Ron and Harry finally managed to finish their homework, thanks to a bit of tutoring—though it was a hard-fought victory.
Watching the two of them disappear down the corridor, Wyzett found himself lost in thought.
No wonder Hagrid always seemed so nervous whenever Fluffy was mentioned. It was clear now: Fluffy had been stationed as the trapdoor's guardian, keeping watch over something precious brought from Gringotts.
"Why am I overthinking this?" he chuckled to himself. In the end, it had nothing to do with him.
He didn't have long to reflect before another voice, sharp and indignant, cut through his reverie.
"Did you let Harry and Ron copy your homework? That's not right! We're definitely going to lose points again!"
Hermione appeared, clutching a thick book to her chest, her words tumbling out at breakneck speed, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Wyzett glanced up. "What are you talking about?"
"I saw it just now…" Hermione gestured to her usual study corner. "Ron and Harry brought their homework over—they must've come to borrow yours."
"So where's my homework, then?" Wyzett asked mildly, spreading his hands to show his copy of Theoretical Transfiguration.
Hermione faltered, her ears turning pink as she stammered, "Sorry… I didn't know…"
"They finished it themselves," Wyzett replied with a calm shrug. "I just helped answer a few questions. That's all."
He was starting to understand why Ron and Harry sometimes grumbled about Hermione. Her blunt, righteous style could be hard to swallow.
"But that's exactly what I told them!" Hermione protested. "I warned them if they copied homework, they'd definitely get caught and lose points! And I said if they didn't understand something, they should come ask me. We covered it all in class—why didn't they take proper notes?"
Wyzett couldn't help but smile. "You said all of that?"
"Yes!" Hermione nodded, indignant. "Every bit of it!"
"Do you really think they enjoyed hearing it?" Wyzett pressed.
"Why wouldn't they…?" Hermione hesitated, her certainty wavering. "I mean, I was just trying to help…"
"Hmm…" Wyzett raised an eyebrow. "I saw your last Transfiguration—trying to turn a match into a needle. You were too ambitious, thinking you could pull off a perfect transformation in no time, just like me. Do you really think you're there yet?"
Hermione flinched, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "You…"
"Don't you see?" Wyzett gave a small, wry smile. "I was just repeating what you said to Ron and Harry—word for word."
"No one likes being lectured, and nobody wants someone talking down to them, pointing out their flaws or doubting their abilities. I know you mean well, but if you want them to take your advice, you can't just criticize."
He slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to leave. "Anyway, it's about time. I'll see you later."
He left Hermione standing there, stunned and speechless, and headed out of the library with his Theoretical Transfiguration and notebook in hand.
With the weekend stretching ahead, he planned to keep exploring the castle, hoping to uncover more secrets of Ancient Magic.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of the most important subjects at Hogwarts. The curriculum ranged from encounters with dark creatures to the study of jinxes, hexes, and curses—everything a young witch or wizard needed to know about the dangers lurking in the magical world.
The class also covered plenty of offensive magic, teaching students how to defend themselves and fight back if needed.
But the course was notorious for another reason: for the past forty or fifty years, no professor had managed to keep the post for more than a year. Even the most rational Ravenclaws would swear, "The job itself must be cursed!"
Finding a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had become Dumbledore's annual headache.
As a result, the quality of teaching varied wildly from year to year.
Take Professor Quirrell, for instance. Students' opinions of him were… less than stellar.
First, there was his odd appearance—he always wore a purple turban that reeked of garlic. The stench was so strong that students had to endure it for the entire lesson.
Then there was his teaching style. Quirrell would stammer his way through the textbook, then stammer again as he explained it, rarely going beyond the bare minimum. There was almost no hands-on practice to speak of.
The result? Many students nicknamed his class "History of Magic, Part Two"—the perfect opportunity for a nap.
"The S-Snot Hex! This… this is an ancient spell…" Quirrell began, stuttering as usual.
"A-after the Wizarding War… the improved S-Snot Hex was… was added back to the curriculum!"
Curses were the most dangerous branch of dark magic, and the Snot Hex was technically a curse. But in Quirrell's hands, it sounded almost laughably harmless—just a spell to give someone a runny nose, like a bad cold.
Between the unimpressive name, the dull description, and Quirrell's endless stammering, at least half the class drifted off to sleep.
Even the Ravenclaws gave up, pulling out their leftover Snape homework and scribbling away.
Wyzett, as always, made sure to finish his assignments on the day they were set. Thanks to his experience in History of Magic, he could just about piece together something useful from the fractured lecture—like assembling a jigsaw puzzle out of stammered fragments.
The Snot Hex wasn't quite as simple as it seemed.
According to Quirrell, the spell had been modified several times—especially after the Wizarding War, which had drastically weakened its effects.
"Professor Quirrell!" Wyzett raised his hand, his clear voice cutting through the haze of sleep in the classroom. "Do you know what this spell was originally capable of?"
The question jolted the class awake. Heads turned, searching for the source.
"Oh…" Quirrell blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. "Mr. Lovegood, w-why would you ask that?"
"Because it's a curse," Wyzett replied. "And curses are the most dangerous kind of dark magic. Surely it did more than just block someone's nose?"
"Heh… you listen… you listen very closely!" Quirrell managed a shaky smile, a flicker of pride in his eyes.
Among all the distracted students, Wyzett—attentive, taking notes, and thinking critically—stood out like a beacon.
Quirrell continued, "This spell… is ancient because it was inspired by disease, or… or plague! Deadly plague!"
"That means… the original curse could… could kill! It was a killing curse!"
"A killing curse?" The words sent a shiver through the room. Any spell linked to death was certain to grab a Hogwarts student's attention.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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