Monday morning 9am -their first lesson of the day before transfiguration

Here they were again, the first years, rather less bedraggled than they had been on arrival in the rain. Each of them sported a new house tie, and over the weekend they had discovered what that meant in their common room. Homesickness had already begun to set in for some, for others it might begin soon after this lesson.

It was the first time the students had stepped into the Defences classroom on the first floor, through the door at the back of the room. The ceiling arced highly above them, beams sporting the occasional char. Older siblings might have told them about detentions, hanging upside-down from them.

Below on the worn flagstone floor, the desks faced forwards in rows. Each row had three pairs, spaced apart, so that the Professor could prowl up the two aisles as he taught. On the left were tall windows, the long, dark curtains drawn back. Sunlight fought through the grey, rainy clouds, and clusters of candles burned low in support. On the right wall were cabinets - some with glass doors revealing all odd instruments, skulls and the odd taxidermic beast, jaws open to bite or screech. Opportunist fingers would find them charmed shut, so fingers could live another day.

At the front, was a raised platform. The blackboard sat to the left, chalk notes magically erasing. A flight of steps to the right led to a further door above. If the first years discovered what was behind it, they had been very bad indeed. Front and centre was an imposing desk. At one end of it was a stack of assorted text books - the standard texts for each of the seven years and at the other an elegant hourglass. Pale golden sand flowed slowly through the narrow throat as the first years took their places.[1]


Professor Ignan Storm stood at the head of the classroom, a tad over six foot two in his boots, silver haired, blue eyed and imposing in his stance and build. There was no warmth in the way he observed his new charges as they filed in. He wondered who would be the first to show weakness and cry, who would be the first to leave the lesson bleeding or minus a limb. Who might still be here by their NEWTS, if he was too.

“Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts, first years,” he greeted them at last, his English still revealed his German roots despite his bilingual upbringing. “Everything I teach you in this class can save your life, so I require your utmost attention.” His gaze swept across, and his wand pointed at the feet of a nearby student[2] not providing this already, and caused their shoes to shrink painfully tight. “Defences are difficult, dangerous, often painful, but entirely necessary for any wand bearer. You will learn how to shield, to curse, to use artefacts, your environment and strategy to overcome foes, whether beast, trap or former friend.” He released the shoe curse with a flick of his ebony wand.

“Now you have already attended one charms lesson, one transfiguration lesson, so know one end of your wand from the other. There is no challenge in learning without risk. You, on your feet,” he gestured to another student[3] to step up and out away from their desk.

“Feet shoulder width apart, balanced weight, hold your wand firmly but not tight, enough not to throw it as you cast. Point it at your opponent, aiming for the chest, a nice broad space to target - Petrificus Totalus!” The spell, though invisible, hit them exactly as he had described.

“This is the full body bind curse.” The Professor explained, gesturing to their classmate. “Now, attempt to move.” The Professor smirked as it appeared the student couldn’t lie any more still down there on the floor, staring at the rafters. “They are completely immobile. No strength or will can overcome this spell in an average witch or wizard. Not until the spell fails or they are released.”

Leaving them on the floor, the Professor looked up and posed the question. “What is a general counter curse which could remedy this situation?”

1.	Nearest to how it looks now
2.	Could be you, or an NPC
3.	Anyone!

Wesley glanced up at the few chairs suspended from the ceiling. Uh oh. He did not want to think about what that meant. He looked out the window at the dreary view, and then at the dreary professor, and then, ignoring all internal warnings and alarm bells, offered Storm a grin. He lounged in his seat, stretching his legs out, and rubbed at his sleepy eyes. Breakfast had been wonderful! When was lunch?

As Bean Bum Bobbie cried out, it took Wesley an age to figure out what had happened, and just as he realized it wasn't a fart, the professor pointed at him to stand.

"I didn't do it!" He protested, shooting up from his seat.

No, but really, what had he done? Why was the professor talking about his chest? He glanced down. Had he forgotten his tie?

Bam! The spell hit. He stumbled back, limbs locking together at his sides. Wesley crashed to the floor. He landed on his back with a thud. He wanted to yell out, but couldn't make a sound.

For a few minutes in his life, Wesley Wold was utterly silent and still. He hated every second of it, and was already fighting to move as Professor Storm spoke.

He stared, unblinking, at the chairs suspended from the rafters.

And he'd been worried about the chairs.

Sulwen sat near the windows, her back straight and her defense book resting on her desk. Her gaze flicked to the cabinets of curiosities, the candlelight from the windows flickering against the glass like fireflies. She shunned the fanciful thought, and focused on the tall professor as he began to speak, noticing with approval that he stood like he meant business.

He looked no less stern in the daylight as he had sheperding them through the dark and the rain when they'd first arrived at Hogwarts. Some of her peers acted like they were still asleep. Just as she shot a glance at Bobbie for letting out a yawn, his yawn turned into a cry.

Sulwen stiffened, staring at the professor, who continued talking while the boy pulled at his shoes with both hands. It went on for a long, uncomfortable moment, until the professor waved his wand again.

She sat up straighter, and tried to pay attention, ignoring her quickened breath and the unease in her stomach. 

It did not get better when he petrified Wesley.

She glanced at a classmate next to her. What would he do if no one answered? Petrify them all?

Sulwen raised her hand, waiting for him to call on her.

"Finite Incantatem, sir?"

Though she spoke calmly, and kept her eyes on the deputy, her hands tensed atop the desk.

Emrys dutifully followed the rest of his classmates into the room and sat down in a chair nearest the back of the group.  Unfortunately for him, it was in the middle of all the chairs.  He shrugged to himself and started to listen to the professor.  In truth, he was most excited for this class.  He knew he'd learn all kinds of useful things in here. 

He listened as the professor began to talk and then watched in fascination as he put a student under a spell.  Emrys' mind was amazed, even as he knew things could happen with magic, he was still young and had yet to learn that magic could be used for bad things as well as good.

As the professor told the student to try to move, Emrys watched to see if there was going to be any movement before he heard the professor ask a question.  He knew the answer, but the professor was kind of scary, so there was no way he was going to draw attention to himself unless it was absolutely necessary.

Sat in the middle, a row away from the front, Feliks watched Professor Storm the way you would watch a wild animal who was circling your home - which was actually a common occurrence where he grew up. He had met the old wizard under different circumstances in Edinburgh. That had been less foreboding but it had been enough to know that this man was not a Nice man in the way papa or Johann were.

Bean Bum Bobbie was victim #1. Quietly, on the underside of his desk, Feliks scratched a single notch. He hoped the professor would ignore him.

            "I didn't do it!" Wesley exclaimed, moments before he was hit by a curse, causing Feliks to add another notch.

That was victim #2. Maybe he would write to Johann to tell him all about today. Sulwen raised her hand. It might have been Feliks' imagination but it felt like there was a collective sense of relief among them all when someone decided to answer Storm.

Instead of looking at the professor, he glanced at Wesley who was on the floor. Would it be that easy? Feliks wondered if the Hufflepuff could feel anything. He tore a corner of his note parchment and crumpled it up as quietly as he could, before lobbing it at Wesley's head while Reid was giving her answer.

The full body bind rendered Wesley Wold unable to move an inch, like a living statue on the floor. He’d gone down like a tombstone, onto his back, the Professor had given him that small mercy. The students around him were staring down in alarm. He had successfully begun the lesson with wide eyes from them all then, how very pleasing.

A Slytherin ventured an answer to his question after a moment’s pause.
“Finite Incantatem, sir?”

“Are you asking me, Reid?” The Professor retorted, remembering her name from the first night. He immediately turned his attention from her to give her no chance to reply. “If I ask you a question, first years, I expect answers,” the Professor instructed the rest of the class sharply.

He levelled his wand at Wesley with a cold stare. He didn’t want the boy to think he was out of the woods yet, especially if he felt he could lounge at his desk on the first lesson!

“Finite Incantatem,” he pronounced loudly and clearly for the benefit of these beginner wixes. The bind released immediately for Wesley, the struggle against the magic gone in an instant to return him to an awkward flail on the floor between the desks instead. “On your feet,” he ordered, wand twitching, so that an invisible hand hauled the Hufflepuff to his feet by the tie and shirt collar - only it over-efficiently lifted Wesley high enough for his feet to leave the floor a few inches and he was deposited on the floor unceremoniously.

“Concisely describe the spell’s effects, Wold,” he looked over the others in a cold stare, and barked “why aren’t you all taking notes?” As they blundered, he turned the attention of his wand to the blackboard, chalking up both incantations in large letters.

Wesley was shook. He adjusted his shirt collar, alarmed at the force with which he'd been pulled to his feet. Glancing up, he let out a breath. For a moment, he'd been afraid the professor would levitate him all the way up to the ceiling, and that fear, more than anything, upset him.

He hadn't done anything wrong. Neither had Bobbie, earlier. Even if he had done something wrong, he knew that people older than him were not supposed to push him around that way. The one time a guest at the inn had yelled in Wesley's face and poked his chest with his finger, his uncle had yelled much louder and ordered the guest out, permanently.

Wesley glanced at the other students. He couldn't move, or talk. They'd all seen it.

"Well, I dunno, professor. Brain is still frozen."

His voice sounded shakier than he would have liked. A smile twitched on his mouth even as his frozen brain warned 'danger, danger!'

"I felt this, though," he held out a tiny, crumpled ball of parchment in his hand. Looking right at the professor, Wesley paused. Then, with a giddy sense of doom, he threw it over his shoulder in a random direction.

Professor Storm's reputation proceeded him. Nicola had three brothers  (and one pseudo brother) already attending Hogwarts. They had told her all about the defense against the dark arts teacher. The twins had found him tough but fair, Harrison was absolutely terrified by him and Kyson thought he was brilliant. Cole Wasn't surprised to see that the Professor didn't disappoint.

She sat at her desk, text to one side and a parchment in front of her as she noted everything the Professor did. She Wasn't sure how Slytherins were supposed to act in class but she knew that had she been properly sorted into Ravenclaw she would have been expected to take notes so That's exactly what she did.

Between Bobbie's shoe trouble, Wesley getting petrified and Sulwen getting scolded for not answering him correctly, this lesson was already everything she expected it to be.

When Wesley carelessly threw the crumpled parchment over his shoulder Cole deftly caught it before it could hit her, all the while still taking her notes. Growing up with four boys she had learned to react quickly to such 'attacks'. Had she been in anyone else's classroom she may have even been tempted to throw it back at Wold. However she Wasn't about to go out of her way to upset Storm.

“Well, I dunno, Professor. Brain is still frozen.” Aoide inhaled a gasp of air as Wesley replied to Professor Storm. Ariadne, her older half sister had told Aoide all about Professor Storm. You did not mess with him. Period. He gave the nastiest detentions, he was the strictest and you got hurt in his class. Ariadne had hated him at first. She’d come home and told Aoide he was mean and horrible. Their mother had shouted a lot about all the times he had given Ariadne detention. Aoide was afraid of doing the same. Keep your head down, Ariadne had told her sister.

She wished she had told Wesley that before they got here. He was going to lose them points!

Aoide gaped as he threw something over his shoulder and one of her classmates caught it. Fearing the worst, Aoide clapped a hand over her mouth and looked down at her notes like they were the most interesting thing ever. Her hand shook as she wrote the two spells down.

Professor Storm’s stoic expression twitched into an ominous sneer.

“A village has lost its idiot in you Wold,” he told the Hufflepuff, and twitched his wand, once again petrifying the first year. “Observe, first years.” He gestured towards the prone classmate, “Petrificus Totalus is also known as the full body-bind curse. All limbs stiffen, and the loss of balance will cause your opponent to fall. Contrary to Wold’s description, he is still able to think, see, hear, and feel.” He nudged Wesley’s calf with his boot as he began a walk between the desks.

“Spells have etymology - which you will study in greater detail in charms and transfiguration - sources and roots of the meanings of the words.” He looked to either side as he walked beside them, checking they were busy taking notes, “In this instance, from Latin for what?”

Cole tried not to make any expression whatsoever as Wesley was hit with the curse a second time. She didn't think an excessive eye roll would get past the Professor. She had decided that she Wasn't going to fear him. He seemed like the type of person to feed on that sort of behaviour and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Although Nicola didn't speak another language she still knew about certain ones. She had spent her childhood studying abroad and learning about other cultures. Her mother always impressed upon her the importance of learning a culture. If you could learn a culture you could learn how best to communicate with them and if you could communicate with someone you could sell them anything.

She raised her hand as he asked about the Latin roots of the spell, "Petrificus deriving from Petra meaning rock and Totalus from totus meaning whole. Or if you want to relate it to English, Total Petrification." Without much of a thought she added, "which is simple enough to deduce given that English is pretty much just a bastardization of many other languages."

Feliks was torn between feeling bad for Wesley or... very very impressed. It was like the Hufflepuff had forgotten that their professor could freeze them if they mouthed off. He seemed not to need any excuse to freeze students, actually, which was worse. Feliks promptly shuffled his torn parchment to the back of his stack and started scribbling. In the corner of his eye, he could see Aoide's hands shaking.

But even Storm's barking about notes couldn't keep several of them from staring when poor Wesley was petrified a SECOND time. Would that count as victim #3? Not wanting to risk it, Feliks added a third notch.

“In this instance, from Latin for what?” their teacher carried on, casually ignoring the literally statuesque Wold.
            "...which is simple enough to deduce given that English is pretty much just a bastardization of many other languages."

That was clever of Nicola! He turned around in his seat, grinning at her, because she was right about the English language. "Da!That is very true!" Feliks exclaimed, clearly having a ill-timed revelation, and he immediately looked up at Professor Storm. "But does that mean if we make things up with Latin words we could create spells?"

One of them had half a brain, Professor Storm was pleased to discover.

“Petrificus deriving from … ” Bagnold began, risking sounding like a relative of the Harcrofts, “… total petrification.” The professor was about to issue a suggestion of praise when the Slytherin decided to conclude “… which is simple enough to deduce, given…”

“Da!” Feliks Spectre decided to agree in an over-excited manner. “That is very true!” The Professor fixed him with a stare from behind Bagnold that would make most unfamiliar with him close their mouth. “But does that mean if we make things up with Latin words we could create spells?”

The Professor inclined his head to the right a little, as if considering Feliks as a potential next victim.

“Of course,” he replied, with a shrug, as if that was obvious, allowing Spectre a moment to think he was right. “Spells are merely just made up words.” He continued his walk down the gap between the desks until he reached the one Feliks was sat on. “I must correct my earlier observation - a second village is missing its idiot.” Someone gave a nervous titter of amusement.

The Professor inclined down into Spectre’s personal space, making intense eye contact.
“Spells, Spectre, are more than just words. They are intent, focus, wand movement, footwork and skill. Nor,” he continued, “are they all Latin.” He gave it just a moment to sink in, cold expression very much suggesting Feliks did not dare to add a follow-up question, and then he withdrew, continuing to the front of the room.

“Correct, Bagnold - though Wold may be ‘petrified’ in a sense of emotion, for being deprived of all movement, he is not experiencing petrification.” He flicked his wand at Wesley to release him again and pointed firmly to his desk to indicate he should retake his seat. “If something undergoes petrification, what has happened to it?”

Wesley slumped in his seat while the lecture and the other students' answers sailed over his head. If his brain wasn't frozen before, it was now. He stared at the grooves on his desk, quill marks of a previous anxious student who had punctured their parchment. He didn't know what to write. He fidgeted in his seat and drew a frowny face. With glaring eyes.

After an ominous pause, he heard Sulwen answer again.

"When you're petrified, you turn into stone, both your body and your," she hesitated, her mouth pursing. "Brain."

Wesley snorted.

"You can't think or move. Like in those tales about Medusa," Sulwen offered.

            "Of course. Spells are merely just made up words."

They were? Feliks' eyes were wide with wonder as he watched the older wizard approach, until he was at his desk and informing the classroom of a second missing idiot. Oh! Before Feliks could think to blush at the comment, Storm was already clarifying the nature of spells. He stopped himself from inching his chair backwards from the encroaching professor. It was not a clarification the young boy was ever likely to forget.

It was a relief when the lesson moved on to another question. Feliks breathed out, checking his grin - it was the maniacal grin of someone who'd stared into the face of a tiger and lived. At least he hadn't been hexed!

Sulwen was answering the next question, so he used the opportunity to quickly scribble down what Storm had said. And then, glancing over at Wesley, he let his grin show through a little.