Sirius, for his part, blinks a little blearily at the note over the rim of his pumpkin juice and shrugs expansively in Ophelia's general direction.

"...What?", she says, louder than she needs to to answer her roommates.  "I'm not going to stop cultivating contacts just because they're Gryffindors," she continues, injecting an appropriate amount of anti-lion disdain while implying that it doesn't mean they're not useful.  "That's leaving potential assets right on the table for enemies to scoop up.  But if you don't want to be able to steer them...More for me~!"

First year schedules contain a total of fourteen hour-long classes, half of them before and half after lunch, during the normal class day, plus one after sunset one of the days (colloquially, "midnight" classes, although they're actually scheduled at 10pm or 11pm provided you never attempt to consult a Muggle clock (1)). The number of free periods is partially driven by the expectation that they will spend a staggering number of hours a week lost in the castle for at least their first term, partially driven by the fact that nobody really expects eleven-year-olds to have more hours a week of academic focus in them than that, and partially driven by the fact that if you schedule them for any more the teachers run out of hours.

The first-year Slytherins' schedule for this year looks like this:

Monday:

9-10 History [Slytherin, Gryffindor]

11-12 Charms [Slytherin, Ravenclaw]

2-4 Transfiguration [Slytherin only]

🌒11-12 Astronomy (obsv.) [Slytherin, Gryffindor]

Tuesday:

1-2 Defense [Slytherin only]

3-4 History [Slytherin, Gryffindor]

Wednesday:

9-10 Potions [Slytherin, Hufflepuff]

11-12 Herbology [Slytherin, Hufflepuff]

2-3 Astronomy (theor.) [Slytherin, Gryffindor]

4-5 Flying (first term only, starts 2nd week) [Slytherin, Ravenclaw]

Thursday:

10-11 Defense [Slytherin only]

1-2 Potions [Slytherin, Hufflepuff]

3-4 Herbology [Slytherin, Hufflepuff]

Friday:

9-10 Charms [Slytherin, Ravenclaw]

"Oh yikes," says Travers, glancing over Avery's shoulder. "Monday night Astronomy. Worst one." 

"Nah, Friday's worse," interjects a shifty-eyed third year by the name of Fletcher.

" ... oof, not wrong, I forgot that was an option."

"Oh yeah we had that last year and it sucked massively."

(1) Wizarding Britain does not observe British Summer Time.

"Really, I'm more miffed that they expect us to be awake at 9 Monday morning.  For Cuthbert Binns of all teachers.  Throws 'having much focus for Astronomy practicals' right off."

"F'I was you I'd just sleep through Monday morning history," says Fletcher.

"Hey! Don't advise the children to skip class!" objects his roommate Runcorn.

"'M not a prefect I don't gotta be responsible."

"Does he actually mark attendance?  Because given that I've heard he hasn't actually changed up his lecture rotation, I have to admit that I'm considering it.  Though probably in favor of fitting in some self-study later, instead.  ...Really, I don't know why..."

A realization hits, and slips past the usual filter of her thoughts to exit her mouth unimpeded:  "...do they have to work everything around the schedule he died teaching in; that would be so fucked up.  Pardon my language."

"He does attendance but then he doesn't care if you go to sleep immediately after that."

"Come on, man - "

"Technically sleeping in class is not skipping class."

The second question is interesting enough to draw the attention of a nearby more-upperclassman, a fellow with a complexion and general dour seriousness vibe very similar to Karina's, who says, "Huh, now that you mention it...?" and starts scribbling out previous year's schedule from memory. "Oy, Carrow, when was your History class last year -"

"Good to know, thank you."

And (mostly) to the random upperclassman:

"Mine's with-Gryffindor 9-10 on Monday, 3-4 on Tuesday...and you'd certainly think they'd keep us away from eachother if they could, though maybe someone's hoping we'll bond over how boring and pointless listening to a ghost on repeat is?"

Igor Karkaroff (as she may at some point detect his name is; this is meaningless to Ophelia but may be interesting to the reader) nods appreciatively, and writes that down, and says, "Yeah, everybody's got a doubles class with the Gryffindors but it's usually something more fun - huh, I wonder if they could have actually not given you a double if they tried real hard or history was just the boringest they could do..."

"They'd have to sacrifice Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff mixing at that altar, I think?  But it would be theoretically possible notwithstanding magic bullshit."

Scribble, scribble. "Huh. Yeah, that sounds right. I wonder - "

"Karkarov. Dude. Obviously they are doing an experiment."

"Right. Ugh. Why do we let Ravenclaws make the schedules."

"I think it's Shafiq actually."

"...was she not a Ravenclaw?"

"No I think she's a Slytherin."

"Huh."

"But what experiment are they doing, though?  You can't just leave it at experimenting!  That's the boring part!  What are they trying to find out!"

Fletcher squints at her schedule. "History and Astronomy? They're trying to find out if they can stop the Gryffindors from hexing us every fifteen minutes if there's no spellcasting in the class."

"...Damn, that's actually pretty boring.  Checks out, though; trivial barriers or incitements to action can stop a lot of people who aren't particularly invested in doing whatever else - though I think whatever happens is likely to be particularly messy when it does.  ...At which point I think that the best reaction to play against them is 'Oh, okay.  Whatever.', and then undoing whatever they did.  They're children throwing a tantrum and we are better than that.  Make them feel ineffective."

"...Make who feel ineffective?" interjects Annie, confused.

"Whatever Gryffindor prankster is expecting us to play into the big bad Dark wizard role they've given us in their brains."

Karkarov snorts. "Right?"

Karina Dolohov squints dubiously. "You sure that won't just mean they try to hex us at a stupider, less predictable time?"

"Exactly."

And to Karina:

"They're already going to be trying that, I'd think; these are the ones that're really motivated to do it, remember?  Since the ones that are stopped by trivial barriers have been?  They'll seek out opportunities, which is why we want them to believe they'll get nothing if they find them."

She hums thoughtfully, continuing; "Ideally I'd pair this with some sort of socially sanctioned arena for hexing eachother that we can get something out of...Probably a dueling club of some sort?  I'm not certain whether one that's legal or illegal would be to best effect, there's benefits to both possible approaches...  Anyway, the idea there is to train them into pursuing their vendetta somewhat productively if they must pursue that drive at all.  Thusly, we would deny them rewards - attention - reaction, in the manner of - letting slip the facade of impassivity, of seeming to let them breach our defenses, of stooping to their level - when they're doing this in the halls, and give them a reward when they're approaching us in a manner that's useful.  Operant conditioning, straight out of the playbook used on Pavlov's dogs.  They'll be salivating at the bell in no time."

Karina, who has ever spectated the regularly reoccuring illegal Yaxley dueling club, hums thoughtfully. "Pitch Dumbledore on that, if you think you're so good at manipulating Gryffindors," she suggests. This is pitched like a dismissive joke, mostly, but as she says it she tilts her head in a sort of challenging, encouraging way, implying that Ophelia, particularly, who already spoke with Dumbledore, might maybe actually pull that off.

"...You know, I think I actually might."

She contemplates the High Table, looking over the teachers sitting there, and allows a thinly drawn, wistful smirk onto the cast of her thinking face.  "Though not at breakfast."

There are a collection of vaguely supportive, half-awake snickers.

Shortly, most of the rest of Slytherin House drifts away to 9am classes (or in the case of some of the upperclassmen, to the library). The only other significant population remaining in the Great Hall, in the 9-10 AM Thursday block, is the young Ravenclaws who also have this one free, and are murmuring to each other about taking turns carrying textbooks to Charms and Herbology classes.

Ophelia brought her oft-mended backpack for her intermediate-term book-carrying needs, if she cannot in fact fit her textbooks into her pockets.

But speaking of textbooks, she thinks she'll head to the library herself; she has a secluded corner to find and a letter to read.

Andromeda's note, unfolded carefully into the spine of a textbook, is written in a pecularily slanted script, from a quill bent nearly parallel to the surface of the page, hasty but perfectly regular.

dear ophelia

best advice keep head down til you can win duels. solve nothing dead

recommended text on cheap defense jinxes oscar nystul's swords and shields

ill talk to sirius & get back to you

btw my name is Andromeda
:)

Then she shall pass the next half-hour or so reading Oscar Nystul's Swords and Shields, and doing her best to privately practice what the book thinks she can cast - wand movements and incantations separately, to avoid any accidents while unsupervised - and some things it doesn't; she'll check it out from the library and ask Madam Pince for directions to the (first-year Slytherin, if it matters) Defense classroom at the same time.  Efficiency!

(She takes specific route notes, in a pocket notebook dedicated for the purpose.  They are not mapped on a grid; they are mapped on what someone who knows graph theory would recognize as a directed graph of sorts.  Rooms are solid nodes branching off of empty-node hallways.  ...She suspects she'll have to invent new notation for "changes based on time of day, day of week, number of times you've walked through this hallway in succession, etc." by the time she's done.  She also suspects there's a business opportunity to be had in the mapping, and rather intends to use it, if she can.  One must always seize opportunity.)

She makes a preemptive note in the binder reserved for notes on Defense, in the form of "extracurricular practice opportunities: (?)", to remind her to ask...

She doesn't actually know the name of the teacher; how embarrassing.  Well, hopefully they'll say it.

She wants professional supervision, and professional opinions, before she tries some of the more unconventional ideas in her spellbook - which is an actual notebook, or rather, binder, with her musings on spells written down within.  ...She'll have to ask her Charms teacher, too, probably.  Some of these ideas are...stretching things, at best.

...and she doesn't know what the wizards call mind-reading, but she's going to ask Madam Pince and the Defense Professor both about it, when she can.  This does not get a physical note; it stays in her head, because it's sensitive.  She's pretty sure it's unusual, and she needs a trump-card.

Given Ophelia's very reasonable current priorities regarding things that are and are not actively hazardous to her health, she may be well into the book by the time she consciously notices the fact that she's reading by the light of glowing silver and gold crystals embedded in every non-book surface. With between three and eight stories (this number is neither consistent nor particularly easy to determine even while it's holding still) of stacks, this is enough ambient light that it's just as easy to read as by ordinary sunlight.

Neither the library nor the librarian objects to the practice of spells specifically in intentional non-casting format, provided she keeps her incantations to a very quiet whisper. The librarian, when asked for directions, sighs in a somewhat long-suffering ah yes, the start of the year again way and advises her that the Defense classroom is best found by exiting on whichever floor currently contains the Counterjinxes shelf (she points; at the moment it appears that this is about two and a half stories up), which will tend to put you nearest the correct staircase. This does not, she warns pointedly, serve as a shortcut; if you're already in the library that is what you want to do, but if you're in the great hall it is faster to apply the usual strategy (three lefts on odd days, five rights on even days) than to try to cut through the library. Also, even if it were faster Madam Pince would clearly be very annoyed with you if you used the library as a glorified hallway, but it's not.

If she is done with the book, there are designated return carts (which trundle about at a very slow walking pace, gently emitting books back into their proper places); if she's not, she will need to sign her name on Pince's ledger to check it out.