look me in the eyes and burn

History of Magic was, as always, a total waste of time.

Having a ghost as a teacher should be amazing, and it was, if Binns wouldn’t drain the life out of them. His wheezy, droning voice was guaranteed to bore them to death; a slow, head-ache-inducing, monotone death.

It’s not like Hadrian thought History of Magic was unimportant or pointless, as you learn from events and mistakes that’s happened in the past. Therefore, the better you knew history, the better you knew some (probable) consequences of certain actions and could avoid doing the same mistake again. But for that to work, they first needed to learn something. And learning how to sleep with their eyes open and seemingly interested did not count.

So, as it was, Hadrian tried. He really did. A full ten minutes, after that he was gone. Watching the raindrops splash against the window and race each other down was so much more interesting. Thinking of rain —

An umbrella does only so much, but a charm to repel the water took too much effort to keep up. So, what if the charm was inlayed in a rune-matrix, using accumulated magic and those swirling freely around, unbound?

It shouldn’t cover too big of a radius, just the person, and the clothes, obviously. Therefore the charm wouldn’t need to flow along the skin, but a few inches away from it. Nevertheless, it definitely shouldn’t move away from the individual. Maybe bind it to the blood? In a tattoo?

Nah, that would be hindering when you wanted to take a shower, or a bath. So a pendant or some other jewellery would be best.

Now, what spells could he use? Water-repellent, definitely. Maybe also something that would protect the person from the wind and the cold?

And… yes…

Lost in thoughts, Hadrian started to write out a few ideas. The first outlines and concepts, some thoughts and problems that may arise, the combinations and runes he wanted to use.

It was a good idea, he mused. Even though it had absolutely nothing to do with History of Magic. But then, doing something was still better than sitting around and staring into the air for an hour.

xXxXxXx

When the bell eventually rang, Hadrian was probably the only one not relieved by it. As it was, he rather reluctantly packed his notes away and had to force his thoughts to concentrate on Potions.

A hand gripping his arm had Hadrian tense and flinch slightly, before he got himself under control.

Damn stupid reflexes.

Hermione, with her hand on his arm and dragging him along, turned her head, her brows furrowed confused. However, the irritated glint in her eyes was still rather prominent.

“How would it be,” she asked Ron and him coldly as she stomped down the hallway to Potions, “if I refused to lend you my notes this year?”

“We’d fail our O.W.L.s,” said Ron. “If you want that on your conscience, Hermione…”

“Well, you’d deserve it,” she snapped. “You don’t even try to listen to him, do you?”

“We do try,” Hadrian shrugged, “it’s just that he has that talent that make the most interesting things seem boring. And all he ever talks about are either Goblin or Giant wars, never anything new or interesting.”

“Because it is part of History of Magic.”

“But what about other wars? What about those between us Wixen, not just us against Purebloods,” he asked immediately, thoughts that had been on his mind for years now. “What about our culture and the way it was shaped, our society. The reason the Statue of Secrecy exists or why Dark Magic is frowned upon and forbidden. What was done that was so horrible that whole parts of Magic are now damned? Why does slavery still exist here, even though it’s been banned for centuries in the Mundane World? Why don’t we learn about things like that?!”

Ron stared on with wide eyes while Hermione looked almost stunned, perplexed.

Eventually, she shook her head and started walking once more. Her face had been coloured by surprised by Hadrian’s sudden questions; it had even grown slightly contemplating. But, as unexpected as these inquiries were, to her brilliant mind, there were obvious answers and explanations.

Why would Binns need to teach such common knowledge?

“Dark Magic is dangerous,” she lectured, “and was used by the worst criminals. It corrupts you and your mind, just look at Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It is harmful for everyone. And the Ministry banned it to protect us and defenceless Muggles, to stop unjust discrimination. And the slavery,” she wrinkled her nose in blatant disgust. 

“The Wizarding World is centuries behind the Muggle World. They are so set in their old believes and rules that were made by up-stuck blood-purists, it’s no wonder they’re still stuck in the Dark Ages. Never mind that Purebloods, those who hold all the power, would never want to loose their free labor forces. It’s also why the Statue exists, obviously.”

If Hadrian had been shaking his head internally before, then he was now flinching outwardly, his wide eyes snapping towards her disappointed, disgusted face.

"Magic can do so much,” Hermione continued on passionately, “and could help so many people. But of course, egoistical, power-hungry men can never share. Just image how much good we could do if we didn’t need to hide. Our Potions could cure terminal diseases. We can build and repair anything with a few simple Charms. Stopping criminals and helping the poor would be so easy. We could unite them.

“So much good could be done if simply we didn’t need to hide.”

Hermione sighed sadly, her fervent desires prevented by those ‘selfish, egoistical blood-purists’.

Hadrian shuddered, a cold breeze going through his body. He took a deep breath, and another, willing his shaking hands to stop, to stop shaking, to stop clamping, and sweating, and channeling magic.

His eyes fell close, heavy and heavenly, until Ron’s sudden, unexpected, loud, thoughtless — though certainly no less enthusiastic — agreement broke through his shields. It threw him off, and his already scattered thoughts were lost all over the place.

He felt like throwing up.

It felt like a knife to his gut.

Hadrian’s feet continued to walk forward. His legs wanted to give out, but he persistent. He just had to… he had to keep moving. And breathing. And concentrating on the light, dancing before his eyes.

But his heart was beating fast. Too fast, too furious, too wild. It pumped and pumped and pumped blood through his body. It made his head feel light and heavy at the same time. It made his sight swim and blur.

Everything was blurred.

Hogwarts’ beautiful stone-hallway, with students of all ages walking up and down, past and present, was blurred.

The shadows started quivering and growing, dancing to his too fast heartbeat.

There was a buzz in his ears now, and Hermione’s voice — still talking and knowing and not knowing anything — grew more and more dim with the seconds.

And then it was over.

For a moment, there was nothing.

And then —

— then there was everything.

Heavy footsteps were thudding, running through the mud and echoing all around him, through the tunnels and halls.

“I love you, Daddy. Love Papa too.”

Unnoticed, a little white Marigold turned a deep, sparkling red.

A soft breeze caressed his hair and sun rays kissed his skin. Somewhere behind him, happy, colourful laughter filled the air, before a loud BOOM brought eery silence.

Tears fell.

Children’s happy smiles disappeared as quickly as they did.

“Good night, Daddy.”

Green. Green. Why was there so much green?

“Now, hold still.”

Red. R-Red. Why was there so much r-red?

Piece by piece.

Actually, the color green was quite nice. It didn’t hurt.

“Stand up. Come on, stand up. Stand up!”

Darkness. So much darkness. And shadows, everywhere.

Flames rose, vengeful and happily devouring everything in their path. Everything. Every little. tiny. thing.

Draco — no, no nonono!

Screams and cries sounded like a haunting melody, followed by a shock-wave of pure, unadulterated magic.

The air was getting thick, he noticed. It stunk and it was getting harder to breath.

“I’m sorry, —”

“Harry!”

Air filled his lungs and lights blinded his vision.

The darkness receded and shadows stilled, grew smaller and smaller until only barely anything was left.

Hadrian’s heart was still beating erratically, thumping his blood (red, red) too quickly, too much. He felt so light he could fly, so heavy he couldn’t move.

But the buzz in his ears had quietened, and — he blinked. He was in the hallway; Hogwarts’ ancient halls and beloved structure greeted his sight.

Though, before him, right in front of his person, was still black. Black hair and black eyes. But the skin was light, and swirling with happy magic.

There was no red.

There was no green.

He breathed. He was safe.

Cho Chang stood in front of him, for once not surrounded by her gaggle of friends. And next to him were Hermione and Ron, staring at him with worry and concern etched onto their faces. Hadrian took a step back — not at all okay with the idea that someone stood behind him even partially, out of his sight.

He swallowed hard, and worked to unclench his horribly aching muscles. His magic, he knew, was a lost cause. Not that he didn’t relish in the feeling of it, coiled tightly and protectively around him, embracing him whole; safe and secure.

“Hi,” he finally forced out, sounding breathless and tiny, so out of his depths it was embarrassing.

Hermione and Ron were still looking at him, anxiety and confusion marring their youthful faces. He paid them no mind for now. Cho had just asked him something and he had to figure out what exactly she meant.

What stuff would he need to get off…?

“You know,” she laughed awkwardly, “the Stinksap.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s uhm— it’s all gone.” Circe, he was so not prepared for this…

“How are you?” There, that was a good question. Cedric had been her boyfriend, after all, and his sudden death must have affected her badly, just like it had him the first time around. It was a safe topic to talk about… well, not really… fuck.

Cho’s small smile became more forced and her overall bearing more somber. She was still grieving, but she was getting there, slowly. “I’m fine,” she said, “could be better, of course, but… you know.”

He did know.

Oh, how he did know.

Therefore, he simply inclined his head and offered her his ear whenever she wanted or needed to talk. He would be there for her, as no-one had been there for him. As long as it concerned Cedric, at least.

He would not — and could not — reciprocate her strange feelings for him. He was neither interested, nor a replacement for her deceased boyfriend.

It wouldn’t be fair on either of them.

Cho looked surprised, but accepted his offer gratefully with small, sincere smile on her beautiful face.

And as Ron suddenly started on her for her Tornados badge, Hermione and Hadrian quickly whisked him away, continuing their original path towards the Potions classroom.

xXxXxXx

The damp coldness of the dungeons was a welcome shock to Hadrian’s system. It helped centre him and forced his mind and bodily functions to work to keep him warm, not to keep his heart beating abnormally fast and his memories whizzing by.

The close proximity to Draco was also more than welcome, even if he couldn’t curl up in his arms and hide from the world. At least he was there. There and immediately aware that something was up.

His soft, concerned gaze joined that of Ron and Hermione.

Thankfully, at least the questions the two heaved upon him cut off when the heavy classroom door creaked open.

Without more preamble, the silent students quickly slipped into the room and took their places, all the while keeping their mouths shut.

No-one, not even an O achieving Slytherin, would dare to call Snape’s attention to them. Never mind his bad attention.

It took but a few seconds for Snape to enter the room and now, even the last fidgeting stopped. With a flourish, he turned around and started the lesson.

xXxXxXx

The class passed as expected: a warning for the O.W.L.s, a rough layout of the lesson’s plan, acerbic comments, some insulting looks, and the making of a fairly complicated potion.

It was… nice. Relaxing.

The steady, soothing motions of cutting and slicing the ingredients. The counting of the stirs, clockwise and counter-clockwise. The low bubbling of the mixtures.

Unconsciously, a smile crept onto Hadrian’s lips. And slowly but surely his magic also relaxed again.

Although Hadrian had to keep watch that he held it close to his person; he did not need an explosion simply because a potion got imbedded with too much magic while in making — it was the most vulnerable state of a potion, after all. Too little or too much magic could ruin the whole thing.

Maybe his relaxed state could also be attributed to the potion they were brewing. The Draught of Peace; which, well, brought peace. It calmed anxiety and soothed agitation when done right, and put the drinker in a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep if done wrong.

“A light silver vapour should now be rising from you potion,” called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.

Hadrian, who was quite satisfied with his concoction, looked around the classroom. He had become passable at Potions — a necessary means — but he had never found as much joy or solitude in them as Draco and Snape had.

The surface of Hermione’s potion was a shimmering mist of silver vapour, just like his. It was adequate, if Hadrian had to guess. No potions master would ever want to use such a potion, sure, but it was quite alright for a first try and definitely not as bad as some of the others; some of which were spitting rather colourful sparks.

Though, of course, his and Hermione’s potion held nothing to Draco’s. But that was to be expected. He was a Potion Master, after all. (No matter that his Mastery was not recognised because, timely, he had not done it yet. And they did not know about it.)

Snape seemed to agree — however unknowingly — to Hadrian’s assessment, as he hummed approvingly at Draco’s potion, gave no comment to Hermione’s (which meant he found nothing to criticise), and looked unhappy when he reached Hadrian’s.

“What, Potter,” he asked scathingly, “is this?”

Hadrian straightened his back, keeping his face carefully neutral. “The Draught of Peace, sir,” he said respectfully.

A shadow seemed to pass over his professor’s face, but it was fleeting and gone before fully there.

And Hadrian, now knowing of Snape’s precarious position, could suspect what was going through his head.

After all, he was Harry Potter — number one enemy of one of his masters and favourite puppet of the other.

He had sworn an Unbreakable Vow to protect him (and reassure Dumbledore that he would not be able to betray him). — Yet, he could not openly protect him because that would get him tortured and killed by the Dark Lord. However, neither could he really do it secretly, with Hadrian knowing, at least, because of Dumbledore.

It would hinder the plans he had in mind for Hadrian if he knew that Snape would always be there to help him and have his back.

The headmaster needed Harry malleable and downtrodden, willing to do anything and everything to keep the friends and family he had found; even going so far as to give his life for that.

Dumbledore endangered and toyed with Snape’s life as much as the Dark Lord.

And he couldn’t do anything about either of this.

Because he could not tell him. Harry had no training in Occlumency, was too naïve and trusting. He would basically scream it out to the world. Besides, Harry would never trust Snape. Not now. It was simply too late for that. He was already much too deep in, caught in the net of manipulations and kind words thrown his way by Dumbledore.

Also, the headmaster had told Snape of the connection Harry had with the Dark Lord, so even the smallest, tiniest mistake could lead to the discovery of Snape’s betrayal. And that couldn’t happen, of course, lest Dumbledore loose his spy.

And so, instead of allowing himself to see Hadrian as Lily’s child (intelligent, kind, naïve, fool-hearted Lily), he only concentrated on James (arrogant, bully, holier-than-thou James).

Snape could not — would not — let himself feel sympathy, or even longing, towards the child of his best friend.

He needed to loath him, belittle and bully him mercilessly.

He needed to protect him and not alienate him too much.

It was a fine line to walk.

It was a hard line to walk.

It was the knife’s edge, and no matter what, he would cut himself. Snape would never come out of this unscathed.

Because if the Dark Lord won, Hadrian would be dead — so would be Snape, because he did not stay true his Unbreakable Vow to protect him. And if Dumbledore won, Hadrian would be dead too, because he was a Horcrux, and according to Dumbledore, there was only one way for Hadrian to get rid of it.

Even if Harry would survive — and, by some miracle, Snape too — then Snape’s life would never be his own. He would either be thrown into Azkaban, or Dumbledore would keep him chained to the castle, like he had done for over a decade already.

Snape’s life would never be his own to do as he wished. It was never his to live. 

Why else would Snape — Hadrian’s Snape, the one who gave him his memories, who gave him the greatest gift he could have given him, his mother —, why else would he not have an anti-venom.

After all, he knew Nagini, knew the possibility of being bitten by her. He was a Potions Master, fighting for his life in the hope of being able to live (why else would he have stayed so long in this cage?). He was the best in his field and, added to that, as paranoid as they come (he wouldn’t have lived as long as he had otherwise).

So why had he not healed himself? Why had he given up? Given in?

Because, by all accounts, he should not have survived, knowing Harry was a Horcrux and on his way to his own death.

He had fulfilled his duty. There was nothing left for him. He had been done.

In the end, he had willingly died in the Shrieking Shack.

Here and now, with everything that was at stake, with everything Snape had to consider and to take into account, with what he had to watch out for… Hating Hadrian — it was easier than hiding his affection.

But with Hadrian being good in Potions and showing Snape that he wasn’t as inept as James, but smart and talented like Lily, well… that just made it even harder for Snape than it already was.

And so, when the professor drawled, “I do not tolerate cheating, Potter,” Hadrian stayed calm, respectful. (He had so much respect for him. He never could have done what he did. Day after day after day.)

“Of course not, Professor.”

Snape’s jaw tightened. “Detention, Potter, tonight at seven. And ten points from Gryffindor.”

Wordlessly, Hadrian hung his head, hiding his remorseful face.

It wasn’t fair. It never was.

Snape swept past without any further words or actions.

The rest of the lesson passed in silence. Vials clank together and potions of various states flowed. One or two vials fell or exploded, and Goyle’s robes caught fire, but apart from that the vials all made it to Snape’s desk and the students out of the dungeons unscathed.

xXxXxXx

The ceiling in the Great Hall was an even murkier grey when they got there for lunch. Rain was lashing the high windows and Hadrian’s fingers simply itched to carve his ideas into a pendant write his matrix on a piece of paper to see if it could work. No need to be hasty…

“That was really unfair,” Hermione said consolingly, sitting down next to Hadrian and helping herself to shepherd’s pie. “You didn’t cheat.”

“Yeah, well,” Hadrian shrugged, “it is what it is.”

“But,” Hermione brought her fork down forcefully, hung up on a tiny bit of injustice, “that isn’t okay. Maybe we should talk to Dumbledore…”

Rolling his eyes at Hermione’s childish believe that the Headmaster could solve every problem or would want to be bothered by something like this — where he had probably had a hand in orchestrating it all — he opened his mouth. “Just let it be, Hermione. It’s not anything new. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! I did think Professor Snape might be a bit better this year,” said Hermione in a disappointed voice. “I mean… you know…” She looked carefully around; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table. “… Now he’s in the Order and everything.”

“Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots,” said Ron sagely.

Hadrian cocked his head. “But why would he change? Suddenly exhibiting different behaviour would only indicate that’s something’s going on, and the Order is supposed to be a secret.”

Ron looked dubious, “I’ve always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where’s the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?”

“I think Dumbledore’s probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn’t share it with you, Ron.” Hermione snapped.

Merlin, she was so trusting. So naïve. She didn’t even know for certain if her words were true; had no facts to back them up, only her boundless trust in authority figures, with Dumbledore at the helm.

Closing his eyes in the face of her childish gullibility and another round of bickering from the two of them, Hadrian turned back to his food. He had taken the nutrition potion while he’d claimed he needed the toilet and had planned to enjoy his lunch. It seemed it was not to be.

“Oh, will you shut up.” He said heavily, as Ron once more opened his mouth to argue back. Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. “Can’t you give it a rest?” He asked. “You’re always having a go at each other, bickering like an old married couple. It’s driving me mad.”

And that was that. Ron and Hermione stayed silent, shooting him betrayed and miffed looks with him blissfully ignoring them, and the rest of the lunch break passed with no more arguments.

So it was that they’d all (well, Hadrian and Hermione, Ron’s stomach was literally a black hole) finished before the bell rang and went to their respective classes.

Hermione went to runes — with Hadrian looking after her ruefully — and Ron and Hadrian took the path to Divination, the most useless class for people without the Sight.

Hadrian definitely belonged into the category without it. It also didn’t help that Professor Trelawney kept predicting his death. Especially considering the other things she’d predicted:

She’d told Fred that he and his twin would be separated by a tragedy — Fred had just laughed. Why shouldn’t he? After all, nothing could separate those two. (But then Fred died.)

And Tonks, she’d seen danger in the halls for her. And just like Fred, Tonks’ had laughed. She tripped down the stairs at least once a week, if not more. (But she and Remus had fallen in Hogwarts’ halls.)

Little Colin had been told he would have a terribly short life. Colin laughed, because he wasn’t very tall to begin with. (He’d died before he even reached adulthood.)

And Cedric. Why, she’d told Cedric something along the lines of meeting an enemy in a graveyard. And like everyone else, Cedric had laughed, telling her it was a good thing he didn’t hang out in graveyards.

Finally there was Hadrian, and knowing all this and still getting a new death prediction each lesson, he kind of wished he didn’t know. He kind of wished he wasn’t aware of all this, didn’t know that Trelawney was the real deal.

But he did know. Just like Trelawney always knew.

(How many deaths would it take before he finally died?)

The marble steps leading up the North Tower were taken with reluctance, a certain dread growing in his stomach the closer he got.

Trelawney, a thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, was busy putting copies of battered, leather bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered when Hadrian and Ron entered the room. But the light cast by the lamps covered by scarves and the low-burning, sickly-scented fire was so dim, she appeared not to notice them as they took a seat in the shadows.

Steadily, the rest of the class tickled in and took their places.

“Good day,” greeted Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice. “And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes — Death! — most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted — horror! — to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely — alive! — as, of course, I knew you would. —”

“Fuck…” Hadrian hissed, cursing his dumb luck and Trelawney’s gift. Wasn’t he already dealing with enough as it was?

But so passed the hour. Trelawney, despite spouting off morbid words, was calmer than usual. Her normal, eccentric self nowhere near her behaviour today.

But… Hadrian’s eyes widened, zeroing in on his teacher. Her eyes were slightly glazed behind her tick glasses, her movements almost slow at moments.

She was pumped full of Calming Draught. Probably because of something she’d Seen and flipped out.

If it had something to do with him and where he came from, though, and she had screamed about it — he could only hope no-one could make any sense of her hysterical babbling.

Throughout the lesson, the haunted look would not flee her features. Now and again, her eyes would stray over to Hadrian, where she would freeze and simply stare at him motionless. Only for a second though, a single, short second. Then she’d carry on as if nothing had happened.

The bell ringing the end of class was Hadrian’s salvation. The speed in which he packed his things and was ready to go surpassed even Ron’s. And yet, the moment he turned around to the trapdoor to leave, Trelawney was there, her glazed eyes staring unblinkingly into his poisonous green ones.

“Look me in the eyes,” she rasped, all dreamy and not quite there. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? But oh, so cruel?”

Hadrian’s throat had closed up, his muscles seized. Standing there, stiff as a board and looking directly into Trelawney’s eyes, Hadrian was paralysed. Paralysed as dozens of students had been in his second year. But it was not Trelawney with the gaze. It wasn’t her. (If a venomous snake bites itself, would it die? Would it be effected by its own venom?)

“Of course, Professor,” came Ron’s voice. Had it always been this distant? This muted? “Your glasses are wonderful and it must be really horrible to be unable to see without them. But we really must get going. Wouldn’t want to miss our next class.”

And with that he went and dragged Hadrian with him, fleeing the overstuffed room.

“She’s completely nuts, mate,” the red-head exclaimed as soon as they were out of hear shot. “Look me in the eyes, wo-hoo,” he imitated her, laughing. But all Hadrian could really concentrate on was that very sentence.

Look me in the eyes.

Did she know? Did she see it, or was that just random? A Seer’s normal, eccentric self?

Aw, fuck. H couldn’t deal with this right now. Just… just ignore it. For now.

For now.

xXxXxXx

“Well, good afternoon!” Umbridge’s simpering voice shrilled through the classroom once the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled “Good afternoon,” in reply.

“Tut, tut,” said Umbridge, “That won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’ One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they chanted back at her, definitely overjoyed and apologetic.

“There, now,” Professor Umbridge said sweetly. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.”

Many gloomy looks were exchanged. After all, the order “wands away” had never been followed by an interesting lesson.

Hadrian, alongside everyone else, pulled out his parchment and fountain pen (a new acquisition and so, so much better than a quill). His wand remained in his wand holster, untouched.

Professor Umbridge meanwhile opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

Defense Against the Dark Arts

A Return to Basic Principles.

“Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn’t it?” Stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not have seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in you O.W.L. year.

“You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following please.”

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by another.

Soon the sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the room. And still, all the while Hadrian had to wonder how anyone managed to pass their DADA O.W.L.s the last time. Because honestly, what the hell?!

Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can be legally used — were they for real?

He would have laughed if it weren’t for the fact that people already thought him to be a madman and if Umbridge wouldn’t jump at the chance of giving him detention. He already had one, he did not want another; although Umbridge would definitely love to let her special message… sink into him.

And so, even when a discussion broke about between her and the rest of the class, with Hermione, and later also Dean, as the spokesperson, he remained unobtrusive and as respectful as he managed to be in her presence.

“I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school,” Umbridge eventually said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.” 

“Professor Lupin was a full-blooded Werewolf,” piped in Hadrian calmly, “he was a Pureblood —” 

“Hand, Mr. Potter! Don’t make me give you detention! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —” 

“No we haven’t,” Hermione said, “we just —”

“Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!”

Hermione put up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her.

“It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you —”

“Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn’t he?” said Dean Thomas hotly. “Mind you, we still learned loads —”

“Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas!” trilled Professor Umbridge. Hadrian winced. Could she be any more shrill?

“Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?” she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up. 

“Parvati Patil, and isn’t there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren’t we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?” 

“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,” said Professor Umbridge dismissively. 

“Without ever practicing them before?” said Parvati incredulously. “Are you telling us that the first time we’ll get to do the spells will be during our exam?” 

“I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough —” 

“And what good’s theory going to be in the real world?” said Hadrian loudly this time, his hand in the air to stop Umbridge from criticising him. 

Professor Umbridge looked up. “This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world,” she said softly.

“I am aware of that, Ma’am,” he replied smoothly, “but school is supposed to be a safe environment to prepare us for the real world.”

“There is nothing waiting out there,” said Umbridge consolingly. “Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?” She inquired in a horribly honeyed voice. A smily shiver ran down his back.

Hadrian raised his eyebrows. “What about predators? Thieves, rapists, child molesters, murderers? There are all kinds of sick people in the world, Madam.”

Ron gasped; Lavender Brown stifled a little shriek; Neville looked ill. Professor Umbridge, however, did not utter a single thing, shocked silent.

“Is telling such people that their actions are illegal going to stop them?” He shook his head at his increasingly infuriated teacher. “No,” he told her, “no, it won’t.”

Professor Umbridge was breathing quite heavily by now. Her pinched face drawn in a disgusted sneer and turning red and purple in anger. Her already horrible face was made even more ugly by the fact that she tried to keep her ‘kind smile’ on her face all the while.

The classroom was silent and still; no-one dared to move. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Hadrian.

Sadly for Umbridge, she could not say anything to dispute the things Hadrian had just said. It was the truth, one the pink toad could not hide or deny.

Unblinking, Hadrian stared at their ‘Professor’, a challenge in his eyes; it was her turn now.

“Now let me make a few things quite plain,” she finally managed to get out, her high-pitched voice strained and quivering.

Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.

“The Minister has personally approved of the curriculum, after you poor, traumatised children had to face such incompetent and dangerous breeds I deeply regret I have to call my predecessors. It is because of such incompetent and disillusioned people that our society has to bear the burden of such unfortunate folks as Mr Potter so kindly listed.

“Now, the Ministry has highly competent Aurors working hard to protect your sweet, little families. Therefore, there is no need to worry. Or to practise such dangerous and highly complicated spell work. My predecessors have lost naïve, hard-working pupils in the most horrific ways, which is why wizards much older and cleverer have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about all your defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way.”

Umbridge smiled sweetly; Hadrian smiled back, just as sweet.

“Professor,” he intoned, relishing in the way her eye twitched. “Where were these ‘highly competent Aurors’ when my defenceless cousin and I almost got our souls sucked out by Dementors this summer? Or when Arnold White, a Muggle scientist with no connection to our world, was consumed by fiendfyre? Or when —”

“That is,” Umbridge finally interrupted him, “quite enough, Mr Potter. It was a tragic accident what happened to Mr White, but in no way connected to a wizard. Our Aurors are not responsible for foolish Muggles.”

Then she looked at him sadly, all fake and shiver inducing. “And I’m truly disheartened to see that you still suffer under your misconceptions that lying is acceptable and will get you out of punishments. It is not, Mr Potter. And as your Professor, it is my duty to rectify such behaviour. Now, every time you tell a lie, you will loose ten points for Gryffindor. I know it might seem harsh, but trust me, Mr Potter, I’m only doing this for your own good.”

An outraged gasp from beside Hadrian had him quickly opening his mouth before Hermione could condemn herself in some heroic act of unnecessary help.

“I did not lie, Professor Umbridge. The Minister himself cleared me of all charges after my memories showed the truth of my words. Do you not remember? You were there.”

“Detention, Mr Potter!” Professor Umbridge shrieked furiously, humiliated. “Tomorrow evening. Five o’clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic cannot guarantee for a broken pensive and forged memories.

“As for the other lie you have so heartedly screamed to the world, hoping to gain fame and fearful wishes of help; you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. You-Know-Who is dead, as we all know. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners.’”

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. In the following shocked, disbelieving silence, the students slowly returned their eyes to the open books in from of them. No-one dared to move. No-one dared to speak. No-one dared to breath.

It was silent. So silent a pin could have dropped and they would have all gone deaf.

Unseeing eyes stared at the pages, reading and re-reading the same line over and over again.

It did not make sense. Nothing did.

Eventually, after minutes had passed, minutes which felt like hours and yet remained only seconds, the rustling of cloth could be heard.

A hand was up in the air, the black robe falling back and revealing green lining.

More than one pair of eye was drawn to this person. This brave, reckless Slytherin.

Blaise gave Draco a sharp look, making sure Umbridge was still not looking, before hissing “what do you think you’re doing?!” In his friend’s ear.

But Draco just winked at him. He opened his mouth. “Professor Umbridge, Ma’am?” He asked politely.

Immediately, Umbridge looked up, a simpering smile gracing her features. “Yes, Mr Malfoy?”

Her voice was suddenly so sweet and kind, it was the complete opposite of how she had talked to Hadrian just a few minutes earlier. But then, Hadrian was just a deranged teenager who was set to disrupt the order in the Ministry, while Malfoy was a Pureblood, with his father being very influential and pulling many strings.

It would be stupid to treat him the same as Hadrian.

Malfoy, unlike Hadrian, had the Minister’s, and many other Purebloods’, backing.

“You are, of course, right to want to protect us, what with all the dangerous things that’s happened the last few years because of incompetent Defence teachers and spells gone wrong. Theoretical knowledge, if learnt and understood properly, is one of the most important things.

“However, I couldn’t help but notice that any explanation and outline of the wand movement and its importance for the spell was missing. How would I be able to perform the practical part of our O.W.L.s to my father’s expectations, if this essential information is missing; it is always labeled as too ‘complex to understand at such an age’. My father will be most displeased by such low teaching standards at this formidable school.”

Well, he would be appalled either way, as their course-book didn’t contain anything of usefulness. It was a children’s book, for Merlin’s sake. Children. Young children who hadn’t even begun magical education.

Professor Umbridge looked possibly lovely; frozen in her constipated state.

Draco smiled like the angel he was.

Blaise, and literally every other Slytherin, nodded in solemn agreement; silently backing their own.

The Gryffindors looked at him an shock at openly criticising Umbridge, and slight disgust, that he would not only butter up to their toad of a Professor and agree to her teaching style, but also that of course, his father would hear about this. Honestly.

“You are right, Mr Malfoy. These are certainly valid concerns. Do not worry, I will make sure the Minister will be made aware of this slight oversight.” She cleared her throat (Hem, hem). “There will be no need for your father to be bothered with such inane, little problems; he is such a busy man, after all.”

Draco inclined his head regally. “Of course, Madam. You are being most helpful.”

Umbridge tittered behind her small, sausage-like hand, before ordering the students to continue their reading.

And if behind Draco’s plastered on smile, he wished he had his lover’s gaze? Well, then that was neither here nor there.

Interlude:

It was already dark outside and the Hogwarts Express had just arrived a few minutes earlier.

In a short while, the students — new and old — would be clambering through Hogwarts’ ancient halls; reuniting with their friends and maybe already starting arguments with their school-yard rivals.

Life would once more return to this beloved castle and drive away the loneliness. In the following months, new friendships would form and love would blossom. Knowledge would be passed on and warnings not adhered.

And trouble, it seemed, was just waiting to commence. It was in the stars. In the flames and crystal balls.

Sybill Trelawney had seen it coming, the hardships and problems, the feisty demons, cloaked in smiles and shadows. They were all just waiting for the right moment to come to consume them all; to consume the minds of young and old, and spread their terror and reign.

It was dark. It was light. It was colourful.

A firework — lighting up the sky, for all to see, to hear, but not to know where it came from or where — when — it ended.

Sybill had seen smiles and laughs, happy children and blissful oblivious adults. They were happy. But sometimes, sometimes their faces were drawn in horror, distorted with shock and forever frozen still.

Other times there was nothing.

And again other times, other times there was death. Cold and hot, so close yet so distant, hovering but staying away.

Happy, colourful flowers filled her vision then. Filled her with their sweet scent and most exotic shapes. They were beautiful. But there were still these shadows, clinging to them and not wanting to let go.

Those vision, those sightings, were new. Trelawney had never seen them before, did not know what to make of them. They spoke of horrible events. They spoke of delight.

But those things were far away; it would take a long time to pass and no matter how hard Sybill tried, she could not grasp whole meaning, the whole thing.

And so, she put it out of her mind, concentrated on all her lovely students and their well-being. They were coming back, all of them, whole and healthy. She saw hope in them, determination and ambition, willingness and strength.

Although there was… something was there she did not see. Hadn’t been able to for a few weeks now.

But then, suddenly, a piercing, poisonous green filled her vision — kill, kill, kill. It rendered her unable to move; hindered her breathing and made her body stiff as stone.

And then there was this cry, it was wondrous and beautiful, haunting and yet full of life and hope. It sang and was heard by all. And these flames, so high and terrifying, forming the most magnificent beasts and burning these dark, dark hollers, but healing those bright, bright criers.

Distantly, she heard the young voices of the students, filling the Great Hall with their unburdened chatter. But…

There were screams.

And everywhere Sybill looked, there was this gaze.

And every time Sybill turned, there were these flames.

All pain vanished when this gaze was staring into her soul.

Her soul was sizzling when she turned to the flames.

It was freedom and pain. Death and Life.

They were entwined. She could not escape.

And so… she screamed.

She screamed and screamed and shut her eyes and tried to breath and saw.

No escape, no escape, no escape —

A wondrous melody sliced through her endless spiral. Strong hands grabbed her arms and a cold glass was pressed to her lips.

A cold, calming liquid flowed into her mouth; she swallowed. Swallowed it all and let it drag her into blissful oblivion.

She closed her eyes; she did not see anymore.