In the end, after a great deal of persuasion, Morin managed to get the studious Hermione to watch the match.
"Does China have Quidditch, Professor Morin?" Hermione asked, taking the opportunity to expand her knowledge since studying was off the table.
"Probably not," Morin said after thinking for a moment. "We don't fly on brooms, so there's no Quidditch. If you really want a comparison, it would be sword-flying."
"Sitting on a sword?" Hermione's eyes widened.
"Of course not!" Morin said, exasperated. "Standing on it. Sitting would hurt every day. Unless the sword was unusually wide..."
"Oh..." Hermione let out a breath. "That scared me. Is it stable?"
"Beginners who can't keep their balance add railings," Morin said, making it up smoothly. "And not everyone uses swords. Some use blades, staves... flight styles vary. Some people are even dragged along by their weapons."
Hermione listened attentively, asking about energy consumption, speed, and how common it was. Morin answered without pause. After all, he'd seen it on television.
The Quidditch match continued.
Because of the pitch's size and the rules, anyone without binoculars could barely see the ball. Still, the players' movements were clear.
Then gasps rippled through the stands.
Harry, flying at high speed, suddenly began jerking and twisting in midair.
Some people were already running onto the pitch carrying mattresses.
They really had brought them.
Morin, however, remained calm.
A broom malfunctioning at high speed was deadly for a young wizard unless they could cast Levitation or Apparate.
Harry could do neither.
And his spellcasting... well, even his Levitation Charm wouldn't help here.
But-
He was strong.
And strength meant grip.
Harry had practically locked himself to the broom. Even as it bucked so violently it blurred, his body didn't move.
"Something's wrong!" Hermione cried. "What's happening?"
"Someone is jinxing Harry's broom to knock him off," Morin said as he stood. "A fall from that height would be fatal."
He glanced at her.
"Do you remember what I told you about the essence of magic?"
"The manifestation of a special energy you call 'mana,'" Hermione answered instantly.
"If you can see the essence of a thing," Morin said calmly, raising his hand, "you can solve most problems."
"Finite Incantatem."
This wasn't the exaggerated version used by the Scamander brothers. It only shared the name.
Its effect was to repel and drain all "mana" in an area.
Strictly speaking, it wasn't even magic.
Morin was using electromagnetism.
If someone could see the particles in the air, they would see them being pushed away from Harry by an invisible force. A vacuum formed around him, then expanded to cover the entire pitch-including the stands.
The magic that made the brooms fly still functioned.
But the Golden Snitch suddenly slowed.
Its wings fluttered weakly.
Harry regained control, dove, and caught it.
Quidditch rules were inherently unbalanced. With a good Seeker and a competent Keeper, the rest hardly mattered. A goal was ten points. The Snitch was worth one hundred and fifty and ended the match. Making up that gap was nearly impossible.
Cheers exploded.
All of Gryffindor erupted, joined by most of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Slytherin's reputation wasn't doing them any favors. Their students left in a huff, muttering that the Snitch slowing down was cheating.
No one cared.
Most people ignored Harry's broom malfunction entirely. Banners came out. Harry's name echoed. The stadium turned into a sea of red and gold.
"The others worked hard too," Hermione muttered.
"But there's always a leader," Morin said. "Someone always gets the credit. Fame aside, Harry really did win this match."
Hermione watched the team lift Harry and toss him into the air.
They saw him as the hero.
"So, Professor Morin," she asked, "who was jinxing Harry's broom? Was it Professor Snape? I saw his lips moving."
"You shouldn't jump to conclusions," Morin said, shaking his head. "I know who it was, but now isn't the time to reveal it. We need to wait."
"Who?" Hermione's eyes lit up.
"I suppose I can't stop you from investigating," Morin sighed. "Fine. If you find the right answer-without putting yourself in danger-I'll give you a reward."
He paused.
"Did I mention that besides being the Defense professor, I'm also a wandmaker?"
"A wandmaker?" Hermione's eyes widened.
"Yes. I can modify your wand. More power. New abilities. No change in handling. It'll feel exactly the same."
He didn't hesitate. Upgrading Hermione's wand had already been planned.
"Deal!" Hermione agreed immediately, her Gryffindor spirit flaring.
"Don't rush," Morin said. "You get three chances. You need evidence. And you must not put yourself in danger."
His tone sharpened slightly.
"In any situation, your safety comes first. Thinking about fighting back before that is foolish. You might succeed once by luck, but you only need to be unlucky once."
"I understand," Hermione nodded seriously. "By the way, Professor Morin, may I borrow some books?"
"What kind of books?"
"One that's in the Restricted Section..." Her voice trailed off.
"The contents of the Restricted Section are already in my head," Morin said as he stood. "Some of it isn't suitable for your age. It's easy to go astray."
He looked at her.
"Tell me the title. If it's not too dangerous, I'll give you permission. Or I can give you a copy I wrote myself. Same content. You can read it anywhere."
"Okay!" Hermione nodded eagerly. "Can I have both?"
Ambitious.
But she was a good student, so Morin agreed.
He already knew which book she wanted. Her answer confirmed it.
A book on dangerous magical creatures and how to deal with them.
She's going straight for it, Morin thought. Very Gryffindor. One girl causing all this trouble... or did I just make it easier?
That thought lingered.
Christmas was approaching.
Aside from the usual excitement-who was staying, what gifts they'd receive, what they'd give-the biggest topic was the upcoming duel.
Then came disappointing news.
Professor Quirrell was ill. The duel was postponed by two weeks.
No one doubted it. The smell of garlic from his classroom spread twenty yards. Maybe he thought garlic cured everything. Or maybe he was a vampire. Students joked.
Others said he was simply scared. That theory gained traction after the Weasley twins enchanted snowballs to chase him and pelt his turban. They were punished, of course, but Quirrell's reputation suffered another blow. A Defense professor who couldn't handle a few snowballs was hard to respect.
Meanwhile, Morin's reputation continued to grow.
At least as a teacher.
As for homework, the bitterness remained. His "sea of assignments" had crushed the students for half a term. But it worked. Grades rose. Rumors spread that other professors-starting with Flitwick-were considering adopting his methods.
And then-
Christmas arrived.
Hermione woke to a pile of packages at the foot of her bed.
Like most girls, she opened them eagerly. Gifts from her parents. From Harry. From Ron.
After the incident at the feast, Harry and Ron had apologized. She'd accepted, but they hadn't grown close until a common enemy-Snape-brought them together.
It had started when Hermione suspected Snape and happened to run into Harry and Ron while they were also breaking rules. They shared information. She realized she'd missed a lot. Suspicion became friendship.
Children were like that.
And when Hermione later visited Morin, she found Harry there as well.
They shared the same master.
Hermione happily opened gift after gift until she found an envelope.
The signature was a Chinese character she recognized.
Morin.
Professor Morin doesn't seem stingy...
Curious, she opened it and read.
[Dear Miss Hermione Granger,
I believe the time has come to fulfill my promise.
Please come to my office after reading this.
I think you'll be pleased.
-Your definitely-not-poor Professor Morin]
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