Chapter 272

"By the way, what assignment did he give you?" Harry asked. "Or what method did he recommend to Ravenclaw?"

"He said dark wizards always assume Ravenclaw students know things he doesn't, and if those things happen to involve Dark Magic, they'll easily catch a dark wizard's interest," said Zhang Qiu, shrugging. "He wants each of us to invent a piece of Dark Magic—no need to write the incantation, but we must describe its effects in detail, the people who used it historically, and why it was lost."

"He's teaching students to make up lies," Harry said, stroking his chin. "That's the common thread…"

"Hey, Harry, I heard Gryffindor's assignment is to write an essay about you?" Two people walked down the stairs—it was Cui Ge and Luna.

"Yeah," Harry nodded blankly, then asked curiously, "By the way, what assignment did he give Slytherin?"

"You mean Arnold?" said Cui Ge. "He made us memorize the major pure-blood families among the Death Eaters and write an essay proving we're distant relatives of one of them."

"That's easy to understand—and it's still making up lies," Harry nodded, then scratched his head. "But what's the point?"

"Does it have to have a point?" Luna asked. "Could it be that he's genuinely teaching us methods to avoid being attacked by Death Eaters?"

"You might be right—he might just be bored and filling his retirement with this," said Zhang Qiu. "Come on, let's go write our assignments in the library."

"I'd better not go," Harry shook his head. "If I get surrounded there again, it'll be terrible."

That night, in his dormitory, Harry finished his Muggle Studies assignment without effort—just copying empty slogans and platitudes from the textbook—then began searching Zhang Qiu's notes for information on the Giant War, trying hard to memorize it.

Later, Ron returned, and they began writing the essay glorifying Harry Potter. Simply boasting wasn't the issue, but Harry worried they might accidentally reveal something Arnold shouldn't know.

"That's enough. Let's finish this tomorrow," Ron yawned. "There are only two things Harry Potter did that can't go in this essay: this can't be written, that can't be written."

"Arnold is very clever. If he has ill intentions, he'll analyze our essay," Harry rubbed his throbbing temples. "Then it'll be hard to control—we'll definitely leak something."

"Sleep," Ron yawned again, sweeping the parchment into his bag. "Morning is smarter than night."

The next morning, the sky remained gray and drizzly. Over breakfast, Harry glanced at the Daily Prophet—it devoted three or four pages to "Jim Hack Rescues a Dog Mistakenly Taken to Azkaban." After confirming in ten seconds that the dog wasn't Sirius, he tossed it aside.

"Didn't find anything useful for the essay, huh?" Ron said.

"Put that aside for now. Today's schedule is no joke," Harry checked his timetable. "Two Charms classes back-to-back with two Transfiguration classes—we'll need to stay sharp."

Under the combined drills of Flitwick and McGonagall, they endured a full, exhausting morning. At lunch, when Zhang Qiu approached him, Harry sighed wearily: "Can we please not talk about Arnold or the Death Eaters? I just want to get through this OWL year."

"You must understand," Zhang Qiu said seriously, "understanding their plots and intentions, and countering them specifically—that's your responsibility. You need to lead the Order of the Phoenix."

"Harry's already exhausted," Ron chimed in. "Or you could just write our moonstone essay for us."

"Besides, how can someone who can't even pass exams earn people's trust?" Harry rubbed his head. "We still have to write the moonstone essay ourselves, Ron—what if it shows up on the exam?"

"I'll find someone to write your glorifying-Harry-Potter essay," Zhang Qiu sighed. "You need to think, Harry—analyze and think."

"Why don't you just help me think too?" Harry said. "You know as much as I do."

"Too many unknowns," Zhang Qiu counted off on her fingers. "Does the Ministry know Yanayev's layout? If they do, how will they respond? If they don't, what's the point of all these actions so far?"

"Please keep an eye on this," Harry bowed his fist to her, then pulled Ron quickly down the corridor. "We're going to write the moonstone essay—we have to."

"I was just saying—you did the gesture backward," she muttered.

Amid frequent visitors, they'd written barely four or five lines when they realized lunchtime was over. They rushed outside to prepare for Care of Magical Creatures. Facing a new professor, Ron prayed to Merlin repeatedly: "Please let his assignment be light."

They arrived at Hagrid's hut by the Forbidden Forest, where Professor Bell Grills stood before it, a magical creature seated on a low table.

"Pay attention, students," he said rapidly. "This creature is called a Bowtruckle. It typically lives on branches of trees used for wand-making. Bowtruckles are friendly, protected creatures—but according to basic Defense principles, if you attack one in the wild—usually by breaking branches or plucking leaves, a habit many of you have—they'll defend the tree by attacking you."

Some students nodded; others quietly dropped the small branches they'd just snapped.

In such cases, the principle of emergency avoidance applies—you may use spells in self-defense. But there's another scenario: if you're starving in the wild and the only creature nearby is a Bowtruckle, you may attack it. Bowtruckles aren't ideal for eating, but they're not inedible. Generally, you can simply snap off an arm or leg, chew it down, and it's not unpleasant—it tastes like bland, hard oatcakes; after chewing long enough, you get a faint herbal fragrance… cough, I've gone off track.

Professor Grills placed the Bowtruckle on a nearby tree, then said: "Now, the focus of today's lesson: if you're forced to defend yourself against a Bowtruckle in the wild, you must learn this extremely useful spell—the Stunning Spell."

"Now, everyone, take out your wands and follow my gesture…"

They spent most of the class practicing the Stunning Spell. At the end, Grills announced the assignment: write an essay describing how to deal with Bowtruckles—not limited to the Stunning Spell or defensive scenarios.

On the way back, Harry heard Goyle and Crabbe discussing the feasibility of burning down the forest. He couldn't help laughing—but then felt guilty, realizing how cruel the joke was.

"First Muggle Studies, now Care of Magical Creatures—we can learn Defense Magic in any class except Defense Against the Dark Arts," came a voice. Harry noticed Hannah, walking beside Neville.

"But you've already practiced the Stunning Spell many times in the Defense Association, right?" Neville said casually.

"Speaking of that, we're planning to change the name," Hannah said. "D. . could also stand for Dumbledore's Army—it'd clash with Harry's secret army."

"Really? Have you thought of a good new name?" Neville asked.

"Everyone admires Harry. The preliminary idea is 'Potter's Savior Army,'" Hannah said cheerfully—and Harry's heart sank.

"Just keep calling it the Defense Association," Neville countered for Harry. "If anyone asks, say Dumbledore's Army recruits members from here."

"So will Harry really do that?" Hannah asked.

"As far as I know, there may not even be a Dumbledore's Army," Neville said with a bitter smile.

"Phew," Harry whispered to Ron. "I need a plan—today in the library, seven or eight people came up to talk to me."

"What kind of plan?" Ron asked.

"I need them to not recognize me," Harry said heavily. "I can't stand being surrounded while people talk about heroic deeds I never did. I'd bet if Voldemort tried this to drive me mad, he'd be close to succeeding."

"Calm down, Harry—Voldemort's gone," Ron soothed.

"Stay alert!" Neville suddenly turned around. "We can't rule out Voldemort's return."

"Alright, let's just say it's the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay," Harry changed the subject. "Either way, my life's been awful these past two days."

"True—Arnold's assignment is already disrupting your normal studies," Ron nodded. "You should try changing your appearance—something different from the newspaper descriptions. Honestly, I think most people might not even remember your face."

"Like the lightning scar," Ron said. Harry immediately messed up his hair to cover it with his bangs.

"Wear round glasses," Harry cast a transfiguration spell on his spectacles—they instantly became square.

"The papers say you're a thin, sharp boy," Harry tapped his face with his wand—he knew the spell to puff someone up, so now he could make himself a little fatter.

"Boy, I can't change…," Ron studied him. "But you look nothing like your old self now."

"Hey, Harry!" Luna bounced out of the Herbology greenhouse, passing them.