HP: The Right Way To Use Fantastic Beasts

"Coo…"

Huddled miserably to the side, Nana the Niffler clutched a self-inking quill in her paw, staring at a full page of addition and subtraction problems with wide, despairing eyes. Evans stood over her, his wand occasionally tapping the parchment to add a new set of exercises, his expression a mixture of exasperation and concern. Sorting through the small mountain of purloined items was no small task; he had to find the owners and then come up with a suitable apology for each of them.

He shot another glare at the Niffler. "If you don't finish these, there will be no pocket money for you this year."

After stuffing the categorized treasures into his own magically expanded pocket, Evans gave Nana's head a final, firm knock before turning his attention back to the Black Lake. He spent a few more minutes playing with the giant squid, who only reluctantly retracted its tentacles and submerged when the distant whistle of the Hogwarts Express signaled its arrival. The creature knew its appearance would terrify the new first years.

The red and black steam engine pulled smoothly into Hogsmeade station, its brakes seemingly silent as it came to a halt. In the fading light of the setting sun, the train's polished exterior gleamed like new. The doors opened, and a flood of young witches and wizards spilled onto the platform with their luggage. Evans soon heard Hagrid's familiar, booming voice.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

The giant's imposing figure filled the doorway, his massive hands waving like fans. The sight made the new arrivals hesitate, but they soon gathered around him. The older students took a separate path toward the waiting carriages, while Hagrid led the nervous first years down to the small boats bobbing by the lake. There were only about forty of them, an astonishingly small number compared to any Muggle school. Evans's gaze swept over the crowd and quickly found Harry, who was currently locked in a tense stare-down with a blond boy, his expression a mix of disdain and annoyance. The red-haired boy beside Harry—unmistakably a Weasley—looked just as eager for a confrontation, completely unintimidated by the two large figures flanking his rival.

Making enemies and planning duels before they even set foot in the castle, Evans thought with a smile. Such wonderfully pure campus friendship.

As he watched the boats filled with new students begin their journey across the lake, a wave of emotion washed over him. When he had first enrolled, with the shadow of a certain Dark Lord still looming, there had been fewer students, the atmosphere had been thick with tension, and the first-year boat ceremony had been canceled. It was a stark contrast to now, where students have the freedom and peace of mind to bicker and play.

Smiling contentedly, Evans's figure flickered and vanished from the lakeside.

Back in the Great Hall, Evans took his seat at the faculty table, placing his two small companions beside him. He immediately noticed Professor Flitwick, who was standing nearby, give a slight shudder before discreetly moving his plate and chair a few inches away.

"…Don't worry, Professor," Evans said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I won't have any new questions for you for a while."

At this, Professor Flitwick let out a long, audible sigh of relief, moved his plate and chair back to their original positions, and broke into a relieved smile. Evans found himself slightly displeased. He had only pestered the Charms Master about spell theory for a month, and he'd always been careful not to disturb his sleep, practicing what he'd learned back in his own rooms.

The Great Hall was adorned for the Welcoming Feast. The chaotic staircases and shifting handrails had been coaxed back into their proper places by the professors and house-elves. The enchanted ceiling displayed a magnificent oil painting of a sun whose light illuminated the entire hall. The silver and green decorations of Slytherin had been replaced by the colors of all four houses, their banners hanging proudly below the hourglasses that tracked their house points.

He observed the scene for a moment before turning his gaze to the main entrance. At that exact moment, the great doors swung open, and students began to file in, heading for their respective house tables.

As more students arrived, a strange phenomenon began to occur. A number of older students, upon entering the hall, would suddenly freeze, their faces a canvas of vivid, often horrified, expressions. The Slytherins in their silver and green robes had the most dramatic reactions, staring blankly at the teachers' table, their legs trembling. Some even began to subtly shuffle backward, as if contemplating a retreat. This growing cluster of petrified students started to block the entrance.

"What are you all standing here for? Get back to your seats!" Professor McGonagall, who was by the door preparing to greet the new students, snapped at the bottleneck. With a stern look, she ushered them forward before stepping outside.

Startled into motion, the students hurried to their tables and sat down.

"It seems your reputation still precedes you," Professor Flitwick remarked, turning to Evans with an amused glint in his eye.

"Don't tease me, Professor," Evans said, spreading his hands helplessly. "I've been very well-behaved since these juniors started school." Aside from that one infamous common room incident, he had been a model student, a fact proven by the three consecutive House Cups Gryffindor had won under his influence.

"Yes, after your fourth year, you stopped focusing on school matters and went on to torment Professor Snape and those people outside instead," Professor Flitwick nodded sagely, as if this explained everything.

Evans opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. He had just felt a familiar, chilling gaze. Without turning, he knew who it was. When he finally looked, his eyes met a pair of cold, black ones. A moment later, Professor Snape snorted, turned his head, and began whispering something to Professor Quirrell.

Is that tsundere, poison-tongued bat gossiping about me again? Evans wondered, pursing his lips.

He redirected his attention to the entrance just as Professor McGonagall pushed open the doors again, this time followed by a huddled group of first years who looked like a flock of nervous chicks. A hush fell over the hall as all eyes turned to them. Unaccustomed to being the center of attention, the already anxious children became even more so, their steps growing cautious.

"My father said the Sorting Ceremony involves a duel with an older student!" a boy whispered, his face pale, sending a fresh wave of fear through the group.

Their terror continued to mount until the tattered hat in the center of the hall began to sing.

"You may not think me pretty…"

A hoarse voice sang a simple, unadorned song. Evans rested his chin in his hand, his eyes filled with curiosity as he watched the hat. As a student, he had always wanted to study it, but the Headmaster guarded it so strictly that he'd never had the chance. Now, as a professor, he would surely have more opportunities to visit the Headmaster's office.

"I really want to know how you work," Evans muttered to himself, staring intently at the hat.

The Sorting Hat, in the middle of its song, suddenly trembled, its pitch rising almost imperceptibly. How could a hat suddenly feel a chill?

The song ended, and the hall erupted in thunderous applause. The hat dipped its brim towards the four house tables and fell silent. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a roll of parchment.

"Now, when I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted!" she announced, adjusting her spectacles.

"Hannah Abbott!"

(End of Chapter)

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