TORMENT (Harry Potter Sequel)

Chapter Eleven

The classroom was buzzing. The friend groups had now fully reintegrated back into the school after their first few weeks of adjusting back into the swing of things. Four small crowds of kids, each wearing different coloured emblems on their robes, sat or stood in each corner of the room. Only one child sat slightly alone: Tom Malumis who picked a seat on the fringes of the Slytherin group but not close enough to assume a connection. By all sense of the word, he was isolated, just not in a way that made him stand out. The room itself was slightly dark. All the windows, whilst not fully closed, were barely open.  The bright morning sunshine could not pierce them. Only partial streams of light illuminated the room and the candles remained unlit. The Professor of the class hadn't arrived yet and so the large group of second years went unchecked and allowed themselves to do whatever they pleased. Every once and a while, one house would chuck something at the other such as a bewitched paper plane. Tom watched one of them flutter through the air with his patented blank frown. While his face would tell you that he was bored, he was, in fact, enamoured with the thing. The way it moved was so free; unrestrained by its material. Just as it soared to the top of the class near an unlit and ancient chandelier, a spark shot out to intercept it. As the sparks met their target, it fell to the ground lightly. The whole class turned to look who had shot the thing and were surprised when they saw it wasn't their professor. In the doorway stood a man that the second years hadn't found themselves acquainted to yet and one with a very dignified demeanour.

Professor Alistair Young, wearing dark, black robes trotted in, putting his wand back into its holster by its leg as he did so. His wand holster was like that for a gun's. The whole class eyed him in silence as he walked to the front of the class and sat down by the desk that their Professor would usually appropriate. He cleared his throat politely and reached a hand into the top pocket inside of his robes. He produced a small pair of spectacles and put them on carefully.

"Professor Hundale isn't here today. You will be doing potions with me: Professor Young," the man spoke slowly and completely different from how Tom expected him to. He was cold, stern and distant; the absolute opposite of what Aubyn Young had portrayed himself to be. Tom's eyebrow slightly raised.

"Where is Professor Hundale," called out a painfully familiar voice from the back of the class. Tom didn't need to turn around to recognise it. It was the voice of the son of the man in front of him.
"Aubyn, sit down and be quiet ok?" replied Professor Young, his voice not friendly or familial in any way. Behind Tom, Aubyn shrugged and walked to a seat of his own.

Professor Young continued, "Today... we're going to be learning about..." He got up from his desk slowly and wandered slowly to a shelf of dense and old-looking books. He reached into it and picked out one. He opened it up to a seemingly random page and blew the dust off of it. He held the book in one hand and licked the tip of a finger on his other. He flicked through a couple pages until he stopped and slammed the book down hard on his desk.

"Polyjuice Potion!" he announced. He paused for a second, his eyes surveying the whole class as he analysed his next course of action. He opened his mouth to continue, "Now who can tell me what this, hm?"

Most of the class of second years stayed absolutely silent, completely bewildered by this new man and his strangeness. He hadn't even asked most people to get back to their seats! Only one eager hand shot up.

"Not you, Aubyn," Professor Young said, denying his son. Said son, breathed out through his nose mirthfully as he put his hand down. He chuckled to himself slyly. Eventually another hand reluctantly went up.

"Yes," Professor Young said, pointing at the hand. A Gryffindor student at the back of the class uneasily cleared his throat before he spoke.

"P-polyjuice Potion is a special type of potion," his voice grew quieter with every word.