Chapter 18: Dark Arts Defense

Michael’s resentment still lingered until the Dark Arts Defense class began.

On Tuesday, Ravenclaw had Dark Arts Defense class together with Slytherin.

Hogwarts classes were usually held with two houses combined,

except on rare occasions,

such as when special astronomical phenomena occurred, and all four houses might attend Astronomy together.

This was what Wizard Sean heard from Michael’s constant muttering on the way.

According to him,

Dark Arts Defense was the most popular course at Hogwarts.

This raised Anthony and Terry’s anticipation for the class to its peak.

Wizard Sean, walking behind, shook his head—Dark Arts Defense was indeed appealing, but the teaching quality was worrying.

The crucial Dark Arts Defense class,

in the first year, had a stuttering professor,

in the second year, a fraud,

in the third and fourth years, professors who were at least normal,

but by the fifth year, it became a pink magical toad.

In the sixth year, Snape finally got the position,

and in the seventh year, it was a Death Eater who only persecuted students and never taught.

Looking at it this way, only three of the seven years of Dark Arts Defense offered real learning.

Therefore, Wizard Sean decided to study on his own.

In his hand he clutched *Theory of Magical Defense*, a fifth-year textbook he had borrowed early,

because he felt he would need it,

not because he could read it for free without paying.

Once Dark Arts Defense began, the faint hope Wizard Sean had held vanished,

though Wizard Sean knew Quirrell had once been a brilliant Ravenclaw,

after becoming a double agent, he had clearly lost the knowledge he once prided himself on.

Or rather, he had no energy left to display it.

At that moment,

Michael in the front row finally understood Wizard Sean’s strange behavior.

Wizard Sean had sat early in the back row, burying himself in study even before class started,

when Michael, still puzzled, suddenly smelled a strong stench of garlic,

compounded by Quirrell’s stammering, mumbled recitation from the textbook,

Michael felt as if he had entered hell.

Terry, sitting closest to Quirrell, sat motionless—as if he had been poisoned by the smell.

[Ghouls are divided into several types:

Mountain-dwelling ghouls, river-dwelling ghouls, and sea-dwelling ghouls.

Mountain-dwelling ghouls are the largest, with pale gray bodies, bald heads, skin rougher than a rhinoceros’s, and strength greater than ten men combined.

Yet their brains are no larger than a pea, so they are easily confused…]

Wizard Sean read carefully from *Dark Forces: A Making Guide to Self-Protection*, a book written by Quentin Trimble,

whose cover bore no text or patterns—only deep, impenetrable black,

just like its content: concise and efficient.

Banshees, zombies, hags, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, Tibetan snowmen, boggarts, red caps, kappas, hinkypunks, grindylows—all were crammed into this slim volume,

yet despite being packed with detailed knowledge of every creature and spirit,

it still had room to explain counter-charms and dispelling spells.

These were truly practical tools, so Wizard Sean memorized them repeatedly,

the only disappointment being that, given Quirrell’s condition, Wizard Sean doubted he would learn any real defensive spells from him.

That meant Wizard Sean would have to teach himself.

But whether it was the Disarming Charm or the Shield Charm,

both were advanced spells.

At least, Wizard Sean had not seen them in *Standard Book of Spells: Grade One*.

So how would Wizard Sean learn them?

As Wizard Sean frowned, the Dark Arts Defense class ended,

the young wizards fled the classroom as if escaping,

while Michael and Terry remained seated, motionless—as if they had meditated into oblivion.

Wizard Sean walked over, slightly concerned,

only for Michael to suddenly lunge at him and bellow:

“It’s torture!”

Wizard Sean jumped in surprise.

Compared to Dark Arts Defense, the next class—Charms—was undoubtedly what Wizard Sean looked forward to.

Professor Flitwick was no double agent—he was a true wizard with real teaching ability,

and he would teach young wizards proper wand movements and correct incantation pronunciation, exactly what Wizard Sean needed.

Wizard Sean knew that a wizard’s power came from belief,

something many in his past life had called “I-think-it-so power.”

But merely thinking it wasn’t enough—he had experienced firsthand what happened after he thought about it for a full week.

His explanation was this: yes, a wizard’s power came from belief,

but how you thought, and how you directed that thought, was equally vital.

As stated in *Magical Theory* by Adelbert Wolfram, the “Father of Magical Theory”:

“Most wizards cannot control magic on their own, so they require spells and wands to Making Guide it,

enabling magic to be consciously manipulated to achieve a purpose.”

…

The Charms classroom was on the fourth floor, and the constantly shifting spiral stairs caused great trouble for the young wizards.

All the Ravenclaw students were jammed on one staircase, while the staircase leading to the Charms classroom refused to turn into place.

Behind the crowd, Terry scribbled in a notebook:

“I’m about to figure out the pattern.”

Beside him, Michael rubbed his forehead:

“Terry, I believe you can succeed, but by the time you figure it out, we’ll already be late.”

Facing the slipping time and the unmoving stairs, the students panicked like ants on a hot pan.

Today was the Head of Ravenclaw’s first lesson—and all his Ravenclaws were late—

Oh my God!

Wizard Sean sighed and went back to reading.

He couldn’t change the stairs; he could only review his textbook ahead of time.

“Alright, alright, come closer, Terry, this time we’re counting on you.

Wizard Sean, move—just don’t be the last one into the classroom.”

Michael said, pulling Wizard Sean forward, with Anthony and Terry right behind,

the four of them forcing a path through the crowd.

“Ready, Terry?”

“Almost… there…”

“That’s your fourth time saying the same thing! Merlin’s stinking underpants!”

Michael seemed mentally broken from the garlic and the stairs.

At that moment, Wizard Sean saw an unusually tall ghost pass through the wall.

Her appearance suddenly sparked an idea in him.

“Lady Gray.”

Wizard Sean whispered.

Lady Gray drifted over, and the surrounding Ravenclaw students immediately felt the temperature drop.

“A ghost! Oh my!”

“She’s coming!”

Most young wizards still feared ghosts more than they were curious about them,

and everyone instantly pressed together—even bold Michael trembled as he asked:

“Wizard Sean, what are you doing?”

“The prefect said Lady Gray might be connected to the Eagle Ancestor, remember?”

Wizard Sean whispered in explanation.

"Miss Grey, could you help us get through the turning staircase? We're going to be late for Potions."

Wizard Sean asked.

Miss Grey said nothing; she gave Wizard Sean a serious look.

That one glance nearly gave Michael and Terry a heart attack.

"Too close... too close..."

"Wizard Sean, this doesn't seem like a good idea..."

Amid their trembling voices, the staircase ahead rumbled and rotated, swiftly connecting to the one they stood on.

Michael and Terry widened their eyes.