“We’re all for power for purebloods and getting rid of mudbloods,” added Pansy.
“But considering what our house has been reduced to .
.
.” she was ignoring the glare Tracy was sending her way.
“Well .
.
.
let’s just say that there might be some questions about the way our parents do things.”
“You mean,” said Millicent, “that we’re not sure that it’s such a good idea to be so cutthroat about everything that we end up gutting ourselves and becoming total nonentities within the Hogwarts community?
Or allowing existing family politics to nearly stick us with Draco Malfoy as a leader of the house?
Or the fact that even without Hari’s drain on our points via Professor Snape, the man known for his utter bias for our house, that the older students are so busy jockeying for power that they’ve completely left everything else by the wayside and haven’t noticed?”
“When you put it that way,” muttered Pansy, “it sounds really stupid.”
Hari waved a hand.
“Can we get back on topic for a moment?
There’s really a day about me?”
“Yeah.
Which just goes to show they’ve never met you,” hissed Pansy.
“They’d be more terrified than worshipful.”
“I, for one, am glad.
I suspect my mother prefers my father retired, thank you,” commented Tracy.
“So, is there anything special about Halloween?”
The others looked at each other.
“You could say that,” replied Blaise mildly.
“Is that why the House Elves have been carting in pumpkins for the last week?”
“Probably.”
“And the reason that Professor Flitwick has been distracted during class and conjuring floaty lights with little sentient creatures in them?”
“Again, probably.”
“And why that giant moronic lump has been out killing deer in the forest every night?”
“Maybe?”
“And why Professor Stutterfaces has been bringing two Trolls into the castle?”
“It’s possi—wait, what?” Blaise held up a hand.
“Could you run that by us again?”
“Well, I know his name is Quirril or something, but I call him Professor Stutterfaces because—”
“Yes, yes, we know.
You’ve been calling him that since the first class.
I don’t think he was impressed.” Blaise, like Daphne, had a mastery of dry tones that was second to none.
“I meant the Troll part.”
“Well, I don’t know they’re Trolls.
But they look like Trolls.
He brought one of them to the corridor of not-really-dangerous and took it past the giant dog there.
The other one is parked in his classroom, so I can only assume we’re going to be covering Trolls this week .
.
.”
“Trolls.”
“Probably.”
“As in plural?”
“Yes.
I think I went over that with you.”
Pansy sighed.
“It’s just more evidence of what our parents have been saying for years: Dumbledore’s gone round the twist.”
Daphne nodded.
She was still surprised that she had ended up in the position of power, considering how the year had started but she was happy to take what she could get.
“Or, more likely, is up to something.” She looked at the surprised faces.
“The man isn’t stupid.
Even our parents know that.
They always worry what he’s planning.”
“Actually, can we back up a moment,” interjected Millicent.
“What was that about a giant dog?”
“Yeah, that’s the first thing in the corridor-of-not-really-at-all-dangerous,” replied Hari as he finished his bowl of food.
“It’s got three heads like Uncle Pain’s.”
“Dumbledore has a Cerberus in the school?” grumbled Pansy.
“I stick by my statement regarding him and twists.”
“Anyway,” said Hari.
“I’ll see you guys in class.” He rose and walked out the doors.
“Every time he talks, I feel my life getting a little odder,” muttered Pansy.
“Welcome to my world,” said Daphne.
“Well class,” said Professor Stutterfaces.
“Today we will be learning about .
.
.
Trolls!” he waved his wand and an illusion shimmered and faded, revealing a Troll in a cage.
He glared at the nearly half his class that failed to react except to cover their noses in disgust.
He’d been expecting a jump-scare or something from a bunch of eleven-year-olds.
“Who can tell me the first thing to do when encountering a Troll?
Mister Potter?”
“Kill it.”
“No, Mister Potter.”
“What?
Why not?
It’s just a big, magically resistant creature.”
“Yes.
That’s why, Mister Potter.”
“But Professor, a length of metal moving at speed would kill it right?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“So kill it.”
“But you don’t have a .
.
.” he trailed off as the quill on Hari’s desk turned into an iron spike two feet long.
“But most of the class doesn’t have projectiles at hand.”
Hari subsided into offended mumbling as Stutterfaces walked the rest of the class through the steps for dealing with a Troll (run, hide, pray).
He overruled several suggestions from Hari about various options for accelerated objects and appropriate targets.
“And stop claiming lightning bolts are a valid option.”
“Fine.” Hari rose.
“Clearly you’re not much of a Defense teacher if your solution is to tell us to run away from anything.” He walked out.
“He gave you detention,” Daphne informed Hari when she sat down beside him for Transfiguration.
“Between him and Professor Snape, I have a busy schedule of not going to them.”
“So no points in the hourglass at the end of the day again?” muttered Pansy.
“It’s Hari,” replied Tracy, as though it explained everything.
It rather did.
“Will you be trying to pretend to pay attention in class this time?” asked Millicent.
“Are we still doing beetles to buttons?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.” Hari placed a button on his desk.
It turned into a beetle and back.
“I’m good.
Any of you need help?
No?
Good.” He rose and walked out of the room just as Professor McGonagall entered.
“Good afternoon, Professor.
I’m going to do something else.
I left the button on the desk for you to examine.”