Return of Sebastian Sallow | 10 Yr After Hogwarts

Chapter 126: Professor Sallow*

Keep it together, April.

"Yes, I understand," I say as politely as my flustered demeanor can muster, a fake smile plastered across my face. "Mister— I'm sorry what was it, again?"

I'd feel worse for the brain fart when addressing one of Durmstrang's 'distinguished guests' if he were acting 'distinguished' in any way, shape, or form, as opposed to the total bigoted ass drip he's being.

"Nieminen, Professor Collins." He attempts a polite smile of his own from beneath his fisherman's cap that feels decidedly more like a grimace. "Ivan Nieminen."

eye-VAN NEE—min—ANuh.

My brain repeats the bouncing and irregular cadence in my ears. Where the devil is this guy from? Where the hell even is Drumstrang, anyway? And why won't he shut the fuck up about—

"As I was saying, Professor..."

I hate that his accent makes me feel the need to lean in and listen even more closely to his useless drivel. 

"...while I respect very much what it is you choose to teach here in the Magics Theories, I feel compelled to ask it if you teach from a place of personal principles or only from your Ministry's requirements? It would seem to me that focusing the educations of our future generations on true magical origins of the blood..."

"I am well aware of your stance on Pure-Blooded Magic, sir," I cut him off and hold a polite hand up. "And I'm well aware of the preferences of Durmstrang's board of directors, at large." I hold his gaze and the discomfort of his dry, sunken, gray eyes tells me he doesn't like my assertive nature. Good. Because I've been handling this whole unexpected interaction after my class like a badass and he's lucky I haven't Ancient Magic Rag-doll'ed his ass into the floor yet.

"Mister Nieminen, I assure you I..."

I pause to take a breath and choose the most politically correct words possible — Headmistress Weasley help me.

"I assure you that I deeply respect...the humanity of every individual, and a person's right to...come to their own conclusions and hold opinions. As such, I hope you can find it in yourself to respect my conviction that all magic, regardless of its form or origin, is valid. Be it from earth or skies, wielded by human hands or a nightingale's song. And I teach my students this, proudly, especially because my own father was a muggle and, being a witch, I am living proof that there is much about magic we all have yet to discover. In fact, the Ministry of Magic has –"

The protection spells for Unspeakables that prevent me from speaking about the Department of Mysteries stop me, thankfully, from nervous-talking with information I shouldn't share. In the momentary silence, the man stiffens and stutters, "your father? I thought—" but I proceed after a small sigh.

"Now...if you'll excuse me, I desperately need my preparation hour for my next class."

His challenging gray eyes ignite — I could swear I see them swirling. It pulls at a thin thread within me that I recognize as being linked to my gift for Ancient magic. But I'm distracted by the way his upper lip strains not to pull into something of a snarl and I realize what I knew in my bones to be true — this man is a wolf in sheep's clothing. He is muscle (sinewy and thin though it may be), dressed up in a fancy uniform and called 'delegate.' For what purpose? I will uncover it, and I resolve to speak with Sharpie as soon as I can, since politics like this are WAY more in his wheelhouse.