Chapter 250: First Lesson Of The Term
The grudges from their student days continued to the present, but they were colleagues working together after all, so Snape didn’t tear into it directly, instead hinting indirectly a couple of times, and when Melvin didn’t engage, he gave up.
Lupin’s mindset had been worn smooth and even serene—bordering on slick—over a decade of wandering life, and he didn’t want to dwell on such provocations and hints; besides, considering he still needed to rely on Snape to brew Wolfsbane Potion, he didn’t get upset with him.
Melvin couldn’t be bothered with their overt and covert rivalry; once Professor McGonagall and the others finished handing out the course schedules and returned to the high table, the atmosphere became harmonious again.
“The courses for the new semester…”
Melvin sipped hot pumpkin juice while pondering the course arrangements; Muggle Studies had become a de facto required course, and this batch of third-year students was particularly unique, so the teaching content needed appropriate adjustments.
“Melvin!”
A voice startled him from his thoughts.
The burly Hagrid sat in the adjacent seat, shifting into the empty spot vacated by Snape’s departure, his face full of eager smile as he finally seized the opportunity, handing over a piece of his homemade rock skin cake and eagerly describing today’s course arrangements:
“Melvin, try this. Do you have time this morning? If your schedule isn’t tight, could you take a look at my teaching content?”
“…”
Melvin looked at the cold, hard rock skin cake in his hand and sighed: “Let’s hear it.”
“Thank you so much!”
Hagrid’s beard trembled with excitement upon hearing him agree.
Expelled from school early in his student days, he’d been gamekeeper for decades with no teaching experience; Professor Kettleburn’s cramming education mainly covered insights on magical creatures, with little on actual teaching experience passed on.
Or rather, Professor Kettleburn himself wasn’t some outstanding professor; in his early years, he’d been on probation a dozen times, and if Dumbledore hadn’t taken over as headmaster, it’s uncertain if he’d have ever taught formally.
But Melvin was different; just two years ago when he arrived at Hogwarts, he’d become the most popular professor in a mere few weeks.
No student would say this young professor wasn’t witty and humorous; Muggle Studies had become the most popular course, with two consecutive years of full enrollment, no dropouts, and it turning into a de facto required course.
As a new professor, Hagrid harbored a small dream in his heart—to teach for the rise of Care of Magical Creatures.
Hagrid refilled Melvin’s pumpkin juice, saying as he poured: “This afternoon is the first third-year class. I plan to entertain them with hippogriffs. The weather’s great today, so the kids can ride them for a few loops—majestic and cool—they’ll love it.”
Melvin looked into the half-giant’s gray-brown eyes, pondering briefly: “Do you know what danger level hippogriffs are classified as?”
“Originally 4X, but later downgraded to 3X due to their docile nature, on Mr. Scamander’s suggestion.”
“I recall that magical creatures displayed in Hogwarts classrooms top out at 4X for seventh year, and below 3X before advanced classes. You’re planning to showcase hippogriffs for your very first lesson?”
“Don’t worry, they’re very docile.”
“Do you have a backup plan?”
“No.”
Melvin pondered briefly, then turned to the deputy headmaster not far away: “Professor McGonagall, are you free later? Could you trouble yourself to issue Professor Kettleburn a retirement rehire notice? We’re getting a new professor.”
Hagrid immediately panicked: “It’s my first day teaching—why replace me already?”
“To avoid more serious teaching accidents.”
Melvin tapped the rock skin cake against the metal platter, making banging sounds and denting little pits into it, just as stubborn and obstinate as this half-giant.
After offering Hagrid revision suggestions and chatting with Professor McGonagall for another ten minutes or so, breakfast time ended; the castle, quiet for two months, bustled to life, officially beginning the new school year.
……
The first day of term was packed with classes: elective after morning optionals, then Transfiguration; the third-years finally got their long-awaited Divination, where Hermione found Professor Trelawney rather odd, seemingly another fraud professor like Gilderoy Lockhart.
The North Tower Divination classroom was filled with smoke from burning spices, making heads ache and dizzy; that eccentric Divination professor spouted vague mysticism, making ominous prophecies to several students—Neville and Lavender would encounter misfortune, Harry bore signs of death…
Scaring them into anxiety, with no mind left for class.
By second period Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall noticed their distraction, asked what happened, and tactfully exposed Professor Trelawney’s tricks.
“Since Sybill Trelawney arrived at this school, she predicts one student’s death every year, and to date, none have died. Dramatic phrasing is her favorite way to welcome new classes.”
“I’m not one to badmouth colleagues behind their backs, but I do want to tell you that Divination is the shakiest subject in magic; I have the least patience for it, and truly prophetic witches are exceedingly rare. Professor Trelawney, she…”
“What do you think Professor McGonagall wanted to say at the end?”
Ron asked curiously. “What kind of person is Professor Trelawney?”
It was about two in the afternoon now; they were leaving the castle, crossing the grounds toward the Forbidden Forest edge.
Last night’s rain and wind had stopped; the sky was a clear light gray, as if washed clean, the air fresh, the emerald grassland soft and damp—this was their way to the first Care of Magical Creatures class.
“Probably nothing positive.”
Harry listened to his boots making faint sounds on the grass. “Though speaking of… I did see a big black dog, on the night I left the Dursleys’ home, in the alley next to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley.”
Ron’s eyes widened in horror: “That’s bad then—my uncle Bill saw one, and he was dead within twenty-four hours!”
“It’s just coincidence.”
Hermione calmly stated from beside them, the wind stirring a few strands of hair on her forehead, looking especially composed. “Tea leaves in a teacup can resemble sheep or squirrels—this muddled Divination has no standards; everyone interprets different images. No rational wizard wastes time on such ambiguous magic.”
She turned to Harry: “If you’re truly curious about the future, I recommend trying Arithmancy—rigorous, precise math yields definite answers.”
Laughter and chatter came from ahead: Malfoy and his two lackeys—clearly depressing news, as they’d be taking this class with Slytherin.
Farther off, at the door of the Forbidden Forest hut, Professor Hagrid was already waiting, grinning and waving at them; Fang ran back and forth on the path.
“Come on, quick quick!”
Hermione smoothed her hair, happily waving back at Hagrid, involuntarily quickening her pace.
“Come on, she just sucks at Divination.”
Hearing Ron’s muttering, Harry smiled and shook his head, pulling him along to speed up.
“Is everyone here? Follow me!”
The new professor led the way ahead, Fang bounding about like a sheepdog, herding the students to the open space by the fence to check the roll:
“I originally wanted to show off some thrilling, fun creatures for the first lesson to wow you little ones, but Professor Levent warned me you’re just third-year lambs—or foals, in centaur terms. If a student got hurt in class, Projection Mirror news would post a hiring notice for a new professor tonight.”
His frustrated, regretful expression made the students laugh; Gryffindors egged him on not to heed Professor Levent, while some Slytherins sneered, Malfoy loudest.
“Come on, we’re not first-year students—how dangerous can it be compared to 5X? We’ve seen tons of 5X creatures in Projection Mirror—nifflers, fire dragons, basilisks!”
“Yeah yeah!”
The two obnoxious lackeys chimed in.
Hagrid remained jolly: “I know you won’t be scared, and I can guarantee your safety in class, but animals are animals—some docile, some temperamental. If you don’t gauge their moods right, some scratches and scrapes are unavoidable.”
He rolled up his mole-skin coat sleeve, showing scars on his arm, eliciting gasps from some little witches:
“I’m used to the Forbidden Forest and can take it, but you lot are delicate—might get scared and cry for your mother.”
Thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds, cooped up over summer vacation, were at peak bravado; Hagrid spoke with a jolly smile, his gaze sweeping their faces like he was coddling greenhouse flowers.
Who could stand that?
“Who’re you saying would cry for their mother?”
“It’s just scratches—more dangerous than Quidditch?”
“…”
Hermione eyed Hagrid’s smile suspiciously, feeling this student-guiding style bore Professor Levent’s shadow—no direct advice, but subtly goading.
“Alright alright, we’ll talk about that later.”
Hagrid couldn’t suppress his smile; Melvin was indeed the most popular professor—his ideas were spot-on: “Now everyone take out our assigned textbook, The Monster Book of Monsters. This book’s like a sub-2X beast. If you can tame it, I’ll believe you can handle more dangerous creatures.”
Then he called on a few more students to demonstrate.
Some tied it with rope, some strapped it with belts, some kept it in sturdy tin boxes, or clamped with iron.
Only Harry showed the easiest method: stroking the spine with his palm—the snarling book shuddered and lay quietly open in his hand.
“Very good, Harry—Gryffindor gets 5 points for that.”
“How’d you know?” Hermione whispered.
“Professor Levent taught me at the Leaky Cauldron.”
“…”
The first lesson ended; Hagrid ultimately heeded Melvin’s advice, not showing flashy creatures, just teaching textbook use, explaining semester goals, and stoking the students’ competitive spirits.
The simple outdoor class gained much from those interactive lines; students were riled up, clamoring to see the real stuff next time.
……
September third, Friday, second day of term.
Third-year morning first period was Charms; Professor Flitwick was unchanged, just trimmed his beard and dyed his hair, looking much younger.
Textbook still the Standard Spells series, slightly harder but not tough—most of the class kept up.
Ten a.m., Muggle Studies.
Hermione sat front-row center, her desk piled with a bulging schoolbag stuffed with hefty tomes, their straight outlines pressing at the edges—heavy and solid; swung at someone, it’d hurt.
As Harry and Ron entered, she was dozing on her bag; they exchanged glances, tiptoed around, sat in the row behind, silently staring at her back.
“Am I dreaming? Hermione napping between classes?”
Harry scratched his head, also puzzled: “Maybe just started term, didn’t sleep well last night?”
As they whispered, Hermione woke, turning to stare silently at them.
“Hermione… you okay?”
“Did homework too late last night, didn’t get enough sleep.” Hermione glanced at their faces, explaining lightly. “What time is it? Professor Levent not here yet?”
“Bell’s about to ring.”
“Don’t you have a wristwatch?”
Harry and Ron answered one after another, watching her turn to pack her bag, take out quill and ink bottle; they exchanged glances.
“Don’t you think Hermione’s acting weird?”
“She seemed sleep-fogged, asking us the time.”
“…”
The bell rang; Melvin walked in right on time, wearing a simple casual jacket—clearly Muggle clothing by color and style. Before class even started, some witches were noting the patterns and colors.
“Good morning, class.” Melvin smiled lightly; his not-loud voice carried through the classroom.
“Good morning, professor.”
“Before we start properly, I’ll ramble a bit.” Melvin stood behind the lectern, scanning the room. “Everyone knows Muggle Studies has a self-introduction routine, but your year is special—multiple bulletin board appearances, fights, point deductions, detentions, even newspaper mentions. I doubt many don’t know the others, and I’ve heard you prepped ahead, so no wasting time here.”
The students listened quietly, smiles tugging at their lips.
A few were indeed school-famous stars.
Melvin continued: “So for your first lesson, I’d rather introduce Muggle society to you, the achievements of Muggle civilization, the wonders of technological creations—beyond fridge, TV, radio appliances, also social sciences content.
“This morning, Professor McGonagall complained to me about Professor Trelawney, saying she curses students in class, even issues death prophecies—scaring some from focusing. Is that right?”
Laughter erupted below, all turning to Harry and Neville.
The two wore embarrassed smiles.
“Muggle knowledge actually has prophecy content too.”
Melvin’s words piqued interest; he turned and wrote terms on the blackboard: “Psychology has some fascinating concepts: Pygmalion effect, Golem effect, Murphy’s Law, placebo…”
