By Wednesday afternoon, the rumor mill had thoroughly processed Molly Prewett-Weasley's dramatic entrance. The third-year Gryffindors entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with an entirely different kind of energy. The initial awe of Richard's combat prowess had shifted into a burning, collective curiosity about the "fiery" witch who had forced a powerful wizard to ward his own mail.
Fred and George Weasley sat right at the front, their desks side by side. They hadn't brought any textbooks—not that it mattered, since Professor Prewett had already made it clear he didn't care for standard curriculum readings. For once, they were looking remarkably prepared, their quills poised over blank parchment with identical, predatory grins.
Richard stood at the blackboard, writing out a complex diagram tracking the runic intersection of a localized Aegis barrier. He didn't turn around when the bell rang.
"Put the smirks away, gentlemen," Richard said calmly, his back still turned to the class. "And Miss Vance, stop leaning over your desk to whisper. The structural density of the room is perfectly capable of carrying your voice straight to my ears."
Emmeline Vance flushed and sat back up. Fred and George, however, didn't lose their grins.
Richard turned around, dusting the chalk from his fingers. "Today, we transition from static shielding to dynamic reflection. Most wizards think a shield is a wall. It isn't. A wall absorbs force until it shatters. A proper shield is a mirror. It redirects the momentum of an oncoming curse back toward the caster, or away into the environment."
He walked down the center aisle, stopping exactly between the twins' desks.
"To do this, you must adjust the core density of your shield at the exact moment of impact. If you are too slow, the shield collapses. If you are too rigid, the spell simply explodes against your defense, taking your footing with it."
Fred raised his hand, his eyes gleaming with innocent mischief. "Speaking of redirecting things, Professor..."
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"
"We were just thinking about the theory of redirection," Fred said, leaning forward. "Fascinating stuff, really. We were wondering... does the ward you use for your mail use the same runic alignment as a standard shield transition? Specifically, the part that filters out... let's say, emotional intent from a very specific, fiery source?"
A few students snickered. George immediately chimed in, "Because we've been trying to develop a localized dampener for the dormitory, Uncle—sorry, Professor. We find that certain voices, especially maternal ones, have a very high frequency. We thought a French or perhaps a Parisian runic variant might do the trick. Any recommendations on the continent?"
Richard stared down at his nephews. The classroom went entirely quiet, the other third-years holding their breath to see if the twins had finally crossed the line into a month's worth of detentions.
Richard didn't look angry. In fact, his expression remained entirely unreadable, a cool, professional detachment settling over his features.
"An interesting hypothesis, Mr. Weasley," Richard said, his voice dropping into a dangerously smooth cadence. "The runic variant you are referring to does indeed rely on a localized dampening loop. It requires absolute mental discipline, an unyielding focus, and the ability to maintain composure under severe psychological pressure."
He stepped back, walking slowly toward the front of the room.
"Since you both possess such a sudden, academic passion for the mechanics of force redirection under pressure... let us skip the theoretical portion of today's lesson. Clear the floor."
The smiles on Fred and George's faces faltered slightly.
With a swift wave of Richard's wand, the desks and chairs slid smoothly against the stone walls, leaving a massive, open space in the center of the room.
"Stand at the far end, both of you," Richard commanded, pointing his wand at the stone floor. A bright, silver line drew itself across the room. "You will act as a paired unit. I will cast a sequence of low-level, non-lethal Stinging Hexes. Your objective is not to block them. Your objective is to use the dynamic shield transition to redirect the hexes into those iron targets in the corner."
He gestured toward three heavy iron cauldrons sitting by his desk.
"If a single hex hits either of you, or if the force scatters into the stone walls, you fail the practical for the day. And since you are so curious about my correspondence... if you manage to successfully redirect five consecutive spells into the cauldrons, I might consider giving you the runic formula for the dampening loop. If you fail, you will spend the next three Saturdays scrubbing the floorboards of the trophy room without magic. Stances, gentlemen."
Fred and George exchanged a quick, slightly panicked look before their expressions hardened into fierce determination. They drew their wands, stepping over the silver line and taking identical, low-set dueling stances.
"Ready when you are, Professor," George said, his voice dropping its joking tone completely.
Richard raised his primary wand, his posture casual but perfectly balanced. "Attempt one. Focus on the transition. Impedimenta."
A sharp, scarlet bolt of magic shot from Richard's wand. It wasn't cast with full lethal intent, but the speed was immense. Fred moved first, snapping his wand up to form a shimmering, translucent barrier. The moment the red bolt struck, his wrist twisted, trying to guide the force toward the cauldrons.
CLANG!
The hex slammed into the rim of the first cauldron, sending a loud, echoing chime through the room.
"A bit clumsy on the wrist rotation, Fred," Richard noted, already shifting his weight. "Your angle was too wide. Adjust for the next one. Impedimenta!"