The New Professor

Just like the rest of the castle, the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had been subject to little change since the time of its construction. It was a large room, panelled in dark wood and longer than it was wide with designs of various natures painted in weathered colours on the floor. It reminded Professor Wilde, in some aspects, of the sorts of rooms he’d spent his childhood running about in: full of artefacts and secrecy and a dark sort of grandeur.

He sat behind his desk with his boots on the table, long legs crossed one over the other and a book in his hand as he watched the early-birds of his Sixth Year class start to file in. They looked to him younger than he remembered feeling at that age. He’d grown up in the shadow of the Second War, of course; just too young to have been at Hogwarts when it was ravaged by Voldemort’s Death Eaters, but old enough to recall the bittersweetness of the aftermath when the Dark Lord was defeated. The wounds had still been fresh, in those days. Nary a single family in the wizarding world had gone unaffected in some way or other. Bribery, betrayal, death... These children were too young to know, he thought to himself, gaze flitting down to his book again. Well... most of them, in any case. He gathered he was to have the privilege of teaching some of the Weasley children, among others: their parents would certainly have impressed upon them the dangers of dark magic. The rest of them would probably just look on this class as an opportunity to show off and play Auror for their friends. Voldemort was too distant a thing of the past now for the threat to be real.

Professor Wilde glanced at his students over the top of his book again, dark eyes taking in each of them in turn. At least they looked a relatively intelligent sort of lot, he mused. At least they weren’t First Years; because if one more child gasped in astonishment in his general vicinity, he was going to gag them and feed them to the Tiddy Mun.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a subject Carina relished. It was the closest thing she had at Hogwarts to learning about the mysterious, ever changing and cunning ways of the ‘Dark Lord’ as her father called him, the greatest wizard to master the Dark Arts. Warned by her parents not to advertise publicly her interest in such ways for the current common consensus was that the Old Ways were no longer valid in the modern world.

While Carina sat in the D.A.D.A classroom, she thought it weird that muggle-borns were meant to be equal to pure-bloods, it simply didn’t make sense to the girl. Surely those who come from generations of wizards and witches would have better magical powers? It made sense.

Coming to Hogwarts had been an enlightening experience for her childhood had been dominated by those sympathetic to the teachings of the Dark Lord and had survived his downfall, she found a rather close minded way of thinking among a wider range of wizards. Gryffindors in particular annoyed her with their high and mighty attitude, not even trying to think in any other way believing they were correct and that was that.

If the D.A.D.A class was only Slytherin it would’ve been a much more productive lesson. They understood the subtle, evocative art much better. One bonus was the professor was a Slytherin, she understood he had to keep up appearances and of course not all of her house believed in the Old Ways but a Gryffindor professor would’ve been unbearable.

Favourite subject? Eh... Herbology was as painful as a mandrake’s scream. Care of Magical creatures was about as much fun as washing a boggart and Defence Against the Dark Arts...? Well, it wasn’t too bad. But still, it was all so damn serious my god! I mean, okay, it wasn’t as serious as a funeral home but-...

He sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair and tipping his head backwards so he was staring up at the ceiling. The professor was a Slytherin, but as far as he was aware the guy wasn’t too much like the other stuck up Slytherins about the school – well, the students pretty much. Fionn tried his best to ignore them and dealt with his own entertainments, disincluding the ‘green’ side of the school.

Pursing his lips, making a duck-type face he began balancing his wand on his upper lips and crossed his eyes as he continued rocking back and forth on his chair, humming a small tune to himself.

When a good number of students had been seated for some minutes without any further additions, Drusus felt it safe to assume that this was his lot for the Sixth Year class. It was a mixed bag: some of them regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, while others seemed more interested in contemplating the rafters.

Marking his page, the professor closed his book almost reluctantly and set it down on his desk before pushing himself to his feet – his black and silver robes falling straight with a heavy rustle of cloth.

“Afternoon,” he greeted the class coolly, pushing his hands into his pockets as he strolled out in front of them. “Nice of you all to turn up. My name is Professor Wilde – I’ll be taking you for Defence Against the Dark Arts, this year. So. If you could all sit up...” He pulled his wand from an inside pocket and righted McLaren’s chair rather abruptly with an artful flick. “And pay attention,” he continued. “I’d be very grateful.”

Without sparing even so much as a glance for the errant Hufflepuff boy, Drusus turned about and directed his wand at the blackboard: lines of neat, white-chalk script appearing on its face. “Let’s get started, shall we? If you could turn to page twenty in your books, I’d like you to take a look at the passage on Draugar. Draugar, also known as Aptrgangar or Wights...” he added another few lines of writing to the board with another gesture of his wand, “are commonly found in what kind of place? Can someone give me an answer, please...”

Hugo was late. He was never late to classes and he didn’t want to start a trend now. Racing down the corridors, he almost jumped down a flight of stairs on his approach to the Defence against the Dark Arts lesson. Out of breath Hugo panted as he skidded around the corner and burst into the room, with a crash. His cheeks went red instantly.

The class had obviously started. Everyone was sat at their desks, their books were out and he heard the end of the question asked by the teacher. Hugo racked his mind for any reference to a draugar. It sounded familiar, as if he had only read it about it a few days ago but the sudden and obvious entrance into the class had wiped his memory of being able to access anything. He could feel countless eyes upon him as he stood, frozen, at the back of the classroom. Tentatively, he took a step forward and when the Earth didn’t open up beneath him he moved off a slow speed.

Embarrassed beyond belief Hugo shuffled into the classroom looking at the wall passed Professor Wilde. “Sorry, Professor,” Hugo mumbled as he sat down in his seat.

As he sat down he pulled his book out of his page and opened it to page twenty. Luckily the girl sat next to him had already opened her textbook. He was very thankful. Hugo’s blue eyes scanned the passage on the creature and his memory started coming back to him.

Carina threw the Hufflepuff a dirty look for showing such disrespect for her head of house. The Slytherin reputation had taken a beating after the Second Wizarding World and still the other houses hadn’t learned to show the proper esteem for the purest of houses. Or was it just a reflection on Hufflepuff? Sighing audibly, she rolled her eyes and returned to hanging on the professor’s every word.

The professor had barely finished asking the question when Carina’s hand shot up. Leaning on the edge of her seat she wished Wilde to choose her, having read the set text already she knew that they were a creature of the undead useful as part of an army for their supernatural strength. Before she had a chance to relay this information, suddenly the class was interrupted by a student she recognised immediately to be a Weasley. Her father had told her to avoid anyone with bright red hair during her studies at the school for it wouldn’t do the Burke family name any good mixing with blood traitors.

Rolling her eyes once again, Carina wondered if she’d be able to enjoy this lesson or have to suffer yet more rudeness. Leaning back in her chair, she kept her hand up while giving the Weasley boy a filthy stare with her onyx eyes. Hogwarts was becoming a mockery to magic, the problem was she was too far into her studies here to move to Durmstrang.

“Merlin’s beard,” she muttered under her breath while slowly shaking her head.

Drusus wasn’t entirely surprised to see that the first hand up belonged to someone in his own house. There was a certain tendency towards an interest in the Dark Arts amongst Slytherin students, there was no denying it – though whether that was down to nature or nurture was never quite clear. Most likely a little of both. Drusus didn’t really care either way, so long as the motives weren’t too sinister.

An invitation for the girl to speak was just on the tip of his tongue when footfalls suddenly came clattering into hearing, and a figure appeared in the doorway; dishevelled, out of breath, and blushing almost the same colour as his hair. No introduction was needed.

“Mister Weasley, I presume.”

It wasn’t a question. Drusus had certainly been interested in meeting the son of the famous auror, but he wasn't about to make exceptions because of it. The Yorkshireman’s low voice was flat as he fixed Weasley with a hard look that followed him all the way to his seat in the uncomfortable silence. “Page twenty,” he reiterated for the boy’s benefit, somewhat drily. “Sharpish, if you please.”

As Weasley flipped hastily through his book, Drusus watched him a few moments longer before turned his attention back to Carina.

“Miss Burke, isn’t it?” he assessed. His tone was less disapproving again, and his eyes narrowed shrewdly. He’d heard of the Burkes before, of course – even met Cygnus Burke once or twice, through his own father’s connections, and on the rare occasion he visited the shop in London. The family name was an illustrious one, particularly amongst wizarding aristocracy.

He inclined his head to the girl: acknowledgement of her eagerness to answer the question. “Go on.”

The attention she now had caused her to blush slightly, sitting up straight in her chair, a small smirk graced her lips. “A draugar is an undead creature usually found in Scandinavia although they have been found elsewhere. They are usually found guarding the graves of Vikings guarding the treasure which was buried with them.” She answered in a matter of fact way. Once finished she slouched slightly back into the chair.

They were interesting creatures which had caught her interest over the summer. After buying the new books in Diagon Alley, she had of course delved immediately into the new Defence Against the Dark Arts book and then threw questions at her father while sitting in his shop, one of few places she was able to ask such questions safely.

A warm feeling spread through her veins for she enjoyed answering questions, especially for her head of house. She looked at the professor, hoping that that would be enough and that she hadn’t missed out anything important.

She reminded herself to ask him after the lesson had finished for permission to go into the restricted section of the library. She would of course try to convince him it was purely for research and strictly speaking that wasn’t a lie for she wanted to expand her knowledge of the dark arts and there was so only much she could learn with the set texts.

Lily took her time making her way to the D.A.D.A classroom; she was already late so she saw little point in rushing to make a fool of herself. There was nothing worse than arriving in a classroom late and looking flustered. She was still annoyed about the lecture she had received from Professor Decorus about the correct use of a Memory Charm. Apparently making students forget the question they had been asked didn’t humour the Charms Professor. She would have gotten away with it, but, Decorus had sharp eyes and had seen Lily’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

She had only managed to shut Decorus up when pointing out she was now late for Defence against the Dark Arts and after issuing her with a detention, had written a short note to Professor Wilde, explaining her lateness. Reaching the classroom door she pushed it open and made her way to the front of the class without hesitation and ignoring the hisses that came from a couple of the Slytherin students.

“Sorry Professor,” she said handing him the note before making her way to a seat in front of Hugo, she winked at him and smiled before sitting in her seat.