"Next."
A tall blond boy rose from the Slytherin benches, chin slightly lifted.
Draco Malfoy walked to the center with obvious confidence, though Ethan noticed the careful way he carried his right arm.
"Well," Ethan said lightly, "Mr. Malfoy. How are you feeling? Is your arm improving?"
Draco inclined his head.
"Yes, Professor. It still aches, but I can manage."
Ethan's gaze flicked briefly toward the stands.
Harry Potter held himself rigid, green eyes narrowed and fierce as they fixed on Draco. Ron, right next to him, leaned forward with a scowl of pure revulsion twisting his features at what he'd heard. Oberon Black sat close by, arms crossed over his chest in a deliberate show of detachment, yet the intensity of his stare betrayed how closely he was watching every move.
Rivalry shimmered between them like static in the air.
Ethan returned his focus to Draco.
"Very well. Whenever you are ready."
Draco raised his wand confidently.
"Expelliarmus!"
A small spark burst at the tip.
Then nothing.
The spark fizzled out in midair.
A beat of silence passed before laughter rose from the Gryffindor section.
Ron Weasley failed to muffle his snort. Harry's lips twitched despite himself. Oberon looked away quickly trying to hide his face full of laughter.
Ethan did not even turn this time.
"Mr. Weasley," he said calmly, "would you care to demonstrate before laughing?"
Ron straightened at once.
"No, Professor."
"I thought not."
He faced Draco again.
"Again."
Draco's jaw tightened, faint color rising to his cheeks.
"You don't need to shout," Ethan said evenly. "Volume does not equal power. Focus on your magic, not your audience."
Draco nodded stiffly.
"Smooth breath. Controlled release."
Draco inhaled.
This time his voice was lower.
"Expelliarmus."
The red beam shot forward cleanly, striking Ethan's wand hand with sharp force.
His wand flew upward and spun once before he caught it neatly in his other hand.
The class gasped.
Ethan gave a single approving nod.
"Well done, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco's posture straightened at once.
"You adjusted your projection. Good control. Continue refining your wrist movement and you will master it quickly."
A flicker of triumph crossed Draco's face as he glanced toward the Gryffindor section.
"Five points to Slytherin."
Draco returned to his seat, composure restored.
"Next."
From the Gryffindor benches rose a girl with bushy brown hair and determined eyes.
Hermione Granger descended the steps clutching her wand tightly.
"Miss. Granger," Ethan said.
She barely waited for permission.
"Professor," she began rapidly, "I researched the origin of the disarming charm in the library. It was created in year seven hundred fifty six by Barnabas Mackelson, who originally intended to develop a wand destroying spell but instead accidentally produced a wand dislodging effect which he refined and named Expelliarmus. It can also be adapted to disarm non wand objects if properly modified and—"
Ethan raised a hand gently.
"Very thorough."
A few students blinked in surprise.
He turned slightly to the class.
"For those who neglected your reading, Miss. Granger has summarized the historical context effectively."
He looked back at her.
"Five points to Gryffindor for academic diligence."
Hermione's face lit up.
From the Gryffindor benches came a mixture of pride and a few audible groans, mostly from Ron and some girls.
Ethan gestured toward her wand.
"Now. Theory is admirable. Practice is also essential."
She swallowed and raised her wand.
He noticed her lips moving silently as she repeated the spell in nervousness.
"It is all right," he said reassuringly. "You may cast."
Hermione took a steadying breath.
"Expelliarmus."
Nothing happened.
No spark. No flicker or anything like a beam.
The silence felt heavier this time.
Hermione stared at her wand in disbelief.
Ethan's voice remained calm.
"You did not fail."
She looked up, confused.
"You hesitated at the moment of release. Your mind was still reciting theory. Magic requires decisiveness."
Her shoulders slumped slightly.
"But I studied it," she said quietly.
"And you understood it in your mind," Ethan replied. "Understanding is the foundation. Now you must translate knowledge into action."
Hermione's disappointment lingered on her face like a shadow that refused to fade.
Ethan saw it at once.
"It is all right," he said gently, lowering his wand. "You do not need to pressure yourself."
She looked up at him, still gripping her wand tightly.
"As I have said several times already, you are a first year. I don't expect perfection. Not from you. Not from anyone here."
A few students shifted in their seats, listening.
"If you are worried because others managed to produce a spark or a beam," he continued calmly, "then stop comparing yourself. Magic is not a race. It is not about who performs first. It is about who understands and applies it wisely."
Hermione's shoulders eased slightly.
"You clearly understand the theory," Ethan said. "That is already an advantage. What matters most is not who casts the spell the fastest, but who uses it intelligently."
He gave her a reassuring nod.
"You have an entire year to refine this charm. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Professor," she replied, her voice steadier now.
"Good. Return to your seat."
She walked back to Gryffindor, still thoughtful but no longer crushed.
Ethan scanned the room again.
"This time," he said dryly, "the twins."
The Weasley brothers exchanged identical grins and immediately stood.
"Both of you," Ethan added. "You rarely function separately."
Laughter rippled through the class.
"Oh, Professor," one of them said dramatically as they descended together. "You know us too well."
Ethan rolled his eyes ever so slightly.
"Yeah, you're definitely hard to miss."
They stood side by side before him, mirrors of mischief.
"Step by step," Ethan instructed. "You will cast one at a time. No theatrics."
They placed hands over their hearts in mock solemnity.
The first twin raised his wand smoothly.
"Expelliarmus."
A clean red beam shot forward and struck Ethan's wand hand. His wand lifted slightly but he retained it.
"Good control," Ethan said. "But not enough force."
The second twin stepped forward immediately.
"Expelliarmus."
This time the beam hit with sharper intent. Ethan allowed his wand to fly free, catching it midair.
The twins beamed triumphantly.
"Well done," Ethan admitted. "Both of you executed it properly. Your fundamentals are strong."
They exchanged smug glances.
"Since you clearly grasp the basics," Ethan continued, "your next focus will be speed. In dueling, half a second determines victory."
Both nodded seriously for once.
Then one of them tilted his head.
"Professor," he asked, "if we can already do it, why not let us try against those training dummies? Just once."
"Yes," the other chimed in. "Purely for educational purposes."
Ethan folded his arms.
"Sit down."
They blinked.
"Not this year. Perhaps next year, when you are slightly less likely to be launched across the arena."
They grinned.
"So that is a promise?"
"It is a possibility," Ethan corrected.
They laughed and returned to their seats.
"Next."
A tall, nervous boy stood slowly from Gryffindor.
Neville Longbottom descended the steps as if walking toward execution.
He stood before Ethan, head lowered, fingers trembling around his wand.
"Mr. Longbottom," Ethan said gently.
"Yes, Professor," Neville replied, voice barely audible.
"You need not look as though I intend to hex you," Ethan said lightly. "Relax."
Neville attempted a shaky smile.
"Have you practiced?"
"I tried, Professor," Neville admitted. "But it didn't work."
"That is why we are here," Ethan replied. "Show me."
Neville swallowed, lifted his wand, and with a quivering voice declared, "Expleamos."
Nothing happened.
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Ethan kept his expression neutral.
"Again," he encouraged softly.
Neville tried once more.
"Expelliamus."
The pronunciation faltered again. The wand shook visibly.
Still nothing.
Neville looked at Ethan with wide, anxious eyes.
Ethan stepped closer.
"First," he said calmly, "breathe."
Neville inhaled sharply.
"Your stance is too rigid. Loosen your shoulders. Magic flows better when you are not fighting yourself."
He gently adjusted Neville's elbow and corrected his wrist angle.
"Now. The incantation is Expelliarmus. Four syllables. Clear."
Neville nodded.
He tried again.
This time the pronunciation was correct, but his eyes darted away at the moment of casting.
No spark appeared.
Ethan's gaze drifted briefly to the wand.
It looked worn. The wood slightly faded with age.
"Mr. Longbottom," he asked carefully, "is this wand yours?"
Neville hesitated.
"It belonged to my father," he said quietly.
Something flickered in Ethan's eyes.
He considered asking more, but the boy's posture told him enough. Shoulders tight. Eyes flicking around as if expecting judgment.
Not here. Not now.
"I see," Ethan said simply.
He straightened.
"For today, focus on posture and pronunciation. Practice what I demonstrated. And if you encounter difficulty, you may come to me privately."
Neville nodded gratefully.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, Professor."
He hurried back to his seat.
Soft snickers rose from the Slytherin section.
Ethan did not raise his voice this time.
He simply turned his head slowly toward the source.
The snickers died immediately.
"Next."
Seamus Finnigan bounded down from Gryffindor with far more enthusiasm than caution.
"Mr. Finnigan," Ethan said. "Let us see your progress."
"Oh, Professor, I have practiced loads," Seamus replied confidently. "I am ready."
From the benches, a voice muttered, "Here we go."
Another whispered loudly, "Watch this."
The twins leaned forward eagerly.
"I want to see Professor's face," one of them said.
"I wish we had a magical camera," the other added.
Seamus squared his shoulders dramatically and pointed his wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
There was a split second of unnatural silence.
Then a loud bang exploded from the tip of his wand.
Smoke burst outward in a thick cloud.
Ethan reacted instantly, casting a shielding charm around Seamus, but the small explosion had already occurred.
When the smoke cleared, Seamus stood blinking, his face completely blackened with soot, hair slightly singed at the ends.
The arena erupted into laughter.
Even some of the older students could not hold it in.
Ethan lowered his shield and hurried forward.
"Mr. Finnigan," he said briskly, "are you injured?"
Seamus coughed lightly.
"No, Professor. I am fine. I don't know why that keeps happening."
Ethan flicked his wand and cleaned the soot from the boy's face and robes with a swift charm.
The laughter continued.
"Enough," Ethan said calmly, though not angrily this time.
He turned to Seamus.
"You said it keeps happening?"
"Yes, Professor," Seamus admitted sheepishly. "Sometimes when I cast spells they explode a bit."
From the benches, Harry called out, "He exploded a book in Charms. And a needle in Transfiguration. And something in Potions too."
A few students nodded in agreement.
Ethan extended his hand.
"Your wand, Mr. Finnigan."
Seamus handed it over.
Ethan examined it closely, turning it in his fingers. The wood was sound. The core felt stable under magical scrutiny.
"Did you purchase this wand from Diagon Alley?"
"Yes, Professor. Mr. Ollivander said it chose me."
Ethan nodded slowly.
"There is nothing wrong with the wand," he said thoughtfully.
He handed it back.
"It may be that your magic expresses itself… energetically."
A few students chuckled.
Seamus scratched his head.
"Is that bad, Professor?"
"Not necessarily," Ethan replied. "But it requires control. Excessive magical discharge can destabilize certain spells."
He studied the boy for a moment.
"I would like you to visit Madam Pomfrey tomorrow. Not because you are injured, but because I want to ensure your magical channels are stable."
Seamus blinked.
"Magical channels?"
"Yes. Think of them as pathways. If they flare unevenly, spells may react unpredictably."
Seamus nodded slowly.
"I will go, Professor."
"Good."
He returned to his seat, still smelling faintly of smoke.
The class continued.
One by one students approached. Some succeeded modestly. Others struggled. Ethan corrected wand grips, adjusted stances, refined incantations.
By the time the last student finished, the world outside had faded to deep darkness of the night.
Ethan faced them all.
"For the second week of the term," he said, "your progress is acceptable."
Several students brightened at that.
"You are not expected to master this charm immediately. But you will practice."
He paused.
"If by the end of this term the majority of you can perform Expelliarmus competently, I will introduce a defensive shielding charm."
Excited murmurs spread.
"Yes," he confirmed. "A proper defensive spell."
The students sat straighter.
"But only if you prove consistent."
"Yes, Professor," they replied in near unison.
Ethan glanced toward the tall windows.
"It is late. Return to your houses. Rest. Practice safely."
They gathered their belongings and began filing out of the arena in clusters, voices buzzing with conversation.
Ethan remained standing at the center of the platform, watching them leave.
He didn't notice the soft flick of a tail at first.
A sleek white cat slipped between students' legs with practiced grace, avoiding reaching hands effortlessly. Several girls attempted to pet her, melting at the sight of her bright eyes.
The cat ignored them all.
She leapt lightly onto the platform and padded toward Ethan.
"Nina," he murmured as she sprang onto his shoulder with familiar ease.
She meowed softly and began licking his ear.
He chuckled under his breath.
"Oh, so you remember me now."
She purred loudly.
"I returned yesterday and you were nowhere to be found," he continued lightly. "Spending time with your friend instead of your poor neglected father."
Nina responded by nuzzling his cheek.
"Yes, yes," he said. "I suppose you missed me."
She flicked her tail and settled more comfortably on his shoulder.
He stroked her gently.
"You need cleaning," he observed. "And feeding. Have you been roaming the grounds for days with Aria?"
She gave an indignant meow.
"I see that as confirmation."
With Nina perched proudly on his shoulder, Ethan stepped down from the platform and made his way toward his office as the last students disappeared through the doors.
The arena fell quiet behind him.