Lesson 1 :: Third - Fifth Year

There had been a free period after the first and second years, so Destrey had time to clear the classroom.  Not that it took very long, sweeping the desks and tables to either side of the room wasn't exactly labour intensive when you had a wand.

So now she had a clear space and she'd conjured some gym mats.  She might get away with letting the children curse hex one another, but falling on the floor? That wasn't to be thought of.

Eventually the class arrived, and began to mill about, as students are wont to do when they come upon the unexpected.

"Put your bags on a desk or something and come sit on the floor," she told them. "You're all old enough now to learn how to defend yourselves properly."

"You," she pointed at a kid at random, "explain how duelling works for the rest of the class."

---

Weclome to Defence. Anyone can take the role of the character who was called upon. Anyone can butt in at any time. Destrey is not strict, but she might decide to demonstrate on your character (see here).

There is no right or wrong in this class, aside from things that are against book canon. DO make stuff up. DON'T bother googling answers on the internet, this class is entirely made up as we go along.

"Would you look at that," Cirilla made note of the padding that had been strewn across the floor, as the students were told to take their places on the chilled marble amongst these mats. "It's like kindergarten all over again," the minuscule blonde drawled on aloud sarcastically, and to no one in particular, as if only for the sake of being the first student to break the silence as everyone muddled about, jostling in to the small child as each hurried to find the best "seat".

Despite the mocking comment that Ciri had made only a moment prior, (and purely for the sake of those of her fellow students - as she herself had never been particularly angry about getting covered from head to toe in dirt and grass and twigs - for whom she often put on a grand show for, forever seeking their approval), the Fifth year's fair face crumpled up in to a well-rehearsed expression of disgust. Hesitantly, she lowered herself to the old, tattered padding, with her palms flat against the mat that she had chosen, taking on much of her weight in a position so uncomfortable and awkward as to keep her bum from connecting with its surface. Choosing to, instead, hover centimeters above it, leaning back almost entirely on her arms. "Filthy..." She murmured just below an audible octave, her words to be caught by only those who had cared enough to strain to listen, "-just bought these robes..." another fragment of an uttered complaint.

"You!" A startled Cirilla jumped to her feet, pushing off with her palms against the mat that she had hesitated so to sit on, using this distraction as an excuse to avoid doing so any longer than the girl already had.  "Cirilla," she replied.

"To duel is to partake in a 'civilized' wizard's fight. Dueling is a very formal ritual with many traditions for the sake of keeping the act of participating in dueling respectable. Traditional dueling is very much like a waltz, and is not for the boorish," Cirilla paraphrased as she smoothed out the front of her black and emerald robes. "You wait your turn, there are no 'cheap shots', there is an understanding of fair, respectful fighting on each opposing side," she explained. "A duel between two opponents, for example, begins with a formal bow and ten paces from both. Each witch or wizard must have their wands at the ready before any hexes are fired."

"This is my understanding of the tradition, anyway," the little Slytherin concluded before reluctantly returning to her previous, hovering position above the placemats below.

Of course Delacour would start complaining as soon as she got through the door. Clair followed her inside and dumped his bag on one of the desks like he was told before coming to sit with the rest of the group.

When he sat, she was still going on under her breath. If he had strained, he could have heard, but from her expression, he fancied he didn't need to bother.

"Tais-toi, Cirilla," he said, hoping to enrage the little veela bint further. Maybe she'd explode into one of those vulture things in fury. He'd heard some of them could do that.

"Some of us are trying to learn."

If that didn't bother her, nothing would. Everyone knew Clair's marks were the worst in the class.

Casey did everything pretty matter-of-factly these days. She used to walk around like a coiled spring, ready to jump into action, but now she moved with a relaxed posture, muscles loose. She felt old. She felt different. She felt ready. She didn't know what for.

It was weird, but she missed Ilvermorny. She knew that was illogical, and she knew she didn't actually miss it. But she did miss being partially the master of her own time and destiny. Sure she was trapped by circumstance. But within that circumstance, she had full control over what happened to her. She had kept her peers fed, kept them safe. She had survived. And now she was supposed to go to class.

The itch to disappear into the forest was growing every day.

Defense Against the Dark Arts would probably be the most welcome distraction, she supposed. Right up her alley. She walked in on her own and deposited her bag before folding her legs beneath her as she sat behind Sauvage, who wasted no time on annoying Delacour... who she supposed was a cousin of sorts and probably deserved defending. But Sauvage certainly had a right. Cirilla was being annoying. But annoying her would only make her annoying.

"So are we duelling?" Casey asked, fully aware that she could be scolded for speaking so bluntly and out of place. But she really didn't want to deal with the whole Clair/Cirilla thing spiralling out of control.

Clair's critique of her character, likely seen as a simple remark with the intent to instigate to any ordinary mind; to any less impressionable individual, had stolen Cirilla's next breath from her lungs. Like a freight train to the ribcage. This negative criticism, like any such judgment she had ever received from her ever 'pleasant' fellows, drew tears to the long-lashed rims of Cirilla's eyes at once. Lucky, was she, to have stood and turned toward the professor, alone, just one moment ago; the flip side of her little frame was all of the tiny girl that faced her fellow classmates as the tears quickly began to well. Tears which Ciri,  just as abruptly as they had started, made a desperate effort to quell - little lids seizing with unnatural-looking, rapid flutters. Even after having successfully regained control of her eager tear ducts, however, this show of emotion; this crack in her confident facade, in one short moment, had been enough. To one particular individual, the tough girl jig was, quite frankly, up. Hogwarts' Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor would now know of the Fifth Year's fragility in the face of her fellow students. And there was likely very little to be done to convince her otherwise; a revelation which embarrassed Cirilla greatly.

Cirilla paused, for a single, shaky breath to compose herself, and to swallow her wounded heart - before launching directly into her retort with a deceivingly confident chuckle. Clair evidently knew very little about young Cirilla's character if he had assumed he would be successful in enraging her; never, had she shown her fellow Hogwarts' student any side of herself that might have resembled anger during the entirety of her four year stay at the school for Witchcraft and Wizardy. Never, had she revealed herself to be such a simpleton; to display such a damning personality trait as hotheadedness would be a death sentence in the eyes of one insecure Slytherin student, ever-concerned with social status. He would be sorely mistaken if he expected such results to his lazy show of disrespect.

Abruptly, the child's tiny voice rang out from behind the back of the girl, only her lengthy, ashen locks and the rear of her tailored robes shown to the others, "Then I would suggest you refrain from making any further petty remarks and listen up; you may just learn something yet. And I think we all know that you could stand to improve your marks, what with exams coming up and all, lest you flunk." The inflection of Ciri's cruel words was one of calm and composure in spite of the feeling of betrayal that had both overwhelmed and swallowed her up. Ever so quick to assault and disrespect the composed and fashion conscious Pureblood, the jealous were. Cirilla often theorized that her peers were merely intimidated by her Part-Veela blood, because, well, the ought to be.*

After all, the girl thought, what had she done to earn the ever so 'desirable' attention of Mr. Sauvage; fickle, failing Halfblood - an individual with whom Cirilla had never before held a conversation, despite the presently, quite unfortunate similarities shared by the pair of Fifth Years' individual timetables. A student with whom Cirilla would have happily lived out her life, in its entirety, without ever once fearing she might have missed out on any particularly unique, or remotely interesting experience in never having spoken.

Ciri cast a meek half-smile at her Professor as she clutched the Defense Against The Dark Arts textbook tighter to her chest, the thing acting as a shield against the others in her insecurity; an expression shown in secret to the elder woman, alone, in the hopes that she might be lenient on little Ciri for speaking out of turn. That she might even see it as a victory against the bullying, running rampant amongst Cirilla's age group - and not an act of rebellion - or worse: a show of disrespect towards the study of the Defense Against the Dark Arts itself. Ciri could only hope to be so lucky. For, to receive punishment so fatal to her social status as points lost from Slytherin - or, the even more damaging, detention - well, she would just die.

---

*This is purely Ciri here's inflated opinion of herself, and her own personal perspective of her own self-image. She is narcissistic, and this exact line has no bearings on how the other students actually view her. Also, it occurred to be how interesting it would be to have Clair and Ciri be chosen to demonstrate the dueling process, similar to the duel scene between Draco / Harry - if all of the parties (Clair & Destrey) involved are interested, of course. Just thinking out loud!

Destrey remained silent while Sauvage tried to bait the Delacour girl.  Other professors would probably have assigned detention or at least tried to stop him, but Destrey believed bullying was good for children.  It taught them resilience.

"No," she shook her head at Casey Weasley.  "This is Defence Against the Dark Arts, not pureblood manners 101."

"But, five points to Slytherin for that very comprehensive answer, anyway," she added.

Destrey smilied and gestured to Cirilla, indicating her to move to the "front" of the class.  As much as this class had a front, anyway.

"Why don't you join us, Mister Sauvage?" she ordered the Ravenclaw.

"As I said, this isn't a lesson on duelling. It's on self defence, which is a very different thing."

"Sauvage, you spend enough of your time being beaten up.  Explain the difference between a duel and a real fight to the class."


((I don't want to leave Casey out, so have her butt in if she wants to))

Clair leaned back on one arm, legs stretched out before him so his crossed ankles were right next to Cirilla's pretty little shoes.  He quite liked this class, sitting on the floor.  They should do it more often.

A lazy smile curled across his features in the wake of her retort.  Petty remarks?  Was that for telling her to shut up?  It was hardly petty; her complaining and muttering must have been disturbing other students, if not Clair.  

But she had already come out with her grand finale. Lest you flunk.  Clair's breath caught for a moment, and anyone paying attention might have seen his right hand twitch, but he was fairly confident nobody would.  He laughed at her presumption.

"I'm not that kind of Ravenclaw, Sweetness."

If there was one thing Cirilla wasn't, it was sweet.

Clair hadn't thought Ashcroft would have much to say about their little argument.  She was one of the more lax professors when it came to behaviour, but he'd forgotten she also took what Clair considered was an inappropriate level of pleasure from demonstrating spells on students.  In a moment was dragging himself to his feet to stand in front of everyone along with Cirilla.

You spend enough of your time being beaten up...

She didn't have to go and point it out to everyone.  Clair might taunt people, bait them into starting something, but the truth of the matter was that he usually came out of those fights second best.  It might have been a different story if he were willing to beat up on second years, but that would hardly be a challenge, would it?

He cast a glance and a grin at Cirilla as a thought came to him.

"A real fight isn't like a waltz," he said. "It's like grinding in a club at 2 am.  It's hot and heavy and sweaty and up close and personal.  There's no time to think, you just move.  And the other person isn't just trying to hit you with some spell, they're trying to actually injure you.  You don't only use magic, you get right in there and use your body, too.  You'd be surprised how many wizards don't expect a fist to the face."