First Meeting
Chapter 3: first meeting
“Class dismissed,” you say to the last class of the day.
You think you can call the first day successful. Or at least that’s what you hope.
Students fill the halls as you start to make your way through the crowd to Dumbledore’s office. As you’ve said, you’ve been here a lot since moving in.
“Professor,” you say as you walk over the threshold. But you pause when you hear muffled voices.
“I’m not against what she teaches, I’m against her execution,” you recognize his voice. From the first feast when the students arrived. “All I’ve heard about all day is how she singled out a student to prove a point.”
“It is not your classroom, Severus. If this is truly to work it may be in our best interest to trust her to run her class as she sees fit,” Albus says.
You don’t want to hear anymore, but making an exit seems like a great way to get caught, so you enter instead.
Both sets of eyes turn to you.
“I apologize if I’m interrupting Professor, I can come back later if you wish,” you say, hands folded in front of you.
“There’s no need, Professor Snape and I are finished,” Snape slowly turns his head back to Dumbledor. There's a silent pause for a moment before he quickly brushes past you. His robes flaring out behind him.
You wait till he’s out of sight to speak.
“He seems a bit dramatic,” you say.
“He has his moments,” Albus says. “How much did you hear?”
“Not much, I assumed there would be a few people unhappy with me.”
You’re not entirely sure you care, but something in you does.
“More than a few,” he says.
Now you care. But you simply nod.
“No matter, I trust you can handle your own class, but tread with caution. That’s not why you’re here anyway.”
You feel that familiar pulse in your head. You allow your shoulders to slump and you sit down on a nearby chair.
“I don’t understand it,” you raise your hands and almost immediately ribbons of scarlet weave through your fingers. “But I feel like it’s going to consume me. Like there’s something else inside me.”
You watch your powers flow through your hand and start to make its way up your arm.
“Show me,” he says.
“What?”
“Show me what you’ve been practicing.”
A moment later things around his office start to move. The same scarlet ribbons wrapping around them as you place them in various different places.
Dumbledor hums in response.
“You remember what happened when that man attacked you? What you did?”
Everything in the air drops.
“You want me to do that?” you panic. “I have no idea how I did it in the first place.
Albus calls your name softly and holds out one of his hands. Your hand trembles as you place it in his.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you say.
“You don’t have to do it now. But you have to use it to understand it,” you pull your hand back. “Come back to me if something goes wrong, but I want you to use it.”
“What if someone sees?” you ask.
“Let them, and tell me.”
You nod. That doesn’t seem like much help, but you’ll take whatever you can get.
Back in your classroom, with the door shut, you practice moving things around the room. You start by organizing your desk and putting everything somewhere new with only your mind.
You simply stand back and use both hands to put everything in place.
But once you’re done you have no idea what to do next. So you sit at your desk and let out a deep breath. You look at your hands in your lap.
What are you? You think to yourself. Why are you here?
You’re not sure what exactly you’re talking to. But sometimes.
Sometimes you really feel like there’s someone else inside you.
You hear voices out your window, so you walk to it. Students are outside.
You suppose things are the same no matter where you are, children still play jokes, and still run around. It makes you smile.
Then something red catches your eye.
When you look at it your blood runs cold.
You back away from the window, then it’s gone.
You saw yourself, but your eyes were glowing that same scarlet that’s made your life a living hell. And you looked.
Different.
Your heart is racing. But the sound of your door slamming open makes you jump.
The dark haired man stops when he notices your panicked state. But you straighten up and push it back.
“Professor-” your voice breaks so you clear your throat. “Professor, how can I help you?”
He eyes you, but you smile attempting to hide it. Whatever it is. His eyes narrow slightly, but you don’t back down.
“I’ve come to inform you that Mr. Malfoy’s father has complained about your little,” venom laces through that last word. “Lesson you gave today.”
“I’m aware of the complaints, I was in the room while you were speaking to the headmaster,” you say.
“I would heavily advise you against doing something similar in the future,” he says.
“Well I appreciate the concern, Professor, I can assure you I don’t need your warnings-”
“Mr. Malfoy’s father works for the ministry of magic, if he wishes he could have you removed in an instant.”
Wow he really does love the snake vibe of the last words of his sentences. He just drags the last word out with a hiss or over exaggerates them. Interesting.
“I think I’ll take my chances, but I appreciate the concern.”
He rolls his eyes and goes to turn from the room.
You walk back to the widow, and you see nothing. Just yourself.
“When I walked in here,” you jump, you didn’t realize he was still here. “You looked as if you saw something unpleasant. Is the wizarding world too much for you?” he asks.
Now it’s your turn to glare at him.
“I think you’ll find I like this world very much. And I’d like to think we’ve been teachers for about the same amount of time. Don’t question me again.”
He raises a brow, he looks almost amused. But he turns and walks out of the room.
You stomp your foot on the ground in aggravation, and half the books on the shelves in your room fly out and clatter to the floor.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you look at the mess of your room and throw your head back and groan.
You go to use your powers but you hear footsteps approaching.
“Bloody hell, what happened here?” The three Gryffindor's fill the doorway to your classroom.
“Umm,” you have no idea what to say that won’t make you sound insane. “I don’t really know.” They all look at you oddly. “It sort of just happened,” you shrug.
“We’ll help you clean it,” Harry says. The redheaded boy, who you believe is Ron, bumps his shoulder.
“Oh really, you don’t have to,” you say. “You three run along.”
“No really it’s fine, we’ll help.” he seems enthusiastic enough.
You wonder why.
But you don’t question it as they help you move your books back to their shelves.
Maybe this won’t be so bad.
But what you saw in the reflection in the window haunts you through the rest of the night. You wonder if you should tell Dumbledor, or investigate yourself.
Maybe there’s something in the library that can help.