The windows of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom were open, letting in a breeze that carried the fresh scents of the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake.
Harry and Ron sat in the middle toward the back, right by a window. The damp morning mist and cool air slipped into their collars, sending a chill down their spines and raising goosebumps on their arms.
When Professor Lupin announced a new teaching approach, the class erupted in excited cheers. The young professor's lessons were always something to look forward to. Harry hunched his shoulders, thinking it'd be even better without those mortifying pop quizzes.
In the front row, Hermione sat ramrod straight, her notebook open and filled with meticulous notes. She wasn't about to miss a single detail, even if it wouldn't be on the exam.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the peculiar goblet on the professor's desk. She was certain it was the same one she'd seen in his office, eerily similar to Hufflepuff's Cup.
"Quiet down, everyone, settle down," Melvin said, raising a hand to hush the noisy classroom. He placed the goblet on the desk and dripped a few drops of a revealing potion into it. "Allow me to introduce our teaching assistant, the esteemed magical master, Mr. Gaunt."
A wisp of silvery mist swirled, and the shadowy figure of a dark-haired wizard appeared in midair.
The students studied the figure curiously. Harry blinked, feeling a faint heat in his scar, but he brushed it off as the result of the cold breeze. He made a mental note to visit Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing after dinner for a dose of Pepperup Potion.
The wizard's form gradually solidified. His handsome face was tinged with a sickly pallor, and his light-colored eyes, threaded with red veins, gave him an unsettling, almost otherworldly look. A faint gloom seemed to cling to him.
Adjusting to the classroom, Riddle glanced around, momentarily disoriented but quick to recover. Deception came as naturally to him as breathing. "Good morning, children. You can call me… Professor Gaunt."
"Professor Gaunt, are you dead?" a student asked.
It wasn't an unreasonable question from Dean. The ghostly figure reminded everyone of Professor Binns, and being summoned from a magical artifact didn't exactly scream "living wizard."
Riddle's expression darkened, though his translucent form hid it well. "It might be hard for you to understand, but my existence is… unique. I have memories and can think, but I'm not a ghost."
"So, are you dead or not?" Seamus muttered.
"Ahem…" Melvin cleared his throat, sensing the students' questions might push Voldemort's temper too far. "Let's not waste time on things unrelated to the lesson. Class is starting."
At twenty, Riddle was a master of charm, capable of fooling Hogwarts professors, charming customers at Borgin and Burkes, and even convincing Hepzibah Smith to part with her treasures. But this was just a soul fragment—crafted through a Horcrux, which made wizards unstable. After being sealed away for so long, suddenly awakened, and bombarded with grim news, Riddle was particularly sensitive about life and death. Any more prodding, and this "assistant" might snap.
The students' murmurs gradually faded.
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, lingering on the name "Gaunt." It struck a chord. After the Chamber of Secrets incident, the Daily Prophet had run countless stories about the Gaunt family—direct descendants of Slytherin, heirs to the gift of Parseltongue. Hearing the name again stirred an odd feeling, though neither could pinpoint why.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts…" Riddle began, scanning the classroom with a complicated expression. "You're… second years, right? Where did we leave off last lesson?"
Parvati raised her hand. "Professor, last class we covered Billywigs."
Billywigs were low-risk magical creatures, rated XXX. They weren't particularly powerful, just fast-growing and large when mature. Agile and destructive, they could wreak havoc on wizard gardens and farms. Regular spells didn't work well against them—only a pure white dog could drive them off completely.
Riddle fell silent. Billywigs? He'd skimmed over them in his first year, dismissing them as trivial. His focus had always been dark magic, the kind found in the Restricted Section.
It was like a university professor being asked to teach kindergarten without a lesson plan. Where was he supposed to start?
Was Dumbledore right? Was he really unfit to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?
Noticing the assistant's hesitation, Parvati chimed in helpfully, "This lesson's supposed to be about Boggarts."
"Boggarts, right, Boggarts…" Riddle perked up. Also rated XXX, Boggarts were at least a bit notorious compared to Billywigs, with magic that bordered on the dark. He had some knowledge to draw on. "Boggarts are a Russian dark magical creature, about a foot tall, with fur only on their belly and limbs. When they crouch, they look like a gray stone…"
Boggarts were fascinated by humans, trailing lone travelers and lurking in their shadows. If someone sensed something was off and turned around, they'd see nothing but an unremarkable stone. But if a Boggart stayed in someone's shadow too long, the person would grow listless, despising everything, feeling life was meaningless, until they collapsed, letting the Boggart consume them.
Talking about such eerie dark creatures, Riddle was in his element. His explanations were clear yet gripping, weaving in vivid examples that left the students both terrified and captivated, shivering but hanging on to every word.
Melvin was impressed. He couldn't have provided such detailed examples of deadly dark creatures himself.
"Professor, how do you fight a Boggart?" Hannah from Hufflepuff asked, trembling.
"Any simple spell will do—a Repelling Charm, a Stunning Spell, even a good kick can drive them off. The key is spotting them," Riddle said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he shifted tone. "School isn't about checking boxes. It's about growth, children. Following the textbook will get you through exams, but thinking beyond it is how you truly learn.
"The point of this chapter isn't just how to deal with Boggarts—it's the insight their attacks offer. Did you know there's a dark spell that can drain someone's will to live, leaving them to bare their neck to the slaughter?"
"Ahem…" Melvin cleared his throat again. "That's about it for today's lesson. Take ten minutes to discuss freely and raise any questions."
Riddle shot him a frustrated glance, clearly annoyed. This guy was such a buzzkill. What was the point of a Defense Against the Dark Arts class if you couldn't teach dark magic?
Before Riddle could protest, Melvin added calmly, "Fourth row, the boy with the scar on his forehead—that's the Boy Who Lived."
Riddle whipped around, his eyes locking onto Harry with an intense stare.