(no subject)
Oh hey, yet more fic.
When Jim sorts it out, all the fic for this au will be going in gryffinderps so I won't be spamming my flist with it so much.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was with the Slytherins. It was the only part of the lesson that made Isa wish he wasn't there because the Slytherins were not desirable classmates. Professor Johnson was creepy and quite insane, but he'd also been an auror before he retired to teaching, and was, as a result, really good at his subject. The lessons were usually interesting, and contained a heavy degree of practical work wherever it was possible.
Today wasn't one of those days.
“Hey,” Professor Johnson said, in bright, musical tones, “you want to stop giggling over the latest heartthrob and put the magazine away before I make you eat it?”
The coolest thing about Professor Johnson, as far as Isa was concerned, was that he never made an idle threat. He hated giving detentions, and more often palmed them off on anyone else in the school who was willing, he also never saw the point in making students do lines, or essays, on the basis that it was a waste of both their time. That was why Professor Johnson was far more likely to hit someone with a tongue tying curse, or glue their hands together, or, Isa had heard, transfigure them into an appropriate animal, hang them by their ankles, or explode personal property. If he made a threat, he tended to stick to it. Students quickly learned not to push it.
Apache and her group of Gryffindor girls threw Johnson a scowl, but they did as they were told.
“Today,” he said, as if he hadn't just told some of them off, “we're focussing on illegal curses, so there's no practical bit.” A chorus of disappointed groans went around the class and Johnson looked around with his one yellow eye, “Like hell am I showing you lot how to cast illegal curses,” he said, “we get enough of you duelling in the corridors without you throwing unforgivables at each other too.” He waved his wand at the board, where the word appeared as a heading, underlined twice. “Now,” he said, “who can name 'em?”
A few hands rose, not least among a small group of the Slytherins whose sympathies and behaviour had earned them the nickname 'Death Nibblers'. They fancied themselves as Death Eaters, or were related to Death Eaters now in Azkaban and toed the family line with enthusiasm. There were four of them in total, three boys and one girl. It was rare for any of them to offer answers in classes, a fact which hadn't slipped by Johnson.
“Why am I not surprised?” He asked, darkly, and then pointed at the blonde girl. She had pretty eyes, and looked sweet, but it was all appearances. She'd done a brief stint in the duelling club in second year, but had been summarily banned after hexing someone so badly that they spent a month in the hospital wing. “Go on, Larxene,” Johnson said, expectantly.
“Cruciatus,” she answered, and her voice was sweet and girly, “inflicts pain without any outward damage.”
Professor Johnson waved his wand at the board and the word appeared, first in the list. “Nastiest of the lot,” he said, “not because of the effects, but because of the intention. Cruciatus is for nothing but causing pain. If you want someone dead, there's Avada Kedavra,” he waved his wand, and that appeared below Cruciatus, “and if you want them to do something they don't want to do, there's the Imperius,” he waved his wand again. “There's more direct routes to everything that can be achieved by using the Cruciatus. It exists solely because the people who use it are nasty pieces of work who like to cause suffering. Now start writing.”
After Defence Against the Dark Arts there was Transfiguration. These days, Isa was more kindly disposed to Professor Lestrange. He'd spent the previous Christmas with him, which had at first been awkward, after the teasing about his animagus form, but had become almost pleasant after Professor Lestrange had asked Isa's mother to stop using the word 'mudblood' under his roof. He'd grown to like him since because it was nice to have a member of the family on his side, for once.
Although that hadn't stopped him telling Lea what his mother had said about her doubting Professor Lestrange had ever had a girlfriend. When the trip to his cousin's was first announced, Isa had feared some horrifying attempt by his mother to introduce him to some pureblood girls, and since the pureblood families were all interrelated, any that his mother would try and set him up with would invariably be cousins. He'd asked, nervously, about daughters, and been told, “Daughters? I doubt he's ever had a girlfriend, let alone been married.” Bearing that in mind, it had been both horrifying and hilarious to find that the cousin in question was Even Lestrange, Isa's Transfiguration Professor.
Because of Isa's revelation, Professor Lestrange, who was already nicknamed Professor Strange, or Weird, or Freak, or Eye Twitch, and Isa had once heard Professor Johnson refer to him as 'Old Fishwife', was also now becoming known as Professor Virgin. Isa refused to call him that, partly out of a sense of guilt for letting the whole school know.
When they came out of Transfiguration, Isa was busily poring over his notes. “I don't understand where it went wrong,” he muttered.
“It doesn't matter now,” Lea replied, absently checking that his nose was still in place. Isa was usually quite good at Transfiguration, but had somehow managed to put Lea's nose onto the mice they were working with. “Twitchy put it back again.”
“It does matter,” Isa contradicted, sounding vaguely distracted, “because I don't want to do that again.” As an afterthought, and still with his eyes on his notes, he said, “And don't call him that.”
Lea looked at Isa, and then put his hand over Isa's notes to stop him being a massive dork and walking down the corridor while reading them. “You have got to start making fun of him again or people are gonna think you have a crush,” he said, looking visibly disgusted at the idea.
“There's nothing wrong with respecting the only family member who stands up to my mother,” Isa replied, and then added, “in defence of you, no less.”
“I never knew he cared,” Lea replied, obviously poking fun. Isa put his notes down in favour of giving Lea a disapproving look. “Seriously, Isa, the last thing you need is people thinking you have a crush on a teacher, let alone Professor Virgin.”
There was a high pitched murmur of interest from further down the corridor, and Isa looked up to see the very worst possible people to have heard what Lea had just said. “Did you hear that?” Larxene asked, sashaying up the corridor with another one of the Death Nibblers. “The blood traitor's got a crush on old man Eye Twitch.”
Isa regarded them coldly. Larxene and Kimbley. He wasn't sure which one was worst. Larxene was nasty and vicious, and gave no nod to manners. Kimbley was no better, but he seemed almost charming, if a bit oily, when you first spoke to him; it was only later on that anyone discovered he was a violent psychopath who hated muggles and muggleborns alike. He wondered, vaguely, where the other two were; Jiruga, sneering and violent, and whose family had been so thoroughly pureblood for so long that he looked like genetic diversity's desperate last stand, and Antenor, who was smarmy and smug, and seemed to enjoy hanging around with three complete sociopaths.
It was rare to find any of them alone outside of detentions, and it was unlikely that Jiruga and Antenor were off in the library doing homework or anything productive. Isa hoped it was a detention. Then he wouldn't have to worry about them showing up as well.
It was Kimbley that spoke in reply, “Perhaps he finally has a candidate to rid him of his troublesome new title.”
Larxene made a noise of agreement, practically purring, “He does seem the type to go for underage boys, now you mention it.”
It got Isa's back up, and he drew his wand before he spoke. “Shut up, Larxene.”
“Does the little boy want a fight?” She asked, drawing her own wand and raising it. Lea and Kimbley drew theirs as well.
“No,” Isa answered, “your silence will suffice.” Lea glanced at him out of the corner of his eye; he always recognised the signs that Isa was losing his cool. The first one was that he became more, well, pureblood about it. He started to talk like his mother.
“I don't take orders from a filthy little blood traitor,” she answered. “To think your father was such a good Death Eater. You probably knock him sick.”
“Good,” Lea replied. “Anything that knocks a Death Eater sick has got to be a good thing.”
Kimbley sneered, his wand pointed at Lea. “Don't answer him, Larxene. It would be degrading to get dragged into a battle of wits with a common mudblood.”
“Tarantallegra!” It was Isa who snapped first, firing the jinx off at Kimbley.
Kimbley dodged with a well-timed shield charm, but wasn't quick enough to avoid Lea's, “Langlock!” Nor the subsequent body bind curse from Isa, which hit as Lea went down, knocked off his feet by a particularly powerful rictusempra. He collapsed into helpless giggles, squirming and trying to get his breath back as Larxene raised her wand again to cast a knee-reversal hex.
“Protego!” Isa called, conjuring the shield just in time to deflect Larxene's spell. He never had been particularly good at the shield charm, and it broke as soon as Larxene's spell bounced off, leaving Isa panting. Frustratingly, Larxene barely seemed to be warmed up.
“I'll show you what happens to blood traitors, Selwyn,” she hissed, and then cried, “crucio!”
Isa dropped his wand as his nerves exploded, ringing agony through every inch of his skin and bones. Isa had once broken his arm, hit by a bludger he hadn't been able to see in bad weather; this felt much the same, but all over his body.
He didn't hear the loud cry, “Expelliarmus!” As quickly as the pain had started, it stopped, and Larxene's wand flew high in the air, where it was immediately met with, “Accio!” Isa pushed himself to a sitting position and looked around to find Professor Lestrange storming up the corridor, clearly in a temper. “In all my time,” he started, jabbing his wand at Lea and uttering, “finite,” before he continued, “I have never encountered the like. Using an Unforgivable Curse in school corridors!” He yelled, and immediately followed it with, “Silencio! I do not want to hear your excuses. All four of you are coming with me to the headmaster!”
He released Kimbley from his body bind, and confiscated his wand before turning his attention to Isa and Lea. He helped Lea up first, making sure he was on his feet as he asked, “Were you hit with it?”
“No,” Lea replied, already turning to offer Isa his hand. His face was pale, and he looked shocked.
Isa's Transfiguration notes were scattered across the floor, and with faintly trembling hands he was gathering them up. Lea took Isa's hand, and Professor Lestrange took his shoulder as they helped him back to his feet, the professor asking, “Can you stand, Selwyn?”
Isa nodded his response before he took a deep breath and composed himself. It was like he'd flicked an internal switch; he simply eased into his usual, calm, detached mode, as if the last five minutes hadn't happened.
“I want a full explanation,” Professor Lestrange said, showing no sign of any further sympathy, as he prodded them along the corridor and towards the headmaster's office.
When Jim sorts it out, all the fic for this au will be going in gryffinderps so I won't be spamming my flist with it so much.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was with the Slytherins. It was the only part of the lesson that made Isa wish he wasn't there because the Slytherins were not desirable classmates. Professor Johnson was creepy and quite insane, but he'd also been an auror before he retired to teaching, and was, as a result, really good at his subject. The lessons were usually interesting, and contained a heavy degree of practical work wherever it was possible.
Today wasn't one of those days.
“Hey,” Professor Johnson said, in bright, musical tones, “you want to stop giggling over the latest heartthrob and put the magazine away before I make you eat it?”
The coolest thing about Professor Johnson, as far as Isa was concerned, was that he never made an idle threat. He hated giving detentions, and more often palmed them off on anyone else in the school who was willing, he also never saw the point in making students do lines, or essays, on the basis that it was a waste of both their time. That was why Professor Johnson was far more likely to hit someone with a tongue tying curse, or glue their hands together, or, Isa had heard, transfigure them into an appropriate animal, hang them by their ankles, or explode personal property. If he made a threat, he tended to stick to it. Students quickly learned not to push it.
Apache and her group of Gryffindor girls threw Johnson a scowl, but they did as they were told.
“Today,” he said, as if he hadn't just told some of them off, “we're focussing on illegal curses, so there's no practical bit.” A chorus of disappointed groans went around the class and Johnson looked around with his one yellow eye, “Like hell am I showing you lot how to cast illegal curses,” he said, “we get enough of you duelling in the corridors without you throwing unforgivables at each other too.” He waved his wand at the board, where the word appeared as a heading, underlined twice. “Now,” he said, “who can name 'em?”
A few hands rose, not least among a small group of the Slytherins whose sympathies and behaviour had earned them the nickname 'Death Nibblers'. They fancied themselves as Death Eaters, or were related to Death Eaters now in Azkaban and toed the family line with enthusiasm. There were four of them in total, three boys and one girl. It was rare for any of them to offer answers in classes, a fact which hadn't slipped by Johnson.
“Why am I not surprised?” He asked, darkly, and then pointed at the blonde girl. She had pretty eyes, and looked sweet, but it was all appearances. She'd done a brief stint in the duelling club in second year, but had been summarily banned after hexing someone so badly that they spent a month in the hospital wing. “Go on, Larxene,” Johnson said, expectantly.
“Cruciatus,” she answered, and her voice was sweet and girly, “inflicts pain without any outward damage.”
Professor Johnson waved his wand at the board and the word appeared, first in the list. “Nastiest of the lot,” he said, “not because of the effects, but because of the intention. Cruciatus is for nothing but causing pain. If you want someone dead, there's Avada Kedavra,” he waved his wand, and that appeared below Cruciatus, “and if you want them to do something they don't want to do, there's the Imperius,” he waved his wand again. “There's more direct routes to everything that can be achieved by using the Cruciatus. It exists solely because the people who use it are nasty pieces of work who like to cause suffering. Now start writing.”
After Defence Against the Dark Arts there was Transfiguration. These days, Isa was more kindly disposed to Professor Lestrange. He'd spent the previous Christmas with him, which had at first been awkward, after the teasing about his animagus form, but had become almost pleasant after Professor Lestrange had asked Isa's mother to stop using the word 'mudblood' under his roof. He'd grown to like him since because it was nice to have a member of the family on his side, for once.
Although that hadn't stopped him telling Lea what his mother had said about her doubting Professor Lestrange had ever had a girlfriend. When the trip to his cousin's was first announced, Isa had feared some horrifying attempt by his mother to introduce him to some pureblood girls, and since the pureblood families were all interrelated, any that his mother would try and set him up with would invariably be cousins. He'd asked, nervously, about daughters, and been told, “Daughters? I doubt he's ever had a girlfriend, let alone been married.” Bearing that in mind, it had been both horrifying and hilarious to find that the cousin in question was Even Lestrange, Isa's Transfiguration Professor.
Because of Isa's revelation, Professor Lestrange, who was already nicknamed Professor Strange, or Weird, or Freak, or Eye Twitch, and Isa had once heard Professor Johnson refer to him as 'Old Fishwife', was also now becoming known as Professor Virgin. Isa refused to call him that, partly out of a sense of guilt for letting the whole school know.
When they came out of Transfiguration, Isa was busily poring over his notes. “I don't understand where it went wrong,” he muttered.
“It doesn't matter now,” Lea replied, absently checking that his nose was still in place. Isa was usually quite good at Transfiguration, but had somehow managed to put Lea's nose onto the mice they were working with. “Twitchy put it back again.”
“It does matter,” Isa contradicted, sounding vaguely distracted, “because I don't want to do that again.” As an afterthought, and still with his eyes on his notes, he said, “And don't call him that.”
Lea looked at Isa, and then put his hand over Isa's notes to stop him being a massive dork and walking down the corridor while reading them. “You have got to start making fun of him again or people are gonna think you have a crush,” he said, looking visibly disgusted at the idea.
“There's nothing wrong with respecting the only family member who stands up to my mother,” Isa replied, and then added, “in defence of you, no less.”
“I never knew he cared,” Lea replied, obviously poking fun. Isa put his notes down in favour of giving Lea a disapproving look. “Seriously, Isa, the last thing you need is people thinking you have a crush on a teacher, let alone Professor Virgin.”
There was a high pitched murmur of interest from further down the corridor, and Isa looked up to see the very worst possible people to have heard what Lea had just said. “Did you hear that?” Larxene asked, sashaying up the corridor with another one of the Death Nibblers. “The blood traitor's got a crush on old man Eye Twitch.”
Isa regarded them coldly. Larxene and Kimbley. He wasn't sure which one was worst. Larxene was nasty and vicious, and gave no nod to manners. Kimbley was no better, but he seemed almost charming, if a bit oily, when you first spoke to him; it was only later on that anyone discovered he was a violent psychopath who hated muggles and muggleborns alike. He wondered, vaguely, where the other two were; Jiruga, sneering and violent, and whose family had been so thoroughly pureblood for so long that he looked like genetic diversity's desperate last stand, and Antenor, who was smarmy and smug, and seemed to enjoy hanging around with three complete sociopaths.
It was rare to find any of them alone outside of detentions, and it was unlikely that Jiruga and Antenor were off in the library doing homework or anything productive. Isa hoped it was a detention. Then he wouldn't have to worry about them showing up as well.
It was Kimbley that spoke in reply, “Perhaps he finally has a candidate to rid him of his troublesome new title.”
Larxene made a noise of agreement, practically purring, “He does seem the type to go for underage boys, now you mention it.”
It got Isa's back up, and he drew his wand before he spoke. “Shut up, Larxene.”
“Does the little boy want a fight?” She asked, drawing her own wand and raising it. Lea and Kimbley drew theirs as well.
“No,” Isa answered, “your silence will suffice.” Lea glanced at him out of the corner of his eye; he always recognised the signs that Isa was losing his cool. The first one was that he became more, well, pureblood about it. He started to talk like his mother.
“I don't take orders from a filthy little blood traitor,” she answered. “To think your father was such a good Death Eater. You probably knock him sick.”
“Good,” Lea replied. “Anything that knocks a Death Eater sick has got to be a good thing.”
Kimbley sneered, his wand pointed at Lea. “Don't answer him, Larxene. It would be degrading to get dragged into a battle of wits with a common mudblood.”
“Tarantallegra!” It was Isa who snapped first, firing the jinx off at Kimbley.
Kimbley dodged with a well-timed shield charm, but wasn't quick enough to avoid Lea's, “Langlock!” Nor the subsequent body bind curse from Isa, which hit as Lea went down, knocked off his feet by a particularly powerful rictusempra. He collapsed into helpless giggles, squirming and trying to get his breath back as Larxene raised her wand again to cast a knee-reversal hex.
“Protego!” Isa called, conjuring the shield just in time to deflect Larxene's spell. He never had been particularly good at the shield charm, and it broke as soon as Larxene's spell bounced off, leaving Isa panting. Frustratingly, Larxene barely seemed to be warmed up.
“I'll show you what happens to blood traitors, Selwyn,” she hissed, and then cried, “crucio!”
Isa dropped his wand as his nerves exploded, ringing agony through every inch of his skin and bones. Isa had once broken his arm, hit by a bludger he hadn't been able to see in bad weather; this felt much the same, but all over his body.
He didn't hear the loud cry, “Expelliarmus!” As quickly as the pain had started, it stopped, and Larxene's wand flew high in the air, where it was immediately met with, “Accio!” Isa pushed himself to a sitting position and looked around to find Professor Lestrange storming up the corridor, clearly in a temper. “In all my time,” he started, jabbing his wand at Lea and uttering, “finite,” before he continued, “I have never encountered the like. Using an Unforgivable Curse in school corridors!” He yelled, and immediately followed it with, “Silencio! I do not want to hear your excuses. All four of you are coming with me to the headmaster!”
He released Kimbley from his body bind, and confiscated his wand before turning his attention to Isa and Lea. He helped Lea up first, making sure he was on his feet as he asked, “Were you hit with it?”
“No,” Lea replied, already turning to offer Isa his hand. His face was pale, and he looked shocked.
Isa's Transfiguration notes were scattered across the floor, and with faintly trembling hands he was gathering them up. Lea took Isa's hand, and Professor Lestrange took his shoulder as they helped him back to his feet, the professor asking, “Can you stand, Selwyn?”
Isa nodded his response before he took a deep breath and composed himself. It was like he'd flicked an internal switch; he simply eased into his usual, calm, detached mode, as if the last five minutes hadn't happened.
“I want a full explanation,” Professor Lestrange said, showing no sign of any further sympathy, as he prodded them along the corridor and towards the headmaster's office.