Start with a Bang | open

On day one, Leslie Wildemoore Sterling had returned to his alma mater after an absence of nearly two decades. He had been struck immediately by the smell of the ancient stone walls and the mellow scent of the beeswax candles. Hogwarts was perfumed with nostalgia, taking him immediately back to the happy days of his youth that were spent dabbling in arts, philosophy, and of course magic. He had many happy years here, though his dabbling had hardly stopped at graduation. In the almost twenty years since, he'd been living a life of leisure. He traveled, he painted, he tinkered with gizmos and whatsits – and he had done very little of anything that could be called 'work.' As the only son of a wealthy Pureblood family, Leslie had the luxury to pursue his scholarly curiosities full-time. Until now. At thirty-six, he was taking on the first true vocation of his life, but it was something that suited him, he thought. He was here to share his artistic knowledge and intellectual fervor with the younger generations. He had been unsuccessful keeping what little previous employment he had, but it was because the jobs had not allowed him to utilize his creative brain. Being a professor certainly would do that, especially teaching art, of all subjects. He had arrived with trunk after trunk of art supplies, books, bits of metal, scraps of leather, roll upon roll of film; not to mention his extensive collections of beetles, coins, and chocolate frog cards. In fact, he'd practically cleared everything out of his townhouse except the furniture (and the books he thought Hogwarts already had copies of). He had spent the rest of his first day trying to cram it all into his quarters and office. The end result was utter chaos, with objects haphazardly piled across every surface. By the time he was done unpacking, both rooms looked more like impeccably-dusted attics than inhabited spaces.

It was now his second day back at Hogwarts – a Sunday, which meant that he had the day to himself again. He was neither glad nor disappointed that he did not have class until tomorrow, for he truthfully was not even thinking about it. A more sensible person would spend the day preparing for their first lessons, but Professor Sterling was anything but a planner. It was not arrogance; he did not presume that he would be fine winging things, but Sterling simply never thought ahead about anything at all. There was always too much that captivated his interest in the present to waste time worrying about the future. It was an attitude born of his privileged life that had not yet been curbed by hardship. Currently, he was looking forward to nothing beyond breakfast. He had woken up very early, not accustomed to his new surroundings, and had been passing the hours by tinkering with his gadgets. When the time came for the first meal of the day, his skin and his clothes were hopelessly splattered with drops of oil and resin. He tried to wash off his hands at least, but it was largely a futile effort.

He arrived in the Great Hall along with a throng of students. They seemed much smaller than he remembered being at that age. Perspective, he mused, was a funny thing. He took the seat that had been left for him at the staff table, feeling a little out-of-place gazing down across the tables of his soon-to-be-pupils. A few stares were directed his way; after all, his face was new among the faculty. He'd hardly sat down before the Headmaster was on his feet introducing him to the school. It was only a formality and he did not seem required to speak. Sterling merely raised a hand amiably at the mention of his name. The rest of the meal was fine. He made a bit of polite conversation with the professors to his left and right. It turned out that he was just the latest in a slew of new staff, or so he was informed. Between kiln explosions and heart attacks, the old staff had been hit hard recently. Such was life, he supposed. You never knew what would be your end, so all the more reason to live in the moment.

Sterling lingered behind after the food had been cleared away. His conversation had turned to more engaging things, and he saw no reason to cut it short. The rest of the staff had gone and only a handful of students were still present, which turned out to be very fortunate. For, the next thing he knew, his pocket was smoking. Sterling quickly leapt to his feet and shoved his hand into his jacket, pulling out a clunky brass object. It was a part to his latest invention. He had stashed it in his pocket while working and completely forgotten it was there. Clearly it had been biding its time to remind him of his oversight. The metal was hot to the touch, and great bursts of angry red smoke belched out of either end. It began to tremble ominously in his hands and burn his fingertips. There was only one thing for it... He lobbed the contraption high into the air with a shout of, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

He had not acted a moment too soon. The gaskets burst from the ends, pinging against opposing walls, while a massive cloud of crimson powder exploded over the four house tables, coating everyone within range. Sterling hacked up a lungful of the stuff, but at least it didn't burn or sting the skin. It just made him look like a human fire hydrant; him and everyone else. He attempted to dust himself off as he addressed the room. He raised his deep, sonorous voice to call out, "Sorry. Sorry, everyone! Is anybody hurt?"