Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the candy cane I am currently consuming...a little out of season, but still good.
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Chapter 3
Rule #2: Never reveal your strengths, for they can become powerful weapons of surprise when used properly.
Draco hated the first day of school. All the teachers did was drone on about what they expected in class, how they should behave, what level of work was required, and if they ever had a problem, they could talk to them because the professors were their pals. He hated even more the fact that even though it was the second day of school, it was still the first day of second day classes. Draco entertained himself by imagining himself going up to each teacher and saying, 'Hi, my dad wants me to get the Dark Mark at the end of school and I'm not sure if I want to get one. Tattoos just aren't my thing.'
Draco was lost. Not in the physical sense or emotionally or spiritually, but philosophically so. He had recently begun to question the whole "mudblood/ pureblood" thing and discovered that he didn't know what he thought about it. All his life he had just been regurgitating what his father had drilled into him when he was little. Pureblood good. Mudblood bad. Now, he didn't know. Here he was, probably one of the smartest wizards in his time, not knowing about what he thought of the biggest debate in the wizarding world. He was pathetic. He was hopeless. He was screwed. Especially seeing as he was to get the Dark Mark the night after school let out, but the following day was his seventeenth birthday.
The problem with his birthday being that day was this: If Draco refused the Mark that night, his father would disinherit him. If he turned seventeen the day before, all of the money in his personal vaults would be his and his father wouldn't be able to touch a knut of it. Why couldn't he have been born a day sooner?
He sighed and entered the Ancient Runes class. The room was filled with wooden desks and chairs in rows and the front and side walls were covered with chalkboards. He slumped into a desk in the last row and dropped his bag, waiting as everyone else filed in. There were eight Ravenclaws (two of them were originally from Beauxbatons, and one was that home-schooled chick), two Hufflepuffs, three Gryffindors, and himself, the only Slytherin. He frowned. Two of the Gryffindors were seventh years and the other was Granger; he should have known she would be in this class. He slouched further in his chair, his loose hair falling into his eyes.
"Good afternoon, class," said the eldest Weasley, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. "Merlin, I've always wanted to say that."
The class laughed; Draco repressed the urge to roll his eyes and merely curled his lip.
"Let's get started, shall we?" asked the Professor. He walked up the middle aisle and stood in front of the room. "Some of you are seventh years who haven't taken Ancient Runes since fifth year, and some of you have taken Ancient Runes in a summer course and I don't know exactly what you were taught, so to figure out where you are, and to spare me the trivial task of spitting boring rules at you, we are going to play a game. The goal of the game is to be the first to decipher the rules. Everyone partner up and push your desks together."
Draco knew this was going to happen; he also knew that the only other person without a partner was going to be Granger. Sure enough when the scrape of wooden desk legs against a wood floor finally died down, Granger was the only other one who didn't have a body next to her.
"Mr. Malfoy," said Bill. "Please move next to Hermione. She is your partner."
Ah, here it was; the time had come to put on the Malfoy attitude. He leaned back in his chair, his sneer marring his face. He was rich, his father was powerful, even being escaped from Azkaban, and he was good looking, though his eyes were cold and full of disdain.
"I don't work with mudbloods," he drawled, flipping his head to the side to get the hair out of his vision. His now unobstructed line of sight allowed him to see Hermione stiffen at the term.
"No such language will be used in this room, Mr. Malfoy," said Bill calmly.
"Pardon me, Professor," said Draco, unconcernedly. "But as the rules have not yet been given, I did not know you objected to such."
"The entire grounds of Hogwarts objects to such language. Surely you realize this by now, you are a Prefect, aren't you?"
Draco merely lifted an eyebrow.
"Now move next to Hermione, Mr. Malfoy," said Bill.
"Why can't she move over here?" asked Draco. "I happen to like this spot."
"Because I am the teacher here," said Bill simply, and with that he turned his back and retrieved a pile of note cards from his desk.
Draco stared for a split second. No one had ever said that to him before when he had challenged a teacher's authority. Hagrid had fumbled around vainly for a reason, Flitwick had squeaked out something about respect, Snape let him get away with anything, Trelawney had told him his days were numbered, Sprout had blinked at him and then ignored him, and McGonagall said that when he knew everything she had to teach, then he could be teacher and wouldn't have to listen to her. But he did know everything she had to teach. And now this Weasley had just basically told him to move because he was in authority over Draco, and that was that. Had Draco not learned to hide his emotions since he was four, he would have grinned.
Draco picked up his bag, walked to the empty desk next to Hermione, and shoved it next to hers with a louder-than-necessary screech of wood on wood. He slumped into the chair and noticed Hermione's dark brown eyes blazing with indignation. He gave her a 'now really' look, then smirked. She turned back to Bill with a flip of her hair and moved as far as possible away from him.
The game was to simply translate the rules which were in all types of different hieroglyphics. If Draco had wanted to, he could have easily won hands down without anyone's help, but as he was pretending to be a slightly better than average student, and as he and Hermione refused to even look at each other, they lost.
The rules were regular rules, no foul language, be on time, do your homework, etc., but there were catches to all of the rules. No foul language, unless you write it in runes. Be on time, but if you are late you are responsible to catch up on work, but there was no grade penalty. Do your homework, but if you have a time constraint you may turn it in late as long as it is no later than two classes late. The last one caught Draco by surprise. He stared at the board, reading it for what it was in two seconds time. Call me Bill.
The glyph used for Bill's name was the symbol for a duck bill, and it took the others quite awhile to figure it out. Bill noticed Draco's stare of comprehension.
"Do you know it, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.
"No," lied Draco easily, as a stare of comprehension and a stare of incomprehension can look similar, especially when one's expressions were as guarded as his. "I haven't even learned that dialect yet, Bill." He said his name in a mocking tone, as if it were supposed to be an act of disrespect not knowing that the Professor wanted them to call him Bill, when, in all actuality, he was showing the Professor that he did understand. He knew the Professor would never realize it though.
Rule number two: Never reveal your strengths, for they can become powerful weapons of surprise when used properly.
"I see," said Bill. "Can anyone else tell me what it says? Yes, Hermione?"
"You want us to call you Bill?" she asked.
Several of the students snickered in Draco's direction as his supposedly intended insult fell flat. He felt his cheeks go slightly pink, and took comfort in the knowledge that his mind was ten times sharper than any of theirs. "I'm smarter," he whispered under his breath. Granger gave him an odd look and he glared at her, realizing that he had slipped and had muttered in French, an honest mistake as French was his native language, but he cursed himself anyway. That was twice in two days. First the incident with Blaise, now this. He was losing it.
"That's right," said Bill. "This is going to be an informal class as it is not as important as your NEWT classes. Now if you are a sixth year and you plan on taking NEWT Ancient Runes next year, I won't be as lenient then. But for now, this is going to be a fun course with lots of hands on activities. I'm only a few years older than you, so I want you to call me Bill. If that's too informal for you, you can call me Professor Bill. Any questions? Good. Now the partners you had for today will be the partners you have for the rest of the year. For homework I want you to take notes on the first five pages of Ancient Runes and You, and there will be a quiz on it next class, although our winners for today, Melissa and Patrick, have automatic O's. Alright, that's it here. Class is over and you are dismissed."
Draco put his things back in his bag and was about to leave when Bill called him back. "Mr. Malfoy, a word with you?"
He walked back to the teacher's desk. Bill searched about in the drawers, flipping though papers, until he finally pulled out a green, velvet-covered book.
"Here you go, Mr. Malfoy. I assumed that everyone already learned the Cretin dialect, that was the set of Runes used for the last rule, and since you did not, you'll have to learn it independently, but you can come to me for help. Is this going to be a problem, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Not at all, Professor Weasley," said Draco. He already knew it cold.
"It's Bill," said the Professor. "You don't have to call me Professor Weasley."
Yet you persist on calling me Mr. Malfoy. According to the Social Context Theorem, people immediately respond with the same level of formality they are greeted with, especially if the other party who used the high formality holds a position of authority over the other. In other words, you call me Mr. Malfoy, and I will respond formally without cognitively thinking about it, Draco thought.
"Mr. Malfoy?" asked Bill.
Shit, he'd been lost in his thoughts. Make that three times he had screwed up, Merlin what was wrong with him? Draco shoved the book in his bag and slung it over his shoulder, then looked at the teacher with slight defiance in his eyes.
"You don't have to call me Mr. Malfoy, either," he said.
Bill blinked, startled, and then Draco could see him thinking back to the times he had addressed him.
"Point taken," said Bill, smiling. "Have a good evening, Draco."
"Thank you, Bill," said Draco, nodding regally, but not deigning to echo the sentiment. He turned and walked out of the classroom. First day of classes were officially over.
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Bill watched Draco Malfoy exit his classroom with a frown on his face. There was something that Malfoy-or Draco, now- was not telling him. He had been positive that Draco had translated the 'Call me Bill' rule first because he had been staring at the board. But he had denied it, not fervently or flippantly, but coolly, honestly. And then he had called him Bill in a taunting way, as if he really didn't know what was written there. It had actually caused laughter from a few of the Ravenclaws when Ma-Draco's intended insult had actually not been an insult at all. The pale cheeks had even flushed slightly and the boy had muttered under his breath, most likely even more insults.
Bill banished the thoughts of one Draco Malfoy from his head and made his way to the teacher's lounge. He pushed open the heavy door wanting nothing more than to collapse in the comfy chair at his desk. Teaching was far more strenuous than he thought it was, but the minute he stepped in he was greeted with a loud "Surprise!" as most of the teachers jumped out from behind desks or bookcases and a large amount of red and gold confetti fell on his head. A banner stretched across the room reading, "Happy First Day of Teaching" and underneath that "Congratulations. You're Still Alive."
He laughed, feeling much more awake, and Professor Sprout brought forth a large cake with "Professor Bill Weasley" written in blue icing on it.
"It's Tuesday," he said. "I taught yesterday as well, so it's not really my first day you know."
"But yesterday you hadn't taught all of your classes," said McGonagall, wisely. "And so yesterday and today count as you first official day." The teachers laughed in agreement.
"Come sit down, Bill," said Hagrid, who had not been hiding due to his size. Bill obligingly sat in the armchair next to the fire and McGonagall handed him a piece of cake. She settled down across from him with her own dessert.
"So, how was the first day?" she asked.
"Tiring," said Bill. "If I had known how much work it was, I think I would have been nicer to all of you."
The group laughed.
"No you wouldn't have," said McGonagall. "But you were never too terrible."
"Glad to hear it," said Bill, taking a bite of the cake, which turned out to be chocolate, his favorite.
"Any problems?" asked Sprout.
"With a certain blond boy?" asked McGonagall.
"Nothing too terrible," said Bill, unconsciously repeating the words she had used to describe him. "We had a slight incident with bad language."
"He called Hermione a 'mudblood', didn't he?" asked Flitwick.
Bill nodded.
"'e's always picking on our 'ermione," said Hagrid. "She's a sweet lass, that girl. She don' deserve it."
"No one does," said Sprout.
"But that was it?" asked McGonagall in surprise. "That isn't too terrible."
"He refused to go sit next to her," related Bill, "but I told him I was the teacher and he moved."
"You just said, 'I'm the teacher', and he moved?" asked Sprout incredulously.
"Yeah," said Bill. "It was weird. I was expecting to have to drag him over."
"I remember one time when he was in his second year," said McGonagall. "I asked him to move up a row, and he just looked at me and said 'Why?' I told him so he could see better but he said he could see just fine. So I told him, I wanted him to pay attention, and he said he would. I finally told him that I wanted everyone closer so I wouldn't have to talk as loud, and he started muttering something about acoustics in the room, and the way my voice would carry. I wasn't really paying attention at that point because I had been arguing with him for ten minutes. I finally told him that once he knew everything in the class he could be teacher, but I was smarter than him so I was in charge and I said to move. He gave me this look as if he thought he was smarter than me, but then he moved."
"One time he refused to care for his Flobberworm,' said Hagrid. "I didn't know what to say to him."
"I ignore him," said Sprout.
"Once he refused to participate in the Cheering Charms," said Flitwick, "and I gave him a well over-due lecture on respect."
Bill listened to the stories of Draco Malfoy circle the room, and he thought back to his own lesson. Why had Draco obeyed him when he had caused so much grief to the other teachers? Surely it wasn't respect for him, was it then simply respect for authority? He would have to look into it.
"Oh, and Bill," said McGonagall.
"Yes?" he asked, pulling himself from his thoughts.
"The files of the students in your classes are on your desk."
"Thank you," he said. Maybe he could find something that would explain Draco's behavior in his dossier. It was worth a look as soon as he had gone over the folders for the students in his NEWT's class. As a teacher, he owed it to help them first.
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Next chapter, debate club gets organized, who will choose what side? And what will Dumbledore tell Bill?
