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BFH# Chapter 50: The Fifth-Year Curriculum
🕑 Added 2025-01-19 14:03:17 +0000 UTCTime passed swiftly amidst Victor’s quiet observations of the students and professors.
Apart from Professor McGonagall beginning to wonder why Peeves had been absent for so long, Professor Dumbledore giving Victor a few hesitant looks as if he had something to say, and Snape casually mentioning, “The Malfoy family seems to want a word with you,” everything else was perfectly ordinary.
Victor was relatively content with his current, laissez-faire life.
After all, there were no church officials or priests knocking on his door to cause trouble, nor were there any kingdom wars disrupting his routine and forcing him to return to the mage's tower only to find it vanished.
October
As Halloween approached, the air in the school turned colder. The windproof charms on their cloaks worked tirelessly, sparing the wizards from having to dress like puffed-up spheres before stepping outside.
It was a Friday evening, and the last Divination class of the week was in progress. The golden sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the small clouds of mist visible with every breath the students exhaled.
This time, the fifth-years were the ones in class. Compared to other grades, they were the most troublesome. Third-years could be filtered out through introductory divination tests, and sixth- and seventh-years could be taught more casually. Fifth-years, however, had to face the O.W.L.s, making them the group Victor had to handle with particular care.
This also meant that even if they mastered the art of true prophecy, they’d still be unlikely to score full marks on the exam—because true Divination seldom yielded precise answers.
Thus, Victor prepared to focus solely on exam-oriented teaching.
In the classroom, every student sat obediently at their round tables, their heads bowed as they fervently took notes on parchment. Their quills moved rapidly, while their ears were attuned to Victor’s slow, deliberate voice:
“… As I mentioned during our first class, I do not agree with the content of the O.W.L.s exams at all. Even if you master these materials, it will not advance your skills in the slightest, as you won’t truly be able to see the visions.”
“So, to merely get through this utterly meaningless exam, this year I will teach you only one thing—”
“Cheating.”
The room rustled. Hearing this word, the students, who had already been scribbling furiously, became even more animated, filling the classroom with the soft scratching sounds of quills.
Victor, however, had no idea what there was to write down.
Amidst the flurry of note-taking, a burly Gryffindor boy raised his hand high.
“Go ahead, Mr. Wood.”
“Professor, I’ve heard that cheating on the O.W.L.s is against the Wizards' Law and that serious offenders could even be sent to Azkaban,” Wood said, his expression tinged with confusion.
“That is correct,” Victor nodded. “I’m glad to see at least some of you have read the Wizards' Law.”
“Mr. Wood is absolutely right. According to the law, engaging in plagiarism, smuggling crib notes, or conspiring to cheat during major exams such as the O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s will result in legal repercussions, including suspension, expulsion, or even three days' detention in Azkaban for severe cases.”
“Therefore, I strongly advise against any of the aforementioned prohibited actions.”
The students looked even more puzzled.
No crib notes? No copying? Then how could one cheat?
Victor evidently sensed their confusion. He paused for a moment before waving his wand in the air, conjuring a line of text:
Legal Cheating Methods
He turned back to face them.
“As the text says,” Victor remarked coolly, observing the students’ confused yet intrigued expressions, “aside from low-level cheating methods like crib notes, we can exploit loopholes in the rules to cheat openly and legitimately.”
“For instance—how many of you have ever tried using dice to decide answers on a multiple-choice question?”
Immediately, a flurry of hands shot up, including Wood’s.
“Good.”
Victor nodded, motioning for them to lower their hands.
“Clearly, rolling dice during an exam does not violate any rules.”
“Similarly, other unconventional approaches, such as picking answers by randomly tapping with your quill, relying on gut instinct, or estimating the most likely answer based on the question's length, are all permissible.”
“These techniques actually fall under the domain of Divination.”
“While the last one leans more towards Arithmancy, with proper training, you can significantly increase the accuracy of these methods.”
The students’ expressions instantly brightened, especially those struggling academically, who suddenly saw a glimmer of hope.
Victor, however, abruptly shifted the tone:
“So, why do I call this ‘cheating’? Simple. With rigorous training and a reasonable application of your third eye, your multiple-choice accuracy could reach 100%. And Divination happens to be the only subject without a practical exam.”
“And if you study the exam questions in advance, you’ll be pleasantly surprised to discover that the entire test contains only one short-answer question worth six points. Even if you leave it completely blank, you could still end up with an ‘O’ on your report card by year’s end.”
The students erupted in gasps of amazement, their excitement reminiscent of their third year when Professor McGonagall had transformed into a cat and back again during their Animagus lessons. The tangible wonder of it had provided lasting motivation to learn Transfiguration.
It was the same with Divination.
Although mastering it wouldn’t grant them the ability to predict the magical world’s future, it would allow them to ace their exams. What was there to hesitate about?
Amid their exhilarated faces, Victor leisurely walked back to the front of the room and settled onto the reclining chair left behind by Professor Trelawney, appearing utterly relaxed.
With a flick of his wand, the text hovering at the front of the classroom changed once more.
It now displayed three familiar lines:
"Aip, Paip, Kaire;
Silo, Horo, Haire;
Zese, Zese, Zekke."
When the white text appeared, a student who had been chatting with seventh-years raised a hand to ask:
“Professor, aren’t those the incantations for the Pocket Watch Prophecy that seventh-years learn? Don’t they require mandrake leaves? Will we get any too?”
At his question, a few nearby students exchanged eager glances—they had tried learning the Pocket Watch Prophecy spell earlier in the year but failed due to the lack of mandrake leaves.
Victor swiftly dashed their hopes.
“Unfortunately, the school is completely out of mandrake leaves. The Herbology classroom’s mandrakes have all been stripped bald. If I so much as eye them, Professor Sprout might challenge me to a duel.”
“The good news is, you won’t need them.”
“Mandrake leaves merely strengthen the connection, serving as a shortcut for seventh-years. But you have an entire year to cultivate the same ability yourselves…”
“And then silently recite this incantation to achieve wandless and non-verbal casting.”
Suddenly, Victor flashed a smile that sent a chill down the students’ spines.
“By the way, do you know when a person’s premonitions are the sharpest?”
