"Firearms," Rouse said solemnly, "are Muggles' greatest invention—and one of their most wicked. With these weapons, they have slaughtered hundreds of millions of their own kind. Ah… forgive me. Perhaps I overestimate your knowledge."
"…your math isn't quite up to scratch, so let me simplify: that's like ten thousand Hogwartses' worth of people dead. Now you get the picture, don't you?"
"On top of firearms, Muggles created all sorts of weapons of mass destruction," Rouse went on, pacing slowly before the flickering screen, "but those don't worry us much. The Ministry has entire departments monitoring them. If anything unusual happens, the local Aurors and wizards are evacuated immediately.
"But guns… guns are different. If a wizard is caught off guard, in front of a firearm we are no different from Muggles."
"Impossible!" Malfoy blurted out, his pride stung. "We have magic! What do Muggles have?"
Rouse cast him a sideways look. "Do you know the Shield Charm well enough to rely on it?"
"Me?" Malfoy's pale cheeks flushed crimson. He stammered for a long moment before mumbling, "I'll master it… eventually!"
"Do you know nonverbal spells? Do you know rapid nonverbal casting? Do you even know the speed at which a bullet travels?"
Rouse' questions hit like hammer blows, silencing the boy. When Malfoy had no answer, Rouse finally continued, "Exactly. If you can truly master the Shield Charm, then against ordinary firearms, your safety is guaranteed."
The images on the curtain shifted again. A wizard under gunfire—bullets bouncing wildly off a shimmering shield.
"But when the enemy wields something stronger—sniper rifles, armor-piercing rounds—your standard Shield Charm begins to falter."
The next slide showed a wizard's shield cracking apart, a bullet grazing his arm and striking the target behind him.
"In my country," Rouse said grimly, "there are on average 1.2 firearms per person. Many own far more powerful weapons. And in such a… free society, shootings occur daily. Once, in a single day, I witnessed twelve separate gang wars. The bloodshed… the deaths alone equaled the size of one of your entire classes."
A ripple of horror swept through the students.
"That means any Muggle you meet on the street could pose a fatal threat. In such a world, tell me—what spell should be your first defense if not the Shield Charm?"
The pure-bloods froze, their faces pale, eyes wide. They had never imagined the Muggle world to be so terrifying.
Slide after slide flickered—street battles, blood spraying, chaos filling the screen. The final image: a wizard struck down by a bullet, lifeless on the ground. The room fell utterly silent.
With a flick of his wand, Rouse rolled up the curtain. The sunlight streamed back in through the windows, easing the suffocating gloom.
"Britain may be safer," he admitted, "but not completely. In another class, Potter described how his uncle once pointed a hunting rifle at Hagrid. So—will you learn this specialized Shield Charm, designed for firearms?"
Every single student nodded furiously.
To save their lives, they had no choice.
"Excellent." Rouse smiled in satisfaction, his eyes glinting.
This was perhaps the most focused class of Defense Against the Dark Arts they had ever had. The scratching of quills against parchment never ceased as they captured every word. When Rouse finally allowed them to practice freely, he leaned back with his teacup, quietly observing one student in particular.
Tom Riddle.
And then his eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
"Ballistic Deflection."
Tom's voice was calm as he spoke the incantation. A faint brass-colored shimmer flashed across his skin, vanishing so quickly most would dismiss it as a trick of the light. But it hadn't disappeared—it had sunk into his very skin, hidden, waiting.
It reminded Rouse of Andros' trap spells, the kind that activated automatically. If a bullet were fired, this spell would trigger at once, deflecting the projectile off course.
It wasn't perfect—it was weak against magical attacks like the Shield Charm or Stunners—but against sheer kinetic force, it was brilliant.
Most wizards simply couldn't react fast enough to bullets. With this buffer, however, survival chances soared. Unless caught off guard entirely, even a so-called "soldier king" was no match for a wizard prepared with such defenses.
"Is this really a beginner?" Rouse muttered, staring in disbelief.
To make the specialized Shield Charm invisible and cling to the body was something he himself hadn't mastered until fifth year—and he had started practicing it in his very first year. Yet Tom had done it on the first try.
Had he studied this magic before?
But no—Rouse had guessed wrong. Tom had never learned this version of the Shield Charm. It was simply the result of Grindelwald's teachings, his philosophy that magic followed underlying patterns. Different spells of the same nature could be understood together, and once the differences were clear, mastery came swiftly.
That was Tom's genius—his innate grasp of magic itself.
Soon, the bell rang, and students filed out reluctantly, still buzzing about what they'd learned.
"From next lesson onward," Rouse announced, "we'll return to the regular syllabus—starting with handling Cornish pixies. But do not neglect the Shield Charm. Each month I'll test your progress."
Then he turned to Tom. "Mr. Riddle, Dumbledore tells me you have unique insights into Defense Against the Dark Arts. Care to join me in my office for a chat?"
Tom knew it was merely an excuse, but he gave a calm nod.
While the other students went down to dinner, he followed Rouse into the office. The door clicked shut behind them.
And then—before Rouse' eyes—Tom's form shifted. His face, his body, all transforming until…
Rouse stumbled back, utterly shocked. "What the—Michael?!"
"Professor Rouse," Tom—now Michael—smiled coolly. "What a surprise. We meet again. You're looking far better than the last time, when I saw you in that sorry state in the woods."
- - - - - - -
T/N:
I have posted a new fanfic today, titled - Cyberpunk 2177. The story is great, check it out!