Chapter 48: Theory and Stars
Thursday began like the others, quiet and structured. Thomas had stayed up a bit later than usual the previous night, practicing a new incantation from the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and comparing its nuances with alternate spell mechanics from a non-curricular source he'd skimmed earlier. After waking and completing his morning spatial magic exercises, he made a quick mental review of the day ahead.
"Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Samber," he muttered as he tugged on his robes. "And tonight… Astronomy."
There was a sense of mild anticipation as he stepped into the Great Hall. He enjoyed routine, and now that he had begun to map Hogwarts' weekly rhythm, he felt a semblance of control—however small—in a place filled with unpredictable magic.
At breakfast, Fred and George had already begun passing around something under the table. It was too early for more copies of the map, Thomas thought—but he didn't ask. If they were up to something, he'd find out soon enough. Instead, he focused on his toast and eggs and rehearsed defensive theory in his head.
The first disappointment arrived at 9 o'clock.
The classroom for Defence Against the Dark Arts was wide and spacious, the windows high and dusty, with shelves of ancient magical deterrents lined up at the back—items that looked impressive but very much locked behind glass.
Professor John Samber entered the room with a flourish that might've inspired awe, had he not immediately launched into a speech about the importance of a solid theoretical foundation.
"Before one lifts a wand to face a threat," he said in his slow, authoritative voice, "one must understand not only the enemy, but also the ethical framework of magical self-defence. To act without knowledge is to act in folly."
Thomas sat straighter, waiting. It wasn't a bad start.
But it didn't improve.
Professor Samber continued for nearly fifteen minutes on the difference between defensive and offensive magic from a philosophical point of view, quoting obscure Ministry guidelines and referring to long-repealed dueling laws.
Thomas exchanged a glance with Fred, who gave a half-smile and dramatically mimed falling asleep. George yawned—perhaps sincerely.
Eventually, they reached the topic of shielding spells.
"Now, while Protego may be considered the baseline of defensive enchantments," Samber explained, "one must not use it without appreciating the mental focus required to sustain the shield. Which brings us to—yes, Miss Knox?"
Maribel Knox had raised her hand, frowning. "Are we going to try any of these spells today?"
Professor Samber shook his head. "No, no. In fact, first-years will not be casting any spells in this class. The entire year will be focused exclusively on theory. You must understand the foundation first. Magic without intellect is no better than brute force."
Thomas clenched his jaw. He could appreciate caution. Magic was dangerous. But what he didn't appreciate was the complete absence of practice. Understanding theory without anchoring it in experience was like learning to ride a broom by reading Broomstick Weekly—utterly useless in a real situation.
The rest of the lesson was filled with more doctrine and definitions. By the time the bell rang, the class filed out like a group of students leaving a boring law lecture rather than a practical course in defending themselves from magical threats.
Outside, Thomas exhaled sharply.
"Well," Fred said beside him, "that was… underwhelming."
Thomas nodded. "If that's our only defence teacher this year, we're in trouble."
After lunch, Thomas made a straight path to the library. He wasn't alone—several first-years were already sprawled at tables, but none with quite the same expression of purpose.
He went directly to a section he'd explored earlier—books considered more "practical" by upper-year standards. There, he found what he was looking for: A Beginner's Guide to Practical Defense Magic by Cordelia Branstone.
Flipping it open, he skimmed through sections on situational awareness, evasion techniques, and eventually reached an introductory breakdown of minor defensive spells that could be practiced with supervision—or, in Thomas's case, discretion.
He read for an hour, absorbing the nuances of spells like Arsene Dispergo, a wand flick to scatter minor projectiles, and Silentus Tempus, a beginner-level trick to delay hostile charm effects. He didn't dare try any in the library, of course, but he memorized the movements and made mental notes for practice later.
He left feeling considerably more confident. If the school wouldn't provide him with practical training, he'd simply create his own curriculum.
That night, Astronomy.
The highest tower of Hogwarts held the Astronomy classroom, a circular observatory with massive brass instruments, detailed star charts, and enchanted telescopes that shimmered faintly even when idle.
The air was cool and dry up there. The class was held at night, naturally, and the stars twinkled clearly above as Professor Aurora Sinistra swept into the room.
She wore dark robes dusted with patterns of silver constellations, her voice calm and methodical as she addressed them.
"Welcome to Astronomy. Over the coming years, you will learn how the celestial bodies influence magical flow, seasonal rituals, potion efficiency, and more." Her gaze swept across them. "But to begin, we learn discipline—because to read the stars, you must first watch."
She introduced the major constellations, made them take turns identifying the northern sky, and showed how star positions could shift depending on magical interference. There was no spellwork involved, but Thomas found the lesson strangely peaceful. There was something soothing about watching the stars—knowing that, above all the noise of magic, they followed a law greater than any wizard's will.
They returned to their dormitories just before midnight.
Friday morning arrived quietly.
There was no morning surprise or prank from the twins—though Thomas noticed George scribbling something in a notebook between bites of toast, and he was willing to bet another scheme was brewing.
The schedule was lighter that day.
First up: Herbology.
They met outside the greenhouses. Professor Sprout was already there, covered in gardening gloves and dirt stains, her energy infectious.
"Good morning! First-years, yes? Excellent. Welcome to Herbology!"
She didn't waste time.
Today was an overview, she explained. No dangerous plants yet, no repotting or feeding of carnivorous shrubs. Just a tour.
They passed by Greenhouse One—filled with medicinal plants like Dittany, Puffapods, and Valerian. Then Greenhouse Two, where Professor Sprout paused dramatically in front of a thick door.
"In there," she said with a glint in her eye, "are the seedlings of the Venomous Tentacula. And if you're lucky, you'll learn how to survive them before your second year."
There were giggles and a few nervous glances. Fred muttered, "I hope I don't survive them. Sounds fun."
Thomas chuckled. Sprout went on to explain how certain spells like Aguamenti and Flammae Minor were sometimes used in plant maintenance or defense—not just against attackers, but against the plants themselves when they got feisty.
By the end, they were given a basic reading list and told to return next week with gloves and protective eyewear.
Then came History of Magic. Again.
The same dim classroom, the same ghostly Professor Binns floating just above his desk.
No one knew quite how he died. Some said he never realized he was dead.
What was certain was that the lesson, once again, was brutal.
He droned on about the Giant Wars of the 1400s, but the tone was flat, the delivery monotonous. Students all across the room struggled to keep their eyes open. Some failed spectacularly.
Thomas forced himself to focus. His quill scratched steadily over parchment as he noted the sequence of treaties and the downfall of the Eastern Coalition of Mountain Giants.
A glance around the room told him only Cedric and two other students were still actively listening.
He didn't blame the others.
But he knew something that most didn't: Effective use of time was half the battle in learning. And if he had to sit through this lecture, he would squeeze out every drop of value.
Friday afternoon came.
There were no more classes. No detentions. No emergencies. No new secrets to uncover—at least not yet.
Back in the Gryffindor common room, Thomas sat in a comfortable armchair near the fire. He reviewed his notes quietly for half an hour, then closed his notebook and looked around.
Fred and George were now showing Lee Jordan how to make a chocolate frog hop between mugs without touching it. Maribel Knox and Emily Vance were chatting in another corner of the room.
"Oi, Thomas," Fred called, "still working?"
Thomas looked up and smirked. "Took a break. Just watching the chaos."
George leaned over the back of his chair. "Learn anything exciting from Samber today?"
"No spells for the entire year. What's the point, then?" Thomas replied flatly.
"Maybe he's hoping we'll scare Dark wizards off with our vocabulary," Fred said dryly.
They all burst out laughing.
As the fire crackled and the stars blinked through the tall windows, the common room grew louder with chatter and jokes. It had been a frustrating week in some ways—but in this warm circle of Gryffindors, with the rhythm of Hogwarts slowly becoming familiar, Thomas felt a calm begin to settle.
One week down. Many more to come.