The classroom gradually filled with first year Ravenclaw and Slytherin students. She had seen this room in many incarnations over her seven years at Hogwarts as a student, culminating in hideous pink cat decorations courtesy of Dolores Umbridge in her seventh year. As a bit of a minimalist, Chessie minimized her own décor to merely the essentials- desks, chairs, renderings of dark creatures, and the occasional taxidermied specimen on a display. Up the slight staircase to what she referred to as her 'indoor balcony', her office was decorated just as sparsely with only one photograph framed on her oak desk, facing her thinly padded chair; a photo George had convinced her to take with himself, herself, and Rose, Chessie's young blonde bespectacled ward, smiling and enjoying a lovely day in Munich one weekend not long after the war ended. The loss of Fred still showed in George's eyes, but it had been the first time he had genuinely smiled in several weeks and so Chessie cherished it anyway. Not that she would admit to sentimentality.
Once the students were all seated, if still nervously chatty, Chessie descended the short staircase to the main floor of the classroom in full wizarding robes sans the pointed wizard hat. She hated wearing hats so much, and unless she specifically had to she wouldn't, she had already decided. Chessie had opted for an intimidating outfit for the first day of school, and so was wearing a black blouse and black jeans underneath her open robes, and her favorite boots. George called them her dominatrix heels, but no need for the students to find that out. Ever.
As she descended, her shiny leather stiletto boots making contact with each step with an audible thud, the noise diminished until she was standing in front of the first years in silence, with her hands on her hips and a skeptical look on her face. In her peripheral vision, Chessie noted that Ambrose and his brother Absolom, sitting next to each other a few rows back, were not nearly as nervous as the rest of the students. Chessie already knew from tidbits of his mother's marathon-length letters to her about Ambrose's readustment into society, that Absolom was either going to be the class clown or the know-it-all of the group. He was even grinning at her, thinking he had an advantage over his classmates.
"Absolom Cenopathy," she said sharply, causing the dark-haired child to tense up, "What is the spell to use to disarm a boggart if one were to appear in front of you?"
The boy was silent, his confidence slipping. Good. Chessie had no intention of catering to favoritism and wanted to crush everyone's dreams equally.
"Anyone?"
A hand quickly rose on the Ravenclaw side of the room. Of course it would be, she told herself mentally. Chessie had copied exams off of many a Ravenclaw in her day.
"Yes, you," she nodded at the girl with her hand up.
"Ma'am, a boggart can be neutralized using the spell 'ridikulus'. This forces it to assume a silly form based on the spell caster's preference and interrupts the terror it is trying to cause."
"Of course, this is not a topic we will even get to until your third year, so the fact that you already know the answer has certainly left me with an impression," Chessie's eyebrow rose as she sized up the girl, the impression being given off that it wasn't necessarily a good impression. "Who are you?"
"Danielle Robinson," she said politely, lowering her hand. Chessie sighed internally, she had always hated the know-it-all students.
"I suppose a point for Ravenclaw for taking the initiative," she conceded. "What is the potion called that is used by werewolves to ease their transformations once a month?"
The same hand shot up. Chessie waited, but no other students seemed to know. They were a bit transfixed, watching her.
"Miss Robinson?" Chessie acknowledged.
"It is called the Wolfsbane Potion, ma'am. It is called as such due to wolfsbane, or aconite, being the main contributing ingredient."
Chessie smirked. "And is there a way to make it taste any less disgusting?"
No hands rose. The little Ravenclaw looked helpless at not knowing an answer. Finally a hand rose on the Slytherin side- Ambrose had lifted his.
"Yes, Ambrose?" Chessie said, making sure to say his actual name instead of the name she had given him merely two and a half years before, during her mission for the Ministry. Wat was his camp name, that Chessie had given him when he refused to acknowledge his own. Not long after the war had ended and homes were found for her young werewolves, the discovery that Ambrose was from a pureblood family had surprised several people. The reunion of the remaining members- Astralis Cenopathy, quietly resigned to solitude after her Death Eater husband's death, and Absolom as the twin and assumed only surviving child of three- was encouraging and uplifting. Ambrose had been given his own room. Within days the twins had decided to share a room. It was the brightest story Chessie had heard from her wolves so far. Significant amounts of therapy and resocialization later, two Hogwarts letters had arrived.
Ambrose hesitated, gaze fading as he reassured himself momentarily, then took a deep, firm breath. They had discussed this several times in the preceding weeks and he had agreed to the idea. No more secrets. Absolom looked very serious now, watching the class from his brother's side.
"There isn't." he said, faking confidence. "There is no known way to make it taste better without rendering the potion useless."
"And how would you know?"
This was the moment they had rehearsed over and over again, all August.
"Because, ma'am, like yourself, I am a werewolf."
The class gasped.
Word had already gotten around by lunchtime. In the other classes that morning, Chessie had been the one to bluntly answer that question herself, ensuring that not only Ambrose would take flak for being honest about a condition. Due to a class occurring right after lunch, Chessie had opted for lunch in her office, but noted the silence and then sudden rise in whispers when she arrived in the Great Hall for supper that evening. She held her chin high and strode to her seat as though paparazzi were following her, and sat down calmly in her seat as students alternated between open gaping and trying to stare with their peripheral vision.
"Really, Chessie," Flitwick admonished under his breath as he took a slice of steak from a serving dish. "This is all they are going to talk about all week."
Chessie commandeered the steak dish smugly "Better talk about me than who they remember dying here two years ago."
Flitwick winced. "I suppose if you are willing to accept the role, that may not be a bad idea."
"Well," Between Flitwick and McGonagall, Professor Horace Slughorn said softly, "If you were looking for attention it has certainly worked."
"No." Chessie said pseudo-sweetly, cutting her steak. "Slughorn, let's get something straight. I am not after your job. I am only here because I was specifically asked to be. My loyalty and attention goes to the students until the day I am fired. Eat the three servings' worth of mash on your plate and mind your own."
No one had a response for that, although Chessie could almost swear that McGonagall was hiding a smirk.
