Hermes’s gaze was calm, yet it carried an inexplicable weight.
As it swept across the classroom, the students had the uncomfortable feeling that he was not merely looking at their faces, but examining every thought concealed behind them.
Uneasy whispers began to spread across the classroom.
A Gryffindor boy suddenly rose from his seat.
Whether from nervousness or excitement, his voice came out slightly strained.
“Professor, is it true that you graduated from Durmstrang?”
The classroom immediately fell silent.
Every eye turned toward Hermes, waiting for his answer.
The mild smile on his face slowly faded.
At once, an invisible pressure settled over the room.
The air grew heavy, the flames in the lamps flickered until they were barely more than embers, and the temperature seemed to plunge several degrees.
The students stiffened in their seats.
Still, Hermes understood their curiosity.
Most sixth-years were sixteen or seventeen—old enough to possess some awareness of the wider wizarding world, yet still young enough to be fascinated by anything mysterious or dangerous.
They feared Dark Wizards, but that fear was tempered by the confidence of youth.
Deep down, they believed that even if their new professor truly was dangerous, he could hardly do anything terrible to them inside Hogwarts.
Their courage came largely from ignorance.
“That is correct,” Hermes replied.
He looked directly at the boy standing before him.
“However, has no one taught you to raise your hand before speaking in class?”
He paused.
“Hmm?”
The final syllable was threaded with magic.
It struck the students’ minds like a sudden peal of thunder, leaving their ears ringing and their thoughts blank.
Several seconds passed before they recovered, their faces noticeably paler than before.
The Gryffindor boy remained frozen beside his desk.
“Five points from Gryffindor,” Hermes said casually.
The announcement sent another ripple through the classroom.
Their new professor had deducted House points within the first few minutes of his first lesson.
.After some quiet urging from his classmates, another boy cautiously raised his hand.
“Speak.”
The student swallowed before gathering his courage.
“But Durmstrang teaches the Dark Arts.”
Hermes narrowed his eyes slightly.
A faint, unreadable smile touched his lips.
“And what, precisely, does that prove?”
The answer appeared almost simultaneously in the students’ minds.
That you’re a Dark Wizard.
Fortunately, no one was foolish enough to say it aloud.
Hermes could guess their thoughts without resorting to Legilimency.
What these students did not understand was that Durmstrang was far from the only place where the Dark Arts were studied.
Any sufficiently powerful wizard would eventually discover that the boundary between light and dark magic was not as simple as textbooks made it appear.
Cast with enough force near a cliff, a moving carriage, or a flight of stone stairs, the Disarming Charm could become just as lethal as any curse.
Dark magic was often crueler and more direct, but ordinary spells were not harmless merely because society considered them respectable.
“You must understand one thing,” Hermes said, straightening from the lectern.
“Knowing the Dark Arts does not automatically make someone a Dark Wizard.”
His gaze moved slowly across the room.
“Do you imagine that Dark Wizards are incapable of learning ordinary magic?
Or that every respectable wizard must remain completely ignorant of the Dark Arts?”
No one answered.
“If you know nothing about the Dark Arts, how can you possibly defend yourself against them?”
That question brought silence.
A Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who knew nothing about Dark magic would indeed be a joke.
By the same logic, every professor who had ever explained a curse could be branded a Dark Wizard.
Even the students themselves had already studied the theory behind the Unforgivable Curses, though they had never been taught how to cast them.
“If your concern is that I intend to teach you the Dark Arts, you may put it aside.”
Hermes walked behind the lectern, his unhurried voice reaching every corner of the room.
“Professor Dumbledore chose to appoint me.
You may therefore assume that he has already ensured I will not expose you to knowledge you are not permitted to study.”
He rested one hand on the lectern.
“While I am at Hogwarts, I have only one identity.”
His eyes swept across the students once more.
“I am your professor.”
The oppressive pressure gradually disappeared.
The lamps brightened, and warmth returned to the classroom.
Quiet sighs of relief rose from several desks.
Once the students’ fear subsided, however, their curiosity quickly returned.
Several hands shot into the air almost at once.
Hermes glanced at them while arranging the stack of parchment on the lectern.
“If you wish to ask about Durmstrang, you may visit my office after class.”
He tapped the stack against the wooden surface until its edges aligned perfectly.
“I would prefer not to spend the first lesson I have ever taught discussing my alma mater.”
One after another, the raised hands came down.
“Good.”
Hermes nodded.
“Then let us begin.”
He turned one hand palm-up.
A wand appeared between his fingers without warning.
With a light sweep of its tip, he opened the textbook on the lectern.
The pages flipped rapidly before stopping at the section he wanted.
A murmur of surprise passed through the room.
The wand had not slipped from his sleeve or emerged from a concealed holster.
Nor had he summoned it from somewhere across the room with Accio.
One moment, his hand had been empty.
The next, the wand was simply there.
“A simple wand-retrieval technique,” Hermes explained without looking up.
“You will learn it during a future practical lesson.”
He ran one finger down the open page.
“It is useful when an opponent knocks your wand away with Expelliarmus.”
The students exchanged astonished glances.
None of them had heard of such a technique before.
If a disarmed wizard could instantly recall his wand, one of the most common ways of ending a duel would become nearly useless.
Yet Hermes had described it as simple.
Interest gradually replaced the distrust in their eyes.
After briefly examining the textbook, Hermes closed it again.
“My teaching methods will differ somewhat from those of your previous professors.
I suggest that you adapt to my pace as quickly as possible.”
He looked over the class.
“Now, raise your hands if you studied the new sixth-year textbook during the summer.”
The students shifted uneasily.
“And by studied,” he added, “I mean reading it with the intention of learning—not opening it merely to admire the illustrations before placing it on a shelf.”
After a short hesitation, several hands rose.
A few more followed, but most remained firmly on their desks.
Hermes surveyed the result.
“Fewer than I expected.”
There was genuine disappointment in his voice, accompanied by a trace of regret that immediately made the students uneasy.
“It appears that very few of you will receive an Outstanding on today’s test.”
Every raised hand froze.
The classroom went still.
Test?
Confusion and alarm spread across the students’ faces.
Everyone in the room had completed their Ordinary Wizarding Level examination in Defense Against the Dark Arts the previous year.
They had also achieved the grade required to continue the subject; otherwise, they would not have been admitted to the sixth-year class.
Their current studies were intended to prepare them for the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests at the end of seventh year.
Any student who failed to meet a professor’s entry requirements would have to drop the subject—or retake the relevant O.W.L.
and earn a better grade.
But passing last year’s examination did not mean they had read the sixth-year textbook over the summer.
More importantly, no one had warned them that there would be a test on the first day of term.
The students exchanged increasingly panicked looks.
Finally, a Slytherin student raised his hand.
Only after Hermes gave him permission did he cautiously ask the question occupying everyone’s mind.
“Professor… what test?”
Happy Reading!!!