Harry Potter: Bring fairytales to Hogwarts

The rays of the setting sun streamed through the open window of the top-floor attic, casting a warm golden glow over all the students. Yet, with Professor Victor's eerie expression looming over them, not a single student could feel the sunlight's warmth.

When does intuition feel the strongest?

Now, perhaps?

A few students nervously swallowed hard, casting anxious glances at the professor.

But clearly, there were always those who remained oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, such as Slytherin's Mr. Flint.

Burly and broad-shouldered, Flint was the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Unfortunately, he was also the least clever among those who excelled at dirty tricks. His position as captain was owed entirely to his overwhelming strength (and his uncanny ability to knock Gryffindors off their brooms midair).

In the brief silence of the classroom, Flint began his usual taunts directed at his eternal rival, Wood, who sat at the same table.

"Intuition? You have that? Funny, I remember you swearing Gryffindor would win the Quidditch Cup every year," Flint sneered, elbowing Wood in the arm.

"Don't get too smug, Flint. This year, victory's ours," Wood gritted through clenched teeth.

"With Potter? He's just a first-year. You must be dreaming about the House Cup."

"Ha! You Slytherins wouldn't dare play fair for once—"

"Ahem."

A cough interrupted their escalating argument. Both Flint and Wood froze, slowly turning to see Victor standing behind them, wearing a faint but unsettling smile.

…Wait, when did he get there?

Wood paled, and Flint shot an accusing glare at the classmate beside him, as if blaming them for not warning him.

"Flint. Wood. Stand up."

"You two can go first," Victor said flatly.

"No problem, Professor," Flint boomed confidently. "My intuition's sharpest when I'm in a fight. So, can I fight Wood?"

"No."

Victor didn't bother wasting words.

Instead, he walked back toward the fireplace under the curious gaze of the students, retrieving a golden, pointed hat. It resembled the Sorting Hat but with more intricate patterns etched into its surface.

"Your task is simple. Focus on this hat and recite the incantation we just discussed," Victor explained, placing the hat on the front desk.

"Take particular care: the tone of the last section should rise higher than the first two, with emphasis on the final syllable. Otherwise, the hat's curse might activate, and you'll end up like the Wicked Witch of the West."

Several students gasped.

Wood, hand raised high as always, opened his mouth to question, but Victor preempted him.

"Relax," Victor said smoothly. "The curse is harmless for young people like you. You'll simply need to avoid water for the next week."

"And if you do get wet, don't worry. The only consequence is… temporary hair loss. Your hair will regrow naturally in seven days."

"...Hair loss for seven days?"

Several female students gasped in horror, staring at the hat as though it might leap at them.

"Indeed. And no, hair-restoring potions won't help—part of the curse's charm, you see," Victor said with casual detachment. "The curse is harmless for ordinary wizards, but for certain long-lived witches or wizards, it can be deadly."

"If misused twice, the curse becomes permanent. In fact, a certain Western Wicked Witch's century-long reign ended with a single splash of water." (A nod to The Wizard of Oz.)

The students perked up at this, though their interest was mild—they were teenagers, not remotely concerned with centuries-long lifespans.

Mostly, they feared hair loss.

The girls, in particular, looked like they were preparing for battle as they eyed the hat warily.

After a moment of silence, Flint impatiently asked, "Professor, what does this have to do with intuition? Are you saying we're at our most intuitive when we're losing hair?"

"Of course not."

Victor motioned for Flint to come forward, which he did with nonchalance.

"Begin," Victor instructed. As Flint chanted, Victor explained the connection between the hat and intuition:

"Originally, the incantation 'Ze Xi Ze Ke' wasn't meant to enhance foresight. It was a spell to form a spiritual link with the hat. By tweaking it slightly, I've repurposed it for prophetic abilities."

"The hat's original function was to summon flying monkeys who would perform three tasks for you."

Just as he said this, the golden hat suddenly let out a loud pop! Out flew five or six strange little monkeys.

Each monkey was slightly larger than a palm, with brown fur, bright red faces, and black feathered wings resembling a hawk's. They cackled loudly, clutching tiny golden forks that glimmered ominously.

Immediately, they darted toward Flint, forks aimed squarely at his backside.

Flint instinctively raised his wand, but one monkey had already swooped under his cloak, snatching it away and flying to the ceiling.

The rest gleefully jabbed their golden forks at Flint's rear.

"ARGH!" Flint yelped, clutching his behind and leaping into the air. His face twisted as if his backside were on fire.

But nothing had happened—not even a thread of his robe was out of place.

The monkeys laughed uproariously, chasing after Flint with their forks. Flint, panicked, began running around the classroom.

The other students exchanged wide-eyed looks as Flint circled the divination room. A few ducked as the monkeys flew past, relieved to find they were only interested in Flint.

Somehow, the monkeys even managed to prod Flint out of crashing into classmates, forcing him onto a clear path.

And so, Flint began his laps around the room...

Only then did Victor leisurely finish his explanation:

"…Once chosen, these mischievous monkeys will make you run twenty laps while jabbing at you."

"They also have illusion magic on their forks. Sometimes, you'll feel a burning sensation; other times, you'll hear piercingly enlightening sounds."

"So don't forget to chant correctly while running. If you get it right, you'll move faster and dodge their forks—"

Flint screamed again as the monkeys caught up, his face turning purple as he clutched his stomach.

Victor paused, raising an eyebrow.

…Occasionally, the forks cause phantom bladder pain.

He decided it wasn't worth mentioning.

Victor's gaze drifted before he returned to his chair, calmly ordering the next student to take their turn with the hat. Inside the hat, dozens of flying monkeys awaited, ready to test everyone.

Ultimately, intuition varies. Some students are sharpest when called on in class, others during roll call, or even in life-and-death moments.

But no matter the circumstance, the flying monkeys could replicate it all.

If you feel an overwhelming unease while chanting—

It means you're in for a thoroughly unlucky lesson.

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