"Osei!"
The office door burst open like a thunderclap. There had been no warning of an impending storm, nor was there any consideration given to the notion that perhaps someone else had actually had the forethought to make an appointment with the Zeta head of house, but that was the way of recalcitrant weather, wasn't it?
On cue, Thatcher stalked in and once more employed vicious use of his right hand to shove the door closed behind him. It went easily, probably grateful to put some distance between itself and the irate teen, who looked as though he'd just gone gone ten rounds with a particularly unforgiving gale force wind. Thatcher's hair was pushed back, sticking up in a harrowing example of true, irritated frenzy, and high colour stained his cheeks.
"I want you to tell Ward to let me drop his class. No," Thatcher's eyes narrowed and he sliced the blade of his hand through the air. "Don't ask: command it."