September 29
The last days of summer passed in a molten whisper of gold, and soon the fires of autumn had been stoked, and the world blazed anew with the radiance of fall. Color erupted around hogwarts, a crackling melody of scarlet and gold, and every eddying swirl of leaves brought with it a blast of dying warmth, the last breath of the world before the ashen death of winter.
There was something familiar about Hogwarts at this time of year, and, when she closed her eyes and pictured the old castle, Aislinn always saw it surrounded by the golden glow of autumn. During those three precious months, it seemed the world was laying its riches on a platter and holding them up for the students to sample. She'd always loved the spice of autumn, and everything just seemed somehow richer in that fiery sparkle. The cool mornings seemed crisper, the sky seemed clearer, the butterbeer richer. Even Bertie Botts' Every Flavor beans seemed to have more tantalizing flavors in them. Despite the unpleasant memory of finding a dung-flavored one once, Aislinn still harbored a great love of those beans, and trying to pick out the ones that would taste like strawberry or butterscotch. Her mind, in one of its more infamous tricks, seemed to have forgotten that she'd ever found an onion flavored bean in the fall; she remembered only cinnamon and caramel.
Humming softly to herself, she waltzed her way to her classroom, her midnight velvet robes swirling around her ankles. She smiled to the students, calling them by name as she passed them, and to her pleasure, most of them responded in kind. It had been her intention from the beginning to befriend them as much as possible, despite the advice she'd had against that. Teachers should be teachers, not friends, she had heard too many times to count, but hers was an effervescent spirit that could not be dampened by such drivel. Besides, if her memory served her correctly (and it usually did), there were plenty of teachers at Hogwarts who were strict with the students. A little laughter never went amiss.
This morning, a Tuesday, found her in an exceptionally good mood. On Tuesdays, she did not have a class until 10, which meant she could sleep an extra hour and then spend the morning with a cup of tea (or apple cider this time of year, Merlin's beard but she loved the autumn!) and a good book. It turned out to be a good thing that she had the morning off, and was in such a good mood on Tuesdays; her first class came directly from Professor Snape's double potions class, and they were always gloomy enough to drown the sun it seemed.
Whistling a soft tune, she rounded the corner and settled herself on the desk, which she used for sitting about twice as often as she used for writing, and swung her feet back and forth while she waited for the bell to toll, announcing that her students would be free of Professor Snape and trotting up the stairs to her classroom. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor dears when she remembered her own years sitting in Snape's class. He had been an oily, slimy, sarcastic and generally unpleasant teacher in those days, and easily her least favorite. From the looks of things, little had changed. His hair was still every bit as limp and greasy as it had ever been, and his voice the same hiss that had grated at her nerves those years ago. And, based on her admittedly limited contact with him in her first month back, she had the distinct impression that his remarks had grown no less biting and his penchant for humiliating students no less pronounced.
And he had a disarming way of looking at her that made her feel stripped to the bones and eleven years old again. There was just something about the way he looked at her that always made her feel like she'd been misbehaving, and it took every ounce of strength she had not to cower when he turned that glittering glare on her. It was all she could do not to look away when he sneered at her, but to meet his gaze head-on, and that was the biggest bloody cycle she'd ever had the misfortune to be involved in. The more she stood there smiling at him as though he were a human instead of something a bat dragged out of the cave, the more he glared at her, as though daring her to do something he disapproved of. It was just like being in his class again, with him always hovering over her, waiting for her to screw up whatever brew she was working on.
In all fairness, Aislinn knew that she'd never truly applied herself in her potions class, but, why should she have? As a child, she'd been starving for attention as her parents both had better things to do than pretend to love her, and the teachers who encouraged her had always found her a willing and brilliant student. The sort they loved to have. She had done every scrap of homework McGonagall had ever assigned, and she'd read every word that Flitwick had ever pointed at. She did the extra assignments and the suggested ones, and when they said to write three feet of parchment, she'd turned in five. Only Snape had not been impressed with her, and, perhaps as a direct result, she'd not been impressed with him. By the middle of her first term in his class, she'd taken to purposely trying his patience, always walking the line of rule-breaking without actually stepping over it. She'd gotten more points taken from Gryffindor by half- breaking rules than all the others in her class combined, but when called on that, she would simply shrug and point out that Snape was going to take points away from Gryffindor anyway, so she might as well give him a good reason for it. It had been that kind of twisted logic that had kept her from ever being one of Hogwarts' shining stars, but she'd done all right.
And, out of pure spite, she'd pulled off an Outstanding OWL in Potions and continued to take the class, for no good reason. In retrospect, perhaps she was at least partly to blame for the ill light in which Snape seemed to see her, but she couldn't help but think that most of it had been because she was a Gryffindor, and everyone knew that he simply loathed that House.
The ringing of the bell to announce the end of class brought her out of her considerations of Professor Snape, and she put a smile back on her face, and waited for her students to arrive. And waited. And waited. They didn't come. She frowned slightly as the bell rang again, signifying the beginning of the next class, and still she had no students. Under normal circumstances, she might have assumed that her students were playing some sort of joke on her, but she rather doubted it this time. After all, they were in Snape's class before hers, and some irrational part of her mind (the part that was still thirteen for all intents and purposes) briefly wondered if he'd lost his temper and killed them all. Whatever it was, though, she doubted they'd had enough free time to plot a joke on her while in his class, and had it been orchestrated any earlier, she was sure she'd have heard about it. Besides, there were at least three students in her class whom she didn't think would have participated in such a joke for all the chocolate in France.
With a sigh, she hopped down from her perch on her desk, her heeled shoes hitting the floor with a click, and she lifted her hands, patting at her hair for a moment to make sure it was still neatly secured. It was, and a fluttering of hands over robes indicated to her that the blue velvet was still neat and straight. She checked the laces at her wrists to assure herself that they were still properly tied, and then set off towards the dungeon, to face the dragon of Hogwarts. As she walked through the corridor, her robe billowed behind her, though the effect was hardly the same as the effect Snape's billowing black robes had on people. As she floated down the stairs, she felt her lips tightening as she heard his hissing voice wafting through the open door. He was not supposed to have a class.
She came to a halt just inside the room, and, as she'd suspected, found her students still working on whatever was in those cauldrons. She cleared her voice loudly, and Snape looked at her, his dark eyes glittering dangerously. God help her, but those eyes had always driven fear into her heart, and it was no different now. Something in her whispered urgently, demanding that she apologize for interrupting him and back away, but she shoved that suggestion aside as she took a few steps into the room and smiled what she hoped was a bright smile.
"Hello, Professor Snape," she said cheerfully, and made a special effort not to let her smile falter as his glare deepened.
"Yes, Miss Car- Ichalia?" he asked, and she set her jaw. He did that on purpose, she was sure of it. Every chance he got, he was calling her 'Miss Carlisle' or 'Hannah', and she knew that he thought if he did that often enough, she'd eventually break down and run crying to her rooms.
Come on, now, is he really all that bad? She shoved the voice of reason aside; it always had miserable timing. Yes, as a matter of fact he is.
"I just came to collect my students, Professor," she said brightly. "When the second bell rang and they were not there, I assumed that the bell down here must be broken and you had all lost track of time." A snicker somewhere in the classroom drew Snape's eye, but Aislinn didn't move a muscle. She knew perfectly well that the bell was not broken, and even if it was, she could bank that one of the students would have reminded Snape that class was drawing to a close. ANd that was assuming that he did not realise it, which was bloody unlikely.
"The students will be along shortly, Miss... Ichalia." The pause was palpable, and she felt her jaw tightening again, but said nothing. "I'm afraid that there was a minor disruption earlier in the hour, and the students are all making up for lost time now."
Aislinn slipped the rest of the way into the room and came to a halt right in front of Snape, glad that she'd worn her heels today. It was such a gratifying thing, to be able to look down her nose at him. "Not on my time, they aren't, Professor. Now, class," she turned around and clapped her hands, "you may all go up to my classroom and take your seats. No, Robert," she shook her head at a Gryffindor on the front row, "don't bother to clean up."
"No one is to move." Snape spoke, as always, in that low and threatening voice, and the students who had started to shift stopped just as suddenly. "How dare you come in here and give orders to my class?" he hissed.
"No, Professor Snape, not your class. My class."
"My classroom." He had a smug look of inescapable logic on his face, but Aislinn knew she had him. She reached into her robe and pulled out a pocket watch, which she held up by the chain, the case open to reveal a mother of pearl face with ebony hands.
"Do you know how to tell time, Professor? When the little hand touches the ten and the big hand touches the twelve, these students become my students until the little hand touches the twelve and the big hand touches the-"
"Get out." He took a menacing step towards her, and pointed at the door, and the part of her that was interested in saving her own skin shouted for her to obey immediately. The mischievous imp, though, only smiled.
"Very well, Professor. And I shall be taking my class with me." She turned away from him, another feat which required more bravery than she'd ever realised she had, and clapped again. "Well? You all heard what Professor Snape said. Out!" There was a momentary pause, and then a couple of people began moving. Gryffindors, Aislinn noted with some small degree of pride. Always the Gryffindors to make the first move. After a moment of book shuffling and paper gathering, one of them finally stood, and, to Aislinn's delight, left the fire burning under his cauldron as he walked out of class. He was soon followed by another, then two more. It took close to five minutes before the last of the students had picked up her books and left the dungeon, and, Aislinn took that as her cue. She turned to Snape again, and tried to ignore the glower he was affixing her with. "And a good day to you too, Professor," she said with a smile and a nod, then stalked out of the dungeon and up the stairs.
When she reached her own classroom and entered it, it was, to her great surprise, to a round of applause from the students.
"That was bloody brilliant, Miss Ichalia!"
"Did you see the look on Snape's face? I thought he was going to have you for dinner!"
"I can't believe you did that, Miss, don't you know he's likely to curse you for it, or worse."
"What's worse than a curse, you half-wit?"
"Sitting next to you!"
"That will do." Aislinn took her place at the front of the class and resumed her perch on her desk. "Now, it seems we have a slightly shortened class today, so I believe we will skip the review of last night's homework and move straight into our next. Does anyone want to venture a guess what it will be?" Half a dozen hands shot up; Aislinn was quite predictable in this regard-- she followed her syllabus to the letter, and anyone who bothered to look at it would see that after 'the Sun' came 'the Moon'. "Yes, Mr. Arnold?" she called on one of the boys in the front row, a Slytherin. Despite the fact that Aislinn made no bones about supporting the Gryffindor Quidditch team and despite the fact that she'd been known to high-five Gryffindors as she passed them in the corridor when the House was up in points, anyone who watched her for even half an hour would be unable to make accusations that she favored one House over another when it came to awarding points.
"The Moon!" he answered, and, as expected, Aislinn clapped.
"Brilliant, Mr. Arnold! You must have been gazing into the crystal again. No? Well, no matter. Five points to Slytherin!" She made a hash-mark on the paper in front of her, indicating that she'd awarded points to Slytherin. It was a system she used to keep herself fair-- if there were more than three hands in the air, she awarded five points, and rotated the Houses, and students, she called upon. If there was only one hand in the air, and that had came up immediately, she awarded ten points to whomever it was if they answered correctly. If it took her half an hour of discussion to get answers out of the students, she awarded five points for wrong answers, and, when the right answer was finally achieved, she awarded as many points again to that person, so that if it took two wrong answers to get to the right answer, the person with the right answer earned fifteen points for their House. A complex system if she tried to explain it to anyone, and none of her students had ever caught on, but it worked for her, and she had a high level of class participation in her lessons. "Now," she said, "who read the chapter last night?" That was a pattern most of her students had picked up on. A leading question it was; anyone who raised his hand that he'd read the chapter was volunteering to answer a question, and anyone who did not raise her hand was admitting she hadn't read the chapter (and Miss Ichalia had been known to give detentions to everyone who didn't raise their hands.) More than half the hands went up, though, so there were no detentions this time as she called on a Ravenclaw. "Miss Mitchell," she said, and there was a rippling sigh of relief from the others, who immediately put their hands down. "What statement does the moon make in astrology?"
"I feel," the girl replied instantly.
"Excellent! Ten points to Ravenclaw!" Aislinn pointed her wand at the chalkboard, and the glyph of the moon appeared, followed by the phrase 'I feel' written in an elegant script. "The moon influences the subtle effects of our emotions on our personalities," she told them, and quills scratched against parchment. "It is often associated with childhood, and the way we were raised. A moon sign is traditionally considered more potent in females, and, some astrologers believe it is even more important than the sun sign for females. Regardless, though, it is generally agreed that whatever the sun sign, the moon sign will make itself known." She paused for a moment as the students finished writing, then waved her wand at the blackboard again. "For the remainder of the class, I want you to all consider how the moon is likely to manifest itself in each of the twelve signs. No, you won't need your books for this. Remember, the moon says 'I feel' and each of the signs has a meaning. We'll do the first together. What are the characteristics of Aries?" she asked, looking around. "Mr. Rigly?"
"Aries is determined, agressive and energetic," he replied, to which Aislinn nodded.
"Bravo! Five points to Hufflepuff! So, if the moon says 'I feel,' and Aries feels determined, agressive and energetic, what are some of the characteristics you would expect from an Aries moon? Anyone?" She looked around, and a lone hand came up, somewhat hesitantly. "Penelope?"
"Impulsive?" Penelope asked rather than told. "Like maybe someone who makes snap judgements for his or her first impression, and never changes their mind?"
"Fantastic! Ten points to Ravenclaw! Anyone else?" Two more hands came up, and Aislinn pointed with her wand. "Mr. Cathory, then Daniel."
"Exciteable?" Charles Cathory offered, with no additional explanation, but it was good enough.
"Very good! Ten points to Gryffindor! Daniel?"
"A bad temper, maybe?"
Aislinn's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "Aries and temper? Surely you jest!" There was a bit of sniggering from her students who had learned that Aries and temper went together like peanut butter and jelly. "Ten points to Ravenclaw! Anyone else?"
Fifteen minutes and a hundred and fifty points later, Aislinn declared that they'd beaten about as much out of the Aries moon as they were going to, and told them to spend the rest of the period working on the other eleven signs. She made a circuit of the room as they wrote, stopping here and there to answer a question or read over a shoulder, now and again kneeling at one of the desks to quiz a student, and so doing to guide him or her in the right path. She was so intent on her students, that she didn't notice anyone in her classroom until someone cleared his throat softly behind her.
She whirled quickly enough that her robes fluttered out around her, and her heart leaped into her throat as she found herself facing none other than Severus Snape. And a very unhappy Severus Snape, by the looks of him. And what on earth would he have to be unhappy about? she thought sardonically. Smiling, she spoke from across the room. "Something I can do for you, Professor?"
"A word, please." His reply was soft as a feather, and yet, he'd done it again. Three words and he'd struck fear into her heart. She put on a brave smile, and looked at her class.
"Keep working," she told them. "I'll be back in a moment." Forcing her feet to move despite the fact that they felt as though they were leaden, Aislinn walked gracefully to the door and stepped ouside. Snape shut the door with a soft, yet audible click.
"I do not appreciate your interrupting my class, Miss Carl-"
"Ichalia," she corrected, interrupting him.
His expression darkened. "Miss Ichalia. In the future..."
"In the future," she interrupted him again, "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from keeping the students beyond your appointed time. Particularly if they have other classes to attend. Yours is not the only subject taught."
A vein pulsed in his forehead, and Aislinn grimaced inwardly. You've bloody well done it now, she thought to herself, hope you've had a good life, and hope you enjoy the show as it passes before your eyes now. "I am certain, Miss Carlisle," he placed just enough emphasis on the word to make it clear that it was no mistake, his calling her that, "that studying rocks in the sky is important. However--"
However, he was about to tell her that potions were more important, and she was having none of it. Indignantly, she put her hands on her hips and leaned foward. "However, it is not your place to decide that your class takes precedence over another. Now, Professor, I am finished discussing this. If you have more to say, you may set up an appointment with the Headmaster, and I will be more than willing to discuss it with him. Good day." Before she lost her nerve, she spun on her heel and stalked back into her classroom, where she resumed her patrol of the parchment. A few minutes before the bell rang, she interrupted their work.
"If you will all please pass your papers in," she requested, and then lifted her voice above the shuffle of pages. "Your homework due next time, interview one of the first year students in your House, and determine where his or her moon is, then make a list of the expected characteristics of that moon. WHen you have finished, write a brief-- 12 to 18 inches-- report comparing the expectations to your own observations of whomever you interviewed. Class dismissed." Halfway through 'dismissed' the bell began to toll; her timing was perfect, as was usual.
When the last of her students had left, she darted out herself, and hurried towards the staffroom, her head pounding a soft rhythm.
The last days of summer passed in a molten whisper of gold, and soon the fires of autumn had been stoked, and the world blazed anew with the radiance of fall. Color erupted around hogwarts, a crackling melody of scarlet and gold, and every eddying swirl of leaves brought with it a blast of dying warmth, the last breath of the world before the ashen death of winter.
There was something familiar about Hogwarts at this time of year, and, when she closed her eyes and pictured the old castle, Aislinn always saw it surrounded by the golden glow of autumn. During those three precious months, it seemed the world was laying its riches on a platter and holding them up for the students to sample. She'd always loved the spice of autumn, and everything just seemed somehow richer in that fiery sparkle. The cool mornings seemed crisper, the sky seemed clearer, the butterbeer richer. Even Bertie Botts' Every Flavor beans seemed to have more tantalizing flavors in them. Despite the unpleasant memory of finding a dung-flavored one once, Aislinn still harbored a great love of those beans, and trying to pick out the ones that would taste like strawberry or butterscotch. Her mind, in one of its more infamous tricks, seemed to have forgotten that she'd ever found an onion flavored bean in the fall; she remembered only cinnamon and caramel.
Humming softly to herself, she waltzed her way to her classroom, her midnight velvet robes swirling around her ankles. She smiled to the students, calling them by name as she passed them, and to her pleasure, most of them responded in kind. It had been her intention from the beginning to befriend them as much as possible, despite the advice she'd had against that. Teachers should be teachers, not friends, she had heard too many times to count, but hers was an effervescent spirit that could not be dampened by such drivel. Besides, if her memory served her correctly (and it usually did), there were plenty of teachers at Hogwarts who were strict with the students. A little laughter never went amiss.
This morning, a Tuesday, found her in an exceptionally good mood. On Tuesdays, she did not have a class until 10, which meant she could sleep an extra hour and then spend the morning with a cup of tea (or apple cider this time of year, Merlin's beard but she loved the autumn!) and a good book. It turned out to be a good thing that she had the morning off, and was in such a good mood on Tuesdays; her first class came directly from Professor Snape's double potions class, and they were always gloomy enough to drown the sun it seemed.
Whistling a soft tune, she rounded the corner and settled herself on the desk, which she used for sitting about twice as often as she used for writing, and swung her feet back and forth while she waited for the bell to toll, announcing that her students would be free of Professor Snape and trotting up the stairs to her classroom. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor dears when she remembered her own years sitting in Snape's class. He had been an oily, slimy, sarcastic and generally unpleasant teacher in those days, and easily her least favorite. From the looks of things, little had changed. His hair was still every bit as limp and greasy as it had ever been, and his voice the same hiss that had grated at her nerves those years ago. And, based on her admittedly limited contact with him in her first month back, she had the distinct impression that his remarks had grown no less biting and his penchant for humiliating students no less pronounced.
And he had a disarming way of looking at her that made her feel stripped to the bones and eleven years old again. There was just something about the way he looked at her that always made her feel like she'd been misbehaving, and it took every ounce of strength she had not to cower when he turned that glittering glare on her. It was all she could do not to look away when he sneered at her, but to meet his gaze head-on, and that was the biggest bloody cycle she'd ever had the misfortune to be involved in. The more she stood there smiling at him as though he were a human instead of something a bat dragged out of the cave, the more he glared at her, as though daring her to do something he disapproved of. It was just like being in his class again, with him always hovering over her, waiting for her to screw up whatever brew she was working on.
In all fairness, Aislinn knew that she'd never truly applied herself in her potions class, but, why should she have? As a child, she'd been starving for attention as her parents both had better things to do than pretend to love her, and the teachers who encouraged her had always found her a willing and brilliant student. The sort they loved to have. She had done every scrap of homework McGonagall had ever assigned, and she'd read every word that Flitwick had ever pointed at. She did the extra assignments and the suggested ones, and when they said to write three feet of parchment, she'd turned in five. Only Snape had not been impressed with her, and, perhaps as a direct result, she'd not been impressed with him. By the middle of her first term in his class, she'd taken to purposely trying his patience, always walking the line of rule-breaking without actually stepping over it. She'd gotten more points taken from Gryffindor by half- breaking rules than all the others in her class combined, but when called on that, she would simply shrug and point out that Snape was going to take points away from Gryffindor anyway, so she might as well give him a good reason for it. It had been that kind of twisted logic that had kept her from ever being one of Hogwarts' shining stars, but she'd done all right.
And, out of pure spite, she'd pulled off an Outstanding OWL in Potions and continued to take the class, for no good reason. In retrospect, perhaps she was at least partly to blame for the ill light in which Snape seemed to see her, but she couldn't help but think that most of it had been because she was a Gryffindor, and everyone knew that he simply loathed that House.
The ringing of the bell to announce the end of class brought her out of her considerations of Professor Snape, and she put a smile back on her face, and waited for her students to arrive. And waited. And waited. They didn't come. She frowned slightly as the bell rang again, signifying the beginning of the next class, and still she had no students. Under normal circumstances, she might have assumed that her students were playing some sort of joke on her, but she rather doubted it this time. After all, they were in Snape's class before hers, and some irrational part of her mind (the part that was still thirteen for all intents and purposes) briefly wondered if he'd lost his temper and killed them all. Whatever it was, though, she doubted they'd had enough free time to plot a joke on her while in his class, and had it been orchestrated any earlier, she was sure she'd have heard about it. Besides, there were at least three students in her class whom she didn't think would have participated in such a joke for all the chocolate in France.
With a sigh, she hopped down from her perch on her desk, her heeled shoes hitting the floor with a click, and she lifted her hands, patting at her hair for a moment to make sure it was still neatly secured. It was, and a fluttering of hands over robes indicated to her that the blue velvet was still neat and straight. She checked the laces at her wrists to assure herself that they were still properly tied, and then set off towards the dungeon, to face the dragon of Hogwarts. As she walked through the corridor, her robe billowed behind her, though the effect was hardly the same as the effect Snape's billowing black robes had on people. As she floated down the stairs, she felt her lips tightening as she heard his hissing voice wafting through the open door. He was not supposed to have a class.
She came to a halt just inside the room, and, as she'd suspected, found her students still working on whatever was in those cauldrons. She cleared her voice loudly, and Snape looked at her, his dark eyes glittering dangerously. God help her, but those eyes had always driven fear into her heart, and it was no different now. Something in her whispered urgently, demanding that she apologize for interrupting him and back away, but she shoved that suggestion aside as she took a few steps into the room and smiled what she hoped was a bright smile.
"Hello, Professor Snape," she said cheerfully, and made a special effort not to let her smile falter as his glare deepened.
"Yes, Miss Car- Ichalia?" he asked, and she set her jaw. He did that on purpose, she was sure of it. Every chance he got, he was calling her 'Miss Carlisle' or 'Hannah', and she knew that he thought if he did that often enough, she'd eventually break down and run crying to her rooms.
Come on, now, is he really all that bad? She shoved the voice of reason aside; it always had miserable timing. Yes, as a matter of fact he is.
"I just came to collect my students, Professor," she said brightly. "When the second bell rang and they were not there, I assumed that the bell down here must be broken and you had all lost track of time." A snicker somewhere in the classroom drew Snape's eye, but Aislinn didn't move a muscle. She knew perfectly well that the bell was not broken, and even if it was, she could bank that one of the students would have reminded Snape that class was drawing to a close. ANd that was assuming that he did not realise it, which was bloody unlikely.
"The students will be along shortly, Miss... Ichalia." The pause was palpable, and she felt her jaw tightening again, but said nothing. "I'm afraid that there was a minor disruption earlier in the hour, and the students are all making up for lost time now."
Aislinn slipped the rest of the way into the room and came to a halt right in front of Snape, glad that she'd worn her heels today. It was such a gratifying thing, to be able to look down her nose at him. "Not on my time, they aren't, Professor. Now, class," she turned around and clapped her hands, "you may all go up to my classroom and take your seats. No, Robert," she shook her head at a Gryffindor on the front row, "don't bother to clean up."
"No one is to move." Snape spoke, as always, in that low and threatening voice, and the students who had started to shift stopped just as suddenly. "How dare you come in here and give orders to my class?" he hissed.
"No, Professor Snape, not your class. My class."
"My classroom." He had a smug look of inescapable logic on his face, but Aislinn knew she had him. She reached into her robe and pulled out a pocket watch, which she held up by the chain, the case open to reveal a mother of pearl face with ebony hands.
"Do you know how to tell time, Professor? When the little hand touches the ten and the big hand touches the twelve, these students become my students until the little hand touches the twelve and the big hand touches the-"
"Get out." He took a menacing step towards her, and pointed at the door, and the part of her that was interested in saving her own skin shouted for her to obey immediately. The mischievous imp, though, only smiled.
"Very well, Professor. And I shall be taking my class with me." She turned away from him, another feat which required more bravery than she'd ever realised she had, and clapped again. "Well? You all heard what Professor Snape said. Out!" There was a momentary pause, and then a couple of people began moving. Gryffindors, Aislinn noted with some small degree of pride. Always the Gryffindors to make the first move. After a moment of book shuffling and paper gathering, one of them finally stood, and, to Aislinn's delight, left the fire burning under his cauldron as he walked out of class. He was soon followed by another, then two more. It took close to five minutes before the last of the students had picked up her books and left the dungeon, and, Aislinn took that as her cue. She turned to Snape again, and tried to ignore the glower he was affixing her with. "And a good day to you too, Professor," she said with a smile and a nod, then stalked out of the dungeon and up the stairs.
When she reached her own classroom and entered it, it was, to her great surprise, to a round of applause from the students.
"That was bloody brilliant, Miss Ichalia!"
"Did you see the look on Snape's face? I thought he was going to have you for dinner!"
"I can't believe you did that, Miss, don't you know he's likely to curse you for it, or worse."
"What's worse than a curse, you half-wit?"
"Sitting next to you!"
"That will do." Aislinn took her place at the front of the class and resumed her perch on her desk. "Now, it seems we have a slightly shortened class today, so I believe we will skip the review of last night's homework and move straight into our next. Does anyone want to venture a guess what it will be?" Half a dozen hands shot up; Aislinn was quite predictable in this regard-- she followed her syllabus to the letter, and anyone who bothered to look at it would see that after 'the Sun' came 'the Moon'. "Yes, Mr. Arnold?" she called on one of the boys in the front row, a Slytherin. Despite the fact that Aislinn made no bones about supporting the Gryffindor Quidditch team and despite the fact that she'd been known to high-five Gryffindors as she passed them in the corridor when the House was up in points, anyone who watched her for even half an hour would be unable to make accusations that she favored one House over another when it came to awarding points.
"The Moon!" he answered, and, as expected, Aislinn clapped.
"Brilliant, Mr. Arnold! You must have been gazing into the crystal again. No? Well, no matter. Five points to Slytherin!" She made a hash-mark on the paper in front of her, indicating that she'd awarded points to Slytherin. It was a system she used to keep herself fair-- if there were more than three hands in the air, she awarded five points, and rotated the Houses, and students, she called upon. If there was only one hand in the air, and that had came up immediately, she awarded ten points to whomever it was if they answered correctly. If it took her half an hour of discussion to get answers out of the students, she awarded five points for wrong answers, and, when the right answer was finally achieved, she awarded as many points again to that person, so that if it took two wrong answers to get to the right answer, the person with the right answer earned fifteen points for their House. A complex system if she tried to explain it to anyone, and none of her students had ever caught on, but it worked for her, and she had a high level of class participation in her lessons. "Now," she said, "who read the chapter last night?" That was a pattern most of her students had picked up on. A leading question it was; anyone who raised his hand that he'd read the chapter was volunteering to answer a question, and anyone who did not raise her hand was admitting she hadn't read the chapter (and Miss Ichalia had been known to give detentions to everyone who didn't raise their hands.) More than half the hands went up, though, so there were no detentions this time as she called on a Ravenclaw. "Miss Mitchell," she said, and there was a rippling sigh of relief from the others, who immediately put their hands down. "What statement does the moon make in astrology?"
"I feel," the girl replied instantly.
"Excellent! Ten points to Ravenclaw!" Aislinn pointed her wand at the chalkboard, and the glyph of the moon appeared, followed by the phrase 'I feel' written in an elegant script. "The moon influences the subtle effects of our emotions on our personalities," she told them, and quills scratched against parchment. "It is often associated with childhood, and the way we were raised. A moon sign is traditionally considered more potent in females, and, some astrologers believe it is even more important than the sun sign for females. Regardless, though, it is generally agreed that whatever the sun sign, the moon sign will make itself known." She paused for a moment as the students finished writing, then waved her wand at the blackboard again. "For the remainder of the class, I want you to all consider how the moon is likely to manifest itself in each of the twelve signs. No, you won't need your books for this. Remember, the moon says 'I feel' and each of the signs has a meaning. We'll do the first together. What are the characteristics of Aries?" she asked, looking around. "Mr. Rigly?"
"Aries is determined, agressive and energetic," he replied, to which Aislinn nodded.
"Bravo! Five points to Hufflepuff! So, if the moon says 'I feel,' and Aries feels determined, agressive and energetic, what are some of the characteristics you would expect from an Aries moon? Anyone?" She looked around, and a lone hand came up, somewhat hesitantly. "Penelope?"
"Impulsive?" Penelope asked rather than told. "Like maybe someone who makes snap judgements for his or her first impression, and never changes their mind?"
"Fantastic! Ten points to Ravenclaw! Anyone else?" Two more hands came up, and Aislinn pointed with her wand. "Mr. Cathory, then Daniel."
"Exciteable?" Charles Cathory offered, with no additional explanation, but it was good enough.
"Very good! Ten points to Gryffindor! Daniel?"
"A bad temper, maybe?"
Aislinn's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "Aries and temper? Surely you jest!" There was a bit of sniggering from her students who had learned that Aries and temper went together like peanut butter and jelly. "Ten points to Ravenclaw! Anyone else?"
Fifteen minutes and a hundred and fifty points later, Aislinn declared that they'd beaten about as much out of the Aries moon as they were going to, and told them to spend the rest of the period working on the other eleven signs. She made a circuit of the room as they wrote, stopping here and there to answer a question or read over a shoulder, now and again kneeling at one of the desks to quiz a student, and so doing to guide him or her in the right path. She was so intent on her students, that she didn't notice anyone in her classroom until someone cleared his throat softly behind her.
She whirled quickly enough that her robes fluttered out around her, and her heart leaped into her throat as she found herself facing none other than Severus Snape. And a very unhappy Severus Snape, by the looks of him. And what on earth would he have to be unhappy about? she thought sardonically. Smiling, she spoke from across the room. "Something I can do for you, Professor?"
"A word, please." His reply was soft as a feather, and yet, he'd done it again. Three words and he'd struck fear into her heart. She put on a brave smile, and looked at her class.
"Keep working," she told them. "I'll be back in a moment." Forcing her feet to move despite the fact that they felt as though they were leaden, Aislinn walked gracefully to the door and stepped ouside. Snape shut the door with a soft, yet audible click.
"I do not appreciate your interrupting my class, Miss Carl-"
"Ichalia," she corrected, interrupting him.
His expression darkened. "Miss Ichalia. In the future..."
"In the future," she interrupted him again, "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from keeping the students beyond your appointed time. Particularly if they have other classes to attend. Yours is not the only subject taught."
A vein pulsed in his forehead, and Aislinn grimaced inwardly. You've bloody well done it now, she thought to herself, hope you've had a good life, and hope you enjoy the show as it passes before your eyes now. "I am certain, Miss Carlisle," he placed just enough emphasis on the word to make it clear that it was no mistake, his calling her that, "that studying rocks in the sky is important. However--"
However, he was about to tell her that potions were more important, and she was having none of it. Indignantly, she put her hands on her hips and leaned foward. "However, it is not your place to decide that your class takes precedence over another. Now, Professor, I am finished discussing this. If you have more to say, you may set up an appointment with the Headmaster, and I will be more than willing to discuss it with him. Good day." Before she lost her nerve, she spun on her heel and stalked back into her classroom, where she resumed her patrol of the parchment. A few minutes before the bell rang, she interrupted their work.
"If you will all please pass your papers in," she requested, and then lifted her voice above the shuffle of pages. "Your homework due next time, interview one of the first year students in your House, and determine where his or her moon is, then make a list of the expected characteristics of that moon. WHen you have finished, write a brief-- 12 to 18 inches-- report comparing the expectations to your own observations of whomever you interviewed. Class dismissed." Halfway through 'dismissed' the bell began to toll; her timing was perfect, as was usual.
When the last of her students had left, she darted out herself, and hurried towards the staffroom, her head pounding a soft rhythm.