---
Chapter 90
After deftly changing the topic, Malfoy strode out of the Great Hall with Pansy trailing close behind. The first class of the day was Ancient Magic. For convenience, all similar elective classes were held in the same building, so they made their way toward the north tower—this time, to a lower floor.
Nothing unexpected happened along the way. They had been here before. Outside the corridors, a few warhorses leapt down from portraits and grazed lazily on the grass. The portly knight Sir Cadogan mumbled endlessly in a language no one could understand. One moment he tried to charge on his horse, the next he wanted to recruit students as squires. His short, stout frame and absurd antics reminded Malfoy of the windmill-tilting knight, Don Quixote.
Ascending a few floors, they spotted a bright iron sign engraved with shifting patterns. No—it was words, constantly changing. Malfoy's sharp eyes caught the English as it flickered: Ancient Magic Classroom—Second Classroom on the Right Corridor.
Interesting test, Malfoy thought. These weren't the simple characters listed in the "Introduction to Ancient Magic" book. They had to be advanced runes.
Malfoy had never invested much effort into learning Ancient Magic Language. His photographic memory, keen comprehension, and intellect—far beyond his peers—helped him keep up, but his raw magical talent was not exceptional. Unlike Potions or Herbology, which required patience and precision, Ancient Magic demanded depth and nuance. Without expert guidance, he preferred observation to deep study.
Consequently, most of his knowledge of ancient magical texts was superficial.
The classroom's sign was old; the magic binding it to the wall had dimmed over time. A rusty iron sign hung loosely as they entered. At that moment, the bell rang, signaling the start of class.
"What a coincidence," Pansy said, feigning surprise, hand on her chest. She wasn't truly worried about being late.
"Who do you think is late?" Malfoy asked, raising a single eyebrow.
"Alright, alright. I'll be more careful next time," she teased, sticking out her tongue.
Malfoy found a seat and surveyed the classroom. Despite the room's capacity of over a hundred students, only a dozen or so were scattered across the desks. At the podium sat Professor Bathsilda Barbling, her faint smile serene. She appeared unbothered—or even pleasantly surprised—by the small turnout.
Professor Barbling was a middle-aged witch in her fifties or sixties. Unlike the flamboyant Divination professors, she dressed simply: a pale yellow knitted gown and a soft blue shawl, which softened her wise, wrinkled features.
"Very good. I'm pleased that you had the courage to choose this course," her voice was gentle but firm, magnetic without losing seriousness. "This may be the most profound course you'll take at Hogwarts. Of course, if you're only here for exams, this is also one of the simplest—you only need to memorize the book."
"Ancient Magic Language is a rather contradictory subject," she continued. "Even Professor Dumbledore cannot deny that today's wizards are less powerful than their predecessors. It's inevitable, and unavoidable." She sighed, both regretful and grateful. "Magic has evolved. Standard spells dominate, while the ancient runes—powerful yet flawed—have been mostly abandoned. Yet, the more you understand them, the deeper your understanding of magic becomes."
She paused, eyes sweeping across the small classroom. "Even modern spells carry traces of Ancient Magic. Can anyone explain more?"
Only one hand rose.
"Yes, Miss Hermione Granger. I think you can answer that well," the professor said, recalling the diligent student's reputation.
Hermione stood, a little nervous. This class mattered more than Divination; she needed to make a good impression. She smoothed her hair, inhaled deeply, and said carefully, "The most evil of the Unforgivable Curses—the Killing Curse—contains traces of Ancient Magic Language." Then she sat down.
Some students stared blankly. Even Pansy furrowed her brow at the association with such a dark spell.
Professor Barbling's lips curved into a subtle smile. "Ah, a clever girl. That was a little trap, but you answered well enough to earn Gryffindor ten points. Please sit."
Hermione allowed herself a quiet smile. This class genuinely excited her—it wasn't one of those superficial courses that judged students on "auras" or whimsy.
The professor leaned forward. "Instead of asking which spells contain traces of Ancient Magic, a better question is: which spells do not borrow from it? Ancient Magic is the foundation of all modern spells. What we use today has simply been refined—made stable, efficient, and practical."
Professor Barbling rapped her wand on the desk lightly, exasperated. "I fear I may have overexplained. If Professor Flitwick overhears, he might scold me."
"Can anyone give an example of Hogwarts equipment that employs Ancient Magic Language?"
Malfoy stood immediately. He answered with calm certainty: "The ceiling in the Great Hall."
Professor Barbling's eyes lit with approval. "Excellent. You must have prepared. Tell us—what Ancient Magic Language effects are applied there?"
"Solidification. Transparency. Perception," Malfoy murmured, thinking aloud. The ancient runes acted like a photoresistor, sensing changes in external light to transform the ceiling from opaque to transparent. Technology and magic, he thought, were merely tools—potentially one day seamlessly unified.
"Oh, perfect answer. Slytherin gains twenty points for this," Professor Barbling said, clapping spontaneously.
Hermione glanced up at the familiar male voice, then quickly returned her focus to the lesson.
It's normal he would take this class, she thought. He had no interest in illusory predictions, only tangible magic.
Should I thank him for Ron? she wondered. With Ron's stubborn pride, he certainly wouldn't. Harry neither. If anyone could acknowledge it, it would be her—at least according to the second-year secret room rumor, where she had been the one to save Malfoy.
But the memory of Malfoy's cutting words at breakfast lingered.
He would mock gratitude, she imagined. Maybe even more cruelly than before.
Still, Hermione clenched her white feather pen, resolute. Whether Malfoy's actions were meant to humiliate or genuinely help, the fact remained: he had aided Ron. She would acknowledge it.
This was her choice. Her Gryffindor insistence. She might not gain popularity from it, but she would not regret it.
"The origin of Ancient Magic Language comes from magical creatures…" Professor Barbling began, her voice warm and magnetic, transitioning into the core of the lesson.
Like learning a foreign language in a Muggle university, the first session introduced students to numbers and simple constructs. Pronouns, verbs, or concepts like "I, you, he" may not even have existed in ancient magical thought.
Hermione pushed distracting thoughts aside, refocusing fully on the lesson as her pen hovered above parchment.
---