MwaM; Ch 11: A Snake, A Walrus & A Bat

Author's Note: Hello there, this is chapter 11 of Merc with a Mouth. I really hope you will like it.

Also, congratulations to our Guildmasters: Camo, I am Lord Dems, StormFox, RyanMK666, PenguGoesVroom, Hydrus Black and Darth Josh! 😇🥰

Now, without any further ado....Let's begin!

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Merc with a Mouth

-Dev Sagittarius Black

~~Chapter 11: A Snake, A Walrus & A Bat~~

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The muffled tapping of boots on the carpeted floor echoed through the hallway that was lit by torches and small crystal chandeliers at regular intervals. There were suits of armour, portraits of wizards and witches in various states of consciousness, and a certain air of frigid coldness that emanated from the large doors that were at the end.

A man, his shoulder-length white-blonde hair tearing through the wind as he rushed towards the doors with a gilded cane in his hand.

The blonde knocked on the doors twice before announcing himself, “My Lord, I am Lucius. I have some news that you’d like to hear.” 

He waited for a few seconds before the doors were opened and he stepped into the opulently decorated throne room of his master. The room had once been the manor's ballroom, but he could clearly see the changes that his Lord had made to make the room more practical and suited to his tastes. 

Marble columns flanked the walls, each carved with intricate patterns of vines, their surfaces glowing warm gold in the light that poured in from a dozen crystal chandeliers, refracting off gilded mouldings and frescoed ceilings. A soft hush lingered in the air, thick with the scent of old tomes, wax polish, and old furniture that was placed around the room.

“My Lord.” Lucius kneeled before the throne. 

“Rise.” A distinctively clear voice commanded from behind the throne. “What is it that has brought you here despite my clear order to not disturb me unless I call for you?”

“It was important, master.” Lucius spoke, “Word came from Greyback.” 

“And what did our friend say?” Voldemort asked him, turning a page from the tome that was open in his lap.

“He has asked for a month.” The Malfoy Lord answered. “Apparently he had disbanded his pack after….” Lucius didn’t continue. “So, he needs some time to contact them or recruit a few new blood.” 

“We need to finish the task before the next Wizengamot session, Lucius, or else it would be of no use.” Voldemort said. “Tell Greyback to get as many as he can and to arrive within a week at most.”

“As you say, my Lord.” Lucius bowed once more before he immediately left the room, leaving the Dark Lord to his thoughts. 

Tom Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort, gazed into the cackling fire of the hearth that was in front of him. His red eyes glowed with power as the anger he had been trying to suppress rose in leaps and bounds when he thought of the woman who was hell-bent on ruining his plans. 

She had not only killed more than half of his recent recruits but had also made his return public far sooner than he’d have liked. 

‘And now she is going for the minister’s chair.’ He thought, remembering Cyrus Greengrass’ report regarding the thunderstorm that was brewing inside the ministry. It was one of the reasons that they needed to instill fear in her heart. 

Fear of being all alone. Fear of losing her loved ones. Fear of….Lord Voldemort. 

And the one way to do that was to threaten the one person who was closest to her: Susan Bones.

He still cursed himself for his hasty plan to execute the Bones family. It had been a mistake on his part to assume that the moment he gained a new body, his former strength had returned as well.

He was powerful. There was not a single doubt about the fact that other than Dumbledore, there was not a single soul in the entirety of Britain that could give him any trouble.

Still, he wasn’t as powerful as he was before being demolished by the Potter kid, and to admit that felt as if he was swallowing a burning hot needle that scorched its way through his gut.

He didn’t know what had happened to the kid after that one night. The last time he had seen the boy was when he had gone to kill him. It had been another thing that he cursed himself for, and unfortunately, it was one of the things that he couldn't reverse no matter the number of times he thought about it.

‘To think that the kid died even before I could be resurrected…’ Voldemort shook his head; the first thing that he had asked for when Crouch Jr. had come to him was for the boy’s location, only to learn that the kid had died long ago.

‘You were blessed by luck, Harry Potter….’ He thought as he turned another page in his tome. ‘....or else I’d have loved to torture you for what I had to suffer for the last fifteen years.’

⁂

Harry gave a tired sigh as he looked around the Potions classroom that was in the dungeons of the old castle. He didn’t know why they would teach something as dangerous as potions in the dungeons instead of an open classroom in a tower.

Still, it wasn’t his place to point it out. After all, he was here for one year at most, and his job was to protect the girl who stood in front of him, not to correct the location of a class that he wasn’t even remotely interested in.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapours and odd smells. There were bubbling cauldrons of various sizes and colours that had been placed around them. 

The seating arrangements were quite unusual. 

Potions had been chosen by only a few students since most of them weren’t qualified for its N.E.W.T. level. The small group included five from Hufflepuff, four from Gryffindor, four from Slytherin, and three from Ravenclaw. 

Since it automatically came to four students per table, all of them had decided to sit with their own houses. His eyes briefly crossed with the Greengrass heiress, who stood between a pug-faced girl with a black bob hairstyle and a tall, lanky boy with pimples all over his face.

Susan, Hannah, and Justin had been joined by Ernie Macmillan, and they had decided that Harry could join the Ravenclaws since Ernie had bad blood with two of the Claws and wouldn’t have been welcomed at their table.

Harry didn’t have any problem with that.

The class had started off quite well, with the paunchy professor taking his merry time to introduce them to a few potions like the Veritaserum, Polyjuice, and Amortentia, which he had already prepared in three separate cauldrons.

After that, he gave Granger a few points for being able to correctly identify each of them and then told them about how Amortentia couldn’t actually create love, as it was impossible to create something as pure as that.

That was all well and good. 

What bored him was the excessively long and exaggerated lecture on the fourth potion called Felix Felicis, or ‘Liquid Luck’ that the old man had prepared for them. Harry quickly saw the way every student was attracted to it. After all, who wouldn’t want to have a bottle of luck lying around, right? Wrong. 

Harry already had three vials, and he still didn’t want to use any of it since he already knew the side effects of using it uselessly.

“And that,” said Slughorn, suddenly giddy, “is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson.”

Pin drop silence followed the announcement, in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.

“One tiny vial of Liquid Luck,” The professor brought a small glass vial with a cork in it out of his pocket and showed it to them all. “Enough for twelve hours’ luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.”

“I’m so going to use this during our quidditch match!” Weasley whispered to the boy beside him. “This time, Gryffindor will definitely win the cup.”

Unfortunately, it seemed as if Harry wasn’t the only one who heard the lanky redhead because Slughorn quickly warned them against using it in any sort of competition, which included Quidditch, exams, or any other event like elections.

“So,” Slughorn grinned, “how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making.” He said before checking his wristwatch. “We have…..a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death.”

“Now,” he raised his hand to halt them from complaining. “I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Pip pip!!”

Suddenly, the silent classroom filled with all the puffs of smoke and aromas transformed into a battleground of concentrated students, each of whom wanted to get the prize for themselves. 

Some started to draw their pewter cauldrons toward them, and some began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. 

The concentration as well as frustration of the students within the room was almost tangible. 

Harry gave another yawn.

He was bored. 

The Draught of Living Death, Amortentia, Veritaserum and its antidote, Polyjuice, and even that blasted little Liquid Luck…..nothing that the jolly professor had explained was exciting enough to interest him.

It wasn’t the man’s fault. No, Harry knew that if it was actually his first time hearing these names, he’d have salivated at the chance of brewing them. As it was, it wasn’t his first time.

There were certain potions that were used extensively in his line of work. Potions that they had been taught quite well at The Dragon, and ones he had brewed enough times to make them from scratch without even bothering with the stupid instructions.

The Draught of Living Death and its antidote, which was known as the Wiggenweld potion, was one of the most important ones that had been taught to him in his fourth year.

“Harry…Carter, right?” An elderly voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to look at the smiling face of the paunchy professor. “Can you possibly be related to James Carter? Or maybe Richard Carter? The Quidditch prodigy from Gryffindor.”

“No, I don’t think so, sir.” Harry shook his head. “I am a muggleborn, you see. The only Carters I know of are my parents.”

“A muggleborn you say?” Slughorn frowned a bit, tugging at his walrus moustache. “Are you sure you’re not from a wizarding family? A long-lost relative, perhaps? Because I am quite certain that I’ve taught a few faces like yours.”

“Purely coincidental.” Harry nodded.

“Ah, well, never mind it then!” The man waved off before he looked behind Harry. “Although, I am curious as to why you’re not brewing the draught like others. Do you need help understanding the steps?”

“No, sir, the steps are quite easy to follow.” Harry answered before adding. “Although there are a few steps that are a bit disappointing."

A few tables away, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, heard Harry’s words and was about to scoff at him for even doubting the instructions that were clearly stated in the book.

Yet, before she could, her attention was once more pulled by the mysterious boy who was having a merry chat with their potions professor. 

“Disappointing, you say?” asked Horace, even though his face boasted a small knowing smirk. “And what are those?”

“For starters, the third step says to boil the infusion of wormwood, but it’d be more effective if we just brought it to a gentle simmer before stirring it. Not to mention that the simple anti-clockwise stirring is inefficient. We should stir it clockwise after every seventh anticlockwise.”

“That’s quite a specific number, Carter,” said Slughorn, beaming at the boy. “What else?”

“Well, the fourth step says to slice the sopophorous beans, but crushing them will give more juice, and then there’s the sixth step, which says you should drop all asphodel petals at once, but adding them gradually with a figure-eight stir is far more effective.” 

“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, Harry!” Horace laughed, patting Harry’s back. “Have you perhaps brewed the Draught before? The level of precision you gave doesn’t come just from the books.”

“I have, sir.” The merc nodded. “It was one of the few potions that had been taught quite extensively in my previous school.”

“Sounds like a good school.” The professor nodded, smiling widely. “What else did they teach you in potions?” 

“Quite a lot, sir,” said Harry. “The professor, Charles Xavier, was quite the fellow. Exceptionally well versed in draughts, poisons, and antidotes.” 

“Was?” 

“He went missing last year.” Harry sighed. “No one knows where he is, but he always said that he wanted to visit the states and open a school there.”

“Quite an ambitious man, eh?” Horace nodded. “Anyways, I am quite sure that a skilled student like you can brew it once more for me, right? I’d like to see your expertise myself.”

“Certainly, sir.” Harry nodded and began loading the scales. 

What the merc didn’t know was that the rest of the class, excluding the Slytherins, had been listening quite intently to his conversation with the Potions master, and after hearing the high praise from Slughorn, a few of them, including Susan, had even changed their steps to match his.

The class ended with him being the only one with the perfect draught of Living Death, and as a result, he was awarded the tiny vial of Felix Felicis too. 

But did that mean that Slughorn didn’t give others anything? No, he was a good professor, and no matter the student, he made sure that everyone got something.

Therefore, the rest of them got homework.

“That was awesome, Harry,” Justin exclaimed as they left the dungeons. “I didn’t know we had a Potions prodigy among us!”

“Not a prodigy. Just some extra practice.” Harry looked back at Susan. “So, how was your potion? I heard Slughorn say something with the words ‘almost there'?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I was in the top five of the class, just behind Hermione and Padma, and obviously you.”

“Top five is good.” He nodded. “And don’t count me in it. I’m quite sure I’d have failed if this was my first attempt.”

“Did you?” Hannah asked him from his other side. 

“Did I what?” 

“Fail your first attempt.” She clarified. “You said you would have.”

“I did.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not a prodigy at potions. Just decent enough with lots of practice.”

“Prodigy or not, Slughorn is certainly impressed with you.” Susan told him as the group took the staircase. “He didn’t even give you the homework that we have to submit on the coming Thursday.”

“Lucky me.” The merc grinned at the three. “Also, even if he had, it’s not like an essay on the draught’s uses is tough. It'd not take more than an hour to finish.”

“That’s because you already know what to write in it. We don’t.” Justin shook his head. “We’ll have to work our arse off to get the correct book and then make sure that our work doesn’t seem copied.”

“If that’s too much work, I can help you.”

“Really?” Hannah grinned. “Oh, my saviour! Where were you all these years?” 

“Saving beautiful girls from the evil curse of homework.” He grinned. “It's a full-time job, y’know?”

“Oh?” Hannah smirked at him, leaning in a bit closer. “And how many girls have you saved to date, Mr. Carter?”

“A few.” He smiled, “Though they were better at showing their gratitude.”

“Really? And how did they do that?” She grinned by playfully wrapping her arm around his.

“I’ll tell you after your homework is done.” He gave a small wink before the two dissolved into peals of laughter that were followed by Justin and Susan.

⁂

Harry looked around as they entered the DADA classroom that was on the third floor of the castle. 

The classroom was quite gloomy, as thick black curtains had been drawn over the tall glass windows, and the room was illuminated only by torches that had been placed alongside the black stone wall.

There were a few glass cases behind the teacher’s desk that held tomes on curses, counters, and creatures that they might study under their new professor, Severus Snape. 

The walls were occasionally lined with shelves that preserved specimens of creatures in shadowy jars—a gruesome reminder of the dangers that the students were learning to repel. They also boasted a few pictures, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries, or with strangely contorted body parts. 

Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.

After the last student had entered, Snape closed the door and went to face the class from behind his desk. “I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention.”

“You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe,” said Snape. “Naturally, all of them had their own methods and priorities as to how you should be taught. Given this confusion, I am not surprised so few of you actually managed to scrape an O.W.L. in this subject.”

His onyx eyes roved over them before lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry’s emerald ones. 

“This year, we have another surprise in the form of a new student who had somehow managed to enrol himself straight into the sixth-year DADA batch, and I could only hope that he, alongside you dunderheads, manages to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced than any you have had before.”

Snape set off around the edge of the room, his dark robes billowing behind him as he spoke now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view.

“Despite all of our differences, I believe each of the DADA professors wanted to see you as an excellent student who not only understands the subject but also uses it to the best of your limited capabilities.” 

Harry frowned at the way the professor’s eyes kept on turning towards him after every few seconds. It felt as if the greasy-haired man was scrutinising him for some reason. It didn’t matter much to him, but there was still a cold, almost frigid aura around the bat-like professor.

“There is one major misconception that I would like to clear about the Dark Arts.” He spoke a bit louder. “The Dark Arts are ever changing, and their results are quite….painful for the victim.”

“These pictures that you see on the walls,” he pointed at a few of them as he swept past, “give an apt representation of what happens to those who suffer from them, and as you can see, none of them look particularly appreciable.” 

“It is prudent of us to assume that the Dark Arts—ever changing and painfully destructive as they seem—cannot be destroyed or, in some cases, countered even.” His eyes traced them. “But they can be challenged, and with the right thinking, there is a small chance that you might even survive an encounter with them.”

“Now...” He continued, “...I believe none of the teachers taught you how to cast a nonverbal spell, which is what you’ll be learning for the next two weeks.” He added. “Can anyone tell me the advantages of using a nonverbal spell?”

When none of them raised their hands, Snape answered it himself. “Nonverbal spells are useful in duels and battles because your opponent has no prior indication about the kind of magic you’re about to perform,” he explained, “which means they can’t counter it immediately.”

“Those who are able to use their magic without the unnecessary need of shouting incantations gain a small element of surprise in their spell-casting. Of course, not all wizards can do this; it is a question of concentration, willpower, and magic, which some of you….” His eyes found Harry once more, “.....might lack.”

“To practice,” he turned towards his desk again, and they watched him as he walked, “you will now divide into pairs. One will attempt to jinx the other with a simple leg-locker, while the other will use the shield charm. Without speaking, of course.” 

They immediately scrambled out, choosing their spots and pairing up with their friends. Which, once more, left Harry without any partner, as both Susan and Hannah paired up, and neither Justin nor any other Puff had qualified for the DADA class. 

“Carter?” A voice came from behind Harry, and he turned to look at the Ravenclaw, who waved at him. “I’m Terry, Terry Boot. We can team up if you want.”

“Sure.” Harry nodded and joined the curly-haired boy. “So, what will you do?”

“I’m bad with shields, so I'll try to perform the jinx first.”

And with that they set the pace for their work as Harry took a lazy stance, his wand in his hand, and watched as his partner attempted to jinx him. Snape walked between the students, correcting a few and keeping an eye out to make sure that no one whispers the spells.

The merc gazed at a few more students like Susan and Hannah, who were trying their level best to silently cast the spells, while a few, like Michael Corner, were muttering it as quietly as they could.

Terry, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face as he tried, and failed, to silently cast the leg-locker jinx. 

“As pathetic as ever, Boot,” said Snape as he approached the duo. “Here—let me show you—”

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that the merc reacted on instinct as he dodged the purple leg-locker but failed to intercept the almost imperceptible legilimency probe that was hidden under it.

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Ending Note: There we go! Liked it? Loved it? Needs some changes? Please, do tell.

I am waiting for all your comments. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Thank you for reading and your comments,

With regards,
Dev Black