"I honestly don't think we need to go," Ron critiqued sharply after class. "Honestly, with what we've learned in the Dueling House, it's already more than enough."
"It can't hurt to check it out, Ron," Harry said. "After all, I'm just a second-year student, and Professor Lockhart, as an adventurer, must be extremely accomplished at dueling."
Harry genuinely meant this.
"Really?" Hermione sounded puzzled. "But you're already this good..."
"A true wizard always keeps a student's mindset," Harry said with a grin. "Alright, let's head back—we still have to go eat soon."
During that afternoon's History of Magic class, Harry had an absolute blast napping.
But he didn't skip Astronomy Class in the evening. Who knew what could happen at midnight? What if that person chose this exact time to attack Gryffindor?
Wednesday morning was Professor Flitwick's Spell Class.
This period, Professor Flitwick kept pace with Professor Lockhart and began teaching the class Revelio.
"I have to admit, Professor Lockhart really is a rare Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Professor Flitwick squeaked cheerfully. He looked absolutely thrilled. "You all should appreciate a teacher like this—I've seldom come across someone as professional and responsible in so many years."
The reason Flitwick praised Lockhart so highly wasn't just because Lockhart was top-notch at Defense Against the Dark Arts, but also because Lockhart was a Ravenclaw alumnus.
As the head of Ravenclaw, this really made him proud.
"Have you ever seen him in action?" Ron whispered to Harry.
"If you count the private tutoring from You-Know-Who at the end of last year," Harry whispered back.
Ron almost couldn't keep a straight face.
Then again, when it came to mastery of the Dark Arts, Voldemort really was second to none.
After all, if you don't understand Dark Magic, how can you possibly know how to defend against it?
"Alright, since you learned about the Mud Monster last class," Professor Flitwick said, waving his magic wand, "over the next few classes, I'll be teaching you 'Revelio' and 'Three Feet Away from the Enemy,' these two spells."
"Thankfully, he's merged the curriculum into one big session per week, so the teaching pace isn't too fast," Professor Flitwick mused as if sighing. "Otherwise, we really wouldn't have much time to learn so many spells."
"Alright, enough talk! The first thing you need to master is Revelio. The spell is 'Revelio,'" Professor Flitwick raised his magic wand and used a Marking Spell to draw a sweeping "R" in the air, then said, "Pay attention to my motion, and the arrows on top..."
"Now, say the spell with me," Professor Flitwick called out. "Revelio!"
"Revelio!" everyone echoed together.
"Very good, very good," Professor Flitwick hopped twice, and pointed to Seamus, "Mr. Finigan, give the spell a try."
"Revelio," Seamus replied, enunciating it perfectly.
"Excellent, excellent," Professor Flitwick said happily. He called on several more students to answer, and gave each of them a point.
"Now for the trajectory of the spell—" Professor Flitwick continued, "Follow along with me while I draw it, and I'll be checking each of your progress one by one..."
The students all followed his motions, trying to memorize the simple path.
It was just an R—easy to remember.
After checking a few students, Professor Flitwick started explaining the key points of the incantation.
Basically, it was for seeing people with malicious intent, or for uncovering precious items, and so on...
"I think we could modify this spell," Ron snickered, "For example, if I used it in front of the Hogwarts kitchen doors, I could pinpoint exactly where the chicken legs are..."
"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione shook her head. "You're hopeless—doesn't your life have any meaning beyond chicken legs?"
Surprisingly, Ron actually thought about it seriously and replied, "No, not really."
Hermione rolled her eyes and chose to ignore Ron.
"What's up, Hermione?" Harry whispered.
"Oh, what do you want me to say?" Hermione retorted with a cold laugh. "His life is all about chicken legs, chicken legs—how is he any different from a salted fish?"
"Salted fish like salt," Ron said succinctly.
But—
What Ron wouldn't say to Hermione was that his family was totally different from hers.
Hermione was the daughter of dentists, living in a detached house, an only child who could eat whatever she wanted.
But he wasn't the same—he had five older brothers, and one younger sister below him.
Normally, any good food at home had to be divided by head count. Dad could buy some chicken legs, but once shared out, everyone barely got any.
The thing was, any extra chicken legs always went to the exceptional kids as a reward from Mum.
Like Class Prefect Bill, Charlie, and Percy, or brothers who got high scores.
He... well, he couldn't exactly call himself a standout student; if anything, he was more the kind of kid who'd end up behind bars, so he never got the extra rewards.
But there was that one time, when he won first place in the family's garden goblin-extracting contest, and got a big chicken leg from Mum as a prize.
It was delicious. He saved it for last, nibbling slowly until there wasn't a scrap left on the bone.
That's probably why his obsession with chicken legs became almost compulsive—even now at Hogwarts, where he can eat chicken legs whenever he wants, he still can't forget that very first prize chicken leg from his childhood.