If Potions had been an art of precision and mastery, then History of Magic was its tragic opposite — a never-ending dirge of monotone lectures that even ghosts might find lifeless.
And that was saying something, considering the lecturer was a ghost himself.
Professor Cuthbert Binns drifted through the blackboard as the first years of Draconis and Gryffindor sat slumped at their desks, faces glazed and eyes dim.
His voice, soft and airy, rolled on in the same dreary tone that could flatten enthusiasm faster than a sleeping charm.
"…and so, the International Warlock Convention of 1289 came to a close after twelve days of inconclusive debate, during which Barnabas the Barmy attempted to persuade the assembly that trolls could be trained as concierges…"
Cassius had stopped taking notes three minutes in.
Not because he didn't care — but because it was, objectively, impossible to focus on a single word for more than ten seconds at a time, even one wearing Ravenclaw diadem would find themselves at a loss in this class.
The air itself felt heavier, the light dimmer.
He could feel the lethargy creeping through the rows of desks like a living thing.
By the thirty-minute mark, more than half the class had succumbed to the slow chanting of the professor falling into a state of slumber.
Cassius stretched slightly, resisting the pull of the drowsiness.
Around him, Ron Weasley had fallen backward in his chair, unmoving, leaning back a bit with each breath, just one deep breath away from tumbling over backwards.
Cassius glanced up at the transparent professor still rambling about goblin uprisings from Seven-and then again-three centuries ago.
He sighed quietly.
Something had to be done.
The next day was no better, Defense Against the Dark Arts probably one of the more fun classes when just looking at the syllabus turned out to be even worse.
Professor Quirrell stood trembling at the front of the room, a room mind you that stunk so much of garlic and other preventitive herbs that one without the bubblehead charm would have difficulty even breathing, stuttering through another lecture on "basic protective theory,". The students were attempting to listen, but Quirrell's constant nervous twitches and faltering speech made it impossible to take him seriously.
"A–a–a dark creature, w-when confronted, y-you must f-f-f-first remember t–to–to n–never—"
"—sneeze on it?" whispered a Hufflepuff from the back.
The room erupted in muffled laughter.
Quirrell nearly dropped his notes."N–no! N–never lose focus! T–the mind is the first d–defense…"
Cassius leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
His senses itched faintly.
He could feel it, or rather him.
The dark lords presence was like a dark cloak coating the professor supressing his own magical aura.
Voldemort was not active at the moment though so even just this was his passive aura, which was eye catching, if passively he was this powerful then his true might very well could have contended with Dumbledore or even Grindelwald before he made the mistake of developing horcrux's.
Though thinking on it he became confused, if Voldemort made horcrux's just like he did in the works why then was the diadem untouched?
Had he chosen a different item instead this time?
Or were there fewer than seven total horcrux's right now?
He studied the professor closely, eyes narrowing.
Interesting.
"Sir," Cassius said suddenly, raising a hand.
Quirrell nearly jumped out of his skin. "Y–yes, Mr. S–Snape?"
"If this is a defense course, shouldn't we be learning actual defense magic? Shield spells, counter-curses, or at least identification techniques for hex signatures?"
The class perked up instantly.
A few heads nodded in agreement.
Quirrell paled even more. "W–well, y–you see, th–that's… ah… r–rather advanced for f–first years…"
Quirrel's quick defense merely revealed his intent to not train them at all, afterall to develop more forces of light would create more enemies for his Lord in the future.
Cassius wanted to continue arguing but knew the professor was unlikely to relent, for fear of bringing eyes to his class and possibly revealing his masters presence.
Quirrell stammered, shuffled his papers, and mumbled something about "n-next week," before quickly changing topics to the properties of dittany.
Complelty glossing over the initial request itself.
Cassius leaned back again, smirking faintly.
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
What could the dark lord possibly see in a man such as this, by refusing to teach us it actually casts far greater suspicion on him then if he just did his job.
~
Astronomy was meant to be different — stars, telescopes, late-night lessons under the enchanted dome of the Astronomy Tower.
But, in first year, reality was far less romantic.
Professor Sinistra's lectures were rigorous, yes, but entirely theoretical.
The class wasn't allowed near the tower yet.
Instead, they were confined to a bright, sterile classroom filled with diagrams of constellations and dry recitations from A Beginner's Guide to Celestial Magic.
"…you will not observe the night sky," Sinistra declared firmly, "until you've memorized the first ten chapters of your text. Astronomy demands precision — misread a star and its like miscasting a spell. Knowledge before wonder."
Cassius sat among the yawning students, flipping through the book.
He already knew most of it — the magical influences of planetary alignments, the ley interactions of starlight with ambient magical fields.
But the others?
They were already nodding off again.
He could almost hear Binns' ghostly droning echo in his mind.
For Cassius Enough was enough.
When the weekend approached, Operation: Takedown was in full motion.
He had hoped thanks to the influx of new students the teaching body would have been given a thorough shakedown but instead it was merely propped up and reinforced.
Cassius sat beneath one of the arched windows in the Draconis common room, a stack of parchment beside him.
Across the table sat dozens of letters being written out by numerous self-writing quills.
Ultimately Cassius was preparing to unleash the first phase of his plan at lunch today, that would give the students all weekend to get the plan into action without the teachers being any the wiser.
he was going for a simple measure to force out those who were incompetent in their duties.
Getting rid of those teachers who did not have the right to call themselves that.
He planned to send out a petition to get the school to replace Professors, Binn, and Quirrel, while giving a firm warning to Sinistra about her lesson plan.
The initial copies of the petition would be sent to his followers in the three houses under the cover of his psuedonym Arcana, which would then have the petition quickly spread across the student body, once enough coverage was completed the Sytherins could be involved as they would ahve the ambition to be a student leader by brining the petition to their parents or relatives serving on the Board Of Govenors with the power to force Dumbledores hand.
Using Noctis, the envelopes were carried enmass into the owlery along with a box of treats, and after bribing the school owls, they each took up a letter intending to deliver it to the recipient at noon.
That friday when the students were eating lunch, the mail arrived in a flurry of wings, far outpacing the number that had arrive after the first day of classes from overprotective parents.
And within moments of the mail being delivered hushed whispers began to spread throughout the great hall.
Later walking the hallways, many were in cheery spirits, but when pressed why they would just say it was a happy day, without revealing anything more.
Later you'd find yourself being approached by a group who would try to see if you knew, and if you didnt then asking what you thought of the professors.
~
By Sunday, the petition had swept through all four houses.
Students — exhausted from Binns' lectures and frustrated by Quirrell's endless stammering — signed without hesitation.
Even older years joined in, especially fifth, and six years who needed to be ready for their o.w.l's and n.e.w.t examinations.
The final signature came together that day, and the various forms were compiled and presented to Draco Malfoy himself, who swaggered in the courtyard with his usual smirk as he headed for the owlery.
Lady Draconis played the part of a spy to discover everything that happened, and it turned out the boy was quick to brag about his fathers connections.
"My father's on the Board of Governors," he said proudly. "He'll make sure this gets attention."
The boy was already on his way to sending it in, framing it as a concern for educational integrity.
By the end of next week the board should have made it's moves, and at the latest the week after that Dumbledore should have no choice but to acquiesce to their demands and sack the incompetent professors and begin the search for some real talent.