Every Defense Against the Dark Arts professor left their own mark on the classroom, and Sirius's version radiated both elegance and mischief.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, glinting off the glass lamps lining the walls.
Once the students had taken their seats, Sirius straightened his robes with deliberate grace.
"Before we begin, there are a few things I want to tell you."
He looked every bit the charming rogue—wavy hair, a well-kept beard, and a relaxed, confident air.
"I'll never forget the first time I walked through these castle doors."
His gaze drifted across the rows of young faces, and for a moment, his expression softened with memory.
"When I was a student, I wasn't exactly what you'd call well-behaved. In fact," his lips curved in a half-smile, "I was probably far more troublesome than any of you could imagine."
He leaned casually against the desk, his eyes flicking briefly toward Harry.
Their eyes met, and the unspoken warmth between godfather and godson passed silently through that glance.
"Back then, things weren't so different. The Dark Lord was gathering power, and his shadow loomed over our world."
"Defense Against the Dark Arts isn't just another subject," Sirius continued, his tone turning firm. "It's not only about earning grades for a future career. Sometimes, what you learn here can mean the difference between living and dying."
His words carried weight, and the students listened intently—captivated by the professor whose life had become legend.
In their third year, Sirius Black had been an escaped convict—his name alone enough to throw all of Hogwarts into panic.
But that was also the year they learned the truth—that Sirius had been wrongly accused.
He had spent twelve long years in Azkaban.
People naturally felt sympathy for a tragic hero.
Sirius had fought against the Dark Lord, been trusted by one friend, betrayed by another, and imprisoned for crimes he didn't commit.
If his life had been written as a book, it would've been a bestseller.
The students listened intently as Sirius recounted how his knowledge of defensive magic had helped him survive encounters with Death Eaters, and how his best friend, James Potter, had once been one of the most admired figures at Hogwarts.
"That's enough storytelling for now. Let's get back to class."
In just a few minutes, Sirius had won over much of the class.
"First things first," he said—not asking anyone to open their textbooks, nor beginning a formal lecture—but instead calling out, "Mr. Malfoy."
Malfoy, who hadn't been paying attention, froze for a second, unsure he'd heard correctly.
"Draco Malfoy," Sirius repeated, this time with more emphasis.
Malfoy scoffed under his breath, lazily lifting his gaze. "What is it?"
Harry, too, was puzzled. He couldn't imagine what Sirius wanted with Malfoy—their only real encounter had been that chaotic night at the Ministry.
And it definitely wasn't good news.
The rest of the class looked on in confusion, wondering what Malfoy could have done.
"Slytherin, minus twenty points."
Sirius's words stunned everyone.
Malfoy jolted upright, the lazy arrogance vanishing from his face. He glared at Sirius, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Being a professor doesn't mean you can deduct points without reason, Professor Black."
Unfortunately for him, Sirius—once one of Hogwarts' most notorious troublemakers—wasn't someone easily intimidated.
He met Malfoy's glare head-on and said coolly, "Yesterday, you attacked Harry Potter on the train. How's that for a reason?"
Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't expected his godfather to publicly stand up for him.
Malfoy frowned, his voice sharp as ice. "I'll be speaking to Professor Snape about this."
"Go ahead," Sirius replied casually. "Now sit down."
As he motioned for Malfoy to take his seat, Draco turned his spite toward Harry.
"Potter, your godfather really does love you, doesn't he? Go on—why don't you complain about me again?"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry shot back, glaring.
"Five more points from Slytherin for disrupting class," Sirius said smoothly.
The retort on Malfoy's tongue never made it out. He gave a cold snort and dropped heavily into his seat.
Every Slytherin in the room glared daggers at Sirius, while the Gryffindors looked at him with open admiration.
After all, they'd spent years suffering under Snape's arbitrary point deductions.
Now someone was finally giving Slytherin a taste of their own medicine—and they couldn't have been more thrilled.
John narrowed his eyes slightly.
So this was Sirius's way of asserting dominance?
It seemed he intended to throw his support behind Gryffindor—by making an example of Malfoy.
"Kill one to warn the others," John mused inwardly. "Malfoy's the chicken… so who's the monkey?"
Leaning back in his chair, a faint smirk touched his lips. He didn't even bother pretending to pay attention.
Still, he had to admit—judging by Slughorn's choice, Sirius fit the current political climate perfectly.
A war hero who had once fought the Dark Lord himself—no one was more qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.
And truth be told, Sirius had the credentials to back it up: years of experience fighting Death Eaters, and a reputation as one of Hogwarts' brightest students in his youth.
Nothing about him disqualified him from the role of professor.
But that attitude of his… was interesting, to say the least.
This was the Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts class, after all—meant to teach techniques beyond the ordinary.
One of those, as Oz had mentioned the previous year, was nonverbal casting.
"Now, pair up," Sirius said briskly. "One of you will cast a spell without speaking, while the other defends—also without speaking."
He dove straight into the practical portion of the lesson.
Malfoy immediately stepped forward, locking eyes with Harry in open challenge. "What's wrong, Potter? Going to hide behind your Dogfather?"
"Malfoy."
Harry's eyes flared with anger as he stepped out to face him, choosing Malfoy as his partner without hesitation.
And with that, things quickly spiraled—under Malfoy's lead, every Slytherin turned toward a Gryffindor opponent.
Even Hermione found herself facing Daphne.
"Excellent defense, Miss Granger—five points," Sirius called out.
"Keep your voice down, I heard you muttering the incantation," he added a moment later.
"Neville Longbottom—five points!"
"Blaise, I said no incantations. Minus five."
From then on, Sirius transformed into a relentless grading machine, handing out points and penalties without mercy.
Malfoy flicked Harry's wand out of his hand—a clean enough move that Sirius might've let it slide.
But then Malfoy followed it up with a hex meant to sting, and Slytherin lost another ten points on the spot.
John hadn't moved once. He didn't even lift an eyelid.
His fingers idly turned the ring on his hand; no one in the room dared test their luck by challenging him.
Even Sirius, noticing the peculiar authority John carried among the students, couldn't simply ignore him.
"Wick," Sirius said, his tone edged with amusement, "I take it you think you've already mastered this technique?"
"You could put it that way."
The calm confidence in John's voice made the entire classroom fall silent.
He smiled faintly as he stood, the sound of his chair scraping across the floor cutting through the hush.
"Step aside," he said lightly, his gaze sweeping over the other students.
They scattered at once, clearing space.
With unhurried grace, John drew his wand, the motion smooth and deliberate.
"Well then, Professor," he said casually, "if you don't believe me—why not test it yourself?"
His tone was relaxed, but there wasn't a single person present who felt they could say no.
"Let's see if my nonverbal spell passes the test. As for the reward…" John's gaze drifted from Sirius's left rib up to his face, his tone turning faintly amused. "I'll take full freedom in your class from now on."
The air in the room went still.
He was challenging a professor—openly.
That had never happened before.
Well, except once, back in fourth year—but that hadn't been during class.
John Wick had always been the model of focus and discipline during lessons.
Apparently, Sirius's deduction of Slytherin's points had crossed a line.
Malfoy's eyes lit with excitement; Harry, rubbing the back of his head, straightened in surprise.
Across the room, Ron gaped—just in time to be sent flying by Goyle's loudly muttered spell.
On the other side, Daphne and Hermione exchanged silent, furious volleys of light—neither uttering a sound, both determined to win.
John gave his wand a lazy flick, a quiet laugh slipping from his lips. "Heh~ Don't disappoint your students, Professor."
"John Wick," Sirius said evenly, slowly drawing his wand, "you don't seem to have much respect for authority."
"Ahaha~ I respect those who've earned it."
John's grin widened.
He spoke no incantation. A flash of white light tore through the floor between them, sparking like lightning, leaving two deep, smoking grooves where stone had shattered under the strike.
Sirius's eyes narrowed sharply.
That spell—he recognized it instantly. The Second King's Strike of the wizarding world.
He reacted on instinct, casting a Shield Charm. The white flash still grazed him, the sheer force bending his wand on impact. "Urg.."
"Your turn, Professor."
John stood motionless, calm as a mountain, gesturing for Sirius to strike back.
He carried himself like a king granting his opponent the next move—an air that made it feel as though Sirius was the challenger, not the teacher.
Sirius's expression hardened. The faint, stinging tremor along his wand told him all he needed to know: he'd lost that exchange.
Determined to reclaim his footing, Sirius retaliated.
A surge of red energy burst from his wand, arcing forward like lightning.
He attacked with full strength.
The crimson bolt streaked toward John—who merely flicked his wrist, almost lazily.
A sheen of silver armor flared to life around him for an instant, scattering sparks as the red light dissipated harmlessly.
Sirius's brows furrowed. "An advanced Shield Charm… impressive."
That gleaming silver barrier wasn't mere textbook magic—it was mastery.
And as he stared at John, Sirius couldn't help but feel a chill of disbelief.
This boy's power was far beyond that of any student.
More than the strength of the Shield Charm itself, what truly shocked everyone was John's mastery of nonverbal magic.
Such precision—such power—Sirius had only ever witnessed it from Voldemort and Dumbledore.
He gave John a long, complicated look before finally saying, "Excellent nonverbal casting. Five points to Slytherin."
Though he hated to admit it, the spell deserved applause.
John gave a faint smile, then turned and walked out, his movements smooth and unhurried.
He'd proven, beyond doubt, that this class meant nothing to him—except for the final exam.
And no one in the room, not even the professor himself, found that unreasonable.
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