Chapter Eighteen: The Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts

“A feline capable of passing through an intact, sealed cat cage without causing any damage—I know of only one kind… that would be the Zouyu!” Professor Kettleburn said, furrowing his brow.
“But that can’t be right. Zouyu aren’t nearly as small as your cat,” he shook his head. “And the appearance doesn’t match either.”
“Is it possible she has some Zouyu blood, but inherited her size from a tabby?” Siwen asked.
“It’s not impossible. The world is vast; no matter how miraculous, any creature might be born,” Professor Kettleburn spread his hands, his eyes shining with a kind of obsession.
“Don’t worry. As long as you treat your cat well, she’ll come back to you eventually. Cats with tabby lineage are very attached to their owners!” he added.
Siwen could only thank the professor and prepare to return to his dormitory, waiting for the kitten to come back on her own.
“Wait!” Professor Kettleburn suddenly called out.
“What is it, Professor?” Siwen turned, puzzled.
“Every weekend this month, you’ll be serving detention in my office,” he said with a sly grin, winking at Siwen. “Rules are rules—you broke them, so you’ll have to face the consequences!”
…
By the time Siwen returned to his dorm, utterly crestfallen, it was nearly three in the morning. His three roommates were fast asleep, one of them even snoring loudly.
He didn’t bother to change clothes, simply collapsed heavily onto his bed, and as soon as his eyes closed, he drifted into a deep, muddled sleep.
He slept soundly until he felt someone shaking him, and only then did a faint awareness return.
“Siwen! Siwen! Wake up—there’s less than half an hour before class!” Abraxas was shaking him vigorously.
“What time is it?” Siwen mumbled, still groggy.
“It’s eight thirty!” Abraxas shouted.
“What?!” Siwen was instantly wide awake, leaping from the bed and banging his head against the luggage rack above with a loud thud.
Now he was truly awake… He rubbed his aching head, which had suffered so much lately, never expecting that he would not only miss his usual wake-up time, but also achieve the same late-rising feat his three roommates had accomplished just yesterday.
“Accio Textbooks!”
Without bothering to sort them, he stuffed all his textbooks into his pocket watch’s space and hurried out of the dormitory.

Fortunately, the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was on the second floor of the main tower.
After climbing the spiral staircase outside the Slytherin common room to the entrance courtyard, one could see the corridor outside the Great Hall. A quick jog with a slight turn, up the marble steps beyond the corridor, and he easily reached the hallway outside the classroom.
Thanks to his swift movements and the classroom’s proximity, Siwen and Abraxas arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with a few minutes to spare before class began.
The classroom’s layout resembled that of the Transfiguration room, with rows of paired desks arranged in three columns. The Slytherin and Gryffindor students sat in distinct groups on either side.
At the front stood a lectern and a bookshelf, and most notably, a staircase on the right side arched upward in a curve, leading to a wooden door near the height of the third floor.
“Siwen, over here!” Alcione beckoned to him as he entered.
He saw her sitting alone behind a desk in the first row on the right, while Mobley and Gomez, who had arrived earlier, were seated in the third row on the same side.
Giving Abraxas an apologetic look, Siwen quietly made his way over to Alcione.
“Hey! You can’t do that—you’re abandoning your friends for a girl!” Abraxas grumbled.
Hearing such words from an eleven-year-old wizard amused Siwen, whose mental age surpassed his peers. He glanced back and said, “Should I leave a lady alone in the first row to attend class by herself?”
Abraxas retorted, “Then why not sit in the first row yourself?”
“I suppose I could,” Siwen replied, and indeed, he moved toward the second row.
Just as Abraxas was feeling triumphant, Alcione stood up as well, seemingly intending to move to the second row with him.
“Oh, fine! I give up. You two sit in the first row—leave the second row for me,” Abraxas gritted his teeth, shooing Siwen off and claiming the second row for himself.
Siwen, oblivious as ever, returned to the first row beside Alcione, took out the Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, and placed it on the desk, yawning from exhaustion.
“You’ve got such dark circles under your eyes,” Alcione said, worried. “Just how late were you out last night?”
“I’m not sure, but it was definitely very late,” Siwen yawned again.
He was about to rest his head on the desk for a quick nap when the bell rang, unfriendly and loud.
A young man with prominent eye bags pushed open the wooden door at the front right as the bell rang and walked down the staircase to the lectern.
Seeing the young man’s light brown hair, Siwen’s eyes widened.

“What’s wrong?” Alcione noticed Siwen’s odd reaction and asked, puzzled.
“That’s Professor Lorre. I ran into him during my late-night wanderings yesterday—almost got caught!” Siwen whispered, covering his mouth. He now deeply regretted sitting in the front row.
“You actually escaped from a professor?” Alcione asked, shocked.
Siwen pressed a finger to his lips, shaking his head to signal her not to say anything.
Professor Lorre had reached the front of the classroom and began his introduction.
“Good morning, everyone. I am Claude Lorre, and I’ll be your Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this academic year.”
He counted the students, a faint smile appearing. “Looks like everyone’s here—excellent! However, I notice two students without partners. I think you should pair up. What do you think?”
Abraxas, sitting behind Siwen, turned in surprise and saw that indeed, in the middle column, a Gryffindor in a red-collared uniform sat alone.
“I disagree, sir!” Abraxas shouted.
“I don’t see the need for it, either!” the Gryffindor replied coldly.
The Gryffindor boy had pale yellow hair and a round face, but what should have been a gentle, honest look was instead fierce and rough, with two different-colored eyes—one blue, one black—glinting sharply.
“Your names?” Professor Lorre asked with interest.
“My name is Abraxas Malfoy,” Abraxas answered proudly, casting a disdainful glance at the Gryffindor.
The Gryffindor ignored him, answering the professor coolly, “Alastor Moody, sir.”
“So, Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Moody,” Professor Lorre said. “Let me be clear: my class requires a great deal of cooperation between teammates. Everyone needs a partner.”
“So now, obey my instructions—you two, come sit in this row!” he said firmly.
…
…