Prologue
Prologue
The desks were in perfectly straight rows. The walls had been
covered with subject appropriate material. There was a mug full of
extra quills, a few bottles of ink, two or three rolls of parchment,
and a couple copies of the textbook on a table near the front of the
classroom for students who came unprepared. In twelve short hours,
the room would be filled with dozens of noisy, hormone-driven
teenagers. Many would be excited to return to be with their
friends and school activities. A few would sigh and roll their
eyes as they counted off the days until the summer holiday. And
some would be nervously waiting to find what their new teacher would be
like. Would she be fair? How strict was she? Was she
nice? Would she understand that they might not be able to finish
all of their homework for her class because of an unreasonable essay
assigned at the last moment by their Potion’s professor?
But as uneasy as each student might be, it was nothing compared to the
anxiety Professor Blake was feeling. For the fourth time, she
rewrote her name on the chalkboard cursing because it appeared uneven
again and started over once more. She had been terrified fifteen
years previous when she had begun her own studies as a student at
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But that fear paled in
comparison when she remembered that she was starting her first official
day as a teacher tomorrow. What if the students didn’t like
her? What if they started throwing paper airplanes, or whatever
they did these days, around the classroom? How would she handle
it? Was she allowed to ask other members of the staff for
advice? How was she ever going to live with the fear of knowing
that she could completely destroy a student’s education if she made a
mistake? Perhaps, she should just quit now.
That’s it, she thought.
Just give up now, and no harm will come to
anyone. Nearly sprinting back to her office, she threw
open her door and started tossing lesson plans and other personal items
back into the boxes they had recently left. Through the open door,
she could hear the first students beginning to arrive. That meant
she should be sitting at the staff table to greet all of them with a
warm and friendly smile. But they would just have to find someone
else to fill the position.
Given fifteen minutes, she probably would have completely emptied her
office and quarters, and been on the road back to Hogsmeade. But
as she threw her personal copy of
Sense
and Sensibility onto of a stack of books, an unopened envelope
that had been gently placed inside fell to the floor. She was
momentarily tempted to toss it on top of her belongings again and read
it once she was far away from the castle, but curiosity got the better
of her. Carefully, she slid her finger along the edge of the
parchment and broke the seal.
My
dear Professor Blake,
Professor—sounds intimidating,
doesn’t it? I thought so as well the first day that I started
teaching. I didn’t feel old enough to be labeled as a
professor. But don’t worry; soon you’ll forget that you even had a
first name other than “Professor.”
I wanted you to know that I’m proud
of what you’re doing. Your parents would be proud as well.
Your father always said that you would someday find a way to change the
world. And what better way to change the world than to teach the
future generation.
I know some members of the staff will
tell you that you shouldn’t smile at your students until
Christmas. But for me, teaching is a matter of relating what you
know to those who don’t know in such a way that your students will come
back begging for more. You can be strict and fair; a disciplinarian and a friend. I know
that must seem like a contradiction, but I believe that you can do
it. The most important thing that I learned from teaching was to
JUST BE YOURSELF! (Unfortunately for me, I learned that a little
too late.)
So, chin up. You’ll be
fine. I can’t wait to hear about all of my former students at
Christmas.
Yours truly,
— (former) Professor R. J. Lupin
Professor Blake sat silently on the floor of her office and reread the
letter. She sighed as she looked at the half-filled boxes around
her. Staying would require meeting her fears head on. But if
she left, would the next professor care about her students in the same
way as she did? Her students—she hadn’t even met them yet and she
was already taking responsibility for them. She would have to
thank Remus the next time she saw him for reminding her that she should
be herself. Thank him for that bit of advice, and chastise him
for inspiring her with an idea for a new lesson plan for the first day
of school that would require her staying up half the night to prepare.
She picked herself up off the floor, dusted off her robes, and faced
the mess that she had created. Sighing, she decided to leave it
for tomorrow. Professor Blake had the future generation waiting
for her—well, waiting to eat if nothing else.
