The second year began less calmly than the first. After the first day of classes, it became clear: a new portion of problems awaited me, wrapped in a beautiful package and demanding a solution. After all, if not me, then who?
The main surprise (not really) was, of course, the replacement of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. As if no one expected it… I had only hoped a normal teacher would come, like Professor Kember, but I was a bit… surprised when I saw the new professor during the Sorting. It was hard to miss the absence of the old Auror and the appearance of a new figure.
Her name was Agatha Sharp. A woman with sharp features, short-cropped dark hair, and a voice as if stretched on a string. At first impression, she somewhat resembled Madam Trick — the same feigned confidence and attempts to keep everyone in check, as if any student's objection was inherently meaningless to her. But if Trick was more of an actress, Professor Sharp acted differently: minimum words, maximum action. Because speeches turned out extremely poorly for her.
The first lesson announced this louder than any introduction. The professor entered the classroom, gave us a piercing look, and said dryly:
"Today we have pixies. Cornish."
Then she reached for her pocket but stopped halfway. I understood right then what dependency our new teacher had. The good old habit — nicotine. The smell of cigarettes clung to her when I passed her in the corridor. I don't like the smell of tobacco, especially given my relatively sharp sense of smell. Not a superpower — just a good nose. It's funny that in my previous world, I also had an excellent sense of smell, which is why I only tried a cigarette once in my life.
So, in this lesson, where we were supposed to cover the material on pixies and then reinforce it with practice in the next, she decided to condense it all into one session. She didn't bother to properly explain what these creatures were: dropped a couple of dry definitions and released them from the cage. The room instantly threatened to turn into a branch of chaos, like in that memorable lesson for me and the prophetic one for Harry Potter in his second year. But, despite all my words, she turned out to be good in the practical part.
Professor Sharp, at the last moment before utter chaos, drew her wand and with three consecutive spells subdued most of the pixies, then literally packed the little troublemakers back into their cages one by one. Only about a dozen swift creatures remained free, and they could no longer cause significant problems for our class.
My group and a few other students quickly dealt with the remainder, and afterwards, I myself locked them all in the cages one by one, using a non-verbal Levicorpus. Only after we had managed did she nod in satisfaction and praised the girls, especially Nox, who had performed the best among them — instantly immobilizing two pixies. However, the teacher's explanations weren't great and sounded something like: "Like this and like that, catch them like this, bind them like that." Honestly, she just showed a highly specialized spell and generally explained how to apply it, but so inarticulately that half the class didn't even understand they had just been shown a new spell.
Compared to the old Auror, who loved to lecture about "honor" and "correct tactics" and had been teaching for almost as long as this madam had lived… Well, night and day. Sharp seemed tough, almost rude. She worked efficiently, but she was clearly not a pedagogue.
However, over two weeks of classes, I noticed another detail. She clearly favored the girls: praised them more often, scolded them more gently than the boys, and during practical assignments preferred to choose volunteers from among them. As if some internal counter of feminist justice was working inside her. But let's leave that aside; I don't care. I had long since studied most of the second-year DADA material, and what I hadn't was useless to me anyway.
At least she didn't assign much extra homework, unlike Professor Kember, who abused that. Overall, it was tolerable. After all, it probably couldn't be worse than with Lockhart in the Chosen One's second year…
Another curious detail emerged. I learned from Sophia Selwyn — the current Slytherin female prefect — that before Hogwarts, Miss Sharp worked as a private detective in Magical America, and had only moved to Britain a year ago, now selling her services here. To be honest, I wasn't surprised. Her gaze betrayed the habit of a person looking for a hidden agenda where there never was one. A generally useful quality, but unpleasant to feel when she's drilling into you with her eyes after you've outsmarted someone in class, especially the girls.
So yes, Defence this year promised to be… peculiar. However, DADA wasn't the only news this academic year.
The news was the record set by the Weasley twins, who, in just one month as green first-years, had managed to anger half their house and several teachers. Among them was Snape, who accepted our potions with gratitude in his eyes. The poor Potions master hadn't expected to encounter two opposites of those three smart, obedient, and diligent Weasleys after them.
There were a couple of other interesting kids among the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, but more on that later.
As for lessons, our Penmanship and Arithmancy classes were cut to a minimum. Now they were only once a week. On one hand — joy, on the other — I understood it wasn't for our sake, but to free up hours for new subjects. By the way, Penmanship was still taught by Miss Pencroft — the very one who tormented third-years who chose her "Muggle Studies" as an elective. Although "tormented" is probably not the right word — people usually took it for an easy grade.
Arithmancy was taught by Miss Maribel Stroud, who also taught the Numerology course. At least she had a talent for turning even dry numbers into an intrigue, so the kids treated her more tolerantly.
Among the new subjects, we only had Theory of Magic. We were supposed to take it for exactly one year, after which it could be taken as an elective. It was interesting from a potential standpoint, but in execution… It was taught as dryly as its name suggested. No practice, no wand charms — only parchment, ink, and one endless "why."
Essentially, they were explaining the same things that had already been mentioned by Flitwick or McGonagall last year, but now — expanded and with such references, such basic truths, that it was almost embarrassing to read, because how could one not know this. They were spoon-feeding us the material as if we were backward. But I'm judging from the perspective of a person who had lived and moved in the magical world for all twelve years of his life, but even without that, I had a minimal understanding of the magical world thanks to my foreknowledge and generally from delving into the fantasy genre. For Muggle-borns from the 80s, the material was useful — no argument. But after the third lesson, I realized: the main challenge in "Theory of Magic" was not to fall asleep from boredom.
And this year, extracurricular clubs came into play.
Some were supervised by the teachers themselves — the Dueling Club, the Astronomy Club, the Potions Club, the Divination Club, the Ancient Runes Club. Others developed the school's cultural life: the school choir, the drawing club, the drama club, the chess club, and several similar ones. And there were completely useless ones, "for interests": the Gobstones Club, the Magical Creatures Enthusiasts Club, the Chocolate Frog Card Collectors Club, the Rat Racing Club…
So, there were loads of clubs. If you wanted — sing, if you wanted — draw, if you wanted — collect bugs in jars and call it the "Naturalists' Club." All that was required was three or more participants and the signature (approval) of the Headmaster, Deputy Headmaster, or two teachers. However, many clubs created by students quickly closed for various reasons: from participants' apathy to professors' complaints.
Serious clubs lasted longer and were considered prestigious. Quidditch, of course, was the most prestigious (especially for Gryffindors and Slytherins — the eternal war on brooms). Next came the Dueling Club, and then the others.
The catch was, not everyone could get in. For Quidditch, for example, each house recruited exactly 14 players — seven main and seven reserves. Though reserves weren't always recruited to full capacity, so in the "most prestigious club," which wasn't really much of a club, there were a maximum of forty students.
About half a hundred were enrolled in the Dueling Club. Flitwick accepted everyone whose grades in Charms and DADA were above average. Without this restriction, there would have been even more participants.
If attending at least one club were mandatory, then not a third of the students would be members, but all. But not everyone wanted to spend their free time on clubs, and not everyone had the opportunity to get into the one they wanted. Each club had its own rules and requirements. In the Dueling Club, you had to attend at least the Saturday meetings, which lasted more than two and a half hours. On other days, enthusiasts would go. Like me and my inner circle, the entire composition of which I gathered precisely there. On regular days, there were relatively fewer people, and you could train calmly in controlled conditions, where they would help you if needed and wouldn't even give you detention for using spells in the corridor afterwards.
There were no formal restrictions on the number of clubs, but for the reasons stated above, almost everyone tried to stick to one club. There were those who tried to combine two clubs — for example, chess and numerology, but that usually ended quickly.
The main thing was different: from this year, we understood — clubs are not just "something to do in the evening." They are part of socialization. You can make new connections there that you lack in classes, and connections are more valuable to me than the mass of information you can get at school. The exception — lessons from a few truly good teachers who knew how to explain practice; theory was easier to study on your own.
At such moments, I was once again convinced: Hogwarts is not just a castle and textbooks. It's a genuine social arena. Those who manage to stay afloat here won't drown in society either. Or maybe I've just gone completely crazy on the basis of Slytherin brain, that is, intrigues and manipulations.
As for acquaintances — they also increased. Sophia Selwyn's younger brother was in his third year. Quite a snake himself, cunning and slippery, but he maintained neutrality with me, even helped me get acquainted with his sister. Now I and the new female prefect got along quite well. Her presence made many conversations more interesting: smart, moderately sarcastic, clearly accustomed to moving among her own kind, which is why she immediately sensed the benefit she could get from me. Actually, many since the first year had tried to fawn over me, help me out, and now even more so. In general, many tried to suck up, so I got used to it and skillfully used it to my advantage. So, for the second time, I had established connections with someone who could cover for me in front of the Head of House or save me from the headache of dealing with the dumb older students who were now meddling in our affairs.
However, Sophia's boyfriend was the male prefect and looked at me as an enemy. And he had a strange surname — Unsworth. I tried to get along with him, but he took a dislike to me right from the handshake. You know that nasty feeling when someone shakes your outstretched hand, but so limply, as if you're holding an octopus tentacle, and with such a face… a mine on his face, as if he's shaking hands with shit. Although there was no open conflict yet. I felt "yet" with every fiber of my being: such looks aren't given for no reason. And the long-quieted Yaxley was hanging around him, but I didn't hesitate to remind him of his place. Fortunately, he took the hint correctly — an accidental Cutting Charm that slipped from my wand and flew between his legs after an explanatory conversation. In Herbology, that could be easily justified: we often used Diffindo for trimming roots.
I had to keep my Slytherin year in check and devise countermeasures against Unsworth. His surname, with one letter rearranged, took on a completely different meaning, and it was hard not to laugh, but I tried. As for managing the year, I was doing pretty well — no wonder, considering how much effort I had put in since the start of the second year to unite them under me. In the end, I had to literally take people like Yaxley by the hand and bring them back, but it's fine, I'll break through.
All this together made the second year different. It seemed everything was familiar — the same walls, the same classrooms. But with the new faces, new lessons, and the growing year of first-years, Hogwarts was turning into a much tighter pressure cooker where any mistake could cost dearly.
I was glad the guys listened to me without argument. Avery, Cassius, Blackmore, and Graham — all came with me. And that was right. It gave not only experience in wand fights but also brought us closer, especially Blackmore, who treated me as a friend and an authority among peers. He was colder towards the others, but that should gradually pass. In a year or so, I'll let the guys go if they want to leave the Dueling Club, but for now, it's like this.
The first club meeting, by the way, was in the first week of school, on Saturday. It was fun, as it will be this coming Saturday.
As for the others — everyone had their own preferences. The same Cassius also wanted to join the Quidditch team, but he was unlikely to be taken as a Seeker: although he was strongly built and a good flier, a Seeker needed a completely different level.
The girls, including Amanda, rarely attended the Dueling Club. The same Amanda, like many other little snakes, chose the Drama Club. This club was considered prestigious for "ladies": the original idea of theatrical productions was secondary, giving way to constant tea parties and other fun but intrigue-filled events. Mostly Slytherin girls attended, having almost privatized this club — few wanted to go to a real serpentarium where the most venomous representatives of the house had gathered.
The only one who stood out was perhaps Nox, who joined the Divination Club, also called the Spellcasting Club, again overseen by Flitwick. I wanted to join too, but Flitwick sent me away: one club is enough for now, and then, if in a couple of months I still want to join, the professor will let me in, since I have the right, given my "Outstanding" grade in his subject.
And now, I suppose, enough thinking about other things, and it's time to stop throwing all the learned spells at the wall. Practicing spells is good, of course, but I've already mastered them enough to use most without words or wand movements — just with a flick of the wand and pure intent.
Now it's time to start training wandless magic, specifically telekinesis. I'll also check how much I've progressed in the last month: the last time I tested my limits was in early September, and now it's mid-October, and I've been training all this time.