labyrinth
Dazai meandered through the labyrinthine corridors of the school, time slipping through his fingers like sand. The search for the right classroom felt endless, each misstep leading him into yet another wrong room. To his dismay, he’d garnered far too much attention, his unintentional entrances eliciting curious stares and whispers.
At last, he stumbled upon the right room, the realization dawning as soon as he crossed the threshold. Over a dozen pairs of eyes, some familiar and others foreign, turned to scrutinize him. His gaze flitted across the room, noting the stark division of red and green—a clear indication of where he was supposed to sit. Yet, as he approached the benches occupied by the snakes, they hurriedly filled the adjacent seats, a silent but glaring message of his unwelcome presence.
Among the shifting bodies, one student remained an island of stillness. Blaise Zabini, remained utterly unperturbed, immersed himself in a book, as if unaware of the happenings around him.
Blinking, Dazai glanced towards the Gryffindors, only to be met with identical hostile glares. The hostility from both sides made him sigh as he moved to take his seat.
A shrill, grating cough pierced the tension, drawing everyone's attention to the center of the room. The Ministry toad sauntered forward, her hands clasped, a condescending smile etched onto her face. "Hm, hm," she intoned, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
"Hello, Professor," Dazai greeted her calmly, donning the charming smile Mori had trained him to perfect years ago.
"You're late, Mr…"
"Dazai," he responded, his voice steady.
"Well, Mr. Dazai," she spat his name with the venomous precision of a curse, her smile unwavering, "I do not condone nor tolerate tardiness in my class. Am I understood? You will serve three nights of detention with me for this transgression."
The absurdity of receiving detention before even attending his first class struck him, but he maintained his composure. "I look forward to it," he replied softly, fighting to keep his smile from darkening.
The Toad seemed to overlook his sarcasm, her saccharine smile remained fixed as she began to address the class. "Today, we will begin a new approach to your Defense Against the Dark Arts education. We shall focus solely on theoretical knowledge.” When a few students moved, she added. “There will, therefore, be no need for wands in this classroom."
A murmur of confusion rippled through the students. Dazai, still standing near the benches, took the seat next to Blaise, watching with keen interest as the reactions unfolded. Granger's hand shot up, her face a mixture of disbelief and determination.
"Yes, Miss…?"
"Hermione Granger, Professor. How are we supposed to defend ourselves without practicing the spells?"
Umbridge's smile widened, but it did not reach her eyes. "There is no need to practice spells. You will find that theoretical knowledge is sufficient. The Ministry has deemed practical magic unnecessary at this level."
Harry Potter, sitting beside Hermione, looked incensed. "But that's ridiculous!" he burst out. "How are we supposed to be prepared for real dangers if we can't practice defending ourselves?"
Umbridge's gaze turned icy as she addressed Harry. "Mr. Potter, the Ministry is more than capable of protecting you."
Dazai observed the exchange, a sly smile creeping onto his face. This new development seemed to work in his favor. His inability to perform practical magic as of yet would have hindered him otherwise.
Harry, however, was not backing down. "We need to know how to defend ourselves. The Ministry can't control everything that happens outside these walls. How are we supposed to fight if you don’t teach us?"
“And who would you imagine would want to attack children, Mr. Potter?” She asked as if addressing a small misbehaving child.
“Oh, I don’t know? How about, Lord Voldemort?” The dripping sarcasm in his voice was followed by the instant whispering of the students around him. Filling the silence with their voices.
“It seems, that through lies and deceit, you have all been greatly misinformed.” She began slowly making her way through the rows of benches. “As some of you were falsely led to believe that a certain dark wizard has miraculously come back from the dead.”
“He is back!” The teen burst out, standing up from his seat and whirling around to look at the professor with a fierce glare. “Do you suppose Cedric just dropped dead on his own!”
"Enough!" Umbridge's voice rang out sharply, her chest heaving with her barely contained anger. "Mr. Potter, your insolence will not be tolerated. You will join Mr. Dazai in detention this Saturday. Perhaps some time in my office will remind you of the importance of respecting authority."
Dazai couldn't help but inwardly chuckle at the turn of events. Harry's boldness had landed him in the same predicament, but it seemed the fiery Gryffindor wouldn't be silenced easily.
As the class continued, Dazai watched the interactions with interest. Hermione and Harry exchanged glances, clearly planning their next move. The rest of the students seemed divided, some nodding along with Umbridge's decree, others sharing the same frustration as Harry and Hermione.
Dazai settled into his seat, content to let the scene play out. His own challenges were temporarily masked by the new curriculum, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. For now, he could focus on navigating this new environment and the intricate web of alliances and enmities it presented. The serpents might have scurried away, but the game was just beginning, and Dazai was ready to play.
The rest of the class dragged on in a monotonous haze of lectures and note-taking, Umbridge's sugary voice explaining theoretical defenses with an unnerving enthusiasm. Dazai picked at his wrist absently, his mind wandering to the detention he would be sharing with Harry Potter in a couple of nights. He wondered if the boy's fiery spirit would make for interesting company.
When the class finally ended, he gathered his things and made his way to the door. As he stepped out, he sensed a movement to his side. Instinctively, he dodged, narrowly avoiding the foot that had aimed to trip him. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a smug Slytherin boy who quickly averted his eyes. Dazai scoffed and continued on without a word, his face betraying no emotion.
The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, a blur of lessons punctuated by the occasional whispered taunt or hostile glare. Finally, it was time for Potions, a class that promised both challenge and intrigue. As he entered the dimly lit dungeon, the overwhelming scent of brewing potions filled the air, making his headache start up again. He really had to get used to all the magic in the air.
Professor Snape swept into the classroom dramatically, his robes floating behind him as if I had a mind of its own. Without prompt, he ordered them to partner up.
To his deepening scowl, Dazai found himself paired with none other than Gregory Goyle. The burly Slytherin looked at him with barely concealed smugness, sharing a smirk with Malfoy’s other lackeys before joining him on their designated bench. His big, meaty arms almost made it impossible for Dazai to stand comfortably.
Ignoring the brute, he set to work on his assigned individual potion. He worked through the information he had studied previously, slowly making his way through the instructions. He was curious to see what practical potions would look like, now that he had a chance to try it out in lieu of only reading about it.
It didn’t take him long to realize the purpose of this impromptu team-up.
Goyle, to his rising annoyance, was unashamedly trying to sneak ingredients into his cauldron. The first two attempts ended in near disasters as Goyle purposefully mismeasured ingredients and stirred incorrectly.
Reminding himself that maiming a student would be counter-productive to his mission, he kept his reactions calm. He thankfully managed to avert catastrophe with deft adjustments, his sharp eyes caught each mistake in time.
However, Goyle's frustration grew visibly palpable, and with a malicious gleam in his eye, he grabbed a red vial off the table, one that Dazai knew at first glance to be a very unpredictable substance. Before the pm executive could react, Goyle hurled the contents into his cauldron.
A sharp hiss erupted out of the boiling potion which exploded violently a moment later, sending a spray of searing hot liquid onto Dazai's arms. His hands catching the brunt of the explosion.
The classroom erupted in shouts as many students ducked for safety, some startling so much that their own cauldrons spilled onto the floor.
As the caustic mixture burned into his skin. Dazai remained eerily calm, simply wiping the liquid off with a cloth. His expression was unchanged, and he did not utter a sound, despite the excruciating pain. The shocked gazes of his classmates bore into him, a mixture of horror and disbelief etched onto their faces.
Breaking the silence, Snape hurried over. “Out of the way.” He ordered, his usual mask of indifference cracking almost imperceptibly to reveal a flicker of concern. He stopped in front of the bandaged teen, hands hovering as if unsure how to proceed as he inspected Dazai's wrist. "Hold still," he commanded, reaching to remove the bandages that he always wore.
Dazai pulled his hand away swiftly, meeting Snape's eyes with a cold, unreadable gaze. "I’m fine," he said quietly, moving his arms out of reach and stepping back.
Snape's eyes narrowed, but he did not press the issue. "Go to the infirmary, Mr. Dazai," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Before Dazai could respond, Blaise Zabini stepped forward. "I'll take him, Professor," he offered, his voice smooth and composed.
Snape gave a curt nod, and Blaise moved to Dazai's side. As they left the dungeon, the whispers began, but Dazai paid them no mind. The pain in his hand was inconsequential, he had endured way worse. Blaise walked beside him in silence, and Dazai found himself intrigued by the boy's calm demeanor.
He would have to think of some way to put the Slytherins in their places. Retribution for this would not go lightly, he swore darkly.
His mind already whirring through every possible plan he could go with.
First, however, he would need to get past the nurse in the infirmary.
chapter 9 already up