"I was curious. Couldn't really rely on adults to tell me the answers, could I?"
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄. Complex and beautiful in nature, yet quite fragile. It is malleable, constantly evolving and adapting to the infl...
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CHAPTER SEVEN ( THE BOGGART, THE WITCH, AND THE WARDROBE! )
PROFESSOR LUPIN WAS A FRAIL LOOKING MAN, though he looked no older than thirty-five. It had seemed that time had gone and chewed up the poor man, and spit him out. The students observed him, eyeing him carefully — as they did with any professor. They were like vultures, ready to pick at their prey. Weakness was not allowed. He was not timid, no. The third years could sense an air of confidence to him. It was unlike the loud arrogance of Professor Lockhart or the even louder timidity of Professor Quirrell. The man did not waver under the judgmental stares of teenagers, a welcomed surprise.
Under the snickers of the more pretentious students, bets were placed on how long the Welshman would last. A week, the man looks like a small breeze could knock him over, Jessica thought.
"That's a year-rounder, for sure," Weasley said. "Those scars have to mean something! They look wicked!"
"His outfit looks like it's going to fall apart at any second, he won't last a term," sneered Millicent Bulstrode, her face pinched. Jessica could hear the tittering of Daphne and Pansy behind her. "Hogwarts must be going to the trolls if we're hiring people like that!"
"I'd reckon he'll last until autumn dies out, five galleons he's to wither at the sight of snow," snickered Seamus.
If not for the dreaded curse casted over the naïve souls who tried their hand as a professor of the subject, it would be the students that inevitably broke them. Jessica vividly remembered the time their class had treated Professor Quirrell so terribly that he had left the classroom trembling like a dog. Dealing with children was not for the weak. Had he not been a host to a parasitic evil, one might assume he would've already scurried away from Hogwarts with his briefcase and turban.
The Gryffindors were a rambunctious bunch — they didn't know how to sit still or shut their mouths. More often then not, a crumpled piece of paper was bound to hit someone in the back of the head, or a jinx or two would be cast onto unsuspecting victims. The Slytherins were cruel with their words — their tongues sharp and unforgiving. Snarky comments thinly veiled as innocent banter could start an entire argument within seconds. The Ravenclaws, bountiful with knowledge and ideas, tended to be insufferable know-it-alls. Cocky and nasty — they'd rather see the world burn than be wrong and constantly walked around with their noses in the air. The Hufflepuffs were the silent killers. They were overlooked, an innocent flower but a serpent underneath. Puppet masters that knew how to manipulate situations yet come out scot-free — possibly, the worst of them all, at least in the twins' opinion.
When put together, any combination was bound to create a war of hormones and teenage angst.
"Good afternoon," Professor Lupin said, an accent laid thickly on his tongue. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands."
