"interconnected part 7 " by gingerbred
Jan. 21st, 2023 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
christmasspiritLavender Brown / Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter / Draco Malfoy, Background: Theo Nott / Hestia Carrow, Neville Longbottom / Ginny Weasley
Staff: Professor Peek, Professor Minerva McGonagall, Slytherins: Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Ella Wilkins, Harper Hutchinson, Thaddeus Travers, Gryffindors: Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan
Mentioned briefly: Slytherins: Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode, Hestia Carrow, Torsten 'Tor' Touchstone, Bartholmew Burke, Hunter Hutchinson, Sharon Shafiq, Gryffindors: Seamus Finnigan, Ravenclaw: Padma Patil, Hufflepuff: Zacharias Smith
04 January, 1999. Peek's DADA class sees its first ever duel. It may be the last, too.
Originally Published: 2023-01-21 on LJ / DW
Words: 7.7 k
Rating: Mature
Characters: Lavender Brown (8G, Prefect, no longer Ron's bit on the side (or anywhere else), she's begun seeing a certain Slytherin instead), Blaise Zabini (8S, highly intrigued by the duality of Lavender's nature)
Staff: Professor Peek (yet another DADA Professor of questionable worth), Professor Minerva McGonagall (Headmistress)
Slytherins: Draco Malfoy (8S, Prefect, Captain, Seeker, Potter's), Theo Nott (8S, Hestia's), Gregory Goyle (8S, Beater, gentle giant), Pansy Parkinson (8S, Prefect, observant friend), Ella Wilkins (7S, Prefect), Harper Hutchinson (7S, Prefect, Chaser)
Gryffindors: Ron Weasley (8G, Prefect, Lavender's ex, ex-Keeper, presently seeing Demelza), Harry Potter (8G, Captain, Seeker, Draco's), Seamus Finnigan (8G fiery Reserve Beater, long time friend of Lavender's), Ginny Weasley (7G, Chaser, presently seeing Neville)
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Neville Longbottom (Head of Gryffindor, Herbology Apprentice), Slytherins: Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (8S, Reserve Beater), Tracey Davis (8S), Hestia Carrow (7S, Chaser, Lycanthrope attack survivor, Theo's somewhat rabid other half), Torsten 'Tor' Touchstone (7S, heir to the Touchstone potions fortune), Bartholomew 'Bart' Burke (6S, sallow), Hunter Hutchinson (5S, Imp, Harper's little brother), Sharon Shafiq (2S, Sheldon's little sister), Thaddeus Travers (1S, eager Firstie) Ravenclaw: Padma Patil (8R, Head Girl), Hufflepuff: Zacharias Smith (7H, Chaser)
"Weasley, Zabini. Will you do us the honour?" Peek, somehow vaguely dissatisfied with the prospect of their duel for reasons he can't begin to fathom - funny how Suggestibility Charms work - gestures to the space at the front of his classroom, and the boys in question rise.
"Don't use anything too harsh..." Draco feels pressed to remind Blaise as he begins to make his way to the front.
"Cheers, I'll just take him for tea at Puddifoot's, shall I?" Blaise rejoins over his shoulder, accompanying the remark with a raised brow that could be the cousin to Snape's.
"An Expeliarmus should be fine," Draco adds uselessly, smiling almost innocently and ignoring Blaise's snark. His relief at not having to duel Harry may be making him punchy.
"If you can get around his Protegos, that is," Theo feels compelled to point out. "Its's not like an Expeliarmus just overcomes that."
"Ta, had escaped me completely," Blaise grumbles as he turns to face the Weasel.
A House Privacy Charm, or possibly three - great minds think alike - leaves their conversation private, and has the added advantage of making any Spell Blaise casts practically non-verbal. Assuming Weasley can't read lips, a reasonably safe assumption, that should be a slight advantage and help make up for the fact Blaise has a Trace on his wand that all but guarantees the Aurors will appear should he do anything in the least creative with it. That is rather rubbish when duelling, all are agreed.
Anyone who thought this might go the way of the Duelling Club from second year couldn't be more wrong, further proof, if required, the course is beyond useless if they're only now establishing that fact. The fight isn't tidy. There's no standing in place, no alternating exchange of Spells. Weasley is a scrapper, he casts a Hex in Blaise's direction and immediately runs for cover. Unsurprisingly the War had changed a good deal about how the students view Magic. It's not cricket, but it's far from stupid either, as anyone who had taken a look at the effects of the Hex they're supposed to practise would know. Blaise deflects the opening volley easily, and couldn't say he disagrees with the approach, instead he's quick to follow suit, rushing for the pillars closer to the Slytherins' side of the classroom, and slightly relieved that Weasley had set the tone. Were anyone inclined to claim it's bad form - the argument can be made - he'd rather that accusation rest on the ginger's shoulders.
There's some back and forth as the boys chase each other around the classroom for a bit. So far so good, that is until Theo squeaks up.
"Hey, Blaise, you can't cast this!" he shouts, having read ahead in the chapter as to how the Hex was categorised, and now waving the book at his roommate in an obviously panicked manner.
That certainly puts a crimp in his style. Blaise curses under his breath as he ducks for cover. Draco dives for his own text and begins hurriedly consulting with Theo, something Blaise can't help thinking shouldn't take place during a duel, but such is his luck, and he finds himself now very much on the run as he waits for them to make up their bleeding minds.
"He's right, Blaise," comes Draco's judgment, most inopportune, and Blaise has a sinking feeling. "Do this and the Aurors will be on you in an instant." Draco sounds more than a little panicked himself. Very reassuring. Fuck Peek and his poncy pince-nez, this whole thing had clearly been a set up from the start. Meant for Draco, sure, but they were all more or less in the same boat, now weren't they? And whose brilliant idea had it been for Blaise to duel Weasley instead? Oh, right, his.
Well at least he has no one else to blame for it.
If he'd hoped to make an impression on Lavender, this is very likely to do it, although not, perhaps, quite as intended. Bugger all.
Weasley has him on the ropes, running from his Spells as Blaise tries to formulate a plan. Of course that's a little easier to do when things aren't exploding around you. He's not sure what's gotten into Weasley, but he definitely isn't holding back. Perhaps Blaise had goaded him once too often in Potions. Entirely possible, and Weasel was known to hold a grudge. Well there's nothing to be done for it now.
A Reducto slams into the column he's leaning against, right above his head, causing a shower of rubble to crash down on him. His Protego only just shunts it off to the side. He climbs out over the debris, cursing some more, as he tries to mentally list Spells that won't land him in Azkaban.
"The Trace," Pansy hisses, rather unnecessarily, reasonably sure she can see just what Spells are crossing Blaise's mind, and if not his then definitely hers.
The problem is that it isn't just the Trace that's the issue. Sure, that had been problematic enough - how had he ever thought this a good idea? - but he's now in a room full of witnesses. Even if he can pull off something decisive without his wand - and he bloody well hopes so, or he shouldn't call himself a wizard - if he can't explain away the results as something completely innocuous, they'll simply assume the worst. In fact, that now works very much against him. Unless he can prove he didn't cast something harmful, which he can't unless he uses his wand, everyone is now effectively a witness against him. The only way to prove his innocence would be his own recollections and Veritaserum, and as all of them now know only too well after the last summer, for reasons none of them are ever likely to understand, that's not accepted as exculpatory evidence.
He literally has no defense here.
Not worrisome at all.
A Bombardo lands to his right, his Protego barely holding. Fucking hell.
"Protego! Protego! Protego!" Lavender mouths when she finally catches his eye, also rather unnecessarily, as he was quite unlikely to forget it. Still, he appreciates the thought.
"It's reflective!" Theo shouts, confident the Privacy Charm is still in place and having read ahead some more.
"Good to know," Blaise nods, his eyes narrowing as a plan begins to form. Some Spell or another of Weasley's has just taken another chunk out of the pillar behind him and Blaise has well and truly had enough of this shite. Fuck Peek all to hell. He dives for the nearest column, rolling to a stop behind it as Weasley's next Spell misses.
"You cast about as well as you keep, Weasel. Oh, but then I guess your poor keeping doesn't really matter anymore does it..." Blaise laughs as he deflects the next shot. His reflexes are as good as ever, and Weasley is about as crimson as his erstwhile uniform. Good.
"You'd have been an even worse Chaser, though, clearly," Blaise taunts as one of the desks behind him explodes, accompanied by a Hufflepuff's screams as he's struck by some of the splinters. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise can see Ella making her way over to Smith, Tor and Harper covering her flank. She'll have the 'Puff's Chaser sorted in no time. That should have been Peek's job, he can't help thinking as he runs for the next bit of cover. "Can't hit the broad side of a castle, can you?"
Weasel is fuming, he's completely lost the plot, firing into the audience like that. Peek is equally mad for allowing this to continue, but Blaise had rather guessed as much once he realised he'd never be allowed to cast the Spell in today's lesson. Hardly fair. Weasel fires one Hex after another, never letting up, his pace brutal, but his aim all the worse for it. If the exertion weren't sufficient to see to it, and it probably is, Blaise's taunting will do for the rest. Weasley had proven highly susceptible, never doing well against that sort of attack on the pitch; Blaise would have been extremely surprised to discover he were any more collected in a duel. And now he has him where he wants him, just this side of a rage.
Blaise spins around a column and as Weasley prepares to unleash his next Spell, the Slytherin puts forth the strongest Protego he can manage mere feet from the boy and pushes with all his magical might. Protegos manifest as physical shields, and this one clips Weasley full on the chin sending him flying as though struck by the world's worst haymaker. No one will be able to blame Blaise for casting a Protego, and if it went a little wild? Under the circumstances? Hardly surprising. Weasley gets to his feet with a strangled cry, his lip split and bleeding, his freckled chin faring only marginally better.
Good.
Blaise can't help thinking he prefers to see someone else's blood for a change.
With a shriek of fury, Weasley casts today's Hex, just as Blaise casts a Spell of his own. Putting his Keeper's reflexes to best use, he transforms Theo's DADA text into a mirror, sweeps it from his roommate's desk, and with all the force he can muster swats the Hex right back at Weasley like a Bludger, hitting him full force, and follows up almost immediately with an Expeliarmus that sends the rotter flying. Weasel strikes the ground with a resounding thud and doesn't move.
Again, Blaise is effectively blameless. After Weasley's attack, a Disarming Spell is the most reasonable thing in the world. How was he to know the boy was unconscious when he cast? And that would be the obvious advantage to acting while he still had plausible deniability, no fool he.
The classroom is deathly still for a few moments save for Blaise's ragged breathing and a number of anxious exhalations. Lavender wasn't the only one who'd been holding her breath towards the end of the duel. If she'd been unclear about her feelings for either of the boys, they crystallised for her mere moments into the exchange. After her talks with Blaise about the restrictions the Slytherins face, she'd realised fairly early on why he wasn't responding to Ron's attacks in kind. She's silently fuming over the unfairness of it all, and she's far from the only one.
Ella finally breaks the silence. "Are you going to see to him or must I?" Addressing her remarks to Peek, she gestures at Weasley in utter disbelief. She's knows she's out of line, completely, and couldn't give a Flying Fig. Still standing with the Hufflepuff she's just patched back together and clearly exceedingly annoyed over the whole Head Girl thing - Patil still hasn't moved a muscle - she has little patience, if any, left for useless faculty. At present, Peek tops that list. The look she gives him is so unbelievably dismissive it finally seems to register.
As though suddenly realising things have gone too far, way too far, and that some action on his part might be required, or at least expected, Peek jerks into motion and crosses to Ron. From the look of it, this isn't something he can sort on his own - all the more reason not to have sanctioned a duel in the first place, never mind insisting on it, and certainly without any other faculty assistance - and looking about, he settles on telling Potter he and Finnigan will need to take Weasley to the Infirmary. Pomfrey will no doubt be pleased beyond measure to see the boy returning to her care so soon.
Harry shakes his head decisively, no. "Gin?" he queries softly, and although visibly shaken, she nods. Ron may not be her favourite person at the moment, but seeing him lying there like that was... hard. "Send Ginny with Seamus instead. I'm staying," Harry informs Peek in no uncertain terms, sensing the fallout here might be more important than anything he can do for Ron at present. Shy of suddenly becoming a Healer... He'd noticed just like everyone else how Peek had seemed keen to pit him against Draco. He's not sure if Peek just lost his courage and reconsidered, or if someone... helped him change his mind - at the thought his gaze darts automatically in Draco's direction - but either way, the man just isn't right. Madam Pomfrey has always been able to sort them before; Harry has no doubt she'll be able to sort Ron now. He's far less sure about Peek. Sometimes all you can do is bear witness, but sometimes that's enough. Either way, he's not budging an inch.
His refusal and obstinacy seem to fluster the man, as does the suggestion, plainly, but Peek's quick to pull himself together and order, "Miss Weasley! You heard him. You and Finnigan get your brother to the Infirmary." Some in attendance wonder that he hadn't chosen her to begin with. A few suspect her relationship to Longbottom had counted for more with their instructor than that to her brother. As if not accompanying him to the Infirmary would make her any less aware of what had happened to him before her very eyes... If he's hoping to avoid staff scrutiny this way, that's one hell of a miscalculation. Alternatively, it has more than one student preparing for the likelihood of some sort of Memory Charm.
Bloody hell, as Weasley would say.
"How're we supposed to..." Seamus starts.
"Mobilicorpus!" Peek snaps, setting Ron to floating, and leaving Ginny and Seamus to try to work out how best to tow him from the room. The teammates are good at cooperative efforts and make short work of it, but Peek has turned his back on them before they've even left, clearly sparing little thought for Ron, who despite being hit by his own Spell certainly wouldn't have been in that position without him. That sits well with absolutely no one in the classroom.
"Zabini! Your wand!" Peek commands, arm outstretched, palm open, fingers waggling in demand, the look completed with a supercilious expression as he stands there puffing his cheeks and waiting for Blaise to hand over his wand. More than a little reluctantly, the eighth year does so.
"Prior Incantato Maxima!" Peek bellows, one might suspect in part for effect, but the man appears clearly incensed. It would seem things haven't gone quite as expected.
The echoes of the Spells Blaise had cast begin to spool from his wand, one after another. The Expeliarmus, the Reflection Charm, the Protego, another Protego, Protego, Protego, still another Protego... Although he's quite certain he hadn't used anything here that could land him in any trouble - the very fact the Aurors aren't present sort of confirms it - he isn't, upon reflection, one hundred percent certain how far back that's true. It's just as he told Lavender the other night. A Spell, especially taken out of context like this... It can show what he cast, but not when and definitely not why. Even though he knows he should be in the clear, Blaise begins to become nervous.
"Deleterius," comes a familiar voice from the doorway. The echoes of Blaise's Spells fade as the Headmistress enters the room, summoned by the castle itself as the duel surged, now crossing to where Peek stands with Blaise's wand still in hand. She removes it and returns it to the boy without comment and Blaise breathes a massive sigh of relief. Off the expression on Peek's face, he'd half expected him to snap it at any moment. Or if he'd exposed any of the House's secret Spells, that most likely would have done the job for him. Merlin. Blaise makes a mental note to be a great deal more careful about never performing one with his wand again.
"Were you planning on doing that with Mr. Weasley's wand as well?" Professor McGonagall gestures to where it still lies on the ground beside one of Ron's shoes; the force of the Hex, or perhaps the Expeliarmus, seems to have knocked it clean off. Peek's expression betrays that the thought had never even crossed his mind.
Minerva surveys the damage to the room in frank disbelief. The beautiful columns with sizeable chunks missing, the rubble on the floor. The desks, damaged, some reduced to little more than tinder... Mr. Smith standing there with blood clearly visible on his once white collar. Miss Wilkins' presence beside him best explained by the evident need for first aide... And the state of Mr. Weasley as his sister and Mr. Finnigan had manoeuvred him from the room... Far too like his brother not so many months before. It's not simply that she can't bear to see the castle treated this way, especially so soon again after the War, but to subject the students to this... And this man, Peek, where was he when the Battle for Hogwarts was raging? To come here and subject the individuals who'd had to fight for their lives to this.
"Class dismissed." Her voice is level and icy and betrays little of her fury, although the students who have known her for years can guess. She invokes In Loco Parentis and retrieves Weasley's wand and the rest of his things, ties them together, shrinks the lot and places them in her pocket. The students for their part hurry to grab their things, some more difficult to find in the wreckage than others, but then that's what Accios are for. Blaise returns Theo's book to its original form with a Finite, and thanks him for the loan. A slightly panicked Pansy has to strangle an impulse to laugh. It doesn't seem wise just now. Nothing really seems wise just now beyond leaving the room with all imaginable haste. A crush of students makes for the door, but as the last of them are leaving, they can hear the Headmistress finally speak.
"Professor Peek, attend to your classroom. When you've returned it to its original condition, and no sooner, come see me immediately in my office. Password Azkaban."
As it seems highly unlikely that was the password prior to the exchange, they're pretty certain that was a further indication of her displeasure. Well she wasn't the only one displeased with the events of today.
"We may need to begin preparing for this class," Theo weighs in as they round the nearest corner. Blaise's and Draco's lips are pressed tight in thin lines of agreement. The thought had occurred to them as well. "I don't think Peek's going to stop there."
Corridors between the Slytherin Dungeon and the DADA classroom
"Damn," Blaise stops in his tracks.
"Is everything alright?" Pansy asks, more than a little concerned it might not be after his duel with Weasley. She's not the only one who looks worried.
"Sorry, I forgot something. Go on without me, I'll catch up."
Draco musters him closely and deciding he's unharmed teases, "Just make sure you're not late. It's your turn to work with the Firsties before dinner." Blaise just shoots him a look, after what he's been through, Draco can bloody well cover for him if he should run late. He's pretty sure Draco sees that the same way, though.
"Shouldn't be long," he calls over his shoulder as he jogs off back towards the DADA classroom.
Corridors between the Slytherin Dungeon and the DADA classroom
They're still standing there looking after Blaise when someone calls for "Draco," from in front of them. They all recognise the voice and turn as one to find Potter standing there, apparently waiting for them.
Well, not them obviously. Him.
They're all perfectly aware of the boys' relationship, but they haven't really had much opportunity to observe them deliberately together. Just as they were at the same table in the Great Hall they'd sat at all last term, they'd kept to the seats they'd previously had in their classes. Where they'd been together, they still were, and where they were apart, that too remained unchanged. For the casual observer, nothing whatsoever had changed.
So this is uncharted territory. They hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to stay or leave. This is the sort of thing Blaise was usually good at, more's the pity he wasn't with them now. Pansy is the next most likely to manage it, and the others look to her for their cue, she in turn plans to take it from Draco. There's a very real possibility Potter won't be best pleased that his mate has been landed in the Hospital Wing, again, for the second time today, arguably thanks to the Slytherins.
Well, perhaps more 'definitely' than 'arguably' this time around. Still, they're perfectly happy to maintain it was only Weasley's reflected Spell at fault, if anyone really wishes to put it to debate.
"Are we good?" Draco's nerves are too frayed to muck about, he just asks Harry straight out.
The Gryffindor kisses him, settling that, and his nerves, once and for all, if not the butterflies in his stomach. Draco may just need to rethink the advantages of some of this 'being direct' stuff. The others pretend to study the floor, ceiling and nearby portraits until the boys come up for air.
"No, we're phenomenal," the Moggie tells Draco with a smile, causing Theo, at the least, to quirk a brow. That had been one of their clique's jokes, and he's more than a little surprised to hear Potter give their standard reply. He and Draco really have been spending a great deal of time together.
"Did you suggest Peek choose someone else to duel?" Harry asks the group once the fit of soppiness passes.
Draco nods, confirming his suspicions. "That was me."
Theo shakes his head, "It was all of us."
"My decision, my Spell," Draco corrects. As it's accurate, Theo shrugs. He hopes his friend knows what he's doing. Hestia has made something of a romantic out of him. "I didn't think having the two of us duel in public like that would be smart move. So we re-directed. I suggested he pick someone else."
"Ron and Zabini specifically?"
Draco nods again, "I'm sorry that Wesley got hurt." In a flash, his Housemates return to studying to portraits and shooting Pansy nervous glances, unsure if they should still be here. As Draco hasn't given her any sign yet, she sort of thought he wanted their support. Or something. Frankly she's unsure and exceedingly busy examining the detail of the very nice lace on the collar of the nearest portrait's subject, a woman she's spent the previous seven and a half years failing utterly to note. Fine work that, both the original crochet and the oil painting. Hmm. The portrait agrees.
Harry purses his lips and then finally nods. "It was his Hex," he shrugs. "It wouldn't have hit Zabini with any less force." They're relieved to hear him acknowledge that. It's not entirely correct, as aim can make a great deal of difference, but it's true, and people don't always get that.
"Well the Expeliarmus didn't help," Draco admits, and a fair few of of his Housemates decide he's blinkered. He's quite evidently determined not to quit until he's behind.
Harry snorts. "I'd have cast Expeliarmus on him at that point, and I can almost guarantee it would have been worse." That's very likely true as well. Potter is both very good at the Spell and something of a powerhouse, however it's highly unlikely he'd have also reflected the original Hex to begin with. That was clever. Tactical. Things that aren't so much attributes of the Chosen One, and the combination of Spells was rather the issue. Fortunately Draco seems to have decided to stop rubbing Potter's nose in the facts of the matter and finally gives it a rest. Potter knows the score, if he insists on arriving at a different conclusion, as a group they're all for letting him. Merlin's blighted bollocks, but Potter's evidently begun to rub off on Draco.
"Zabini couldn't cast the Hex?" Harry asks as he threads his fingers between Draco's and starts walking him towards the dungeons. The rest fall in beside them fairly naturally, with only one or two registering how strange that is, but Potter's being reasonable, and he makes Draco happy. The happiest he's been in years, in fact. Plus there's a good chance Potter might make a decent ally, if Draco can only stop trying to make such an incredible hash of things. They'll work on him, get him to see sense.
Theo shakes his head, "Not that or much of anything else useful. The Trace will have the Aurors on you almost instantly." He shudders as he says it, speaking from personal experience, and a couple of the others still have to struggle not to picture him being marched naked from the dorms at wandpoint. It seems unfair to visualise it, like giving the tosspots from the DMLE another victory. They'd discussed the advisability of using a Memory Charm in protest, wiping it from their minds, except Theo had insisted the risks outweighed the benefits. If he wasn't fussed, they shouldn't chance it. Except that 'if' was doing quite a bit of heavy casting there, as most of his friends knew only too well. Ultimately they decided to respect his wishes, though. Theo's a good egg for putting everyone's safety first.
"Not even wandlessly? I'd have expected Zabini to be able to manage that." Like Lavender, Harry's spent years in the same DADA class as Zabini and has a fair idea of his skills. He's not wrong, as Millie and Gregory both hurry to assure him.
"Sure he could..."
"Blaise can do plenty of wandless magic..."
"Except that wouldn't have helped," Harper interrupts and he and Draco try to explain the issue with proof in the face of witnesses.
"So if they get the wrong end of the stick..."
"Wand," Draco corrects, idioms being far from universal.
Harry shoots him an affectionate look and continues, "If they think you've cast something, but are wrong..."
"Blaise wouldn't be able to prove his innocence," Draco finishes. "None of us would."
Harry had sat through far too many trials last summer to doubt that. In fact, that was precisely how Sirius and Barty Crouch Jr. had landed in Azkaban all those years ago.
"Can you even defend yourselves???" He sounds suitably scandalised, immediately rising in their collective esteem.
"Protego, Protego, Protego," Pansy sighs, sounding just as exhausted and annoyed by the situation as they all are.
"That's insane," Harry summarises as they arrive at a bare stretch of stone wall. They couldn't agree with him more. They hesitate there for a moment, uncertain, sort of shuffling as a group, and of course Harry knows both that this is the entrance to the Slytherin dungeon and that they don't have visitors round. As far as they know, no outsider had entered the dungeons for more than seven centuries, and Harry has no intention of disabusing them of the notion. Taking pity on their mounting discomfort, he gives Draco a quick peck, his hand a squeeze, and makes to leave. "I'll see you at dinner then?"
And then Pansy speaks up, startling most, asking, "Would you like to come in?"
And everyone sort of holds their breath.
Corridors between the Slytherin Dungeon and the DADA classroom
Blaise rushes back towards the DADA classroom in the hope of finding someone waiting for him. He's applied a Notice-Me-Nott in case he encounters Peek. Or McGonagall for that matter. He shouldn't like to tempt his luck. He doesn't have far to go before he finds a certain blonde sort of aimlessly looking about while doing her level best to fade into the background. She's not quite succeeding, but then she's far too pretty for that, isn't she? He sweeps her up in his arms, twirling her about, an especially odd sensation until he manages to incorporate her into his Notice-Me-Nott.
"You're alright?" Lavender asks, clearly worried, her eyes roving over his body and looking for any telltale signs of injury, her hands beginning to follow soon after.
He beams at her. "I'm fine." He most certainly is.
He kisses her long and hard and she's dizzy by the time he finishes, completely forgetting to continue her search for injuries. "I just wanted to say 'thanks' for rooting for me. In the duel," he prompts when she doesn't seem to follow. She blinks, still clearly confused, before grasping that when swish came to flick, he wasn't sure she would support him over Ron. It's her turn push him against the wall and snog him until he's dizzy, hopefully knocking such foolish thoughts from his mind once and for all.
She also nearly succeeds in making him forget the Firsties he's supposed to be tutoring, damn and blast. It's a battle to drag himself away.
"I'm sorry Lavender, I need to get back to the dungeon. It's my turn to help the first years." She hasn't a clue what he means. "We only have five this year." That doesn't quite explain it either, but yes, vaguely, she was aware of that fact. Gryffindor had the usual ten, hardly surprising in the wake of the War... Of course, put in those terms, now that she thinks about it, the same is probably also true for the five Slytherins. "We also have fewer students over all, so it's more difficult to get House points." That's... obvious, really, now that he mentions it.
"Don't they adjust for that by percentage?" She asks, baffled how they wouldn't, but knowing the answer as soon as she voices the thought. It took her all of five seconds to think of a possible solution once her attention had been directed to the matter, how do the people in charge not come up with these things?
Blaise shakes his head.
"Come on, I'll walk with you a ways," she offers. "It's my turn to see you home safely," she quips, tugging on his arm to get him moving, not wanting to leave him quite yet. Plus if he's willing to share, she's willing to listen. He begins to walk back the way he'd come, explaining as he goes. It's hardly a House secret, and if it helps her understand him a little better, it's likely for the best.
"They have fewer people to help them in their courses, too, so we've established a rota for tutoring them. We practise with them after classes, and it gives the upperclassmen an opportunity to work on their wandless magic." Given some of his recent experiences, she could see why that might be of help. Goodness. The DA had certainly taught her a lot, too, so she can see the obvious benefit, and - rather naturally - the Slytherins had been the only ones not to profit from it. Fair enough, under the circumstances, obviously, no question, but it helps explain why they now seem engaged in a spot of catch up. "It's my turn today." He shrugs.
It would sound... silly, and exceedingly twee, but this matters to him, to them as a House. It's existential. They were positive they'd lost two Firsties to Ravenclaw this year. Next year they want to be the House in demand. That's not simply talk; when Slytherins say they're positive, they tend to mean it, and when they say they want something, they tend to attain it, or at least with much better than average chances. Of course the latter generally means some manner of work. They may not be Hufflepuffs, but they didn't shy from it either, they merely resorted to less... linear approaches on occasion. He prefers to couch it as thinking outside the box.
Harper had run the numbers, the lineages, in advance of the first term and the predictions had been seven first years each for Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff had had the expected eight. They were more loyal and had been more likely to send their children to the school, with only two families holding back out of concern for their offspring. The Moggies were ridiculously proud, every single one of them had sent their children to Hogwarts in the hope, no doubt, that some of the reflected fame might stick. And of course they were predictably oblivious to the risks. Ravenclaws and Slytherins were more pragmatic, more clear-sighted, and thus more inclined to send their children to school on the continent where there was more stability, possibly even more safety. It was far from certain that Shacklebolt's government would stand. The calculations were the two Houses had lost three Firsties each.
What they hadn't counted on were defections.
The Ravenclaws had had nine Firsties sorted into their House, to the Slytherins' measly five. It was appalling.
After that incredibly humiliating result at the Feast, a cadre of upperclassmen had... borrowed the Sorting Hat - with some assistance from the portraits, of course - and a interrogation, of sorts, had taken place. What it had had to say had been depressing beyond all words. Individuals with particular ambition, more so than familial pride or loyalty to the House at any rate, had asked to be placed somewhere else, landing, as near as they could work out - the Hat was notoriously oblique - in Ravenclaw, or at least that corresponded to their calculations. Had they more pride or loyalty, they'd have most likely remained in Slytherin as opposed to being sorted into either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff anyway, as Daphne's and Gregory's presences tended to confirm. Essentially the present situation was such that people with what was generally considered a defining Slytherin trait, normally preselected for their House, were now being sorted... elsewhere. The fact was, two of the most quintessentially Slytherin first years were now not members of their House, and it grated. It took quite some getting used to, before they decided it wasn't something they should get used to at all.
So they regrouped.
Blaise really doesn't quite know how to explain it, and he doesn't try, the determination they felt not to perform any worse despite the numerical disadvantage. What, were they to go the Headmistress and beg for special consideration because House members had died - on the wrong side of the War, it should be noted - or had been arrested or left the country with their parents, either to avoid the law or just the change in regimes? Considering the Heads of the Ministry and the school were members of the Order? Sure. Or how they meant to see their first years succeed against the odds? Or ultimately how that was viewed as a path forward to making the House more desirable again? Slytherin was once more going to be the House where students would come to succeed. Anyone sitting a N.E.W.T. or O.W.L. this year was expected to pass it. There'd be no failing the Apparition test or losses on the pitch. If there was a challenge, regardless how trivial, they were expected to best it, at least if there was some record of the result. Failure was no longer an option. Sharon Shafiq and her gang of second years had secured the ridiculous Gobstones Championship cup, the fifth years that hung around Hunter Hutchinson, the otherwise thoroughly irrelevant title for Exploding Snap. The Wizarding Chess crown lay within their grasp, Harper, Tor and Bartholomew Burke would see to that. The situation where people like Tracey felt - not incorrectly - that the association with the House threatened their livelihoods, their futures was simply untenable. They meant to see it addressed, soon as.
So while he doesn't explain their reasons to Lavender, he does talk about some of the measures the House has taken and some of the problems they've faced as they walk. He may not be willing or, more likely, able to put those reasons in words, but his sincerity, his conviction as to the necessity of their efforts shines through. It only makes him more attractive in her eyes.
Slytherin Dungeon
Lavender knows roughly where the entrance to the Slytherin dorms are thanks to Ron. He'd bragged about that escapade often enough. She probably wouldn't have believed him either, except the idea of Hermione successfully brewing Polyjuice as a second year seemed depressingly all too probable, he'd told her about it at a time point when he wasn't as inclined to talk up such achievements, he didn't seem to realise quite what an achievement it had been to begin with, and when he'd laughed about her erstwhile roommate turning herself into a cat person - aside from being a colossal arse, Lav can see that now - he'd demonstrated a level of knowledge of the Potion she is certain he would never have come by without first hand experience. She knows, because she looked it up, and it had taken no little doing. Frankly, research was not his forte, certainly not in support of something as insignificant as a fabulation that served little point. There were so many other things that would have impressed her more and that without playing on her latent concerns about Hermione and the witch's various strengths. It had been something of a sore spot at the time.
Heavens, some days, it's still a sore spot now.
So Lav is pretty sure she knows where they need to go. She also knows they don't allow visitors, so she slows when they begin to get close. Finally, to spare Blaise any awkwardness, she draws up short at the beginning of the corridor he needs, and smiles at him, "I imagine you can find your way from here?"
He returns her smile and gives her a kiss goodbye, appreciating that she'd been the one to make this less potentially problematic. It was very considerate of her. She's sweet like that. She turns to leave and he stands there watching her and her heart shaped arse briefly until she disappears around a bend. He's sorry to see her go, but doesn't question the necessity of it for an instant.
That is, not until moments later when he enters the Slytherin Common Room to discover Draco with Potter in their pet habitat.
Blaise stands there, staring, running through and discarding all possibilities (Imperius? Not unless he'd Cursed the whole dorm. Confundus? If anyone, only Blaise himself, and again, not flaming likely. Polyjuice? Ridiculous...) as Pansy comes up beside him with the world's largest grin, whether at his reaction or the sight that yielded it, Blaise isn't quite sure. "That's..." He begins and trails off, simply pointing at Potter through the glass like the world's oddest zoo exhibit.
Improbably, Pansy's grin widens and she nods, obviously satisfied, "Advantageous."
"Potter," he corrects, shooting her a look. And then follows up with a far more astute, "Your work," more statement than question, and if she grins any further, she'll do her face a mischief.
"As I said, advantageous."
"And he makes Draco so happy..." he teases.
"Advantageous," she emphasises, becoming a little annoyed. "Like I said."
"Uh huh." He pulls her in for a one armed hug and plants a kiss on top of her head. "Pansy has a heart..." he sing-songs softly into her hair, and then has to take a large step sideways that puts him just out her reach as she bats for him.
"Pansy has a heart..." he continues more loudly now as he turns and starts running for the stairs to the boys' dorms with the eighth year Prefect hot on his heels.
"PANSY HAS A HEART!" He crows much louder still, but by now Pansy has drawn her wand and got the House Privacy Spell in place. Good thing several others present know it as well and are quick to lift it as the two retreat up the stairs. It leaves a bunch of them giggling in their wake.
A small Pinching Jinx nips at his buttocks, and Blaise yelps. "Protego!" Pansy yells with not an ounce of sympathy. He's too old not to know better and deserves what he gets.
"Hey, fresh from the battlefield. I'm knackered. Have a little pity." With a leap, he collapses onto his bed.
"You wouldn't like me if I did," she laughs. Collapsing beside him and the two begin to giggle. "You alright then? You seem a little..."
"Ebullient," he offers, grinning.
"I was going to go with 'overwrought', but fine. Uninjured?"
He nods, and then grins, "I won."
"That you did," she smiles fondly.
"I mangled Weasley," he grins more broadly, just as Gregory enters the room.
"That you most definitely did, mate," he launches himself at his Housemates, pinning them both on the bed with his weight, to their mutual groans, and they devolve into another fit of giggles as Gregory gets Blaise's head in an armlock and rubs his knuckles vigorously across his scalp, which probably matters less in the scheme of things than the fact he's practically kneeling on Pansy's lap.
"Oof," she grunts, shifting from beneath their friend. That it warrants no further comments speaks to the frequency of such occurrences. "Just maybe tone that sentiment down a bit in Potter's presence, if you would," Pansy suggests to Blaise. "Probably Draco's, too, just in case.
"Let him up, Gregory. He's fresh from the battlefield. I suspect he's knackered," she chuckles at Blaise's indignant look as Gregory rights him with an apology for not taking his apparent infirmity into account.
That finally earns Pansy a glare, which only causes her to start giggling again. Making no headway with that approach, Blaise simply returns to singing, "Pansy has a heart..."
"Box him again for me, Gregory, would you be a love?" She grins, shaking her head, and wiping away a tear. She hasn't laughed that well in a while. "Don't you have Firsties to see to?" She asks Blaise.
"Bollocks. Yes." He hurries to remove his robe and stow his books, which had been the reason he'd come in here in the first place.
"Are you alright with them on your own, or do you need a hand?" She asks helpfully, and Gregory immediately volunteers as well. No one who had seen the boy fight in Defense could think he was still in top form.
"Sure." He appreciates their offer more than he needs it, and leads them to the Practice Room. It's good, very good, to know his friends have his back, but it doesn't hurt to have someone lend a hand. He wasn't kidding, he really is exhausted. The running around alone, to say nothing of the adrenaline crash... "What did I say?" He asks innocently as they reach the dais in front of the room. "Oh. Right. Pansy has a heart..."
"Keep it up and I have another Pinching Jinx with your name on it," she replies as they enter to see a small clutch of first years looking at them expectantly. "Which might be a good place to start." A few now look a touch too hopeful, and she immediately disappoints them, "I was being facetious. That is thoroughly inappropriate behaviour," she adds, as though she hadn't just cast one herself mere minutes ago. They immediately deflate, and she's reminded why she doesn't actually enjoy tutoring. "Just tell them about your duel, I'm sure that'll be fine."
And now Blaise is beginning to struggle to recall why he thought bringing her along would be a good idea in the first place. There's no way they're getting anything sensible done now, and he has the lesson plan he needs to work towards... Bollocks. He deposits his wand quite demonstratively in a rack at the front of the room - half the point here is for the older students to practise their wandless magic - and begins pacing its width in front of them, turning in a fashion decidedly reminiscent of Professor Snape, although the effect would be more complete had he not removed his robes.
"Protego!" he begins dramatically, and they're instantly all ears. "The Protego can be a life saving Charm and is something each of you should know. Just this afternoon, in fact, it kept more than one of those massive columns in Defense from crashing down on my head." There're a few gasps in shock, and he reassures them, "Clearly it worked." The lesson continues much in that vein, with Gregory enthusiastically emphasising details from the duel and providing the occasional sound effect were that still unclear. Pansy smiles watching her friends at work. They have the younger Snakes hanging on their every word in a matter of moments.
"Thaddeus, you know the Pinching Jinx," Blaise states matter-of-factly. He'd overheard him bragging about it in response to Pansy's remarks when they entered, but Blaise's apparent awareness of such things only serves to impress the boy no end. His back to the little blond, he commands, "Jinx me!" whirling as he does and silently and wandlessly putting up a Protego that easily does the trick, although Pansy and Gregory were both spotting him, ready to deploy one had his failed.
Thaddeus' Jinx goes wild, and now Pansy is trying to remember just how likely some of those easy Jinxes are to rebound, and if leaning against the wall, as she currently is, is particularly safe.
Ah well, she supposes that's what Protegos are for.
Staff: Professor Peek, Professor Minerva McGonagall, Slytherins: Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Ella Wilkins, Harper Hutchinson, Thaddeus Travers, Gryffindors: Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan
Mentioned briefly: Slytherins: Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode, Hestia Carrow, Torsten 'Tor' Touchstone, Bartholmew Burke, Hunter Hutchinson, Sharon Shafiq, Gryffindors: Seamus Finnigan, Ravenclaw: Padma Patil, Hufflepuff: Zacharias Smith
04 January, 1999. Peek's DADA class sees its first ever duel. It may be the last, too.
Originally Published: 2023-01-21 on LJ / DW
Words: 7.7 k
Rating: Mature
Characters: Lavender Brown (8G, Prefect, no longer Ron's bit on the side (or anywhere else), she's begun seeing a certain Slytherin instead), Blaise Zabini (8S, highly intrigued by the duality of Lavender's nature)
Staff: Professor Peek (yet another DADA Professor of questionable worth), Professor Minerva McGonagall (Headmistress)
Slytherins: Draco Malfoy (8S, Prefect, Captain, Seeker, Potter's), Theo Nott (8S, Hestia's), Gregory Goyle (8S, Beater, gentle giant), Pansy Parkinson (8S, Prefect, observant friend), Ella Wilkins (7S, Prefect), Harper Hutchinson (7S, Prefect, Chaser)
Gryffindors: Ron Weasley (8G, Prefect, Lavender's ex, ex-Keeper, presently seeing Demelza), Harry Potter (8G, Captain, Seeker, Draco's), Seamus Finnigan (8G fiery Reserve Beater, long time friend of Lavender's), Ginny Weasley (7G, Chaser, presently seeing Neville)
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Neville Longbottom (Head of Gryffindor, Herbology Apprentice), Slytherins: Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (8S, Reserve Beater), Tracey Davis (8S), Hestia Carrow (7S, Chaser, Lycanthrope attack survivor, Theo's somewhat rabid other half), Torsten 'Tor' Touchstone (7S, heir to the Touchstone potions fortune), Bartholomew 'Bart' Burke (6S, sallow), Hunter Hutchinson (5S, Imp, Harper's little brother), Sharon Shafiq (2S, Sheldon's little sister), Thaddeus Travers (1S, eager Firstie) Ravenclaw: Padma Patil (8R, Head Girl), Hufflepuff: Zacharias Smith (7H, Chaser)
Monday, 04 January, 1999 - the beginning of the second term
DADA classroom"Weasley, Zabini. Will you do us the honour?" Peek, somehow vaguely dissatisfied with the prospect of their duel for reasons he can't begin to fathom - funny how Suggestibility Charms work - gestures to the space at the front of his classroom, and the boys in question rise.
"Don't use anything too harsh..." Draco feels pressed to remind Blaise as he begins to make his way to the front.
"Cheers, I'll just take him for tea at Puddifoot's, shall I?" Blaise rejoins over his shoulder, accompanying the remark with a raised brow that could be the cousin to Snape's.
"An Expeliarmus should be fine," Draco adds uselessly, smiling almost innocently and ignoring Blaise's snark. His relief at not having to duel Harry may be making him punchy.
"If you can get around his Protegos, that is," Theo feels compelled to point out. "Its's not like an Expeliarmus just overcomes that."
"Ta, had escaped me completely," Blaise grumbles as he turns to face the Weasel.
A House Privacy Charm, or possibly three - great minds think alike - leaves their conversation private, and has the added advantage of making any Spell Blaise casts practically non-verbal. Assuming Weasley can't read lips, a reasonably safe assumption, that should be a slight advantage and help make up for the fact Blaise has a Trace on his wand that all but guarantees the Aurors will appear should he do anything in the least creative with it. That is rather rubbish when duelling, all are agreed.
Anyone who thought this might go the way of the Duelling Club from second year couldn't be more wrong, further proof, if required, the course is beyond useless if they're only now establishing that fact. The fight isn't tidy. There's no standing in place, no alternating exchange of Spells. Weasley is a scrapper, he casts a Hex in Blaise's direction and immediately runs for cover. Unsurprisingly the War had changed a good deal about how the students view Magic. It's not cricket, but it's far from stupid either, as anyone who had taken a look at the effects of the Hex they're supposed to practise would know. Blaise deflects the opening volley easily, and couldn't say he disagrees with the approach, instead he's quick to follow suit, rushing for the pillars closer to the Slytherins' side of the classroom, and slightly relieved that Weasley had set the tone. Were anyone inclined to claim it's bad form - the argument can be made - he'd rather that accusation rest on the ginger's shoulders.
There's some back and forth as the boys chase each other around the classroom for a bit. So far so good, that is until Theo squeaks up.
"Hey, Blaise, you can't cast this!" he shouts, having read ahead in the chapter as to how the Hex was categorised, and now waving the book at his roommate in an obviously panicked manner.
That certainly puts a crimp in his style. Blaise curses under his breath as he ducks for cover. Draco dives for his own text and begins hurriedly consulting with Theo, something Blaise can't help thinking shouldn't take place during a duel, but such is his luck, and he finds himself now very much on the run as he waits for them to make up their bleeding minds.
"He's right, Blaise," comes Draco's judgment, most inopportune, and Blaise has a sinking feeling. "Do this and the Aurors will be on you in an instant." Draco sounds more than a little panicked himself. Very reassuring. Fuck Peek and his poncy pince-nez, this whole thing had clearly been a set up from the start. Meant for Draco, sure, but they were all more or less in the same boat, now weren't they? And whose brilliant idea had it been for Blaise to duel Weasley instead? Oh, right, his.
Well at least he has no one else to blame for it.
If he'd hoped to make an impression on Lavender, this is very likely to do it, although not, perhaps, quite as intended. Bugger all.
Weasley has him on the ropes, running from his Spells as Blaise tries to formulate a plan. Of course that's a little easier to do when things aren't exploding around you. He's not sure what's gotten into Weasley, but he definitely isn't holding back. Perhaps Blaise had goaded him once too often in Potions. Entirely possible, and Weasel was known to hold a grudge. Well there's nothing to be done for it now.
A Reducto slams into the column he's leaning against, right above his head, causing a shower of rubble to crash down on him. His Protego only just shunts it off to the side. He climbs out over the debris, cursing some more, as he tries to mentally list Spells that won't land him in Azkaban.
"The Trace," Pansy hisses, rather unnecessarily, reasonably sure she can see just what Spells are crossing Blaise's mind, and if not his then definitely hers.
The problem is that it isn't just the Trace that's the issue. Sure, that had been problematic enough - how had he ever thought this a good idea? - but he's now in a room full of witnesses. Even if he can pull off something decisive without his wand - and he bloody well hopes so, or he shouldn't call himself a wizard - if he can't explain away the results as something completely innocuous, they'll simply assume the worst. In fact, that now works very much against him. Unless he can prove he didn't cast something harmful, which he can't unless he uses his wand, everyone is now effectively a witness against him. The only way to prove his innocence would be his own recollections and Veritaserum, and as all of them now know only too well after the last summer, for reasons none of them are ever likely to understand, that's not accepted as exculpatory evidence.
He literally has no defense here.
Not worrisome at all.
A Bombardo lands to his right, his Protego barely holding. Fucking hell.
"Protego! Protego! Protego!" Lavender mouths when she finally catches his eye, also rather unnecessarily, as he was quite unlikely to forget it. Still, he appreciates the thought.
"It's reflective!" Theo shouts, confident the Privacy Charm is still in place and having read ahead some more.
"Good to know," Blaise nods, his eyes narrowing as a plan begins to form. Some Spell or another of Weasley's has just taken another chunk out of the pillar behind him and Blaise has well and truly had enough of this shite. Fuck Peek all to hell. He dives for the nearest column, rolling to a stop behind it as Weasley's next Spell misses.
"You cast about as well as you keep, Weasel. Oh, but then I guess your poor keeping doesn't really matter anymore does it..." Blaise laughs as he deflects the next shot. His reflexes are as good as ever, and Weasley is about as crimson as his erstwhile uniform. Good.
"You'd have been an even worse Chaser, though, clearly," Blaise taunts as one of the desks behind him explodes, accompanied by a Hufflepuff's screams as he's struck by some of the splinters. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise can see Ella making her way over to Smith, Tor and Harper covering her flank. She'll have the 'Puff's Chaser sorted in no time. That should have been Peek's job, he can't help thinking as he runs for the next bit of cover. "Can't hit the broad side of a castle, can you?"
Weasel is fuming, he's completely lost the plot, firing into the audience like that. Peek is equally mad for allowing this to continue, but Blaise had rather guessed as much once he realised he'd never be allowed to cast the Spell in today's lesson. Hardly fair. Weasel fires one Hex after another, never letting up, his pace brutal, but his aim all the worse for it. If the exertion weren't sufficient to see to it, and it probably is, Blaise's taunting will do for the rest. Weasley had proven highly susceptible, never doing well against that sort of attack on the pitch; Blaise would have been extremely surprised to discover he were any more collected in a duel. And now he has him where he wants him, just this side of a rage.
Blaise spins around a column and as Weasley prepares to unleash his next Spell, the Slytherin puts forth the strongest Protego he can manage mere feet from the boy and pushes with all his magical might. Protegos manifest as physical shields, and this one clips Weasley full on the chin sending him flying as though struck by the world's worst haymaker. No one will be able to blame Blaise for casting a Protego, and if it went a little wild? Under the circumstances? Hardly surprising. Weasley gets to his feet with a strangled cry, his lip split and bleeding, his freckled chin faring only marginally better.
Good.
Blaise can't help thinking he prefers to see someone else's blood for a change.
With a shriek of fury, Weasley casts today's Hex, just as Blaise casts a Spell of his own. Putting his Keeper's reflexes to best use, he transforms Theo's DADA text into a mirror, sweeps it from his roommate's desk, and with all the force he can muster swats the Hex right back at Weasley like a Bludger, hitting him full force, and follows up almost immediately with an Expeliarmus that sends the rotter flying. Weasel strikes the ground with a resounding thud and doesn't move.
Again, Blaise is effectively blameless. After Weasley's attack, a Disarming Spell is the most reasonable thing in the world. How was he to know the boy was unconscious when he cast? And that would be the obvious advantage to acting while he still had plausible deniability, no fool he.
The classroom is deathly still for a few moments save for Blaise's ragged breathing and a number of anxious exhalations. Lavender wasn't the only one who'd been holding her breath towards the end of the duel. If she'd been unclear about her feelings for either of the boys, they crystallised for her mere moments into the exchange. After her talks with Blaise about the restrictions the Slytherins face, she'd realised fairly early on why he wasn't responding to Ron's attacks in kind. She's silently fuming over the unfairness of it all, and she's far from the only one.
Ella finally breaks the silence. "Are you going to see to him or must I?" Addressing her remarks to Peek, she gestures at Weasley in utter disbelief. She's knows she's out of line, completely, and couldn't give a Flying Fig. Still standing with the Hufflepuff she's just patched back together and clearly exceedingly annoyed over the whole Head Girl thing - Patil still hasn't moved a muscle - she has little patience, if any, left for useless faculty. At present, Peek tops that list. The look she gives him is so unbelievably dismissive it finally seems to register.
As though suddenly realising things have gone too far, way too far, and that some action on his part might be required, or at least expected, Peek jerks into motion and crosses to Ron. From the look of it, this isn't something he can sort on his own - all the more reason not to have sanctioned a duel in the first place, never mind insisting on it, and certainly without any other faculty assistance - and looking about, he settles on telling Potter he and Finnigan will need to take Weasley to the Infirmary. Pomfrey will no doubt be pleased beyond measure to see the boy returning to her care so soon.
Harry shakes his head decisively, no. "Gin?" he queries softly, and although visibly shaken, she nods. Ron may not be her favourite person at the moment, but seeing him lying there like that was... hard. "Send Ginny with Seamus instead. I'm staying," Harry informs Peek in no uncertain terms, sensing the fallout here might be more important than anything he can do for Ron at present. Shy of suddenly becoming a Healer... He'd noticed just like everyone else how Peek had seemed keen to pit him against Draco. He's not sure if Peek just lost his courage and reconsidered, or if someone... helped him change his mind - at the thought his gaze darts automatically in Draco's direction - but either way, the man just isn't right. Madam Pomfrey has always been able to sort them before; Harry has no doubt she'll be able to sort Ron now. He's far less sure about Peek. Sometimes all you can do is bear witness, but sometimes that's enough. Either way, he's not budging an inch.
His refusal and obstinacy seem to fluster the man, as does the suggestion, plainly, but Peek's quick to pull himself together and order, "Miss Weasley! You heard him. You and Finnigan get your brother to the Infirmary." Some in attendance wonder that he hadn't chosen her to begin with. A few suspect her relationship to Longbottom had counted for more with their instructor than that to her brother. As if not accompanying him to the Infirmary would make her any less aware of what had happened to him before her very eyes... If he's hoping to avoid staff scrutiny this way, that's one hell of a miscalculation. Alternatively, it has more than one student preparing for the likelihood of some sort of Memory Charm.
Bloody hell, as Weasley would say.
"How're we supposed to..." Seamus starts.
"Mobilicorpus!" Peek snaps, setting Ron to floating, and leaving Ginny and Seamus to try to work out how best to tow him from the room. The teammates are good at cooperative efforts and make short work of it, but Peek has turned his back on them before they've even left, clearly sparing little thought for Ron, who despite being hit by his own Spell certainly wouldn't have been in that position without him. That sits well with absolutely no one in the classroom.
"Zabini! Your wand!" Peek commands, arm outstretched, palm open, fingers waggling in demand, the look completed with a supercilious expression as he stands there puffing his cheeks and waiting for Blaise to hand over his wand. More than a little reluctantly, the eighth year does so.
"Prior Incantato Maxima!" Peek bellows, one might suspect in part for effect, but the man appears clearly incensed. It would seem things haven't gone quite as expected.
The echoes of the Spells Blaise had cast begin to spool from his wand, one after another. The Expeliarmus, the Reflection Charm, the Protego, another Protego, Protego, Protego, still another Protego... Although he's quite certain he hadn't used anything here that could land him in any trouble - the very fact the Aurors aren't present sort of confirms it - he isn't, upon reflection, one hundred percent certain how far back that's true. It's just as he told Lavender the other night. A Spell, especially taken out of context like this... It can show what he cast, but not when and definitely not why. Even though he knows he should be in the clear, Blaise begins to become nervous.
"Deleterius," comes a familiar voice from the doorway. The echoes of Blaise's Spells fade as the Headmistress enters the room, summoned by the castle itself as the duel surged, now crossing to where Peek stands with Blaise's wand still in hand. She removes it and returns it to the boy without comment and Blaise breathes a massive sigh of relief. Off the expression on Peek's face, he'd half expected him to snap it at any moment. Or if he'd exposed any of the House's secret Spells, that most likely would have done the job for him. Merlin. Blaise makes a mental note to be a great deal more careful about never performing one with his wand again.
"Were you planning on doing that with Mr. Weasley's wand as well?" Professor McGonagall gestures to where it still lies on the ground beside one of Ron's shoes; the force of the Hex, or perhaps the Expeliarmus, seems to have knocked it clean off. Peek's expression betrays that the thought had never even crossed his mind.
Minerva surveys the damage to the room in frank disbelief. The beautiful columns with sizeable chunks missing, the rubble on the floor. The desks, damaged, some reduced to little more than tinder... Mr. Smith standing there with blood clearly visible on his once white collar. Miss Wilkins' presence beside him best explained by the evident need for first aide... And the state of Mr. Weasley as his sister and Mr. Finnigan had manoeuvred him from the room... Far too like his brother not so many months before. It's not simply that she can't bear to see the castle treated this way, especially so soon again after the War, but to subject the students to this... And this man, Peek, where was he when the Battle for Hogwarts was raging? To come here and subject the individuals who'd had to fight for their lives to this.
"Class dismissed." Her voice is level and icy and betrays little of her fury, although the students who have known her for years can guess. She invokes In Loco Parentis and retrieves Weasley's wand and the rest of his things, ties them together, shrinks the lot and places them in her pocket. The students for their part hurry to grab their things, some more difficult to find in the wreckage than others, but then that's what Accios are for. Blaise returns Theo's book to its original form with a Finite, and thanks him for the loan. A slightly panicked Pansy has to strangle an impulse to laugh. It doesn't seem wise just now. Nothing really seems wise just now beyond leaving the room with all imaginable haste. A crush of students makes for the door, but as the last of them are leaving, they can hear the Headmistress finally speak.
"Professor Peek, attend to your classroom. When you've returned it to its original condition, and no sooner, come see me immediately in my office. Password Azkaban."
As it seems highly unlikely that was the password prior to the exchange, they're pretty certain that was a further indication of her displeasure. Well she wasn't the only one displeased with the events of today.
"We may need to begin preparing for this class," Theo weighs in as they round the nearest corner. Blaise's and Draco's lips are pressed tight in thin lines of agreement. The thought had occurred to them as well. "I don't think Peek's going to stop there."
Corridors between the Slytherin Dungeon and the DADA classroom
"Damn," Blaise stops in his tracks.
"Is everything alright?" Pansy asks, more than a little concerned it might not be after his duel with Weasley. She's not the only one who looks worried.
"Sorry, I forgot something. Go on without me, I'll catch up."
Draco musters him closely and deciding he's unharmed teases, "Just make sure you're not late. It's your turn to work with the Firsties before dinner." Blaise just shoots him a look, after what he's been through, Draco can bloody well cover for him if he should run late. He's pretty sure Draco sees that the same way, though.
"Shouldn't be long," he calls over his shoulder as he jogs off back towards the DADA classroom.
Corridors between the Slytherin Dungeon and the DADA classroom
They're still standing there looking after Blaise when someone calls for "Draco," from in front of them. They all recognise the voice and turn as one to find Potter standing there, apparently waiting for them.
Well, not them obviously. Him.
They're all perfectly aware of the boys' relationship, but they haven't really had much opportunity to observe them deliberately together. Just as they were at the same table in the Great Hall they'd sat at all last term, they'd kept to the seats they'd previously had in their classes. Where they'd been together, they still were, and where they were apart, that too remained unchanged. For the casual observer, nothing whatsoever had changed.
So this is uncharted territory. They hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to stay or leave. This is the sort of thing Blaise was usually good at, more's the pity he wasn't with them now. Pansy is the next most likely to manage it, and the others look to her for their cue, she in turn plans to take it from Draco. There's a very real possibility Potter won't be best pleased that his mate has been landed in the Hospital Wing, again, for the second time today, arguably thanks to the Slytherins.
Well, perhaps more 'definitely' than 'arguably' this time around. Still, they're perfectly happy to maintain it was only Weasley's reflected Spell at fault, if anyone really wishes to put it to debate.
"Are we good?" Draco's nerves are too frayed to muck about, he just asks Harry straight out.
The Gryffindor kisses him, settling that, and his nerves, once and for all, if not the butterflies in his stomach. Draco may just need to rethink the advantages of some of this 'being direct' stuff. The others pretend to study the floor, ceiling and nearby portraits until the boys come up for air.
"No, we're phenomenal," the Moggie tells Draco with a smile, causing Theo, at the least, to quirk a brow. That had been one of their clique's jokes, and he's more than a little surprised to hear Potter give their standard reply. He and Draco really have been spending a great deal of time together.
"Did you suggest Peek choose someone else to duel?" Harry asks the group once the fit of soppiness passes.
Draco nods, confirming his suspicions. "That was me."
Theo shakes his head, "It was all of us."
"My decision, my Spell," Draco corrects. As it's accurate, Theo shrugs. He hopes his friend knows what he's doing. Hestia has made something of a romantic out of him. "I didn't think having the two of us duel in public like that would be smart move. So we re-directed. I suggested he pick someone else."
"Ron and Zabini specifically?"
Draco nods again, "I'm sorry that Wesley got hurt." In a flash, his Housemates return to studying to portraits and shooting Pansy nervous glances, unsure if they should still be here. As Draco hasn't given her any sign yet, she sort of thought he wanted their support. Or something. Frankly she's unsure and exceedingly busy examining the detail of the very nice lace on the collar of the nearest portrait's subject, a woman she's spent the previous seven and a half years failing utterly to note. Fine work that, both the original crochet and the oil painting. Hmm. The portrait agrees.
Harry purses his lips and then finally nods. "It was his Hex," he shrugs. "It wouldn't have hit Zabini with any less force." They're relieved to hear him acknowledge that. It's not entirely correct, as aim can make a great deal of difference, but it's true, and people don't always get that.
"Well the Expeliarmus didn't help," Draco admits, and a fair few of of his Housemates decide he's blinkered. He's quite evidently determined not to quit until he's behind.
Harry snorts. "I'd have cast Expeliarmus on him at that point, and I can almost guarantee it would have been worse." That's very likely true as well. Potter is both very good at the Spell and something of a powerhouse, however it's highly unlikely he'd have also reflected the original Hex to begin with. That was clever. Tactical. Things that aren't so much attributes of the Chosen One, and the combination of Spells was rather the issue. Fortunately Draco seems to have decided to stop rubbing Potter's nose in the facts of the matter and finally gives it a rest. Potter knows the score, if he insists on arriving at a different conclusion, as a group they're all for letting him. Merlin's blighted bollocks, but Potter's evidently begun to rub off on Draco.
"Zabini couldn't cast the Hex?" Harry asks as he threads his fingers between Draco's and starts walking him towards the dungeons. The rest fall in beside them fairly naturally, with only one or two registering how strange that is, but Potter's being reasonable, and he makes Draco happy. The happiest he's been in years, in fact. Plus there's a good chance Potter might make a decent ally, if Draco can only stop trying to make such an incredible hash of things. They'll work on him, get him to see sense.
Theo shakes his head, "Not that or much of anything else useful. The Trace will have the Aurors on you almost instantly." He shudders as he says it, speaking from personal experience, and a couple of the others still have to struggle not to picture him being marched naked from the dorms at wandpoint. It seems unfair to visualise it, like giving the tosspots from the DMLE another victory. They'd discussed the advisability of using a Memory Charm in protest, wiping it from their minds, except Theo had insisted the risks outweighed the benefits. If he wasn't fussed, they shouldn't chance it. Except that 'if' was doing quite a bit of heavy casting there, as most of his friends knew only too well. Ultimately they decided to respect his wishes, though. Theo's a good egg for putting everyone's safety first.
"Not even wandlessly? I'd have expected Zabini to be able to manage that." Like Lavender, Harry's spent years in the same DADA class as Zabini and has a fair idea of his skills. He's not wrong, as Millie and Gregory both hurry to assure him.
"Sure he could..."
"Blaise can do plenty of wandless magic..."
"Except that wouldn't have helped," Harper interrupts and he and Draco try to explain the issue with proof in the face of witnesses.
"So if they get the wrong end of the stick..."
"Wand," Draco corrects, idioms being far from universal.
Harry shoots him an affectionate look and continues, "If they think you've cast something, but are wrong..."
"Blaise wouldn't be able to prove his innocence," Draco finishes. "None of us would."
Harry had sat through far too many trials last summer to doubt that. In fact, that was precisely how Sirius and Barty Crouch Jr. had landed in Azkaban all those years ago.
"Can you even defend yourselves???" He sounds suitably scandalised, immediately rising in their collective esteem.
"Protego, Protego, Protego," Pansy sighs, sounding just as exhausted and annoyed by the situation as they all are.
"That's insane," Harry summarises as they arrive at a bare stretch of stone wall. They couldn't agree with him more. They hesitate there for a moment, uncertain, sort of shuffling as a group, and of course Harry knows both that this is the entrance to the Slytherin dungeon and that they don't have visitors round. As far as they know, no outsider had entered the dungeons for more than seven centuries, and Harry has no intention of disabusing them of the notion. Taking pity on their mounting discomfort, he gives Draco a quick peck, his hand a squeeze, and makes to leave. "I'll see you at dinner then?"
And then Pansy speaks up, startling most, asking, "Would you like to come in?"
And everyone sort of holds their breath.
Corridors between the Slytherin Dungeon and the DADA classroom
Blaise rushes back towards the DADA classroom in the hope of finding someone waiting for him. He's applied a Notice-Me-Nott in case he encounters Peek. Or McGonagall for that matter. He shouldn't like to tempt his luck. He doesn't have far to go before he finds a certain blonde sort of aimlessly looking about while doing her level best to fade into the background. She's not quite succeeding, but then she's far too pretty for that, isn't she? He sweeps her up in his arms, twirling her about, an especially odd sensation until he manages to incorporate her into his Notice-Me-Nott.
"You're alright?" Lavender asks, clearly worried, her eyes roving over his body and looking for any telltale signs of injury, her hands beginning to follow soon after.
He beams at her. "I'm fine." He most certainly is.
He kisses her long and hard and she's dizzy by the time he finishes, completely forgetting to continue her search for injuries. "I just wanted to say 'thanks' for rooting for me. In the duel," he prompts when she doesn't seem to follow. She blinks, still clearly confused, before grasping that when swish came to flick, he wasn't sure she would support him over Ron. It's her turn push him against the wall and snog him until he's dizzy, hopefully knocking such foolish thoughts from his mind once and for all.
She also nearly succeeds in making him forget the Firsties he's supposed to be tutoring, damn and blast. It's a battle to drag himself away.
"I'm sorry Lavender, I need to get back to the dungeon. It's my turn to help the first years." She hasn't a clue what he means. "We only have five this year." That doesn't quite explain it either, but yes, vaguely, she was aware of that fact. Gryffindor had the usual ten, hardly surprising in the wake of the War... Of course, put in those terms, now that she thinks about it, the same is probably also true for the five Slytherins. "We also have fewer students over all, so it's more difficult to get House points." That's... obvious, really, now that he mentions it.
"Don't they adjust for that by percentage?" She asks, baffled how they wouldn't, but knowing the answer as soon as she voices the thought. It took her all of five seconds to think of a possible solution once her attention had been directed to the matter, how do the people in charge not come up with these things?
Blaise shakes his head.
"Come on, I'll walk with you a ways," she offers. "It's my turn to see you home safely," she quips, tugging on his arm to get him moving, not wanting to leave him quite yet. Plus if he's willing to share, she's willing to listen. He begins to walk back the way he'd come, explaining as he goes. It's hardly a House secret, and if it helps her understand him a little better, it's likely for the best.
"They have fewer people to help them in their courses, too, so we've established a rota for tutoring them. We practise with them after classes, and it gives the upperclassmen an opportunity to work on their wandless magic." Given some of his recent experiences, she could see why that might be of help. Goodness. The DA had certainly taught her a lot, too, so she can see the obvious benefit, and - rather naturally - the Slytherins had been the only ones not to profit from it. Fair enough, under the circumstances, obviously, no question, but it helps explain why they now seem engaged in a spot of catch up. "It's my turn today." He shrugs.
It would sound... silly, and exceedingly twee, but this matters to him, to them as a House. It's existential. They were positive they'd lost two Firsties to Ravenclaw this year. Next year they want to be the House in demand. That's not simply talk; when Slytherins say they're positive, they tend to mean it, and when they say they want something, they tend to attain it, or at least with much better than average chances. Of course the latter generally means some manner of work. They may not be Hufflepuffs, but they didn't shy from it either, they merely resorted to less... linear approaches on occasion. He prefers to couch it as thinking outside the box.
Harper had run the numbers, the lineages, in advance of the first term and the predictions had been seven first years each for Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff had had the expected eight. They were more loyal and had been more likely to send their children to the school, with only two families holding back out of concern for their offspring. The Moggies were ridiculously proud, every single one of them had sent their children to Hogwarts in the hope, no doubt, that some of the reflected fame might stick. And of course they were predictably oblivious to the risks. Ravenclaws and Slytherins were more pragmatic, more clear-sighted, and thus more inclined to send their children to school on the continent where there was more stability, possibly even more safety. It was far from certain that Shacklebolt's government would stand. The calculations were the two Houses had lost three Firsties each.
What they hadn't counted on were defections.
The Ravenclaws had had nine Firsties sorted into their House, to the Slytherins' measly five. It was appalling.
After that incredibly humiliating result at the Feast, a cadre of upperclassmen had... borrowed the Sorting Hat - with some assistance from the portraits, of course - and a interrogation, of sorts, had taken place. What it had had to say had been depressing beyond all words. Individuals with particular ambition, more so than familial pride or loyalty to the House at any rate, had asked to be placed somewhere else, landing, as near as they could work out - the Hat was notoriously oblique - in Ravenclaw, or at least that corresponded to their calculations. Had they more pride or loyalty, they'd have most likely remained in Slytherin as opposed to being sorted into either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff anyway, as Daphne's and Gregory's presences tended to confirm. Essentially the present situation was such that people with what was generally considered a defining Slytherin trait, normally preselected for their House, were now being sorted... elsewhere. The fact was, two of the most quintessentially Slytherin first years were now not members of their House, and it grated. It took quite some getting used to, before they decided it wasn't something they should get used to at all.
So they regrouped.
Blaise really doesn't quite know how to explain it, and he doesn't try, the determination they felt not to perform any worse despite the numerical disadvantage. What, were they to go the Headmistress and beg for special consideration because House members had died - on the wrong side of the War, it should be noted - or had been arrested or left the country with their parents, either to avoid the law or just the change in regimes? Considering the Heads of the Ministry and the school were members of the Order? Sure. Or how they meant to see their first years succeed against the odds? Or ultimately how that was viewed as a path forward to making the House more desirable again? Slytherin was once more going to be the House where students would come to succeed. Anyone sitting a N.E.W.T. or O.W.L. this year was expected to pass it. There'd be no failing the Apparition test or losses on the pitch. If there was a challenge, regardless how trivial, they were expected to best it, at least if there was some record of the result. Failure was no longer an option. Sharon Shafiq and her gang of second years had secured the ridiculous Gobstones Championship cup, the fifth years that hung around Hunter Hutchinson, the otherwise thoroughly irrelevant title for Exploding Snap. The Wizarding Chess crown lay within their grasp, Harper, Tor and Bartholomew Burke would see to that. The situation where people like Tracey felt - not incorrectly - that the association with the House threatened their livelihoods, their futures was simply untenable. They meant to see it addressed, soon as.
So while he doesn't explain their reasons to Lavender, he does talk about some of the measures the House has taken and some of the problems they've faced as they walk. He may not be willing or, more likely, able to put those reasons in words, but his sincerity, his conviction as to the necessity of their efforts shines through. It only makes him more attractive in her eyes.
Slytherin Dungeon
Lavender knows roughly where the entrance to the Slytherin dorms are thanks to Ron. He'd bragged about that escapade often enough. She probably wouldn't have believed him either, except the idea of Hermione successfully brewing Polyjuice as a second year seemed depressingly all too probable, he'd told her about it at a time point when he wasn't as inclined to talk up such achievements, he didn't seem to realise quite what an achievement it had been to begin with, and when he'd laughed about her erstwhile roommate turning herself into a cat person - aside from being a colossal arse, Lav can see that now - he'd demonstrated a level of knowledge of the Potion she is certain he would never have come by without first hand experience. She knows, because she looked it up, and it had taken no little doing. Frankly, research was not his forte, certainly not in support of something as insignificant as a fabulation that served little point. There were so many other things that would have impressed her more and that without playing on her latent concerns about Hermione and the witch's various strengths. It had been something of a sore spot at the time.
Heavens, some days, it's still a sore spot now.
So Lav is pretty sure she knows where they need to go. She also knows they don't allow visitors, so she slows when they begin to get close. Finally, to spare Blaise any awkwardness, she draws up short at the beginning of the corridor he needs, and smiles at him, "I imagine you can find your way from here?"
He returns her smile and gives her a kiss goodbye, appreciating that she'd been the one to make this less potentially problematic. It was very considerate of her. She's sweet like that. She turns to leave and he stands there watching her and her heart shaped arse briefly until she disappears around a bend. He's sorry to see her go, but doesn't question the necessity of it for an instant.
That is, not until moments later when he enters the Slytherin Common Room to discover Draco with Potter in their pet habitat.
Blaise stands there, staring, running through and discarding all possibilities (Imperius? Not unless he'd Cursed the whole dorm. Confundus? If anyone, only Blaise himself, and again, not flaming likely. Polyjuice? Ridiculous...) as Pansy comes up beside him with the world's largest grin, whether at his reaction or the sight that yielded it, Blaise isn't quite sure. "That's..." He begins and trails off, simply pointing at Potter through the glass like the world's oddest zoo exhibit.
Improbably, Pansy's grin widens and she nods, obviously satisfied, "Advantageous."
"Potter," he corrects, shooting her a look. And then follows up with a far more astute, "Your work," more statement than question, and if she grins any further, she'll do her face a mischief.
"As I said, advantageous."
"And he makes Draco so happy..." he teases.
"Advantageous," she emphasises, becoming a little annoyed. "Like I said."
"Uh huh." He pulls her in for a one armed hug and plants a kiss on top of her head. "Pansy has a heart..." he sing-songs softly into her hair, and then has to take a large step sideways that puts him just out her reach as she bats for him.
"Pansy has a heart..." he continues more loudly now as he turns and starts running for the stairs to the boys' dorms with the eighth year Prefect hot on his heels.
"PANSY HAS A HEART!" He crows much louder still, but by now Pansy has drawn her wand and got the House Privacy Spell in place. Good thing several others present know it as well and are quick to lift it as the two retreat up the stairs. It leaves a bunch of them giggling in their wake.
A small Pinching Jinx nips at his buttocks, and Blaise yelps. "Protego!" Pansy yells with not an ounce of sympathy. He's too old not to know better and deserves what he gets.
"Hey, fresh from the battlefield. I'm knackered. Have a little pity." With a leap, he collapses onto his bed.
"You wouldn't like me if I did," she laughs. Collapsing beside him and the two begin to giggle. "You alright then? You seem a little..."
"Ebullient," he offers, grinning.
"I was going to go with 'overwrought', but fine. Uninjured?"
He nods, and then grins, "I won."
"That you did," she smiles fondly.
"I mangled Weasley," he grins more broadly, just as Gregory enters the room.
"That you most definitely did, mate," he launches himself at his Housemates, pinning them both on the bed with his weight, to their mutual groans, and they devolve into another fit of giggles as Gregory gets Blaise's head in an armlock and rubs his knuckles vigorously across his scalp, which probably matters less in the scheme of things than the fact he's practically kneeling on Pansy's lap.
"Oof," she grunts, shifting from beneath their friend. That it warrants no further comments speaks to the frequency of such occurrences. "Just maybe tone that sentiment down a bit in Potter's presence, if you would," Pansy suggests to Blaise. "Probably Draco's, too, just in case.
"Let him up, Gregory. He's fresh from the battlefield. I suspect he's knackered," she chuckles at Blaise's indignant look as Gregory rights him with an apology for not taking his apparent infirmity into account.
That finally earns Pansy a glare, which only causes her to start giggling again. Making no headway with that approach, Blaise simply returns to singing, "Pansy has a heart..."
"Box him again for me, Gregory, would you be a love?" She grins, shaking her head, and wiping away a tear. She hasn't laughed that well in a while. "Don't you have Firsties to see to?" She asks Blaise.
"Bollocks. Yes." He hurries to remove his robe and stow his books, which had been the reason he'd come in here in the first place.
"Are you alright with them on your own, or do you need a hand?" She asks helpfully, and Gregory immediately volunteers as well. No one who had seen the boy fight in Defense could think he was still in top form.
"Sure." He appreciates their offer more than he needs it, and leads them to the Practice Room. It's good, very good, to know his friends have his back, but it doesn't hurt to have someone lend a hand. He wasn't kidding, he really is exhausted. The running around alone, to say nothing of the adrenaline crash... "What did I say?" He asks innocently as they reach the dais in front of the room. "Oh. Right. Pansy has a heart..."
"Keep it up and I have another Pinching Jinx with your name on it," she replies as they enter to see a small clutch of first years looking at them expectantly. "Which might be a good place to start." A few now look a touch too hopeful, and she immediately disappoints them, "I was being facetious. That is thoroughly inappropriate behaviour," she adds, as though she hadn't just cast one herself mere minutes ago. They immediately deflate, and she's reminded why she doesn't actually enjoy tutoring. "Just tell them about your duel, I'm sure that'll be fine."
And now Blaise is beginning to struggle to recall why he thought bringing her along would be a good idea in the first place. There's no way they're getting anything sensible done now, and he has the lesson plan he needs to work towards... Bollocks. He deposits his wand quite demonstratively in a rack at the front of the room - half the point here is for the older students to practise their wandless magic - and begins pacing its width in front of them, turning in a fashion decidedly reminiscent of Professor Snape, although the effect would be more complete had he not removed his robes.
"Protego!" he begins dramatically, and they're instantly all ears. "The Protego can be a life saving Charm and is something each of you should know. Just this afternoon, in fact, it kept more than one of those massive columns in Defense from crashing down on my head." There're a few gasps in shock, and he reassures them, "Clearly it worked." The lesson continues much in that vein, with Gregory enthusiastically emphasising details from the duel and providing the occasional sound effect were that still unclear. Pansy smiles watching her friends at work. They have the younger Snakes hanging on their every word in a matter of moments.
"Thaddeus, you know the Pinching Jinx," Blaise states matter-of-factly. He'd overheard him bragging about it in response to Pansy's remarks when they entered, but Blaise's apparent awareness of such things only serves to impress the boy no end. His back to the little blond, he commands, "Jinx me!" whirling as he does and silently and wandlessly putting up a Protego that easily does the trick, although Pansy and Gregory were both spotting him, ready to deploy one had his failed.
Thaddeus' Jinx goes wild, and now Pansy is trying to remember just how likely some of those easy Jinxes are to rebound, and if leaning against the wall, as she currently is, is particularly safe.
Ah well, she supposes that's what Protegos are for.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-27 11:58 pm (UTC)That duel was brilliantly handled by the snakes, not just Blaise, but then housemates in class as a whole. Draco's skill in deflecting the potentially disastrous attempt to force him to fight Harry, Blaise's desire to get some retribution for Lav, and the rest of the participants in the wings. Weasel get far less than he deserves, but safer for the snakes after all. Impressed with Harry's support and moggie manner of defusing of Draco & the snakes anxiety.
Cannot Wait for Peek's dressing down by Minerva, looking forward to her opening up a can of Scottish Witch Whup-Arse... have a feeling it will leave a sour taste in Peek's mouth, or entire being for that matter. Oh to be the magpie on the window sill to witness the destruction of Peeks, in whichever manner best suits his endangerment of Headmistress Moggie's students. Hermione is queen.
Blaise risking going back for Lav was lovely, darn it all, you just cannot Help making them even More appealing... awwww. Kinda wish Blaise had gone after her to bring her in too, but timing must not be right, yet. Adore the way the snakes are making up for lost housemates, incorporating the moggie DA concept. Hey! Maybe Harry could help too, giving the snakes even more support?
Soo much to love about these ongoing chapters.
If you haven't read these stories, yes flisties I mean you, then you are truly missing out.