Black Cats

When she got to the Great Hall for lunch, Kate and Brooke were already waiting for her. At the Gryffindor table, this time, which was a nice surprise - especially since it meant Chloe was there.

Max hadn’t really had a lot of time to think about Chloe.

Her style change was… radical, for sure. The blue hair, beanie, undone tie and unbuttoned blazer contrasted starkly against what she had been like last year.

Chloe had been a wreck last year. After her dad died, she’d spiralled into an unapproachable kind of depression. Her blazer was buttoned up and her tie was tied, but oftentimes her clothes were dirty and stained. Her blonde hair turned brown after so little time outdoors - oftentimes Chloe went without a shower so long it would turn a greasy shade of near-black, and she would reek of axe body spray. This lasted for about two months before she finally started to pull herself together - mostly because of the constant support and gentle prodding of Rachel, who refused to leave Chloe’s side most of the time.

Max wished she had been Chloe’s standing stone. Chloe had been her’s more times than she could count. But… it had been hard hanging out with her. Seeing the light in her deep blue eyes replaced with a stirring self-loathing and bubbling malice was… nauseating, to say the least.

After half the year had passed, Chloe had started attending her classes regularly again. She’d apparently been in danger of flunking out before finally pulling herself from her stupor. It had given her something to do - catching up with all the work she’d missed and learning everything she needed to for the exams. She hadn’t been good, exactly, but manically studying was better than silently stewing.

And this year she was… 

A punk rock lesbian, apparently.

She was a lot better, too, clearly. Maybe not as cheerful as before, but… better. Much better. Max wasn’t sure what had happened to her over the Summer - she hadn’t exactly been keeping a close correspondence with Chloe, between her trip to Seattle and being too steeped in her own things (and anxiety) to keep up with any of her friends.

But she planned to fix that this year. Reconnecting with Chloe should be easy enough.

She sat down next to her best friend, and across from Kate. Brooke was across from Chloe.

“Yo, Maxxie,” Chloe said, leaning over to spear a meatball on her fork. “The kids were just catching me up. What did Bowers keep you in for?”

“Uh, just some homework I didn’t finish,” Max muttered, leaning over to spear a meatball of her own.

“I hate him.” Chloe twirled her fork. “Have I said that yet today?”

Brooke seemed to chew on this question. “...No, I don’t believe you have.”

“Well. There it is.”

Max hesitated. “...Did you know he has a dog?”

Six eyes blinked at her.

“...Huh?”

“Pardon?”

“Puppy?”

Chloe, Brooke, and Kate all spoke at the same time - leading to another trio of blinks.

“Yeah,” Max said, “apparently he got him just last year. Pompidou.”

“Pompidou?” Kate cooed, hands on her cheeks. “Oh my Lord that’s so precious.”

“Uncharacteristically so,” Brooke muttered thoughtfully, popping a meatball into her mouth.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Chloe said, grimacing. “Stone cold bastard’s probably raising him to be put into illegal dogfights or some shit.”

“I dunno. He actually seemed kinda spoiled,” Max said, smiling a little at the memory. “I think Professor Bowers just… likes dogs.”

“Bet you ten sickles I can turn him pink by the end of the week,” Chloe said, grinning.

“Bowers, or Pompidou?” Brooke said.

“Why not both?”

“Are we including the weekend?”

“Well, yeah, I need some time outside classes.”

Brooke considered. “...Twenty sickles.”

“Hell yeah.”

“So mote it be,” Brooke said, flicking her wand sharply. A rain of orange sparks cascaded over them.

Kate seemed to be itching to either tell them off or bet herself.

Max ate another meatball.

“Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

The teacher, Jefferson, was standing at the front of the class, looking down at them with a soft smile. His hands were folded behind his back.

“Pair up,” he said simply, tilting his head slightly at them.

Everyone blinked.

“With someone who isn’t from your house,” he added, still smiling. “Pair up. Quickly now.”

After a pause - there was the screeching chorus of chairs sliding against the floor.

Max shuffled slightly in her seat.

This wouldn’t have been a hard order to fulfill at all - if she had taken this class with any house but Slytherin.

As-is, all the Gryffindors were forced to reluctantly pair themselves with whoever they thought was the least terrible Slytherin. This meant that Victoria Chase, who was seen as the most icy and therefore least volatile Slytherin, was paired with quickly.

It took several minutes for everyone to pair up.

By the end, Max was left sitting alone at her desk, having taken no initiative to find a partner.

Jefferson raked his eyes over all of them. His smile had fallen away by now, replaced with a blank mask of an expression that left Max no insight on what he was thinking.

“Who doesn’t have a partner? Raise your hand.”

Max, slowly, raised her hand.

Another hand raised across the classroom.

“Alright,” Jefferson hummed thoughtfully, “Ms…?”

He gestured to Max.

“Caulfield, sir,” she offered quietly.

“Stand up, please, Ms. Caulfield,” Jefferson said, taking a step back and giving her a reassuring smile.

Slowly - and very reluctantly - Max stood up.

Every eye in the classroom was stapled to her.

“Since you and Mr. Prescott were the last people to get partnered up,” he said, “I’ve decided to single you both out. Don’t worry, this will likely be the only time I do so - I just had no better method of choosing students. Mr. Prescott, please, get up here.”

Max heard the firm screech of a chair being shoved back, and saw a Slytherin student with light brown hair and dangerously flat blue eyes march to the front, head down.

“Oh, come now, no need for that hangdog expression, you two!” Jefferson said, trying for an encouraging smile. “Mr. Prescott, please stand here,”

He gestured to a spot to the left of his desk.

“And Ms. Caulfield, here.”

He gestured to a spot to the right of his desk.

Max shifted a little, and stepped over to the spot. She faced the classroom, and tried to ignore the embarrassed prickle at the back of her neck from having so many eyes on her.

She saw the boy apparently called ‘Prescott,’ though she didn’t recognize the name, do the same in her peripherals.

“Face each other,” Jefferson said, pulling out his wand and twirling it casually.

Max turned stiffly to Prescott. Prescott pivoted sharply on his heel to face her.

His face was a mask of pure malice.

She resisted the urge to shudder.

“Now,” Jefferson said, tone bright and easy, “you are both going to try and disarm each other.”

Max’s eyes popped open. Surprise flashed across Prescott’s face, for a moment - and then vanished like smoke.

“Oh, clam down, it’s perfectly harmless,” Jefferson said, directing this assurance at Max with a soft smile. Max didn’t manage to smile back.

Jefferson walked behind his desk, and picked up his chair.

He set it next to Prescott - who eyed said chair up with visible confusion.

Jefferson moved to stand next to Max, and shifted into a firm stance. His wand was held directly in front of him, hand deadly still and eyes sharp upon his chair.

“Expelliarmus,” he bit out - and his voice had shifted from the easy, carefree, assuring tone to something dangerous and commanding.

The spell shot out of Jefferson’s wand.

Spells looked… odd, and often different depending on the caster. Some spells - mostly charms - simply acted on the object in question, no transference or bolt of light needed. But most of them didn’t quite work like that.

The only spell that Max had ever seen that didn’t change slightly depending on the caster was the killing curse. In every portrait, the spell looked exactly the same - a blindingly harsh bolt of pure lime green light, that seemed to tear through the sky at breakneck speed.

Kate’s spells often looked a little less… harsh. More like a pen stroke. Thin, slightly slow, but very deliberate. Brooke’s spells looked like needles - sharp and sure. Chloe’s spells were like lightning bolts - fast, jagged, temperamental, and dangerous. And beautiful.

Max’s spells looked normal, as far as she was concerned. Brooke, though, described her spells as ‘bleached’. When asked to elaborate, Brooke hadn’t been able to - and had said that she didn’t know another way to explain it.

Jefferson’s spell looked like a burst of hot air on a cold day. It refracted the air - the pale red colour of the charm barely even really visible. If it hadn’t been cast in such an obvious way, Max thought she might’ve even been able to miss that Jefferson had cast a spell at all.

It hit the chair.

Nothing happened.

“Now, since this chair obviously isn’t a person,” Jefferson said, the danger gone from his voice and replaced with an easy humour, “it’s not going to lose a wand. I just wanted to demonstrate the spell. Notice the wand movement - just a sharp turn of the wrist. Like you’re turning a door handle. Both of you are going to try and disarm each other by casting this spell, once. Once and only once. You have one chance. You are not allowed to cast any other spell. You are not allowed to cast a shield spell. You may dodge. Now - ready your wands.”

Prescott seemed to be more than ready for this order. He pulled his wand out with a single, sharp movement.

There wasn’t any pleasure or malice in his eyes. Just a sharp, burning intent.

Max fumbled to pull out her own wand.

“On the count of three. One. Two.”

Jefferson paused dramatically. A few of her classmates snorted.

Max’s spine was as tense and taut as a bowstring.

“Three!”

“Expelliarmus!” Prescott called, lunging forward as he cast.

Max was barely aware of what was happening.

One moment, Prescott was taking a single step forward, the spell rushing from his wand - and the next, there was no classroom. There was no Prescott. There was no Jefferson, or peering eyes, or expectant classmates.

There was just a spell rushing at her.

She shifted.

It came to her as easily as breathing. The spell rushed out from under her arm - because she was pivoting cleanly, turning, so that she favored the side her right hand was on as she took a clean step forward.

Her wrist flicked, sharply and cleanly.

“Expelliarmus.”

There was a flash of light. A rushing sound - like a swooping bird.

And Prescott reacted on instinct.

His wand flicked up in front of him, and drew a single sharp, sure line upward. He mumbled something - and a blue shield flashed in front of him.

Max’s spell was absorbed harmlessly.

And then, the next moment, Prescott was moving his hand sharply again - this time in a half-moon shape.

“Collosho.”

Max took a stumbling step back - completely unprepared for an actual duel - and weakly shielded herself with her arms.

But the spell never made contact.

When she glanced up, Jefferson was standing in front of her. Wand drawn, and eyes deadly sharp.

“I said you are not allowed to cast any other spells, Mr. Prescott,” he bit. His tone was just as sharp as his eyes.

Prescott floundered.

“Ten points from Slytherin,” Jefferson said, stepping to the side again and pocketing his wand. “You’re lucky that was just a stickfast hex, Mr. Prescott, or else you’d have several days detention on top of it.”

Prescott’s eyes burned.

“Back to your desk, Mr. Prescott,” Jefferson said, still glaring.

“Yes, sir,” Prescott bit, marching back to his desk with loud steps.

A pause hung over the room.

“Five points to Gryffindor, Ms. Caulfield, for a wonderful demonstration,” Jefferson added, giving her his best attempt at a soft smile. “Back to your seat, please.”

Max nodded, and rushed back to her desk on light steps, eyes firmly stapled to the ground.

“Clearly,” Jefferson said, eyes drifting back to Prescott for a moment, “you all cannot be trusted to follow dueling instructions. We will be practicing on pillows instead. Luckily, I was prepared for this possibility, and have pincushions with needles in them ready. Every spell should take a needle out of the cushion if performed properly. They all have shield charms surrounding them, so no needles should be taking out anyone’s eyes. Everyone come to the front and get a cushion.”

They did, indeed, spend the rest of the lesson practicing on pincushions. By the end of class, Max earned another five points for Gryffindor, for having managed to take every needle out of her’s. Only five people managed to do this - three Slytherins and two Gryffindors, including Max. Prescott was one of the Slytherins - but Jefferson didn’t give him any points.

Max was already starting to establish an opinion of Jefferson.

Competent. He was very, very competent. Good instincts and a kind demeanor, as long as you didn’t blatantly ignore instructions or disrespect him.

Brooke would probably love him by the end of the year.