A/N: Wow, another chapter so soon. Anyone reading this is blessed! I also have a third chapter up, but I would rather make another chapter before posting the third one. Also, I do want to hear some critiques, and comments on this, so please review. XD Tell me if I'm centering it too much on John, or if he's starting to sound Marty Stu-y. Also inform me if I'm getting OOC with any of the canon character. I'd really appreciate it.
Thanks.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any cast of Harry Potter. I only own John Smit-Masters.
Chapter Two
"Well, I believe it is blatantly obvious where to put you!" Exclaimed the Sorting Hat, grandly. This time, though, his voice echoed through the Hall, gaining the attention of those "starving" students ready to pass out. The Hat waited, pausing dramatically, before it decreed, "Ravenclaw!"
John blinked, and glanced around the Great Hall, which was strangely quiet. He had no clue which table he was supposed to wander off to, and he was pretty sure everyone shouldn't still be staring at him as if he was a three-headed freakshow attraction. As soon as the information sunk in, though, a table with students that wore blue and grey ties erupted into applause and cheering. The American student stared at the table, with all the smiling faces and the loud whoops, and felt disgust at the sudden faux cheery nature knot his stomach.
At the proffessor's table, the Head of Ravenclaw clapped with the rest of the Ravenclaws, as the other three Head of Houses slightly deflated at not getting a rare transfer into their own house.
"Oh joy." Muttered John, fighting down the urge to smack his head into the nearest wall. Headmistress McGonagall plucked the Sorting Hat from his head, though, and nudged him towards the table with a stern look.
Since it didn't seem like a smart move to disobey the headmistress, John Smit-Masters trudged over to the Ravenclaw table. He forced an anxious, but falsely happy, grin to his lips, and flopped down onto a space made for him on the bench.
John didn't touch any dinner, since his nerves were too tangled for him to want to eat, but did get his full of introductions. He lost count of how many hands he shook, and how many fellow Ravenclaws introduced themselves to him. The real trick would be to remember all those names, though.
The rest of the night had gone by without anything of interest happening. At least, not for John. He followed the rest of the Ravenclaws to the Ravenclaw tower, and was shown the common rooms. Apparently, someone had moved an extra bed into the sixth-year dorms, and he didn't have to worry about sleeping on the floor. Some of the wizards who grew up without any muggle inventions marveled at John's rolling suitcases, since the young man hadn't realized he was suppose to use a trunk.
Eventually, everyone departed to their beds after sharing advice with John on certain professors. John, however, stayed in the Common Room, flipping through a few of the textbooks. His nerves were still acting up, and he just felt he couldn't sleep, despite the fact it was the best option.
Meanwhile, the halls of Hogwarts were dark, with only the flicker of illuminating spells as proffesors meandered in the darkness. Some patrolled the hallways, others were merely making their way back from their office to bed, after spending a good time grading their student's papers. A few of the paintings snored, while others gossiped in hushed tones. Every now and then, a sleep-floating ghost would pass by, unaware of its journey while it slept.
Through the paintings, though, a pair of children ran; they ran from frame to frame until it came onto a congregations of fellow painted people. As they panted, and hopped from foot to foot anxiously, they were able to whisper in excited tones, "They're coming!"
"Oh dear." Murmured the mother of the two, as she glanced down each side of the hallway. At one end, a red shimmer illuminated the darkness, and at the other a green spark from another wand lit up the area slightly. Both were bound to intercept one another midway down the hall.
As the two points of light drew nearer to each other, a few of the painted people departed to their houses, while others stayed to watch. A few even decided to make a show of what was to happen, and munched on grapes as they waited for the entertainment to start. Moments passed, and the air in the hallway started to fill with tension as the two lights drew nearer. Soon, both wizards came into sight of each other, both wreathed in the light of their own wands.
They halted a foot from each other, merely glaring at each other in a way both had mastered from years of experience. Slight memories wavered through both minds; from their first meeting in a robe shop to their last showdown at Hogwarts before meeting again during the War. Finally, one of them spoke with obvious disdain glowering in his voice, "Evening, Potter."
"Evening, Malfoy." nodded the other professor, in forced civility. Although, all civility was banished as Proffessor Potter added, "I thought you'd be in your dungeon, mapping out new ways to torture my students."
"What you call torture, I call teaching." Sneered Proffesor Malfoy, contemptuously, "Of course, what would you know about actual teaching, Potter? You allow your students to wander around the grounds during your class."
The paintings that were watching the fight started to usher the children into the homes, or away from this particular area. Despite the children protesting, the older paintings thought it was best for them not to watch this argument lest it be the final one between these lifelong rivals. No point in getting bloody stains on young paintings.
"That was one time, Malfoy! And you know full well that it was only because the creature we were working with escaped through a window!" Snapped Professor Potter, flushing as the memories of explaining that fiasco to McGonagall resurfaced.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, letting his sneer evolve into smirk of superiority, "Yes, and who's fault was it for not closing the window? Hm, proffesor?"
This time, it was Potter's turn to bristle at a comment made at his method of teaching. He remained silent, though, having had that same question posed at him by himself many times. Anger was seeping into his thoughts, though, as his rival picked at a one time accident that he had already reprimanded himself on.
"You've made just as many mistakes as I have, if not more." Retorted Potter, clenching his fists as he glared at Malfoy. The smirk on the blonde's lips faded, and a flicker of all the wrong choices he had made in the past slid across his thoughts. Choosing one of the more recent mistakes, though, Potter added, "What about when you blew up the whole dungeon when teaching the students how to make a love potion? Do I have to remind you of how that affected all your students?"
The Potions professor winced at the memory of that particular memory. McGonagall had unleashed a very powerful edict that he wasn't allowed to teach students those sort of potions anymore until he had mastered them himself. Although Malfoy was particulary talented in the area of brewing and concocting potions, the ones that dealt with fuzzy feelings, infatuation, and "love" were a massive weak point of his. He couldn't hold it against the old bat for getting furious, though; not with how promiscuous the students became that year.
"Minor miscalculation in the competence of my students." replied Malfoy, smoothly and icily. However, unable to hide his embarassment, the proffesor turned on his heel and started to stalk away from Proffesor Potter. The Defense Against the Dark Arts proffesor scoffed, and grin to himself, feeling he had weakly won this round. When Malfoy had disappeared into the darkneness, only the green glow of his wand informing Potter of where he was, did Potter turn around and take his patrol down a different hallway.
When both teachers were out of earshot, the paintings sighed in relief. The first time such an encounter happened in the halls of Hogwarts, a few of the paintings had to be taken down and shipped to Mungo's for some special treatment. Like always, though, the headmistress was there to smack the two young proffesors around, and tell them of the consequences that would follow should they use such spells on Hogwarts grounds again.
Since then, neither Malfoy nor Potter had the gall to fight with spells, but merely with words. Yet, with those two, even their verbal arguements were a competition to see who could best the other with nsults. It was only a matter of time until the soreness of losing started to affect one of the two, and when that moment came a short-fuse to a deadly spell would go off.
Sometimes, the paintings wondered if they hadn't preferred the spells.
End of Chapter Two
