Snape's Test

Zhang Wen's first week as a professor had been more packed than the Holy Grail War.

On Monday, he taught second-year Gryffindor and Slytherin students; Tuesday was for second-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students; Wednesday was for third-years; Thursday had one class each for fourth-years and fifth-years; Friday was for sixth-years and seventh-years.

Every year had a different foundation, different textbooks, and a different attitude toward him as their new professor.

Most lower-year students were curious and excited.

The upper-year students were noticeably more cautious. On the first day of sixth-year class, someone asked him, "Professor, do you have any real combat experience?"

Zhang Wen answered, "Yes."

"Against what kind of opponents?"

"A demigod wielding twelve Noble Phantasms, an assassin who could control shadows, and a madman who turned himself into a snake."

The students thought he was joking and laughed for a while.

Zhang Wen laughed along with them.

He had not been joking.

On Wednesday afternoon, Zhang Wen graded assignments in his office.

The second-years' assignment was a short essay on "Strategies for Dealing with Dark Magical Creatures."

Hermione Granger had written three rolls of parchment, cited seven reference books, and formatted it as properly as an academic paper.

Zhang Wen gave her an "Outstanding," then added a note at the end: Please keep it to one roll next time.

Harry Potter's assignment was brief but hit the key points—"Assess the threat level, evaluate escape routes, and fight only if running is impossible."

Zhang Wen gave him an "Outstanding" without any comments. The boy had a natural instinct for combat.

Ron Weasley's assignment was only half a roll long, with messy handwriting. Its general point was, "Yell for help and run."

Zhang Wen hesitated, then gave him a "Pass." Though it was perfunctory, the core idea was not wrong.

Neville Longbottom's assignment bore obvious tear stains. He had written, "Stand still and hope the Dark Magical Creature cannot see me."

Zhang Wen did not grade it. He wrote one line on the parchment: Mr. Longbottom, come see me after class.

Malfoy's assignment sprawled across two full rolls. Its central argument was, "Put a house-elf in front of you and retreat yourself."

Zhang Wen gave him a "Fail," with the comment: Please rely on your own abilities rather than someone else's.

He could imagine Malfoy's expression when he saw that grade.

Just as he was grading, someone knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened.

Severus Snape stood in the doorway, black robes, black hair, black eyes—his entire being like a solidified shadow.

"Professor Snape." Zhang Wen set down his quill. "What can I do for you?"

Snape walked in, his gaze sweeping over the textbooks and assignments spread across the desk before shifting to Artoria, who was drinking tea in the corner.

Artoria glanced back at him, then continued drinking her tea.

Snape sat down without waiting for Zhang Wen to invite him.

"I came to see how our new colleague was adapting," Snape said slowly, every word trailing off.

"I'm adapting well, thank you for asking."

"I heard you had the students practice the Disarming Charm in your very first class?"

"Yes."

"Second-years." There was another layer of meaning in Snape's tone. "The Disarming Charm is usually material for fourth-years and above."

Zhang Wen had expected someone to question his teaching arrangements.

"The Disarming Charm is not difficult to cast. Previous professors simply placed it in the upper-year curriculum," Zhang Wen said. "I believe the earlier one masters this spell, the better. It may be the most practical spell in a critical moment."

Snape stared at him for several seconds.

Those black eyes reminded Zhang Wen of Kirei Kotomine from the Type-Moon Universe—equally unfathomable, equally unsettling.

Of course, Snape was far better than Kirei Kotomine. At least Snape stood on the right side.

It was just that his way of expressing goodwill differed somewhat from normal people's.

"You seem very confident in your teaching methods," Snape said.

"Not confident, exactly. I simply think the old methods were not good enough."

"Oh?" Snape raised one eyebrow. "You've been here one week, and you already think Hogwarts's teaching system, used for centuries, is not good enough?"

"Having been used for centuries does not mean it is right," Zhang Wen said calmly. "Defense Against the Dark Arts professors change every year, every one of them teaches differently, and what the students learn ends up fragmented. This is not a problem with the system. It is a problem with continuity."

Snape fell silent.

Zhang Wen was stating a fact, and Snape could not refute it.

After a brief silence, Snape changed the subject.

"Your teaching assistant." His gaze moved to Artoria again. "Miss Pendragon. She is not a witch."

It was not a question. It was a statement.

Zhang Wen's heart tightened.

Snape truly was not easy to fool. He had probably noticed long ago that Artoria did not use a wand, lacked the distinctive magical aura of a witch, and moved unlike anyone trained at any magical school.

"Her system of abilities differs from that of traditional witches and wizards." Zhang Wen chose his words carefully. "You saw it at the opening feast as well."

"I did," Snape said. "A kind of power that does not rely on a wand and belongs to no known classification of magic. Very interesting."

He stood up.

"I hope you understand, Professor Zhang—Dumbledore may tolerate mysteries, but I do not."

Snape walked to the door and paused.

"One more thing. Your wand is very poorly suited to you. If you do not want to embarrass yourself in upper-year classes, I suggest you visit Ollivander and get a suitable one."

The door closed.

Zhang Wen and Artoria exchanged a look.

"He is very perceptive," Artoria said, setting down her teacup.

"More than perceptive." Zhang Wen sighed. "He has been a double agent for over a decade. Reading people and situations is basic training for him."

"A double agent?"

"It's a long story." Zhang Wen leaned back in his chair. "Simply put, he used to work for Voldemort, then defected to Dumbledore's side, though Voldemort never knew he had defected. He spied for both sides at once."

Artoria fell silent for a moment.

"Why did he defect?"

"For a woman."

Artoria's expression shifted subtly.

"A woman he loved deeply but could never see again," Zhang Wen added. "He seems cold and cruel on the surface, but in truth, he carries perhaps the heaviest secret in the entire school."

Artoria said nothing.

She seemed to be thinking about something.

After a while, she said, "His advice for you to change wands is correct."

"I know." Zhang Wen picked up Lockhart's wand and examined it. "But Ollivander is in Diagon Alley. My schedule is so full right now—when would I have time to buy a wand?"

"The weekend."

"I need to prepare lessons over the weekend."

"Go to Diagon Alley on Saturday morning to buy a wand, then return in the afternoon to prepare lessons." Artoria's tone allowed no argument. "To do a good job, one must first sharpen one's tools."

Zhang Wen raised an eyebrow. "When did you learn to use Chinese idioms?"

"I looked through a Collection of Eastern Proverbs at the bookstore."

"...When did you look through it?"

"While you were preparing lessons."

Zhang Wen suddenly realized something.

Whenever he prepared lessons, Artoria appeared to be merely drinking tea and staring into space. But in reality, she had been learning independently the entire time.

Reading books, observing students, communicating with the kitchen elves, studying the castle layout—

She had been adapting to this new world in her own way.

Quietly.

As always.

She had probably been the same way when she was King of Camelot—everyone thought she was simply a reserved king, but in truth, she worked harder than anyone.

Zhang Wen looked at her and suddenly felt a little guilty.

Ever since they had crossed into this world, he had been busy with his own affairs—securing the professor position, learning magic, preparing lessons—yet he had never asked how Artoria was adapting.

She had left her own era, left Britain, and left her knights behind. First she had been summoned into the Holy Grail War, then thrown into this unfamiliar world.

She had never complained.

Not once.

"Artoria," Zhang Wen said.

"Yes?"

"Are you... getting used to it here?"

Artoria looked at him.

"The food at Hogwarts is very good," she said.

"I wasn't asking about the food."

"The library's collection is also extensive."

"I wasn't asking about the library either."

Artoria was silent for several seconds.

"What does my Master wish to ask?"

Zhang Wen opened his mouth.

What he wanted to say was: You came alone with me to this absurd world, with no goal, no mission, no Holy Grail to make a wish upon—are you really all right?

But when the words reached his lips, he felt they were not quite appropriate.

Artoria was the King of Knights. There was no option called "I'm not all right" in her dictionary. Even if something was wrong, she would not say so.

"Nothing." Zhang Wen shook his head. "I just wanted to say—thank you."

Artoria's expression did not change.

"As a Servant, assisting my Master is only natural."

"The Holy Grail War is over," Zhang Wen said. "You are no longer a Servant. You are following me not because of a contract."

For a moment after he said that, the office fell silent.

Artoria's hand holding the teacup paused.

Only for a moment.

"The contract truly no longer exists," she said steadily. "But a knight's loyalty requires no contract to sustain it."

Zhang Wen looked at her.

She looked out the window.

Outside lay the twilight over the Scottish Highlands, the horizon burning orange-red. The surface of the Black Lake reflected the colors of the sunset.

"Besides," Artoria added, her voice slightly lower than before, "the roast lamb here really is quite good."

Zhang Wen laughed.

"Come on." He stood up. "Let's have dinner."

"Mm."

On the way to the Great Hall, they encountered Harry Potter in the corridor.

Harry was carrying a stack of books, likely having just come from the library. When he saw Zhang Wen and Artoria, he hesitated visibly, then stopped anyway.

"Good evening, Professor Zhang."

"Mr. Potter." Zhang Wen nodded. "Still in the library so late?"

"I was looking up information about the Disarming Charm," Harry said, a little embarrassed. "I wanted to know whether there were advanced techniques beyond the basic use."

Zhang Wen was somewhat surprised.

He had assumed that second-year Harry was still in the stage of "being passively dragged into incidents," but apparently he had already begun studying proactively.

Was it the butterfly effect? Had his different teaching methods sparked Harry's enthusiasm for learning?

Or had Harry always been this sort of person, only never encountering a professor in the original story who could ignite his interest in the very first lesson?

"There are many advanced uses for the Disarming Charm," Zhang Wen said. "The most basic is controlling the force—disarming an opponent's weapon precisely without harming them. A step further, you can disarm multiple targets at once."

Harry's eyes lit up.

"Can you teach me?"

"I'll teach it in class," Zhang Wen said. "But if you want to practice ahead of time—come to my office before dinner every day, and I can tutor you individually for fifteen minutes."

He saw a flash of delight cross Harry's face before it was quickly concealed.

The boy was not used to being treated kindly.

Zhang Wen sighed inwardly.

The Dursleys.

There were some things he could not change, but at least during Harry's time at Hogwarts, he could make the boy's life a little better.

"Thank you, Professor!" Harry said, clutching his books as he hurried away.

Artoria watched Harry's retreating figure.

"There is a quality about that child," she said.

"What quality?"

"Like a young knight who has not yet drawn the Sword in the Stone."

Zhang Wen glanced at her.

Hearing such an assessment from the King of Britain carried considerable weight.

"Let's go," he said. "The grilled lamb chops are getting cold."

Artoria quickened her pace.

That order of priorities was very Artoria.

Assessing future heroes could wait.

Grilled lamb chops could not.