Certain Dark Things || Book Two

xxviii. history, legend

Rumors abounded in the week following Mrs. Norris' attack, and though it took a few days, everyone came to the same conclusion the House of Serpents had decided on Hallowe'en; Professor Slytherin was the only known Heir of Slytherin at Hogwarts, and thus the most likely candidate to have opened it.

The Defense professor was never pleasant; he came across more genial and welcoming than other Slytherin professors, like Snape or Selwyn, but his tone always carried venom, menace and retribution paid in equal measure with his compliments and advice. After Hallowe'en, Professor Slytherin's previous disposition became a fond, summery remembrance, replaced by a cold, suspicious attitude he didn't bother to hide from his students. Though Harriet didn't have Defense the following Monday, they heard complaints traded by the other Houses and years about Snape and Selwyn overseeing all of Slytherin's classes. The professor returned by Tuesday—and most everyone wished he'd stayed away longer.

On Wednesday, the second year Slytherins dragged their weary bodies out of bed and tromped off to Defense first thing in the morning, only to be assigned a lengthy essay and told to get started during class. Professor Slytherin sat at his desk for the duration of the lesson, engrossed in a thick, dusty scroll, turning all questions back upon their askers with unsubtle disdain. He deducted points from anyone who spoke, and so they sat in stifling silence, quills scratching at their scrolls, Slytherin's red gaze sharp and punishing each and every time he looked up.

Attending their following Potions class with an overworked Snape proved just as—if not more—difficult.

"Partner with Granger, Black," Snape ordered before Elara had a chance to get out her potions kit. "I haven't the time nor the patience to scrape your mess off the ceiling today."

The Gryffindors snickered.

"Ten points for disrupting class, Longbottom."

The snickering died out in an instant. "Seriously?"

"Ten more points."

No one was inclined to say much of anything in class after that, and Harriet kept her attention on her cauldron, lest she wind up in yet another detention. Elara and Hermione traded off tasks, Elara keeping her hands away from the potion or the ingredients themselves, attempting to look busy while Hermione did most of the work herself. Dean Thomas splashed Shrinking Solution on himself when class was nearly over, resulting in a very strange, pudgy baby arm flapping about in his sleeve and an irate Snape. The Slytherins escaped the dungeons while the Potions Master berated Dean and his friends.

"Foul bat," Elara muttered as they walked toward the Great Hall for lunch. "McGonagall is going to be furious about him taking all those points from Gryffindor."

"She'll make up for it in Transfiguration tomorrow, just you wait. 'Breathing, Mr. Longbottom? Excellent technique. Forty points for Gryffindor." Elara snorted and though Hermione tutted, Harriet caught the small smile tipping the edge of her mouth. "Last night at Quidditch practice last night, Flint and the others commented that all the essays they got back for Defense had Snape's handwriting on them—his handwriting, and apparently a lot of scathing remarks."

Hermione gaped in horror. "Professor Slytherin wouldn't pass off his duties as a teacher!"

"It would explain Snape's mood today," Elara said, ignoring Hermione's indignation. "I couldn't imagine the terror of having Snape in Defense as well."

Harriet's thoughts flashed to an early evening in the Potions classroom, remembering Snape standing at the board, writing out numbers and theories while Harriet rushed to copy every word. "You know," she said. "I don't think Snape would be a terrible Defense professor."