Rise From The Ashes

Chapter Five: Lessons

On Thursday, when the fifth-year Gryffindors filed into her classroom, Florence could tell they were apprehensive. Tucking a clump of her curly black hair behind her ears, she waited for them all to sit down. She held them all in silence for a moment with her eyes, taking time to look them over. They would be surprised how much she knew about some of them. Ronald Weasley, for instance - she knew he had once kept a servant of Lord Voldemort's as a pet, albeit unknowingly. She also knew that he his new pet was a "gift" from the hippogriff-riding Sirius Black. She knew that his family, although as old and pureblooded as the Malfoys, was nowhere near as well off. She even knew that he had a sweet tooth.

Weasley's had been just one of the files she'd looked into at the Ministry before coming to teach here. The Department of Mysteries kept files on everyone, from the most mundane squibs - like Filch - to the most famous wizards of their time - like Harry Potter. She knew more about that boy's family than even Dumbledore did.

Judging from the looks on most of the students' faces, all they knew about her was that she was a Slytherin. Florence smiled slightly. So much the better. She would be everything they expected from a Slytherin - and everything they didn't.

"Dabbling in the Dark Arts," she began, moving away from her desk to walk among them. "How many of you had done it?" She stopped, and fixed each of them in turn with her penetrating gaze before continuing. Even Potter looked unsettled by her question, although his expression was undeniably defiant. Those green eyes. Far too familiar. It was difficult to tear her own away from them. But she managed it, and continued with it her speech.

"Of course, when asking such a question, I suppose I should take into account that this is a class full of Gryffindors. So the answer is of course, all of you." She could tell they didn't like that. The looks on their faces ranged from mutinous to terrified, but the indignant look on the Potter's face was priceless. She'd better be careful; she was enjoying herself far too much.

"Don't look so upset," she said to them. "The answer would be the same no matter what house you were in. You can practice the Dark Arts without even realizing it. Technically speaking, mild curses, hexes, and even jinxes can all be considered forms of dark magic. The same applies to counter-curses. Now, does anyone know why that is?"

As usual, Hermione's hand shot into the air. Hers was the only one. Florence let the girl wait for a moment, watching her squirm eagerly in her seat before she finally called on her.

"Miss Granger?"

"Because the words of the curse are always embedded in the counter-curse somehow. For example, sometimes the words of the counter-curse have the exact opposite literal meaning as those in the curse. Or you just have to say the words of the curse backwards. In other cases -"

" - the connection is more subtle, yes." Florence cut her off. "And you need to stop showing off, Miss Granger, or you are going to put me out of a job."

The bushy-haired girl's smile was a bit uncertain, as though she were not entirely sure it was a joke. Florence was careful to keep her expression neutral. Best to let her fret over it for a while. She would be distracted, so someone else might actually get the chance to raise his or her hand before she did.

"The line that divides the dark arts from other forms of magic is a thin one, and it can often become blurred. It's very comfortable for all of us, thinking only in terms of good and bad, of black and white, but that is not the reality in which we live. There are many, many shades of gray."

She paused to let her words sink in, still moving among them. "I am not saying this to confuse you. Nor am I trying to convince that the use of dark magic is something you should consider. I am saying this to make you think. The line between light and dark magic is a fine one, and there are few people who can walk it without stumbling. Dark witches and wizards are not born; they are made. Reasons ranging from revenge to desperation to just plain curiosity might make one of you turn to dark magic - in the beginning, perhaps in just a mild form. You might never turn to it again. Then again, you just might decide, that since it worked last time, and there was no real harm done anyway - well, why not? And as you become accustomed to it, you make more and more justifications for your actions, and you are drawn deeper and deeper into a world you can never fully understand. You may not even realize what you are - until an official from the Ministry shows up with an order to search your house. By then, it's too late."

She wasn't sure if any of this was sinking in for them, but at least she seemed to have her full attention. She could feel all their eyes follow her as she moved back to sit at her desk.

"I consider it part of my job to prevent this scenario from happening to any of you. During the year, we go through a series of lessons. You will learn about many of the more obscure and exotic dark creatures. You will research the history of dark magic in foreign lands, and turn in detailed reports of your findings to me." That one didn't go over too well. There were a few muffled groans as she continued. "However," she continued, "we will also engage in debates. And you will select the topics of those debates. We can discuss anything, from creature classifications to current Ministry policy, as long you get my approval beforehand. I value your opinions and welcome different points of view, but I expect you to make your arguments more convincing than 'This is what I think.' You may find this class difficult, but I promise you, you will never find it boring. Now, who would like to propose the first topic for discussion?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Again, hers was the only one. The rest of the students looked dubious, and somewhat apprehensive. Florence sighed.

"Anyone else?" she let a good measure of disdain creep into her voice. "Or am I to believe that Granger here is the only intelligent one among this sorry lot?"

That did it. Several other students raised their hands, glaring at her defiantly. "Good." She smiled. "As for you" she said to Hermione, "put your hand down. You're going to dislocate your shoulder if you're not careful."

A few of the students laughed, and the girl's face flushed. Ignoring this, Florence called on the boy behind her. His hand, she noticed, was trembling slightly. It could only be Longbottom. "Yes?"

"Well, um, I was thinking..." his voice cracked. He paused, swallowing convulsively. She waited for him to try again. "This is probably stupid, but I thought it might be interesting to discuss - "

"Five points from Gryffindor."

"W-what?"

"Never, ever preface your statements with a disclaimer. Come now, Mr. Longbottom, if you can't have confidence in what you say, why should we?"

He stared at her as though paralyzed, seeming to shrink in his seat. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a sort of terrified squeak.

And I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.

Florence felt the beginnings of a headache. "Oh, for - Longbottom, do me a favor. Take a deep breath. Just humor me," she said, in answer to his befuddled expression. He obeyed. "Good. Now, kindly close your eyes for a moment." She could tell he didn't want to, but he was far too timid to protest. "And repeat after me. 'Professor Riordan is not going to curse me into oblivion.'"

A faint smile appeared on his face. "Professor Riordan is not going to curse me into oblivion."

"She's waiting until our next class to do that."

"She's waiting until our next - huh?" Longbottom's eyes flew open. She grinned at him, revealing the chips in her two front teeth. For a moment, he still looked frightened. Then, slowly, he began to laugh, along with the rest of the classroom.

"Now then," she said. "I believe you were about to suggest a topic?"

"Okay. I ... well, I thought we could discuss the pros and cons of, um ... of using Dementors as Azkaban guards. I guess the system works pretty well, but..." he paused, uncertain.

She nodded encouragingly. "Go on."

"Well, isn't it kind of hypocritical? I mean, we condemn darks witches and wizards for using evil powers, but aren't we basically doing the same thing when we use the Dementors to keep people imprisoned?"

"An excellent point, Mr. Longbottom." He beamed. "Class, please take note that the Azkaban guards will be our first topic of discussion for next week. In the meantime, we'll have plenty to keep us busy."

Florence had them take notes for the rest of the period, and assigned what she considered a moderate amount of homework before it was time for them to go. "Oh, and Mr. Longbottom," she said as an afterthought, "I'm afraid I shall have to award five points to Gryffindor for your original thinking. It's the best suggestion I've had all week."

"All right Neville!" Ron Weasley pounded him on the back, and several of his classmates cheered. They seemed to realize how desperate the boy was for approval. The students filed out, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. At least no one had fallen asleep.

Florence stayed in the classroom for a while longer, going over her lesson plans for the next day. Yes, she would enjoy teaching the Gryffindors most of all. The Slytherins came in a close second, but they were just too easy for her to charm. There was no challenge there. With this lot, it was different. She had a whole year to watch while they tried to puzzle her out. A whole year to corrupt their minds with unconventional ideas and independent thought. She'd keep those Gryffindors on their toes, all right. Now all she needed to do was perfect her evil cackle.

She started to gather up the books and papers on her desk. Even with the class gone, the image of the Potter boy's face still lingered in her mind. No wonder Severus hated him so; he was the very image of his father. Except for the eyes. Those eyes belonged to his mother. The Evans girl.

Florence snickered. She wondered what Potter would think if he could see how she and his mother had first met.

Florence did not like waiting. She fairly shook with impatience as she waited for her turn with the Sorting Hat. Her first foster parents had given her name to her. She didn't remember them, but according to the social services records, they'd been decent foster parents for the first two years of her life, until they had started drinking again. But she'd never really minded having to keep their name. In fact, she'd never really cared about her name one way or the other. Now, she cursed the people she'd got it from.

Why couldn't I have a last name that begins with 'A'?

Florence heard some words behind her - words she now recognized as being part of the leg-locker curse, thanks to some serious binge reading. Then she heard a thud, and laughter. She turned around.

Some of the other students had gotten out of line and played a prank on the boy behind her. When she had first noticed him, he'd already looked like he was having trouble standing, and Florence had nodded to herself wisely. She didn't see any marks, but she knew the signs of a beating when she saw one. That stupid little curse had destroyed his already shaky balance.

Four boys who seemed to know each other well stood over him, trying unsuccessfully to stifle their laughter. "Sorry - sorry," said the one who seemed to be their leader, trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. "Just having a bit of fun, you know. Let me fix that for you."

"Don't bother." The boy performed the counter-curse himself and got up from the floor, his black eyes flashing dangerously. "And don't you ever do that to me again, or else."

The other boy and his friends stopped laughing.

"I said it was just a bit of fun. Are you really going to threaten me over a silly little prank?"

"James, leave him alone. Come on, let's just get back in line now."

They all turned around to see a girl with long hair and worried green eyes.

"Better watch out James," Florence heard one of the other boys mutter under his breath. "You barely know her, and she's already telling you what to do."

But the one called James ignored his friend's jibe.

"All right Lily. For you." He flashed a cocky grin, and he and his friends went back to their respective places in line.

"I'm really sorry about that," said the Lily-girl, as though she were making excuses for an errant child. "I'm Lily Evans, by the way. But James was right, you know. You really shouldn't take things so seriously. Oh, and you're welcome."

The boy glared at her.

"You expect me to thank you?" His voice was dripping with disdain. "I know more curses than anyone in this school. I don't need some silly little girl to come to my rescue. Keep your nose out of my business."

Her eyes widened, and she flushed.

"Well - well - fine," she said defiantly, seeming at a loss for words. "But at least my nose doesn't take up half of my face."

Now it was his turn to go red, although he was still glaring at her. Florence, who had always been sensitive about her own appearance, decided she had heard enough. She sidled up to the boy and stuck out her hand.

"Hi," she said, completely ignoring Lily Evans. "I'm Florence Riordan." For the first time, she saw him smile.

"Severus Snape." He shook her hand.

The Evans girl made an indignant noise behind them. "Excuse me," she said prissily, "excuse me, but we were in the middle of a conversation -"

Florence turned to look at her, and said,

"F--- off."

She waited for Evans to leave. The girl was wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Florence moved closer to her.

"Boo."

And she scampered back off to her place in line.

Florence turned back to the boy. He looked a bit shocked too. "Wow," he said, "I think you really hurt her feelings."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

They both laughed.

"Professor Riordan."

Florence stiffened. She knew who it was before she looked up. In the short time she'd been at Hogwarts, they'd barely said two words to each other, and Florence was just fine with that. But obviously, something had come up. Now she would have to endure another one of his icy, polite conversations. I suppose it serves me right for thinking about him.

"Yes?"

"I need to talk to you about Luna Sloane." He still looked unwell, she noticed, and his eyes had deep circles under them.

"Our new Head Girl? What about her?"

"I don't know if you're aware of this, but her father passed away quite unexpectedly this summer. She was staying with him in the States."

"Oh ..." No wonder she hadn't been present for the Sorting. The idea of parental affection was a foreign concept to Florence, but she supposed the girl must have loved her father dearly. "I ... I didn't know that," she finished lamely.

Outside the door, someone was listening to them. A red-haired someone, who had told his friends he'd forgotten his book in the Dark Arts classroom. He had been hoping to pump this Riordan woman for some information about Luna. After all, she was a Slytherin teacher, and he couldn't very well ask Snape anything - not without getting at least a week's worth of detention, anyway. But this was much, much more information than he had bargained for. Both the teachers were so occupied with the moment that neither of them heard Ron's heavy footfalls as he turned and raced back down the hallway. He had to find a way to talk to Luna. Now.

"Yes... well ..." his voice finally broke the heavy silence in the room. "The Headmaster told the Heads of all the Houses shortly before the start of the term. We were to pass the information on discreetly to the rest of the staff." Florence scowled as she felt her surprise being replaced by anger. And then you waited nearly a week to pass it on because you're afraid to talk to me, you damn coward. "I've attempted to talk to Luna, but she still seems to be in shock. I thought you should know about it, in case she decides to confide in you."

Florence snorted. Not likely. She was perhaps a more approachable authority figure than Snape, but she was far from being compassionate, or understanding when it came to emotional things. "Thank you for keeping me informed." She rubbed her arms, trying to shake off a sudden chill, and looked up at him. "Now if you don't mind, Professor, I have work to -"

She stopped. He was shivering too. Florence felt her breath catch in her throat as they both came to the same realization. She put her hand in her pocket and felt for her wand. She tried to steel herself against all of her unpleasant memories as she turned around slowly.

"Speak of the devil," she said, nearly choking on the words.

She had been about to leave the classroom, but now, a Dementor was blocking her way.