Bag of Depravity
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Evening the Odds: Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 04:07:33 +0000 UTCA/N: I wanted to fit the whole first day into this chapter but it was already getting long, so I'm breaking what was going to be this chapter into two (while I continue working on the second half). Chapter 12 will probably go up tomorrow along with a chapter of something else.
Chapter 11
Lessons Begin
“One day, Mr. Jackson. That is stunningly quick work. We professors were supposed to have our Sunday off, but as ever, other plans were in store.”
Professor McGonagall was trying to look intimidating. Even though it was the first time we met I was used to the look she was giving me. I’d seen it on too many teachers for it to affect me anymore— although none of those other teachers could turn my chair into a hungry animal if I annoyed them too badly.
“If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your relaxing evening.”
“That is not what I meant. After how you acted today, I have no choice but to hold a meeting. Using magic to assault another student is a serious issue. Suspensions have been handed out for less.”
I groaned. After sorting out the bullies from Ravenclaw everything seemed fine, until I was pulled away from dinner for this meeting. Turns out, Marietta hadn’t been running away because she was scared. She went straight to the professor she thought would be the harshest and tattled.
“I went over this before. I didn’t use magic.”
“Mr. Carmichael’s nose was broken by a shoe. How else would it have struck him, if not via banishing?”
“I threw it.”
It wasn’t all that smart, but I was never good with these kinds of conversations, so I slowed my speech down as if I was talking to a little kid. At the same time, I pantomimed throwing a fastball.
“Quite the accurate throw,” McGonagall said.
“Thank you.”
A strange look crossed her face. I thought she was going to keep accusing me of using magic, but instead she asked, “Have you ever played Chaser?”
A few weeks ago I would’ve been lost. Fortunately, Quidditch was almost half of what Ron talked about. It was impossible not to pick up the terms after hanging around him.
“Flying and I don’t mix,” I said.
“A fear of heights. That’s unfortunate.” I didn’t correct McGonagall as she leaned back in her seat. “Magic or not, I can hardly overlook an attack on another student.”
The smart thing would’ve been to keep quiet. Again: I never claimed to be good at this.
“You were doing a pretty good job ignoring bullying.”
This time, McGonagall really glared at me. “Contrary to your tone, it is impossible to catch everything that happens among hundreds of students. Professors do our best. We rely on incidents being reported— the correct course of action when such behavior is witnessed.”
I snorted.
“Is something funny, Mr. Jackson?”
“Sorry.” Even I knew I didn’t sound sorry. “I just thought it was funny how teachers use the same line everywhere.”
I’ll admit, Hogwarts was different from a lot of the schools I’d been to. It was for everyone, not just the problem kids that had been weeded out of the regular schools. Still, I grew up rubbing shoulders with kids like Nancy Bobofit in the only places that would take us. You could tell on bullies all you wanted. They would just hit harder the next time they caught you alone. I’d only found one way to keep them quiet.
Hit them back harder than they could handle.
It even worked for me when I got to camp, just swap out hitting harder for waterboarding the bully with sewage. Oh, and snap her daddy’s spear while you're at it.
“Violence only creates more violence, Mr. Jackson. These things are left in the hands of professors for a reason. Detention and point deductions are time-tested deterrents against poor behavior.”
I finally stopped myself from running my mouth, the professor’s words reminding me of something I’d been wondering.
“What’s up with those house points?” I asked.
Even if I was pissing her off, she remembered that I was a transfer student. She sounded eager as she explained the system to me.
“Points will be given and taken away on the basis of behavior. The four houses compete with one another to accrue the largest tally. At the end of the year, the House Cup is awarded to the house with the best record. Gryffindor has won three of the last five years, if you were wondering.”
I could tell she was proud, but it still didn’t make any sense to me. “But… what do you get?”
“The House Cup. As I’ve just said.”
“And… why would I want that?”
“It’s an honor!” Professor McGonagall said. “Winners are recorded by year in the history of the school. There’s no better way of showing house pride. Other than, perhaps, Quidditch. Gryffindor has won the last two of those cups.”
“So there isn’t a prize for getting the House Cup? Not even a pizza party or something?”
“The House Cup is the prize,” McGonagall repeated.
“And the students care?”
“Of course!”
I couldn’t hide my confusion. “Why?”
“Because it’s an honor.” It was McGonagall’s turn to talk slowly, like I was an idiot. “It’s the best way to show house pride.”
It was clear we weren’t getting anywhere. Apparently it was an honor to win the cup, but it still sounded like an imaginary trophy won with imaginary points to me.
Our meeting concluded with my sentencing: detention twice a week for the next three weeks held with Professor McGonagall herself. After that, I was released to trudge back to the common room. It took me thirty minutes because I kept taking wrong turns.
I gave the portrait over the door the password. “Balderdash.”
She looked like she was falling asleep, her head drooping and her eyes almost shut, but she drowsily snapped her fingers and swung open.
The common room was still busy. Harry spotted me, sitting with Ron and Ginny, and gestured me over.
“McGonagall got her fangs into you already?” Ron said. “Unlucky mate. Kind of impressive, though. You almost beat our brothers’ record.”
“What was it about?” Ginny asked.
“Wrackspurts.”
Ron furrowed his forehead. “The things Luna’s always going on about?”
“Yeah, those.” I leaned over to Harry. “What’s that?”
He was writing something on parchment with a quill. I couldn’t get over the fact that wizards still used those.
“It’s a lesson,” Harry said. “For you.”
He finished writing and slid it toward me. It took me longer than it should’ve to read it because my dyslexia made the letters float around the page, but it was a description of different spells. They were ordered by difficulty so I could practice the easiest ones first. Entry number one was something called the Levitation Charm.
“But these are easy!” Ginny said.
She had leaned closer to me to read over my shoulder.
“They’re supplemental,” Harry said.
“Harry, these are first year spells.”
“Perfect for me to start practicing,” I said.
Harry had written out the incantations and even drawn the way I was meant to move my wand so I could practice on my own. Ginny and Ron were fixing me with funny looks. I didn’t feel like explaining that I didn’t know a single spell, so I decided to start practicing.
Since he was sitting next to me, Harry demonstrated the first charm.
“You move your wand like this—” He swished it down and sort of to the side. “—while saying, Wingardium Leviosa!”
The lesson sheet floated off the table. I poked it with my finger but it just kind of wobbled, refusing to fall to the table. “Neat!”
“Give it a try,” Harry said.
Ginny and Ron were shooting me funny looks. I think they were starting to realize that I wasn’t an Ilvermorny student after all. Or their opinion of Ilvermorny was dropping at an unprecedented rate.
Ignoring that, I took my wand out. I could still feel my connection to it, even if it was a bummer that it didn’t randomly shoot saltwater anymore. Having it in my hand felt familiar.
“You’re left handed?” Ron asked.
“Nah. I’m a rightie.”
“But your holding your wand—”
“I like doing it this way,” I said. “It feels more comfortable.”
My wand was in my left hand. Since I’d never cast any spells before, it didn’t feel awkward to use my non-dominant side. Maybe I’d learn slightly faster if I did it with my right, but that was my sword arm. I’d feel like I was cheating on Riptide.
I remembered the way Harry’s hand moved. When I moved mine, it was a perfect copy.
“Wingardium Leviosa!”
I aimed at something slightly heavier than a piece of paper. Ron had left a Quidditch magazine words-down on the table. I focused on it and tried to make it fly.
I thought it might’ve twitched, but gravity kept hold of the magazine like the big bully that it was.
“Dang,” I said.
“That wasn’t bad for a first try!” Harry said. “You got the wand movement perfect. Your pronunciation was just a bit off. Try to emphasize the middle syllable of ‘wing’ when you say it.”
I knew enough Latin after my stays in Rome to handle the –ardium like it was second nature, but the incantation wasn’t exactly Latin. It was some kind of hybrid. A few more tries and I perfected the pronunciation like the gesture. But the magazine still wouldn’t float.
“Keep at it,” Harry encouraged. “It took me multiple classes to learn a spell when I was just starting. You’ve got the most important parts down. Now it’s all about concentration and intent.”
Something about holding my wand and actually using it was making me giddy. I kept casting, failing, and casting again for so long that the common room cleared out. Harry was the last to leave.
“Don’t stay up too late. Classes start tomorrow,” he said.
I nodded and said, “Wingardium Leviosa.”
At this point the magazine was twitching and fighting to fly every time, but we were still pushing for liftoff.
Once I was alone I closed my eyes. The whole room was quiet, which made it easier to concentrate. Harry said that intent was what made spells work. It reminded me of manipulating Mortals with the Mist. That was all about envisioning what the target wanted to see to conjure the illusion. This was a little different. It was about picturing what I wanted, and forcing that into reality.
It reminded me of how I controlled water. So I thought about it the same way. Like I was trying to summon a wave, I cast the levitation spell. “Wingardium Leviosa!”
Bang!
The noise made my eyes shoot open. I’d made the magazine fly! Just not the way I imagined.
The whole table shot up faster than a pegasus taking flight, slammed into the ceiling, and broke into pieces. I dove back to get out from under the falling pieces.
I lay on my back, wondering if others would come to investigate, but no one did. They must’ve assumed it was Peeves up to something or some other quirk of the castle.
I giggled. Over time, I won’t deny it, my laugh turned into a mad scientist's cackle.
Percy Jackson could do magic! Innocent tables everywhere, beware!
O-O-O
My first class at Hogwarts turned out to be Herbology. Not the most magical class, but it was cool to spend time outdoors.
From what I heard from Harry and Ron, they were used to Herbology being held inside a greenhouse. But this was NEWT level now. That meant tougher tasks and bigger, scarier plants.
“Listen carefully students!” Professor Sprout said as she led us across the grounds. “You’ve all proven yourselves as skilled tenders of plants. This year, things will become a bit more advanced. A mistake could cause serious injury, so please split into pairs and watch over your partner at all times.”
Harry and Ron paired off. I joined Neville Longbottom. He was the only other one of our roommates in the class, so it just kind of happened. I noticed that he was listening to Professor Sprout more intently than anyone else. I didn’t know him too well, but I’d never seen him smile this way.
“Today we’ll be tending the Whomping Willow, trimming its roots after the long summer. You must follow my directions exactly! If aggravated, the willow will not hesitate to lash out.”
“It’s always aggravated,” Ron grumbled.
The tree in question came into sight. It was gnarled and leafless with spiky branches that stabbed toward the sky. A songbird flew harmlessly over the tree. One of the branches struck like a whip, reducing it to a cloud of feathers with a shortened chirp.
“See?” said Ron.
Sprout approached the tree carefully and fearlessly. “Watch your distance at all times, students. Step only where I do and avoid any loud noises. If startled, the tree is guaranteed to lash out.”
She followed a spiral path, curving toward the trunk. The branches twitched a few times but they didn’t go for her.
Professor Sprout knelt, humming a soothing tune, and used her wand to trim some of the protruding roots. The Whomping WIllow’s branches shivered like a dog getting scratched. Smiling, Sprout beckoned us students forward.
“One group at a time,” she said softly.
Professor Sprout mixed physical and verbal signals to send students to the right places. Without meaning to I had totally lucked out. Neville was so good at this I barely had to do anything.
Our job was to hold roots still and extract their sap. I handled the holding part while Neville did the extraction. Since my job was so simple, I watched the tree.
The way it moved reminded me of some of the things Grover could do when he got serious. I’d never seen a tree that was so naturally angry. Professor Sprout had said it was a species. Were all of them like this?
Harry and Ron were hard at work behind us. Their job was a little bit different, collecting bark instead of extracting sap. They were using their wands to chip away pieces. It was slow work. The bark was almost as hard as metal.
Suddenly, it felt like someone was watching me.
I turned my head to see if it was Professor Sprout. No— she was talking to a completely different duo. I looked the other way. Was it a student?
When I finally gave up, that’s when I saw it, but only for a second. A green face had been staring at me from the trunk of the tree. The face disappeared, but I’d gotten the tree’s attention— specifically, the attention of the nymph living inside it. She’d noticed her bark being scraped away and she wasn’t happy.
At least I’m assuming why a branch tried to crush Ron’s head from behind.
It happened so fast that no one was looking. I let go of the root I was holding for Neville. Instead of letting Ron get hit, I held my arm out and caught the blow on my palm.
It was an awkward angle. My shoulder immediately ached. But the branch bounced back with a heavy bang.
Ron reacted fast, yelping and scrambling away. Other students panicked and quickly moved back. They didn’t follow the paths Professor Sprout showed us, but the willow didn’t lash out at any of them. Maybe because I was glaring at it.
“Excellent shield charm, Mr. Jackson,” Professor Sprout said as loudly as she could while inside the tree’s range. “Twelve points to Gryffindor.”
“It almost took my bloody head off!” Ron said, staring angrily at the tree. “What’d I even do to it?”
“Maybe it remembers us,” Harry suggested.
I noticed Neville staring at me. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open. He was the only person who noticed my wand wasn’t out.
I winked at him. “Shhh.”
Even though he still looked half-terrified, Neville closed his mouth and gave me a nod.
He was a good kid.
O-O-O
Our second class before lunch was Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was Harry’s best subject but you could’ve fooled me. Walking into the classroom, he looked like a prisoner going for his last meal.
I don’t know if this will make sense, but Professor Snape looked like a monster pretending to be human.
I’ve dealt with my fair share of them from Mrs. Dodds to Dr. Thorn, and Snape had worse hygiene than half of them. His black hair was oily and he had an ugly hooked nose. If he ever wanted to go as an evil kiddie-eating witch for Halloween, he wouldn’t even need a costume. One cackle and I’d be convinced he lived in a candy house.
He prowled around the room past our desks, not doing anything to help that monster-in-disguise impression.
“You have had a plentiful supply of Professors for this subject,” Snape said. His voice was as oily as his hair. “They were fools. If they were not, they would still be standing here. Now, however, you have me. Consider yourselves lucky. There is no one better to prepare you for the Dark Arts and their insidious, unpredictable, and manifold powers. When faced with a Dementor, what would you do?”
He barked the question at twice the volume he’d been talking. I saw at least five students flinch.
A Hufflepuff student and Hermione both raised their handstime. Snape looked straight at Hermione before turning his head. “Mr. Macmillan?”
“Make a Patronus, Sir.”
“Can you? With your soul seconds from being sucked from your body, do you have what it takes to summon the one thing capable of saving yourself?”
“I can cast the charm, Sir.”
“Then do so,” Snape said.
The Hufflepuff took out his wand. I could see he was focusing hard. “Expecto—”
Snape swished his wand. A pile of water fell on the student out of nowhere, ruining his wand movement and spoiling his incantation.
“Sir—!” the boy spluttered.
“A resounding failure!” Snape turned aside, glaring at the rest of the class. “The presence of a single Dementor means staring down your worst memories. Your body will go cold and your heart will be reduced to a pounding lump. Do you think casting a spell in a cozy classroom means you have mastered it? If so, I invite you to walk out of that door. You will face worse than cold water in a duel for your life.”
“He could’ve said that without dousing Ernie,” Harry muttered angrily.
I raised my hand.
I think Snape was going to ignore it until he saw who it was. I guess he was curious about me. He pointed at my hand. “Our esteemed transfer student has a question?”
“Could you pour water on me next?”
“I see you are a few ounces short of a cauldron,” Snape said smoothly. “You’ll fit in excellently with your current company.”
He turned away and I didn’t even get the shower that I wanted. I could hear Ron snickering.
Snape showed the class a series of bodies after that. They were mutilated in different ways, from being a colorless husk to a bloody mess. He described what dark creature got to them, how they had been killed, and suggested things that would’ve saved them “...had they possessed a smidgen of ability.”
Finally, the lesson for the day came up.
“You are all novices in non-verbal casting, I believe,” Snape said.
The joke was on him. I was a novice in verbal casting, too.
“In a duel, underestimating the element of surprise will make you not just a fool, but a dead fool. To cast without incantation is to surprise your enemy. I could be the difference between life and death… For those of you with the skill to manage it. Without an incantation the mind must work twice as hard. I am certain that some among you are already finding your mind power… lacking.”
Snape and Harry glared at each other. I wasn’t sure what that was about. I saw Harry’s hands clenched his hands. Snape turned away first.
“I assume that you are competent enough to cast a shield? Split into partners. We will see how you manage without incantations to rely on.” Snape’s glare swept the class. “Well? Begin!”
Students hurried to do as he said. I ended up paired with Neville again.
“Hey, what spells are we supposed to be shooting at each other?” I asked.
“Oh, anything, I assume.” He laughed in a nervous way. “Maybe a Jelly-Legs Jinx?”
“Cool. How do I do that?”
“Oh, it doesn’t have to be that one! Any harmless jinx you know…”
“Let’s use the Jelly-Legs one,” I said. “Just show it to me a few times.”
Neville nodded and muttered something, blushing. He cast a spell with a purple bolt and I let it hit me.
For a brief second it felt like my legs might be weakening. It was so short that I couldn’t be sure if I was imagining it. I was still standing as tall as ever.
“Huh. Show it to me again,” I said.
“Don’t you need the counter-curse?”
“I’m good. Just one more time.”
One more time turned into two more, which turned into five more, which became ten. Eventually I was pretty sure I understood. I tried to use the spell myself… but no luck. The mental side of each spell was subtly different. Using a Jelly-Legs Jinx was different from making a table float in the same way that making a tidal wave wasn’t the same as forming a hurricane. Eventually, I managed to muster a jinx that worked. Neville’s legs wobbled and folded, dropping him to the ground.
I’m sure the Shield Charm was a harder spell, but in this class it was easier to fake. I watched the wand movement our classmates were making and just copied it. Of course I didn’t manage to actually cast it silently, but almost no one else was either. Neville and I jinxed each other back and forth, taking turns without managing to block anything— and we weren’t the only ones. Most students were doing the same thing we were.
So it was total targeting when Snape appeared behind Ron and said, “Pathetic. I expected it, Weasley, but to think this is the best you can manage. An example is in order—”
He turned his wand on Harry. I could tell that Harry hadn’t lived a peaceful life, because his reaction would’ve made Chiron proud. He raised a shield so fast that Snape didn’t even get the chance to hit him with a spell. He just forgot to do it silently.
Harry’s “Protego!” echoed through the room along with the clatter of Snape falling backwards into a desk.
Snape pulled himself up as fast as possible, scowling.
“Did you recall, anywhere inside that pitiful head of yours, that today’s lesson is about non-verbal spellcasting?”
“It was a reaction,” Harry muttered.
“It was a reaction, Sir.”
“There’s no need to call me ‘Sir,’ Professor.”
I couldn’t help laughing. Ron cracked up too, along with Dean and Seamus and some of the other boys in the class. Hermione looked upset, but not half as much as Snape did.
“That will be detention for you, Potter. I will be seeing you Saturday night in my office,” Snape said. “You’re certainly fond of your tongue. Perhaps that’s why you continuously fail to cast without it. Unless it’s yet another failure of what lies behind your eyes.”
Harry’s cheeks burned with anger and shame. Not for the first time, I felt like I was missing out on a crucial explanation.
Even if I didn’t understand everything, Snape was rubbing me the wrong way. He might look different, but he was acting the same as Eddie Carmichael. I probably couldn’t get away with launching a shoe into his face, though.
I’d have to try something a little different.
“Sir, could you demonstrate for me too?” I asked.
The whole room got silent in a weird way, like they all had an agreement not to get in Harry and Snape’s way. Snape put his full attention on me, a sneer on his face.
“So far as I have seen, you are yet to produce the slightest shimmer in the air for your efforts. A few more hours of practice are in order before you could make sense of my instruction… or perhaps days.”
“Harry must be doing well then,” I said. “Since you already worked with him personally.”
Snape’s sneer turned extra nasty as he realized I’d used his excuse against him. “Hardly,” he said. “Every student, regardless of their lacking abilities, deserves a chance at instruction. Even ones who are likely to waste it.”
He strode to Neville’s spot with his robes billowing. “Move.”
Neville flinched and stumbled back. He tripped on his heels and would’ve fallen on his butt if Hermione and Dean didn’t grab his shoulders to keep him up.
“I will now demonstrate proper non-verbal casting.” Snape didn’t fool me; I could hear the malice under his bored tone. “Watch carefully, for there will not be a second example.”
He moved his wand in a pattern I didn’t recognize. For the first time since I started, I messed up the wand movement. Everyone saw it, so they knew for a fact that there was no way I cast the charm successfully.
Snape’s spell was electric blue. I have no idea what it was meant to do because when it hit me, all I felt was an almost unnoticeable itch that faded as soon as it started. Just like Neville’s Jelly-Legs Jinx.
“Can you do it over again, Sir?” I asked. “It seems like the spell didn’t work.”
Snape’s face had lost all expression. He couldn’t tell what was happening. He knew that he did it right, but because there was no reaction, to everyone else it looked like a dud.
Snape used a different spell. I flubbed my wand movement again. A bolt (bright red, this time) hit me and made me blink, but that was it.
“Are you sure you’ve got the hang of this, Sir?”
The class was whispering to each other. For once, Snape was speechless. He could tell that I was pulling some kind of trick but he was helpless to understand how.
“Maybe you need to focus a little bit harder?” I suggested.
“Detention with Potter!” Snape said. “For mocking a teacher!”
He’d lost control of the situation and everyone knew it. To get it back, he turned on the person who happened to be closest— Parvati, Lavender’s best friend. Barking at her to shield herself, he barely gave her enough time to move her wand before hitting her with a jinx that dropped her to her knees. Parvati yelped and struggled to her feet, looking like she might cry.
Snape spent the rest of the period ‘demonstrating’ non-verbal jinxes on the rest of the class to prove that he could do them. But it didn’t matter. Everyone remembered that it hadn’t worked on me. The aura of superiority he’d tried to build up from the first minute had taken an irrecoverable hit. As I watched him prowl around jinxing his students and barely offering tips — let alone teaching — I came to a resolution.
Before this year was up, he was going to make him hate me just as much as he hated Harry. One class at a time.
Comments
snapg00
Hehe yeah boy! Loving it already. 😑where chapter 12 tho
