[Third Person Pov]
As Arthur slowly picked himself off the forest floor, he reached down and retrieved Caliburn from where it had been knocked aside, the blade still faintly warm from battle. He brushed dirt, leaves, and soot from his sleeves with a sigh. Before he could complain aloud about his clothing, Merlin gave a sharp tap of her wand against the ground. In an instant, the warped clearing corrected itself—scorched earth softened back into moss, broken branches reattached themselves, and even Arthur's torn and dirtied clothes were restored as if the fight had never happened.
Merlin casually pointed her wand toward the Manticore's lifeless body. With a lazy flick of her wrist, the massive corpse lifted off the ground as though it weighed nothing at all and floated toward her. She studied it thoughtfully before shrinking it down and slipping it neatly into her pouch.
"I'll turn it into a memento," she said cheerfully, as if discussing a souvenir from a pleasant trip. "Or perhaps a keepsake for you. Maybe I'll taxidermy it and you can decorate your suitcase space with it."
Arthur visibly grimaced. "Please don't," he replied quickly, he didn't consider the idea of having a stuffed magic beast as decor to be pleasant.
Merlin raised both hands in mock surrender, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Very well, I won't push it." She glanced around the forest one last time before asking, "Can we leave now? As you saw, there's nothing unusual here anymore—aside from the beast you just slew."
Arthur let out a long breath and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. There's no reason for us to stay." He adjusted the sword at his side before adding, "Let's report back to Lumineré and then head back."
…
The following day, after classes had ended, the library was packed nearly to capacity. Students filled every table and corner, whispers and frantic page-turning blending into a low hum of collective anxiety. The air itself felt tense, as though panic had settled in alongside the dust.
Arthur sat at one of the longer tables beside Neville and Seamus, patiently guiding them through their studies. Across from them sat Ron and Harry, while Hermione was also present—though "present" was a generous term. She was buried beneath a towering stack of books, eyes darting across pages at an alarming speed, clearly operating on sheer determination alone.
Neither Lance, Gwyneth, nor Merlin were anywhere to be seen. Instead, the table was occupied almost entirely by Arthur's housemates, each of them displaying varying degrees of exhaustion.
Ron had his face buried in his arms, shoulders slumped as he groaned miserably. "All this reading is giving me a headache…" he muttered, looking seconds away from falling asleep where he sat.
"Just try, Ron," Hermione said sharply without even glancing up. "Our exams are tomorrow, and if you fail, you'll be left behind."
Arthur spoke up calmly, though it quickly became apparent his words weren't landing. "You two work very differently, so your methods won't translate well. If Ron tries to cram everything into one day, he'll just overwork himself and forget most of it. In his case, exhausting himself mentally would only make him perform worse."
Hermione continued reading as though he hadn't spoken at all.
Ron, however, immediately brightened, nodding enthusiastically. "See? Arthur gets it," he said, fully prepared to weaponize the explanation as an excuse to slack off.
Arthur ignored him and leaned toward Neville's parchment, tapping it lightly. "That part isn't correct. After you add the Lethe River Water to the Forgetfulness Potion, you're supposed to gently heat it for twenty seconds."
Neville blinked in confusion. "Huh? But that's what I wrote—look." He turned the parchment toward Arthur. "Heat Lethe River Water for twenty seconds."
"You're missing the 'gently,'" Arthur replied evenly. "That small distinction is crucial. Potion-making is an extremely precise discipline. Even the slightest error can ruin the entire brew."
Ron snorted, folding his arms over a stack of books and resting his chin on top of them. "Mate," he said with a grin, "you're starting to sound like Snape."
Harry and Seamus snickered quietly, trying—and failing—to stifle their laughter, while Arthur merely rolled his eyes in response. Neville, however, was quick to come to his defense, straightening in his seat as he spoke up.
"No, he doesn't," Neville said firmly. "Professor Snape is terrifying and makes me feel like a complete dunce every time I step into his classroom. Arthur couldn't be further off if he tried."
Arthur blinked in mild surprise before offering Neville a grateful smile. "Thank you, Neville," he said sincerely. "It's nice to know I've got someone I can count on to have my back."
Ron chose that moment to roll his eyes dramatically.
"Speaking of which," he said, shifting in his chair, "where are Lance and the others? Studying on their own or something?"
"Kinda," Arthur replied with a shrug. "Lance is pretty smart so some of his housemates started asking him to help them study. He didn't really want to at first, but I encouraged him to give it a try. Figured it'd help him make friends within his house."
"Big mistake," Ron scoffed. "You're going to end up corrupting the only good apple in the batch. Oh well, it was nice knowing him while it lasted."
Arthur ignored the comment entirely and continued as if Ron hadn't spoken. "Gwyneth is practicing her spells—mostly Transfiguration, which she's having the most trouble with. And Mer-lynn is asleep in her dorm."
Harry looked up from his book, eyebrows raised. "Wait… she's sleeping?"
"Affirmative," Arthur replied simply as he leaned over to help Seamus with his Charms homework. The workload had noticeably increased with exams approaching, leaving most students overwhelmed and running on fumes.
"She's bored," Arthur added flatly, "and decided she had nothing better to do."
Hermione finally looked up from her books, shaking her head in quiet disappointment. She'd clearly held Merlin in higher academic regard.
As the hours dragged on, students from various Gryffindor tables began drifting over, one by one, asking Arthur for help with everything from spell theory to potion corrections. Arthur welcomed each of them without complaint, patiently walking them through their mistakes.
After he finished helping a Gryffindor boy with a particularly tricky Defense Against the Dark Arts question, the rest of the table stared at him in silence.
"What?" Arthur asked calmly, glancing up from the book in front of him.
"Arthur," Hermione said slowly, disbelief coloring her voice, "he was a second-year student."
"And your point is…?" Arthur replied, his gaze shifting from face to face in confusion.
Hermione sighed and pushed her hair back. "Right. I forgot who you were for a moment. It's just… unprecedented. A second-year coming to a first-year for help—it's strange, to say the least."
The others nodded in agreement.
Arthur frowned slightly, still failing to see the issue. "I don't really see what's wrong with that," he said honestly. "I help second-years in the dorm all the time when I see them struggling. They know they can trust me, and they know I'm willing to help."
Harry stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "You are seriously something else," he said before sliding his History of Magic book across the table. "Now, can you help me out? This isn't exactly my strongest subject."
Arthur chuckled and leaned forward, already scanning the page. "Sure," he said with a smile, more than happy to help once again.
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