After all, Hermes had only recently graduated himself.
Although he had never studied at Hogwarts, McGonagall assumed he possessed at least a general understanding of how school timetables worked.
Unfortunately, a student’s schedule and a professor’s schedule were two entirely different things.
Students rarely had lessons arranged back-to-back throughout the entire day.
Depending on their year and chosen subjects, more than half their time might remain free for studying, practising magic, or simply relaxing.
Professors enjoyed no such luxury.
“You are only responsible for three year groups,” McGonagall said with a quiet chuckle.
“Compared with the schedules of the other professors, yours is already quite relaxed.”
She waited patiently for Hermes’s response.
Hermes stared at the timetable.
He searched from top to bottom, desperately trying to find the so-called “relaxed” portion.
There were a few scattered gaps between lessons, but calling them free time would have been an insult to the very concept of leisure.
For a moment, his vision seemed to darken.
Deep within his heart, a faint trace of regret finally emerged.
That damned old bastard Dumbledore!
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Calcifer leaned forward from Hermes’s shoulder and examined the parchment critically.
“Judging by this schedule, you might have trouble finding enough time for afternoon tea.”
Then, as though struck by sudden inspiration, the fire demon’s eyes brightened.
Under McGonagall’s curious gaze, Calcifer crawled closer to Hermes’s ear and whispered something.
A moment later, the gloom surrounding Hermes vanished.
His eyes lit up.
The corners of his mouth slowly curved into a smile—one that carried a distinctly malicious undertone.
Upon seeing that expression, McGonagall’s previous composure disappeared.
“Is there a problem with the timetable?” she asked cautiously.
“No.”
Hermes shook his head and rolled up the parchment.
“You may arrange my classes according to this schedule.”
McGonagall breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
“However…”
Hermes restrained the mischievous smile threatening to spread across his face.
“Would it be possible for me to add a few items to the curriculum?”
“Add… what, exactly?”
McGonagall stared at him in confusion.
“I believe the students should sit a diagnostic examination at the beginning of term.”
“A diagnostic examination?”
“Yes.” Hermes nodded solemnly.
“They have neglected their studies throughout the summer holiday.
A comprehensive test at the beginning of term would allow us to determine how much of their previous coursework they still remember.”
He spread the timetable across the desk again.
“Without understanding their current level, how can I formulate an appropriate teaching plan?”
As Hermes finished speaking, Professor McGonagall felt as though a bolt of lightning had struck her.
To her surprise, she found herself agreeing with him completely.
Students’ proficiency in magic frequently declined after a long holiday, particularly among the younger years.
Many returned to school having forgotten even the most basic theoretical knowledge.
A diagnostic test would allow professors to identify those weaknesses immediately.
Could this young man truly be a natural-born educator?
A thoughtful expression crossed McGonagall’s face.
She remained silent for several seconds before nodding.
“Professor Moriarty, you have complete freedom to determine the structure of your own lessons.”
She paused, her expression growing increasingly serious.
Her eyes focused intently on Hermes.
“Do you have any other suggestions?”
“Of course.”
Hermes stepped closer to the desk and flattened the parchment with both hands.
“Take a look, Professor.
Most lessons do not begin until nine in the morning, and the school day generally ends by late afternoon.
Furthermore, the professors do not assign frequent assessments.”
He sighed, looking deeply distressed by such unforgivable wastefulness.
“As a result, students are left with enormous stretches of free time to squander on idle entertainment.”
McGonagall glanced at the timetable.
She had never considered it quite so scandalous before.
“Memory and concentration are strongest in the morning,” Hermes continued.
“The students could use that period to review theoretical subjects—History of Magic, basic potion ingredients, pharmacological properties, laboratory precautions, and similar material.”
“That does sound reasonable,” McGonagall murmured.
“And young witches and wizards are still growing.
Physical exercise is essential.
We could organize group runs and morning drills.
That would strengthen their bodies, sharpen their minds, and help them remain attentive during lessons.”
“The students already have Flying lessons and Quidditch—” McGonagall began.
“There will always be children who dislike flying.”
Hermes, now thoroughly carried away, interrupted her without hesitation.
“And not every student enjoys Quidditch.
Besides, neither activity provides consistent daily exercise.”
He pointed at another empty section of the timetable.
“This period could be used for supervised practical training.
Students could practise basic defensive movements, spell accuracy, and emergency responses.
We could also arrange weekly quizzes, monthly examinations, compulsory evening study sessions—”
Proposal after proposal poured from his mouth.
The more Hermes spoke, the stranger Professor McGonagall’s expression became.
What made the situation particularly troubling was that his ideas were genuinely tempting.
The proposed schedule would strengthen the students’ academic foundations while exhausting their seemingly endless reserves of energy.
If they spent their mornings running, their afternoons studying, and their evenings completing assignments, they would have far less energy to sneak through the castle after curfew.
There would be fewer midnight duels.
Fewer attempts to explore the Forbidden Forest.
Perhaps they would even stop testing experimental spells on one another in empty classrooms.
From a disciplinary perspective, the plan was almost perfect.
However, if every proposal were implemented at once, the students might not survive until Christmas.
After considering the matter for a moment, McGonagall raised one hand and interrupted Hermes, who showed no signs of stopping.
“I have noted your suggestions, Professor Moriarty.”
She glanced down at the parchment, upon which she had already written several lines.
“However, changes involving other subjects will require the approval of the professors responsible for teaching them.
I have no authority to interfere with their individual teaching methods.”
Although she was Deputy Headmistress, she could not arbitrarily rewrite another professor’s curriculum.
Still…
Severus would probably appreciate these ideas.
Especially the examinations.
“It has grown rather late,” McGonagall continued, glancing toward the darkened window.
“Tomorrow, we must begin preparing the Great Hall for the arrival of the new and returning students.”
Night had completely fallen outside.
She had already shown Hermes nearly every important area inside the castle.
Anything else could wait until morning.
“Then I should retire to my office as well.”
At Hogwarts, a professor’s office and private living quarters were generally connected.
The result was a private suite combining a workplace, reception room, bedroom, and, when necessary, a place to conduct detentions.
Hermes’s office was located on the third floor of the castle.
Only after the door closed behind him did McGonagall release a quiet sigh.
She removed her spectacles and placed them on the desk.
“Is Durmstrang Institute truly like that as well?”
The question escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Sitting alone behind her desk, she stared at the notes she had written while Hermes spoke.
His proposed schedule was undoubtedly excessive.
Mad, even.
Yet the longer she looked at it, the more feasible certain portions seemed.
Perhaps a beginning-of-term diagnostic test really was necessary.
And morning exercise would certainly reduce the students’ excess energy…
McGonagall frowned and fell into deep thought.
She would need to examine each proposal carefully.
Meanwhile, Hermes arrived at his new office.
He pushed open the inner door leading to his private quarters and glanced around.
The furnishings were simple but sufficient.
There was a bed, a writing desk, a sofa, and an empty bookshelf.
A narrow wardrobe stood against one wall, while a small fireplace occupied another.
Hermes walked into the center of the room.
Calcifer produced half a stick of chalk and passed it to him.
“Can you suppress the magical fluctuations?” Hermes asked, casually tossing the chalk into the air and catching it again.
“I can keep the disturbance to a minimum,” Calcifer replied uncertainly.
“Whether that old man notices is another matter.”
“Then let’s begin.”
Hermes nodded.
It was his first night in the castle.
Making a few alterations to his new quarters was entirely reasonable.
More importantly, the modifications would not be visible to outsiders.
Unless Hermes personally invited someone inside, anyone opening the door would see only the original room provided by Hogwarts—not the entrance to his Moving Castle hidden beyond it.
He crouched and began drawing upon the floor.
The chalk moved steadily, tracing circles, geometric patterns, and interlocking runes across the stone.
Layer upon layer of symbols spread throughout the room until the entire floor had been transformed into an elaborate magical array.
Calcifer floated toward the fireplace.
His flames surged as he poured power into the formation.
The runes ignited one after another.
For a single instant, dazzling light blazed from the window of a third-floor office in Hogwarts Castle.
Then it vanished without a trace.
Inside the room, the dial above the door began spinning on its own.
Its pointer swept past the red, blue, and green sections before finally stopping upon a newly formed black segment.
The connection had been established.
“Excellent.” Calcifer settled into the fireplace and stretched comfortably as he continued supplying power to the Moving Castle.
“Now all four initial destinations have been connected.”
He studied the dial for a moment.
“Although black looks rather out of place beside the other colors.”
At Hermes’s silent command, the black section gradually faded.
A warm yellow took its place.
The pointer remained fixed upon it.
From that moment onward, the fourth door of the Moving Castle led directly to Hogwarts.