He's Just Too Cautious

Dewey's first day of teaching at Hogwarts drew to a close quickly. The young wizards were generally satisfied with his instruction; for the first and second years, he focused primarily on joyful education.

Dewey taught these young wizards how to identify Dark Magic, what Dark Creatures were, and how to distinguish between them. His classes were entertaining, filled with jokes, and the homework was light, making him very popular among the students.

"The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is really interesting."

Everyone said so.

On his very first day, in his first class, Dewey met the young girl he had seen by the carriage when he first arrived at Hogwarts. Her name was Luna, and her classmates called her "Loony." She was a second-year Ravenclaw.

She was a very interesting little girl; people who were as unconventional as she was were always ostracized.

During class, she stared at Dewey with her bright, sparkling eyes.

Dewey smiled back at her.

This little girl seemed very interested in Dewey.

As for Tuesday, the seventh-year students he taught had a very low opinion of him.

"An old fuddy-duddy."

"A boring professor."

"I want to sleep in his class."

Facing these students, Dewey had no intention of engaging them in a duel.

If a real fight broke out, Dewey wasn't certain he could beat these young wizards. Seventh year was the peak of their knowledge and magical combat ability in their lifetimes.

After graduation, most wizards would take up desk jobs or other professions, and their memory of most magic would fade, while their practical skills would become rusty.

Magic, too, was a case of "use it or lose it."

Most wizards were no better than an ordinary person without a wand; at least an ordinary person knew how to throw a punch. Wizards were too reliant on magic, to the point where they had lost many other possibilities.

In the wizarding world, most wizards couldn't beat a top-tier wizard even if they teamed up; that was the absolute crushing power of strength.

Facing these dangerous seventeen-year-old youths, Dewey nonchalantly told them to write essays.

Class, instruction, essays, and drilling practice problems.

"Everything is focused on the exams. I want to ensure you all get an 'O' in Defense Against the Dark Arts for your N.E.W.T.s. Even if you can't reach an 'O', at least get an 'A'."

He spoke earnestly to these students: "I cannot let the Defense Against the Dark Arts class I teach become a stumbling block on your career path."

The seventh-year students wailed in despair.

Dewey remained unmoved. He had inquired thoroughly: in the N.E.W.T.s for Defense Against the Dark Arts, about eighty percent of the content was written examination.

In the entire exam, practical application only accounted for twenty percent of the total grade.

This was one of the reasons why an Auror who had passed their N.E.W.T.s with flying colors could be sent running in all directions by an elderly grandmother.

A head full of knowledge wouldn't help you cast the right spell at the right time; it was not uncommon for a person's brain and hands to be out of sync.

Knowledge and training were both indispensable for an excellent wizard.

If this was the case for the Ministry of Magic's Hit Wizards and Aurors, there was no need to even mention other wizards.

Ever since the iron-fisted Barty Crouch Sr. stepped down, the new Head of the Auror Office could only act as a vanguard, not a commander. Of the Aurors under him, aside from a few veterans, the rest could almost be described as:

"A total mess."

In other words, the new Head of the Auror Office could only charge into battle himself; he couldn't maintain order, devise strategies, or recruit talent from the rear.

He was better suited to be an Auror than a decision-maker.

Dewey easily handled these students. As for his future teaching, his plan was simple: stall when possible, let the younger ones graze like sheep, and provide elite education for the fifth and seventh years—essays, questioning, and drilling problems. This combination of tactics had surprisingly good results. His real goal, however, remained on Harry and his friends in the third year.

In the Staff Room, after drinking a potion, Dewey sat steadily and exchanged teaching experiences with Professor Flitwick. Professor McGonagall sat to the side. Since neither had classes at the moment, they listened to Dewey's educational philosophy, which Professor McGonagall found very agreeable.

Dewey approached the subject from the perspective of a graduate who had left school years ago, focusing on the future of half-blood wizards, and packaged his philosophy: "I don't want the children to be unable to work in the fields they love after graduation because of the Defense Against the Dark Arts subject.

If they truly love Defense Against the Dark Arts and want to become Aurors, we can provide targeted training.

Care for the majority of students, care for the individual."

Dewey spoke eloquently to the two professors, exchanging ideas. His point was that while not everyone was a genius like Dumbledore, everyone could, through their time at Hogwarts, become an ordinary person like Lupin, finding a decent job. Professor McGonagall praised this highly; she cared deeply about her students.

She felt that Lupin was right.

Don't let Professor McGonagall's strictness fool you—she kept a straight face most of the time, and even the Weasley twins would subconsciously shrink back when they saw her—but not a single professor at Hogwarts didn't love their students. Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout; they were all truly good people.

A certain someone who was not a good person, and who genuinely loathed his own student (Neville), was standing at the door of the Staff Room at that very moment.

Hearing the lively discussion inside and the laughter that broke out from time to time, his expression turned incredibly ugly. Gritting his teeth, he wished he could use his wand to poke a hundred holes in the eloquent Lupin inside.

"A hypocritical liar."

He had intended to watch Lupin make a fool of himself, but Lupin was doing better than he had imagined. In these past few days, the first and second-year students had offered much praise for Professor Lupin's teaching. The third and fourth years hadn't started yet, so their evaluations were unknown, but the fifth and seventh-year students were complaining bitterly about Professor Lupin's class. Snape did not like this method of education—it was a way to teach fools, and true geniuses didn't need such instruction—but he could only dislike it.

The other professors all believed there was no problem with this teaching method—Snape understood why: at Hogwarts, no one would criticize another's teaching style unless it caused a major teaching accident that forced someone to resign. Otherwise, no one would interfere with another's teaching.

But what made Snape grit his teeth was that this teaching method was too steady. If things went on like this, what kind of teaching accident could Lupin possibly cause?

Hmm? Too much homework, leading students to use magic to assist them?

Too many essays?

Is it a crime to be unable to sleep at night?

Lupin was simply too steady!

Unless Lupin turned into a Werewolf and swiped at his own students, nothing would go wrong! But that was certainly not something he would want to see.

Clenching his fists, Snape turned and left the doorway of the Staff Room, filled with immense resentment.

Even Snape could not find a single point to attack Lupin with for the time being.

Therefore, in today's Potions class, Neville Longbottom was even more unlucky.

He would have to bear the brunt of Professor Snape's pent-up fury.

Time slipped away.

Thursday afternoon.

The trio walked together up the castle stairs, panting and sweating as they climbed.

"Huff, huff, huff... this afternoon is Professor Lupin's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Oh, right, Hermione, on the schedule I saw, you also elected to take Ancient Runes. I remember that this class conflicts with Defense Against the Dark Arts. How are you handling that?"

Ron asked curiously, breathless, but no one answered him.

Harry and Ron turned their heads, only to discover that Hermione, who should have been following behind them, was gone.

"Uh, did you see where Hermione went?"

Ron was dumbfounded.

He asked Harry, who also turned his head, looking blank.

"I, I don't know."

He also found it very strange. Between electives and core subjects, Hermione was taking nearly twelve courses this year. He had no idea how she managed to attend every single class. However, because of this, Harry noticed that Hermione's temper was getting worse; she had become irritable, her memory was fading, and she walked with a hurried, restless energy.

She was also appearing and disappearing like a ghost.

Just like now, Hermione had vanished, and Ron and Harry leaned over the stairs to look, but they couldn't find a trace of her.

Dewey quietly drank his potion, sitting inside the classroom. With a few minutes left before the start of class, Dewey saw someone push the door open and walk in, sweat beading on her forehead.

It was Hermione.

Seeing someone in the classroom, she hurriedly shoved something into her robe pocket. Dewey looked at the flustered Hermione and said with a smile, "Don't worry, Hermione. I think I know what that is."

"You applied for a Time-Turner?"

"Are you trying to complete twelve courses as well?"