At Hogwarts, every teacher had a teaching style all their own.
Professor McGonagall, for example, was known for her rigor and discipline. Professor Flitwick's approach was ingenious. Professor Sprout kept things plain and practical. Professor Binns was dry as dust, Professor Lupin made lessons a delight, Mad-Eye Moody was blunt to the point of brutality, and as for Hagrid—the less said, the better.
As for Severus Snape, his Potions classes had always carried a certain gloomy, oppressive air.
This year, Snape wasn't teaching Potions at all. He'd taken over Defence Against the Dark Arts instead, and it seemed the classroom itself had been branded with his particular stamp the moment he walked in.
Just as he had done years ago when he'd covered for Professor Lupin, Snape swept into the room like a bat gliding through the air. Under the startled gazes of the entire class, he strode toward the front, flicking his wand as he went.
Window after window swung shut at his gesture, plunging the room into shadow.
When he reached the lectern, he reached out and gave a single pull. A white screen slid down before them.
Years on, Snape remained the only person at Hogwarts who insisted on standing to lecture with a projector—and doing it in full robes, no less.
But what appeared on the screen this time was far more nauseating than the werewolf slides from before.
Because there, unmistakably, were people in agony—grisly wounds, bodies twisted into impossible shapes.
If one word could sum it up, it would be grotesque.
And so, once everyone had taken their seats, no one spoke. They only stared, equal parts curious and awed, at the ghastly images glowing on the screen.
"I haven't told you to take out your books yet."
Snape's gaze swept over the young wizards' desks the moment he'd finished setting up, and his voice cut in, cold as ever.
Several students hastily stuffed this term's textbook—Confronting the Faceless—back into their bags.
"Well, at least he didn't tell us to put our wands away."
Ron couldn't help muttering under his breath at the sight.
Harry gave a small nod.
How to put it?
During the stretch when Snape had substituted for Lupin, he had actually taught them a few things worth knowing.
Aside from that one time he'd used slides to display a werewolf's various traits, hoping someone would realize Lupin's secret.
"To be honest, I'm surprised so many of you managed to scrape a passable grade on this subject's O.W.L."
The young wizards exchanged glances with one another.
On that particular point, credit belonged almost entirely to Professor Remus Lupin.
In their third year, he had spent an entire school year not only catching them up on lessons that had fallen behind, but pulling them ahead of schedule. And with his teaching in fourth and fifth year on top of that, the whole class's grasp of the subject had leapt forward by miles.
Naturally, Snape had no intention of praising Lupin. He simply continued in that same voice—the one that made your skin crawl:
"In the time we have ahead, if you can keep pace with the Advanced curriculum, I will be even more surprised, because its content runs far deeper than anything you've covered before."
With that, he stepped down from the lectern and resumed his slow, gliding circuit of the room, like some ancient bat on the prowl.
"The Dark Arts."
Snape's voice dropped suddenly, low enough that the class had to strain their ears just to catch his words.
"Many and varied, ever-changing, without end.
"Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster.
"Sever one head, and another springs up at once—fiercer than the last, more cunning than the last.
"So what you face is something shifting, elusive, impossible to destroy."
Harry listened closely to every word, then turned to glance at Sherlock beside him.
The moment their eyes met; he knew Sherlock had grasped exactly what he meant.
How to put it, exactly?
Treating the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, one worth respecting as such—there was nothing wrong with that.
But speaking of them the way Snape did, with a note of admiration and reverence in his voice—that was something else.
"For that very reason, your Defences must be just as flexible, just as inventive, as the Dark Arts you'll be up against."
Snape raised his voice slightly and, just as he had with the werewolf lesson, moved into the projector portion of the class.
"Watch closely. These images capture, quite vividly, the state of the victims. Take, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse."
A witch appeared on the screen, plainly screaming in agony.
"Or, take this—the Dementor's Kiss."
The image shifted to a wizard curled in a corner, eyes blank and lifeless.
"Or perhaps, an attack by an Inferius."
This time, no one appeared on the screen at all—only a pool of blood remained.
Sherlock glanced over at Harry.
Setting the Cruciatus Curse aside, the other two were things both of them had lived through firsthand.
Whether it was the Dementors they'd encountered in third year, or the Inferi they'd faced while hunting Slytherin's locket—those were not memories either of them cared to revisit.
"Sir, has anyone actually seen an Inferius?"
Parvati Patil raised her hand and spoke up—a rare occurrence, since that role usually fell to Hermione.
"He-who-must-not-be-named—is he really using them?"
"The Dark Lord has indeed used Inferi in the past," Snape said flatly, looking at Parvati. "Which means we should assume he'll use them again. Now then—"
He clearly had no interest in dwelling on the topic further. He turned from the projector and circled around to the other side of the room, heading back toward the lectern. "I imagine none of you are yet comfortable using nonverbal spells. What advantage do they offer?"
Unsurprisingly, Hermione's hand shot straight up.
Snape did just as he had always done back in Potions class—waited until no one else raised a hand before finally calling on her. "Very well—Miss Granger."
Hermione answered at once: "Your opponent doesn't know what spell you're about to cast, which gives you a split-second advantage."
Crisp and precise as always, as though she'd swallowed the textbook whole.
But everyone knew—lions and snakes both—that Snape was never going to award Gryffindor points for it.
Sure enough, Snape said with contempt, "That answer was lifted verbatim from Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6."
Laughter rippled through the Slytherin side of the room.
Draco Malfoy, however, did not laugh.
He shot Sherlock a strange, appraising look, then withdrew his gaze just as quickly.
"That said, Miss Granger's answer is essentially correct."
Snape said it in the tone of a man passing wind while making a great show of pulling down his trousers first.
"Yes. Casting a spell without speaking the incantation aloud grants you the element of surprise.
"Not that every wizard is capable of it, mind you.
"It requires considerable concentration and willpower—qualities some people simply lack."
As he spoke, Snape's eyes swept across the room, passing over the students one by one.
Whoever he looked at lifted their chin bravely to meet his gaze, as if doing so alone could prove they possessed the concentration and willpower in question.
With the theory portion finished, the practical work began.
Snape had the class pair off, two to a group.
One partner would attempt to cast a hex on the other—without making a sound. The other would try to fend it off, likewise in silence.
The pairing-off routine was second nature to everyone by now, drilled into them in countless Charms lessons, so as soon as Snape gave the instruction, the class sprang into motion.
Since none of the young wizards had ever tried casting a spell silently before this, it went without saying that a great deal of cheating followed. Plenty of students simply mouthed the incantations under their breath, just quietly enough not to be heard aloud.
Hermione had originally planned to pair with Sherlock, as she usually did.
But Sherlock glanced at Snape, then spoke up on his own. "I'll pair with Harry today."
Hermione, along with Harry and Ron who'd been about to form their usual duo—all blinked in surprise.
"Harry isn't wearing his mask today."
Meeting the three friends' puzzled looks, Sherlock said, his voice faintly distant.
Harry reached up and touched his nose without thinking. It was true—he wasn't wearing it today.
In fact, he hadn't worn it once since finishing his Occlumency lessons last term.
The original reason for wearing it had been the change of seasons and the flu going around—it was supposed to stop the spread.
But as time passed, everyone had, one by one, stopped bothering with it.
Everyone except Harry.
His excuse, of course, had been that his cold simply hadn't cleared up yet.
But once high summer arrived, even he couldn't keep wearing it.
And now, at the start of the new term, he had no intention of putting it back on.
"That's exactly the problem."
Sherlock continued, as if he could see straight into Harry's thoughts.
"A Harry without his mask, in Professor Snape's eyes, is nothing more than a pig ready for slaughter—"
"Hey!" Harry protested, indignant.
"So, the moment Harry pairs up with Ron, given the two of your combined skill, you're bound to fail—and that's exactly the opening Professor Snape will be looking for." Sherlock ignored the protest, and after casually dismissing Ron along with him, went on: "The instant he turns his wand your way—"
At the sight of Sherlock's gesture, something clicked in Harry's mind, and his body moved on instinct before he could stop it.
"Just like that. You'd have forgotten every last thing about nonverbal spells."
Sherlock shrugged.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged glances.
There was no denying Sherlock's reasoning held up perfectly.
In fact, Harry had already reacted on pure reflex, just now, without even thinking.
"Then I'll…"
Ron hesitated, glancing at Hermione.
"I'm with Neville," Hermione said at once.
Ron shrugged and went off to find someone else.
Mainly because Lavender Brown had only scraped a bare pass on her Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.—enough for the certificate, but not enough to qualify for the Advanced class.
There wasn't much to say about what came next.
Neville, unable to manage a spell without speaking it, tried for a good while before finally muttering the Jelly-Legs Jinx under his breath.
Hermione, without saying a single word, deflected the cheating jinx with ease.
"An achievement like that—any reasonable teacher would've given Gryffindor twenty points on the spot!"
Harry said, more than a little put out.
"My dear Harry, you said it yourself—any reasonable teacher. And he, quite plainly, isn't one."
Well, when you put it that way, I really have nothing to say.
"Ready? I'm starting."
"Ready!"
Harry gave a firm nod, raised his wand upright before him, braced himself, and then—
His wand went flying clean out of his hand, and he himself lost his balance, staggering back two steps before colliding with a desk.
"I've always thought this was a rather delightful spell," Sherlock said, catching the falling wand out of midair and offering Harry a faint smile. "Simple. Effective."
That Sherlock had managed to cast the Disarming Charm nonverbally came as no surprise at all.
Harry let out a sigh. "Absolutely flawless."
"No, my dear Harry—I actually gave you plenty of time to prepare."
Sherlock shrugged and handed the wand back.
"The trouble is, you only agreed to it out loud. Your body never got the memo."
Harry sighed again, then began attempting the nonverbal spell in turn.
Unfortunately, without speaking the incantation aloud, he seemed entirely incapable of producing any magic at all.
While the students practiced, Snape prowled between them exactly as he always had, robes trailing behind him.
Old bat really was a fitting nickname.
When he reached Sherlock and Harry, he seemed to stop on purpose, watching Harry's struggling attempts.
"Pathetic, Potter."
Snape observed for a moment, then said, as though he could no longer contain himself, "Here—let me show you—"
Quick as lightning, he suddenly swung his wand toward Sherlock instead.
A faint red glow flared instantly across the surface of Sherlock's body.
It was the visual effect of the Shield Charm activating.
Clearly, Snape had cast a nonverbal spell in an instant—and just as clearly, Sherlock had blocked it with equal skill.
The whole class turned to stare, a mixture of astonishment and admiration on every face.
But Snape only said coldly, "Hmph. If I were truly your enemy, I wouldn't have warned you beforehand the way I just did. What are you all staring at? Get back to work!"
"That's completely unfair—I know that's just how he is, but it's still completely unfair!"
Once class had ended and they'd stepped out into the corridor, Hermione launched immediately into defending Sherlock's honour:
"An achievement like that—any reasonable teacher would have given Gryffindor twenty points!
"But he just pretended not to see it, and then had the nerve to say an enemy wouldn't warn you beforehand…
"It's absolutely outrageous!"
Sherlock turned to Harry with a faint smile. "What did I tell you?"
Harry couldn't help laughing at that.
"What are you two laughing about?" Hermione said, put out.
"You said the exact same thing, my dear Hermione, right after you used a nonverbal spell to deflect Neville's jinx," Sherlock said, still smiling. "And on the flip side—Snape wasn't actually wrong."
"What?"
Ron looked utterly baffled. "Sherlock, do you want to hear yourself right now?"
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