professor? ( ✓ )

chapter two

Dear Hermione,

It's such an odd thing: being a teacher at Hogwarts. You start to see similarities in all of those you teach, especially in the first years. Their eyes are full of wonder, and it's just... We used to be like that. In my third class of the day, I teach Gryffindor first years. There's a group of them that remind me so much of you, me, and Ron. The one boy's got dreadlocks, and wears muggle Converse. He kinda reminds me of a combination of Lee Jordan and Sirius. The girl kind of resembles Ron, and the last boy, he's dead-set you. He's brilliant. I haven't learned their names yet, but I'll keep you updated.

Send my love,
(Professor) Harry Potter

~△⃒⃘~

"And just where might your cauldron be?" Draco Malfoy asked the trembling student before him. He'd found himself a sheer, black cloak similar to the ones his godfather used to wear, and had put on his best scary expression. The kid was a first year Gryffindor, and Draco found a lot of pleasure in bullying him.

"I-I misplaced it, sir. I'm really sorry." The kid stuttered, folding his hands on his lap.

"Perhaps the Nargles took it!" Another kid spoke up, a fellow Gryffindor with red hair. Draco wondered if she was a Weasley.

"A what?" Draco asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed the student with disinterest.

"I'm not exactly sure, but Professor Potter says that they're mischievous, and notorious thieves." She claimed, lowering herself in her seat at the professor's hard gaze that followed.

"Potter, of course." He sneered, and then whipped around, cloak flapping, and headed towards the front of the room.

"There will be no talk of Professor Potter in my classroom. From this moment on, you are to be silent. Enough time has been wasted already. Nargles, what bloody rubbish is he putting in their heads." The blond snapped, speaking the last part more to himself as he sat down at his desk, and kicked his feet onto the polished wood. Severus wouldn't mind, would he?

Twenty minutes later, the kid who had misplaced his cauldron, and in turn had to borrow one of Draco's, rose his hand. The professor rolled his eyes, but stood and walked to him anyways.

"What?" He asked harshly.

"Professor, I don't think I've diced up my flesh-eating slug right." The kid claimed, staring down at the black creature still writing on his work station.

"That's because flesh-eating slugs aren't supposed to be diced, you insufferable ninny. They are meant to be sliced evenly, as such." He took the knife from the student, and moved to a section that the kid had not yet messed up, and began cutting even, horizontal lines into the live creature. Immediately, it stopped moving.

"Why're we working with live slugs anyways?" A kid towards the back asked, and Draco glared at him.

"Have you all forgotten my no talking rule? And we use live ones because they provide better quality once added to the potion; not that you would understand, seeing as you're all a bunch of dimwitted Gryffindors." He sneered, and threw the finished slugs at the student who'd called for his attention.

When it was time for class to be dismissed, Draco held back the ginger girl, the boy who'd misplaced his cauldron with dreadlocks, and the boy who'd spoken out of line towards the back of the class.