The old man took slightly under five minutes to cover the fifty yards from the door to the middle of the classroom. Mary wished she’d be in such a good form when she got to his age - this guy must have worked out daily for the last eighty years or so. A glance to her right at Hans and Margaret told her they didn’t seem to find anything wrong with the situation. With a sigh, she took out a notebook and a pencil from her bag. Her chair came with an in-built, collapsible mini-desk, as she discovered. Sure, it wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable as a normal desk, but she could spin around while writing. She wondered if that was the purpose of having swivel chairs in the first place… In this place, probably?

The professor finished climbing onto his chair and started covering his desk with a two-inch-thick pile of papers. After another five minutes, he cleared his throat to get the students to silence. Either that, or he was coughing himself to death, Mary was giving it an even odds. It seemed to have the desired effect, though, and soon the classroom was relatively quiet. Well, if you didn’t count distant explosions in the background, but it was as good as it got in this place.

“First,” the old man said in a creaky voice, “let’s do a quick reminder of safety rules in this classroom.”

Mary breathed out in relief. So there were some safety rules. She’d already given up hope.

“You must all understand,” the professor continued slowly,” that there had, unfortunately, been some situations when student health, more, student lives were put in danger. Yes, yes, I, myself, was at fault at times, to my eternal grief and endless shame.” He sighed heavily. “Therefore, even if some of the rules I would like you to follow will seem overly cautious, entirely pointless, even, please trust my wisdom, and follow them anyway.”

It would probably be easier if he’d told them what they were, not how important they were...

“I know that some of you probably think yourself experienced, or even wise, despite your age. And let me assure you, that I do understand the sentiment, I very much do. Why, I myself remember, how it was, to be young…,” he trailed off, and stared into some distant space. Mary couldn’t help and followed his stare, and found a small graffiti on the wall - a small arrow, a tiny clock, and a note saying ‘8 minutes’. She glanced at her watch - it was, in fact, 9 minutes since their ’lesson’ had started.

“He’s a bit behind schedule today,” Margaret whispered in her direction. “Don’t worry, it happens. Well… quite a lot, actually.”

Mary scanned the other walls. This was far from the only drawing….

Almost an hour later, Mary perked up. Was it…? Dared she hope...?

“The first rule,” professor Slazzingar said, “is to never, ever run with your scissors in the class. Everyone,” he rose his shaking hands towards the ceiling, like a priest during prayer. “Stand up, please, and repeat after me.”

“I will never run with my scissors in class.”

Mary was too shocked to stand up. She wasn’t the only one that remained seated. In fact, most didn’t seem to bother - and only a couple of voices echoed the professor’s pledge. Mary thought she recognised Melanie’s voice in the chorus, but couldn’t be sure.

“Come, now, I have not heard everyone,” the old man said. Mary seriously doubted if that would change if everyone shouted at once. She started to stand up nonetheless, but Margaret pulled her down.

“Don’t worry, he’ll get bored of it by himself,” she told her.

That turned out to be true - after three more tries, the professor simply nodded to himself and continued with his lecture. “Ah, yes, the youth, always so loud, until someone actually wants them to speak up. Why, I remember just a few decades ago, one of my colleagues….”

Two hours. Two. Hours. One hundred and twenty minutes. Seven thousand and two hundred precious seconds of life Mary would never get back. Gone, forever lost in the endless void of the past. That long it took the professor to present three - three - rules. Don’t run with scissors, ask before going to the bathroom, raise your hand before asking any question.

“And now, that we can all feel safe, let’s get to the main topic of the lesson. The fireball spell.”

Students all around Mary started to wake up from their slumber. Some tried playing cards at the start, but the old man’s voice was too sleep-inducing for that to work. Hans and Margaret slowly rose from the nap they took - Margaret’s head used Han’s shoulder as a pillow, and served as a pillow for his head at the same time. It didn’t look too comfortable, but Mary wouldn’t say no to a trade off places nonetheless.

“Look at my right hand, everyone, “ the professor continued. He was making a gesture that would be rather rude, but with an unusually straight thumb. “To cast the spell properly, you must repeat your hand like this and say - kcufuoy!”

As soon as he stopped speaking, a blazing ball of crimson flames surged from his hand to the ceiling, where it exploded into a sea of flames that hungrily spread all over the stony surface, and started dripping down along the walls. Mary thought she could hear screams coming from the burning area, like a thousand students forced to hear the ‘safety rules’ a hundred times in a row. She shivered and bowed her head not to look at the raging inferno. It did nothing for the screams.

“It helps when you think warm thoughts, for some reason,” the professor continued in the same, drowsy voice. “Now turn around, and try casting the spell towards the wall. Try not to aim at the same place as your neighbours, or it will be hard for you to tell how well you did. Oh, and definitely don’t cast the spell at your neighbours, even if you find it especially hilarious.” He paused for a second. “What are you waiting for? It’s your turn! Go!”

Yeah… Nothing to worry about. Totally safe class. Mary only wished that that guy, Kevin sat on the other side of the room...