Practice of the Dark Arts was the worst class I had ever experienced, with the exception of Potions. The reason wasn't really the content of the class, but it was the professor that ruined it for me. Mr. Carrow hated me. I wasn't sure why he hated me, but he did. Mixed with his foul mood, it made class almost unbearible. By October, he had already Crucioed me twice and had thrown every object on his desk at me atleast once. He began doing that because I recovered to fast from his cruses for his liking. Because of my father, I was used to them and would normaly just lay in the floor for a few minutes until I got my bearings back and could stand. That would make him angrier than ever. I guess he expected me to lay there, screaming and crying and begging for fogiveness. Yeah; like that was going to happen.
On the other hands, he loved Vincent and Gregory, but mostly Vincent. Any time he wanted a spell demonstarated, he picked one of the two to do it. And they were good, I will admit, but I was just as good, wasn't I? I priavetly trained with my father for over a year and trained the Snatchers, so I had to be. Maybe it was because I was a girl, or maybe he was intimidated. All I knew was that I was the only one he both Crucioed and threw things at.
We were in the middle of doing book work when Vincent looked up.
"Are we going to actually learn Fiendfyre,or are we just going to read about it?" No one else in the class made a sound because we all knew that if any of us had said it then he would have punished us. Mr. Carrow looked at him from his desk.
"As much as I would love for you to expand your boundries and become more skilled at the subject you are already so distinguest at, the rest of the class is not even close to the kind of skill it takes to cast such a curse. If I were to let them attempt, then the whole school would be burned to the ground. So, to answer your question, we will not be learning how to cast Fiendfyre."
"Oh." Vince seemed kind of disapointed. I glanced over at him and started to grab his hands under the table. Before I could, Mr. Carrow stood up.
"Eyes on your book, Snape!" He practically spat my name as he picked up an ink pot off of his desk nad hurled it at me. I dodged it, which only enraged him. So, he picked up a paper weight and tried again, succeeding. It hit me square in the forehead, hard enough to make a good sized knot appear a few minutes later. Vincent bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back his anger. I took his hand under the table, as I had intended to do earlier, and gave it a squeeze, signaling to him that I was okay. His demeter didn't change. I looked back down at the book and, for Vincent's sake, didn't lift my head until the end of class.
.....................................................................................................
Once we were down the hall, Vincent finally let his emotions out.
"I swear if he throws something at you again-"
"Vince, it's fine. It's just a bump. He likes you; don't ruin it."
"But what if he throws something else at you next time? Like a knife or something?"
"Why would he have a knife laying on his desk?"
"I don't know! I was just using it as an example! The point is, he shouldn't be throwing things at you! You didn't even say anything today and he did! There is no excuse for the way he is treating you!"
"I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself!"
"I just don't want to see you hurt again! You're so small and-"
"Why does everyone say that? I'm not weak!"
"I never said you were! I said you were small. Compared to a grown man, you're like a toothpick. I'm affraid he's really going to hurt you."
