Professor Oren hadn't just skipped marking the new students' assignments—he’d bypassed grading for all year levels. Overnight, this decision transformed him into Hogwarts' most beloved professor, hands down.
"He might actually break the Curse and become the first Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to return next year—almost fifty years later!" Jordan Lee, a well-known Quidditch enthusiast and second-year Gryffindor, declared openly in the Great Hall. "If someone as brilliant as Professor Oren can’t break the Curse, then there’s no hope for the course. Might as well cancel it."
His sentiment was quickly echoed by both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. But, naturally, where there’s support, there’s opposition.
Just as Jordan Lee was voicing his opinions, a sudden burst of laughter erupted from the Ravenclaw table.
"Tsk, are you really that thrilled just because you don’t have to do homework?” A moderately handsome Ravenclaw student shot Jordan a disdainful look. “In my opinion, this decision is unbelievably irresponsible—a complete dereliction of duty. We’ve already discussed it, and we’re going to file a complaint with Headmaster Dumbledore about it.”
“What did you say?” The Gryffindors turned to him with expressions darkening.
After all, at Hogwarts, a professor who skips marking holiday homework is as rare as a Troll performing ballet. Now that they'd finally encountered one, not only did these Ravenclaw nerds fail to appreciate him, they were even planning to report him?
Unacceptable. Nearly growling, the Gryffindors stood, one of them calling out, “Want to repeat what you just said?”
“I know who you are—Ravenclaw’s Roger Davies,” Jordan said, hands in his pockets, looking down his nose at the other boy. “You’re the one who mocked us in Charms class a while back… You’re pretty bold. Better watch yourself walking around at night.”
Seeing their own housemate being threatened so blatantly, the Ravenclaws couldn’t stay silent.
“Roger, don’t be intimidated,” said a senior student with a prefect badge on his chest, stepping forward and sneering at Jordan. “Gryffindor, you trying to pick a fight?”
“Oh, Prefect, you shouldn’t say that,” Fred chimed in, waggling a finger. “My friend here was just concerned that your first-years might trip and fall. How did that turn into wanting a fight?”
“Oh, I get it,” George added, grinning. “You’re going to tell Professor McGonagall we tried to start a fight, hoping she’ll dock our house points, right?”
Fred raised an eyebrow. “And that way, you’ll edge closer to winning the House Cup.”
“And no one will stop you from reporting Professor Oren, either,” Jordan said, picking up where they left off.
“As expected from Ravenclaw, always full of clever schemes,” he added, voice dripping with mock admiration.
Hearing the three of them carry on in unison, the prefect’s face turned green. The House Cup… As if the Gryffindors had any standing to brag about with their dismal two-digit house points.
“We’re not going to the professors,” the Ravenclaw prefect said, exhaling deeply. “What I mean is, the path to Hogwarts is smooth enough—Roger won’t trip. But if anyone were to try something malicious, we won’t sit idly by.”
His words rallied the Ravenclaws.
“Yeah, we’re not afraid of Gryffindor!”
“Come on, who’s going to tell the professors who is the true Crup here?”
“Roger, don’t worry. With Head Boy Edward here, they won’t be able to do anything.”
With his housemates backing him, Roger Davies felt a surge of confidence, holding Jordan Lee’s gaze without flinching. The tension between the two groups thickened by the second.
“Kyle, what do you think?” Cedric asked, looking a bit concerned from the Hufflepuff table. “Do you think they’ll actually end up fighting?”
Kyle, unbothered, took a hearty bite of steak and shrugged. “Nah, it’s just talk. As long as they’re not completely out of their minds, they’re not going to fight.”
It was a classic Hogwarts scene—Gryffindor and Slytherin bickered daily, yet they rarely actually came to blows. Besides, Ravenclaw wasn’t about to jeopardize its standing as the second-best house, and Gryffindor wasn’t going to let Slytherin profit from a needless fight. Trash-talking was probably as far as this would go.
As for anything more underhanded, like plotting against each other? Kyle thought it unlikely. Unless someone wanted detention, neither side would risk doing something so brazenly obvious. The entire castle knew about the tension between the two houses—anything too blatant would have them caught in no time.
Of course, this logic held true for Ravenclaw. If it had been Slytherin in the mix, that might have been a different story.
“What is going on here?”
Professor McGonagall suddenly swept into the hall, lips pursed as she scanned the group at the center of the commotion, her gaze sharp.
“I do hope none of you are fighting, gentlemen. Because if you are...”
“Of course not, Professor McGonagall,” Fred quickly answered, stepping forward with a perfectly innocent look. “We were just having a friendly discussion about Quidditch.”
“Yes,” George added, nodding eagerly. “We were all just saying what a shame it was that Ireland lost to Canada this year.”
Jordan Lee, who’d been slower on the uptake, caught on only after George gave him a swift kick. “Right! But Ireland will definitely win the championship in four years.”
Roger Davies snorted, apparently unable to resist, and shot back, “That’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard. Everyone knows the Bulgarian team is the strongest. Ireland can’t even hold a candle to them.”
“Oh, and what exactly did your Bulgarian team achieve this year?” Fred retorted, raising an eyebrow.
With a grin, George chimed in with a mocking tone, “Fred, have you forgotten? They didn’t even make it to the semi-finals!”
Roger’s neck craned, his voice rising as he defended his team. “That’s only because their Seeker is weak! If they’d just replace him, Bulgaria would easily be the best team in the world.”
Kyle couldn’t help but smirk slightly, noticing that Roger seemed even more worked up now than before.
The whole standoff fizzled out in an oddly amusing way. Professor McGonagall, satisfied that no rules had actually been broken, simply gave them a stern reminder not to cause a ruckus in the Great Hall. Then, with a brief glance in Kyle’s direction, she added, “Mr. Chopper, Dumbledore would like to see you. If you’re finished eating, could you please head to the Headmaster’s Office?”
“Yes, Professor McGonagall.”
Kyle swallowed the last bite of his steak and followed her out. Just as they stepped into the corridor, he heard her mutter under her breath, “Honestly... everyone knows Scotland is the strongest team.”