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A week later, an uninvited guest arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.
"Professor Dracula, according to Miss Granger's reaction, you haven't assigned homework for a week." Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze settled on him as she spoke with the unwavering authority of a seasoned educator. "The final exams are approaching. Neglecting to assign homework is highly irresponsible."
Dracula lounged in his plush armchair with an air of absolute indifference, one foot propped up lazily on his desk. In his hand, a goblet of deep crimson wine swirled hypnotically, catching the dim candlelight in streaks of ruby brilliance.
"Correcting homework is such a tedious task," he mused, stretching languidly. "And since my teaching assistant decided to amuse himself elsewhere, I see no reason to trouble myself with it."
He raised the goblet and tilted it ever so slightly. A shimmering ribbon of red cascaded down from the rim, pouring into his waiting mouth with a soft gurgle. He sighed in satisfaction, savoring the taste before setting the goblet aside and casting an amused glance at Professor McGonagall.
"Isn't this arrangement perfect? The students don't want to do their homework, and I certainly don't want to grade it. By eliminating homework altogether, we've reached a solution where everyone is happy."
McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line, her sharp eyes narrowing behind her spectacles. "Professor Dracula, not all students avoid their homework. Hogwarts still has dedicated students like Miss Granger!" Her voice carried a mix of frustration and expectation. "Moreover, grading assignments is one of a professor's fundamental responsibilities. I will not overlook your dereliction of duty simply because you hold the title of school board chairman!"
Dracula chuckled, his expression laced with mischief. McGonagall, however, was unmoved. She straightened her robes and continued, her voice unwavering. "Homework is essential for reinforcing lessons. It helps students consolidate what they have learned and allows professors to identify areas where they struggle. Without it, they lose a vital opportunity for growth!"
Dracula swirled his goblet absently, his gaze flickering with mild amusement. "Fine, fine. If it means that much to you, I'll assign homework." He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. "By the way, who exactly are these 'dedicated' students who eagerly desire homework?"
McGonagall crossed her arms, her expression guarded. "I won't disclose their names. There are only a handful of diligent students in Hogwarts, and I won't have you targeting them for mischief!"
Dracula smirked. "Professor McGonagall, do you really think so little of me? I simply want them to do me a small favor." He tapped a finger against his temple, feigning deep contemplation. "But really, you don't need to tell me. I can already guess who they are. After all, as you said, there aren't many of them."
He extended his hand, counting off three fingers. "Hermione Granger, first year. Cedric Diggory, third year. Percy Weasley, fifth year. Correct?"
McGonagall hesitated, then sighed in resignation. "You're not wrong," she admitted reluctantly.
"Splendid! Then I shall bestow upon them a great honor." Dracula grinned, his fangs glinting faintly. "From now on, these three shall be responsible for grading the homework. A little extra work should keep their brilliant minds from overthinking things."
McGonagall's brows knit together. "Professor Dracula, that hardly seems appropriate. Besides, these students lack the expertise to evaluate assignments from sixth and seventh-year students."
Dracula waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense! Marking homework will only strengthen their understanding of the material. As for the older students, well… if they haven't cultivated the habit of independent learning by now, perhaps they deserve to struggle a little." He smirked, reclining once more.
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And so, Hermione, Cedric, and Percy found themselves appointed as Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching assistants.
Each of them received a badge, crafted with intricate detail—half a pair of bat-like demon wings etched onto the metal, with the letters "D.A.D.A.T.A" inscribed below, standing for "Defense Against the Dark Arts Teaching Assistant."
The design was Dracula's own creation—elegant, mysterious, and bearing an aura of undeniable prestige.
But for Percy, the badge quickly became the subject of unexpected ridicule.
The moment he received his teaching assistant badge, he pinned it proudly onto his chest, his eyes gleaming with accomplishment. However, there was a minor issue—he was already wearing his Gryffindor prefect badge on the left side of his chest and refused to remove it. This left him no choice but to pin the new badge onto his right side.
The result? A perfectly symmetrical yet utterly absurd display.
That evening in the Gryffindor common room, Fred caught sight of his brother and immediately burst into laughter.
"Oi, Ron! You've got to see this!"
Ron, who was hunched over his half-finished Transfiguration essay while gnawing on a chicken leg, glanced up at Percy.
And immediately choked.
"Pfft—!"
A spray of half-chewed chicken and ink splattered across his parchment.
Fred and George howled with laughter as Ron gasped for breath, wiping his mouth. "Percy, what in Merlin's name are you wearing?!" He pointed at his brother's chest, his shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth. "It's like you're trying to be some sort of human coat of arms!"
Percy's face darkened as he strode past, his moment of pride utterly shattered.
In truth, most of the other students barely noticed his badge arrangement, but to Fred, George, and Ron, this was golden material. Over time, Percy's twin badges became an inside joke, a never-ending source of amusement among the Weasley brothers.
Percy scowled, ready to scold them, but then his gaze landed on Ron's homework. A slow smirk spread across his face.
"Well, well," he drawled, placing a sympathetic hand on Ron's shoulder. "It seems you have bigger problems than my badges. Take a look at your Transfiguration essay. It's due tomorrow, isn't it?"
Ron's laughter died instantly. He glanced down at his parchment, now covered in mashed chicken and smeared ink.
His face twisted in horror.
"I HATE YOU, FRED!"
His panicked yell echoed across the common room as he frantically scanned the room. "Hermione! Help! My Transfiguration essay is ruined! I need you!"
And so, the chaos continued, just another night at Hogwarts.