professor of the year

[oncedriven]

"So it's just your word and no witnesses..."

The court begins to mutter. You say, barely not a shout, "I'm not lying!"

Fudge opens his mouth, but a voice from behind him - as dry as any you've ever heard - says, "Muggle testimony is admitted before this court from Muggles who have an existing dispensation permitting knowledge of the wizarding world, Minister. And while the boy's cousin may not be able to see the creatures, Muggles can feel the effects of their presence as surely as wizards can."

You look up - the speaker is an unfamiliar wizard behind and somewhat to the left of Fudge. It's difficult to tell his age; although his face is relatively young, somewhere in his early middle years, his hair is white enough to make Dumbledore's look dark. It adds a haunting quality to his face, especially when combined with his plain, pure black robes and the color of his eyes, which are far closer to yellow than brown.

Fudge turns on him, saying, "Yes, but it's certainly a very convenient story, isn't it? No doubt the boy has rehearsed it well - "

"You are attempting to deny the defense a key witness," the wizard replies, voice cold. "As though there weren't already enough irregularities in this case. At the very least, this hearing ought to be mistrialed and rescheduled for a time when the witness is available to give testimony..."

Your stomach sinks. There's no way Dudley Dursley would give testimony that would help you, if his parents could even be convinced to allow him to appear. And there's a better chance of them declaring Sirius innocent right now in front of you than there is of that ever happening.

Fudge looks like he's going to argue further, but fortunately, Dumbledore clears his throat and says, "We do, in fact, have a witness..."

----

"...All he and I can do now is to await your verdict."

You look downward, staring at your shoes, as the courtroom falls silent. Into that silence, the voice of the white haired wizard from earlier says, "I feel compelled to remind the court that the Patronus Charm has only one purpose - to repel Dementors. I would also like to remind the Court that young Mr. Potter has a publicly known history of strong negative reactions to the creatures. He is fifteen. Even if his life was not technically endangered by the creatures, it is not beyond belief that he should think it so - a situation which is also covered under clause seven. We are not in the habit of breaking wands over honest mistakes."

There is a slight murmur from the court at that. Fudge turns once again to the wizard and says, "Your point has been noted, Hades. The way you're going on, you may as well descend and take a seat for the defense yourself."

"If it would see you make the slightest effort to regulate the damned creatures, I would do so gladly," Hades (you're not sure if that's his first or last name) replies, far more sharply than any of his previous comments. "Call the vote, if you would, Madam Bones."

"If there are no further comments?" Amelia Bones says. Her voice seems somehow to echo even more than that of the two men. She seems to direct the words to Fudge, who gazes sullenly back at her. "Then, those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?"

After the vote, just when you are beginning to feel the relief sink into your stomach, Dumbledore sweeps from the room without so much as a glance at you.

Comments

[oncedriven]

One or two of the passing wizards nodded to Harry as they passed, and a few, including Madam Bones, sad, "Good morning, Arthur," to Mr. Weasley, but most averted their eyes. You keep a careful watch until Hades begins to pass you by - you almost miss him, simply because now that you're standing on the same floor as he is, his figure is overwhelmingly tall. The only taller man you've ever met in your life is Hagrid, who would have a hard time fitting into these stooped tunnels; Hades isn't to that scale, but he stands well above the other wizards exiting the courtroom, closer to six and a half feet than six. Up close, he has an angular face, with a substantial nose and a brow with a built-in scowl that reminds you, unpleasantly, of Snape.

You feel very small as you step out in front of him. He comes to a stop, his floor-length robes rustling as they fall around his feet, and before you can say anything, he says, "There's no need to thank me or any such thing, Mister Potter."

"Still, it's polite to thank you anyway, isn't it?" you say. "I don't think Fudge was very happy with what you said."

That earns you a lift in his eyebrows - they're no darker than his hair - in what might be amusement. "The Minister and I have been butting heads over the issue of Dementors for the past several years," Hades says. "If it did not occur to him that calling the full court to hear such a petty matter would have brought the matter to the forefront once more, that is his mistake and not mine."

You nod, somewhat automatically, and he nods at you in turn, giving only the slightest pause to acknowledge Mr. Weasley before he sweeps off on his way. Once he's gone, Mr. Weasley says, in an undertone so that the rest of the passing wizards and witches cannot hear, "Hades Solus spoke up in your defense? I would have had a losing bet on that. He's from as old and uptight a pureblood family as the Malfoys."

You shrug, not having any explanation other than the one the man himself just offered you. "He must really hate Dementors, then," you say.

"He was one of the loudest voices against their assignment to guard Hogwarts two years ago," Mr. Weasley says. "I suppose that's the only way it makes sense." He stops speaking then, to nod and return a greeting from a passing wizard.

Cornelius Fudge and the toadlike witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon...

[oncedriven]

"So what do you think of this?" Ron says to Sirius, once all the hubub of the letters arriving and the reveal of the prefects has died down.

Sirius, still holding one of the copies of the textbook list - when Molly Weasley is in charge of buying everyone's books, you don't need three copies of the fifth year, even if your coursework and Hermione's differ slightly - narrows his eyes at the list.

"Well," he begins, "to my knowledge, Solus was never a Death Eater, so he's at least not openly terrible."

"Glowing seal of approval, there," Ron says.

Sirius shrugs one shoulder. "He's just enough older than me that we never really interacted," he says. "My first year was his sixth or seventh. Ravenclaw, prefect, snotty prick. Like a bleached out Snivellus."

That doesn't fill you with confidence. You say, "He was against the dementors being posted to Hogwarts. It sounded like he's been fighting with Fudge over them for a while."

"Was he, now?" Sirius says. "That's new. Not that I remember him much before Azkaban, mind." He looks over the book list again, frowning. "He's got a reason for refusing to put a textbook on the list, you can bet on that - I've never seen anyone get away with 'texts will be provided' before. It might not be blood supremist rhetoric, but I wouldn't bet on it."

He folds the list in half and hands it back to Ron, who takes it and stuffs it in a pocket. Hermione says, "Even if the source is biased, I'm sure we'll be able to learn something from his class."

"Even if it's just how the other side thinks, you mean?" Sirius says. "Be careful about that. That's one of the ways they get into your head - one minute it all seems reasonable, and before you know it you're off floating Muggles over bonfires with the rest."

You don't wince at the reminder of the Quidditch World Cup, but only because things have gotten worse since then. You just say, "Thanks, Sirius," and the three of you take your leave.

-> be That Guy

[oncedriven]

Well, Most Esteemed Emet-Selch, you do not tell the mirror as you stare into it before turning away in disgust, you've truly gone and lost it now.

The voice doesn't not sound like Hythlodaeus. You can almost hear him, clearer than you have in a lifetime. You sigh as though he were here, give up on your face, and straighten your robes for a final time before stepping onto the platform.

Most teachers proceed directly to Hogwarts for their employment, rather than taking the train alongside the students. It's a tedious journey for an adult wizard who is perfectly capable of snapping their fingers across this small country at any time and arriving outside the gates with plenty of time to settle into their rooms before the feast.

It would also deprive you of the opportunity to see what the students are talking about, what they're thinking, before the arrive at the school. It deprives you of a relatively rare opportunity to observe them when they believe themselves unsupervised.

(Very well. To eavesdrop. You've lost most of your standards in the pursuit of your goals, what's one more?)

You're the first aboard the train, before it even arrives at King's Cross, and settle yourself in the front compartment of the very last car. Far enough to the back that most students won't pass you by; not so far to the back that whatever troublemakers typically occupy the rearmost compartment will interrupt you. A good place to observe.

(You used such a spot aboard trains in Garlemald many a time.)

Soon enough, there's the clatter of luggage, of footsteps, of voices. You count the souls passing by - they're both brightened by their youth and so much dimmer than you're used to. The difference here is that unlike Etheirys, there is no lifestream, no ambient aether for them to fade into. The enchantments on the train are minimal, just enough notice-me-not to keep nonmagical eyes off it as it pulls in and out of its destination. It will be different in the castle itself, which is why it's important to get your bearings now.

A group of three, one of them stained by something foreign. You frown, or more accurately, your frown increases in intensity.

Of course Harry Potter is one of those sorts who takes to the back compartments of the train. Why did you expect anything different? The boy has 'distrust of authority' written all over him.

Not that you can much blame him. Rare is the orphan wanted, so on and so forth. From what you've been able to put together, the only person who might have actually wanted the boy and could legally keep him managed to get himself arrested and thrown in prison not three days after his parents' deaths. Sirius Black may have been an oaf, but considering the drama that rippled through the pureblood community when he abandoned his House for that of the Potters, the love he held for them was undoubtable.

He just, like so very many people (and, you've noticed, wizards especially) didn't possess the ability to think through the long-term consequences of his actions.

The train gets under way shortly enough, as you continue to work your way through the concept of lesson plans, something more than a vague syllabus. You're no Lahabrea, certainly no Venat; education is as beyond your experience as parenting was when you were handed a squirming Garlean babe, a moment that was in many ways the first step on your descent either into or out of hell.

Fourteen years since the day you remembered your death, since that very same night where the worlds of the living and the dead jumped a little closer together on account of a rebounding curse, and you still haven't decided which it was.

[oncedriven]

When the train has been in motion for an hour or so and everyone has settled in to the journey, to whiling away the hours, you take up from your compartment and pass, mostly silently, up to the front of the train, and there begin the task of working your way backwards.

It is an incomprehensibly tedious task. It is also necessary. To each little cluster of students you give an appropriate introduction, a packet of readings per student - sorted by year and stashed in extradimensional pockets of your robes, such that you appear to be little more than an endless fountain of books - and take the time to match names to faces and, more importantly, to souls.

You know well enough that that's how you'll be recognizing most of them, after all. Better to get that part under way while you have less magical interference. Your brief visits to Hogwarts since regaining your Sight have not been your most pleasant, but there should be clarity enough that your natural way of recognizing people won't pose a problem.

The different greetings you get from each of the students is interesting. The pureblood old guard greet you warmly, like an old friend; many of the other students, the older ones, hesitate, unsure of you, unsure what to make of a professor who actively engages with them. The youngest students, the first-years without house colors yet adorning their robes, want nothing so much as to latch onto you and keep you as their personal question-answerer. Several ask about your hair, mostly the non-wizarding children. Three ask about your eyes, and those you make note of as particularly observant.

Eventually, you make your way back to the last carriage, and then the last compartment. There are six students inside. Harry Potter is as obvious to your sight as ever. Aside from him, there's nothing particularly notable about the others - a tad brighter than the average, perhaps, but not furiously noteworthy.

You knock. The door slides open, and one of the girls - red haired, freckled, Weasleys are infamous and you've already met her brothers, they're on the list of those who noticed your eyes - looks startled to see you standing there.

"Er, can we help you?" she says.

You don't bother to put on a smile for them - that's reserved for the first-years, and too much effort for this group in their middle years - but instead say, "And by process of elimination, Miss and Mister-the-younger Weasley, Miss Granger, Mister Potter, Mister Longbottom, and Miss Lovegood," you say, pulling out a parcel of books on each name and handing them to the girl. Each student looks up at their name.

Hermione Granger says, "Oh! Thank you, sir," as she takes hers, immediately pulling apart the brown paper covering the set. She's among the most eager of them, for certain.

"Do accept my apologies for the delay," you say. "Being a new subject, there wasn't an established curriculum to draw from."

"How much do we owe you for the books?" says Ronald Weasley, and his eyes go slightly wide when you reply.

"Nothing," you say. "As your teacher, it is my responsibility to ensure you have access to all of the materials you need for class. How many of you have a subscription to the paper?"

Granger pauses in her perusal of books to raise her hand, as though already attending class. Lovegood follows her example. You nod.

"If you need further copies, please inform me," you say. "We will occasionally be reading from the Prophet in class, as well as other publications as needed."

"You're just buying the paper for anyone who needs it?" Ronald says, looking significantly more surprised this time.

"As I said, I consider myself responsible for procuring the materials you need to learn," you say. "And it would be difficult to teach a class on wizarding society without engaging with its primary source of current events."

Granger has finished looking through her books, and is now giving you a considering look. She lifts one of them and says, "This is a work of fiction, isn't it?"

"Correct," you say, and normally by now you would have started moving on, but this is the last compartment, so you do not have the handy excuse of needing to attend to students further down the train car.

"We've never read fiction in class before," is all she says, looking thoughtful. "I haven't read something like this since coming to Hogwarts."

Lovegood, in her corner, raises her head, and says, "I think it's important to learn from many points of view. If you'd like any copies of the Quibbler for class, I can let my father know and we can print extra."

You can't imagine having use for that magazine except as a critical reading exercise, but you still put on a magnanimous (for you) face and say, "I appreciate the offer, Miss Lovegood." It seems as good a place as any to make your exit. "I will see you all at the feast."

The students nod, with various degrees of stiffness, and Ginevra Weasley slides the door shut again.

[oncedriven]

You see Professor Solus, briefly, as everyone exits the train; he stands tall over the shoulders of the students, with half a dozen first-years clustered around and behind him as he leads them towards the boats. With Hagrid missing, he's the tallest person visible, and may well be the tallest person at Hogwarts.

You lose sight of him after that, in the shuffle, and don't see him again until he's seated at the staff table, making an entertaining contrast next to Professor Flitwick. He looks mostly bored as the students file in, still wearing the incredibly plain black robes he wore on the train. You're more concerned by the sight of the toadlike woman who also makes for a new face at the table; it's difficult to know which of them to watch.

But even as the first-years enter and the Hat sings its song, Hades Solus continues to watch everything with the same expression of disinterest that only barely counts as polite. You focus on the Sorting and the feast that follows.

There's applause as Dumbledore announces the staff changes. At his name, Professor Solus stands, giving the student body a brief, silent bow with a sweep of one arm perfectly over Flitwick's head, before taking his seat again. Then as Dumbledore tries to continue the rest of his announcements, Umbridge interrupts him, and you lose track, quickly, of what she's droning on about.

The teachers listen much more attentively than the students. You pay particular attention to Solus, and he looks increasingly displeased by the whole thing, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. Eventually, her speech concludes, and Dumbledore is able to continue with his typical announcements.

"It certainly was illuminating," Hermione says, once Dumbledore's in the full swing of his usual speech.

"You got something out of all that?" Ron says.

Hermione's expression turns grim, and she says, "'Progress for progress's sake must be discouraged'? Sirius was right to be worried about the Ministry interfering at Hogwarts." She lifts her gaze away from the table, her face turning conspicuously towards Solus, on the opposite ide of the table from Umbridge. "Just maybe not about who was going to be doing the interfering."

"He doesn't look happy about what she was saying," you agree.

"I hope you paid good attention," Hermione says. "I have the feeling we'll be discussing that speech in our first class with him."

Ron groans. "You think?"

Hermione doesn't get the chance to answer him, as a great clatter comes the from the tables. All around you, students start to stand up. Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school...

[oncedriven]

It's with the Slytherins, because of course it is. All the worst classes are. However, it means that you now have Care of Magical Creatures with the Hufflepuffs, so you don't have to listen to Draco Malfoy's loud speculations on Hagrid's whereabouts, so you'll take the trade-off for now.

"I can't believe they added another class in our fifth year," Lavender Brown is saying as you pile into the classroom. It's a large hall with curved tables staggered down stairs facing a desk and chalkboard at the front, in a formerly unoccupied classroom between Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies. "We're already overloaded with OWLS coming up."

"We're just the unlucky ones," Hermione says. "They added the class to every year."

"Even the NEWTS students?" Lavender asks, and Hermione nods.

You take a seat and for the first time start to sort out the packet of books you were handed. Some of them are more like pamphlets than books, only twenty or thirty pages. One is the novel Hermione picked out on the train; one is a hardcover Muggle textbook, The Laws and Government of Britain, and the last is a similarly sized wizarding text, The Magic of Law and Its Applications. Unsure which you are going to need, you stack them all on the table to the side of where you'll need to write. Hermione has done likewise, except her pile also has the rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet on the top. There are copies of the newspaper dotted around the room.

The Slytherins, as is typical, have taken up their positions on the opposite side of the aisle between the curves of tables. Most of them have similar piles of books in front of or beside them, except that they've omitted the Muggle textbook.

There's silence in the classroom just long enough to build tension before Professor Solus opens the door from his office into the classroom. It's an entrance that would be impressive if you hadn't seen similar from Snape every year to date; the telling difference is that with a wave of his hand, Professor Solus dims most of the candles hanging over the room until the immediate environment of his desk and board is all that is well-lit, with the rest of the room in mild darkness akin to the dungeons.

He doesn't call roll; instead, he sweeps behind the desk - which is tall enough that he doesn't need to bend terribly far to write on it, probably Transmuted to the exact height he needs - and marks something off on a sheet of paper there.

"You can put the books away for now," he says. "We will begin by going over expectations for the class, and any questions you may have, which I expect will take most if not all of the class period. You may take notes as you see fit."

There's a lot of shuffling as students put their books back in their bags. As they do, Professor Solus raises a hand, and with a sharp snap of his fingers - you realize, suddenly, that you haven't once seen him draw his wand - sheets of paper flutter out to each individual student.

It is, in fact, paper, rather than parchment. You have to touch it to confirm, and wind up rubbing your fingers on the familiar texture of Muggle printer paper longer than you expect. It's written in pen, with none of the splatters and irregular places of a quill fading away before being dipped in the ink again. Ron, next to you, is squinting at it suspiciously.

It is at that moment that you realize, casting your gaze over the rest of the class and seeing the reactions everyone else is having, that this is going to be, if nothing else, the most interesting class of the year.

[oncedriven]

You skim over the syllabus. The first thing that catches your attention is the inclusion of OFFICE HOURS: 4-6pm, 7-9pm Mondays and Thursdays; Sundays by appointment; never Friday evening, Saturday. The rest of the breakdown is a schedule of readings more typical to your other classes, the kind of thing Hermione prefers to get a head-start on, but there's a list of assignments included as well. Some of those are labeled simply Current Events.

The Friday class period everyother week is set aside for a class discussion, and that alone sets this schedule wildly apart from any other class you've ever had at Hogwarts. You've never had any more discussion in class than answering a teacher's questions.

There's another sound of snapping fingers. Your attention jumps back up to the wizard at the front, but it seems to have been exactly that, a bid for the attention of the class, all of whom seem to be looking over the syllabus with the same confusion that you're currently feeling.

"As I am sure you are all aware," he begins, "this subject, although unfathomably important to your adult lives, is a new addition to Hogwarts. As such, I've taken the liberty of modelling portions of it off of comparable nonmagical subjects. It is a grand experiment in progress, for which you and your schoolmates are the test subjects. Nonetheless, it is my expectation that you take this class as seriously as you would Defense, Transfiguration, or Potions, because its implications are equally far-reaching."

He pauses, and then adds, "I am also equally aware of the poor state of the history curriculum currently offered by this otherwise prestigious institution. Unfortunately, the hours in my day are limited, and I cannot teach both."

You risk a glance around; many of the students have looks of surprise on their faces, Hermione's mouth open in a little 'oh' and Pansy Parkinson across the room with a scandalized hand over her mouth.

"Therefore, it is my intention to give the tools with which to judge history for yourselves," Professor Solus continues. "This class will focus on Wizarding Society and Government, yes, but it will also focus on why we do the things we do, in the way that we do them. It is my hope that by the conclusion of this year, that you will have learned to sort fact from fiction, bias from authenicity, and your own best interests from those of others."

"In the first term, we will focus on Wizarding society as a whole. In the winter we will shift our focus to the matter of government. As you can see from your syllabus, the curriculum for the spring term will vary based upon the individual class. We will return to that matter no sooner than February, after I have a better sense of your interests, experiences, and capabilities." He walks around to stand in front of the desk, leaning back against it and folding his arms over his chest. "And now, questions. I'm sure between the lot of you, they must be infinite; I will take four."

What seems like half the hands in the room shoot up, including, of course, Hermione's. The part that's strange is that Malfoy's hand shoots up on the other side of the room; you're not sure you've ever seen him actively ask a question of a professor in class.

Professor Solus produces his wand, finally, from his sleeve; it is as long as the rest of him and a dark wood that's only barely visible against the black of his robes as he flicks it with the laziest motion you think you've ever seen a teacher perform. "Nott," he says, and the flick of his wand must be for controlling the beam of light that suddenly falls upon on the Slytherin side of the room.

"Sir," Theodore Nott says. "You included a book about the Muggle government. With all due respect - why?"

It's the obvious question from that side of the room, which you think is probably why Professor Solus started over there; better to get it out of the way early.

"It is impossible to study anything about society and culture, including government, without comparing it to something else," Professor Solus replies, sounding bored. "Non-magical culture in this country is the most readily accessible example, as well as something with which some of your classmates have personal experience, but we will also draw comparisons to the United States, France, and Greece, in both Wizarding and nonmagical societies."

It doesn't seem to quite satisfy the Slytherins as an answer, from the expressions and occasional mutterings from that side of the room, but most of the hands on that side of the room drop away. Only Malfoy's remains in the air.

Solus swings his gaze to the opposite side of the room; the light over Nott goes out, to be replaced by one over Dean when he says, "Thomas."

"Thank you, sir," Dean says. "I just wanted to know - this is written in pen. Will you require assignments to be written with quill and parchment?"

"As long as it is ink on a page rather than pencil, is your original work, and satsifies other requirements of the assignment, I do not care," Solus replies. "Do note that essay lengths are measured in word count, not by physical length. If you are unfamiliar with a charm to check that quality, dragging your wand tip down the left margin of the section to be counted with the incantation Loyariaz should do."

The light over Dean goes out. Lavender Brown also drops her hand.

"Malfoy."

Malfoy doesn't so much as blink as the light shines down on him. If anything, he looks perfectly comfortable in it. "Did the Board of Governors approve of this curiculum, sir?" he asks, all pleasant simper, the kind he uses when he's trying to act innocent.

"They were given a general outline, which appears to have satisfied them," Solus replies. There's something slightly more cutting underneath his bored air. "As I said, this class is experimental. Whether it is retained for future students depends on its success this year. It is my hope that it provides a much-needed new model of education at Hogwarts going forward, but only time and your efforts will tell if it is successful."

The light over Malfoy blinks out with more abruptness than the ones over Nott and Dean. Well, you think, Malfoy's not making any friends with this one.

"Granger."

Just from the way he says her name as the light flicks on over her, you get the idea that Solus was saving Hermione for last.

"Sir," she says. "I was just wondering - on the syllabus, it says that Fridays will be focused on class discussion. Can you clarify what that means?"

"And that is an excellent segue into our next matter," Solus says. "I will lay down the ground rules, and then open the floor for our first class discussion. I hope you'll find it enlightening."