— — — — — —
After two courses of History of Magic, Slytherin had no more classes for the afternoon.
Tom took Ariana up to the headmaster's office. The stone gargoyle with the spouting mouth visibly relaxed when it saw Tom's hands were empty this time.
"Is Dumbledore in?" Tom asked.
"The headmaster's schedule is classified," the gargoyle said with grave self-importance. "I'm certainly not going to tell you that he got back just after lunch."
"Right. Then move aside." Tom nodded.
The gargoyle hopped out of the way, and Tom rode the moving staircase up to the office door.
"Tom?" Dumbledore looked a little surprised to see him. It wasn't clear why Tom would be visiting now.
Tom already had his excuse ready. "Professor, I just came to ask about the new DADA professor. The students are all curious."
Inside the study space, Ariana stared at the white-haired old man in front of her. She could find nothing of the confident, bright figure her brother had once been. She almost couldn't believe this was really him.
But there it was, etched clearly into the nameplate on his desk: {Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore – Headmaster}
Dumbledore, unaware of the extra pair of eyes watching him through Tom, smiled warmly at the question. "Tom, we're very fortunate. A capable gentleman applied for the post, and I personally tested him. I'm confident he will leave most people satisfied."
"That's great to hear." Tom smiled and then nodded toward the wall. "Professor, mind if I borrow a few more books?"
"Of course. Help yourself." Dumbledore gestured for him to take whatever he liked.
That explained what had been feeling off—Tom hadn't stopped by to borrow books yet this term. Then another thought struck him.
"Tom, Professor McGonagall and I have been discussing the possibility of rolling out the 'Shadow Prefect' system to the entire school. She's very much in favor."
Tom, flipping through 'Magic That Turns the World Upside Down', glanced back. "She's already brought it up with you? I thought she'd wait a bit longer."
In truth, McGonagall had mentioned it the week before, but then everything had gone sideways—Tom's little "fight" with a professor, Lockhart being suspended and investigated, Dumbledore scouring Britain for a replacement—until the matter was simply forgotten.
"As we discussed, the system works for Slytherin," Dumbledore continued once Tom had settled into a chair, "but not for all houses. The selection method is too blunt. It risks encouraging students to value power above all else."
Tom wasn't surprised by this take. Dumbledore always put character before skill.
Still—
"Professor, apart from… well, special cases like me, no one's power comes out of thin air."
It sounded arrogant, but Dumbledore knew Tom wasn't boasting—if anything, it was understatement.
He tilted his head, waiting for Tom to elaborate.
"The truth is, most students don't have a huge gap in natural talent. The real difference comes from how hard they work. If they earn something through effort, why not reward them?"
"Hold on." Dumbledore raised a hand. "You consider the Shadow Prefect a reward? I see it more as a responsibility."
"Power is a reward," Tom replied simply.
"Classic Slytherin answer," Dumbledore said with a small sigh.
"That's just reality." Tom shrugged. "How many people in the whole country are capable of being Minister for Magic? But only one person gets to enjoy that 'responsibility.'
"For many, becoming a Shadow Prefect is recognition—proof that their study and training paid off. If we keep holding back our best students just because we're afraid they might abuse their power… that's the real unfairness."
Dumbledore fell silent.
Tom's words hit a nerve. He'd been looking at the matter entirely from his own philosophy without considering the students' point of view.
He disliked a culture obsessed with power, yes—but not every ambitious student turned into a Voldemort. Truth be told, ninety-nine percent of wizards weren't even in the same league. Even learning dark magic wouldn't get them there.
And if someone did go too far, that was what the Ministry's laws were for.
Maybe the steady decline in student quality over the years was his own doing. Even McGonagall, usually the picture of restraint, had clearly lost patience. If things went on like this, Slytherin dominating the other houses wasn't far-fetched.
Better to loosen the reins a little and intervene only when necessary.
"Tom, thank you for the perspective," Dumbledore said at last. "I'll give serious thought to expanding the Shadow Prefect program school-wide."
"How'd that feel?" Tom asked in his mind as they left the office.
After a long pause, Ariana's uncertain voice answered. "Strange… I can't find any trace of the Albus I knew. He never used to be so calm."
"That's normal," Tom said gently. "He's had a rough life. After what happened to you, he broke with Grindelwald, then had to defeat him himself. Later, he ended up teaching a student every bit as dangerous as Grindelwald, and he's spent decades fighting the Dark Lord since. It's no wonder his personality changed."
"Get to know him slowly. You might still find a glimpse of the brother you remember."
"Come on," Tom added with a grin, "I'll take you to see the… unicorns."
Ariana nodded earnestly.
Tom left the castle at a cheerful pace. After practice with Daphne, he was getting better at distracting young girls from heavy thoughts. Sure enough, Ariana's mood lifted, and she began to look forward to the outing.
When class with the centaurs began, Tom kept the three unicorns nearby to play with Usaki, making it less dull for Ariana to watch.
...
Later, while the rest of the school gathered in the Great Hall for dinner, a long-empty seat at the staff table was finally filled.
A short, stocky wizard was enthusiastically greeting his future colleagues. Apart from Snape, who was wearing his usual scowl, everyone else offered the bare minimum of politeness—no one was overly enthusiastic. After all, in this job, too much warmth was wasted; chances were they wouldn't even see him here next year.
It wasn't until the end of the feast that Dumbledore stood up. The Hall fell instantly silent, everyone waiting for him to speak.
"I'm very pleased to introduce our newest faculty member," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner.
The short wizard—Laos Wilkinson—rose to his feet.
"Professor Wilkinson will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He'll be sharing his experience freely with us all, and his understanding of certain branches of magic is enough to astonish even me."
The students' response was… muted. A smattering of polite applause, nothing more. After the last two professors, no one was ready to trust that this post could be filled by someone actually competent. Flowery praise was nice, but they'd believe it when they saw it.
Dumbledore didn't seem bothered. "Professor Wilkinson hails from America, a distinguished graduate of Ilvermorny. I hope you'll take the chance to learn from both our traditions, and explore the magic of the wider world."
That got a reaction.
Ilvermorny?
Many had never even heard of it. Hermione was already whispering the basics to the students around her.
Dumbledore didn't drag things out, and soon the feast ended. Students drifted away, already wondering what tomorrow's lessons would bring.
Tom made no move to speak with Wilkinson yet. The man still didn't know that Tom was the same "Michael" who'd once saved his life. The one who wore his tom-cat mask.
---
The next morning, Wilkinson's first DADA class was with Gryffindor and Slytherin.
As soon as they left the Great Hall, both groups were swarmed.
"How was he?" someone asked Carrow.
Carrow grinned. "For once, the Headmaster's done something right. Professor Wilkinson is a descendant of one of the original twelve Aurors who founded the American Magical Congress. Pureblood family, impressive certifications, and he's good."
That pedigree alone won over most of the Slytherins—anything was an upgrade over Quirrell or Lockhart.
Over on the Gryffindor side, George and Fred were hamming it up, clutching their chests in mock agony.
"This one's the real deal," Fred said. "Maybe he heard what happened with Lockhart, because he just went ahead and let students challenge him in duels. George and I each lasted one spell before he sent us flying."
"I just hope he gets us through OWLs with decent scores," a fifth-year said with relief.
"Finally," another sighed, "someone who can actually teach us something useful."
"I'm more interested in learning his dueling tricks," Angelina Johnson muttered, still annoyed over losing to Slytherins.
"Go for it," George encouraged. "He's really approachable. Doesn't feel like a professor at all—more like a friend. Pretty relaxed teaching style too."
Hermione popped up beside them. "Did he say anything about Ilvermorny?"
"He did," George said, eyes gleaming. "But I'm not spoiling it for you. Don't worry—he said every year gets the same first lesson. You'll find out soon enough."
Fred added, "This is going to be the best lesson you'll ever have. Seriously, what you're about to see will change the way you think."
Carrow nodded. "Especially for us pure-bloods. I'm still shocked right now."
By lunchtime, Wilkinson's reputation was already improving. Class after class walked away singing his praises.
...
Friday morning, it was finally time for the second-year Slytherins' first DADA lesson with their new professor.
The students arrived early and found the room completely rearranged. The podium was gone, the rows of desks replaced with a ring-shaped layout leaving a wide open space in the center, marked with a box and boundary lines.
Tom and Daphne took seats in the middle. The bell had barely finished ringing when Laos Wilkinson pushed the door open.
He strolled to the center, smiling as he scanned the class. His gaze lingered on Tom a moment too long before he deliberately looked away.
Truth be told, Wilkinson's curiosity about Tom was reaching a peak. What kind of person could earn Grindelwald's personal mentorship? And how had they managed to communicate across continents without alerting any Ministry—British or otherwise—or Dumbledore himself?
And most of all… what was the boy here for?
But now wasn't the time to let that show. Wilkinson forced the questions aside and turned his attention to the lesson.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, giving the class a small nod. "By now, you've probably heard a few things about how I run my classroom."
"I understand your doubts about a professor's skill. So here's my rule—every class, without exception, anyone who wants to may step forward and test me. I'll let my magic do the talking."
He let his tone take on a teasing edge. "And if you win? You'll go down in history as the student who beat the professor. Opportunities like that don't come twice. Not tempted to give it a try?"
The room stayed quiet. No one volunteered to be the sacrificial lamb.
They'd all heard about yesterday—how even the top seventh-years had barely scratched him before being disarmed. Nobody wanted to be humiliated in front of the class.
A flicker of disappointment crossed Wilkinson's eyes.
.
.
.