The Lessons
Chapter 16: The Lessons
The next day, Salazar lay on his bed in the same position as the night before, his arms tightly held against his chest, eyes open. He hadn't noticed when the sun filled the room. He couldn't stop thinking about what Mrs. Black had said, dissecting every word, reliving it in all its gory details. He believed her.
His father had a best friend when he was Salazar’s age, someone close like Godric was to him. The words stung. Had they been as inseparable as he and Godric? His father had abandoned his friend and let him die. How was Salazar supposed to process that? Was that why his father insisted he marry? He knew the dangers someone like him faced if caught. Would his father stand up for him? Or abandon him, like he had his friend? Would Godric do the same?
He thought about Godric’s uncle, Fordlow. Should Godric know about him? His father’s best friend had been Godric’s uncle. Now, Salazar was his nephew’s best friend. Mrs. Black implied it was ironic: his father raised the nephew of the man he left to die. But that wasn't the only irony. What Godric’s uncle had been, Salazar was. What Razledorf had let Fordlow die for, his own son had become. Now, Fordlow’s nephew had the opportunity to avenge his uncle by letting Razledorf's son suffer the same fate.
Salazar's thoughts churned, becoming morbid. Was this why he was the way he was? Some celestial joke? Punishment? Retribution for his father’s crimes? He hated his father even more, bile rising in his mouth at the thought of him.
Then the door creaked open. Salazar heard Godric’s unmistakable footsteps and regular breathing.
“Oh, you’re up,” Godric said, looking at him, sounding almost disappointed.
Salazar wanted so desperately to talk to him, but he didn't know if he had energy for a conversation, now.
“Where have you been?” he asked curtly.
Godric looked sheepish. “Out,” he mumbled.
“Out?” Salazar exclaimed, turning to look at him. “You’ve been out all this time?” He paused, then added, hurt, “Without me?”
Godric stared down, looking even more uncomfortable. He started searching for a change of robes. Salazar stared at his back, eyes furrowed. It wasn't like Godric to be out alone all this time.
“You’ve been to the Hog’s Head Inn, haven’t you?” Salazar probed, accusatory. “I can smell it.”
Godric neither confirmed nor denied it but picked up his things and headed to the door. One hand grasped the handle when Salazar spoke again.
“Why would you go out by yourself to the Inn?” Salazar asked, more to himself.
An awful idea struck him. “Have you been to see a girl?”
Godric looked at him pityingly. "Yeah, I have," he said.
Salazar's mind raced, unable to keep up with his panicked thoughts.
“Which girl?" he asked.
"The one I was dancing with the other night, with Helga."
Salazar groaned internally. “All night?” he asked incredulously.
“So what if I was?” Godric replied, haughtily but blushing. “Do I need your permission? But no, I just didn’t want to disturb you.”
That was the last straw.
‘Disturb me?’, Salazar thought ferociously. When had that ever mattered? He flung his blanket back over himself and turned over, sulking, cheeks red with anger.
Uncharacteristically, Godric left without apology or attempts to appease Salazar, closing the door quietly behind him.
He'd never acted like this before, Salazar thought, perplexed. After everything that he'd learnt in the last day this was too much. He'd wanted to unburden himself on Godric. Now he was as angry and annoyed at him, and scared. He screwed up his eyes so tightly that they began to hurt, and he saw lights behind his eyelids. What did he care about being disturbed?
This was the first part of Godric’s life he’d ever been excluded from. There had never been an area of their lives before, which they had not been fully, and unadulteratedly open about.
They had always allowed each other to thumb through the pages of their hearts, like books, at their leisure. So, this chapter was closed to him, was it? Wow, that hurt.
This was it then, he thought, dramatically. It was over. Just like that, in one night. Changed for ever. Everything Salazar had worked for, gone.
No, it can’t be! He tried to convince himself. He was just being dramatic. Things would go back to the way they were before long.
He got up in a kind of daydream. He had to start the rest of the day. He had to carry on like everything was normal.The revelations were too much though. So, he switched off his emotions. It was easier that way. It hurt less. His expressions were as cold as his heart.
He avoided the Great Hall, and skipped breakfast. He wanted to avoid Godric. It was too painful for him to look at him, and he had no desire to force himself to make polite conversation with anyone else. Instead he went directly to his classroom.
The classroom was underground, in the dungeons. He had a desk at the front. Five large cauldrons faced the desk, each held up by a frame, and hovering over a pit, which could be used to light a fire. A few stools surrounded each one.
It was cool and dark in the room, which felt comforting to Salazar. Despite everything that had happened he couldn't afford to go to pieces. He still had a job to do. Though he'd rather be anywhere else.
He looked to the side. One of the walls was lined with shelves. Each one was laden with jars and ingredients, and bottles. He quickly flickered his wand towards them, and a number shot out and zoomed straight towards his desk. He began to open them, and took out a precise number of ingredients and placed them on his desk. Slowly, he prepared the ingredients, and added them to a cauldron with the growing mixture. He lit the flames underneath it.
The attention and focus it required was a welcome relief. He was soon so absorbed in the task that he was distracted from his thoughts for a while. It calmed him down. He would not let his feelings control him.
The contents of the cauldron were brewing nicely, when Salazar was interrupted by the students entering. They were a real hodge-podge of nervous looking, excitable boys and girls, who didn’t look tall enough to be able to even peer inside their cauldrons, let alone master them.
The first lesson of the day was with the lower thirds - the youngest pupils. In turn, they each sat on a stool. There was a nervous twittering as they chose who to sit with. Predominantly, they stuck to their houses, although some of the girls formed alliances with those from other houses. Once seated they stared in amazement around the room, and at the black-bottomed metal of the cauldrons.
“Silence,” Salazar called, looking around the room.
The pupils stared back at him in awe.
He sighed, and carried on, “This is potions. A very ancient and useful branch of magic. Sometimes referred to as ‘pot-stirring’. Unfortunately, for you, there is a lot more to it than stirring pots. We will be starting with some of the basic poisons, before moving on to anti-poisons. It is a lot easier to destroy something than to save it. As I'm sure you can appreciate, it is a lot easier to know how to cure something, once you have a greater understanding of what the cause is. Or at least,” he sighed again, “that’s the theory. You will need to listen very carefully, and work together well, in order to succeed.”
Salazar proceeded to explain to them the method in great detail. Indicating the various ingredients as he mentioned them. Demonstrating how they were to press the lacewing flies with a tool. Indicating the order they were to put the ingredients inside the pot. How to light the fire below, and how, and when to mix it. He made it all look incredibly simple.
The students stared at him in rapturous attention. When he finally cried, “begin,” it took them several seconds to register a response. Then, suddenly, they rose, excitedly. They hunted ingredients down, searched for tools. Several of them took it in turns to try and produce water with their wands, to fill their cauldrons up. Salazar sat back watching the chaos ensuing with mild satisfaction.
He was unwilling to help. He figured it was the best way for them to learn. Soon there were lacewing fly bodies, and vobela beans flying across the classroom. Hinkeypunk juices squirted over their fingers, as the pupils tried to collect the liquids and pour them into their cauldrons. Lighting the fires beneath their cauldrons appeared to be the most lethal part of the procedure. Few escaped burns as they attempted the spell for the first time.
Salazar decided to take a turn around the room, when the cauldrons started bubbling and boiling. He peered inside, looking at their contents. Beneath the rising steam a peculiarly thick, purple concoction appeared to be brewing inside most of them. Although, the mixture in the Gryffindor cauldron was looking rather brown and gravy-like. Ruddy Mulberry, and Simeon Redfern looked exasperatingly at it as they stirred vigorously, without any signs of improvement. A foul smell like putrid fruit wafted up in the fumes.
Just as Salazar was passing the next cauldron, there was a cry of pain. Cuthbert Goddard had just let out a howl. He had been standing on his stool trying to get a better look inside the cauldron, when a scolding bubble of the mixture had burst, splattering up his arm, and hand with oozing liquid. It appeared to be violently reacting with his skin.
“Sir,” Walter Metcalf cried, pointing in horror, “Cuthbert’s arm.”
Cuthbert was trying to clean the sludge off himself with his robes. He was still groaning and crying from the pain.
Salazar rolled his eyes, and drolled, “Metcalf, can he still hold his wand?”
Walter looked for what he could see of the remaining blotchy, blistered hand of Cuthbert.
“No, Sir! No! I don’t think he can!” Walter cried in panic.
Salazar sighed, “You had better take him to Professor Hufflepuff then.”
Walter quickly grabbed Cuthbert, who was glad to be led away, and then they left immediately via the door. Salazar looked at the remaining boy at the Hufflepuff table. It was Tip Pickles. He was looking just as frightened and concerned for his fellow student, but rather more limited as to what he could do.
“Pickles,” Salazar addressed him, rubbing his eyes, “you will have to finish the potion on your classmates' behalf. There is still no excuse for substandard work.”
Tip looked at him even more alarmed by this comment. But, he never flinched. Though he had to move with one of his arms holding up his wooden crutch, he soldiered on, valiantly. He was essentially completing the task single handedly.
At one point he required additional ingredients. Unable to summon them with his wand he had to collect them himself. Time was fast running out, and Salazar sat at his desk watching him. With a striking clunk of his stick, and a shuffle of his foot, he made his way slowly across the classroom. His chest made the slightest heave every time he moved. Salazar looked at him expressionless, as the boy approached the desk. At the last moment, as Tip stretched out his hands for the ingredients, Salazar produced his wand, flicked his wrist, and sent the required number of ingredients flying into his palm. A smirk flickered across his face. Tip, in return, looked up at Salazar, and smiled at him, gratefully. Then he turned around, and started the reverse journey back.
Cuthbert had not returned to them by the end of the class. When they had finished, the pupils looked at each other, and their concoctions with a mixture of surprise and concern. They wondered to themselves how it could have been so difficult? It looked so easy to start with.
Salazar looked at their potions and carefully scrutinised them. They had done surprisingly well for a start.
“Five points each to Beaumont, Sharpe, and Meadows,” Salazar announced.
“Two of those are in his house!” Ruddy whispered to Simeon, vehemently, beneath his breath.
“And five points off,” Salazar gloated, “Mulberry, and Redfern.”
The two boys groaned.
“You did not follow the method correctly. The intention was not to kill the recipient by its smell.”
The two boys blushed to themselves in embarrassment. Tip was too relieved to have finished the task, and too anxious to find out how Cuthbert was, to be too concerned with his performance. It was fair to say that the students wanted to leave the class fairly hastily.
Once they had left, Salazar sighed to himself. He had made it. How many more to go?
*
Up in the entrance hall, Godric and Helga were deep in conversation.
“I can’t teach stars!” Godric exclaimed.
He was standing, whispering feverishly to Helga, who was looking back at him, with equal panic.
“Where even is Salazar?” Helga asked, fretting, and looking around nervously. "He didn’t come down to breakfast.”
“Nevermind about Salazar!” Godric protested in earnest, “what are we going to do? It’s not like Rowena to be ill.”
“The first day of lessons, and we’re already the last two standing,” she addressed him, determinedly. “Well, I shall have to teach stars then, and you will have to cover my wand class.”
“Right,” Godric nodded in agreement, but looking slightly less convinced, he still said, “We can do this!”
A short while later Godric stood up in front of the class of upper-thirds. Their faces looked at him in return attentively. He tried not to give away how unprepared he was, but the beads of sweat on his forehead may have betrayed him.
“Right then,” he announced, as he approached the desk.
There was a mountain of pages on top of it, and as he attempted to pick up the first page, he clumsily knocked the pile. The parchments scattered, and laughter rang out from the students. Godric left the pages on the floor and picked up the new top page, and read it.
“Animagi!” he cried, “I’ve always wanted to do that. Turn yourself into an animal at will. Sounds great fun. Did you know that we all have just one animal we can naturally turn into? I wonder what mine is!”
He turned the page over looking at it intently.
Valda Hyde put her hand up, and spoke in a whiney, high-pitched voice, Iisn’t that supposed to be really difficult, and dangerous, Sir?”
Then she folded her arms across her chest, pointedly.
“Ah, right, yes,” Godric bumbled, “of course. Something to work towards, perhaps.”
He looked around, hoping for some inspiration, he spotted Fyfe, on his right. He was wearing a smile.
“Farringdale! What would you like to learn?”
“I don’t know, Sir,” Fyfe flushed at being addressed by Professor Gryffindor, and wishing he’d had a better answer prepared, “something useful.”
“Something useful!” Perry teased him.
Godric looked at the floor, “aha,” he cried, picking up a sheet of paper, “engorgement charms. These make things bigger. Really useful. Good suggestion Farringdale.”
Fyfe flushed again. In time, all the pupils had their wands out. Godric demonstrated the spell and the wand movement, and then in turn they tried to copy it. They had varying degrees of success. Orion was, of course, a natural, being used to his wand. He kept quiet though. Secretly he enjoyed being at the top of the class. He progressed to shrinking charms as well. Perry, Fyfe and Henry were having great difficulties in making so much as the apples they were working on wobble. Much to the hilarity of Aldridge Lester, who sat, sneering, next to Orion Black, and much to the annoyance of the three Gryffindor boys. Godric was trying to help them, encouragingly, by showing them the movement again. At last, Henry, with such venom, jabbed the apple with a vehement, ‘engorgio’, that it did in fact grow, but at such an alarming rate that the boys and Godric had to dive out of the way.
“Good one, Ettington!” Aldridge shot at him, with mirth, “it’s almost as big as your head now!”
“Shut it, Baldridge!” Henry retaliated, “perhaps I should do it to your nob, you might be able to see it then.”
The other boys laughed, and clapped Henry, heartily, on the back. Aldridge darkened thunderously. Orion sat as quiet as ever, pale and emotionless.
To one side Valda and Gwenda were practising together. Gwenda was a little pink in the face from the strain of her effort. She was extremely determined, and was repeating the incantation over and over again to herself, to try and master it. Valda was a little more distracted, occasionally making a feeble attempt with her wand at the apple, but secretly watching the boys.
“I must be doing something wrong!” Gwenda declared, frustratedly.
“Yes?” Valda grunted sideways, as she stared at the way Perry’s hair fell in waves at the back of his head, one hand propping her chin up.
“I don’t think I shall ever get this,” Gwenda groaned to herself.
“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” Valda replied, sighing.
“It’s important! Our parents have paid a lot of money for this education. I, for one, don’t intend to waste it,” she snapped.
Valda turned to look at her pityingly, “you think this place is going to help? You think knowing how to make an apple grow bigger is going to be important in life?”
“Yes,” Gwenda faulted, “I’m sure it will be, at some point. And, besides, we’ll build on these skills.”
“Well, I think my mother sent me here to find a husband,” she said, honestly, “some of the richest wizards in the country are here. I, too, have no intention of wasting my time.”
The red-headed girl turned to look at her incredulously, and scoffed.
“Which one do you think’s the prettiest?” Valda asked her, seriously, and carried on without waiting, “or what about Orion? He’s tall, quiet, and mysterious. I hear he’s pretty wealthy.”
Vexed, Gwenda tried again. Much to her astonishment, and pleasure, it worked. The apple grew bigger. She clapped.
“Well done!” Godric cried in her direction, as the boys turned round, "Bravo, Hart; absolutely capital!”
Valda, unimpressed, tried to catch Perry’s eye instead, and smiled at him. He blushed. This made her grin even wider.
*
Later on, Helga marched into Salazar’s office. She wore a look of intense displeasure.
“Salazar Slytherin!” She said, ferociously. “That better be the last time any student of mine comes to me with half a hand missing!”
“Where’s Godric?” Salazar replied, unemotionally.
She looked enraged, “Salazar, that boy was traumatised!”
“You fixed him didn’t you?” he said, annoyed, “he’ll live. I’m here to teach potions. These unfortunate incidents are inevitable. They come with the territory. The boy showed little aptitude for the subject. I expect, next time, he will think twice before putting his hand into the mixture.”
Helga couldn’t believe her ears, “You are here to teach potions. You can’t expect the students to just know what they’re supposed to do when they’ve never done it before. You must take care of their safety!” Then she continued, looking at him crossly, “You’re not here to pine after Godric Gryffindor.”
Salazar’s face creased for the first time, wincing, at the mention of Godric’s name.
“He’s out,” Helga pursed her lips, “out again. Probably at the Hogs Head Inn, with that nice young girl of his, Gladys,” she said, feeling slightly victorious at finally being able to land a blow, “and he will be, if he knows what’s good for him.”
“Tip Pickles,” Salazar said, maliciously.
“What about him?” Helga threatened.
Salazar was about to say that he did not think he would be up to the rigours of the school. But, changed his mind at the last moment, and said instead, “he is a credit to your house.”
“Yes,” Helga said, slightly taken aback, “I believe he is.”
“That’s why you chose house rooms on the ground floor? So he didn’t have to climb the stairs all the time.”
Helga didn’t say a word, but raised her eyes in acknowledgement, and left.
Once she had left Salazar let out a groan, and covered his head with his hands, as he laid his head on the desk.
Godric didn't go back to Salazar’s room that night, nor any night, for that matter, ever again.