Participation Points PV P. Dralt Finished

Pericles was among those who leapt in their seats come the clanging of the gong. The boy had been staring with supposed sleepiness at their professor, eyes lidded and glazed, absorbing the lecture's content yet drifting with its context. He fantasized scenarios in which he could apply what was taught, moving his quill in lazy loops that tied together a network of notes. His investment meant he was not quick to rise and was still in his seat when asked to remain. Like most other first-years, Peri was eager to see any execution of magic, leaning forward when the professor prepared her cast. Her wand seemed to have the preliminary effect of rooting him back into the present moment: the Ravenclaw's gaze had become sharp, wide with focus, ready to absorb the demonstration. Its results had him chattering with the rest, whispering with a Hufflepuff seated at his side. A hybrid of intrigue and respect rendered him quiet as soon as the professor spoke, but that awe quickly turned to something else.

Professor Lian had a relaxed style of speech, but the subjects of her lectures were always advanced. The combination of casualness and absolute proficiency made her an alien figure to the first-year, who hardly knew what to make of someone who seemed to walk an odd line between "recently graduated student" and "professor". In earnest retrospect, he had hardly spoken to any teachers, when he could help it. Once called upon, "Nine" flicked a panicked look to Eight, whom he had been gently nudging for the last ten minutes to prevent them from falling asleep. Ten was sent the same wide-eyed stare. Thankfully, blessedly, they were called upon before the boy could finish processing what was being asked of him. Pericles wasn't sure what made him feel like sinking into the floorboards more: having gawked stupidly instead of saying anything at all, or having his work complimented. After the class was released, he packed his things with more fervor than the norm, but waited to leave until the bulk of students had trickled out. He didn't care to jostle in the crowd, knowing there would still be plenty of warm lunch waiting for them if he patiently followed behind the herd. Yet he was, for the first time, asked to remain after his classmates departed. That desire to Transfigure into a liquid and slip away intensified.

Perched tensely at the edge of his seat, Pericles fiddled awkwardly with his book bag's latch. He twisted his torso, watching the last few students go merrily on towards the Great Hall, then turned to chance a timid look towards the teacher. Even though she assured he wasn't in trouble, his churning mind had already concocted six different things he may be at fault for. Footsteps faded. The door closed. Silence settled over them. Then he began, blurting at a quick, quiet, recited sort of mumble: "The Law of Conservation of Energy states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only transformed or transferred from one form to another. Kinetic energy is the energy an object has due to being in motion- it's, what accelerates mass from rest to velocity." At the moment, he was explaining his answer to a small scratch on the surface of his desk. "The ball was in motion when you threw it, and when you reverted it to its original form, you accelerated particles which were already in motion. That was... energy transformation- converting energy from one form to another. The speed and force increased as a result." He peered across the classroom towards the blindfolded woman, adding at an airy and meek mumble "At least, I think so, professor." The question was answered, or attempted. That meant he was free to go, right? Unless.... "Unless this is about the letter."

@Cypresse Lian

As the last of the sounds of students in a hurry to get to lunch trickled out of the classroom, Cy listened carefully for the indication of the putative number 9's presence, but heard none at first. This, of course, didn't mean that he wasn't there, since many of her students didn't think to acknowledge everything she said out loud. Rather, the fact that none of the other stragglers had corrected her convinced her that the student at hand was, indeed, there - but probably just shy.

With a flick of her wand and a muttered "Accio," the gem darted from its place in the wall and into her ready hand, while she walked towards that side of the classroom. A quick tap to the wall and a "Reparo" restored the brittle brick to its original state, cracks healing and stone filling in before the direction of her wand. It wouldn't do to spoil the surprise for the next class, after all.

The last twist of her wrist brought the doors closed - perhaps an intimidating action, but one necessary should she not want to be interrupted. Usually the doors stayed open if she was present in the classroom, but she imagined that an interruption might only agitate the student even more. People tended to learn fast not to try to open the doors, whether with an Unlocking Charm or by force: the mechanism she'd rigged, a Disillusioned bucket full of perpetually icy water, taught good lessons when upended upon the encroacher.

When this was all done and over with, she was left with only one concern at hand: Pericles Dralt, First Year Ravenclaw, and utterly lacking in participation.

Cy turned back from the door, the silky fabric of her skirt whisked away over the stone tiles and the longer-than-usual ends of the beautiful painted scarf around her temple flitting behind her gracefully as she moved. Before she could begin to speak, though, something close to logorrhea spilled from the apparently panicked student's mouth.

She raised a placating hand with a chuckle. "Slow down, kid," Cy said, taking the moment to hop up and sit on the only square of clear space on her desk. "Well, you're pretty much right, at any rate. In other words, the ball was moving at a very high velocity, so the transformation hitting it mid-air resulted in a jewel that was moving at the same velocity as the ball was. Then, with less air resistance and just a smaller mass in general, the force applied to the wall was much more than it should've been."

Then she raised an eyebrow, barely visible through the translucent material of the scarf: "No clue about whatever letter you're talking about. If it's against the rules, though, then I didn't hear about it from you." Cy pulled up the scarf for no more than a moment to wink, then dropped it again.

Lifting an unruly fold of her skirt to slip her wand back into the holster strapped to her leg, the professor continued, now leaning forward to cross her legs and rest an elbow on her knee. "Neither of those things are what I asked you to stay for, though. Since I'm an adult and I have to pretend to be at least mostly mature, I'm more concerned about your lack of participation. Most of your classmates participate regularly - hopefully I've made it easy to do so - and of course there are outliers, but those people usually just aren't all that interested in Transfiguration. But clearly, it's not that, is it? You're definitely paying attention, and like I said, you make excellent points in your homework that are really good discussion points for class.

"So what's up? Is it anything in particular? Am I a Weird Adult? Would you like to go to lunch and stop listening to the strange blind lady throwing boring words at you? I mean, I hope not, but I can't say I wouldn't empathize. I probably wouldn't be able to listen to myself for more than five seconds. But I do want to hear from you, even if you're just shy." She tilted her head to the side as if side-eyeing him. "Also, I can hear the panic coming off you right now. Stop freaking out, kiddo, I'm the one who's been embarrassing herself in front of thirty people for the last hour and a half."

@Cypresse Lian

The closing of the doors had lit the fuse on the boy's outpour of overly technical terms. He raced to repeat the answer he'd accumulated in his head, held back before, letting it spill swiftly now in an attempt to appease the Transfiguration teacher. She said to slow, to which he answered "Sorry, ma'am." When she discarded mention of the letter, he let the topic slip away without another word, perfectly content to move past it. Cypresse's real reason for holding him after class was still anxiety-inducing, however. An odd quirk arose: Pericles looked directly down, chin dropped to chest, eyes fixed on the surface of his desk. Embarrassment was an unfamiliar and overwhelming sensation. It helped that the woman was friendly, funny even, and a clumsy smile wobbled in and out of her direction when she claimed she was only pretending to be mature. Yet her deductions cut to the quick: it was true he wasn't disinterested in Transfiguration, that he poured the best he could manage into the homework, and equally accurate to say he never spoke a word in class.

Pericles started to say something, attempted an explanation, but managed a mere "I...." He tried to look up, making for a strange sight. It was as though an invisible weight were attached to the lad's brow, given the way he forcibly peered up, for only a moment, before quickly ducking down again. It was bizarre behavior for one usually either lost in the clouds, content and kind, or- on rare occasions and only if there were no teachers in sight- amiable and eloquent. It was a macabre blessing to think that she couldn't see him in that moment. Then Professor Lian told him to stop panicking, and even pointed out she'd squared off with a classroom thirty to one. Her relaxation and informality was infectious. The first-year was even coaxed into uttering a small sound that might have been a snicker; that, or he had narrowly withheld a sneeze. It took several seconds for him to answer. As before, once he began, the words flowed quick and clumsy.

"Well...." Peri paused to clear his throat. "It's just that I... I dunno, Professor.... I do like your class an awful lot. But I'm afraid t'sound like a know-it-all. I don't think people would like me very much if I was giving answers all the time. That, and ah, classrooms are new to me. My parents didn't send me to public schools- we're Purebloods, ma'am, and my family..." this one was awkward to admit to anyone, let alone someone who couldn't see him, "...looks quite a bit different. I haven't spoken to many others my age, either, before coming to Hogwarts. I don't much look or talk like any of them."

The last line was a thought which he had been doing his very best to ignore, something which slipped out against the boy's better judgment. Logic and reason assured him that looks and behavior were superficial, though the fragile, still-developing ego an eleven-year-old hosts is a delicate thing. For fear the professor would think he'd been bullied, Peri added on with earnest gratitude: "I've been really fortunate. The other students have been nice to me, and I think I'm in the middle of making some true friends. I've never had teachers before, or classrooms, and I don't know many adults, so I couldn't earnestly say if you are weird or not." A delicate smile, unseen yet perhaps heard, flickered into place. "The only other adults I spent much time with were other family leaders, or folks from my da's old work- the Ministry." That explained the excess of ma'ams and tendency to tack a title onto almost every sentence. In short, the boy was simply out of his element. This was no Pureblood ball where one stood stiff-spined and straight-faced, it was the boy's first real taste of freedom and organized chaos, and- although he was having the most awkward time of navigating it- he loved Hogwarts. He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself in a classroom setting, where he believed the teachers were indomitable demigods whom he could only speak to if addressed. Lian was at least doing a brilliant job of rebelliously rebuking notions of maturity and stereotypical standards of adulthood. It was enough to break down the boy's walls, at least enough to vent some of that confused mess he had done such a good job of hiding away in his head.

As she waited for Pericles to explain himself, she fidgeted with the fabric covering her knees, a habit she'd adopted ever since she started wearing her long patterned skirts. It took a while before she heard a full response - as to be expected, anyway, she was content with the fact that the kid hadn't started hyperventilating - and she stilled her fingers, tilting her head to the side, just so.

At the mention of being a know-it-all, Cy snickered a little, but withheld comment - after all, she'd asked him to talk; there was no sense in interrupting him now. But her heart went out to him when he mentioned being new to classrooms, being new to an environment with peers in general. Of course, his situation didn't match her experience exactly, few did, but the memory of being thrown into the unknown was hard to forget - and universal, no matter where the feeling of not quite fitting in came from.

She offered him a lopsided smile when he mentioned the kindness of the other students, making friends. It wasn't something that she'd really gotten to appreciate when she was in First Year, feeling around in the dark for ways to deal with this new handicap, but all the same she was glad that she wasn't looking at a victim of bullying. If asked, she might've laughed and said that it was because it'd be a lot of paperwork - which it would be, honestly - but the feeling of the weight from a deprimo screamed at her years ago still made her shudder sometimes.

When he finished, she dropped the fabric, folding her hands in what she liked to think of as a mockery of order. "Well, first of all: Trust me, honey, at this rate, your classmates are less likely to see you as a know-it-all than a ghost. I think that people would be glad to hear from your point of view - well, either that, or they're just not listening, in which case it wouldn't matter anyway. And if they do think you're being a know-it-all, then trust me, they're idiots. When I ask a question, it's kind of obvious that I'm looking for an answer. Have you ever thought of any of the people who do participate as know-it-alls?"

In truth, Cy herself had been accused of being a know-it-all more than once, but somewhere between third and fifth year, she stopped caring. And of course, she remembered her first few years, scared of upsetting people, but man, life was just better when you didn't give a damn. That wasn't something that could be told to you, though.

"I can't say that I completely understand about going from Pureblood life to Hogwarts life, but I can say that I understand about not being used to a new place." She grinned. "I mean, I'm a Muggle-born. I went to American International School in Taiwan - kinda why my accent's so weird. But let me tell you, this place is a lot different from public school or charm school anyway, and adjusting to this-" she waved a hand in front of her face- "at the same time as adjusting to this-" she gestured around them with an arm- "wasn't exactly the easiest transition."

That was true, though greatly simplified. She'd spent a decade with shaky sight, but suddenly having no sight would be a shock to anyone. And then there was the culture shock, both from Muggle world to magic world and from Asia to Europe. She was grateful for Olphie, for Aoi, for everyone who managed to drag her through those first few years, but she couldn't deny that it had been rough. Hopefully, it would be less rough for Pericles.

"Hey, that's fine, but for reference, I probably would be considered weird. My sister used to work at the Ministry too, actually, and her coworkers certainly thought so. But, to start... maybe try dropping the titles," she suggested, making a face. "Uh, not in all the classes, obviously. And I don't mind if you prefer to call me Professor or ma'am or whatever else. But most of the kids in here have started calling me Cy or Cypresse or Ress, don't know if that's something you might want to join in on..."

The little bit of flattery that Pericles offered her made her smile and nod in acknowledgement. Maybe a long time ago, when she was his age—oh, god, she was old enough to say that now—she would've responded with denial: no, it wasn't that impressive; no, she had a lot of help, as was the usual
apparently polite response that she'd been taught to give by her parents. And yes, she did have a lot of help, and obviously nobody was going to be the most impressive, but it was a compliment she could accept.

The boy still used professor. Well, that was okay. Not everyone was comfortable with the dropping of titles, but her main goal had just been to let him know that it was okay. Perhaps in the future he would feel more ready—by the time her students reached about third or fourth year, almost all of them had an alternate name for her, at least some kind of variation beyond the ever boring Professor Lian, Professor Cypresse at the bare minimum.

"I'm sure your parents would be happy to support you," she told him gently. "It's their job, after all. But I understand not being comfortable with telling them... and, well. About Gryffindors." Not that she could really talk much about parental relationships. She hadn't seen her parents in... was that eleven years now? That was half of her life. And she'd hated them in the beginning, had every right to even now. But although she still couldn't forgive them, they weren't actively trying to hurt her. They just couldn't understand, and in the end that ignorance culminated in a not-so-nice conclusion. Still, she had learned from them, and a couple of years ago, for the first time, she had taken up a bundle of sticks of incense and prayed to her ancestors. A step forward.

Pleased, the woman grinned, flicking open one of her drawers with a quick mutter of an incantation under her breath. "I'll hope to hear number nine more often tomorrow," she said—she was proud of him for the progress, almost surprised at how open-minded he'd turned out to be. And he didn't seem like he was just agreeing to do this so he could get out of here either—his tone was genuine. This was a student that would go places.

"You don't have to worry about permanent effects," Cy laughed, "not unless you want them to be! Human to Ferret's not even going to happen until Seventh Year N.E.W.T.s, you're safe. In the meantime, though..." the woman reached into the drawer she'd opened, rummaging around for a second before pulling out a small pastry encased in a plastic packaging. "Sorry for keeping you past lunch. Here's some compensation—Taiwanese sun cake, flaky and sweet. Hopefully it makes up for missing a couple minutes of your free time."