The Start-of-Term Feast

September 1st, evening.

Hogwarts's Great Hall was brightly lit, thousands of candles floating in midair while the ceiling reflected the starry sky outside. Four long tables stretched from the entrance to the far end, corresponding to the four Houses—Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.

Zhang Wen sat at the staff table, positioned between Snape and Filius Flitwick.

From the moment he sat down, Snape had not given him a pleasant look.

That was no surprise. In the original story, Snape had never been pleasant toward any Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, because he himself had wanted the post for over a decade. Now that position had been snatched away by an Eastern man of unknown origin, there was no way he would have a good attitude.

"Professor... Zhang." Snape's voice was low and drawn out, every word seeming to squeeze through clenched teeth. "I heard Lockhart recommended you?"

"Yes, Professor Snape." Zhang Wen maintained his smile.

"Lockhart." Snape repeated the name, the sarcasm in his voice thick enough to wring water from. "A... memorable recommender."

Zhang Wen decided not to take the bait.

Trading barbs with Snape was not wise. The man's venomous tongue ranked first in all of Hogwarts; even Dumbledore sometimes had to give him some leeway.

On the other side, Professor Flitwick was far more enthusiastic. The tiny Charms professor had to stand on his chair just to reach the tabletop, but that did nothing to dampen his social enthusiasm.

"Welcome, welcome!" Flitwick's voice was high and cheerful. "You're from the East? I've always been fascinated by Eastern magical systems! I've heard Chinese talisman magic is extraordinarily intricate—"

"We can discuss it in detail another day," Zhang Wen replied politely.

He did not dare go into it too deeply. His understanding of Chinese talisman magic was limited to a superficial grasp from the Type-Moon Universe. If he truly started discussing details with a Charms professor, he would be exposed in minutes.

Artoria sat beside him, her back straight, eyes fixed ahead, without saying a word.

There had originally been no seat arranged for her—teaching assistants did not usually sit at the high table. But Dumbledore had waved a hand and said, "The more, the merrier," then had the house-elves add a chair.

Zhang Wen suspected Dumbledore wanted to observe Artoria from up close.

That old man's curiosity was greater than a cat's.

The doors opened.

Professor McGonagall led a group of first-year students into the Great Hall. The little ones stood in a nervous line, their eyes wide as saucers, rendered speechless by the starry ceiling and floating candles.

The Sorting Ceremony began.

The battered Sorting Hat was placed on a stool. Its brim split open, and it sang a song about the four Houses. Zhang Wen caught the gist of it—brave ones went to Gryffindor, clever ones to Ravenclaw, loyal ones to Hufflepuff, and ambitious ones to Slytherin.

A very simple and straightforward classification method.

If the Sorting Hat had sorted him, he would most likely have gone to Slytherin. Someone who could threaten Lockhart into handing over his position just to survive had no business anywhere else.

As for Artoria—

Gryffindor, without question.

After the Sorting Ceremony ended, Dumbledore stood up.

The Great Hall fell silent at once.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, everyone!" Dumbledore's voice echoed through the hall. "Before we begin enjoying the feast, I have several announcements to make."

Zhang Wen straightened in his seat.

Here it came.

"First, I am delighted to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Mr. Zhang Wen."

Every eye turned toward the staff table.

Zhang Wen rose and gave a slight nod.

Scattered applause broke out through the Great Hall, clearly tinged with confusion.

That was understandable. The students had expected to see that blond, blue-eyed, dazzlingly smiling Gilderoy Lockhart—after all, the Daily Prophet had promoted him relentlessly before the summer break. Instead, an Eastern face none of them had ever seen had appeared.

Zhang Wen noticed a brown-haired girl at the Gryffindor table whose face was full of disappointment.

Hermione Granger.

Lockhart's number one fan.

Beside her sat a black-haired boy and a red-haired boy—Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

Wait.

Zhang Wen blinked.

Why were Harry and Ron here?

According to the original plot, Dobby should have sealed off the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, forcing the two of them to steal the Weasleys' flying car to school and arrive late.

Yet here they were, sitting perfectly well at the long table.

Zhang Wen quickly analyzed it in his mind—he had replaced Lockhart, so Lockhart had not held his book signing at Flourish and Blotts. The Weasleys and the Malfoys therefore had not clashed at the bookstore, and a chain reaction along the timeline might have altered Harry and Ron's journey.

The butterfly effect.

It had already begun.

Zhang Wen noted the change to himself and turned his attention back to the feast.

"Furthermore," Dumbledore continued, "Professor Zhang's teaching assistant, Miss Artoria Pendragon, will also assist with this term's instruction."

Artoria rose.

The Great Hall fell silent again.

This silence differed from the last one. Before, it had been confusion. This time—it was, how to put it—they were stunned.

Artoria wore a dark blue robe, her golden hair neatly falling behind her shoulders. Her spine was straight and her expression calm. She did not need to make any unnecessary gesture; merely standing there gave her an aura that made it impossible to look away.

It was the presence of a king.

Even if her current identity was only that of a teaching assistant.

"She's so beautiful..." A girl from some House muttered softly.

Hermione's disappointment over Lockhart's absence seemed to ease somewhat.

At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy stared at Artoria for several seconds before nudging Goyle beside him with his elbow.

"Pendragon," Malfoy said under his breath. "That surname... where have I heard it before?"

Zhang Wen thought, Of course you've heard it before. Arthur Pendragon, King Arthur, Britain's legendary king. Your pure-blood families love researching ancient bloodlines like that.

Naturally, no one knew that the golden-haired woman seated at the staff table was the legend herself.

Dumbledore clapped his hands, and food appeared.

Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb legs, sausages, bacon, steak, stew, chips, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup—

Zhang Wen saw Artoria's pupils widen slightly.

Only for an instant.

Then her composed expression returned. She elegantly picked up her knife and fork and began eating with utterly flawless aristocratic table manners.

Very quickly.

Yet every movement was very elegant.

It was a union of contradictions—every cut, every forkful, every motion of bringing food to her mouth was as proper as a textbook illustration, but the pace was so fast it made one's eyes blur.

Zhang Wen silently pushed a piece of roast beef from his own plate toward her.

Artoria looked at him.

"You eat it," Zhang Wen said. "I'm not very hungry yet."

Artoria did not stand on ceremony.

Snape, seated on Zhang Wen's other side, wore a dark expression throughout, seemingly uninterested in the food. He drank only half a glass of pumpkin juice, then began sweeping his black eyes across the students' tables.

His gaze paused briefly on Harry Potter before moving away.

Zhang Wen noticed that detail.

Snape's attitude toward Harry—the original story had made it very clear. Disgust and protection coexisted, because of Lily Potter.

The relationships in this world were even more complicated than the Holy Grail War.

Dessert arrived.

Ice cream, cake, jelly, doughnuts, fruit tarts, chocolate mousse, treacle pudding, apple pie.

Artoria's eating speed rose another level.

Professor Flitwick whispered in Zhang Wen's ear, "Your teaching assistant has quite an appetite."

"She exercises a lot," Zhang Wen replied without changing expression.

After dessert, Dumbledore stood again and announced several routine matters—the Forbidden Forest was off-limits, the date for Quidditch tryouts, and Filch's newly expanded list of banned items.

Then he said, "One last thing. Professor Zhang, would you be willing to give the students a brief introduction on the first day of term?"

Everyone's gaze gathered on him again.

Zhang Wen stood up.

He swept his eyes around the Great Hall, from Gryffindor to Slytherin, from Ravenclaw to Hufflepuff.

Hundreds of young faces watched him. Some were curious, some suspicious, some indifferent, and a few had already begun nodding off.

Zhang Wen cleared his throat.

"My name is Zhang Wen, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," he said. "I know many of you were expecting Mr. Lockhart, and I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Several girls at the Gryffindor table exchanged glances. Hermione lowered her head.

"I won't tell you how I subdued a yeti with my bare hands, nor will I try to sell you my autobiography," Zhang Wen continued. "But I can teach you something genuinely useful—how to stay alive when facing the Dark Arts."

The Great Hall grew quieter.

"To give you a direct impression of this subject, I've asked my teaching assistant to provide a simple demonstration." Zhang Wen turned to Artoria. "Miss Pendragon?"

Artoria set down her knife and fork—her plate was already empty—wiped her mouth, and rose.

She walked into the open space before the staff table, facing the students.

"I need a target," she said.

Zhang Wen pulled out his wand and waved it at the open space. A solid wooden target appeared out of thin air—this was the Transfiguration he had practiced for two days in advance, and it was also the only Transfiguration spell he could currently show off.

The target was a little crooked.

But it was still a target.

Artoria did not look at it. She extended her right hand, palm facing down.

A golden radiance gathered in her hand.

Wind blew from nowhere, stirring her golden hair and the hem of her robe. Every candle in the Great Hall flickered at once.

Invisible Air.

The invisible sword wrapped in wind appeared in her hand.

Naturally, no one present could see the sword. They could only see a violent surge of wind—as though some unseen force had condensed in the golden-haired woman's hand.

Then Artoria swung her hand.

Just once.

The target split in half down the middle. The two pieces of wreckage flew toward opposite sides of the Great Hall, crashed into the stone walls, and shattered into splinters.

The Great Hall was dead silent.

For about five seconds.

Then—

"Whoa—!"

Cheers erupted first from the Gryffindor table. Ron Weasley's mouth fell open, and the fork in his hand dropped onto his plate. Harry Potter stared wide-eyed, his glasses nearly slipping off. Hermione's eyes were wide as well, her mouth slightly open, while her mind was probably flipping through every book she had ever read in an attempt to explain what had just happened.

The Slytherin table was quieter, but Malfoy's expression was clearly shaken.

The Ravenclaw students had already begun discussing what sort of magic it was.

The Hufflepuff students were applauding.

At the staff table, Professor McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze sharp. Professor Flitwick bounced up from his chair with a shrill exclamation. Snape remained expressionless, but the hand holding his cup paused for a second.

Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes gleaming.

He was observing. Analyzing. Judging.

Zhang Wen knew that Dumbledore's mind had likely already taken eight hundred turns—who was this woman, what was the nature of this power, how strong was she truly, and what was her real relationship with Zhang Wen?

But the old man merely applauded and said with a smile, "A splendid demonstration."

Zhang Wen stepped forward and faced all the students.

"This is the core of Defense Against the Dark Arts—power and skill," he said. "Starting next Monday, I will teach you how to gain power of your own. Not the power found in books, but power that can truly save your lives."

He paused.

"I hope you're prepared. My class will not be easy."

At the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley exchanged excited looks.

Hermione Granger, meanwhile, pulled out a quill and rapidly wrote something on a piece of parchment—likely a task such as "consult literature on wandless and wordless casting."

At the Slytherin table, Malfoy withdrew his gaze and murmured something to Crabbe.

Zhang Wen could not make out his expression, but he could guess the general meaning—this new professor had some real skill.

Artoria returned to her seat and picked up her knife and fork again.

At some point, a new piece of roast beef had appeared on the table.

She glanced at Dumbledore.

The old man raised his cup slightly toward her.

Artoria fell silent for a moment, then gave a faint nod in acknowledgment.

"Well done," Zhang Wen said in a low voice.

"It was my duty." Artoria cut off a piece of beef. "That target you conjured was too soft."

"I practiced for two days and this is the level I reached. Don't set the bar so high."

"Practice again tomorrow."

"...Yes, ma'am."

After the start-of-term feast ended, the students were led back to their dormitories by their House prefects. Zhang Wen and Artoria walked back toward the third floor, while the portraits throughout the castle whispered among themselves, clearly discussing the new professor and the golden-haired teaching assistant who could unleash terrifying wind pressure.

Zhang Wen felt that the first day had gone fairly smoothly.

At least there had been no major mishaps.

Next came the official classes.

He still had one weekend to prepare his lesson plans.

A man who had never taught before was about to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts to a group of magical school students.

Zhang Wen took a deep breath.

It's fine.

He told himself.

He only had to be better than Quirrell and Lockhart.

One had Voldemort growing out of the back of his head; the other was a fraud who only knew the Memory Charm.

He should still be able to meet that standard.

Probably.