"Gah!"
Harry bolted upright in bed, gasping for air, his heart hammering against his ribs in a frantic rhythm.
In his mind's eye, that swirling, vortex-like face lingered. He could still see him—sitting calmly on the sofa, surrounded by a thick, writhing darkness. And there, on the tapestry, those blurred and distorted faces looked as if even the Noble House of Black had prostrated themselves before him.
It was more terrifying than any nightmare Harry had ever endured.
"Professor Norn..."
Harry's head throbbed with a splitting ache, and his heart sank to his stomach. Why was Professor Norn—or rather, Ethan Vincent—appearing in his dreams? Why was he speaking to him face-to-face? Had Ethan been so impatient to kickstart his sinister agenda the moment he stepped out of the courtroom?
However, what made Harry feel even more heavy-hearted and frustrated was the realization that Ethan's words had actually managed to put him at ease.
"I haven't turned bad; I'm just being influenced by the remnant of Voldemort's soul..." Harry muttered, his lip curling. "How did Voldemort even get dragged into this? Ethan must be lying again."
And then there was that mention of private lessons... Wait, private lessons?
Harry froze.
His muddled thoughts suddenly cleared as he realized the gravity of the situation. Being given "individual tutoring" by the same "Professor Norn" whose philosophy was 'If it doesn't kill you, keep going until it does'... would he even survive the first session?
Suddenly, Harry wasn't worried about "turning bad" anymore. Compared to the sheer Khorne-like carnage Ethan likely had planned, a little moral corruption seemed like a walk in the park.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
"Knock, knock."
Sirius pushed the door open, looking concerned. "Harry? I heard you shouting. Was it another nightmare? Are you alright?"
"If something is bothering you, just tell me!"
Harry remained silent for a moment. Then, he looked up with a solemn, grave expression.
"Sirius, Ethan said he's going to put me through an 'exquisite' set of combined training routines. Can you... can you stop him for me?"
Sirius: "..."
The two stared at each other in silence for several heartbeats.
Creak—
The door began to slowly close.
"Farewell," Sirius said flatly.
Stop Ethan? Even if he were a cat with nine lives, he couldn't afford to waste them on that suicide mission!
Harry: "???"
"Wait! Godfather! I was joking! I really have something to tell you!"
Harry shouted as he scrambled out of bed, lunging toward his retreating godfather with a spontaneous grin on his face. The dark clouds that had gathered in his mind due to the various visions seemed to dissipate by half without him even noticing.
The two of them squabbled as they headed toward the living room, their silhouettes looking like a true father and son.
They failed to notice, however, a pair of large, bloodshot eyes staring fixedly at them from the shadows.
"The shame of the family, the rebellious son, the traitor... Oh, if Master Regulus were still alive, how could he allow so many filthy intruders to defile the ancestral home of the Blacks?"
Kreacher, the Black family's house-elf, muttered gloomily and anxiously. His long, spindly claws scratched incessantly at the doorframe.
Then, he suddenly broke into a wide, jagged smile, a spark of excitement and triumph gleaming in his eyes.
"Master Sirius told Kreacher to leave... so Kreacher can leave the ancestral home!"
"Kreacher will go find the other Mistress of the Black family! She will surely take Kreacher in; she will find a way to throw all these vermin out...!"
"Heh... hehehe..."
With a strange, croaking cackle, Kreacher snapped his fingers. His form dissolved like mist and vanished.
At that same moment, on a wall nearby, there hung a painting titled The Siskin, the Mantis, and the Cicada that no one recalled seeing before.
The siskin's eyes suddenly twitched, turning with lifelike precision toward the spot where Kreacher had disappeared. It let out a sharp chirp, flapped its wings, and flew right out of the frame.
The holidays always seemed to fly by, and in the blink of an eye, it was time to return to school.
Students blew on their hands to stay warm as they sat in the "auto-piloting" carriages. The wheels carved crisscrossing tracks into the thick snow as they trundled toward the castle perched atop the cliffs.
As soon as they arrived and received their new schedules for the term, every student let out a collective gasp.
Ron pointed at his schedule with a trembling finger, his voice rising in panic. "Am... am I seeing things? Why has every single class turned into Defense Against the Dark Arts?!"
Is it April Fools' Day? Because this feels a bit early!
Aside from the different classroom locations listed, the subjects that should have been Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and so on, were all replaced with the words: Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The words were repeated so many times they started to lose all meaning. Just looking at the parchment was enough to make one's head spin.
"Could the schedules have been printed wrong?" Hermione asked, looking around in astonishment. "But for every student to have the same mistake... is that even possible?"
She glanced toward the High Table, where Professor Snape's face was currently darker than the bottom of a burnt cauldron.
The students didn't have to wait long for an answer.
Headmaster Dumbledore stepped up to the podium in the Great Hall and spoke slowly. "I am sure you have all noticed the changes to your schedules. Indeed, there has been no mistake."
"Starting tomorrow, all of our courses will be graced by the presence and guidance of Professor Ethan Vincent."
"He will be providing our professors with some... valuable insights, and evaluating the teaching content of each department."
Having finished, Dumbledore turned away, pointedly ignoring the "Are you out of your mind?" expressions on the students' faces.
He began to clap, seemingly for his own benefit. "Now, let us welcome our hard-working Professor Vincent with a round of applause—"
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Dumbledore's solitary applause echoed hollowly through the dead silence of the Great Hall.
Students: (○口○)
They looked like broken machinery, staring blankly as the "Vortex Professor" strolled out onto the stage. Massive metaphorical question marks seemed to sprout above their heads.
Ethan Vincent—under his alias, Professor Norn—surveyed the room and nodded with satisfaction.
"What a vibrant scene! I see such thick layers of longing and anticipation on your faces!"
Students: ??
Excuse me?
Which eye are you using to see "longing and anticipation"? Oh, right. You don't have eyes. Never mind then.
Ethan continued, "I know that after two years of foundational study, you naturally crave deeper, more interesting knowledge. The existing curriculum can no longer satisfy your greedy thirst for learning."
Upon hearing this, the Ravenclaws looked at each other and slowly began to nod.
"Hiss—he actually makes a bit of sense." "It's true." "This professor finally said something that hits home."
They immediately received looks from the other three houses that suggested they were absolute lunatics.
Hello, Aurors? We have a group of traitors in our midst.
"Now, you no longer need to restrain yourselves! Because your Light has arrived!"
Ethan suddenly threw his arms wide, crying out with ecstatic fervor, "I shall participate in every single class, offering small, beneficial suggestions to the professors to ensure the growth of the students."
"I believe that through our joint efforts, Hogwarts will surely become a much better campus!"
"—It will surely become an incubator for Dark Wizards," Harry muttered with a deadpan expression.
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