Cunning Tricks

"Expelliarmus."

"Expelliarmus."

"Expelliarmus."

In the classroom, with only the two of them present, Harry panted as he cast Expelliarmus three times in a row, but all three spells were blocked by Dewey's Protego. Sweat covered his forehead, stinging his eyes until he could barely keep them open.

Dewey moved quickly, without even waving his wand.

"No, this won't do!"

Dewey shouted sternly. Harry was already exhausted, while Dewey had only just begun.

"Now imagine that I'm a werewolf standing in front of you. What did I tell you in class? Don't let a werewolf get close! Even in human form, they're big, strong, vicious, and bloodthirsty!

"When they turn into werewolves, their claws become their main weapons. You can use the Disarming Charm against a wizard, but it isn't万能, understand, Harry?

"Don't stupidly cast Expelliarmus again. I don't have a weapon. What are you planning to disarm—my claws?

"Read the situation, boy!

"Don't be dogmatic. If someone has claws but no wand, how are you going to disarm them?

"Or tell me, boy, what counts as a weapon?

"What about Impedimenta? Stupefy? Do you only know how to cast Expelliarmus, Harry?"

As he spoke, Dewey dodged another Expelliarmus from Harry, closed in, and slapped Harry's hand. Harry cried out in pain, and his wand fell to the floor.

Dewey picked it up.

A physical version of Expelliarmus.

Harry was frightened. He covered the back of his hand and stared at the professor, backing away repeatedly.

Only then did Dewey say, "All right, that's the end of our first training session, Harry. You've got a lot of problems."

He tossed Harry's wand back to him. "Impedimenta, Locomotor Mortis—spells you've studied, but you don't know how to use them at all.

"When facing a werewolf, we need to restrict its movement first, don't we?

"You don't have to hurt your enemy, but you can't let your enemy hurt you. Understand? You need to develop your own dueling tactics. Even if you only know two spells, you can still deal with an enemy if you use them well. Don't just stupidly cast Expelliarmus over and over."

Dewey spoke sternly.

The serious professor frightened Harry a little, and he nodded.

Looking at Harry, Dewey realized he was only thirteen years old. That was a reason to forgive him, but it wouldn't be a reason for the Death Eaters to spare him.

Enemies wouldn't spare you because of your age.

Dewey sighed, fully immersed in his role, and patted Harry on the head.

Seeing the gentle "Professor Lupin," Harry visibly relaxed.

He nearly fell to the floor.

Several White Cards had fallen to the ground. Dewey ignored them. He guessed most of them were Expelliarmus and Lumos, neither of which he wanted. He wanted a Purple Card.

He wanted the Purple Card, Expecto Patronum.

He would teach Harry the spell on the Purple Card, then keep getting cards to drop. Before long, he would be able to do it.

"So, Harry, how do you feel?"

Dewey asked. Harry Potter panted heavily, feeling strange. The last time he'd dueled someone was at the Duelling Club Professor Lockhart had started. Unfortunately, Lockhart was a fraud who didn't have the ability to establish a proper dueling club. Harry had only faced off against Malfoy once, and it had been a pathetic match between two amateurs.

The Duelling Club had never achieved what it was supposed to.

Lockhart ended up in the hospital, and the Duelling Club quietly came to an end. Looking at Harry's skill in magical dueling, Dewey saw that even a rule-bound duel left him flustered. If he ever faced a no-holds-barred fight to the death, it would be a complete disaster!

Harry wasn't even good at using magic to move the tables and chairs out of the room.

What did that mean?

It meant he had a lot of trouble controlling his magic, too.

He was full of holes.

Dewey looked at Harry, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "That's enough for tonight, Harry. Go over your class schedule carefully. When you don't have training in the evening, you can come find me in the Staff Room or my quarters.

"I hear you're quite the athlete? Hmm? A Quidditch Seeker?

"Excellent, Harry. I mean, you're just like your father. You're both remarkable people."

Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead. His throat hurt terribly, as if it were on fire. His lungs felt ready to burst, and his head hurt, too.

He had never cast so many spells in one go before. He had never thought about combining spells, either, or that magical dueling required not only casting spells but also footwork and watching for the right moment. All of that took brains and courage, not to mention experience.

He was short on all of them.

In Dewey's view, Harry lacked brains and experience.

Like the current Head of the Auror Office, he was a great frontline fighter. Gryffindor was the right place for him. He had courage and valued friendship.

He was just a little short on brains.

A tiny flaw.

Looking at Harry, Dewey inexplicably heard a voice in his head.

Harry, you're loyal and true, so why are you so thickheaded?

But did it matter?

Dewey didn't think so.

You didn't need brains to deal with Voldemort, either.

After coming back to life, Voldemort had lost his brains, too. He'd gone from a graceful villain with remarkable charisma to a complete fool—a fool who was invincible in battle, yet only knew how to use Unforgivable Curses.

As Voldemort's opponent, Harry didn't need brains, either. Dumbledore had already taken care of all the things that required them.

What Harry had was enough.

His courage and willingness to sacrifice himself, alone, made him better than most people. Dewey gazed at him with pity, like a fattened pig waiting to be slaughtered.

Harry asked his first question.

Good. One reason Dewey had asked Harry to study with him was to show him how dangerous the world was and train him to survive. The other reason was that after every lesson, Harry could ask him one question.

Dewey had both godfather and godson firmly in his grasp with the same trick.

After a violent fit of coughing, Dewey promptly took out a potion and drank it. Harry paid no attention to the potion. He gazed at Dewey expectantly and asked, "Professor, did you really know my parents? What were they like?"

He stared earnestly at "Professor Lupin," wanting an answer.

The question had been weighing on his mind for years.

He couldn't get any information from his aunt and uncle, and no one else would tell him anything.

"Professor Lupin" was the only person he could ask.

Dewey looked at Harry, crouched down, and said, "Yes, I knew them. I was one of their best friends. As for what they were like...

"Harry, your mother, Lily Potter, was the kindest person I ever knew. She was brave, kind, and sincere. She had a few little flaws, but who doesn't, Harry?

"As for your father, take a look in the mirror. He was just as full of youthful energy as you are. You're a lot like him. Neither of you ever seemed to run out of energy, and both of you had wonderful friends. People liked you both, too. Of course, there's one striking similarity between you.

"Professor Severus Snape doesn't like either of you."

After finishing with a smile, Dewey started to leave, but Harry called after "Professor Lupin."

He asked his second question.

"Professor, why does Snape hate me? Is it really because my dad and he couldn't stand each other at school, so he's taking it out on me?"

Harry pressed him from behind.

Dewey didn't turn around. He waved a hand casually and said, "That's your second question, Harry. You'll have to wait until after your second lesson before I can answer it.

"But I have to remind you, Harry: call him Professor Snape. He's a good Potions teacher, and we ought to show our teachers some respect, don't you think?"

Harry watched "Professor Lupin" leave. Just as he was going, "Professor Lupin" seemed to remember something, spun around abruptly, and tossed him a piece of chocolate.

Harry fumbled as he caught it.

"Eat plenty of chocolate, Harry. You're not handling yourself well around Dementors. Stay away from those monsters."

He said to Harry, "Remember what Dumbledore told you. Don't go waving your Invisibility Cloak around in front of Dementors. Those creatures don't understand forgiveness."

Harry kept staring dumbly at "Professor Lupin." So much had happened that night that his brain felt ready to explode, and he was still in a daze.

He had been right. Professor Lupin really was a good friend of his parents, and one of his father's best friends.

Harry's head was full of questions, but they had agreed that he could ask only one question per training session. He had used up his chance this time. If he wanted to ask anything else, he would have to wait until the following week.

But how could he wait until next week?

It was torture!

His questions hadn't gone away after this one conversation. If anything, he had more than ever.

Harry was anxious. On his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, a bold idea suddenly occurred to him.

What if—just what if—he compressed his schedule? Yes, what if he cut out all sorts of other activities, like Quidditch practice and rest, and came here two or three times a week instead?

Wouldn't he be able to learn more?

Why not?

The thought made Harry feel as if he'd opened the door to a whole new world.

What was wrong with doing that to get the answers he wanted?