Today there had to be a supply teacher for Professor Charity Burbage in your Muggle Studies, for what reason you did not know. You'd simply been informed that the teacher had gone away for a while, and that he would be taking over. The teacher introduced himself as Professor Rowhound and the manner in which he spoke ultimately displeased you. His actions were harsh, especially the way in which he wrote his name upon the board; he slammed the board with the chalk as though his life depended on it, and his hands produced strict movements as he wrote his name. Finally, he turned to the class; he bore a menacing face with a scar gently above his lip. His eyes produced a cunning and deceptive look, and just when your eyes met his across the classroom, you did not know whether it was fear or anger that built up inside of you.
"I hear we have two ... great wizards ... in this class," he said slowly, his eyes scanning the room. "Mr ... Harry Potter! I would recognise that scar anywhere," he said lowly, staring at Harry with his sly eyes. Harry pursed his lips slightly at the unusual manner in which Rowhound stared at him. Nevertheless, when Rowhound finished with Harry, his eyes continuing scanning the room. "But I believe ... that the other one is more secretive ... with a hidden scar."
The class remained silent, allowing Professor Rowhound to scan the room slowly with his eyes. All the students were gulping, knowing that he wasn't searching for them but nevertheless being worried to be mistaken for [F/n] Potter and be stared at by him in the horrific way. You, on the other hand, sat in your chair beside Hermione, slouched and flipping your pen in between your fingers, holding back your smirk as you also remained silent. You awaited for him to spot you.
"[F/n] Potter ... which one are you?" He asked, his jaw tensed and teeth gritted as he grew impatient from the silence, scanning the room further. Finally, his eyes fell on you, and they remained on you.
"I don't know, Professor," you began with your usual nonchalant voice and light smirk, "but I think she's the sexiest one in the room."
"Of course ... [F/n] Potter," he said slowly, menacingly, under his own breath as though he were speaking to himself now, but his eyes plastered on you intently across the room, "yes, yes ... the one that got sorted in Slytherin."
"Gryffindors are losers."
All Gryffindors in the room turned to you with furrowed brows, including your own brother and friends. You did not react, instead you flashed them all mischievous grin before turning back to Rowhound, who seemed to be having trouble in controlling himself. His hands began to lightly tremble as he grew more catatonic. He turned back to the board, keeping his back to the class for a while longer, before finally exhaling and calming down, after which he was capable of expressing his face again.
Everyone noticed his unusual behaviour, and everyone concluded that there was something wrong about this man. Yet, it was only you who grew specifically interested in this man and what possible things he could do in his free time. Growing flowers certainly was not one. He was dressed in all black, yet there was something menacing about the manner in which he wore his clothes. Well, everything about him was off putting. But, surely ... Dumbledore would not have hired someone so dodgy. Someone who would be a ...
"Muggle Studies, then!" Rowhound exclaimed, smirking at the class. "What have you been doing so far?"
The class remained silent, until he pointed at Ron.
"Uh," Ron paused, "we've been doing the muggle workplaces and politics."
"Politics!" Rowhound exclaimed excitedly. "Yes ... yes ... it's so very interesting!" He grinned through gritted teeth, turning to the board and writing upon it the word 'Parliament'. "Who can tell me what this is, then?"
Hermione awkwardly rose her hand, and he picked her.
"It's the legislative body of the government ... in it is the House of Commons and House of Lords."
"Yes ... there's this funny thing about Muggles," Rowhound said slowly, writing down everything Hermione said on the board, "there's only one thing they can do right."
"And what is that?" You asked, still slouched in your chair. Rowhound turned to you, slightly surprised at your boldness.
"Women are less powerful than men in the muggle world, you see. It is because they are erratic creatures who are filled with uncontrollable emotions, so it only makes sense that they can't control themselves in power."
"Well that's just completely incorrect," you scoffed.
"Would you like to ... correct me, Miss Potter?" Rowhound asked, his eyes lowering themselves at you.
"More than glad to."
"Teach the lesson then, if you are so confident in your knowledge," he spoke through gritted teeth in a threatening manner. Not an ounce of him expected you to actually get up, which you did, and head to the front of the classroom where you grabbed the chalk from his hand. Bitterly, he sharpened his eyes and moved slightly to the side, allowing you to use your voice as he continued to stare at you. Partially, he was interested in what you had to say, partially angry at your audacity. Nevertheless, he listened.
"You see, in the UK, women make up fifty one percent," you said, facing the class and writing down the figures on the board, "however they only make up thirty four percent of Parliament. This already shows that Parliament is inadequate in one of its functions of representation, as it does not actually reflect those it governs over."
"Because women cannot represent their constituencies effectively because they are driven by their emotions," Rowhound snapped.
"Ah," you lifted your finger up at him, silencing him. "The historical misogyny and sexism, holding views such as women's emotional uncontrollability or, often in the Victorian era, the label hysteria - women were forced into emotional and intellectual entrapment. They had no political power, no say, and were generally expected to be subservient to their husbands."
As you spoke, Draco's eyes remained plastered on you intently. A gentle smile had risen on his lips, which he himself did not even realise. His own stomach produced the sense of butterflies as he watched you, and he was freed from all previous pain and worry as he watched you discuss a topic you were passionate about. You show him, he thought to himself, smiling. Blaise himself was smiling too, but his own smile even widened when he saw the soft manner in which his best friend looked upon you. Finally, there was little tension (especially sexual), hanging in the air, but rather passion and sincerity rose. The atmosphere that Draco's soft gaze upon you had built in the air was enough to comfort Blaise and remind him that, despite all future hardships, everything would be okay.
"It is often that female candidates are under-funded and do not have the capability of promoting themselves to the extent that male candidates do. They're under-funded as a result of the ingrained misogyny in society in which they are still viewed as unfit for the job. Even in the US, in fact, women do not have the chance to promote themselves in their campaigns because the campaign finances are significantly lower than the men's, especially in the primaries, meaning they can't even get into the election in the first place."
The class remained silent. Hermione held back a smile of pride, watching you with joy in her eyes. All the boys, nevertheless, stared in awe but also confusion, not quite understanding half of the things you said. The girls which grew up in wizarding families also had little knowledge on these matters, but were undeniably swayed by your argument. Pansy, on the other hand, could not help but scoff and roll her eyes, whispering over to Addington that you were just a show off, which Addington agreed to wholly.
"Women are not intellectually inferior to men at all." You said, turning to Rowhound. "Over the years, women's voices have been silenced - all their works were attributed to their husbands, and that is why there is a reputation of men inventing important objects we use today. But that is only because the object was attributed to them, not created by them. Say, an example of this would be Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. It had initially been published as anonymous because otherwise it would not have been read if a women's name was on it. Suspicion grew, and people began to suspect that her husband, Percy Shelley, wrote it. It's only one example ... only one we know of, yet imagine how many more were not sorted. How many male names still are given to objects invented by women."
Silence continued. No one had anything to say. Whether they could not find an argument against you, or whether they simply feared you, you could not tell. Nevertheless, you shoved the chalk back into Rowhound's hand before lifting up your eyebrows at him in a victorious manner. Thus, you crossed back to your desk and flopped yourself back down on it, slouching.
"That was really good," Hermione smiled as she whispered over to you.
"It's always men."
Hermione giggled at this, which you also laughed at quietly. The gentle sound of your laughter resonated within the room, inspiring Draco Malfoy's eyes to turn back slightly towards your desk and look at you, bathing in the view of your smile. You noticed him looking and, turning to him also, you smiled gently at him. He could not reciprocate; his face felt weak and worked against him, leaving him to simply stare at you in awe and devotion before forcefully turning away with a plagued mind of your face.