When they returned to the Changing Rooms, the cheerful atmosphere remained.
"I guess Davies must have been faking his illness," Mikel said excitedly. "He knew Ravenclaw had no chance of winning this match, especially with Kyle riding a Firebolt."
"Don't say that," Cedric replied, shaking his head as he changed into his robe. "Harry Potter from Gryffindor also has a Firebolt, and he's a Seeker too. If Roger Davies were truly afraid of losing, he'd probably just quit the team entirely. Besides, Cho mentioned yesterday that Davies was knocked off his broom by a Bludger. I doubt Madam Pomfrey would release him so quickly."
"Okay…" Mikel muttered, shivering slightly at the thought.
Back in his first year, Mikel had seen firsthand how firm Madam Pomfrey could be. If she decided Davies wasn't fit to play, not even Professor Flitwick could change her mind.
"Alright, let's go," Cedric said with a smile. "How about a party in the common room tonight? This is our first win of the year—it definitely calls for a celebration."
The team eagerly agreed and left the Changing Rooms in high spirits.
The castle itself seemed to share their joy. The match had lifted the shadow that had been hanging over Hogwarts in recent days. Conversations shifted away from the ominous silence surrounding You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. Instead, students began focusing on their upcoming Defence Against the Dark Arts class.
Thanks to rumors spread by the sixth years, most of the school knew the new Instructor had arrived.
"I hope this new Instructor can actually teach us something," Hannah said in the common room later. "I'm so tired of endless copying and reciting. It's barely past Christmas, and I've already spent a Galleon more on parchment than last year. At this rate, I won't even have enough money left for my allowance."
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Cedric said. "From what I've heard, she's the complete opposite of Umbridge."
"You know the Instructor?" Hannah asked, looking intrigued.
"Well," Cedric nodded, "she was in seventh year when I first enrolled, but she was already training to be an Auror and was often away from school."
"So, what was she like?" Mikel asked curiously. "Was she like you? If she was chosen as an Auror in her seventh year, she must've had amazing grades. I bet she earned at least ten certificates."
"No, not exactly," Cedric said after a moment's thought. "I didn't know her personally—we never spoke—but people used to say that Tonks was like a Gryffindor who got sorted into Hufflepuff."
"What does that mean?" Mikel blinked. "How can someone be a Gryffindor in Hufflepuff? Didn't she graduate from our house?"
"It means her personality was more like a Gryffindor's," Cedric explained, searching for the right words. "She wasn't exactly… well-behaved."
He hesitated to say more. After all, the person in question was now a Instructor, and it felt inappropriate to gossip about her.
"Oh, I remember!" a seventh-year student suddenly exclaimed. "After the last Quidditch match, wasn't she the one who led Hufflepuff and Slytherin into that big fight? Her name was Nymphadora, right?"
Cedric's lack of response—marked by a slight shrug—was taken as confirmation.
The room buzzed with curiosity as everyone leaned in, eager to hear more.
"Tell us more..." The crowd eagerly leaned in, pulling out sweets, biscuits, peanuts, and other snacks from their pockets to share as they encircled the seventh-year student.
"It was like this," the older student began. "It was the last Quidditch match of the season, and we were playing Slytherin. Whoever won would be crowned the champion. During the game, though, they used some dirty tactics to knock Harris—our star player—off his broom, which completely threw us off. We ended up losing by 30 points."
Gasps rippled through the group as they listened intently.
"Then, while Slytherin was celebrating, someone suddenly leapt out of their seat and started a brawl with them. All the Hufflepuffs, already furious about the match, didn't even think twice before joining in. It turned into absolute chaos—an unforgettable scene! But let me tell you, the professors were not pleased. That was the first time I ever saw Professor McGonagall lose her temper."
"Oh, that's incredible!" Hannah's eyes sparkled with excitement, but her expression quickly shifted to concern. "But… starting a fight like that... surely she got punished, right? Was she sent to detention?"
"No!" the seventh-year said, shaking his head.
"No?" Hannah blinked in surprise. "It can't be… expulsion? Someone who's been expelled couldn't have become an Auror, right?"
"Of course not," Cedric interjected. "The thing is, the professors couldn't figure out who started it. Everyone in Slytherin claimed it was a red-haired girl, but here's the catch—there weren't any red-haired girls in Hufflepuff at the time."
The common room erupted in a collective gasp of disbelief.
"Maybe it was someone from another house," someone suggested. "The Weasley family has red hair, don't they? Maybe one of them sat at the Hufflepuff table early?"
"That theory doesn't work," Cedric said firmly. "The only girl in the Weasley family wasn't even enrolled at Hogwarts yet. And the professors searched the entire school but couldn't find anyone who remembered seeing her."
"Wait…" Mikel said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "If that's the case, why are you saying it had something to do with Nymphadora Tonks?"
Cedric leaned forward slightly. "Because Tonks has the ability to change her hair color. She was the most likely culprit."
A ripple of intrigue passed through the crowd.
"But," Cedric added, "she swore she wasn't even in the Great Hall at the time. She claimed she'd been caught playing in the corridors and had spent the match in Filch's office for detention. Filch confirmed her story, and while plenty of people believed she was the one who started the fight, there was no proof."
"And then?" Hannah prompted eagerly.
"And then," Cedric said, "a week later, she graduated, became an Auror, and the whole thing was forgotten."
"Oh…" Hannah sighed, her eyes sparkling again. The idea of leading a school-wide brawl and walking away unscathed filled her with admiration.
"Just hearing about it makes my blood boil!" she exclaimed.
"I'm already looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts," Mikel said excitedly. "When's our next class?"
"Tomorrow," Kyle chimed in. "Second period in the morning."
"Why can't it be first period?" Mikel groaned.
"Are you sure about that?" Ryan asked with a sly smile. "Don't forget, we still have Umbridge as our actual professor. Nymphadora Tonks is only assisting her."
Mikel's enthusiasm deflated instantly. "Please, don't ruin my mood while I'm still happy!"
The common room erupted into laughter at his dramatic reaction.
Even though Ryan had a point—they hadn't completely replaced their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor—there was still a growing sense of anticipation in the air.
...
When the next day arrived, Kyle and the others began with Charms class.
For the past week, Professor Flitwick had banned students from simply reciting spells during lessons, encouraging practical attempts instead—which had led to some chaotic results.
Mikel's wand had misfired, shooting out a shower of sparks that came dangerously close to setting Professor Flitwick's hair on fire. A Gryffindor girl waved her wand, only for all her hair to stand on end, leaving her looking like she was wearing a broom as a hat. Another student's charm hit a desk, which promptly sprouted legs, scattered its parts, and began stampeding around the room.
Kyle watched in amazement as the rogue table appeared to think it was a cow, charging through the classroom. Amid the commotion, it even knocked Professor Flitwick square on the head without him noticing.
Thankfully, Professor Flitwick's experience meant he was unfazed by such incidents. Dusting off his robes, he calmly restored order to the classroom, returning everything to its proper state. He then sternly reprimanded the two students who had muttered the spell that animated the table.
By the end of the class, everyone hurriedly copied down their homework assignments and rushed out the door. They were eager to arrive early for Defence Against the Dark Arts, anticipation buzzing among them.
Five minutes later, the classroom door opened. Umbridge entered, wearing her usual saccharine smile. But what caught everyone's attention was the witch accompanying her—the same one who had enthusiastically cheered for Hufflepuff during the recent Quidditch match.
Students instinctively glanced at Tonks' hair.
"Look, grey hair," Mikel whispered. "Yesterday it was yellow and black, just like the Hufflepuff flag. I remember it perfectly!"
The others also noticed the change in her hair color, and the discovery thrilled them.
"It seems what Cedric said was true," Mikel whispered, his excitement growing. "I wonder what she'll teach us... I hope it's how to punch Slytherins without getting caught by a professor. I've always wanted to do that."
"You'll be disappointed," Kyle remarked dryly.
Metamorphmagus abilities were innate; no amount of teaching could help someone else learn them.
Meanwhile, Umbridge and Tonks had reached the podium.
As usual, Umbridge's smile didn't reach her eyes. "So," she began, "open your Defensive Magical Theory books. Where did we last leave off?"
The class remained silent. Most students didn't even reach for their books. A few who had begun flipping through the pages hesitated and stopped, sensing the tense atmosphere.
"Professor," a clear voice broke the silence, "reading from a book won't help us defend ourselves against You-Know-Who."
Umbridge's expression soured instantly. "I've told you repeatedly to raise your hand before speaking in my classroom!" she snapped. "And the Ministry of Magic will ensure your safety. You only need to follow its directives and stay within the school grounds."
"But we can't stay in school forever."
"I SAID, raise your hand!" Umbridge bellowed, her voice sharp and grating. "As I was saying, the Ministry of Magic will protect you. Now, turn to page 175 in your books. We will—"
"Excuse me, Professor Umbridge," another voice interrupted.
Umbridge's face darkened as she turned, ready to explode—only to see that it was Tonks who had spoken.
Tonks was holding a class schedule, studying it with feigned curiosity. "According to the newly revised timetable," she said lightly, "it seems I'm scheduled to teach this class today." She held the paper up for emphasis. "See? My name's right here."
"You…" Umbridge's face turned an ugly shade of red. "Don't forget that I am the professor for this class, and you're merely here to assist me."
"I haven't forgotten," Tonks replied calmly. "In fact, I've emphasized it several times."
"Then do as I say and have the students turn to—"
"Apologies, Professor Umbridge," Tonks interrupted again, "but the minister assigned me a specific task for this lesson. If I don't complete it, someone might inform the Ministry that I'm neglecting my duties. And I'm sure the minister wouldn't appreciate that."
Umbridge's mouth tightened. "And if I insist on teaching this class myself?"
"You're the professor; it's entirely your decision," Tonks said nonchalantly. "But to protect my job, I'd have to send a letter to the Ministry explaining why I wasn't allowed to fulfill my responsibilities." She added with a casual shrug, "The Ministry's been keeping a close eye on Hogwarts lately—no one wants to appear lazy."
"Very well," Umbridge growled through gritted teeth. "Then you'll teach this class, Professor Tonks."
Tonks smiled, correcting her gently, "Oh, I'm just an assistant—you're the professor."
Without another word, Umbridge marched down the podium and stormed out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her.
The moment she was gone, the room erupted in cheers.
"Okay, don't get too excited," Tonks said, waving her hand to calm the room.
When the laughter and chatter subsided, she continued, "What are you all standing around for? Put away that bloody Defensive Magical Theory book. It's absolute rubbish and completely useless."
The students exchanged amused glances as they eagerly shoved their books into their bags.
"Of course, I'm not saying the book is bad," Tonks added, a wry smile on her face. "It's just that the content is so rigid you'd struggle to use it in real life."
Before she had even finished speaking, every desk was cleared of books. Some students, eager for action, already had their wands out.
"And put those wands away," Tonks said, shaking her head. "Before we get started, I need to see how well you've been learning Transfiguration. It's important."
"Transfiguration?" someone said, confused. "But this is Defence Against the Dark Arts."
"I know," Tonks replied breezily. "But what I'll be teaching you builds on Transfiguration... like this."
She tapped her wand against her face, and her features subtly shifted—her cheeks puffed out, and her chin flattened slightly. The change was minor, but it altered her appearance enough that in a different setting, Kyle thought he might not have recognized her.
"Today's lesson is on Concealment and Disguise," Tonks explained. "Ways to temporarily change your appearance without using Potions."
"I know some of you might think this is pointless. After all, once you've learned Body Transfiguration, why bother, right?" Her gaze swept over the class, catching a few sheepish Gryffindors who had been visibly unimpressed. They quickly avoided her eyes.
Meanwhile, the Hufflepuff students, including Mikel, were brimming with excitement.
"I knew it!" Mikel burst out, laughing with delight.
Kyle remained silent, his thoughts elsewhere. He suspected Tonks wasn't teaching this as a substitute for her own Metamorphmagus abilities; it was more likely something to assist Professor McGonagall's curriculum.
"I need to warn you," Tonks said, her tone turning serious, "that if you attempt to alter your appearance without practice, the result will usually make you stand out more in a crowd."
She looked at a student sitting near the back. "Mr. Thomas, you don't seem convinced."
"Not really, Professor," the Gryffindor said, standing up.
"Just call me Assistant Professor," Tonks corrected. "It's okay. Why don't you give it a try? If you can manage to change your appearance enough that no one recognizes you, you'll be free to do whatever you like for the rest of the lesson."
"Really?"
"Of course," Tonks replied with a grin.
"Alright!" Thomas pulled out his wand and tapped his face confidently.
There was an instant explosion of laughter. Some students doubled over, holding their stomachs, tears streaming down their faces.
"What's going on?" Thomas asked, bewildered.
Tonks conjured a mirror and handed it to him.
The boy shrieked when he saw his reflection. His attempt at self-transfiguration had gone wildly wrong, leaving his face bloated and exaggerated. His nose had swollen so much he resembled a cross between a house-elf and someone who had downed a poorly brewed potion—an expired one at that.
In fairness, Thomas had succeeded; no one in the room would have recognized him, not even himself.
Tonks bit back a smile as she waved her wand, reversing the spell. "This is exactly what I mean. Untrained transformations just don't work for concealment. They make you stand out even more."
She looked around the room. "Anyone else want to give it a try? Same conditions. If you succeed, you're free for the rest of class."
Not a single hand went up. The girls in particular avoided her gaze, their heads down as though utterly absorbed in their desks.
"Very well," Tonks said, nodding in satisfaction. "Let's start with the basics."
With a flick of her wand, a rabbit appeared on each student's desk.
"It's best to practice on them first before trying it on yourself. This way, you can gauge the strength of your magic."
Kyle glanced at the rabbit in front of him but didn't start. While the rest of the class eagerly tested their spells, he leaned back slightly, his mind elsewhere.
Tonks' lesson, though practical for most students, felt unnecessary to him. Any magical transformation—no matter how perfect—left traces. Powerful wizards, like Dumbledore or Voldemort, would see through even the most skillful disguise. The only reliable methods to fool such individuals were Polyjuice Potion or natural-born Metamorphmagus abilities.
For the average Death Eater, though, this technique would suffice. Most lacked the magical acuity to detect subtle transfiguration mistakes.
But Kyle knew he wouldn't need to rely on disguise to survive an encounter with a Death Eater. He had other methods—simpler, more decisive ones. If anything, it would be the Death Eater scrambling to escape, not him.
Still, Kyle acknowledged the value of Tonks' lesson for the others. For most of them, the skill could be a lifesaver. For him, though, it was just another class he could sit through without much interest.