Chapter 336: The Defense Substitute
Sean was still wrestling with a deeper, more pressing question—did he possess the potential for a second Animagus form?
As he pondered this, the sun climbed fully over the horizon, signaling the start of the day. Before leaving his dormitory, Sean habitually summoned his system panel:
[Material Transfiguration: Adept (10/3000)]
[Magical Transfiguration: Entry (50/300)]
[Soul Transfiguration: Entry (280/300)]
After his latest trip to the Lands Between, the proficiency required for the [Adept] rank in Soul Transfiguration was nearly within his grasp.
With a flick of his wand, the dark-haired boy vanished, and a sleek black cat slipped out of the Ravenclaw dormitory.
It was a Friday in November. The weather had turned savagely cold. The mountains surrounding the school were a dismal grey, capped with heavy snow and ice. The Black Lake had frozen over, its surface cold and hard as iron. Every morning, a thick layer of frost crusted the stones of the corridors.
The black cat darted across a windowsill, spotting a giant who seemed to fill the entire hallway. Hagrid's face was obscured by a woolly balaclava crusted with snowflakes, and he was bundled in his massive moleskin overcoat. Students were carefully squeezing through the small gaps between the half-giant and the wall.
Hagrid seemed to have a unique instinct for magical creatures. As the black cat triggered a portrait to enter a secret passage, Hagrid paused, staring at the painting for several seconds and scratching his head in confusion.
Avoiding the morning rush, the cat reached the Great Hall and leaped into the air, shifting back into the form of a young wizard in black robes just before landing.
[Alert: You have practiced Soul Transfiguration at the standard of an Entry-level Master. Master-level Proficiency +3]
Inside the Hall, Hermione was deep in conversation with Justin.
"Flying carpets... yes, they're strictly prohibited in Britain," she was saying. Her eyes held a trace of concern; Justin hadn't been in the best of moods lately. Then again, he wasn't the only one—Harry had also been looking quite troubled.
"Mr. Weasley mentioned that a man named Ali Bashir has been trying to export them here for ages, but the Ministry blocked him," Harry said, setting his bag on the bench with a small smile. "Apparently, carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact on the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects."
"Oh, Harry, you look—" Ron stared at him, looking bewildered by Harry's sudden cheerfulness.
"I have big news! You won't believe the extraordinary thing that happened to me last night!" Harry said conspiratorially. "I met Mr. Kneazle again—"
This caught everyone's attention immediately. A dozen heads leaned in toward Harry.
"Technically, when you think about it, a broom is also a Muggle artifact—a cleaning tool," Hermione noted, still focused on the legalities. "This is clearly just protectionism for the broom industry. If carpets were legal, broom sales would plummet."
Sean took his seat just as Harry finished recounting his "dream adventure." The conversation naturally shifted to the most pressing topic of the day.
"Are we actually having Defense today?" Ron asked, sounding suspiciously hopeful.
"There's no notice on the board," Hermione said, frowning. "Though word is the hospital wing is short on a very specific potion needed for Lockhart's condition."
Sean recalled the spoiled cauldron in the dungeon from his last session with Snape. He doubted it was a coincidence.
His theory was proven correct that afternoon.
A dark shadow swept into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Professor Snape strode to the front of the room, his black robes billowing like bat wings. With a sharp tap of his wand, every window in the room slammed shut and the curtains drew themselves, plunging the room into gloom.
"What are you waiting for? Open your books," he said in a silky, menacing whisper.
"Oh, no..." Ron groaned under his breath. "I bet he did that to Lockhart just so he could finally get his hands on this job."
Harry didn't look any happier; he instinctively ducked his head, trying to make himself as small as possible. Sean, meanwhile, calmly retrieved his copies of The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.
"Harry Potter!" Snape barked, stopping in front of Harry's desk. "Wandering with Werewolves? Hah—it seems your eyes are merely decorative, or are you truly so arrogant as to think this drivel has anything to teach you?
"Five points from Gryffindor."
The light that had returned to Harry's life dimmed instantly. He found himself unable to decide which was worse: Lockhart's vanity or Snape's vitriol.
While the lesson was a trial for Harry, Sean found Snape's lecture immensely practical. The Professor focused heavily on Counter-Curses, providing a detailed theoretical foundation that perfectly complemented the practical observations Sean had made during the Duelling Club.
When the class ended, a heavy silence followed the students out of the room. After they had walked a safe distance, Ron finally spoke.
"Hermione, honestly, why are you still carrying those books?"
Ron pointed to the stack Hermione was clutching. She still had Magical Me, Voyages with Vampires, and A Year with the Yeti tucked under her arm.
"Don't you think it's strange? Even Sean admitted the information in these books is factually accurate," Hermione said, looking deeply puzzled. "But we all know Lockhart is a complete fraud. How can both be true?"
Just then, two bursts of magical fire drifted around a corner. Fred and George Weasley marched down the corridor, positioning themselves ahead of Harry.
"Make way for the Heir of Slytherin!" they shouted in unison. "Seriously evil wizard coming through..."
Hermione scowled. "That isn't funny. And Harry isn't the Heir."
"Alright, Miss Granger," Fred said, grinning. "But Harry's on a tight schedule."
"Yeah," George added with a bark of laughter. "He's got to nip down to the Chamber of Secrets for a spot of tea with his fanged servants."
Harry felt a surge of relief. At least the twins thought the rumors were as ridiculous as he did. He managed a smirk and offered a comeback of his own:
"Even if I had fanged servants, I wouldn't choose to have tea with them. They're terrible conversationalists."
Fred looked impressed. "Good point, Harry."
"Top marks for style," George agreed as they skipped away.
Sean watched them go, then looked at Hermione, who was still staring at her copy of Magical Me.
"Professor Sprout is busy putting socks and scarves on the Mandrakes today," Sean suggested. "If you want real answers about Lockhart, Hermione, there's someone in the greenhouses who might be able to help."
Sean paused, thinking it would be for the best if Lockhart's departure was expedited to make room for Lupin.
"You should go and have a word with Bruce."
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