Catch The Snitch

(Reserved for Prof. Integra Sigma)
CLASSROOM 7A, ARITHMANCY
EARLY FEBRUARY, 3.30PM

Numbers glinted off the chalkboard, winking beneath the soft glow of the late afternoon sun. The weather's so lovely, but you're stuck in class! the numbers seemed to say. Lovely day, indeed.

He could tell even without looking out the window. Cass found himself doing quite a lot of listening these days, and boy, the things he heard...

From his classroom, the distant peal of laughter from the quad below reached his ears. Some classes must've ended early today, thought the fair-haired boy enviously. The whizz of flying broomsticks reverberated in the air, Cass swore he could almost feel the wind brush against his face. What better way to spend the afternoon? Certainly not cooped up within the walls of his Arithmancy classroom. He pictured himself slumped beneath the hulking oak by the lake, a spot he'd taken to calling his own, reading a mystery novel of some kind. Bliss.

The only reason he was in this class was simply because Felix had taken it. His older brother had registered for more than half of the electives offered to him for the term. Cass, in a concentrated effort to prove he wasn't a laggard, followed suit. His less-than-stellar grades weren't very impressive, though. Barely skimmed past the Acceptable mark, much to his parents' consternation.

The collective sound of chairs scraping against the floor pulled the boy back to the present. His longing gaze drifted from the board to the scant page of his Arithmancy worksheet. Ah, blast... the calculation had completely gone over his head. The boy shrugged, thinking he'll have another crack at it at dinner, when his mind was less marshy, so to speak. He began stowing his things away - only to stop a moment later, a sense of unease tickling at his nape.

Cripes. That didn't bode well.

Though spring had arrived at Hogwarts, the promise of better days ahead yet eluded the students of Classroom 7A. Professor Sigma’s introductory lecture on probability started off well enough, but as the lesson went on the concepts she introduced became increasingly complex and confounding. Nor did it help that they were strictly dealing with numbers and calculations, and to most students that was arguably the driest part of Arithmancy.

Sweeping her critical gaze across the classroom, the elderly professor could tell that the only thing that kept the students’ waning attention on her was fear. Fear that she would call upon them to answer a question that she would not even deign to write on the chalkboard behind her, so that she would know if anyone wasn't paying attention in class. Fear that they would not be able to provide the correct answer and thus incur her wrath. Fear that she would spring something utterly unexpected on them. That sat well with her: she was neither a nanny or a clown, and it was not her job to mollycoddle or entertain them. Instead, it was her job to whip her young charges into shape, regardless of whether they enjoyed the process or not.

“If a loaded die rolls a six twice as often as each of the other numbers but is otherwise fair, what is the probability of rolling a five on two such dice?” she asked. In the pin-drop silence, the noises from outside the classroom seemed louder than they were. Evidently, some other professor had ended their class earlier, a practice she disagreed with even if she chose to keep her opinions to herself. What they did was none of her business, and it was up to them to bear the consequences of their leniency.

At the front of the classroom, a shy student seemed to have figured out the solution ahead of the rest. Professor Sigma skipped over the girl for now, hoping to find someone else who had likewise arrived at the correct answer when her eyes landed on Cassander Kemp. Unlike his elder brother, Cassander was precisely the kind of student that she disliked: full of potential, but lazy. She’d deal with him later after the class. Turning away from the boy, she returned her attention to the girl from before. “Miss Nicole Fairweather?”

“Four over forty-nine?” the girl offered tentatively, with much less confidence than she should have had.

“Very good, Miss Fairweather,” Professor Sigma nodded, to which Nicole let out a relieved smile. The professor could see that she was a fast learner, for some reason the girl was always plagued by self-doubt. “Would you like to share with the class how you arrived at the solution?” Professor Sigma continued, hoping to push the student out of her comfort zone so that she could learn to be more self-assured. “Y-yes, Professor,” the girl stammered her reply, before launching haltingly into how she had attempted the question. As Professor Sigma listened, her gaze drifted back to Cassander, who was now lost in his own world. The boy had none of the work ethic of his older brother, but there was bound to be some way to spur him into actually putting in effort for his classes.

As Nicole concluded her explanation and returned to her seat, Professor Sigma thanked the girl and glanced at the clock. With only half a minute left, she proceeded to wrap up the lesson. “That would be all for today,” she announced, and immediately she could feel the students relax slightly. “Your assignment is due next week, and late submissions will not be accepted.” As much as she disliked repeating herself, especially for something as basic as this, some students needed to be reminded constantly. “Have I made myself clear, Mr Benedict Williams?” she added sharply, directing her barbs at the surprised boy at the back who was already packing up and raring to get out of the classroom.

“Yes, Professor. Crystal clear.”

“Why are you packing your belongings? Have I dismissed the class yet?”

It was at this moment that Benedict realised that he had gotten himself into trouble yet again. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

“One more detention for you, Mr Williams,” Professor Sigma said coldly, before turning towards the other problem student in her class. “If I call out your name, stay back after class.” She paused, giving the class the false impression that a long list of names was to come. But there was only one person that she was singling out today… and said person was still in a daze, as though a Dementor had sucked his soul out of his body. “Mr Cassander Kemp. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Instantly, any remaining tension that still hung in the air dissipated as her hold on her students faded completely. Benedict was the first out of the door, and in his wake the sound of chairs scraping against the floor rang out as the other students began to leave. The noise seemed to snap Cassander back to his senses, and he began to pack up his belongings.

Meanwhile, Professor Sigma returned to her seat and fixed her hawkish glare at Cassander, waiting for him to come up to her. “You and I have much to discuss, Mr Kemp,” she intoned curtly, as the last of the students hurriedly exited the classroom. None of them wished to be present when the stern professor unleashed her wrath on Cassander, lest they be accused of epicaricacy.

Terror crept along the line of his shoulders, bracing them against his chest as if they could deflect the discontent weighing upon the utterance of his name. Any hopes of spending an idle moment near the lake were dashed to bits and flung past the window from whence it came.

Cassander flushed, the tips of his ears tomato-red, beneath the looks of pity his classmates shot him as they scurried from the room, eager to remove themselves from the vicinity. Naturally so. One would have to be mad as a hatter to be the cause of their Arithmancy professor's ire, lest they be dragged into the absolute slaughter that was about to take place.

He'd attended enough of her classes to form a general opinion of the older woman.

Strict and no-nonsense, with a whip for a mouth and a heart supposedly impervious to children's laughter, Prof. Sigma was every student's nightmare - at least Cassander thought so, having heard enough students complain about her teaching methods. He didn't stay long enough to find out what happened to the last chap she'd asked to stay behind... that is, until today. A firsthand experience to be sure.

"Yes, professor."

He swallowed the dry lump in his throat, adjusting the lapels of his school gown as he made his way towards the woman's desk in quick, measured steps. The thought of receiving his mother's Howlers suddenly seemed much preferable now to this discussion.

For a beat, the young man was genuinely confused as to why he'd been summoned. He wasn't doing anything particularly deserving of an after-class tete-a-tete. He was hardly an upstart. As a general rule, he maximised his free time by doing the barest minimum amount of schoolwork in the least alarming manner possible. Got it down to a formula, he did. Would continue doing so up until his OWLs, he reckoned. Suppose he could rack up a good-enough grade to land himself a decent apprenticeship of sorts, something his parents might deem tolerable, not that it mattered to him much what he did after Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry, Professor-" admitted the boy, shooting the woman a sheepish look, partly in hopes that admitting his mistake might somewhat ease his demise.

"I wasn't paying attention."

Attention, however, as he was soon to find out, was the least of all his problems.

As the student made his way to her desk, Professor Sigma kept her eyes on him every step of the way, scrutinising his expression to see if he knew why she had asked him to stay back. “I’m sorry, Professor,” Cassander admitted sheepishly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You may be bereft of your manners, but at least you’re aware of your faults,” Professor Integra replied. The barbed remark was relatively mild, but it was merely a taste of what was to come. Turning away from the Cassander, she reached for a folder of student records, flipping to the right page and perusing her notes on the problem student before her. “There are two kinds of students i abhor,” she continued matter-of-factly, as though she wasn’t deliberately going out of her way to put him down further. “Those who are lazy, and those who wilfully and knowingly choose to do what is wrong.” With that, she snapped the folder shut and regarded Cassander with the same cold gaze as before. “Unfortunately for you, Mr Kemp, you fall neatly into both categories.”

She could go on forever and list down his myriad faults and how much of a better student his brother was. But that wasn’t the reason she wanted to have a proper talk with Cassander. “Tell me, Mr Kemp, why I shouldn’t throw you out of my class this very instant,” she said. “Why did you sign up for my class knowing full well that I suffer no fools? Why do you want to learn Arithmancy?”

He was no stranger to criticism; the bi-monthly letters from his mother were (if not an earful) mostly of maternal concern interspersed with unbridled praise for whatever milestone Felix had achieved by then. At first, his natural response to this was of shame and guilt, then that of indignation which, quite naturally, ate at his self-esteem. Over the years, it would turn into a morose acceptance of just how things were. His housemates would know to give the more-sullen-than-usual boy some space during these times.

“Those who are lazy, and those who wilfully and knowingly choose to do what is wrong... Unfortunately for you, Mr Kemp, you fall neatly into both categories.”

Even so, coming from an unfamiliar tongue, the words stung harder than they should. The pale-faced boy flinched, unable to look the older woman in the eye. He oughtta be used to this by now, he thought. But this wasn't his mother being glib with her disappointment, this was someone whom everyone feared, paring him down with the truth.

He bit the side of his cheek, a spark of anger rising up in him. What was so wrong with what he was doing? He was satisfied with his middling school performance, and he supposed most of his Professors did too, having not heard a peep of complaint from them. In fact, wasn't he making their jobs easier, being one less mediocre student to worry about? So why on Merlin's sweet earth was this woman fussing over it, then? He couldn't wrap his mind around it, thought he was doing everyone a favour.

“Tell me, Mr Kemp, why I shouldn’t throw you out of my class this very instant,” the woman said. “Why did you sign up for my class knowing full well that I suffer no fools? Why do you want to learn Arithmancy?”

He found himself at a loss for words, slack-jawed, his pupils pinpricks against the storm in his eyes. No, he couldn't drop this class at any cost. That would mean an endless tirade of his failures, a constant reminder he couldn't live up to his parents' expectations. He felt his heart constrict at the thought. Not good enough, are you, Kemp?

"Professor," the young man croaked, trying hard not to keep his tone even. "I'm nothing next to my brother, I know."

To sacrifice his free time or his deflated ego? The choice was clear, it would seem.

"But I'd rather take my chances at numbers over tea leaves that in two moons' time - no, just one - you'll see no differences in our report cards."

He gulped down the frogs caught at his throat, fists white-knuckled with what he hoped was determination and not false bravado.

As Cassander flinched under Integra’s verbal assault and looked away, the elderly professor continued on relentlessly. Contrary to what the rumours said, she took no pleasure in reprimanding her students. Any inadequacies on their part were a reflection of her failings as a teacher, and it was her job to make sure that they all strove to become the best versions of themselves.

Harsh as her words were today, it was not her aim to give the boy a dressing down as a warning. Nay, she wanted him to identify what was wrong with his mindset and resolve to change the way he treated her class – and hopefully, everything else in life as well; she would not stand to see one of her students drift along aimlessly in life like a jellyfish, spineless and unthinking and perpetually at the mercy of the tides. To that end she asked why he deserved to be in her class, and awaited his answer.

For a few moments the boy didn’t say anything. And when he did, it wasn’t quite the answer she was hoping for.

Right off the bat, Cassander had chosen to mention how he was nothing next to his brother. Integra’s eyes narrowed slightly in concern, but she held her peace until he was done. “Is Felix some kind of standardised unit of measurement for self worth?” she questioned sarcastically, hoping Cassander would realise the absurdity of his answer. “If you enjoy comparing yourself to your brother so much, should I address you as ‘Felix’s little brother’ henceforth?” Her tone softened very slightly as she continued. “A plant that hides in the shade cannot grow and flourish. You are your own person, Mr Kemp, and you will do well to bear that in mind.”

She then moved on to the other half of Cassander’s answer. “With regards to your bold declaration, I shall hold you to your word.” Her voice had regained the sharp edge that it had earlier, and if he had said it on the spur of the moment, she wasn’t giving him a chance to back down. Not without a convincing reason, at the very least. “If you need any help, you will ask for it. Have I made myself clear?”