The Forgotten Twin

Chapter 7

The class bell rang.

"Remember, your homework is to write an essay about what theory and alchemy you already know," Slughorn announced. "Class dismissed."

Yay, he didn't even give them a set amount of how much to write. Maybe having him as a teacher wouldn't be so bad. He was a better teacher than Snape, though he didn't seem as smart.

Delilah filed out with Draco.

"Hey... you headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts next?"

He nodded.

"You?"

Delilah nodded, and they walked in awkward silence. Draco really was acting weird, but why? He was the one that hadn't written, not her, so what had happened over the summer?

Delilah wasn't surprised to see a lot of people waiting when they arrived.

"How long do you think we'll have to wait?" she asked.

The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.

"Inside," he said.

Delilah looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk; Draco dropped his copy of Confronting the Faceless back into his bag and stowed it under his chair.

"I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention." His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry's.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe."

Wow, it was almost like he hadn't watched them come and go, hoping he'd be next.

"Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced." Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view.

"The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, everchanging, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Was it just Delilah, or was there an odd, loving caress in his voice?

"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" — he indicated a few of them as he swept past — "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" — he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony — "feel the Dementor's Kiss" — a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall — "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" — a bloody mass upon the ground.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" said Parvati Patil in a high-pitched voice. "Is it definite, is he using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," said Snape, "which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now ..." He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him. "...you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?" Hermione's hand shot into the air. Delilah debated on raising her hand, but she didn't care enough.