Hermes conjured a cup of hot tea from somewhere and leaned leisurely against the podium, gently blowing away the steam.
At the same time, the heavy classroom doors swung open on their own despite the absence of any wind.
Yet not a single student inside stood up.
They remained in their seats, heads lowered as their quills raced furiously across the parchment.
The doorway was already crowded with third-year students who had arrived for the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
They leaned against the doorframe and craned their necks into the classroom, curiously observing the strange scene within.
“What’s going on?” a Hufflepuff student asked in confusion.
Class had already ended, yet no one inside showed any intention of leaving.
“It looks like they’re copying something.” Another little badger narrowed his eyes and peered at the blackboard, his tone uncertain.
“That’s first-year material…” A Ravenclaw adjusted his glasses, but before he could finish speaking, his roommate interrupted him.
“Hurry up and copy it!”
Only then did the Ravenclaw at the front realize that many of his housemates behind him had taken out their notebooks at some point and started copying.
He carefully examined the writing on the blackboard and soon joined them.
Although the board did contain basic first-year material, much of the information couldn’t be found in their textbooks and had never been taught in class.
Their previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had been fairly competent and had supplemented their lessons with practical experience during their first year.
Even so, what they had learned paled in comparison to the wealth of information written on the blackboard.
“Isn’t that Professor Moriarty?” another student asked in confusion.
“Where’s Professor Quirrell?”
“Who cares?
Isn’t it better than suffering through boring lessons while smelling garlic the entire time?”
The girl who spoke hesitated before adding somewhat bashfully, “Besides, Professor Moriarty is much nicer to look at.”
Only after the first-year students had finished copying every densely packed line behind Hermes did the previously silent classroom erupt with long-suppressed wails.
“I can’t take it anymore!
Whenever I close my eyes, all I can see are crooked letters floating in front of me…”
“I didn’t dare stop writing.
The moment I rested, the entire blackboard changed!”
“Goyle, where are your notes?
I didn’t finish copying the section about banshees!”
Some students rubbed their aching necks and complained about the soreness caused by keeping their heads lowered for so long.
Others stared at their densely written notes and lamented the enormous amount of memorization awaiting them.
After all, Professor Moriarty occasionally mixed a few “little stories” into his explanations about dark creatures.
Those tales greatly increased their interest and helped them endure the relentless note-taking.
Ron slammed his quill onto the parchment, splattering several drops of ink from the nib.
Then he collapsed face-first onto his desk in the back row, his expression full of bitter resentment.
“My hand is about to fall off.”
Harry remained unmoved, wearing the calm expression of someone who had already experienced it all.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Harry had seen pages of similarly dense notes back at the castle, so he had come prepared.
He organized his belongings and was the first to stand.
“Let’s hurry.
We have Potions next, and I definitely don’t want Professor Snape to find another excuse to target me for the entire lesson.”
Remembering their first Potions class the previous day, Harry felt a wave of bitterness wash over him.
He had no idea how he had offended Professor Snape, yet the man had repeatedly singled him out and deducted points from him.
Granger’s hand had practically touched the ceiling, but Snape had ignored her completely.
At that thought, Harry glanced toward Hermes, who was organizing a stack of parchment on the podium.
Perhaps he could ask Uncle Hermes about it.
They were both professors and colleagues, so Hermes might know something.
Having made up his mind, Harry left the classroom and headed toward the Potions classroom.
Not far away, Hermione, who had been sitting by herself, swiftly packed her textbooks into her small bag and stood to leave.
Ron hurriedly swept everything on his desk into his arms.
“Harry, wait for me!”
Once the first-year students had departed, the third years waiting outside filed into the classroom.
They quietly took their seats, lowered their heads, and began copying the material from the blackboard.
After organizing the parchment in his hands, Hermes raised his eyes and looked at them.
He casually waved his wand, erasing every word from the board.
Regretful sighs immediately filled the classroom.
“There’s no need to rush,” Hermes said calmly.
“I’ll prepare an outline covering this material for you later.”
The students’ faces instantly lit up with joy.
Before they could celebrate for long, however, Hermes gently flicked his wand.
Sheets of parchment soared through the air and descended upon their desks from every direction.
The joy on their faces immediately froze.
They had long since heard about the experiences of the older students. The source of this chapter is g.com.
How could they fail to understand what those sheets of parchment meant?
Sure enough, an invisible force pulled the textbooks from their hands.
The books flew toward the podium and arranged themselves into a neat row on the floor.
Wails immediately erupted throughout the classroom.
The first-year students, who hadn’t yet gone far, heard the commotion and quickened their pace.
They were clearly terrified that Professor Moriarty might suddenly chase them down, pull out another stack of test papers, and order them to complete those as well.
Inside the classroom, Hermes held his wand behind his back and strolled leisurely down from the podium.
He had no intention of making the first-year students take a start-of-term examination.
The purpose of an examination was to evaluate how well students had mastered the material they had been taught.
First-year students, however, had barely learned anything yet.
Even those like Hermione, who had studied in advance, hadn’t acquired that knowledge through proper instruction.
Their understanding was therefore bound to be limited.
Testing them now would be a pointless waste of time.
As for the bitter expressions worn by the older students, Hermes understood their suffering, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Examinations were naturally what students feared most.
Normally, the young witches and wizards only had to face a major examination at the end of each school year.
Now, however, they had been forced to endure an additional one immediately after returning to school.
It was hardly surprising that they were on the verge of breaking down.
Still, Hermes had personally suffered through the same ordeal before.
Since he had already walked through the rain, it was only right that he tear up everyone else’s umbrellas.
As he wandered among the students, a thoughtful glint appeared in his eyes.
He was considering whether it would be feasible to have Calcifer teach in his place.
After all, his relationship with Calcifer was more complicated than a simple contract.
There was plenty of room for the two of them to maneuver within its terms.
Hermes continued pacing between the desks, stopping occasionally beside a student to observe their answers.
The day’s lessons passed quickly.
Aside from the first years, whom Hermes needed to teach personally, the first lesson for every other year consisted of a start-of-term assessment without exception.
Before long, news of what had befallen the older students spread to the younger years as well.
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