Nancy was in a daze.
On the podium, the Professor was explaining the exam paper at an incredibly fast pace. The piece of chalk on the blackboard was automatically writing, wearing itself down rapidly as it reproduced a slew of information that Nancy had already mastered long ago.
She froze for a moment before quickly jotting down the notes into her notebook. On any other day, she wouldn't have bothered giving these things a second glance.
This is just first-year material. How could there be so many details I overlooked?
The classroom was completely silent. No whispers or murmurs could be heard among the students. The only sounds were the scratching of quills against parchment and the squeaking of the chalk, all serving as the background to the Professor's voice, making the lesson feel unusually serious.
Nancy had already previewed the fifth-year syllabus over the summer, but the new Professor was moving at an absurdly fast pace, not even pausing to ask questions. The tricky points, which would usually provide an opportunity for the top students to earn extra credit, were instead swept past with a barrage of explanations and examples. This made the lesson progress at an almost suffocating speed.
She even felt her own breathing become labored. By the time the Professor finally announced the end of the class, Nancy let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.
At the same time, the sound of numerous heavy sighs echoed around her.
***
"Class dismissed." William set down the textbook in his hand and announced to the students.
Watching their postures slump into exhaustion, he glanced at the thick stack of papers in his bag.
"There are four sets of test papers here. All students who received an 'A' are to complete the papers on their own and write a two-thousand-word essay on fifth-year material. The three students who earned an 'E' are exempt from the test papers but still need to complete the essay."
William smiled lightly at the students, who were too drained to protest. "If your foundation is weak, you need targeted practice. That's just the way it is. All right, go prepare for your next class."
Pulling out the remaining test papers from the bag, William tucked the now-empty bag under his arm and waved cheerfully. "prefects, distribute the papers. See you all next week!"
With a jaunty stride, William walked out of the classroom. It wasn't until then that the students, who had just emerged from the ordeal of his terrifying lesson, began to comprehend what had just happened.
"Four test papers! An essay! Two thousand words!"
A boy's voice rang out, loud and sharp, as if he had been hit with a Stupefy. The echo of his exclamation jolted everyone out of their relief that class was finally over.
"Two thousand words?"
"TWO THOUSAND WORDS!"
The questioner fell silent. In the past, essays were measured by inches, making it easier for professors to calculate the length at a glance and determine whether the students had written enough.
However, this method led many students to find ways to cut corners. By using larger fonts and wider line spacing, an essay could shrink by as much as one-fifth in actual content. But now, with essays measured by word count, such tricks were almost impossible.
"Four test papers! Is the Professor trying to kill us?"
"Well, maybe not kill, but if you put in more effort and scored an 'E,' you wouldn't have to do them."
"Do you even know who got an 'E'? Can anyone even get an 'O' on that exam? Nancy—" The speaker turned and called out to the prefect.
"I'm here. What's up?"
"If you took the test again, could you get an 'O'?"
"I overlooked too many details. If I tried again, I think I could."
"…"
The two exchanged a glance and then fell into silence.
***
Cramming seems to work for these kids, but going at this pace all the time isn't ideal. Besides, magic isn't the same as regular exams—it has practical applications.
In the library, William was stacking piles of materials while contemplating the next steps for his lesson plans.
Considering the way the previous Professor taught, and following the principle of 'sharpening the axe doesn't delay chopping wood,' the ratio of theory to practical lessons should be three to one. Practical lessons can incorporate a lot of already-mastered spells as review, reducing the frustration caused by failed spellcasting. With this approach, the workload for practical lessons can be increased a bit. Anything that can't be completed in class can be assigned as homework.
Speaking of which, fifth-year students are the easiest to teach. With OWLs looming, drowning them in practice questions is enough. There's no need to worry about motivating them too much, and they still have two years in advanced classes to refine their understanding of magical society. It's not necessary to teach them much beyond the curriculum.
…
…
By the time William had finished revising his new teaching plan, the bell for the second major class of the day rang.
Come to think of it, it's strange; how is Hogwarts' bell powered? Is it mechanical or magical?"
With that question lingering in his mind, William made his way to the Great Hall.
Adams had arrived early and was grinning mischievously at William.
"Go on, spill it. What's the bad news?" William asked with an air of calmness; it was a demeanor born of familiarity with Adams' mischievous grin. Back in their school days, Adams had worn the same expression when informing someone they'd been summoned to the teacher's office.
Adams raised an eyebrow. "Take a guess. What new nickname have the fifth-years given you?"
"Tyrant?"
"You think too highly of yourself, William. Unless the Headmaster announces that Hogwarts is canceling holidays and forcing remedial classes this year, that title won't appear at Hogwarts."
"So, you're saying the Headmaster has the potential to be a tyrant?"
"No, I'm saying that if Dumbledore made such a decision, Professor McGonagall would be the one issuing the orders and would inherit that nickname instead."
"Pfft! Hahaha…"
William didn't laugh, but the Care of Magical Creatures professor, Professor Kettleburn, broke into a fit of unrestrained laughter, his composure nowhere to be found; as usual.
Kettleburn's laugh was incredibly infectious, and soon a corner of the staff table erupted in a chorus of uncontrollable laughter.
Before long, McGonagall's sharp gaze swept over, silencing the group of professors with her stern presence. However, William was still left clueless about his new nickname.
Just as he was about to press Adams for an answer, he noticed Adams' ears turning red.
Before William could look into it further, Professor Lockhart's unmistakably magnetic voice cut through the chatter.
"Professor William, it seems like there's quite a bit of joy over here. May I join in on the fun?"
"Of course, Professor Lockhart. Please, feel free."
After a few pleasantries, it didn't take William long to understand why the ever-dramatic Professor Lockhart had shifted from his usual place at the center of the table to join their corner. He had heard about the first-year exam questions William had set, which had apparently sparked widespread discussion among the students.
"You know, Professor William," Lockhart began, "answering fan mail takes up so much of my time. While I'm more than capable of fulfilling my teaching duties, creating a special set of exam questions for the students? Well, I simply don't have the time to spare."
Honestly, Professor Lockhart, there's no need to explain. Everyone in the school already knows. Teaching isn't exactly your forte. You're a brilliant adventurer, but as for teaching? It might not be your calling.
However, William refrained from voicing any retort. Instead, he cheerfully handed over a copy of the test paper.
After all, it was just a student exam and had nothing to do with money or anything significant, so William didn't mind sharing. There was also a reason he wouldn't openly admit; Truthfully, he envied the adventurer's treasure chest.
At least three SR-grade items inside, right?
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