Chapter 20: Active Students
With a flick of his wand, Douglas sent the stack of parchments flying neatly to every desk in the room.
He paid no attention at all to the Weasley twins, who looked as though invisible hands had seized their throats.
Under Douglas's strange, smiling gaze, Fred and George could only return awkward smiles of their own and begin writing.
They had learned long ago that Douglas's smile could be deeply misleading.
For the rest of the lesson, Douglas moved leisurely through the classroom, occasionally stopping behind the twins to watch them answer.
The afternoon passed quickly.
He still had four classes left.
After fourth-year Gryffindor came third-year Ravenclaw and first-year Hufflepuff.
In both classes, Douglas used the same method he had already established—beginning with textbook memorization.
Then, finally, came sixth year.
That class was different from all the others.
From sixth year onward, students from different houses were taught together.
And the content itself was different as well.
Students below sixth year were not shown what truly illegal Dark magic looked like.
But beginning in sixth year, they had to start learning how to defend themselves against it.
Under careful supervision, sixth- and seventh-year students could even be introduced to certain limited forms of Dark magic.
In this class, Douglas did not make them sit a written test.
He did not ask them to memorize the textbook on the spot.
And he did not immediately appoint a class representative.
Instead, he took out Encounters with the Nameless Things and instructed them to turn to the chapter on Inferi.
Then, for once, he simply taught.
The more normally he behaved, the more uncertain the students became.
The lower years had been made to sit tests and recite text like machines.
So why was sixth year being treated differently?
The Hufflepuffs in particular were suspicious.
A few of them had entered Hogwarts while Douglas had still been their prefect.
The man standing at the front of the room was not someone they associated with dull routine or obediently following convention.
Given everything they had heard from the younger years that morning, no one believed this lesson would remain this straightforward.
The class itself was not long.
Douglas explained the origin of Inferi, the most common methods of resisting them, and two occasions on which he had personally encountered them.
The teacher spoke seriously.
The students took notes seriously.
No one relaxed.
Then, with only five minutes of class remaining, Douglas closed the book.
The entire class braced itself.
He had finally reached the part they had been dreading.
Instead, he said calmly,
"After this lesson, I believe you now have a basic understanding of Inferi."
A few shoulders loosened.
"Your assignment is simple. Each of you will write a ten-inch essay on Inferi."
At that, the students nearly relaxed altogether.
Then Douglas added,
"What I want is not a repetition of the textbook."
He looked around the room.
"I want your own understanding."
That was still manageable.
Compared to what the lower years had suffered, this felt almost merciful.
Several students were already starting to smile.
After hardship came happiness.
Just before class ended, Douglas added one final detail.
"In our next lesson, we will have a practical class."
That wiped the smiles away.
"And the student who performs best in that lesson will become the sixth-year class representative."
Now the entire room stared at him.
A practical class?
Against what?
Surely he was not going to produce an actual Inferius inside Hogwarts.
That had to be impossible.
The bell rang, and Douglas left the students behind in a haze of suspicion and unease.
On the way back to his office, he glanced at the system panel and smiled faintly.
After returning upstairs, Douglas pulled out the design plans for the Defense Against the Dark Arts training ground he had drafted earlier.
Beside them lay a full foot of application paperwork requesting authorization for the facility.
He checked both over carefully and found nothing missing.
Then he glanced at the clock.
Only 5:10.
He decided to wait until half past before going to see Professor McGonagall.
She had only just finished teaching herself. Even old comrades deserved a few minutes to recover.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
Douglas looked up in mild surprise.
Who would come to see him now?
"Come in."
The door opened cautiously, and a girl with a ponytail stepped inside.
It was Meg Irene, the third-year Ravenclaw class representative he had appointed earlier.
"Miss Irene," Douglas said, "what brings you here?"
Then, seeing how tense she looked, he added more gently,
"Don't be nervous. Come in properly and sit down."
He gestured toward the tea table by the fireplace.
The moment Meg entered the office, she was struck by how strange it looked.
The whole room felt utterly out of place in Hogwarts castle.
It was unlike any office she had ever seen.
It was not luxurious, but it was bright, elegant, and immaculately clean.
She sat where Douglas indicated, on a wooden chair with curved armrests.
Even the chair felt different from the sharp-edged, severe furniture elsewhere in Hogwarts.
She found herself absentmindedly running her fingers along the smooth, rounded wood.
Then she saw Douglas lift the kettle from beside the fire and begin arranging things in a manner she could not understand at all.
It felt elaborate.
Ceremonial.
Almost ritualistic.
Given Douglas's identity as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Meg immediately felt even more nervous.
For one absurd moment, she wondered whether he was preparing some kind of Dark ritual.
That suspicion vanished only when Douglas set a small cup before her.
"Professor," she asked cautiously, "you said this is tea?"
She blinked at the cup.
"But can't tea simply be made by pouring hot water over it? Why is this so complicated?"
Her voice dropped in awe.
"Does this ritual change what the tea does?"
Douglas smiled.
There was not the slightest trace of mockery in his expression.
"This is a form of tea preparation from the Far East," he explained. "It is called tea art."
He poured for himself as well.
"Good tea art gives people a sense of calm, harmony, friendliness, and peace."
He glanced at the steam curling upward.
"It won't increase a wizard's magical power. But it can make it easier to think clearly and calmly."
Then he added thoughtfully,
"Personally, I believe it is especially useful for those who have spent too many years standing too close to Dark magic. It may help reduce some of its negative influence."
Then he looked back at her and smiled.
"Though that is a rather distant concern for you just now."
He lifted his cup.
"So. What did you come here to discuss?"
Meg's eyes widened slightly.
Tea ceremony as a form of defense against the Dark Arts—
that was knowledge she had never encountered in any textbook.
Then she remembered why she had come.
She stood up at once.
"Professor, I've memorized everything about Grindylows."
Douglas was not especially surprised.
He had not chosen Meg Irene at random.
According to her student information, she had good practical ability, sound judgment, and an excellent memory.
She was not quite on Hermione Granger's level, but she was very capable.
Douglas took a sip of tea and gave a small nod.
Meg drew a deep breath and began.
"Grindylows have green bodies, green teeth, and small horns on their heads. Their fingers are very long, and while their grip is extremely strong, those fingers can also be broken more easily than one might expect…"
And while Meg Irene recited Grindylow facts in Douglas's office—
in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione Granger was blocking the way out with Ron and Harry at her side, trying to force the rest of her year to study.
Ron and Harry had both hidden behind open books.
In voices so low they were barely audible, they whispered to one another over Hermione's shoulder.
"Harry," Ron muttered, "why don't we just sneak back to the dormitory?"
Harry did not lower his book.
"Oh, brilliant idea. Have you forgotten that girls can get into the boys' dormitory whenever they like?"
He glanced nervously at Hermione.
"You don't want her dragging us out of bed, do you?"
Meanwhile, Hermione was saying earnestly to Neville Longbottom,
"Neville, memorizing it is the easiest way. If you can recite it exactly, you'll get through it."
Neville looked miserable.
"Hermione, that might work for people who don't need Remembralls."
He clutched the book weakly.
"You may as well kill me now if you're going to make me memorize all this."
At that point Lavender Brown, one of Hermione's roommates, dropped her own book onto a table with a thump.
"Hermione, Professor Holmes never said we had to memorize it this fast."
She folded her arms.
"Do you think everyone's like you?"
Then she added, more sharply,
"Besides, we've already got four other homework assignments. We can't spend every minute memorizing Defense Against the Dark Arts too."
Other students immediately joined in.
"That's right. All together it comes to over forty inches of parchment."
"Oh, Merlin, I hadn't even realized that until you said it. Dean, you're good at maths."
"Hermione, don't act like you've been given authority over us. Even the prefects don't order us around like this."
Hermione's face flushed deep red.
She tried very hard not to let tears rise to her eyes, and for a moment she looked less like an indignant schoolgirl and more like a tiny furious lioness.
Harry saw at once that she was close to exploding and reached out quickly to tug at her sleeve.
Hermione shook him off.
Then she drew a deep breath and said, in a voice trembling with anger but still determined,
"I know this may be difficult for all of you."
She looked around at the room.
"But as far as I know, Professor Holmes treats every student equally."
"Students in the other houses have also been told to memorize their material."
Then she lifted her chin.
"And I'm supervising you like this for the honor of Gryffindor."
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