Vincent's curriculum plan had laid out two stages.
Stage one: use films to kindle the young witches' and wizards' interest in the Muggle world and Muggle culture — break down their prejudices, and help them view Muggles as equals.
Stage two: introduce Muggle technology in earnest — reframed, naturally, in a way the young students could more easily accept — presented as the Muggles' own unique form of "magic." Starting with the everyday: electric lights, televisions, refrigerators, microwaves, water heaters — moving on to cars, recorded video, and at the right moment, the Muggles' great weapons: firearms, artillery, rockets, fighter aircraft, even nuclear bombs.
To give them lasting motivation to keep learning, something even more compelling than films had been brought in: video games. The NES had already been around for some years by this point, and even Muggle children back in Vincent's world had grown up mad for it — let alone a classroom full of young witches and wizards who had never experienced anything like it.
Dragon Quest. Final Fantasy. Street Fighter. Classic games — all of this era, all of which Vincent had hunted across half of London to acquire. Offered as rewards for academic performance, they proved to be extraordinarily effective at motivation.
The one person who had not expected to be first to fall completely in love with them was a cat.
The moment Bernadette stood up, the cat that had been sprawled nearby lapping catnip got to its feet as well — today it had taken the form of a black-and-white cow-patterned cat. It padded eagerly after Bernadette toward the classroom, as it had every time before. During gaming sessions it could only watch — it couldn't hold the controller — but it was hopelessly addicted anyway, often practising its tiny claw movements in the air, dreaming of the day it could grip a controller and play for itself.
Just as Bernadette reached the classroom, Professor McGonagall came briskly down the corridor. "Charles, there's something I need to tell you."
"Has something happened, Professor McGonagall? Am I being suspended again?"
"Oh, certainly not." McGonagall shook her head. "We have a new transfer student. As it happens, your Muggle Studies class will be her very first lesson here — and Professor Dumbledore mentioned that you already know her."
"Patricia?"
"That's right."
McGonagall lowered her voice: "The poor child. She lost her sight very young."
"I know."
Bernadette nodded. "Which house was she sorted into?"
"Slytherin."
McGonagall glanced down the corridor. "Ah — here she comes."
"Charles, is that you? I can hear your voice."
Patricia moved toward them, tapping her white cane ahead of her, her golden hair loose behind her, a warm smile on her face. She had already changed into her school robes. "Ha, so I'm going to be your junior now~"
"You two seem to be on very good terms." McGonagall visibly relaxed — it was the first genuine smile she'd seen from the girl since she'd arrived. She had been worried Patricia might be difficult socially.
Patricia turned to McGonagall and gave a small bow. "Thank you for everything, Professor McGonagall."
"Not at all~ Off she goes, then, Charles."
"Understood."
When they entered the classroom, both houses were already in their seats, chattering in twos and threes about which game they'd get to play today or what film might be showing. Then they saw the professor walk in alongside a rather striking-looking girl — and conversation died down.
"Everyone, I'd like to introduce a new classmate. This is Patricia Grindelwald, a Slytherin student."
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The first person to applaud was quickly followed by the rest, a bit instinctively. The class stared at the unexpected new arrival, each for their own reasons: some simply startled by her looks, some curious about who she was, a few of the sharper students already noticing something unusual about her eyes.
Until one or two people caught the name — and the murmur swelled:
"Grindelwald? The Grindelwald we're thinking of?"
"The Dark wizard Dumbledore defeated? Good lord, is this girl actually related to him?"
"That's impossible — Grindelwald isn't an exclusive surname for Dark wizards."
"Right, I refuse to believe Dumbledore would let a Dark wizard's descendants into Hogwarts."
Bernadette tapped the desk lightly. "Settle down. Patricia, you can sit—"
After two months of lessons together, the students had long since settled into their regular desk arrangements. Both houses worked out to even numbers, which meant Patricia was effectively without a partner.
"She can sit with me."
Neville raised his chubby little hand. He normally sat with Hermione.
"Two points to Gryffindor."
Bernadette hooked a finger and floated the last row of desks and chairs through the air, setting them down next to Harry and Ron's table. "Neville, you sit with Harry's group."
She gave Patricia a gentle tap on the shoulder, gesturing the way, but Patricia just smiled. "I can manage."
With her white cane tap-tap-tapping on the floor, she made her careful way across.
The sight confirmed what some of the students had suspected: their new classmate was, in fact, blind.
"Right, let's pick up from last time."
Bernadette ignored the sighs from the class and launched back into Muggle history.
Hermione introduced herself quietly: "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger."
"I'm Ron. He's Harry — the Harry, actually, the Chosen One — and the one who gave you the seat is Neville."
Ron turned around to announce this.
Harry immediately objected: "Ron, I'm not the Chosen One."
Patricia smiled. "I'm Patricia. It's very nice to meet you all."
"Are you... I mean, your surname — Grindelwald..." Ron dug a card out of his pocket. "Is it really the same Grindelwald who was defeated by Dumbledore?"
She shook her head. "I honestly don't know."
"Oh." Ron was a little disappointed — he and Harry had just had a bet on it. "This is your first class at Hogwarts, right? Charles's lessons are boring right now, but he always puts on films for us, and they're actually really—"
Harry nudged him.
Ron immediately adjusted. "Er, films are actually not that interesting. What is interesting are the games — ah."
Hermione's turn to nudge him.
Ron: "I'll just stop talking."
Hermione said softly: "I'm sorry about Patricia — Ron was born without a functioning filter. He doesn't mean any harm."
"I don't have a — fine, yes, my filter doesn't work."
"Ha."
Patricia laughed. "Don't worry about it. I'm not nearly as fragile as you might think." She turned those grey-white eyes toward Harry — eyes that couldn't see, and yet seemed to look. "Harry, Dumbledore mentioned that you and Professor Charles are quite close."
Harry scratched his head. "Not that close, really. I just knew Professor Charles before school started."
After two months at Hogwarts and having made real friends, Harry was a far cry from the anxious, overthinking boy he had been.
Patricia's smile widened. "What a coincidence — I knew him before school too."
After the first half of the Muggle history lesson concluded, it was time for the activity period everyone genuinely looked forward to. Per the established rules, the top ten students from the previous week's essays went first, in order.
Top of the list was Malfoy.
He gave Harry and Ron a triumphant look, then immediately threw himself into the game with unmasked delight, eyes alight —
The wizarding world simply didn't have much in the way of entertainment. Apart from Quidditch, there was Wizard's Chess, Gobstones, Exploding Snap — the same things they'd all been playing since childhood, long since worn out. Nothing compared to this.
The black-and-white cat appeared from somewhere and arranged itself neatly in front of the television, staring at the game on screen and going through its phantom claw exercises. Every time a student made a poor move, the cat was more agitated than the player themselves, visibly straining not to shoulder them aside and take the controller.
Hermione, as ever, wasn't particularly interested in the games. She was leafing through a borrowed second-year textbook, muttering: "I genuinely cannot understand what's so entertaining about that."
Patricia rested her chin in her hand. "I can't understand it either~ Because I can't see a thing."
Hermione froze mid-motion and was about to apologise — then remembered what Patricia had said earlier, and reconsidered. "How did you come to know Professor Charles?"
"Oh, a few years ago I was accidentally caught by some Dark wizards. Charles appeared and rescued me, and that's how we met."
"Dark — Dark wizards? Is that how your eyes—"
"My eyes were just an accident~"
Seeing that Patricia didn't want to discuss it further, Hermione said: "We could walk to class together from now on."
"I'd love that. But aren't you in Gryffindor?"
"Yes."
Patricia looked a bit sheepish. "I'm in Slytherin."
"Oh."
Hermione blinked. She had assumed, since Charles had seated Patricia next to her, that she must be Gryffindor too. Slytherin — that hadn't even occurred to her.
"Are Slytherin and Gryffindor really at daggers drawn here?"
"Not exactly." Hermione said. "But Slytherin students tend to act so superior about everything, and Gryffindors can't stand it — so we're always butting heads."
Patricia frowned slightly. "But you're the first friend I've made at Hogwarts. I don't want to butt heads with you."
"Don't worry. We can always be friends."
"Wonderful~"
Patricia tidied her hair casually, and asked, as if in passing: "Hermione, you've known Charles for almost two months now — have you noticed anything... strange about him lately?"
Hermione paused. "Strange? Not really."
"Ah, alright then."
To be continued…
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