His Sister

8. that wacko professor.

Y/N was not in a good mood. At all. She could already tell that she was going to be in a horrible mood for at least a week. Or however long this was going to go on. Especially if Ron didn't apologize.

She angrily padded out into the hallway and into the Great Hall for breakfast and sat by Hermione to eat.

"Good morning," her friend greeted her. Y/N huffed as she moodily stuffed her plate.

"Morning," she replied gruffly. "Where are the other two?" Hermione sighed.

"Haven't seen them yet," she said. "I think Ron may be pouting. As for Harry, your guess is as good as mine." Y/N shook her head in disapproval of the two and began to shovel some food into her mouth.

Hopefully some eating would distract her from her anger. Hopefully. Someone sat in front of them, and all Y/N saw was red hair, so she immediately began to unravel.

"There you are you git, I—oh," she stopped herself as she saw the surprised look on George's face. She looked over and saw Fred sat across from Hermione. "Sorry, you two. Thought you were your brother." They snickered.

"What's he done now?" Fred asked in interest. Y/N shoved around the food on her plate.

"The bloke thinks I might've tossed Harry's name into the Goblet," she grumbled. "Called me a 'sorry sod.'" George clicked his tongue.

"That's our little drama queen," he sighed. "Sorry, little flower. I'm sure he'll come out of it. Right, Freddie?"

"Yeah," Fred consoled her. "He's just a dimwitted little thing, hasn't got but a peanut for a brain. Don't worry your pretty little head over it, yeah?" Y/N puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled, stress wracking her shoulders.

"Oi, take a breather, love," George said with a grin.

"We could always replace him," Fred winked. The corners of Y/N's mouth quirked with a smile as she shook her head.

Fred and George laughed as they stood and trudged away, likely going to terrorize some professors with their masterful pranks. Y/N admired their joy.

"I hope Harry's alright, at least," she said, mostly to herself. Hermione placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Me, too," she said softly.

They ate in silence, which Y/N preferred then. She wasn't exactly in the mood to ogle at the ceiling or the walls or the smells.

Soon enough—too soon, rather—it was time to go to class. Y/N and Hermione walked to Defense Against the Dark Arts together, taking their time.

Harry and Ron were supposed to be there, too, but so far they were unreachable. Y/N and Hermione entered the classroom quietly and sat at a table together.

As more students filtered in, so did Ron and Harry. However, before Hermione or Y/N could even get a word in to either of them, class had begun.

Mad-Eye Moody walked to the front of the classroom, and Y/N felt her skin burn as she remembered him take a large swig from a canister at the front of the Great Hall. She hoped this class wouldn't be a shit show.

"Alastor Moody," he said as he stood before them. He turned and wrote "Moody" on the chalkboard behind him. "Ex-Auror, Ministry Malcontent, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I am here because Dumbledore asked me; End of story, goodbye, the end!" Y/N jumped. "Moody" was a fitting name for him. "Any questions?"

"Well, shit," she whispered to herself. No one spoke.

"When it comes to the dark arts," he continued, much quieter than before, "I believe in a practical approach." Y/N didn't like how big his eyes got when he said it. She also didn't like the way he stared at Harry. "But first: Which of you can tell me how many Unforgivable Curses there are?" The classroom stayed quiet. Except for the ever-intelligent and all-knowing Hermione Granger, of course.