Chapter 131: Clues In The Moving Picture
Gryffindor Tower.
The common room was so quiet that Neville felt a little uneasy.
It was Sunday evening now, and the weekend homework was almost finished. It should have been a time of noisy revelry, especially on the eve of lights-out, but the lounge was silent without the screams and shouts of Gobstones and Wizard Chess. The lights were dim, making Neville lighten his footsteps involuntarily.
He slipped through the portrait hole, tucked away the password list, and slowly explored inside.
“It couldn’t be George and Fred’s prank, could it…”
Neville muttered to himself. He had just felt his way out of the hole and hadn’t walked a few steps when a group of squatting figures appeared in front of him, all gathered in the center of the room. The taller ones sat on the outside, the shorter ones on the inside. The silver light from the projection mirror illuminated their faces, each one focused, eyes unblinking, gesturing with their hands more seriously than in class.
“Second Year Basic Spell Teaching, Lesson Seventeen, show me the way…”
It was clearly just simple elementary spells, but even the older students watched with great interest. Occasionally hearing details they hadn’t noticed before, they would gesture along. Prefect Percy was even taking notes.
Neville quietly moved over and sat down, lowering his voice: “Prefect… why are you learning this too?”
“What?”
“Why are you learning this too?”
“Professor Levent’s teaching is detailed and specific. The explanations of many basic casting gestures are also very helpful for other subjects.” Percy stared fixedly, imitating the wand-holding posture from the video with his hand, practicing repeatedly.
He had never noticed these movement details before. It was like holding a pen to write or a spoon to eat—roughly the same, good enough to achieve the purpose. Who would care about how many fingers were used or whether the pinky was extended or tucked?
Even Professor Flitwick, with the most detailed teaching, only mentioned specific holding actions for a few extremely difficult spells after advancing to higher years, having them practice accordingly.
Now watching Professor Levent’s teaching, he suddenly discovered that many simple elementary spells, paired with wand-holding postures, could achieve better effects and faster casting speed.
“I see…”
Neville didn’t quite understand. He decided to ask Harry when he got back to the dormitory that night. For now, there was something more important.
He sat silently beside them waiting, watched half an hour of teaching videos, and when Harry and Hermione packed up the projection mirror and dispersed, the candlelight relit the lounge, Neville stopped the departing Percy and asked sincerely:
“Prefect, Professor Levent asked me and Marietta from Ravenclaw to help rebuild the Drama Club. I don’t know what to do. Do you have any suggestions?”
This was different from after-class homework or spell practice. Harry and Hermione couldn’t help. The only person Neville could think of was Prefect Percy.
“…”
Percy stared at him silently for a few seconds, his expression complex, inexplicably a bit envious.
Such an important matter, and the professor was willing to entrust it to a second year student?
This kind of complex student work could exercise abilities beyond magic. If the Drama Club was successfully rebuilt, it would be an honor worth boasting about after graduation.
Neville looked at him blankly, waiting for the prefect’s advice.
Percy patted his shoulder and sat down on the nearby sofa, asking, “Do you know what this means?”
Neville shook his head.
“Did you see the moving picture just now? That’s Professor Levent’s work, and last year’s Quidditch, movies… If I’m not mistaken, the Drama Club will also be put on the projection mirror, entering the view of thousands of wizards.”
Percy sat up straight, his expression serious: “This isn’t Hogwarts’ Drama Club. This is the Drama Club of the entire British Wizarding World.”
Neville’s face looked troubled, his eyebrows and shoulders drooping sentence by sentence. These words felt heavier than the Giant Squid. He now somewhat understood how Marietta felt.
The second year little chubby boy let out a long sigh: “What should I do?”
……
“Cho! What should I do?”
In the Ravenclaw girls’ dormitory, Marietta clung to Cho Chang’s shoulder, covering her face and sobbing, her head of golden curls scattered.
Cho Chang and several roommates sat around the four-poster bed. They were all third years, not ugly-looking, just not as pretty as Cho Chang, with freckles and acne on their cheeks.
“Professor Levent’s test is too hard. What should I do? I’ll mess it up!”
Listening to Marietta’s complaints, their expressions were helpless. They patted her shoulder to comfort her while offering ideas.
“Don’t cry. Aren’t we helping you think of ways?”
“Woo woo…”
“For work assigned by a professor like this, the prefect has more experience than us. Shall we go find Prefect Crivat?”
“Woo woo…”
“Or ask classmates around and familiar friends. Maybe someone has family in a related industry and can ask them for experience.”
“Woo woo…”
“And the ghosts in the school. Nearly Headless Nick rehearses plays and operas every year, performing the tragic story of his beheading.”
“Woo—”
“Stop crying!” Seeing her snot about to drip onto her own pajamas, Cho Chang directly pulled her up, hands pressing her shoulders, her gaze gentle but firm. “We’re all helping you think of ways. What’s the use of crying? Can you cry out a play? You’re the general manager appointed by Professor Levent. Make a choice quickly. Who should we go to first?”
Marietta sniffed, wanting Cho Chang to decide for her, but meeting those eyes, she lowered her head slightly: “Prefect Crivat.”
The group set off dragging their feet.
……
Penelope and Percy were both experienced prefects. They soon helped the two sort out their thoughts and make preparation plans. But plans on paper were plans on paper; actual implementation still depended on the two themselves.
The next morning, Great Hall.
Marietta had been anxious until late at night and was listlessly nibbling on bread, her head dizzy. One moment it was Professor Levent’s slightly stern face, the next it was her roommates brainstorming.
Neville carried pumpkin oatmeal to the Ravenclaw long table and sat down. While digging in his pocket, he casually asked: “Marietta, have you thought of any ideas?”
As soon as he spoke, he felt a resentful gaze fixed on him. Seeing Marietta’s dark circles, he paused briefly and pulled out two pieces of parchment from his pocket.
One was the password list he had noted, and the other was the ideas the prefect had given him.
“Percy told me we’re to rehearse a play, not reorganize the Drama Club. No need for too much pressure.”
Actually, Percy’s meaning was completely the opposite. He said this play would be the first to appear on the projection mirror, facing the gaze of wizards across all Britain or even the whole world.
“Start with preliminary preparations. The first step is preparing the script. You can select and adapt past scripts or write a new one.” Neville looked at her, inexplicably feeling his words a bit cruel. “You’re the general manager. You need to make the decision.”
She had to make the decision again, always having to make the decision!
Marietta opened her mouth, stammering: “Our prefect said… I can recruit some helpers first and seek help from professionals.”
“Our prefect said that too.” Neville nodded, his gaze shifting to the next item on the list. “We need to plan first. Recruiting helpers should distinguish roles: script writing, prop making, stage design, actors…”
Marietta’s expression gradually went numb.
……
No classes on the weekend, so the influence of the teaching videos wasn’t obvious.
Plus, being basic spells, there were no standout changes in students or professors in the short term, and recognition of the teaching videos wasn’t intuitive. But over the past two days, many Gryffindor students had watched the projection mirror teaching videos.
Monday morning, the first class was second year Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the podium, explaining and demonstrating Transfiguration of Living Beings, turning a small animal into a common everyday item without leaving living characteristics. The animal was unharmed after reverting.
“There’s a beetle in the box on your desk. This lesson, practice turning the beetle into a button, like this…”
Professor McGonagall held the beetle and slowly waved her wand, letting the children see the casting process clearly.
In front of the whole class, the beetle trembled and turned into a button. The spots became button patterns, and the joints of its six legs turned into small holes.
Professor McGonagall walked around the classroom, ensuring every student observed the casting process up close. To her delight, many Gryffindor students’ gazes and attention were on the hand movements, not just the beetle.
Professor McGonagall was very pleased: “Now begin practicing on your own. Raise your hand if you have questions.”
The little wizards began tormenting the batch of beetles, their wands as torture tools.
Professor McGonagall carried an iron box around the classroom, half full of teaching aids. From her past experience, when first encountering new Transfiguration content, usually only Miss Granger could master it quickly.
The first ten minutes would see many beetles wasted—some poked to death, some burned to death.
Mr. Finnegan alone would consume several.
Sure enough, soon there were popping sounds, innards and guts stuck to the desks, scaring the little witches into screams.
Professor McGonagall gave them more beetles, cautioned them about casting distance, and continued walking around the classroom, slowly strolling toward the Gryffindor area.
As she approached quietly, she was surprised to find Mr. Finnegan’s beetle still lively and kicking. Not only not burned to charcoal, but showing signs of successful transfiguration—the back shell almost turned into a button, with only the six legs flailing around.
Looking around, many Lion House students had similar scenes. Hermione and Harry’s desks already had buttons, and the two were pondering adding patterns to them.
Professor McGonagall asked in surprise: “How did you do it?”
“Ah?”
The two were stunned. The professor was asking about Transfiguration? Was this a class check? How to answer?
After some exchange, Professor McGonagall learned about the teaching videos. These students had watched Melvin’s explanations, understood the importance of hand movements, and subconsciously focused on casting gestures during class.
Second year spells were relatively simple, a dozen movements broken down and combined, with the teaching videos repeating them each time, explained in near-boring detail.
Other classmates only knew the wand tip had to trace a fixed path, but Gryffindor students were already paying attention to wrist arc, finger positions, even arm swing, so they learned faster.
At that moment, Seamus in the front row suddenly raised his wand and cheered: “I did it! I did it!”
Boom!
A red light flared from the button, and it began to self-ignite.
……
“These standard basic postures help beginners a lot, just like holding a pen. Children just starting to read and write using standard posture write more neatly.
“But as they age and get more proficient, writing more and more, the pen-holding posture no longer has a uniform standard. What’s most suitable for oneself is most important.
“Some are used to right hand, some are left-handed. Some like gripping the wand tightly, some like holding it loosely. Different wizards have different habits…”
Melvin walked in the third floor corridor, speaking to Professor Flitwick beside him.
It was exactly morning break. The corridor was full of chasing and roughhousing little wizards everywhere. Wherever the two professors went, it quieted down.
As the Charms professor, Professor Flitwick noticed the students’ changes first. Learning from them that it was Melvin’s change, he ended class five minutes early and waited at the Muggle Studies classroom door, eagerly discussing with him.
Professor Flitwick’s eyes lit up: “So, couldn’t other subjects also record detailed explanatory teachings to play after class, like after-school tutoring?”
“Basic spells without danger can be done that way.”
“I’ll mention it to Professor McGonagall at lunch. Equip each house with a small projection mirror, record a batch of teaching videos for each subject!”
“No need to record specially. Memories of usual class content are enough.” Melvin paused slightly. “By the way, Professor, could I have a copy of the memory from decades ago about Hagrid’s incident?”
“What do you want that for?”
“…”
The two professors’ voices gradually faded, and nearby students relaxed.
Harry and Hermione behind also breathed a sigh of relief, making relieved expressions. Ron looked at them strangely: “Professor Levent isn’t the old bat. Why do you have that look?”
“I was worried he’d ask about the thesis.”
Harry sighed, very dejected. “I copied all the materials I could find, but the length still isn’t ten inches. It’s your fault, Hermione. Why did you write yours so long?”
Hermione was even more indignant: “I haven’t blamed you for yours being too short! I only wrote an overview, and it’s already over three inches.”
“It’s your fault!”
“It’s all your fault!”
“…”
Ron listened to their argument, unable to get a word in.
Theses weren’t good things, but his two friends had them, and he didn’t. It always felt off, a bit uncomfortable.
He gripped his wand and suggested softly: “No class later, and lunch is still a while away. Shall we find a place to watch teaching videos?”
Ten minutes later.
The three arrived at the Black Lake shore and found a quiet, secluded spot. There were few classmates around, perfect for watching videos and self-studying.
Hermione stirred the silver mist with her wand. The picture hadn’t appeared yet, but the sound came first.
“There are no wounds or signs of poisoning on the body. What killed Moaning Myrtle definitely wasn’t an underage Acromantula, much less Rubus, that kind child! Headmaster Dippet, the truth of the matter hasn’t been investigated. We can’t expel him!”
“Albus, I understand your thoughts, but this is the Ministry of Magic’s judgment. Privately raising an Acromantula is indeed a serious violation of school rules.”
“Breaking a child’s wand—that’s too cruel.”
“…”
