The local, and a newcomer.
Mar 19, 2015 12:09:47 GMT
Post by Tyseus Blackwood on Mar 19, 2015 12:09:47 GMT
{Anne Knightley -:- btw, I just guesstimated your character's daughter as being in third year, I fully expect to be corrected and I'll edit the post respectively.}
-:-
The door of the homely pup swung open with a chime of doorbells and in strode the newest professor of Hogwarts. A light layer of moisture from the fog rested gently on his cloak and hair, softening the typically crisp appearance of the Welshman. Organizing his office, in the absence of it's previous owner it had gathered an air of neglect. He supposed the Hogwarts elves wouldn't spend an awful lot of time on a room that had no occupant, especially in a building the size of the castle, but it was still a little annoying to have to dust his own office upon entering it for the first time.
He still wasn't even sure if he wanted to be in this damp Scottish fortress. Surely Beauxbatons, his Alma Mater, had job opportunities? But no, he was in Britain now, he might as well stay here. And Hogwarts was as good a school as any, he supposed, the students didn't seem as motivated though.
He'd already had a class of fourth years the previous afternoon. No rest for the wicked huh? They'd seemed to be mostly non attentive at first, he'd changed that soon enough. An introductory lesson with a pretty gentle assignment just to test what they'd been taught by his predecessor.
It was Saturday and he was taking time to be out of the castle and gather some wool, and his wits, before the rush of teaching barreled into him in the coming week. It was too early in the morning to be drinking so he ordered a butterbeer and sat back in his chair glancing through the textbook he'd assigned, making pages to help him in lessons.
He was there for some time simply reading and marking before his tea arrived, thanking the curvy innkeeper and tipping her a few sickles for her trouble he glanced over the spread. She'd given him scones, wonderful. Sighing under his breath he poured a glass and thought hard about the last few months. Victoria... He'd never even had a chance to say goodbye before she was ripped away from him. He didn't know if he was ready to have a job again... but she'd want him to. She'd want him to stay occupied, and if possible, happy.
Grunting in annoyance he sat back in his chair and simply observed the pub as he sipped his tea, his textbook forgotten in front of him. History of magic was such a fascination to him, although he'd had a decent teacher. Apparently only recently had Binns been evicted from Hogwarts and Tristan Knight, the teacher before him, apparently couldn't handle the pressure of the job because he'd disappeared off the face of the planet. He snorted, what pressure? They were just kids after all.
-:-
He barely noticed as the pub filled around him, despite looking towards the door, as he was lost in thought. He'd arrived fairly early to the establishment and had beaten the normal rush of students going to Hogsmeade. By now it was mid morning and he'd worked his way steadily through the scones and tea, while occasionally flicking through 'The Western arts of magic, an abbreviated history', the text he'd assigned for the first four years of students, only the NEWT level classes got his book, the OWL students got the 'Revised History of Magic', by one of Balthilda Bagshot's nieces.
Ironically his was the most relevant of the three, focusing on recent history and the place Western Wizards and Witches had in the world as a whole, both worlds mind, not just the magical one. But he had a great deal of respect for Frederick Gonasabby, the author of his low level text book, and you just couldn't go wrong with the Bagshot revision text.
Woolgathering aside it had become rapidly apparent that the fourth years were way out of their depth with the text he had set. He wasn't surprised, apparently Tristan Knight hadn't done much teaching before he disappeared and Binns... well the less said about that geriatric ghost the better. He was a joke in the European History contemporary circuit, and as a result so was Hogwarts. He guessed he could change that.
He had a long way to go with all seven years. Honestly the Newt classes were pretty much hosed and he had no idea how many would even sign up for his class. Hopefully he could put the fire of history under the younger students and get them dancing for it.
He wrenched his mind back to the here and now and focused around the room, observing properly for the first time the people surrounding him: Most were students, that was no surprise, the odd teacher here and there. But one pair stuck out. A woman around his age and a young girl, one of the ones from the class he had taken. He guessed the adult must be the girl's parent. What was her name? Knightley? Meghan Knightley? Old English name, Pureblood name. He wondered wryly if his father would recognize it, or even Edmund, his family's elf, for that matter.
He was quite comfortable sitting next to the wall where he was and with the subconscious desire not to be bothered he was sure he was essentially invisible to the people around him. So he decided to watch this student of his and her mother. It wasn't creepy, so much as curious. She was the only parent here in Hogsmeade so far as he could tell this morning. Still new to the whole establishment he wondered just how rare the practice of meeting one's children was, and whether there was something wrong.
At the end of the day the woman might like to meet one of her daughter's teachers, especially one in a class where she would most likely struggle, although through no fault of her own.
He sat, he watched, he waited, and of course, he drank his tea.