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HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 423
🕑 Added 2025-11-21 12:05:12 +0000 UTCChapter 423: Alchemy Class
“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.”
When Sean stepped into her office, a flash of satisfaction crossed Umbridge’s face. It vanished almost instantly. She looked at him and said, “While reviewing Transfiguration today, I heard something quite shocking. Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore have actually allowed you to skip lessons. That is truly horrifying, utterly incomprehensible. Allowing a student to miss class, for any reason, is highly inappropriate, is it not?
“So I feel that, for the sake of your future, your marks, and Hogwarts’ rules, you must begin attending classes again. That is only fair to everyone else, and it is good for you as well, is it not?”
Sean did not bother to correct her, did not mention that he had already published a Transfiguration paper in Animagus, the most prestigious journal in the field. He did not argue either. He knew perfectly well she had been waiting for him here.
And he knew this would put Professor McGonagall in a tight spot too.
Facing Umbridge, Sean kept his expression set in that flawless aristocratic smile. He nodded slowly, just the right angle and pace. “Very well. I accept your suggestion, Professor Umbridge. I will attend the next Transfiguration class. Is there anything else you wished to discuss?”
Umbridge squinted her bulging eyes slightly, her voice turning even shriller. “It is very good that you can recognise your mistake. I have nothing further for you at the moment. You may go.”
“Of course. Goodbye, Professor Umbridge.”
Sean turned and left the office. Umbridge watched his back with a thin, dangerous smile.
Sean understood exactly what she was doing. He just did not intend to give her any real opportunities.
On the sixth floor, in a newly opened classroom, Fleur stood at the lectern, watching students drift in. When she spotted Sean coming in with Blaise, her smile brightened noticeably. Two Hufflepuff boys were so distracted by it that they walked straight into a desk and nearly toppled over.
“Careful. Find your seats quickly. I am about to begin.”
“Y–yes, Professor.”
The two Hufflepuffs scrambled into chairs, and even when Fleur started the lesson, both of them were still slightly red in the face. With veela blood in her veins, Fleur’s every glance, every word, hit these awakening teenagers like a spell. She was a heartbreaker by nature.
Watching this, Sean shook his head with a faint laugh and waited quietly for class to start.
Alchemy was a blank spot in modern Hogwarts history. Students had no foundation whatsoever. Even someone like Sean had struggled to find any books on the subject, never mind introductory material.
So Fleur started from the very bottom: the basics of the basics. Her lecture was light and easy to follow, and it made a powerful first impression. By the end, more than a few students were secretly convinced they might be the next Alchemical genius, the next Nicolas Flamel. Some people were simply born to teach. Fleur was clearly one of them.
Perhaps because it was the first lesson, Umbridge did not appear to conduct any “inspection.” Everyone had a thoroughly pleasant time.
After class, Sean walked up to her. “Nice work for a first lesson. Keep it up.”
Fleur shot him a look. “I am your professor. Is that how you speak to a professor?”
“There’s a saying: the one who’s gone furthest is the one who teaches. So, strictly speaking, I should be your teacher.”
“All right, you do not understand that. Put simply, it means that in any field, the one who has gone further is the teacher. So you see, my Alchemy is a bit better than yours. Strictly speaking, I should be your teacher.”
“If you are so capable, keep talking. We will see if I deduct points from you next lesson.”
“I was wrong, Professor Delacour.”
Seeing him surrender so quickly, Fleur laughed twice, then shook her head and leaned in slightly, her tone turning serious. “Sean, what exactly is going on with that Professor Umbridge? She seems very hostile to the staff here, especially to you and Dumbledore, as if you were enemies.”
Sean gave her a brief rundown of the situation.
When he finished, Fleur stared at him in disbelief. “What is wrong with your British Ministry of Magic? Whether the Dark Lord has returned or not, they should treat it as real and prepare for it. Even our Ministry in France and the one in the North have begun their preparations. The whole Ministry has mobilised. And your British Ministry is persecuting the people telling the truth. Have they all gone mad?”
“If the enemy is already inside the Ministry, their behaviour is easy enough to explain.”
“Inside the Ministry?” Fleur shook her head and gave a helpless, lopsided smile. “Your British wizarding world is riddled with holes like a sieve.”
Both of them had more lessons to teach and attend. Sean to his classes, Fleur to hers…
Sean had two trees at his front door. One was…
Cough.
Back to the story.
Over the course of a week, Umbridge had sat in on nearly every lesson Hogwarts offered.
Only two remained: Defence Against the Dark Arts, taught by Gavin in his Jobbins disguise, and Divination, taught by Trelawney.
Trelawney’s ability as a Seer was not high. At best, she occasionally received a genuine hint or briefly opened the Inner Eye for a single prediction. It would be unfair to say she had no gift at all. But to call her a fraud was not far off either.
In sixteen years at Hogwarts, the number of accurate prophecies she had made could be counted on one hand. Even she did not know which of her pronouncements were true and which were nonsense. The rest of the time, including almost everything she said in class, was pure theatre, designed to impress or frighten gullible students.
So when Sean saw Trelawney flustered and helpless under Umbridge’s relentless questioning, he felt not a flicker of sympathy. Watching a toad bite a fraud was, in his mind, a fair exchange.
After Divination, Sean and the others made their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts. As the bell rang for the start of class, Umbridge arrived as well, slipping through the door on the stroke.
