❦ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕 ❦

"First of all," his father begins, "we have the Imperius Curse. Anyone care to explain what happens if I'd put it on this spoon right here?"

More than half of the kids' hands raise.

"Yes?" His eyebrows raise at Jannah.

"You can make the spoon do anything you want," she answers.

This year's D.A.D.A. classes are given by Mr. Romanov, shared by Slytherin and Gryffindor.

"Exactly," his father says. He casts the spell at the spoon. Thomas pretends to be amused as it flies around the room, but it's nothing new, really. It taps a few kids on the head, causing slight laughs, and then it lands back on the main desk.

"What else?"

Again, pretty much everyone raises their hand. Mr. Romanov's eyes fall on his son, eyebrows once again high.

"The Cruciatus Curse," the boy replies, swallowing.

"What does it do?"

"Causes the victim unimaginable pain. If subjected on one person too long, it could cause insanity."

As if every nerve in your body catches fire. Every muscle would spasm, as if knives were piercing through the burning skin. As if bones were crushing from within, skin peeling away layer by layer. The mind unraveling into pure chaos. Uncontrollable screams.

Thomas knows how it feels a little too well.

"Very well." Mr. Romanov takes a few steps around the room. A plant is in his hands. He performs the spell on the organism.

The leaves shrink before they start trashing around. "And thirdly?" The teacher asks.

Slight hesitation falls on the students' shoulders, except for two. Thomas sees it in the corner of his eye. When he looks over, Jannah does it at the exact same time.

Her hand rises higher, lips pressed together.

With a slight frown, he straightens and makes sure is hand is more visible than ever.

She sits so straight that her chair scoots backwards, screeching across the floor. He coughs lightly below his breath to attract as much attention to his raised hand as possible.

Mr. Romanov's eyes flicker from Jannah to Thomas, back at Jannah, and then trail over all the students. "Anyone else? I've picked both of these already."

"But—" he starts.
"I—" she tries.

"I know the answer—" they finish in unison.

She shoots him a glare. He rolls his eyes.

"Everyone knows the answer. You two are just brave enough to say it. Let's see... Zabini, tell me the third spell."

"Oh!" Surprised, Alby looks up. He was barely paying attention. "Eh, Avada Kedavra."

A short silence hits. It gets interrupted by Mr. Romanov telling it's, obviously, the correct answers. Not a second after he sends the spell at a flower, it falls down, dead.

Lots of explanations on why it is important to be aware of these curses follow, all the way until the class is over.

Thomas had already been staring when she glances his way. Some sort of unspoken rivalry has formed over this simple question.

"No homework for the D.A.D.A class of the year!" Is the last thing their teacher calls. Happy smiles form onto the kids' faces. Some were paled after the explanations Mr. Romanov gave. His own experiences with the curses.

"Alright. Potions next." Harriet grips Jannah by the shoulders, casting a look at Thomas, who averts his eyes immediately. "With Hufflepuff. Let's see if Scamander hasn't turned into a lizard."

"Salamander."

"Huh?" Harriet stares at Jannah.

"Newts are salamanders, not lizards."

"Whatever! It's like alligators and crocodiles— no one cares about the difference." Pulling the brown-haired girl along, Harriet starts their route down the stairs. "Ugh, all the way from the top to the dungeons."

"One day, I'm going to transport by just jumping straight down these stairs," mutters Minho.

Alby glares at him. "Yo, do you need a therapist?"

"I need to make a potion to stop my intrusive thoughts."

"A thought like that is actually an impulsive one."

"Shut up," Brenda snaps, giving Jannah a light push, "Nerd," she adds.

"Just saying." Jannah shrugs.

Minho leans closer, curious. "Well, to be honest, I kind of need you to tell me how to tell the difference."

"Intrusive thoughts are usually internal, and impulsive thoughts followed by real actions. One doesn't affect others, and the other does. But there are many kinds of impulsive and intrusive thoughts."

"Okay, so if the image of a naked woman pops up in my head, it's intrusive, and if I act out on it somehow, it's impulsive?"

"Ehm. The first half is about right, I guess..." she trails off at the unexpected reply.

Minho chuckles as if his only goal was to make her cheeks red like that. And, well, it worked.

"And impulsive thoughts cause little distress, while you might feel guilty, ashamed, or disturbed by intrusive thoughts."

"Oh, but I don't feel ashamed thinking about naked women." Minho frowns, like he's genuinely considering it.

Harriet slaps him on his arm. "You're just a pervert, that's it."

"So... intrusive thoughts are unwanted, and impulsive ones are... somehow controlled?" Gally wonders slowly.

"Sort of, yes." Jannah nods.

"Okay, maybe Harriet's right. My thoughts are definitely not unwanted—"

"Shut it," Brenda groans out loud. "My current impulsive thought is to push you down the stairs."

"We all know you're no different."

"Seriously? I'm not a pervert."

"You definitely think about women, though."

"Even if that's true, there is a big difference between how we think about them. You've made it very clear how you think of them."

"You think the same. You definitely imagine them naked," Minho continues bickering.

"Eh, guys," Gally mumbles, elbowing them in the side lightly.

"Me? Thinking of naked women? No—"

"Janson!" Jannah exclaims, giving them the final hint. "Lovely to see you... sir."

Brenda's mouth fell open. Minho looks rather satisfied.

"I wanted to let you guys know that if you happen to see our missing teacher Vince Caddel, let me or the head of the school know. But you kids clearly are busy thinking about... other things."

"Wow. I never knew naked women would talk me out of kidnapping someone," Minho blurts out.

Never mind, he probably said that on purpose.

Janson's eyes narrow, but to their surprise, he doesn't say anything about it and turns to walk back up the spiraling stairs.

"You're insane," Brenda spits out.

"It's called mentally creative," Minho responds. "You probably can't relate because you only think of naked women."

The whole conversation continues until they finally meet Hufflepuff in the classroom, below the school. A strange smell hangs in the air, likely from the potions and ingredients they will be using this class.

"Hi, Minho." A blonde boy waves at the Asian. He's standing a few feet away from them.

"Hey," Minho replies, waving back. He turns to Jannah. "That's Newt."

"Hi," Newt says. His hair sits messily on top of his head, and she can't lie that he is a genuinely pretty guy. "Liking Hogwarts so far?"

"Yeah, it's alright." She nods, smiling. "First day going well so far?"

"Of course," Newt assures. Just then, the teacher calls out that the potion class of the day will begin.

In the meanwhile, Thomas was stopped from going to his next class directly after D.A.D.A. His father made sure the door of the classroom was locked.

The whole education about how he will kill Thomas if he spills a single thing about the teacher Vince Caddel has been going on for a while now. He will definitely be too late for his next class.

"I know," he draws out. "I won't tell a soul. Or... things with no souls."

"Good. Now get to your next class."

"Can you send the teacher a note to explain why I'm late? Or give it to me so I can pass it?"

"You have a mouth and vocabulary to tell why you were late."

"Oh, so now I do need to tell them about our prisoner?"

He didn't even get to think the words through. They already left his mouth.

His father stares at him. For a long time. "Do you want to see your siblings that badly?"

Thomas shakes his head as heavily as possible. "No, sir. Not at all."

It might be worse than just getting killed in a simple second.

"Get to your class and don't say a word about him."

"But what do I—"

"Get to your class," his father repeats, slower, "and don't say a word about him."

❧

A/n: sorry it was late in the evening when I wrote half of this that's why it's so weird