The very next day, in a fourth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Rouse led his students out to the training grounds. Without preamble, he drew out an AKM rifle.
Before the astonished eyes of the young witches and wizards, he raised it toward a black straw dummy and emptied the entire magazine.
In less than three seconds, the dummy was riddled with holes, smoke rising as flames licked through the shredded straw.
"How many of you could have reacted in time?" Rouse demanded. "No—that's the wrong question. None of you could. Unless, of course, you had a pre-cast Shield Charm waiting, locked and ready to fire the moment you sensed danger."
He lowered the weapon with a scoff. "Facts speak louder than words. I don't know Professor Burbage well, though I've heard she's a good person. But being a good person does not make one professionally competent."
His lip curled. "And what is your Muggle Studies class researching? Flashlights?"
He gave a short laugh. "My great-grandfather had one of those. They've been in wizarding households for decades—useful once, yes, more convenient than Lumos perhaps, but outdated now. Obsolete knowledge does you no favors. In fact, it blinds you to the real level of Muggle advancement."
He shook his head and waved the subject away. "But enough of that. I'm not your Muggle Studies professor. No point lecturing on another's subject."
Since they were already outside, he decided to continue with a proper outdoor lesson. He led the students into the Forbidden Forest to observe magical creatures in their natural environment, telling them to take notes and collect samples where possible.
When Tom heard of this demonstration later, he found his opinion of Rouse shifting.
The man admired Grindelwald, respected his vision for wizarding supremacy—but unlike many extremists, Rouse bore no hatred toward Muggles. Quite the opposite: he was fascinated by Muggle technology, and surprisingly knowledgeable about their innovations.
This wasn't unique to him. Across the Atlantic, many American wizards held similar views. Muggles' growing influence was undeniable, seeping into every corner of magical society.
Tom himself wasn't seriously considering breaking the Statute of Secrecy—not yet. But if that day ever came, the true ideal would not be domination, nor isolation. It would be coexistence. A fusion of magic and technology.
Still, it was a dream far too difficult to reach.
Professor Burbage soon learned what had taken place. No one knew her exact reaction, but by the next day she had taken an indefinite leave of absence, admitted to St. Mungo's.
The other professors were left unsettled.
These Defense Against the Dark Arts professors—every year one appeared stranger than the last. Either morally dubious, or dangerously reckless.
To smuggle a Muggle firearm into Hogwarts—just to humiliate a colleague! How were they supposed to face each other in the staff room after this?
Yet Dumbledore seemed unbothered, smiling as ever. For him, the school finally had stability: no constant complaints from students, no endless crises. A competent professor at last.
He even invited Rouse to tea in his office, where they spent hours discussing Muggle society. By the end of it, Dumbledore had remarked warmly, "If you weren't teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, you'd make an excellent Muggle Studies professor."
…
"Riddle, I've seen your paper with Newt!"
By the end of September, Tom was having breakfast at the Slytherin table when Professor Kettleburn, limping heavily as usual, came striding over with a magazine in hand.
"You mean the one on evolution?" Tom set down his spoon and glanced at the cover.
The Niffler's Treasure.
The name was whimsical, but the journal was one of the most respected scholarly publications on magical creatures.
Newt had already mentioned their submission had been accepted. Tom himself had even received the system's notification that morning: five hundred academic points, fifty achievement credits. A small reward, but a reward nonetheless.
"That's the one!" Kettleburn's face split in a grin. "I once held similar theories, even tested them myself. Lost this leg for it too—and still failed."
He thumped the table with enthusiasm, ignoring the staring students. "Your paper mentioned unicorns, thunderbirds, and even the venomous leopard. Tell me, Riddle, what's your take on the evolution of the Ashwinder?"
Without waiting for permission, he plopped himself down right on the Slytherin table, eyes shining with expectation.
Most of his injuries, Tom knew, had come from such reckless experiments. That missing leg? The result of attempting to enhance an Ashwinder's flames with an Engorgement Charm. The creature exploded into ash—and his leg with it.
Tom considered briefly, then spoke. "Professor, I think you should begin with the eggs. Just like with dragons—if you improve the quality and intensity of their flames at the embryonic stage, the resulting Ashwinders would be healthier and stronger."
Kettleburn's eyes lit up. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that? I was always focused on the adults."
Then he sighed wistfully. "I'm retiring next year. Otherwise, I'd relish teaching you longer. Who knows what else I might learn."
Tom gave him a polite smile. "You've earned your retirement, Professor. But if you ever have ideas, I'd be glad to exchange letters."
"Good lad." Kettleburn clapped him on the shoulder, beaming. "No wonder Newt's so fond of you."
As it happened, Kettleburn had been a couple of years behind Newt at Hogwarts, and the two had remained close. Their bond was genuine, rooted in shared passion and hardship.
Leaving the magazine behind for Tom, Kettleburn hobbled off.
Only then did the rest of the students burst into chatter, the journal passed eagerly from hand to hand. Few could understand its content, but that didn't stop Slytherins from glowing with pride.
Our House has a student publishing academic papers, they thought smugly. And what about you? Nothing but mediocrity.
"Congratulations," came a calm, bright voice.
As breakfast ended and Tom stepped into the corridor with the crowd, Cho caught up to him, smiling knowingly. "Another paper published—well done."