Subtlety of a Dragon

Subtlety of a Dragon

She was not in the dungeons. She was not in the dungeons!

That was the chant that kept ringing gleefully through her mind, ever since she had been informed by Headmistress McGonagall that Lucius Malfoy had moved his class into the dungeons; she was going to be in the large classroom that had once held Defence Against the Dark Arts. That meant she would have a window that faced the sun when it rose, and a good view of the Forbidden Forest.

The Forbidden Forest.

She found it strange that both Harry and Neville had warned her about what was in the forest when she mentioned gathering some of the more deadly herbs and plants from the dark woods. After all, she herself had attended Hogwarts for seven years just like them; she was quite aware of the dangers, especially after the horrors of her fifth year. She was curious to know what new creatures were in the forest, and had the distinct feeling that whatever had flown above her earlier that evening, was hiding there.

Of course, there were more pressing matters at hand.

She had already added her feminine touches to her office, making the stone room seem far cheerier than it normally had been, and she had already redecorated her private chambers. Now, she was left alone to ponder just how she was going to teach the following week.

Both Harry and Neville had admitted the anxiety about teaching, but had said it was more due to the fact that some of the older students remembered them from their own days at Hogwarts, and that Hermione was lucky about the fact that all of the students that had attended during her years had graduated. Of course, she was sure that there were probably a few students who would have heard about her from older siblings, but that was not the problem for her.

Teaching former schoolmates would certainly not have been her biggest obstacle, for she knew that most everyone was aware of her intelligence and would have respected that—except for the Slytherins perhaps. On the other hand, she knew that Lucius Malfoy, though far from evil, was still one of the strictest men that she knew when it came to public behaviour. She highly doubted that he would let his students get away with some of the things that Severus Snape had allowed.

Severus Snape. It always seemed to come back to Severus Snape, Greasy Git and Black Bat of Hogwarts.

She could not deny that there were times that he was well deserving of those names, and while she would scold Harry and Ron out loud, deep down she could understand their feelings a little. A little. After all, he had been a spy and he had to play the part; surely they knew that? Of course, they did not for four years, and those first four years were even more of a hell, especially for her. She could never grasp back then why he seemed to hate her so much; now she knew.

She leaned back in her chair and nibbled on her lower lip, a nasty habit that she had yet to break; it was one of her many flaws, along with being slightly bossy. She knew she was, and tried desperately to control her urges to order anyone and everything about. But that was not what she was worrying about at the moment. No, what she was worrying about was her first day of class—teaching class.

Hermione could not help but ponder over Snape’s now infamous speech, and wondered how she could put it to her use. The speech itself was actually quite brilliant, and could definitely catch anyone’s attention. It would also be bettered by the lack of use of ‘dunderheads’. And his entrance was also attention grabbing; the door slamming open alone was enough to wake the dead!

For her, dramatics would work, but she could not do them in such a spectacular fashion.

She smiled to herself. A little subtlety was always in order.

It was completely silent in the room, probably because the students thought their professor was late, and indeed she was, but only by a few minutes.

She crept soundlessly through the door and stood at the back for a few minutes, studying the nervous first years. She laughed to herself as she began making her way down the centre isle with such a slow and steady gait that it appeared to the students as if she were gliding.

Hermione wore robes of midnight-blue, panne velvet, and her hair was partially pulled up in a bun, with curls decoratively winding around the knot of hair. “You are here to learn,” she started, letting a very small smile cross her face as she held her audience captive with a voice that had a mysterious air to it, though not horribly fake like the late Trelawney.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little use of wands here, many of you will hardly believe that this is magic,” she said softly as she swept her hand around the room, seemingly to gesture to the class. With her wand discretely hidden in her sleeve, she was able to think the spell that suddenly caused the simmering fire to shoot up from under the cauldron that rested on the table in front of her desk.

The class jumped at this show, and she smirked as the flames almost immediately calmed below the pewter pot.

“I will help you understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron,” she began, once again pulling their eyes to her as she glided through the rows, “with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins.” She had made it to the front of the classroom, and whirled to face them, her robes floating around her like dark waves of the sea.

As Hermione moved, she poured vials of resin of myrrh and essence of bisort into the cauldron; luckily, she had her timing down perfectly. She gave them a small smirk that did not hold the smugness of the man who had taught her this subject. “I can teach you how to bewitch the mind…”

She had mixed ground angelica, the borage and powdered uva-ursi into the required amount of water earlier; the recipe then required the mixture to sit for a full hour before receiving a strong burst of heat to disperse the remaining angelica and uva-ursi. Well, her little show knocked out two birds with one stone; she had the burst of heat, and impressed the class.

“Ensnare the senses…” Her eyes danced as she moved slightly to the side, a mischievous light gleaming behind the warm brown that made the students nervous. “And even stopper…” With another seemingly innocent gesture, she tossed the last ingredient, milfoil, into the simmering cauldron.

A small explosion of bright blue fire and smoke rose from the pot, the fire dying immediately while the smoke formed an intimidating dragon.

The students had cried out at the spectacle, before watching in awe as the smoke image faded away.

Hermione smiled as she finished her speech. “Death.”

If you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.

The witch groaned internally.

Snape’s voice was back again to haunt her.

*

TBC