Yes, Professor?

Part 5 : Harry's Professor Rosier (1 of 2)

Whispers were drifting through the Great Hall. Some were commenting on his admittingly dashing looks, others doubting his expertise because of his young age, and even more commenting on the color of his eyes.

Tom Riddle sighed and rolled his eyes as a Gryffindor across the hall brazenly exclaimed that she would climb the new Professor like a tree if he let him. There was no doubt that Professor Rosier was undeniably handsome, but no matter how young he was, he was still a Professor.

Professor Rosier didn't outwardly react to the whispers, but Tom did see the annoyed glance he threw at the female Gryffindor that was now tittering to her friend about how intensely the Professor looked upon her after she yelled out her fantasies for him.

Yeah, with intense annoyance.

Tom didn't see Professor Rosier after lunch, and all the fifth years walked over to Professor Rosier's classroom, noting how enormous the classroom was compared to other teachers' classrooms.

Rosier was just sitting on top of his desk, watching everyone file in with dissecting eyes. The classroom was getting louder and louder as more fifth years poured in, taking a seat where their housemates sat, gossiping and chatting away.

Once all the available desks were full, Harry withheld a sigh. Everyone had segregated themselves into sections. Slytherins on the left, Gryffindors on the right, and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in the middle as a buffer between the two, Ravenclaws next to Slytherins and Hufflepuffs next to Gryffindors.

"Quiet down, class," was all Harry had to say for the class to be quiet enough to hear a pin drop. "Please keep in mind that there are over 200 of you and one of me," Harry continued in a teasing tone, a small, polite smile dawning on his lips. "It would do you well to listen more than you talk, for the moment. Debate will always welcome in this class, but now is not the time."

Harry turned slightly, waving a wrist to wandlessly hand out the first assignment of the year to the class. "As you all know, my name is Harrison Rosier, you may call me Professor Rosier. This is your first assignment of the year: read the form, and if you sign it, the form will return back to me. No need to get up."

Harry was very careful in his wording, not wanting to reveal that the "syllabus" was actually a test, one he knew at least 25% of the class would fail. "For this, I'll ask you to refrain from talking. You have 10 minutes."

Already, Harry saw some scowls and disappointed looks. He knew he was rubbing off as one of those gung-ho teachers that liked a quiet classroom, but the situation called for it. He didn't want anyone to talk about what they might interpret from the form--and it was a pretty long form.

Minutes ticked by, and it was at the three minute mark when one Slytherin looked up from their desk at him, their eyebrows furrowed. Harry gave the Slytherin-Abraxas Malfoy, if he was correct-a look that screamed for him to not say anything, and Abraxas subtly nodded in understanding, bending his head to pretend that he was reading the form.

Time continued, and Harry's disappointment grew as at least half of the forms flew to him. A the ten minute mark, Harry called for the student's attention.

Harry scanned the class with purposeful slowness and summoned a trash can to him. He then dumped all he signed forms in it.

A confused call came from a Ravenclaw boy. "Professor-?"

Harry lit the trash can on fire, turning to look at the Ravenclaw that called him. "Yes, Mr. Abbot?"

Marcus Abbot was struggling to ask the Professor why he had done such an action, his mouth opening and closing for several seconds, much like a fish out of water.

"Don't hurt yourself, Mr. Abbot."

Snorts and giggles broke through the classroom as Marcus flushed, slumping in his seat to try to escape humiliation.

"I wouldn't laugh, if I were you. Half of the class just failed the first test of the year," Harry said casually, standing up from sitting on his desk. "I'm quite disappointed. I knew around 25% of the class would fail, but not half."

A Gryffindor near the back of the class jumped up from his seat. "Professor, we signed the syllabus, just as you asked us-"

"I didn't ask you to sign the syllabus, Mr. Weasley," Harry interrupted, motioning for his student to sit back down. "I asked you to read it. If you signed it, the form would return back to me. If you and half of the class read the syllabus thoroughly, you would have seen the clause that said if you signed the form, all your property and inheritances would be transferred to me, if you had any."

Again, the silence was thick as Harry paused from speaking.

"I cannot emphasize this enough," he said quietly, looking around the class to see troubled faces. "Never sign a contract without reading its full contents, no matter its length. Most of you gave up on reading it in the first half, and if I had any ill intent toward any of you, you would have nothing. Do you understand?"

Seeing ashamed nods, Harry continued. "War is not only fought with wands. The political side of war holds many traps like the one I just gave you now. If I'm going to each you to survive and navigate a war, be assured that we'll be doing much more than just learning spells. But, enough of that. Everyone, take out the required book the ministry assigned for your class."

Groans echoed through the class, and the respectful looks that he had been given jus a moment ago vanished. Harry's lips twitched, it wasn't like he blamed them.

"Malfoy, how many pages are in the book?" Harry called out, leaning back on his desk.

"264," Abraxas answered, not really knowing why Harry would ask of that.

Harry nodded, his eyes drifting from student to student before settling on Fleamont Potter. "Potter, chose a number from 1 to 100."

"Um, 72?"

"Read the first sentence on page 72," Harry ordered, trying not to smile at the way Fleamont was floundering clumsily with his book, obviously not expecting the order.

"Um, it says, from the olden ages, wizards have proven, in any way, to be ultimately superior to-"

"Never mind, stop there," Harry said, wincing. "Bones, pick a number from 101 to 200 and read the first sentence on that page."

Cecilia Bones nodded, being the exact opposite from Fleamont as she gracefully flipped the book open to the page she wanted. "199. It says, Centaurs have uncanny, but useful ways of reading the stars; their readings differ from the way magical seers read the stars, starting from their assigned meanings of each constellation."

"Good. Riddle, choose from 200 to 264 and read the first sentence."

Tom sighed to himself-quietly, mind you-and flipped open his book. "247. . ."

When Tom didn't say anything after, Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Is something wrong, Mr. Riddle?"

By then, everyone's eyes were on Tom. "If you don't mind me asking, what is the purpose of this?"

Everyone's head swished to look at Harry, making an amusing picture. Harry smiled and simply said, "So I can tell the ministry that we reviewed the book, like they asked. Please, continue."

Tom nodded and read the first sentence of page 247, feeling a begrudging respect for Professor Rosier. He was a Slytherin if he'd ever seen one. "The Patronus Charm, created by I-Don't-Care on A-Long-Time-Ago, is a light spell that does We-Already-Know-This-And-Don't-Need-To-Review-It."

"Congratulations! You just reviewed one of the most biased books in history!" Harry joked, grinning. "Now you can do whatever you want with the book: throw it away, return it, burn it- I don't care. I don't want to see that book in this class after today. Moving on. . ."

To Be Continued

A/N

IIIIIII'mmmmmm baaaaaaack!

Please don't kill me for not completing the chapter! I was tired and this is the 1st chapter that I've written in months, soooo. . . Yeah, you're welcome!