Chapter 245: Muggle Weapons Class

Professor Abigail was taken aback and asked, "What contract?"

"I know!"

Hermione quickly raised her hand and said:

"In 1876, Hogwarts caretaker Mr. Rancorous Carpe attempted to drive Peeves out of the castle using various modern weapons. In the end, Peeves caused chaos in the school for three whole days. 

He even fired a gun at a window, almost injuring the students and staff."

"Exactly, exactly!"

Peeves, floating in mid-air, nodded repeatedly and said proudly, "In the end, that Carpe fellow was kicked out of the school, and I'm still here!"

"At the time, Headmistress Mole made a contract with Peeves."

Hermione continued, as if backing Peeves up: "The contract allowed Peeves to have certain privileges to cause mischief within the school, in exchange for him giving up the weapons and restoring order to the school."

"Exactly!" Peeves chimed in, "Understand? These things are useless against me! But if you're looking for another fight, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

He perched provocatively atop the barrel of a cannon, glaring at the new professor as though eagerly anticipating another showdown.

"I see."

Professor Abigail looked at Peeves with some surprise.

Up until today, Peeves' behavior towards her had been relatively respectful—just more energetic than the other ghosts. As a result, Abigail hadn't yet realized the extent of his destructive tendencies.

But from his tone and the expressions of the students, she could infer exactly what kind of troublemaker he was.

She couldn't understand why someone as powerful as Dumbledore would allow such a disruptive ghost to remain at the school. However, since the Headmaster hadn't said anything, Abigail wasn't about to interfere.

"You've misunderstood, Peeves," she explained calmly. "I intend to use these to teach my students a lesson on weapons."

After saying this, she no longer paid attention to the unwelcome visitor and instead turned to the students in front of her.

"Since you're here, please help inform your respective houses. We'll have a Muggle Weapons Class on the south lawn."

A hand shot up from among the students.

"Lisa?" Professor Abigail called on her.

"Professor," Lisa said hesitantly, "But… isn't that supposed to be part of the third-year Muggle Studies curriculum? We haven't even reached third year yet…"

"You're mistaken," Professor Abigail replied bluntly. "Do you think just guarding against Dark Wizards and dangerous creatures is enough to ensure your safety?"

"Completely wrong!"

"I'm telling you, throughout history, many wizards have been captured or even killed by the very Muggles they looked down on!"

"Of course, far more Muggles have been recklessly killed by wizards. For example, a few decades ago, your own Voldemort here in Britain..."

Most of the students instantly turned pale, as if they wanted nothing more than to block their ears.

"The Dark Lord... Professor, we usually don't say that name out loud..." Anthony mustered the courage to speak up.

"Fool!" Professor Abigail rebuked him bluntly. "Didn't Dumbledore ever teach you? Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself! And besides, Voldemort is already dead. You can't even bring yourselves to say his name?"

The young wizards exchanged glances, and most of them lowered their heads.

They didn't want to admit they were cowardly, but neither could they bring themselves to speak the name openly, as the professor suggested.

Although Voldemort had disappeared long before most of these young wizards could even remember, his shadow still loomed large. To many, he remained synonymous with "terror."

Professor Abigail looked disappointed but then noticed some students still holding their heads high, showing no signs of fear or avoidance.

For instance, Wade and Harry.

There were also a few others who were visibly afraid but carried something else in their expressions—a mix of fear and resolve, a "scared yet brave" demeanor.

Professor Abigail smiled slightly. She didn't force the students to go against their instincts but instead said:

"Some Muggle weapons require adjustments to the school's protective enchantments to function properly. 

Keeping the system disabled for too long or too frequently could pose a security risk. That's why students from all four houses in the same year will attend the class together."

"For second years, your class will be held on Friday at 5 PM. Meet on the lawn near the Forbidden Forest, and be sure to arrive early."

…

Friday came quickly.

Wade and his friends had no classes that afternoon. After lunch, they headed to the Umbrella Room to finish their weekend homework. Once the time was right, they all made their way to the lawn together.

They were the first group among the years to attend the weapons class, but some students from other years came out of curiosity to watch. They even arrived earlier than the second years, forming a circle around the lawn.

Everyone knew each other to some extent. They gathered in small groups, curiously eyeing the assortment of weapons on the lawn, which ranged from ancient to brand new.

The weapons had been protected with enchantments, preventing students from getting too close. So they stood at the perimeter, and discussed how the weapons might be used and their potential power.

"I know what that is—it's a landmine!"

A Gryffindor boy confidently declared;

"My dad once accidentally stepped on one of those while traveling. The Muggles with him thought he was going to be blown to bits and ran away screaming. 

But my dad used a Shield Charm to neutralize the explosion, and when he went back, he found the Muggles were already preparing a funeral for him!"

The crowd burst into laughter.

The laughter carried a tone of disdain for the "foolish" Muggles and a sense of superiority at being wizards.

Suddenly, a student felt someone tap their shoulder.

"Excuse me, move aside, please!"

"Go find somewhere else!"

The student impatiently shrugged their shoulder, trying to shake off the hand.

But they didn't succeed. Instead, the pressure on their shoulder increased several times over.

"I said… please. Move. Aside!"

The voice was cold and sharp, each word emphasized.

It sounded familiar.

And the tone didn't seem friendly at all.

The student turned around to see Professor Abigail's dark expression. For a moment, they thought they were hallucinating and seeing Professor Snape instead.

"P-Professor!"

They yelped, and many students quickly scrambled out of the way.

Professor Abigail walked through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea, followed closely by a group of second-year students.

—They had arrived right on time, only to find themselves blocked at the outskirts of the gathering.

As the group walked to the center, curious eyes kept glancing at the sleek, imposing modern weapons. But as soon as Professor Abigail reached the center, she picked up a crude stone axe.

"Does anyone know what this is?" she asked.

A few students snickered, as if finding the question absurd.

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