Vocant III
Today in my education class we were talking about different ways to phrase questions to test students' knowledge. The example my professor comes up with? When Luna has to answer a question to enter her common room.
Best. Example. Ever. I think I have a new favorite professor.
Well, possibly. The ancient British guy who who spoke fluent Old English and liked to randomly yell a word or two during lectures to keep the sleepers on their toes was AWESOME. Seriously, he could teach a class that combines sonnets, James Joyce and computer programing and I'd sign up no questions asked. (Although why those things would be offered together I have no idea. They just all happen to be things I hate.)
Okay, now that I've offended sonnet-writing, Joyce-reading computer programmers, let's move on to the ficlet portion of the evening.
Wednesday
Seamus was wearing a rumpled shirt and unholy grin of glee when he slid into his seat.
"Please," Neville whispered, "please, for both our sakes, do not tell me what's so wonderful."
"Hannah went for it," he whispered back.
Neville broke his quill tip. "I told you not to tell me," he hissed.
"You're such a prude. Really, you're like me mam."
"I don't think you know you're mother very well, then."
"And you do?"
"Showed her my scars just last night."
"Oh, you did not just say that. Not about me mam." But he was laughing.
Neville nodded. "You're right. I didn't. Because I'm a good student who's been listening to Binns this whole time and thus not talking."
Seamus leaned over to inspect Neville's notes. "Liar. You're planning the next meeting."
"Certainly a better use of time than learning about the Goblin War of Whenever."
"1302," Seamus supplied automatically, temporarily stunning them both.
"Right," Neville said shakily. "Okay. So you think we should practice Patronuses more or introduce some jinxes? You think everyone else has their Patronus down?"
Seamus grinned. "I'll ask Hannah for you after lunch."
-
Um... I don't really know how to put Patronus in the plural. Sorry. Hopefully I got it right. Ta, flist.
Best. Example. Ever. I think I have a new favorite professor.
Well, possibly. The ancient British guy who who spoke fluent Old English and liked to randomly yell a word or two during lectures to keep the sleepers on their toes was AWESOME. Seriously, he could teach a class that combines sonnets, James Joyce and computer programing and I'd sign up no questions asked. (Although why those things would be offered together I have no idea. They just all happen to be things I hate.)
Okay, now that I've offended sonnet-writing, Joyce-reading computer programmers, let's move on to the ficlet portion of the evening.
Wednesday
Seamus was wearing a rumpled shirt and unholy grin of glee when he slid into his seat.
"Please," Neville whispered, "please, for both our sakes, do not tell me what's so wonderful."
"Hannah went for it," he whispered back.
Neville broke his quill tip. "I told you not to tell me," he hissed.
"You're such a prude. Really, you're like me mam."
"I don't think you know you're mother very well, then."
"And you do?"
"Showed her my scars just last night."
"Oh, you did not just say that. Not about me mam." But he was laughing.
Neville nodded. "You're right. I didn't. Because I'm a good student who's been listening to Binns this whole time and thus not talking."
Seamus leaned over to inspect Neville's notes. "Liar. You're planning the next meeting."
"Certainly a better use of time than learning about the Goblin War of Whenever."
"1302," Seamus supplied automatically, temporarily stunning them both.
"Right," Neville said shakily. "Okay. So you think we should practice Patronuses more or introduce some jinxes? You think everyone else has their Patronus down?"
Seamus grinned. "I'll ask Hannah for you after lunch."
-
Um... I don't really know how to put Patronus in the plural. Sorry. Hopefully I got it right. Ta, flist.