Hogwarts Study Panel.

Chapter 317: The Curse of Defense Against the Dark Arts

The day after Halloween.

There are always rumors circulating about Hogwarts, especially about Hagrid, for whom there is no magic in the world that can keep him from talking.

So when the first rays of sunlight fell on the auditorium in the morning, Hagrid let slip again.

"Hagrid? Are we going there?"

In the main seat, Professor McGonagall squinted; Hagrid was indeed a little too happy at this moment.

He was holding a large pumpkin, inside which was steaming pumpkin juice, mixed with some soft, sticky oatmeal and some unknown fruit pulp.

His plump body filled the entire seat, and when he stood up with a beaming smile, the whole table shook.

"Ah, dear Professor McGonagall, yes, I have to go throw a party for my little heroes."

You don't know, oh, you can't imagine, from first grade onwards, dear Green has always...

As he spoke, something glistening stuck to his beard.

"Oh, really?"

Professor McGonagall's kind smile slowly faded, and her blue eyes fixed on Hagrid as she softly asked.

"Little Green certainly loves pumpkin juice the most... I have to go, Professor McGonagall, it'll get cold in the wind soon."

Hagrid seemed to sense something, and at that moment he only knew one thing: get out of there quickly.

The auditorium was decorated with hundreds of pumpkins with lit candles, a large flock of live bats flying around, and many orange banners with flames, which floated lazily on the storm-brewing ceiling like colorful water snakes.

Hagrid rubbed his beard and strode away in a fluster.

At the head table, Dumbledore cheerfully raised his glass, watching as Minerva McGonagall grew increasingly agitated, clearly making a connection to something:

"The truth, when spoken by different people, always has vastly different effects."

He turned to look at Snape, whose Potions professor had already stormed off.

His smile widened even more.

……

Early in the morning, the weather was cold and the wind was biting. A group of young wizards walked down the grassy slope toward Haig's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and a few raindrops fell on their faces.

The weather wasn't great, but everyone was in high spirits.

"Hagrid will give me extra pumpkins to decorate my cottage, right?"

Justin said gently.

"If you've ever seen that huge pumpkin patch..."

Ron responded with great interest.

When they were only about twenty steps from Hagrid's hut, the door suddenly opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who stepped out, but Gilderoy Lockhart, who was wearing the lightest pale purple robe he could find today.

"Quick, hide!"

Harry quickly said, pulling Sheen, who was reading, behind the nearest bush.

After Sheen was pulled away, Justin, who was speechless with amusement, Hermione and Ron, who looked helpless, and Neville, who was in a panic, all hid.

"If you know how, it's very easy to do!"

Lockhart was speaking loudly to Hagrid.

"If you need any help, just come to me. You know where I am! I'll give you a book I wrote—I'm surprised you don't even have one yet."

I'll sign it and bring it over tonight. Okay, goodbye!

He strode toward the castle.

Hagrid, holding the giant pumpkin in his arms, was so angry that he almost smashed it over Lockhart's head.

But then he remembered that it was for Sheen, and he put it down dejectedly.

Only Hermione, with her puffed-out cheeks, cast a spell as Lockhart stepped off the lawn, causing him to tumble down.

"I'm surprised you don't watch where you're going. Oh dear, professor, be careful—be careful you don't end up not even lasting a year—"

Hagrid held the pumpkin and laughed heartily.

"Well done, I mean, Hermione, that was fantastic!"

This was the first time Ron had ever admired Hermione so much. He suddenly remembered that just a year ago, Hermione had been a staunch supporter of the school rules.

She's already daring to cast spells on the professor; she really deserves to be sorted into Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat is truly something else.

"Hagrid—what does it mean to not have completed a full year?"

After Lockhart rolled away, Harry asked impatiently.

He didn't want Defense Against the Dark Arts to always be taught by Professor Lockhart.

Even if he wasn't Voldemort's henchman, that just proves that he was a complete idiot!

"Harry! Sheehan! Everyone's here, they've been saying when you were coming to see me—come in, come in—"

Hagrid's face lit up with an even bigger smile.

As soon as he entered the house, he busied himself making tea for them. His big hunting dog, Tooth, rushed straight to Sheen's legs and wouldn't leave no matter what he did.

"Lockhart, I mean, he was the only one who applied."

Finding a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor is difficult now; people don't really want to do it, considering it unlucky. No one lasts long.

As Hagrid spoke, he placed the large pumpkin on the table, its opening facing a young wizard whose expression subtly changed.

While Sheen was eating, Harry and the others were asking Hagrid about his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is a real problem."

I remember a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor whose potion exploded while he was brewing it, and he was sent to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries.

A Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban for attempting to use dark magic on his students.

There was also a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who attempted to research some kind of evil magical ritual, but was eventually sent away by Headmaster Dumbledore himself.

This position is a well-known problem at Hogwarts.

Hagrid recalled.

Everyone's attention was drawn.

"If only they had arrested Lockhart and sent him to Azkaban too."

Ron said bitterly.

"Azkaban?"

Harry, still reeling from the joy of Lockhart being in big trouble, asked curiously again.

"Azkaban was an officially used fortress used to imprison witches. It was built in the 15th century and became a witches' prison in England from 1718."

Hermione explained, sipping her sweet pumpkin juice.

"If Lockhart is a complete idiot, then where did his stories come from?"

Justin raised a question.

Hermione's expression changed at the question.

The young wizards spent the rest of their time investigating—where did Lockhart steal the stories from?

And why are these stories so real?

Hagrid brought out some more snacks, a huge variety of candies, and Sheen recognized some syrup toffee.

Amidst the noise, Sheen stared at the opening poster for Grimm's Bookstore, not joining the discussion. He was simply wondering how Lockhart would be expelled from Hogwarts after the Basilisk was dealt with.

Is Voldemort's curse still effective?

As for Azkaban, for Ravenclaw, some of them would be provided with food and lodging, while others would be dedicated to sending the former in.

"Harry,"

Hagrid seemed to suddenly remember something and said,

"I need to settle accounts with you. I heard you posted autographed photos, but I didn't get one!"

Harry was furious and tried to open his glued-on mouth.

(End of this chapter)