Hermione was startled by the professor. Dewey motioned for her to come in and not be nervous.
"A hardworking young witch, aren't you?"
Dewey said casually, "Come on in and take a break. Relax for a bit. You're taking a lot of classes, aren't you?"
Looking at "Professor Lupin" and seeing that he seemed completely unsurprised by the Time-Turner, Hermione relaxed a little. To be honest, ever since she'd signed up for twelve classes—or rather, eleven, since she had absolutely no talent for Divination—she'd grown even more irritated with the teacher's mystical nonsense. She was going to drop the class.
That left eleven.
Ever since she started taking eleven classes, it felt like her life had shifted into fast-forward. Every day, she opened her eyes and studied, studied, studied like mad, did homework and wrote essays, and calculated how long it would take to get to each class so she wouldn't be late.
She was so busy she barely had time to eat.
"Yes, Professor. I'm taking eleven classes."
Hermione replied. She found a place to sit, closed her eyes, and dozed.
Dewey had no desire whatsoever to get his hands on Hermione's Time-Turner. Some things couldn't be changed. He'd understood that more than ten years ago, when he was thrown into Azkaban. If there hadn't been another version of himself coming to save him back then, it meant that time hadn't formed a closed loop.
In other words, in the future, he either hadn't gotten a Time-Turner or had gotten one but still hadn't changed his situation.
Besides, Time-Turners might look impossibly powerful, but they still worked within a closed loop of time. Voldemort had still returned, Dumbledore's sister had still died, Harry's parents hadn't come back to life, and Dumbledore hadn't gone back to that night years ago to stop his father from attacking someone.
That showed just how severe the side effects of Time-Turners were. They were unusable. All the people who'd possessed one had failed to use it to change a tragedy.
What was this, a Flashpoint in the magical world?
Dewey only glanced at the object before losing interest in it.
He was reading a book.
Some time after Hermione sat down, a noisy group of students burst through the door. Harry and Ron saw Hermione sitting there and stared at her in astonishment. Ron was especially perplexed. He looked at Hermione, glanced back behind him, then looked at her again and asked, eyes wide, "When did you get to the front?"
His voice rose in amazement.
He knew nothing about the power of time.
Hermione had no idea how to explain it. As she wondered how to fob off her good friend, Dewey interrupted them with an easy smile. "All right, everyone, take your seats. Class is about to start."
Dewey cut off their questions and told them to sit down. When class was about to begin, he tapped the desk in front of him with his wand.
"All right, everyone," Dewey said with a smile. "I think we met on the first day of term.
"I'm your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Lupin.
"Is this our first lesson?
"Good. Get out your quills and notes. I think we'll begin with our first lesson, which will be purely theoretical."
Dewey's first lesson was about what counted as a Dark Creature.
According to the Ministry of Magic's rules, he wasn't allowed to teach students any Dark Magic spells before their sixth year. He wasn't even allowed to teach them many jinxes. But Dewey had no reverence for those rules.
The Ministry's bans were about as useful as toilet paper.
Besides, you didn't have to use the corresponding spells to fight Dark Magic, did you?
Dewey gestured for everyone to open their books to the page on Werewolves.
"All right, we're not going to follow the order in the book. Today, we'll talk about Werewolves."
Dewey spoke calmly, as if the Lupin he was playing weren't a Werewolf.
His lessons were tailored to their needs.
There were Werewolves among Voldemort's Death Eaters, though they weren't welcome. Even Voldemort treated them as beasts for menial, dirty work.
When he needed them, he sent them in as cannon fodder. When he didn't, he kept them out of the Death Eaters' ranks.
After teaching them how to identify and fight Werewolves, Dewey would also teach them about Giants, Trolls, and Dementors. They had all been part of Voldemort's vanguard and forces when he attacked Hogwarts. Dewey wanted to teach the children how to protect themselves as best they could amid the chaos.
The person teaching the class wasn't Dewey. It was "Professor Lupin." When it came to playing a role, Dewey had it down to a fine art.
He was Lupin, a kind, self-conscious Werewolf professor.
To bring about Voldemort's death, Dumbledore was willing to give up his own life. Naturally, he couldn't spare a thought for the lives of Hogwarts students.
He wasn't a god.
People could only rely on themselves.
So.
"Now, look carefully at the descriptions in your books. Most of them are accurate, though a little outdated. That's all right. We can fill in the gaps ourselves, using what I've learned over the years."
Dewey was precise in his explanation.
He briefly covered the origins of Werewolves, then went on to discuss various ways to deal with them.
The leader of the Werewolves in the magical world was Fenrir Greyback, a truly evil monster who'd once been imprisoned by the Ministry of Magic. Lupin was bitten because his parents had once rebuked Fenrir, earning his grudge. After he escaped from prison, he attacked Lupin.
Greyback's most common crime was infiltrating wizarding families and biting their children.
He was very particular about his victims. He never went after the young witches and wizards of great families like Black, Malfoy, Gaunt, or Shacklebolt. He only targeted children from small households, like Lupin's, biting them and turning them into Werewolves.
For a monster who maliciously attacked people like that, the Ministry of Magic only imposed short-term imprisonment. It was useless.
The Werewolf had great ambitions. He joined Voldemort because he hoped that if Voldemort won, Werewolves like him would be able to live in the sunlight. Unfortunately, Voldemort still treated him like a dog, using him as cannon fodder when he was useful and casting him aside when he wasn't.
Voldemort didn't think much of Werewolves, either.
The Werewolves had no other choice. They couldn't fight the wizarding world's rules on their own, and neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry of Magic would help them. All they could do was pin their hopes on Voldemort.
Dewey's lesson was incredibly engaging. Hermione, the top student, was practically glowing with excitement, especially when he assigned homework on how to fight Werewolves.
"Harry, did you see that? Professor Lupin is so much better than that fraud. He knows so much!"
As they were leaving, Dewey called Harry over.
Hermione and Ron waited outside. Dewey said, "No, there's no need. Harry probably won't be back until tonight. You two go on ahead."
"Harry, could you stay for a bit? I want to talk to you."
Dewey kept Harry behind. Harry stared at him, a little excited. His heart was beating faster. He'd told his two friends more than once that he thought Professor Lupin must have known his parents, and that there had to be some connection between them.
"I can feel it, Ron, Hermione!"
Harry often told them this with great confidence, much to his friends' concern.
Could this be the moment when it all came to light?
Harry watched Dewey nervously. Dewey asked if he had any classes that afternoon. Harry said no, and Dewey nodded and told him to follow. Then he casually headed for an empty classroom.
He opened the door to an unused classroom. Thankfully, Peeves wasn't inside.
Dewey plopped down on a desk and gestured for Harry to relax and not be nervous.
"Though I really don't want to say this, Harry, you're different from everyone else."
In the empty classroom, Dewey looked at Harry and said, "You were born to be extraordinary. 'The Boy Who Lived,' Harry. Do you remember that name?
"Does it sound familiar to you?"
"Yes, Professor."
Harry stared intently at "Professor Lupin." He had a feeling that what the professor was about to say would be shocking. And it was.
"The world isn't at peace, Harry. I know this might frighten you, but it's true. So you have to learn to take up arms and protect yourself. Do you understand?
"The shadow of Dark Magic hasn't faded. From what I've observed over the years, I've realized that Dark Magic is on the rise."
Dewey looked Harry in the eye as he spoke. His grave expression frightened Harry. He swallowed and instinctively looked back at Dewey. "I don't understand. I don't understand, Professor. What do you mean?"
Harry's mind went blank, and he stumbled over his words.
"What do I mean? Harry, don't you understand?"
Dewey gently ran a finger over Harry's forehead. Harry didn't move away. Dewey touched the lightning-shaped scar and said, "Harry, we all know the world is still dark. Azkaban is still full of You-Know-Who's followers. They're fanatical, they're devoted, and they still believe You-Know-Who will return.
"They still have the power to fight.
"Outside Azkaban, there are even more Death Eaters, and they're even more dangerous.
"Today it's Sirius and Dewey escaping from prison. What about tomorrow? The day after?"
He looked at Harry seriously, and his words made Harry's hair stand on end.
For some reason, he remembered the face on the back of Professor Quirrell's head in his first year. He also remembered the Basilisk. A chill ran through him.
"I don't understand, Professor."
He stammered, his eyes darting away. Dewey grabbed Harry's hand and spoke to the empty blackboard before them. "You don't need to understand, Harry. You only need to know that you're special. Your hair is just like your father's, and your eyes look like your mother's.
"Your mother once defeated You-Know-Who. You can do it, too."
As he spoke, Dewey stood up straight and patted Harry's head. "Train hard. Your parents would be proud of you."
Harry hadn't heard anything else. All he'd heard was, "Your eyes look like your mother's, and your hair is like your father's." Excitedly, he turned around, looked up at "Professor Lupin," and asked, "You knew my parents, didn't you, Professor?"
His voice was loud, and his eyes were wide.
"Of course."
Dewey gave him a warm smile from the bottom of his heart.
There was an indescribable longing in his smile.
"I knew them, of course. We were classmates, Harry. Your father was an excellent athlete, just like you. He was also the bravest person I ever knew."
Before you continue