Durmstrang, Year 4
Writing School - Clarity in Writing
WC - 612
Hermione Granger-Weasley breathed in. She breathed out. A tug here and a tuck there completed her outfit perfectly.
All she had to do was turn the doorknob.
She could do this.
She could do this.
She was a strong, independent woman with a decade of teaching experience at Hogwarts. Substituting at the local daycare should be a piece of cake.
Hermione didn't know if she could do this, but she was a Gryffindor. The door opened.
Six children were running amok under the watchful eye of Miss Stanford, the head of the center.
Miss Stanford walked over to Hermione.
"Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Weasley."
"It's Mrs. Granger-Weasley, actually." Hermione corrected.
"Hmm… The children may have some trouble with that… Either way, your help is much appreciated. I'm afraid the Dragon Pox virus has hit our faculty more heavily this year than in times previous. I'm just glad that Hogwarts' staff is so willing to lend a helping hand. Ms. Rose's lesson plan is right here, but really, there's not much to it. You have here our wonderful three to five-year-olds. We mostly focus on giving them opportunities to strengthen motor skills and a safe place to explore their magic if necessary."
A toy hippogriff flew around a little boy as though to accentuate the point.
"Have, um, that is, are many of the children showing displays of magic this early?" Hermione asked hesitantly. She had seen a few displays of uncontrolled magic in her years teaching the first years, but what would that look like in a toddler?
"Goodness me, yes. That's why I gave you this class. With your experience teaching Transfiguration, I figure you are well prepared for whatever these little ones could throw your way." Ms. Stanford gushed.
Hermione hoped she looked more confident than she felt and responded with a faintly agreeing noise.
"Whelp, I'll leave you to it." Ms. Stanford turned to the children. "Behave for Mrs. Weasley, class!"
"It's Granger-Weasley," Hermione muttered before turning to the wide-eyed children curious about the strange adult in their domain.
"Right, well go play now. We will begin shortly." Hermione picked up a Muggle-style file from the desk that was titled "Lesson Plans".
Before she could begin reading, however, a little girl with pigtails toddled over.
"Potty!" she demanded.
After a brief interlude wherein Hermione managed to help the little girl wash her hands with only a minor flood in the bathroom, Hermione turned back to her reading.
Scissor Day.
Of course she would have to come when the children were learning how to use scissors.
After having a minor heart attack, Hermione looked in the supply closet and was relieved to discover all of the scissors to be used were of the kids' variety.
The day was still a nightmare, however.
First there were the three-year-olds who seem to have come to the conclusion that a substitute meant everything could go in their mouths, including the pointy new toys.
Then there was the four-year-olds who broke out in tears because they couldn't figure out how to hold the paper so that it would cut.
That had nothing, however, on the sole five-year-old in the class.
Annie Cartwright cut her paper perfectly. Then she cut through the table. And the tile flooring. And a stuffed animal that one of her peers was playing with. All with her mutant magic scissors that flew around the room seeming not to care about the 'safety' portion of its job description. On the plus side, Hermione walked out of the school with a stylish new hairstyle when she didn't manage to dodge on time.
Ms. Rose could not return soon enough.