September 15th, Monday.
The seventh years returned to class after an enjoyable weekend.
The first two periods that morning were Charms.
Professor Flitwick had grown out his little moustache again, but not enough time had passed for it to fully fill in. The two streaked-grey tufts beneath his nose were neither too long nor too short, trembling slightly with his lips as he lectured, making him look rather comical. Loren and the others could never help glancing at his moustache during class, but Professor Flitwick did not mind, merely smiling good-naturedly.
The next two periods were an elective: Arithmancy.
There were the familiar data comparison charts and the familiar empirical formulas. Seventh-Year calculations introduced more and increasingly complex formulas, whose coefficients seemed to follow no pattern whatsoever. By the end of the class, the students were dizzy and seeing stars. Anyone might have thought they had attended Professor Trelawney's Divination Class and been dazed by herbal incense.
As Loren calculated, he pondered an alchemical calculator. At the same time, he distracted Hermione, who was muddled from all the calculations beside him, and received a few light punches in return to wake himself up. That was how the two hours slipped by.
Classes continued after lunch. The afternoon held two periods of Transfiguration.
Their teacher was still Professor McGonagall.
As Gryffindor's Head of House, Hogwarts' Deputy Headmaster, and the successor to the headmaster acknowledged by all staff and students, she had inevitably been influenced during her many years assisting Dumbledore, absorbing a small measure of his views on joyful education.
The bell gradually fell silent.
"Before we begin, I would like to discuss something outside the classroom."
Professor McGonagall tapped the lectern and addressed the seventh-year students.
"Caretaker Mr. Filch spoke to me about the nighttime gathering, and I also know