The Sound of Silence - Rewrite

Chapter 11

Delia's first lesson that morning was Potions with the unforgiving and strict Professor Snape that Delia had been instructed to be afraid of or be bored of by Dora and Charlie. When she walked into the classroom, not a lot of her class were there and Professor Snape was nowhere in sight, so she took a seat on the back table in the corner with two seats and took out her sketchbook so she could finish the drawing of the train.

The rest of the class began filing in around her. The four girls in her dorm sat on the row in front of Delia, and the six boys sat on the front two rows. Just as they all sat down, Professor Snape swept in from the door at the back with his robes flying out behind him like a large overgrown bat.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class." he drawled, stepping up to the desk at the front of the room. "As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few of you who possess the predisposition..." He paused and looked around at the class of simple first years, letting out a small snort of derision. "I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper on death. Miss Tonks, unless you are writing very detailed notes on what I have been saying, you should put the notebook away now before I burn it."

Delia jumped and quickly closed her sketchbook, stuffing it back into her bag. She had to hide slightly behind her hair so that the tears that pricked her eyes didn't show.

"All of you, turn to the second page of your textbook and read and make notes on the pages about different types of cauldrons and their uses." he snapped, folding his arms across his chest. "In silence."

The class quickly got out their textbooks and began reading the pages he'd instructed them too. Delia – who had grown up surrounded by books – was an incredibly quick reader, and she had finished the entire four pages in five minutes and quickly pulled out a stack of parchment and her quill and ink, dipped the feather into the ink and began writing out the notes.

"Miss Tonks, you have already read the pages?" drawled Professor Snape, raising a thick greasy eyebrow at her.

She looked up at him nervously and nodded her head.

"Then you wouldn't mind telling me who invented the self-stirring cauldron?"

The knot of panic was back. She fumbled for a spare piece of paper and scribbled down, 'Gaspard Shingleton'. With an irritable sigh, Professor Snape swept down the classroom, and she shuddered slightly as he towered over her and looked at her answer.

"Perhaps if you had neater handwriting, you might have won Ravenclaw a few points there." he drawled. "I hope, for your sake, that you can make your notes a little tidier."

Sneering at her, he left her desk and went back up to his desk. Everyone in the class stared at Delia, and she quickly went back to hiding behind her hair as she continued to make her notes. Tears filled her eyes but she pushed them away and ignored them as best as she could.

Her handwriting wasn't messy! She knew for a fact that her penmanship was incredibly neat, each letter perfectly formed in swirls and neat curves.

The end of the lesson couldn't have been more of a relief, despite the homework of a twelve inch essay on the basic ingredients of potion making. Delia left the class as quickly as she could, and since their next class – flying with the Gryffindors – was in the grounds, she was glad to be able to escape the horrible dungeons of the castle.

She had hoped to see Dora in the halls before she had to go to flying, but she remembered that her older sister had double charms and was probably still in class. It certainly did not help the knot of fear that had come back to her stomach, which was already growing from the fear of flying. Even when Dora had tried to teach her in their field, it was not something she had ever found herself wanting to do. She was happy with her feet on the ground, or riding a horse. Not on a broom hundreds of feet in the air.