The Brethren of Tyr

Chapter Nine: Dark Arts and Gauntlets

It didn't take long for Ron and Hermione to start speaking again- it rarely did, Harry reminded himself, as the three of them traipsed up to Hagrid's hut across the large expanse of grass near the lake.

He noticed a small bubbling under the lake, which reminded him of the giant squid that resided there, as well as how much of the wizarding world he had begun to take for granted.

A familiar warm light shone from the window of Hagrid's wooden hut, which increased in intensity as he opened the door warily, holding a large club of some sort. He looked across at the three students, and smiled whilst lowering the weapon.

"Well, it's nice teh' see yeh three," he exclaimed, ushering them inside. They obeyed, and sat themselves down around Hagrid's kitchen table. He walked towards the stove and lit it.

"Cup o' tea?" he asked.

"Yes please," Hermione replied, whilst Harry and Ron nodded their replies in conjunction. Hagrid smiled.

"I haven' seen yeh at all today, what with yeh no longer takin' Care o' Magical Creatures," he said, conversationally. Harry suddenly felt very guilty.

"It isn't because..." he began, but Hagrid cut him off with a chuckle.

"Here, I know it ain't because o' me, I reckoned yeh fancied yerselves as Aurors," he replied.

"Yeah, why else would we willingly take Potions?" Ron asked, sarcastically. Hagrid chuckled.

"I know yeh've grown up five years since I firs' met yeh, but some things ne'er change," he laughed.

"How are you, Hagrid?" Hermione asked, swinging her legs on the great chair she was sitting upon as she stirred her tea.

"Pretty good, thanks. Grawp's doin' good too- I've been teachin' 'im some sen'ences and stuff. He recognises me though, so I reckon tha's as good a sign as anythin'. Anyway," he added conspiratorially, "he might be useful, yer know, in the War an' all."

Despite the fiercely glowing fire in front of him, Harry suddenly felt himself grow cold. He saw Hermione give him a furtive glance, but he purposely didn't look back.

"So, how's yer firs' day o' classes been?" Hagrid asked.

"Not bad," Harry replied, shaking himself out of his reverie.

"Arithmancy was so much more complex than last year! It was great...!"

"Potions is still a nightmare..."

"Defence was alright," Harry finished, after Hermione and Ron had given their opinions. Hagrid burst into warm laughter.

"So, yeh got on alrigh' with Persephone, then?" he asked. Harry nodded, after registering Hagrid was referring to Professor Beauchamp.

"Yeah, she seemed nice. In a caustic way," he added.

"The breathing thing was weird, though," Ron reminded them, before looking at Hagrid. "She got us sitting with our legs crossed, chanting like lunatics!"

Hagrid chuckled again.

"Yeah, she seemed a bi' urbane, if you get my drift," he replied. Ron looked non-plussed.

"She's very up on Muggle culture," Hermione quietly reminded them. Hagrid nodded.

"Very much so, which is odd for a witch that wasn' raised a Muggle," he replied. Hermione looked stunned.

"Really?" she asked. Hagrid nodded.

"Yeah. Got chattin' teh' 'er in the Three Broomsticks the other nigh'. I tell yeh," he continued, "She knows 'er ales. Introduced me teh' a new drink an' all- called it a 'Basilisk Bite'. Apparen'ly, it's illegal in five countries. 'Alf mead, 'alf cider, shot o' firewhiskey and redcurrant to taste. Good stuff."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hagrid, who merely shrugged.

"Whose family does she belong to, Hagrid?" Ron asked. "She could be related to me for all I know!"

Hagrid shrugged again.

"Dunno, Ron. She didn' like teh' talk about it, so I didn't press her. Not the kind o' woman you want teh' press wi'out good reason, I feel."

Hermione suddenly frowned in thought.

"Hagrid," she asked, "Sir Nicholas was talking about having someone bump into him, a human. Is that possible? I tried to read up on it, but couldn't find much, except references to the undead..."

"Well, it's been said that vampires can't walk through ghosts, I know tha' much," Hagrid answered. "Somethin' teh' do with havin' no soul. Means they walk with the livin', but reside with the dead."

Harry glanced across at Hermione and saw her get that familiar glint in her eye that suggested she was about to spend three weeks of her spare time in the library.

"She's off already?" Ron exclaimed as he and Harry reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Password."

"'Alihotsy Leaves'. You know Hermione." Harry replied, as the portrait swung back and they stepped into the Gryffindor common room. "She's found something to interest her."

"Yeah. Pity she never tells us. I mean, is it really that top secret that she can't tell us?" Ron grumbled. Harry shrugged, and went over to the notice board to sign up for the up and coming Quidditch trials. He picked up the quill levitated next to the pinned up parchment and signed his name, then handed the quill to Ron.

"Are you going to try?"

Ron hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the quill.

"Why not- if I end up looking like a tit, at least I can say I tried," he remarked, though Harry felt it was mostly to talk himself into putting quill to parchment over the whole decision.

They looked about for a spare seat, and found some next to the fire. Neville was playing a game of Exploding Snap with Seamus and judging by the different size piles of sweets next to them, they were playing for stakes, and Neville was winning. Dean was sitting with Ginny, though Harry noticed Ron's jaw click with tension before he noticed the actual couple.

"I suppose we ought to get on with this essay from Snape," Harry said. Ron glowered, and referred to Snape by some choice phrases that Harry made a mental note to squirrel away for future use, though they sat down and began working on the assigned essay none the less.

At that point, Professor McGonagall entered the common room, and everyone stopped what they were doing instantly and stared worriedly at her.

"It's alright, I'm not here to tell you off for anything, carry on," she announced briskly, and everyone obeyed, except for Ginny and Dean. Harry noticed a tall, dark haired figure standing behind McGonagall, and in a brief moment of panic thought it was Snape. He was relieved to find Professor Beauchamp looking around the room with mild interest.

"...And this is the Gryffindor common room. Is there anywhere else you haven't seen yet?" McGonagall asked the tall woman.

"Probably, but I'm sure with time I'll find them," Beauchamp replied with a smile. "I've been round the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw house areas, Severus showed me the Slytherin quarters. I know how to get to my classroom, the Great Hall, Albus' office, the library, Severus' classroom and office, and I know my way around the grounds."

"Already?" McGonagall looked incredulous. Beauchamp merely shrugged.

"I studied at two unplottable schools- you learn to find your way around quickly."

McGonagall gave a small laugh.

Harry felt something sharp jab in his left arm. It was Ron's elbow.

"What are they doing here?" he asked, and then fell silent as Professor Beauchamp leant over to peer at their notice board.

"Student Quidditch team? Minerva, when are we getting a staff list up?" she asked.

"I suppose Rolanda will sort one out very soon. Why, are you interested in playing?" McGonagall asked. Beauchamp nodded.

"I played Beater on the Durmstrang and Beaubaxton teams for seven years. I was the one that persuaded our captain at Durmstang to give Viktor Krum a shot at the position of seeker- he was a natural even then..."

"I know," McGonagall replied, dryly, "you've told me twice today."

Beauchamp returned a mischievous grin.

"You'll be amazed at how many conversations I can get that story into, Minerva."

The two professors turned to leave, Beauchamp offering a 'Bye!' to the congregated students. Harry heard snatches of their conversation as they exited the common room.

"I trust Severus isn't treating you too harshly. He didn't exactly relish the idea of being your mentor; I'll admit to you in confidence that he's been after your job for years."

"Well, that explains the derogatory comments about my teaching skills. Nah, he's a funny old sod, but he isn't as intimidating as he likes to think he is. There are even moments that he offers useful advice."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah- the comment about 'the students are animals, they sense fear, and you must nurture their own fear at every opportunity' I'll admit I've taken with a pinch of salt, but by and large, he's been very helpful indeed."

Harry was distracted from McGonagall and Beauchamp's conversation to his essay by Ron asking him whether the active component of lace-wing fly wings were their veins or their cells. Harry honestly didn't care, and from the look on Ron's face, it was clear he didn't either.

Yet, despite their disinterest in the subject matter, or possibly because of it, the clock had struck eleven before they had finished. Hermione entered the common room a few moments later.

"Hi, how did your essay go?" she asked, flopping herself into a spare armchair near the fire.

"Alright. Did you enjoy the library?" Ron asked in return. Hermione smiled.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I've found out some stuff I wanted to, plus I've got some more information for continuing S.P.E.W..."

Ron groaned.

"Hermione! I thought you were going to give that a rest!" he protested. Her cheeks coloured up in indignation.

"Not while there are house-elves that have yet to hear of freedom!" she replied.

"So, you're going to be spending a lot of time knitting again?" Harry asked, his tongue firmly embedded in his cheek. Ron sniggered. Hermione glared at them.

"As a matter of fact, no, despite its success. I'm trying out a new tactic."

"Which would be?"

Hermione pulled out a wad of printed parchments from her bag,

"Leaflets, Ron. If the house-elves have to clean up here, they might be persuaded to read these," she announced. Harry and Ron shared another glance. Neither of them had the heart to tell Hermione that the house-elves had refused to clean Gryffindor Tower out of indignation. Maybe they should, Harry thought, as he reckoned it had certainly proven they exercised some of the rights she wished they did.

"Whatever makes you happy," Ron replied, vaguely, rolling up his now completed essay and slipping it into his bag.

Harry was slightly more concerned about the books Hermione had checked out of the library. Not the number, for Hermione was a voracious reader, but the subject matter. He mentally counted at least six tomes on vampire legislation, history and mythology.

"Oh no," Ron whispered to Harry, having noticed the same books. "You don't think she's got a bee in her bonnet about vampire rights now, do you?"

"Anyway!" Hermione slammed a heavy book down on the table, which made them both jump. "Anything interesting happen here?"

They quickly filled her in about McGonagall and Beauchamp's excursion to their common room, which seemed to intrigue her.

"Hmm, so Snape has been openly hostile towards her teaching? Interesting..." She trailed off.

"Yeah, and she didn't seem to care," Ron added.

"That's odd- you'd think she's be a bit hurt by such comments on her first day," Hermione replied. Harry smiled.

"You're forgetting she appears to be as thick skinned as a dragon. Remember how she dealt with Malfoy?"

"True... anyway." Hermione grabbed her bag. "I'm off to bed. Don't stay up too late- we've got early classes tomorrow," she chided, neatly displaying some of her leaflets around the common room before walking off to the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory.

Ron yawned.

"You know, sometimes Hermione has some good ideas," he said, clearly referring to the idea of sleeping. Harry had to agree; though his mind was buzzing, his body couldn't keep up. He followed Ron up to their dormitory, dragging his feet in weariness.

He fell asleep, and had a very odd dream of Hermione marching to the Ministry of Magic, banner in the air, trying to secure house-elf and vampire rights, only to have the two groups try to wipe each other out during the demonstration.

Their next Defence Against the Dark Arts class found them face to face with a surly Professor Snape, merely fifteen minutes after they he had been teaching them potions. This was to be expected, as Harry had heard him say he would be observing Beauchamp's next lesson with them.

"I wonder where Professor Beauchamp is?" Hermione asked Harry, who shrugged.

"Apparently, Professor Beauchamp seems to think she can leave her N.E.W.T. classes to other members of staff while she gallivants off around the country," Snape replied nastily. Hermione almost shrank from his voice, and Harry thought it wise to find a seat before Snape took his frustration out on them more than he would anyway. The rest of the class were sat in utter silence; the Gryffindors looking furious, the Slytherins looking untroubled, save one or two of them who fought to hide their glee; including Draco, who shot a malicious smirk at Harry.

"What did we do in a past life that was so bad it was determined we should be punished by four consecutive lessons with Snape?" Ron grumbled as they took their seats. Snape stood behind Professor Beauchamp's great oak desk and began to speak.

"Seeing as Professor Beauchamp cannot be here for personal reasons," he drawled contemptuously, "it has been left to me to take your Defence Against the Dark Arts class for this morning. We'll be looking at vampires today..."

Seamus raised his hand, but Snape ignored him.

"Sir," he continued, unabated. "We're meant to be studying deflection curses today..."

Snape silenced him with a disdainful glare.

"Thank you, Finnigan, but I rather think I know what I'm doing..."

"But, sir," Hermione piped up, her eyes wide, "Professor Beauchamp has given us a day-by-day lesson plan, so that we can do relevant reading for the..."

"Then she's hardly using the lesson time productively! Now for Merlin's sake be quiet, girl!"

The tone and volume of Snape's retort caused every member of the class to sit up a little straighter. Harry was reminded a little of the time he snuck a look into Snape's Pensieve during their ill-fated Occlumency lessons.

"The vampire is a dark creature," Snape continued in his usual cool voice, "one of the only ones of which numerous references can be found within Muggle literature. However, they have many erroneous myths and legends attached to the creatures- which of you can tell me any of these?"

Hermione raised her hand, and Snape pointedly ignored her. To her credit though, Harry thought, she didn't stop trying. Ron raised his hand soon after.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked, in a voice that suggested he was surprised Ron may have the answer to any question.

"Oh, I don't have the answer," Ron replied.

"Then why are you wasting my..."

"But Hermione's had her hand up for ages!"

"I can hardly recall an occasion where Miss Granger has not had anything to say in class... Draco?"

"Sir, many Muggles seem to believe that vampires cannot cross running water," he smirked, as though it was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. Snape nodded.

"That is correct. Any others?"

The Slytherins in the class answered, whilst the Gryffindors remained silent, half in support of Hermione, half in amusement of watching her resolutely keep her hand up to answer questions Snape was not going to ask her to. Harry watched her, feeling increasing hatred towards Snape for putting her through this, and let his savage thoughts of revenge run riot. He had got halfway through an elaborate scheme of slitting the skin between Snape's fingers with paper cuts and immersing his hands in a sink full of lemon juice whilst forcing him to listen to a looped tape of 'Bryan Adams' Greatest Hits' when he heard Snape change the subject.

"Despite these misconceptions, what are the actual known methods of repelling a vampire?" Snape asked, whilst still ignoring Hermione's outstretched right arm, which she was now propping up with her left hand. Draco was halfway in the action of raising his own hand when the classroom door suddenly flung open, revealing a pink-cheeked Professor Beauchamp, still wearing a heavy woollen cloak and leather gloves.

"Hi, guys!" she said cheerily to the class. "Sorry I'm a bit late, had to check in on a sick friend of mine." She turned to face Snape, and smiled courteously.

"Sorry to have taken up your free time, Severus, I'm really very grateful you could..." Her expression changed to one of vexation as she glanced at Dean Thomas' textbook, whom she was stood closest to.

"Did you not look at my lesson plan, Severus? I left quite a comprehensive guide to covering deflection curses for this slot... so I am at a loss as to why the students have textbooks open on pages about vampires," she continued, with sarcasm in her voice. The class sat up rigid in their seats; a new teacher openly challenging Professor Snape had to be a first.

"I merely felt that the students ought to be moving on through the syllabus a little quicker than they are at the moment- were you planning to teach them about Vampires at all this year?" he asked, standing up as he did so. The imposing movement didn't have exactly the desired effect, for he only stood an inch or so taller than Beauchamp.

"In November, actually," she snapped back, breezily. "However, I hardly think that is your decision to make..."

"I do have fourteen years more experience than you, Professor," Snape replied simply, making the epithet sound like an insult. Beauchamp's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"Were this a Potions class," she replied, with a twisted smile, "I'd agree whole-heartedly with you. But it isn't. In fact, as this is a Defence Against the Dark Arts class, you'll find I have rather more experience than you do."

The class collectively gasped, though quietly enough for a now seething Snape not to notice.

"Wow, she really hit below the belt with that one!" Ron whispered, in admiration, as Beauchamp and Snape continued to snipe at each other in increasingly quiet and polite tones, which Harry instantly recognised as covering up their intense fury. After a few minutes of this, Professor Beauchamp stepped back and began to remove one of her gloves.

"Right, I've had enough of your constant insinuations that I'm not up to this job," she said with rancour, "we'll settle this the hard way."

With that, she dropped a single black glove on the floor, then folded her arms, a curious lop sided grin on her face. Snape looked at her with incredulity.

"You're challenging me to a duel?"

"Damn right I am," she replied. "Maybe then you'll finally understand that although I may be a little young, I'm most certainly not naïve to this subject. That is,&rquo; she added, "if you're wizard enough."

Snape bent over and picked up the glove, all the while maintaining eye contact with the other professor.

"I accept, just name your time and place," he almost snarled.

"This time next week in the Great Hall," she replied, then turned to the class. "Which means you lot can get to see how a real duel is done. I doubt Gilderoy Lockhart offered much in the way of competition, Severus," she added. Snape smiled coldly.

"How very perceptive of you. Now, if you'll excuse me," he snarled, stalking out of the room and slamming the classroom door shut, leaving Professor Beauchamp suppressing a grin and trying to teach a class of students whom were all sitting with their eyes appearing agog and their mouths hanging open in shock.

Chapter Ten: Are You, Or Have You Ever Been, A Death Eater?

"And Snape accepted, just like that?" Ginny asked at dinner, her expression similar to the one worn by the year six Gryffindor and Slytherin Defence Against the Dark Arts class that same afternoon. Harry nodded, then shot a quick glance at Ron, who was animated in discussion of the event.

"Yeah! It was well wicked!"

Hermione looked perturbed.

"Snape looked really angry..."

"That just made the moment even more enjoyable, I can't wait to see it!" Ron replied, an expression of anticipation on his face. Ginny helped herself to another portion of Shepard's pie.

"I'm gutted we aren't going to get to see it- I've got Charms when you have Defence," she grumbled.

"Maybe Professor Flitwick will let you see it," Harry suggested, "he was supposed to be a Duelling champion in his time..."

"When we have O.W.L.s this year? I'm surprised we're allowed to eat and sleep!" she replied. Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Ah, yes," Ron said, sitting back in his chair and adjusting an imaginary monocle. "I remember back in the day of our O.W.L.s- they used to flog us in the classrooms if we wrote less than three feet for our homework in each subject. You don't know you're born, young Ginny. Kids today have it so much easier than we did."

"Than you did a whole year ago," Ginny snorted, not finding her brother's sarcasm all that amusing. She spotted Luna Lovegood wandering towards the Ravenclaw dinner table, and suddenly jumped up.

"I have to tell Luna," she said, by way of explanation, then ran off to collar said girl before she managed to sit down.

Ron went to help himself to another portion of potatoes, but had his wrist slapped by Hermione.

"Haven't you two got Quidditch trials this evening? You don't want to be too full for that!" she remonstrated. Ron sighed, and put the tongs he had picked up down.

"There, happy?" he asked. Hermione smiled.

"Yes," she replied, simply. Harry felt his stomach tie itself in knots. Truth be told, he was very nervous about these trials. He was pretty sure that he was the only person in the school who had been playing seeker for five years- even Cho hadn't played for as long as him... His stomach began to do more knots than a speedboat. Tonight, he'd have to face Cho again, after their rather disastrous non-relationship of last year. She was seeing Roger Davies though- no, she'd turned him down... wasn't Roger Davies the Ravenclaw captain? The one Hermione reckoned would be the student captain? Oh dear, oh dear... maybe he should just give Quidditch a rest this year?

Hermione got up out of her seat, and took her bag.

"Well, I'm off to the library- good luck this evening! I'll try and watch if I can," she said to Harry and Ron before striding off out of the hall. Ron shook his head.

"That girl spends too much time with books- she'll turn into one at this rate!"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed towards his nose for a moment.

"I've often wondered if that'll ever end up happening to Hermione," he mused. Ron snorted, but he didn't hide his smile.

"I suppose there are some curses that can turn you into a book, or maybe trap you into a book... Hey, perhaps we could try that on Draco and his cronies. Mind you, I reckon if we turned Crabbe or Goyle into a book, they'd resemble those 'See Tom Fly, Fly Tom Fly' books," he laughed. Harry returned the laugh, then looked at his watch.

"We should get down to the pitch," he commented. Ron sat his fork down, which implied to Harry that he agreed.

The sun was setting in the distance, but was low enough not to cause the players to squint too much in the air. Having marched out onto the pitch, Harry noticed players in many different robe colours appearing for the tryouts, as well as Roger Davies wearing a white band across his left arm, signifying he was to be captain. Harry's heart sank into his boots, partly because he wouldn't get a chance to be captain this year, and partly because he had been worried about having to meet Roger since dinner. Roger gave him a cheery wave, but Harry got the feeling it wasn't sincere. Ron nudged him.

"What's the matter?" he asked. Harry sighed, and told him about Cho and Roger Davies.

"You're worrying too much. Do you care that Cho's dating that Michael Corner bloke?" Ron asked, to which Harry shook his head in response. Ron tutted.

"That no good idiot boy..."

"Ron," Harry asked, "Are you ever going to like any of Ginny's boyfriends?"

Ron thought about this for a moment.

"Nope," he replied, simply, "because it's sick. She's just a kid!"

Harry was about to remind Ron that Ginny was only a year younger than him, then wisely decided against it.

The sharp hiss of a whistle took Harry's attention from Ron's protectiveness and to the task in hand. Roger Davies was waving his hand, commanding attention.

"Right-ho," he announced. "Welcome to the first Quidditch Student-Team tryouts. Wow- this is kind of making history isn't it?"

"Get on with it, Davies!" a laughing voice shouted. Roger grinned.

"Alright, keep your hair on, Boyce!" he bellowed back. "Well, to cut a long story short, we need a team- two Beaters, one Seeker, one Keeper, and two Chasers, as I'm a Chaser and Captain..."

Harry heard somebody shout out "Self-Nepotism!" in jest. He also noticed Ron stood next to him muttering 'I must be bloody mad, I'm going to look a prat!' as though it were his mantra.

"Right, well I've got a list here of all the positions people wanted to fill. Let me make this clear- everyone who makes it through to the next tryouts today will automatically be made a reserve if they don't make the final team. Today we will whittle down the numbers to two players per position, and the final tryout date will be later this term. Once we return from the Christmas holidays, we'll really start training. I warn you, I'm a harsh taskmaster and I don't take kindly to tardiness and laziness in practices, so you'll really have to pull your finger out if you make this team..."

"Honestly," Ron groaned, "you'd think he was organizing an Auror campaign!"

After at least fifteen more minutes of rousing speech making from Roger Davies that almost put Ron to sleep, he blew on his whistle again, asking for all the players trying for position of Beater to come to the centre of the pitch. The others, Harry and Ron included, sat on the grass next to the stands. It was here that they bumped into Zacharias Smith, who was scratching his left shoulder as though his yellow robes were irritating him.

"Harry, Ron," he acknowledged. They smiled back.

"Zack," they replied, in unison.

"I must say," Zacharias continued, "That DA club did wonders for our O.W.L. results- didn't you notice how everyone in the group got much higher marks?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, darkly, "because that was the most important thing we learned."

Ron nudged him.

"Harry!" he hissed. Harry shrugged, and Zacharias looked at him, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Well, I only wanted to thank you. If you're going to be like that," he got up and began to walk off, now scratching his left shoulder blade. Harry jumped up and put a hand on his arm.

"Zack, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude," he lied, "it's just..."

"I heard," Zacharias replied harshly, though he looked at Harry with warmth in his eyes. "My parents do get the Daily Prophet." He paused. "It must be hard, him being back and all, after..."

"Yeah," Harry replied, his voice having softened. "It is a bit."

The three said nothing for a while, except Zacharias kept scratching at random areas of his body.

"What's up with you?" Ron asked, pointing to where Zacharias kept itching. He laughed.

"My mother insisted on washing my robes in Dazzle and Sniff's 'Grime-go', and I think I'm allergic to the damn salamander extract," he answered, pushing his hand down his back to reach a particularly awkward itch. Ron patted him on the back.

"Must be fun in your world," he grinned. Zacharias smiled back, and the three began to watch the trials. Harry was stunned at how good Crabbe and Goyle had suddenly got. As much as he disliked them, he had to admit, what they lacked in technical skill they more than made up for in power, which made them appear quite effective. Then a whistle blew, followed by the sound of Roger shouting, "All chasers come to the centre of the pitch!"

Zacharias blanched a little.

"Well, wish me luck," he sighed, and made his way down to the pitch. Harry started to feel quite nauseous with worry. He had never had to formally try out for a team position before, and had quite underestimated how nerve-wracking it was. He glanced around the pitch, and saw to his horror that Draco was standing next to Crabbe and Goyle, clearly congratulating them for making the second stage of the team tryouts. He turned round, and caught Harry's eye. He glared at him, then returned to Crabbe and Goyle, which shocked Harry. Hadn't he been irritating him, Ron and Hermione at every given opportunity? Ron appeared to read his mind.

"Maybe he just wants to do it when Hermione's around. I've seen how angry you get, so it's not a surprise he'd use her to rile you."

Harry nodded, though he was stunned at how Ron had chosen to forget that almost every single incident that Draco had insulted Hermione had ended in Ron trying to exact some sort of physical punishment on him.

Suddenly, a beaming Zacharias appeared before them.

"Wow- made the next tryouts!" He grinned. "They're after Keepers next- that's you isn't it Ron?"

Ron nodded, and gulped. Zacharias slapped him on the back.

"Good luck," he offered, and Ron managed a weak smile before making his way down.

To be honest, for all Ron's nervousness, Harry though he flew very well indeed. Even Roger looked impressed when he ducked down and managed to save a Quaffle using the tip of his broomstick to bounce it up in the air a little, then ricocheted it off the end with a vertical half-spin. When Ron ran up to where Harry was sitting, he was grinning like someone who knew they had got through to the next set of tryouts.

"Well done, mate," Harry said, clapping him on the back. Ron beamed.

"Cheers! I didn't think I would make it... but I did..." he gasped between breaths.

Harry spotted Hermione standing at the other end of the pitch, with her hand to her forehead, clearly looking for them. Harry waved and she started to run over, having spotted him.

"Wow, well done, Ron! I saw you do that amazing save from over there!" she exclaimed, hugging him.

"Thanks, Hermione," Ron breathed, standing with his hands on his knees in an attempt to get more oxygen into his system, and reduce his red puffy cheeks.

"Have you gone yet, Harry?" she asked. Harry shook his head.

"Not yet- I'm up next," he replied.

"Looking forward to being humiliated, Potter?" a voice drawled. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Malfoy, I am," he replied without turning round. Draco was silent for a moment, clearly trying to think of something to say. On failing to do so, he simply pushed past them, yanking Hermione's tied-up hair so hard, she yelped in pain.

"Idiot," she muttered under her breath as she undid her hair tie and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Ron glared after him.

"He is such a moron," he huffed. Harry sighed, and began to make his way to the centre of the pitch.

"Good luck, Harry!" Hermione called after him, and he turned round to show his appreciation with a smile, before taking his position on the pitch next to Draco, Cho Chang (whom he did his utmost not to look at) and Summerby, the Hufflepuff seeker whom Harry did not know. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about Cedric.

"Right!" Roger announced, "After I've finished speaking, I'll release two Golden Snitches. Ten seconds later, you follow. The ones to catch them make the next try-outs; it's that simple. Right," he announced, raising his voice. "Release the Snitches!"

Harry heard the familiar buzzing of the Golden Snitches as they whizzed past his head and shot off into the distance, occasionally zipping back and forth around the staff spectator stand before going further than Harry could see.

"On my marks, go!" Roger shouted, and the four seekers kicked down on their broomsticks and sped off into the air in different directions.

Cho had seemingly pulled herself together, Harry noticed, as the small dark-haired seeker appeared to be keeping a sharp eye out for signs of the Snitch.

"Good for her," he thought, and was taken aback by how much he meant it. Draco was flying around, looking for the Snitch, but his movement was impeding his chance of ever finding it, Harry noted with savage pleasure.

Suddenly, as he was about to check the Hufflepuff seeker out, Harry heard a whizzing sound next to his right ear. A quick glance confirmed it was the Snitch; a second glance confirmed Draco had seen it too. It shot off towards the sun before Harry got a chance to catch it, so he sped off after it at such a speed, he felt the gravitational force pull slightly at his face. A sudden thud courtesy of Draco forced him off course, and he wavered, but managed to hold his trusty Firebolt steady and kept following the Snitch. Squinting from the glare of the sun, Harry advanced upon it, until he felt the fluttering wings tickle his fingertips.

A huge thwack sent him reeling. Harry felt himself start to slide off his broom, and heard the assembled crowd gasp in horror as he managed to cling on desperately with one hand. He looked down, and immediately wished he hadn't- he had to be over fifty feet up in the air. With a strength he felt sure he gained from pure adrenaline, he pulled himself up onto a sitting position upon his broom again, and saw with a mixture of horror and anger that Draco had the Snitch gripped between his fingers. He had clearly knocked him off his broom to get it.

"Better luck next time, Potter," he smirked, before flying down to the pitch. Fighting the urge that the savage part of his brain had to knock the little git off his broom and thus complete the circle of Karma, Harry tried to focus on finding that final Snitch.

Harry felt he must have stared at an increasingly dim sky for ten minutes before he saw signs of movement in the form of a twitching Summerby. Harry quickly dived towards him, as did Cho. Summerby soon noticed the two seekers speeding towards him, then the Snitch, and putting two and two together, dived after it himself. The Snitch flew towards the ground at full pelt, and Harry watched for it to change course. It didn't.

"There's no way that thing is going to fly into the ground," Harry thought to himself, though he honestly was beginning to doubt his original hypothesis as the Snitch continued to whiz towards the grass.

A tiny shudder of movement emanated from the Snitch as it changed direction almost imperceptibly. Without thinking, Harry pulled a Wrongski Feint as Summerby and Cho headed towards the ground. The sudden burst of speed towards the ground encouraged the other two seekers, and by the time Harry pulled up into the air, they were going too fast to stop themselves colliding. He reached out, and felt himself grab the wings of the Snitch, which struggled to get free. Precariously, he took his other hand off his broomstick and grabbed the ball of the Snitch with it, quickly grabbing the Firebolt handle with his other hand before he could fall off.

"Well, there we have it, our two seekers for the next tryout," Roger announced, happily. Draco looked far from pleased when he saw Harry land his Firebolt, Snitch in hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron and Hermione running towards him.

"Oh, well done, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, almost crushing his ribs in a hug. Ron merely patted him awkwardly on the back.

"Yeah, good one, mate," he added. Harry smiled at them both.

Summerby shook his hand firmly.

"That was a smart move you pulled there, well done," he offered, magnanimously. Harry smiled.

"Thanks," he replied. He noticed Cho, and was about to pluck up the courage to say something, anything, to her, but she turned on her heel and walked away, making it very clear to Harry that his commiserations were not welcome.

"Don't worry about her, mate," Ron said. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"These things happen," she added.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco talking to Crabbe and Goyle, occasionally shooting a nasty look in his direction. Once they actually made eye contact, only for a moment, and Draco mouthed, "Just you wait, Potter."

Harry sighed. It was getting embarrassing, if anything. Draco was clearly obsessed with trying to make his life miserable, but it just wasn't bothering him. Maybe it was because he had more important things to worry about now, or maybe he had just grown up.

Then Ron hit Draco with a spell that caused him to make flatulent noises every time he bent his knees, and Harry found himself collapsing on the pitch in fits of hysterical laughter. Clearly, he thought once he had calmed down, it wasn't the latter option.

Next week came all too quickly and it was on the day of their fifth Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves gathered with the rest of their Defence Against the Dark Arts class around a huge raised piste in the Great Hall, with Professor Beauchamp and Professor Snape stood at opposite ends. Snape, Harry noticed, had a savage look on his face, as though he was going to enjoy showing Beauchamp up. Hermione looked concerned.

"Oh, you don't think he's going to hurt her too much, do you?" she whispered. Seamus laughed.

"She wouldn't have challenged him if she thought she would get a pasting!" he replied. Hermione shot a nervous look at Harry and Ron, who understood the implications. Harry very much doubted Professor Beauchamp knew she had picked a duel with an ex-Death Eater.

"Right, if I could have your attention please. You're in year six now, so I imagine you know the rules of a Wizards' Duel. Would anyone care to tell them me?"

Hermione's hand predictably shot up.

"Ah- I can always rely on you, hey, Hermione? Go on," she instructed.

"Two wizards against each other on a twenty by ten foot piste, any curse is allowed save for the Unforgivables, and the last one to remain conscious wins. Except pre-twentieth century, where it was last one to die wins," she finished. Professor Beauchamp laughed richly.

"Correct Hermione, five points to Gryffindor... Oh, and an extra one for reciting the historical changes to the rules in such a humorous manner," she replied. "And would someone like to remind me of the etiquette? I must admit I've a tendency to be frightfully rude in these situations..."

Neville raised his hand.

"You have to face your opponent, raise your wand, swish it diagonally to your left, bow, then walk towards your end of the piste, and only begin once the adjudicator says go," he replied, confidently.

"Well done Neville, another five points to Gryffindor, and you get to be our adjudicator" she replied, smiling.

Neville gulped.

"It's okay, you only have to shout 'go'," Beauchamp said, by way of explanation. She then turned her attention to the Slytherin section of the class.

"Come on guys, are you going to let them beat you? I'll have some questions at the end, but for now, Professor Snape and myself are going to show you how it's really done." She nodded to Snape, who smiled coldly. "Ready?"

"Oh yes," he replied, nastily. Harry felt fingers digging painfully into his right arm. A quick look told him it was Hermione, who looked as though she could barely watch. Ron, on the other hand, was rubbing his hands together in glee.

Professor Beauchamp and Professor Snape stalked the length of the piste to face each other. Almost instantaneously, they both held their wands to their face and swished them diagonally in synchronicity, each with a look of menace in their narrowed eyes. They both turned on their heel and stalked back to the end of the piste, facing each other once more with what could only be described as grim determination.

"Erm- go?" Neville shouted, with a slight air of uncertainty.

For a second, neither of them moved, and the class collectively held their breath. Then, suddenly, Snape stepped forward, pointed his wand and shouted.

"Stupefy!"

A jet of yellow light sped towards Beauchamp.

"Declino," she retorted, shooting a red flame towards him. The two met mid-air and cancelled each other out with a loud bang. The students nearest the front jumped at the noise.

Snape quickly shouted, "Propulso," and fired a blue jet square at Beauchamp's chest. She dropped her shoulder and ducked, whilst taking aim and shouting, "Intemperies Hirsutus!" The blue jet crashed into the wall behind her and caused the member of the portrait behind to take shelter with that of a horse in a landscape painting nearer the window. The twisting purple coil from Beauchamp's own wand, however, hit Snape square on the jaw, and he began sprouting thick black fur all over his face. The Gryffindors in the class began to snigger, but the Slytherins looked a little annoyed. Snape quickly recovered, and shot 'Rictusempra' at Beauchamp, who didn't block in time and ended up squealing with laughter on the piste floor. In her mirth, she managed to shoot two broad jets of gold light at Snape, of which the first one missed, but the second made contact with his left knee, and he was levitated off the floor. A quick flick of her wand wrist, and he jerked upside down, until she lifted the spell and dropped him messily onto the floor. He sprang to his feet fairly quickly, and Harry noticed he looked beyond angry.

It seemed Hermione had noticed too.

"Gosh," she whispered, "He looks really mad."

Ron shrugged.

"Maybe he's travel-sick? I wouldn't like to be thrown upside-down, I'd most likely throw up everywhere!"

Harry suddenly realised he'd been reminded a little of that scene he saw in Snape's Pensieve last year, and thought perhaps Professor Beauchamp had inadvertently reminded Snape of the incident as well.

His fears were confirmed when he heard what sounded like, "Abscindo Venas!" said with more venom than he could have imagined two such words to contain, followed by an angry scream, and a wince from the slightly horrified crowd. Beauchamp was clutching her left shoulder, blood pouring through her fingers. Her expression however, had hardened to a murderous glare.

"Bastard!" she seethed, which was soon followed by a yell of 'Fragosum', which hit Snape square in the chest and he smashed against the wall behind him. Another portrait yelped and hid in the top left-hand corner of its huge gold frame as Snape slid down and fell to the floor. He pulled himself up and roared, "Cremoare!" at the top of his voice. A green wave of light sped out of his wand, which multiplied until it appeared as though a huge tidal wave was heading towards Beauchamp. The woman stared hard at the oncoming surge of light, her eyes widened a little, and she suddenly back-flipped away from the wave, eventually jumping up and grabbing hold of a chandelier above her head, pulling herself up as the wave crashed past her and burned a hole through the wall of the Great Hall. The gathered students 'ooh-ed' and 'aah-ed' in appreciation, though whether this was at Snape's admittedly impressive curse, or Beauchamp's acrobatic escape, Harry couldn't tell.

Ron looked gobsmacked.

"Wow- did you just see what Beauchamp did? That was bloody amazing!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's not that impressive..."

"Well, you do it then!" Ron retorted. Hermione sighed.

"I can't, but there are many Muggles who can," she snapped back. Harry heard Dean snigger a little behind him.

"Anyone else get the suspicion that there's some Dark magic going on here?" Neville asked, quietly. Harry didn't reply; he had been having the same thoughts himself. A savage part of Harry's brain fired up into life again- Harry decided that perhaps he should name the savage part of his brain Steve, as the little chap was becoming an increasing fixture in his waking thoughts nowadays. At that moment, Steve truly wanted to see Snape suffer at the hands of their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher- not death, but maybe a loss of a limb, or permanent disfigurement. By the time Steve reminded him that he wouldn't be adverse to a painful death, Beauchamp had fired a green bolt of light at Snape from her position up on the chandelier, which arced through the air, forming the shape of an arrow, which pierced Snape in the stomach. He staggered to his knees, and Harry heard Hermione whisper, "That's a 'Reverse flow' curse. It reverses the direction of lymphatic drainage. It's temporary, but pretty painful, I'd imagine," to a horror-struck Lavender. After a minute or so, Snape pulled himself to his feet and the two opponents faced each other, looking ready to pounce, and staring each other out as two animals fighting over a prized carcass might, poised for the attack.

Suddenly, Snape yelled, "Expelliarmus!" and Beauchamp's wand flew out of her hand into his own. She looked stunned for a moment, and Snape looked triumphant. He pointed his wand at her, and began to utter another curse, only for Beauchamp to offer a humourless smile.

"Disarming curse. Cute," she chided, before raising her hands.

"Sinistra; Vinculum, Dextera; Lanio viscera," she boomed, and to Harry's utter shock, a blue bolt coiled from her left hand, encircling Snape and pinning him to the spot, whilst a yellow bolt shot from her right hand penetrated his chest, and he began to foam at the mouth, amid squeals from both Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Snape broke free from the curse and muffled something, causing the wand in his hand to glow and shoot multiple crimson flames at Beauchamp. The curse she was trying to use failed as a result and appeared as though it would set fire to her hands. Harry shuddered when he realised why he recognised the curse. It was the same one Dolohov had used to try and kill Hermione at the Department of Mysteries. If she hadn't silenced him, he would have succeeded too. Beauchamp coolly responded with a spell that Harry didn't hear her say, as she muttered it too quietly. All of a sudden, the flames disappeared and Snape was on his knees, clutching his arm in agony. Beauchamp's eyes had widened in surprise, so much so that she appeared to have forgotten to take off whatever spell she had used on Snape. Harry heard Hermione gasp, and was about to tell her not to worry, when he heard a door slam.

"What in Merlin's name is the meaning of this!" screeched Professor McGonagall, looking aghast at the scene in front of her. To be fair, Harry thought she had a point; if he was a teacher and had walked in on the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor with a huge bleeding gash on her shoulder, looking dishevelled and pointing a blue watery spell from her hands at the Potions Professor, who was writhing in agony on the floor surrounded by portraits either hiding or peering indignantly in their frames at the scene, he'd probably have had a similar reaction.

Professor Beauchamp shook herself out of her reverie and released Snape from the spell, helping him to his feet; though he suddenly looked a little wary.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall, Severus and I were just showing the students why you should never underestimate your opponents," Beauchamp replied, blithely. McGonagall did not appear comforted by this.

"And you thought a good way of showing them this would be to damn near kill each other?" she hissed. Snape and Beauchamp exchanged a guilty glance; Harry was reminded of the time he and Ron were caught by McGonagall flying Ron's dad's car to Hogwarts in their second year, and imagined they had appeared to McGonagall rather like the two Professors did now.

"We're sorry, Minerva, we won't let it happen again..."

"I admit it got a bit out of hand, but nobody was hurt..."

"What about her arm, Severus?"

"What about my lymphatic system? She only went and pulled a 'Reverse Flow' curse on me!"

McGonagall turned to Beauchamp, who glared childishly at Snape for a second, before meeting McGonagall's stare with dignity.

"It was in self-defence. Your Potions Master is feisty," she replied, apologetically. McGonagall's fierce demeanour softened a little in amusement at her words.

"That doesn't make it right, Persephone- what must these children be thinking?"

"Why don't we ask them?" she replied, breezily, before turning to the class. "Right, class, I said there would be more questions. What should you do if you encounter a spell which you do not recognise and feel unable to counter-block?"

Draco raised his hand.

"Run away in the opposite direction?" he offered, with a smirk. Beauchamp smiled.

"Very good- five points to Slytherin."

Draco's smirk was wiped almost instantly off his face and replaced with a look of astonishment.

"If in doubt," Beauchamp continued, "you're much better off trying to get out of the way of unfriendly fire than waltzing into it unprepared. Okay, next question- when should you rely on defensive spells such as 'Expelliarmus'?"

Pansy Parkinson raised her hand.

"Never. Especially if you can't tell if your opponent can do wandless magic and counteract such an attack," she replied, smiling at her head of house, whom Harry though he imagined almost smiling back. Beauchamp grinned.

"Excellent- five points to Slytherin again. If there is one take-home message I implore all of you to remember from these lessons, is that you can never rely on anything!" She accompanied the last four words by karate-chopping the palm of her left hand with the edge of her right hand. "Expect the unexpected and always be on your guard. Life surprises you many times, death only surprises you once. Mostly," she added, under her breath. Harry saw Hermione's eyes narrow a little at this remark.

"And finally, which two Professors in this school should you always endeavour to hand your homework in on time to?" Beauchamp asked, jokingly. The class laughed. Beauchamp clapped her hands together.

"Class dismissed- and do I even need to tell you that if I catch any one of you using those spells on each other, you'll have me to answer to!"

The class murmured their concord, then filed out of the Hall, talking animatedly about the demonstration lesson. Harry deliberately dawdled out, and heard Professor McGonagall concede to Beauchamp concerning the usefulness of the lesson, but warned her and Snape, "Never to pull a stunt like that again!" to which Beauchamp and Snape solemnly agreed. Once McGonagall had left the Hall, they turned and sniggered at each other.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked quietly, her and Ron having purposely taken just as long as Harry had to leave the Hall.

"I think we just witnessed something monumentous- Snape smiling," Ron replied. They managed to catch the rest of their conversation.

"I must admit, Persephone, I'm impressed."

"I told you I was more skilled at Defence than you gave my callow youth credit for."

"I was thinking more about how you managed to wriggle your way out of that potentially damaging confrontation with Minerva, but I'll accept you're an adequate Professor," he replied, grudgingly. Beauchamp rolled her eyes.

"Careful, Severus, you're coming dangerously close to flattering me."

She turned to Snape and stepped too closely to him, her mouth inches from his ear.

"The kids weren't the only ones who learnt something today. That 'Purple flame of Death', or whatever it's called, spell was quite unique. In fact, I can only think of one famous Wizard who has taught his followers such a thing," she squeezed his left forearm with her hand and he jumped. She laughed quietly, and Harry saw Snape turn even paler than usual.

"And to think Minerva was concerned about my influence on the students?" she finished, before turning away from him and walking away.

Harry, Ron and Hermione decided it would be in their best interests to ensure Snape didn't know they had heard that part of the conversation, and snuck out of the Hall unnoticed.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed. "She's worked out he was a, you know..."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "that's pretty odd."

"No," Hermione countered, "what was odd is how she worked it out."

"Huh?" Harry and Ron managed to say in tandem.

"Well, she worked it out from a curse he used? Whom can you think of who could spot a Death Eater from his fighting technique?" she asked, rhetorically. "Plus there's that spell."

"Which spell?" Ron asked.

"The one that resulted in Snape groaning in pain, clutching his arm. I couldn't catch it all but it definitely involved the phrase 'Fateor macula'. I'm guessing she did something to his mark," she explained.

"What does that mean?" Ron asked. Hermione smiled grimly.

"It means, like all those before her, there is something not quite right with our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."