A few days passed.
Between a few more official trials for classes and a few more in private, Extimum had completely got the hang of using the Time-Turner.
Under their arrangement, it was his turn to look after it for the first week, so he'd had no trouble studying and testing it away from Hermione's watchful eyes. He hadn't yet examined its inner workings, but he already understood, in broad strokes, how it operated both forwards and back.
He had to admit it was a rather delicate artefact. Or rather, precise down to the smallest detail. Perhaps the fact that it was shaped like a clock had something to do with that. He'd also discovered its limitations.
He didn't know whether it was a limitation built into the artefact itself, one imposed by its creator, or even by the Ministry, though he leaned towards believing it was the latter, since the mechanism itself shouldn't need to be restricted.
The point was that, whatever the reason, he couldn't turn the clock more than twenty-four times.
Once it reached the twenty-fourth turn, it refused to move any further in that direction, allowing him only to wind it back, which naturally reduced the amount of time travelled.
He was still researching the subject, as books on the matter were either well hidden or restricted. He had only found a passage stating that travelling for more than five hours was potentially dangerous.
There was also mention of a book written by the Unspeakable Saul Croaker that went into greater detail on the subject, though he had yet to find it.
On the other hand, the principle behind controlling the clock was fairly simple: you just had to keep hold of it. As long as you didn't let go, you could adjust it calmly, forwards and backwards. But once you let go, there was no way to stop it until it had run its course.
He'd also tested its capacity to carry objects along with him, which turned out to be fairly straightforward. As long as he could hold the object in his hands, or it fit within the reach of the chain, there was no problem.
Even that requirement was fairly flexible, given what wizards were capable of. His expandable bag was proof enough of that.
He'd been tempted to try something like finishing his homework and then travelling back to hand it to his past self, sparing that version of him the time spent doing it.
Of course, he hadn't tried it. That would create one of the most common paradoxes.
Which made things either confusing or, frankly, completely pointless.
That said, he had run one somewhat bolder experiment. He'd travelled back a few minutes and… touched his own shoulder.
And… let's just say it had been a fairly unsettling experience, in ways he couldn't even put into words. Which was why he was glad he hadn't come face to face with himself.
At least now he knew that nothing like mutual annihilation would occur, and that, should it come to it, saving himself wasn't impossible under certain circumstances.
Then again, going by what he knew of the story, when Hermione and Harry travelled back in time to save Buckbeak, in theory, once they'd saved him, that trip should never have happened in the first place.
And yet the truth was that their actions had altered the very timeline. And, as he'd confirmed for himself, it was possible to exist several times over by travelling to different points in time.
All without triggering a divergence in the timeline that would spawn a parallel universe, erase this one and generate a new one, or even… simply cancel out the action that had caused the trip in the first place.
The copies or temporary versions were exactly that: temporary. They were finite and would vanish once the time they'd travelled back through had run its course.
A fairly interesting fact, though confirming it had left him a bit worn out. After all, even if he had more time available to him, he was also burning through more of his own time within a shorter span.
Which raised the question: by living more time in less time, was he quietly shortening his own life?
Put it this way: if a person were destined to live twenty years, but lived forty-eight hours every day instead of twenty-four, then from an outside perspective they'd have lived barely ten years by the time they died. But in reality, they'd have experienced all twenty.
Or would the power of time itself shield him from relative time, holding only to the global clock?
Something like physical time and virtual time.
It was a dangerous question, and for whatever reason, he hadn't found a single record addressing it. Nor was he interested in finding out through personal experience, so it was better not to overuse the Time-Turner for now. Even so, there was another way to put those experiments into practice without exposing himself to the risk.
For the time being, once his initial curiosity had been satisfied, he stopped playing carelessly with the Time-Turner.
On a separate note, some things around him hadn't changed.
Draco was injured by Buckbeak, made a scene about it, and skipped a few days of class. Perhaps the only thing different was that, when Extimum's scornful gaze fell on him, it had embarrassed him enough to drop the whimpering act the very next day, bringing the whole episode to a much faster end.
Then again, it made sense. Even if Draco had started drifting a little from his canonical self, he was still fundamentally the same person, and his rivalry with Harry kept most events running along a fairly predictable line.
Though that still didn't guarantee Buckbeak's fate.
In hindsight, he could have prevented it, but the Time-Turner had taken up nearly all his attention and he'd simply forgotten. Not that it was his job to go around stopping every bad thing from happening. Unless it really mattered.
Besides, the implications of time-travelling to save Buckbeak came with more than one consequence, so why bother?
There were better things to do, and technically, he hadn't even formally met Buckbeak. Because of the incident, the hippogriff was now chained up behind Hagrid's cabin, and in Care of Magical Creatures they'd been taught about flobberworms instead. A creature that left a great deal to be desired next to the elegant hippogriff.
Flobberworms were, quite simply, large herbivorous worms that, besides excreting a mucus used in potions, were also used in a few recipes, such as flobberworm fritters.
Setting that aside, an event he'd been both looking forward to and dreading at once had finally arrived. His only reason for not avoiding it was that his own curiosity outweighed his fear and unease.
An unease his tails seemed to sense, moving gently to comfort him with a soft brush.
Though none of that unease showed on his expressionless face as he stared down at his book from his seat.
Amid the noise of the classroom, footsteps finally approached from outside, gradually hushing the students as Professor Remus Lupin walked in and set his case down on the desk.
"Good afternoon. Would you put your books away in your bags, please? Today's lesson will be a practical one. You'll only need your wands."
His words cheered some students while worrying others in equal measure. In the previous two years, Defence Against the Dark Arts had been purely theoretical, with a single exception, which… had ended very badly.
"Right, now, everyone, follow me, please."
With him leading the way, the students filed out of the classroom after their professor. Before long, they reached the staffroom, which was unexpectedly empty except for a single person.
Professor Snape.
Lupin: "Come in, please."
Snape: "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this." He rose and swept past the students, his black robes billowing behind him. Once at the door, he turned on his heel and said: "It's possible no one has warned you, Lupin, but Neville Longbottom is here. I'd advise against trusting him with anything difficult. Unless Miss Granger intends to whisper the instructions into his ear."
Extimum raised an eyebrow at the remark.
He'd long heard that Snape had a particular fondness for tormenting students, and reacted with open hostility whenever someone interfered or managed to attract his attention for the wrong reasons.
Still, he didn't usually share Potions with Gryffindor, so he'd never witnessed such a display firsthand.
One more reason that reinforced his decision not to have chosen Gryffindor, at least in this generation. If nothing else, Snape tended to be somewhat more tolerant of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, just a little.
Lupin: "I was actually planning to have Neville help me with the first phase of the exercise, and I'm sure he'll do splendidly."
Snape let out a faint snort and left the room.
Lupin: "Now then." He drew everyone's attention to the back of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe in which the staff kept their spare robes and gowns.
As Professor Lupin approached, the wardrobe suddenly shook, banging against the wall.
"Nothing to worry about. There's a boggart in there."
His casual remark drew a small chorus of gasps, with most of the students who knew what that meant taking a step back.
"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap under a bed, the cupboard under the sink... I once saw one that had squeezed itself into a grandfather clock. This one turned up here yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if we might leave it exactly where it was, so we could use it for a practical lesson today. So, the first question we need to answer is: what is a boggart?"
Hermione's hand shot up almost at once.
"It's a shape-shifter. It can take the form of whatever we're most afraid of."
Lupin: "Very good, I couldn't have put it better myself. The boggart in there, sitting in the dark, hasn't taken a shape yet. It doesn't know yet what will frighten the person on the other side the most. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when it's alone, but the moment we let it out, it will instantly turn into whatever we fear most. Which means…"
Pausing for dramatic effect and ignoring Neville's terrified stammering, he went on, "That before we even begin, we already have an enormous advantage over the boggart. Do you know why, Harry?"
Extimum raised his hand in case Harry didn't answer, but lowered it slowly when he saw Hermione raise hers with excitement, eager to answer, which drew a small, amused smile onto his face.
She looked exactly like a puppy desperate for attention.
Then again, considering she'd just come from a Potions lesson with Snape, he could understand it a little.
Harry: "Because there are lots of us, and it won't know which shape to choose?"
Lupin: "Exactly. It's always better to face a boggart in company, because it gets confused. What should it turn into: a headless corpse, or a carnivorous slug? I once watched a boggart make the mistake of trying to frighten two people at once, and the poor fool turned into half a slug. Not remotely frightening."
"The spell for defeating a boggart is simple, but it takes real force of will. What defeats a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to take a shape you find funny. We'll practise the spell first without wands. Repeat after me: Riddikulus!"
Everyone: "Riddikulus!"
Lupin: "Good. Very good. But I'm afraid that was the easy part. As you can see, the word alone isn't enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."
"Let's start from the beginning: what frightens you most in the world?"
The question had been aimed at Neville, but Extimum drifted off a little, taking it as though it had been asked of him instead.
What was it that he feared most?
There had been a time when the answer might have been simple: his father.
But over time, the answer had shifted. Trivial things, like the death of someone he loved, or his master's sword slipping during a drill and running him through the heart; that sort of thing.
He'd already outgrown most of those.
His earliest fears had ranged from the ordinary to the extreme, since simple things had long since stopped being frightening once you grew up around magic, and around a pet like Nocturn.
Do you know what it's like to grow up with a shapeshifter for a pet? Well, that opens up a world of possibilities, good and bad alike. In a way, not so different from a boggart. Perhaps they were distant relatives; he had no idea.
Now, though, he suspected a new fear had taken root in him, though he wasn't entirely sure.
But what better way to find out than with magic?
And to use that same magic to fight it. Hence his interest, his curiosity, and his unease.
There was, of course, the option of stepping back and taking no part in this. That was well within his rights. But this was something he wanted to do.
Lupin: "Everyone ready?"
At Lupin's instruction, the students spread out and formed a line, with Neville at the front.
"One... two... three… now!"
A shower of sparks shot from Professor Lupin's wand and struck the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open, and then, slowly and deliberately, a hand reached out from within as Professor Snape stepped out of it, his familiar menacing glare fixed on Neville.
Neville staggered backwards, wand raised, his mouth moving without a sound coming out.
Snape was closing in on him. He was almost close enough to grab him by the robes...
"Ri... Riddikulus!"
There was a crack like a whip. Snape stumbled, and began to change.
A long, lace-trimmed dress appeared over his figure, along with a tall hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture. A huge red handbag dangled from his hand.
The whole class burst out laughing. The boggart froze, confused, its intimidating effect completely gone.
Lupin: "Parvati! Step forward!"
With the third-years of all four Houses gathered together, the queue was fairly long. Most were eager to practise their magic, while a smaller number quietly worked their way to the back of the line with no real intention of taking part.
In the initial scramble, the queue ended up a mix of different Houses. Extimum secured himself fourth place. He made sure to go before Harry, in case, as was expected, Harry's turn ended up cutting the exercise short.
Though he had his doubts about that, since his own intervention had made the Dementor attack considerably easier on Harry. He hadn't even been kissed. Still, he wasn't taking any chances. A Dementor left a powerful impression regardless; even Extimum had found them unsettling.
The students went through quickly, and within moments it was Extimum's turn.
Lupin: "Right, Extimum, your turn."
With a steady step, he approached the disoriented boggart, currently shaped like a mangled hand thrashing about, caught in a mousetrap.
The trapped hand twitched and dissolved into a churning blur in the air. Several shapes flickered past in quick succession, as though searching for the one best suited to its victim.
Extimum's gaze was focused. This wasn't just about facing his fears; it was also a kind of training for his mind. After all, it was the victim who, unknowingly, handed the boggart all the information it needed.
The blur stopped, and in its place a tall figure suddenly appeared, at least six foot one, elegantly dressed. With its abrupt arrival, the air turned bitterly cold and stifling, as if some terrible pressure had flooded the room.
The man, with black hair and eyes of an almost impossibly cold grey, took a step forward. His face was the very picture of an emotionless mask, one that put Extimum's own to shame.
The students recoiled at the sight of him. They hadn't believed a person could give off such an oppressive, terrifying presence, one that made Snape seem entirely insignificant by comparison.
Professor Lupin was startled too. He didn't know the man personally, but he'd seen his face before. He knew exactly who this was. He shot Extimum a complicated look; but what happened next surprised him even more.
Extimum: "I can't... I can't hold it any longer."
Beads of sweat slid down his face as he finally let his defences drop.
At once, the man's figure dissolved back into a swirling blur, and then, before everyone's eyes, no terrifying creature appeared. Instead… what appeared… was Extimum.
The unexpected new shape drew sighs of relief from many as the pressure lifted, though that relief was quickly replaced by confusion.
'Extimum's greatest fear was… himself? Why?'
The transformed boggart looked exactly like Extimum, right down to the clothes he was currently wearing, at least, until it smiled. Not the faint smile he usually gave when something pleased him. No, a real, radiant grin.
Except what greeted the eye was a row of razor-sharp teeth, while the purple of its eyes bled into red, its nails sharpened to an impossible point, and black markings spread across its skin.
Then…
** Bam ** ** Bam ** ** Bam ** ** Bam **
The staffroom windows slammed shut all at once, plunging the room into darkness. Creaking sounds began echoing from every direction, like something out of a haunted house.
Then an intense, chilling feeling began seeping through the room. If the earlier sensation had been oppressive to the point of suffocating, this one was… indescribable, like the very embodiment of terror and dread.
It brought on a sense of utter helplessness, as though giving up were the only option left.
Lupin realised things had spiralled out of control far too quickly. Several students near the back had already fainted. His expression shifted at once and he stepped forward, ready to intervene, when Extimum's calm voice rang out across the room.
"I see, so I was right. Riddikulus!"
With a loud crack, like the snap of a whip, all the darkness vanished along with the chilling aura, and in its place appeared an adorable nine-tailed fox, much like it had the very first time he transformed.
Its cute, adorable appearance left everyone still waiting in line speechless, Lupin included.
For a few seconds, Lupin simply stared at the little fox. The image was harmless, almost adorable, but it couldn't quite erase the feeling the boggart's previous form had left behind. He hadn't expected one of his students to be capable of projecting such an intense fear.
Even with all his years of experience, that transformation had sent a chill down his spine. It hadn't just been the boggart's appearance. There had been something about that presence that made him feel, for one instant, as though he were truly in danger.
Recovering his composure, Lupin turned his attention to the students who'd collapsed.
"Er… excellent spellwork, Extimum. Though it looks like a few students have fainted. We'd better make sure they're all right first."
He walked over to the middle of the line and crouched down to check on the students, casting a few quick spells and giving them a cursory once-over.
Lupin: "Sigh. None of them are hurt or injured, they must have simply fainted from the shock."
He considered the matter for a moment, and just as he seemed to reach a decision, Extimum spoke up.
"Since it's nothing serious, Professor, I could take them to the hospital wing to rest until they wake up. That way you and the others can carry on."
Lupin: "Hmm, I'm not entirely sure that's appropriate, but... are you certain you can manage them all on your own?"
Extimum: "It's no trouble at all."
As if to prove it, he extended his invisible tails towards the four unconscious students and lifted them into the air with ease.
Lupin: "All right. But take them straight to Madam Pomfrey. And if any of them wake up or seem unwell, don't hesitate to ask for help."
Extimum: "Of course."
With the four of them trailing behind, he walked past his classmates still in line and left the room, naturally ignoring every stare thrown his way.
His boggart's transformation had left plenty of questions, but after witnessing it firsthand, even the curious among them didn't dare ask.
Lupin waited until he'd vanished through the door before turning back to the rest of the class.
"Right, let's carry on. Ron."
…
Once in the corridors.
'Well, this is as good a chance as any to say hello to Madam Pomfrey. I haven't been to see her all this time.'
'Then again, I hadn't expected the boggart's ability to actually be rooted in empathy. I suppose it makes sense, but I thought it would operate more on a mental level, which is why I'd had some confidence in stopping it with my mental defences. Instead, it turned out to be a battle of empathic abilities.
I didn't even know it could be used that way. I might be able to replicate it, but it would be extremely difficult. That wasn't just a direct attack on someone's emotional spectrum, it probed, tracked, and forcibly wrenched information out of their reactions, somehow arriving at something so precise.
Such a method is in no way inferior to Legilimency, and might even be somewhat superior, given how rare it is and how hard it is to guard against. I doubt anyone but an advanced Occlumens could perfectly seal off their emotions, and even then, there's no guarantee a boggart couldn't still steal their fears.'
He reflected seriously on the experience.
The boggart had caught him off guard. Even so, he'd spent years mastering his empathic ability, and the encounter with the Dementor had given him a hard lesson that had sharpened it somewhat, even in that short span of time. So, in a battle of wills, he'd fed the boggart false information, forcing it to take the shape of his father.
And yet, even once he'd given it the information it wanted, the boggart hadn't stopped attacking.
It seemed relentless, ravenous, determined to keep chipping away, feeding on his fears, something it hadn't managed to do at first, since he didn't fear his father.
Still, once he could no longer withstand its assault, he gave in, finally letting the boggart see his true fear. Even so, it was something he'd already braced himself for, though being prepared wasn't the same as it not affecting him.
His hands were cold and pale from the shock. His emotions hadn't affected his actions much, though his hand had very nearly trembled when he found himself facing his other self's stare.
After wandering a while and walking down a few corridors, he finally reached the hospital wing.
Being the start of the year, and only the first week at that, it was fairly quiet. The most commotion the place had probably seen was Draco and his theatrics, though he was long gone by now.
"Mr. Izorim?" — Pomfrey's face broke into a faint smile at the sight of him, though it was quickly replaced by her usual stern expression once she caught sight of what he'd brought with him — "I was wondering when you'd finally stop by for a visit, though I certainly didn't expect you to bring quite so much... company when you did."
Extimum: "Lovely to see you again this year, Madam Pomfrey" — he smiled a touch more than usual as he went on — "Where would you like them?"
Pomfrey: "Over here... What happened to them?"
Extimum: "Nothing serious. They were just a bit too startled by a boggart and lost consciousness."
Pomfrey: "A boggart? Sounds like the castle could do with a proper clear-out. At least it's nothing serious. And you? You look a bit pale yourself. Was the boggart's transformation really so shocking?"
Extimum: "I'm fine. Nothing I hadn't seen before."
Pomfrey: "Hmm. Better wait here, I'll bring you something."
Extimum: "It's not—"
Pomfrey didn't wait for his answer and was already heading off towards her adjoining private quarters.
Extimum let out a small sigh and found himself a chair. The lesson would be ending soon anyway, and he had no more classes for the day, so he could afford to stay a while.
He was still turning the aftertaste of the experience over in his mind.
Why fear himself?
Only he knew how he'd spent his holidays. There was too much crowded into his head. In fact, perhaps literally too much, because it seemed like his mind wasn't just his own thoughts anymore. There was something else in there. Like a demon whispering in his ear.
Sometimes it stayed quiet, almost letting him forget it was there at all, but other times it turned relentless, manic. Ignoring it was one thing, but it left an unpleasant feeling crawling through his body every time it spoke.
He'd end up making himself ill if it carried on like this.
That was why he'd faced the boggart, not just to train, not just out of curiosity, but to… defeat it, silence it, even if it was only psychological relief.
That small relief was worth more to him than dealing with whatever questions it might raise.
Besides, he could always chalk it up to nightmares. A simple, dystopian dream about himself.
"Here you go."
A warm mug pressed against his cheek pulled him back to reality. Looking up, he found himself meeting Madam Pomfrey's stern yet warm gaze.
As he took the cup, the smell reached his sensitive nose at once: chocolate.
Extimum: "Thank you."
Pomfrey: "Don't mention it. It's my job to look after everyone in this castle."
"So... how's the first week been?"
Extimum: "Not bad. It's been a good start, a bit hectic, but more exciting than previous years." He said it calmly, taking a sip from his cup.
Pomfrey: "Are we still talking about lessons?"
Extimum: "Of course. What else would we be talking about? I find magic tremendously fun and exciting. I just don't much care for exams and homework."
Pomfrey: "Hmm, well, it's always possible you've already won over one of those girls who keep hovering around you."
Extimum: "Ahem. That's... well, a work in progress. We're still young, aren't we? I'm only thirteen."
Pomfrey: "Thirteen? And already so tall. You've had quite the growth spurt these last two years. But what does age matter, really? Wizards are always precocious. At your age, my mother was already married, and I... well, I took my time. I was far more focused on my career as a Healer, ever since I discovered it was my calling."
Extimum: "Well, that's true enough. But for now, I'm just letting things take their course."
Pomfrey: "Letting things take their course? That means you're keeping an eye on something, or rather, someone. Who is it? The cat girl from Gryffindor? The dreamy blonde? The young lady from Slytherin?"
Extimum: "Since when have you taken such an interest in these matters?"
Pomfrey: "Oh, always. You do know that teachers and staff have lives too, don't you? And, just like the students, we spend most of the year here in the castle. We have our own work and our own private research, of course, but we still need something to entertain ourselves with, so every now and then we talk about the students."
Extimum: "And I've suddenly become a topic of conversation because...?"
Pomfrey: "Because we're fairly close, for one, and besides, you tend to stand out wherever you go, so isn't it only natural I'd pay a little more attention?"
Extimum: "I suppose..."
Pomfrey: "So... which one is it?"
Extimum: "It's complicated."
Pomfrey: "Ha, isn't it always... though I'm surprised that's your trouble. I'd have thought that, given your nature, and how blunt you can be, it would come rather easily to you. It certainly did for your uncle Rhys. Quite the ladies' man in his Hogwarts days."
Extimum: "Uncle Rhys? He never struck me that way. He seems like a fairly serious man."
Pomfrey: "Serious? Pff, ha! That's probably the best joke I've heard all year, and it couldn't be further from the truth. Well, perhaps he is now, but only because he finally met a woman he couldn't bring himself to leave. But let's not get into that, you're the one we're talking about here."
Extimum: "Hmm, well, if you want a more specific answer than 'complicated'... then not very well, honestly."
Pomfrey: "Hmm?"
Taking a sip from his cup, Extimum looked out through the windows before going on.
"Yes, it's just... it isn't really going anywhere. None at all, if I'm honest. As for the others, I wouldn't say there's any real intention there, but then again... the word that best sums it all up is... complicated."
Pomfrey gave him a thoughtful look before sighing and offering him a faint smile.
"Well, give it some time, and if that doesn't work, well, you said it yourself, you're still young, and from where I'm standing, you're hardly short of options."
Extimum gave her a somewhat puzzled look. He genuinely had no idea why they were even discussing this. Setting his cup aside, he rose from his seat.
"Well, thank you for the chocolate. I still have things to do. I'll come by again next week, I'd like to carry on with our healing lessons."
Pomfrey: "Off you go, then. See you soon."
…
After leaving the hospital wing, he headed towards his common room.
"Extimum! Wait for us!"
A sudden shout from behind made him slow his pace. Turning round, he saw Steve and Mitchell hurrying to catch up with him.
Mitchell: "Mate, that lesson was incredible. I'd say it's the best one we've had in two years."
Steve: "Eh... well, it was certainly more interesting, but I wouldn't call it 'incredible.' Unpleasant would be more like it, though at least now I know how to defend myself if I run into a boggart, and I hope I never do."
Mitchell: "Ah, come on, it wasn't that bad. Yours was just an oil lamp, there's nothing frightening about that. Mine turned into a pack of rotting mummies that absolutely reeked"
Steve: "Tch, you're being awfully shallow about this. Not everything has to look like a monster to be terrifying. Fear isn't always rational, and in my case, there's a perfectly good reason behind it."
Mitchell: "Blimey, now you're starting to sound like Extimum. Though you've got a point, I'll give you that. What do you reckon, Extimum? You've gone awfully quiet. Yours was pretty unusual. Not that I'm judging or anything."
Extimum: "Hmm, it was a good lesson. Not everyone gets the chance to confront their fears, especially in a controlled setting. As for the fear itself, I agree with Steve. Fear isn't rational."
Mitchell: "Hm, still, yours was something else. Barely anyone could compete with your boggart. I suppose most of us are more scared of simple things... well, until today, maybe. I reckon you and a few others might've just redefined what fear means for half the people in that room."
Mitchell was clearly curious about Extimum's boggart. In fact, he'd opened his mouth to ask about it more than once, but held his tongue every time. It didn't feel like the right thing to do. For most people, this was something deeply personal.
Steve: "By the way, who was that man at the start?"
Extimum: "Ah, that was my father. I tried forcing an image in front of the boggart to see if I could throw it off, but I couldn't hold it for very long."
Mitchell: "Blimey, your dad's on another level. I nearly wet myself when he showed up. Felt like someone was strangling me."
Steve: "Now I see why the goblin Roswell fell."
Extimum: "You get used to it eventually. But let's leave that be, how about a board game instead?"
Mitchell: "I like the sound of that."
Steve: "I'll go first."
Mitchell: "Ah, I called it first-"
Steve: "But you never claimed your spot."
Mitchell: "Ugh."
.
A few weeks passed.
The pace had been fairly hectic. Attending multiple extra classes in a single day was exhausting, though thankfully not an everyday occurrence, and now that they'd mastered the Time-Turner, Extimum and Hermione occasionally allowed themselves a break, or a snack, during what they'd started calling their "time-out."
Likewise, while some things about the old classes hadn't changed, the new ones were bringing a fresh flavour to their day-to-day routine.
Even Extimum had to admit that Lupin was quite possibly the best teacher they'd had so far. Not only that, but his lessons were among the most entertaining.
Skilfully blending theory with practice, Defence Against the Dark Arts was finally shifting from a purely informative subject into a proper class on understanding magical dangers and how to face them.
During those weeks, they'd studied stealthy creatures like Red Caps and Kappas. Dangerous enough if you let your guard down and didn't know the signs of their presence.
Then there was Divination, which was proving to be thoroughly entertaining and interesting, at least for Extimum and a handful of others. For everyone else, either they didn't take the subject seriously at all, or they simply had not a shred of talent for it, Hermione being, much to her great frustration, a prime example of the latter.
Extimum had no idea whether that so-called "inner eye" or "Sight" was even real, but one thing was certain, this subject demanded more than simply keeping an open mind. It called for a certain supernatural affinity, that, and imagination. A great deal of imagination.
At least for now, Extimum could say he was starting to pick things up, though more often than not, they were little more than deductions taken to their extreme, based on the information in the book and his own reasoning.
What was no joke, however, despite how most students, and even other teachers, saw her, was Trelawney herself.
Perhaps because of her generally dishevelled appearance and her peculiar dress sense, combined with her constant ramblings, she was easy to underestimate. But once Extimum had watched her closely, he realised it wasn't quite that simple.
There were several details, small ones perhaps, that a casual observer might even have thought were deliberate, staged, but… nothing could have been further from the truth.
Opening a window moments before a bird came crashing noisily through it. Accidentally bumping into a student while crossing the courtyard, only for a plant pot from the second floor to come crashing down on that exact spot shortly after. Or turning up in the classroom at the precise second every last student had arrived.
That, and plenty more besides, hadn't gone unnoticed by several students, who'd formed something like a small group of fans. Extimum wouldn't call himself a member exactly, but he was willing to give the peculiar professor the same respect and attention they did.
The one thing stopping him from becoming a fan himself was the simple fact that... she genuinely did have a screw loose. She seemed to be contemplating so many things at once that she didn't always tell reality apart correctly, or would simply drift off completely before snapping back.
Which only reinforced how little credit some people gave her.
Then there was Care of Magical Creatures. That one, honestly… had turned out rather disappointing, disappointing enough that he was considering paying Hagrid a private visit to discuss his teaching seriously.
He'd had high hopes for him as a teacher, but...
After the incident between Buckbeak and Draco, Hagrid had basically grown timid about his lessons, teaching them nothing but worms... for two full weeks.
Fortunately, if his sense of timing and the information he had were correct, he'd soon have news good enough to help him move past this current phase or so he hoped, since the whole Buckbeak affair was still very much in play.
As for Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Muggle Studies, they were coming along fine, but there wasn't yet anything terribly interesting to report.
"Extimum, Padma! I've got great, no, excellent news!"
Steve's excited voice rang out, interrupting their reading.
Looking up, he saw Steve, followed by Mitchell and Trudor, come bursting into the common room and hurry over to the armchairs where he and Padma sat reading.
Padma: "Sigh. Fine, but was all that racket really necessary?"
Before Steve could even answer, Mitchell beat him to it.
"Of course it was, they're genuinely that good, because... we're finally getting our freedom!"
Padma: "Freedom? You mean... Hogsmeade?!"
Steve: "Exactly, third-years will officially be allowed off the castle grounds, as long as you've got a signed permission slip."
Extimum: "That is genuinely good news. That said, isn't 'freedom' laying it on a bit thick? I mean, we live in a seven-storey castle with multiple towers, dungeons, secret rooms, a Quidditch pitch, not to mention the enormous grounds around it, so, imprisoned isn't exactly the word I'd use."
Mitchell: "Bah, you're sucking all the fun out of this."
Trudor: "I agree. Being in the castle isn't the same as actually getting to go into the village. We usually only pass through when we're arriving or leaving, but now that we'll finally be free to go, we can visit all the places we weren't allowed before, like the pub, go for a walk, or buying things without having to ask an older student to do it for us."
Bloom: 'It's just as well they don't know we've been sneaking off there since last year. Though we never got into many places, so I suppose it'll be nice to finally go there properly, without having to hide or sneak around.'
Padma: "When are we going?"
Steve: "You can only go at weekends, so tomorrow. Everyone free?"
"Yes" x4
Steve: "Excellent. I'll put together the best tour, then, so we make the most of it."
Padma: "It'd also be good if we could sort out some kind of transport. It's not that far, but going back and forth will be tiring, especially if we're staying out there a good while, and in case we suddenly need to carry things back with us."
Trudor: "Hmm, not a bad idea, but how would we even get hold of one..."
Mitchell: "Why don't we just fly there on brooms?"
Padma: "Don't have one."
Trudor: "Me neither."
Steve: "Left mine at home."
Extimum: "Ruled out, then..."
Steve: "Well, I'll think of something. If not, we'll just walk, it's not so bad."
Mitchell: "Heh, sure, look who's talking."
Steve: "Tsk, we've been over this, I've told you, I'm not chubby for no reason."
Padma: "Yes, yes, whatever you say. By the way, it's not certain yet, but my sister might join us, that's not a problem, is it?"
Mitchell: "Not at all."
Steve: "Yeah, honestly, I like her better anyway."
Padma: "Hmp."