The applause in the Great Hall lingered for a long time.
The demonstration of the flying badge had whipped the students into a frenzy, applause rising in wave after wave.
Yet the reactions varied among different year groups— First and second years wore looks of defeat, while older students began weighing whether they should take the course.
“Alchemy doesn’t count toward O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s,” one student muttered softly.
“If it takes up too much time, it’ll ruin our grades.” “But that’s Professor Bones!” another lowered his voice to reply.
“He invented Duel Monsters himself!” When order was finally restored to the Great Hall, Linus spoke again.
“Before we officially begin our lessons, I have a few words—especially for our Muggle-born students.” His voice was not loud, yet it carried a steady, reassuring power.
“Upon entering the magical world, I am sure you have all noticed how severely lacking wizarding society is in entertainment.” “Everyone’s idea of ‘leisure’ consists of nothing more than Quidditch, Wizard’s Chess, or…
Duel Monsters.” Laughter rippled through the student tables.
“Yes, that game was indeed created by my hands,” Linus said mildly.
“But what no one knows is that its inspiration came from a comic book in the Muggle world.” Everyone froze.
His words plunged the entire Great Hall into a brief silence.
A few seconds later, whispers broke out again—a Muggle comic book?
A wizard reading Muggle things?
Linus’s lips curved slightly as he continued, “When I was young, I read that comic book.
I can’t quite recall the title.” “What I do remember is its spirit—courage, strategy, and mutual trust of the heart.” “So, during my time at Hogwarts, I created a real-life duel system, drawing upon its core philosophy.” He deliberately paused, sweeping his gaze across the hall.
“To all my fellow Muggle-born students: Have you ever wished the magical world had televisions, movies, cameras, gaming consoles, or record players?” “Have you wished that, when returning home for holidays, you could bring something magical back to your families?” The young students held their breath, listening intently.
Hermione Granger’s eyes sparkled with brilliant light.
At that moment, his voice was the only sound in the entire Great Hall.
“I will not teach you to copy Muggle technology, but I will teach you how to create a magical version of your world.” “If you choose my class, I will teach you how to use alchemy to reshape these ideas—” “To let images flow through crystal, to record musical notes upon magical runes, and to turn your wands into paintbrushes of light.” Applause erupted once more, this time starting from the lower tables.
The Muggle-born students were practically the first to leap to their feet and cheer.
“Of course,” Linus smiled, “innovation extends far beyond entertainment.” “Whatever novel, comic book, or dream inspires you, alchemy can bring it to life.” “Perhaps the next person to change the wizarding world is sitting right here among you.” Dumbledore smiled warmly with gratification.
In that instant, the surname Bones was once again imbued with the meaning of “hope.” However, the atmosphere at the Slytherin table was entirely different.
Many students wore subtle, conflicted expressions—unhappy, yet exercising restraint.
Their parents had long since instructed them: “Make sure to curry favor with Professor Bones.” In the eyes of pure-blood families, Linus Alvin Bones’s talent meant he was a “potential next Dumbledore,” or even a “possible next Dark Lord.” Therefore, even if they were dissatisfied in their hearts, no one dared to be publicly rude.
They clapped politely, but their expressions were as rigid as masks.
His speech concluded, Linus bowed slightly.
As he passed Dumbledore, the Headmaster said softly, “Thank you.” He did not reply, merely giving a subtle nod.
He had long understood the meaning behind that thank-you.
Those words just now were not merely a course introduction, but a bridge over a growing rift.
Professor Babbling had inadvertently reopened the wound of bloodline discrimination, leaving many Muggle-born students feeling disheartened and questioning the value of their efforts.
Linus’s speech had reignited their hope—reminding them that inspiration and creativity were the true core of magic.
Returning to his seat, he raised his glass and took a sip of red wine.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Professor Quirrell’s movements—the timid, stuttering man was peeking over at him.
That gaze held an unnatural restraint and resentment.
Linus let out a quiet smile in his heart.
*Voldemort.* That look belonged to a figure who had once ruled through terror.
Now hiding inside a fragile husk, trying desperately to maintain his disguise.
Displeasure, suspicion, and a faint, subtle fear.
—Fear that Linus would become another force beyond his control.
Linus paid him no mind.
At this stage, Voldemort was merely a remnant soul.
If they truly came to blows, he couldn’t even sustain a single complete Horcrux in battle.
Tapping the rim of his wine glass, a cold calculation flashed through Linus’s mind: *If he attempts an early resurrection, the Moon Base can serve as a countermeasure node…
No rush.* …
At the other end of the Great Hall, Hermione and Harry were still discussing excitedly.
“Did you hear that?
The things he mentioned—televisions, games, record players!” “Yeah,” Harry replied vaguely around a mouthful of chicken leg.
“I saw a CD player at the Dursleys’, but they never let me touch it.” “That’s a machine for playing music,” Hermione explained, her eyes shining with fervor.
“If we can really achieve that with magic, it’d be amazing!” The two grew more engrossed in their conversation, even drawing Ron’s attention.
“So you Muggles have those kinds of things?
You can listen to music and watch moving pictures?” “Of course,” Hermione smiled.
“Maybe before the end of the term, you’ll be able to build one yourself.” Just as they were speaking, a translucent ghost drifted straight through the table.
Students gasped.
“It’s Headless Nick!” someone shouted.
Nick bowed slightly, his voice gentle.
“Originally, I was called ‘Nearly Headless Nick,’ but later I became ‘Completely Headless Nick.'” Everyone froze, asking in unison, “How is that possible?
Ghosts can’t get hurt again, can they?” Nick took his head off his neck, proudly showing it off.
“It’s all thanks to your new professor.” “Back when Linus Alvin Bones was still a student here, he specifically requested an experiment with me to study soul structures.” “He promised that if I cooperated, he would help me completely ‘sever’ it.” The students were stunned.
Ron blurted out, “He…
he studied ghosts?” “And he even invented a spell capable of harming spectral bodies,” Nick boasted.
“Thanks to that, I’m now an official member of the Headless Hunt!” Laughter and amazed gasps intertwined.
This old story spread rapidly among the students, and in less than half an hour, nearly the entire school knew— “Professor Bones can make a ghost truly ‘die’ once.” …
The feast continued late into the night.
When the crowds finally dispersed, Linus was escorted to the staff quarters by Professor Flitwick.
The room was spacious and clean, its furnishings minimalist—exactly to his liking.
He pulled a slip of paper from his coat pocket, upon which a single sentence was scribbled: *Tonight, Black Forest.
You owe me an explanation.
—Severus Snape.*