Ethan waited until the noise settled again, letting the excitement burn itself out rather than trying to crush it.
"Now," he said, his voice calm, steady, and loud enough for the whole class to hear, "we're about to begin with the very first spell you will officially learn in this class."
A ripple of anticipation passed through the students.
"Some of you already know how to use it," Ethan continued. "Some of you may have seen it when Fred and George demonstrated it here. But those of you in first and second year might not know how to use this spell yet."
He raised his wand again.
"The Disarming Charm," he said. "Expelliarmus."
Several students straightened immediately. Others whispered the word under their breath, testing the sound of it.
"This spell," Ethan said, "is not considered one of the most basic charms. You will formally study it in Charms with Professor Flitwick, most likely in later years."
A few Ravenclaws frowned at that.
"However," Ethan went on calmly, "difficulty does not determine importance. And this spell is important."
He turned slightly so he could see all four house sections at once.
"Many of you are quite young," he said gently. "For some, this is the very first time you've held a wand. That's exactly why this spell is so important to me. I've always thought the Disarming Spell should be the first one taught to young wizards—it's safe, rarely causes serious harm even when not perfectly controlled, and carries almost no life-threatening risk. Though I planned not to teach any spells today, I've changed my mind. Defensive magic that can keep you safe is too valuable to wait for the regular curriculum. You deserve to learn it now."
He paused.
"Because the first rule of survival is not overpowering your opponent," Ethan said. "It is removing their ability to harm you."
He tapped the stone floor lightly with his wand.
"Expelliarmus does exactly that."
He lifted his wand and angled it slightly upward.
"Pronunciation matters," he said. "This is not a spell to be shouted, nor barked. It should glide from the tongue, smooth and steady, like a clear stream of water."
He spoke slowly and clearly.
"Ex pel lee AR mus."
He repeated it once more, carefully shaping the sounds.
"Notice the emphasis," he said. "The force comes at the end. Not at the beginning."
Several students mouthed the incantation silently.
"This spell responds best to clarity of intent," Ethan continued. "You are not asking the wand to leave your opponent's hand. You are telling it to."
He made a simple, controlled flick of his wrist, sharp but not aggressive.
"The wand movement is straightforward," he said. "A forward motion. Clean and Direct."
He demonstrated it again.
"No wild swings," Ethan added. "No unnecessary flourishes. Your wand should never move more than it needs to."
He lowered his arm.
"Now," he said, "listen carefully to this next part. Because this is where most young witches and wizards misunderstand the spell."
He looked at the first years in particular.
"Expelliarmus is not just a spell," Ethan said. "It is a concept."
That drew their attention sharply.
"If you learn it properly and masterfully," he continued, "you can use it in more ways than simply knocking a wand from someone's hand."
He walked a slow circle as he spoke.
"With precision, you can redirect momentum," he said. "You can unbalance an opponent. You can interrupt casting."
He stopped and faced them again.
"And if you perfect it for a lifetime," he said quietly, "you can hurt someone very badly with it."
A sharp intake of breath echoed somewhere in the stands.
"That," Ethan said firmly, "is why discipline matters when learning this spell."
He met their eyes one by one.
"You're learning this spell for defense," he said gently. "For survival, not for cruelty. Most of you are still young students, and I know none of you wants to hurt your classmates—no matter what. When you leave Hogwarts, how you use this spell will be entirely your decision. Right now, I want you to master it so you can protect yourself if you ever need to. Anything more than self-defense is your responsibility, not mine."
He let the silence linger for a while.
"When used correctly and with good judgment," he continued, "Expelliarmus can bring a fight to an end before it truly begins—without anyone getting hurt, and certainly without anyone losing their life."
He nodded once to himself.
"That is why it will be the first spell every student in this class learns," Ethan said. "Especially first years. Especially those who are still new to their wands."
He gestured toward the seating.
"You will learn other spells in Charms class," he said. "Professor Flitwick will teach you their structure, their history, and their refinements."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"He is far better suited for that than I am," Ethan added.
A few students laughed softly.
"But here," he said, tapping the stone again, "you will learn how to use them when it matters."
He raised his wand once more.
"Repeat after me," Ethan said. "Expelliarmus."
"Expelliarmus," the class echoed, uneven but eager.
"Again," he said.
"Expelliarmus."
"Good," Ethan said. "Now listen to your own voice when you say it. Confidence matters."
As the students murmured and practiced quietly, Ethan let his gaze drift over them.
Near the front, a bushy haired girl sat upright, her quill moving rapidly across parchment. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her lips moving silently as she wrote. She had already filled half a page with careful notes, underlined twice.
Ethan allowed himself a small smile.
Behind her, further up the stands, he spotted Harry Potter. The boy sat slightly slouched, wand resting loosely in his hand. Every so often, he leaned toward the black haired boy beside him and whispered something, earning a quick grin in response.
The other boy had the sharp features and dark eyes unmistakable of the Black family.
Oberon Black, Ethan recalled from the files Olivia had given him—Sirius Black's son and the rightful next heir to the House of Black, following his father's disownment and expulsion from the family. In pure-blood eyes, he was still the prince of the line.
Ethan chose not to interrupt them. He knew, Talking, was not invariably a distraction; at times it was merely confidence searching for solid ground. Moreover, they are still children, and he loathed the notion of becoming a tiresome, nagging instructor.
After a few minutes, Ethan raised his hand again.
"All right," he said. "That is enough theory for today."
The room immediately snapped back to attention.
"Who would like to demonstrate?" he asked.
Hands shot up across the arena.
Ethan let his eyes move across the raised arms. He had planned to summon third- and fourth-years to show the charm properly, yet certain hands drew his attention at once. Harry Potter's was among them—raised confidently, almost casually.
A quiet curiosity took hold of Ethan. 'What was so extraordinary about this boy? Why did the British Wizarding world crown him as its prince?'
Ethan made his choice. He nodded toward the middle rows.
"Mr. Potter," he said. "And Mr. Black."
A low murmur swept through the room.
Harry blinked, then grinned broadly as he stood. Oberon rose beside him, with calm and composed demeanor.
As they descended into the dueling circle, whispers followed them like a current.
"That's the famous Harry Potter."
"Is that Sirius Black's son?"
"They're first-years," A boy said softly, eyes full of envy as he watched the pair. "And already so confident. Nothing like me."
Harry rolled his shoulders once, wand already firm in his hand. His confidence showed plainly, no trace of doubt in the set of his jaw or the calm in his eyes.
"We're ready, Professor," Harry said brightly. "My dad taught me the spell already, so I am confident that I can demonstrate it properly."
Ethan arched an eyebrow, surprise flickering through him at the boy's bold words and steady confidence. But then he saw it—the child had been fed a steady diet of being "the hero," "the chosen one."
'Such false confidence, piled atop expectations that will one day crush most shoulders,' he thought, 'either forges true heroes… or hurls them into the abyss.'
"I see," he said with a small nod. "Very well. I had intended to keep first-years out of active dueling for now, but since you say you've already learned the charm… let's see how you do, Mr. Potter."
Ethan then studied Oberon Black for a brief moment, taking in the set of his shoulders and the lift of his chin.
'Confidence,' he reflected, 'that borders dangerously on arrogance. But one could hardly blame him entirely—he is heir to the most prestigious noble house in all of Europe.'
He gestured to the stone.
"Positions," Ethan said.
The boys took their stances opposite each other.
"Remember," Ethan said, "this is a demonstration. Control your power."
He stepped back.
"On my signal," he said. "One. Two. Three."
Both boys moved at once.
Oberon's spell was clean and precise. Harry's was fast and forceful.
The red light struck Harry squarely in the chest.
He staggered backward and landed hard on the stone floor.
A sharp laugh rang out from the stands.
Ethan tilted his head just enough to spot the source: a Slytherin boy with pale skin and hair with keen and sharp features, his fingers pressed inadequately over his mouth in a failed effort to muffle his amusement.
Ethan understood at once. This was a Malfoy—the second child of the family, born into privilege, prejudice, and the unyielding shadow of their ancient name.
He crossed the circle swiftly and crouched beside Harry.
"Are you all right, Mr. Potter?" he asked.
Harry sat up, rubbing his shoulder.
"Yes, sir," he said, grinning. "It barely tickled."
He was already pushing himself to his feet.
"May we continue?" Harry asked.
Ethan studied him for a moment. The fire was there. The refusal to back down. The stubborn resilience.
Ethan nodded once.
"Very well," he said. "Again."
The boys raised their wands.
This time, spells flew faster. A shield charm flickered briefly. A simple jinx sparked.
Ethan lifted his wand sharply.
"Enough," he said.
The spells dissipated instantly.
"This class," Ethan said calmly, "is about the Disarming Charm—not about showing off. That said, I'm genuinely impressed you already know such advanced spells. Well done. Now let's channel that ability into what's important for today's lesson."
Harry flushed slightly but nodded.
"However," Ethan continued, "for first year students, your control is impressive."
He gestured for them to step back.
"Well done," he said. "Both of you."
They returned to their seats amid murmurs of approval.
Ethan turned back to the class.
"That," he said, "is why discipline matters."
He glanced at the younger students.
"Overconfidence can be just as dangerous as fear," he added.
The bell echoed faintly through the corridors.
Ethan straightened his posture and smiled at the crowd.
"That is all for tonight," he said. "I will end our first class with a little assignment."
Groans and sighs filled the arena.
"You will practice Expelliarmus," Ethan said. "Those of you who already know it will help those who struggle."
"Teaching is the fastest way to learn," he added.
He raised his wand slightly.
"You are dismissed."
The moment Ethan dismissed them, students sprang from their seats. They streamed out of the classroom in a noisy tide, voices overlapping as they relived the first dueling lesson—shouts of "Did you see Potter's Expelliarmus?" and "I will disarm him one day when I face him in a duel!" echoing down the corridor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The last of the students filtered out of the arena in small, excited groups, their voices echoing faintly against the stone as they disappeared into the corridor beyond. A few lingered at the doorway, still practicing wand movements under their breath, until the prefects ushered them along with gentle reminders about curfew.
Ethan remained standing at the center of the circle, his wand lowered at his side. The space felt quieter now, the energy of the lesson settling into something calmer and more reflective. He allowed himself a small breath of satisfaction. For a first class in Hogwarts, it had gone better than he had expected.
As he turned to gather his things, a soft voice reached him.
"Professor?"
Ethan looked up.
A young girl stood a few steps away, her hands clasped nervously in front of her robes. She looked no older than a fourth year, her posture shy but determined.
"Yes," Ethan said kindly. "Do you need something?"
"Um," she said, then swallowed. "Do you have a moment, Professor?"
Ethan nodded. "Of course, Miss Taylor. What can I do for you?"
Her eyes widened slightly at the fact that he knew her name, and she quickly reached into her book bag. After fumbling for a moment, she pulled out an envelope and held it out toward him with both hands.
"I am sorry to bother you," she said quickly. "But I was asked to give you this."
Ethan accepted the letter, his brow creasing faintly.
"Asked by whom?" he asked.
"My aunt," the girl replied. "She works at the Ministry of Magic. In the Department of Transport and Regulations."
Ethan glanced down at the envelope. It was a deep red, the parchment thick and of fine quality, his name written across the front in elegant, deliberate script.
"Your aunt?" he repeated. "Do I know her?"
The girl shook her head rapidly.
"No, Professor. I mean, not personally. But she saw your photograph in the Daily Prophet at the Ministry and she said you looked very… very impressive."
Her ears turned pink.
"She thinks you are handsome," the girl blurted out, then immediately looked horrified at herself. "I mean, I think she likes you. That is what she said. I am sorry. I am really sorry."
Ethan stared at the envelope for a brief moment, then sighed inwardly.
He had suspected as much the moment he saw the color.
"I see," he said gently.
The girl continued, words tumbling over one another now.
"She said that if you had time next weekend, she would come to Hogsmeade Village and meet you. Only if you wanted to. Of course. She told me to say that."
Ethan looked back at the girl and smiled politely.
"Please tell your aunt," he said calmly, "that I am honored by her interest. But I must decline."
The girl blinked.
"I do not have plans for a relationship of any kind," Ethan continued. "My focus is on teaching and my responsibilities here at Hogwarts."
He handed the letter back to her.
"I would appreciate it if you could pass that message along for me."
For a moment, the girl simply stared. Then, unexpectedly, her face brightened.
"Oh," she said, sounding relieved rather than disappointed. "That is good then."
Ethan paused, slightly confused.
"I will tell her," the girl said cheerfully. "Thank you, Professor. Thank you very much."
She turned and hurried toward the exit, nearly tripping over her robes as she went.
Ethan watched her go, then shook his head softly.
It had been the same in France.
Back then, there had been a woman from the French Ministry of Magic, a senior official with far too much confidence and far too little restraint. She had attended every lecture, lingered after every lesson, and found excuses to cross his path far more often than coincidence allowed. No matter how politely he declined, she persisted.
And now, here he was at Hogwarts, barely settled in, already receiving letters.
He exhaled slowly.
He knew he was considered attractive. He was not blind to that fact. But the attention still baffled him. He was not a celebrity. He was not a war hero or a famous duelist or a performer. He was simply a professor.
Apparently, that was enough.
He turned toward the corridor leading to his quarters, intent on finally ending the day, when he noticed another figure lingering near the edge of the arena.
A bushy haired girl stood there, clutching a stack of parchment to her chest, her expression serious and focused.
Ethan stopped.
"Yes?" he asked gently. "Can I help you, Miss?"
The girl straightened immediately.
"It is Hermione Granger, Professor," she said crisply.
Ethan nodded.
"Miss Granger," he said. "What can I do for you?"
She took a breath.
"I had some questions about the Disarming Charm," she said. "I wanted to ask if it is truly appropriate for us to learn spells like this at our age. I mean, I understand the purpose, but I would like to study it properly. I was wondering which book would be the best reference in the library."
Ethan studied her for a moment, recognizing the familiar spark of relentless curiosity.
"You can find a detailed explanation in Intermediate Charms and Spells," he said. "The section includes the spell's origins, its creator, and several variations."
Hermione's eyes lit up immediately.
"I thought so," she said quickly, already nodding.
"However," Ethan added, "reading alone will not be enough."
She looked up at him attentively.
"This spell must be practiced," he said. "Again and again. Practice matters more than just memorizing the spell."
He smiled faintly.
"If you have questions," he continued, "you may ask me during class. Or you may come find me outside of it. I am not difficult to locate."
Hermione smiled, clearly pleased.
"Thank you, Professor," she said. "I will."
She hesitated, then added, "May I tell the others?"
Ethan inclined his head.
"Please do," he said.
Hermione nodded enthusiastically and hurried out of the arena, already muttering something about library sections under her breath.
Ethan watched her go, then finally turned toward his quarters.
As he walked through the quiet corridors, the torches flickering softly along the walls, he reflected on the day. The students had been attentive. Curious. Willing to learn.
His first class had been a success.