All Slytherin Students fifth year or above are now eligible to fill out an application for the Investigational Assistants. This elite group helps to maintain order and assists teachers in picking out those who threaten to unbalance the peace of our beloved school. All applications will be distributed and collected by Professor Amycus Carrow in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Positions are limited.
Matthias snorts in disgust. "It's like that Umbridge hag is here all over again. Hell, it's just the Inquisitorial Squad reincarnated and with a less intelligent name."
A dark-haired girl with a pug-like face--Pansy Parkinson, a member of Daphne Greengrass's clique of girls--scowls at us.
"It's important!" she snaps. "The Inquisitorial Squad did quite a bit of good, and the Investigational Assistants will be even better with such strong leaders like the Carrows!"
Of course. By assissting teachers it means assissting the Carrows.
"That all depends on the members," Matthias retorts, and Pansy clenches her jaw before stalking away from us.
"Do you reckon we should sign up?" I ask Matthias, hoping he'll say no. To my disappointment, he shrugs.
"It sounds stupid, but we'll get to make the Gryffindors pissed at us. They seem to unbalance the peace quite a bit, especially the ones who weigh as much as Longbottom." Chuckling to himself, he turns away from the notice board and wades through a crowd of third years. I follow him.
I vaguely wonder why we are supposed to hate the other Houses so much--with the occasional exception of a particularly nasty Ravenclaw or two. All that seperates us from them are colors and mascots. Besides that, what is there? I remember the Weasley twins, and they were just as cunning as any Slytherin. And Granger--a Muggleborn who I only know about because she was in Harry Potter's group of followers before she, Harry, and another one of the Weasley's whose name I can't remember fled the school--was as clever as any Ravenclaw. There's a boy in Hufflepuff a year older than me named Zacharias Smith, and he's definitely Slytherin material. So what seems to be the problem between all of us?
Astoria is sitting with her sister Daphne, along with Parkinson, Davis, Bullstrode, and Amos Gamp's older sister. From the glances that Parkinson is shooting our way, we decide not to disturb them. Astoria looks like she's been crying, but I don't know why.
"What's wrong with Astoria?" I ask.
Matthias shrugs, but I can see that his fingers are flexing at his sides--something that he usually does when he's lying or angry. Deciding not to push my luck, I change the subject.
"What do you say that we head down to the kitchens to nick something to eat?"
"Sounds good," says Matthias, and we head for the Common Room exit.
The next day brings Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Gryffindors. It is remarkable how similar Amycus looks to Alecto--the only difference is that he has less hair on his upper lip, whereas she has the beginnings of a wispy mustache. They are both stooped and lumpy, with piggy eyes and pudgy hands. Their skin is waxy and pale and highly reminiscent of that of my Uncle Demetrius.
Just like his sister, Mr. Professor Carrow--with two Professor Carrows, it's quite confusing--gives us assigned seats. This time, I am placed next to Amos Gamp. Amos is alright, I suppose. He isn't the brightest of the Slytherins, but he's always good for a laugh. He's slightly plump, with wire-rimmed glasses and a mop of curly blond hair. We used to be friends until he started hanging out with a Hufflepuff girl, and then Matthias didn't let me go near him. But this year, the Hufflepuff is on the run from the Ministry--she was a Muggleborn.
"Hullo, Oliver," Amos greets me, smiling broadly. His speech is slurred slightly, but that's normal for him. He's a Half-Blood, and his parents make him wear some sort of Muggle contraption--something called a retraimer, I believe? Retrainer? Retainer.
"Hey, Amos."
He opens his mouth to speak, but our conversation is interrupted by a loud crashing noise. Beatrice Porter, who is sitting next to another Gryffindor, has tripped over her chair. Amycus--it's rather hard to think of him as intelligent enough to be a professor--smiles nastily.
"That's twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Porter, for class disruption an' unnecessary noise."
Porter purses her lips, but says nothing as she sits down next to her fellow Gryffindor. Her face is a bright red, and the boy next to her looks sympathetic.
"Twenty more points for not giving the appropray--appropa--appropiate apology," wheezes Amycus.
"I apologize, Professor," growls Porter.
"Don't use that tone wi' me or I'll take another ten points."
Porter opens her mouth once more, but Amycus cuts her off. "As you all should know by now, my name is Professor Carrow an' I'll be teaching you Defence 'gainst the Dark Arts. 'Cept, under current circumstances, we'll be needing to get a better compra--compri--comprehension of what we're, er, fighting 'gainst."
I don't hear much more of his speech until a Gryffindor boy--the one next to Porter--raises his hand.
"Excuse me, sir," he says. "If we're going to be practicing these spells, doesn't that make us no better than You-Know-Who?"
Amycus sneers, and I feel almost sorry for the boy. He must not know very much if he's going to say that to a Death Eater.
"Mr. Max," wheezes Amycus. "Given the current circumstances, I would highly recommend that you show the Dark Lord proper respect."
The boy, who I know remember is named Daniel Max, scowls. "Respect? You expect us to show him respect?"
Amycus opens his mouth, looking unsure, but is cut off.
"He's killing people! He's destroying our lives! Why should we give him respect?"
"Fifty points from Gryffindor!" Amycus bellows. "And detention tomorrow night at eight."
"That's after curfew," Daniel says mockingly. "I have to be in my Common Room at five."
Next to him, Porter is looking like she wants to throttle him.
"Then I will arrange to have you escorted!" snaps Amycus. "And another twenty points for defiance and classroom disruption!"
The class goes on undisturbed after that. I can practically feel the hatred radiating off of the Gryffindors, and it makes me nervous. An angry Gryffindor is not someone to cross. Last year, when a seventh year named McLaggen didn't make the Quidditch Team, he hexed Amos so badly that Amos was in the hospital wing for a week.
As the bell is ringing, Amycus stands by the door and hands application for the "Investigational Assistants" (the most stupid-sounding organization that I've ever heard of) to all of the Slytherins. The only one who does not accept one is Astoria, who mutters something about Prefect duties and walks away before either Matthias or I can catch up.
Later, in the Common Room, I see Astoria sitting alone and working on an essay. I'm worried about her. He's always been quiet, but now it's to the point of where she can't even make eye contact with anyone except for her older sister, Daphne.
"Hey," I say, sitting next to her, and she gives a little start of surprise.
"Oliver!" she gasps. "You snuck up on me!"
I shrug, feeling embarassed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."
She smiles. "I know that you didn't mean to."
After a moment, I ask, "Why haven't you been hanging out with Matthias and I?"
She bites her lip and does not meet my gaze, but continues shakily writing her essay. "I... I don't know. Why?"
I lean forward. "Astoria, I know both of you well enough to know that something's bothering you and Matthias won't talk about it. I'm really worried about you, okay?"
She looks me in the eye, and my breath catches slightly in my throat. I've always thought of her eyes as being gray, but they're more of a delicate gray-blue, like the sky after a storm when all of the clouds have gone away. It suits her--she's always been there for others, now I have to be there for her.
"Please tell me," I whisper.
She sets down her quill. Then, so softly that I can hardly hear, "He hit me."
And then she is crying as she rolls up one of her sleeves to expose a large, sickly bruise on her shoulder.
I can feel myself stiffen inside. Why would that complete bastard ever hurt Astoria? She's his girlfriend, for Merlin's sake!
"I'll talk to him."
"No," she chokes out, wiping her eyes. "I... just leave it alone, Oliver."
"Is there anything that I can--?"
"No," she says again. Then she stands up, gathers up her belongings, and runs to her dormitory before I can stop her.