The Tenth Weasley - CH - 52

Defense Against the Dark Arts was a disaster.

Harry had entered his second-year classes with high hopes—after all, this was supposed to be the most important subject for a wizard. But instead of actual spellwork, Gilderoy Lockhart spent half the lesson bragging about his adventures and the other half flirting with the girls in the class.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Lockhart said in his overly polished voice, beaming at Charlie Potter as if he were his long-lost protégé. "I must say, it's truly a delight to teach the younger generation. And of course, you’ve read all my books, haven’t you?"

Charlie nodded enthusiastically, while Hermione—predictably—looked starry-eyed.

Harry, on the other hand, barely held back a groan.

Daphne leaned over and whispered, "If I hear one more story about how he 'single-handedly' defeated some creature, I’m hexing myself just to make this class interesting."

Blaise smirked. "I’d rather take my chances in the Forbidden Forest than sit through another lesson of this."

Harry tapped his fingers against his desk, his frustration growing. He wasn’t going to learn anything from Lockhart. That much was painfully clear.

If he wanted to get stronger, he’d have to do it on his own.

That night, Harry waited until everyone in the dormitory was asleep.

He wrapped himself in his invisibility cloak—a gift from Potters—and picked up his magical lantern, Thief’s Downfall. The enchanted lantern had been one of his best purchases from Knockturn Alley. It provided light only to its holder, making it perfect for sneaking around the castle.

Moving silently, he slipped out of the Slytherin common room and into the empty corridors of Hogwarts.

As he neared the library, he whispered, "Alohomora." The lock clicked open, and he slipped inside.

The massive bookshelves loomed over him in the dim glow of Thief’s Downfall. He walked through the aisles until he reached the restricted section.

Harry ran his fingers over the ancient spines of books bound in leather, metal, and even dragonhide. Some of them had titles written in runes, others in languages he didn’t recognize.

He pulled out a book titled "Curses and Counter-Curses: A Practical Guide to the Darker Arts."

Another one caught his eye: "Hexes of the Old World: A Study in Ancient Magic."

He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed it.

"You know, reading those can get you into a lot of trouble."

Harry froze.

He turned, wand in hand, and found Sofia Bennett, a Slytherin prefect, standing at the entrance of the aisle, arms crossed.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered.

Sofia smirked. "I could ask you the same thing, but I already know the answer. You're trying to learn real Defense Against the Dark Arts, aren't you?"

Harry sighed, lowering his wand. "Lockhart is useless. If I want to get better, I have to take things into my own hands."

Sofia leaned against the bookshelf. "You realize this kind of magic is dangerous, right?"

Harry shrugged. "So is not knowing how to defend myself."

She studied him for a moment before sighing. "Alright, then. If you’re going to do this, at least do it right. Pick up 'Duels of the Damned'—it covers actual dueling techniques."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You seem to know a lot about this."

Sofia smirked. "Let’s just say, you're not the only one who thinks Hogwarts isn't teaching us enough."

Harry grabbed the book she recommended, then turned back to her. "Are you going to report me?"

Sofia rolled her eyes. "Please. If I was going to do that, I’d have done it last year when you hexed Malfoy so badly he couldn’t sit for a week."

Harry chuckled and tucked the books under his cloak. "Good point."

Sofia crossed her arms. "Just... be careful, alright? If you need someone to practice with, you know where to find me."

Harry nodded. "Deal."

And with that, he slipped back into the shadows, ready to teach himself what Hogwarts wouldn't.

Harry sat with Blaise and Daphne in their usual spot at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, absentmindedly picking at his breakfast while his two best friends glared at him.

Daphne leaned in, arms crossed, her icy-blue eyes narrowed. "Let me get this straight—you had a secret meeting with Sofia Bennet in the library at night, and you didn’t tell us?"

Blaise huffed. "Again. This is becoming a pattern, mate."

Harry sighed. "It wasn’t that big of a deal."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "It wasn’t that big of a deal? You snuck into the library. At night. To meet with a prefect." She shook her head. "And what exactly did she want?"

Harry hesitated for a second before answering. "She wanted to discuss… Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Blaise snorted. "Right. Because obviously, the best time to discuss that is in the middle of the night, under the risk of detention."

Harry rolled his eyes. "She knows Lockhart is useless, same as us. She’s been researching advanced spellwork, and she wanted to compare notes."

Daphne tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. "So… she’s forming some kind of study group?"

Harry nodded. "Something like that. But she was really careful about it. I think she doesn’t want just anyone involved."

Blaise smirked. "And yet, she chose you?"

Harry shrugged. "She knows I’ve been doing my own research."

Daphne shook her head. "Fine. But the next time you decide to sneak off and meet someone mysterious in the dead of night, you’re bringing us with you."

Blaise leaned back, grinning. "Exactly. We’re your best friends, Harry. If you’re getting into trouble, it’s only fair that we get into trouble too."

Harry chuckled. "Noted."

Daphne smirked. "Good. Now, tell us everything she said."

The dungeons of Hogwarts were full of hidden rooms and secret hideouts, many claimed by older Slytherin students for their private experiments, dueling practices, or secret gatherings. Tonight, Harry, Blaise, and Daphne were about to step into one such place—Sofia Bennet’s personal hideout.

Sofia was already waiting inside when they arrived. Her arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face. The room itself was surprisingly well-furnished for a hidden dungeon space—a large desk stacked with books, a dueling mat in the center, and even a few flickering lanterns giving the room an eerie glow.

Sofia raised an eyebrow as she watched them enter. "So, you brought reinforcements this time?"

Harry grinned. "I figured if we’re going to do this properly, I might as well bring my team."

Blaise gave an exaggerated bow. "Blaise Zabini, charmed to meet you. I prefer my curses well-aimed and my study sessions minimal."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Daphne Greengrass. I expect results, not nonsense."

Sofia chuckled. "Good. Because what I’m offering isn’t for slackers." She motioned for them to sit. "You want to learn real Defense Against the Dark Arts, not whatever nonsense Lockhart is spouting. But before we begin, let’s talk terms."

Harry nodded, already prepared. "I’ll improve the wards on this room. Make them unbreakable, even against professors."

Sophia tilted her head. "Impressive. But why are you so confident you can do that?"

Harry smirked. "Because I’ve been experimenting with warding magic for a while now. I’ve got books on curse-breaking, ward-laying, and blood magic protection."

Sofia’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Blood magic, huh? Dangerous stuff."

Daphne cleared her throat. "Harry wouldn’t offer something he can’t deliver. Now, what are you giving us in return?"

Sofia grinned. "A proper Defense Against the Dark Arts education. Not just what the Ministry allows, but real combat magic. Shield-breaking spells, counter-curses, offensive techniques. Dueling lessons. The kind of stuff that actually matters when you’re fighting for your life."

Blaise leaned forward, intrigued. "And where did you learn all this?"

Sofia tapped the side of her head. "My family believes in preparation. We don’t rely on Hogwarts to teach us everything."

Harry exchanged a glance with Daphne and Blaise. This was exactly what he was looking for—a sparring partner who could push him further.

He reached out a hand. "Deal?"

Sofia smirked and shook it. "Deal."


Lockhart’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class had quickly become a joke. Even the most gullible first-years had begun whispering about how useless he was.

Harry had expected something from him—at least some tricks or flashy spells—but Lockhart never demonstrated anything beyond basic wand waving and theatrical storytelling. The only person truly entertained was Charlie Potter, who seemed utterly fascinated by Lockhart’s tales of heroism.

For Harry and his friends, though, this class became a blessing in disguise.

Harry sat at the back with Blaise and Daphne, propped up an advanced book on Dark Arts countermeasures and spent the entire period reading and practicing wand movements under the desk. Lockhart never noticed. He was too busy basking in his own glory.

One day, while Lockhart was dramatically reenacting his battle with the Wagga Wagga Werewolf, Harry muttered, “I bet he never even saw a werewolf.”

Daphne smirked. “If he did, he probably ran the other way.”

Blaise leaned back lazily. “I’d rather spend this hour getting hit by actual curses. At least then I’d learn something.”

Lockhart, oblivious as ever, continued. “—and that, my dear students, is how I single-handedly subdued the vicious beast! A lesser wizard would have been torn apart, but of course, I—”

Harry turned the page of his book, utterly ignoring him.

If Defense Against the Dark Arts was a waste of time, History of Magic was an even greater tragedy.

Professor Binns, the ghostly teacher, was famous for his ability to make even the most exciting wizarding wars sound like an endless lullaby. His monotone voice droned on about Goblin Rebellions, but the only thing being fought in class was the battle to stay awake.

Harry, Daphne, and Blaise had quickly found a better use for their time.

They sat at the back of the room, spreading out advanced books on dueling, warding, and spellcrafting while pretending to take notes. Occasionally, Binns would glance their way, but as long as their quills were moving, he didn’t care.

Daphne flipped through a book on wandless magic. “Imagine if we actually learned something useful in this class.”

Blaise yawned. “Imagine if I cared.”

Harry chuckled and returned to his book, determined to master every spell Lockhart and Binns would never teach them.


As usual, Draco Malfoy’s ongoing rivalry with the Mini-Marauders continued in full force. Charlie Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom had made it their personal mission to annoy Malfoy at every possible opportunity.

Today’s battlefield? Herbology.

Professor Sprout had gathered the second-years outside Greenhouse Three, ready to teach them about Mandrakes—notorious magical plants with lethal screams that could knock out or even kill a wizard if handled incorrectly.

“Now, now, everyone,” Sprout called, handing out thick, fluffy earmuffs. “Put these on before we begin! A young Mandrake’s cry won’t kill you, but it will knock you unconscious for a few hours.”

As the class fumbled with their earmuffs, Charlie and Ron exchanged a look. It was time.

With a swift flick of their wands, they subtly charmed Draco’s earmuffs. The moment he pulled them over his head, they turned a bright shade of pink with floppy bunny ears sticking out.

Draco, completely unaware, stood there with a very serious expression, as if he were the most important person in the greenhouse.

Blaise, who had been watching from the Slytherin side, snorted. “Merlin, I wish I had a camera.”

Daphne covered her mouth to stop from laughing. Harry, sitting beside her, simply shook his head. It was a regular occurrence at Hogwarts—Malfoy being the Mini-Marauders’ favorite target.

Neville elbowed Ron. “How long do you think before he notices?”

Ron grinned. “Let’s see how many threats of ‘My father will hear about this’ we can get today.”

It took a few minutes, but as soon as they began repotting the Mandrakes, Draco caught sight of his reflection in one of the glass containers.

His pale face twisted in horror.

“WHAT IS THIS?!”

The entire class turned to look. Malfoy ripped off his earmuffs and glared around, his cheeks going red.

Charlie, feigning innocence, raised an eyebrow. “What’s the problem, Malfoy? Something wrong with your earmuffs?”

“WHO DID THIS?!” Malfoy’s voice cracked. He turned to his usual victims. “I KNOW IT WAS YOU, POTTER!”

Charlie smirked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Professor Sprout, completely oblivious, was focused on her Mandrakes.

Draco clenched his fists. “When my father hears about this—!”

Harry sighed. “There it is.”

Blaise leaned over to Harry. “Does he have a quota? Does Lucius Malfoy actually keep track of how many times Draco tells people that?”

Harry smirked. “At this point, I think Malfoy gets extra pocket money for each complaint.”

The Slytherins chuckled as Malfoy continued his furious tirade against the Mini-Marauders.

Just another normal day at Hogwarts.