The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor's Great Crisis

Lynn suppressed the urge to hurl the beer in his hand at the old bastard's head, gritted his teeth, and dragged a small stool over to sit across from him.

Professor Foxx, as if completely oblivious to Lynn's resentment, eagerly snatched the beer from his grasp.

"German dark brew, huh." He smacked his lips.

"Tsk tsk tsk, not my favorite flavor, but I can make do."

He tore open the beer pack and casually tossed a can to Lynn.

Lynn caught the beer and rolled his eyes.

"I'm still a minor, can't drink."

Even as he said it, he popped the tab anyway—today had been a real shit show.

Professor Foxx chuckled at Lynn's contradictory move.

The way he laughed was a lot like Lynn, both of them unconsciously squinting their eyes.

"Old geezer squinting all day, no wonder you've got so many crow's feet, hmph."

Lynn grabbed a pair of chopsticks for himself, dipped them into the cauldron's broth, and took a taste—the flavor was familiar.

Professor Foxx chugged a mouthful of beer and puffed up smugly.

"Today, you're in for a treat. I brought back this absolute delicacy from my trip to China, straight out of Chengdu. Just dip the ingredients lightly into the boiling broth, and you'll savor unmatched bliss.

As for those five-star hotels, they're just fooling clueless foreigners. The real Eastern cuisine is hidden in the back alleys—they can't pull one over on me.

You bring the German beer, I bring the Chinese food—you're getting the better deal."

Wasn't this just hotpot? Like he'd never had it before.

Even with hotpot as compensation, Lynn was still fuming. He stared at Professor Foxx's unnaturally pale face and muttered.

"With a body like that, eating spicy food and drinking beer—don't go and drop dead on me."

Foxx waved a hand dismissively.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just a bit acrophobic, that's all. Besides, didn't I send you to get my medicine?" He raised his beer with a grin. "This here's the cure-all."

Lynn eyed him suspiciously, wondering if this shady professor was pulling his leg again.

"Wizards can have acrophobia too?"

"Of course they can." Foxx was already eagerly grabbing a slice of cooked lamb with his chopsticks and popping it into his mouth. His chopstick technique was smooth—clearly, he'd eaten plenty during his China trip.

"Wizards are human too, and humans get sick."

"Don't hold such a grudge, Belloc.

Do you have any idea what I went through just to get here?

Since I'd never been here before, I couldn't Apparate. I had to hoof it to the Leaky Cauldron first, didn't have a single Muggle coin on me, exchanging money at Gringotts with those goblins would've been a rip-off, and I couldn't use Muggle transport either. So I had to fly over on a broomstick.

But my acrophobia's pretty bad—I couldn't control that damn broom for shit. After about ten minutes, I couldn't hold on anymore and fell out of the sky. Still, at least I made it to the destination."

After a couple of swigs of beer, Foxx started dumping his grievances on Lynn.

Hearing that, Lynn couldn't stay mad. The guy had traveled all this way just to help an eleven-year-old kid get familiar with the wizarding world—buying him a drink was the least he could do.

Once he let it go, Lynn happily ate hotpot, drank beer, and chatted with Foxx.

"Hey, Professor, I heard you teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"That's right." Foxx swirled his beer can. "I actually applied for the Muggle Studies professor position. If I didn't owe Dumbledore a huge favor, I wouldn't have taken this high-risk, thankless job. Now I'm just praying I make it through the year."

"Why? Is there some danger in being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" Lynn asked, feigning ignorance.

"Danger?" Foxx let out a light laugh, downed half the can, and looked at Lynn. "Do you know how many Defense Against the Dark Arts professors Hogwarts has gone through since 1956?"

Lynn shook his head blankly.

"Twenty-one. And that includes twelve years with no one in the post. Guess how many of those twenty-one died on the job."

"Ten?" Lynn ventured a middle-of-the-road number.

"Guess again."

"...Thirteen?"

"Fourteen. Over sixty percent mortality rate. Of the survivors, one's bedridden for life, and two are permanently disabled."

Lynn sucked in a sharp breath. He knew being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts was risky, but he'd never imagined the death rate was that high.

"Then... other wizards aren't stupid. With that kind of danger, who'd still apply?" Lynn voiced his confusion.

"You think Hogwarts publishes those numbers? Even I only found the relevant archives in the Hogwarts library after I was confirmed as this year's professor, and I compiled them myself."

"Lucky for me, I've got a shred of conscience." Foxx fished for meat slices with his chopsticks. "Anyone else would've run scared after seeing that data."

"So what's the source of the danger?" Lynn asked cautiously.

Foxx clinked his can against Lynn's and drained it in one go.

"Who knows." His eyes turned deep, lost in thought. "Rumor has it the position was cursed by a man called the Dark Lord. Some say it's all Dumbledore's scheme. Others claim it's just coincidence. But the truth? Who can say."

Lynn thought Foxx was worried about his own safety for the coming year, so he tried to comfort him.

"Professor, you're blessed by fortune—nothing's going to go wrong."

Fox cracked open another can of beer.

"Enough of that messy stuff. Let's talk about you. Minerva wrote and said you're a sharp little devil. Now that I've met you, your speech and manner really don't match your age."

Lynn shrugged, putting on a casual air. "Getting more means paying more. I don't think that's necessarily a good thing."

Fox didn't question it much; he nodded in agreement. "Being wise beyond your years isn't really something to brag about. I heard you even found your own foster father and paid for it yourself?"

"Not exactly paid. I just signed a non-binding agreement with him, promising to transfer a third of my inheritance to him as compensation after I inherit my parents' estate."

"And he agreed to that?"

"Of course he didn't." Lynn took a sip of beer and shook his head. "Who'd make a fair deal with a kid? He tried to trick me into not signing the agreement, wanted to genuinely adopt me and become my guardian, so that all the money my parents left me might eventually be his. I'm not stupid. It happened to be around the time of my magical outburst, and since he thought he had me cornered and didn't take me seriously, I used a few tricks to get leverage on him for embezzling public funds. I half-coerced him into signing a conditional adoption agreement."

Fox stared at him in shock. "How old were you then?"

"Around ten, I think." Lynn thought for a moment. "Just past my tenth birthday, not long after."

Fox was stunned for a good long while before letting out a wry laugh.

"Looks like Minerva wasn't wrong—you really are a clever little devil."

He set down his chopsticks and beer, then suddenly smiled warmly at Lynn.

"I think you and I get along. Interested in accepting an investment from me, Mr. Belloc?"

This mountain is mine, this tree I own—if you want to pass, leave a recommendation ticket! (▼皿▼#)