A/N: I hope you're all enjoying this so far. I promise it'll get better as it goes along. As always, R&R!
CHAPTER TWO: SHOCK THERAPY
Morgana had momentarily forgotten where she was, and when she opened her eyes the following morning, she nearly screamed when she realized that she wasn't in her dark bedroom back home. The sun was pouring through the high arched windows and the scent of fresh dew leaked into the room.
Hogwarts. You're at Hogwarts because you're a teacher now, she thought as she caught her yelp in her throat.
She looked around; her robes, amber and brown as always, had been laid out by house elves during the night, along with a hot cup of tea that must have just been made. She ignored the steaming mug and launched herself at the dark trunk hidden in the corner, murmuring a spell to unlock the complicated wards. She heard a faint click and wrenched the lid up, faintly smiling at the hundreds of small phials of red liquid that was her lifeblood. Literally.
Morgana carefully lifted one of the glass bottles out of the trunk and swirled it around, watching the sunbeams being caught and distorted within it. She pulled the cork stopper out and sipped eagerly, draining the phial of all the blood it contained.
It wasn't a practice she really enjoyed; she would have given her right arm to be normal, but her damn mother just had to go and fall in love with a vampire. She could still remember when her eyeteeth and incisors had come in, sharper than hell. Biting her tongue was the most painful thing the young girl had ever endured.
Professor Dumbledore, being the kind and accepting man that he was, had still allowed Morgana to attend Hogwarts; after all, he had allowed a werewolf to be accepted only two years earlier. As a child she didn't suffer from a horrid longing for blood, and therefore wasn't a large threat to her fellow students. She had been a tad disappointed when she was sorted into Slytherin, but that quickly melted away during her first year. She had been liked by lots of the students in her house, even those that were older than her, and relished in the limelight they gave her when they found out she was part vampire.
She smirked and stared out the window as she remembered her life as a student. The thrill of sneaking around after hours with some of her classmates, blowing up a cauldron in Potions, eagerly reading through her Defense Against the Dark Arts book into the wee hours of the morning…
This particular memory jolted Morgana back to reality, and she remembered that in an hour's time she would be the one teaching.
"Oh, Merlin's beard," she whispered as she pulled three more of the blood-filled phials out of the trunk and slammed the lid shut. She glanced over at the clock resting on the wrought iron bedside table; it was seven forty-five, and breakfast usually began at eight. "And then class is at nine…wonderful," she moaned, and roughly grabbed her white bathrobe before heading into the bathroom to shower.
The hot water that ran over her face did nothing to help her wake up; in fact, it only made her want to crawl back under the heavy blankets and sleep the day away. Knowing she would fall asleep in the shower, Morgana quickly shut the hot water off and felt a shockwave run through her body as the frigid cold water hit her skin. She rinsed the honey scented soap off her pale body and stepped out, wrapping the robe around her and pointing her wand at her hair. She muttered a charm and a gust of hot air blew around her head, drying her hair.
She dropped the white robe and pulled on her bra and underwear, followed by her brown dress, and then her amber robe. She decided against wearing her hat, and instead magicked her sable hair into a half ponytail, with flowers of gold filigree holding the messy bun together.
She checked the clock again: eight fifteen. Stuffing the phials into her bag, along with her lesson plans, parchment, and spare quills, she hurried out of her room and down the several flights of stairs towards the great hall.
Along the way, she ran into a young witch with rather bushy brown hair.
"Oh, good morning Professor Cimmerii!" Hermione said in a cheery voice as she bumped into the new teacher near the bottom of the stairs.
"Good morning…er…" Professor Cimmerii looked at her apologetically and said, "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."
"Hermione Granger, sixth year, Gryffindor House," Hermione announced, extending her hand.
The professor shook her hand and smiled. "Hermione…yes, I believe I saw your name on the roster for my first class," she said as they continued down the stairway. "I really do hope I do alright today."
"I'm sure you'll do fine," Hermione encouraged. "Professor Snape must be so mad! He's been teaching here for sixteen years and he's wanted your job the whole time."
A smirk flickered across the young woman's face as she said quietly, "Is that so?"
"Oh, yes. He knows a lot about the Dark Arts. You see," she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, "Professor Snape is a Death Eater."
Professor Cimmerii didn't seem at all amazed by this; in fact, she nodded. "Yes, I know. But I'm not too worried about him. He's just an arrogant git."
Hermione stared at her professor incredulously.
"But you didn't hear that from me," she added quickly as they entered the Great Hall.
Hermione smiled and said, "I'll see you in class, Professor!" as she made her way over to the Gryffindor table at the far end of the hall. Professor Cimmerii waved and walked between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables to the staff table.
"Getting on her good side so early, are we?" Ron asked sardonically as Hermione took a seat beside his younger sister, Ginny.
"I just ran into her on the staircase," Hermione replied as she bit into a piece of toast and began to pour over her Defense notes. "Seems confident about teaching," she muttered.
"She's rather pale," Harry observed while stirring his porridge. "Like, Snape pale."
Ron nodded in agreement. "I wonder if she's worried about him. Snape, I mean," he added when Harry gave him a confused look.
"She isn't," Hermione said from behind her notes. "She must have gone to school with him. She called him an arrogant git."
Harry and Ron burst out laughing. "When did she say that?" one of them asked.
"On the stairs, but she said not to really tell anyone she said it," Hermione answered quickly. "We've got her class first, you know."
"Wonder what that's gonna be like," Ron said, chuckling as the door burst open. "Oh, speak of the git…"
Professor Snape strutted into the Great Hall and made a beeline for his seat at the staff table. His Migraine Potion had been effective, although he still had difficulty getting to sleep the previous night. Why that was, he was unsure, but he felt no need to ponder on it any more than necessary.
As he sat down, he caught the last bit of a conversation between Miss Cimmerii and Professor Dumbledore:
"…I'm going to tell them in class," she was saying.
"Well, that will come as quite a shock to most of them, as you can imagine," Dumbledore replied in a serious tone.
"Yes, but I feel it necessary," Morgana insisted.
Dumbledore simply nodded and smiled at her, and she made her way back to her seat between the Astronomy and Charms professors, both of which began to strike up a deep conversation with her.
"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him.
Snape did not reply; he was too deep in thought. She was going to tell her class on the first day of school what she was? Was she out of her mind? It might have impressed many of the older students in Slytherin back when they were in school, but these were very dark times, and he was sure many students would be writing home to parents who would be less than thrilled to learn who – or what – was teaching their students.
He smirked at this; a possibility for him to achieve his dream job was always reason to smile, especially when the professor would be doing themselves in. It would certainly be a victory for him to see Miss Cimmerii packing up at the end of the week, sacked by the Ministry.
"Professor Snape." The voice coming from behind him was feigning sweetness and laced with poison.
He turned to see Morgana standing behind his chair, glaring down at him as she waited for him to acknowledge her. "Yes?" he said in a bored tone.
"I was hoping to ask you for the key to dungeon thirteen," she requested, although it seemed more like a demand than anything else.
"And just what would you need to store there?" he inquired, peering up at her.
"Frankly, that's none of your business," Morgana snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
Snape rose out of his chair, towering over her. He searched her face for a flicker of fear, but found none. "Dungeon thirteen is the coldest dungeon in the castle. I wonder…" He held his chin between his thumb and middle finger, his index finger grazing his thin lips. An evil grin spread across his face as he hissed, "Of course, it does need to be kept cold in order for it to stay fresh, doesn't it?"
She didn't answer, but continued to glare up at him as if she were restraining herself from slapping him across the face. He snorted and plunged a hand into one of the pockets of his black robes, and pulled out a silver key ring with several keys attached to it. He plucked a rather small key off and handed it to her. The number 13 had been engraved near the top.
"I wouldn't let too many students see you down there," he said silkily. "It is common knowledge that thirteen is always empty and unlocked. People might think you were up to something."
Snape sneered at her and left the table, robes billowing out behind him. He caught a glimpse of her face before he left the hall, and was quite pleased to see it was one of rage.
Morgana glared across the hall at the thin, greasy haired man as he strutted out into the hallway. She was sure Dumbledore was still talking to her, but she was too busy thinking of the many ways in which she could injure the oh-so-kind Potions Master.
Well, that's an easy one. Find him in a dark corner and take a sip, she thought darkly, grinning.
"You mustn't allow Severus to get under your skin, Morgana," Dumbledore suggested in a quiet voice. "He wins when you do. And we all know how much he enjoys winning."
"Oh, he hasn't won, Professor. The games have only just begun," Morgana said offhandedly as the loud bell rang to signal the start of class. "Well, I had best be off, sir. I will see you later."
She rose from the table and hurried out of the hall to the first floor, where several of her students, mostly Gryffindors, were patiently waiting outside the door. She felt a smile tug at the corners of her rouged lips when she saw Hermione Granger wave at her from the front of the crowd.
"Excuse me, please," Morgana announced as she made her way through the students, tapping her wand on the doorknob, and pushing the door open. She couldn't help but run her tongue over her pointy eyeteeth as she heard the distinct sound of each of the students' young heartbeats. "Now, if you would kindly take your seats…"
The Gryffindors filed into the classroom, hurriedly claiming desks and saving seats for friends. Morgana made her way to the front of the class and leaned on the mahogany desk; her dark eyes widened as she surveyed the class, which seemed anxious to hear the new professor speak.
"Good morning," she said in a hushed voice. "I am Professor Cimmerii, as you all now know. Now, before we begin, I have a few simple rules for you to follow. The minute you set foot in this classroom, all personal matters will be forgotten. I do not want to be responsible for students being sent to the hospital wing because they were too caught up in worrying about whether they were still meeting their boyfriend in the Astronomy tower to properly block a jinx." She looked pointedly at several of the female students, who blushed.
"Food and drink are banned from this room as well, unless I give you specific permission, which will not happen that often. Meal times are for food consumption, not class time," Morgana continued, and several more faces blushed and glanced at their bags. "Any reading material that does not have to do with the class will be confiscated. I expect your full attention in this room.
"I am available during breaks and will be in my office one hour after dinner every night if you require assistance with any of your homework. And," she paused, watching the class as intently as they watched her, "if I hear any of you criticizing your fellow students while in this room, the punishment will be swift. In dark times as these, we do not need to worry about how Mary's defensive stance makes her look like a hag or how Joe's counterjinx had absolutely no affect."
Not one student moved as she finished her speech, too worried that she would be able to tell if they were upset by these new, rather strict rules. Morgana was pleased; the effect she wished to have upon the students was pretty much there, but she hadn't quite finished yet.
"As I understand it, you are all quite familiar with certain…oddities when it comes to several of your teachers." There was a general murmur of agreement and a few students nodded their heads. "You might as well add me to your list."
"Why?" an Irish voice, no doubt Mr. Seamus Finnigan, asked from the back of the room.
"Because, Mr. Finnigan, I am half vampire."
There was a unanimous gasp as the words escaped her lips and reached their ears. Many of them twitched nervously in their seats, others looked like they were ready to run for the door, while Hermione raised her hand high into the air, albeit with a look of slight fear on her delicate face.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Morgana said, repressing a grin as the class winced at her voice.
"Professor, how did you manage to become a witch? I thought vampires weren't allowed to be in possession of wands," the young witch asked politely.
"Ah, a tale for another time, Miss Granger," Morgana whispered. "But for now, I have an assignment for you all. Considering how chaotic your lessons in this class have been over the years, I would like to get an idea of what you all feel would be of the most importance to learn. Therefore, I want you each to choose one topic related to this class, explain why you believe I should discuss it, and give any relevant information you can on the subject." She tapped the blank blackboard behind her and the task appeared in very fluid writing. "There is no set limit for this essay, but I will not accept what looks like a note scribbled on a scrap of parchment. I expect writing skills demanded of sixth years."
Books, parchment, quills and inkwells were pulled out of bags, and the familiar scratching of quill to parchment filled the room. Morgana took her seat at the head of the class and gazed at the students before her. As she focused on each of them, she could hear each distinct heartbeat, some rushed and rapid from the shock of her announcement, others slowly calming as they settled into their work.
"Miss Brown, if that is not a reference book, you had best put it away," she hissed at Lavender as she tried to sneak a copy of the latest beauty magazine into the binding of her textbook. The girl pouted and stuffed it back into her bag. "Do not let me see it again," Morgana warned.
Not bad for your first day, she thought to herself, thoroughly pleased. You managed to send most of them into shock and you gained their respect and attention all in one day. Not bad at all.
"Professor Cimmerii?" a male voice asked.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"Um…what if we've already covered the subject, but we feel it should be taught again in greater detail?"
"That is perfectly acceptable, Mr. Potter." She gave him a feeble half-smile and he went back to work, flipping eagerly through his textbook and scratching notes down onto the parchment.
Forty-five minutes later, the bell announced the end of class. Morgana rose up and watched as several of the students launched themselves out of their seats, happy to be leaving the lair of a vampire.
"Excuse me, but I do not believe I dismissed you," she said in an irritated tone, and every one of them paused to look at her. "As much as this seems like an empty request, please do your best not to mention my genealogy to the rest of the school. I would like to tell them myself." She heard many of them snort, which irritated her even more as she waved a hand and allowed them to leave.
"I trust that went well?" a warm voice said from the fireplace.
Morgana turned her head and nodded to Professor Dumbledore as he emerged from the green flames. "I suspect many of them will be in need of shock therapy, but yes, it did."
"You realize that by your next class, the entire school will know what you are?" Dumbledore chuckled, smiling. His blue eyes twinkled in the sunlight and gave him a rather childish aura.
"Yes, sir," Morgana sighed. "But if they could handle Remus, I'm sure they can put up with me."