Woodgreen Academy Archive

Summary: Albus Dumbledore and Treize Kushrenada make a bet on how Woodgreen’s school term will be like based on how long it takes before chaos begins over breakfast.
A/N: Although there will be no magic or flying ninjas and superheroes running around this place, Woodgreen is still a fantasy setting. I’m not going to push the fantasy and sci-fi to mind-boggling impossibility but the school system here will not be based entirely on one country’s system despite the academy’s location (Hawaii of all places XD).

   

 

On normal days, those in Woodgreen High ate together inside the academy walls and in their own respective houses within the four wings of the academy housing. However, since it was the glorified First Day of Everything, breakfast was monumental — to a certain number of people. While everyone else caught the last few hours of their blissful sleep or ate amongst new housemates, the current student leaders were to dine with professors and the administration.

The Opening breakfast in Woodgreen was a ceremony that marked the formal entry of a school year. Though the administration and faculty had long been acquainted with each other, the ceremony was held more on the account of the student leaders to familiarize themselves with those who run the academy and in forging a comely relationship with each other due to the proximity of their positions in the year. Come end of term, these same people would gather in the great hall for a Closing dinner.
Breakfast was held in three adjoining function rooms that doubled as a ballroom when all the dividers were pushed to the sides. Cocktails and various events were held in the smaller rooms and there were only three occasions in which the full expanse was used: the Opening breakfast, Closing dinner and Graduation or the Final March as others have called it. Because of its rarity, people had often forgotten the real size of the great hall and thus, it always presented an impression once put to use.

Two rows of folding walls divided the hall into three large rooms. Today, these doors were conveniently blocked on the sides by huge potted plants as if they were part of the wall decorations all along. The heavy drapes that were normally down were all pushed aside as well. There was no need for artificial light as the morning sun brightened the room from the great windows. Overhead, the three crystal chandeliers were far from dead weight in the minimal decorations of the room. The morning rays of the sun reflected from the gathered crystals and allowed a silent dance of blurred colors that softened the wooden floor and the midnight walls.

At the front atop the elevated floor, where there would have been a long table for the honored guests if it was a formal gathering, were five banners that represent all of Woodgreen Academy. Three belonged to three departments: the primary, secondary and tertiary levels. The remaining two, positioned in between the three, represented the JROTC and ROTC. Looming above it was the stained glass window designed with Woodgreen’s coat of arms that cast a likeness on the wide floor. The bright morning sun provided a natural spotlight from outside casting a clear mirage of the emblem on the floor. The reflection overlapped everything in the path of its light. Treize Kushrenada was a man of impressions.

There were no necessary speeches nor was the breakfast meant to be held with stiff formalities. Nonetheless, the presence of the director, his council and his executive staff brought about all the differences of this harmless breakfast from an ordinary one where people just happened to dine together. The grandeur of the room in which the breakfast was held did nothing short of emphasizing the point across: that these were the people in the upper tier who worked the system. In so treating the student leaders on equal grounds through the informalities of dining together, the expected performance would be in the same level as these other professionals and reputed extraordinary in their own unique ways.

It was a subtle hint of the leash that Treize Kushrenada held on his staff. After all, who would dare disappoint the nice man behind the oak desk inside the huge office?

—-

Thus far, the morning had been uneventful. It was likely because everyone else, with the exception of the director and the few professors (someone was yammering about the bright and sunny day welcoming the eve of youth), were still half-asleep and merely moving around on primal survival instinct. That was soon to change upon the introduction of food in their muddled systems .

The aroma of freshly baked bread greeted them as the doors to the dining hall opened. It was enough to shake some wakefulness and get the people moving. Near one wall was a long table that stretched the length of the floor of the hall, filled end to end with food enough to feed a small town. It was a feast. It took little time for the buffet tables to gather a queue of zombies passing off as human beings.

“It doesn’t change, does it? How much do you wager?” Treize smartly chose to walk along the center as the flock of people gathered on the sides. An old man walked with him, his long white hair tied in a loose ribbon with the tips almost brushing the floor. His thick beard had a small braid by its tail, which shook as he chuckled.

“I’ve always won in this gamble, Treize.” The blue eyes crinkled on the sides, glittering with amusement. This was Albus Dumbledore, Woodgreen University’s dean. “Let’s see…” he trailed off as his eyes observed the people gliding about in the room with plates, “Roughly fifteen minutes. Then I’m free of weekly reports for three months.”

Treize resisted the urge to frown at the old man. “I will expect at least a monthly report.” Albus was a wise man and Treize valued the old man’s initial assessment of the school year based solely on the opening breakfast. But the man could be so lazy sometimes, it unnerved Treize. “Fifteen minutes then… hmm. I was hoping for at least half an hour before they start waking up.”

“They were slow from the pickup when they first entered this hall.” Albus nodded thoughtfully, his eyes distant as he scanned the crowd. “But a few minutes inside the room and movement became a bit livelier and see over there, the tables are already half empty and it hasn’t been ten minutes yet.”

“I noticed.” There was a trace of bemusement in his voice. “Well then, it’s been a pleasure, Albus. I’ll see you later.”

And with that, the two parted ways. Albus made his way to the deans of Woodgreen’s various colleges, no doubt already discussing on what the year’s activities would be. Treize, on the other hand, pulled a chair to sit with the four promising university seniors. He wanted to inquire on their future plans.

—-

Ron, being who he was, floated along with the pack of dazed morning zombies. Right next to him was an equally dazed blond with a strange hairstyle: long hair pulled in buns atop her head and the rest flowed down to her knees from each bun. She was Usagi Tsukino, known for her stomach capacity. A girl who looked similar with the exception of the hairstyle was beside her, Minako Aino. She looked like she had died and went to heaven. To complete the quartet of drooling teens was Duo Maxwell, who stood beside the blond with his eyes closed and nose raised in the air, sniffing for all he’s worth. With some imagination, it almost seemed like his long chestnut braid wagged in happiness. Together, all four moved in a hypnotized state and stood at the end of the long table. The mission had been set — food for all, and free.

“I refuse to associate myself with Weasley.” Draco made a face as he watched his fellow prefect fill his plate. “I still do not understand why he became a prefect. There’s just no…class with the way he does things.”

“Oh, hush, Draco.” Pansy rolled her eyes as she looked around the room to find a good place to be seated. She grabbed Draco’s and Hermione’s arms and began dragging the duo that seemed to agree on the same thing while staring at the redhead, “Let’s stay over there.”

Draco tore his eyes away from the small mountain of food on Ron’s plate to look at where he was being pulled at. He snorted. “Your choice does not have anything to do with a certain Mr. Wayne, I suppose.”

“Why would you think that?” Pansy simply smiled and let go as soon as they arrived at their table. Two tables away were the university reps, in perfect line of sight to where Pansy chose her seat. “Now that we’ve secured this place, I’m off for a good meal. I’ll see you both in a bit.”

Shrugging, Hermione followed Pansy leaving Draco behind for guard duty. Draco glowered at the two retreating backs until his line of vision was blocked by a very familiar mountain of food.

“I suggest you start making your way before the food’s gone.” Ron slid his two plates on the table and looked hard at the still immobile Draco. “Well?”

Draco looked at the plates then sneered at Ron, “I’m sorry. I thought you’ve brought me food seeing you have enough there for all four of us.” He left room for the redhead to glare back before continuing, “In any case, I’m not going to act like a starving lunatic for packing so much in one trip. There’s enough food for all.”

Ron laughed, a reaction Draco hadn’t been expecting. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Look again.” After that, the Weasley stood up and left for the coffee servings.

It had only been less than ten minutes, as far as Draco could remember, but he was taken aback at the sight of the buffet tables and their lack of food. So it seemed the whole staff was a pack of starving lunatics.

“We were nice enough to get you some food,” Pansy said smoothly upon arriving at the still stunned Draco. She placed a plate in front of Draco and then snapped her fingers at his face. “Earth to Mr. Malfoy.”

Blinking, “Fifteen minutes. I don’t believe this.” He gestured at the now empty buffet.

Hermione shook her head and sat down. “Don’t be so surprised. Mr. Onizuka alone could probably eat for five grown men. Factor in all the other enthusiasts and fifteen minutes is all you need.”

“And here I thought those rumors were mere exaggerations.”

“Speak of the devil,” Pansy alerted them, seeing their blond Japanese professor head towards their table carrying plates. She noted that the man was wearing his Armani white suit. It looked good on him. Unfortunately, it was also the only suit he owned and always wore it on the first day. Just the first day.

“How are my kids doing?”

“Good morning, Mr. Onizuka,” the three greeted politely.

“Bah, so formal and so early in the morning!” He plopped himself on a vacant chair and beamed at them. “Well? How are you doing? How was the first week so far? Eh? Eh? That’s just the trial run. Today’s the beginning of the real thing.”

Pansy recalled with a grimace. “Unpleasant.”

“Loud.” Draco rolled his eyes heavenward, reliving an unpleasant memory. Suddenly he felt the sores and bruises from sleeping on a chair all over again.

Hermione frowned. “Which reminds me, why was Marcus Flint assigned in my wing? He would have been better off with Ron’s.”

Eikichi laughed loudly and sobered up in the next blink, “I don’t know. But yeah, I have to agree on that. I actually don’t know who’s in charge of room assignments. They’re not really as random as some might think. Hmmm.”

“I wouldn’t call it random at all but I’ve never figured out the pattern. Only consistent thing from when this system began is South being the loudest and craziest. I still wonder why I’ve been stuck there for four years.” Ron snorted and placed mugs of steaming coffee in front of both Pansy and Hermione, before going to his chair with his own mug.

“This sneaking around has to stop, Weasley. That’s twice already that you came out of nowhere. And where’s my coffee?” Draco scowled at the obvious stunt of riling him up so early in the morning.

Ron took his time, first inhaling the steam off his mug then taking a slow sip pursing his lips as if to savor the hot liquid. Satisfied, he looked at Draco feigning surprise, “I didn’t know you were a coffee person, Malfoy.”

Draco hated how Ron always managed that mocking lilt whenever he said the name. He stood up without a word and, after a venomous glare he walked off to get himself his caffeine.

“Oooh that was so mean. You knew Draco likes coffee. He’s the one who brought the coffee maker at the HQ.” Pansy clicked her tongue but her eyes shone with laughter.

“When Draco does something in retaliation, you should know it’s your fault this time.” Hermione was genuinely not pleased.

“Oh, so it’s ‘Draco’ now, is it?” Ron sat straighter and looked at Hermione.

“If we’re all going to try and get along, the first thing we should do is acknowledge each other as people and not try to spit each other’s names as if it’s a curse to the whole ancestral line.”

“And it is a curse! He’s a Malfoy. I’m a Weasley. We don’t get along.”

“Romeo and Juliet. Abridged version,” Pansy helpfully supplied.

“He will stay away from my sister!” Ron immediately snapped, slamming his hand on the table.

“As if your sister is worth my attention in the first place!” Draco snarled, slamming his mug near Ron’s hand and the hot liquid spilled on both of their flesh.

“Look what you did to my hand!”

“Hey, my hand was burnt also!”

“And whose fault is it, I wonder.”

“Well, I see you guys are getting along and all is fine. I knew I made the right decisions. We’ll have a Friday Night’s Out every week and you can tell me things. Okay? Okay!” Eikichi gave himself a literal pat on the back then patted their backs happily before picking up his plates and making his way to the next table.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, “Getting along?”

“I’m more concerned about the Friday Night’s Out he mentioned.” Pansy tried not to think about the many ways things could go wrong.

The outburst from the two prefects would have gotten unwanted attention if not for the fact that it wasn’t the only table with a racket going on. A table to their left had a Chinese boy screaming bloody murder at a braided boy who was waving a chicken leg in defense, both of them in JROTC uniforms. Not too far, Lt. Hawkeye had stood up, glaring at her commanding officer with heated contempt, no doubt upon the mention of changing the uniforms for the cadet ladies into short skirts. Roy Mustang had been lobbying for that change ever since he became an officer and now that he was in the position of influence, he was going to seriously pursue it this year.

Even the usually aloof quartet did not escape the morning riot. Bruce Wayne had bent the fork in his fist while talking with Lex Luthor and Clark Kent seemed to be negotiating peace to prevent homicide despite shooting glares at Lex. Somewhere by the fruit stand, Albus Dumbledore caught Treize Kushrenada’s look, and he knew that he was free of weekly reports temporarily. It did take fifteen minutes before the first stirrings of typical Woodgreen life came about. Sometimes Albus wondered if he had clairvoyance.