October 1st, Monday.
Zhang Wen officially announced the Handheld Mirror Initiative during his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for all year levels.
“Starting today, every student is required to carry a small mirror with them at all times.” He held up a palm-sized circular mirror for the class to see.
“This is now part of your standard educational equipment, as essential as your textbooks or your wand.”
In the second-year Gryffindor and Slytherin joint class, the reaction was polarized.
On the Gryffindor side, Hermione was the first to raise her hand.
“Professor Zhang, does this mirror have any specific magical properties?”
“It’s enchanted with an Anti-Shattering Charm.
It won’t break if you drop it.”
Hermione looked satisfied.
Upon receiving her mirror, she immediately began inspecting the spell structure, muttering incantations under her breath.
The first thing Ron did when he got his mirror was check his own reflection.
“Is there something on my face?”
“Yes,” Harry said.
“A face.”
On the Slytherin side, Draco Malfoy shot Zhang Wen a look as he accepted the mirror.
It was brief, but Zhang Wen caught something in it—an indefinable sense of trust.
It was faint, but it was there.
“What is the purpose of the mirror?” asked a Slytherin girl—Pansy Parkinson.
“Two purposes.
First, use it to check around corridor corners for people or obstacles.
Second, use the reflection to observe things indirectly when direct observation is impossible.”
“Why can’t we just look directly?”
“Because looking directly at certain magical creatures can cause harm,” Zhang Wen said, recycling the explanation he’d used for the first years.
“For example, a Basilisk—”
“Basilisks are legends,” Malfoy interrupted suddenly.
The classroom fell silent for a moment.
Zhang Wen looked at him.
“My father says the Basilisk only exists in legend; it has never been proven to exist.” Malfoy’s tone carried his signature arrogance, but Zhang Wen noticed a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth when he said “My father says.”
He was relaying a message for his father.
But he didn’t necessarily believe it himself.
“Legends are sometimes based on facts,” Zhang Wen said calmly.
“As students of Defense, you need to learn to deal with all possible threats—including those that ‘only exist in legend.’ It is better to be safe than sorry.”
Malfoy did not argue further.
“Alright,” Zhang Wen clapped his hands.
“Everyone, put your mirrors away.
If you lose yours, come to me for a replacement, but each person only gets one free spare.
A second loss will result in a five-point deduction.”
This rule was highly effective.
No one wanted to lose house points over a mirror.
Within a single day, one hundred and twenty small mirrors had been distributed.
The results were immediate—but not in the way Zhang Wen had intended.
First, the second-year girls began using the handheld mirrors as portable vanity mirrors.
During lunch at the Gryffindor table, at least six girls were seen eating while simultaneously checking their hair in the glass.
Second, Fred and George Weasley developed a third use for the mirrors in less than three hours—reflecting sunbeams onto the back of Professor Snape’s head.
Snape walked the corridors for five minutes before realizing a circular spot of light was dancing on the back of his cranium.
He spun around with the speed of a Pirouette Curse, but the Weasley twins were faster at pocketing their mirrors.
Snape didn’t catch the culprits, but his face remained thunderous for the rest of the afternoon.
When Zhang Wen found out during dinner, he sought out the twins specifically.
“Could you two please not use the teaching equipment I issued to provoke Snape?”
“Technically, Professor, we were practicing ‘observing a target through reflection,'” Fred said with a look of pure innocence. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
“Just like you taught us,” George added.
Zhang Wen was speechless.
He *had* taught them that.
“Just don’t practice on Snape next time,” Zhang Wen compromised.
“Pick a different target.”
“Like Filch?”
“I said nothing.”
The twins left with a knowing look.
Artoria, who had overheard the entire exchange, spoke up.
“You are indulging them.”
“I am practicing flexible management.”
“Indulgence.”
“…Tactical indulgence.
The Weasley twins are the most difficult students in school to manage.
Being heavy-handed only backfires.
If you give them a little space, they’ll actually cooperate with you.”
“You have a theory for everyone.”
“Survival—”
“Skills.
I know.”
The real headache for Zhang Wen appeared on Wednesday.
While grading the second-year homework, he discovered something strange—four students had submitted essays with identical handwriting.
Not “similar,” but “identical.” Every curve, every slant, and every spacing of the letters was exactly the same.
Zhang Wen picked up the four essays for a closer comparison.
It wasn’t plagiarism.
The content was different.
It was ghostwriting.
Someone had written four different essays for four different students using the exact same penmanship.
But who could achieve such perfect consistency?
“A Copying Quill,” Artoria said, walking over to take a look.
“They sell them in Diagon Alley.
You set one quill as the master and others as subordinates.
Whatever the master writes, the subordinates copy automatically.”
“How do you know that?”
“The ‘Auto-Scribe Charm’ Hermione taught Ginny last time used a simplified version of the Copying Quill’s principles.
I took note of it.”
Zhang Wen stared at her for two seconds.
“Your information-gathering skills are terrifying sometimes.”
“Basic competency.”
Zhang Wen lined up the four essays.
The names on them were Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and two other second-year Slytherins he wasn’t very familiar with.
Crabbe and Goyle.
Malfoy’s two lackeys.
But the ghostwriter was unlikely to be Malfoy.
Arrogant as he was, Malfoy’s grades were good; he had no need to write homework for others.
So who was it?
Zhang Wen decided to investigate.
During the next second-year class, he announced, “I have finished grading last week’s essays.
A few of them showed some obvious similarities. Find the original chapter at g.com.
I won’t call out names publicly, but I expect the students involved to come see me after class for a talk.”
No one came after class.
As expected.
However, Zhang Wen noticed a detail—when he mentioned the “obvious similarities,” Crabbe and Goyle subconsciously glanced in one direction.
Not at Malfoy.
But at a boy sitting in the very back corner of the classroom.
He had black hair, a thin frame, and almost zero facial expression.
Theodore Nott.
Zhang Wen memorized the name.
The Nott family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, with a certain status in Death Eater circles.
Theodore’s father, the elder Nott, was a known Death Eater.
Why was this quiet boy using a Copying Quill to ghostwrite for his classmates?
To make money?
To build social connections?
Or was he being coerced?
Zhang Wen decided to observe first and hold off on taking action.
Thursday afternoon, after-school tutoring.
The Golden Trio arrived on time.
But today, they had brought an extra person.
Neville Longbottom.
“Can he join us?” Harry asked.
“Neville’s been struggling with the Disarming Charm, and I thought practicing with us might help him improve faster.”
Zhang Wen looked at Neville.
The boy stood at the door, looking nervous but trying his best to stand tall.
“Of course.”
Neville gave a grateful smile and walked in to stand beside Harry.
The tutoring session began with target practice for the Disarming Charm.
Harry hit nine out of ten, with five in the inner circle.
A stable performance.
Ron hit seven out of ten, with two in the inner circle.
The progress was visible to the naked eye.
Hermione hit six out of ten, but four were in the inner circle.
Her hit rate wasn’t the highest, but her precision was the best among the four—her problem was still her casting speed.
Then came Neville.
Ten shots.
One hit.
On the very edge of the outer ring.
Barely counted as hitting the target.
Ron struggled to suppress a laugh.
Hermione glared at him.
“Mr.
Longbottom,” Zhang Wen walked up behind Neville.
“What are you thinking about when you cast the spell?”
“I’m thinking…
don’t miss.”
“And that is why you missed.”
Neville lowered his head.
“Try thinking of nothing at all,” Zhang Wen said.
“Just like what Miss Granger learned—don’t think, just act.”