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sweetpinkpixie · #1 (**permalink**) 09-08-2025, 06:16 AM

The office of Professor ~~Elliot~~ Cox is the sort of space that seems to hold its breath the moment you step inside. Shadows gather in the corners where tall shelves lean under the weight of tomes on runes, alchemy, and potioncraft... their spines marked with unfamiliar sigils and gilded script save for one book. Glass fronted cases hold sets of rune stones and curious alchemical instruments, each faintly humming with wards and measures against curious unruly hands. A pair of narrow windows let in only enough light to silver the occasional flecks of dust, leaving the rest to the glow of oil lamps and the flicker of rune-marked candles.

His desk dominates the room, a dark oak slab buried under parchment, half-finished translations, and rune-carved stones scattered in careful disarray. Amidst the ink stains and the clutter sits one anomaly: an elegant bouquet of pink roses, vivid and soft against the severity of the space. Their presence feels like a riddle in itself...though a riddle that is unlikely to ever be answered even if you should ask.

For students who have knocked and found him to not be in office, likely due to his being in the dungeons, a curious brass astrolabe fixed to the wall outside of his office is at your service. Twist the arm to the rune Ansuz and the device will hum, summoning Professor Cox's attention no matter the distance. He will arrive quickly enough through a passage that begins with the sliding face of a bookcase behind his office desk, descending by a spiral staircase that empties into the shadows of the Potions classroom.

It is not exactly a welcoming office... but it is unmistakably a space of order and of discipline.

*squidnie* · 05-09-2026, 03:14 AM

The small bit of parchment had been a surprise. Cat had thought maybe she’d left notes in the textbook the last time she’d been studying, or something, but it was, upon further exploration, most definitely not that.

She’d been summoned. By her Head of House. Her favorite professor, mind you. Also the professor that she was quite possibly most intimidated by in her entire educational career.

Surely, she was getting detention. She wasn’t sure why, exactly (though she had her suspicions). She’d escaped real point-losing, detention-including punishments this far, which honestly could be classified as a miracle considering who some of her friends and the situations she seemed to get herself into. At the current moment, the top-of-mind reason involved a certain Gryffindor boy and what Cat could only guess was a broken nose. Even though that hadn’t been her fault.

Still, as she made her way immediately to Professor Cox’s office, Cat was catastrophizing. Even after being explicitly told to not interpret the phrasing as inherently catastrophic. That was hardly comforting. Professor Cox needed to work on his bedside manner if he wanted to come across less doomsday-esque.

But, anyway. Yes. Okay. Cat was here to accept her fate, regardless of the exact level of catastrophe.

She took a deep breath to (uselessly, really) try to settle herself. Then she knocked on the door.

sweetpinkpixie · 05-09-2026, 11:01 AM

His bedside manner was perfectly fine, thank you.
And The Nile more than a river in Egypt.
"Enter."

Hi voice was muffled by the heavy wooden door that clicked open upon his command accompanied by the faint sound of parchment shifting. He sat behind the desk, sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled just below his elbows, quill set aside the moment she entered. His attention lifted immediately to her, assessing in a way that always made it feel like he had already noticed three things about a person before they'd fully crossed the threshold.

Fortunately, he did not look angry, so lets please cease the catastrophizing.

"Miss Webb," he greeted, gesturing once toward the chair opposite him. "Sit, please."

He paused to align the parchment in front of him a fraction of a centimeter so it rested more parallel to his inkwell.

"There is no need for quite so much tension in your posture," he continued, steepling his fingers briefly atop the desk. "Though I do think it best we get right to it as I suspect you have already discerned a rather vivid explanation for why I requested your presence. And yes, it does have to do with something I was able to observe from the dais."

*squidnie* · 05-09-2026, 02:32 PM

There were still times, even two years in, that Cat was caught off-guard by magic. In a good way; an intrigued way. The door opening on its own was one of those times. The parchment in her textbook would have likely been another if it hadn’t been so… scary. Maybe she’d come back to it later.

For now, she entered the office. Stiffly. Apparently too stiffly, since Professor Cox commented on the tension in her posture. She made herself relax a fraction. However, it mostly just felt like she was off balance in a chair, so instead she just sighed and leaned back, slumping a bit.

She nodded when he confirmed that she’d been summoned for what happened at the feast. She chewed on her lip for a moment before sitting up a little straighter. She nodded again. “Yes, sir,” she said, her tone level. “I have an idea of what you’re referring to.” She was holding herself back, not letting herself ramble as was her usual. She didn’t want to implicate herself or Marina in anything that Professor Cox wasn’t aware of, but she also was not going to play dumb or deny any truth. She’d take her consequences like a mature adult.

Maybe this was a bonus part to her seven-part Plan to Maturity. How exciting.

sweetpinkpixie · 05-10-2026, 01:44 AM

Cox regarded her for a moment over the steeple of his fingers and somehow managed not to sigh. The scene felt uncomfortably familiar. First his nephew two summers ago, then his niece this past one ― both carrying the unmistakable posture of someone internally hemorrhaging while simultaneously treating emotional honesty like a controlled substance. Teenagers, it seemed, approached vulnerability with all the enthusiasm of a kneazle being introduced to bathwater.

Naturally, he found this behavior deeply perplexing and entirely impossible to relate to. A man did not spend years binding portions of himself beneath rune-work and old magic because he had an unhealthy relationship with emotional transparency, after all.

...

Moving on.

"Care to elaborate," he asked calmly, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest, "or is this to become a game of Twenty Questions and test of my patience, Miss Webb?"

His attention remained fixed on her with clinical steadiness, posture unmoving behind the desk save for the slow tap of his thumb against his forearm.

"At the risk of sounding unusually reasonable," he said at last, the dryness in his tone softening, "part of my responsibilities as a Hogwarts professor and Head of House involve identifying and understanding situations that may affect the emotional wellbeing of my students." His arms unfolded and his posture straightened. "Particularly, when said situation culminates in a goblet being launched across a table at another student during the Start-of-Term Feast."

The corner of his mouth threatened the vaguest hint of dry amusement before settling again.

"I am asking because you were present. Because you are one of my Ravenclaw students. And because your perspective is likely to be substantially more reliable than the wildly embellished versions currently circulating through the castle."

Those portraits certainly did like to embellish matters and why he had had all of them removed along the Potions and Ancient Runes corridors. It was ready bad enough have ghosts and poltergeists all up in his business, he did not need to extend the invitation elsewhere.

"And," he added, his tone softening even more into something dangerously paternal. "To make sure you are alright."

Whatever had possessed Miss Garcia-Massey to absolutely level Mr. Miller by goblet was impossible to discern from a distance and with so much movement happening throughout the Great Hall. Still, he suspected that the goblet had deserved better.

"So," he continued, "let us attempt this again with marginally less strategic ambiguity, shall we?"

*squidnie* · 05-10-2026, 02:37 AM

She did not care to elaborate, if she was telling the truth, Professor Cox. When she made the very long trek from her dormitory to this office on the sixth floor - and up until this point - she had been of the belief that they were both intelligent enough to understand that some drama happened, Cat would accept her detention like a grown up, and they would move on to better, less upsetting things throughout the term.

He ruined her plan, though. The grimace on her face when he accused her of starting Twenty Questions was probably enough for that to be clear. She wiggled herself back in the chair again, straightening her spine a fraction more as he continued speaking. She took in the tapping of his thumb on his arm, the straightening of his own spine, and finally (and she did not think she was imagining this), the barest hint of an almost-smile.

It did sound fairly amusing when phrased like that.

Cat managed to keep her own expression neutral, though she did drop her gaze to her hands in her lap. She’d been wringing them together nervously. So, to avoid any more obvious appearances of anxiety, she slid her hands onto the seat cushions beneath her legs to sit on them instead.

Her eyes snapped back up when he asked about her, though. When he wanted to make sure she was alright. She felt her eyes sting immediately with the threat of tears. And if there was one thing she did not want in this lifetime was to cry in front of one Professor Cox. She could think of nothing more horrifying. Including being showered with pumpkin juice in front of a boy she may have been considering kissing at one point (not anymore!) and also the entire school and - apparently - all the professors as well. Not to mention the emotional strain on her best friend.

And herself. Which she’d had a handle on until this very moment, thank you very much.

She lifted her gaze to the ceiling and took a deep breath. Okay. Alright. No tears were actually formed, so she figured she was okay for now.

“Strategic abiguity,” she repeated in a mumble, mostly to herself. She pulled her hands out from under her legs and started fidgeting again. Then she looked again at the professor and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

She took another deep breath. Then the verbal floodgates opened. “I just went over to the Gryffindor table because I hadn’t seen Marina since last term, you know? And she was already talking to CJ. And I’d met him too, so I thought we were just, like, chatting. But he has this thing. I don’t know what it is, but, like, he won’t… you know, shut up. Ever?” Her brows raised slightly, urging Professor Cox to understand how truly maddening this could be. “But more than that, he kept calling Marina Marinara. And I think it’s fair to say that being name-called a pasta sauce would be upsetting for anyone. But CJ kept, like, just doing it. Marina corrected him several times. And I politely asked him to stop. But he didn’t.” She was leaning forward slightly now. “So Marina - I think she just… you know, couldn’t keep it in? So she threw the goblet at him. And he fell off the bench, but I think mostly he just broke his nose. I mean, obviously I don’t know, but he sounded kind of funny and I think there was blood.” She grimaced again, slumping back in her chair once more.

As for herself… her eyes dropped to her hands again. “I mainly just tried to get Marina to leave the situation, I guess. I probably should’ve tried sooner. I’ve never seen her that upset.” She sighed, lifting her head to meet Professor Cox's eyes. Her eyes were big and bright, those unshed tears from before a bit closer to the surface. “I guess I’m okay. My uniform is probably ruined, unless I can figure out a good spell to get the pumpkin juice out of it. And, um, I’m glad I wasn’t holding those hair extensions that Iris gave me…” she trailed off as her voice waivered, her chin wobbling just the slightest amount. Her hands were again suddenly more interesting than anything else in the room as she tried to rein in the surprising surge of emotion.

sweetpinkpixie · 05-10-2026, 12:50 PM

Cox listened in stillness once she finally began, the flood of words arriving exactly as expected once the dam cracked. His expression shifted little throughout it, though there was the occasional twitch near his brow at particular details. By the end of it, he leaned back slightly in his chair, thumb dragging once across the edge of his jaw while reconsidering several life choices that had somehow culminated in supervising adolescents for a living.

A Gryffindor who does not know when to stop talking. Remarkable. He simply shall alert the Department of Mysteries at once ― ironically run by another Gryffindor who also did not know when to stop talking.

Miss Webb's eyes had gone suspiciously bright somewhere in the middle of her explanation, and he found himself abruptly, irrationally reminded of entirely too many people he cared about sitting across from him pretending they were fine while visibly on the verge of emotional collapse.

Kneazle meet bathwater, indeed.

His fingers tapped once against the desk before he opened one of the drawers with a muted sigh and retrieved a neatly folded handkerchief, sliding it across the wood toward her in a silent invitation.

"The house elves are more than capable of removing pumpkin juice from fabric," he assured her with a firm nod. "Food and drink stains are among the less catastrophic things they have had to deal with."

The corner of his mouth nearly curved into something wry at that, recalling the particular brand of disasters Hogwarts students had always seemed to excel at producing ― himself not excluded from that.

"And Miss Garcia Massey's emotional responses are not your responsibility to manage." His gaze settled on her properly then, steady but not unkind. "Though, from the sound of it, I suspect the situation may have deteriorated considerably faster had you not been present."

His mouth flattened faintly as he considered the rest of it: the goblet, the name, the anger. The summer encounter in Diagon Alley flickered briefly through his thoughts uninvited — Miss Garcia Massey's attempting to retreat from existence itself while clutching at Miner― her mother's sleeve, all sharp nerves and bright defenses.

Much like her mother had once been... a realization still sat strangely in his chest.

"As for this Mister Miller," he continued after a moment, fingers settling against his jaw as he rubbed at it thoughtfully, "you are certain that it was deliberate rather than simply the byproduct of spectacularly poor judgement or the result of terminal... obtuseness?"

Phrasing that would be purely off the record and not to be repeated outside of this office.

Frankly, either remained entirely plausible. And depending on the answer, he suspected a conversation with Ean might become necessary before the Gryffindor third years collectively combusted before October.

*squidnie* · 05-10-2026, 06:56 PM

… he was offering her a handkerchief. Cat hesitated only a moment before leaning forward to accept the offer. She dabbed a corner of the handkerchief on the side of her nose where a few tears had escaped. She stayed silent, luckily, or this would be even more embarrassing than it was already shaping up to be.

Cat nodded, rubbing at her eyebrows in mild frustration. It was directed at herself, really, for being so wrapped up in what had happened that she forgot about simple facts. “Right,” she said softly, patting her face again with the handkerchief because now that the crying had started, it appeared that her eyes didn’t want to shut off the faucet. “They got all the ink out of those robes.” He knew when. “I should’ve known.”

She took a deep breath, casting her gaze at the ceiling once more in an attempt to collect herself. Professor Cox was right, of course. She was beginning to believe that he was always right. But knowing that she was not responsible for anyone else’s emotions responses - including Marina’s - was different than believing it. She had wanted to cut the tension. To not make CJ feel bad. To protect Marina. It all felt a little too close to another situation that Cat truly did not want to add to the current mix of concerns.

That acknowledgement, though, that she may have kept the situation from exploding sooner, gave her a spark of pride that let her look at the professor in front of her again.

As for Mister Miller, indeed. Cat sighed. She leaned herself back in the chair, beginning to neatly fold the handkerchief. “No,” she said honestly, “I fear that it is the result of terminal obtuseness.” A sentence that probably would’ve made her laugh in nearly any other scenario was delivered with solemnity. She scrunched her face up a bit. “He seemed like he was understanding one moment, then would continue anyway. But he seemed very… pleased with himself. Not, like, in a mean way. But in the way that I feel when I answer a question right in class.” She didn’t understand it, and it was entirely possible that she was plain wrong. But her read of the situation was that CJ had not been… malicious. Until…

“He did call her a Horntail, though. Which seemed very deliberate. Although that was after the whole goblet throwing and everything, so…” Take that as you will, Professor.

sweetpinkpixie · 05-12-2026, 12:45 AM

He was silent for a moment after that explanation, expression flattening into the sort of contemplative weariness that suggested he was mentally revising several assumptions about the collective intelligence of fourteen-year-olds while also trying, somewhat, to hold it against them. He had been anything but perfect or ideal at that age.

"Terminal obtuseness," he enunciating each syllable as though he were diagnosing a chronic condition rather than describing a child. "An unfortunately resilient affliction amongst adolescent boys in particular."

His fingers drummed once against the arm of his chair before stilling again. The image of adolescence Miss Webb painted was, regrettably, becoming clearer ― the catastrophic combination of misplaced confidence, social obliviousness, and　relentless enthusiasm that made one want to introduce their face to a brick wall.

Or a goblet, apparently.

At the mention of the Horntail comment, however, one brow lifted faintly.

"I see."

His gaze shifted briefly toward the folded handkerchief in her hands before returning to her face, clearing his throat as he pretended ― very adamantly, to not notice the way her face kept threatening to leak. "For what little comfort it offers," he said dryly, "I suspect Mister Miller's survival prospects improve considerably if someone explains to him that persistence ceases to be charming approximately three corrections earlier than he appears to think it does." A pause followed, his jaw setting on his back teeth a moment before swallowing down another chuckle that wished to surface. "And Miss García Massey would benefit from learning that projectile drinkware is generally considered an excessive conflict resolution strategy."

Though there was the faintest indication in his expression that he understood the impulse. Not towards the third year ― no, certainly never a student ― but he knew the impulse entirely too well to want to take a good hard swing at someone. In fact, several faces from his past surfaced immediately... individuals for whom the idea of his knuckles acquainting (and reacquainting) themselves with the bridge of their nose still held a certain enduring appeal.

He leaned back slightly then, shoulders easing by a fraction as his attention settled more fully on Miss Webb again rather than the incident itself. He had the facts of the situation and anything else would best be heard directly from both Gryffindor's mouths rather than filtered through the Ravenclaw seated across from him.

"Thank you, for your perspective, Miss Webb, and I am relieved to hear that you've only suffered some pumpkin juice stainage from the incident," he nodded. "If there is nothing else you feel I ought to know, then I think it would be best that you get your robes to the house elves as soon as possible." He eyes flicked to the handkerchief. "And that can be dropped off along with them."

*squidnie* · 05-12-2026, 11:00 PM

Cat wrinkled her nose up a bit, which caused residual tears to fall. She’d heard that teenage boys were dumb. Somehow though, having Professor Cox confirm the phenomenon seemed to make it… final.

She watched his fingers tap on the chair for a moment. Then it hit her.

Professor Cox was a softie at heart. He cared. About her, even, maybe.

She wasn’t sure why it hadn’t been clear before. But the pieces - the summoning, the asking if she was okay, the comfort...

It made her want to cry all over again.

She dabbed forcefully at her eyes with the folded handkerchief, not wanting the tears to win out. She wasn’t sure she was entirely capable of accepting any more comfort at this moment. She’d been attempting to perfect her Unbothered public appearance since the summer after her first year. She wasn’t about to jeopardize that now.

She nodded at what was clearly a dismissal. “Yeah. Um. Thank you, Professor.” For a lot. Hopefully he understood what she felt incapable of communicating right now. Standing, she clutched the handkerchief in her hand and made her way to the door. Stopping in the doorway, though, she paused and looked back at him. “Hey, Professor Cox? Would you be able to teach me how you got that note in my textbook?” It would be a handy communication tool to have, she was sure.

sweetpinkpixie · 05-15-2026, 12:26 AM

Cox, naturally, continued the mutual pretense that Miss Webb’s face was not actively attempting to mimic Moaning Myrtle.

A courtesy or self-preservation ― two things could be true at the same time.

As she rose, he did as well out of old habit and older manners, smoothing a hand once down the front of his plaid shirt before stepping around the desk to escort her toward the door. The movement gave him something practical to focus on besides the alarming suspicion that she had somehow mistaken him for emotionally approachable.

At her question, however, one brow arched faintly.

"Ah," he said, slyness weaving into his otherwise dry tone. His fingers folded over the edge of his desk as he leaned back against it, palms pressed against the dark wood as he regarded her. "I am afraid I will be keeping certain mysteries to myself, Miss Webb. Hogwarts professors are contractually obligated to maintain at least the illusion of arcane omniscience."

The corner of his mouth threatened the tiniest glimpse of a smirk.

"That said," he continued, "what I did is hardly beyond your reach. The underlying theory can be found in your standard issued textbooks, provided one reads beyond the highlighted sections immediately preceding examinations and carefully examines the footnotes."

His posture shifted slightly then, palms pushing off the desk and folded his arms across his front while he leaned against his desk with the majority of his weight on his right hip.

"I would, in fact, be rather pleased to see the skill reciprocated before you graduate."

And there, beneath the dryness and the cultivated gruffness, was something unmistakably sincere ― but let us not mistake the encouragement for more than it was, shall we?

renmarie · 05-19-2026, 01:06 AM

Wesley loosed a deep breath he didn't realize he had even been holding. He hated having to ask for help, but there was no way around it this year. Lots of classes next year would need him to get a decent grade in Potions to continue after OWLs, and most careers would need a somewhat decent Potions NEWT as well. He needed to turn things around this year. Or his dad might just have his head.

He knocked on the door and awaited Professor Cox's reply. If he is even in. He thought to himself.

~~~

OOC: so sorry! I hope this is alright for Wesley to jump in.

sweetpinkpixie · Today, 12:35 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by renmarie

Wesley loosed a deep breath he didn't realize he had even been holding. He hated having to ask for help, but there was no way around it this year. Lots of classes next year would need him to get a decent grade in Potions to continue after OWLs, and most careers would need a somewhat decent Potions NEWT as well. He needed to turn things around this year. Or his dad might just have his head.

He knocked on the door and awaited Professor Cox's reply. If he is even in. He thought to himself.

~~~

OOC: so sorry! I hope this is alright for Wesley to jump in.

There was the muffled sound of movement from somewhere deeper within the room first — the restless flutter of parchment as though several sheets had only just been coaxed out of the air, the faint clink of glassware being shifted aside, the solid thud of heavy tomes closing in succession — and then, at last, the door clicked open upon its hinges as Professor Cox's characteristically stoic voice carried through the threshold:

"Enter."

Professor Cox sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms and a collection of parchment spread in precise stacks before him. Several potion vials occupied one corner of the desk beside an open reference text dense with annotations in decidedly irritated handwriting.

His gaze lifted briefly toward the Gryffindor over the rim of thin spectacles he had apparently resigned himself to wearing for deep research purposes but immediately slipped off and tucked them away in the topmost drawer of his desk.

"Ah, Mr. Blackwell," he greeted evenly, setting his quill aside with deliberate care. "I'd been wondering if you might pay me a visit."

Which made matters easier for him and one less bit of parchment that needed to creatively find its way within one of the boy's textbooks.

"Sit."

The word was accompanied by a small gesture toward the chair opposite him. He really ought to consider keeping tea or some other civilizing comfort in the office for the steady procession of visibly anxious students who crossed its threshold, but he had yet to bring himself to cultivate that particular level of hospitality.

That sort of effortless graciousness seemed better suited to certain individuals, upon a first meeting, pressed cups of the so-called Champagne of Teas into one's hands with entirely too much enthusiasm and charm.

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