Chapter Text
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Kim Dokja is running late to class.
This isn't an oddity.
In fact, it's become a normal occurrence, really, considering he's been doing it five whole years and six running since he can never get a hang of the ever-changing layout of Hogwarts.
And since they're sixth-years now and are technically certified for completing basic education recognized by the ministry, the teachers have noticeably loosened their leashes that were for all these years noticeably tight, if they took the care to compare.
In simple words? Most of the teachers do not care if they get to class on time or not among other freedoms, simply imparting advanced knowledge to those present, as long as they got good enough marks in the finals.
Keyword: most.
And Professor Kyrgios Rodgraim clearly does not fall in the category of 'most'.
Genius Potions master known for his phenomenal brews and inventing brewing methods that revolutionized potion making, precise instruction and rigid discipline, and most importantly, his rumoured hobby of wielding the sword.
The sword wielding, of course, was the most focused upon trait when talking about thair fiery and rigid Potions Professor.
The lower years were, obviously, spooked with legends of their professor stabbing any young wizard or witch who botched their potion in the lab with such precision that there would be no chance the scream, all while the whole affair was completed without a drop of blood falling to the floor, for everyone knew that the professor never failed to ensure the dungeons under his rule were spotless and ensured it stayed that way. (this in turn led to more botched attempts, of course).
Higher years pondered where the rumor came from.
Not that anyone could doubt the credibility. It was evident if one looked at their professor's arms through the robes.
Onto the main point, though.
Professor Rodgraim prized punctuality, among other values.
Which meant arriving to his class late was akin to serving their heads on a prepped ingredients tray ready to be poured into a bubbling cauldron that was the second portal to detention.
One simply did not be late. You could miss plucking the delicate pascernis flower on a full moon(which in fact meant allowing the fabled plant with revolutionary healing properties turn poisonous enough to kill a literal dragon) but you never entered professor Rodgraim 's class even a second late.
And Kim Dokja had reached a whole thirty minutes past the start of the class.
It wasn't his fault Runes had extended and he had lost his way, though.
It did not help that today was a special class.
They had reached the part in their curriculum that focussed on five specific potions that provided results that varied based on the individual, among other effects that shortlisted them over other options. And, it was special because these potions would be taught with no reading required in advance before class and literally dropped on them the day of the lecture, and they were restricted from even attempting to brew it outside supervision.
Which meant they had only one attempt.
And these five potions changed every year.
So now, Kim Dokja faced the perilous decision he was to make, standing at a crossroads.
Save himself from getting stabbed in these cold dungeons, or save himself from possibly losing points should this specific potion being taught come in finals.
But even for the unique coward who came up with the amazing third option every time that was Kim Dokja, there was no third choice.
Unless he did something that allowed him to cite medical reasons for missing class so he had the chance for a do-over.
However, before he could even ponder whether he should try some version of injuring his ankle on the hazardously moving stairs(he was unfortunately very familiar to that very thing), or ingesting those plants he saw on his way which he had never even seen before but they definitely looked poisonous or at the very least infested with some kind of parasite(if he could even manage to retrace his steps), he was saved from even making the decision.
"Why are you late?" Asked a stern voice, not towering him, but it gave the peril of a giant reprimanding him from the top of the Burj Khalifa with the amount of intimidating aura being exuded.
Shit.
"I'm sorry, Sir," he pushed out of his numb lips more than said, bowing respectfully. He was properly mortified.
"Got lost again, did you?" He said, extremely unimpressed, "Or did you forget the class altogether?"
"The stairs led me to another place I'd never seen before, I'm sorry."
Now, while many discussed the fear factor of their Potions Professor and wondered about the enchanted swords he would probably use, no one would boast that they had seen it with their own two eyes, bar the occasional hallucinator or so.
But Kim Dokja had the chance to see his prowess when it came to the art with his own two eyes. 'Deadly' would still fail to sum up the visual.
In fact, one could even say that the reason any rumours that their beloved professor wielded the sword even existed would be Kim Dokja, if one boiled everything down to the bone and filtered out the specifics.
Anyways, and while it would be unheard of for a professor to skewer his students on his least prized and most dull and useless sword (because no matter what anyone said, he definitely wouldn't use a prized one to kill his idiot students and even the chosen sword he would grieve for being used in such a worthless task), one couldn't help but be intimidated by the sheer amount of skill and allow their overachieving imagination to conjure an image scary enough to kill them before they even reached the dungeons.
And unfortunately for Kim Dokja, his imagination was exceptionally talented.
"Tch. Detention, come to me after class for the details. Join someone for the remaining brewing. And ten points from Slytherin for being tardy for an extremely important class," Professor Rodgraim ordered, arms crossed.
Like he even cared for house points at this point? He was already desensitised to that particular threat, thanks.
(Look, it wasn't his fault that they got up to so many shenanigans, okay? .... probably. Because he may or may not be the ringleader. But... but not everytime.)
"Quickly. Copy the notes later."