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// Chapter 36:  The Next Year 
// Story: The Accidental Invasion 
// by computerneek 
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Remus Lupin looked up when an unfamiliar owl fluttered in his kitchen window to offer him a very large letter at breakfast.  It was only a month or so before that the school year had ended, alongside the very public and gushing headline talking about Voldemort getting curbstomped by a second-year student and a few ghosts.  The funny thing was, that had been a Rita Skeeter article- but just like the last several about Hogwarts students, it had possessed a favorable tone- and he rather suspected Rita was beginning to revere the anonymous ‘Goddess of Reports and Duels’ as some kind of deity.  By looking back between the various articles, he found out that the apparently aptly-titled Goddess held some kind of authoritative position with Defense Against the Dark Arts.
In any case, he had very kindly agreed to take up the Defense Against the Dark Arts professorial position for Dumbledore, and had about two weeks left to decide on the direction his classes would go, and what books would be required for them.
So of course, he’d sent a letter to Professor McGonagall, to inquire after the records left by previous Professors- to find out what he had to build on.  She’d been able to give him just four years of records, though, not the expected six- because apparently, the last two years of professors hadn’t left records.  Not only that, but she’d actually expressed both surprise and gratitude for his request- because neither of the prior two years’ professors had made such a request!
After that, he’d sent a letter to Dumbledore, to ask after those last two years.
It had been almost a week since- which was funny, Dumbledore didn’t normally take nearly that long to reply.
Then of course, this owl was a snowy owl- and he was reasonably certain Hogwarts only had barn owls.
He accepted the very thick envelope graciously, and offered the owl some bacon- for some reason, all werewolves thrived on the stuff, and he was lucky enough to have a good enough relationship with a friendly pig farmer that he had more than he’d ever need- while he opened and read the letter, genuinely curious.
To his surprise, it was his letter of request to Dumbledore- and when he glanced down the oversized piece of parchment, he saw why.  His letter had been forwarded between people, each one adding a little note to the end of it, to get it where it was headed.


Dear Hogwarts Student Instructor Program,
Could you please furnish Professor Lupin with whatever records you have to this end?  He is an old friend of mine, and has kindly agreed to take up the position.
-Albus Dumbledore.


Bonbon,
You’re the only one that knows where these records are kept- could you take care of it, please?
-Twilight Sparkle


Hailey,
Please take care of this- see attached student records.
Bonbon.


He reached the bottom of the piece of parchment, and sighed.  Before digging in the pile of papers that comprised the rest of the envelope’s contents, he turned it over…  and was at once glad he did.





Dear Professor Lupin,
During the 2021-2022 school year, Professor Quirrell’s classes were little more than a joke- and as a matter of fact, classroom attendance very quickly reached zero, and remained there for much of the year.  There simply wasn’t anything to learn- which forced the Student Instructor Program Management Team to find their own material to pass on.  This was reinforced when Quirrell was later discovered to be hosting Voldemort himself.  I have very little personal experience with him; I was not an HSI until halfway through the year, and was essentially forbidden from attending his classes, for safety reasons.
During the 2022-2023 school year, Professor Lockhart’s classes were marginally better, though he was merely re-enacting his books.  This is, of course, unless you count that he was an aggressive, molesting moron that only ever hurt his students, and later accidentally obliviated himself after I brought him with me into the Chamber of Secrets.  The reports pertaining to Defense Against the Dark Arts classes in this period comprise just over one and a half classrooms at Hogwarts, so I will spare you the reading and try to hit the high points.
Overall, thanks to the far substandard Professors for the last two years, the Student Instructor Program was forced to produce our own material for instruction.  Since we lacked the experience and expertise of a true Professor, there are likely many gaps in the material we were able to cover.
Your third-year class spent half of their first year focusing on defensive mindsets and enhanced awareness, and the other half some basic defensive spells.  Their second year was then spent with a focus on incapacitating spells and, following the Dueling Club, the practical uses of various spells in duels.
Your second-year class spent its first year studying a blend of the same materials- some mindsets, some awareness, some defensive spells, and some practical skills.
Naturally, even though upper-year students, being your fourth-year class and above, are not participating in the Student Instructor Program, we still endeavoured to provide them with suitable optional supplement to the Professors’ lessons, and received positive feedback.  Only two classes had complete participation in this supplement; one has already graduated, and the other will be your fifth-year Gryffindor class.
I have attached a breakdown of the material that each class has covered, when, and estimated average uptake of said material.
Sincerely,
Hailey Potter
Head Student Instructor for Defense Against the Dark Arts-
And yes, the Goddess of Reports, apparently.





Lupin laughed out loud- then, as he paged through all the additional pages the girl had attached, he scowled.  The report was far more detailed than he had any right to expect, but there was a glaring deficiency.
They had never studied creatures…  which were generally agreed to be the best starting point for young students.
He knew what he would be teaching.  He had lesson plans to draw up.





Hagrid looked up at the row of students at the head of the room.  He’d bungled the test- he knew it.  Even though he also knew they weren’t allowed to fail him, since it was Dumbledore hiring him on, not them.
Still, they were in the Castle during the summer, just days before the Hogwarts letters would get sent out to begin the shopping season, by his request.  He’d been flabbergasted when Dumbledore offered him the job- and was desperate to prove that he could handle it, to prove that Dumbledore hadn’t made a big, Hagrid-sized mistake.  So, he was availing himself- that was the word, right?- of every resource available to him.
Such as the Student Instructor Program’s Student Instructor Course.  The entire management team was at the head of the class as instructors, alongside a number of other ‘guest instructors’ that were experts in teaching.  It was so strange, studying under a good twenty students…  in order to be able to most effectively teach a class of about twenty students.
“Well,” Hailey began, looking over the papers in front of her; for some reason, she had been the spokesperson for the entire team throughout.  “I believe you know our verdict doesn’t matter,” she observed, then looked up, and smiled.  “But it was a pass anyways.”
Hagrid stared.  He’d messed up- he knew he had.  And he knew where he had, and how.
She chuckled.  “Oh, don’t worry about small mistakes,” she told him.  “They happen to all of us, and what’s important is being able to learn from them.  Which you did demonstrate, I might add.”  She sighed.  “There’s really only one thing I’m worried about.  You know how scatterbrained Forzeda was?”
Hagrid winced.  Forzeda was one of the fictional people he was “teaching” in his test- one Hailey had played, actually, and amazingly well at that.
She nodded.  “There are several students like that, or even worse.  Compounded with your natural strength skewing your assessment of how much risk a creature can pose to a student, that could cause some huge problems…  So keep that in mind, but other than that, we say go for it!”
Hagrid almost smiled, but his worry still got the best of him.  “What was the score?” he made himself ask.
“Ninety-three percent,” Hailey answered cheerfully.  “And a hundred percent on the sudden-death points.”  She smiled up at him.  “That puts you firmly into the top twenty percent- some, what was it, ninety-eight percent?”  She looked over at Bonbon, who nodded.  She nodded herself.  “Ninety-eight percent of which are still instructors.”





Everyone at the staff table, with the exception of only Hagrid, stiffened when they saw the house-elf bringing in the letter and note to Professor McGonagall.  The letters had only gone out that morning- so it could only mean it was someone for whom delivery was outright impossible.  Hagrid, meanwhile, didn’t know.
As for herself, Minerva sighed as she accepted the note and letter, then unfolded it to read… and froze.  She read it over, three more times.
“Who is it?” Dumbledore asked.
“Myrtle Warren,” she answered slowly.  “Last stall, second floor girl’s lavatory…”  She lowered the note and letter to the table together.  “Hogwarts.”
“How is that even possible?” Flitwick asked.
“Good question,” Dumbledore muttered, before looking at McGonagall.  “You going to take it to her?”
She shrugged.  “Might as well try.”





“Myrtle?”
Myrtle Warren, often nicknamed ‘Moaning Myrtle’, floated up out of the toilet without sending water cascading everywhere.  “Mm?” she asked.
Professor McGonagall slowly extended an arm towards her, holding the letter.  She was much too far away, wary of splashes.  “You have a letter.”
“I-!?” Myrtle began, staring at it.  “I have a letter…?”  She floated forwards, out of the stall, and slowly reached out a hand towards the letter.
Then, very suddenly, she crashed to the floor with a startled scream.
“What the-!?” Myrtle cried, while McGonagall just stared…  before turning pearly white again and floating upright, looking astounded.  “Did I just-!?” she began.
She nodded.
Myrtle looked down, at the floor, and carefully floated down to just barely touch it.  Then she took a deep breath…  and, once again, became solid.  She stumbled, and stabilized herself on the stall dividers, before taking two deep breaths and looking at Professor McGonagall.  “I think I did it again!”





Vernon Dursley looked around uneasily as he walked towards the unfamiliar shop on the unfamiliar street.  It took him a second, but he spotted Hailey sitting at one of the tables and reading something.  He hurried over.  “How is it going?” he asked, without preamble.
Her return from Hogwarts had been…  interesting, to say the least.  Not only had her hair been far shinier and longer than it had ever been before, but she’d also been one-arming her heavy trunk around like it was made of tissue paper.  On top of that, when Petunia had rushed forward to hug her, she’d overbalanced- and Hailey had caught her, apparently effortlessly supporting her aunt’s weight.
The Big Question had eventually been asked over dinner- and apparently, not only was her transformation into Harry now voluntary, but she’d killed Voldemort a second time.
Then there was last Wednesday, when Petunia had taken her out shopping while he worked.  Some mugger or another had decided to attack them- and not only had Hailey treated his attack with disdain, she’d crumpled his knife into scrap metal with her bare hands.  Her explanation had been only two words:  ‘I’m invulnerable.’
Hailey looked up, and smiled.  “Pretty well,” she told him.  “We’ve finished with the main throng, so now we’ve just got the stragglers left to deal with.  How about you?”
He cracked an uncharacteristic smile as he sat down.  She’d be getting on the train to Hogwarts in just one week- and he’d been ferrying her to and from the Leaky Cauldron every day on his way to and from work.  “The usual,” he answered.  “Fridays are always busy.”
She chuckled.  “Always.  Even here.  Ice cream?”
He winced, glancing up at the sign.  It was Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor that he’d met her in.  “I didn’t bring any cash,” he told her.  “And I don’t want to impose.”
She laughed out loud.  “You know how much it costs?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Twelve knuts.  Call it just under two pounds.”  She shrugged.  “Then of course, I didn’t really think about it at the time, but HSI is a paid position.  And they aren’t paying me in galleons- no, the pay is in bits, their national currency.  Which has a forty-nine point three times advantage, when converted to galleons- so twenty bars per week for a hundred and thirty weeks now…”  She shrugged.  “All told, each ice cream costs me about…  what was it?  Three pence? Worth of said bits.”
He looked at her.  “Bars?”
She nodded.  “Each one is a hundred bits.  I’ve got an account at the local bank to the portal on their side, where most of it is being kept safe.”  She chuckled.  “Where it all was being kept safe, until I withdrew a couple bars on the way home last month.”
He sighed.  “Oh, alright.  What’s on the menu?”