The Quackers Professor
February Fortescue (Slytherin)
February was very angry. She had worked for weeks on her potions assignment, only to receive a T because the potion was "ineffective, smelly, putrid pink". At this rate, she'd never pass the class, never become a Healer, and might as well resign herself to a career in an ice cream shoppe! Life could be so unfair. She had no difficulties with most of the other subjects. Potions, though, she had to admit, simply wasn't a subject she looked forward to or ever thought much about. Why would anyone want to cut up an animal into tiny little pieces? Or use parts of it, such as its eyes, or mucus? Seriously - how disgusting could it possibly get? Not only that, to be expected to cut up those creatures and creature parts into even rows or precisely measured parts - ewww. Nevertheless, February had done her very best, and written about her findings, only to have received a failing grade - one which she was fully convinced she did NOT deserve.
Voldimorteen, February's roommate, noticed her dour mood immediately. She'd earned an EE but knew not to mention that to February - it wouldn't help. She also didn't want February to remain angry, because Voldimorteen wanted February to try out for the Quidditch team with her in less than an hour. Voldimorteen wasn't very good at Quidditch, but February was even worse, which Voldimorteen hoped would make her look better by comparison. She smiled warmly (she hoped) at the angry girl.
"That stupid professor really treated you unfairly, didn't she, Febs?"
"She sure did, Morti! I think I'll protest, all the way to the Headmaster, if I have to!"
"Come on, February, it's almost the weekend. Let's unwind and then sleep on it and decide what to do later. Why let her ruin your weekend? Don't give her that kind of power over you! Hey - I have an idea. You'll love this. Close your eyes. Come on. Don't you trust me? Close your eyes."
February normally knew better than to trust Morti, and was starting to feel really anxious, but she decided her day could not possibly get any worse, so she decided to follow along. The next set of instructions really surprised her.
"OK, Febs, imagine your professor dressed like Donald Duck."
February almost fell over. "You want me to do WHAT?" she nearly screamed.
"Come on, just trust me," Morti asked. February sighed and closed her eyes once more. She saw her professor in full Donald Duck regalia.
"OK, now imagine your professor quacking like Donald Duck. Can you hear it? GOOD. Now, hear her quack and say 'ineffective, smelly, putrid pink', just like Donald Duck, and I'll quack it with you. Excellent! Now, sing it, any tune you like! OK, open your eyes, keep singing, and let's waddle like a duck!"
February knew she no doubt looked totally stupid, but she was laughing so hard by this time, she no longer cared, and her anger had melted away.
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Poetry poetry poetry! This is where submissions get a bit more creative than most, and it's a wonder how many HOLers (particularly the eagles) are filled with fabulous artsyness.