A surprise test on the second years, aha, one of his favourite little tricks to play. They'd be wise by third year, but whether they'd put in the effort would be seen. Amongst the sea of faces, Eirene Antonopoulos stood out, though he'd begun to get wise to the way her arm shot in the air all the time and her answers. He'd still chuckle about her inflating Wakahisa's backside once in a while over a drink.

Eirene had received 'acceptable' as her grade for the end of term examination before Christmas. Most other students would be rather happy with this, but Ignan anticipated Antonopoulos would have been looking for exceeds expectations or an outstanding. Truth was, he gave them out sparingly, marking almost consistently one grade down on everyone. It was fundamental to ensuring nobody got above their station. But, sometimes the students pulled a cracking performance out of the bag that he didn't predict.

However, he could predict that the glassy-eyed Ravenclaw staring across the room at him would be stood by his desk stating her case within minutes of his dismissal.

The students dropped their tests on the end of his desk one after the other, and he could already see her.

"Antonopoulos." The Professor acknowledged her presence. "What brings you trembling to the edge of my desk on the first day of term?"

Eirene tackled the surprise exam with her usual zeal, checking and double-checking each answer, scrawling additional explanation in the margins, and shielding her parchment with her hand. She couldn’t risk letting one of the hopeless Gryffindors take a peek!

But the moments before and after the pop quiz made her feel like one of those Gryffindors. Hopeless. From her seat in the front row, she stared at the professor as if the knowledge of the world rested in those tufted eyebrows, the downward turn of his mouth, or the shiny spot on his head that wasn’t polite to mention. As if she’d understand why she’d received such an unacceptable term grade.

When her marks had arrived by owl over the holidays, she’d zeroed in on that scarlet letter and promptly burst into tears. The house elf saw her, assumed someone had died, and fetched both her parents from work. Her mother and father had not been happy. Not so much because of the ‘A’, but because of the unnecessary interruption. They’d flooed out of the house again, leaving her to sob on the house elf, who was well used to this duty ever since the nanny’s dismissal.

Her mood had only worsened upon returning to school, especially here, in this class. Once the other students had filed out, she ventured to his desk with the pop quiz clutched in her hands.

“I’m not trembling,” she huffed, setting the parchment down on the pile. “Professor.”

Eirene paused, her face a study in conflict between her usual ever-respectful expression (towards professors) and the misery that 'A' had inflicted on her. Her mother's latest mantra rang in her head: just because she’d turned thirteen over the holidays didn’t mean she had to act like it.

“I’d like to discuss my end-of-term exam grade with you,” she continued with a more subdued air. “I don’t understand. I hit the goblins with perfect accuracy!” Perfect accuracy, but such a low number in one minute, considering how long she’d taken to aim and hex without disturbing the others.

“I’m not trembling, Professor.”

"Maybe not yet, Antonopoulos." The older wizard uttered quietly.

“I’d like to discuss my end-of-term exam grade with you, I don’t understand. I hit the goblins with perfect accuracy!”

True, what she had hit had been very good, that aspect she'd scored well in, though he inspected his mark book visibly to check her claim.
"You may have," Professor Storm agreed, "But the aim was not just accuracy. That is but one half of good wandwork, precision, the other half is time." He met Eirene's gaze patiently and folded one hand over the other on his desktop.
 
"You scored well for the precision, but low in comparison to your classmates on the resulting number of goblins hit. Not every dark wizard or foe will stand and wait for you to take your turn. Much as I appreciate a well aimed blow will be more efficient often than a poorly targeted barrage, timing is key."

He sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. Antonopoulos had an answer for everything, let's see...
"So, given that, how do you propose to improve that aspect of your spellcasting?"

Eirene's gaze strayed to the exam book, attempting to see what the other students had gotten, then shifted back to the professor's face when he glanced at her. Merlin! She hadn't been able to tell. If Heliotrope had done better than her, that would truly be the end of the world as she knew it.

His patient explanation was difficult to dispute, which didn't make her feel any better. The stubborn set to Eirene's mouth reflected the rebuttal running through her head. What use was hexing willy nilly if you couldn't hit the target! Accuracy was more important than speed. It had to be.

When he asked her what she could do to get better at casting quickly, she only paused a second.

"I already know I'm going to try harder to improve my time. I've scheduled it in my appointment book," she patted her book bag. "I'll practice every day!"

Though earnest, her voice sounded a touch dejected. Eirene was prepared to battle tears and frustration and impatience until she improved her speed. She was not prepared to change her approach or attitude. She was not prepared to understand that her need to do everything perfectly resulted in those A's she so despised.

She glanced down at the cover of the mark book.

"But that A," she stated as if it were an unforgivable curse. "It's just going to stay there in that book! It's going to affect everything."

Everything!

Eirene was most adamant that she would practise, and Professor Storm did not doubt that at all. If only all the students were as determined and persistent as this young Ravenclaw, he'd have more trouble holding them back.

"But that A, it's just going to stay there in that book! It's going to affect everything."

"Yes, it will stay in my book." Ignan confirmed, keeping a straight face. "It will remain there throughout your life, forever there for your future employer to look back upon. Antonopoulos, the witch who only received Acceptable in her second year winter Defence Against the Dark Arts examination. Horrific, terrible, a failure."

He closed the book firmly and put it back on the desk, folding his arms and sitting back.

"I'm not quite sure what you'll do about it Antonopoulos." He tutted and shook his head, still keeping a straight face... just.

A few seconds passed as Eirene stared at him. The professor’s sarcasm flew over her head, out the window, and landed on Mars. Here on earth, the poor, humorless Ravenclaw blinked.

"See?"

Triumph flickered over her face. She was right! She had every reason to obsess over this Acceptable!

She was right. Her face started to fall. If there were ever a time when Eirene wanted to be wrong, it was now.

"See?" Her forehead puckered in anguish. “It’s even worse than last year! I’m not improving, I’m getting worse! People will notice. The important people.”

She nodded, then shook her head vehemently. "I have to do better! I can't get an A at the end of the year, or an E. It has to be an O!”

How did she fix it? What if she couldn’t? The unspoken fear hung in the air, predicting a downpour of tears.

As Eirene gasped at the word see her professor blinked and inclined his head ever so slightly towards her as if studying her a little more closely. Had she really not seen through - was she really that worried about an acceptable grade?

"Outstanding?" He queried with her demands. "That is quite an achievement, Antonopoulos, are you quite sure you're up to such an undertaking. You are after all, an acceptable student?" He sat back and folded his arms once more.

At the possibility of tears, his conscience cautioned his teasing, but it was hard to resist when she was so deliciously mislead.

"Well, I suppose it is the least of what can be done after December's performance. Then you would be the witch who gained outstanding grades all her years, apart from at the very beginning." He shook his head, managing to look a little sad, "The only way to rectify that would be to go back to the first year and begin again come September."

He gave a laboured sigh, as if that was really an option Antonopoulos had to face.

Eirene drew back at the perceived insult. Acceptable? No! She wanted to be an Outstanding student.

At the solution to her troubles, she tilted her head and stared at him, the barest gleam of suspicion in her eyes. Was he-? No, he wouldn't lie. He was a professor! For once, Professor Storm wasn't being mean, or scowling, or scolding her for blowing up someone's bottom. The way he talked, it seemed he was trying to save her from a terrible fate.

"But - you really think-"

She sucked in a breath. She shouldn't stammer! If only her childhood tutors could hear her now.

"But then I'd be behind," she whispered the word in horror.

Her options swirled in her head, piling up on each other like a Gemino curse cast on a cabinet of boggarts. Hopeless! It was hopeless.

"I'd be behind by two whole years! If I'm even allowed to- I can't do that, either!" Her voice caught as her composure crumpled and she flung a hand over her face. When she'd gotten an 'E' her first year, Professor Trishna had given her the impression it would be alright if she did better! She hadn't even sent him a tear-stained letter[1] this time, unable to face the Head of House she so admired.

1.	See my tears!

Seeing Eirene so beside herself, it took a lot of effort for Ignan not to let his expression twitch and discontinue the farse.

"Behind or imperfect, it depends which matters to you most Antonopoulos." He told her as if this was a perfectly normal situation to be in.

He busied himself with collecting up the work deposited on his desk by Eirene and her classmates and began to flick through them, counting the number against the number of students who had attended. He kept her in view out of the corner of his eye, distracting himself just to ensure he didn't give the game away, but seeing her work on the top of the pile, and very well done indeed, he cracked.

"Eirene," He unusually used her forename, changing his tone from his usual to one that sounded tired of her. His blue eyes alighting on her from over the pile of parchment in his hand,
"Go and look up gullible in the dictionary in the library later today, will you? Check there's not an accurate drawing of your face beneath the definition." His eyebrows lowered and he put down the pile, sighing and folding his arms, sounding grumpy. Of course, he was not in the wrong for winding her up purposefully, even after telling Finnigan that the girl could be a worrier, no...

"Acceptable is nothing to be ashamed of, and it will not ruin your life. If you put in the effort and seek out my advice between lessons I am confident we will not be having this discussion again." He paused, "You are not about to cry...!"

Eirene peeked out from between her fingers, watching him flip through the stack of today's exams. Her mouth trembled, then opened in shock as he delivered an insult she'd heard many, many times from her peers. Look up gullible in a dictionary.

He'd lied?

Tears glistened in her eyes as she stared at him. Just like that, Professor Storm fell from the pedestal reserved for professors, fell into the depths of distrust just above those labeled 'Gryffindors' and those who wore socks with their sandals.

"I might! I just might!" She threatened with a shake of her head. He could hide behind his papers but he couldn't hide from her tears!

"I don't believe anything you say!" The words burst out as mortification and anger took hold. "You just don't want to deal with me. Like all the other adults. This matters, it really does, or professors wouldn't focus on it like they do," she gestured at the papers.

"You don't care if I'll never become prefect, or Head Girl, or a Healer because of stupid A's and E's!"

This time the tears won, and she put her head in her hands, sobbing as she turned away.

In hindsight, he had caused this. He acutely realised this as Eirene began to sob, and he looked from the items on his desk to the Ravenclaw, back again, uncomfortable at her sudden emotion. He wasn't one to comfort, he didn't really know how to deal with hysterics. Wasn't this Maiko or Tapendra's area?

"For goodness sake..." He muttered, "Pull yourself together Antonopoulos."

Her old Professor drew back his chair and stood up, flicking his wand to file the exam papers neatly, then he rounded on the girl, folding his arms, his wand jutting out from his right hand beneath his left elbow. He towered over her, irritated by her sobbing.

"You're right Eirene, I don't care if you become prefect, or Head Girl, or a Healer because of acceptable and exceeds expectation exam grades." Professor Storm snapped.

"Do you know what I do care about?" He asked, brow furrowing, tone still sharp, "I care that what you take from my lessons will keep you alive if you ever meet peril outside of it. I care that you will develop your skills and realise that life is not measured in academic achievements." He stepped away, returning to his desk with a sweep of his academic robes, turning his back on her. With a terse flick of his wand the tall sandtimer on his desk flipped over.

"But if an acceptable grade in an insignificant winter examination of the second year of seven at Hogwarts means that much to you, I pity you."

Eirene took a slight step back as he rounded on her, glancing at his wand. She wasn't ready to duel! When he just scolded and snapped at her, her tears stilled, but even Eirene couldn't scavenge any victory from being right. He didn't care. Not about the things that she cared about.

Shaking her head, tears dislodged and ran down her face. When would she ever meet her peril outside of a lesson? The lessons were dangerous enough. Severed arms and exploding bums!

The professor returned to his desk, and she stared at his back, his sweep of robes blurred as she started to cry harder.

"But it does!" It did mean that much! She could plan ahead ten years in advance, but it was today that she had to face, the here and now, the misery of that winter examination and the professor's reaction. Tomorrow didn't look much better.

Eirene stepped toward the door, wanting nothing more than to run to her dormitory and cry in private. Then she paused.

"May I," she spoke through sniffles, her head turned away, "have your permission to go?"

That only proved to worsen her tears. Peacetime children were so soppy, so fortunate. They were complacent that peril didn't exist, that this was only theory. They would have enjoyed lessons with Umbridge, the woman who taught the lessons during the darker times when famous Potter was a student. She didn't believe in practical, that there were not perils. She had never driven a stake through the heart of a vampire, fought a werewolf on full moon after falling out of a tree or duelled in Venice streets.

Antonopoulos was what... thirteen at most? She had five years ahead of her to change from that innocent looking girl into something that broke hearts or lived in the library. He doubted she would depart from his classroom post OWLs, even with this flood of tears.

"If you plan on continuing to snivel, then yes," The Professor snapped, not looking round at Eirene, but watching her reflection in the sandtimer, "you have my permission to leave."

When she left, he put his wand away and pulled a hand down his face, exasperated. He really didn't enjoy tears, whatever people said otherwise.