Professor Wolf sat behind the desk, back stiff, hands folded over a mug of tea he kept using magic to heat. When the first-years shuffled into their seats, he didn’t rise immediately. Instead, he watched—tired eyes scanning nervous faces, noting the fidgeting, the whispers, the eagerness hidden beneath layers of anxiety. When the last bag hit the floor and the last cloak was unrumpled, Blade stood. His knees creaked in protest. His expression was unreadable—but not unkind. With a flick of his wand, chalk rose to the board, scrawling in tight, blocky script: PROF. Wolf.
"Right then. Good morning." His voice was deep, worn, and scratchy. "I’m Professor Wolf. I’ll be your Charms professor for the semester." He looked around the room again, slower this time. "I’ve been teaching longer than I care to admit."
He leaned on his cane. "Let’s start simple. Stand up, tell us your name, your house, something about yourself, and what kind of wand you carry. And speak up—mumbling won’t help when your spell ricochets off a bookshelf." As the students responded, Josef nodded along—occasionally offering a quiet grunt of approval, or a raised brow at the more dramatic wand pairings. He didn’t write anything down, but it was obvious he was memorising everything. Names, wood types, core materials, which ones were proud, which ones were scared. He saw it all.
When the final student sat down, he exhaled through his nose and walked to the front again. "Your wand is an extension of you. It’ll respond to your moods, your doubts, and your choices. You mistreat it, it won’t wait for permission to show you what that means. But if you take care of it—trust it—it’ll do the same for you." ]He leaned on the edge of a desk, posture relaxed but still commanding. "Charms are spells that change what a thing does—not what it is. You want your quill to dance across the page, that’s a charm. You want the quill to become a frog? That’s Transfiguration. Entirely different kind of mess."
He pushed off from the desk, pacing gently now, hands behind his back. "Each week, you’ll be assigned a chapter. I’ll review the main points in class, but I expect you to read. Not skim. Not panic the night before. Read. If you’re struggling, you come see me. There’s no shame in needing help. There’s only shame in pretending you don’t." Then, he drew his wand—no flourish, just instinct—and said, "Expecto Patronum." From its tip emerged a large, silver mountain dog, strong and silent, with kind eyes and a steady gait. It circled the class once before fading to mist.
"Next week, we begin with Lumos—the light-casting charm. I know, it sounds basic. It isn’t. Some of you will get it right away. Others will wave your wand like you’re conducting an orchestra and wonder why nothing happens. That’s alright. You’ll get there." He returned to his desk and sat down heavily, gathering a stack of parchment into a tidy pile. "Pick up your reading list on the way out. You need extra help, you find me and ask. Don't stay lost."
With a small flick of his wand, the classroom door creaked open. He looked toward it, then back to the class. "Dismissed. And bring your wand next week—unless you want to be the one in the dark."
To receive full marks, please reply with your character introducing themselves:
Name, House, one fact about them, and a description of their wand.
"Right then. Good morning." His voice was deep, worn, and scratchy. "I’m Professor Wolf. I’ll be your Charms professor for the semester." He looked around the room again, slower this time. "I’ve been teaching longer than I care to admit."
He leaned on his cane. "Let’s start simple. Stand up, tell us your name, your house, something about yourself, and what kind of wand you carry. And speak up—mumbling won’t help when your spell ricochets off a bookshelf." As the students responded, Josef nodded along—occasionally offering a quiet grunt of approval, or a raised brow at the more dramatic wand pairings. He didn’t write anything down, but it was obvious he was memorising everything. Names, wood types, core materials, which ones were proud, which ones were scared. He saw it all.
When the final student sat down, he exhaled through his nose and walked to the front again. "Your wand is an extension of you. It’ll respond to your moods, your doubts, and your choices. You mistreat it, it won’t wait for permission to show you what that means. But if you take care of it—trust it—it’ll do the same for you." ]He leaned on the edge of a desk, posture relaxed but still commanding. "Charms are spells that change what a thing does—not what it is. You want your quill to dance across the page, that’s a charm. You want the quill to become a frog? That’s Transfiguration. Entirely different kind of mess."
He pushed off from the desk, pacing gently now, hands behind his back. "Each week, you’ll be assigned a chapter. I’ll review the main points in class, but I expect you to read. Not skim. Not panic the night before. Read. If you’re struggling, you come see me. There’s no shame in needing help. There’s only shame in pretending you don’t." Then, he drew his wand—no flourish, just instinct—and said, "Expecto Patronum." From its tip emerged a large, silver mountain dog, strong and silent, with kind eyes and a steady gait. It circled the class once before fading to mist.
"Next week, we begin with Lumos—the light-casting charm. I know, it sounds basic. It isn’t. Some of you will get it right away. Others will wave your wand like you’re conducting an orchestra and wonder why nothing happens. That’s alright. You’ll get there." He returned to his desk and sat down heavily, gathering a stack of parchment into a tidy pile. "Pick up your reading list on the way out. You need extra help, you find me and ask. Don't stay lost."
With a small flick of his wand, the classroom door creaked open. He looked toward it, then back to the class. "Dismissed. And bring your wand next week—unless you want to be the one in the dark."
To receive full marks, please reply with your character introducing themselves:
Name, House, one fact about them, and a description of their wand.
