Chapitre 7: The Sennight Thereof
Hogwarts, The Black Lake
September 20th, 1972
Ebon stared out at the Black Lake; eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the kraken living within. He stood within his usual outfit, reflecting on his last few classes. Nine days had gone by since he'd started teaching, and it's been a rough period of adjustment.
Not for him.
For the brats.
The first years were decent enough. He was strict and lashing with his tongue. 'Read these chapters. Write this number of words based on the chapter, summarize your thoughts, and come to class having learned this spell. Find an empty classroom to practice it. Practice with a partner who can call for help if you screw up and nearly kill yourself. Don't want to count words? This is a spell that counts the number of words on a page or stack of paper; learn it, use it. Or don't.'
He wasn't really worried about his first years. They were fourteen-year-olds, but a mean stare and threats of discipline really worked. It was 1972, and this was Hogwarts, where a child was tortured by their professor and likely raped with the man only being sentenced to Azkaban because he used a forbidden spell. Not because he tortured a child, but because of the spell he cast. Sure as shit he was scaring the little brats straight, grinding them on their handwriting, English, line spacing, grammar rules, and a dozen other little things; then going into a snappy and scary rant about withholding the fun bits of Defending Against the Dark Arts if they didn't get their shit together.
He needed the first years taught discipline if he was ever going to have NEWTs students out of their lot.
The second years weren't any different really. Better than the overly excited First Years that needed a bit of a reality check, but snapping in some work-ethic, being something of a hard-ass, grinding their noses into beasties and getting them to memorize standardized danger-ratings for various monsters of the dark; it was a process. First Year was the 'slow' but broad general curriculum that he used to introduce the Class to everyone. He hinted at advanced work to give any overachievers something to work on, but generally used the class to create a foundation of work ethic and an expectation of what was to come in higher years. His First Years were going to be with him the longest, so it was then that he was taking the 'slow-and-thorough' route of education that was more digestible than the constant remedials other classes would be getting.
He had a snappy and demanding approach when dealing with the second years, strict in his expectations and giving a heavier load of homework to get them up-to-snuff. He was in a bit of a rush to try and get them to have the same foundation a theoretical first year taught by him would have. They'd really need that foundation come sixth and seventh year where the class started getting serious.
He made sure to have fun with the kids, even if he did a bit more fearmongering in their classes. He conjured animated models of the creatures, demonstrated the spells on how to take them down, and even hacked a few heads off with a conjured sword and let the fake blood spray all over the brats. Pomfrey was annoyed at him, but it was a good lesson to figure out who was squeamish and who liked the blood a bit too much to be sane.
The Third Years were a mixed bag. The First and Second Years were new to everything, fresh enough that he had a lot of potential to work with. The Third Years were where he was starting to see wasted potential and a real need for remedials. He wasn't as hard on them for grammar or anything, and instead altered his curriculum to include a minor graded portion for essay quality. He'd let their grade do the talking as the abominations they called Essays hurt their scores.
Being strict with that was necessary, as he had a lot of reading for the kids to do, as seventy percent of entry-level DADA was just reading about monsters, curses, and memorizing what killed or neutralized what. They were also the class he introduced to the concept of 'physical activity', where he took his Third Years outside on Friday and had them run a lap around the Black Lake. Of course, while being chased by a demonic-looking hellhound pack. The sixteen-year-olds could run when motivated, but not for long. Those that were 'caught' found the nasty looking teeth were charmed to be soft, but runes on the teeth caused them to levitate in the air, safely floating and 'out'.
His fourth years were seventeen-year-olds in their rebellious phase; about to hit their OWLs, but utterly unwilling to work ahead and prepare for them. If the first year was an introduction to the broadest and shallowest scope of the class, and the second year was a dual-introduction of dangerous magical creatures and counter-charm theory, then the third year was a bit monster focused. Which meant the fourth year was counter-curse introductory class. That meant the Fourth Years were in for a hellish surprise as he dumped a half-dozen books, two of which were on introductory to Arithmancy, and they started getting into the nitty-gritties of what curses were, how counter-curses functioned, and how to deal with dark-magic wound contamination. Which directly segwayed into Healing Magic as a sub-unit, but that was for later in the year.
Whatever foundation these kids were taught wasn't worth the ground it stood on, for they retained maybe twenty percent of what they learned in previous years during a practice-test that gauged what they knew. Their English was held up by enchanted artifacts, auto-dictation quills, or were directly copied and plagiarized from the books he ordered out. For those instances, he failed those papers with a Troll, citing plagiarism, had a few seminars in class about the unacceptability of it; and allowed those students to redo the assignment.
By the time he was teaching his higher-years, they'd learned from their lower-years that he was something of a grammar-nazi; which had them at least somewhat prepared, but he didn't pull back any punches. The actual content of their practice test was horrendous just the same. He'd pulled the 'this is graded' shtick so they did it as seriously as they could, but what they considered their best, was just disappointing. Not lying, he'd sort of given up on his fourth-year curriculum and started gear-shifting back down to older content digested in more nuance, while giving heavier and more demanding homework. He felt like he was an English teacher with the amount of write-up reports on specific chapters he gave out, desperately trying to drag these students into a level he found acceptable. His nights were filled with grading the grammar, organization, and spelling of the essay; to then grade the content, and on it went. The first nine days had him working well into the night to grade papers, but not needing to sleep was cheating.
His fifth years were adequate.
In motivation only.
The OWLs were standardized tests issued by the Ministry of Education. The tests were extremely reductive and basically asked 'what is a counter-curse' and basic questions that even the worst student in Hogwarts could technically pass. What was more heavily weighted were the practices, which were also standardized and expected to be graded and judged on the Ordinary Wizarding Level Grading Criteria that the School Board thrusted onto him. He just streamlined the class to teach and practice everything the students needed for the OWLs which were held during midterms. For the rest of the year though, he'll be putting them through cramming; brutal homework assignments, targeted breakdowns of their practical skills, a refresher of their spell-repertoire. His end goal for his Fifth Years were to get them ready for their Sixth Year.
In his Fifth Year's Sixth Year, he'll be switching up his current curriculum to hold his own standardized test. The CRAWL, or the Combat Ready Average Wizarding Levels; a hellish practical that tested their physical abilities, their wand-work, their charm work, their counter-curse work, and so on. He expected them all to fail, but what they learned from that failure could be made up by retaking the test. He'd be testing them during midterms in the first semester, and they'd have a chance to remake their CRAWE during the next semester's midterm when everyone would do it again; obtaining a possibly better score or keep their old one. Those that still failed could take it again during their final exams. Failing it would tank a decent student who turned in their homework on time to a passing student, but even if they did fail, he had make-up assignments, extra-credits, and all manner of 'boosters' to allow the students of Hogwarts to scramble for their passing grade. Ebon believed an Outstanding was to be earned and not handed to those who showed up to class and preformed just above the lowest denominator, which meant his Ravenclaws were going to hate him, but the bookworms needed the exercise.
Did he mention their Final Exams would be twice as hard as the OWLs that they studied so hard for? It'd be a summation of their Fifth and Six-Year curriculum, which would include the core ideas from every week's homework readings and semi-advanced theory for countercharms and counter-curses. Fuck the fifth years; they're going to be his sacrifice to warn the newcomers of their struggles during Sixth Year. Transitioning to Seventh Year won't get easier for them either, where they'll face practical examinations every week.
'If they want a defense class, I'll give 'em a damned Self-Defense class.'
It was with a deep sigh that he thought about his current Sixth and Seventh Years. His fifth years were nineteen-year-olds, with a rare bit of twenty-year-olds smattered within. His Sixth and Seventh were twenty and twenty-one and were about his age. People speculated about his age, but all assumed that he was at least in his late twenties and just looked rather young.
At least until the Daily Prophet reported his Masteries, along with the age he achieved them. The fact he kept copies of his Masteries hung in his classroom only confirmed the paper, and thus he was known as the savant genius-child that mastered five schools of magic at the age of twenty-one. Of course, not everyone puts much faith behind the achievement, with non-believers spreading lies or rumors about his abilities out of some jealous envy. His current sixth year class was obedient enough, but they were also so behind on everything that he didn't know if he wanted to try for Remedials or go through and cut his already reduced curriculum. He'd effectively baby them out of school, which rankled his pride. This included his Seventh Years, as it was of note that this year, he didn't have a NEWTs class and would instead just be performing the NEWTs test with his current host of Seventh Years. Next year opened the possibility for him to establish that class and invite advanced students with high-grades and proficiencies within the Seventh and Sixth year into his NEWTs class.
His Seventh Years he very much did give up on, and instead just geared their entire curriculum towards passing their DADA NEWTs, but there honestly wasn't much he could do for students that had subpar education for six prior years. He was still thinking about how to treat his Sixth Years and was thinking about giving them opportunities to do remedial work; to allow them to show the grit and strength of character to recognize their weaknesses. He'd been mainly just doing practice tests and examinations to see where everyone landed, and while there were a few standouts; none met anything resembling his standards. His NEWTs DADA would have to require passing Exceeds Expectations for at least three years of Arithmancy, as otherwise the mathematics and spell-formula he'd be working with in class would go over everyone's head.
'I'll bring it up during that school meeting we have. Maybe I could host remedial classes over the weekend?' He sighed, cracking his neck as he glowered over the field, waiting for the train of students leaking out from Hogwarts to arrive.
With a frown on his face, he glared over at the scattered and confused crowd of Wizards and Witches ranging from the second year to the seventh. He counted roughly forty individuals across the school that showed up. "Andromeda, Bellatrix, Amelia, Mandy, Agatha, Brook, Victoria, Veronica, Brynhild." He called out to several girls. "Your shoes are unacceptable; find something you'll be comfortable running in for long distances." He ordered two of the girls, "You are wearing robes, why?" He asked a girl that seemed cold. "Why are you three wearing skirts: unacceptable. Go find pants or shorts of modest lengths." He ordered Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Mandy. "Everything I just said to the others also applies to you." He stated blandly.
The girls shuffled awkwardly.
"You don't have anything to change into?" He asked.
Several nodded, while a few seemed a bit too prideful to admit it. He sighed, drawing his wand and snapping it towards a clearing by the lake. Several waves of his wand later he'd quickly ordered together a changing booth. Then he waved his wand by his feet, a platform of stone being conjured over the grassy bank. He conjured a length of chalk and started to mark it up, then drew over a large boulder and activated the alchemical array. Several tracksuit pieces were created from the boulder's mass. Stiff workout bras that provided support across the chest, black and silver tracksuit bottoms that had fitting-charms slung onto them, running shoes had similar charms applied, and track suit jackets, tops, and other articles of clothing fitting a wide range of body types were created. He levitated the items into the changing room and threw them in as he wandlessly opened the door, then added another chunk of matter to the alchemical array to create men's ware.
"Ladies, start changing. I don't feel like making another changing room, so you boys are changing outside. If I catch one of you trying to peak on the girls, I'll flay you like a fish." He growled, glaring at the boys who all firmed up, a few whimpering.
He started whipping people into order, boys changing out of their own clothing, with him also creating backpacks to fit their old clothing into, and markers to write names on the white leather of the bags. Soon, everyone was in a general uniform at five-thirty in the morning, the time when the Physical Conditioning club officially met. Backpacks were stowed, and he started leading stretches; ranting about basic physical education shit that mundane people knew a thousand times over. What muscles were which, what bones were what, this was the human anatomy, this was how blood flowed, this was what that did, yada, yada, yada.
Then, as stretching came to an end, he snapped his wand and conjured two creations. One was Krampus. A big, giant, creepy-looking fur covered devil with a bag on his back. "This is Krampus." He introduced to the fearful intonations of literally everyone. "He will be chasing you around the Black Lake." Whimpers echoed out, but no-one uttered a peep. "If you get caught, you'll go into his bag." He enchanted the bag to make it at least safe, if a not comfortable stay. Didn't want anyone suffocating inside, after all. "Once the lap is complete, Krampus will dump you out, and you'll run another one."
He then snapped his wand and transfigured another animation; this one a knight. "This is Hype-Knight." He threw more stone into the alchemical array, creating jugs of plastic filled with mineral water. "Hype-Knight will give you water, attempt to protect you from Krampus, and cheer you on with music." He conjured a horn and applied the runic music array he'd designed, and finally finished during some late nights in the potions classroom. He only had a few songs that weren't all soundtracks finished, but they'd be enough for now.
Tossing the horn to Hype-Knight, the animated construct tooted its horn while unsheathing a blade at its side. "Onwards!" The transfiguration declared, a song blaring out as the students got to moving.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone