Before Friday’s Potions class, Caelan had several other classes to attend.
First was Charms, taught by Professor Flitwick.
The Head of Ravenclaw House was a tiny male wizard whose height barely reached Dumbledore’s waist.
Everyone speculated that he had goblin ancestry.
Though his voice squeaked like a mouse when he lectured, he was a genuine Charms master and a former dueling champion.
To be frank, outside Hogwarts, an average young wizard couldn’t find a wizard of his caliber even with a lantern in hand.
Even if someone were fortunate enough to become his apprentice, whether he would teach them step by step like Professor Flitwick did was another matter entirely.
Not to mention, Professor Flitwick would pull delicious little cupcakes out of his desk drawer and make them dance to cheer up downcast students.
A teacher like him was rare indeed.
The first Charms lesson covered the Lighting Charm, with the incantation “Lumos.” Although this spell was remarkably simple, it had actually not been invented until the eighteenth century.
Because it was easy to learn and cast, any wizard with a wand and the ability to speak could perform it.
In early times, the Lighting Charm was even used to distinguish wizards from Squibs, with near-100% accuracy.
Safe to say, if someone couldn’t learn Lumos, they were definitely no wizard.
This spell was also used extremely frequently.
The famous magizoologist Newt Scamander had once lit his wand in Nicolas Flamel’s house to examine Yusuf Kama’s eye and pull a dragon parasite out of it.
Professor Flitwick understood well that learning required positive feedback to create a virtuous cycle.
As long as a young wizard successfully cast a simple spell, the joy of success would push them to immerse themselves in the wonder of Charms.
That was why he chose to teach Lumos in their very first class.
Unfortunately, Caelan had already mastered Lumos.
He continued flipping through the spell book borrowed from the library, working on other magic.
After Charms came Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Of course, it could also be called the “disposable annual professor class.” Teaching the subject this year was Professor Quirrell, who had hailed from Ravenclaw House.
He had previously been the Muggle Studies teacher before Dumbledore conscripted him to take over this class.
“A-all right, class…
time for…
for class.
Today…
today we will learn…” Quirrell’s stuttering manner of speech filled the room with a cheerful, lighthearted atmosphere.
Students pointed at him, bursting into fits of laughter from time to time.
Malfoy’s laughter was the most exaggerated of all.
Quirrell’s lecture was dry as dust, consisting entirely of him holding a textbook and stuttering his way through reading it aloud.
The students had no interest in listening either, fooling around among themselves; no one took him seriously.
Caelan thought to himself that if Quirrell were willing to unwrap his turban and take Voldemort out for a walk, these chattering little wizards would probably be scared out of their wits.
Honestly, Caelan felt it was a bit of a shame.
Quirrell was a top scholar from Ravenclaw, possessing vast knowledge.
Yet now he had devolved into a timid professor who did nothing but read from the book, causing Caelan to miss out on plenty of learning opportunities.
*If I go see Quirrell in private, will Old Voldy log in to take over the account?* Caelan couldn’t help wondering.
For some unknown reason, despite mastering the Dark Arts, Voldemort possessed a near-obsessive fixation on teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.
In fact, because Dumbledore refused to let him teach the class, he flew into a rage and laid a curse on the position that even Dumbledore couldn’t break.
Caelan didn’t care who was teaching him.
Whether it was Quirrell or Voldemort, knowledge and power had no intrinsic good or evil—it all depended on how one used them.
Besides, to fight Voldemort, you have to learn from Voldemort!
Learn from the enemy to master the enemy, right?
Of course, he only kept this thought in his head and didn’t speak it aloud.
After that was Herbology with the Head of Hufflepuff, Professor Sprout.
She was a short, plump witch who spent most of her time in the greenhouses tending to her plants.
As a result, her clothes were usually covered in dirt, making her look less like a scholar and more like a gardener.
“Welcome to the greenhouse!” Professor Sprout stood at the entrance, speaking earnestly to the young wizards.
“Before we begin class, there are a few things I must warn you about.” “The plants in this greenhouse are all magical.
Even the most common of them carry a degree of danger.
Therefore, without my permission, you are not to touch any plants, and you must put on your protective gear.” “Do you understand?” “Understood,” the students called back, nodding in unison.
Once inside the greenhouse, Professor Sprout gathered them around a large table set with a ring of potted plants.
These moving magical plants fascinated the young wizards.
Combined with Professor Sprout’s clear, engaging explanations, the students listened attentively, not finding the lesson boring in the slightest.
The biggest surprise, however, came from Neville.
No one expected him to be the very first student to complete Professor Sprout’s task.
This earned Gryffindor five points.
“Neville, you must be a Herbology genius,” Caelan said.
“Thanks, Caelan,” Neville said, scratching his head self-consciously.
“I don’t know how it happened either.
It just worked all of a sudden.” Caelan glanced at the potted Essence of Dittany in front of Neville, showering him with praise until Neville was thoroughly embarrassed, before shifting the subject.
“If you ask me, you really should dedicate more time to studying Herbology.
Don’t let your talent go to waste.” “Really?!
I’ll definitely study hard!” Neville’s eyes turned resolute, as though he had found his true direction.
“We’re friends—if you ever run into trouble, just come ask me for help.” “Caelan, you’re so great,” Neville said, deeply touched.
What he didn’t know was that from the moment Caelan stepped into the greenhouse, Caelan had noticed that every single plant in there was rare and valuable.
Taking just a few sprigs could net hundreds of Gold Galleons on the market.
Caelan was thinking that if Neville studied Herbology diligently and became Hogwarts’ Herbology professor down the road, wouldn’t all these precious magical plants be his for the picking?
*Maybe I can find a place to build a greenhouse for Neville.
The Room of Requirement should work nicely.* *When the time comes, I’ll have him cultivate herbs for me as free labor.* *We’re buddies—what’s he gonna do, charge me?* *His grades improve, and I get herbs—it’s a win-win!* *He’ll even have to thank me!* Caelan thought gleefully.
Friday arrived quickly, and the first-years were about to attend their very first Potions class.
Because Professor Snape’s reputation as a greasy-haired bat preceded him, many first-years had already heard plenty of rumors about him before stepping into class.
Rumors abounded: he “never washes his hair,” “never awards Gryffindor points and never deducts from Slytherin,” and “frequently brings students to tears in class.” These left the newly enrolled young wizards trembling in fear.
They all hurried toward the classroom early, terrified of being late.
Sure enough, as soon as Caelan finished eating and stepped out of the Great Hall, he saw several first-years walking hurriedly toward the Dungeons.
“Hurry, hurry!
Potions is with Professor Snape!” “We can’t be late!
He’s not someone to mess with!” “I heard he scolds several students to tears every single class.” Arriving at the Potions classroom, the first thing Caelan saw were rows of glass jars lining the glass-fronted cabinets against the walls, filled with all sorts of preserved animal specimens.
The more timid students were trembling, staying far away from those jars.
“Caelan, over here!” Hermione waved at him.