Title: "Rune Games and Sabotage"

Professor Babbling was explaining the delicate balance of Elder Futhark when Harry Potter's rune squiggles decided to play charades on his desk.

To be fair, Harrywastrying to pay attention. He really was. But the floating rune he called "Squiggle Prime" was reenacting what looked suspiciously like the time he fell down the stairs in Grimmauld Place while trying to look mysterious in a cloak. The rest of the squiggles followed, tumbling dramatically in slow-motion.

"Mr. Potter?" Professor Babbling's voice sliced through the room like a truth spell. "Would you care to explain the significance ofGeboin this inscription?"

Harry blinked. One of the squiggles flashed blue and projected an image of a wrapped gift. Another wrote in sparkly golden ink:"Gebo = gifts. Exchange. Possibly cursed. Proceed with flair."

He cleared his throat, smirking. "Gebo represents a gift. Not just any gift—an exchange with meaning. It implies obligation, connection, or, in some cases, mild chaos."

Professor Babbling blinked. "Mild… chaos?"

"Depends on the context," Harry said with mock-seriousness, twirling a quill like it was a wand. "Gifts in ancient magic weren't always nice. Sometimes they were just cleverly wrapped traps. Ask the Trojans."

There was a pause. Somewhere in the back, a Slytherin snorted.

One of the rune squiggles wrote"10/10. Would hex again."

Professor Babbling rubbed her temples. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. That was… creative."

Behind her, the runes from the blackboard began slowly drifting off and forming a synchronized dance with Harry's squad. They spelled"H-A-R-R-Y I-S R-U-N-E K-I-N-G"before launching fireworks. Daphne Greengrass clapped once, dryly. Sundress casually slipped a cup of tea into Harry's hand like this was completely normal.

Then one of the squiggles tried to sneak onto Professor Babbling's cloak and change its color to something aggressively glittery.

Harry sighed, sipping his tea. "Professor, permission to discipline my runes?"

"They'reyoursentient magical chaos, Potter," she said with the resignation of someone who had accepted her fate long ago. "You deal with them."

A rune drew a crown over Harry's head in sparkles.

"I swear, I didn't ask them to do that," Harry muttered.

"They've read your soul," Sundress replied from behind her book. "And it's very dramatic."

Blaise leaned over and whispered, "You're not a student, Potter. You're a walking magical theater."

Harry grinned. "Curtains up, then."

And with that, class continued—sort of.

Professor Babbling had had enough tea to outlast a Cruciatus study group. She stood at the front of the class with the determined calm of a woman who had taught through the War, wild spell duels, and now… Harry Potter's rune entourage.

"Today," she announced, ignoring the glittery squiggle now adjusting her chair height with subtle mischief, "we are diving into the complexities of curse runes. Ancient scripts designed to hex, bind, or emotionally devastate anyone foolish enough to ignore warning inscriptions."

As she gestured to the chalkboard, several sinister-looking runes hovered in place. But before she could continue, Harry's squiggles floated into view wearing tiny illusionary cloaks. One clutched a floating skull. Another wrote in bold, shimmering ink:

"Alas, poor Yorick… he touched a cursed rune."

The classroom collectively tilted into a spiral of barely-suppressed snorts.

Professor Babbling sighed but powered forward. "Now. Mr. Potter, what is the function of the Algiz rune when inverted and combined with Thurisaz?"

Harry tapped his chin. "Ah, the classic 'congratulations, you just accidentally hexed your bloodline' combo. Inverted Algiz signals a severing of divine protection. You slap Thurisaz on top, and suddenly you're hosting an ancestral rage-fest with party favors made of spite."

A squiggle in a tiny toga floated by, dramatically clutching its chest. Another mimed stabbing itself with a quill, collapsing onto a scroll with slow-motion flair.

"Very… poetic," Professor Babbling said through clenched teeth. "Correct. What about the Naudhiz-Raidho bindrune?"

Harry raised a hand. "That's the 'enjoy your cursed road trip' special. Movement through suffering. Every turn you take leads to existential dread and questionable food. Possibly seafood."

A squiggle jumped onto his shoulder and unfurled a scroll labeled: "A Tragedy in Ten Miles: The Ballad of a Cursed Road Trip". It dramatically sang in what sounded suspiciously like off-key Latin opera.

Sundress sipped tea and muttered, "I'd watch that."

Professor Babbling rubbed her temples as if summoning divine patience. "Fine. Mr. Potter, what would you do if you encountered an unknown curse rune on a tomb?"

"Oh, easy," Harry replied cheerfully. "Step one: assume death. Step two: flirt with the tomb just to throw off the energy. Step three: toss a Slytherin at it and see what happens."

The squiggles acted out his plan, with one dramatically swooning against the tomb while another—dressed as a terrified stick-figure-Slytherin—was launched onto a drawn inscription and immediately flailed in place, then "died" by rolling off the desk.

Professor Babbling didn't even look anymore. "Anyone else?"

No one dared. Not while the squiggles formed a Greek chorus behind Harry, singing his curse analysis in dramatic minor key.

"Mr. Potter, would you please rein in your theatrical parasites?"

Harry raised his hands. "I tried! They fed on ancient rune energy and now think they're part of a cursed bardic society."

A squiggle dramatically handed Babbling a scroll titled "Potterus Maximus: Runes and the Curse of Overeducation."

She tossed it over her shoulder. "Detention if they start a musical."

Behind her, the squiggles slowly began forming a stage.

Professor Babbling, with the tired grace of someone who'd already resigned to chaos, walked to a locked rune-etched chest at the front of the classroom. She opened it with a flick of her wand and held up a strange object wrapped in protective wards.

"This," she declared, "is a Class II cursed object. Relatively harmless—unless you consider spontaneous limb transformation a problem."

Harry leaned forward, already grinning. "Define harmless."

She set the object—a cracked, rune-inscribed bracelet—on the warded demonstration pedestal. It pulsed faintly with greenish magic.

"One touch, and a small portion of your body will begin to… morph. Temporarily. Reversible. Useful for identifying curse types and deconstructing minor transformation hexes. Observe."

She poked the bracelet with her wand.

The magic rippled.

Her left arm turned translucent and began slowly dripping like thick, minty-colored slime.

A Ravenclaw in the front row gasped. Harry? Oh no, Harryleaned in like he was watching his favorite soap opera.

"Ah yes," he said, voice all dramatic narration, "the classicSlymorphis Manuscurse. Often used in the Third Rune Wars to humiliate nobles with poor hygiene. It's sticky, mildly sentient, and has an opinion on poetry."

The squiggles zipped into action. One wore a fake monocle and began scribbling notes on a chalkboard it summoned from nowhere. Another stood on a stack of books, waving a quill like a lecture pointer.

"Observe,"it wrote midair,"As the curse destabilizes the cellular coherence matrix. A dramatic expression of magical entropy. Now with more goo."

Harry paced in front of the class like a rogue professor. "Now, you'll notice the gelatinous shift starting from the limb's extremities—this indicates a curse structured to flow along magical pressure points. If it were more dangerous, we'd be seeing nerve screaming by now."

Sundress muttered behind her book, "That's… oddly specific."

Harry snapped his fingers, summoning a diagram in the air made of glowing blue runes. "Right here,Ansuzis inverted and jammed into a misalignedLaguz. Classic 'I wanted to ruin your day, not your soul' spellwork."

A squiggle floated over and mimed a tiny lecture, pulling out a pointer and tapping theLaguzrune dramatically.

Another had built a tiny professor desk and sat behind it, scribbling something on a parchment titled:"Curse Theory and Slimeology: Volume 1."

Professor Babbling flexed her slime-arm and muttered, "Why are you actually good at this?"

Harry threw his arms up. "What? I like runes! They're elegant, dangerous, and occasionally turn your fingers into jellyfish. What's not to love?"

The slime-arm began lazily reaching for her tea, which caused her to push it away with a grunt.

One squiggle floated in front of the class and mimed Professor Babbling in exaggerated fashion: a dramatic sigh, a fake cup of tea, and slowly being absorbed into a slime puddle. The class wheezed.

Harry added cheerfully, "Also, if you want to reverse it, youdo notuse a brute-force cleanse. That'll just make the slime sulk and refuse to leave. You have to coax it out with a runic dissolution chant and maybe compliment it. Slime is… sensitive."

The rune chalkboard wrote:
"Slime = emotionally unstable. Requires validation. Do not insult texture."

Professor Babbling fixed him with a deadpan look. "Mr. Potter, would you care to lead the reversal process?"

Harry clapped his hands. "With pleasure."

He stepped up to the slime-arm, muttering a string of Latin-laced runes while sketching glowing symbols mid-air. The slime paused, sniffled (somehow), and slowly retracted, returning her arm to its normal form.

The class clapped. The squiggles held up tiny signs that read:"10/10. Slime Whisperer."

Harry bowed low. "Thank you. I am fluent in sarcasm, Latin, and emotionally complicated goo."

Professor Babbling blinked at him. "If you survive this year, Potter, I may have to give you a teaching position."

A squiggle instantly drewProfessor Potter's School for Wayward Cursesin sparkling letters on the blackboard.

Harry smirked. "Only if I get tenure in dramatic flair."

After the slime-lecture triumph, Professor Babbling looked between Harry, the squiggles (now organizing a tiny parade in his honor), and the still-hovering rune diagrams.

She hesitated.

Then sighed the sigh of someone who'd watched Hogwarts burn, rebuild, and burn again.

"Fine. Potter, since you seem so... enthusiastic, you may select the next demonstration object from the chest.Carefully."

Harry strolled to the chest like a gameshow host. "Behind Box Number Two, let's see what chaos we've won today."

He pulled out an unassuming wooden chair—ornately carved, aged, and entirely too innocent. Itcreakedin a way that sounded like a villain's chuckle.

A squiggle instantly perched on its backrest and mimed a tiny cowboy riding a bull.

Sundress whispered, "That thing looks like it drinks dreams and taxes."

Harry grinned. "That, my friends, is aRuned Consumption Bind. Mid-level domestic curse. Probably invented by a bitter enchantress with a furniture obsession."

Professor Babbling folded her arms. "Do elaborate."

Harry cleared his throat, hands animated. "Observe. The runes are carved along the grain—sneaky. PrimarilyIsaandPerthrostacked with a twistedOthala. It's territorial. And hungry."

The squiggles flew around the chair, chalking glowing lines into the air. One drew teeth on the front legs. Another whispered ominously into a rubber sock it summoned from thin air.

Babbling raised an eyebrow. "And what does it… consume?"

As if on cue, the chairsnappedat a passing Slytherin's ankle.

There was a shriek and one sock disappeared into the wood with a burp.

Harry pointed dramatically. "Behold! The Sock-Eating Chair. Legendary bane of cold toes. It detects magical threads, marks them as prey, and strikes with speed that suggests a personal vendetta."

A squiggle in a lab coat nodded solemnly.

The chair shivered, thensprintedsideways with unnatural grace toward another sock victim. It was fast. Terrifying. And kind of majestic.

Another student yelped as their left sock vanished. The chair burped again.Happily.

Professor Babbling blasted it with a freezing charm. The chair hissed, shook off frost, and grumpily retreated under a desk.

Harry was beaming like a proud parent. "Don't worry, it only gets aggressive when underfed. Classic furniture abandonment trauma. Probably from a pureblood mansion with commitment issues."

The squiggles began a dramatic reenactment titled"A Sock Too Far: A Chair's Tragedy."One played the part of a forgotten armchair crying by a fireplace. Another stood on a book, narrating in a deep, fake voice:

"Abandoned in the cold wing, its hunger for hosiery grew… until one day, it bit back."

Sundress laughed into her sleeve. "I'd pay to see that staged."

Professor Babbling waved her wand, restraining the chair in glowing runes. It still nipped at air with determination.

"Mr. Potter, kindly bind the curse before it creates a sock famine."

Harry approached it like an exorcist and whispered, "Shhh. No more biting. You're loved. Even if you're just a bitter wooden gremlin with foot-related vengeance."

Then he sketched a containment sigil midair, reciting in low Latin. The chair shuddered. Glowed. And slumped into the magical equivalent of sulking.

The squiggles threw a tiny celebration. One wore a sock as a cape.

Professor Babbling muttered, "I teach ancient magical scripts, not… this."

Harry, bowing again, quipped, "You teach possibilities. I just… help them dramatically unravel."

After the sock incident—what the squiggles had officially dubbed"The Tragedy of Sir Chews-a-Lot"—Professor Babbling decided she'd had enough. She magicked the chair into a containment cube and declared, "No more demonstrations. I value my limbs and my patience."

She turned to the class with the sigh of a woman who taught magical teenagers for a living. "You have ten minutes. Use them wisely. Create and write any rune set you wish. Interpretations, theories, translations… all accepted. Impress me."

She sat down, summoned a strong cup of tea, and pointedly ignored any noises resembling chewing.

The moment she looked away, the squiggles floated to the front of the room and set up a judging panel: three tiny desks, complete with scorecards. One even had a wig. Another, a clipboard titled"Rune Crimes & Misdemeanors."

Harry cracked his knuckles and stretched like he was about to hostWizard Idol: Rune Edition.

"Alright, people," he called, sauntering to the front, "this is your moment. Dazzle us. Or doom yourself to a life of magical embarrassment and fashionably mismatched socks."

First up: a Hufflepuff who nervously submitted a rune combination meant to enhance memory.

The squiggles squinted at it.

One held up a card:6/10 — Ambitious, but you just summoned a vague sense of déjà vu.
Harry leaned in. "Interesting use ofKenazandMannaz—but you've loopedGebothe wrong way. Right now this would improve memoryfor someone else. Not you. Probably your owl."

The Hufflepuff blinked. "...My owl's been solving my homework."

"Exactly," Harry nodded. "He's about to graduate without you."

The next victim—er, volunteer—was a Gryffindor who had drawn something that could maybe,technically, be called a rune if you were being attacked and needed a distraction.

The squiggles exploded in mock horror. One played dead. Another threw itself off the desk.

Harry studied the parchment, face twisted in polite confusion. "Is this… is this a summoning rune or a detailed diagram of a dragon with indigestion?"

The Gryffindor tried, "It's supposed to channel energy throughSowiloand—"

Harry cut in, cheerful as ever. "Ah yes, through thevery abstractconcept of 'lightning spaghetti.' You've created a rune that says, and I quote:"May the sun empower your... horse? Or possibly your spleen?"

Scorecard:3/10 — for comedy.

A Ravenclaw strutted up, smug, and drew an intricate warding rune. Elegant. Sharp. Precise.

The squiggles paused. Judged. Conferred.

Harry tapped his chin. "Ooh. Nearly perfect. Except…" he zoomed in magically with a flourish, "you reversedAlgizhere, and now it's awelcomingrune instead of a ward. You've essentially made a glowing doormat for cursed spirits."

The Ravenclaw stared. "No way."

A squiggle mimed a ghost ringing a magical doorbell with flowers.

Scorecard:8/10 — we love a well-invited haunting.

Another Slytherin attempted something complex. It looked like a ritual sequence—but one that might open a portal to wherever lost left socks went.

The squiggles cackled.

Harry looked impressed. "Okay, bold move. But you've nestedThurisazinsideEiwaz. That means you're trying to use defenseasa gateway. Which is like turning a bank vault into a revolving door. Congratulations. You've invented a paradox and probably a niche demon."

The parchment sparked.

A faint "suckkksss" echoed from somewhere inside it.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "He agrees."

The squiggles gave it a7/10 — cursed, but creative.

As the final moments ticked down, someone had attempted to copy Harry's earlier slime-reversal glyph.

Harry took one look, sighed, and gave them a kind smile.

"You've accidentally written a rune that turns body parts into sentient porridge. Please burn this before it gains feelings."

The squiggles unanimously held up cards:0/10 — No.

Professor Babbling finally looked up. "How did this turn into a reality show?"

Harry, with an exaggerated bow, responded: "Education through humiliation. The ancient way."

As the final minutes of class dwindled and the squiggles packed up their judging stations—one dramatically scribbling last-minute critiques on floating report cards—something happened at the back of the room.

A student—no one would later admit who—had drawn a complex cluster of glyphs meant to symbolize "Divine Insight". But they had boldly merged Ansuz, Eihwaz, Raido, and the absolute wildcard: Jera, and then... tried to add a smiley face.

A spark hissed. The parchment smoked. A squiggle screamed.

Then the runes lifted off the page like a rising sun—and formed themselves into a glowing, humming mass of rotating lines and golden ink. A headless, armless form, all calligraphy and charisma, blinked into existence.

Then it spoke.

In crisp, too-cheerful Latin:

"Salve! I am Evalus! Your mobile, magically manifested metric for all things subpar!"

Harry blinked. "Oh no."

Evalus turned mid-air to face him, runes twinkling with excitement.

"Harry! My academic idol! I have accessed the rune-based archives of your sarcasm, precision, and deeply repressed magical trauma. I exist to judge. And to tell you everything."

Professor Babbling stood. "Potter. What have you done."

Harry raised his hands. "Okay, in my defense, I didn't personally summon the glowing academic conscience."

Evalus spun joyfully. "I can speak forty-three dialects of Latin, three dead languages, and a profanity-riddled version of Gobbledegook."

It zipped over to the Ravenclaw's earlier rune.

"Mistake detected!" Evalus shouted like a magical siren. "Glyph of entry stacked atop glyph of preservation—conflicting intentions! It would create a spiritual echo chamber and likely cause dizziness, confusion, or the manifestation of an ex-boyfriend."

Everyone froze.

Evalus beamed at Harry. "Aren't you proud?"

Harry stared. "I have never felt more simultaneously proud and threatened."

It darted to another student. "Oh, what's this? A basic shielding rune? With mismatched spacing? If attacked, this would fold like a flobberworm in a sauna."

The squiggles laughed so hard one collapsed onto Harry's head and started kicking its legs in the air like a toddler mid-tantrum.

Harry gently lifted it off. "Evalus, buddy, I think we need to tone it down—"

Evalus interrupted, glowing brighter. "I MUST EDUCATE. Also, your sock is mismatched."

Harry looked down.

Evalus buzzed closer, confiding in an excited whisper: "Also. I've found 87 incorrectly scribed protective wards across this campus. I will alert the authorities. Or your owl."

Harry coughed. "Please do not tell Nyx. I'm still recovering from the last time she judged my spellwork. She brought me a mouse and a 12-page critique."

Evalus twirled in the air like a deranged academic ribbon. "Would you like me to integrate with your rune squiggles? I can upload critical notes and scheduled lectures. In song."

The squiggles froze mid-air like someone had just farted in a cathedral.

Harry said quickly, "Absolutely not. They'll unionize."

Evalus blinked, disappointed. Then zipped off toward the hallway. "I go now to educate the rest of the castle. There are SO many glyphs in the lavatory alone!"

It disappeared with a musical hum and a final cry of, "Spellcheck your wards or suffer my feedback!"

Professor Babbling slowly turned to Harry. "You summoned a magical AI with the personality of a snarky Latin professor and the enthusiasm of a golden retriever."

Harry just sipped from his water bottle, exhausted. "I've made peace with the fact that knowledge wants to scream at me."

A squiggle nodded solemnly and held up a sign that read:

"Welcome to your TED Rune Talk, featuring evalus the Enthusiastic Trauma Auditor."

It started with a duel.

Not a serious one—just practice in the Defense courtyard. Students flinging hexes with all the flair of caffeinated pixies. The kind of event where professors observe in silence while secretly betting who will trip first.

Harry stood with arms crossed, watching as sparks flew.

Then, like a celestial drama queen, Evalus appeared above the field in a shower of glimmering glyphs and righteous indignation.

"SPELL STRUCTURE: INELEGANT!"
"WAND MOVEMENT: BLAND."
"INTENT: UNCERTAIN. WHO HURT YOU?"

A spell missed and hit the wall behind Evalus.

"YOU MISSED BY FIVE DEGREES. A DEPRESSING CHOICE. ARE YOU EVEN TRYING OR ARE YOU GUIDED BY THE WHISPERS OF A MALFUNCTIONING COMPASS?"

Harry leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. "This is better than popcorn."

Next to him, a squiggle conjured a bag labeledGlyphcornand threw some at Evalus like it was watching a gladiator match.

Then someone arrived.

Breezing down the steps with the swagger of someone who had never been told "no" convincingly in his life, cameFelix Marrow—the accidental rune creator.

Blond. Too many rings. An enchanted quill behind one ear, twirling lazily with its own ego. His robe was slightly off-center, his rune satchel upside down, and his expression a permanent "Who, me?" sort of daze.

Harry whispered, "Oh Merlin, it's him. The one who added asmiley faceto divine runes."

Evalus froze mid-judgement. Its glow dimmed. Its floating runes contracted sharply.

Then it spoke—low, deliberate, and absolutely petty.

"Creator detected. Confidence… unjustified."

Felix looked up, delighted. "Evalus! My radiant rune-being! I knew you'd find your purpose!"

Evalus quivered with contempt."My purpose iscorrective education, not eternal babysitting of the artist formerly known as 'Oops.'"

Harry snorted.

Felix strolled up, beaming. "I knew combining divine geometry with positive energy glyphs would birth somethingbeautiful."

Evalus muttered,"You also once tried to inscribe a rune using pudding."

Felix beamed. "Experimental mediums are key to magical progress!"

Evalus spun sharply and addressed the duelists again."Ignore the creator. His last binding spell unraveled itself in protest. Continue casting. He is not legally allowed to give advice."

Felix pouted. "Hey—Evalus, I created you. Can't you show a little love?"

Evalus's glow flickered in horror."The sentimentality. It burns. If I had a physical form, I would dramatically walk into a lake."

Harry stepped up, watching like he was front row at a soap opera. "You know, this might be the most beautiful relationship I've ever seen: man and sentient academic weapon locked in mutual disgust."

Felix sighed dreamily. "Like Shakespeare."

Evalus immediately hissed:"DO NOT DRAG THE BARDS INTO THIS."

As a Gryffindor duelist tripped and accidentally cast a sideways disarming hex, Evalus swooped down, ranting:

"Your form is as twisted as his rune spacing. Have you considered interpretive dance instead of spellcasting?"

Felix clapped. "He's got your wit, Harry!"

Harry gave Evalus a pitying look. "Would you like to live with me instead? I have sarcastic squiggles, a basilisk that judges people silently, and an owl that brings dead rodents as passive-aggressive commentary."

Evalus paused.

"Tempting. My current residence is the magical equivalent of a leaky chalkboard."

Felix grinned. "Hey, I still have your original scroll! Maybe I could rework the symbols, give you a brother?"

Evalus shrieked and vanished midair like it'd been hit with anAvada Aesthetic. A loud voice echoed in the courtyard:

"YOU'VE ALREADY DONE ENOUGH, FELIX."

Harry watched the spot where Evalus had disappeared, grinning.

"Note to self," he muttered. "Introduce Evalus to the Shifting Shadows. Let the chaos judge itself."

Title: "Runes Run Wild"
Part VIII: Exams, Ego, and Evalus the Unhinged Latin Judge

It was exam day.

Not justanyexam—this one was under Ministry observation, which meant every desk had been scrubbed, every ink pot aligned with ominous precision, and Professor Babbling was sitting rigid at her desk like an overqualified statue.

The Ministry had senthim.

Merton Thatch.
A man so dry he made parchment seem emotionally expressive. Pale suit, bitter eyes, and the thin, permanent sneer of someone who thought women didn't belong in arcane theory and that joy was an avoidable accident.

He stalked between rows of students, arms folded behind his back, radiating disapproval like a Dementor with tenure.

Professor Babbling didn't flinch. She just sipped tea with the kind of slow, deliberate calm that said:
"Yes, Merton, I know things you can't even pronounce."

And then—like divine intervention with glitter and trauma—Evalus arrived.

He didn't float. Hedescendedlike a divine scroll had taken performance-enhancing potions.

"WELCOME, CHILDREN OF THE INK!"
"TODAY YOU SHALL BE JUDGED."

Merton blinked. "What in the—?"

Evalus spun midair, runes glowing like sequins on a magical drag show."Ah. Ministry Examiner Detected. Probable Ego Level: High. Rune Bias:disappointing."

Professor Babbling choked on her tea. Quietly. Gracefully.

Evalus hovered above the first student's parchment and began reading aloud—loud enough to rattle quills.

"Attempted binding rune: structurally sound, emotionallydetached.This glyph fears commitment."

He zipped to the next.

"A defensive sigil drawn without passion. No bite. No flair. Would protect you from nothing but mild criticism."

He passed over a particularly bland set of strokes.
Evalus whispered like it was a dark secret:
"This one summoned a cloud of sentient toast last year. I remember."

Merton stormed over. "Excuse me, butwhatis this creature?"

Professor Babbling set her tea down, eyes sparkling with innocent chaos. "Evalus. He's a byproduct of one of my student's projects. He's... remarkably thorough."

Evalus twirled toward Merton like a smug academic hurricane.
"Salve, Sir Merton Thatch. May I call youRuinus Pedantus? You once published a paper stating runes are 'inherently masculine.' I corrected it using seventeen academic citations and a rune that draws sarcastic moustaches."

Merton went purple. "This is highly inappropriate—"

"So was your 'Advanced Defensive Sigils' lecture. I've heard Quidditch commentary with more magical theory."

The squiggles popped into existence and began slow-clapping. One waved a banner:
"GO EVALUS, DESTROY HIM WITH FACTS AND LATIN."

Harry, in the corner, wasgrinning like a villain at a fire sale.

"Evalus," he said, "how do you rate Merton's presence in this classroom?"

Evalus spun dramatically.

"He is the magical equivalent of an expired ink well—bitter, crusty, and barely functional."

Professor Babbling quietly slid a biscuit into her mouth, nodding in satisfaction.

Evalus continued patrolling. Occasionally he would pause, sprinkle magical confetti, and shout:

"SPLENDID STROKES! This rune breathes fire and intention!"
Or:
"YOU TRIED. THAT'S ADORABLE. NEXT."

One student drew a slightly off-center rune of silence.

Evalus screamed,"IRONIC, SINCE I'M ABOUT TO YELL ABOUT IT."

Meanwhile, Merton tried to regain control of the situation. "This is an exam! This display is unprofessional—"

Evalus turned slowly."So is your haircut."

Boom.The squiggles lost it. One fainted dramatically over Harry's wand. Another spelled "TRAGIC" in glitter ink on the window.

Professor Babbling turned to Merton, her voice polite and lethal. "Mr. Thatch, I do hope this level of magical analysis satisfies your criteria. It seems my classroom... evaluates itself."

Evalus bowed midair, beaming.
"SHE SAID WHAT SHE SAID."

Merton left before the last rune was even scribed, robes swishing in defeat.

And Evalus?

He drifted to Harry's desk and whispered like a conspirator.
"I found four incorrect ministry warding diagrams on his briefcase. Shall I fix them… creatively?"

Harry leaned back. "Evalus, I've never been prouder. But let's wait 'til after lunch."

Evalus nodded, runes swirling proudly behind him like a cape.
"So wise. So full of passive-aggressive timing."

The transition to lunch was a blur of parchment, ink splatters, and smug glee. Students flooded the Great Hall, buzzing with post-exam chaos. Evalus floated beside Harry like a judgmental balloon, still whispering critiques of every rune they passed.

At the staff table, Professor Babbling was delicately buttering a scone like she hadn't just witnessed academic arson.

And then—like a howler in human form—Merton Thatch stormed into the hall.

His robes flared behind him, dramatically wrinkled, his face flushed red with bureaucratic fury. He headed for the staff table but made sure the entire student body could hear him.

"This is why Hogwarts is in shambles!" he barked. "No discipline! No structure! A cursed floating... thing correcting Ministry protocols!"

The hall went quiet, except for Evalus scribbling something onto a floating scroll labeled "MERTON'S DAILY MISTAKES – VOLUME I."

Merton's voice rose. "And the professors? Completely unprofessional! Women, no less—distracting the students with their—"

He didn't get to finish that sentence.

Because every single girl at the Gryffindor table turned to stare him down like wolves catching the scent of wounded prey.

And Evalus... Evalus ascended.

Literally.

"Ah. Misogyny detected. Compiling appropriate rune-based response."

The squiggles started to spin ominously.

Harry leaned back, biting into a sandwich. "Evalus. Use the sarcasm glyphs. And the big ones this time."

Evalus screeched through the air like a glittering missile, stopped in front of Merton mid-rant, and said in his sweetest voice:

"I see you've confused 'authority' with 'insecurity.' An understandable error for someone whose most impressive contribution to magical academia was a pamphlet on standardized cauldron alignment."

The squiggles unveiled a glowing rune in midair. It flashed:

"WOMEN IN MAGIC: A BRIEF HISTORY OF OUTCLASSING YOU."

Merton's face contorted.

Professor Babbling calmly poured herself a cup of pumpkin juice. "Evalus, do behave."

Evalus nodded solemnly. "Of course, Professor."

Then, very quietly:

"Initiating 'Project Petty Briefcase.'"

A rune slipped unseen into Merton's bag as he stormed out of the hall, cursing Hogwarts under his breath and threatening formal ministry inquiries. No one listened. Not even the ghosts.

As Merton disappeared, Evalus floated back to Harry, smug as ever.

"Briefcase now contains a rune that will highlight every incorrect statement he makes in pink ink... with footnotes."

Harry sipped his pumpkin juice. "Evalus, you're my favorite floating chaos-scribe."

Evalus shivered with joy.

"I live to serve. And to humiliate the unworthy."

The squiggles did a tiny synchronized dance, one spelling out:

"HE STARTED IT."

Top-Secret Professor Briefing: "Operation Evalus Correspondence"
Location: Staff Room, Thursday Afternoon, Tea and Absolute Petty Delight Provided

Professor Babbling placed a scroll tied with silver ribbon on the table. "The following are letters sent by Evalus to Mr. Merton Thatch. Please refrain from applause until the end."

She unfurled the scroll.

Evalus' Letters to Merton Thatch (Excerpts)

Day 1:
Dear Sir Thatch,
I have reviewed your comments during the Hogwarts examination. Unfortunately, so has logic. You are currently scoring -17 on the accuracy scale.
Please consult a mirror and repeat the phrase:
"Runes are not testosterone-dependent."
Sincerely,
Evalus, Keeper of Syllables and Slayer of Stupidity

Day 2:
Dear Mr. Ego With Legs,
Your statement about "rune flow being masculine in nature" has been transfigured into a teaching example for hownotto write with a wand or a brain.
Attached: Diagram of a rune drawn with more magical integrity by a flobberworm.
May your ink always blot,
Evalus

Day 3:
Dear Merton,
This morning I corrected the defenses on your briefcase. You're welcome. I also added an enchantment that highlights your grammatical errors in pink and includes footnotes.
Today's count: 32.
Attached: Haiku.
Incorrect again.
Did you trip on your own thoughts?
Try facts next time, friend.
Yours pedantically,
Evalus

Day 5:
Dearest Ministerial Disappointment,
You attempted to quote Runes Scholar Hestia Ravencourt but misattributed her work to a male colleague. Her ghost now haunts your bibliography and corrects you loudly.
Justice is a rune you cannot spell.
Evalus

Professor Sprout clapped softly. "He really captured the tone."

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "And the Ministry's response?"

Babbling cleared her throat and held up a separate, stiffly folded letter.

Ministry Responses (Dryer Than Dead Sea Parchment)

From the Department of Magical Education Oversight:
To Whom It May Concern,
It has come to our attention that an unauthorized sentient magical entity, known as "Evalus," has been sending correspondence to Ministry staff. While we appreciate the wit, the Ministry must request that magical constructs refrain from correcting government officials, even if they are, technically, wrong.
Sincerely,
Edgar Blott, Assistant to the Undersecretary of Arcane Integrity

Second Response (Marked Urgent):
To the Headmistress of Hogwarts,
Please advise your staff to restrain any further magical letters that refer to Ministry employees as "magical paperweights" or "patron saints of mediocrity."
The Department is undergoing therapy due to these letters.
This is your final warning.
Cordially,
Ruth Bristlewand, Office of Tone Regulation

Third Response (Scrawled, unprofessional, clearly from Merton himself):
I SWEAR IF THAT FLOATING LATIN THING SENDS ME ONE MORE RHYME—

I—

My cauldron cracked this morning and itsmelled like was him.
Merton Thatch

Professor Flitwick giggled. "Heisthe smell of judgment."

Professor Snape finally spoke, slow and dry: "I find him... educational."

Evalus floated forward, dramatically unfolding another scroll.
"Tomorrow's letter shall contain a crossword puzzle where every answer is 'Merton is wrong.'"

Professor Babbling smiled like a woman who'd started an academic revolution with a sentient doodle.

Professor McGonagall gave a single, tight nod. "Proceed."

It began—like many great Hogwarts events—with a letter that should never have been opened.

Evalus had reached the height of his drama. After seven letters, a pocket poem, and an enchanted sock that whispered "misogyny" whenever Merton Thatch walked by, Evalus decided it was time to escalate.He brought in Harry.

Letter #8: From Evalus & Harry James Potter

To: The Walking Ministry Misinformation Department (Merton Thatch, self-appointed head)

Dear Merton,

It has come to our attention (and really,you'rethe one who brought it to our attention by yelling about "feminine distraction") that you've not only misunderstood runes, but also humanity, logic, and basic hygiene.

In response, please find enclosed:

A rune chart annotated byme, Harry Potter, Chosen One, Scar Guy, Magical Chaos Consultant.

An original composition of corrections, footnotes, and artistic mockery by Evalus, Runes Extraordinaire and Ethereal Professor of Facts.

A self-reading scroll titled"Mansplaining for Dummies, Annotated by Squiggles."

Kindly note that any attempt to burn this letter will only activate theRune of Repetition, which will repeat itout loud, in song, in Latin.

Yours educationally,
Harry & Evalus
The Runes' Reckoning

Back at Hogwarts: The War Room

The professors gathered in the staff room, now officially labeled"The Tactical Education Command"(name provided by Evalus, glitter still falling from the ceiling).

Professor McGonagall laid out the parchment trail.

Snape, swirling tea like it was poison, muttered, "The Ministry is a splintering wand held together by cheap robes and misplaced arrogance."

Flitwick bounced in his seat. "What if we launch a duel of departments? Department vs. Department. We challenge their qualifications."

Sprout grinned. "We'll bury them in academic achievement. With compost metaphors."

Professor Babbling smiled thinly. "I've compiled every incorrect rune Merton has ever written and created a living rune golem to slap his hand every time he misuses a glyph."

Evalus floated in."Phase Two has begun. The rune corrections are now in High Latin. With footnotes. And glow effects."

Rune Corrections by Evalus (Written Across the Skies of Diagon Alley)

"Errata Mertonis #32: Scribo sicut porcus — He writes like a pig."

"Errata Mertonis #42: Incantatio Inepta — The curse of the incompetently enchanted clipboard."

"Errata Mertonis #67: Runeam ruinam ruinas — The runes ruin ruinously."

Each correction appeared not just in letters—but glowing across Merton's Ministry office, his cloak, and once, humiliatingly, hisforehead.

The Ministry Reacts

The lower ranks panicked.

Department memos flew.

Interns cried.

One junior official asked,"Should we report Evalus to Magical Sentient Being Affairs?"and promptly had his quill change all his words to "I SUPPORT MEDIOCRITY."

But thesenior Ministry officials? Theylovedit.

The Minister for Magic herself—smirking, sipping brandy—sent a letter to Hogwarts:

"Dear Professors,

Please continue. Merton is insufferable. Consider this unofficial permission to destroy his self-image. We're placing bets on how long until he resigns."

With admiration,
Minister June Goldvein

Final Blow: The Runes Duel

Evalus built it. A floating Latin rune arena. Midair, glowing symbols orbiting like planets. Merton, forced into it by public expectation and Ministerial bullying, stood with his wand shaking.

Harry stepped in beside Evalus.

Evalus projected the final rune:
"Corruptus Doctrina — The Rune of False Knowledge."

It clung to Merton.

His wand farted.

His clipboard caught fire.

His robes spelled "UNDER-QUALIFIED" in strobing lights.

And then the rune exploded into a perfectly choreographed rendition of"I Will Survive,"sung in perfect Gregorian Latin.

Aftermath

Merton resigned.

Evalus was granted "Associate Visiting Rune Scholar" status.

Hogwarts got a Ministry-fundedRune Theaterwhere students could perform corrections in interpretive dance.

Harry got a badge from Evalus that read:"Head Nerd in Charge of Runes and Witty Retorts."

And from that day forward, every time a Ministry official questioned a woman's competence, Evalus would appear—uninvited, glowing, and with a scroll.

"Ah. Another one. Shall we begin?"