Harry, Ron, and Hermione crashed somewhere in a forest that Harry didn't recognize; due to the urgency of them leaving Grimmauld Place, and the quick decision-making on Hermione's part on the grounds of a destination, there was no way that any of them could have landed in a comfortable manner. Harry's vision was blind-white for a moment, and he didn't dare move, knowing full well that he would be left spinning on his feet. The desire to vomit was strong, but Harry knew that if he just kept breathing, then the feeling would pass.
Finally, Harry straightened up, catching sight of Ron, bent over, vomiting what was likely left of his breakfast. Hermione was absentmindedly stroking his back and whispering comforting words to him as Harry somehow managed to crawl closer to them. "Hermione?" he whispered then, and her brown eyes gazed over at him.
"Forest of Dean," she replied. "Mum and Dad took me camping here when I was a little girl. It's all right, Ron," she whispered, turning her attention back to her boyfriend as she continued to rub his back. "The forest is in Gloucestershire," she went on, doing her best to keep her tone neutral so as not to upset Ron further. "Harry, in my bag, there's a book of spells. Summon it out, and you can cast some protective enchantments."
Harry very nearly yelled at Hermione for doubting his capability for casting such things, but decided that now was not the time. He fetched the book quickly and thumbed through it, and found the pages on the enchantments she'd just mentioned. He muttered then then, his wand managing to find its way from his pocket, and got the whole area in just a few moments. They were under a grove of thick trees, and it was truly a lovely area, if you were into forests, but Harry found himself more attracted to the indoors recently, and one room at Hogwarts in particular was calling his name.
"There's a tent in there as well," Hermione said softly, obviously aware that Harry had finished with the enchantments. "In my bag. If you could summon it out and set it to right, that would be much appreciated, Harry."
Harry sighed, knowing that Hermione was probably the better person to see to Ron anyhow, as he returned the book to the bag and managed to find the tent. Once he managed to find it, he charmed it into position, and it came to life for a moment before unfolding itself, the stakes planting themselves firmly into the forest floor and situating themselves. Harry peeked into the tent, seeing two cot-like beds—one bigger than the other, likely to accommodate Ron and Hermione, while the second one was likely his—a dining room area, and a smaller area with three chairs and a firepit.
"Harry."
Harry turned at the sound of Hermione's voice, and was able to see Ron making an effort to get back up onto his feet. Without hesitation, Harry crossed over to him, putting an arm around his shoulders and guiding him into the tent, walking him automatically over towards the cot he would be sharing with Hermione. Setting him down, he folded Ron's hands over his chest, and saw his closest friend sighing deeply. "All right there, Ron?" he asked, knowing that this was all he could really ask at this point.
Ron sighed heavily; his normally pink complexion was white, although color was slowly but surely returning to his cheeks. "I will be."
Hermione hesitated for a moment then, before shuffling from foot to foot, obviously wanting to do something as Harry got to his feet. "Tea?" Hermione asked unsteadily then, moving over to the little stove across the tent, and conjuring a teapot, with some tea bags, from her bag. There was also some sugar, but no pot of cream, as Harry knew that it was likely to spoil, now that they all three of them had no way of knowing when they would be back into civilization. She worked silently then, the only sound coming from the whistle of the pot and the clink of the cups as she stirred sugar into them a few moments later. Moving towards Ron then, she offered him the cup, along with a biscuit, which he took, chewing and drinking slowly.
"Thanks," Harry said as Hermione handed him a cup and a biscuit of his own. The tea seemed to calm him considerably, which he knew he would need, now that they were literally in the woods and a good six hours away from his lover. He didn't even know when they would be able to see each other again, although he was aware that Severus likely knew that he, Ron, and Hermione had left Grimmauld Place in a hurry.
"Wish we prepared for an ambush like that," Ron said quietly; he had finished his biscuit and half of his tea, and had slowly raised himself into a sitting position, his feet touching the floor off the side of the bed. "Maybe if we'd..."
"Ron, really?" Hermione hissed, moving to sit beside him. "They all knew where we were. They wanted Harry. They would have killed me, brainwashed you, and took Harry."
Ron's hands shook then at the mention of Death Eaters killing Hermione, but Hermione levitated his cup before he could smash it. "Don't say that, Hermione," he whispered firmly, gathering her into his arms without hesitation. "There's not enough brainwashing they'd ever do. If they killed you, I'd want to be dead. If they took Harry, I'd kill them, and then be killed. I couldn't survive without either of you."
"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione whispered, but her tone was indulgent.
Harry sighed, sitting in one of the chairs by the stove across from them, giving them as much privacy as he could without wandering back out into the forest. He tipped his head back then, not wanting to look at the small hearth beside him; it was Muggle-made, and that meant that he couldn't use it to visit Severus. As his mind wandered back to Grimmauld, and how wonderful that near-fortnight was staying there, he thought...
"Hermione." His word came out like a snap.
"What is it, Harry?" she asked.
Harry gritted his teeth then, his heart pounding in his chest. "They got it."
"Got what, mate?" Ron asked.
"The sword," Harry replied. "The Death Eaters got the Sword of Gryffindor."
. . .
Draco Malfoy stared out of the massive window in the library of Malfoy Manor, surveying how the waning days of summer affected the luxurious gardens, which had been put together by his mother and Aunt Bellatrix. Draco had never really liked Bellatrix Lestrange; ever since she had held Neville Longbottom captive in the Death Chamber at the Ministry of Magic, and seemed to want to taunt people at every turn for their misfortunes, something about the woman who shared his blood made his skin crawl. Not that he could ever speak aloud about this; his mother wouldn't hear about him bashing relatives, for appearances sake; as for his father, if he heard him saying a kind word about the Longbottom family, despite their shared Pure-Blood status, there would be hell to pay, as he saw right through it.
His father... Draco shook his head at the man who he had once looked up to on the same level as his Potions Professor, Severus Snape. His father, who had let him down in the most disappointing way imaginable by not acting like a father. His father, who had been carted off to Azkaban for assisting Lord Voldemort just before his sixth year at Hogwarts. He remembered the crunching sound that his boot had made when he'd broken Harry Potter's nose on the Hogwarts Express before the school year had formally begun, and how he'd lashed out at him, blaming him for his father's imprisonment.
Draco knew, as he'd always done, that Harry Potter had nothing to do with it; Harry had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had made for an easy target to take out some of his untapped rage on. That, combined with the notion that he'd been given the task to not only let Death Eaters into the Hogwarts castle via a vanishing cabinet, as well as heeding the Dark Lord's words in killing Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Draco was frightened. All his comfort, had he had the courage to take it, was in the notion that he was staying away from Neville Longbottom, thus not getting him into the tangled web of deception his family had made and, using him as a fly or a pawn, had drawn him into it.
Neville. The boy who had been stumbling and awkward from the time they'd begun at school, now was the walking specimen of Draco's deep-seeded desires. If the world was different, he would have slammed Neville up against the closest secluded Hogwarts wall—despite the fact that the Gryffindor had several inches on him—and snogged his breath away. Were it not for his being a Gryffindor, and being on the side of the Light, and a male, he would have been the perfect candidate for a mate for Draco in this day and age. Draco craved Neville, and although they'd stolen a mere handful of brief moments during their sixth year, he'd made no promises, given that he had nothing to offer the man but a lifetime of disappointment, due to their opposing sides in this devastating day and age. While, outwardly, Draco had been branded the poster child of the Dark Lord's regime, his mother had somehow managed to make sure that neither of them would be physically branded by the Dark Mark. Emotionally, however, the pair were as invested as his father and his aunt, and nothing he could say or do could get him a ticket out.
"Draco."
The soft voice of his mother called him from his thoughts, and as Draco turned around, his jaw dropped as he saw his father standing there with her. "Father?" he asked, the word coming out in shock, and Lucius Malfoy smiled proudly at his son.
"Ah, Draco," he said, stepping forward, his skin appearing sallow and his white hair slightly lank from his months in Azkaban. He came towards his son then, briefly squeezing his shoulders and staring down at him, before smiling in approval. "Your mother was correct. You are indeed looking well, my son."
No thanks to you, he thought, but quickly silenced those thoughts as he nodded stiffly. "Yes, Father, I am managing."
"Well, such things can be expected, son," he said, obviously just pleased that Draco was still alive for the moment. "Well, your mother and I have exciting news for you."
"Yes, Father?" Draco asked.
"We believe it is high time, since you will be leaving Hogwarts by the following year, that you prepare for your future, my dear," Narcissa Malfoy said, smiling at her son. She stepped back into the doorway, and called, "It is all right. Come in."
Draco's jaw nearly fell once more as Pansy Parkinson, along with her mother and father, seemed to glide into the library. Draco bit his tongue at the satisfied look that appeared on Pansy's face for the occasion, and Draco felt annoyed that he had ever encouraged her. He felt the bile rise in his throat then as she saddled up beside him and possessively took his arm in hers, her dark eyes glowing at something as if she'd eaten the canary.
"Mother, what is going on?" Draco asked.
"He does not know yet?" Timeer Parkinson asked, looking over at Lucius.
"I've only just been released, you see," Lucius explained. "Narcissa and I wanted this to happen as quickly as possible."
"Oh, yes, of course," Shamayla Parkinson said, smiling at the company; she had the same beautiful raven locks her daughter had, although her eyes were kinder, and her expression was much more passive. "As you can see, our dear Pansy is clearly besotted with your Draco."
"Which is why we gave our consent immediately," Timeer Parkinson put in. "Us Pure-Bloods need to stick together, Lucius."
"You have my agreement on that," Lucius replied, smiling at that, and Draco felt sick at the notion that the smile resembled a smirk.
"Father, Mother, what is going on?" he asked.
"The time has come, Draco, for you to assume your place in the Pure-Blood world, with a union," Narcissa Malfoy said gently, with a smile on her face. "Your father and I have been regarding your fellow Slytherins from the time you entered Hogwarts, and we believe that Pansy is the best choice for you."
Draco blinked. "Pansy?" he asked, his eyes sliding back over to her, and she smiled up at him like she'd won thousands of galleons. "The best choice for what?"
"For your wife, of course," Lucius said patiently to his son. "The engagement will be announced at the Hogwarts welcoming feast tomorrow, with the formal party during the Christmas holidays, and then you and Pansy shall be married after your graduation."
"My wife?" Draco demanded then, his eyes looking back down at Pansy, who looked positively delighted at the proclamation. "Father, you can't be..."
"Serious?" Lucius Malfoy asked, throwing back his head and laughing. "Why, of course I am, Draco, quite serious. You and Pansy shall be formally engaged this afternoon, after each of you consents to the binding contract, and then, as I've stated, Headmaster Snape shall announce the engagement next week at the welcoming feast."
"Isn't it wonderful?" Pansy whispered to Draco, her lips at his ear, as she kissed him just beneath his lobe, which truly did make the bile form, which caused his throat to burn as he forced himself to swallow it down.
"Father, I really think that..."
"Come now, Draco, don't be rude," Narcissa said gently to her son, as she and Lucius moved to stand behind Draco, while Timeer and Shamayla Parkinson moved behind Pansy. "Now, Draco, you must swear yourself to Pansy."
"Mother..."
"Now, Draco," she said, her tone holding a warning.
Draco sighed, his heart truly breaking at the notion that he had to swear his oath to Pansy, when all he truly wanted was to swear to Neville. He bit his lip, moving so that he was standing opposite Pansy, and she intertwined their hands. "I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, solemnly promise to marry Pansy Parkinson upon commencement from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, being of sound mind. This oath was taketh from me on the twenty-fifth of August, of nineteen ninety seven, in Malfoy Manor, before witnesses Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, as well as Timeer and Shamayla Parkinson."
"Very good, Draco," Lucius said, obviously pleased.
"Pansy," said Shamayla, "your turn now, dearest."
"I, Pansy Shamayla Parkinson, solemnly promise to marry Draco Malfoy upon commencement from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, being of sound mind. This oath was taketh from me on the twenty-fifth of August, of nineteen ninety seven, in Malfoy Manor, before witnesses Timeer and Shamayla Parkinson, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."
"Wonderful, Pansy, wonderful," Timeer Parkinson whispered to his daughter.
"Here, Draco," Narcissa said softly to her son, handing him a ring which was a silver snake, curled around a brilliant emerald. "Give it to Pansy."
Draco swallowed then, but nevertheless took the ring from his mother, and slipped it on the correct finger onto Pansy's hand. "With this ring, I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, promise to be your husband upon our commencement from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in June of nineteen ninety eight."
Pansy, flushed with excitement, produced a similar ring for Draco, except this one was merely a silver snake with small emeralds for its eyes. "With this ring, I, Pansy Shamayla Parkinson, promise to be your wife upon our commencement from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in June of nineteen ninety eight."
"Welcome, Pansy, to the Malfoy family," Lucius said from behind Draco.
Draco, for his part, tried to smile, but all he could think of was the announcement at the welcoming feast, and wondered if Neville's heart would be as shattered as his own.
. . .
"The Sorting Hat would likely sing a poem about snake-nose being on the rise," Ron muttered as Hermione stirred a pot filled with stew.
"Better yet, maybe the sword would come flying out to a worthy Gryffindor, to take down the regime itself," Harry replied. He inhaled the food that Hermione was making; it was root-based, which she had found after consulting a Muggle book on forest plants on what was safe for human consumption, with a few wild vegetables in there.
"Honestly, boys, I don't think the Sorting Hat would dare," Hermione put in.
Ron shrugged. "Who knows? Things and people have surprised us before. Like Snape, for one," he went on, and Harry automatically clenched his fists, his heart beating erratically at the mention of his lover. "Miss him, Harry?"
"Gee, Ron, I don't know," Harry replied. "How would you feel if Hermione had to prance around like Severus does, singing the praises of You-Know-Who, and couldn't even be with you in the outside world for fear that you would both be killed?"
Ron looked shocked at Harry's sudden declaration. "Point taken, mate. Sorry."
Harry sighed. "It's not your fault, Ron," he replied, sagging in his seat from where he was sitting in front of the small Muggle hearth. He extended his fingers towards the red and orange flames, temporarily warmed by them. "I just wish things could've been easier."
"Like you being with Ginny?" Ron asked.
Harry made a face at that. "No. Like me not falling for an ex-Death Eater."
"Go easy on him, Ron," Hermione warned gently, taking the ladle out of the soup and tasting it, before summoning a salt shaker from her bag and shaking it into it. "Harry is bound to be slightly tender for a few more days."
"I've never had the luxury of being outwardly tender, Hermione," Harry replied. "I had to face You-Know-Who as a baby, and then again in first year. Then a basilisk and the memory of You-Know-Who in second year, not to mention saving Ginny's life. And then, third year, having to get Sirius and Buckbeak to safety, and allowing the man who killed my parents to continue to run free and get back to You-Know-Who. Then nearly evading death, but allowing Cedric to get sacrificed in the process fourth year. And then, fifth year, losing Sirius before facing You-Know-Who all over again, before watching the man I'm falling in love with kill Dumbledore during sixth year..."
"Love?" Hermione squeaked.
"Blimey, mate. We didn't know it was that serious."
Harry huffed. "Well, now you do."
Hermione sighed, spelling the ladle to stir itself while she crossed the tent and sat down opposite from Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry. We really didn't know."
He nodded. "I know. I didn't want to say anything while we were still at school. Despite all the shit he's put us through, and killing Dumbledore..."
"You didn't want him in trouble. I get it," Hermione replied.
"Not to mention what would've happened if you reported him snogging you outside of Slughorn's Christmas party," Ron put in.
"I just don't understand why Snape would be so reckless without taking precautions, either before or after doing that," Hermione said softly.
Harry sighed. "He did."
Hermione sat straighter then, fixing Harry with a look. "What do you mean?"
Harry leaned forward then, balancing his elbows on his thighs, as he considered that night for the umpteenth time in his mind. "Severus tried to Obliviate me that night."
"Blimey," Ron whispered.
Hermione looked shocked. "And you're telling me it didn't work?"
"Well, I've still got the memory," he replied, looking up at Hermione, who looked amazed that he'd managed to block such a spell. "Believe me, when I told Severus during the wedding that I blocked it, somehow, he was surprised, too."
"Wait. Snape was at the wedding?!" Ron sputtered.
Harry sighed. "Yeah, he was there."
"When?" Hermione asked.
"Before Kingsley told us that the Ministry had fallen and that Scrimgeour was dead," Harry replied in a soft voice.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said then, her voice soft as Harry slowly dragged his eyes back to hers. "I can't imagine how difficult this all is for you, Harry. I wish it could be easier, but I'm afraid it isn't that simple. Until or unless Snape is willing to give us all the answers, all we can do is remain in hiding until it's safe."
"How long?" Ron asked.
Hermione turned to look at him and sighed. "Well, we'll have to stay here for a bit. Then we can go and see if any of our followers have some leads on some safe spots. Until then, we'll remain in the forest and try and figure out what our next move will be. We can go through several possibilities, but I think our next course of action will be to see Luna's father. Maybe he knows about the symbol in Beedle the Bard."
Ron sighed. "Not what I meant, Hermione."
Hermione blinked. "What?"
"I was asking how much longer until the stew is ready," he said, smiling guiltily. "Although that was a really good plan..."
Ron was cut off by Hermione conjuring a pillow to throw at him, which Ron caught in his mouth, so that he resembled a smaller, leaner version of a suckling pig. Hermione, meanwhile, crossed the room, grumbling about how Ron was never satisfied with one meal at a time, as she took ahold of the ladle and began furiously stirring the stew again. And Harry, for his part, laughed ever so slightly then, before he turned his face back to the hearth, his mind wandering yet again to his Half-Blood Prince.
. . .
Luna Lovegood sat in her bedroom, just one day before her seventh-year at Hogwarts began, and looked up at the moving pictures positioned above her bed. They were entwined with the word Friends, and each photo represented one of her friends at Hogwarts. She smiled to herself, despite knowing she would not see Harry, Ron, and Hermione the following day, knew that she would, in fact, see Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley. Many people at Hogwarts believed that Neville and Luna were a couple, and while they were nothing more than close friends, Luna never dissuaded anyone from thinking that, because she knew how certain Pure-Bloods felt about others who had an affinity for the same gender.
"Luna."
The voice would've normally caught anyone off-guard, but Luna knew that someone would be contacting her before school began. She couldn't explain it, her knowing things, as she got off her bed in her stockinged feet and crouched before the hearth, staring into the green blaze. "Well, hello there, Neville," she said, her voice dream-like as normal. "Has Lady Longbottom prepared you for seventh-year tomorrow?"
"As much as Gran can," Neville replied.
Luna regarded Neville then through the blaze; despite the coloring, she could tell that Neville's eyes were red and he appeared saddened by something. "Why, Neville, you seem to be upset about something," she said, her tone gentle. "What's the matter?"
Neville sighed; he could always talk to Luna, as she could read him like a book, and because she would offer him sound advice without judgement. "Did you hear the news from Malfoy Manor last week?" Neville whispered.
Luna shook her head. "I'm sorry, Neville, I haven't. Dad and I don't really follow the Malfoys on a religious basis. Ever since they came out in support of The Profit, Dad believes we should keep in touch more with Quibbler families."
Neville nodded like he understood. "Right," he replied.
"Please tell me," Luna said, putting just the right amount of firmness in her voice, knowing that Neville clearly had something he needed to get off his chest. "I can tell when something's bothering you, Neville. It's plain to see."
"The Malfoys and the Parkinson's have entered into a contract," Neville murmured, but Luna could still hear him plain as day. "A...marriage contract," he said, the tears letting lose now as they streamed down his face. "It's due to be announced tomorrow at the welcoming feast that Draco and Pansy are to be married."
"You're saddened by this," Luna said softly.
Neville dragged his hand through his brown hair. "Is it that obvious?" he demanded, more sharply than he intended.
"Neville," Luna said, her tone plaintive, "I told you as much during Dumbledore's Army that you should have spoken up to Draco about your feelings for him."
Neville turned red. "You're the only one who knew."
She smiled. "I know."
"That was why people thought we were together," he said. "I mean... I know it could look bad, what with you pre-contracted to Rolf and all, but..."
"Rolf understands," Luna informed him; indeed, her fiancé was most understanding about matters of the heart, and understood completely about her faking a relationship with Neville was entirely for his benefit and not her own. "Rolf is very considerate, Neville, never fear. If you would like, we may continue, as it were, to pretend that we are a couple, so that your feelings will be spared."
Neville sighed, hanging his head. "I can't do that to you."
"You're not doing anything to me, Neville," Luna said. "We're friends, and we merely act like friends in mixed company. We've never given any indication that we are a couple—our peers and professors at school merely think we are."
"My gran thinks we are," Neville said.
Luna giggled slightly then. "Well, then she is as bad as people at Hogwarts."
"Does your dad know?"
Luna sighed. "He knows I am being a helpful friend towards you. Dad thinks that you should be whoever you truly are to make yourself happy, unless you hurt people in the process. Hurting yourself counts, Neville, but if you wish to continue how things are, then I will endeavor to support your wishes and help you."
Neville swallowed. "How can I do this?" he whispered. "Draco has always been cruel to me. If I had been a Slytherin and supported You-Know-Who..."
"You couldn't have supported You-Know-Who," Luna said, narrowing her eyes. "After what his followers did to your mother and father, only an idiot could support him, and you, Neville, are no idiot, as far as I've seen."
Neville smiled. "Thanks, Luna."
"No need to thank me for speaking the truth, Neville."
He sighed. "So, we'll keep up the charade tomorrow, on the train?"
Luna nodded. "Yes, even though Death Eaters will likely be crawling around every foreseeable surface imaginable, we'll continue with the charade." She hesitated for a moment. "Plans with Ginny still a-go for re-forming Dumbledore's Army?"
Neville nodded. "With Snape as headmaster, we'll need all the help and protection we can get, now that the new regime is in place."
"We'll do all we can to protect the younger ones, Neville."
"I hope we can, Luna," Neville replied.
. . .
Severus Snape had summoned the Head Boy and Head Girl of each Hogwarts House on that first day of September to the headmaster's office after the welcoming feast. With the prefects, fifth and sixth years, showing the first years to their respective dormitories, and the third and fourth years heading there on their own, Severus's obligation was to the seventh years for the moment, and he was not looking forward to speaking with them. Not because he didn't want to speak with them, but of the reasons behind why he had to speak with them in the first place.
Like clockwork, fifteen minutes after the welcoming feast, each seventh year Head Boy and Head Girl from each house came into the office. First, Neville Longbottom and Lavender Brown from Gryffindor; Michael Corner and Luna Lovegood from Ravenclaw; Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson from Slytherin; and Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff. It felt wrong to Severus as he moved to his seat behind the headmaster's desk and regarded the eight students before him, but nevertheless he inclined his head, cocking an eyebrow at each one of them respectively before he spoke.
"First of all, I must ask if any of you have any information about Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger," he said. Pleasantries be damned.
"No, headmaster," Neville Longbottom said, aware that Snape's eyes had drifted to him almost automatically, knowing their camaraderie.
"Very well, Mr. Longbottom. Miss Lovegood?" he asked.
"No information, headmaster," she said softly.
Severus nodded then, deciding to move on, as the Hufflepuff students weren't particularly close to any of the trio, and while Gryffindor Lavender Brown was the former paramour of the youngest Weasley boy, he didn't think the relationship ended well enough for them to keep in constant contact. "To the next order of business," he went on, with a flick of his wrist, and an inner door of the place came open, and Alecto and Amycus Carrow came stepping in, the Death Eaters that the Dark Lord had put on the staff. "Allow me to introduce your new Deputy Headmistress, Professor Alecto Carrow, also the Professor of Muggle Studies," he said levelly, and each student looked surprised, save for Draco and Pansy. "This is her brother, and your new Deputy Headmaster, who will also be the Professor of the Dark Arts this year."
"That's amazing, headmaster," Draco said, speaking up, "that you've received permission to revert it back to the Dark Arts, instead of defense." However, Severus could see that the typical enthusiasm for this sort of thing was gone, and his pale eyes held something behind them that he couldn't quite place.
"Ten points to Slytherin," Severus said, knowing that he would have to award the behavior anyhow, because Draco was the poster child for the Dark as he turned to Amycus. "Perhaps, Amycus, you may enlighten this pool of seventh-years of what their first lesson will be in the Dark Arts this year."
Amycus smiled then, obviously looking forward to his moment to shine. "I would be happy to oblige, headmaster," he said, bowing slightly before he turned back to the students. "Your first Dark Arts lesson this year will be to practice the Cruciatus Curse...on first-years," he said, and his smile took on a masochistic air then.
"Absolutely not."
Severus turned his face then to see who had spoken out of turn, and was surprised that Neville Longbottom had been the one to speak up. "Mr. Longbottom, I realize that, as a Gryffindor, you seek to be pure, but you must understand that, because of these new times, the Unforgivables must be taught, and you will learn them."
"I won't do it," Neville replied.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Severus said firmly. "And you will do the lesson."
"I refuse," Neville said then, his eyes blazing with repressed anger then. "I don't care what kind of professor you are," he sneered at Amycus Carrow, "or what you teach, or who you are. You're a Death Eater, plain and simple, and I don't take orders from Death Eaters. I refuse to partake in this lesson. I simply refuse."
Severus had to admire the young man's courage, but he couldn't permit himself to show such a thing, especially in front of Death Eaters. "Another ten points from Gryffindor," he said softly to Neville, his tone deadly. "Amycus, Alecto. You know what to do," he said then, and snapped his fingers, before they both stepped forward and grabbed Neville by the forearms, and proceeded to haul him away.
"Where are you taking him?!" Draco suddenly burst out then, his eyes suddenly coming alive again as he watched Neville being removed.
"The dungeons," Severus replied, as if it didn't really matter to him. "He will be punished for insubordination, insulting professors, and the Dark Lord's regime."
"Headmaster," Draco pleaded then, his voice only getting cut off by the Parkinson girl, who wrapped her fingers in a possessive grip on his arm. "Get off me!" he screamed at her then, and threw her arm off, before stomping towards Severus. "Give me the punishment."
"Wait a moment," Severus said, holding up his hand, and the Carrow siblings willingly stopped removing Neville. "Repeat that, please, Draco."
"Give me Neville's punishment," Draco said then, sounding as if he was completely in his right mind, although the fact that he addressed Neville by his first name shocked Severus. "Give me his punishment. Please."
Severus shook his head. "You know I can't do that, Draco."
Draco looked torn then, his eyes turning from Neville to Severus again, before he suddenly drew out his wand. "Incendio!" he screamed then, the sparks issuing forth from his wand, and, before Severus had time to react, his robes caught fire, singing his arm, the very arm where the Dark Mark was tattooed.
Severus got to his feet then, managing to douse the fire as he glared at Draco. "Fifty points from Slytherin, Draco," he growled, before turning to Alecto. "Take him downstairs as well. Shackle him beside Longbottom, and do what you see fit."
"With pleasure, headmaster," Alecto Carrow said, stepping forward, and pulling Draco out of there, on the heels of Amycus dragging Neville.
"Now," Severus said, sitting at his desk and staring at the remainder of the students—half of Gryffindor and Slytherin, plus the full deck of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. "Will there be any other disruptions?" he asked.
Luna swallowed then, knowing that she would have to seek out Ginny as soon as they were dismissed from this place for the night. She caught herself mid-shiver, and forced the movement to die down then; she couldn't permit Severus Snape to see her fear. Dumbledore's Army had to start up again. It had to, and the sooner it started up, the better.