Chapter 13: The First Lesson
The evening party ended, approaching midnight.
The castle did not quiet down immediately.
After two months away, returning to school, the students were excited and restless on the way back to the common room. Boys gathered together laughing and playing, girls huddled in groups chatting, chattering about interesting anecdotes from the holiday.
Ghosts drilled from one side of the wall to the other, from one suit of armor to another; it was all the same to them, no feeling, but the little wizards’ screams greatly encouraged them.
Professor McGonagall called out twice before the students settled down a bit.
Melvin, however, did not feel much about it. He returned to his room early. The castle walls were very soundproof; once the door was closed, the commotion disappeared.
He washed up simply in the bathroom, changed into summer pajamas, slipped on slippers, and sat down behind the desk.
He opened an envelope he had just received and quietly browsed it.
A written letter from the Department of Magical Examinations, penned by Madam Marchbanks. The letter was slightly long, clearly structured with appropriate detail, totaling five pages of parchment. The first four pages were questions about scientific knowledge:
Does the universe have boundaries?
Can a damaged atmosphere be repaired with magic?
Why isn’t a whale a fish, why isn’t a bat a bird…
Some were Madam Marchbanks’ questions, and many from other wizards in the administration. It seemed the encyclopedia trend was still continuing.
The last two pages were the main content.
「…Additionally, remember to record your course content, organize and summarize it, and send it to the administration regularly. The committee will replan the exam syllabus based on the teaching content.」
According to Madam Marchbanks’ plan, the current fifth and seventh years preparing for exams would remain unchanged, still covering previous content. The other third, fourth, and sixth years would follow his plan for teaching, preparing for the new exams next year.
He hadn’t expected that wizard professors at magic schools would also need to write teaching records.
He replied point by point, stating he would send lesson plans monthly by owl post, and at the end of the letter recommended some book lists—not children’s encyclopedias, but adolescent science reading material.
He folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, planning to mail it out tomorrow when he had time, then took out a blank sheet of parchment and pondered before writing.
The second letter was to be sent to Knockturn Alley. The business deal from last time wasn’t finished yet; he hadn’t received the map of wizard villages around Britain. He’d write to urge them and inform them of the delivery address change: send to the Hogsmeade Owl Post Office from now on.
He definitely couldn’t receive goods at Hogwarts; that would be no different from openly revealing his identity.
Finally, he pulled out the class schedule Professor McGonagall had sent him.
He had class tomorrow morning, seemingly with third-year students.
…
Hogwarts was a castle full of magic, with this magic revealed in every part of the school.
The magic of the Transfiguration Classroom was Professor McGonagall waving her wand to turn desks into fat pigs grunting; the magic of portraits was the wizards in them freely visiting each other, whispering on the walls; the magic of brick walls was the ever-changing staircases and doors that moved at any time—lose focus and you’d get lost; and the ghosts coming and going, students practicing magic, house-elves hiding in corners…
First-year students and new professors found it fresh, but other teachers and students were accustomed to it. Few wizards realized this wonder had continued for over a thousand years with little obvious change.
This kind of magic lacked novelty and change, revealing many backward aspects long ago.
Melvin walked on the shifting stone stairs for defense, gradually figuring out their pattern, his initial sense of novelty fading.
Other first-year students had similar experiences.
“Don’t think no one has noticed you!”
He heard a low voice, somewhat familiar. He stopped at the staircase landing before the turn, peeked out halfway, and saw Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell confronting each other.
“You’re paying attention to that boy, aren’t you?”
“I… I… no… not…” Quirrell stammered, perhaps a side effect of Voldemort occupying his brain, with severe stuttering.
“You won’t admit it?”
“I… don’t… kn… know what you…” Quirrell struggled to speak clearly.
“Don’t know what I mean?”
“Don’t know you’re watching him too.”
“…”
Professor Snape stared coldly into his eyes, suspecting it was deliberate, especially since the last sentence was unusually fluent.
Melvin pursed his lips, unable to fully suppress a smile, letting out a short snort that caught both their attention. They turned to look at the same time.
“Cough…”
Melvin stepped out from the corner casually: “Excuse me, could you tell me where the Muggle Studies Classroom is? I’m not too familiar with the castle yet.”
Professor Snape gave him an icy glare, said nothing, and turned to go downstairs.
Professor Quirrell pointed the direction for him, stumbling but more fluent than before: “It’s… on this floor, right turn ahead, the th… third room.”
“Thank you very much.”
Melvin smiled in thanks, watching his figure gradually recede.
Professor Snape was not friendly at all. Look at Professor Quirrell.
The former Muggle Studies professor gave clear directions. Melvin followed the corridor, turned right at the corner, and smoothly found the classroom.
A few minutes before class, the third-year students were mostly there, chatting front and back. Boys mainly talked about why the corridor at the end of the fourth floor was suddenly sealed; girls discussed his clothes from last night and the information about him in the newspaper.
Melvin paused to listen for half a minute, distinguishing houses from their conversation and recognizing several representative faces.
“Ding dong…”
The class bell rang, and the classroom quieted instantly. Melvin pushed the door and entered.
The professor was still wearing Muggle clothes: a pine-green suit jacket paired with an ink-black shirt, notched lapels naturally rolled, blended fabric with natural drape, lines not sharp, soft material maintaining a slightly wide fit, soft pleats, giving an outstanding casual comfort.
Many little witches’ eyes lit up.
The boys noticed too—this professor seemed a bit handsome.
“Melvin… Levent…”
The students’ gazes followed the chalk as it outlined the professor’s name in lime dust, unconsciously murmuring it softly.
This method was really ordinary. Professor McGonagall had transformed the entire blackboard for her introduction; Professor Flitwick used glowing spells to outline; even Professor Sprout of Herbology had once spelled her surname with venomous tentacula tendrils.
What? Someone asked about Professor Snape?
He disdained self-introductions.
This professor’s opening was a bit Muggle.
Melvin wrote his name on the blackboard and casually tossed the chalk on the desk: “Many of you have probably seen this name on the start-of-term notice, and perhaps read reports about me in The Daily Prophet. Considering some don’t read the newspaper and have many questions about changes to this class…
“Now, you have five minutes to raise your hand and ask questions.”
The little wizards’ eyes lit up.
Professors always questioned them to guide them on course info—this was the first time a professor let them ask.
It felt like equal dialogue.
The novel teaching form sparked their interest, making the new professor feel closer.
Swish!
A female student reacted first, raising her right hand and claiming the first question.
“The girl in the second row.”
“Professor, did you really come from Ilvermorny?”
“No value in the question, but yes.”
“…”
“The boy next to her, you ask.”
“Uh… Professor, why did you drop out?”
“Interesting question. When I dropped out, I thought many would ask; I prepared many answers, but none were used. Even Headmaster Dumbledore didn’t ask when recruiting me—I suspect he forgot.”
The slightly teasing words brought low laughter to the classroom. Melvin waited for it to subside before continuing:
“A more formal answer: At the time, I had completed my studies; the remaining half-year was just review for exams. I needed to go to the wider world to verify past knowledge, observe, experience, explore. My mind was full of ideas waiting to be practiced, and that diploma wasn’t so important to me—dropping out became natural.”
The students below quieted down.
A Gryffindor girl raised her hand: “Professor, what’s the less formal answer?”
“The less formal answer…”
Melvin paused briefly, smiling: “The world is so big, I wanted to see it.”
Laughter erupted in the classroom.
Some students’ eyes turned, thoughtful.
“Dropping out was a hard decision for me; I was sure I had a clear plan or enough luck. But I don’t recommend you follow. If I hear any of you want to drop out, I’ll contact your parents and suggest confiscating your wands and grounding you.”
The classroom atmosphere felt a bit more serious; Melvin was quite satisfied.
“Professor, what is Ilvermorny like?”
“Actually similar to Hogwarts—four houses, boarding school, different courses and teaching styles. For more on other magic schools, I recommend a few books: interested ones can check the library, 《Crisis in Wizarding World Education》 《How Magic Schools Shape Wizarding Society》 《Schools in the Desert: History of Afghan Witch Education Resistance》…”
“Professor Levent, how does the new course differ from the past? What will we learn?”
“You’ll find out later; can’t explain in one or two sentences.”
“Professor! Other things can wait—this you must answer now!”
“You say.”
“Is there a lot of homework? Is it hard?”
“Not sure yet; depends on your performance.”
“Professor, I heard you’re an advisor to the Examination Board—will you set future exam content? Will you make the questions?”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking; I’d advise you to study hard.”
“…”
The five minutes ended quickly; students were still unsatisfied, feeling they’d asked a lot yet nothing substantial, but it brought them closer to the professor.
This non-magical theory class, which many had approached like History of Magic, now sparked interest; they were willing to put in a bit of effort.
“Now you know me well enough; my turn…”
Melvin pulled a chair and sat by the lectern, facing the students’ gazes, pointing to the girl in the front right row: “Start with you—introduce your name, house, and why you chose this class.”
Another novel experience they’d never had!
The students’ eyes sparkled.
Muggle-born students had done this before, but first time in magic school—quite wondrous.
“I’m Aaliyah Spinnet, from Gryffindor.”
The girl was a bit nervous, but the earlier experience made her willing to share: “I’m Muggle-born; I thought this class would be easy, good for an extra certificate.”
Melvin wasn’t surprised; he’d been a student too and knew many thought that way.
He waved for her to sit and signaled the next girl: “Next.”
“Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor. Aaliyah is my roommate; she dragged me here.”
“Me, Lee Jordan, from Gryffindor. I like Angelina; she came, so I did.”
The black boy with dreadlocks was unabashed, causing laughter to erupt.
Angelina Johnson rolled her eyes at him.
“…”
“Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff. I’m interested in Muggle culture, want to learn in detail. If interesting, I might continue; if other classes are too busy, I might drop the fifth-year advanced class.”
“…”
“Roger Davies, Ravenclaw. Same thoughts as Cedric.”
“…”
“Cassius Warrington, Slytherin. My father made me take it, to help enter the Ministry after graduation.”
“…”
Many students elected Muggle Studies; reasons were similar: easy for certificates, accompanying friends or partners, chasing crushes. Only a few were truly interested, not seeing it as important.
Fewest Slytherin electives, but most resolute, goals clear and unmasked.
Other little wizards weren’t surprised; such behavior seemed normal in the wizarding world, at least in pure-blood circles.
The last student finished; Melvin stood, no comment, seemingly unconcerned with their reasons: “One question: did you know each other before? Mr. Diggory, you answer.”
Cedric thought and replied: “I know my Hufflepuff housemates, basically know Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, know a few Slytherin Quidditch players; others I know by face, not name.”
First two years’ core classes were two houses together; same-year students mostly shared classes. Hufflepuff mixed well with others; Slytherin less so.
“Got it.”
Melvin nodded, not surprised: “Those called, come help—go to the library storeroom for textbooks. Others stay in the classroom, get to know each other.
“Cedric Diggory, Lee Jordan, Roger Davies, Cassius Warrington…”
The young professor seemed to have memorized their names after one listen.
