“I didn’t think you’d ever wake up. You just missed breakfast.”
Patrick’s stomach growled, his face furled in a frown. “I hope it’s not long until we have lunch.”
“We got our schedules this morning. I managed to grab one for you while you were asleep.” He handed Patrick a short piece of parchment. “We won’t have lunch until after Magic History.”
The rumbling sounds of Patrick’s stomach were louder than those of the unraveling of his new schedule.
Patrick and William soon found that wandering through the many halls and buildings of Wentwater was no easy task. Several of the doors were dead-ends, leading them around in circles. Not only was it hard to navigate the halls, but the many buildings of the school were uniquely difficult to find a way around. There were some detours that were specific to certain buildings; remembering these differences stacked more frustration on Patrick and William’s already full plates. Some of the older students were kind enough to help them, while others intentionally directed them into doors with brick walls or classrooms with angry portraits, who would not allow them to leave until they had been lectured thoroughly on the importance of punctuality. When they finally managed to find their classes, they quickly picked their favorites out of the bunch.
Magic History was mildly interesting at most. Their teacher, Professor Mott, was particularly snobbish to anyone who asked questions. This was especially the case when she went over the various attacks of large golden-furred oxen, called Re’ems. The classroom was filled with students who fired off many queries about exactly how much destruction was done. Initially, she just tried to ignore them. Whenever she was forced to stop, she glared at whoever had raised their hand and ended up shoving her large, pointed nose back between the pages of the book she was reciting. As the questions became more frequent, she simply continued to speak louder and louder until the room was free of any frantically waving limbs.
At the greenhouses, near the Dining Hall, Professor Marigold instructed Herbology. Of all the teachers Patrick had met so far, Professor Marigold was perhaps the youngest. Her blonde hair, that was tied up in a clutter in the back, occasionally drifted in front of her pretty face as she spoke and she had to move it out of the way several times during the class. Patrick could tell that she was very fond of her work, as seen by her enthusiasm when it came to discussing dull topics like garden safety, which most of their first lesson was spent on.
Professor Snerkin’s class was by far the most entertaining. His jolly demeanor kept everyone’s attention while he performed several amazing feats. He gave a brief explanation of the course, even while performing a dance number with their textbooks.
“Charms are very important, as these are the ones you’re most likely to use in everyday life.” The class listened, their eyes transfixed on their copies of Common Charms and Enchantments as the books waltzed around the table that separated them and their teacher. “Now, you probably won’t be doing anything of this sort for years to come,” he remarked, “but over time, if you work at it, you’ll gradually be able to attempt some harder spells.” He waved his wand and each of the books returned to its rightful owner.
“Boy am I glad he’s our Hall Master. I’d hate to end up with some grouchy, stern old lady,” William commented, as he and Patrick found their way to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. “Imagine, having some old, stern witch breathing down our necks.” They stepped inside the door of the classroom for their next lesson, not knowing what to expect. His parents had told Patrick that if there was any class he needed to excel in, it was Dark Arts Defense.
When they finally met their teacher, William’s description of a strict witch seemed fittingly accurate when referring to the appearance of Professor Wiggins. Even though Professor Wiggins was a wizard, he did, indeed, appear grouchy, but was never-the-less a knowledgeable teacher.
“The name‘s Professor Angus Wiggins,” he said, his voice ringing with confidence, “but I don’t want none of you callin’ me Angus, ya’ hear?” Patrick glanced over at William, and he looked even more relieved that Professor Wiggins was not the Allard Hall Master. “I was born ‘n raised ‘n Texas and if there’s one thing we don’t tolerate in Texas, its any misbehavin’.”
Firm as he was, his class was very engaging. Even the Garrisons, who shared this class along with the Allards, were greatly impressed with every morsel of information Professor Wiggins told them. Henri, who had lived in France, was particularly astounded by his knowledge of particular incidents in Marseilles, in which the rise of dark wizards were abruptly halted.
On top of the pile of work they had amounted over the beginning week at Wentwater, first years had to spend their Tuesday evenings gazing at the stars from the, newly dubbed, Quidditch field for Professor Dextra’s Astronomy class. Elizabeth, who was not very fond of staring at the stars for any period at time, usually found a way to accidentally break her telescope each class period.
Breakfast Thursday morning met the students with mixed feelings. Transfiguration was scheduled for the period after breakfast that day and none of the first years knew exactly what to expect from their newest teacher, Professor Sumpton. He stared out the Dining Hall windows (now showing a rainy day) and remembered the rants and ravings his father would make after coming home from work. How his lack of appreciation for the Republic fueled much anger and contempt for the selection of this year’s Transfiguration teacher.
When the morning post arrived, it seemed that Patrick’s father was not the only one with a disliking toward President Filibuster and any and all of his decisions. Owls soared in, greeting many of the students with cautious letters from worried families about their impending lesson. While staring out across the grounds displayed on the walls of the Dining Hall, Icarus, had arrived with a letter that Patrick guessed, was his family’s own warning of his first Transfiguration lesson. He opened it, skimming his father’s neat handwriting.
Patrick,
You already know how I feel about this Filibuster business and I don’t want you getting involved in anything. Try not to attract any attention and don’t put too much stock in any of his opinions. Your mother is already in stitches over being away from you and the last thing she needs is to hear that you’ve been socializing with those Republic of Magic folk. I want you to send me an owl right after you get this and another one after your first lesson, and I mean it.
Stay out of trouble,
Dad
Patrick asked to borrow William’s quill, which he had just finished using to write assurances to his father. He quickly scribbled a few words just to assure them that he had, indeed, taken his father’s warning seriously. I’ll be careful, I’m sure everything will be fine. He attached the letter to Icarus’ leg, feeding him a chunk of bread and patting him softly on the head. Icarus’ great wings took flight and Patrick’s questions began flying around inside his own head, as well. Surely, no one person could be causing this much of a commotion.
“Do you think he’s really as bad as everyone says he is?” Patrick asked, wanting William’s opinion.
“Probably not,” William shrugged, “my father doesn’t have an opinion on the matter. He just told me to be careful. If everyone else is suspicious, then I should watch out. He’s probably not that bad. I just think people are blaming him because they don’t like the President. He could end up being the best teacher we’ve had yet.”
Patrick and William left their clean breakfast plates and left the Dining Hall. They ran into Elizabeth and Sarah who they had caught talking excitedly with their faces squeezed together reading a single article in The Warlock Examiner.
“What are you two looking at?” William asked.
“Just the newspaper,” replied Elizabeth.
“I thought it might be a good idea to subscribe,” said Sarah so I know what’s going on in the Wizarding World. You two might want to take a look at this.”
Apparently the newspapers had caught wind of the uproarious sounds of parents’ disapproval. A moving picture of the president’s face took up most of the front page. He looked less noble than he did on the button Patrick was given at the Square. President Filibuster, this time, was wearing a mildly nervous grin underneath the great, bold faced headline of the paper.
While many voiced their concerns over President Filibuster’s appointment of Dominick Sumpton to Wentwater Conservatory of Magic a few weeks ago, it was nothing to the amount of complaints being received now that the fall term has begun. Many thought that the president would not go through with his selection. Disappointed, protesters directed their anger toward him during a press conference, yesterday afternoon.
“If I thought that my decision to appoint Mr. Sumpton would have caused this much commotion I would still have chosen him anyway.” When asked why he was chosen, the president was interrupted by his Secretary of State, and father of the Wentwater appointee, Timothy M. Sumpton.
“There is no better choice, in my opinion, for a transfiguration teacher. The spells I’ve seen him do…it’s incredible.”
While reading, Patrick’s eyes glanced at the photo of President Filibuster. His generous face was pushed aside by another, one with a slender face that wore a pair of small glasses and graying blonde hair.
“Isn’t that the man who introduced, the president back in Agnomon?” William and Sarah both looked at the man, appraisingly, gave their murmurs of assent, and they stole another glance before turning their eyes back to finish the article.
The coming months will decide whether or not, the president’s first big decision, since his inauguration in July, will be remembered for being a wise fit, or a disastrous mistake.
“A couple of months?” William chortled. “How about ten minutes?”
He was right. Their first Transfiguration lesson was in just a few minutes time. Patrick had been eager to attend every lesson, that is, before he was barraged with the warnings of his parents and the entire country. With his book bag slung over his shoulder, he walked along the grounds toward the Kinsey Hall building, the rest of his friends in tow. Once inside, he again had more trouble with his directions. He could not remember whether it was on the second floor to the left or around the corner on his right. Elizabeth helped; being quite certain it was around to the right.
When they reached the turn they could see that Elizabeth was, indeed, correct. A large huddle of students had gathered outside one of the classroom doors, some peering in through the keyhole beneath the knob, others reviewing the Filibuster article from the newspaper. William spotted Henri amongst the crowd, holding in his hand a letter than he had, no doubt, received at breakfast.
“Are your parents all jumpy, too?” Elizabeth asked, motioning toward Henri’s letter.
“Sort of. Zey just want me to tell them eef I see any’zing ‘zuz ‘picious.” He tucked his letter into his book bag and patted his hair, picking a small twig from it.
Much of the chatter outside the door instantly subsided once their, now famous, Transfiguration teacher emerged from inside their classroom. He looked as though the massive cries of disgruntled parents had not bothered him in the even the slightest way. His young face was bold, wearing one of the most heart-warming grins for someone being attacked the way he was. Judging by the condition of his neat brown hair and matching eyes, no one would ever guess that he had been under the intense scrutiny of thousands of wizards. Patrick immediately began to think that all of the newspaper coverage and warnings from parents were a bit over the top. After all, it had almost been a week and there had not been a single report of Professor Sumpton so much as sneezing the wrong way.
He gestured the horde of first years to enter, his scarlet robes billowing behind him as the class held the door wide open.
Patrick and the others tailed the large class of students. The tables in the back of the class room filled up quickly. Apparently, the grin on Professor Sumpton’s face was not as inviting to the other students as it had been to Patrick. He and William took a table to themselves leaving Elizabeth, Sarah and Henri to another. Professor Sumpton had positioned himself in the front of the classroom taking in the nervous glances of his new students.
“Good Morning. My name is Professor Sumpton and I’ll be teaching Transfiguration this year. Now if you open your books…”
“Why does everyone hate you?” one of the other Allards, Patrick knew as Jonathan Hiller, interrupted; he was another boy in Patrick’s room. During the placement ceremony, Patrick was so lost in thought that he had not paid very much attention to all the students that had been placed. Based on the amount of first years he noticed before the ceremony, Patrick imagined that he had probably only glimpsed a small portion of his classmates being put into their Halls.
Jonathan looked annoyed at the fact that Professor Sumpton was going to ignore everything being said about him. Surveying the room, Patrick noted that upon Jonathan‘s interruption the class had become a bit more attentive. Those sitting in the back probably wished that they were at least sitting near the middle so they could better hear Professor Sumpton’s response.
Professor Sumpton heaved a heavy sigh. He was obviously hoping to avoid having to discuss his current popularity with the country.
“Perhaps,’ he began, “it is your parents you should be asking that question to. I wish I knew what all of this calamity was about,” he finished, his voice wrapped with an irritated quality of voice.
Apparently, his answer was enough to silence any further questions; no one seemed brave enough to touch on the subject again. The students seemed to agree that they should be asking not who is under attack, but those who are throwing the stones.
The remainder of the class went smoothly. Professor Sumpton spent a large portion of the period getting to know more about the students. Each of the students shared something about themselves, usually something about what kind of family they had come from. It felt much like the Allard Hall table’s conversation after the placement ceremony.
Patrick learned some interesting things about the other students in his class. Charlotte Dempsey, another Allard girl in Patrick’s grade, had a star-shaped scar on her shoulder after being bit by a doxy. The entire class was especially surprised to head that Garrison, Glen Finley had a twin brother who had not inherited any magical abilities. After William finished telling the class about his uncanny resemblance to his father, Professor Sumpton moved, without haste, to Patrick.
“And you’re…,” he said glancing down the parchment that he used to take roll, “Patrick Thatcher.” His voice swung upwards with interest upon speaking his name. “You must be the grandson of the, ever-so-famous, Emeritus Thatcher, then?”
“Yes, sir.” Patrick tried to keep his words short; he wanted to at least attempt to heed his father’s advice.
“Your grandfather is quite the hero. I suppose he’s given you pointers on how he accomplished those great feats during the war?”
“Err…not”not really.”
Professor Sumpton looked disappointed. “I would have loved to hear some of the stories, as well as the rest of the class, I’m sure.” He once more flashed that heartwarming smile at Patrick. “Surely, he has told you how he did it?”
Patrick was beginning to look confused. He had no idea what Professor Sumpton was talking about. When it came to his grandfather’s accomplishments he knew surprisingly little. Patrick shuffled in his seat, becoming uncomfortable.
“No, sir, he didn’t.”
Professor Sumpton moved behind his desk and stared down at one of the textbooks, laying flat on its back. “If I’m correct, I believe most of our time here is spent. Be prepared to start working hard next class period. Despite what you may be reading in the papers, Transfiguration is not going to be a walk in the park; at least not while I am teaching it.”
Patrick felt relieved when the school bell had finally rung. He and William did not dawdle when leaving Professor Sumpton’s classroom. They rejoined Elizabeth, Sarah, and Henri, outside of the Kinsey building.
“’e doesn’t seem so bad,” Henri said, stretching his arms, his face covered in the sun’s warming light. “Maybe everyone iz wrong about heem.”
William snorted. “And I suppose you think he was going to answer John’s question and tell us why everyone thinks he’s the worst thing since dragon pox? He may not seem as bad as everyone is making him, but he’s not in the clear yet.”
Elizabeth looked quite pleased with their new teacher. “Well, I like him already,” she smiled, “he didn’t even assign us any work! As long as he keeps that up, I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to be school dean.”
They walked back along the grounds to the Dining Hall for lunch before their next class. Patrick was still unsure of how he felt about Professor Sumpton. He was sure that however his impression, it would not be enough to change his father’s mind, he thought, remembering that he was supposed to write a letter detailing what had happened in their Transfiguration class today. He placed a bit of parchment and an inkwell next to the plate holding his roast beef sandwich and scribbled some words. He finished, writing just a bit more than he wrote in his last letter, and folded it in quarters tucking it away in his book bag. He took a quick bite of his sandwich and a giant gulp of pumpkin juice.
“What’s our last class?
“Potions,” William said, skimming down his schedule. “With Professor Litmus, Mendel Hall Building.”
They continued to discuss Professor Sumpton over lunch. Most of them, while cautious due to the newspapers, still found him harmless. Most of them tried to offer reasons as to why he was so disliked. Henri had the idea that he might have been involved in a mass werewolf cover-up; endangering the lives of many wizards. While his idea received a couple of well-deserved chuckles, it was hardly a theory worth investing in.
They got up to head to their next class where Sarah followed them out of the Hall.
“I was giving it a thought over lunch and, well maybe he’s not to blame at all,” offered Sarah. “For all we know he and President Filibuster could both be innocent; just victims of public hatred.”
It was very much a possibility. The only question at this point was, why? Was is just general contempt for the government that was fueling this extreme disgust or were there other reasons for the uproar against these two people?
Her idea was received much better than Henri’s. They continued to give it though after passing by the greenhouses while waving goodbye to Sarah; she had Herbology next. Elizabeth led the way to their Potions class giving Patrick time to make mental notes of which passages to turn around, desperately trying to avoid the taunts of the portraits that decorated this, and every, hall in Wentwater.
“Well, here we are,” Elizabeth said, marching up to the door of Professor Litmus’ classroom. They entered and immediately took notice of how very organized the room was. The walls, however, did sport the occasional streak of a smelly or bubbling liquid. Professor Litmus wasted no time getting to know the students as Professor Sumpton did, she merely ushered her thick, tawny hair behind her ears and motioned for the class to join her next to a large cauldron that was placed in the front of the class.
“Now gather ‘round and take a look.” Her voice reminded Patrick of a wizard carnival that he once attended. One of the wizards there had asked him and his mother to attempt to levitate a silver ring around a large tooth. His mother told him that there must have been an Imperturbable Charm on it, because she had received an “Impeccable” on her Charms C.A.T.
Professor Litmus had begun swirling the runny, orange liquid in her pot before she spoke again. “I’m going to show you what making a mistake in my class could cost you.” She pulled out a vial from her indigo robes, jerked the cork from the top, and held up a thin blade of blue grass.
“Every…single ingredient is important.” She parted her fingers and the small plant swayed slowly down into the cauldron, taking the gaze of all the surrounding students with it. When it disappeared under the surface, nothing had happened immediately, leading some to think that it was just a joke to break the ice for the new term. The orange color, however, began to shift to a scarlet one. The cauldron, that was once half-full, began to rise rapidly to the surface. Patrick and his classmates backed away from the over-sized cauldron, eyes still affixed to the rising liquid. He shot his eyes toward his teacher who not only seemed to have a very patient expression, but looked as though her hair had flickered red for a moment. Professor Litmus pulled out another vial, this time dropping a handful of small brown roots into the cauldron.
“That wasn’t a huge disaster. This was, after all, a controlled mistake. I must impress upon you the importance of following directions, especially in my class. Potions is not to be taken lightly, that is, unless you take your own life as such.”
William and Elizabeth hardly felt anxious to make any potions after Professor Litmus’ demonstration. Never-the-less, when it came time to brew one they would, assuredly, check the instructions several times.
The class period went by without anymore potentially deadly exhibitions. They took turns reading and going over the first few pages of Playing with Potions, during which, Patrick noticed, William had taken to reading even the title three times.
The group returned to the Allard common room where Icarus was waiting for Patrick almost as if he knew that his services were needed. Patrick withdrew the letter he had written earlier and attached it to his owl’s right leg. He carried him over to the window and lifted him out to deliver his message.
“We’ve got one more lesson tomorrow and we’ll have most of the day off. We might actually get to relax for a bit!” William said, throwing his feet on top of one of the tables, right where Elizabeth was preparing to sit. She shoved them off and set her things down. “I guess I’ll have time to finish this description of the solar system for Professor Dextra, then,” she sighed. Patrick and William both laughed.
“It’s not funny!”
They continued to talk about their wide assortment of teachers and staff. No matter how strict, humorous, or unpopular they were, Patrick enjoyed them all the same. He could not have asked for a better bunch.