Hogwarts' daily schedule, Qin Yu mused, wasn't so different from his old university routine—up at seven or eight, breakfast in the Great Hall, classes starting at nine, two in the morning, two in the afternoon, and then the rest of the day free to do as you pleased.
Of course, the subject matter here was a far cry from anything he'd studied in his previous life.
Take Defense Against the Dark Arts, for example.
Their professor, Stephen Swenton, was rumored to have once been a magical healer. His favorite classroom pastime? Projecting shockingly graphic, animated images of dark magic injuries—always with the goal of making lessons unforgettable.
Lately, Qin Yu and his classmates had been learning how to treat werewolf bites. Professor Swenton had come prepared with a gruesome collection of photos: savage bite wounds, and brutal scenes of wizards in the throes of lycanthropy.
"As your textbooks state, once infection sets in after a werewolf bite, it's incurable—a curse as old as time itself. That's why immediate and thorough cleaning is vital. But what counts as 'thorough'? Jerome, your thoughts?" Professor Swenton asked, turning to a red-haired Slytherin boy.
"I don't know, Professor Swenton," Jerome replied bluntly.
"Oh, don't know? Then let me show you."
With a flick of his wand at a stack of magical cards, Professor Swenton sent a shimmering projection spinning through the air. It hovered before Jerome—a woman, wand in hand, severing her own mangled palm at the wrist in one swift, bloodied motion.
Even students sitting far away winced, instinctively clutching their own hands.
"Still not clear?" Professor Swenton pressed, sending another image floating over.
This time, it was a burly man, half his face torn by a beast's bite. Without hesitation, he used his wand to slice off the ruined half of his face.
A collective gasp swept the room. The children—most of them only eleven—had never seen anything so horrifying. Some looked ready to faint.
Jerome, frozen in shock, stared at the grotesque wound, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"Understand now?" Professor Swenton asked, already reaching for another card.
"Ugh…" Jerome finally couldn't take it. He clapped a hand over his mouth and bolted from the classroom.
Moments later, the sound of retching echoed down the corridor.
"Professor, isn't this a bit much?" Qin Yu couldn't help but interject.
"Compared to turning into a mindless beast who attacks friends and family, I'd say a little shock is well worth it," Professor Swenton replied, perfectly serious.
"Well, you do have a point…" Qin Yu conceded, then raised his hand. "But is there really no better way to treat these wounds? Maybe a potion to stop the infection before it starts?"
He was thinking, of course, of rabies vaccines from the Muggle world.
Professor Swenton shook his head. "For now, the best method is excising the wound entirely. Some have tried healing charms and escaped infection, but those are rare exceptions. As for potions—none exist that can truly prevent or cure the werewolf curse."
That answer, combined with the savage images, left every student in the room looking grim.
After a pause, Professor Swenton continued, "There is, however, a new potion—the Wolfsbane Potion. It can temporarily suppress a werewolf's transformation. But brewing it takes exceptional talent—your Potions Master, Professor Snape, is one of the few who could manage it. Still, I hope none of you ever need it."
So, maybe Snape should be teaching this class instead, Qin Yu thought wryly.
As for Professor Swenton himself, Qin Yu had no "memory" of him—he was just a stand-in until the familiar Professor Quirrell returned from his travels next year.
…
After such an "unforgettable" Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, the students filed out pale and shaken, drifting in small groups toward the Great Hall for lunch.
Most of the first-years barely touched their food, their minds still haunted by those gruesome images—gone was the earlier enthusiasm for the house-elves' legendary cooking.
Naturally, Qin Yu was the exception. In his past life, he'd watched plenty of crime dramas and forensic shows—bloody corpses no longer fazed him. By the time he reached the lunch table, his appetite was back to normal.
"Jerome, are you okay?" a Slytherin boy asked with concern.
"Professor Swenton is just cruel! Why'd he have to pick on me?" Jerome groaned, still looking a little green. He pushed his plate away, appetite gone.
"Every teacher's got their own methods. I've heard Professor Snape is even worse—students leave his class in tears all the time," the boy replied, shaking his head.
"I'd rather take History of Magic. Professor Binns could put a troll to sleep, and he never cares if we nap," Jerome said wistfully.
Over at the Gryffindor table, the new students were deep in their own discussion.
They were all a bit nervous about Professor Snape's class—especially since he was Head of Slytherin. Would he be unfair to Gryffindors?
Qin Yu just smiled to himself. He knew the truth: beneath that icy exterior, Professor Snape was far kinder than anyone realized. But there was no point trying to explain that to a group of anxious eleven-year-olds—they'd never believe him.
…
After lunch, with a little time to rest, Wilson, Jimmy, and Burke set off together, while Qin Yu and the quiet Elvis followed behind.
Qin Yu didn't mind hanging out with these "kids"—though, thanks to his mental age, he sometimes felt the difference in interests.
That's why he found himself gravitating toward Elvis—the boy was calm, soft-spoken, and not prone to mischief.
Thinking of mischief, Qin Yu suddenly pictured Hermione chattering away at his side, and couldn't help but smile.
"Qin, are you thinking of something funny?" Elvis asked shyly.
He's trying to make friends, but he's still not used to it, Qin Yu thought.
"Yeah, I remembered a friend. I promised to write her a letter before term started, and if I don't do it today, she'll be mad—the kind of mad that's hard to fix," Qin Yu replied, grinning.
"That's nice… I wish I had someone to write to," Elvis said, a little enviously.
"You can write to me, you know—when we're on break, or after we graduate," Qin Yu said, patting his shoulder.
"Really? I will! I'll definitely write to you!" Elvis beamed.
"And I'll write back," Qin Yu promised. Then he nudged him, "Come on, Elvis—if we don't hurry, we'll be late for Potions."
At his words, Elvis broke into a jog, and the pair soon overtook Wilson, Jimmy, and Burke. Jimmy let out a whoop and took off running, quickly followed by the others, all determined to win the impromptu race.
The corridor rang with boys' laughter and the thud of hurried footsteps.
Children's happiness really is the simplest thing in the world, Qin Yu thought, a little wistfully.
He stepped into the dungeon classroom—where the living, breathing, and unmistakably cold Professor Snape was already waiting.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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