“I’m not.”
Bruce replied calmly, though he wasn’t sure why Professor Gael had asked.
“Dumbledore’s favorite student must be Harry Potter,” he said.
The Boy Who Lived—even Snape softened a little around him. That was a charm Bruce knew he didn’t possess.
“Harry Potter…”
Professor Gael took note of the name.
Then, almost as if he’d seen it coming, he extended his hand.
“Go on, give me whatever Dumbledore sent you to deliver.”
Bruce took out the vial and handed it over.
With a single glance at it, Professor Gael reached a conclusion.
“Interesting. This is magic I’ve never encountered before.”
He examined the silvery memory thread inside, from which traces of dark green smoke occasionally flickered.
“This isn’t a known Dark spell. Tell Dumbledore I’ll need some time to study it.”
“Understood, Professor.”
Having delivered the item, Bruce saw no reason to linger. He was about to turn and leave when Professor Gael spoke up from behind him.
“If I recall, Gryffindor’s dueling class is tomorrow, yes?”
“Yes.”
Bruce turned back, nodding in confirmation. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were scheduled to take the class together.
“Good,” Professor Gael said, looking pleased.
—
The next day.
When Bruce entered the dueling classroom, many students were already gathered there.
Hermione waved him over to stand beside her. Next to her was Neville, clutching his wand anxiously, clearly nervous about the upcoming lesson.
Unlike most classrooms, the dueling room was empty of desks, giving it a spacious feel.
In the center was a wooden platform surrounded by training dummies.
Professor Gael’s arrival was so silent that when the students noticed him, he was already standing on the stage.
“It appears you’re all ready.”
Professor Gael glanced at the students below. Everyone had their wands out, gripped tightly in their hands.
Standing above them with his hands behind his back, he looked like he was about to deliver a grand speech.
“Two months ago, your headmaster approached me, asking me to teach a class that would fully prepare you for combat.”
Professor Gael addressed them, “Because, as you may well know, it’s likely that soon, you’ll face a shift in the wizarding world—perhaps even a war.
“And when that time comes, you’ll need at least some ability to protect yourselves.”
He spoke with brutal frankness, openly mentioning war in front of the students.
They exchanged uneasy glances, their faces filled with anxiety.
“Dumbledore’s original plan was for me to teach you some defensive techniques, but I don’t agree with that.”
Professor Gael drew his wand, and it was visibly new.
“I firmly believe the best defense is a strong offense. Rather than rely on defensive spells, it’s better to incapacitate your enemy as quickly as possible!”
He continued, “Now, I’ll teach you a spell that’s appropriate for your current level.
“This spell was invented by a brilliant wizard—one whose genius led to a war and who became a nightmare to many.”
Hearing this, the students’ faces showed immediate alarm.
From that description… could it be him?
“Seems like you’ve guessed who I’m referring to.”
A faint smile crossed Professor Gael’s face. “Can anyone tell me the name of this brilliant wizard?”
Swoosh—
Hermione’s hand shot up immediately.
“Miss Granger, please.”
Encouraged by his gaze, Hermione gathered her courage and said loudly, “The Dark Lord, sir!”
“An interesting answer.” Professor Gael smiled. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”
Hermione froze, stunned. Had she misheard? Did he actually say deduct points instead of awarding them?
“Hermione,” Harry whispered from the other side, “Professor Gael asked for a name, and you said ‘the Dark Lord.’”
Hermione realized her mistake.
Ah, so he wanted her to overcome her fear and say Voldemort’s name?
She hadn’t understood his intent, so the deduction was fair.
From the stage, Professor Gael scanned the students.
“Does anyone else know the answer? Let me clarify—I want you to focus on the word genius.”
He continued, “Think carefully—besides Dumbledore, who else deserves the title of a brilliant wizard?”
Harry glanced around. No one raised their hand; they all seemed hesitant.
Saying Voldemort’s name was still a daunting task for them.
“Looks like it’ll have to be me.”
Harry remembered Dumbledore’s advice—to always call things by their proper names.
Fearing a name only strengthened the fear of the thing itself.
This was his chance to set an example.
Harry raised his hand with a determined look.
Seeing Harry volunteer, Professor Gael’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction.
“Harry Potter, I was hoping you’d step up. Say the name! The genius on par with Dumbledore!”
“Voldemort!”
Harry said boldly, his gaze steady and fearless.
The classroom fell silent at the sound of that name.
Even Professor Gael seemed taken aback, momentarily speechless.
Sensing his hesitation, Harry asked, “Professor, did I get it wrong?”
“No, you were correct. Very correct.”
Gael’s face was expressionless. “Potter, come up here.”
Under the watchful eyes of his classmates, Harry walked to the opposite end of the dueling platform, facing Professor Gael.
He looked uncertain, completely unaware of what was about to happen.
“Don’t be nervous, Potter. This is merely a demonstration. Feel free to attack me with your strongest spell.”
Professor Gael spoke in an icy tone.
Relieved that it was just a demonstration duel, Harry gripped his wand tightly, his mind racing through all the spells he’d learned.
But the harder he tried to think, the more his mind turned to mush.
“If only Seamus were here.”
He thought of his dormmate, Seamus Finnigan, who had a knack for turning any spell into an explosion.
“What are you waiting for, Potter?” Professor Gael’s tone turned impatient. “Hesitate like this on the battlefield, and you’re already dead!”
No choice—he’d have to give it his all!
Harry gritted his teeth, shouting the incantation.
“Expel—”
Professor Gael moved first, his wand flashing forward.
A dazzling red light shot from his wand, hitting Harry squarely.
Harry spun in the air several times before crashing onto the dueling platform.
“Stand up, Potter.”
Gael’s tone remained icy. “Our demonstration isn’t over yet.”
The students were as silent as mice.
On Bruce’s shoulder, Kathoom made a wry observation.
“Seems Gael Green is a bit lacking. One little word set him off—my rating: he’s no Voldemort.”
The owl’s sharp critique continued—
“Voldemort wouldn’t let himself be led by the nose.”
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