Hogwarts' daily schedule was surprisingly similar to the one Flanders had back in his previous life at university. Wake up around seven or eight in the morning, have breakfast in the Great Hall with everyone else, start classes at nine, attend two classes in the morning and two in the afternoon, and then the rest of the day was yours to manage freely.
Of course, the content of the classes was definitely far more thrilling than what he had experienced in his past life.
Take Defense Against the Dark Arts, for example.
The instructor, Professor Stephen Swindon, was said to have been a magical doctor in the past. His hobby was to display various violent and bloody moving images related to the dark arts during class, with the goal of leaving a deep impression on his students.
Recently, Flanders and his classmates had been learning how to handle wolf bites. To illustrate his points, Professor Swindon had pulled up a large collection of photos showing wounds from wolf bites, as well as footage of wizards turning into werewolves and their subsequent savage behavior.
"As the textbook states, if an infection occurs after being bitten by a werewolf, it will be incurable, as it is a curse from ancient times. Therefore, the first step after a bite is immediate and thorough cleaning. But what constitutes thorough cleaning? Jerome, you answer this!" Professor Swindon said, before calling on a student by name.
"I don't know, Professor Swindon," a red-haired Slytherin boy said bluntly.
"Oh, you don't know... Then let me tell you!"
As he said this, Professor Swindon tapped his wand on a stack of magical cards on his desk and then flicked it in Jerome's direction.
Immediately, a moving projection appeared before Jerome.
It was a woman, using her wand on her own bloody hand, which was then instantly severed at the wrist.
The sight made many of the students, even from a distance, wince in phantom pain on behalf of the woman in the image.
"It seems you still don't understand."
Before Professor Swindon had even finished speaking, another projection was conjured by his wand and brought before Jerome.
This time, it was a burly man with a beastly bite mark on half of his face. He was using his wand to slice that entire half of his face off.
"Whoa!"
At the sight, the classroom instantly erupted into a cacophony of frightened gasps and exclamations.
These children had never experienced anything so shocking; they were utterly terrified.
And Jerome, being the primary target, stared at the gruesome and horrific wound, completely frozen. His throat moved as he swallowed hard in fear.
"Still don't understand?" Professor Swindon asked.
As he spoke, he again jabbed his wand at the stack of magical cards.
"Ugh..."
Jerome finally couldn't take it anymore. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he bolted out of the classroom.
Moments later, the sound of someone retching uncontrollably echoed from the corridor.
"Tsk. Professor, is this really appropriate?" Flanders couldn't help but remark.
"Compared to becoming a mindless beast after turning into a werewolf, I believe a little fright is a worthwhile price for you to pay," Professor Swindon explained earnestly, unoffended.
"Alright, what you say does make sense..." Flanders replied, then followed up with another question. "But isn't there a better way to clean the wound? Or perhaps a potion that can be used for treatment before the infection fully manifests?"
Flanders was thinking of rabies vaccines from the Muggle world.
Professor Swindon shook his head at this. "To date, the most effective cleaning method we can employ is the removal of the wounded tissue. Of course, some have used wound-healing charms and avoided final infection, but these are extremely rare cases. As for the potion you mentioned, to my knowledge, no magical potion currently exists that can completely prevent or cure the werewolf curse."
This answer, combined with the brutal images, left the students with grim expressions.
The professor paused for a moment, then continued, "However, there is a recently developed potion, the Wolfsbane Potion, that can temporarily suppress the werewolf transformation. But it requires exceptional talent and skill in Potions to brew. Your Potions master, Professor Snape, should be capable of it. Of course, I sincerely hope none of you will ever have to drink such a potion."
So, it would be more appropriate for Snape to teach this class, wouldn't it? Flanders griped silently to himself.
This Professor Swindon was someone Flanders had absolutely no "impression" of, while the Professor Quirrell he was familiar with was still traveling somewhere and wouldn't begin teaching this course until next year.
...
After the incredibly "vivid" Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the students left the classroom looking pale, trickling into the Great Hall for lunch in small groups.
And during today's lunch, most of the first-year students showed very little appetite, a stark contrast to their usual enthusiasm for the house-elves' culinary skills.
Flanders, of course, was the exception. In his past life, he had quite enjoyed watching crime-themed films and TV shows, where bloody corpses were a dime a dozen. He had developed a certain immunity, and by the time the class ended, he had already returned to normal.
"Jerome, are you alright?" a young boy at the Slytherin table asked Jerome with concern.
"Professor Swindon is absolutely detestable! Why did he have to single me out?" Jerome, still feeling a bit nauseous, had no appetite for the food before him, which only made him more frustrated.
"It seems every teacher has their own special methods. I heard Professor Snape is also quite twisted; students are often reduced to tears by his scolding," the boy remarked, sharing what he'd heard.
"I actually prefer History of Magic. Professor Binns' lectures have a strong soporific effect, plus he doesn't care if you sleep," Jerome remarked with a sigh.
At the Gryffindor table where Flanders sat, the first-years were also discussing their recent classes.
They were a bit apprehensive about Professor Snape's lessons. Moreover, since Snape was the Head of Slytherin House, they worried that the Gryffindors might be treated unfairly.
To this, Flanders simply smiled and said nothing.
He knew that Professor Snape was actually a very gentle person at heart; it was just his personality that made him appear cold on the outside.
Of course, there was no point in telling these things to a bunch of little kids; they wouldn't believe him anyway.
...
After lunch and a short rest, his roommates Wilson, Jimmy, and Burke left in a group. Flanders followed behind with the somewhat introverted Elvis.
He didn't actually mind spending time with these "kids" too much, but there was inevitably an interest gap due to the "age difference."
Therefore, he stuck a bit closer to Elvis, simply because the boy was quiet and didn't cause a ruckus.
Speaking of causing a ruckus, Flanders' mind involuntarily conjured an image of Hermione chattering and rambling on beside him. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Qin, are you thinking of something happy?" Elvis asked timidly.
He's trying to learn how to interact with his classmates, just not quite skilled at it yet, Flanders thought to himself.
"Yeah, I was thinking of a friend. I promised to write to her before the term started. I need to get that done today, or she'll get mad—the kind of mad that's impossible to talk down from," Flanders said with a smile.
"That's nice, you have a friend to write to..." Elvis said, sounding quite envious.
"You can write to me in the future, too. Of course, that would have to wait until we leave school, like during winter or summer break, or after we graduate," Flanders said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Really? I will definitely write to you!" Elvis said happily.
"And I'll write back," Flanders smiled, then urged, "Elvis, we'd better pick up the pace, or we might be late for Potions."
Hearing Flanders, Elvis broke into a jog with him to catch up to Wilson, Jimmy, and Burke.
Once Flanders and Elvis passed them, Jimmy shouted and sprinted, clearly looking for a race. Wilson and Burke, naturally unwilling to be left behind, exerted themselves to keep up.
For a moment, the corridor echoed with the laughter of boys chasing each other.
The happiness of children is so simple, Flanders couldn't help but sigh.
Then, he walked into the dungeon classroom and saw the living, breathing, and icy Professor Snape already standing there.