A week later, an uninvited guest breached the shadowy sanctum of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.
"Professor Dracula," Professor McGonagall said, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. "I have it on good authority—namely, Miss Granger's—that you have not assigned a single piece of homework for a week. With end-of-term exams approaching, that is a gross dereliction of your duty to the students."
Dracula was sprawled in his opulent armchair, one leg elegantly propped on his desk, a heavy goblet swirling in his hand. "Grading homework is a tedious affair," he drawled, his voice thick with boredom. "My assistant has vanished, and I, of course, have no intention of doing his work for him."
He lazily tilted his head back. The goblet tipped, and a stream of brilliant red liquid levitated from the cup, arcing through the air and into his mouth in a silent, perfect stream. He drained the "wine" in a single, satisfying gulp, then sat up, placing the goblet on the table with a soft click.
"Is this not the ideal arrangement?" he chuckled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "The students do not wish to do homework. I do not wish to grade it. No one is assigned any. It is a win-win situation. Everyone is happy."
"Not all students feel that way, Professor," McGonagall countered, her glare intensifying. "Hogwarts is still home to diligent students like Miss Granger. Furthermore, grading homework is a fundamental responsibility of a professor. I will not turn a blind eye to your negligence, chairman of the Board of Governors or not!"
Seeing his dismissive smirk, she pressed on, her tone becoming a stern lecture. "Do not take this lightly. Homework reinforces what is learned in class. It allows a professor to identify a student's weaknesses and address them. To assign no homework is to deprive them of an opportunity to improve!"
Dracula merely refilled his goblet and gave a nonchalant nod. "Very well. If you insist on homework, I have no objection," he said. "By the way, who are these model students so desperate for extra work?"
"I will not reveal their names," McGonagall said, her expression wary. "Hogwarts has precious few truly diligent students. I will not have you retaliating against them!"
The corner of Dracula's mouth twitched. "What sort of monster do you take me for, Professor? I simply wish for them to do me a small favor," he said, his expression a mask of pure innocence. "Besides, I can guess who they are. As you said, the list is quite short."
He held up a hand, ticking off three fingers. "First-year, Hermione Granger. Third-year, Cedric Diggory. And fifth-year, Percy Weasley. Am I correct?"
Professor McGonagall's expression froze. After a long moment, she gave a stiff, helpless nod.
"Excellent!" Dracula said cheerfully. "In that case, the task of grading homework shall be delegated to them. They want more work? They shall have it. It will keep them far too busy to trouble me again."
"Professor Dracula, is that... appropriate?" McGonagall asked, her expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. "And they are in no position to grade the work of sixth and seventh-years."
"Why not? Grading the work of others is an excellent way to consolidate one's own learning," Dracula said with a dismissive wave. "As for the upper years, they are nearly adults. If they lack the self-awareness to study on their own, then they deserve to fail."
And so, Hermione Granger, Cedric Diggory, and Percy Weasley became the very first Teaching Assistants for the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Each received a handsome, silver badge, personally designed by Dracula. It was shaped like a single, elegant demon wing, with the letters "D.A.D.A. T.A." artfully engraved beneath it.
Percy, of course, made a fool of himself almost immediately.
Immensely proud of his new position, he pinned the badge to his chest the moment he received it. The problem was, as a Gryffindor prefect, his left breast was already occupied. Unwilling to remove his shiny prefect badge, he simply pinned the new one to his right breast, creating an absurdly symmetrical, and utterly comical, effect.
"Hey, Ron! Get a load of Percy!" Fred shouted across the Gryffindor common room that evening.
Ron, who was multitasking—frantically scribbling an essay with one hand while gnawing on a chicken leg with the other—looked up.
"Pfft—"
A half-chewed spray of chicken and breading exploded from his mouth, coating his Transfiguration homework in a greasy mess. "Hahahaha! Percy, what were you thinking?" he howled with laughter. "You look like you've got headlamps on your chest!"
Percy, who had been striding proudly through the common room, turned a shade of puce. He had intended to show off, but now he only felt a burning sense of shame. He shot a furious glare at his twin brothers, then turned to Ron, ready to deliver a stern lecture on maturity. But then he saw Ron's homework.
A slow, vindictive smile spread across Percy's face. "Don't stop laughing on my account, dear brother," he said, walking over and patting Ron sympathetically on the shoulder. "But do take a look at your Transfiguration essay. I believe that's due tomorrow, isn't it?"
Ron's laughter died in his throat. He looked down at the parchment, now a disgusting collage of chicken bits and smeared black ink.
"I HATE YOU, FRED!" he wailed, his eyes frantically scanning the room. "HERMIONE! I need your help!"
(End of Chapter)
***
[Check Out My Patreon For More Chapters On All
Of My Fanfics!!] [www. [email protected]/meowthtl]
[+300 Power Stones = +1 Bonus Chapter]
[+500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[Thank You For Your Support!]