Chapter 198: Probing And Inquiring
Tuesday, Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom.
Seamus and Dean huddled together, pasting thin parchment on the book and tracing the Hogwarts illustration with a quill. There were clearly more convenient rubbing methods, like duplicating it or something, but drawing this dark creature by hand gave a greater sense of accomplishment.
Dangerous and eerie dark creatures felt super cool.
Several little wizards gathered around, while Harry and Ron watched them trace from the side, discussing the combat power of these dangerous creatures: who would be stronger in a one-on-one duel, who would have the advantage in the wilderness, and who could survive to the end in a fight.
Ron was shouting about the most powerful creature in his memory: “Have you seen a fire dragon? My brother is a fire dragon keeper. Whatever Hogwarts, whatever Pygmy Puff, one blast of dragon flame and they’re all burned to charcoal!”
Next to him was Justin, who frowned and thought for a moment before bringing up an even more powerful creature from his mind: “No matter how powerful a fire dragon is, can it compare to a basilisk? As soon as it’s glanced at by the basilisk, it can’t even open its mouth, and the basilisk has a poisoned fang!”
This immediately won agreement from the surrounding students: “That’s right! That’s right!”
Ron’s face showed a regretful expression.
He himself was the warrior who defeated the basilisk, so how could he let Justin mention it first?
Hearing the surrounding classmates praising Justin, Ron felt extremely upset inside. These honors should clearly all be his.
It was all because Professor Levent weakened and restricted the basilisk, letting them face it directly and successfully defeat it, causing him to subconsciously feel that this defeated foe wasn’t anything impressive, and he forgot to mention it.
Ron quickly racked his brains, thinking hard about what other majestic creatures there were.
At that moment, Neville, who had been silent, mentioned the niffler, immediately sparking another heated discussion. This was knowledge seen on the projection mirror, so everyone could chime in a few words.
Unlike Ron who wanted to show off, Harry didn’t join the discussion but listened with great interest from the side. Such discussions were meaningless but fun.
Over the next few minutes, the discussion stalled, with more 5X-level magical creatures joining in. The little wizards were just talking on paper; no one could convince anyone else. The pure stubbornness and repetition sounded somewhat boring.
Harry shook his head and turned to look at Hermione in the front row, hoping the first in year know-it-all miss could offer some insights.
However, Hermione didn’t join the boys’ boring combat power debate but sat properly in the front row, head down, with a magazine spread out in front of her, flipping through it with relish.
Not a thick tome?
Harry was a bit surprised and leaned over to look at the title bar, reading out that somewhat strange article title: “Discipline, Punishment and Keeping: The Birth of Azkaban…”
He scratched his head; this name wasn’t unfamiliar. Last time Hagrid was keeping a fire dragon and refused to let Norbert go, Professor Levent had mentioned this term while intimidating him.
It was said to be an isolated island in the North Sea, transformed by the Ministry of Magic into a wizard prison, inhabited by dangerous creatures called dementors.
Harry’s gaze moved down to read the article; after the abstract came large paragraphs of text mixed with obscure and awkward academic language.
“…clearly unify the legal code, establish judicial procedures, generally adopt the jury system, determine the nature of punishment as mainly re-education, and the punishments for wizards and Muggles show similar trends: reducing direct physical punishment, cautiously creating physical pain, no longer displaying those subtle and mild tortures.”
“Hmm…”
Harry drew in a cold breath, his head feeling cool, as if he had gained knowledge, but this knowledge was like spring rain, flowing through his head and out again, without staying in his mind.
“Is this a serious thesis? Who writes with this grammar? Only a ghost could understand it…”
This complaint fell into Hermione’s ears. She turned her head, gave Harry a deep look, then spread the magazine in front of him. Her fair finger pointed to the author column, where there was a familiar name.
Harry’s eyes widened: “Professor Levent wrote this?!”
“It was just published in the magazine this week. Last weekend at the owlery, I ran into Dobby sending a letter and learned from him that the professor had submitted a thesis. I asked him to help me order it.”
Hermione looked a bit proud, her gaze falling on this article with an expression full of admiration and approval. “It discusses the developmental history of prisons to outline the path of rule of law development, comparing similarities and differences between Muggles and wizards. The angle and viewpoint of this article are extremely novel. Madam Marchbanks commented that it’s the finest thesis in Muggle Studies in three hundred years.”
She then looked at Harry: “You really should read it carefully.”
Harry shook his head: “I’m not interested in prisons and laws, whether Muggle or wizard.”
“Fine…” Hermione huffed twice, looking quite disdainful. “The second half of the thesis has content about dementors and introduces four little techniques for practicing the Patronus Charm. You should be interested in that.”
“Dementors? Patronus Charm?”
“The professor mentioned it before. Dementors are a 5X-level dark creature without facial features; where a mouth should be, there’s a hole. They can identify others through smell and emotions, and absorb people’s happiness through scent. The academic community is still unsure whether to classify them as magical creatures.”
Hermione kept her fair little face serious, like a professor lecturing. “Currently, no wizard has found a way to destroy dementors; they can only be repelled with the Patronus Charm.”
Just as Harry wanted to ask more, the class bell rang, and the students blocking the aisle scattered.
When the bell ended, Professor Levent entered the classroom on the dot, wearing a light green spring robe that looked like the spring buds of the Whomping Willow. His hair was slightly loose but not messy, and his face bore a faint smile.
The little wizards didn’t know how to describe it; it didn’t feel like being in a classroom but like being on the shore of the Black Lake with a warm breeze blowing.
Melvin dragged over a chair and sat down, placing the golden goblet on the desk. While dripping developing potion into it, he said: “As last week, today’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class will be taught by Professor Gaunt.”
Under Harry’s gaze, ethereal silver mist dispersed, the mist outlining the figure of another young wizard. In a few seconds, the assistant teacher’s voice rose from the silver mist, spreading throughout the classroom.
“Good morning, children.”
Professor Gaunt floated in mid-air, his pale face bearing a kind smile: “Today we’ll continue with common 3X-level dangerous creatures in the jungle. I believe everyone has noticed that creatures of this level are actually easy to deal with, as long as you’re careful enough and stay cautious…”
It was all very basic content, a review. For students with a solid foundation, it was somewhat boring.
Harry listened to the assistant teacher’s lecture, his mind slightly drifting, thoughts gradually floating out the window.
Professor Gaunt had been substitute teaching for a while now and was overall excellent, almost the best professor they’d encountered, far surpassing Quirinus Quirrell and Gilderoy Lockhart, even better than Professor Levent.
Even for this very basic second year content, he could use his vast knowledge to provide unique insights and details, extending to more advanced fields involving the underlying principles of magic. Even if students couldn’t fully understand, they definitely gained something.
But this Professor Gaunt was sometimes quite odd.
Half an hour into the class, the assistant teacher’s semi-transparent phantom floated in the air, waving to direct the dispersing silver mist, condensing it into the body of a magical creature: a shrimp-like monster about 12 inches long, agile in movement, demonstrating running, jumping, and sudden attack postures.
The intuitive and vivid display helped deepen the students’ impressions.
Riddle’s lips curved into a pleased arc. He cleared his throat: “This lesson is about the soft-claw land shrimp. I believe everyone has learned well. Now it’s time to test the results. Who can tell me what spell to use against a soft-claw land shrimp?”
Here it comes again…
Harry watched Hermione raise her right hand high in front and silently sighed, already prepared in his heart.
“Mr. Potter, you answer.”
“…”
He knew it.
Harry felt no surprise, answering with a numb expression: “I think the Disarming Charm could work.”
“Disarming Charm, Disarming Charm…”
Riddle repeated it twice softly, showing an approving smile. “What a novel angle. The Disarming Charm can directly disarm its sharp claws and poisoned fang, and repel it to a safe distance… For your clever thinking, Gryffindor gets five points.”
Harry barely squeezed out a smile, which looked awful.
Actually, the normal choice would be the Repelling Charm or Stupefy. Compared to the Disarming Charm, these beginner spells are faster to cast, more accurate, and more versatile. If it were Professor Levent teaching, he would probably say his brain only knew the Disarming Charm.
This was Professor Gaunt’s oddity.
After learning he was the boy who lived, the assistant teacher became extraordinarily friendly, even fawning. Every class, he would call on him to answer questions. No matter how absurd the answer, the assistant teacher would use his vast knowledge to give a reasonable explanation and find an angle to praise.
This favoritism hadn’t been reported yet because the abnormal house points growth had caught Professor Snape’s attention. House points added in Defence Against the Dark Arts would be deducted in afternoon Potions class.
But lately, Professor Gaunt’s questioning was becoming more frequent, and the points awarded more unrestrained. Professor Snape could barely keep up with the deductions.
But this wasn’t something to be happy about; being caught between two professors made him feel uneasy.
Ron sat beside him and leaned over to whisper: “Professor Gaunt is your fan. Answer right and get points, answer wrong and still get points. Even if you say use a Cleaning Charm to give the monster a bath, he’d praise your novel thinking…”
“…”
Harry thought Ron was right.
“We’ll discuss after class, Harry.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Your fan is coming over to answer your questions soon.”
“I know…”
Harry sighed and happened to meet Professor Gaunt’s gaze. He quickly straightened his back, feeling creeped out.
How could there be such an adult wizard, from a pure-blood family no less, acting just like that lower years Colin Creevey? Luckily Professor Gaunt was just a phantom; otherwise, having a professor in his fan club, he really wouldn’t know how to face Malfoy and Snape’s mockery.
Harry felt great pressure and was planning to report the situation to Professor Levent when the assistant teacher’s phantom floated over.
“My dear children, what are you discussing? Any questions from this lesson?”
“No, Professor.”
Harry answered quickly.
Riddle didn’t mind at all, his face still wearing a gentle smile: “Don’t mind others’ gossip and strange looks. Defence Against the Dark Arts is a practical course; many questions have no standard answers. Harry, no need to feel uneasy about it. Other students might only use Repelling Charm and Stupefy, but you’ve successfully mastered the Disarming Charm. Compared to you, they’re just untalented mediocres.”
Ron’s face looked a bit ugly, and Hermione seemed hesitant to speak.
Harry opened his mouth: “I… I’m not…”
“You’re Gryffindor’s warrior; you should be braver and not shy about sharing your past heroic deeds.” The phantom said smilingly, like his confidant friend. “Can you tell me about that legendary story from that night? How did you survive? How did you defeat Voldemort?”
“Stop, Mr. Gaunt!”
Harry took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly. “To me, there was no legendary story that night. I only know my parents died by Voldemort’s wand. I lost my family and everything. These false honors bring me no comfort. I’m not any warrior; the true warriors are my parents.”
Riddle’s illusory figure distorted somewhat, but he still forced an ugly smile: “I’m very sorry, Harry. What happened that night was indeed a tragedy. I just… I just admire you and your parents so much.”
Harry sat in his seat, silent.
…
Late at night.
Yurm crawled out of the emerald snake nest and twisted around on the office desk.
Melvin sat in the chair, holding the Hufflepuff golden goblet in one hand, raising it to his eyes for close inspection. It felt like highly purified White Fresh juice: milky white liquid with the texture of water, not viscous, emitting a faint fresh fragrance.
It clearly had strong healing properties.
Melvin tilted the golden goblet, slowly pouring the liquid inside into a glass bottle, sensing the gentle magic power contained within midway.
Once the glass bottle was filled, only a few drops of milky white liquid remained in the goblet. He sealed the stopper, and the residual liquid quickly turned black and corrupted, the magic emitting an evil and ominous aura, the smell shifting from fresh to foul and increasingly intense.
Melvin wasn’t surprised, unhurriedly taking out another bottle of silvery-white potion and dripping a few drops into the goblet.
Riddle’s phantom quickly appeared, floating back and forth in the office, emitting irritable hisses:
“Why? Why won’t he talk about what happened that night? What magic let him survive! What magic can defeat the great Dark Lord?”
Yurm looked up at him, flicked its tail, and slowly slithered back into the emerald.
Melvin also shook his head slightly. He had been so deep-minded and good at disguise when poisoning Mrs. Smith, but after becoming a Horcrux, he turned like this: hysterical and cursing like a Knockturn Alley dark wizard, showing none of his former scheming.
It seemed tearing the soul really affected the brain.
