"You'll do more than that, Potter. You'll have a detention, straight away after class."
Harry had to stay after anyway to do his practical, so he just nodded. It seemed like Aran was unwilling to brave Snape's wrath over points, but he was willing to do it over a detention. Assuming Harry told his father he'd got one, that is.
That made sense though, in a way. Deep down somewhere, Aran probably knew that his decision to forbid Parseltongue was indefensible. But he could easily defend assigning Harry a detention. All Aran would have to do was tell Snape that Harry had said the word fucking in class.
Harry really didn't want to know what his father would have to say about that.
By the time class was over, Harry was starting to feel like it was second year all over again, people were staring at him so much. He guessed they hadn't expected to see him stand up to Aran.
Nott, he noticed, was giving him speculative glances right until the end of class.
McGonagall showed up just as the last few students were filing out into the hallway.
"Ah, good," said Aran with forced joviality. "Well, I'll retire to my office until you've finished. And then you'll scrub desks, Potter. He has a detention," he added to McGonagall as an aside.
McGonagall spoke briskly. "Isn't this a bit silly, Professor Aran, Potter having to fetch another teacher merely so he might take a test? Can Parseltongue be that great an issue?"
"It's associated with dark wizards. Salazar Slytherin. You-Know-Who himself!"
"As chaining spells are associated with slavery. That doesn't mean there's never any use for one."
"Yes, well..." Aran swallowed. He didn't like defying the Deputy Headmistress; Harry could tell. Parseltongue though, was clearly so unacceptable in his view that he was willing to stand his ground. "I must run my classes as I see fit, and I won't have other students exposed to such unnaturalness!"
"You realise this will reflect badly on you when it comes to end-of-term evaluations. I'll have to make a notation that you refused to make accommodations for a student in severe need of them."
"I've made accommodations!" sputtered Aran. "I'm letting him take an individualised test in view of his... circumstances."
"You've ostracised him," corrected McGonagall, her glare almost as pointed as her hat. "You've demonstrated by example that intolerance is a virtue to be cherished. And you've abrogated your teaching responsibilities to another faculty member by refusing to so much as mark his practical. Does that strike you as the sort of behaviour likely to win you an re-appointment to your post?"
Aran stepped back slightly. "Well. You're misreading the situation, I'm afraid. I'm protecting the rest of the students, which is entirely appropriate. Frankly, I'm shocked that the other staff don't see things the same way!"
"Instead of looking at Parselmouths as a class, we're looking at Harry as an individual," said McGonagall. "As should you. But if you won't reconsider--"
"I certainly won't!"
"Then I will proceed to assess his skills as requested. Have you a copy of the objectives to be tested?"
Aran wordlessly handed her a parchment sheet, then made as though to climb the stairs to his office.
"Where are you going, Professor?" called the Deputy Headmistress in a strident voice.
"I'm certainly not staying here to listen to that nasty language--"
"It's not nasty, you old coot!" Harry said, bristling. "And furthermore--"
"That will be quite enough, Potter," said McGonagall. "Ten points from Gryffindor for disrespect."
Uh-oh. That meant five from Slytherin. And McGonagall, unlike Aran, probably couldn't be talked around. Harry gulped, wondering if five points would be enough for his father to notice.
Knowing Snape... yeah, they probably would.
Aran was moving up the staircase to his office by then, but McGonagall's voice forestalled him. "Your decisions about class time are, I regret to say, your own to make. Though I think I have made my disapproval clear enough. You are fostering an atmosphere of prejudice at a time when the wizarding world needs to unite against such things. Be that as it may, Professor Aran, there are no impressionable young students here at the moment, save the Parselmouth himself. You should stay and observe his testing, don't you think?"
"Actually, I--"
"I insist."
Harry knew that frosty tone of hers. It took a brave man indeed to defy it, and Aran was anything but. "Very well," he said, though his own tone was resentment itself.
McGonagall's brow furrowed as she finally perused the list of test objective she held in her hand. "These are all third-year exercises."
"Review."
Yeah, we've been reviewing all year, Harry wanted to say. We've all got top marks in "Review," but we're here to learn Defence!
He didn't want to lose any more points though, so he held his tongue.
McGonagall still didn't look pleased, though she said no more of the matter. "Let's begin with the charm you would use to encourage a vampire to pass you by, Mr. Potter."
Harry brandished his wand. Of course, given that he'd never had a vampire to practice on, he wasn't entirely sure he'd figured out the right translation. Everyone else in the class could be somewhat certain that "Expers cruentus" would probably work. Harry just had to guess, since Sals hadn't understood what a vampire was.
"Don't be so sodding bloodthirsty!" he hissed, looking at his ring as he pretended to level his wand on an imaginary vampire.
McGonagall looked blankly at him. "For all I know you just recited the last round of Quidditch scores, Potter."
"I did the charm," said Harry, feeling a little defensive by then. "Expers cruentus. I do know it, Professor."
"Another reason I'd prefer he cast his spells in the usual way," announced Aran with a slight sneer in his voice. "How am I to know what he's saying?"
"From the results, of course," said McGonagall impatiently as she studied the list in her hand. "Hmm. Well, this will be better. Let's have you ward away a boggart, and then we'll be able to tell how effective your Parseltongue charms prove. Professor Aran, where is your boggart?"
"We've just been pretending on that one as well," Harry put in, trying his best not to scowl. He didn't think he did so well, all things considered.
McGonagall's eyebrows rose up like a Seeker spotting the snitch above. "Oh really, Professor Aran! A vampire is one thing. I can understand your reticence there, especially considering the young ladies... but really, you should be more than capable of allowing students to have a real boggart to practise with. Especially considering how very simple they are to catch."
Aran glared.
At Harry.
Like it was his fault the man was such a terrible teacher!
"Have you one?" pressed McGonagall. When Aran shook his head, she gave a lengthy sigh. "All right then, I'll go find one. One moment, please."
Harry tried not to look at Aran as the other teacher left, but after a moment he couldn't keep it up. Bet you wish you'd have let me speak Parseltongue now, don't you? he wanted to say. Because now McGonagall's just seen a perfect example of how worthless and useless you are, hasn't she?
"Um, how does one find a boggart, anyway?" he ventured instead.
In reply, Aran gave him a glare very nearly as venomous as Snape's tended to be. Pretty impressive, actually.
Harry never did find out how McGonagall had managed, but sure enough, inside of five minutes she returned carrying a rather stout wooden box. "Transfigured," she briefly explained.
Harry figured she meant the box and not the boggart.
"Ready, Potter?"
"Sure, anytime," Harry answered, confident. Parseltongue didn't have a word for ridiculous, exactly, but he and Sals had worked this one out and he wasn't worried about it, even if he'd never yet had a chance to try it out for real.