Post by Schmergo on May 24, 2006 14:52:04 GMT -5
Chapter One
“So, what’d McGonagall say?” asked Harry Potter, looking up from his newspaper. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see his best friend suddenly appearing out of nowhere in the middle of his house.
Ron Weasley sat down in an armchair. “What, you mean after her jaw dropped practically to the floor?” he chortled. “Well, she gave me the job-- said I certainly had enough qualifications. But she also said that the second-to-last job she could imagine me having was Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And the last job she could imagine me having was an Elvis impersonator.”
“Well,” Harry commented fairly, “if you told me five years ago, in our sixth year, that you wanted to teach DADA, I’d have burst out laughing.”
Ron waved his wand lazily and conjured up a large sandwich. “I know,” he admitted with his mouth full, decorating Harry’s carpet with crumbs. “But we’ve been done with auror training for a year now, and I wanted to try doing something else for a bit, before I get too high a promotion to go back.”
“Getting a bit full of yourself, are you?” One of the things Harry had noticed about Ron since Voldemort’s defeat was a definite increase on his self-confidence, which had grown considerably over the last four years.
“At least I’m not full of someone else… that’d make me a cannibal!” Ron joked.
Harry ignored this comment. “But really, I can’t wait to read Hermione’s letter when you tell her.” They hadn’t gotten to see Hermione Granger for a few years, though they still kept in touch via owl post. She had gotten the job as Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts, which meant that Ron would be working alongside her.
“Oh, I’m not telling her,” Ron replied with a mischievous grin. “She’s not finding out until the first day of term.”
* * * * * *
Hermione Granger had been rather upset when she heard that there was to be a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Lupin had done an excellent job for the last four years, but his wife was pregnant with their second child, and he had felt rather guilty about missing most of the first year of his first child’s life already. “Plus, I’m not positive that Dora will be able to handle two small children,” he’d added. “Christina is bad enough-- I’ve never seen a toddler get into as much mischief as she does. She probably would have given James and Sirius a run for their money.”
“I know, he’ll be back next year, but I can’t imagine anyone doing a better job,” Hermione commented to Padma Patil (the new healer who now presided over the hospital wing) at a staff meeting. “Remember when he taught us in our third year?”
“How could I forget?” laughed Padma. “Snape dressed as Neville’s grandmother? That was the best class I ever took!”
“I’m sure you’ll find Remus’s replacement satisfactory,” Headmistress McGonagall put in sternly. (Hermione still couldn’t get used to calling her ‘Minerva’; it gave her the same uncomfortable feeling she’d had when she called Snape ‘Daddy’ by accident, during her third year.) Was it her imagination, or had the Headmistress smiled slightly?
* * * * * *
The next day, Hogwarts was busily preparing itself for the start of another term. Hermione took the fact that the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had not yet shown himself (or herself, she’d added mentally) to be a bad sign. Hermione was head of Gryffindor, so she waited in the foyer to welcome the new first years and prepare them for their sorting. As she stood, wondering what the new Gryffindors would be like (and whether she’d get any trouble-makers as bad as that second-year girl, Rowan Patterson), she saw Professor McGonagall walking past with a very tall, athletic-looking man, who was wearing black robes and a ponytail.
“Professor Granger, you have not yet been introduced to our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, have you?” asked Professor McGonagall, stopping before her. The tall wizard accompanying the headmistress turned to face her, and Hermione let out a gasp of recognition.
“Hello, Professor Granger,” he greeted her pleasantly. “My name is Professor Ronald Weasley. I believe we went to Hogwarts together?”
“Ron!” cried Hermione. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to teach here?!” She reached forward to give him a huge hug, but realized that Ron had his hand out for a handshake. She quickly stepped back and offered her hand, only to have Ron move forward to hug her. They both dropped their arms in confusion.
“Well, I feel seventeen again now,” she thought with some amusement.
Hermione took another step backward and surveyed Ron, who was grinning at her. He was not the gawky, skinny boy he’d been the last time she’d laid eyes on him. His shoulders were broadened, and his harsh auror training had made him a bit more muscular (though he’d never be a muscleman), and he held himself proudly, no longer moving with his old awkward, slumping gait. And then there was his hair. His bright, vivid red hair was the same colour that she’d remembered it, but he’d grown it out and wore it tied back into a ponytail with a scrap of leather. His face was the same as she remembered, though-- thin and freckled with light blue eyes ringed with pale eyelashes, a long nose, a broad smile, and thick eyebrows-- and she felt that his stark black auror robes and dragon-skin boots really didn’t suit him at all.
“Well, what are you staring at?” Ron asked innocently, though with a bit of a smirk. “It’s just little old me.”
“I’d hardly use the word ‘little’ to describe him,” Hermione thought dryly. Aloud, she said, “Well, you can’t deny the fact that you look… different from how I remembered you.”
“You look the same as ever, though,” Ron commented, which was true. Apart from the fact that her chestnut brown hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, she hadn’t changed much.
“Back to you,” Hermione continued, noticing vaguely that McGonagall had slipped away, “What are you wearing, and what have you done to your hair? You look ridiculous.”
Ron looked slightly hurt. “No, I don’t,” he argued. “It makes me look tough. I’m not going to be intimidating any dark wizards in my old maroon sweaters and trainers.”
Hermione stifled a laugh-- she’d sounded so familiar when he said it. “And I suppose Harry’s got red eyes, horns, and a goatee, now, has he?” she snorted.
“No, he’s pretty much the same as always,” Ron assured her. “Except for the earring.”
“THE WHAT?!”
Ron shook his head. “Honestly, Hermione, you are the most gullible person I’ve ever met.”
“Excuse me? I’m not the one who tried to turn a rat yellow with some stupid spell,” Hermione countered. The bell tower began to chime seven o’ clock, and she said, “The students will be coming in any minute now. You’d best get to the staff table for the feast.” Ron turned to go, but before he left, Hermione added, “Oh, I can’t believe you’re actually going to be teaching!” with a bit of a squeal in her voice.
Decidedly unprofessional, she realized.
* * * * * *
“It’s good to be back,” thought Ron, smiling, as he looked around the Great Hall. He walked up to the staff table and took a seat, exerting all of his willpower to keep from folding his long legs on top of the table. He couldn’t help but notice that many of the students were pointing at him and whispering.
“Ah, Mr. Weasley, I remember I had you in my NEWT Potions class,” boomed Professor Slughorn jovially, seizing Ron’s hand and pumping it vigorously. “Now, I am scarcely wrong about people,” he continued, looking Ron keenly in the eye, “but you, you were one of my mistakes. I don’t know why I never thought you’d go far, excellent job.”
“Er, thank you?” Ron didn’t know whether this was supposed to be a compliment or not. “Harry says ‘hi,’ by the way.”
“Yes, Harry Potter, he was one of the best potion makers I ever taught.” Slughorn’s eyes misted over reminiscently. “How is he doing? I’ve read about the both of you in the Daily Prophet a lot lately.”
“Oh, yeah, when we caught Nott outside Knockturn Alley trying to assassinate Scrimgeour, that was all over the news,” Ron mentioned casually. One of the perks of the career of auror was that it made for very interesting conversation, especially at parties. He was invited to rather a lot of them of late.
Ron saw the oaken double doors open and Hermione led in the line of terrified-looking first years. “I don’t think I was ever that small,” he thought. “I swear, it’s some DNA mutation.”
Hermione began calling out names, and the students trekked up one-by-one to try on the Sorting Hat. Ron was bored, so he amused himself by flicking his wand up and down, causing the point of Hermione’s hat to dance back and forth.
“Ron Weasley?” He turned around. It was Padma Patil, sitting two seats down from him.
“Padma Patil?” He was genuinely surprised to see her at the staff table-- apparently, he and Hermione weren’t the only ones from his graduating class to be attracted to a teaching career.
“What are you doing here?” they asked in unison.
“Well, I’m the new Healer here,” Padma explained. “But you? Ron Weasley, a Hogwarts professor?”
“I have a feeling I’ll be getting that a lot lately in the near future,” sighed Ron.
The last student (Zornes, Tessa) was sorted into Ravenclaw, and Hermione joined Ron at the staff table, choosing a seat behind him. But the split-second before she sat down, Ron flicked his wand slightly, and the chair moved a few inches back. WHAM! Hermione fell to the ground, flat on her backside. “That wasn’t funny, Ronald!” she shrieked, as most of the students dissolved in laughter.
“Really, because I found it very funny indeed,” Ron replied thoughtfully.
“You’re exactly the same as you were the last time I saw you,” she hissed, though smiling slightly.
“Only hotter?” supplied Ron.
“Yes, the same only… wait a minute!” Ron went into hysterics at this point, and Parvati Patil groaned.
“This term should be very interesting if you’re anything like you were at Hogwarts,” she said. “Let’s see, I think I remember in sixth year, after Slughorn’s Christmas party, you--”
“We don’t talk about that,” Hermione cut her off abruptly, her eyes managing to be describable as ‘steely,’ although they were brown.
Professor McGonagall stood up. “Welcome to Hogwarts, to new students and to those returning for another term. Carrying n in the tradition of Albus Dumbledore, I shall save the real speech for after the feast, but I have a few important announcements to make. Firstly, there is to be a ball this Christmas for fourth years and above--”
“Oh, the memories,” Ron thought wistfully.
“Which does not mean that everyone fourteen and over will be allowed to attend. So all students are advised to be on their best behaviour. Secondly, we have a new Defense professor this year, as Professor Lupin is taking a year off to help raise his family.” Dissatisfied mumbles spread across the Great Hall at this-- Professor Lupin was an extremely good teacher. “His temporary replacement is Professor Ronald Weasley,” she finished.
Ron stood up, beaming at the enthusiastic reception he received. “Ronald Weasley? The auror? The one who killed that Snape idiot and chucked Nott in Azkaban last week and helped defeat You-Know-Who? That’s brilliant!” he heard a second-year girl call out loudly. Hermione looked slightly disapproving at this, and at the other excited whispers and wolf-whistles.
“The one and only!” Ron exclaimed, taking a bow. Professor McGonagall gave him one of her infamous Looks, and, feeling like a student again, Ron sank back down into his seat.
“I see you’ve gotten over your inferiority complex,” Hermione whispered.
“I never had a complex of any sort,” he whispered back fiercely.
“Yes, you really did,” replied Hermione. “And Harry had his odd little hero complex, and…”
“Must you make everything so complex?” whispered Ron in a manner that was probably meant to be charming.
“Not funny,” Hermione whispered back, not finding the previous remark charming in the least. “And why are we whispering?”
“I don’t know,” Ron whispered thoughtfully. “I feel like I’m making rude remarks under my breath at the back of McGonagall’s classroom.” Hermione arched a rueful eyebrow at him. “Not that I ever did,” he added in a hasty whisper. “You were always snapping at me to shut up.”
“Shut up,” snapped Hermione.
Their (childish) conversation was interrupted by Ron’s loud, delighted yelp of, “Oy! Food!” Indeed, food had appeared on the tables, and Ron was helping himself to extremely generous portions. Hermione eyed him with some amusement as he wolfed down his dinner.
“Can’t afford food on an auror’s salary?” She asked rhetorically, knowing full well that aurors made quite a good deal of money.
“No, it’s just, I’ve got my own flat now, and I have to make my own food. Well, I’ve gotten pretty good at sandwiches, but as for everything else… let’s just say that I have a lot more appreciation for Hogwarts cooking,” he told her through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Apparently, Hermione noted wryly, they didn’t teach table manners in auror training.
After the feast was over, the students were led back to their dormitories by the prefects and most of the Hogwarts teachers departed to the staff room-- except for the Transfiguration professor and the DADA professor, who hung back.
“So, what else have you been keeping from me in your letters?” inquired Hermione lightly. “Going to become Minister of Magic, perhaps, or maybe you’re married with seven children?”
Ron looked puzzled. “Er… is it even possible to have seven kids in three years?” he asked, running a hand through his ponytail.
“Well,” Hermione began, but the world would never know the answer, because they were cut off by a strangely familiar male voice, exclaiming,
“Sirius, you idiot, why did you have to pick it up in the first place?” The two of them whirled around at the sound of the name, and saw three boys standing behind them.
Hermione’s brown wrinkled at the sight of them. “You can’t be first years…
she muttered slowly, placing a finger to her temple, “but none of you were ever in my class before… you’re not new students, are you?”
“You could say that,” one of the boys said seriously.
“So, what’d McGonagall say?” asked Harry Potter, looking up from his newspaper. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see his best friend suddenly appearing out of nowhere in the middle of his house.
Ron Weasley sat down in an armchair. “What, you mean after her jaw dropped practically to the floor?” he chortled. “Well, she gave me the job-- said I certainly had enough qualifications. But she also said that the second-to-last job she could imagine me having was Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And the last job she could imagine me having was an Elvis impersonator.”
“Well,” Harry commented fairly, “if you told me five years ago, in our sixth year, that you wanted to teach DADA, I’d have burst out laughing.”
Ron waved his wand lazily and conjured up a large sandwich. “I know,” he admitted with his mouth full, decorating Harry’s carpet with crumbs. “But we’ve been done with auror training for a year now, and I wanted to try doing something else for a bit, before I get too high a promotion to go back.”
“Getting a bit full of yourself, are you?” One of the things Harry had noticed about Ron since Voldemort’s defeat was a definite increase on his self-confidence, which had grown considerably over the last four years.
“At least I’m not full of someone else… that’d make me a cannibal!” Ron joked.
Harry ignored this comment. “But really, I can’t wait to read Hermione’s letter when you tell her.” They hadn’t gotten to see Hermione Granger for a few years, though they still kept in touch via owl post. She had gotten the job as Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts, which meant that Ron would be working alongside her.
“Oh, I’m not telling her,” Ron replied with a mischievous grin. “She’s not finding out until the first day of term.”
* * * * * *
Hermione Granger had been rather upset when she heard that there was to be a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Lupin had done an excellent job for the last four years, but his wife was pregnant with their second child, and he had felt rather guilty about missing most of the first year of his first child’s life already. “Plus, I’m not positive that Dora will be able to handle two small children,” he’d added. “Christina is bad enough-- I’ve never seen a toddler get into as much mischief as she does. She probably would have given James and Sirius a run for their money.”
“I know, he’ll be back next year, but I can’t imagine anyone doing a better job,” Hermione commented to Padma Patil (the new healer who now presided over the hospital wing) at a staff meeting. “Remember when he taught us in our third year?”
“How could I forget?” laughed Padma. “Snape dressed as Neville’s grandmother? That was the best class I ever took!”
“I’m sure you’ll find Remus’s replacement satisfactory,” Headmistress McGonagall put in sternly. (Hermione still couldn’t get used to calling her ‘Minerva’; it gave her the same uncomfortable feeling she’d had when she called Snape ‘Daddy’ by accident, during her third year.) Was it her imagination, or had the Headmistress smiled slightly?
* * * * * *
The next day, Hogwarts was busily preparing itself for the start of another term. Hermione took the fact that the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had not yet shown himself (or herself, she’d added mentally) to be a bad sign. Hermione was head of Gryffindor, so she waited in the foyer to welcome the new first years and prepare them for their sorting. As she stood, wondering what the new Gryffindors would be like (and whether she’d get any trouble-makers as bad as that second-year girl, Rowan Patterson), she saw Professor McGonagall walking past with a very tall, athletic-looking man, who was wearing black robes and a ponytail.
“Professor Granger, you have not yet been introduced to our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, have you?” asked Professor McGonagall, stopping before her. The tall wizard accompanying the headmistress turned to face her, and Hermione let out a gasp of recognition.
“Hello, Professor Granger,” he greeted her pleasantly. “My name is Professor Ronald Weasley. I believe we went to Hogwarts together?”
“Ron!” cried Hermione. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to teach here?!” She reached forward to give him a huge hug, but realized that Ron had his hand out for a handshake. She quickly stepped back and offered her hand, only to have Ron move forward to hug her. They both dropped their arms in confusion.
“Well, I feel seventeen again now,” she thought with some amusement.
Hermione took another step backward and surveyed Ron, who was grinning at her. He was not the gawky, skinny boy he’d been the last time she’d laid eyes on him. His shoulders were broadened, and his harsh auror training had made him a bit more muscular (though he’d never be a muscleman), and he held himself proudly, no longer moving with his old awkward, slumping gait. And then there was his hair. His bright, vivid red hair was the same colour that she’d remembered it, but he’d grown it out and wore it tied back into a ponytail with a scrap of leather. His face was the same as she remembered, though-- thin and freckled with light blue eyes ringed with pale eyelashes, a long nose, a broad smile, and thick eyebrows-- and she felt that his stark black auror robes and dragon-skin boots really didn’t suit him at all.
“Well, what are you staring at?” Ron asked innocently, though with a bit of a smirk. “It’s just little old me.”
“I’d hardly use the word ‘little’ to describe him,” Hermione thought dryly. Aloud, she said, “Well, you can’t deny the fact that you look… different from how I remembered you.”
“You look the same as ever, though,” Ron commented, which was true. Apart from the fact that her chestnut brown hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, she hadn’t changed much.
“Back to you,” Hermione continued, noticing vaguely that McGonagall had slipped away, “What are you wearing, and what have you done to your hair? You look ridiculous.”
Ron looked slightly hurt. “No, I don’t,” he argued. “It makes me look tough. I’m not going to be intimidating any dark wizards in my old maroon sweaters and trainers.”
Hermione stifled a laugh-- she’d sounded so familiar when he said it. “And I suppose Harry’s got red eyes, horns, and a goatee, now, has he?” she snorted.
“No, he’s pretty much the same as always,” Ron assured her. “Except for the earring.”
“THE WHAT?!”
Ron shook his head. “Honestly, Hermione, you are the most gullible person I’ve ever met.”
“Excuse me? I’m not the one who tried to turn a rat yellow with some stupid spell,” Hermione countered. The bell tower began to chime seven o’ clock, and she said, “The students will be coming in any minute now. You’d best get to the staff table for the feast.” Ron turned to go, but before he left, Hermione added, “Oh, I can’t believe you’re actually going to be teaching!” with a bit of a squeal in her voice.
Decidedly unprofessional, she realized.
* * * * * *
“It’s good to be back,” thought Ron, smiling, as he looked around the Great Hall. He walked up to the staff table and took a seat, exerting all of his willpower to keep from folding his long legs on top of the table. He couldn’t help but notice that many of the students were pointing at him and whispering.
“Ah, Mr. Weasley, I remember I had you in my NEWT Potions class,” boomed Professor Slughorn jovially, seizing Ron’s hand and pumping it vigorously. “Now, I am scarcely wrong about people,” he continued, looking Ron keenly in the eye, “but you, you were one of my mistakes. I don’t know why I never thought you’d go far, excellent job.”
“Er, thank you?” Ron didn’t know whether this was supposed to be a compliment or not. “Harry says ‘hi,’ by the way.”
“Yes, Harry Potter, he was one of the best potion makers I ever taught.” Slughorn’s eyes misted over reminiscently. “How is he doing? I’ve read about the both of you in the Daily Prophet a lot lately.”
“Oh, yeah, when we caught Nott outside Knockturn Alley trying to assassinate Scrimgeour, that was all over the news,” Ron mentioned casually. One of the perks of the career of auror was that it made for very interesting conversation, especially at parties. He was invited to rather a lot of them of late.
Ron saw the oaken double doors open and Hermione led in the line of terrified-looking first years. “I don’t think I was ever that small,” he thought. “I swear, it’s some DNA mutation.”
Hermione began calling out names, and the students trekked up one-by-one to try on the Sorting Hat. Ron was bored, so he amused himself by flicking his wand up and down, causing the point of Hermione’s hat to dance back and forth.
“Ron Weasley?” He turned around. It was Padma Patil, sitting two seats down from him.
“Padma Patil?” He was genuinely surprised to see her at the staff table-- apparently, he and Hermione weren’t the only ones from his graduating class to be attracted to a teaching career.
“What are you doing here?” they asked in unison.
“Well, I’m the new Healer here,” Padma explained. “But you? Ron Weasley, a Hogwarts professor?”
“I have a feeling I’ll be getting that a lot lately in the near future,” sighed Ron.
The last student (Zornes, Tessa) was sorted into Ravenclaw, and Hermione joined Ron at the staff table, choosing a seat behind him. But the split-second before she sat down, Ron flicked his wand slightly, and the chair moved a few inches back. WHAM! Hermione fell to the ground, flat on her backside. “That wasn’t funny, Ronald!” she shrieked, as most of the students dissolved in laughter.
“Really, because I found it very funny indeed,” Ron replied thoughtfully.
“You’re exactly the same as you were the last time I saw you,” she hissed, though smiling slightly.
“Only hotter?” supplied Ron.
“Yes, the same only… wait a minute!” Ron went into hysterics at this point, and Parvati Patil groaned.
“This term should be very interesting if you’re anything like you were at Hogwarts,” she said. “Let’s see, I think I remember in sixth year, after Slughorn’s Christmas party, you--”
“We don’t talk about that,” Hermione cut her off abruptly, her eyes managing to be describable as ‘steely,’ although they were brown.
Professor McGonagall stood up. “Welcome to Hogwarts, to new students and to those returning for another term. Carrying n in the tradition of Albus Dumbledore, I shall save the real speech for after the feast, but I have a few important announcements to make. Firstly, there is to be a ball this Christmas for fourth years and above--”
“Oh, the memories,” Ron thought wistfully.
“Which does not mean that everyone fourteen and over will be allowed to attend. So all students are advised to be on their best behaviour. Secondly, we have a new Defense professor this year, as Professor Lupin is taking a year off to help raise his family.” Dissatisfied mumbles spread across the Great Hall at this-- Professor Lupin was an extremely good teacher. “His temporary replacement is Professor Ronald Weasley,” she finished.
Ron stood up, beaming at the enthusiastic reception he received. “Ronald Weasley? The auror? The one who killed that Snape idiot and chucked Nott in Azkaban last week and helped defeat You-Know-Who? That’s brilliant!” he heard a second-year girl call out loudly. Hermione looked slightly disapproving at this, and at the other excited whispers and wolf-whistles.
“The one and only!” Ron exclaimed, taking a bow. Professor McGonagall gave him one of her infamous Looks, and, feeling like a student again, Ron sank back down into his seat.
“I see you’ve gotten over your inferiority complex,” Hermione whispered.
“I never had a complex of any sort,” he whispered back fiercely.
“Yes, you really did,” replied Hermione. “And Harry had his odd little hero complex, and…”
“Must you make everything so complex?” whispered Ron in a manner that was probably meant to be charming.
“Not funny,” Hermione whispered back, not finding the previous remark charming in the least. “And why are we whispering?”
“I don’t know,” Ron whispered thoughtfully. “I feel like I’m making rude remarks under my breath at the back of McGonagall’s classroom.” Hermione arched a rueful eyebrow at him. “Not that I ever did,” he added in a hasty whisper. “You were always snapping at me to shut up.”
“Shut up,” snapped Hermione.
Their (childish) conversation was interrupted by Ron’s loud, delighted yelp of, “Oy! Food!” Indeed, food had appeared on the tables, and Ron was helping himself to extremely generous portions. Hermione eyed him with some amusement as he wolfed down his dinner.
“Can’t afford food on an auror’s salary?” She asked rhetorically, knowing full well that aurors made quite a good deal of money.
“No, it’s just, I’ve got my own flat now, and I have to make my own food. Well, I’ve gotten pretty good at sandwiches, but as for everything else… let’s just say that I have a lot more appreciation for Hogwarts cooking,” he told her through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Apparently, Hermione noted wryly, they didn’t teach table manners in auror training.
After the feast was over, the students were led back to their dormitories by the prefects and most of the Hogwarts teachers departed to the staff room-- except for the Transfiguration professor and the DADA professor, who hung back.
“So, what else have you been keeping from me in your letters?” inquired Hermione lightly. “Going to become Minister of Magic, perhaps, or maybe you’re married with seven children?”
Ron looked puzzled. “Er… is it even possible to have seven kids in three years?” he asked, running a hand through his ponytail.
“Well,” Hermione began, but the world would never know the answer, because they were cut off by a strangely familiar male voice, exclaiming,
“Sirius, you idiot, why did you have to pick it up in the first place?” The two of them whirled around at the sound of the name, and saw three boys standing behind them.
Hermione’s brown wrinkled at the sight of them. “You can’t be first years…
she muttered slowly, placing a finger to her temple, “but none of you were ever in my class before… you’re not new students, are you?”
“You could say that,” one of the boys said seriously.
