Erwin had no idea what the unicorn was on about, but he committed every word to memory. He'd look into it later. After all, it sounded like one of those fateful encounters straight out of a hero's tale—he wasn't about to pass it up.
In the familiar Great Hall, the young witches and wizards savored their final weekend dinner. Classes loomed tomorrow, yet the atmosphere buzzed with chatter and laughter—everywhere except the Slytherin table, where Erwin slurped his noodles with a malicious glint in his eye. He hoped they'd stay this cheerful for a bit longer.
As plates emptied, Professor McGonagall rose from the staff table and approached the podium. She tapped a nearby ornament twice, producing a clear chime that silenced the hall.
"Quiet, everyone," she announced. "Starting tomorrow, Hogwarts' class timetable will change. Mr. Filch has posted the details on the wall opposite the Great Hall. Check them at your leisure."
Bewildered glances rippled through the students. The sharper ones among them recalled Erwin's long-forgotten push for self-study sessions. Slytherin and Ravenclaw barely stirred—the eagles thrived on knowledge, treating the library like an extension of their common room, while the snakes, though inwardly groaning, held their tongues. After all, it was Erwin's idea; complaining wasn't an option. They'd endure it, even if it lasted all seven years.
The Hufflepuffs shrugged it off with their usual equanimity. But the Gryffindors erupted in murmurs.
Ron sidled up to Harry Potter. "Blimey, Harry! Hogwarts actually went for that slimy Slytherin's idea? No more lie-ins or free time! This is going to be torture."
Harry shrugged. "It's not that bad, Ron. We're miles behind Erwin as it is. We could use the push. Self-study might actually help."
Ron's eyes bulged. "Help? That's the sly git's scheme! Who knows his game—wear us out studying till we drop, then pull some dark trick? Come on, Harry, you're better than this!"
Harry shot Ron a sidelong glance, frowning. Without Dumbledore's private chat, he might've agreed. But the headmaster had convinced him: structured study was a boon, not a burden. Why was Ron so dead set against it? No drive, no fire—just blind resentment toward Slytherin.
Harry reflected on Ron's antics since term began: constant jabs at Slytherins, who in turn acted like the refined Muggle gentlemen he'd known—poised, commanding, courteous. Even Malfoy, once quick to snap back, now dismissed Ron entirely, thanks to Erwin's influence. Harry saw no villainy in Slytherin, only Ron's unfounded grudge.
Still, they were mates. "Fine, Ron, you're probably right. But what's the point? McGonagall's had Filch nail the timetable up—it's happening whether we like it or not."
Ron deflated, staring at his shoes in sullen silence.
Professor McGonagall scanned the houses, her expression darkening at the Gryffindor grumbles. She was knackered—utterly knackered. Envy twisted in her gut for Snape. Why couldn't Gryffindor have an Erwin? Or, failing that, perhaps she could wrangle Head of Slytherin from him? She mulled over the impossible pitch, already rehearsing it in her mind.
The students filed out, clustering by the wall to scrutinize the new timetable. Erwin joined his Slytherins, eyes lifting to the bold schedule.
Morning self-study kicked off at 6:00 a.m., wrapping at 7:00, followed by breakfast at 7:30. First period started at 8:30 and ran to 10:00, with a 20-minute break. Second period followed at 10:20, ending at 11:50, then lunch and respite.
Mornings focused on lecture-style classes like History of Magic, kept to small groups. Afternoons, from 2:30 to 6:30, dove into hands-on subjects: Herbology, Transfiguration, Flying. Potions, now that first-years brewed independently like the older students, shifted there too.
Dinner came next, then evening self-study from 7:30 to 9:00 p.m. Lights out at 10:00 sharp.
New rules dotted the edges. No professors lectured during self-study; it was for independent review and practice. Each house's Head of House oversaw their common study space—split into a quiet reading area and an adjacent spell-practice zone—fielding questions and enforcing order. Upper-year students could seek guidance from prefects or the head.
Safety was paramount, especially with spellwork. These tweaks—Erwin's brainchild, of course—aimed to boost house points through disciplined progress. McGonagall had insisted on the Heads' supervision; unsupervised hexes from overeager older students spelled disaster.
As the group dispersed, Erwin smirked. The real fun would start tomorrow.