Another name plate shoved to the front of his desk.

Another name plate that he doubted was readable. And another weird start to the first lesson. Dalton cowered slightly as the banging thing happened, brushing warm debris from the sleeves of his robes, and looking around anxiously to see if it was bloody well safe enough for him to emerge from under his desk.

Was the Professor trying to kill someone? Or just scare them enough that they would NOT be returning to the lessons?

Effort, Dalton.

Rolling his shoulders slightly, and twisting his pencil in his hand as he sat back down, the twelve year old just shrugged in answer to the first question. He didn't know what that was about, how could he? Wasn't that why he was here, to be TOLD stuff? To LEARN?