0469 Teaching

After the Sorting Ceremony, it had long been a tradition at Hogwarts for each of the four Houses to welcome their newest members in their own distinct and characteristic manner, reflecting the values and traits that defined their respective founders.

The Slytherin first-years would engage in duels to determine who among them would have the most influence.

Upon arrival, the first-year Ravenclaws would participate in a special ‘Riddle Night.’ This event could take place in the Ravenclaw Tower, where older students organize a gathering full of challenging riddles, puzzles, and intellectual games.

The badgers, true to their reputation for inclusivity and hard work, had organized a grand potluck feast. Each returning student had contributed a dish, creating a spread that represented the diverse backgrounds and talents of their house.

But it was perhaps in Gryffindor Tower where the welcoming celebration reached its zenith of energy and noise. The lions had opted for the simplest and most straightforward approach: they threw a party.

Perhaps because Percy, the strict Head Boy, was no longer around, when Harry and Hermione returned to the common room, they found that Fred and George had once again procured a heap of food from the kitchens.

Their common room had been transformed into a riot of color and sound. Streamers in every hue imaginable hung from the chandeliers, swaying gently in the breeze created by the constant movement of excited students. These decorations, remnants of the night’s celebration, had not been taken down, giving the impression that Gryffindor Tower existed in a state of perpetual festivity.

As Harry’s eyes swept across the crowded room, searching for familiar faces amidst the sea of roisterers, he spotted Ron. However, Ron’s demeanor stood in stark contrast to the jubilant atmosphere around him. Instead of joining in the festivities, he was huddled with his twin brothers around a small circular coffee table in a quieter corner of the common room. Their faces were serious, their heads bent close together in what appeared to be an intense discussion.

The sight of Ron, so uncharacteristically detached from the celebration, caused a ripple of concern to pass through Harry. He felt Hermione shift beside him, and when he glanced at her, he saw that she too had noticed Ron’s unusual behavior.

“Should we go over, Harry?” Hermione asked softly, her voice barely audible over the noise of the party.

Harry hesitated, his gaze flicking between Ron and the spiral staircase that led to the boys’ dormitory. After a moment of internal debate, he shook his head, his decision made. “I need to go back to the dormitory to write a letter to Sirius,”

Without waiting for a response, Harry began to make his way towards the staircase, weaving through the horde of celebratory Gryffindors.

Hermione watched Harry’s figure disappear around the staircase corner before looking away. She pursed her lips and sighed softly. She could tell that Harry wasn’t in high spirits, but this wasn’t because Sirius had joined the Ministry without telling him. It was more because Professor Watson had once again revealed some “truths about the world” to them this evening.

This had clearly impacted Harry’s mood. In fact, it wasn’t just Harry; Hermione’s own worldview had been shaken by Professor Watson’s assertion that ‘Stability is more important than Truth.’

Hermione found herself in the unusual position of disagreeing with Professor Watson. She didn’t entirely agree with his views, feeling that it challenged her fundamental beliefs about the importance of truth and transparency. And yet, she couldn’t dismiss his words completely.

Setting aside the debate of right and wrong, Hermione had to acknowledge that Professor Watson was unique among their teachers. He was the only one who seemed willing to discuss complexities of real life and the wizarding world with the students, beyond just teaching magical skills. It was this aspect of his teaching that Hermione found particularly valuable, even if it sometimes left her feeling unsettled and questioning her long-held beliefs.

Lost in her considerations, Hermione almost didn’t notice Ginny approaching her.

“Oh, you’re back?” Ginny said, her eyes darting around Hermione as if searching for someone.

“Harry went to write a letter to Sirius. He’s already gone back to the dormitory,” Hermione answered, addressing Ginny’s unasked question as she shook out her bushy curls.

It was then that Hermione noticed Neville standing slightly behind Ginny, his round face had an expression of curiosity tinged with his ever-present nervousness. Seeing Neville reminded Hermione of the other matter weighing on her mind, and her expression grew more serious as she addressed him.

“Professor Watson thinks our training progress is a bit slow, Neville,”

The effect of this single sentence on Neville was dramatic and instantaneous. His already pale face seemed to drain of what little color it had, his eyes widening in unmistakable fear. He began to stammer, his words tumbling out in a rush of anxiety, “D-did Professor Watson say that? What’s he g-going to do? Will we be expelled, Hermione? Is he not letting us attend class anymore?”

Hermione, seeing the panic rising in Neville’s eyes, quickly moved to reassure him.

“No, nothing like that–” Hermione said, crossing her arms and speaking in a serious tone. “But he thinks we can’t waste all our time on this training. He told me he’ll be teaching us something new in this class.”

Ginny, who had been listening to the conversation with growing interest, couldn’t contain her curiosity. “What could it be?”

Neville, however, didn’t share Ginny’s enthusiasm. His expression shifted from fear to disappointment, his shoulders slumping slightly as he said, “Oh. I always thought this training was quite fun.”

The next two days at Hogwarts passed in a blur of classes, homework, and the usual magical mishaps that were routine for the course in a school of witchcraft and wizardry. For most students, these days were unremarkable, filled with the routine of learning and the small dramas of teenage life. But for Neville these days were marked by yet another potions disaster.

It happened during Wednesday’s Potions class. Neville, his hands trembling slightly as they always did under Snape’s severe gaze, had once again managed to melt his cauldron. The swirling purple potion, which was supposed to be a Confusing Concoction, had bubbled violently over the edge of the ruined cauldron, eating into the stone floor with an ominous hiss.

This was no ordinary mishap, even by Neville’s unfortunate standards. It marked the sixth cauldron he had obliterated during his time at Hogwarts—a record unmatched even by the notoriously reckless Weasley twins, whose explosive experiments paled in comparison. Snape, his black eyes gleaming with a blend of exasperation and what almost seemed like perverse pleasure, descended upon Neville like a vengeful bat swooping down on its helpless prey.

“Longbottom,” Snape drawled, his voice thick with venomous sarcasm, “it appears you’re determined to single-handedly sustain the cauldron-making industry. Perhaps you’d like to devote some extra time mastering the subtle art of not being a complete dunderhead?”

The Slytherins, led by Draco, barely stifled their sniggers as Snape coolly sentenced Neville to detention that very evening. Neville, his face burning with shame, nodded mutely, too terrified to even mention that the detention might clash with Professor Watson’s evening class.

And so, when the final bell rang signaling the end of afternoon classes, Neville hadn’t joined his classmates in their rush to dinner. Instead, he had trudged back down to the dungeons, his stomach churning with dread at what awaited him.

Hours later, as the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall displayed a tapestry of twinkling stars, Neville was finally released from his detention. He sprinted through the castle corridors, his robes flapping behind him, desperate not to miss too much of Professor Watson’s class. By the time he burst through the classroom door, panting and disheveled, all the other students participating in the PE class were already assembled, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“What happened, Neville?” Harry asked in surprise, seeing Neville looking dejected and on the verge of collapse. “What did that old bat Snape make you do?”

Neville, still struggling to catch his breath, held out his hands in response. The sight made several of his classmates gasp audibly. Neville’s hands, usually red and slightly pudgy, were now pale and wrinkled, as if they had been soaking in water for hours. But it wasn’t just the texture of his skin that was disturbing – his fingernails were filled with a brown, foul-smelling substance that made even the bravest Gryffindors recoil.

“A huge barrel of horned toads–” Neville began, his voice trembling as much as his hands. The memory of his suffering seemed to overwhelm him, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing. “He made me sort the toads’ innards, and he wouldn’t let me use magic!”

As Neville spoke, his eyes brimmed with unshed tears, a mixture of exhaustion, frustration, and lingering disgust evident in his expression. His body shook involuntarily, and every few seconds, he seemed to be fighting the urge to vomit.

The reaction from his classmates was immediate. Despite the fact that they had all been exposed to the pungent odor of dungbombs as part of their training, and theoretically shouldn’t be affected by bad smells, everyone instinctively covered their noses and took a step back from Neville.

“Didn’t you tell him you had Professor Watson’s class tonight?” Ginny asked angrily.

Neville’s response was a mixture of a sob and a hysterical laugh. “I didn’t dare–” he said, shooting a grateful look at Hermione, who had overcome her initial nausea and was now using a cleaning spell to help remove the stubborn remnants of toad innards from his fingernails. “I was afraid if I said that, he’d make me disembowel myself, and still not allow me to use magic!”

From the moment Neville had entered the room, Draco had been watching the scene unfold with undisguised glee. His face was twisted into a smirk, his grey eyes dancing with malicious amusement at Neville’s plight. Upon hearing Neville’s last statement, Draco could no longer contain himself. He burst into laughter, the sound echoing off walls of the classroom.

Harry, who had been listening to Neville’s story with growing anger, whipped around at the sound of Malfoy’s laughter. His green eyes flashed dangerously as he glared at Draco, his hand twitching towards his wand pocket. The tension in the room suddenly spiked, with several students looking nervously between Harry and Draco, wondering if they were about to duel.

Just as it seemed the situation might escalate, the classroom door clicked open, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. Bryan, clad in elegant wizard’s robes of deep blue that seemed to shimmer slightly in the candlelight, strode into the room.

“Good evening, gentlemen and ladies–” Bryan’s calm voice filled the room as he made his way to the front of the classroom. The students, responding to an unspoken command, quickly formed four neat lines before him. Bryan’s gaze swept over the assembled faces, taking in every detail of his students.

As he looked at them, Bryan couldn’t help but notice the changes that had occurred over the summer holiday. Many of their faces had lost some of the roundness of childhood, replaced by the sharper angles of emerging adulthood. Their eyes, too, seemed different. There was an aura of growing maturity surrounding them, a sense that they were standing on the threshold between childhood and the adult world they would soon enter.

Seeing these students looking up at him with a mixture of admiration, curiosity, and perhaps a touch of nervousness, Bryan felt a surge of emotion.

“I’m glad to see that you all still have the courage to show up for this class–” Bryan said, his tone cheerful but with an underlying note of seriousness. “Before we begin the formal lesson, I have two announcements to make.”

The students straightened up; their attention focused entirely on their professor. Even Neville, still looking worse for wear after his torment with Snape, managed to push aside his discomfort to listen intently.

“Considering that the physical training has been taking up too much of your time for after-class assignments and rest,” Bryan continued, “from now on, the physical education classes will be reduced to twice a week. The first session will still be on Wednesday evening, and the second will be scheduled for Friday morning during the fourth period.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the gathered students. Harry, unable to contain himself, exclaimed, “Friday morning? But the third and fourth periods on Friday morning are Potions class!”

“Correct, Mr. Potter–” Bryan said with a pleased expression. “But after my persuasive efforts, Professor Snape has agreed to give me the fourth period.”

Before the students could begin to celebrate this unexpected amnesty from Snape’s class, Bryan held up a hand, his expression growing more serious. “Don’t rush to cheer, Mr. Potter. If you can’t keep up with the Potions curriculum despite the reduced class time, you’ll have to accept one-on-one tutoring from Professor Snape during your free time!”

The threat of extra time with Snape was enough to temper any excitement about the reduced Potions classes.

Neville, in particular, looked traumatized at the prospect. “I’m done for,” he muttered, his face a picture of despair. His words, though quiet, were enough to elicit sympathetic chuckles from his classmates, breaking some of the tension in the room.

“Let me tell you about the second thing–” Bryan continued, waiting for the laughter to die down before addressing the group once more. “Last term, due to certain circumstances, I wasn’t able to participate in the later training sessions of this class. However, I’ve gotten a general grasp of each of your levels from Miss Granger.”

At the mention of her name, Hermione stood a little straighter, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

“To be honest,” Bryan continued, his tone growing more serious, “I’m not particularly satisfied–“

Despite Bryan’s still-gentle demeanor, his words sent a ripple of tension through the group. Students exchanged nervous glances, wondering what this dissatisfaction might mean for their future in the class. Even the usually confident Draco looked slightly unsettled.

“–We’ve already completed some basic training, and I wonder if everyone here has begun to understand the significance of these exercises. Is that right?”

The question hung in the air for a moment. Then, almost in unison, Harry and Hermione nodded vigorously, their faces set with determination. To their surprise, they weren’t alone in their enthusiasm. More affirmative responses came from the group than anyone had expected.

Hopkins from Hufflepuff known more for his cheerful nature than his magical prowess, suddenly spoke up, his voice brimming with excitement. “During the summer holiday, I played a dueling game with my dad. We’ve played before, but I used to barely last a few minutes. This time, my dad was exhausted, and he couldn’t hit me with a single spell!”

A ripple of impressed murmurs swept through the group at Hopkins’ story.

Bryan’s face lit up with approval as he looked at Hopkins. “This is precisely the purpose of this training – to hone your physical abilities and reaction speed–“

Then, addressing the entire group once more, he continued, “You’ve made some progress, but the results I’m aiming for in my course are far beyond this. I hope to teach you how to win duels, not just how to dodge quickly.

So, we’re about to enter a new phase, Of course, you must continue with the previous training. I’ll leave some time in each class for you to train, and this classroom will be open for your use. You can also choose to come here and practice when you’re bored.”

His gaze hardened slightly as he added, “My requirement is that by the end of this school year, everyone must pass the basic stage of reaction training.”

“What are you planning to teach us?” Terry Boot raised his hand and asked. For Ravenclaws, learning more knowledge was always of interest.

Professor Watson’s response was to beckon everyone closer, inviting them to gather around him in a semi-circle. Looking at the eyes sparkling with curiosity, Bryan smiled slightly.

“What I’m about to teach next is the real deal — dueling magic!”

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