It really was nice to have the staff room have a free tea, Tapendra decided. It certainly suited his needs when he couldn't remember where the kitchens were.

The first week of teaching had gone well enough, he supposed - the first years where certainly interesting. He had to deal with the 5th years tomorrow, though, and he had a bad feeling about it - especially if Georgiana's teasing was anything to go by.  They sounded like a reality show in the making. He grinned vaguely at that as he poured hot water into his mug; a Hogwarts reality show. The confessional booth would be something, that's for sure. He wondered what they'd get voted off for as he shuffled through the tea options.

Damn, no Jasmine. Well, Earl Grey would do just as well, right? It just wasn't as sweet.

The staff room was empty and he felt a bit odd at that. The Astronomy classes had rendered him on a different schedule from the others; well, that, and the fact he'd been locking himself in his office to work on his book. He'd gotten a lecture about it just this morning from Georgiana before she'd left for Hogsmeade, and she'd guilted him out of the tower, only for him  to find the castle mostly empty.

Maybe he should go to Hogsmeade tonight and drink; he hadn't been to the Three Broomsticks in years.

He glanced out the window as he looked for the sugar, and grunted. Snow again. Thank god the classroom was indoors now - he'd have had to spent an hour cleaning out the tower before class otherwise.

He found the sugar and happily dumped in ten lumps, stirring away and taking a big gulp. The heat from the cup steamed up his glasses. Ah, that's how tea should be - so sweet your teeth could feel it.

This semester, everything was changing.  And Graham hated change.  Not   to mention it was happening during the winter, when all Graham wanted to   do was curl up in his greenhouse and sleep it out.  Except he couldn't,   not without dreaming of a certain someone.  Graham hated how he could   become so obsessed, but he didn't see any way to stop it.   It was a   constant drumming.
 
  And so he found himself roaming the castle, hoping to catch her profile   turning the corner of a corridor.  Her perhaps see her squinting over   some child's homework in some corner.  Or ice patch.  This was getting   ridiculous.  But he could use some tea from the staff room.  It was a   good hour for tea.  He was certain everyone would be there, which was   annoying, but tolerable given the right circumstances.
 
  He opened the door, a rusty creek announcing his entrance. And no one.    No one, except--Graham mumbled a swear under his breath.  Was Hogwarts   now hiring just anyone these days?  He had heard of Demetri's removal,   with the trepidation of his own to follow soon after the sleepover   debacle.  It had taken more scrubbing than he had ever wanted to know to   remove the polish from his nails.  And of course, who does Snark hire?    Tappy f-in Trishna. 
 
  Graham gave a nod of acknowledgment to the man who had often lingered on   the edges of his nightmares.  Shuffling towards the cabinets, Graham   kept his eyes focused on his goal, decidedly not encouraging any further   interaction.  He withdrew his stash of Bott's Beans, as well as a   sachet of his own tea--a secret blend of dubious herbs. 
 
 

He jumped as the door opened, and had to put the cup down to wipe the mist from his glasses. He was blushing slightly. He hadn't really expected to see anyone, not with the castle so quiet. When he was able to see, his eyebrows shot up in surprise, and after a moment of silence  his face twisted - into a genuine smile. "Bombay!" he said, honestly surprised and kind of happy. "I hadn't realized you had a job here! Why, I haven't seen you since... Ryan hung you off...the Astronomy tower...by your..." He trailed off, remembered what school with Bombay had been like. Oh dear.

"Uh," he said uncomfortably, looking sad and sheepish. "S-sorry?" He offered, twisting the sleeve of his white turtleneck sweater nervously, a habit he'd had for most of his life - Bombay no doubt recgonised it accompanying the words "But what if the teachers see you two?"

Oh yes, he had a job here.  At Hogwarts.  At their alma mater.  That Graham was successful in life, capable of educating others.  Oh yes, what a surprise.  And yes, it had been the last time he had seen Tappy Trishna, upside down, dangling within an inch of life at a schoolboy's mercy, underpants flagrantly displayed for the nth time that year. 

Graham stared pointedly at the professor, daring him to remember any further.  The following squirms were satisfying.  A harsh silence followed, filled with awkwardness reminiscences.  As if a simple 'sorry' could erase all their history. 

Withdrawing his own mug, Graham filled it with hot water, stirring the contents slowly with the string of the sachet.  "I have five knuts on the underground you won't last past summer. Have you met the first years yet? The Gryffindors are a fine bunch."  He was tempted to give his little firestarter a whole cache of matches.  He hoped she would light the whole tower on fire.

He didn't meet his eyes - not because he was worried about the years-old anger he'd see there, but the fact that to this day he didn't regret or, honestly, feel bad about it. That was worse, in a way, than Graham's reactions to seeing him; Tappy was supposed to be the nice one.

He set his jaw, remembering well enough why he hadn't stopped Ryan and Luthas years ago - Graham had been an arse in school. He'd had it coming. He responded to the baited questions as well as he could, sipping from his own mug. "Five knuts? I'm surprised you gave me that much, Bombay - thank you." He smiled at Graham, a toothy smile that the much smaller man had seen for years next to Ryan's sneer and Luthas's disdainful  look. "My first class went very well, actually. The Gryffindors were well behaved," he was kind of lying, but whatever. "There's quite a few promising minds in the bunch," he continued. "Miss Antonopoulos and Miss Collins are quite eager to learn."

He took a sip of his tea, but the usually satisfying warmth and savor of   his beverage was sullied by Graham's company.  Of course the apology   was a superficial token of amiability as colleagues. Once suitably   dismissed, they were free to resume their mutual dislike. 
 
  Tappy's smile was met only be a stone cold wall of blank expression on   Graham's part.  He hated every inch of the man, down to his misshapen   little toes.  Ignoring the job regarding the state of his finances,   Graham was still vexed to find his first years had not done their job.    They were imps! Devils! They had bedeviled him for the past five months,   why couldn't they do the same for the new professor? Who was new, of   all things! 
 
  "Miss Antonopoulos is well-suited to the house of Ravenclaw," he   agreed.  Although he would never want to be in sight of her wand, she   was doing better, relatively speaking.  And Miss Collins had a place in   his heart, ever since the Halloween incident.  To find that two of his   students, ones the he regarded himself as their mentor, enjoyed Tappy's   class was abominable.  Something would have to be done about this. 
 
  He took another sip of his tea, waiting for someone to rescue him.  "I'm   quite pleased with my house," he added, unsure as to whether Tappy knew   he was not only a professor but Head of House.  "Which makes it easier   for me to find time to write my second book.  When the publishing house   isn't filling my office with owls, that is."
 

"As is Miss Collins," he agreed, his tone amicable. Anyone walking into the room could certainly have felt the tension. "The Gryffindors where charming, I thought. One of them, Kearney, was it? He found the subject quite a lot of fun, I think. And that Fearghail girl; she's a good listener, for the most part - kind of rebellious, though. She's very cute."

 He looked surprised at the 'my house' comment; he hadn't expected Snark to make someone like Bombay - he mentally corrected himself - he would have expected a Professor with a...softer touch to be Ravenclaw's Head of House. Still, this explained some of the source of Cyhirae and Georgiana's complaints about their teachers.

"Ah, you write on polarizing subjects as well?" he asked, swirling his tea absently. "I find wizards can be very...divided on certain subjects. I try to answer all my mail, but lately, I haven't had time for it - there's just too much." He smiled. "I have my daughter help me, sometimes. She can answer most of the questions, you know."

Graham paused, mid-sip, not sure if he heard Tappy correctly.  Kearney? Fearghail?  Listening? This was madness, utter madness.  He was certain Tappy was either lying through his teeth or else had misidentified every first year.  Certainly there was a mistake.  Regardless, Graham was certain their true demonic characters would show through by the end of the semester.  He'd make quite an investment from this deal.

"She makes quite an impression," Graham added, a sly smile forming at the thought of later interactions.  He'd have to owl her the matches, they couldn't come by his hand directly.  He'd stop by the owlrey on his way back to his office, it would be innocent enough.

He took another sip, the tea starting to lose its heat as they chatted, despite the heat between the two professors.  "Primarily scholarly work.  Treatise on the uses of dragonsblood, and such," he responded, proud to be an academic snob.  He was quite proud of his success.  Even if it was only one book.  "She's a first year--yes?" he asked, remembering firmly the girl's similarity to Tappy.  "She seems to do passably well in class."  Of course, that was when Graham acknowledged her presence, which was precisely once every three class periods.  Often enough as to not arouse suspicion, but enough to feel he was suitably ignoring her.  He might have liked her if she didn't seem a carbon copy of her father and by Rowena, Graham was going to nip that as soon as possible.

"If you're writing academically, you really should have a look at Luthas and his wife's work. They've both written wonderful books on herbology, I'm sure you'd find them very enlightening. Their daughter should be transferring here soon - she's very much like her father." Again, the toothy smile. He leaned against the table, crossing his long legs at the ankle.

"Only doing passably, is she? That's a surprise, my princess has quite an interest in herbology. When she left, she was looking forward to it immensely." He sighed, and took a sip of his tea. He made a face - all the sugar was at the bottom. "I am sorry if she's caused you trouble, she's quite studious at home - I'm sure you'd recongise her - she's the one with her hair in a bun. Looks like a miniature McGonagal." He smiled, gentinue pride on his face - his daughter was so damned cute. How could this...man... not give her the grade she obviously deserved for her hard work? "She has mentioned in her letters she was...unsatisfied with her grades in your classes." He gave Graham a searching look. "You seemed surprised about Kearney and Fearghail. Are they normally an issue?"

"I'm sure," he drawled, not an ounce of sincerity in his tone.  Of course Luthas would write on herbology.  The boy that he was king of any subject, and Merlin knew Graham had been forced to hear every bit of it.  He could only pity the woman that would subject to be his wife.  And a child?  Well, he was sure she'd be swept under the rug as well.  At least someone could finally teach them a lesson.

His princess.  Graham could feel his eyes involuntarily rolling on their own.  It was ridiculous how some parents slavered over their children.  No wonder his daughter was such a bint.  Graham almost gagged at the description of her as a mini-McGonagal. The woman was probably shuddering in her grave.  "Oh, they one they---" he paused, smiling as if enjoying a private joke, which he was.  It was fun to be cruel to parents.  "Yes, I recall her.  If she has any reason to be dissatisfied, she can take it up with me.  But I can assure you that her grades accurately reflect her participation."

"They aren't if you know how to  handle them.  If they're quiet now, I can only assume some scheme is being hatched for future mayhem."  He raised his cup up, almost in a toast.  "Enjoy it."

His eyes narrowed and he quickly readjusted his expression; still, Graham would have been able to see he'd gotten to him. He forced his smile into place again, but now it was verging on a sneer.

"I'll encourage her to step it up. She is certainly capable of doing so." He finished off his tea and walked to the sink, washing out the mug.

He grunted when Graham replied to his query about the Gryffindors. "I didn't get that feeling from the two of them. Some children just need a different approach than the standard, I suppose. Have you mentioned to Miss Collins you write, by the way? I'm sure she would enjoy your work - she's appearently quite a fan of mine. I can always recommend your book to her if you'd like."

Sunday afternoon, the most depressing part of the week, apart from Monday morning possibly. The weather was grey, nothing quite looked appealing in such a light, and Ignan was trying his very hardest not to think about the previous week's events. Hopefully, he'd be allowed to lick his wounds in private without any pestering students (apart from Dracon who had come for his usual instruction on occlumency the previous evening).

However, he had misplaced a book, detailing defensive techniques while in water, and last recalled having it to hand in the Staff room earlier in the week. There was a noticeable gap on his bookshelf, and he wanted to dunk the whole of the fifth year class in the lake to get them to practise. To hell if it was snowing, there was ice forming on the top and the squid didn't approve!

Stalking down the corridor and into the relatively quiet staffroom, he didn't hear a hubbub of voices which might spill out on turning the handle on a weekday afternoon, but a couple of solitary ones. He eyed Graham Bombay, who taught Herbology and led the Ravenclaw house, and Tapendra Trishna, the new astronomy professor who preferred to be called Tappy.

"Afternoon colleagues." He greeted them both briskly, aware he was interrupting a conversation. He headed past them to the tables at the back of the room and the bookshelves of assorted unclaimed books beyond, including a set of standard grade spells, which would always end an argument over the capabilities of students and the conventionally expected accomplishments.

He glanced back their way, wondering if he'd entered at an inconvenient point in the conversation, given the look on Graham's face.
"Neither of you have come across Symbad Ink*, Deep Water Defence per chance?" He asked, before turning his eyes back to the line of books, looking for the familiar spine of the dark blue book.

*S.Ink pun fully intended.

"Please do."  Ha! Let Tappy show his teeth all he wanted, but Graham knew where to strike.  How delicious that one of his enemies fell prey to the most common of vulnerabilities, parenthood.  While Graham celebrated his small victory with a smug smile, Tappy struck again.  It seemed that his fondness for Miss Collins was misplaced. 


"No need, but thank you," he replied solmenly.  His book was on the list for all fifth years, Miss Collins would get to it eventually.  It was his small way of letting the entire school know he was a published author, but it was a slow circulation.


Fortunately they were saved by the interruption of Professor Storm, one who was quickly gaining a reputation of which Graham was a bit envious.  Storm seemed to be all bite, whereas Graham was all bark.  He nodded in recognition, taking another sip of his tea.  Symbad Ink..., Graham chuckled inwardly, "That does sound familiar," he spoke, pausing as his eyes scanned the room.  He had used it for something....


Yes. Graham strode over to the overstuffed flora armchair that was a hex away from falling apart.  It had been tilting the other day, and Graham had needed something to keep it steady.  Something an inch tall, and wide enough for the little club leg to stand upon.  Something like a book.


Something akin to a growl emerged from his throat as stood up, accompanying the pains in his lower back.  In his hand was a dark blue book, dusty with a dirty ring upon the cover.  "Is this it?" he asked, holding the book out to the professor.

"That does sound familiar," Graham replied, from behind Ignan. He heard footsteps and glanced back to Graham and Tapendra, seeing Graham by an overstuffed floral armchair, leaning over.

"Is this it?" he asked, holding out the copy. At a distance, Ignan recognised the blue, and strode over to inspect closer, finding a dirty great armchair footprint on the cover.

"Yes, that's the one." He replied, extending a hand to take it from Graham, not sure whether he wanted to extend thanks. "I am not wholly surprised it ended up propping up that monstrosity." He flicked it open, and glanced up "Er, thank you Graham." Ignan added, leafing through the pages.
"Awful writer, got caught poaching Ramora and drowned after being stunned by the local authorities." He pulled a face. "I think the fifth years might enjoy a little practical, you see..." He explained, settling it on the back of one of the chairs to separate two pages stuck together, secretly curious as to his colleague's reaction to all the hysteria about his horrendous last lesson with that year group.

"Sir," Tapendra accnoledged as Ignan came in. There was something about the man that warrented a sir; his presence certainly made Tapendra feel a bit like a student again.

He watched in silent horror as Graham pulled the book out from under the armchair. He wouldn't have had the guts to admit he'd used the book to prop up the chair - not that he'd ever sacrifice a book in such a way - and certainly not in front of someone with the presence of Professor Storm. He managed to control his expression after a moment; his eyes had bugged out a little bit.

Tapendra swallowed as Storm mentioned the 5th years. "Actually, sir, if you'd allow me," he began, his deep voice as respectfully professional as he could manage. "I'd heard you'd had some trouble with them, and, well, I have them tomorrow night." He let the unspoken "How screwed am I?" question hang in the air.