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“By the way, Hagrid,” Harry said to Hagrid, “Professor Dumbledore needs so three-headed dog fur. He’s asked to co to you for so—if you have any, please send it to his office.”
Since Harry had put it that way, Hagrid didn’t suspect a thing and cheerfully agreed.
“But you’ll have to wait a bit,” he said. “I’ll get you so by the first of next month at the latest. It’s not easy to co by—”
“No problem.” Harry gave an OK gesture.
Ti passed quickly, and October was nearly over in the blink of an eye.
By late October, the Scottish Highlands had welcod winter.
The weather was undeniably cold, but thankfully, Hogwarts Castle remained as warm as spring, ensuring no one caught a cold during classes.
As Professor Trelawney had predicted, a flu swept through Hogwarts—though it arrived a month later than her prophecy.
So students fell ill and had to visit Madam Pomfrey’s hospital wing for potions. Her redies were quite effective; after taking them, it felt as if their heads were boiling, steam hissing out like a kettle.
Professor Lupin seed to have caught the flu as well, as he’d been on leave since the 27th.
Everyone was buzzing with excitent, discussing how the new assistant teacher would conduct classes. They all knew that Sirius Black, the assistant professor, was Lupin’s friend from their school days. If Lupin was so exceptional, surely his friend couldn’t be far behind.
In fact, Sirius’s teaching was indeed impressive. Those who attended his classes gave him a big thumbs-up.
Excellent.
Having recovered at Hogwarts for so long, Sirius was no longer the frail figure he’d been at Azkaban. He was gradually returning to a healthy state.
It must be said that the Blacks were a strikingly attractive family. For instance, Draco’s mother, Narcissa, was a renowned beauty.
And Sirius—well, he was undeniably a handso man.
The girls at Hogwarts were positively spoiled for eye candy, so even seeking him out to ask various questions. In no ti, he beca the most popular figure at Hogwarts.
Snape, however, grew increasingly displeased, his expression darkening day by day, as if soone had spilled his cheering potion, leaving him incapable of smiling.
It was obvious to anyone with eyes that he was jealous of Sirius’s popularity.
“Can’t he learn a thing or two from Professor Black?”
This was the whisper among the Ravenclaw girls, their gossip essentially boiling down to this: no wonder Snape was still single. His foul temper and that head of hair, unwashed for centuries, were inseparable from his predicant.
“Very well,” Snape’s voice materialized behind them. “Ravenclaw, twenty points deducted.”
His knack for appearing like a specter was only growing stronger. Ron shot Hermione a look that scread, I told you so.
It was uncanny, Hermione conceded to Ron’s theory. Perhaps Snape had cast so dark magic on his own na, allowing him to instantly know who was badmouthing him.
“So, it’s best to save these conversations for the common room or dorms,” Ron said, puffing out his chest. “He wouldn’t show up in non-Slytherin territory, would he?”
As he spoke, Ron nearly let “old bat” slip out but managed to hold his tongue.
He glanced back and saw Snape staring at him with a sinister expression.
When Ron turned around, Snape flashed a smile before turning and walking away.
“You’ve got your ways, mate,” Seamus praised loudly.
On Thursday, the third-year students attended their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Sirius as the substitute teacher.
At breakfast, everyone was abuzz with excitent. Girls like Lavender Brown and Hannah Abbott were practically delirious, chattering endlessly about Sirius’s good looks.
The Slytherin girls, led by Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, were more restrained, sitting primly at their house table, resisting the urge to join the Sirius Black fan club.
After all, they didn’t want to get caught by Snape.
Ron and Hermione sat together, with Harry beside them, quietly discussing the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
But they were focused on the lesson itself, not fawning over how handso Sirius was.
“Look, Hedwig’s flying in,” Ron said, pointing at the doorway.
Hedwig looked exhausted, practically diving into Harry’s arms, a package clutched in her talons.
“Oh, a Stuka,” Hermione quipped, pulling a bottle of bird tonic from her pocket—originally ant for her parrot.
She handed it to Harry. “Give so to Hedwig. It’s great for birds’ health, especially their feathers. If they’re malnourished, they can develop stress lines.”
“Alright.” Harry unscrewed the bottle and poured so into a bowl for Hedwig.
Hedwig stretched her neck, lapping up the tonic bit by bit with her tongue, her eyes narrowing in contentnt.
“It’s from Charlie,” Harry said. “Looks like the stuff’s arrived—”
He opened the package, revealing a letter and a smaller parcel.
The parcel was for Harry, containing twenty dragon scales. The letter was for Ron, who, after opening it, exclaid, “Charlie says to thank you, Harry! He also congratulates on making the Quidditch team and wishes luck in winning the championship!”
“Did you tell him you’re a reserve?” Hermione asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ron said with a wave of his hand.
As class ti approached, the trio packed up, returned their pets to the dorms, and hurried to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Sirius wasn’t there yet. When they arrived, only a few early students were present.
Everyone was whispering, eagerly speculating about what the new professor would teach and whether he’d make a grand entrance—perhaps like Gilderoy Lockhart… no, like Professor Rosier’s morable first eting with the class.
Monts later, the classroom door slamd open with a loud bang.
Everyone turned to see Professor Black.
Today, Sirius wasn’t wearing his usual finery. Instead, he donned a long black robe and a black wig, striding into the room with purpose.
Amid the students’ mix of shock, disbelief, and stifled laughter, he flicked his wand—swish, swish, swish—dramatically closing all the classroom windows. Like a greasy old bat, he marched to the front, executed a crisp Snape-like spin, flung his oily wig into a side part, and spoke in a perfectly mimicked, oily tone:
“You are here to learn the delicate art of defense and counterattack against dark wizards. Since there are no foolish cauldrons bubbling with slugs here, so of you may not believe this is a precise science. I do not expect you to truly appreciate the lodious hum of magic resonating with a wand’s flourish, the subli beauty of a powerful spell surging forth. You will not truly grasp the exhilarating thrill of punishing dark wizards, the enchanting allure of spells that captivate the mind and sway the will… I can teach you how to gain renown, achieve glory, and even defy death.”
“But only if you are not the usual dimwitted fools I encounter.”
At this, the students, who had been holding back their laughter, erupted into a roar of amusent.
The Gryffindors laughed the loudest.
Of course, the other houses were chuckling too—except for Slytherin.
It wasn’t that the Slytherins didn’t find it funny; they were desperately stifling their laughter to avoid Snape finding out.
“Silence—” Sirius drawled, narrowing his eyes in a pitch-perfect Snape impression.
This only made the students laugh harder, especially Ron, Seamus, and Neville, who were the loudest.
Hermione, however, watched Sirius with a worried expression, thinking to herself, They already don’t get along. What if Snape catches him pulling this stunt?
“Mr. Potter!”
Sirius suddenly appeared in front of Harry, his movents eerily identical to Snape’s—it was clear he knew Snape all too well.
“What must I do to disarm a wizard?” he asked in that oily tone.
The students, seeing Sirius’s uncanny imitation, couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into laughter.
“Silence—” Sirius drawled again, quintessentially Snape.
“It’s the Disarming Charm, Expelliarmus, Professor,” Harry answered, barely containing his own laughter.
He hadn’t expected Sirius to pull off such a performance.
But he had to admit—it was brilliant.
“Well, well,” Sirius squinted, “it seems fa isn’t entirely undeserved. Let’s try again, Mr. Potter. If I wanted to harm an Inferius, what spell should I use?”
“Fire-based spells, Professor,” Harry answered crisply.
“I suppose you’re quite familiar with Defense Against the Dark Arts, Mr. Potter?” Sirius asked, squinting again. “Then tell , what’s the difference between Bombarda and Bombarda Maxima?”
“The power, Professor,” Harry replied.
Sirius broke into a grin.
“For answering correctly—Gryffindor earns five points,” he declared.
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