The professor was a horrible sight to behold, emanating rage and sending students scurrying away from his long strides. His glare made a older boy blanch, and he heard someone whisper as they pointed to the wands on the inside of his long, heavy coat. There had been a grand total of one student that had not immediately rushed off.
By the time he arrived in the library, word had spread and it was mostly cleared out. Except for that one girl he knew was going to be trouble. The girl he needed the information from. Miss Fawley herself. She was Gryffindor, through and through. But it didn’t matter to him. Kids always ran from him, ever since his second year. A demon, they said. And perhaps they were right. But at least he was a happy demon. A happy demon with a pet butterfly.
His voice was softer than it should have been, and contrasted oddly with his appearance. It didn’t detract from his persona, if anything it lent it a bit of evil smoothness. But it was odd, nonetheless. “Mrs. Fawley? I had a few questions for you, and assuming you have a few answers, we should get this over with passably soon, and I can try my hardest to not have to talk to you again.” It was odd how small she was. A small, troublesome ball of morphing fire. Trouble, in a small nutshell. Like a pistachio.
“You were given drugs as a smaller child, yes? Your mother made them, to stop you from doing whatever freakish thing you do. What creature did she use? What made the ingredients?”
If this worked out, he would have his information and be back in the stables before anyone else decided he was worth talking to. On the bright side, he got to visit the library. It had been forever since he had seen the library.
“If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."