By the time the golden plates had cleared and the last of the treacle tart had vanished, the Great Hall was humming with quiet chatter and full bellies. The start-of-term feast had, as always, run late into the night. With only minutes to spare before curfew and the long train ride still weighing on them, most students trudged off to their dormitories without lingering.
The staff, too, retired early. Tomorrow marked the start of the new school year—classes to teach, schedules to follow—and no one was looking forward to the early mornings and packed schedules more than they absolutely had to.
The next day, after a brisk breakfast, Maverick stood at the front of his first class of the year—First-Year Alchemy. The classroom buzzed with anticipation, a mix of nerves and excitement painted across young faces.
He began with a captivating introduction, much like he had the year before, guiding the students through the completion of a fully functional alchemical item. Though all they did was fit the final piece into something he had mostly prepared beforehand, the students were thrilled by the result.
Their excitement didn't waver, and by the end of the lesson, each of them felt proud, eager, and more than a little curious about what the rest of the year would bring.
And out of the hundred or so freshmen, two students in particular had caught his attention.
One was Ginny Weasley. She most certainly had inherited her father's and twin brothers' instinctive knack for magical tinkering.
Her fingers moved with a confidence far beyond her age, and the way her eyes darted between the various components revealed more than just intelligence—there was a natural intuition at play.
With the right guidance, she could easily become a star-level alchemist—or perhaps even go further. Of course, whether she chose to pursue that path was entirely up to her. Maverick wouldn't push her in that direction.
The other was Luna Lovegood. At first glance, she didn't seem particularly skilled—her hands moved slowly, and she blinked often, as if lost in her own world. But Maverick, intrigued by her quiet focus, brushed lightly against her surface thoughts, and what he discovered truly surprised him.
Her mind was... different.
Not magically gifted, no—but sharp in a way that was hard to define. Her mind worked like a finely tuned abacus, quietly sorting and linking patterns with a precision that was almost mechanical. She processed information like a Muggle mathematical prodigy—instantly, effortlessly, and without fanfare.
Maverick had seen minds like that before, though rarely. Luna's thought process reminded him of them—different, but no less brilliant. And that quiet, pattern-seeking brilliance would be a perfect match for Runes, a subject rooted in logic and structure. If she ever chose to pursue it, she could become one of the best.
He also remembered something else. If he wasn't mistaken, Luna would face a rough time in her early years at Hogwarts. Bullying, isolation—things that had nothing to do with her talent and everything to do with her nature.
I'll keep an eye on that, Maverick thought, mentally filing it away. If it ever began, he would put a stop to it before it went too far.
His second class was with the second-years, and it went much like the last—a well-oiled rhythm of explanation, demonstration, and discovery. The returning students fell back into pace quickly, clearly eager to build on what they had learned last year.
After lunch, the new batch of sixth-years—wide-eyed and curious—filed into Maverick's Muggle Science classroom. He was pleased to find the numbers had nearly doubled—over fifty students this year, a promising sign.
Some, no doubt, had chosen the class under pressure from their parents. Others, perhaps, out of idle curiosity. But by the end of the lesson, every single one of them wore the same expression—wonder.
He'd taken them on a tour "out of this world" once again—exploring scientific breakthroughs and explaining how Muggle technology functioned without a trace of magic, yet still managed to accomplish feats that rivalled wizardkind's own.
By the time the class ended, several students lingered behind to ask questions, eyes sparkling. Maverick watched them go with a small smile. He would never tire of the awe in their eyes after having their worldview lifted to such unprecedented heights.
Now, with no more lessons until tomorrow, he wandered through the castle's winding corridors, hands tucked into his robes. The walls whispered with echoes of long-forgotten secrets, and every so often he passed a portrait that bowed respectfully or dozed in its frame.
He was just approaching the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom when he heard it.
Shouting. Frantic, muffled yelling from behind the heavy oak door.
And then—SLAM!
The door burst open, and Gilderoy Lockhart staggered out, his golden hair disheveled, cheeks flushed. He spun and slammed the door shut behind him, panting as though he had outrun a Hungarian Horntail.
"Huff… Huff… That was clos—"
He froze mid-sentence when he caught sight of Maverick, standing just a few feet away with one brow arched at him.
"Master Caesar! Fancy... meeting you here!"
Maverick didn't reply. He simply tilted his head and looked at the man. Lockhart stiffened uncomfortably.
"I was just, ah—ensuring everything was… under control. Yes, under control," he added hastily.
"The class period ended five minutes ago," Maverick said quietly. "Why are you standing... like a guard outside the door?"
"Guarding? No, no, nothing like that! Just stretching my legs a bit!"
Another muffled shout echoed from inside.
"Care to explain?" Maverick's voice sharpened. "Why the students are shouting?"
"Shouting?" Lockhart laughed, far too loudly. "What shouting? I don't hear anything!"
Maverick took a single step closer. Lockhart, as if pulled by invisible strings, took a step back.
"Open the door," Maverick said.
Lockhart hesitated, then reached for the handle—just as a girl's voice rang clearly from inside:
"Immobilise!"
Maverick was certain that the voice belonged to Granger. After the sharp crack of her spell, whatever for it was unleashed seemed to have worked, as the chaos inside now have fallen into silence.
Maverick's eyes narrowed dangerously as he locked gazes with the fool. "The door... I said, open it!"
Lockhart swallowed hard.
Meanwhile, Maverick swept his Magical Sense into the classroom and immediately saw the chaos. Desks were overturned, chairs scattered, and parchments fluttered like fallen leaves.
A mess, but no serious injuries—except, well, one Longbottom suspended from the chandelier like a confused bat. And it wasn't just students. He sensed more—tiny, foot-sized humanoid creatures. Dozens of them, Cornish Pixies, frozen mid-mischief, all paralyzed. Clearly the work of Miss Know-it-all's freezing charm.
Maverick turned to Lockhart again and, without a word, pulsed a hint of his magic.
It wasn't even much, but the fraud yelped like a frightened rat, stumbling back and swallowing dryly in panic.
"E-Everything's in order, Master Caesar. The students seem to have everything... under control... you see..." the man babbled. "I—I've another class to attend, so I'll just be—" He didn't finish. He ran. Bolted like a kicked Kneazle.
Pathetic. Maverick exhaled slowly, half-tempted to let the fool taste his signature black fire—but no. Not yet. He reined it in, and then pushed the door open.
Step. Step. Step.
The students were rushing toward the door but came to an abrupt halt as soon as they saw him.
"Professor Caesar!"
Then, a furious voice cut through the quiet.
"Professor! Did you see that bastard Lockhart coming out of the classroom?"
Maverick raised a brow.
Tracy looked like she'd just woken from a thousand-year nap—hair wild, robes crooked, and eyes blazing. She elbowed her way to the front without hesitation, standing squarely in his path. Beside her, Daphne Greengrass appeared just as disheveled, and even she—usually the picture of calm—had a quiet storm brewing behind her gaze.
Maverick didn't respond to Tracy's outrage. Instead, he glanced up—then sighed.
Neville Longbottom dangled from the chandelier like it was the most natural thing in the world, robes tangled and expression full of grievances.
Maverick lifted a hand and, with a gentle tug of magic, floated the kid down safely to the floor.
He remembered this scene from the books, so there was no need to ask what happened.
With a snap of his fingers, the room then began to right itself. Desks settled into neat rows, books flew to shelves, and the chaos faded. The classroom, once a battlefield, looked untouched again.
"Anyone hurt?" he asked.
No one answered. They all looked a bit taken aback by his casual use of magic—again.
"Is everyone alright?" he repeated while amplifying a bit more.
"I— I think Lockhart wanted to give us a practical experience," Hermione stammered. "The Cornish Pixies—he said we'd learn how to deal with them—"
"Experience?" Tracy scoffed. "Has your know-it-all brain stopped braining, Granger?" That coward clearly lost control and left us for dead."
"Professor Lockhart is not a coward!" another witch snapped, standing defensively.
More voices followed. A wave of objections—mostly girls—rose in Lockhart's defense, while a smaller, sharper group—mostly Slytherins—openly rolled their eyes.
The classroom turned into a debate stage. Fangirls vs. realists. And the boys? They just stood watching, amused, like spectators at a Quidditch brawl.
Maverick sighed.
"Enough," he said—calm, but sharp—and the chatter died instantly.
"If you have another class, you'd best get going now—unless you plan on being late."
At that remark, the Slytherins all blinked in unison—then bolted as if someone had lit a fire under their feet.
"Go, go, go!" someone muttered. "Professor McGonagall might take points from all of us!"
A stampede followed. Soon, only the Gryffindors remained, and even they, one by one, gradually trickled out—until only Harry, Hermione, and Ron were left.
"Okay?" Maverick asked, tilting his head. "Something you want to say?"
Harry glanced at his two friends, then nodded as if they had silently agreed on something.
"Um… Professor, I was thinking..." Harry said uncertainly. Hermione and Ron both stiffened nervously beside him, each swallowing hard.
Maverick had already guessed what Potter was about to say before he even said it.
"Could you... maybe include Hermione and Ron in the training you've been giving me?"
Sure enough, Maverick thought, sighing inwardly. It seemed they'd been discussing this for some time already. He had half-expected this, really, when he agreed to Dumbledore to mentor Harry—just not this early.
An awkward silence hung in the air as he raised a hand to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. The trio fidgeted.
A moment later, he hummed softly and looked at them again.
"Come here," he said, beckoning.
The three stepped forward.
He pointed to the paralyzed pixies, then to the open cage on Lockhart's desk.
"Use the Levitation Charm. Guide the pixies into the cage—carefully."
With a flick of his fingers, the frozen pixies floated into the air and neatly divided into three groups.
"Each of you take one group," he instructed.
Ron looked like he had just swallowed a Bludger. He opened his mouth, wanting to ask what would happen if they couldn't manage it—then paused, glancing at his friends. His brows twitched slightly when he saw Harry and Hermione already muttering the incantation, wands at the ready.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Ron hesitated for a moment before his arm too, lifted upward, a bit unsteady but determined nonetheless.
Swallowing another sigh, Maverick walked over and placed a hand on the redhead's shoulder. A faint pulse of white mist slipped from his palm, then brushed gently against Ron's spirit.
"Relax," he murmured. "Focus. Then cast."
The tension visibly drained from Ron's face, and his breathing steadied.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he cried.
The spell worked. Smooth, steady, and precise.
Harry and Hermione guided their pixies in first, and moments later, Ron's followed. One by one, the little creatures floated into the cage, and door clicked shut.
"Professor… did you do something to me?" Ron asked quietly.
Maverick smiled.
"The magic was all yours, Ronald," he said ambiguously. "Just remember—magic is belief. Intent. Doubt it, and it stumbles. Trust it, and you'll be amazed how far you go."
"Well done, Ron," Hermione said, smiling brightly. "That was perfect!"
"Yeah, really nice," Harry added.
Maverick had given Ron a push—just a gentle one—to clear the fog in his head. No more than that. The boy didn't need a crutch, only a nudge. He had potential, and could become just as good as Harry and Hermione… if he had a bit more confidence.
"All right," Maverick said, giving them a serious look. "I've already planned Harry's training schedule—once a week, starting next month, he'll be practicing with me." He paused, glancing at Ron and Hermione in turn. "You two may join as well."
Their eyes lit up, but before they could say anything, Maverick raised a hand.
"You're dismissed for now. Head back to your common room, the library—wherever you like. I'll let Harry know when we begin."
The trio nodded like eager pigeons, clearly wanting to say more—but Maverick gave them a look, and they finally took the hint and left.
Once they were gone, Maverick turned his gaze back to the still-paralyzed pixies. Hermione's spellwork really was impressive for her age.
He reinforced the cage with a warding charm, then cast the true concealment magic over himself and slipped out of the room without a sound.
His destination had been his office—but halfway there, he changed his mind. Without breaking stride, he turned and made his way toward the seventh floor instead.
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