Iuga Sortis II

Eight

"Keep an eye on Potter, Weasley, and Granger; they tend to confuse instructions with suggestions . . ."

"Oh come now, Severus! They are not like that in all classes, I assure you," McGonagall scoffed.

"Perhaps this is because you're their Head of House?"

"Or maybe because they like and respect me . . ."

Jamilah listened to the banter with great interest. There were many dynamics to consider when being a professor at Hogwarts--House and family name being among the most important. This was especially true for the DADA professor because students could easily use what they learned in the class against their fellow classmates--something that couldn't afford to happen, particularly now.

"Do not be alarmed, Jamilah," Professor Flitwick said kindly. Jamilah looked at the wizened wizard to her right. "They go on like this every faculty meeting."

"Do they now?" Flitwick nodded. "And Dumbledore allows this?"

"He says 'better in these meetings than in more important ones,'" Professor Sprout said from Jamilah's left.

"I guess so . . ."

"Besides, they're highly entertaining, don't you agree, Jamilah?" Flitwick grinned.

"That they are," she concurred.

"Since we're discussing troublesome students, Severus, may I alert Jamilah to Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle?"

"You mean the same Crabbe who--"

"Yes, the very same," Severus said with a hint of anger.

"And they are the children of--?"

McGonagall looked sympathetic yet frustrated. "Yes. Fate decided to let those three procreate, Merlin help us."

Jamilah snickered as she pulled her schedule.

First period--Sixth Year N.E.W.T. level . . .

All six of the mentioned students were in the class.

Marvelous.

"Jamilah?"

"Yes, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at her new title for him. "Do you have any more questions?"

"Yes, just one more." She glanced down at her timetable before continuing. "Where exactly is my classroom?"

The rest of the professors chuckled at her question.

"Oh yes. I'll lead you there after the meeting. Since we seem unable to keep a DADA professor, Hogwarts doesn't designate a particular room. Each room adapts itself to the specific professor. For the past few years, the classroom has remained the same but not for you. You, Jamilah, have a most prescient room."

Jamilah didn't know how to feel about that. "Great."

"Anything else?" Dumbledore inquired.

The centaur across the room raised his hand.

"Firenze?"

His tail swooshed, and his hooves stomped on the floor. "Could you please tell Peeves not to transfigure the shrubs in my classroom into rhinoceros?"

Jamilah could tell Dumbledore had to stifle a laugh as he looked at McGonagall pointedly.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Oh fine," she moaned. "I'll talk to him. Though I daresay Severus is the more likely candidate."

"What do you say that?" Snape asked.

"The Bloody Baron is the only one who can control Peeves, and he is your House Ghost."

"But Minerva, it takes more than the Bloody Baron to make Peeves stop . . ."

"What are you implying, Severus?" Her eyes narrowed warningly.

"He's implying you are more effective, Minerva, that is all," Dumbledore interjected. Snape smiled slightly, and McGonagall pursed her lips into a thin line.

"Anything else?" Dumbledore asked again. This time there was silence. "Splendid. Everyone have a great first day of classes!"

There was indistinct chatter among the faculty as they left to go to their classes. Filius Flitwick patted Jamilah's hand in reassurance, telling her to contact him if she had any questions. Pomona Sprout gave her a comforting smile.

"Good luck today, Jamilah," McGonagall wished. "Though I must say, having your first class be the first year of N.E.W.T.s level DADA with those six would test anyone's patience."

"Even yours?"

McGonagall peered at her over her glasses. "Especially mine!"

"Oh, don't let Minnie scare you, love. Everyone tests her patience!" Dumbledore said good-naturedly.

McGonagall smirked. "Particularly you, Albus . . ." She grinned at Jamilah slightly before walking ahead to her classroom. Dumbledore winked at her and offered an arm. Jamilah nodded her head and linked her arm through his.

"Still have a way with the ladies, I see," she teased as he led her to her room.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Jamilah, love, Minnie is every bit her Animagus animal--the cat: quick to lash out at the hand who feeds her . . ."

"And yet?"

He looked at her with twinkling eyes. "She's quicker to defend that very hand from any harm with her life."

"Luckily it hasn't required that yet," Jamilah mused.

Dumbledore looked solemn. "It almost did, this spring. Umbridge came to fire Hagrid, and McGonagall wouldn't let her. There were Aurors everywhere, and Minnie got hit. Had the curse been cast by a stronger wizard, she could have died."

Jamilah squeezed his arm. "Let's not think like that now. It does no good to dwell on 'what ifs' of the past. All we have is the present in order to make a better future. Too many lives have been sacrificed; too many more will be."

"Yes, Jamilah. Many more . . ." His voice had a disquieting quality to it that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Granddad--"

He placed a finger to his lips and smiled softly. "Here we are; your classroom." Dumbledore opened the heavy wooden door, and she gasped. The room was huge. The walls were paneled in ebony with two ivory candle fixtures in each panel. The ceiling was high, also ebony paneled, with nettings, ropes, and trapezes. One wall had bo sticks, blunted swords, and other rubber hand-to-hand combat weapons displayed neatly. The wall opposite it had a long bar that ran the length of it. The wall to the back of the room had nothing on it--totally bare. The last 'wall' wasn't a wall at all. Instead, there were three floor-to-ceiling windows through which the sun shone brightly.

"There are window shades that, when pulled down and the lights out, create complete darkness within the room," he told her. She nodded absently and walked further inside. The desks faced the empty wall where her desk sat.

"This . . . this room is incredible!"

"Watch this," he said with pride. He pointed his wand to the wall behind her desk. "Resero!"

The wall paneling moved away to reveal floor to ceiling mirrors, creating the illusion the already large room was bigger than it actually was.

"Amazing!"

"Just like the professor," he said lovingly.

Jamilah smiled softly at him. "You say the sweetest things sometimes . . ." she said half-jokingly.

"Really. Do you know how important your job is now?"

She became somber. "More important than it ever should be."

"You have Mr. Potter in your class next. He's very knowledgeable."

"He gets no special treatment in my class, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded. "That may be, but you'll see he's a special lad."

"Seeing as he's one of the Chosen Four, he would be at that."

He smiled at her. "The bell will ring soon. I have the utmost faith in you, my dear." With one final inclination of the head, Dumbledore left the room. Jamilah sighed heavily and put her hands on her hips. After much consideration she decided to move the desks into a U-shape around the center of the room, facing the bare wall. She moved her desk so that it angled to the side, thus remaining in front but not blocking the wall. She pointed her wand to the floor.

"Solum Mutatio!"

The floor transfigured into a tumbling mat in the area of the U.

"That's better . . ."

The bell rang. Jamilah's heart began to race in anticipation. Taking a deep breath, she walked behind her desk and waited for the students to arrive.

And boy, did they ever.

Without warning the door flew off the hinges and landed in the center of the mat. There was a boy on top of it, silent and still.

"Lawdhavmercy!" she exclaimed as she rushed over to him. His face was away from her, and she gently turned it.

His eyes were closed.

"No . . . wake up honey, wake up . . ."

It was as if her voice beckoned him awake, and his eyes opened slowly.

Well, well, well . . . who do we have here?

"WHERE IS HE? BLOODY GIT! HOW DARE HE TOUCH HER--"

Jamilah was torn between helping the boy before her or seeing who was making the ruckus.

"You are a prefect! You're supposed to set an example!" a feminine voice snarled.

"You will pay for that, Weasel!" a slow, deep voice promised.

"I always thought beating a Malfoy would be free of charge . . . you know, charity work," another voice snickered.

Osiris and Apedemak always did have a strained relationship . . .

"Where am I . . .?" Malfoy moaned as he began to come to. When he opened his eyes, she saw they were cloudy.

"Okay, okay. Look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?"

He squinted before replying. "Four?"

She glanced at the three fingers she showed and shrugged. "Close enough . . ." Jamilah placed her palms at his temples. "Look into my eyes, okay?" He nodded imperceptibly, and she muttered a spell under her breath. His eyes widened, and the cloudiness cleared.

"What are you talking about, Hermione? It was a simple disarming spell . . ."

The voices were getting louder as she checked on him. He looked slightly pale, but then again, Malfoys were always known to be pale.

"Gettin' in trouble, already?" she asked pointedly.

To her surprise, Malfoy grinned. "Not my fault Ginger's so hot . . ."

"I HEARD THAT! Furnu--"

"Finish that hex, and I will give you a detention," Jamilah said without turning around. She heard mutterings behind her and saw Malfoy smirk. Apparently there wouldn't be any detentions given.

Not yet, at least.

She sighed and helped him to his feet. "Step away, Mr. Malfoy." He did as she commanded. Jamilah pointed her wand to the door.

"Foris Repara."

It went back to the entrance and repaired itself.

"Bloody brilliant that was," said the boy she assumed was "The Weasel."

She rounded on him. "Twenty points from . . . what's your house?" she asked as she looked for the emblem on his robes.

There were a chorus of groans and snickers as the feminine voice from before muttered, "Gryffindor."

"Never would've guessed that one," Jamilah said dryly under her breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Black hair, glasses, lightning scar on forehead.

Harry Potter.

Lovely.

"Whatever you want it to mean, Mr. . . ."

"Potter."

"Oh yeah. And what's your friend's name?"

"Weasel," interjected Malfoy.

"Five points from Slytherin."

"How do you know what House I'm in?"

"The large seal with your House name on it gives you away . . ."

This time the snickers came from everyone else.

"And why do we get points taken away?" said a large, mean looking Slytherin.

"He called someone outside his name. That will not be tolerated in this classroom, is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Good. Sit."

The class followed her instructions without a word. She had a good mix of students from all the houses; there were two classes of her first level N.E.W.T. DADA course, so the rest of sixth years would meet later in the day.

"It seems I should get a few things out the way before we begin. I only have one rule in this classroom--mutual respect, mutual trust. I respect you, I trust you, and in turn, you will afford me the same courtesy. Respect is huge. It will be given, and it will be maintained. I don't care what House you're from or what your last name is. I don't care if you're the most talented witch or wizard in the school or if you're as dumb as a doornail--which obviously you aren't if you're in this class. You will play nice, and any issues you have with each other you leave outside that door. And don't think you're clever if you blow the door inside the room, right, Mr. Weasley?"

A small bubble of laughter sounded, and Weasley turned red.

A Ravenclaw raised his hand. "Professor?"

"What is your name, sir?"

"Terry Boot."

"Okay, Mr. Boot. What can I do for you?"

"We have no books for the class."

She smiled at him. "Of course not. What's the point of reading about the defending the Dark Arts when you're gonna need to actually do it?"

There were murmurs of approval and some scowling.

"So, since I know y'all've learned enough theory last year to last you a lifetime, I think this year and next we will explore the more 'practical' means of defending against the Dark Arts."

"Praise Merlin!" offered one of the Gryffindors in a thick Irish accent.

Another hand rose. "Your name?"

"Hermione Granger. But don't you think we should still have books?"

"If you want books, I will give you a list of them you can check out of the library." Granger seemed pleased with that response and nodded happily.

"Anymore questions?"

None of the students raised their hands.

"Wonderful. Before I start, I will need a volunteer. Anyone. Anyone at all."

The students looked at each other before a Hufflepuff raised her hand.

"And you are?"

"Susan Bones."

"Miss Bones. Take off your robes, and come to the center of the mat for me please. Class, take out a parchment and quill; you'll need to write this down . . ."

"I thought you said we were doing the practical side!" Potter exclaimed.

"Unless you have a photographic memory, which I know you don't, I suggest you put the quill to the paper. You can't very well practice what you don't know . . ."

Potter scowled but didn't reply.

Bones walked to her hesitantly, wringing her hands in front of her.

"C'mon now! I won't hurt you!"

Bones quickened her steps until she stood beside Jamilah.

"Right. Okay, hold out your hand."

Bones did as she was told. Jamilah conjured a mirror from the air and put it in her hands.

"Now, stand there, Miss Bones, with the mirror's glass pointed towards me. Place the back of the mirror at your chest. Whatever you do, don't move."

Bone's eyes grew wider at the implication. A murmur rose from the class.

"Ladies and gentlemen, especially ladies, here's a little tidbit for you. Most of the hexes you will encounter are highly reflexive--literally."

Jamilah pointed her wand to the mirror. "Expelliarmus!"

A stream of purple light came towards Bones at full force. She closed her eyes and waited to be thrown back but realized nothing happened. There was a collective gasp as the students watch the magic bounce from the mirror and straight back at Jamilah.

"Finite Incantatum!"

Before the spell could hit her, it disappeared.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Weasley.

"How did you do that?" Malfoy asked in awe.

"How did you stop it?" followed Potter.

She grinned at their questions. "All right there, Miss Bones?"

Bones nodded mutely, her mouth partly opened in shock.

"The mirror not only reflects an image, it can also deflect certain spells; luckily many of the most frequently used ones in the Dark Arts. However, the more powerful the witch or wizard, the harder the deflections."

Granger raised her hand. "But how were you able to stop it? Won't that defeat the purpose of using the deflection in the first place?"

Jamilah shook her head. "Even if the caster avoids the reflected spell, the amount of time you would've gained by that is immeasurable. Hopefully, your opponent won't know of that secret. And as for making the spell disappear--you have to be highly skilled and highly powerful. Not just any witch or wizard can do it."

"Fascinating," Hermione muttered.

"Yeah, it is. Took a lot of practice for me to be able to do that as well."

"But who would pull out a mirror in the middle of battle?" a Ravenclaw asked.

"Your name is?"

"Padma Patil."

"Well, Miss Patil, you will, of course!"

"Unlike my sister, I don't carry a makeup mirror with me everywhere . . ."

A chorus of laughter rang out.

"This is why we're all going to stand, take off our robes, and practice conjuring a mirror from air while our partner uses the Disarming Spell. I'll move the desks away so when you're thrown back, you won't hurt yourselves, right, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Indeed, Professor!"

"Okay, everyone! Let's stand and get this show on the road!"

For the rest of the period, the class practiced and perfected their conjuring and deflecting. So engrossed was everyone, the class almost missed the bell ring.

"Goodness gracious! All right, class, we'll stop for now. For next Monday I expect a half foot of paper on why the conjuring was or was not successful for you."

There was slight moaning and groaning, but it was more from habit than anything else.

"Double-spaced or single-spaced?" Granger asked as she packed her satchel.

Jamilah pondered the question. "Double-spaced."

There was a collective sigh of relief.

Granger frowned. "But what if I--we can't fit all in a half-foot paper?"

Jamilah grinned. "It can be done, I promise, Miss Granger. Less theory and more practicability."

Granger nodded sadly and filed out with the rest of the class.

"Malfoy! Potter! Stay behind for a moment please. I'll give you a pass to wherever your next class is."

Weasley gave Potter a sympathetic pat on the back before he left, and Malfoy smirked at his friends.

"Yes, Professor?" they asked.

She smiled at them kindly. "You two are quite impressive. Y'all were a few of the first to master the techniques."

"Thank you, Professor."

"In fact, I'm interested in perhaps holding some extra lessons for you two, especially you, Mr. Malfoy."

"I thought you said we were doing impressive work!"

"You are, which is exactly why I want to give you advanced lessons."

"Will we be doing the things in the extra lessons next year?" Potter asked.

"No, not in class."

He peered at her. "Are you sure you want Malfoy?"

Jamilah looked the blonde boy straight in his eyes. "Definitely."

"But his father--"

"Is not Draco," she finished.

"I don't remember telling you my--"

"Boy, please! The Heads of both your Houses warned me about you two! I know how Professor Snape treats you, Potter. Are you asking me to do the same to Malfoy?"

Potter did not hesitate. "Yes."

"Unfortunately, I'm not Professor Snape. Remember my rule--mutual respect, mutual trust. I said at the beginning of class to leave your problems at the door, and this especially applies to you and your friends. You will abide my rule--particularly to each other. Is that understood?"

Both boys nodded grudgingly.

"I will talk to McGonagall and Snape about setting up meeting times."

The bell rang, and Jamilah sighed. "Dear me, where's your next class?"

"Transfiguration," Potter muttered.

"Divination."

"Do you struggle in that class, Malfoy?" Jamilah asked as she wrote their passes.

Malfoy snorted. "If the professor was competent, then perhaps I would. As it is I just make up some bullsh--I mean . . ."

"You have Trelawney?" Jamilah smirked.

"Unfortunately."

"What about you, Potter? Do you take Divination?"

Potter looked bored. "Yeah, I have Firenze, though."

She chuckled. "He's as clear as a dense fog, ain't he?"

He cracked a smile. "Something like that . . ."

Hers widened, and she handed them the slips. "Don't dally getting to your classes, and don't kill each other either. Both of you have great futures ahead of you."

Both boys looked at each other and her confusedly before Malfoy shrugged.

"Yes, Professor," they replied and left her alone in her room. She watched them turn in opposite directions, and she thanked God for small miracles. She could've just imagined the argument that would've ensued if they had to walk in the same direction. Jamilah was glad she a free period after her first class; she knew she'd need it to regroup.

She chuckled in thought.

Fate, fate, fate. Lucius Malfoy is not going to be too happy when he finds out his son will take up arms against him. Osiris and Set are bitter enemies, and as the old saying goes, "No quicker way to become friends than to have a common enemy." Only thing is both Potter and Malfoy are stubborn as mules.

She sighed and began to rearrange her class for her first years. The class went back to initial setup, and she sat at her desk. It was surreal to her. Twenty years ago her own daughter was at this school, taking these very classes, being friends with most of the parents of her current students; to teach here gave her a new appreciation for this school Hogwarts. She pulled out an album Dumbledore gave her of Malika's school years here. She looked so happy, flirting with Sirius Black and gossiping with Lily Evans Potter. There were some photos of a serious James Potter and Malika talking while others showed her comforting Remus Lupin. There were none of her and Severus together; Dumbledore said Severus kept them all for himself.

Severus.

He and Malfoy were alike in many ways; both had good souls yet always immersed in evil. She only hoped Malfoy was stronger than Snape and would not make the biggest mistake of his life. Snape's almost cost him Malika.

In many ways it did--Malika's almost betrothal to another man; a daughter that should've been his but wasn't, a life confined in the walls of Hogwarts; not so much when Nia was growing up, but especially now since Voldemort's return.

Thanatos's return.

Thanatos, now, anyway. When Voldemort first came to power, he was Set, of that she was certain. But before he attacked the Potters, Set decided to change host bodies and use Thanatos instead; something that made no sense, and yet . . . perhaps it did. The only concern now was no one knew who Set was now . . .

If she was going to help her granddaughter, the very least Jamilah could do was know who the enemy was! The years between 1980 and 1983 were the most confusing, random, and unsettling years of Jamilah's life.

The parents of her daughter's godson were killed; her almost-fiancé was accused for giving up the secret to Voldemort then killing a group of Muggles; Pettigrew was killed--her eyes widened.

Pettigrew was not killed!

Jamilah gasped.

One more missing piece of the missing puzzle had just been found.