Erwin didn't wait for the students' reactions. He strode out of the classroom, and the fifth-years hurried after him, curiosity overriding their confusion. Even the Gryffindors, grumbling under their breath, fell in line. After all, Erwin was their professor now, at least on paper.
Outside the castle, the crisp air carried the scent of grass and distant lake water. Professor McGonagall glanced out her Transfiguration classroom window, spotting the procession. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, trusting Erwin's judgment enough to let him lead.
Erwin guided them to a wide, open field—the same one used for flying lessons. Nearby, second-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs practiced under Madam Hooch's watchful eye, their brooms hovering unsteadily. Heads turned as Erwin's group arrived, whispers rippling through the younger students.
Ignoring the stares, Erwin arranged his fifth-years in a neat line. "Who can tell me what Defense Against the Dark Arts is really about?"
Charlotte's hand shot up first. Erwin nodded to her.
"It's a core Hogwarts subject since the school's founding," she said confidently. "It equips students to protect themselves against dangerous Dark Arts."
Erwin nodded approvingly. "Spot on, Charlotte. Slytherin, five points."
The Gryffindors exchanged stunned glances. Points? Just like that? It felt rigged, favoritism in plain sight. But Erwin pressed on, undeterred. A professor's word carried weight, and he wielded it like a wand.
"Well put," he continued, "though that's straight from the textbook. Let me give you the real version: Defense Against the Dark Arts is about survival. Plain and simple—saving your own skin."
He paced slowly, his voice steady and commanding. "Dark Magic—what some still call black sorcery—is magic twisted for harm. It's condemned not just for the damage it inflicts, but because casting it stirs up the worst in you: fear, rage, cruelty. Wizards classify it into three tiers.
"First, simple hexes—the weakest. They're low-damage, and plenty of school spells fall here. Harm to caster and target is minimal.
"Second, stronger curses. These pack real power; you don't toss them around lightly.
"Third, the Unforgivable Curses—the deadliest, most vicious. You've seen spells like Bombarda or Avis in action; imagine those amplified to pure malice."
He paused, letting it sink in. "Many label all Dark Magic as evil, but is it? Take the Repelling Charm—nasty in a duel, but brilliant for home security. Dark Arts can protect as well as destroy."
The students shifted, faces thoughtful. A few nodded, piecing it together.
Erwin leaned in. "Here's the key: spells aren't inherently good or evil. Except the Unforgivables, which scar your soul—the intent behind a spell decides its nature. And strength? That's a myth too. Power isn't in the incantation; it's in the wizard. You've watched me disarm an opponent with a basic Expelliarmus that hits harder than your flashiest hex. Why? Magic reserves, spell mastery, and perfect timing.
"As for defense—if you're skilled enough, the best shield is offense. No more dusty theories or endless note-taking. From now on, we're doing practical drills. Real duels. Only by facing threats head-on do you spot your flaws, build instincts, and learn to counter. One day, that could mean walking away from a curse that would have ended you."
Excitement sparked in their eyes. These were teenagers, after all—eager for action over lectures. Spells in the air, wands clashing? It beat diagrams any day.
A Slytherin boy piped up, smirking toward the Gryffindors. "Professor, how do we train? One-on-one duels?"
Erwin shook his head. "Pair-offs are child's play. They won't push you. No, I've got something better—a proper challenge."
With a flick of his wrist, his wand materialized in his hand. He pointed it at the scattered boulders nearby. Stone groaned and reshaped, morphing into hulking stone golems. They weren't as grand as the castle's ancient guardians, but their craggy forms loomed solid and unyielding.
From her window, Professor McGonagall caught the display. A faint smile tugged at her lips. She slid the pane open. "Impressive Transfiguration, Erwin. Slytherin, ten more points."
Erwin bowed with a grin. "Much appreciated, Professor."
She shut the window and resumed her lesson, leaving the fifth-years gaping.
"These," Erwin said, gesturing to the animated statues, "are your sparring partners. Take them down—hit hard, stay sharp. They won't kill, but a stray blow will leave a bruise. Show me what you've got."
The students drew their wands, a mix of nerves and thrill buzzing in the air. For the first time, Defense felt alive—raw and real, just as Erwin promised.
...
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