Chapter 74: First DADA Class... Curse Hit's Tom...

Next Day…

Hogwarts – Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom...

After lunch, the seventh-year students from all five houses gathered in the Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA) classroom.

The room was spacious, with high, vaulted ceilings and tall, arched windows, allowing in only dim natural light.

Dark, wooden bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes on hexes, jinxes, counter-curses, and dark magical creatures.

Some were even chained shut, their contents deemed too dangerous for careless hands.

Several glass cases housed cursed objects, defensive talismans, and preserved magical creature parts—such as werewolf fangs and dragon scales.

The walls bore animated illustrations of sinister creatures—Dementors, Inferi, and Boggarts—which twisted and shifted whenever a student passed.

The student desks were arranged in neat rows, though there was enough space to alter the layout for practical demonstrations when needed.

"Hey, Will, what do you think about our new DADA professor?"

A seventh-year Gryffindor nudged his friend, who sat beside him, absentmindedly biting his nails.

Will shrugged.

"Dunno. But he's young… He can't be worse than Professor Binns, right?"

His tone carried an air of scepticism as if he didn't have much faith in yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"Hey, don't speak badly about my House Head."

A seventh-year from House Dragon, sitting behind them, narrowed his eyes in warning.

"Sure, sure, Mr. Dragon…"

The two Gryffindors rolled their eyes, clearly not intimidated.

Just then, a Hufflepuff from a nearby table leaned in, his voice conspiratorial.

"I overheard some girls talking… They say our new DADA professor is insanely strong—took down multiple dark wizards who tried to cause trouble in Diagon Alley."

At those words, a wave of intrigue passed through the students.

Could the young professor truly be that powerful?

Or was it just rumours?

Like the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, the rest of the seventh-year students were engaged in hushed conversations, exchanging theories and speculations about their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Would he be strict or lenient? Competent or another disappointment?

Some whispered rumours about his prowess in battle, while others remained sceptical, doubting someone so young could handle such a dangerous subject.

Creak—

The classroom door groaned open, the sound cutting through the air like a blade.

Instantly, the room fell into silence.

All eyes turned toward the entrance as Leo Morningstar stepped into the classroom.

His steps were unhurried, his presence commanding yet effortlessly calm.

He took a brief moment to survey the room, his deep crimson eyes flickering over the expectant faces of the students.

The professor's desk stood at the front of the room, cluttered with old tomes, parchment, and magical artefacts—remnants of lessons past.

Beside it, a large blackboard loomed, its surface usually filled with spell incantations and diagrams of dark creatures.

Leo approached the desk and picked up a sealed parchment bearing the Hogwarts crest.

With a casual flick of his fingers, he broke the seal, revealing the attendance sheet—a list of students required to attend his class.

Leo's attire was refined yet practical, striking a balance between a professor's elegance and a duelist's confidence.

A fitted black waistcoat hugged his form over a crisp, charcoal-grey dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up just below the elbows, exposing lean yet toned forearms.

His tailored trousers fit comfortably yet sharply, maintaining his effortlessly polished aesthetic.

On his feet, black dragonhide boots, subtly scuffed from use rather than neglect, clicked softly against the stone floor as he moved.

Each step exuded a quiet confidence, a presence that made him appear both approachable and untouchable at the same time.

Cough—

The light clearing of his throat pulled the students' attention back as Leo finally spoke, his voice smooth yet firm.

"Good afternoon, everyone. I am Leo Morningstar, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

A confident smile graced his lips as his red eyes swept across the room, meeting the gazes of every student.

Some looked at him with curiosity, others with hidden scepticism, but one thing was clear—they were all interested.

Even though they had seen him during the Sorting Ceremony, the reality of having the youngest professor in Hogwarts history standing before them was far different.

He had already broken the record previously held by Professor McGonagall, making him the youngest professor ever appointed at Hogwarts.

And from the looks on the students' faces…

They were eager to see if he would live up to the growing rumours.

[ Ding! ]

[ Task Completed. ]

▶ [ Task: First Step to Light ]

[ Task Description:

The Host has been offered the opportunity to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts.

Use this opportunity to take the first step to fool—cough— I mean, inspire students to become better witches and wizards and eventually worship you as their idol.

Completion Rate: 100% ✅

Task Rewards:

📜 DADA Knowledge Pack (Covers all of Hogwarts' syllabus)

🎲 Lucky Charm x1 (A single-use item that grants two hours of enhanced luck on the day it is torn.) ]

▶ [ Reward Being Issued... ]

▶ [ DADA Knowledge Pack is now integrating with the Host. ]

▶ [ Lucky Charm has been stored in the System Space. ]

As soon as he finished his introduction, the familiar chime of the system notification echoed in his mind.

His lips twitched slightly, but he quickly maintained his neutral expression, ensuring none of the students noticed his internal amusement.

'Well… that's one task done.'

Now, it was time to begin.

"____"

Leo paused for a few moments, his expression unreadable, as his mind processed the vast knowledge now seamlessly integrated into his being.

His muscles tensed slightly, his senses sharpening as magic itself seemed to settle within him, adjusting to his new capabilities.

'Damn…'

He was shocked at just how much the DADA Knowledge Pack covered.

▶ Charms.

▶ Transfiguration.

▶ Potions.

▶ Curses and Jinxes.

▶ Magical and Dark Creatures.

▶ Counter-curses.

▶ Even dark magic itself.

And not just theory—he instinctively knew how to apply each of them in duels and real combat situations.

'This isn't just DADA knowledge—this is a complete battle mage package. Buy one, get one free, huh?'

Just as he was mentally celebrating the unexpected bonus, a cold, ominous feeling brushed against his core.

[ System Warning! ]

[ Ding! ]

▶ [ A harmful curse has been detected… ]

▶ [ Analyzing… ]

[ Ding! ]

▶ [ Curse Identified: Parasitic Luck-Erosion Curse ]

▶ [ Caster: Tom Riddle (Voldemort) ]

▶ [ Description: A unique, parasitic-type curse crafted by the Dark Wizard Tom Riddle. This spell does not cause direct harm, but instead devours the victim's luck, leading to a life of endless misfortune. Some victims may even face bizarre, fatal accidents due to prolonged exposure. ]

Leo's eyes darkened as he realized what this meant.

'The infamous curse on the DADA position… I almost forgot about that.'

[ System Intervention ]

[ Ding! ]

▶ [ Host's "God of Luck" trait has been activated. ]

▶ [ Curse Countered. ]

▶ [ The effect has fully rebounded to the original caster. ]

▶ [ World Law Activated: Attempting to influence the luck of a "God of Luck" is an absolute violation. ]

▶ [ As a result, Tom Riddle has been permanently cursed with Eternal Misfortune. ]

Leo could only blink at the absurdity of the situation.

'Wait… so Voldemort just got cursed back?'

A slow smirk threatened to appear, but before he could process the sheer irony of the moment—

A dark, inky aura suddenly surged out of his body, like smoke being forcefully expelled from deep within.

Then—

HISSSSSS!

A shadowy serpent formed from the swirling darkness, its shape twisting violently as if in agony.

Its glowing red eyes flickered with rage and fear.

Its form convulsed, barely maintaining shape.

Then, with a final horrifying shriek, its body dispersed into tendrils of black mist, shooting toward the classroom door and vanishing through the solid wood.

SLAM!

The moment the curse escaped, the air felt lighter, as if an oppressive weight had just been lifted.

"....."

A heavy silence filled the room.

Every student stared, eyes wide, barely processing what had just happened.

Some gasped, others gripped their desks, and a few even leaned away, as if still expecting some lingering danger.

The Slytherins, however, had a different reaction—many of them stared at Leo in awe and realization, as if they knew exactly what had just happened.

Cough—

Leo cleared his throat, breaking the unsettling silence.

"Alright,"

he said smoothly as if nothing had just happened.

"Let's take attendance."

He casually unrolled the parchment and began reading names in an unbothered tone.

"Aaron Grandion."

"Here…"

"Ava Parkinson."

"P-present…"

Though they answered, most students were still too stunned to fully recover from what they had just witnessed.

Meanwhile, Leo internally smirked.

'Well, if they weren't paying attention to me before… they definitely are now.'

As each student's name was called, they responded, making their presence known.

Leo, still calm and composed, continued as if the previous supernatural incident had never happened.

"Today,"

he said, his tone even and measured,

"We're going to discuss your understanding of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

His red eyes scanned the room, noting the mix of expressions—some students were still shaken, while others were intensely curious about him.

He leaned slightly against his desk, exuding casual confidence.

"Let's start in attendance order."

He glanced at the parchment.

"Aaron Grandion—we'll begin with you. What's your understanding of Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Aaron Grandion, a seventh-year Gryffindor, straightened in his seat.

The brief hesitation in his eyes betrayed his lingering thoughts about what had just happened, but he quickly pushed it aside.

"Professor, DADA is about fighting dark wizards and defeating them,"

he answered confidently.

Leo nodded, his expression unreadable.

"Interesting… but is that all there is to it?"

Aaron blinked.

"I—um, I suppose it's also about defending ourselves and… well, making sure we don't get cursed?"

A few chuckles rippled through the class, but Leo didn't react—he simply waited, letting the moment stretch.

Gulp~ 

Aaron swallowed.

"I mean, it's about learning spells and strategies to protect ourselves and others from the Dark Arts, right?"

Now, that was closer to what Leo wanted to hear.

"Not a bad answer,"

Leo said with a small nod.

"But tell me, Aaron—if I were a dark wizard standing in front of you right now, wand raised, ready to attack…"

He tilted his head slightly, watching as Aaron unconsciously tensed.

"Would you focus on fighting me or surviving?"

A hush fell over the classroom.

Aaron hesitated.

"Well… both?"

"Wrong,"

Leo said smoothly.

The class froze.

"If your first thought is to fight, you're already at a disadvantage."

His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it—one that made the students sit up straighter.

"A true duelist—a true survivor—analyzes the situation before committing to a fight."

He glanced around the room.

"Tell me, what's the goal of the Dark Arts?"

Silence.

Leo's gaze landed on a Slytherin student sitting near the back.

"You. Answer."

The student—a pale-haired boy named Damon Rosier—looked completely unfazed.

"The Dark Arts,"

Damon said smoothly,

"are about power and control."

Leo's lips curved slightly, impressed.

"Exactly,"

he said.

"And if that's their goal, then our goal in Defense Against the Dark Arts is simple…"

He slowly paced to the centre of the room.

"Not just to fight—but to survive, outmanoeuvre, and ensure that we are the ones left standing."

The students listened in complete silence, hanging onto every word.

"Because sometimes, the best defence…"

He turned back to them.

"Is knowing when not to fight at all."

Unknown Mansion…

In a dimly lit chamber of the Nott family estate, a young man stood before an ornate mirror, examining his reflection with a deep frown.

His dark hair, once sleek and immaculate, fell away at the slightest touch, strands slipping between his fingers like grains of sand.

His skin had grown pale—almost sickly, a stark contrast to what it had once been.

One of his eyes gleamed an unnatural red, its slit-like pupil sharp and predatory, while the other remained deceptively human.

His nose had crooked, its structure shrinking slightly—an unsettling shift that sent a flicker of unease through his mind.

His features, once aristocratic and commanding, were subtly warping into something... inhuman.

Voldemort's brow furrowed, his sharp mind turning over the possibilities.

"Is this the effect of the Horcruxes? Or… something else?"

His fingers brushed his jawline, his narrowed eyes dark with calculation.

This transformation—it was not natural.

But power demands sacrifice.

And if this was the price of immortality, so be it.

A knock at the door.

A young man with blond hair stepped inside, his posture rigid with discipline, his expression respectful but eager.

"My Lord, everyone has gathered at the dining hall."

His voice held a touch of pride, as though merely delivering the message was an honor.

Voldemort turned slowly, his gaze settling on the Nott heir—Andrea Nott, a devoted follower, no doubt basking in the privilege of serving him.

A moment of silence stretched between them before Voldemort finally spoke.

"You have done well, Andrea."

His voice was sharp, and deliberate, yet held a touch of approval, like an owner indulging a particularly obedient hound.

"You have made the ancestors of the Nott family proud."

Andrea's chest swelled, his eyes gleaming with fierce devotion at the praise.

"For the glory of the purebloods!"

he declared, his voice ringing with pride before he turned on his heel and left the room.

As the door shut behind Andrea, Voldemort's expression twisted into a sneer.

'Fools.'

Their loyalty was useful. Their ambition was predictable.

But in the end… they were tools, nothing more.

And tools could always be discarded.

The Gathering...

The dining hall of the Nott estate was filled with low murmurs as young witches and wizards from pureblood families gathered around a long, elegant table.

The flickering candlelight cast shadows over their expectant faces, each of them waiting in silent anticipation for their lord's arrival.

At last, the doors swung open, and Voldemort entered with his usual air of calculated dominance.

The whispers ceased instantly.

As he took his seat at the head of the table, the meeting began—

A discussion of increasing Auror activity, the systematic hunting of Death Eaters, and recent attempts to disrupt their plans.

The tension in the room was thick.

Then—

A sudden, piercing scream echoed through the chamber.

AHHHH!

A mass of dark smoke, twisting and writhing in the form of a massive phantom python, burst through the walls with a shriek of agony.

The snake shot through the air like a cursed arrow—

And slammed directly into Voldemort.

Caught off guard, the Dark Lord staggered back, his crimson eyes wide with shock.

The room fell into a stunned silence, every Death Eater frozen in disbelief.

Voldemort's hands trembled as he felt the dark magic unravelling around him, his very own curse being ripped away like flesh torn from the bone.

"How? How is this possible?!"

His voice was a whisper of disbelief, but the entire room heard him.

"Even Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to break the curse I left behind…"

A cold realization settled over him.

Someone had undone his magic.

Someone dangerous.

"My Lord!"

A few of the young Death Eaters rushed forward, concern evident in their eyes as they helped their master back to his feet.

Voldemort quickly composed himself, forcing a cold, confident smile as though nothing had happened.

"I am fine,"

he declared smoothly, brushing off their concern.

"It was merely… a backlash. A minor consequence of a broken curse."

His red eyes gleamed with hidden fury as he silently cursed the unknown fool who dared tamper with his magic.

'Whoever you are, I will find you… and I will destroy you.'

Shaking off the lingering discomfort, Voldemort moved to take his seat at the head of the table.

He lowered himself gracefully—

CRACK.

The moment his weight settled, the chair leg snapped clean off.

In an instant—

THUD.

The Dark Lord of Terror and Fear crashed backwards, landing hard on the marble floor with a dull thump.

Silence.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

The young Death Eaters stared in horror.

Their great and terrible master had just been defeated… by a chair.

"M-My Lord!"

Several scrambled forward to help him up, their faces stricken with panic.

Voldemort's teeth clenched, his face red with fury as he was once again hoisted to his feet.

And then—

CRACK.

A sickening pop echoed through the room.

Pain—searing, blinding pain—shot through his spine like molten iron.

"AHHHH!"

Voldemort screamed, his entire body seizing up as he clutched his lower back.

His face twisted in agony, his knees nearly buckling as he desperately tried to straighten himself—

But the pain was excruciating.

His spine… something was wrong with his spine.

The Death Eaters watched in shock, some too afraid to move, others desperately trying not to look amused.

A few were screaming in panic.

Voldemort, Dark Lord of the Wizarding World, Bringer of Fear, Master of the Dark Arts—

Was now paralyzed in pain, his entire body locked in a hunched position, his face flushed red as he let out another unholy scream.

The Curse of Eternal Bad Luck had only just begun.

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(Author's POV)

(A/N): I hope you guys enjoying the story. 

And Sorry for the late update... 

Thanks for reading the chapter!

Please give a review and power stone!!!