I really don't know much on Care of Magical Creatures

Professor Fawcett

August 31, 2008 6:10 PM

Lesson Two for Third Years by Professor Fawcett

A large, square object sat square in the middle of the long specimen table as the third years sat down in the neat rows of ladder-backed chairs John preferred them to use while he was teaching the class. The object was covered with a thin, silky light blue scarf of Allison's, which John had used an engorgement charm on and hoped he would be able to get back to its normal size before he saw his wife again. John stood between the specimen table and the tall, wheeled blackboard he put major points of his lectures on, the roll already on top of the red folder in front of him.

When the hands on his watch said class had begun - he was, as the students had learned, one of those teachers who did his level best to begin precisely on schedule and was good at doing it - he picked up the roll and called for silence before he began reading it off. When all of the attendance had been marked, he steepled his hands in front of him and gave the group a smile. He supposed they preferred Kiva to him - most young people liked younger teachers, which he'd have to be vain beyond all reason to think of himself as - but he did try to seem at least approachable.

"Afternoon, class," he said. "If you'll all get out paper or parchment and the writing utensil of your choice, I'll get started." While they rummaged around in bags for what they needed, he turned to the board and wrote one word on it, a word he imagined confused any who watched him write it. That word was George.

"As you all know," he continued when everyone looked ready to write, "you've been studying various magical birds this year. A fair few of you - " there were always a handful of purebloods, readers, and maybe even reading purebloods for each group - "may also know there is no species of magical bird known as a George." His hands had been clasped behind his back, but John managed to get one on the scarf without being detected. He whipped the cover off of the big clear-walled tank with a flourish, showing the group a tiny bird speckled shades of blue. "This, ladies and gentlemen, is a jobberknoll. His name is George, and he usually spends his time keeping small insects from eating all my books." John paused for dramatic effect. "One day, he'll also repeat my speech to you word-for-word in reverse."

George was perhaps John's favorite member of Allison's not inconsiderable collection of pets. Not only did he eat the bugs before the bugs could eat paper, but he didn't make a sound that disturbed John while he read, shed fur all over the sofa and robes, or get underfoot in the morning or the handful of days each year where John took off his glasses, put them down somewhere, and forgot where that was. It was for that reason that John hoped George didn't mind all the public scrutiny too much. "Does anyone know anything about jobberknolls here?" A hand went up. "Yes? Tell us what you know."

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Subthreads:

I really don't know much by Talen Dupree

It was dead when I found it, George by Oliver Abbott

0 Professor Fawcett Lesson Two for Third Years 0 Professor Fawcett 1 5

Talen Dupree

September 02, 2008 2:38 PM

I really don't know much by Talen Dupree

Talen detested Care of Magical Creatures. It had nothing to do with the subject matter, not really. Animals were actually pretty cool. He even thought he might like a pet someday. Of course, this would require one that might be unusually tidy. He hated that which was unstructured, which was the reason he disliked the class. Though, he found it considerably better with the new substitute merely because they were now using chairs, which was a step closer to an orderly class.

Like the other students, Talen took a seat in one of these chairs. He chose one that was not to close to the front since he didn’t want to be too close to the possibility of a messy or smelly creature, but not one that was too far in the back, because then he wouldn’t be able to get a good view of the material for the day. Even if it wasn’t his favorite class, he still wanted to get a decent grade. He tended to like to get Os and As merely due to their vertical symmetry rather than the actual meaning of the grade. It was a rather odd quirk.

Once he was settled in the seat, he took out his parchment, quill, an extra quill, and ink. After this was done, Talen made sure his bag was completely sealed before setting it the right of his chair. Then, with great care, he dipped his quill into the ink and began writing his notes. He loved writing with the quill and didn’t understand why his cousin liked muggle pens. Quills held a certain romantic poetry about them that couldn’t be matched by anything else.

When professor Fawcett wrote George on the board, Talen frowned. He had known that the word wasn’t a bird, but what frustrated him was that he had written it down anyhow. He didn’t like when professors tried to catch their attention by some fairly unrelated (to him) means, such as what turned out to be the given name of a Jobberknoll rather than the species name. It was rather upsetting, as now his notes were ruined. Hmm. Maybe not, if he just added a sentence here, yes, that should do it. He gave a sigh of relief. His notes were saved for the time being.

He added a couple of sentences involving the pet rather than the bird, but when asked about the bird, itself, Talen was able to raise his hand to contribute to the lesson. “The Jobberknolls’ feathers are significant in certain potions, such as Memory Potions and Truth Serums.” Potions was a class that he enjoyed quite well. For him, though, it wasn’t about mixing the ingredients to actually produce something, but rather the exactness of doing so. On the downside, it was still a potentially messy class, but then it seemed every class had the capability to be when it involved students testing spells.

0 Talen Dupree I really don't know much 105 Talen Dupree 0 5

Oliver Abbott

September 08, 2008 3:47 PM

It was dead when I found it, George by Oliver Abbott

This sub teacher was so immeasureably better than the last. But then Oliver had probably incurred the wrath of the batty old witch by explicitly disobeying her orders. Hey, he'd never coped well under peer pressure. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

Professor Fawcett was okay, but Oliver preferred Professor K's more laid back approach to teaching. All this roll call business and the chairs and blackboard outside was all a bit surreal. Why bother with taking them outside if he was just going to pretend they were in a classroom anyway? For Oliver, outdoor lessons meant the whole sunhat and sunglasses deal. It would just save trouble for the professor to bring the creature into the classroom, he was sure. Though on the other hand, Oliver really didn't object to spending every extra second outdoors. Mentally shrugging, he settled in one of the seats and tuned into the lesson.

Oddly enough, Oliver didn't know a great deal about jobberknolls. He'd heard of them from his reading other chapters in the textbook, but he was hardly the type to read ahead of class. Rather than raising his hand, Oliver jotted down notes about the jobberknoll the other students offered, and then rummaged in his bag to make notes from his textbook. Though as he tried to keep his notebook steady on his lap, Oliver fumbled with the book, knocking it onto the ground just out of reach. "Sorry," he wispered to the student seated next to him. "Could you pass me my book back?"

0 Oliver Abbott It was dead when I found it, George 99 Oliver Abbott 0 5