What's Your Problem?

By Artemis Obscure

Disclaimer: I don't even own the butterbeer, let alone the characters!

Author's note: Yes, this just another one of those stories where there's a new Defense against the Dark Arts Professor. Basically, the idea of this story struck me after I read one of those agony aunt columns in Seventeen, and that got me thinking: Did Hogwarts have an agony aunt? If they didn't, well, it was about time they did then! So, this story popped up. This is my first attempt at a Harry Potter Fan fic, so please review, and tell me what you think!

Chapter 1: The Weekend

Trampling in the snow was no easy feat. Trust me, walking past snow covered fields and howling English wind while being laden down by huge boots does not make walking easy. The weather didn't help either. It was one of those typically awful English weather days that involved a whole load of slushy snow and winds that seemed determined to pull my robes off with all that blowing. I cursed and grumbled under my breath as I dragged my feet (I felt I was lugging half a tonne of cement with each step I took). As the tower where my room was situated loomed up, a great gush of relief gushed through me, as an image of a blazing fire popped into my head.

Thank whoever for House Elves. There was a fire blazing merrily when I came in. Shutting the door with my foot, I threw the books and parchments I was carrying onto my bed and let out a very un-teacher like whoop.

"It's the weekend!" I proclaimed, joyfully. No classes to conduct, no students to tick off and no marking of last minute homework. No pesky students, no breaking up fights in class and no noise to bother me. Two days of bliss.

Maybe at this point I should explain a little. My name is Riley Crabtree and I'm the new Defense against the Dark Arts (DADA) Professor in Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry. Apparently, my predecessor got hit by a very strong memory charm while trying to break up fight that broke out in her class. What happened next was as good as anyone's guess. The poor lady thought she was an elephant, before headmaster Albus Dumbledore managed to break the first few layers of that charm. In a nutshell, Professor Hawkins flipped, threw an ultimatum, and there was a whole lot of detention being handed out in the process. Then she quit suddenly, and they fetched me, fresh out of Teacher's Academy to take over her place.

It was no easy job being a Professor. The most suitable way to describe the students was: horrendous. They should have warned me to bring along a suit of armor and lion trainers' whip before doing something stupid like venturing to be the DADA Professor. Not only was it rumored that no one EVER managed to hold on to the post, it looked like every person who ever had the position came to a sticky end. As if it wasn't enough with that stupid divination professor predicting my regretfully early demise, it was no easy job to keep a class of thirty plus students from raising hells bell in class.

Stupid students and stupid divinations professor. But, hey, it was the weekend, and I would be able to face the students in two days time. I closed my eyes and stuffed a handful of chips in my mouth, geared up to enjoy my weekend. I settled down comfortably on my bed, feet propped up on the headboard, eating salsa-flavored chips and taking occasional swigs of butterbeer. What bliss.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

"What the –" I jumped up, startled, spilling chips and butterbeer all over my bed. "Confound it! I mean, who's there?"

"It's Minerva McGonagall," a sensible voice with a crisp Scots accent came from behind the door. "The post's in for you." She swept into the room in a flurry of black robes, lugging a huge sack.

"This took four owls to deliver," she said, as she cast a severe look on my robes. It was then I was painfully aware of the bits of salsa seasoning all over my robes, and the spilt chips all over my bed and floor, not to mention the butterbeer that was silently and steadily dripping onto the carpet. Minerva McGonagall had that sort of formidableness made you feel as if you had just emerged from a pigsty, dripping with mud.

"Er, I was about to clean up," I said sheepishly gesturing around.

"Well, just wanted to give this to you," she said, and handed me the sack. "Your family must really missing you, seeing all those letters" she commented. Upon seeing the sack, I gave her a tight smile, feeling the last of my weekend mood swirl down the drain. I had a plain idea where that came from. "Anyway, I also wanted to remind you that you'll be giving the seventh year Slytherines a replacement defense against the dark arts lesson tomorrow afternoon." I groaned. So much of enjoying my weekend. Minerva gave an understanding smile.

"Good night Drusilla," she said as she shut the door behind her. I scowled hard at the door. I hated being called Drusilla. It sounded so... hair-raising. You see, I was named after an old aunt I had never known who got lost at sea quite a few years back. Let me tell you, it was a royal pain in the arse. With a gloomy sigh, I turned my attention back to the sack.

Now, no one knows this, but I'm actually the agony aunt of the Dear Riley page in the Daily Prophet. It's a new section in the newspaper, especially catered for today's angst ridden teens. It's amazing, though, how many people are out there being bogged down by 'love problems' and what not with the majority of them being hormonal teens. If it wasn't for my serious lack of galleons, the idea of being an agony aunt would have never crossed my mind.

I untied the sack and tipped the letters onto the floor. There was a note from Horowitz Vine, the editor of the Daily Prophet in there.

Sorry to spring this on you, it read. I thought I could give you at most a month's notice, and with you teaching at Hogwarts and all that, but there were too many unanswered letters accumulating, and there was no way I was going to let that Rita Skeeter answer them. She's been asking who is this new 'Riley', though, but don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. ~HV

Rita Skeeter, once Reporter Extrodinare had gone down badly in the world. Some people had written in, complaining about the validity of her articles. Apparently, she had been twisting and stretching the truth once too often for her own good. Well, whatever it was, it wasn't a pretty sight when the editor gave her the boot. She had been finally allowed to answer agony columns in the Daily Prophet, for a measly sum. If you asked me, that woman just got what was coming for her.

But there was a sackful of letters, waiting to be answered, and putting it off wasn't going to make the job easier. With a reluctant sigh, I took a long sheet of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill. Finally, I twirled my long hair into a bun and stuck my wand into it. Sitting down at my desk, I got ready for a long, grueling night.

"Accio letter," I commanded listlessly to the mound of letters one flew into my hand and I spread it out.

Letter #1:

Dear Riley,

I am a 14 year old girl. I fell for a guy and he rejected me. What am I going to do? I cry buckets every night over him. How can I make him mine? Should I continue to try to get his attention or should I stop? I just can't seem to stop thinking about him. ~Griffiyndor Girl.

Letter #2:

Dear Riley,

I am a 16 year old guy. My girlfriend and I just recently broke up. I'm so miserable, because she's going out with this Slytherine guy. What can I do to get her back? Miserable Hufflepuff.

Letter # 389

Dear Riley,

I am 17 years old, and I suspect my boyfriend is two timing me with this Beuxbatons girl. She's pretty, has long blonde hair and blue eyes, and a hell lot prettier than me. Every time when she's around, they seem to exchange each other knowing, simpering smiles. How do I know if he's faithful? ~ Anna Ravenclaw

Letter #1380

Dear Riley,

I am deeply, madly in love with this girl, who doesn't even know I'm alive. Every time I try to say something to her, she's either surrounded by a gaggle of her friends or she just ignores me as I walk by. Can you tell me how to get her to notice me? ~Slitherines Rule and Griffindors Don't.

"ARGH! If this keeps up I'll go batty!" I let out a muffled scream. These people just had no LIFE! All the letters were the same. Either they were written by the same person who wanted to play a sick version of a practical joke or the teenage population were asphyxiating zombies. As briefed by Horowitz, earlier, you could not tell the letter writers to get a life in your response. You had to tell it to them in a nice, subtle way, so their feelings wouldn't get hurt. My mouth tightened. This called for using a dangerous weapon.

The Quick Quotes Quill.

I hated that thing. It tasted nasty, and I knew that Rita Skeeter used it as well. But there was no way that I could answer those letters on my own. I rummaged in my trunk and brought those foul things out. Gingerly sucking the end (it tasted awful), I put it on the parchment and spoke.

"Testing. Er...I'm Riley Crabtree."

The quill flew across the parchment. 21 year old Riley Crabtree has a sparkly personality and is a dazzlingly pretty girl with honey colored eyes and chestnut hair. She is a highly qualified Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and has just only begun to take the wizarding world by storm with her writing–

I couldn't bear to read anymore. All those things about me were mightily exaggerated. Now that was stretching the truth if I ever saw it. But it would suffice for helping me answer the letters. Ripping that piece of parchment, I started answering letter #1.

I said: "forget about the loser and get a life."

The quill said: " I understand how you feel, as unrequited love is the most painful sort of all. I'm willing to bet that you're a really pretty and vivacious girl, who does not deserve such a slime ball. My advice to you is, you should go out, and start making friends with other boys, and dismiss from the mind that boy who hurt you so much. Good luck, as I shall be rooting for you."

Before I could start on the next letter, I heard a commotion out in the hall. It sounded as if two people were fighting. I frowned. My room was quite a far way from the other teachers and students, so who would be raising a ruckus at this time of the night?"

"I don't care if she's qualified or not, she's far too young to be given that post!"

"Calm Down Serveus. You're making an exhibit of yourself. Think of what Albus would say if he knew!" My eyes widened. That sounded like Minerva.

"I don't care! What's I'm saying is that she's far too inexperienced to be teaching the students defense against the dark arts," the first voice repeated stubbornly.

"For shame, control your temper!"

All of a sudden, my room door rattled and swung open. A tall, disgruntled looking man came billowing in. Minerva came in as well, with a hearty oath that I never thought that she was capable off. The man had long dark hair and smoldering eyes. rather good-looking by my standards. However, good looking or not, he had no right to think me inexperienced, and what's more, barging into my room at two am in the morning. I drew myself up to my full 5 feet and glared back at him.

"Who the hell are you?" I demanded angrily. "Barging into my room like that!"

"Drusilla, this is Serveus Snape, the Potions Professor," Minerva McGonagall said wearily.

"So, this is the Drusilla Crabtree," he said somewhat scathingly. He cast an eye at my currently untidy room, and then at me. "It's amazing to think that such a mere child could be capable of keeping a class under control."

Mere child? That did it. "For your information, Professor Snape, I'm twenty one years old, and am very much considered an adult," I spluttered. "And I'm capable enough to keep my students under control, unlike some professors, who just disappear nowhere and leave his class in an uproar." that was true, as I had to subdue a crowd of Slytherine students who were hell bent on levitating a first year Griffindor student in the dungeons on my first day (and almost got half my hair singed off when one of them tried to perform a nasty hex on me). On further enquiry, I found out that the potions master had left on some 'important errand'. It was a classic case of the kettle calling the pot black if I ever heard it. I glowered at Snape, daring him to do his worst with me.

He just said something under his breath that sounded like withering hussy and stormed out of my room.

"Same to you," I muttered back crossly. Minerva looked apologetic.

"Don't listen to Serveus," she said, in an attempt to placate me. "He's just been having a hard time." it didn't work. Hard time or not, that sobbing cod had no right to vent his anger on me because of a bad hair day. I told Minerva so.

She just shrugged and sighed. "He get's like that whenever there's a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor," she admitted. "Just give him some time to get over it."

I snorted heartily.

***

Correct me if I'm wrong, but there are a few spelling mistakes in there. I'm too lazy to edit it, so let me know where I misspelt the names. And review of course!