.
One eyebrow was raised without the above forehead being wrinkled in the slightest. "Oh, really?" She obviously didn't believe him.
"Well," Harry began, "it's just that…well, isn't this second year theory?"
"Yes, Mr Potter, it is," she answered Harry's next question before he phrased it. "As far as I have gathered you and your classmates have had some lacking teachers before you, and, therefore, have fallen very far behind," Harry was about to tell her that Lupin had been a great teacher, but she spoke on, already knowing what he would say. "On the other hand, some others were quite good. That, however, did not help you all that much with your learning schedule. Professor Quirrell's program might have actually been considered a decent one by some people's standards, although, major setbacks aside, that man didn't teach you half the things that you should have learned in your first year. Thankfully, Professor Lupin was able to insert most of what you'd missed in his lessons, while still teaching third years what they were meant to learn. Unfortunately, as much as he is a good man, he is only human, and therefore, could not fill the abyss of knowledge that you had missed out on in your second year, thanks to the ego of what was Professor Lockhart. Now, I'm sure that, both because it is a subject that you have interest in and because you are friends with Miss Granger, you yourself have gathered what you were to have learned in that time, but most of your classmates have not," she told him.
"Despite the fact that he was a dark and insane wizard, Barty Crouch Jr, disguised as Alastor Moody, still managed to teach you some very valuable things, though most of them had nothing to do with what is generally taught to fourth year students, and, as far as your fifth year is concerned, I'm not sorry to say that it was nothing but time wasted with what you were forced to read-memorize-repeat. Dolores Umbridge's views were challenged enough already for the position she occupied within the Ministry, and she definitely should not have brought them to school where young minds were at stake," she took a deep breath, as though she'd been as angry as she would allow herself to be, and had to steady her breathing to regain her composure.
She turned back to Harry. "At the speed at which we are going we should be able to cover most of the theory that you have missed by the time we celebrate Gryffindor's first Quidditch victory," there were no protesting Slytherins replying here, because, as it was, none of them had managed scores high enough to get into this class on their OWL's.
This last statement seemed to pique the interest of the class more then the entire monologue that had just transpired. "You're a fan of Gryffindor?" Seamus Finnegan called out, surprised.
At that she smiled a smile that had the impishness of a rueful grin. "Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor."
"You were a Gryffindor," Neville asked surprised.
"Yes, I was," she replied with a proud tone in her voice, and was about to continue with the lesson, when she realized that Harry's earlier weariness still hadn't lifted after all that she'd told him. "Is something else the matter, Mr Potter?" this time she sounded bewildered.
"Actually, there is," he replied. "You haven't mentioned anything at all about the practical side of this class."
"That would be because before you can use your wand you must know how to make it function well," she answered readily. "Once the theoretical part of the program is caught up we will start on the practical, which should be done with by Christmas time," she reassured him. "Since this is your sixth year we can afford to cram all those things and your own study program in one term without hindering your results in your other courses. This way you will be ready to take on your seventh year and NEWT tests with much more ease, I hope." And with so, having acquiesced all of Harry's doubts, she began to walk among her students, once more asking basic questions that would, surely and rather quickly, be getting much more challenging.
To be continued.
Author's notes: Okay, as usual, let me know what you think, comments, constructive criticism, flames, all welcome (especially since it's promising the first snow here) ^_^. I have a job interview on Monday, which I'm getting ready for, but that shouldn't delay me too much, since bite 9 is already on its way, no promises, though. Special thanks go to J Choo and the lovely Lola (who is magnificent and marvellously helpful) for wonderful beta reading and support. Don't know where Michelle went to, but she should turn up soon to start beta reading for me again, so thanks to her too for all the other times she's helped me. And thanks to you for reading.
Pearl Drop Angel
AKA Roberta