A Failed Defense Against the Dark Arts Class

Tuesday.

Another unremarkable Herbology class.

Worth noting, besides Hermione earning a point for Gryffindor, the usually timid Neville also answered Professor Sprout's question correctly, earning applause from the whole class.

After that, the long-awaited Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson finally began—except for Damon.

He had even taken a seat early in the farthest corner of the classroom.

This behavior drew Hermione's displeasure, and even Ron and Harry were somewhat puzzled—was Damon really planning to slack off in such an important class?

"I'm afraid he thinks his Defence Against the Dark Arts skills are too advanced to need the teacher's instruction."

Hermione shot a glance at the corner, offering Ron and Harry what she believed to be the truth.

"Is that so?" Ron said with sudden realization. "If it's Damon, that does sound like him, after all, he beat a fourth-year Slytherin on the train."

"I don't think Damon is that kind of person," Harry said hesitantly, looking toward Damon, who had already picked up a book titled Common Spells and Counter-Curses and was reading it intently.

"Come on, mate, how can you—ugh!"

Ron tried to keep talking, but a thick smell of garlic suddenly wafted over from a distance, making him gag on the spot.

Damon fanned the air in front of his face, frowning slightly, barely restraining the urge to use a Cleaning Charm.

Quirinus Quirrell, the first-year Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, was also the current host of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Until he was fully developed, Damon didn't want to attract their attention just yet—after all, it was only a few months either way. Enduring it wasn't a bad thing.

But while Damon could endure, the other young witches and wizards couldn't. They bombarded the new professor with a string of questions, only to be deeply disappointed—Professor Quirrell spent the entire lesson spouting useless folklore knowledge, and with his stutter, he couldn't even get through a single complete sentence, let alone cast a spell.

Watching the little witches and wizards' eyes glaze over, Damon wanted to tell them: I know you're anxious, but don't be just yet—because there's plenty more to be anxious about later.

For the entire afternoon, Ron and Harry discussed in the Common Room just how terrible their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was—even the usually reserved Neville joined the conversation, clearly very disappointed.

"Honestly! If Professor Quirrell keeps this up, I think we'd be better off having Damon teach us! After all, he's the Duelling Prince!"

Ron complained to the others, and the topic gradually drifted to Damon, who wasn't present.

"The Duelling Prince," Harry murmured the title, his attention shifting. "He doesn't seem to care for that title."

"Why not? That title is awesome, isn't it!"

When it came to that title, Ron acted as if he shared in the glory—in fact, on the train that day, the fourth-year who had been sent flying had landed right in front of his compartment, and he had witnessed up close Damon pointing his wand at the other and teasing him.

Neville nodded in agreement beside him, having been an eyewitness to the event himself, seeing it even more clearly than Ron.

Seamus hadn't seen the whole scene at the time and was just about to ask for details when Hermione, returning from the library with books, asked the four of them:

"So, can any of you tell me where Damon went?"

"Isn't he in the library?"

"I'm quite sure he isn't."

To confirm this, Hermione had carefully walked through the entire library before leaving.

"Not in the library? Then where could he be?" Ron grew curious. "Could it be that Damon's hiding something from us? That's not very friendly—we're roommates!"

"Maybe he has some trouble?"

Harry defended Damon.

"Perhaps. I hope you can figure it all out."

Hermione went back to the dormitory to put down her books, then walked out of the Common Room again. Ron and Harry just stared blankly as she disappeared and reappeared on the stairs, finally heading for the exit.

"Hermione, aren't you going to discuss this with us?"

"I still have a mountain of books to read. I don't have time to waste on these games, but if you find anything you're willing to share with me, thank you."

"Do you think she looks down on us?"

Ron stared at Hermione's retreating back and asked Harry blankly.

"Yeah, seems like it."

Actually, Harry felt that Hermione's disdain was more directed at Ron than at him, but to spare Ron's feelings, he decided to agree with him.

However, they soon had no spare energy to dwell on that.

Early Thursday morning, all the first-year witches and wizards went wild.

A notice had been posted in the Gryffindor Common Room—they were going to have Flying Class, even if it was with the Slytherin students.

Starting from breakfast, Hermione kept reciting flying tips she'd read from a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages, annoying Harry and Ron to no end.

Damon ate his breakfast quietly, not joining their discussion, while Neville listened intently to all the precautions.

At that moment, Seamus Finnigan was loudly boasting about his childhood experiences—he'd been flying around on a broomstick in the open fields almost since his magic first awakened.

And Ron, seizing the chance, sneakily bragged that he'd once ridden his brother Charlie's old broom and nearly crashed into a hang glider.

Every witch and wizard from a Wizarding family chattered endlessly about Quidditch, until the arrival of the owls briefly interrupted it.

Neville's grandmother had sent him a Remembrall—whenever Neville forgot something, it would turn red, and right now, it was glowing bright red!

Neville's face fell, and even his interest in Quidditch dimmed a little.

Just then, Draco Malfoy passed by the Gryffindor table, spotted the glowing Remembrall, and let out a snicker.

His gaze locked onto Damon as he spoke again:

"Damon, your refusal to join Slytherin is an absolute loss for genius."

Spinning around like a peacock fanning its tail, he addressed the gathered witches and wizards:

"Look at our Duelling Prince, whose fame far eclipses the Saviour's, yet he spends every day with pigs like this. Isn't he afraid that, given enough time, he'll catch their stupidity?"

"Malfoy, if you don't want to miss the first Charms Class of the morning because you've been Petrified, I suggest you shut your mouth now."

Damon set down the sausage he was eating, too lazy to even get angry.

At the mention of "Petrified," Malfoy recalled the train incident, his face darkening as he sulked away.

"Just you wait!" After taking three steps, he couldn't help turning back to hurl a bitter threat at Damon.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Damon suddenly shouted at him, making Malfoy jump clean off the ground, goosebumps scattering everywhere—yet Damon hadn't even drawn his wand, clearly just messing with him.

Realising this, Malfoy's face grew even uglier. Amid the laughter of some watching young witches and wizards, he flushed crimson and fled.

This little episode dampened Harry and the others' enthusiasm for Flying Class, shifting their conversation instead to just how insufferable Malfoy really was.