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After having taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for nearly a decade, Professor Derek Hale was fairly used to seemingly random and spontaneous explosions of varying magnitude. It wasn’t a daily occurrence, but it wasn’t uncommon with a couple of explosions per term. Not in Derek’s classes, of course, where the damage was limited to the occasional Fire crab related burn, but Transfigurations and Potions class seemed particularly susceptible to accidents of the explosive variety. However, Derek had never in his teaching career experienced an explosion coming from the History of Magic classroom. It was simply unheard of. It could surely mean nothing but trouble. Especially when it was followed by exuberant laughter.
No one had ever laughed in the History of Magic classroom before.
Youths, Derek thought and felt a surge of annoyance as he pushed the door to the classroom open.
“What in Merlin’s beard is going on in here?” He roared in his most authoritarian voice, reserved for his most unruly pupils (of which there were very few, thank you very much).
The laughter died with a hiccup and twenty or so pairs of wide eyes turned to stare at him. Whatever Derek had expected, it was not an entire class of fourth years dutifully seated by their desks. The blood red slime dripping off one of the walls fit the bill, as did the smoke curling over the floor, but he had not envisioned the three legged black cat situated in the dangling chandelier and he certainly had not imagined the man that was balancing precariously on the edge of a tipping chair at the front of the classroom. The bottom hem of his emerald robes was on fire while he gaped at Derek for several excruciating seconds.
The silence was deafening before the man snapped out of his apparent surprise over Derek barging into the classroom and a smile graced his face.
“Why, a dramatic reenactment of the Giant Wars, of course,” he replied in a chipper tone before tipping over the chair and skipping over to the nearest pupil’s desk in the progress, whose note-covered parchment was engulfed in flames within second. “Oh, right, sorry about that, Ms. Weaver. Aguamenti.”
A jet of water shot out of the wand the man had procured from his robes, dousing the flames and leaving a wet, grey mess behind. Ms. Weaver didn’t seem the least upset though, her eyes glittering with the same awe that Derek could see reflected in the rest of the pupils’ eager faces. The man stumbled off of the desk and crossed the last few steps towards Derek, reaching out a hand in greeting while he pocketed his wand with the other.
“Stiles Stilinski, the new History of Magic professor,” he grinned.
Right. Derek had heard of this. It had been a quiet evening, a mere week before the start of term, when Professor Binns floated into the staff room to announce that he was tired of teaching and promptly handed in his resignation. Or whatever the ghost equivalent of that was. Derek hadn’t been there at the time, but apparently it had caused quite a ruckus, at least judging by the incredibly detailed letter Professor Yukimura had sent him describing the event.
This must be Professor Binns’ replacement. Derek wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but tentatively raised his hand to accept the handshake. Before he could introduce himself, the man - Professor Stilinski - spoke again.
“Hey guys, is this the one you’re calling Old Grump Hale?” He asked casually, addressing the class which caused some sort of borderline hysterical giggles among the group. “He’s not that old! You had me thinking he was at least 102! For shame.”
Professor Stilinski turned back to Derek with the most shit-eating grin Derek had ever witnessed in his entire life. Clasping Derek’s hand between his own, he leaned in to faux-whisper consolingly: “You don’t look a day past 75.”
The comment was clearly too much for Mr. Faulkner in the back row who burst into infectious laughter. If Derek didn’t know better, he would have thought that Professor Stilinski had plied the students with gigglewater. Maybe he had, Derek didn’t actually know him at all.
Derek cleared his throat.
“You should try to keep it down, Professor Stilinski,” he said firmly.
“Oh, we’ll try, but we can’t make any promises,” Professor Stilinski replied, with the most infuriating, mischievous smile that did absolutely nothing but irritate Derek. Absolutely nothing.
“Thank you,” he replied woodenly.
“You’re very welcome. Now, we’ve got keep going here, but it was nice to meet you, Professor Hale. I look forward to working with you.”
Professor Stilinski winked and let go of Derek’s hand. Derek hadn’t even realized that he was still holding on to him. Stilinski turned on his heel in the most obvious dismissal Derek had ever seen.
“Roscoe!” Stilinski called out and the cat in the chandelier perked up. “Act II, scene III. The assassination of Karkus. You’re Golgomath, I’m Karkus. Action!”
If Derek had remained in the classroom, he would have beared witness to the peculiar sight of a cat mimicking the assassination of a giant. As it were, he moved out of the classroom in a confused daze. What exactly had just happened? Derek wasn't sure. There was however one thing he was absolutely sure of: Professor Stiles Stilinski was definitely trouble.