`Gryffindor Tower
The common room was so quiet it made Neville uneasy.
It was Sunday evening, with weekend homework mostly done. Normally, this would be a time for raucous fun, especially before lights-out. But instead of Gobstones or Wizard's Chess filling the air with shouts, the room was eerily still, the dim lighting casting long shadows. Neville tiptoed forward.
Slipping through the portrait hole, he tucked away the password list and peered inside cautiously.
"Hope this isn't one of George and Fred's pranks…" he muttered.
Just past the entrance, he froze. A group of students sat in a circle in the room's center—taller ones on the outside, shorter ones within. The silvery glow of an enchanted mirror illuminated their faces, all fixated, unblinking, some mimicking gestures with a focus surpassing even their most serious classes. Prefect Percy was even taking notes.
"Second-Year Basic Charms, Lesson Seventeen: The Wand-Lighting Charm…" the mirror intoned.
Despite being a simple beginner spell, even older students watched raptly. When a new detail emerged, some mimicked the motions, practicing quietly. Percy scribbled furiously.
Neville slipped in beside him, whispering, "Prefect… you're studying this too?"
"What?"
"Why are you studying this?"
Percy didn't look up, adjusting his grip on an imaginary wand to match the mirror's demonstration. "Professor Levent's lessons are detailed and precise. His breakdowns of basic wand movements are useful across other subjects."
No one had paid much attention to these details before. Holding a wand was like holding a quill or spoon—close enough was good enough. Who cared how many fingers you used or whether your pinky was raised or tucked?
Even Professor Flitwick, meticulous as he was, only discussed precise wand grips in higher years for complex spells. But Levent's lessons showed that even basic charms, paired with proper technique, could be cast faster and more effectively.
"I see…" Neville mumbled, not fully getting it. He decided to ask Harry later, but for now, he had a bigger concern.
He sat quietly, watching the half-hour lesson. When Harry and Hermione packed up the mirror and the room lit up with candlelight again, Neville caught Percy before he left. "Prefect, Professor Levent asked me and Ravenclaw's Marietta Edgecombe to rebuild the drama club. I don't know where to start. Any advice?"
Percy stared at him for a moment, his expression complex, tinged with envy.
The professor was entrusting a second-year with something this significant?
Running a club could hone skills beyond magic, and if they succeeded, it'd be a proud achievement for their future.
Neville blinked back, waiting.
Percy clapped his shoulder and sat on a nearby sofa. "Do you know what this means?"
Neville shook his head.
"You saw that footage, right? That's Professor Levent's work—same as last year's Quidditch and the film. If I'm right, the drama club will be on the enchanted mirror, seen by thousands of wizards across Britain, maybe the world."
Percy sat up straight, deadly serious. "This isn't just Hogwarts' drama club—it's the wizarding world's."
Neville's face fell, his shoulders slumping under the weight of Percy's words, heavier than the Giant Squid. He could almost relate to Marietta now.
The chubby second-year sighed. "What do I do?"
---
"What do I do, Cho?!"
In the Ravenclaw girls' dormitory, Marietta clutched Cho Chang's shoulders, sobbing into her hands, her blonde curls spilling everywhere.
Cho and a few roommates—third-years with freckled or acne-marked faces, not as pretty as Cho—sat around a four-poster bed, looking helpless as they patted Marietta's back and brainstormed.
"Stop crying, we're trying to help," one said.
"Sniff…"
"Club tasks are tricky. Prefects know more—let's ask Clearwater."
"Sniff…"
"Ask classmates or friends too. Maybe someone's family works in theater—they could have tips."
"Sniff…"
"And the school ghosts! Nearly Headless Nick rehearses plays and operas every year about his botched beheading."
"Sob—"
"Enough!" Cho snapped, yanking Marietta upright, hands firm on her shoulders, eyes kind but resolute. "We're all helping, but crying won't write a play. You're Professor Levent's chosen leader—make a decision. Who do we see first?"
Marietta sniffled, wanting Cho to decide, but meeting her gaze, she mumbled, "Clearwater, I guess."
The group trudged off reluctantly.
---
Both Penelope Clearwater and Percy, experienced prefects, quickly helped Neville and Marietta organize their thoughts and draft a plan. But plans were just paper—execution was up to them.
The next morning, in the Great Hall, Marietta, who'd stayed up late fretting, nibbled her bread listlessly, her mind foggy. One moment, she saw Professor Levent's stern face; the next, her roommates' brainstorming.
Neville, carrying pumpkin oatmeal porridge, sat at the Ravenclaw table. Digging in his pocket, he asked casually, "Marietta, got any ideas yet?"
Her resentful stare hit him, her dark circles glaring. Neville paused, pulling out two scraps of parchment—one his password list, the other Percy's advice.
"Percy said we're staging a play, not rebuilding the whole club. No need for too much pressure."
Actually, Percy had said the opposite: this play would be the first on the enchanted mirror, seen by wizards across Britain, maybe the world.
"Start with prep work. Step one: the script. We can adapt an old one or write a new one." Neville glanced at her, feeling a bit cruel. "You're the lead—you decide."
Another decision. Always her making decisions!
Marietta opened her mouth, stammering, "Our prefect said… I can recruit helpers, maybe get advice from professionals."
"Percy mentioned that too," Neville nodded, scanning his list. "We need a plan. Helpers can handle scriptwriting, props, stage design, actors…"
Marietta's face went numb.
---
With no classes on the weekend, the teaching videos' impact wasn't immediately obvious.
Since they covered basic charms, changes in students or professors were subtle, and the videos' value wasn't instantly clear. Still, over the past two days, many Gryffindors had watched them.
Monday morning, the first class for second-years was Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall stood at the front, demonstrating live Transfiguration: turning a small animal into a common object without lingering animal traits, ensuring the creature was unharmed when reverted.
"Your desks have boxes with beetles. Today, you'll turn them into buttons, like this…"
McGonagall held a beetle, slowly waving her wand to show the process clearly.
Before the class, the beetle quivered, transforming into a button. Its spots became a pattern, its six legs morphing into thread holes.
She circled the room, ensuring everyone saw the technique up close. To her delight, many Gryffindors focused on her hand movements, not just the beetle.
"Excellent," McGonagall said, pleased. "Start practicing. Raise your hand if you need help."
The students set to work, their wands torturing the poor beetles.
McGonagall patrolled with an iron box of spares. Usually, first attempts at new Transfiguration content saw heavy beetle casualties—some poked to death, others incinerated. Seamus Finnigan alone could burn through several.
Sure enough, a crack soon echoed, guts splattering a desk, prompting squeals from nearby girls.
McGonagall replaced the beetles, reminded them to mind their casting distance, and continued her rounds, nearing the Gryffindor section.
To her surprise, Seamus's beetle was still alive—not charred, but nearly a button, its shell almost transformed, legs still wriggling.
Looking around, many Gryffindors had similar results. Hermione and Harry already had buttons on their desks and were tinkering with decorative patterns.
"How did you manage this?" McGonagall asked, astonished.
"Huh?"
Was this a pop quiz? How were they supposed to answer?
After some back-and-forth, McGonagall learned about the teaching videos. The Gryffindors had watched Levent's lessons, emphasizing hand movements, and instinctively focused on her technique during class.
Second-year charms were simple, with a dozen motions broken down and repeated in the videos, detailed to the point of tedium. While others knew only to trace the wand's path, Gryffindors noticed wrist angles, finger positions, and arm swings, learning faster.
Just then, Seamus raised his wand, cheering, "I did it! I did it!"
Boom! His button flared red and burst into flames.
---
"These basic techniques help beginners a lot, like how we hold a quill. Kids learning to write use standard grips for neater results," Levent explained to Professor Flitwick as they walked the third-floor corridor.
It was a class break, and the halls were alive with chasing, laughing students. Wherever the professors passed, the noise hushed.
As the Charms professor, Flitwick was the first to notice changes in the students. Learning it was Levent's doing, he'd ended class five minutes early to wait outside the Muggle Studies room, eager to discuss.
Flitwick's eyes gleamed. "Could other subjects record detailed lessons for after-class viewing, like extra tutoring?"
"Safe, basic spells could work that way," Levent said.
"I'll mention it to McGonagall at lunch. Equip each house with a small enchanted mirror, record videos for every subject!"
"No need for special recordings—classroom memories would suffice," Levent said, pausing. "By the way, Professor, could I get a copy of the memory from Hagrid's incident decades ago?"
"What do you need that for?"
"…"
Their voices faded as they walked off, and nearby students relaxed.
Behind them, Harry and Hermione exhaled in relief. Ron looked puzzled. "Levent's not Snape. Why're you acting like that?"
"I was worried he'd ask about the essay," Harry sighed, glum. "I copied every source I could find, and it's still under ten inches. It's your fault, Hermione—why'd you write such a long one?"
Hermione bristled. "I'm mad at you for writing a short one! My outline alone was over three inches!"
"Your fault!"
"No, yours!"
"…"
Ron, unable to join the bickering, felt left out. Essays weren't fun, but both his friends had one, and he didn't. It stung.
Gripping his wand, he suggested quietly, "We've got no class next, and lunch is a bit off. Wanna find a spot to watch the teaching videos?"
Ten minutes later, they found a quiet, secluded spot by the Black Lake, perfect for self-study.
Hermione stirred silvery mist with her wand. Before the image appeared, voices emerged.
"No wounds or poisoning on the body. It can't have been a juvenile Acromantula, and definitely not Rubeus, that kind boy! Headmaster Dippet, the truth isn't clear—we can't expel him!"
"Albus, I understand, but the Ministry's ruled. Keeping an Acromantula is a serious violation."
"Snapping a child's wand is too cruel."
"…"