NEWT Lesson 1: DADA

Declan was so unprepared for this. He wasn't qualified at all. But the usual Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had been busy, so he was asked to step in. So he was going to pretend that he knew what was happening in the lesson he was meant to fill in for. In truth, the lesson he had planned was almost definitely rubbish. He was actually quite convinced that was the case. Still, he made his way to the classroom, determined to give it a good go.

So he pushed the door of the classroom open, leaving it so the students could just make their way in, and walked up to the chalk board at the front of the classroom. He wrote out his name, hardly caring if they used 'Professor' or 'Mr.' when they addressed him, and used another color - red this time - to write out "Nonverbal Spells" beneath his name.

This, he had a feeling, would not actually go well. It had not actually registered for him that the spells might not work due to the fact that magic was being pretty weird lately. In theory, they wouldn't work at all. As he sank into the chair behind his desk for the day, Declan couldn't help but feel like he was not going to be asked to be the substitute for that class again. Ever.

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OOC: Right! So, Dec is going to fill in for this lesson, but here's what you need to know: He's got very little experience, and doesn't actually like the class. This, in part, means that I won't be fact-checking every little thing he says, and he'll mess it up lots. So the main thing he'll be useful for is giving incorrect explanations, embarrassing students who think he's cute, and probably getting annoyed if people tell him he's wrong. Take that as you will.

Max had had a free period before defense against the dark arts and, as usual, had spent it glossing over the Daily Prophet. This was Max's main method of procrastination. He was a seventh year now and would surely find it useful to perhaps revise or tackle his transfiguration essay but instead he found himself reading the events of the day - once all the Quidditch articles had been thoroughly absorbed of course.

Deciding to leave his spot in the common room a little early the Ravenclaw took a more scenic route to class, walking through the South facing corridor to get a pleasant view of the sloping lawns and the black lake. It took a little longer for Max to arrive at the third floor, usually he would have simply used he grand staircase, but this was his seventh year after all and as much as he should spend it working he should be savoring the final weeks at Hogwarts. Hogwarts had been the place where he'd developed as passion for flying after all, as well as a place of self discovery and friendship.

Arriving a couple of minutes early Max decided to enter the classroom and take his usual seat just left of the middle by one of the large windows - never a good idea for the window always provided opportunity for distraction.

It was only when Max had withdrew his ink, quill, parchment and set textbook that the Ravenclaw realised the usual Professor was absent and in their place a substitute. Substitute teachers were always fun. The majority of these classes were spent in conversation, sneaking notes around the classroom and being as annoying as possible. Of course Max would always feel guilty seeing the substitute Professor lose hair over the fact that their class control wasn't a match on the usual professor but surely they had been the students once before? Surely they knew what they'd be getting into?

For once in his entire life – document this, people – Frank Longbottom was early to class. He was actually quite impressed with himself. He was completely dressed and there was a bit of a swagger in his step as he munched on a triangle of toast on his way up from the Great Hall towards the Defence classroom. He was following along behind a couple of Hufflepuffs who were talking about the Gobstone club and Frank was half-tempted to join it before remembering that he had practise on that day. Besides, he was already a morose social reject barring Quidditch – he didn’t want to add to his problems.

At the top of the staircase, Frank found Isadora Malfoy (Malfoy-Nott, he mentally corrected himself.) He smiled at her and she looked momentarily stunned before returning the look with a quick flash upwards of her thin lips. He held out his hand, gesturing for her to go first and her smile grew the barest of amounts in a manner which he thought meant ‘thanks’ before opening the door to the Defence class. She left it open, further thanks Frank figured, and he checked no one else was in the corridor before shutting it softly behind him.

She had already found a desk if the sound of cool leather hitting wood was indicative of anything. When Frank turned, taking the last bite of his toast, he nearly choked. Holy marshmallow-balls he thought rapidly, trying to swallow the thick crust with all of his might. His throat strained, hissing pain through his neck but managing to get it down all the same. Frank didn’t know what it was but suddenly his palms felt sweaty, his heart-rate had trebled and he was staring at the professor. It wasn’t Marcheti. Not that Marcheti was any easier to deal with, mind you, but this bloke …

Merlin’s saggy …

“Longbottom,” Isadora called out sharply, stunning Frank from his thoughts. “What’s the matter with you?”

Frank had no idea. He hastily threw down his bag and grabbed a seat, colouring up as he tried to hide his face behind the flap of his satchel as he pulled out his books. He saw Isadora shake her head and he flushed harder, rubbing his hand over his face. What on earth was the matter with him?

Apollo didn't mind Defense Against the Dark Arts too much, but his brother Christian was truly terrible at it. So when the boys walked into the classroom and saw the substitute professor, they grinned at each other and parted ways to take seats. Christian made his way over to sit at one of the front tables, but Apollo wandered over to Frank's desk on his way to the table behind it.

"Hey, Frank," Apollo offered, his words surprisingly pleasant for players on rival house teams. It didn't last too long, though, unfortunately for the Gryffindor. "So you realize we're going to utterly destroy you in the upcoming match, right?"

Christian caught the question and scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. The professor, however, lifted an eyebrow at the two boys. "I should hope not, Zabini," he cut in, hardly caring if it didn't seem professional. After all, he was probably losing his job after this lesson anyway, right? "Gryffindor's been playing quite well from what I've seen. And, from what I understand, Frank's been doing quite well this year."

ooc: I'm sorry, but not really. I had to.

At the weekend while on a small trip to Hogsmeade, Frank had bought himself a new book of parchment. He was rather proud of it, in actual fact, and was keen to keep it unblemished – reverently taking it from his satchel. With it he took out a less blemish-free article: a quill that the name etched in the side revealed that it was his sister’s. Well, fabulous. She’s stolen his quill. Frank shook his head, making a determined mental note to get her back and he continued to rifle in search of some ink when a voice sounded off behind him.

Looking up, Frank turned to see Apollo slide down into the chair at the desk behind his own. Swallowing, Frank took the quill from between his teeth and dropped it on top of his book before offering a smile to the elder Slytherin. His brows shot towards his hairline at the comment that followed the greeting and he opened his mouth, ready to either make a nonsensical sound or come out with something witty. He was hoping for the latter but before he could, the professor spoke out over them.

In his stomach, Frank felt his stomach clench and he looked round to inspect the professor, trying to discern whether or not he was serious. The Chaser sat up a little straighter as a flash of pride went through him and he swallowed, offering a small smile to the elder man. He felt his cheeks lash with colour despite his best intentions, though, and he looked down, glancing into his bag. He wished that Apollo wasn’t so close to him. Merlin, though. It was even worse. For a second, the boy Gryffindor couldn't breathe. The professor had called him Frank.

“When you Slytherins can play fair,” Frank began temperately, his hands seizing around his ink well. He produced it, letting his bag fall to the floor. He set it gently on the desk. “Then I’ll concede that you can actually destroy us. But as you’re a load of cheating scumbags on the pitch, any win you get will have been stolen, not earned through merit.”

Glancing over at the professor again, Frank tucked himself in to the desk and cleared his throat, reaching behind to tug at his neck shyly. How was that? he thought.

Max's ears pricked at the mention of Quidditch. As usual it was the Slytherin team bashing the Gryffindor team, giving the classic 'we will thrash you' threats. Not that these threats were always empty but at this moment in time Gryffindor were the favorites to win their upcoming match, in fact Max was sure that the lions could potentially annihilate the Slytherin squad, maybe even if Slytherin caught the snitch if the Gryffindor's last match was anything to go by. Whatever training strategy the chasers were undergoing was certainly paying off.

If it hadn't been for the Professor to put his opinion in Max would have spoke up, saying roughly the same sort of thing. Eyeing the professor a smile curled from Max's lips. Perhaps this substitute wasn't as lame as the Ravenclaw thought he was, in fact, he seemed rather cool - anybody who knew anything about Quidditch automatically made it onto Max's cool list.

'It should be an interesting match.' Max said from across the room. 'The Gryffindor chasers-' He nodded to Frank 'will no doubt rack up points so this will be a match between the seekers. Slytherin will need an early catch and it's whether the beaters will allow that.' Max was hoping for a battle between the seekers, it was fun to commentate and it really built an atmosphere in the stadium considering the catch of the snitch could potentially decide a match.

Lily had slipped in with a large group of people, finding it was typically the best cover. Lily found that she was much better off drawing no attention to herself, unless it was necessary. The whole graduation debacle would have been much easier had she mastered making herself invisible. It had been late for her then, but she had been figuring out little ways to accomplish the same thing ever since. It had been the only way for her not to run away.

But there were some days where even her invisibility wasn't worth shutting someone up.

She had been sorting out her books in her bag while Apollo mouthed off to her "cousin". Before she could fight him off, Frank defended himself. Nevertheless, once her bag was sorted, she walked across the room and settled down next to Frank, her eyes glaring daggers at the Slytherin Zabini. She squinted hard at him, dropping her books onto her table, before looking back to Frank.

The message was clear. Frank Longbottom was under her protection.

She glanced up at the substitute, finding that it was the man who was supposed to be snogging her cousin. She shook her head and began looking through her textbook, asking, "Alright, Frankie?"

"Oh, Mon Dieu."

A roll of eyes and flip of the hand to the forehead was Jenna's response to the conversation half overheard as she entered the Defence classroom, however beyond her obvious distaste for the subject matter, she held her tongue.  

It was sixth year.  Everyone must know by now how pointless she thought quidditch - or at least the snitch - was and the school still hadn't instituted any of the changes she'd so kindly suggested back in third year to make the game fairer.  Chances of them changing their minds before she left were slim.

"Look, everyone, nonverbal spells," she said instead, her attempt to change the topic obvious. Jenna didn't care.  "What a surprise!"