Defense Against the Dark Arts.
A core class meant to teach students how to protect themselves from dark magic and dangerous creatures.
It should have been one of the most popular classes. But ever since forty years ago, not a single professor has lasted more than a year, causing the class style to change constantly.
At this point, even fourth-years might not be able to cast a proper Patronus.
Rock glanced at Professor Quirrell on the platform, rubbing his brows with mild irritation. No wonder even Ravenclaw upper-years whispered that the class was cursed.
Quirrell, with his odd get-up, stood at the lectern clutching his textbook, reading aloud nonstop from the moment class began.
He didn't care at all whether the students were paying attention.
Rock hadn't taken History of Magic yet, but something told him that Quirrell's teaching style could probably rival Professor Binns.
One look around the classroom said everything: students were either doing their own thing under the desk or covering their noses from time to time.
Because no matter what, the strong garlic smell coming from Quirrell's turban never faded—even though he hadn't moved an inch from the front of the room.
Honestly… at this point Voldemort must be thoroughly marinated, right? Garlic lovers would lose their minds if they saw this.
Ew—
Rock shivered involuntarily and quickly shook off the thought. Too disturbing.
Theo yawned beside him, eyes watery with boredom.
Adam kept his head down. He still held a level of respect for professors; even if the smell was unbearable, he didn't dare cover his nose like some of the Ravenclaws around them.
Still, the garlic odor made it almost impossible to focus.
"Accor… according to records… in the mount… mountains of Tran… sylvania…"
Quirrell sounded like someone who hadn't eaten in days—weak, shaky, barely coherent. If the classroom door wasn't closed and the students weren't too nervous to talk, no one would hear him at all.
With no other choice, Rock picked up his quill and began taking notes. A bad memory is better than no notes, after all.
He followed the scattered bits of information Quirrell read aloud, cross-referenced them with the textbook, and wrote down the extended details that weren't included.
Hmm?
As he wrote, Rock's brows knitted together.
Quirrell's words had been so broken and disjointed they barely made sense.
But once connected on parchment… they actually formed useful information—especially methods for dealing with dangerous magical creatures.
Growing up with his grandfather telling him stories about fantastic beasts, Rock immediately recognized certain techniques—ones Newt himself had told him were effective.
It works!
Rock straightened in his seat, and his quill began dancing rapidly across the parchment.
Hearing the sudden burst of focused writing, Adam and Theo looked up. Seeing Rock this absorbed, they exchanged a baffled look.
What is going on?
Rock was completely locked in, piecing together Quirrell's fragmented hints like a puzzle.
One by one, students began turning to look at him, like a chain reaction of falling dominoes.
Soon—
Everyone wondered: Is Quirrell's class actually… interesting?
Even Quirrell paused and glanced at Rock. He blinked.
"Y-you… s-student… is something w-wrong?"
Hmm?
Rock lifted his head, suddenly noticing every student—and Quirrell—staring at him.
"Hello, professor. No, not at all."
Rock set down his quill and stood respectfully. Even though Quirrell only delivered raw theory, it proved the man wasn't incompetent.
He had been a Ravenclaw, after all. His knowledge base was solid.
"Actually, I think the technique you mentioned about hinkypunks was explained in Magical Mediterranean Water Creatures, but not nearly as clearly as you described."
"For example, ignoring their luring light source and instead tracking their movement pattern—that book only mentioned it briefly."
???
Students stared at him like he was speaking a different language.
Are we… in the same Defense Against the Dark Arts class?
Plop—
While Rock explained, Quirrell hurried down from the platform, picked up Rock's parchment, and examined it closely.
Countering kappas: exploit their pride and force them to bow, collapsing their water-dish power source on their head…?
Line after line, notes covered the page—everything Quirrell had said moments earlier.
Quirrell's fingers trembled.
But this time, it wasn't the usual nervous tic.
His eyes, always darting around, were fixed on the parchment for a long moment.
Then he lifted his gaze, giving Rock a quick, fleeting glance—almost like a ghost brushing past him.
Ah. A Ravenclaw student.
Quirrell smiled—something no one expected.
"You captured the essence."
His voice was still soft and shaky, but surprisingly coherent.
"You separated the useless words from the core… very Ravenclaw of you."
"Knowledge… is a weapon."
Quirrell continued, his tone rising ever so slightly as he pointed at Rock's note about the kappa.
"Why did you put a question mark here?"
Rock leaned over.
That part must have been when another student dropped something and interrupted Quirrell, so he never finished the sentence.
Rock chose his words carefully, not wanting to startle Quirrell.
"Professor, I think I missed that part. I just marked it so I could look it up later."
"…Such as how to get a kappa to bow."
Quirrell froze. Then looked up at Rock again—eyes filled with complicated emotion, mostly admiration.
"To make a kappa bow… requires technique… The key is using its stubborn, prideful nature."
"Stay calm. Bow first. When you meet a kappa, don't run. Just stand firm and give a proper bow."
"In the kappa's cultural logic, bowing is a challenge… or a greeting."
"Its stubborn nature forces it to return the gesture—otherwise it violates its own rules."
His pauses grew shorter, his words more fluent. Then Quirrell turned to the whole class:
"For paying close attention—Ravenclaw earns five points."
The classroom went silent.
Quirrell returned Rock's parchment, then—moving like a nervous ghost—rushed back to the lectern.
[Gained high praise from the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Spellcraft Affinity +50]
…?
Rock blinked, staring at the now-shaky-again Quirrell.
High praise gave fifty affinity points?
That was basically one-tenth of a Philosopher's Stone.
read more inpat***
ilham20