Chapter Fourteen: A Prophecy Fulfilled

The arrival of the Slytherin first-years accompanied by the Head of Gryffindor House in the Great Hall caused quite a stir among the young witches and wizards of both houses. After all, everyone knew that these two houses had never gotten along. Yet Siwin paid little attention to the commotion; he was far too preoccupied with more pressing matters. Having barely touched his breakfast and spent the entire morning both mentally and physically engaged, Siwin was now famished.

He dropped onto the Slytherin bench, relieved to discover that he hadn’t missed the end of the meal. Platters of food still appeared magically on the table, replenishing themselves. The trio—Abraxas, Mowbray, and Gomez—had likely skipped breakfast as well, for even as Siwin sat down, they were still busily stuffing themselves.

They watched, stunned, as Siwin entered the hall alongside Dumbledore, nearly dropping their cutlery in shock.

“Siwin!” Abraxas hurried over with a glass of juice, his voice trembling with disbelief. “How did you dare walk so close to Dumbledore?!”

Mowbray followed quickly, eyes wide. “Is he really that moody and dangerous, like the pure-blood families claim?”

“I don’t know…” Siwin shrugged, unconcerned. “But he’s certainly skilled. Whatever people say about him, he’s not a threat to us here at school. That’s all that matters to me—I’ll learn what I can from him.”

After a morning spent in Dumbledore’s class and their earlier conversation, Siwin had developed a great respect for the professor. He certainly didn’t seem as dreadful as the rumors made him out to be.

‘Perhaps everyone’s simply misunderstood him,’ Siwin thought.

By the time Siwin finished his meal, it was already half past twelve. The first Charms lesson of the afternoon would begin at one o’clock, which meant it was time to head back to the common room for his books. ‘Next time, I’ll bring all my textbooks for the day!’ he grumbled inwardly, hurrying toward the dungeons.

On the stairs, he ran into Abraxas and his friends, who were rushing up.

“Wait, Siwin! Just take us straight to the classroom!” Abraxas called, panting as he blocked Siwin’s way down. “You didn’t come back, so we grabbed your books for you!”

He pulled two textbooks from his bag and handed them to Siwin.

‘That saves me a trip,’ Siwin thought happily, tucking the books away into his pocket-watch space.

He quickly noticed six pairs of envious eyes fixed upon him.

“I’ll write to my father tonight and have him send me one,” Abraxas muttered through gritted teeth. Mowbray nodded fervently in agreement.

Only Gomez sighed quietly in the corner, a little downcast.

The four boys made their way smoothly to the Charms classroom on the fourth floor. Unlike the Transfiguration classroom, the desks and benches here were arrayed lengthwise—four long tables lined the sides of the room, leaving a broad space in the center for spellcasting practice. The two tables nearest the middle were set lower, while the ones against the walls were raised on stone tiers. This arrangement allowed all students to face the center and see the professor clearly, with those in the back rows unobstructed by those in front.

Their Charms professor was already waiting by the blackboard. He was an older wizard, clean-shaven, with a full head of gray-white hair that made him appear less aged than he was. His long, hooked nose and arched brows framed a mouth that curved in a playful smile.

When the bell rang, he stepped to the center of the classroom and introduced himself, “Good afternoon, dear first-years! I am your Charms professor for this year—Professor Adalbert Wafflin. I hope you’ll enjoy your time in my class.”

The professor’s amiable manner put the students at ease. Smiles of relief broke out, and a warm round of applause filled the classroom.

As he clapped, Siwin leaned toward Abraxas and whispered, “Is our Charms professor really Adalbert Wafflin?”

Abraxas looked puzzled. “Why? Is he famous?”

“Didn’t you notice? Our textbook!” Siwin opened the “Magical Theory” book on his desk, pointing to the title page—there, in bold letters, was Adalbert Wafflin’s name.

Abraxas’s eyes widened. “So he’s really impressive?”

“Of course! The fundamental rules of magic were summarized by Professor Wafflin himself.” But before Siwin could elaborate, a Ravenclaw girl in front of them turned around and glared. “And the professor is about to begin—quiet, please.”

Abraxas opened his mouth to retort, but Siwin tugged at his sleeve. They both noticed Professor Wafflin watching them with amused eyes.

All Abraxas could do was glare fiercely at the back of the Ravenclaw girl’s head.

Professor Wafflin soon proved himself worthy of his international reputation as a master of magical theory. What might have been a tedious lecture on the theory of spellcasting became vivid and engaging under his guidance. The students listened so attentively that they hardly realized when the class was over.

“That’s all for today,” Professor Wafflin announced, clapping his hands. “Go home and practice the wand movements for the Levitation Charm—we’ll try them out next time.”

After the professor left, Siwin and his friends quickly packed their things and made their way toward Herbology.

On the way, Mowbray suddenly asked, “Did we forget something just now?”

“If you mean the break between Charms lessons, I think it was the professor who forgot…” said Abraxas. Whether it was truly an oversight or simply a way to keep the lesson on schedule, Professor Wafflin had gone straight through the ten-minute break. Given how perfectly his lecture ended with the bell, Siwin suspected it was the latter.

He added quietly, “Whether or not the professor forgot, I’m sure the Ravenclaws did.”

They all glanced back at the Ravenclaws, who were only now finishing their notes and leaving the classroom, weighed down by heavy bags. Abraxas and the others nodded in agreement.

First-year Herbology was held in Greenhouse One, taught by a young witch who looked to be no more than thirty. Observing her somewhat vacant expression, Siwin sighed in disappointment. “I was hoping Professor Birley would be teaching us Herbology.”

“You think every class should be taught by the head of department? Unless a savior who’s destined to save the world comes to school, I can’t imagine a headmaster ever giving a student such special treatment—maybe then they’d even arrange a custom schedule,” Abraxas replied, rolling his eyes. “But that’s just wishful thinking!”

Siwin sighed, conceding the point. If an entire year had every class taught by department heads, what would the other students think? It would be a grave injustice to the rest.

Little did Abraxas know that his words would prove prophetic many years later—

Fifty-four years from now, there would indeed be a student celebrated as a savior. The headmaster would personally rearrange the faculty’s teaching assignments to ensure that all the heads of house taught that year group—a truly extraordinary lineup.

And among those students would be his own grandson…