Characters: Draco Malfoy, Professor Gatsha Verwey
Type of Scene: Solo
Setting: Classroom at Uagadou, Sunday at dusk
“For someone so incredibly talented at Occlumency, Mister Malfoy, you are remarkably bad at wandless magic.”
Gatsha Verwey was a tall dark-skinned man, a professor at Uagadou. He was a bald-headed man with a short beard that framed full and mocking lips. As he circled Draco Malfoy, he tucked the walking stick under a brawny arm, unusually large muscles flexing under a light cotton shirt against a mild evening despite the shrouding mist of the wizarding school.
Currently, the mist was below the school, allowing some of the students a brilliant sunset if they trekked up to the top of the mountainside. The room that Verwey stood in was airy with a wide, glass-less window that was open to the elements. The room was mostly stone, the walls intricately carved with all manner of symbols.
The only items in the room at the moment were a full open trunk, a wooden pedestal, and a quill set on top.
Draco dropped his hand down to his side as the professor circled him, pointing out his obvious lack of ability at the moment. He glared and swept his blond hair back, then rolled his shoulders back before pushing up the sleeves of a white dress shirt that was getting a bit damp with sweat.
“What exactly do you think rolling your shoulders will do for your magic?”
Draco turned his head and spat off to the side, still glaring at the professor.
“Sometimes a feeling of readying can help.”
“For a first year.”
That smarted. Draco’s glare turned to the quill on the pedestal, and he reached out his wandless hand toward it again. The quill that had been resting upon its side began to slowly tilt up, feather end first. Once it stood upright on its nib, Draco then gestured with palm down, as if pushing something invisible. The nib of the quill began to slowly press into the surface of pedestal, indenting into it.
The quill then shook and tilted back over on its side.
“Better. Marginally.”
Draco threw up his hands and turned to face the window as the same hands laced behind his head and rested there.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Your education is ridiculous, Mister Malfoy. Developing magic through dependency on wands is what put you in this position.”
Professor Verwey emphasized the point by gesturing easily to the quill, charming it to flip upright on its nib quickly and scrape his name into the surface of the pedestal and then sticking harshly into the wood, where it set at an angle, a flourishingly sharp finish.
Draco only turned enough to look out the corner of his eye at the Professor’s work before looking back at the window, hands falling to rest in the pockets of his trousers.
“You blame Albus Dumbledore for this? Or the Hogwarts school governors? Or the Ministry of Magic,” Draco inquired of the professor.
“For the fact that you cannot keep a wand? No. If Albus Dumbledore had his way, Hogwarts would have been far better prepared. Your Ministry of Magic spent centuries touting the superiority of Hogwarts, but they preferred to let it atrophy through government meddling. Not to mention, the fear of properly prepared young adults seems to be a systemic problem for your Ministry.”
“Okay, I get it. Your school is better. You win. Can we please get on with the lesson?”
“Patience, Mister Malfoy.” Professor Verwey plucked the quill out of the surface of the pedestal and returned it to the chest from whence it came. He returned to the pedestal with small mushroom and set it upright.
“How many wands have you gone through since Lord Voldemort was destroyed by Harry Potter?”
Draco turned from the window entirely now and moved in closer to the pedestal, circling it as Verwey circled in the opposite direction.
“Forty-seven.”
A low whistle emitted from Verwey. “And each of these positively chose you and then soon rejected you?”
“Yes.”
“So many wands for you to perform magic. I have not heard of someone being so frequently matched before. Or so frequently abandoned. A true mystery for those learned in wand craft and wand lore.”
“I have heard the same many times,” Draco grumbled as he came to a stop and eyed Verwey, as if hoping for some new information about his problem.
Verwey offered no insight on the perplexity, instead, catching Draco’s eye with his own and then gesturing to the mushroom.
Draco reached out to the mushroom, turned his wrist as his fingertips came slightly closer together, and then flicked his fingers open. A puff of invisible magic gobbled up the mushroom in a burst of flame. Draco’s eyebrows shot up with an accompanying smirk of pleasure at this result.
“Well, I can see where your strengths will lie in these lessons,” remarked Professor Verwey.
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