two

10 0 0
                                    

I sighed nervously, not even knowing what to say from there on out.

As the students, second-year and forth, filed into the Great Hall, I felt myself reminiscing, remembering my own years at Hogwarts. I saw the laughing and smiling faces of the students, many of which were happy to return to the school that they called home. Clusters of red, green, yellow, and blue kept catching my eyes as I saw the proud emblems of each house, the students separating themselves accordingly. The hall full of gold, floating candles, and glistening stars and dark clouds imitating the night sky was now full of the bright faces of children, whose souls and spirit still held the optimism and naivety of adolescence. I longed for that, especially considering what had happened at the Quidditch World Cup.

I could almost remember feeling the cold settling on my skin for the first time as I had walked down to the dungeons to the Slytherin commonroom, the sleek green and black scheme of the room welcoming me for the first time. Oh, the pride that I had felt that night...

Despite being wet from the rain, the students were more interested in looking curiously over at the table of teachers, many eyes on me with whispers erupting. There were empty seats all along the table, but I knew a thing or two about Hogwarts' inability to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to last for more than three terms. As the sky in the Great Hall burst with lightning and rain, many of the first-years began to pile in and stand in line to be sorted into their houses. Many were dripping wet from the storm outside, shivering and terrified. Professor McGonagall was fixing up the stool and Sorting Hat to begin the crucial process of sorting. Once the Sorting Hat burst into song and finished, applause cheering it on, I felt my attention drift elsewhere.

Although it was an intriguing process, I was far more interested in the teacher who sat beside me. A pale, almost gray-looking figure cloaked in all-black, he sat with nothing but a cold stare. His night-washed eyes grimaced at yet another year of students who, more than likely, were bound to disrespect his craft. The contour in his face led to pursed lips, a hooked nose, and lines that had seemed to appear in his skin far more due to past horrors rather than age. His face and name were familiar, I could not recall where I had spotted him nor met him.

He sensed my staring, and quickly whipped around to analyze me just as I had been to him. His raven-black hair was greasy, lining his face, almost hiding his equally dark pupils from plain sight. I felt my cheeks flush red as I quickly looked forward, pretending to be viewing the sorting. I could feel my heart in my throat, thumping in embarrassment and nervousness, his stare rather piercing. From my peripheral vision I could see his mouth twitching at the corner, a small smirk arising from his cold lips. It quickly faded, however, his stare clouding and becoming more blank and observant. Like a bat with night vision, I could feel his stare glued to me.

Dumbledore was explaining the usual rules to the first years; rules I had heard at least seven times before. I straightened my robes as I felt my introduction approaching.

"I would like to introduce to you all our new Muggle Studies professor, Professor Hathor Iris," Dumbledore said proudly, turning his body halfway to gesture towards me.

I stood up and presented a light smile and small wave to the applauding students, sitting down after a moment. The nerve-wracking thoughts of students respecting a Muggle Studies teacher lightly washed over me, but I chose to ignore it as Dumbledore continued to speak.

"Professor Iris has kindly agreed to not only lead our Muggle Studies courses, but also our choir and music studies. For those of you interested in participating, please speak to the heads of your houses, or approach Professor Iris."

I nodded my head, a warm smile still glued to my face. Several students I made eye contact with grinned at me, excited. Others, like many others their age, were nonchalant.

Musical Chairs (Severus Snape)Unde poveștirile trăiesc. Descoperă acum