Morin floated the ten Galleons over to Gwen.
"Ravenclaw always brings surprises," he said. "I hope the rest of you keep trying. My offer still stands."
He looked around the classroom.
"Given the current results, only Ms. Gwen would pass the exam."
A pause.
"I hope that by the end of the term, that number becomes twenty-three."
Everyone.
"Of course, that won't happen just by talking," Morin continued. "So I'll be assigning some study tasks."
The students were still buzzing-about the gold, about the idea of everyone passing.
Then they noticed Morin's smile.
The room fell silent.
They already understood something important.
Whenever Professor Morin smiled like that, nothing good followed.
"Time flies. Our first lesson is almost over," Morin said, pulling out a stack of papers roughly eight inches thick. "Our next class is Friday. This is your homework."
He set it down.
"Don't worry. The questions are simple. Everything can be found in your textbooks."
A beat.
"My only rule is no copying. Anyone caught copying will face consequences."
The students stared at the pile.
Eight inches.
One week.
"It probably just looks thick," someone thought, flipping a page.
Dense text.
Dozens of questions.
Half the class nearly fainted.
"I must've grabbed the thickest one!"
Several students frantically checked the rest of the stack.
The sound of rustling paper filled the room.
A moment later, the other half collapsed.
Professor Morin had used [Volume Training].
It was super effective.
The students were defeated.
"That's all for today. Class dismissed."
Morin walked out, smiling in satisfaction.
He finally understood the joy of assigning massive amounts of homework and watching students despair.
It felt excellent.
Behind him, the students remained slumped in their seats, staring at the mountain of paper.
They had given him a new title.
The Arch-Villain.
Scarier than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
...
Morin entered the staff room.
"Professor Morin! How was your first class?" Professor Flitwick asked cheerfully.
"Not bad," Morin replied. "They were attentive, though their level is low. One Ravenclaw student did exceptionally well. She earned a lot of points-and ten Galleons."
"Ten Galleons?" Flitwick froze. "You're rewarding students with gold? Was it Gwen?"
"Yes," Morin said. "She's already a top student?"
"She's likely the best in her year," Flitwick said proudly. "And the most beautiful."
"That's hard to argue with," Morin laughed. "What about you? Just finished a Charms class?"
"Yes. The younger students," Flitwick sighed. "Limited magic power, so we focus on fundamentals. By the way, Professor Morin... do you drink?"
"Sometimes. I've never been drunk."
"Never?" Flitwick stared. "Surely you're joking. Or using magic?"
"What's the point of drinking if you use magic?" Morin replied calmly.
He didn't mention that he could simply choose not to get drunk anymore.
Conversations about alcohol always drifted toward tolerance.
Especially among men.
They agreed to visit the Three Broomsticks together over the weekend, and Morin left.
He still had classes for the second- and third-years that afternoon.
By now, stories about him were spreading rapidly through Hogwarts.
Especially after the next group saw the sixth-years.
And their homework.
Lord have mercy.
"I heard the new professor is rich and generous! His classes are amazing!"
"That's not what I heard. He's terrifying! Worse than Voldemort! He gave them an inch-thick stack of homework-pure test questions!"
"I heard about the reward! Ten Galleons if you pass!"
The students gasped.
The difference between second-years and sixth-years was obvious.
"At least he's better than Professor Quirrell. I heard he just stutters through the textbook and smells awful. Professor Morin is handsome-and interesting."
Soon, Morin arrived.
Exactly on time.
Arriving even a second early would be disrespectful to his salary.
The second-years immediately straightened up.
"Good afternoon," Morin said. "You know my name, but I'll introduce myself anyway. I am Professor Morin."
He was smiling again.
This time, it had a very different effect.
Thanks to the sixth-years, everyone knew.
Professor Morin was most dangerous when he smiled.
The class collectively inhaled.
"As second-years, your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are still far away," Morin said. "So I won't be as strict with you as I am with the sixth-years."
A visible wave of relief passed through the room.
"Now. After one year of study, you should know some spells. Write down the spells you believe you have mastered."
He snapped his fingers.
Papers appeared on their desks.
After a while, Morin collected them.
"Hm."
He scanned the pages.
"As expected. Most of you know five spells at most. Very few know the Shield Charm."
He looked up.
"That's normal. I'm not judging you. You're twelve or thirteen. Your magic reserves aren't high enough for many spells yet."
Some students relaxed.
"You might think I'm going to start teaching spells now."
He shook his head.
"No. Spells are necessary-but they are not sufficient."
He looked around the room.
"Besides spells, how else can you defend yourself?"
"Potions!" a student answered.
"One method," Morin nodded. "Anything else?"
"Magical items!"
"Another method. And?"
"Ask a professor for help!"
The class laughed.
Morin smiled.
"A professor won't always be there. Friends and family either."
His tone remained calm.
"And not everyone can be trusted. People change. In the end, you can only rely on yourself."
A pause.
"Anyone else?"
"Use your fists!"
The voice came from a tall, solid-looking student.
The class burst into laughter.
"Quiet," Morin said.
The laughter slowed.
"Gryffindor?"
The laughter continued.
Morin laughed as well.
House traits were indeed obvious.
"Crude, but valid," he said. "And exactly what I want to discuss. Five points to Gryffindor."
The student sat straighter.
"Potions are useful," Morin continued. "But they're expensive, time-consuming, and difficult to make. For wealthy wizards, they're viable. For most people, they're supplementary."
"Magical items are even worse. Rare and costly."
He spread his hands.
"What I want to teach you is the simplest, most universal form of defense besides magic."
"Combat."
The room froze.
"I encourage questions," Morin said. "As long as they're reasonable, there will be no punishment."
"Professor Morin," a student asked hesitantly, "isn't combat... unrefined?"
"Slytherin," Morin said, noting the green trim. "I understand. Refinement is valuable."
He nodded once.
"But when your life is at stake, surviving and winning is the most refined choice possible."
"Refusing to use available tools for the sake of appearances isn't refinement."
"It's stupidity."
"Sit down."
He continued without pause.
"Imagine this. An Auror chases a dangerous criminal-John Doe. Both are elite wizards. After a prolonged duel, they exhaust their magic, potions, and items."
"How do they decide the winner?"
"Combat."
"Hands. Feet. Body."
"Magic is powerful, but it's not always usable."
He glanced around.
"You've all heard about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy on the train. Regardless of who was right, one fact is clear."
"Mr. Potter trained his body."
"That's why he could win a three-on-one fight without spells."
"In the scenario I described, he would win again."
Morin's tone remained steady.
"I'm already in discussions with Headmaster Dumbledore about reforming the Defense Against the Dark Arts exams."
"He's very supportive."
"By the time you take your O.W.L.s, practical combat will likely be included."
"Yes, it will be harder."
"But the world is dangerous."
"As your professor, my responsibility is to teach you useful things-not just what's written in books."
Morin clapped his hands.
Three-foot-long wooden sticks appeared in neat stacks.
"Nothing beats practice."
"I've booked the outdoor training grounds."
"Let's begin."
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