(Gilderoy Lockhart)
After everyone had thoroughly stuffed themselves, Dumbledore rose once more and announced the Triwizard Tournament.
As expected, the Great Hall erupted.
Gasps.
Cheering.
Immediate speculation.
Half the older students looked thrilled.
The other half looked convinced they were about to become legendary.
Which, historically speaking, rarely ended well.
The younger students appeared confused, though deeply excited by the reactions around them.
Dumbledore, naturally, delivered the announcement with perfect theatrical restraint.
He explained the rules, the age restrictions.
Then talked about how this was about international cooperation.
He also mentioned that while winning this tournament would grant "eternal" glory, it also came with great danger.
By the time he finished, the room buzzed louder than a disturbed hive.
And shortly after, students were sent to bed.
Though judging by the noise echoing through the corridors later that evening, very few obeyed immediately.
Excitement has never respected curfews.
…
Monday, September 5, 1994
I was currently standing beneath a Disillusionment Charm.
Invisible, silent, and perfectly positioned at the back of a Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
A privilege of senior staff, mild curiosity, and a complete lack of shame.
Sirius stood at the front of the room, leaning casually against his desk while sixth-year students settled into their seats.
The atmosphere felt noticeably different from my lessons.
Less polished.
Less theatrical.
More… dangerous.
Which admittedly suited him.
"Good morning, everyone," Sirius said.
The room quieted.
"As most of you probably know, I'm Sirius Black."
He paused.
"Former Auror."
A few students nodded.
"Long-time resident of Azkaban."
Nervous laughter followed.
"Escapee."
More laughter.
"Fugitive."
Someone at the back clapped once.
"And most importantly…"
He grinned.
"Prankster extraordinaire."
Fred and George Weasley immediately erupted into applause.
They looked deeply offended nobody else had joined them fast enough.
Sirius mock-bowed toward them.
"Thank you, thank you. It's nice to be appreciated by fellow men of culture."
Several students laughed.
Sirius straightened and picked up a thick stack of parchment from his desk.
"Now," he said, waving it lightly, "your previous professor, Remus Lupin, left me detailed notes."
He glanced down.
"Very detailed."
He flipped through several pages.
"Disturbingly detailed."
Another page.
"I'm fairly certain he organised parts of this by emotional tone."
A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
"According to Professor Lupin," Sirius continued, "you've covered defensive spell theory, creature identification, practical counter-curses, Dark creature classification, and basic magical threat assessment."
He lifted the stack slightly.
"He also prepared an entire curriculum for me."
He stared at the parchment.
"Scheduled almost by the hour."
He looked personally offended by this.
"I suspect he believes structure builds character."
He placed the papers down dramatically.
"I disagree."
Several Gryffindors laughed immediately.
A few Ravenclaws looked concerned.
Sirius folded his arms.
"According to these notes," he said, tapping the parchment, "today we should conduct a diagnostic examination to evaluate what you remember."
A collective groan spread through the classroom.
One student physically dropped their head onto the desk.
"Exactly," Sirius said.
"That was my reaction too."
He picked up the stack, then casually tossed it onto the desk behind him and the papers slid dramatically across the wood.
"So we're not doing that."
His words were met with immediate approval. Students straightened, and interest returned instantly.
Sirius pushed himself off the desk and paced slowly across the front of the room.
"I already know what matters," he said.
"You can memorise textbook definitions."
He glanced toward a group of Ravenclaws.
"You can write essays."
"You can pass exams."
"You can panic under pressure."
"And you can pretend to understand things you absolutely do not."
His gaze drifted briefly toward several Slytherins.
No names were needed.
Smirks appeared anyway.
"But Defence Against the Dark Arts isn't about remembering answers."
He stopped walking.
"It's about what you do when something dangerous happens and you have three seconds to react."
The room quieted.
Ah.
Now he had them.
Sirius leaned lightly against the desk.
"So today," he said, "we're going to find out how you think."
A few students exchanged interested looks.
"And," he added casually, "how quickly you panic."
That earned laughter again.
Then Sirius smiled.
The sort of smile that suggested poor decisions were approaching.
"Everyone," he said, "move the desks."
Ah.
Excellent.
Now things were becoming interesting.
…
As the students shoved desks aside with varying degrees of enthusiasm, scraping wood echoed through the classroom.
Some worked quickly.
Others took their time.
A few clearly assumed Sirius was simply preparing for practical spellwork.
A fatal mistake.
I watched from beneath my Disillusionment Charm, comfortably invisible near the back wall.
Sirius stood casually at the front, hands in his pockets, expression relaxed.
Far too relaxed.
The moment the final desk slid aside, he moved.
His wand flashed into his hand with alarming speed.
"Good," he said pleasantly.
Then he fired.
A sharp jet of light shot across the room.
Lee Jordan barely turned in time before a stinging hex flew directly toward his forehead.
He yelped, dropped flat to the floor, and let out a remarkably high-pitched scream.
"Merlin's pants!"
The curse struck the wall behind him.
Several students jumped for cover.
Then Sirius fired again, and again.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Angelina Johnson reached for her wand on instinct, but it was too slow.
A sharp sting hit the back of her hand and her wand clattered across the floor.
"Ow!"
"Rule number one!" Sirius shouted cheerfully while firing another spell over someone's shoulder. "If you wait to react, you've already lost!"
A tripping jinx caught a Ravenclaw mid-step and he hit the ground hard.
A colour-changing charm exploded across another student's robes, turning them violently pink.
Someone's shoes began tap dancing uncontrollably.
A Hufflepuff yelped as donkey ears sprouted from his head.
Fred Weasley narrowly ducked a stinging hex and looked personally delighted.
"Oh, this is brilliant!" he shouted.
George immediately rolled behind an overturned desk.
"Finally, a practical professor!"
Sirius laughed outright, a proper bark of manic amusement.
He moved through the room like chaos incarnate.
No hesitation or wasted motion.
A flick of the wand here, a silent hex there, prank spell after prank spell.
Harmless, embarrassing, and impressively fast.
One Slytherin suddenly developed an elephant trunk in place of a nose.
Another staggered sideways as his legs transformed into duck feet, forcing him into an involuntary wobbling dance.
A girl shrieked as her hair burst into rainbow colours.
Someone else briefly began speaking only in loud quacks.
Sirius was definitely enjoying every second of it.
I watched with reluctant fascination.
He might despise his family name, might reject everything they represented, but Merlin help me, there was unmistakable Black energy in his actions.
Weaponised mischief.
Elegant cruelty disguised as entertainment.
Calculated unpredictability.
Yes.
He was absolutely a Black.
Eventually, Sirius lowered his wand and silence settled.
Heavy breathing filled the room.
Several students remained sprawled across the floor.
One was hiding behind a desk leg as though expecting incoming artillery.
Another still had clown hair.
A Ravenclaw's eyebrows were now bright green and incredibly bushy.
The classroom looked less like a lesson and more like the aftermath of an unusually whimsical battlefield.
Sirius leaned back against his desk, twirling his wand lazily between his fingers.
"Well," he said.
He surveyed the destruction proudly.
"You're all going to need serious work on your reflexes."
Several students glared.
Fred looked thrilled.
George was still laughing into his sleeve, not minding that he now had a beak instead of mouth.
Sirius folded his arms.
"But don't worry." He grinned.
"Who better to provide serious training than Sirius himself?"
I nearly face-palmed.
Of course he would make a Sirius pun.
There are apparently limits to dignity, and Sirius Black had never met them.
The students groaned collectively.
Even while recovering from magical assault, they still found energy to judge him.
"That was terrible," Angelina muttered, rubbing her hand.
"Absolutely awful," Lee added from the floor.
Sirius looked delighted.
"Excellent," he said. "That means morale is intact."
He pushed off the desk again.
"Lesson one," he said, pacing slowly.
"Defence isn't neat."
His tone shifted.
Still casual, but sharper now.
"Dark wizards don't wait politely while you prepare."
He looked around the room.
"They don't announce themselves."
His wand spun once between his fingers.
"They don't care whether you're ready. They attack when you're distracted."
He pointed toward the desks.
"When you're tired."
Toward the door.
"When you think you're safe."
Then he smirked.
"And sometimes when you're trying to move furniture."
A few reluctant laughs followed.
Good recovery.
Sirius clapped his hands once.
"Right," he said brightly. "Fix yourselves up."
Groans followed immediately.
"Then we do it again."
His words were met with collective horror.
Excellent teaching technique.
Trauma builds character.
Within reason, that is…
…