Dewey: I Am a Nice Guy

Hermione was startled by the professor, but Dewey gestured for her to come in and not to be nervous.

"A diligent little witch, aren't you?" Dewey said lightly. "So, come in, take a rest, and catch your breath. You're taking quite a few courses, aren't you?"

Seeing "Professor Lupin's" demeanor and noting that he seemed unsurprised by the Time-Turner, Hermione felt a sense of relief. To be honest, ever since she started taking twelve courses—well, eleven, really, as she had absolutely no talent for Divination and despised the flighty teacher—she had decided to drop that subject.

That left her with eleven.

Ever since she began studying eleven subjects, she felt as though her life had been set to fast-forward. Every day, the moment she opened her eyes, it was study, study, frantic study, writing assignments, drafting essays, and calculating the time between classes to ensure she was never late.

She was so busy she didn't even have time to eat.

"Yes, Professor, I am taking eleven courses," Hermione replied. She found a spot to sit down and closed her eyes to rest.

Dewey felt no desire for Hermione's Time-Turner. He had realized long ago, when he was thrown into Azkaban over a decade ago, that suffering could not be undone; if there had been another version of him to save his life back then, it would have meant time was not a closed loop.

In other words, in the future, he either never obtained a Time-Turner, or even if he did, it failed to change his current predicament.

Besides, while a Time-Turner might seem like a heaven-defying object, it was ultimately just a closed loop in time. Even with such a device in existence, Voldemort still rose, Dumbledore's sister still died, Harry's parents were not resurrected, and Dumbledore never returned to that night years ago to stop his father from committing his crimes.

This proved that the side effects of a Time-Turner were so severe that it was practically unusable; none of those who had possessed one had ever managed to use it to avert tragedy.

What was this, the Flashpoint of the magical world?

Dewey merely glanced at the object before losing interest.

He was busy flipping through a book.

Some time after Hermione sat down, a group of students burst in noisily. Harry and Ron opened their eyes wide in surprise when they saw Hermione sitting there. Ron, in particular, stared at her in utter bewilderment, glanced back at the door, and then looked at Hermione again, asking with wide eyes, "When did you get in front of us?"

His tone was one of pure astonishment.

He knew nothing of the power of time.

Hermione felt it would be difficult to explain, and just as she was wondering how to brush off her good friend, Dewey interrupted them easily: "Alright, everyone, take your seats. Class is about to begin."

Dewey cut off their questioning and told them to sit. When it was time for the lesson to start, he tapped the desk in front of him with his wand.

"Very well, everyone," Dewey said with a smile. "We met on the first day of school, I believe. I am your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Lupin. Is this our first lesson today? Excellent. Take out your quills and parchment; I want to begin with a purely conceptual lecture."

The first lesson Dewey gave them was on identifying Dark Creatures.

According to Ministry of Magic regulations, he was forbidden from teaching students any Dark Arts spells before their sixth year, and he wasn't even allowed to teach them many hexes. However, Dewey had no reverence for such things.

The Ministry's bans were as useless as toilet paper.

Besides, one didn't necessarily need to use corresponding spells to deal with the Dark Arts, did one?

Dewey gestured for everyone to open their books to the chapter on werewolves.

"Right, we won't be following the order of the book. Today, we are going to talk about werewolves."

Dewey spoke calmly, as if the Lupin he was portraying wasn't a werewolf himself.

His teaching was highly targeted.

Among the Death Eaters under Voldemort, there were werewolves, but they were not welcomed; even Voldemort viewed them as nothing more than beasts to do his dirty work.

When there was a job to be done, he used them as cannon fodder; when there wasn't, he told them to stay out of sight.

After teaching them how to identify and deal with werewolves, Dewey would also teach them about giants, trolls, and Dementors—all of which were the vanguard and armies Voldemort used when attacking Hogwarts. What Dewey wanted to teach these children was how to maximize their chances of survival amidst the chaos.

The one teaching here wasn't Dewey, but "Professor Lupin," and Dewey played the role to perfection.

He was Lupin—a kind, self-deprecating werewolf professor.

For the sake of Voldemort's demise, Dumbledore was willing to sacrifice even his own life, so he naturally couldn't spare much concern for the lives of Hogwarts students.

He wasn't a god, after all.

People could only rely on themselves.

Therefore.

"Now, look closely at the descriptions in your books. Most of them are accurate, though some are a bit dated. No matter, we can connect them with the information I have gathered over the years."

Dewey spoke with precision.

He touched upon the origins of werewolves, followed immediately by various methods for dealing with them.

In the current magical world, the leader of the werewolves was Fenrir Greyback, a wicked monster who had once been detained by the Ministry. Lupin had been bitten after his parents scolded Fenrir, who held a grudge and sought him out upon his release.

Fenrir's most frequent crime was lurking near wizarding families to bite young witches and wizards.

He was cunning in his selection; he never targeted children from prominent families like the Blacks, Malfoys, Gaunts, or Shacklebolts. He only sought out children from modest, obscure families like Lupin's to bite and turn into werewolves.

For such a malicious monster, the Ministry's short-term detentions were entirely useless.

The werewolf had great ambitions; he had defected to Voldemort in the hope that if Voldemort succeeded, they could live in the light. Unfortunately, Voldemort treated him as nothing more than a dog—useful as cannon fodder when needed, and discarded when not.

Voldemort did not think much of werewolves either.

The werewolves had no other choice; they were unable to resist the rules of the wizarding world on their own, and neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry of Magic would help them. They could only pin all their hopes on Voldemort.

Dewey's lesson was incredibly vivid, especially regarding how to deal with werewolves. He even assigned homework, and Hermione, the top student, had eyes shining with excitement.

"Harry, did you see that? Professor Lupin is far more brilliant than that fraud. He is so knowledgeable!"

As they were leaving, Dewey called Harry back.

Hermione and Ron were waiting for Harry outside the door, but Dewey said, "No, there's no need. Harry won't be back until this evening, so you two should head back first."

"Harry, could you stay for a moment? I have something to tell you."

Dewey kept Harry behind. Harry stared at Dewey with a sense of excitement; he felt his heart racing. Yes, racing. He had told his two friends more than once that he felt Professor Lupin must have known his parents and that there must be some connection between them.

"I can feel it, Ron, Hermione!"

Harry often said this to them with such confidence that it made his two best friends worry.

Could it be that the moment to reveal all of this had finally arrived?

Harry looked at Dewey with great trepidation. Dewey asked if he had any more classes that afternoon. When Harry said no, Dewey nodded, told him to follow behind, and walked casually toward an empty classroom.

He turned the handle of an empty classroom; fortunately, Peeves was not inside.

Dewey sat on a desk and gestured for Harry to relax and not be nervous.

"Although I really don't want to say it, Harry, you are different from others."

In the empty room, Dewey looked at Harry and said, "You were born to be extraordinary. 'The Boy Who Lived,' Harry, do you remember that name?

Do you feel familiar with it?"

"Yes, Professor."

Harry stared intently at "Professor Lupin." He had a feeling that what he was about to say would be shocking, and indeed, it was.

"This world is not peaceful, Harry. Although I know you will feel terrified hearing this, everything I say is true. Therefore, you must learn to take up arms and protect yourself, understand?

The smoke of the Dark Arts has not yet dissipated. In my investigations over these years, I have sensed the rise of the Dark Arts."

Dewey also stared into Harry's eyes as he spoke. Harry was frightened by his solemn demeanor. He swallowed hard and subconsciously stared back into Dewey's eyes, saying, "I don't understand, I don't understand, Professor. What do you mean by that?"

Harry's mind went blank, and he stuttered slightly.

"What do I mean? Harry, do you still not understand?"

Dewey's fingers gently brushed Harry's forehead. Harry did not dodge as Dewey touched his lightning-bolt scar. "Harry, in truth, we both know that this world remains dark. Azkaban still holds the followers of You-Know-Who. They are insane, they are fanatical, they still hold onto their faith, and they still believe that You-Know-Who will return.

They still have the strength to fight.

Outside of Azkaban, there are even more Death Eaters, and they are even more terrifying.

What if Sirius and Dewey break out of prison today? What about tomorrow? Or the day after?"

He looked at Harry earnestly, and Harry felt a chill run down his spine at his words.

He inexplicably remembered the face on the back of Professor Quirrell's head during his first year, and he also thought of the Basilisk. He felt cold all over.

"I don't understand, Professor."

He stammered, his eyes darting away. Dewey grabbed Harry's hand and gestured toward the empty blackboard in front of them. "You don't need to understand, Harry. You only need to know that you are special. Harry, your hair is just like your father's, and your eyes are very much like your mother's.

Your mother once defeated You-Know-Who, and you can too."

As he spoke, Dewey stood up straight, patted Harry on the head, and said, "Train well. Your parents would be proud of you."

Harry didn't hear anything else; he only heard the words, "Your eyes are like your mother's, your hair is like your father's." He turned around excitedly, looked up at "Professor Lupin," and said, "You knew my parents, didn't you, Professor?"

His voice was loud, his eyes wide.

"Of course."

Dewey revealed a warm smile, one that came from the heart.

There was an indescribable nostalgia in his smile.

"Of course I knew them. We were classmates, Harry. Your father was just like you—an excellent athlete. He was also the bravest person I have ever met."