Quote:
Originally Posted by Professor Elf
"Look, Crocker," thankfully you needed a translator to fully understand the boy, and she did not catch that he's called her a house elf. "Let ME enlighten YOU. The correct form of addressing a young boy is 'Master.' You know what... Nevermind. Get back to your potion." She said shaking her head.
"Whaaaa?" He gapped at her. Truthfully, he didn't understand a word she was saying. Master to a young boy? Then what would they call older men, my lord? Pshaw, yeah right. This wasn't 1800s, you know. Willie simply sniffed loudly, sounding like one of those muggle vacuum cleaners and took his seat.
Now...
What was he supposed to do again?
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Eli Jarod 
Not killing anyone? The woman was off her nut. Off. her. nut.
Eli shot Ellie a look, one meant to mean "BE CAREFUL!" He did not want her to incite the wrath of the DeathEater LaFlame. He tried to ignore the she-snakes, but could not help feeling like a tiny bit of prey between two predators. He squirmed as they glared at him. He kept glancing at the poor prefect. He was doomed. Eli was no Gryffindor, but he felt he had to do something. Maybe LaFlame didn't know- or didn't care - about the Cursed Champion's condition.
Ugh, this class was miserable!
Miserable, that is, until that Crocker kid spoke up. He stifled a giggle and a thought hit him- the best way to keep the prefect safe, logically, was by creating a diversion.
Eli started his brewing process, pouring in the milk and writing in his journal dutifully. He watched LaFlame, waiting for the right moment. When she turned, he slipped a piece of parchment into his journal and continued writing. When she was not looking again, he slipped it off his desk and folded it quickly, then raised his hand.
"Perfesser?" he asked, still holding the paper under his desk.
As he went through his mind on what he should be doing at the moment, his ear couldn't help but catch someone... making fun of him? Willie's eyes widened. Breathing techniques. Breathing techniques. BREATHING TECHNIQUES.
"Breathing techniques, my bum!" he hissed angrily, standing up from his seat, marching towards the boy and grabbing him from the back of his collar. "Oiii, watch ye mouth ya litt'e plum, or I'll sen' ya sobbin' ter ye mum."
He hadn't forgotten he was in class. Oh, no. In fact, he looked up at the professor and gave her the biggest, cheesiest smile he could ever give.