After finally getting around to sending that letter three days later, Henry strolled down to his classroom and prepared for his first class of the day. Or he would have, had the entire room not been covered in vandalism. Messages, most of them disturbing, violent, or some mixture of the two, covered the walls and desks. On the board was the word "SQUIB" written in all capitals, and the golden text was pulsing and writhing like worms. The lights were somehow not working properly, with them flashing and flickering intermittently. He decided to leave it up there regardless and went to his desk, placing his bags under the desk.
As the first of his class came in, he took the time to adjust his arm sleeves and gloves.
"Professor, what is this?" one student meekly asked. Henry couldn't really tell who it was thanks to the lights flickering on and off.
"Some messages. Not to worry, class, it was like this when I got here and it'll be gone by the end of the class," Henry assured them. "I think." The students looked suitably unimpressed.
"Do you need help removing them?" one girl asked as the lights flickered back on. Henry shook his head.
"Like I said, I can take care of it. Here's a challenge, though, and it's a simple one: decontaminate your own desks. Go on, then," Henry urged as nobody moved. He then pulled out a pair of customized omnioculars and placed them over his eyes.
"Um…how do we do that?" one girl asked, as Henry flicked through another option on his omnioculars.
He grinned and replied, "Any way necessary, as long as it doesn't destroy the school's equipment. Extra credit will be given to those who succeed. Go for it!"
There was a knock on the door, and as the fifth-years tried to undo the contamination, Henry asked the nearest student to open the door. Filch appeared, stopping at the blatant amount of vandalism in the room.
"Ah, do you need help here, Professor?" he asked, shifting his eyes distrustfully towards the students.
"What did I tell you, Filch? Just 'Henry' is fine, thanks. Also," he tilted his head towards the board. "Did you know I'm a Squib? Because I had no idea." He gestured to the board as more students pooled into the class. "Whoever wrote this is kind enough to let me know! People who just walked in: extra credit if you can decontaminate your own desk."
"Are you sure you don't need help getting rid of all of this?" Filch asked again. Henry rolled his eyes.
"Yes, completely. This isn't even good spellwork, it's easy to break." Henry grinned. "You might want to pull up a chair, though. You might find this interesting!"
Once every student was in the room, and half of the chairs were decontaminated, Henry grinned again and tapped his desk with the wristband of his glove. The entire room lit up in glowing blue runic arrays, more advanced than any student had ever seen before, and the remaining vandalism slowly disappeared. The lights finally turned back on.
"Today," Henry continued, as if he didn't just dispel a room's worth of advanced charms work, "we will be talking about runic arrays. Specifically, the very basics of how to layer runes into arrays. But first, who can tell me how magic works?" At the lack of raised hands, even by the bushy-haired girl, Henry arched an eyebrow. "Really? Nobody?
"Well, then, let me go over the basics of that, first. I've heard people in the United States talk about 'magical cores' and 'magical power'; I can tell you right now that they are a myth. Besides which, you should never listen to an American; they are usually wrong. And obsessed with violence. Anyway, the actual substance of magic is based on what science calls 'quantum mechanics'. That is something you don't really need to know about, except this: the building blocks of nature are atoms, and atoms are made up of particles, and these particles' movements affect each other, and down the line they make literally everything you see here." He stretched his arms and waved them around himself. "That's basically what you need to know about quantum mechanics; here's something about magic. Magic, too, is affected by these particles. Not the atoms that particles make up, as that would imply that magic has mass, which is absurd, but the particles of the particles are what magic affects and is affected by. I'm losing you guys, sorry, I'll try to explain how this is relevant.
"There's a scientific theory called string theory, which postulates that every little particle is eventually made up of ridiculously infinitesimal 'strings'. The phenomena is not exactly how magic works, but it is surprisingly close; magic is made up of, instead of something physical like a string, the 'imaginary' force of probability. Magic is, in essence, probabilities," he paused for a moment and then decided to write everything down on the board. "These 'probabilities' are found in, literally, everything. From light, to sound, to the visible and the tangible, even to things like memory and imagination: everything is magic. The thing about wizards are that, due to some quirk of particles, they generate what is known as a 'magical field', and can affect these 'magic' particles thanks to this magical field.
"I said a few classes ago that 'wizards can generate their own magical fields, and squibs and Muggles can't.' Okay, maybe I didn't say it like that, but that's kind of what I meant to say, and that was wrong, anyway, because if we didn't have our own magical fields, spells wouldn't affect us, which obviously doesn't actually happen. Nearly every person on the planet, Muggle or not, has a magical field. The exceptions are incredibly isolationist, and even these exceptions are dwindling in number. Squibs, as you refer to them, are people, born to people that manipulate magical fields, who can not; this doesn't mean we don't have one, we simply can't manipulate ours." Henry stared at the listeners through his omnioculars, and continued. "Now, here's the biggest kicker, and the reason this isn't well-known in England: genetics, that is, blood status and family bonds, do nothing to the magical field. In truth, everybody has the same 'magical power' because magical fields are always the same. But, yes, some are more attuned to theirs than others; this can apparently be achieved by practice, but I wouldn't know." He shrugged. "I can't manipulate mine, you see, so I can't check." Then he continued with his lecture. "And when one is exposed to a magical field often enough, they learn to attune themselves to their own magical field; this is how 90% of wizards and witches in the world come about. This is the biggest reason a wand is so important: it helps you attune yourself to your magical field, more than you would otherwise. This is also why spells work the way they do.
"Probabilities are inherently orderly, though." He winced as the chalk in his hand broke. "So it's reasonably simple for scientists to understand, via controlled tests, how magic works the way it does, and we can thus consider the concept of magic to be 'scientifically understood'. Let's pretend magic is sentient for a minute. How would it know to change a matchstick into a needle? After all, it doesn't actually know what a needle is. And if it did know what a needle was, then why couldn't it just spontaneously transform it itself? In reality, and not that silly 'sentient-magic' fiction we were pretending, the answer is simple: the intent of the user, which, in magician's lingo, is referred to as 'generation' due to…a mistranslation somewhere down the line, I think. Magic, despite being chaotic in nature, is very easy to control for those attuned to their magical fields. You may have heard that spells are divided up in three parts: the intent, the wandwork, and the vocalized word. This is for a reason: the intent controls the magical field, the wandwork manipulates the field, and the word confirms the field's direction.
"Now, although this generalization is mostly correct, this obviously doesn't always hold true, since wandless and wordless and wordless wandless magic are clearly possible. This is because, in actuality, none of the above are necessary. Which sounds absurd, right? It does! But it's true." Henry smiled. "I know this because, despite everything I just said, I can manipulate magic. I can't do it with a wand, or with intent, but I can use runes to simulate intent, wandwork and the vocalized word. Science has broken down the bare essentials of magic to be the existence of a 'magical field'…and that's it. That's all that's necessary. This is, in principle, how both runes and potions operate. Now, me saying I can manipulate magic…isn't true, because technically speaking, it's the runes that are manipulating the magic, even if they aren't sentient, and I still can't manipulate my magical field by myself, so I'm still considered a Squib, even if I'm technically a magician. Now, we can talk about runes."
Henry took a break from talking by swigging some water from his drinking bottle. Ignoring the glazed eyes of the portion of his class he had absolutely no hope for, he noticed that there were still a solid amount of people still interested in the lecture. Henry was oddly pleased by this, so he finished drinking and continued speaking.
"Runes are a physical manifestation of magic. Even if magic itself isn't physical by its very nature, runes are a way to manipulate magic through the written word. Ancient wizards used what is considered in the Muggle world to be 'cuneiform'. Nowadays, what we consider Ancient Runes is what the Muggles consider to be 'Elder Futhark', although there are more differences than similarities between Ancient Runes and actual Futhark. The runic word itself doesn't mean anything unless it is charged by a magical field, in which case it takes on the properties of the individual runes making up the word. This aspect of runes, the individual rune work, will be leading up to what I expect all of you, as fifth-years, to be able to do: runic arrays. You will be able to write multiple runes that, despite all semblance of logic, can and will change and manipulate the environment around you, which is exactly what magic does.
"I kind of just rambled there, but let's summarize up today's lecture." Henry grinned. "Magic? It's like a giant invisible balloon over literally everything. Runes are basically depictions of physical magic. Any questions?"
The bushy-haired girl with the questions raised her hand, then put it back down sheepishly (Henry nodded in approval) and asked, "But…how would I have magic? I'm Muggleborn, so I've never been exposed to magic before Hogwarts."
"Ah, that's part of the 10% of wizards and witches in the world. Rarely, a person attunes themselves to their magical field sporadically; this is where what you'd call 'Muggleborns' come from." Henry winked. "Congratulations, you're a rare phenomenon. Incidentally, so am I; Squibs are rarer than Muggleborns, because of the mere fact that Filch and I cannot manipulate ours." Henry shrugged. "I couldn't tell you why not, I have scientist friends who also can't explain it, but that's what the runes are for. But sometimes, very rarely, even more rarely than the appearance of Squibs and Muggleborns, a perfectly average Muggle does accidental magic. But it's not as widely acknowledged, because Muggles then simply call it a miracle. Next question?"
A boy asked, "If intent is the only thing necessary for manipulating magic, then how does the magic recognize intent? Since the brain is also affected by magic, right?"
Henry shrugged. "I know that there have been papers written about it but I can't understand any of them," he sheepishly admitted. "It has something to do with recursion, but I can't say anything in more detail, because I honestly don't know. I'll look it up and let you all know as soon as I can. Next question."
Another girl raised her hand. "Wouldn't you technically be able to…'generate' your own magical field? Even though you're a Squib?"
Henry shook his head. "I can't feel my field, so I can't attune to it. This is supported by rigorous testing: after the age of eighteen, it is statistically impossible for an average person to become attuned to their magical field. This isn't literally impossible, per se, but it's very, very unlikely, to the point where it's just much, much easier to say that it's impossible. The optimal age to attune your magical fields, by the way, is eleven; that's when it stops growing and when your body is most susceptible to it. That's why Hogwarts starts at eleven. Although, in reality, everyone has a chance to become attuned to, or 'generate', their magical fields until they hit sixteen; then the difficulty curve sharply increases, to the point where it's next-to-impossible for a person of eighteen years of age. Next question."
The bushy-haired girl from before shot her hand up again but talked anyway. Henry stifled a grin. "What do you mean, 'feel a field'? You can't actually feel magic, that's absurd!"
Henry turned skeptical. "Really? You've never felt a slight tingling when you're around magic?" At some students' fervent head-shaking, he shrugged. "It's probably subconscious for you at this point, but back when you were first around magic, you probably did feel something. I mean, it's entirely possible to feel magic as an adult, because Professor Flitwick did it all the time when he dueled. Apparently, from what we can understand, babies can calm down when their parents come around thanks to the magical field. The parents generally have a more stable field regardless of being Muggle or not, since that's determined by age alone, but the parents' intent is usually to calm the baby. That, even in Muggles, is usually enough for the magical field to be manipulated enough to calm the baby. But remember, Muggles generally can't manipulate magic, even with intent, so the magical field actually doesn't get manipulated. So, skipping ahead a few more explanations and experiments, we know that the mere presence of a magical field is enough. And as a result, we know that babies somehow can feel magical fields, although the feeling dulls as we age." Henry then grimaced. "And thanks to my parents, I can't feel it at all, and never really could. But let's not talk about that. Next question."
The questions kept coming, and Henry was rather pleased about the intelligence of most of the questions, even if he couldn't answer all of them. No wonder my Sensei enjoyed teaching so much, Henry mused. Children are inquisitive. It's kind of fun. A timer buzzed on his desk, and Henry glanced at it.
"All right, class is over. Your homework is to read pages eighty-two through ninety-five and answer this one question as thoroughly as you can: with your newfound knowledge of magic and the runic word, explain how you would change the runes in the, I believe it is the third, example in your textbook so it poisons instead of filters water." He smiled as the class got up to leave. "Due next class!"
Astoria winced as she hobbled to the Great Hall. At first, it seemed like her friends deserted her, but then they came back and 'secretly started supporting her in the shadows', as one of them explained. Astoria didn't care as much as she would have if she were truly alone, but they were still a bit late in the support. She noticed the Slytherin table had a certain professor sitting there, so she walked up to him.
"Tori!" Henry stood up and gave her a big hug, ignoring her wince. "How's my favorite little witch?"
"She's the only witch you like, so that's not a hard question," Daphne said, in a quiet, monotone voice.
"That's not true!" Henry insisted, before gesturing to Daphne. "I like you, too!"
A pause, and then, simultaneously:
"No, you don't," Astoria said, bluntly.
"No, you don't," Daphne said, bewildered.
"No, I don't," Henry said, despondently.
Astoria grinned and Daphne had a little smile on her face. Henry dramatically moped around a bit, and then snickered.
"What are you doing here?" a boy suddenly asked. Astoria winced again in phantom pain. Henry stopped laughing, his face blanking, as he watched Astoria wince, before he donned a confused look and stared at the boy, who was almost glaring at Astoria. But, surprisingly, it was Daphne who spoke.
"She is my family. Is there a problem with that?" Daphne asked, in a soft but menacing manner. Henry had heard voices more menacing than that before, and so wasn't entirely concerned, but Astoria was unused to the sheer hatred in the subtleties of her voice.
The boy seemed completely oblivious as he sneered. "You're consorting with a blood traitor and a Squib. Of course I have a problem with that."
"I'm not a blood traitor," Astoria shouted, causing more Slytherins to turn to face the conversation. "He's my brother! And a professor!"
The boy sneered. "Filthy excuses for a filthy blood traitor like you."
Astoria seethed angrily. Pretty much everyone at the Slytherin table, and a few Hufflepuffs, were staring at them now. Henry noted, mildly horrified, that there were a few who were looking at the boy with approval.
The boy ignored her and looked at Henry. "Well, Squib? Have anything to say about you sullying our noble house?"
"Why is the motif a snake?" Henry asked suddenly, and everyone in earshot blinked at the non-sequitir. "I mean, they're not normally known for their cunning, they're known for being lying and sneaky with absolutely no concern for who they kill, and also for being the servants of demonic entities, but not cunning. Foxes are cunning, and foxes eat snakes. So they automatically have a bad reputation, which isn't good for popularity purposes." He tilted his head in confusion, ignoring the stifled exclamations of shock around him. "Is it one of those size envy things?" Some of the Hufflepuffs a table over choked at that comment. "Because that would make so much sense. It would certainly explain the ambition aspect, anyway. And, I mean, 'green with envy'. It makes sense." He nodded firmly and shoveled food into his mouth.
Neither Daphne nor Astoria could respond to this, as Daphne's face met the table multiple times, and Astoria was trying really hard not to laugh.
"What is going on here?" Professor Snape asked, striding over to where Henry decided to sit. "Why are you not sitting with the faculty, Greengrass?"
Henry tried to answer while eating, but failed, so he shrugged instead. Snape sneered. "Do you think yourself better than us, Greengrass?"
Henry gulped his food down, and shrugged. "Yeah, a bit." At Snape's murderous look, he clarified, "Look, I'm a Squib teaching wizards how their own magic works. I'm also literally the youngest person on faculty, the only 'magician' as opposed to 'wizard', and I'm a certified genius and the only known liaison to the notably reclusive Japanese Ministry of Magic. But I'm also a Squib and completely at the mercy of literally any wizard in this castle, once they know how I fight. So, yeah, excuse me if I think I'm a bit better than you; it's a defense mechanism for me, at this point."
The murderous look didn't abate. Henry shrugged and went back to his meal, completely missing the fact that a lot of the other Slytherins were also outright glaring at him.
Astoria shifted her eyes to her friends, who noticeably were not glaring, and gained a bit of confidence in their reassuring looks. Then she leaned towards her brother. "Um…you know everyone's staring at you, right?"
Henry looked up from his food and looked around at the glares on the other Slytherins' faces, then shrugged again. "So? I'm a Professor. I do what I want."
"Doesn't seem very Greengrass to just ignore everyone that hates you," Astoria remarked, grinning.
Henry grinned back. "It actually is. We're neutral, remember? It's just not Slytherin, sure, but I never attended Hogwarts as a kid and thus don't care."
"Meanwhile, we, your lovely and beautiful sisters, have to suffer the agonies of listening to these guys whine about you," Astoria blithely remarked. Henry winced.
"Ouch. Yeah, that's not good. I'll see you two around, then," he replied, standing up. "Also: not lovely. More like horrible terrors that have the worst possible timing and are also really short."
"Oi!" Astoria shouted in mock-outrage. "I'm not short! You're just...freakishly tall!"
"I'm not that tall, you know," Henry said with a laugh. "You're like half my height."
"Wow," Daphne snarked. "Your sense of perception is messed up. You should see a Healer about that."
Henry laughed again, and waved at them as he headed towards the staff table. The glares shifted from him to the two girls, and Astoria felt her heart drop. Oh, boy.