This is a resurrection of a thread that I believe the Hacker destroyed -- Shayne and I started trading bits and pieces of our characters jointly teaching a DADA class at Hogwarts. I lost the spark for a while, and it stalled until it was wiped, but by chance I kept a local copy, which I'm now reposting in the hopes that we can start this thread up again.
(Shayne)
The great hall was abuzz with voices. The professor was
indisposed, but rather than cancel classes or draft one of the
other teachers to fill in, the headmaster had opted to bring in a
pair of guest lecturers for a weekend lecture to make up the lost
instruction session. Students from all of the houses were
A pair of squibs. A snide voice from the Slytherin table could
be heard, deliberately pitched to be audible throughout the room.
What a waste of time.
Not squibs. Another voice added. Ones a Protoean magus.
You mean a cripple. The other voice rejoined. What good is
magic you cant control?
The argument cut off abruptly as the doors to the great hall
swung open.
(Bob)
Two figures strode through the doors side-by-side.
"Quite a lot of good, actually," declared the one on the left, a
lithe, athletic man with short-cropped blond hair and an American
accent. From a strap he held in one hand dangled an object the
Muggle-born students recognized as a motorcycle helmet.
"Is thinking practical demonstration is in order," said the
other, a burlier fellow with dark hair and a twinkle in his eye.
His rumbling voice betrayed some Eastern European influences.
"Is thinking you're quite right," replied the first affably.
"Pick a student to terrorize," he added as he tossed the helmet
in the air. It flipped a couple of times and then dropped neatly
on his head. As he began working at the strap inside and under
his chin he turned to the class. "Good morning, kids. We're
your new instructors, Starsky and Hutch."
"No," growled the burly one as he stalked along the rows of
nervous-looking students.
"The Captain and Tennille?"
"No."
"Wayland Flowers and Madame?"
"No!"
The man with the helmet turned to the class and shrugged
eloquently. "Well, I'm sure we're *somebody*. When we figure out
*who* we'll let you know." A badly-stifled chorus of giggles
erupted from the seats closest to him. He turned to his partner.
"So, who's our lucky vic... student this morning?"
(Shayne)
Am thinking is weedy looking blonde. Thibor growled. Is
writing checks with mouth, is going to have to cash them with ar
bottom. Few is called, none is happy about it.
Thibor stopped next to the podium and stretched. He bent down and
quickly unlaced his boots, stepping out of them with ill grace.
The socks followed, stuffed haphazardly into the boots. He
straightened, the boots dangling loosely from his hands. The
blonde student watched him with an ill concealed contempt, a
sneer twisting his thin, aristocratic lips.
What are you going to do, stink me to death. A ripple of
laughter passed through the students seated around the blonde as
he got up and walked to the center aisle.
No. Am not planning on killing you. Will live through this. An
expression that could, with a little coaching, pass for a smile,
played across Thibors thick, Slavic features. Am Major Thibor
Sawchyk. International Super Teams, am not sure who partner is,
but is pretty sure is having something to do with duck. Is not
having wand. Attack.
Stupef.. The blonde student raised his wand with a quick, jerky
motion and pointed it. He was brought up short as the boots
flashed through the air, one smashing into his extended hand, the
other impacting tread first with his face. He fell backwards,
ending up square on his backside, the boot dropping into his
robed lap.
Lesson one. Is not weapon in hand that makes you dangerous. Use
what is at hand that would be grey squishy thing between ears.
That is true weapon. Thibor said, as muted laughter rose from
three of the long tables. He turned his back on the seething
blond as he addressed the other students.
Stupefy! The blondes hand scrambled against the stone floor,
recovering his lost wand. He pointed it at the center of the
instructors shoulders. The red beam passed through air as the
man easily leapt upwards. What left the ground was a man, but
what landed was not. The huge grey werewolf plucked the wand from
the blondes hand, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and
lifted him easily off the ground. There was a moment of panic
from the assembled students, and several screams as wands
appeared in hands around the room.
Sit!. Thibors voice barked out the command. He dropped the
blonde in a stunned, shaking heap on the floor. Am hereditary
werewolf. Is meaning is not infectious. Lesson two. Never take
what your opponent offers you. If foe is showing you his back,
there is reason for it. Reason is not because is stupid. Is
having their attention now.
-- Bob
---------
It's a "magical" land. I think "magical" is ancient Greek for "pain in the butt". -- Bun-Bun, Sluggy Freelance, 11/9/03
(Shayne)
The great hall was abuzz with voices. The professor was
indisposed, but rather than cancel classes or draft one of the
other teachers to fill in, the headmaster had opted to bring in a
pair of guest lecturers for a weekend lecture to make up the lost
instruction session. Students from all of the houses were
A pair of squibs. A snide voice from the Slytherin table could
be heard, deliberately pitched to be audible throughout the room.
What a waste of time.
Not squibs. Another voice added. Ones a Protoean magus.
You mean a cripple. The other voice rejoined. What good is
magic you cant control?
The argument cut off abruptly as the doors to the great hall
swung open.
(Bob)
Two figures strode through the doors side-by-side.
"Quite a lot of good, actually," declared the one on the left, a
lithe, athletic man with short-cropped blond hair and an American
accent. From a strap he held in one hand dangled an object the
Muggle-born students recognized as a motorcycle helmet.
"Is thinking practical demonstration is in order," said the
other, a burlier fellow with dark hair and a twinkle in his eye.
His rumbling voice betrayed some Eastern European influences.
"Is thinking you're quite right," replied the first affably.
"Pick a student to terrorize," he added as he tossed the helmet
in the air. It flipped a couple of times and then dropped neatly
on his head. As he began working at the strap inside and under
his chin he turned to the class. "Good morning, kids. We're
your new instructors, Starsky and Hutch."
"No," growled the burly one as he stalked along the rows of
nervous-looking students.
"The Captain and Tennille?"
"No."
"Wayland Flowers and Madame?"
"No!"
The man with the helmet turned to the class and shrugged
eloquently. "Well, I'm sure we're *somebody*. When we figure out
*who* we'll let you know." A badly-stifled chorus of giggles
erupted from the seats closest to him. He turned to his partner.
"So, who's our lucky vic... student this morning?"
(Shayne)
Am thinking is weedy looking blonde. Thibor growled. Is
writing checks with mouth, is going to have to cash them with ar
bottom. Few is called, none is happy about it.
Thibor stopped next to the podium and stretched. He bent down and
quickly unlaced his boots, stepping out of them with ill grace.
The socks followed, stuffed haphazardly into the boots. He
straightened, the boots dangling loosely from his hands. The
blonde student watched him with an ill concealed contempt, a
sneer twisting his thin, aristocratic lips.
What are you going to do, stink me to death. A ripple of
laughter passed through the students seated around the blonde as
he got up and walked to the center aisle.
No. Am not planning on killing you. Will live through this. An
expression that could, with a little coaching, pass for a smile,
played across Thibors thick, Slavic features. Am Major Thibor
Sawchyk. International Super Teams, am not sure who partner is,
but is pretty sure is having something to do with duck. Is not
having wand. Attack.
Stupef.. The blonde student raised his wand with a quick, jerky
motion and pointed it. He was brought up short as the boots
flashed through the air, one smashing into his extended hand, the
other impacting tread first with his face. He fell backwards,
ending up square on his backside, the boot dropping into his
robed lap.
Lesson one. Is not weapon in hand that makes you dangerous. Use
what is at hand that would be grey squishy thing between ears.
That is true weapon. Thibor said, as muted laughter rose from
three of the long tables. He turned his back on the seething
blond as he addressed the other students.
Stupefy! The blondes hand scrambled against the stone floor,
recovering his lost wand. He pointed it at the center of the
instructors shoulders. The red beam passed through air as the
man easily leapt upwards. What left the ground was a man, but
what landed was not. The huge grey werewolf plucked the wand from
the blondes hand, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and
lifted him easily off the ground. There was a moment of panic
from the assembled students, and several screams as wands
appeared in hands around the room.
Sit!. Thibors voice barked out the command. He dropped the
blonde in a stunned, shaking heap on the floor. Am hereditary
werewolf. Is meaning is not infectious. Lesson two. Never take
what your opponent offers you. If foe is showing you his back,
there is reason for it. Reason is not because is stupid. Is
having their attention now.
-- Bob
---------
It's a "magical" land. I think "magical" is ancient Greek for "pain in the butt". -- Bun-Bun, Sluggy Freelance, 11/9/03
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