OPEN IC Professor's Office

Dee walked down the cold stone corridor to the Potion professor's office with the weary, beleaguered expression of someone who had been down this road too many times before. She'd learned to not get attached to professors early on during her time at Hogwarts; they always left. The professor of Potions changing, however, always seemed like a sort of personal affront to Dee in particular, because it meant she'd have to put in the effort to win over the new ruler of the Potions classroom.

The long, neat braid she'd put her hair into this morning was swinging as she neared the open door to Professor Sauber's office, he seemed the type to appreciate neatness, and she was tapping her fingers together unconsciously while she once again tried to evaluate how to approach this conversation. Her strategies (if you could call them that) so far, while all successful, had been wildly different. She'd yelled at Professor Ostrowski about his approach to teaching, and could still hardly believe that had worked. Professor W-D had been won over with clever arguments and, to some degree, sincerity. Regan... honestly, the biggest argument in her favour there had probably been Wickham-Deakin vouching for her, that had given her the inch she'd needed to ruthlessly take the entire mile and be her exceptionally annoying self while she was at it. At least she hadn't yet wasted too much time on Professor Asmaralaya when he'd gone and become the Head of Slytherin instead.

Sauber didn't seem like the type to appreciate passionate yelling or annoying cheerfulness, but he was really hard to get a read on. Her outstanding Potions OWL might win her a point or two, and hopefully the flawless Devil's Sticky Balm she'd brewed during class yesterday had left some impression, but from how he'd acted so far, she'd gotten the distinct vibe that he considered perfection barely acceptable and everything else an insult to his high standards, so she doubted he'd be impressed by a healing salve. Dee sniffed to herself. Frankly, it was not unlikely that she could brew at least one potion he couldn't at this point, but pointing out her own superiority was probably not the way to his heart, either.

No matter, a few weeks without the regular access to the Potions facilities that she'd gotten used to over the years, and she was starting to show withdrawal symptoms. She'd manage to charm him somehow, and so far, going with the flow had always worked out in the end. (After a few hiccups, perhaps.)

She stopped in front of the door and skimmed the sign, head cocked. The door was open, but in this case, it seemed best to just follow instructions. No faffing about, straight to the point, she raised her hand and rapped her knuckles against the door, once. Then she waited.

@Samuel Sauber
Mentions @Aleksander Ostrowski | @Magdalena Wickham-Deakin | @Méabh Regan | @Lesmana Asmaralaya

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The knock came precisely once. Sharp. Not urgent. Not uncertain. Exactly what he preferred.

Sauber looked up from his desk, where a thin sliver of steam curled from the lip of his teacup. He had been reading over old half finished drafts on necrotoxic compounds in extinct basilisk strains. The knock did not startle him, it was inevitable. What he simply hadn't known was which student would be the first to arrive. Now he did.

"Enter," he called to her flatly, already rising to his feet.

The door creaked open with the whispers of old hinges, another addition to replacements. It only revealed the figure he had expected, if not consciously predicted. Miss Prince. Overachiever, not sure by necessity or nature. To her benefit, what he had observed so far only showed her as someone who perpetually lived one breath away from either triumph or catastrophe. Further observation was required to finalize one.

He inclined his head once.

"Miss Prince," he said, stepping aside and gesturing inward with a precise movement. "You may step inside. Close the door behind you and please take a seat."

His office was a far cry from what it had been under his predecessor. The room had been stripped down to bare bones and dark wood. Which was then designed upto his own tastes. He gestured to the straight backed chair opposite his own.

"Sit" he repeated, not unkindly, merely with economy.

Once she would comply, he would resume his seat. His hands folded together as he regarded her without evident expression. His eyes flicked toward her braid. Tidy, deliberate and then back to her face. She seemed as someone prepared to make a pitch. That much would be obvious to even a fool. Every student who endured the revolving doors of a professor's office eventually came to make their case one way or another. She would not be the last.

Before she could launch into whatever strategy she had constructed. Whatever blend of humility and pride she had practiced on the walk over. He cut in, voice low and distinct.

"Tea or Coffee?" he asked, tone flatly transactional.

A pause.

"I recommend the latter, if your day has included any contact with fifth years. I also have biscuits. German."

He reached, without ceremony, to the sideboard and returned with a tin of thin, sugar dusted pastries. He set them between them as a preparation for a negotiation rather than a conversation.

He let the silence stretch for a beat too long before finally adding, "Congratulation. You are the first student to step foot into this office since refurbishment. This is not a reward."

He poured coffee for himself. Whether she accepted any was of little consequence to him.

"You knocked," he continued. "And followed instructions. That already places you above standard threshold."

His eyes did not leave hers.

"Now. What brings you here?"

He would not mention her OWL scores. He remembered them, of course he did. He remembered it for all of them. An 'Outstanding', and it was not inflated either. Nor would he reference the Devil's Sticky Balm she had brewed previously. The batch while not flawless was far beyond acceptable. Texture, hue, cooling rate- all nearly textbook, almost as good as a child could get. But offering unsolicited praise bred dependency. And she would not receive it from him. You earn nothing in life by assuming you were already known. That was not how his classroom worked either.

Still, she had proven herself competent and he did not mind competency among students.

He sat back slightly, one ankle folding over his knee.

"If you're here to request continued access to facilities beyond standard hours," he said, "you may proceed with your request and make your case. I will evaluate it based on merit and not precedent. If however, you're here to build rapport, seek personality alignment, or whatever strategic charm you employed on previous instructors. I would advise against it. I am not them nor do I possess any such interests."

He paused, assessing her face carefully.

"I do not require agreement. Just precision. I value results, not posturing."

Another pause.

"That said, if you are capable, and if you demonstrate that capability without embellishment. I will most likely allow you the tools to pursue your work. I will not interfere. I may even assist. But do not expect me to indulge in performance."

He took another measured sip of his coffee, then finally leaned forward, folding his hands again on the desk.

"You have the floor now, Miss Prince."

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Lucky for her, Dee didn't have to wait long until Professor Sauber called for her to enter, voice level but monotonous, or she might have just poked her head in out of curiosity. She sauntered in easily, her eyes scanning the changes to the room with interest. She'd seen this room under several of Sauber's predecessors, but she'd gotten used to Regan's unapologetic chaos in the last few years. There was none of that in the room now, all dark wood and clean lines.

Closing the door behind herself as instructed, Dee bobbed a quick nod at Sauber. "I hope I'm not bothering you, Professor," she said neutrally as she stepped closer to the desk. Her eyes were already skimming the paper spread out there with curiosity while she sat down on the indicated seat, although it was hard to make out its contents from her upside down perspective.

"No contact with fifth years, luckily, so I'll stick to tea," she replied, her face crinkling up in disgust at the mere memory of the last time a Potions professor had offered her coffee. Terrible stuff. Tasted like burnt dirt. (At least Wickham-Deakin's had.) "Thank you." There was a touch of surprise in her voice at the setup of the situation - this felt almost like a sort of interview, rather than the quick inquiry she'd expect most students to visit this office for, but she'd happily take the time and attention she was offered.

She reached for one of the pastries, her eyebrow twitching in amusement at the flat congratulations she was was offered for braving his presence. "Thanks, I love what you've done with the place," was her response, proving once again that any strategies or plans of careful charming she might have usually went out the window as soon as she was supposed to actually enact them.

Which was just as well, because apparently whatever careful evaluation the new Potions professor was conducting had already started. Perhaps Sauber's expectations were a lot lower than she'd expected, however, considering that being able to read was apparently enough to surpass them. Dee listened with a slightly cocked head as he established his position and expectations, holding his gaze without any visible trace of discomfort. So Sauber was not interested in establishing any sort of personal connection, which she could have guessed from his incredibly warm and fuzzy disposition, so frankly, none of this really came as a surprise. He seemed like a bit of an oddball, perhaps a bit lacking in the realm of basic human interaction, but she'd dealt with worse. What did catch her slightly off-guard was that apparently he was aware of the arrangements she'd had with previous professors, although she'd never really gotten around to establishing something similar with Asmaralaya, but it meant there was less explaining to do, which worked well enough for her.

So she shrugged, and nodded, happy to go along with the direction this conversation was taking. He appreciated precision and logic, Dee could give him that, even if she usually preferred people with a sense of humour. "Okay," she agreed easily, then paused for a moment, considering how to structure 'her case', as he had phrased it.

Her argumentation was pretty straight-forward, however. "You already know I am competent with potions. You've seen my work in class, and if you haven't seen my O.W.L. grade, it was Outstanding." He likely had, if he'd acquired the much more niche knowledge of her comings and goings about the Potions classroom, but it didn't hurt to summarise it again. "I'm one of the best in my grade, and honestly, likely better than most of your seventh year students, too." Her tone was matter-of-fact, confident, but not bragging. Every word of it was true, she didn't know a single seventh year who could brew Veritaserum or Polyjuice Potion. "So you know I'm not going to blow anything up if you let me use the potions facilities as I am used to."

She paused, transitioning from you can trust me around your equipment to and here's why you should. "On the other hand, I can make myself useful around the classroom. I used to do inventory work and similar for Professor Wickham-Deakin and Professor Regan, maintain the equipment the kids use in class or send it to get repaired or replaced when necessary, take stock of ingredients and what you might be running low on." Dee shrugged slightly, her thoughts spinning further. The arguments were presented with an easy sincere confidence, without affectation. "Obviously I can do more at this point, perhaps prepare potions for the lower year classes, but I get if you need to see that I'm reliable first. Anyway, that is my case: You get rid of the annoying busywork," which she personally enjoyed, it calmed her mind, "and I get to come and go freely to do that busywork and brew potions when I want to." And both of them won, in her books.

@Samuel Sauber
Charmer ability in effect!

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Samuel had remained silent through the entirety of her well reasoned pitch. His expressions remained unreadable behind tinted glasses, hands steepled over a corner of his notes. Judging the quality of her case the way he would evaluate a potion. No interruptions, no soft noises of agreement and not even the rustle of a sleeve. He simply listened along, which is itself might have been unsettling to someone who preferred conversational cues, that was not Samuel's concern. He had always found them unnecessary and inefficient.

When Dealla finally concluded her presentation, Samuel reached for the small black ledger that rested at the edge of his desk. It opened with a dry flick of his wrist. He scribbled a single line in near mechanical shorthand before setting it back down.

"You may do as you've described," he said at last, voice devoid of inflection, as through approving a room reservation rather than granting special access to one of the most volatile rooms in the castle. "On the condition that all material transactions are recorded with exactitude."

He gestured with a small nod toward the cabinet near the back wall. New, imposing and fitted with a charmed locking mechanism. "There is a parchment allocated for inventory documentation. You will list each ingredient you take, the quantity you measured, its intended use and note any that are wasted. If you complete a potion, you will record it. If you abandon one, you are expected to maintain a record of that too."

A pause.

"I will not tolerate creative vagueness in your work. Precision is what I accept and expect from you."

His gaze held hers a moment longer. Evaluating perhaps or simply ensuring his instructions had penetrated whatever enthusiasm might cloud her mind. Then he continued abruptly, voice still level but tighter, more focused. "You will not brew for the lower years. If they cannot brew without your intervention, then I have failed them. That will not occur."

He leaned back slightly in his chair. "You need not assist with the younger years," he said, his tone flat but absolute. "That is my responsibility. Not yours. I am here to teach them; successfully or otherwise. You are here to master the craft."

His gaze fixed her like a pin through parchment. "I would be far more impressed if you excelled in your own work. Perfect it. Own it. That is what will serve you outside these walls, not the habit of picking up grunt work."

He reached for his teacup again, lifting it with a surgeon’s care. "I suggest you prioritize your own workload. The younger years are not your concern. Leave pedagogy to those paid to endure it; Me and other professors."

Samuel’s hand moved to a drawer at his right. With a soft click, he opened it and he withdrew a small silver key. He placed it on the desk between them, beside a blank sheaf of parchment and a standard brass inventory scale.

"You’ll need that for the back cabinet. Write your name on the log before taking it. If I find anything missing, I will revoke the privilege and allow the children to make your life miserable. I am not above petty retaliation."

It might have been a joke. But his face remained an untouched slab of marble.

"Congratulations," he added, dry as bone. "You’ve just volunteered for quite a bit of grunt work." Another beat. "See that it’s worth both our time."

"Please close the door as you leave."

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The new professor wasn't just a detail-oriented weirdo, he was also a pedant. A nit-picker, a bean counter, a hair-splitter and rule monger. But that was okay. They didn't have to be chums, although Dee would miss the easy cameraderie she'd shared with Regan, and Wickham-Deakin's supportive eyes on her before that. She was still getting what she wanted.

Sauber's express (and repeated) instruction to not concern herself with the younger students was met with an indifferent shrug. She hadn't intended to support them with their potions, or teach them anything, she wasn't doing charity work here. Regan had sometimes let her brew the potions she'd needed for demonstration in class, when the professor herself had been occupied otherwise. That was what Dee had offered; no more, no less. If he didn't need or want her to continue this, no skin off her nose.

Dee nodded along to the instructions to keep records of her work; she could do that. Potion brewing was a precise art, if he wanted her to record every morsel of standard ingredient she used, she would. "I usually replace the more unusual ingredients I use, beyond the basics," she remarked, unsure if he expected her to do this, or if recording her expenditure was enough.

The small silver key was picked up and turned over in her hand once before she leaned forward to sign her name as indicated. Might as well use what was left of the day, there were some interesting recipes she'd been itching to get to.

After that, she was clearly dismissed. Dee got up from the chair, then picked up another biscuit before she turned to leave. Near the door, she paused, and turned back around. "Oh, I almost forgot - if you want me to," how had he phrased it, "excel in my own work, I'll probably need continued access to the restricted section of the library. Professor Regan first allowed me in, and Professor Asmaralaya extended the permission." She smiled, just barely. "I'm sure such a supportive mentor as yourself can see that it would only benefit my development."

She popped the biscuit into her mouth, then reached for the door. "Pleasure doing business with you, Professor Sauber."

@Samuel Sauber
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