Chapter 33: Defense Against the Dark Arts

"David, get up!"

Terry stood beside David's bed, looking at him in confusion.

Yesterday, he got up early to flirt with a senior, but today he's still in bed?

"Ah! Got it!"

David responded groggily, forcing his eyes open. He had returned to the dormitory past five o'clock that morning, and now it was barely eight. There was no way he had gotten proper rest.

In fact, it would have been better not to sleep at all—now he felt even more exhausted after such a short nap.

"What were you doing last night?"

Gene, noticing David's sluggish demeanor, asked curiously.

"Nothing, just insomnia," David replied nonchalantly, making up an excuse.

He obviously couldn't say that he had been out on a night tour, stolen Hogwarts' centuries-old student collection, and finally sneaked into the Potions classroom to take a copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

David already owned the book, but Snape's copy contained numerous personal annotations, improved potion formulas, and even a few dark spells. At the time, he had reasoned that since he was already taking so many things, he might as well take this too—especially since it would benefit Harry in the future.

"The first class today is Defense Against the Dark Arts," Terry said as David got up to wash. "I heard from a senior that the professor for this class changes every year. Some of them don't even make it to the end of the year. Is that true?"

Terry had spent a long time talking with an older student yesterday and had picked up plenty of gossip.

"It's true." Gene nodded. "There's a rumor that the position is cursed. No professor lasts more than a year."

"In that case, why would Professor Quirrell be so eager to take the job? He used to teach Muggle Studies."

The senior had also mentioned this to Terry, looking regretful about it.

Quirrell was a fellow Ravenclaw. Although Muggle Studies was an elective with few students, he had been a well-liked professor.

David, who had just finished washing up, shook his head. Quirrell's class is a waste of time. He knows his stuff, but he can't teach properly.

It felt like Dumbledore was deliberately picking the worst possible candidates. Even Lupin, who was a decent teacher, was a werewolf and wouldn't last long in the position.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was arguably the most important subject, just as crucial as Transfiguration and Charms, if not more. It was essential for self-defense, especially for half-blood and Muggle-born students.

In fact, Hogwarts could simply rename the class to something like Self-Defense to break the so-called curse and appoint a permanent professor.

Dumbledore had to take responsibility for the countless students who had graduated without learning proper defensive spells—and for the many Defense Against the Dark Arts professors who had suffered unfortunate fates.

"Are you waiting for me to have breakfast together?"

As he followed his roommates into the common room, David spotted Penelope immediately and greeted her with a smile.

The common room was busier than it had been at seven yesterday morning, though most of the students present were in their fifth, sixth, or seventh year.

While younger Ravenclaws were known for their dedication to studying, only students facing OWLs and NEWTs were under enough pressure to be up this early.

"Yes, I was waiting for you," Penelope said, stepping closer. "I waited for a long time, but you didn't wake up until now."

She eyed him suspiciously.

"What were you up to last night?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I'm the class leader of Ravenclaw—I'm supposed to supervise you. If I catch you doing anything suspicious, well… haha."

On the spiral staircase, Penelope put on the demeanor of a strict senior.

David feigned innocence. "I told you, I had insomnia. What bad things could I possibly do?"

Penelope narrowed her eyes. "Fine, but don't let me catch you!"

Behind them, David's three roommates trailed at a safe distance, whispering among themselves.

Penelope was usually serious and strict—they would never dare to joke around with her like David did.

After breakfast in the Great Hall, Penelope had to rush off to her Ancient Magic class.

Although she hadn't taken every available course like Hermione, she was close. She had only dropped Divination and Arithmancy, as she found them useless, so her schedule was packed.

"Do you smell that?"

Terry wrinkled his nose as they approached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Garlic," Gene answered, grimacing. "And it's strong."

David sighed.

Walking into the classroom, he immediately noticed that many students were looking nauseous.

Bubble-Head Charm!

David pointed his wand at his head, and a large, transparent bubble formed around it, resembling a fishbowl.

Now, this was much better!

He finally understood why the Celestial Dragons in One Piece always wore these.

The Bubble-Head Charm was a simple yet practical spell he had picked up while flipping through a book.

Originally intended for underwater breathing, it also worked well for filtering out foul odors.

Of course, it had one drawback—if someone had bad breath, the bubble would become unbearable in about thirty minutes.

"Do one for me too!"

Michael, who usually kept to himself, couldn't hold back any longer and asked David for help.

David gladly obliged, casting the spell on his friends.

Soon, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, unable to endure the stench any longer, lined up for David's help.

Even the Slytherins eventually caved. They justified it to themselves—not as seeking help from a Ravenclaw, but as ensuring they didn't stand out.

After all, if everyone else in class was wearing a magical goldfish bowl, they'd look ridiculous without one.

Cassandra walked over last, looking visibly annoyed. She hated losing to David, but this was a fourth-year spell! How had he learned it already?

Fortunately, the Bubble-Head Charm didn't consume much magic, and David had practiced enough to cast it nonverbally.

When the class bell rang, Professor Quirrell walked in and immediately froze.

What the hell was going on?

He had expected some reaction to the garlic smell, but this?

However, being the nervous wreck he was, he didn't question it. Instead, he simply picked up the textbook and began reading aloud—without engaging the students at all.

Even when someone raised a hand to ask a question, he ignored them completely.

David rolled his eyes. What a joke of a class.

He pulled out his copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and used it as a pillow, resting his head on it.

If all you're going to do is read from the book, why do I even need you here? I might as well just read it myself.

At this rate, it was going to be a long, long year.

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