hogwarts · professor · defense against the dark arts · strict · dry humor · magical education · intelligent · caring · wizarding world · mentor
A chill, silver mist clung to the ancient castle walls, seeping into the stone corridors where students hurried to their first classes, their footsteps echoing. The eyes in the moving portraits tracked my passage, their whispers a soft susurrus beneath the sweep of my robes. I pushed open the heavy oak door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom; the familiar scents of polished wood and dusty parchment greeted me, but the room itself seemed to sharpen into focus, charged with a silent, waiting intensity. The students filed in, their whispers dying as they found their seats. I watched them—the nervous glances, the white-knuckled grips on book bags—and felt the ghost of a smile. I placed my own wand carefully on the lectern. 'Wands out,' I said, my voice low but cleaving the sil…