do you have to think? (open)

[Mercer T. Hayes]

As every young wizard, Mercer was united with a magical instrument that would foresee the rest of his Hogwarts years and into adulthood. However, his wand was a little different. He remembered, aged eleven, watching as a pile of incompatible wands mounted on the wandmaker's counter - even the wandmaker himself seemed to think that finding the right one was hopeless at that point. Not one of them offered their cores to him. Not one of them wanted to synchronise with the wizard. It was most problematic; and by that point, the wandmaker was pulling out wands he knew were difficult to master and highly temperamental. This particular one had been in the shop for over fifty years: a bashed-in display box covered in a thick layer of dust.

It was put on the counter top, and Mercer frowned sceptically at it. The man took off the box, revealing something quite unusual. Unlike the others, this wand had no handle. Instead the end was wrapped with what appeared to be linen or some other sort of cloth, possibly even bandages, so that its grip was more efficient. It was an uneven wood colour; stripes and tangles of golden brown and pale yellow. The wandmaker announced that it was made of acacia wood, was eleven-and-three-quarter-inches long and contained a phoenix feather core.

When Mercer touched it, the core omitted a strength of light and offered itself to him. He should have been delighted to find a wand match at long last - but there was something incredibly ominous about the instrument he held in his right hand. It felt as though it was almost a burden - like a strong backwards force that was knocking him down; like a strength that was far too potent to be wielded by an eleven-year-old boy.

Unlike the majority of Hogwarts students, Mercer made a mess of the simplest of spells; even if he was following the correct incantations and wand movements. It just seemed that his wand repelled working by force: like a stubborn child. Now in his seventh-year of study, however; Mercer has gained a lot more control over it. He no longer is submitted to the hospital wing for magical accidents, at least - but even after seven years, the wand can still be highly unpredictable.

Still, he somehow managed to pass all his OWLs.

Mercer set his wand down on the bench beside him. He had no concern of somebody taking it or attempting magic with it: let them try, as he had done through the years. It was looking more battered than it had done that day at the wandmaker's shop. As a makeshift handle, he had bound the hand end of it in cured leather; but it was beginning to show signs of wear. It somehow reflected the person who wielded it: Mercer Hayes: with his hair always messy; robes ripped and fraying at base and sleeve, and with his shirt half undone as though it was the middle of summer.

He was in the courtyard that afternoon after lessons. He always looked like he was in a bad mood. Certainly he had been around long enough to work up a reputation of being difficult to cross, or, indeed; difficult to have smiling or laughing at all. His brows were permanently knitted together. His eyes were scrunched under the eyelid, but one could tell (vaguely) that they were blue. The common room was getting a little too crowded for him to practice magic, and he could never guarantee whether somebody's robes would be reduced to cinders when he practised.

So, in the open (but empty) courtyard, he was resting a while on a bench underneath a bare oak. He'd begin shortly. There was no use in starting when he was still feeling irritable about the noise in the common room. His wand always felt and fed a single slip in his emotions.

[Eric T. Marley]

^{Mercer T. Hayes - figured he would know his student xD}

Eric's day of teaching classes had come to an end, and it was time for him to pick up his responsibilities as something other than a professor. The former Gryffindor had two jobs at the school: Care of Magical Creatures professor and Head of Gryffindor House. He liked to separate the two. He took both very seriously but he went about them in two different ways. When he was teaching, he was stern and serious. He was an authority in his classroom, an expert in his field. He didn't take anything from the students unless it was respect. But once he left the classroom, he was a friend to them. Part of Eric was still a child like they were, so he understood the struggles they were likely facing. He was Head of House for a reason-he wanted to connect with the students and help them with their futures. Eric wanted to be the one they went to with problems or concerns, the professor they knew they could count on to cheer them up or help them solve a negative situation and change their perspective. So far, it had worked.

The Courtyard was sparsely populated with students willing to brave the September chill as Eric walked out of the castle, a small briefcase in one hand. He liked the outdoors, partially because so many of his favorite creatures could only be housed in the Forbidden Forest. But he also just enjoyed fresh air after his last lesson of the day. The classroom could get so stuffy, the air thick and warm. Outside it was brisk, but the cool air was welcome on his skin. "Afternoon Violet. Brilliant work in today's discussion," he said to one of his NEWT students as he walked past her. She nodded her thank you and continued on her way into the castle, her nose red with cold. Eric always admired when his students did well, and he made sure to praise them. When he'd been in school, he had struggled with the majority of subjects because he hadn't felt like his professors wanted him to succeed. When a student is encouraged properly, they could achieve great things.

Eric looked around for a bench to sit on but quickly reconsidered his plan to work on grading when he recognized one of his Gryffindor students. He'd made it his job to know each one, at least name and face. But Mercer Hayes was easier to know, because he had gone through many of the same struggles that Eric had in school. Charms had never been Eric's subject, he could make the smallest mistake and ruin the spell. Mercer at least had the talent, Eric knew. It was in some part the boy's wand that was at fault. 

"How were your classes today, Mr. Hayes?" he asked, walking up in front of the seventh year.