Chapter 7: The History Professor

The Gryffindor first years were gathered at the end of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, having followed Percy's instruction to wait; as he would lead them to the dorms. The group wasn't so large as to make it impossible to hear the conversation going on at the front of the group. So, Xander sleepily listened in as the brainy girl from earlier interrogated the prefect.

"He's not serious, is he?"

"Quite serious, actually," replied Percy, "The third-floor corridor was rather disfigured at the end of last year; poor Professor Whedon, if you want the details, I suggest you look through the journal archives in the library. Anyone who knows anything about it, isn't saying, for good reason, and those who are saying, don't know anything. Now if everyone is ready please follow me, and don't worry if you don't remember the passageways, you'll learn."

Once the other students had cleared the hall, and only the first years and the fifth-year prefects for each house remained, there was a subtle nod between the prefects and then they were on their way.

He felt sluggish, and recognized the feeling as the results of the feast. He wasn't however so sleepy as to not notice that the people in the portraits along the corridors were animated in a way that paint on canvas shouldn't be, or that twice the group had gone through hidden passages, the first one behind a hanging tapestry of a very fat woman attempting to sing, and the second time after pushing open a sliding panel that slid shut as soon as the last member of the group was through.

At the very end of a long corridor hung a painting of a knighting ceremony with a young man kneeling before a lady in a flowing cream-white dress.

The Lady turned to face the group, her smile lit up her face when she saw Percy leading the group.

"Congratulations, Percy. I'm glad to see you were appointed as a prefect this year," the Lady said.

Percy blushed.

The young knight still kneeling turned towards the group, "I, of course agree with my lady. There was never a doubt in my mind. Welcome to my House, while I am but a simple knight, My Lady, has some knowledge of the more esoteric matters. Please feel free to stop and converse as needed." This he said to the group following Percy. Then the Lady was speaking again.

"I see the feast was well received as usual, and your charges are quickly tiring. So, we'll be quick with the explanation tonight, but we expect you all to stop by before the start of next week for us to elaborate."

Percy nodded and turned towards the group.

"Each house has their own security arrangements, ours is the portrait you see before you," said Percy.

"The password is updated as needed and posted on the board in the commons, while we could just let the portraits work by recognizing your face and robes, there are various magics that make this untenable. There are rules that you should all know concerning the privacy of the common room and the password, but as it is late, I will not keep you in going over them now. I will be meeting with each of you at the end of the week at which point, I expect you all to have familiarized yourself with them, they are posted with the current and next password in the common room."

Seeing that Percy had stopped talking, the Lady in the painting lifted an eyebrow and asked her question.

"Password?" said she.

"Rugiet Leonis," said Percy, the portrait rippled becoming transparent and revealing a tall archway and small chamber beyond.

"Follow Me," said Percy, stepping through the frame and into the stairwell beyond.

Xander was at the tail end of the group, he paused for a moment in front of the still empty portrait frame examining the space within and could just make out the filmy image of the Knight and Lady looking at him. He raised a hand and waved, and received a nod in return, and stepped through the frame into the tower on the other side.

Directly to the left of the portrait opening there was a short curving corridor that sloped upward to an archway leading into a large room, formed from what looked like a single continuous piece of smooth white stone, on the floor there was a rich red carpet with threads of gold woven in swooping lines that crossed the room. In the center of the room on a platform of white stone surrounded by a metal grate that went up to the ceiling where a fume hood flared out, a very comfortable fire crackled releasing heat into the stone and metal that was carried into the rest of the tower. Around the edge of the tower where one would expect walls, there were instead open archways showing the rest of the castle, and though Xander expected to feel the chill wind blowing through the openings in spite of the fire in the center of the room, the air was pleasantly warm and still.

He could see on the other side of the openings there was a balcony that surrounded the tower, and there was a slight shimmer to the air over each opening which he took to mean there was a barrier there preventing the temperature from dropping within the tower. At the far end of the room, a series of stone slabs were suspended in the air in pair of floating stairways leading up into the ceiling above them.

Scattered throughout the room were tables and squishy arm chairs, and couches, and hanging from the ceiling there were translucent red curtains draped suspended in such a way that a group could isolate a section of the common room to cut down on the sound from the rest of the room.

"Girls dorms are on the left; Boys dorms are on the right. I warn you all now, while you girls may have previously been able to access the boy's dorms, that changed last year, the recent project that remodeled and provided the castle with the many advancements in examples of the magical arts, is the cause of this update in policy."

"There are no exceptions. You will not even be able to attempt access, as the stairs have been crafted to be intangible to the unauthorized, I expect to see you all down here at Seven A.M. if you wish to be led back to the great hall for breakfast. Good night," said Percy, he then turned and proceeded up the stairs for the boy's dorms, disappearing into the ceiling.

Xander followed the group to the stairs coming fairly close to the openings to the outside, on a whim he poked a hand through the shimmering barrier and instantly felt the cool night air on the other side of the barrier.

"Cool," whispered Xander, to himself, as he stood there for a moment staring out at the sprawling castle grounds and forest beyond. He shook himself free of the scenic view and climbed the stairs, as he cleared the opening from the common room below he found a landing with a door with a small golden number one pressed into the wood. The door was opened to the first-year dormitory, as promised on the train, their luggage had been brought up and was lined up against the wall opposite the beds, which had thick, red, curtains.

The newness of the room kept the group awake for a time, taking in their new surroundings.

"Turns out, I'm a half-blood," said Dean Thomas into the quiet room. "My Dad, died shortly after I was born, and never told mum nothin. Mum was driving herself to distraction with worry every time something strange happened. The Hogwarts letter was a bit of a relief."

"Me dad's a wizard. Dad didn't tell mum he was magic 'til after I was born. Bit of a shock for her, I imagine it would've been worse if he hadn't been told until the letter showed up, might've thought I actually liked setting things on fire," said Seamus.

"I didn't show much accidental magic for the longest time, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville. "I wasn't even sure I would get a letter. Gran looked so relieved."

"What about you, Harry," said Ron.

"I prefer to be called, Xander, thanks," Xander said. "I've known about magic for a while but didn't know I was a wizard until the letter showed up. I just thought I had a knack for making other magic stuff go wrong."

The others laughed at the thought.

There was some muffled cursing from Ron's bed and the sound of the curtains being withdrawn so that Ron could place his pet in the cage he'd brought.

"What's the matter," Xander asked.

"Feckin Stoat, Scabby was chewing at my sheets," said Ron.

Xander yawned, and the next thing he knew, was his dreams; which were blissfully absent of foreshadowing.

— Xander Potter —

Xander rummaged through his trunk for the concealer he'd found that didn't itch and was just the right shade to cover the fading scar. He was carefully stacking items around him as he pulled them from the expanded space within the luggage, and had just liberated a wig of shoulder-length Weasley-red hair from within that caught his eye.

He discovered over the month at the Dursleys that no matter what he did to his hair, it remained the same length and refused to lay flat. And after the trip to Diagon, where he noticed the books with his current description in the bookstore; he decided to step up his game on being inconspicuous, and considering the surfeit of Weasley children running around, if last night was anything to go by, yet another red head would be par for the course. He grinned at the wig, and resumed his search.

A moment later he emerged from the first-year dorm bathroom bearing only the slightest resemblance to his appearance the night before.

His entrance to the common room was met with the occasional curious glance, but that was more curiosity aimed at the Weasley red hair, and questioning the idea that there was one more Weasley male at school than previously thought. The few that recognized him for who he was remembered his hair color the previous night and took the hint for what it was, and returned to what they were doing without saying anything.

Xander felt the desire to smirk at the students rubbernecking as the Gryffindor first years walked past, craning to get a look at Harry Potter and turning away disappointed when their eyes went right over him.

The most annoying, and equally fascinating part of the castle at the moment was the stairs, he listened in rapt fascination as the Prefect from the night before monologued on the trip back down to the Great Hall.

"... hundred and eighty-seven staircases at the last count, take great care to pay attention to your steps, there's a trick step coming up the thirteenth from the top, and twenty-third from the bottom up," Percy said demonstrating a step that disappeared when stepped on.

Xander jumped over the step with care.

"You may notice the door at the end of this set of stairs, the last recorded instance where it went somewhere was in the fourteenth century when it allowed access to the potions corridor. Currently it shows nothing but a solid wall behind it," Percy said pointing to a small door made of stone with a single brass ring.

At some point on the journey from the Gryffindor Tower, they were joined by the Ghost from the antechamber the night before, as Gideon glid through a door that required one to politely ask for the doorknob, just as Percy was opening it, much to the amusement of his audience, and his own muffled cursing.

"Gideon," sputtered Percy.

"Perseus!" Gideon said, from about waist height, his head firmly held in the crook of an arm. "Dear boy, you have my utmost and sincere apology for this gaff of etiquette. I remember just how uncomfortable it was to walk through ghosts such as I, when I was still alive, and let me tell you, it's equally unsettling for us ghosts on this side of the equation."

"Everyone, this is Gideon, the apprentice to the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas has expressed his eventual desire to shuffle off his ghostly existence, but only after he's had the chance to impart the secrets of Gryffindor to a suitable successor," said Percy. He gathered his control and finished asking for the door to open which he explained required him to take a calming breath until he could sound civil, and apologize to the door for his earlier language before it revealed the door knob.

"Showing them the ropes, eh?" said Gideon, "You wouldn't mind if I, tagged along, now would you?"

And, that was how the group gained a ghostly escort, just in time for a bundle of frilly robes from at least the fifteen-hundreds to fall from above.

"Peeves," Percy pinched the bridge of his nose, and spun around to face the assembled first years. "I'm surprised we didn't get a greeting from him last night, he usually makes a point of welcoming the first year Gryffindor's."

A low, wet sounding squelch followed, and a little man with, with mischievously bright eyes, and a wide grin dropped through a crack in the ceiling, bounced off the floor into a floating cross-legged position in the air.

"Peevsie, was having fun elsewhere," said Peeves. "The defense classroom needed Peevesies attention."

"Not going to ask," said Percy, slowly, and repeating the mantra several times until Peeves frowned.

"Red-headed Prefect isn't as much fun as the Red-headed twins, Peeves must not be trying hard enough to remove the stick he was told about," muttered Peeves in a way that was clearly heard by everyone there.

Gideon chuckled, "Now Peeves, there's no need to be vulgar. Should I inform the Baron that you're in need of your own radical extraction?"

There was a loud pop and a miniature cone of displaced air leading down the hall away from where the poltergeist had been, in the distance they heard a rattle from a suit of armor as the small man flew past.

"The resident poltergeist, you'll want to keep an eye on that one," said Percy. "So far, the only one he's been known to respect has been the resident ghost of Slytherin house, the Bloody Baron."

"Fortunate, or not, he remains as a mostly harmless outlet for the ambient magic of the castle. As was explained to me when I was in your shoes, Peeves defends his place here against other poltergeists and similar spirits, as long as he's here we don't have to worry about putting up with worse," said Gideon.

There was a distant rumbled like the grinding of stone, and Percy brought everyone to a stop.

"Sorry, everyone, you'll want to pay attention to that noise, it's an indication that the stairs have decided to change. If you catch this set of stairs earlier in the day it's a straight shot to the ground floor and the passage to the Great Hall. Since we started later than usual, that sound indicates that this stair should now exit onto the fourth-floor landing," said Percy.

Of course, this wasn't the case, though, as the students found when they reached the landing to find, Argus Filch, the caretaker currently in a heated discussion with Percy while a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with large eyes stretched at the caretaker's feet, Xander was fairly sure it was a cat, or at least in the same animal family.

"... Likely story Mr. Weasley," Filch was saying, but stopped as he noticed the crowd of students.

"Humph, well maybe this time," said Filch, shuffling off to disappear as quickly as he'd arrived.

"Mrs. Norris," Filch's voice sounded from off in the distance, and the thing Xander was fairly certain could be identified as a cat gave the group another disdainful glare before bounding off down the hall and disappearing as quickly as Filch.

Percy started walking down the hallway.

"Come along, this is the third-floor landing not the fourth, we should make haste to the next set of stairs. Please do not wander off," said Percy.

— Xander Potter —

With the schedules in hand and breakfast eaten, there was the start of the classes. While Xander knew that there was more to magic than saying fancy words and waving a stick; his classes in magic that first week drove the point home. From the first Herbology class with Professor Sprout.

The lecture portion of the herbology lesson was presented in the largest of the Hogwarts greenhouses on the grounds, and stepping into the building was like being transported miles away into a rainforest, the space within the building had been expanded far beyond the norm. Luckily for the students, the lecture area was just inside the main entrance under a metal pavilion coated with vines. There were wrought iron, wire-framed chairs under the pavilion, behind wooden tables that each held clay pots and dirt.

As wild as the growth was outside the little pavilion, the space under it was clear of vegetation. Xander imagined there must've been some sort of magic placed on the structure to prevent it from being overgrown.

"It has fallen upon my class to relay information that you will find important in other subjects," said Professor Sprout. "In here, you will learn to treat every plant with respect. From the most mundane flower, to my most dangerous tentacula."

There was some snickering from the direction of a dark-haired boy on the far side of the greenhouse.

"Mister Zabini, I take it you wish to volunteer your services this evening reviewing the basic safety lessons?" said Professor Sprout.

"No, professor," said Blaise Zabini.

"That wasn't a request, Mister Zabini. I only give one warning. Herbology is as dangerous a subject as any other taught at this school, and you will respect that or find yourself short one of the primary subjects required to graduate," said Professor Sprout. "Now then, to start with we will first examine the properties of the Elysian Asphodel. Who can tell me one of the properties of the asphodel."

And then of course, there was Astronomy. On Wednesday evenings, Xander discovered the joys of a midnight atop the Astronomy Tower, one of the few nights for his age group that curfew was waived in favor of the class that required the night sky for effective use of their telescopes, unless they wanted to study the sun. Midnight as was explained, was the optimal time for lessons, as the light pollution from the castle would be non-existent with the majority of the castle asleep.

There must've been some form of enchantment on the deceptively simple brass telescopes, as Xander had at first thought they would be fairly primitive compared to the newer reflecting models available. Astronomy class was held atop the aptly named astronomy tower. And despite the chill of autumn in the Scottish highland, the tower was surprisingly comfortable.

There were twenty-three pillars supporting a massive dome, surrounded by a balcony that extended out from the pillars a good five feet, like the Gryffindor common room, Xander could see the shimmer of the barrier keeping the cold wind out of the tower.

There was a massive telescope mounted on an even larger apparatus of gears allowing for precise control over every movement the telescope made. And instead of the tiny little focus for viewing, there was a glass enchanted to display a larger image of what the telescope was pointed at. Currently it focused on the massive red storm in Jupiter's atmosphere.

"Welcome to astronomy, I am Professor Aurora Sinistra," said the professor. "To assuage your fears as to the usefulness of my subject, I can assure you there is an equally great magic in the stars as what is taught in other classes. From the relatively close moon, to the farthest galaxy, the study of the stars affects more than just such wooly subjects as divination. It is also of great import in the production of potions and herbology. Though you will find it has less of an impact on newer subjects such as transfiguration and charms," the professor ushered them into the room.

"As some of you may already be aware, either by luck of having a parent or older sibling suitably interested in the topic, or having cracked open your texts before my first lesson," here she raised an eyebrow in the direction of the Ravenclaw students, "the eye of Jupiter is a storm formed in the upper atmosphere of the fifth planet in our solar system, what won't be known for those of you without the luck to have magical astronomers in your family is that the eye is the result of an ongoing experiment, being conducted by the department of mysteries since the late fourteenth century."

"They will of course deny the existence of any such experiment should you ask, quite embarrassing to their record of nondisclosure you see."

"Of particular note for us though, is when we review more than just the skies, such as the census record showing the uptick in magical births that followed the appearance. This should be, at least enough of a correlation, to provide you with some idea, as to how astronomy can affect you," finished Professor Sinistra.

This was all news to Xander, but around him he could see his fellow classmates ran the gamut of expressions from bored in the case of the Ravenclaws, to incredulous in the case of a few he pegged as purebloods, to those that matched his own surprise at the revelation.

Standing next to the large telescope now, the professor had a smug expression on her face.

"Now, excluding the Ravenclaws, who can name one of the classical Jovian moons?"

Hermione raised a hand.

"Miss?" Professor Sinistra pointed to the frantically waving girl in the middle of the group of students.

"Granger, Hermione Granger, Professor, and the Jovian moons, or the moons of Jupiter, are: Europa, Io, Ganymede..."

The professor quickly raised a hand to forestall the eager student, "Thank you, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor for a correct answer, and two points from for taking the chance to name two of the moons away from your fellow students."

The girl reddened in embarrassment from the correction, gentle though it was.

"Now, if I remember correctly the last count the muggles had, was somewhere around seventeen* moons, with the latest in magical imaging, we know there are actually seventy-one moons, those of you planning on taking arithmancy in your third year will look back on this and remember that number," said Professor Sinistra. Then she enlarged the projection of the gas giant until it reached the dome above, and with another flick of her wand, three of the moons now visible had little tags showing their names. Around the planet more tags appeared over the remaining fourteen moons.

Xander notice Hermione's frown at the larger number of moons. He hadn't been paying attention to the answers given by other students, and so didn't notice as the teacher called his name the first time.

"Mister Potter," Professor Sinistra sent a light stinging hex at his hand, and he almost instinctively dodged it, before looking up at the teacher.

"Hmm?"

"Can you name one of the remaining moons, Mister Potter?" Sinistra raised an eyebrow.

Xander looked up at the projected image with dismay at all the little filled in names, out of the seventeen there were only seven left, and the four he knew for sure were already taken.

"It's alright if you don't recognize any more of them, Mister Potter," Professor Sinistra sounded disappointed.

"Professor, I don't see Metis named yet," Xander said hoping he'd remembered the name right.

The professor's glare relented as she smiled at him and pointed a wand at the label to reveal the named moon.

"Well done, Mister Potter," she said. "Five points to Gryffindor."

He looked back over to Hermione, and she noticed his gaze giving him a timid, yet hopeful smile.

— Xander Potter —

Charms, was, in a word, thrilling. Professor Flitwick, the teacher, was a relatively short wizard, with a balding head and a wispy mustache. His entrance to the class involved flying into the room on some sort of levitating boots only to crash into a bookshelf, and end up on top of a pile of books.

Xander was one of the few students near the front of the room and pulled Neville with him when he rushed over to help the professor up.

"Are you alright, Professor?" Neville said.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Professor Flitwick repeated as he assisted the boys with pulling him off the stack and then brushed himself off. He gave a short chuckle and waved his wand, repairing any potential damage to the books from his little flying accident and then causing them to reshelf themselves.

"Ah, Gryffindor's, wonderful save there, have three points each for jumping to the assistance of a downed professor," Flitwick said with a wink.

Transfiguration was a more, wooly subject than charms. Xander recalled her from the sorting night, Professor McGonagall made him think of the witch Morwen from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles. In fact, hanging front and center above the chalkboard was a sign that read, "None of this nonsense, please."

"Magic is a complex and dangerous thing, and, I feel safe in saying, that there is no subject at Hogwarts, that is more dangerous than the subject of Transfiguration," she said. "In this class we deal with twisting the nature of reality more so than any other," with a wave of her wand, her desk and everything on it twisted morphing into a sleeping boar, and back again. "You will respect the dangers inherent in transfiguration in my class, or you will leave, and find yourself without my tuition. You have been warned."

With a wave of her wand, the chalk dust swirled up from the tray at the bottom of the board and affixed itself into several bullet points describing a complex equation and observations. "Copy this equation down, now, in fact inscribe it onto the very front of your note binder, you should see this every day you attend my class."

"Now," she said, "repeat this next sentence after me. There is no such thing as a temporary transfiguration." She paused while the statement sunk in on the class. "When you change the nature of an object via transfiguration, it becomes in all senses that object, though we do have spells that can determine the original object, and even revert a transfigured object to a prior state."

Xander's hand was cramping by the end of the lecture with all the pieces of information that had been presented as absolutely vital to understanding the process of transfiguration, that he almost sighed with relief when McGonagall announced that she believed they had time to attempt their first bit of magic in her class.

By the end of the lesson, he'd managed to ignite a portion of the desk which was quickly doused by the professor, turn portions of the matchstick into what looked like green plastic, and sharpen one end into a pointy stake. Only Hermione had any greater luck than he, and the professor used hers as an example, while frowning at his own, this was of course followed by a quirked eyebrow at his Weasley red hair.

"Mister Potter, please stay a moment," said the professor as the rest of the class filed out.

"Yes, professor," said Xander continuing to pack his things but remaining seated. Once the room had emptied she gave his wig a pointed look and said.

"Explain."

Xander reached up and lifted the wig to reveal his naturally messy black hair underneath.

The professor raised an eyebrow, but seemed to be relieved. "For a moment, Xander, I had worried that you had attempted some form of self-transfiguration. As you did not appear to be in distress, I assumed it wasn't life-threatening. Though I would still like to know why you decided on this particular method of concealment."

Xander shrugged. "What's one more Weasley in the crowd, professor. I'm a person not a hunk of meat. I'd prefer to not be stared at for something I don't even remember, and I like to think the background is better than the spotlight."

"You, are nothing like your father," said Professor McGonagall, dryly.

The statement hit Xander like a ton of bricks for a moment, he'd forgotten she didn't mean his father, but rather Harry's father. But still the words felt like a release of sorts.

"Thank you, Professor," Xander said.

"You're welcome, Mister Potter, and if you ever want to talk, call for Blocky, and ask him to see if I'm available for a meeting," said the transfiguration professor. "While I am a very busy person, and may not be immediately accessible, I can always make the time when requested for my lions."

— Xander Potter —

It should come as no surprise, given Xander's background, that out of all the other classes, Defense would be the one class he was looking forward to the most. Of course, coming from the perspective of one who faced the dark of Sunnydale on an almost nightly basis since having his eyes opened to it. Quirrell's lesson turned out to be something of a letdown. At first, the strong aroma of garlic lingering in the classroom, which the local grapevine semi-reliably informed him was a holdover from the professor's encounter with a Romanian Vampire, gave him some confidence that the subject would be just the ticket; returning him to the familiar territory he'd left behind that Halloween in Sunnydale. For all the stories floating around concerning the professor's exploits including the one about professor's authentic headwear, the professor himself was remarkably close-lipped.

Xander to his chagrin, was not in fact, miles ahead of the class in defense. There were all sorts of concerns that mages in this world had to deal with that he'd not seen mention of in Giles' books. There was so much to learn that he was deeply missing Willow's study guides, if not her pushing him to achieve above his minimal effort standards.

— Xander Potter —

Xander, had a love hate relationship with the next class, History of Magic. The subject itself held a fascinating glimpse into the wizarding world, which he felt he was playing extreme catch-up on. But the teacher, well, there were horror stories. Xander wouldn't have considered himself to be a student of history, or have any great love for the topic in general. On one hand he was no stranger to the dry nature of the subject material magic or no, on the other hand though, he recalled a saying, "those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

The stories took two forms, the first told of the former teacher of the subject, a ghost, very old, that apparently had fallen asleep one evening, only to awake the next morning to teach and leave their body behind. There had been some clause in the contract unknown until shortly after the end of the most recent conflict, which left the subject bereft a teacher. The second story, concerned the new professor for History of Magic, one Professor Snape, a Slytherin Alumni.

Between one school year, and the next, the story went, the class had been transformed from a slacker's paradise class, where it was not uncommon to find sleeping students, into the single most despised course in the curriculum. For a full two hours every Thursday evening, students were subjected to the fully immersive experience of History with Snape.

History lessons took place deep within one of the dungeons, the innovations seen higher in the castle hadn't reached the demesne of their Professor, the stone here appeared to be of an older, coarser nature than the smooth walls above, flickering torches guttered in an unfelt wind casting shadows that played with the imagination.

Professor Snape, like previous teachers started with roll. Xander was more than a little annoyed when the professor chose to single him out.

"And, yes," paused Snape, "Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity."

Xander raised a hand to indicate his presence, which the professor noted, though he looked again at the red-haired student sitting before him for a long moment. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then Professor Snape's, soul was on the same level as a black hole. There was none of the warmth, held by the other staff. Xander was left with the impression of being left outside on a cold, dark, night with the knowledge that tomorrow the sun wouldn't rise. Xander clenched a fist at the whispers that started up, only to be silenced by a glare from the Professor as he resumed roll call without further comment.

"The History of Magic is a rich and storied subject," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but that whisper seemed to echo throughout the room, pulling everyone's attention to the man. "As this class involves the stories of many long dead witches and wizards, I don't expect you will believe it has any valid relevance or effect in your lives today. I can teach you of the struggles of Merlin; the pitfalls of Morgana; and perhaps even something more recent like the atrocities of Grindelwald's Greater Good philosophy. Assuming of course that you aren't as thick skulled as the Neanderthals I usually have to teach."

The low sound of cloth rustling as the class squirmed uncomfortably was heard throughout the room, and glances were traded, eyebrows raised, and Hermione Granger inched forward in her seat and looked desperate to prove she wasn't a member of the Neanderthal family.

The professor looked around the room, eyes falling on Xander and his wig of red hair, Snape frowned tearing his gaze away from Xander's, and something told him, that if he were to ever attend this class without his wig, things would not go well for him.

Footnote for astronomy: *current count is closer to 69, with 50 something named and the rest being in distinct enough orbits to count as moons but unnamed as yet, though the figure of 17 is correct for 1991.