Chapter 11 – A New Dawn

Breakfast the following morning ended up being just as chaotic as Harry had assumed it would be. The new students sat wherever they liked along their House tables, upsetting decades and perhaps even centuries of tradition in which students sat where. First years sat at the far end of the tables only to get sent scowling back to the end nearest the High Table by irate fifth years, while some students broke protocol and sat with their friends in other Houses from their old schools.

While that wasn't forbidden, it was certainly frowned upon for the very first day back at lessons. At the very least it wasn't an especially good start to relations with the rest of one's House. But that wasn't Harry's problem.

As far as practically possible for a prefect, Harry ignored it all. He hadn't managed to get enough sleep the night before, and Fitzroy had woken everyone up early in the morning by singing. In French.

If a bunch of first years wanted to sit where they shouldn't, Harry wasn't going to push the issue.

Both Mr Shafiq and Snape came around near the end of breakfast to pass around the new timetables for the year. Harry was fortunate enough to get his from Mr Shafiq, but any disappointment he'd been spared from by not having to deal with an extremely irate Snape disappeared when he saw just how little time he would have that year.

"This is bollocks," Harry said. "Oi, Blaise—how many frees have you got this year? Because I think my timetable must be wrong..."

Blaise shrugged.

"Loads, why?" He glanced over at Harry's timetable. "Oh. Well, you did insist on doing Triple As... But it doesn't look like we've got any lessons together this year, not even the cores."

"Really?" said Harry. He scanned over his timetable and compared it with Blaise's. "That's a bit a shit. Will I be on my own in everything, then?" he wondered.

"We're in some lessons together, I think," Daphne said. "Pass me your timetable so I can have a look."

Harry complied, passing his new timetable across the table to her. He didn't much like the idea of being on his own in all his classes – especially not with boatloads of new students joining him. It felt like first year all over again, but worse because he had to sit OWLs at the end of it.

"I think we've only got Runes together," Tracey said. "It's because I'm only doing Ancient Runes. I think. Because I'm in with Millie and Daph—and Blaise—for Divination, but not for most of Daphne's other lessons. Daphne's doing Runes and Arithmancy, so I bet they've put all the people on Double or Triple As together and planned the timetables around that."

"She's right," Daphne said. "Well, I think so, anyway—we've got a whole bunch of lessons together, Harry."

Tracey leaned over to look at Harry's timetable.

"Ooh, look—we do have Astronomy together," she said. "So that's another one. And I think we've all got History together, so there's one class at least!"

Harry supposed that was something. He'd have some lessons with Daphne, and a couple with Tracey, as well as a single lesson with Millie and Blaise. That was something. With some luck he'd have a lesson shared with Ernie and maybe even Justin, as he knew Ernie had picked Double As...

"Could be worse, I suppose," Harry said. "And I bet Alchemy with Mr Flamel will be brilliant. I just wish I had more than four frees all week..."

"That's what you get for taking Triple As," Blaise said. "It's your own fault."

"I didn't even want to do Triple bloody As," Harry said. "Snape made me."

"Complain to Snape, then," said Blaise. "At least you didn't try four optionals and Muggle Studies. I bet everyone who did is reconsidering after seeing the timetables this morning."

There was that Harry supposed.

"I'm not sure it's even possible to do five," Harry muttered. Back during the summer Granger had said something about McGonagall refusing her permission due to it being literally impossible to fit in the timetable. He knew Theodore had wanted to try for five, but as the other boy hadn't made any overtures, Harry wasn't about to ask him. He didn't know whether he was dealing with his friend, a 'neutral party', or an outright enemy. Better to just not engage.

"Not a bad day today, though," Harry continued. "Free just after breakfast, then Charms with Miss Evergloam, then Alchemy—with Professor Dee, not Mr Flamel, but that's alright..."

"Astronomy last thing, though," pointed out Blaise. "Could have done without that."

"Suppose," Harry said. Midnight lessons were far less exciting after the first couple, but at least Harry could drop Astronomy at the end of the year. "Well, at least I get a break after breakfast."

"Not really," said Daphne. "We've got to show the new students to their lessons, haven't we? You have the Viper Group first years this morning; I've got the Asps."

Harry sighed. Even his frees were being eaten up by prefect duties. Even the perks didn't seem worth the fuss.

"Oh, yeah."

He managed to enjoy the rest of his breakfast before collecting his group of new first years to ferry to their lesson – Foundational Skills with Madame Helix – before heading back to the Common Room to enjoy one of his few measly frees of the week. The reorganisation of the space disoriented him, as new ornate pillars had popped up to subdivide the room further and in different ways, and some of the portraits had even moved spaces. There were new paintings, new ornaments, and the room just felt different from the one Harry remembered.

Still, he managed to find a decent enough space to sit himself down and relax ahead of his first lesson, and after a quick trip to ferry Viper Group from Foundational Skills to their first ever Transfiguration lesson, even managed to be on time for Charms.

Miss Evergloam didn't jump right into the OWL work. Instead, she took some time out to explain the syllabus and the curriculum thus far, which Harry supposed was fair enough given that a large number of students in the class had been at other schools. Or at no schools at all in the case of any home-schoolers.

The desks were arranged in pairs, and Harry got there late – fortunately, Daphne had kept a seat open for him and he didn't have to sit with any of the new students. He noticed Ernie a few rows back, which seemed like a good omen for Harry's other classes. A dour-looking man sat at the very back of the class, clearly not a student – one of the High Inquisition's Inquisitors, Harry assumed. After a lengthy taking of the register Miss Evergloam delivered her lecture, an unusually dense treatment of summoning and banishment. The Inquisitor said nothing throughout the lesson although he did take copious notes as he watched Miss Evergloam's lecture. Gone was Miss Evergloam's usual manner, replaced by a stiff, almost mechanical, delivery of the key parts of the lesson.

The class streamed out after the hour's end, evidently keen to be anywhere else. Harry and Daphne had to go get their respective groups of new students, and then it was a mad dash to their next lesson – Defence Against the Dark Arts with one of the new teachers.

Everyone else had already arrived by the time Harry and Daphne made it to the classroom so there were only two spots left open – although each of them was at completely different points in the room. Harry surveyed the room quickly and found that most of the other students were ones he recognised, but the rest of the class was made up wholly of new students – and a completely different set of them than in Charms. The Inquisitor from Charms sat at the back of the classroom, silent as he had been before. Daphne took the seat in the front row, leaving Harry with one further back.

With only the briefest of glances at the teacher – fortunately not Lockhart; instead, the one in shabby robes who looked tired – Harry made his way to his seat. Given the much larger class sizes Harry had to work through a few rows, but he didn't mind. He wasn't quite keen enough to sit right at the very front, and at least he wasn't at the back with the Inquisitor.

Thanks, Daph, Harry thought. He didn't know the people on either side of him, but the desks were all singular in Defence rather than paired as in Charms, so Harry didn't mind. It was worth it not to have to sit right at the front.

"Right," said their teacher from the front of the room. He stood up from his desk. "My name is Mr Lupin, and I'm going to be your primary Defence instructor this year. You may have noticed—sat at the back of the class—that we have an Inquisitor sitting in with us today. Inquisitor Arlecchino is here to observe me and my teaching, so I don't want you to worry about him. We'll start off with a little explanation of why we've chosen the course content that we have for this year—all of which is in accordance with the Ministry-approved syllabus, of course. From what we've seen you've had an, er—well, let's call it unusual—curriculum so far, and with this as your OWL year it's incredibly important for us to fill in the gaps. So, with that in mind—"

"Sir? Sir?" said one of the other students – Mandy Brocklehurst, one of the Ravenclaws. She'd been in Charms that morning, so Harry assumed she was in Double or Triple As. He'd find out after Alchemy, he supposed.

"Yes? Miss... Er...?"

"Brocklehurst, sir," she continued. "I was just wondering, sir, if we'd get any teaching from Professor Lockhart at all?"

"Ah," said Mr Lupin. "That. Yes, you will. You should have one session per week with Professor Lockhart marked on your timetables, although I'm told there was some rearranging done late last night, so perhaps it hasn't been written in. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr Lupin," said Brocklehurst.

"Excellent," said Mr Lupin. "I understand you covered most of the relevant Dark spells and their counters with Professor Quirrell before his—er—before the—accident," Lupin said. To his credit he didn't draw attention directly to Harry by looking at him, although almost everyone knew the story, so the class did it anyway. "What you've missed mostly, though, is any sort of focus on Dark creatures. Fortunately for you Professor Lockhart is a renowned, er, expert in the treatment of Dark creatures—and I have a bit of knowledge myself—so we've put together a syllabus that should get you all where you need to be."

"Mr Lupin?" said one of the new students, raising his hand.

"Go on. Mr, er?"

"Wandwright sir. Fenwick Wandwright," said the boy. "At my old school—Wandwright's, of course—we didn't do Defence Against the Dark Arts. What about us?"

A few of the others in the class nodded along with him.

"We've thought of that," said Mr Lupin. "We've been in touch with your old teachers—some of them are members of staff at Hogwarts now, as well, of course—and we've got a good idea of where you are. Even though some of your old schools didn't offer a dedicated OWL in Defence, the, ah, the Ministry guidelines ensure that the relevant content is taught regardless, whether you were home-schooled or in attendance at another institution." Lupin paused. "We've been talking about whether students formerly in attendance at either Beauxbatons or Durmstrang—or other continental schools—will have covered the same material, but we can address any issues there on a case-by-case basis. If you were at a different European school before and you see something you don't recognise at all, see me about it straight away. We're certain we've come up with a course plan that serves everyone's needs this year, no need to worry about that. Does that answer your question?"

"I suppose it does, sir. Thank you," said Wandwright.

"Brilliant!" said Lupin. "Now, I do think we should be getting on—OWL year is a tough one and we've got a lot to get through, especially with the... changes... we've all got to put up with this year. Now, any more questions before we start? I'm keen to get on."

"Yes, sir," said Hermione Granger. "Well, it's not a question. You didn't take the register, sir."

"Oh, I didn't, did I?" said Lupin. "Right, then—let's get that sorted and we can start."

Lupin took the register – a task in itself given the large number of students – and finally got started with his lecture. Harry took out his parchment and quill to make notes, but nothing in the lecture seemed especially important. It was all summary, and most of it was revision. At the end of the two-hour session Lupin sent them all away with an assignment to read a chapter from the solitary Defence book not written by Lockhart or assigned by the Ministry.

Harry didn't stick around after the lesson even though he'd wanted to speak with Ernie – Inquisitor Arlecchino sat at the back of the classroom made him reluctant to stick around, and he had to get away and pick up first years again.

This prefect business is already more trouble than it's worth, and it's only the first day, Harry thought as he hurried away to grab the first years. I just want to get my lunch...

Harry got to lunch late with his first years because one of them had got stuck halfway through a disappearing step and one of the others, thinking it looked fun, stuck his foot in too. He dropped them off at the far end of the Slytherin Table with the other first years and then took a spot between Tracey and Blaise mid-way along the table.

"God, I can't wait until this week is over," Harry said. "And it's only lunch time on Monday..."

"That's what you get—" Blaise said.

"—For taking Triple As," Harry finished. "I know."

"I was going to say, that's what you get for being a prefect," Blaise said. "But what you said works, too."

Harry rolled his eyes and helped himself to some lunch. They only had an hour, and part of Harry's had been wasted dealing with first year nonsense.

"We had one of the new teachers for Defence," Harry heard Daphne. "He seemed a bit shabby, but I think he knows what he's talking about. I was a bit disappointed we didn't have Lockhart, because, well he's Gilderoy Lockhart! But Mr Lupin should be alright. What did you think, Harry?"

Harry shrugged.

"He seems alright. Too early to tell. Seems like he knows about Dark creatures, though. Better than Quirrell was, anyway."

Although Quirrell had been possessed by Voldemort, who presumably knew a great deal about all things Dark, so perhaps not.

"We didn't have any of the new teachers this morning," Tracey said, "but we did have an Inquisitor in with us for Herbology. Didn't we, Blaise?"

Blaise nodded.

"Yeah. Right angry bloke, too. Kept asking Sprout to explain everything she was doing. We barely got anywhere." He paused. "Not that I minded that much, to be fair, because what Sprout was on about was quite boring. But if they keep up like that all year we'll fail OWLs, and my mum won't be happy with that..."

"That bad?" asked Harry. "We had one in Charms and in Defence, but he just sat there without saying anything all lesson."

"It was pretty shit, to be honest," Millicent said. "He said they'll be inspecting random lessons all through the year so we're going to have to put up with this until the Inquisition goes probably."

"I still don't understand what they're meant to be looking for," Harry said. "It seems like they're just trying to make everything really inconvenient." He knew what Umbridge claimed – some blather about educational standards and a lot of other rot – but that wasn't what the Ministry really wanted to achieve.

That was just the agreed upon pretext for the Inquisition. The Ministry would have an ulterior motive. And whatever that motive was, it certainly wouldn't have been what Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort had in mind when they'd sponsored the bill through the Wizengamot, even if it was in part what some at the Ministry wanted to do.

"Nan said it's because 'monoglots can't stand the idea of other people getting on and living their lives in a language they can't understand'," said Tracey. "So they had to shut down the minority language schools."

That did sound like something Tracey's nan would say, Harry supposed.

"Maybe some of them," Harry said. "But there must be something we're missing."

Perhaps he was looking at it the wrong way, and the Educational Decrees – added later by the Ministry's bureaucrats, after all – were separate from the High Inquisition proposed by Malfoy at Voldemort's urging. Or maybe the Inquisition was just a vehicle for something else.

Assuming it had been Voldemort's plan in the first place. But Harry thought that was a fair assumption given the circumstances.

"Mam said it's because the Ministry wants more control over what's going on in the schools," Tracey continued. "I think she's right. Some of them have always been worried about what goes on at Yr Ysgol—and the Irish one. They don't like the home-schooling either. Even Hogwarts is too independent."

"That sounds about right," Blaise said. "When she said about educational standards I bet what she really means is the schools are teaching things the Ministry doesn't like. No wonder they took the opportunity to revise the curriculum."

"Daddy said it's Ministry overreach," Daphne said. "Although I think that's only because he doesn't like when the Ministry does anything—he agreed that the other schools should go. Especially the day school. Said it's 'completely against all our traditions'. And don't get him started on home-schooling..."

Various different wizards and witches in the country had, Harry was beginning to realise, all sorts of strange opinions Harry had never considered before. Why anyone would care about the existence of an art school, or a school that taught in a different language to the others, Harry couldn't say – but evidently people did.

"I've heard Umbridge isn't the biggest fan of Malfoy," Harry said, mulling it over. Spellman had said as much. "I wonder if he thought she'd get the High Inquisitor job or not."

Harry glanced up at the High Table where Umbridge sat, ugly little bow in her hair and a sickly-sweet false smile plastered across her toad-like face. Umbridge was the sort of person who had an agenda, and probably one completely separate from Voldemort's. Umbridge was an odious little witch, but Harry thought she probably came by it on her own. She was evil in a much more ordinary way, the sort of evil that came from the tip of a quill rather than at the end of a wand.

Just a useful idiot. A dangerous idiot, but an unwitting pawn all the same.

"I suppose we'll just have to wait and see," Harry said. There were things he wanted to discuss with his friends about Malfoy and Voldemort, but the crowded Slytherin Table at lunchtime wasn't the proper place to do it.

Silence. At least from Harry's friends – the din from the rest of the Hall was almost cacophonous as near enough two thousand students talked with one another will all the usual volume schoolchildren could muster.

"As long as she doesn't muck up Alchemy with Mr Flamel," Harry decided to say to break the silence, "I reckon we'll survive."

"You know, I'm actually a bit disappointed I chose not to do Triple As this year," Daphne said, "now that Mr Flamel is in. But Snape said Divination was more important than Alchemy for healing, and St Mungo's likes you to have Arithmancy for the apprenticeship and I wanted to be in Magizoology with Millie... Do you think Snape would let me drop Runes for Alchemy if I went and asked right away?"

Harry tuned the conversation out and focused on his lunch. Daphne wouldn't change her subjects because she didn't actually like Alchemy, and because despite that it was sometimes considered very helpful for any healing apprenticeship, it usually wasn't a requirement.

Harry hurried his way through the rest of his lunch before rounding up his first years just before the period ended. He got them to where they needed to be and then headed back towards Professor Dee's alchemical teaching lab.

He managed to get there on time, although the rest of the class had already arrived by the time he made it through the doors. Unlike the Charms and Defence classrooms which had been expanded greatly to accommodate the larger class sizes, the Alchemy classroom was the same size as ever. Almost intimate in its scale, or at least it would have been if there had been a few more people in it – there were only seven other students sat inside, and no Inquisitor.

Professor Dee lounged at his desk at the front of the laboratory puffing out clouds of green smoke from his ever-present cigarettes. Quite why Miss Evergloam had warranted an Inquisitor's presence, while Professor Dee got away without one, was beyond Harry.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," Harry said as he walked in, although Dee hadn't seemed to notice. He glanced around at his classmates to see which of them would make the best choice to sit near – although fortunately, each seat was on its own, so he wouldn't have to sit next to anyone.

His choices were limited. There was Theodore, of course – a fellow Triple As student, Theodore was in every one of Harry's subjects – but Theodore had taken himself out of the running by his refusal to take a stand in regards to Voldemort. So that was out. Aside from Theodore there was a spot near to Hermione Granger, but Harry wasn't that keen on sitting next to her for the next year of lessons even if she had been bearable during the Summer Tournament.

There was another spot open next to the tiny little wizard Harry had seen at the Sorting – Dragonsnose something-or-other, Harry thought – so he sat himself down in that and pulled out his parchment and quill.

Once Harry was settled he waited along with the rest of the class, although Dee seemed content to sit where he was, smoking. A minute or so passed by without Dee so much as glancing at the front of the class, puffing away as he gazed out the window.

"So, this is OWL Alchemy," Dee said eventually, stubbing out his cigarette into his ashtray after puffing out a huge cloud of green smoke. "We've got quite a big class this year. I think about half of you won't sit the OWL, though—won't have the aptitude for the practical stuff. It's not your fault—most don't. We might see a bit of an influx now that the Grand Philosopher himself is in residence, but they won't stay long. So we'll fall back down to something a bit more manageable at, oh, around Christmas I should say."

Eight students hardly seemed unmanageable to Harry, especially in light of the massive number of students in some of his other classes that year, but Professor Dee's announcement that half of the class would lack the aptitude for practical alchemy did worry him somewhat.

"Sir?" asked Hermione, her hand in the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"What do you mean that some of us won't have the practical aptitude?" she continued.

"I mean that some of you won't be any good at alchemy, and won't get anywhere with it," Dee said. "Was I not clear?" He produced a long, thin cigarette from a packet on his desk and lit it. "The trouble is that we can't tell until you start trying who has the knack and who doesn't. So we let anyone take the class as long as they passed the second year theory exams. All of you did, of course. But when it comes down to it, when it comes time to get down and do alchemical work... not every witch or wizard can manage it." He blew out a cloud of smoke. "If you fail our first practical assignment just before Christmas you'll be asked to leave. If you pass it, but fail the next one just before Easter, we won't let you sit the OWL. Too dangerous."

That caused a bit of consternation among the class, but Harry wasn't too worried. He felt confident enough that he could pass at least an OWL in Alchemy.

"I told you all last year—well, not you two, since you weren't here—that alchemy is hard," Dee said, jabbing his cigarette in the direction of the Dragonstongue bloke and another girl Harry didn't recognise. "You'll see. Now, this year like I said, we've got the Grand Philosopher himself, Nicolas bloody Flamel, in with us. That might give some of you a chance at meeting your probably meagre potential, but not even he can work miracles. Mr Flamel will be taking you for our single period session each week and going over some of the more fundamental alchemical techniques and processes." He took a long drag of his cigarette and puffed out another cloud of his thick, green smoke. "In our double sessions—all of which will be taught by me, of course, and aren't you lucky—we'll be starting our practical work. The syllabus includes three of alchemy's most basic works—the Alchemical Salve of Ocular Augmentation which is also called the Salve of Clear Sight, which improves the eyesight of the wizard making it; the Alchemical Draught of Aural Acuity, which improves the alchemist's hearing; and the Alchemical Elixir of Evocation, which gives you a better memory. Now, you're probably sat there thinking, 'Professor Dee, if alchemists can make these things why can't people buy them in shops?' Well, I'll tell you—it's because they only work on the alchemist who produced them. Something a lot of people forget—or never knew, I suppose, which is more likely considering the ignorance of the average wizard—is that alchemy has a great focus on self-transformation."

Professor Dee stubbed the rest of his cigarette out.

"It's not all about transmuting gold and the like. The first one we'll try is the Draught of Ocular Augmentation. It's the easiest," Dee continued, "so I reckon at least half of you will manage it. Maybe more. Usually it's about four of you, but I've never had more than six students at once, so who knows. That'll take us up to Christmas. The Draught is easy enough, as these things go, and we can fit that in around Easter. The Elixir, though—that's hard. It's the hardest of the three basic alchemical works, and it's going to be your OWL exam. You'll take the Elixir after the practical is over, assuming the invigilator thinks it's up to snuff. Fun, isn't it? Alchemy should be the last of your exams, so don't think you'll be getting an advantage ahead of next year."

Still, a better memory for NEWTs isn't something to sniff at, Harry thought. Assuming he could get past the Draught and the Salve first, of course. Even if he couldn't manage it all the way to the Elixir, at least there was the possibility of getting rid of his glasses.

Hermione stuck up her hand again.

"Yes?"

"But won't it give us an advantage over everyone else for NEWTs?" she asked. "You know, the Elixir of Evocation?"

Professor Dee shrugged and lit another cigarette.

"Yeah. So?" he said after taking a long drag from it.

"But... isn't that just as unfair as us having taken it before the OWLs?" Granger continued.

Dee puffed out a big cloud of smoke.

"Everyone has to do OWLs, so it wouldn't be fair for you lot to have that advantage. NEWTs are optional. You can choose not to do them. At least that's the rationale behind the ruling. And anyway, life isn't fair. Is it fair that Mr Flamel and Professor Flamel get to live forever, young and beautiful and with endless piles of gold while the rest of us will get to two hundred if we're lucky and probably end up dying penniless? No. But that's life, isn't it? You don't have to take the Elixir if you don't want to, but you will probably fail the OWL if you do that—it's sixty percent of the marks and you get graded on the efficacy."

Harry thought Hermione probably had a valid point, but wizards had different standards for fairness than muggles did, he supposed. And he wouldn't want to put in a complaint about it, since a better memory did seem like something he could do with.

"So, any other questions, or are we done?" asked Dee.

The little wizard next to Harry stuck up his hand.

Professor Dee sighed.

"Go on then. Mr Dragonsfoot, was it?"

Dragonsfoot nodded.

"I was self-taught until this year," he said in a surprisingly loud, deep voice for such a little wizard, "so I was just wondering if there was a book or something like that I could use to get caught up with the rest of the class?"

Professor Dee shrugged.

"Just the assigned book, really. Have a read of it if you want, but it's not a big deal if you don't. Honestly, last year was busy-work designed to filter out anyone who thought alchemy was too hard or too boring. Helpful for knowing your rubedo from your albedo, yeah, but... we do the real work this year. Alright. No more questions," said Dee. "Let's move on and get you ready for your lesson with Mr Flamel on Thursday..."

Professor Dee didn't stop to allow for any questions or even engagement after that. He took them through the course plan, then went right into an explanation of the key concepts they would need to know, all the while smoking cigarette after cigarette in numbers Harry thought were definitely excessive.

Worse than old Mrs Figg who used to watch Harry and Dudley when they were very young, even, and she'd been his exemplar for a chain-smoker for years.

Professor Dee powered through the rest of his lesson with an alacrity Harry had never seen in him before, and Harry struggled to keep up as he scrawled notes across his parchment. Harry filed out with the rest of the class – a sorry little line, especially in comparison to the numbers in all the other classes – more than ready for his first day of classes to end. There was nobody in the classroom he would have liked to stay and speak with, so Harry hurried away back to the dungeons.

The next day Harry had his first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lockhart just after lunch. He arrived late after having had to escort a group of new second years to their classroom but found himself a seat near to the back of the class.

Lockhart seemed content to let him pass without comment.

Thank God, Harry thought. He didn't want to be put in the middle of whatever nonsense Lockhart had planned for his lessons – no doubt something needlessly theatrical, if Harry's prior experience with him was any indication.

Lockhart got up from his desk with a flourish and strode forward to the front of the class.

"Ah! And with the arrival of our last colleague—fashionably late as befits his profile—we may begin our lesson. I am, as you may or may not know—but you should, as I am quite famous—Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class; Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League; five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award—and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor!" said Lockhart. He paused as if waiting for applause, although none came. "I have, of course, graciously agreed to come and teach for this year—a sabbatical year, as it were—to offer my experiences and expertise to a new generation of witches and wizards. Perhaps some day one of you may reach such staggering heights as I have—but we're getting ahead of ourselves! Now, my adjunct should have covered the boring bits with you in your first lesson—he's going to be teaching you practical ways of dealing with all sorts of pesky little Dark creatures, pests and the sorts of things one might encounter in daily life. All very important to know—for life and for OWLs, of course—but rather quotidian, eh?"

Lockhart leaned back against his desk.

"And so, with the assistance that I have this year, I thought on what would be the best possible use of my time here. After all, it's not every year students such as you get the opportunity to learn from a globe-trotting adventurer type such as myself, is it? And with this being a very special year indeed, it's all the more important. So I sat there and wondered, pondered even, thinking how best to serve your needs!" Lockhart said. "And then it came to me—I thought, 'Gilderoy, you magnificent, beautiful man! You know just what to do!' What is it that I, Gilderoy Lockhart alone, can give to these young scholars hungry for knowledge?"

"Why, nothing other than first-hand accounts and commentary of and on my singularly unique and impressive deeds! For you see, I am quite the accomplished wizard with many a story to tell. And so I have made myself available to every class cohort undertaking study in Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, so that my presence here isn't wasted. I shall discuss—in great detail—my exploits, my thinking, and the prodigious feats of magic I have accomplished on my little adventures. Isn't that marvellous?" said Lockhart, beaming.

If you ever get around to actually doing it, maybe, Harry thought. Lockhart may have been an extremely well-travelled man with a whole host of fantastic deeds to his name... but he didn't half bang on about it. It was exhausting, and they had nearly a whole hour of it to get through.

Harry had never read the Lockhart travelogues, but if the man wrote like he spoke, no wonder they were so thick.

"And so, over the course of our brief—but hopefully illuminating—year together I shall be giving you the very best of myself," continued Lockhart. "I shall give first-hand accounts, of course; readings from my assigned—best-selling—texts; and live re-enactments using student volunteers. But first—a little quiz!"

Lockhart passed out little sheets of parchment.

Harry glanced over his and found it to be full of nonsense questions, mostly about Lockhart himself. Harry sighed.

Defence with Lockhart's going to be useless this year, he decided. At least the other bloke seemed to know what he was doing, so the OWL year wouldn't be a total loss.

Harry gave a half-hearted attempt at the quiz but gave up when he realised it was completely pointless rather than just mostly. He spent the rest of the lesson doodling over the quiz, front and back, and didn't bother handing it in on the way out.

Harry soldiered his way through the rest of his lessons, taking on with the appropriate level of enthusiasm and seriousness the words of his teachers on how difficult the OWL year would be. None of his subjects had anything interesting to offer, at least in comparison with what Professor Dee had dangled in front of them during the first Alchemy lesson of the year. Arithmancy was to focus mainly on numerology that year, which was a branch of the field Harry had no particular interest in.

More ways to make shitty prophecies about how he'd have to spend the rest of his life fighting Dark wizards seemed like the last thing Harry wanted to learn about, but it was on the curriculum.

Ancient Runes had them learning Old Norse, which Harry thought would be utterly useless, but as Snape had insisted on Harry doing Runes, he put up with it. His core subjects were as they ever were, although at the very least, Charms and Transfiguration each offered some new practical skills that he could use in his daily life.

So that was something.

And just after lunch on the first Thursday back after the summer Harry had his first Alchemy lesson with the great Nicolas Flamel. That was a lesson worth waiting for, at least if the ancient alchemist was half as good a teacher as he was an alchemist.

Everyone arrived early to Alchemy that afternoon, including the handful of prefects who had other duties to attend to. Harry had rushed his group of first years to their lesson just so he wouldn't be late, and he assumed Hermione had done the same thing.

It seemed as if nobody wanted to make a bad first impression on Mr Flamel. Unfortunately, sat at the very back of the classroom was the toad-like High Inquisitor. She said nothing as the students filed in and sat down, although she did stare. No one dared say a thing.

Mr Flamel himself, though, was late. Five minutes after the start of the lesson he wandered into the classroom dressed in plain brown robes like the ones he'd been wearing at the Welcome Feast. Up close he looked young – or perhaps not young, exactly, but youthful – and quite handsome. He walked with an air of nonchalance, an easy, unburdened gait. He took a seat behind his desk and took the register.

When he was done he looked out at the small class. He seemed quite content to completely ignore High Inquisitor Umbridge sat at the back of his classroom, and when he spoke, made no sign that he'd even noticed her presence.

"Well, good afternoon," he said. He sounded like an Englishman, although Harry knew he was French. Or had been born in France hundreds of years ago, anyway. "Eight of you. John told me that's a lot compared with the usual number. I've never taught more than three at once before, myself," continued Flamel. "Do you know an extra sixty students tried switching into Alchemy once they realised I was going to be their teacher? We refused, of course. We only want those of you who chose Alchemy before they knew I was going to be here. Now, to address the erumpent in the corner... No, I will not be teaching you how to create a Philosopher's Stone. No, I will not brew you any Elixir of Life. And no, I will not give you any gold. I am here to teach you the esoteric art and science of alchemy, and alchemy is primarily a business of self-transformation. Greedy fools get caught on the immortality and gold and forget that the Great Work of Alchemy is nothing less than the transformation of one's own self and soul. One does not—cannot—progress as an alchemist without understanding this."

Harry nodded along. What Mr Flamel was saying was all correct, of course, and nothing more than a reiteration of what Professor Dee had been teaching them the previous year... although unlike Dee, Flamel really could show them how to make a Philosopher's Stone. All the books said alchemy was complex, difficult, and not especially practical until one got quite far along the path. But the basics still offered something exciting to the budding alchemist, and if Harry could clear the first hurdles, perhaps he could achieve one of the Great Works some day – assuming the whole Voldemort business wrapped up nicely.

"Hem, hem," interjected Umbridge.

"Yes, Madam?" said Flamel, glancing over at Umbridge for the first time.

"You may address me as High Inquisitor," Umbridge said. "Is this line of discussion pertinent to the OWL? Do our students need to engage in philosophical digressions which would be more suited to the salon, or do they need to learn the fundamentals of alchemy? I ask only because it is my understanding that the OWL in Alchemy is primarily concerned with students' ability to perform the basic alchemical operations, their ability to use alchemical equipment safely, and so on. Is this not the case?"

"Alchemy is unlike any of the other magical arts you have studied High Inquisitor, or indeed, which any of our young minds here will study. One might say that alchemy is predicated upon philosophical digression! It is a process, a journey; I myself have not achieved all there is to achieve on the path, although I have gone farther than most," Flamel said. "I have not, for example, succeeded in creating a Universal Panacea—have not come anywhere close to it, in fact. This may come as a surprise to you all—it certainly came as one to me. I had long thought that with the creation of a Philosopher's Stone I would have reached the apex of the field, that I would wield almost God-like power in my hands and achieve everything that alchemy could ever achieve. Alas, it was not so. And so, Madam High Inquisitor, I come to your question—is what I am discussing pertinent to the students and their OWL? Yes, it is. Alchemy requires a particular kind of mind to understand it; it requires a temperament not often found in the ordinary witch—or wizard. If what I am saying now seems too complex, too difficult, too obtuse, or pointless—you should not be in this classroom. Leave now, because no amount of schooling in how to use an athanor correctly will make you an alchemist." Flamel paused as if waiting for anyone to leave.

Harry doubted anyone had even considered it even if they'd found what Flamel was saying to be too strange. There were eight students brave – or foolish – enough to take a full Alchemy OWL. Harry assumed at least half of the class wanted an Alchemy OWL solely for applications to good healing apprenticeships, so would stick it out just for that. Harry knew Theodore had no intentions of becoming a working alchemist – he just liked obscure magic. Hermione was known to tackle the most difficult subjects and academic challenges wherever offered, so she wouldn't get up and go anywhere.

And Harry simply liked alchemy.

"All staying? Wonderful," said Flamel. "Now, one last thing—"

"Hem, hem," coughed Umbridge again.

"Do you need to visit the Hospital Wing, Dolores?" asked Flamel. "If you do, please feel free. We shall not wait, of course, as this is only an hour session and we have a lot of work to do, but if your cough is bothering you so, do not let us keep you."

"I was merely concerned that we do not seem to be covering the recommended content," said Umbridge, smiling. "For example, the Ministry-approved syllabus for the Alchemy OWL states—"

"Madam, I know full well what it says, as I wrote the damned thing!" Flamel said. "I understand the impatience of youth and mortality well, High Inquisitor, but it is nevertheless rude to interrupt an instructor in his lecturing. So, if you will allow me to finish my lecture, perhaps you will see that we shall cover—in due time—all that which needs to be covered?" Flamel didn't stop to allow Umbridge a response. "As per the Ministry-approved syllabus we shall cover this year the basic operations of alchemical equipment; you shall—with Professor Dee—undertake two of the fundamental alchemical works and, if successful, progress to the third; and of course we shall undertake a basic study of spagyric which shall be most useful to those of you seeking an illustrious career as a healer. As our hour grows short and we find ourselves under the eyes of a watcher, we shall not pause to discuss or synthesise what we have learned. Instead we shall press on at a pace most ungentlemanly, and which I expect shall be too quick for you all to gain anything useful from it."

Flamel continued his lecture by demonstrating the proper setup of the basic alchemical equipment, pausing every so often to ask a question or explain some of the trickier bits of kit. Umbridge said nothing after her last interruption, although she did scratch furiously onto her parchment for the whole of the rest of the lesson. Harry felt like Flamel was holding back, that he'd prepared a lot more commentary and perhaps anecdotes from his long years of alchemical practice. Still, there would be other lessons without the High Inquisitor watching them, and Harry could look forward to those at least.

When the lesson ended all eight budding alchemists hurried from the room, keen to be as far away from the High Inquisitor as possible, and Harry was free for the rest of the day.

Harry's first lesson of the last day of his first week back at school was History of Magic. Ordinarily Harry wouldn't have been quite so interested in a morning History of Magic session, but as his new teacher was Perenelle Flamel – immortal wife of Nicolas Flamel – he felt cautiously optimistic that the lesson would be at least more interesting than one led by Professor Binns.

Even the classroom was different, as Binns was apparently still haunting the old one. Professor Flamel had chosen an airy classroom overlooking one of the castle's interior courtyards. With large, patterned windows and a host of intricate murals along the walls, Professor Flamel's classroom was quite the contrast with Binns's old one.

Unfortunately when Harry strode into the room along with his friends – their only daytime lesson of the week all together – he saw High Inquisitor Umbridge sat at the back of the classroom, clad in her bright pink robes and false smile. Students filtered in, seemingly without end, and everyone seemed caught in the dilemma of whether it was better to sit nearer to the teacher or to the High Inquisitor herself.

Harry took a desk next to Blaise in the third row. Once everyone was in, Professor Flamel closed the classroom door with a flick of her wand and got up from her desk in a swirl of robes.

"Good morning, class," she said, her voice lightly accented, but not like any French accent Harry had ever heard. She looked young – far younger than her years – and moved almost with an exuberant gait. Her clothing was not quite fashionable, at least to Harry's untrained eyes, but there was a kind of elegance about her that Harry supposed people like Daphne would have appreciated – even if she was wearing an exotic bird as a hat.

"I am Professor Flamel and I will be your History of Magic instructor following the retirement of Professor Binns. I don't want any of you to worry about this, because it really isn't an issue at all, but up until now Professor Binns had you all working from a rather stripped back and—to be frank—outdated interpretation of the syllabus. While it was Ministry-approved it was sorely lacking in several key areas required to make good historians of you all, and so we—my colleagues in the newly re-established History Department—have endeavoured to make it fit for the modern era."

Professor Flamel paused.

"Not an easy task, I should have you know—given the rather sudden expectation to put together a whole department and an updated and revised curriculum due to the Ministry's newfound desire to—"

"Hem, hem," coughed Umbridge. "It is not the role of a Hogwarts instructor to cast aspersions on, or criticise in any way, the Ministry and its workings."

"My dear girl," Perenelle Flamel said, "I am quite sure that I know already what is to be expected of me in my role—I have taught before, you know. Several times over the centuries, and once even at Hogwarts! Had I been allowed to finish my statement—and I do commend you on your zealous dischargement of your duties although it was in this instance quite misplaced—I would have gone on to applaud the Ministry and its desire to improve educational outcomes for all of its charges. It has been quite some time since the Ministry chose to undertake a review of its curricula and some of the guidance was woefully inadequate. Fortunately, after young Albus managed to liaise with the Department of Magical Education this summer, we have been able to set a quite challenging but very interesting, updated syllabus with an OWL examination to match! Indeed, I believe this is the case for each and every one of your other subjects this year, although—"

"Hem, hem," coughed Umbridge again. "Is it the purview of a history teacher to discuss other subjects?"

"Well, High Inquisitor, it's very interesting that you ask that question because as historians—and historians of magic in particular—we must discuss and consider perspectives, opinions, and events from across all magical disciplines. So in a sense the job of an historian is to discuss and contextualise—"

"Be that as it may," said Umbridge, interrupting, "I think it would be best that you do not directly discuss the work of your colleagues—it is not pertinent to the work of a professor of history at this school."

Harry fought the urge to look back at Umbridge. He didn't want to draw attention to himself any more than simply being Harry Potter already would have. It seemed as if Umbridge had something particular against the Flamels, or at least in their capacity as teachers. Perhaps because of their public friendship with Dumbledore, or perhaps because they were commonly seen as being outside of the regular hierarchy of things.

Perhaps even because they'd replaced a Ministry-approved instructor the High Inquisition had wanted to install instead. There had to have been a reason Dumbledore had reached out to the Flamels that year, and why they had decided to come and teach, when theoretically they could have done so at any point in the last … however many decades.

Whatever it was meant that Umbridge felt it necessary to personally inspect their lessons. Harry just hoped it wouldn't be the case for every single lesson he had with the Flamels.

"Of course!" said Professor Flamel. She leaned back against her desk. "Let's get on, then—not with a lecture per se, because we still have the administrative minutiae to get past. The new curriculum requires an understanding of how to be an historian, which of course will form the backbone of everything we do this year, but particular topics of interest to us will be the development of witchcraft and wizardry across these islands, from the earliest Neolithic wizards right up to the founding of the Ministry of Magic. We will of course consider the goblin rebellions—although perhaps not in quite so much detail as dear Cuthbert would have liked—which given the current political climate is maybe more important than ever—"

"Hem, hem. It is not the job of the History of Magic Professor to profess an opinion, nor to offer commentary on, current political events," Umbridge said. "You will refrain from doing such."

Harry heard the scratching of her quill against her parchment.

Umbridge can write what she likes, Harry thought, but I don't think either Flamel gives a shit...

"As you say, High Inquisitor," said Flamel with an easy smile. "Could I possibly make a small request? It may be best if you saved your critique and advice for after my lecture, as I have only a single hour with my budding historians and there is quite a lot to get through even without constant interruption. I assure you that I will be properly chastised and contrite should I overstep in any way when you deliver your commentary even if it is delivered to myself alone at the end of the lesson—but I am concerned for the students, you see. I do not wish to waste their time—or indeed, yours. I find myself with an overabundance of time, but I understand that is not the case for everyone and so I am always very keen to act efficiently. I promise that I will act upon every one of your points once I am aware of them but I am ever conscious that there is quite a lot of work to be done, and not a lot of time to do it."

"We shall have much to discuss, Professor Flamel," Umbridge said after a few moments. "You may proceed."

Umbridge wouldn't have liked that, Harry knew. She seemed like the sort of person to view any threat to her authority, no matter how small, as a personal attack. He just hoped Professor Flamel hadn't gone too far, because her course plan sounded interesting, and her delivery was far more engaging than Binns's had ever been.

If she was sacked now, right at the start of the year, Harry feared the class would end up with someone worse than Binns.

Perhaps even Umbridge herself.

"So as I was saying, class, this year we will be..." continued Flamel. She managed to get through the rest of her lecture without further interruption from Umbridge, but the toad-like witch sat at the back of the classroom furiously scratching her quill against her parchment. No doubt once the students were gone she would have quite a lot to say to Perenelle Flamel.

"...and for homework, I want a short essay—no more than five paragraphs—on your favourite period of history which we will study this year!" finished up Professor Flamel. "You may go!"

The classroom erupted into chaos as everyone hurried to get away from the High Inquisitor.

"Professor Flamel already seems like a much better teacher than Binns," said Daphne as their little group of Slytherins walked away from the History Department's corridor. "Doesn't she?"

"I thought so too!" said Tracey. "And I bet she knows loads and loads—I mean, she lived through lots of things, didn't she?"

"I wasn't expecting her to be that fit, to be honest," said Blaise. "When someone's hundreds of years old, you know, they don't tend to be..."

"She's not really an ordinary old woman though, is she?" said Millicent.

"True," said Blaise. "But my point was, she's still really fit. Like, much too fit to be a teacher."

Harry didn't disagree. But with her being hundreds of years old and married, that seemed irrelevant. Certainly not important in his day-to-day, anyway.

"I hope we don't have Umbridge in too many of our lessons, personally," Harry said. "She was in Alchemy was Mr Flamel too and wouldn't let him give the lesson. Same as with Professor Flamel really, although Mr Flamel was more polite."

Although only just.

"She's going to be here all year, so I wouldn't count on that," said Blaise. "I think we're in for the long haul, mate."

Harry groaned.

"At least there are a few Inquisitors so it's not just her," offered Tracey. "Some of the other ones seem quite nice."

"Which means they're probably bigger arseholes than Umbridge—they're just better at keeping it secret," said Blaise.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then realised he had to be somewhere else.

"Ugh. I've got to go grab my first years again—at least I'll be done after this week," Harry said. "See you all at lunch."

Harry peeled off from the rest of the group – although Daphne did go in the other direction to collect her own students. He had Potions with Snape next, and although being a prefect with prefect's duties meant Snape shouldn't be too upset with Harry being late, he still didn't want to chance it.

Snape could be funny like that.

So Harry hurried towards his first years and got them where they needed to be, then headed straight for double Potions with Snape.