Defense Against the Dark Arts

Michael's resentment still lingered when Defense Against the Dark Arts began.

Tuesday's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was shared by Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

At Hogwarts, classes were generally attended by two Houses together,

and only under special circumstances,

such as unusual astronomical phenomena, would all four Houses attend Astronomy class together.

That was what Sean had heard amid Michael's nonstop chatter along the way.

According to him,

Defense Against the Dark Arts was Hogwarts's most popular subject.

This drove Anthony and Terry's anticipation for Defense Against the Dark Arts to its peak.

Walking behind them, Sean shook his head. Defense Against the Dark Arts was indeed appealing, but its teaching quality was worrying.

The extremely important Defense Against the Dark Arts course—

in the first year, the professor was a stutterer;

in the second year, the professor was a fraud;

the professors in the third and fourth years were fairly normal;

by the fifth year, it had become a pink magical toad.

In the sixth year, it was Professor Snape, who had finally gotten his wish,

and in the seventh, it was a Death Eater who only persecuted students and did not teach.

Looking at it this way, out of seven years of Defense Against the Dark Arts, only three allowed students to truly study properly.

Therefore, Sean decided to teach himself.

He clutched Magical Defense Theory in his hands. It was a fifth-year textbook, but Sean had borrowed it in advance,

because he felt he would definitely need it,

certainly not because he could read it for free without paying.

Once Defense Against the Dark Arts began, even Sean's last shred of hope vanished.

Although Sean knew that Professor Quirrell had once been a genius Ravenclaw,

after becoming two-faced, he had clearly lost the knowledge he had once been so proud of.

Or rather, he no longer had the energy to show it at all.

At that moment,

Michael, seated in the front row, finally understood Sean's strange behavior.

Sean had taken a seat in the very back early on and had kept his head down studying since before class began.

Michael had still been wondering when a thick stench of garlic flooded his nostrils.

Paired with Professor Quirrell's stuttering, slurred recitation straight from the textbook,

Michael felt as if he had entered hell.

Terry, seated beside him and closest to Quirrell, did not move at all. He seemed to have been fumigated to death.

Trolls were divided into several types:

Hill Trolls, River Trolls, and Sea Trolls.

Hill Trolls were the largest. They had pale gray bodies, bald heads, skin rougher than a rhinoceros's, and physiques stronger than ten men.

However, their brains were only the size of peas, so they were easily confused...

Sean carefully read Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, a book written by Quentin Trimble.

Its cover bore no words or patterns, only a deep black,

just like its contents—concise and efficient.

Banshees, Ghouls, Hags, Trolls, Vampires, Werewolves, Yetis, Bogarts, Red Caps, Kappas, Hinkypunks, Grindylows, and more had all been crammed into this thin book.

Though it was already filled with detailed knowledge about all kinds of creatures and spirits,

it somehow still had room to introduce several counter-curses and curse-breaking spells.

This was truly practical stuff, so Sean memorized it over and over.

The only disappointing thing was that, given Professor Quirrell's condition, Sean would likely have a hard time learning any genuine defensive spells from him.

That meant Sean would have to study on his own.

But whether it was the Disarming Charm or the Shield Charm,

both were advanced spells.

At the very least, Sean had not seen them in Standard Book of Spells: Grade One.

So how was Sean supposed to learn them?

As Sean frowned, Defense Against the Dark Arts ended.

The Young Wizards fled the classroom as if escaping for their lives,

while Michael and Terry remained seated without moving, as though they had turned to stone.

Sean walked over with some concern,

but Michael suddenly pounced on him and let out a roar:

"Misery!"

It gave Sean quite a fright.

Compared with Defense Against the Dark Arts, the next Charms class was undoubtedly what Sean was looking forward to.

Professor Flitwick was not like certain two-faced people. He was a Wizard with genuine teaching ability.

He would teach the Young Wizards how to move their wands and pronounce spells correctly, which was exactly what Sean needed.

Sean knew that a Wizard's power came from belief,

and that many people in his previous life had called it the Power of Thinking.

But simply thinking all the time did not seem to work either. Sean, who had once thought nonstop for an entire week, knew that well.

His explanation was that it was true that a Wizard's power came from belief,

but how one thought, and the manner in which one thought, were also important components.

Just as Adalbert Waffling, the "Father of Magical Theory," had said in Magical Theory:

"Most Wizards cannot independently control magic, and therefore require the guidance of spells and wands,

so that magic can be consciously manipulated to accomplish its purpose."

The Charms classroom was on the fourth floor, and the constantly shifting Moving Staircases caused the Young Wizards enormous trouble.

All the Ravenclaw Young Wizards were jammed onto one staircase, while the staircase connected to the Charms classroom stubbornly refused to turn toward them.

At the back of the crowd, Terry held a notebook and scribbled away.

"I'll figure out the pattern soon."

Michael covered his forehead beside him.

"Terry, I believe you can do it, but by the time you figure it out, we'll already be late."

As time continued to slip away and the staircase still would not turn over, the Young Wizards were as anxious as ants on a hot pan.

Today was their Ravenclaw Head of House's first class, yet all his Ravenclaws were going to be late—

Good heavens!

Sean sighed and continued reading.

He could not change the staircase, so he could only review the textbook in advance.

"Fine, fine. Get closer, Terry. This time, we really have to rely on you.

Sean, hurry up. At least don't be the last one to enter the classroom."

As Michael spoke, he pulled Sean forward. Anthony and Terry followed close behind,

and the four of them squeezed out a path.

"Are you done, Terry?"

"Almost... there..."

"That's the fourth time you've given the exact same answer! Merlin's smelly socks!"

Michael seemed to have been driven half-mad by the garlic and the staircase.

Just then, Sean saw an especially tall ghost pass through the wall.

Her appearance suddenly made Sean think of something.

"Grey Lady."

Sean called softly.

The Grey Lady floated over, and the little Ravenclaws around them immediately noticed the temperature drop.

"A ghost! Good heavens!"

"She's coming over!"

For many Young Wizards, fear outweighed curiosity when it came to creatures like ghosts.

Everyone immediately huddled together, and even Michael, who was usually bold, asked in a trembling voice:

"Sean, what are you doing?"

"The Prefect said the Grey Lady might be related to the Eagle Ancestor. Remember?"

Sean explained quietly.

"Grey Lady, could you help us get through the Moving Staircase? We're about to be late for Charms."

Sean asked.

The Grey Lady said nothing. She gave Sean a long, serious look.

That single look nearly scared Michael and Terry into having heart attacks.

"Too close... too close..."

"Sean, this doesn't seem like a good idea..."

Amid their trembling voices, the staircase ahead rumbled as it turned, quickly connecting with the one they were standing on.

Michael and Terry's eyes widened.