Tuesday, Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom
Seamus and Dean were hunched over a table, tracing an illustration of a Bundimun onto thin parchment with quill pens. Sure, there were easier ways—like a quick Duplication Charm—but sketching the creepy creature by hand felt more rewarding.
Dangerous, eerie dark creatures? Totally awesome.
A small crowd of young witches and wizards gathered around, with Harry and Ron nearby, watching the sketching while debating the combat prowess of various magical creatures. Who'd win in a one-on-one duel? Who'd have the edge in the wild? Who'd come out on top in a fight?
Ron was loudly championing the most impressive beast he could think of. "Have you guys seen a dragon? My brother's a dragon tamer! Bundimuns, Blast-Ended Skrewts—one blast of dragon fire, and they're all toast!"
Justin, frowning in thought, countered with an even fiercer creature. "A dragon's tough, but can it beat a Basilisk? One glance from a Basilisk, and the dragon's done before it can even open its mouth. Plus, those venomous fangs!"
The surrounding students nodded enthusiastically. "Good point! Totally agree!"
Ron's face fell, a mix of regret and frustration.
He was the one who'd faced a Basilisk and won—how had Justin beaten him to it?
Hearing the praise heaped on Justin stung. That glory was supposed to be his.
He blamed Professor Levent for downplaying the Basilisk, making it seem like a manageable foe after they'd faced and defeated it. Subconsciously, Ron had written it off as less impressive and forgotten to bring it up.
Scrambling, Ron racked his brain for another awe-inspiring creature.
Just then, Neville, who'd been quiet until now, mentioned a Nundu, sparking another round of excited chatter. Thanks to the scrying mirror, everyone had some knowledge to toss into the mix.
Unlike Ron, who was eager to steal the spotlight, Harry stayed out of the debate, listening with amusement. The argument was pointless but entertaining.
Over the next few minutes, the discussion stalled. More 5X-level magical creatures were thrown into the fray, but it turned into a shouting match of stubborn opinions and repetitive arguments, growing tedious.
Harry shook his head and glanced at Hermione in the front row, hoping the know-it-all top student might offer some insight.
But Hermione wasn't joining the boys' silly debate. She sat primly at the front, head bent over a magazine, engrossed in its pages.
A magazine? Not one of her usual massive tomes?
Harry leaned over, curious, and read the odd title aloud: "Discipline, Punishment, and Taming: The Birth of Azkaban…"
He scratched his head. The name rang a bell. Hagrid had mentioned it when Professor Levent was scaring him about sending Norbert the dragon away. Azkaban was a lonely island in the North Sea, turned into a wizard prison by the Ministry, home to dangerous creatures called Dementors.
Harry's eyes skimmed the article. After a brief summary, it dove into dense paragraphs filled with complex, academic jargon.
"…establishing a unified code, formalizing judicial procedures, widely adopting jury systems, and defining penalties focused on reform and rehabilitation. Wizard and Muggle punishments show similar trends, moving away from direct physical punishment, cautiously avoiding the infliction of bodily pain, and no longer employing subtle, refined torments."
"Uh…" Harry sucked in a breath, his head spinning. He felt like he'd gained knowledge, but it was like spring rain—flowing through his mind and slipping away without sticking.
"Is this a serious paper? Who writes like this? Only a genius could make sense of it," he muttered.
Hermione overheard, turned, and gave him a long look. She spread the magazine out in front of him, her finger tapping the author's name—a familiar one.
Harry's eyes widened. "Professor Levent wrote this?!"
"It was published in this week's issue," Hermione said, a touch of pride in her voice. "Last weekend, I ran into Dobby delivering mail at the Owlery. He told me the professor had submitted a paper and helped me order a copy."
Her eyes sparkled as she gazed at the article, full of admiration. "It traces the history of legal systems through the development of prisons, comparing Muggle and wizarding approaches. The perspective is so fresh. Madam Marchbanks called it the most outstanding paper in Muggle Studies in three hundred years."
She glanced at Harry. "You really should read it."
Harry shook his head. "Prisons and laws? Not my thing, whether it's Muggle or wizarding."
"Fine," Hermione huffed, clearly unimpressed. "But the second half talks about Dementors and includes four tips for practicing the Patronus Charm. That might interest you."
"Dementors? Patronus Charm?" Harry perked up.
"Professor Levent mentioned them before," Hermione said, adopting a lecturing tone. "Dementors are 5X-level dark creatures. No facial features, just a hole where a mouth should be. They sense people through smell and emotions, feeding on happiness. The academic world still debates whether they qualify as magical creatures. No wizard has found a way to destroy them—only the Patronus Charm can drive them away."
Before Harry could ask more, the class bell rang, and the students clogging the aisle scattered.
As the bell faded, Professor Levent strode in right on time, wearing a light green spring robe that looked like budding Whomping Willow shoots. Her hair was slightly loose but neat, and a faint smile played on her lips.
The young witches and wizards couldn't quite describe it, but it felt less like a classroom and more like standing by the Black Lake with a gentle breeze.
Melvin pulled up a chair, set the Hufflepuff Cup on the desk, and dripped Developing Solution into it. "Like last week," she said, "today's Defense Against the Dark Arts class will be taught by Professor Gaunt."
Under Harry's gaze, silvery mist swirled out, forming the figure of a young wizard. Seconds later, the assistant professor's voice echoed through the room from the mist.
"Good morning, children."
Professor Gaunt floated in midair, his pale face wearing a friendly smile. "Today, we'll continue discussing common 3X-level dangerous creatures in forests. You've likely noticed these creatures are manageable if you're careful and cautious…"
It was basic material, a review for second-years. Students with a solid foundation found it dull.
Harry listened to the assistant professor, his mind drifting out the window.
Professor Gaunt had been teaching for a while now and was, honestly, fantastic—arguably the best professor they'd had, surpassing Quirrell and Lockhart, maybe even Levent. Even with basic second-year content, he wove in deep insights and details, touching on the underlying principles of magic. Students might not fully grasp it, but they always learned something.
Still, Professor Gaunt could be… odd.
Half an hour into the lesson, his translucent form hovered in the air, waving a hand to shape the silver mist into the form of a magical creature—a foot-long Diricawl, agile and quick, demonstrating sprints, leaps, and sudden attacks.
The vivid display helped cement the creature in the students' minds.
Riddle's lips curved into a pleased smile as he cleared his throat. "Today's lesson is about the Clawed Land Shrimp. I trust you've all learned well. Now, let's test your knowledge. Who can tell me which spell works best against a Clawed Land Shrimp?"
Here we go again, Harry thought, eyeing Hermione's raised hand and sighing inwardly, bracing himself.
"Mr. Potter, your answer."
"…"
No surprise there.
Harry answered with a blank expression. "I think the Disarming Charm would work."
"Disarming Charm, Disarming Charm…" Riddle repeated softly, his smile approving. "A creative approach. It could strip away its sharp claws and venomous fangs, pushing it back to a safe distance. For your ingenuity, five points to Gryffindor."
Harry forced a smile, though it looked pained.
The standard choice would've been a Repelling Charm or Stunning Spell—faster, more accurate, and better suited. If Professor Levent were teaching, she'd probably say Harry's head was stuck on the Disarming Charm.
That was what made Gaunt so strange.
Ever since learning Harry was the Boy Who Lived, the assistant professor had been overly friendly—almost fawning. He called on Harry every class, and no matter how absurd the answer, Gaunt found a way to justify it with his vast knowledge, praising Harry's "unique perspective."
This favoritism hadn't been reported yet, but the extra house points from Defense Against the Dark Arts were catching Professor Snape's attention. Any points Gaunt awarded were promptly deducted in Potions class.
Lately, though, Gaunt's questions and point awards were getting excessive, and Snape was struggling to keep up.
It wasn't something to celebrate. Caught between the two professors, Harry felt uneasy.
Ron leaned over, whispering, "Gaunt's your biggest fan. Answer right, you get points. Answer wrong, you get points. You could say you'd clean the creature with a Scouring Charm, and he'd call it innovative."
"…"
Harry had to agree.
"We'll talk after class, Harry," Ron said.
"Yeah, I know."
"Your fan's about to come over for a Q&A."
"I know."
Harry sighed, catching Gaunt's eye and sitting up straighter, a chill running through him.
How could a grown wizard from a pure-blood family act like some starry-eyed first-year like Colin Creevey? Thankfully, Gaunt was just a projection. If a professor joined Harry's fan club, he wouldn't know how to face Malfoy or Snape's sneers.
The pressure was mounting, and Harry was planning to talk to Professor Levent about it when Gaunt's shimmering form drifted over.
"My dear children, what are we discussing? Any questions about today's lesson?"
"None, Professor," Harry replied quickly.
Riddle didn't mind, his smile warm. "Don't worry about others' criticism or odd looks. Defense Against the Dark Arts is a practical subject—many questions don't have one right answer. Harry, no need to feel uneasy. Other students might stick to Repelling or Stunning Spells, but you've mastered the Disarming Charm. Compared to you, they're just talentless mediocrities."
Ron's face soured, and Hermione looked like she wanted to say something but held back.
Harry opened his mouth. "I… I'm not…"
"You're Gryffindor's champion," the projection said, like a close confidant. "Be bold. Don't shy away from sharing your heroic deeds. Can you tell me about that legendary night? How did you survive? What magic defeated Voldemort?"
"Stop, Mr. Gaunt!" Harry's voice trembled as he took a deep breath. "There was nothing legendary about that night for me. All I know is my parents died by Voldemort's wand. I lost my family, my everything. These empty honors don't comfort me. I'm not a hero—my parents were."
Riddle's shadowy form flickered, but he forced a strained smile. "I'm so sorry, Harry. That night was a tragedy. I… I just admire you and your parents so much."
Harry sat in silence, saying nothing.
…
Late at Night
Yulm slithered out of its emerald snake nest, wriggling across the office desk.
Melvin sat in his chair, holding the Hufflepuff Cup, examining it closely. The milky-white liquid inside looked like highly purified Dittany essence—clear, non-viscous, with a faint, pleasant scent.
It clearly had strong healing properties.
Melvin tilted the cup, pouring the liquid into a glass vial, feeling the gentle magic it held. Once the vial was full, only a few drops remained in the cup. He sealed the vial, and the leftover liquid quickly blackened, its magic turning sinister and foul, the scent shifting from pleasant to rancid.
Unfazed, Melvin calmly took another vial of silvery potion and dripped a few drops into the cup.
Riddle's projection appeared, drifting around the office, letting out an angry hiss. "Why? Why won't he talk about that night? What magic let him survive? What could defeat the great Dark Lord?"
Yulm glanced up, flicked its tail, and lazily slithered back into its emerald nest.
Melvin shook his head slightly. Riddle had been cunning and composed when poisoning Mrs. Smith, but as a Horcrux, he was reduced to this—hysterical, ranting like a Knockturn Alley thug, with none of his former sophistication.
It seemed splitting one's soul really did a number on the mind.