Chapter 338: Preparing for the Open Lesson! This Professor Might Be a Demon
Beneath a sea of blank, uncomprehending stares, the Spiral Being slowly straightened and gave the Hufflepuff first-year a gentle pat on the shoulder. The first-year appeared composed. They had, in fact, checked out some time ago.
The figure was dressed in an immaculate black suit that sat on him like a slice of the night sky. A top hat perched on his head, long fingers sheathed in white gloves, trouser legs crisp, shoes polished to a mirror shine. Everything about him was proper, distinguished — more elegant and composed, in truth, than any professor or Ministry official in the room.
And yet, for precisely that reason, the wrongness of it hit harder. It was like watching a creature do a very careful impression of a human being, getting every detail exactly right except for the one that mattered most. Where a face should have been, there was only that mass of layered, twitching spirals — flesh-coloured, terrible, shifting faintly with each movement like badly kneaded clay that hadn't quite set.
Harry stared, then frowned, studying the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor with open suspicion. He couldn't put his finger on why, but something about the combination — the elegance, the wrongness, the sheer audacity of the entrance — was giving him an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A gold-tipped cane struck the marble floor. The sound rang out, crisp and unhurried, through the graveyard silence of the Great Hall.
Then, lightly, the figure vaulted up onto the platform, turned with a flourish, and positioned himself squarely in front of Dumbledore.
A vein appeared on the headmaster's forehead.
He considered his options. There weren't many to choose from. With the quiet resignation of a man long at peace with the universe, Dumbledore exhaled, stepped graciously to one side, and ceded the podium to this rising star — clasping his hands behind his back and watching from the wings with an expression of serene detachment.
"Good evening, everyone."
A voice like well-aged wine, rich and smooth, rolled through the hall.
The Spiral Being bent at the waist, one hand raised to his left breast, and executed a perfectly correct gentleman's bow. He straightened and turned that terrible face toward the rows of bewildered, wide-eyed students.
"I am your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," he said pleasantly. "Mr Unknown. Or simply—Unknown." A pause. "I look forward to accompanying you through the coming year, and to imparting the most sublime knowledge."
Silence.
Then, a single pair of hands clapped.
Luna, at the Ravenclaw table, applauded with cheerful enthusiasm, rosy-cheeked and beaming.
Ninety-nine point nine percent of the student body looked as though they would genuinely rather go and live in Hagrid's hut and spend their days with Blast-Ended Skrewts than attend a single one of Professor Unknown's lessons.
The silence, naturally, had no effect on Ethan whatsoever.
He planted both arms on the brass owl lectern with a sharp bang that made half the hall flinch, and leaned forward.
"Look at you all. I see rows of tender young figures — like small apples, ripening on the branch." His voice dropped, weighty and urgent. "But the sunlight won't last. The storm is coming. And the vast majority of you are nowhere near ready to face what's ahead."
The hall had gone very still.
"The greatest problem, as I see it, is that you are all far too dependent on your wands. A wand should accompany a young witch or wizard throughout their life — but it is a tool to assist with casting, not a requirement. Without it, most of you can't produce so much as a spark." He straightened, and his voice sharpened. "That is frankly terrifying."
He raised one hand. Several brilliant white orbs bloomed from thin air beside him, blazing like small suns, floating up overhead and flooding the area around the lectern with cold, clear light that swallowed the warm amber of the candles whole.
For the first time, the students' eyes left his face. A scattered murmur of genuine awe moved through the hall.
"That," Ethan said lightly, "is the most basic application. To ensure that each of you can walk away from danger in one piece, I intend to have all fifth years and above performing fundamental spells without a wand before this term is out."
Silence.
Then, slowly, the students looked at one another.
Wandless magic? Wasn't that something most adult wizards never managed? How were they supposed to—
"I thought those textbooks were just for reference," someone muttered. "Is this professor actually serious?"
At the Gryffindor table, a hand went up. Tentative, then determined. Hermione Granger, behaving exactly as she would in any other lesson.
She was nervous — anyone could see it — but her arm went up to the ceiling regardless.
"Yes, this young lady." Ethan nodded toward her, the mask rippling in what was presumably meant to be a reassuring smile. The spirals contracted inward. Several students near Hermione leaned away.
Hermione stood, took a breath, and asked with admirable steadiness, "Will the wandless magic component affect our O.W.L. results this term?"
She had spent the summer working through five years' worth of past O.W.L. papers. Not a single one had included wandless casting in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Fifth year was supposed to revolve around exam preparation — the O.W.L.s determined which subjects you could continue, which determined whether you could sit your N.E.W.T.s, which determined, more or less, the rest of your life.
Hermione bit her lower lip. If she spent the whole term on something that wasn't being examined, and then failed the actual exam on top of that—
For Hermione Granger, a failed exam was not an inconvenience. It was the end of everything.
"No need to worry at all," Ethan said warmly. He knew perfectly well what the little scholar was fretting about. "Once you've mastered wandless casting, your Defence O.W.L. result will be an O. Outstanding. Guaranteed."
Hermione faltered. "And — and if we can't manage it?"
"Hehehe." The voice softened further, wrapping around each word like warm honey. "Rest assured. Under my instruction, not a single student will fail to learn wandless magic."
It was said with the utmost gentleness.
It gave everyone within earshot goosebumps.
"Does that mean he's going to — to do away with anyone who can't learn it?!" Ron's eyes were wide with horror. He pressed his face into his hands and groaned. "Bloody hell, can I drop this course?"
Unfortunately, Defence Against the Dark Arts was compulsory.
No opting out.
Ron thought back to the summer, and the very confident declaration he had made — that this nobody of a new professor would turn out to be a complete fraud who'd materialised from nowhere.
Looking at the situation now, he was forced to revise his assessment.
This thing had not materialised out of nowhere. It had crawled out of subspace. It was a demon. It was absolutely a demon.
Even Dumbledore had looked up at Ethan's announcement, quietly curious about what method — what possible method — could guarantee an entire student body learning one of the most difficult branches of magic in existence.
He hoped it wouldn't involve blowing up the school.
Probably wasn't.
...Probably.
Dumbledore's easy smile stiffened, ever so slightly. A series of vivid memories flashed across his mind, entirely unbidden. The probability seemed, on reflection, higher than comfortable. The tall, venerable figure seemed to shrink a little where he stood, and he said nothing more.
Up on the platform, Ethan turned back to Hermione, who had been standing frozen in place this entire time.
"Any other questions, Miss?"
She startled back to life, went pink, said "No, none, thank you," and sat down very quickly.
He's strange, she thought, fanning her own face with one hand. Truly very strange. So why does he feel — familiar?
"Very well," Ethan said at last. "In order to give everyone a truly memorable first lesson, all fifth years are to gather in the Great Hall tomorrow afternoon. We shall have an open class." He paused, and the warmth in his voice sharpened into something that made spines straighten involuntarily. "I guarantee it will be interesting."
The mask rippled with satisfaction.
From somewhere behind the spirals came a low, hollow laugh.
"Heh. Heh."