A/N: It's been a little while since the last update, for which I can only apologize. I've been spending most of my free time working on Rise of the Uchiha, my take on how things would have turned out if Itachi decided not to kill Shisui and gain the Mangekyou sharingan. Unless this story gets a hell of a lot of reviews, it will probably take a back seat to RotU for the foreseeable future.
Now back to the story, and Harry's first Defense class!
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter.
Chapter 3: The Professor's First Class
Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief when the door to Snape's office closed, leaving him and Ron unharmed on the other side. If he'd known borrowing Mr. Weasley's flying car would land him in this much trouble, he would have stayed at King's Cross Station, forever if necessary. Until Professor McGonagall had stepped in, he'd really thought they might get expelled. As if they hadn't already been punished enough by the Whomping Willow.
"Blimey, that was close." Ron's pale face made his freckles seem even more prominent. "I thought we were done for!"
"Yeah, Snape wasn't going to let us get away from that one. If it hadn't been for McGonagall…"
Ron gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down violently. "Don't even think about it, mate."
The two friends made their way back to the Gryffindor common room, slowly relaxing as the familiar sights reassured them that they were indeed back at Hogwarts, and were there to stay. Harry couldn't keep the smile off of his face as he walked through the halls, returning the friendly waves of the witches and wizards in the portraits.
I don't care what that crazy house-elf said, he thought with determination. This is where I belong.
When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the third floor, Ron stopped and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Brace yourself, Harry. They're all going to want to know why we weren't at dinner. What should we tell them?"
Harry shrugged. "Nothing wrong with the truth, is there? We didn't know we were doing anything wrong, and it's a good story, after all."
He stifled a laugh when he saw Ron's face brighten. Clearly his friend was looking forward to bragging about their adventure, and their subsequent brush with disaster in the form of Professor Snape. But truth be told, now that Harry knew he wasn't going to be expelled he found himself also looking forward to telling his friends about the trip to Hogwarts.
Professor McGonagall had given them the password before they left, so Harry and Ron had no trouble opening the passageway into the common room. And just as Ron had predicted, the entire House was waiting to ambush them.
"Why weren't you at the Feast? … What happened to you? … Peeves said you were getting arrested!"
The voices flew fast and furious, and Ron and Harry were barely able to understand the questions, let alone answer any of them. Eventually Ron took center stage and began his story, the Gryffindors forming a loose circle around him. Ron really played it up, making sweeping motions with his arms to represent the car and, later, the deadly branches of the Whomping Willow. He held up his smashed wand to general delight.
Meanwhile, Hermione grabbed Harry and dragged him outside of the circle.
"What happened to you two?" she began, looking concerned. "One second you're with us, then the next thing I know the train's leaving and you two are nowhere in sight! Mrs. Weasley almost broke down right there in the station!"
"I don't know," Harry whispered, looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "The barrier just… wouldn't let us through. I don't know why. So Ron and I borrowed Mr. Weasley's car."
Hermione's look of horror was almost comical, and Harry had to struggle not to laugh.
"Harry! You didn't!"
Harry held out his hands, hoping to head off one of Hermione's signature scoldings. "I know, it wasn't our best decision. Professor Snape made sure we knew that, when he brought us into his office and tried to get us expelled. If it wasn't for Professor McGonagall showing up right on time, we might be packing our bags to leave."
Hermione's eyes widened until she looked like a bushy-haired owl. "Oh no! Thank goodness for Professor McGonagall. Harry, promise me you won't do anything like that again, ok?"
"All right, mum. I promise." Harry gave her a sincere smile to take the sting out of his sarcasm.
"This is no time for jokes, Harry!" Hermione scolded. "Remember what that House Elf told you, about you being in danger this year!"
Harry rolled his eyes at the reminder of Dobby.
"Come on, Hermione, what could possibly be a threat to us with Professor Dumbledore around? Besides Voldemort, and Dobby said it wasn't him."
Hermione pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. "I don't know, but it only makes what I said before even more important. If there's anything dangerous out there, taking unnecessary risks isn't something you should be doing this year."
"I got it, Hermione. No more stealing flying cars."
The night wore on, and eventually even Ron got tired of recounting his adventures. The second-year boys trooped up to bed, swapping stories about summer and complaining about classes.
A thought occurred to Harry before he fell asleep. "Hey, who's our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year? Obviously Quirrell isn't coming back."
"Oh, wait until you see him," Dean answered excitedly. "His name is Professor Sarutobi. He's from Japan, and he wears funny white robes and a totally different style of wizard hat. Get this: he doesn't even use a wand! I can't wait to see what he's like."
"Well, we have class tomorrow, right?" Ron pointed out. "We'll find out then."
After that the chatter died down, and soon the dorm was silent save for the sounds of snoring.
The next morning at breakfast Harry and Ron discovered that Mrs. Weasley was possibly even scarier than Professor Snape. The Howler that Ron received in the mail harangued him and Harry for a full five minutes, until finally it shriveled up into dust. The entire Hall was silent, watching the two Gryffindors with varying degrees of amusement. Ron's face looked like you could fry an egg on it.
Hermione took pity on the two of them, probably thinking that now Mrs. Weasley had had her say, she could be friends with the two miscreants again.
"Let's go down to Herbology early," she urged. "We'll get the best seats."
Ron stood up immediately. "I'm not hungry anymore anyway," he said miserably.
The three friend walked down to the greenhouses, where Professor Sprout and Neville were already waiting.
"Hallo, Harry!" Neville called cheerfully. "Hermione, Ron."
"Hallo, Neville." Harry was glad that Neville didn't still nurse a grudge from last year, when they'd used the Body-Bind Curse to keep him out of the way while they confronted Quirrell. His House points had won the cup for them, after all, which would go a long way toward reconciliation. It also helped that Neville was so unfailingly good-natured. Harry promised himself they would spend more time with Neville this year.
Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs started arriving, showing up in groups of three and four, still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. When everyone was together, Professor Sprout clapped her hands for silence.
"Everyone, we'll be going to Greenhouse Three today."
That was surprising, given the more dangerous nature of the plants housed there. As first-years, they'd never been allowed in.
When they settled into the greenhouse, Professor Sprout asked them what they knew about mandrakes. As usual, Hermione had her hand up before Professor Sprout even finished her question.
Ron rolled his eyes at Harry expressively, as if to say, "here she goes again."
Harry wondered if he and Ron were being a little hypocritical. I mean, it was all very well to poke fun at Hermione for being a know-it-all, but then they didn't exactly complain when she won them House points.
"Excellent, Miss Granger, ten points to Gryffindor," Professor Sprout's voice rang out, underscoring Harry's thoughts.
At Professor Sprout's direction the students began putting on earmuffs. Harry was less than pleased with his choice, but supposed it was better than unconsciousness or death. Professor Sprout yanked out the mandrake by the flower, shocking the room with the sudden appearance of a squalling baby from the soil.
Thunk.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, will someone please take Longbottom to the Hospital Wing?"
Once Neville was safely on his way to the castle, and the baby mandrake was back in its pot, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs formed groups to re-pot their own mandrakes.
Harry was less than pleased with the fourth member of their group, Justin Finch-Fletchley. He complimented all three of the Gryffindors, but it seemed that was just an introduction so that he could talk about himself. Harry learned more than he ever wanted to know about how Justin's had been put down for Eton, at least until he got the letter from Hogwarts. Harry got the feeling Justin would still be talking if they hadn't had to put their earmuffs back on to re-pot their mandrake.
The lesson was grueling and tedious, as the mandrake furiously resisted all attempts to move it. Hermione might have known everything there was to know about the plants, but she was just as inept as the boys when it came to handling them. Finally the hour was over, and Harry relinquished his fluffy, pink earmuffs with one last, silent curse.
"What do we have next?" Ron asked as they started up the path back to the castle.
Hermione rummaged in her bag for the schedule. "I don't think we have anything before lunch. Then it's Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Hermione," Harry said mockingly, "you haven't memorized your schedule yet? You're slipping!"
"I've been busy," Hermione said defensively. "First was the sorting, then I was wondering where you two were-" At that point she realized Harry was only joking, and punched him playfully in the arm.
The three of them bickered good-naturedly as they walked up the path. They turned a corner, only to narrowly miss running into an old man smoking a pipe. He wore white robes, which were accented with red, and a white hat with a cloth draping down to cover his neck. There was a strange-looking symbol on the top of his hat.
"Forgive me," the old man said politely. "I was lost in thought."
Hermione seemed flustered, and Harry soon found out why.
"No, it was our fault, Professor Sarutobi! We're very sorry."
"No harm done," the Professor said. "And who are you three?"
"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said in a rush. "This is Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter. We're in your class after lunch."
Ron scowled at Hermione for taking the introductions on herself, while Harry waited for the familiar spark of recognition he usually received when someone heard his name.
But the professor only nodded, apparently committing their names to memory. "I look forward to it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with Professor Sprout."
"Right, sorry. Bye!" Hermione waved as the new Defense professor walked down the path, passing other groups of students as he made his way to the greenhouses.
"That was kinda weird," Ron said, turning to head back to the castle. "What a strange bloke! Never seen robes like that before."
Harry didn't respond. Seeing as how he'd never seen anyone wearing robes until just over a year ago, he wasn't about to comment. But there was something about the Professor that made him pause, a sense that there was more to the old man than met the eye.
He shrugged, following Ron and Hermione into the Great Hall. There would be plenty of time to figure out Professor Sarutobi in class.
But discussing the new professor kept Hermione busy until lunch, and even then it became clear that she wasn't the only one impressed with Professor Sarutobi. Fred and George came over to sit next to the three younger Gryffindors.
"Congratulations on the Howler, Ronniekins," George said with a smile. "Normally it takes us at least a few days to get an angry letter from home."
"Stow it," Ron grumbled.
Fred waved his hand in dismissal. "Never mind about that. When do you three have Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
"Right after lunch," Hermione answered. "Why?"
"Because we want you to tell us what he's like! We don't have him until Wednesday, but we hear good things."
George nodded knowingly. "Good things like how he smacked Malfoy over the head during the first class!"
Harry and Ron laughed outright, though Hermione looked slightly scandalized. "Are you serious?" Harry demanded. "How'd that happen?"
"We heard it from Nearly Headless Nick, who overheard Pansy Parkinson whining about it. Apparently Malfoy was being a brat, and hinted that Professor Sarutobi couldn't be much of a wizard if he didn't even have a wand. And then a staff appeared in the Professor's hands, and he whacked Malfoy right on his greasy head!"
Ron gave an exaggerated cheer, drawing some strange looks from people at the other tables. Harry looked over at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was indeed rubbing his head with one hand, staring at Ron with murder in his eyes. Harry snickered, and mimed swinging a staff. If looks could kill, Malfoy would have finished the work Voldemort started so many years ago. As it was, Harry turned back to the conversation completely satisfied. It was the little things in life…
"It serves him right," Hermione was saying, drawing an approving look from Ron. "It's absolutely ignorant to look down on someone because they perform magic differently. I wonder if he'll teach us the methods he learned in Japan? Oh, this year is going to be so exciting!"
Harry tried to imagine what magic would be like without a wand. Even after only one year, the comforting weight of his wand was as familiar to him as his reflection in the mirror.
After lunch Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the rest of the second-year Gryffindors and went in search of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The hallway buzzed with their excited conversation. It appeared they were all curious about their exotic new professor.
Professor Sarutobi was sitting at his desk at the front of the room, puffing contentedly on a pipe. Wisps of smoke rose above his head, forming strange patterns before reaching the ceiling and disappearing.
The second-year Gryffindors sat down at their desks, falling silent immediately. For a few long seconds they just waited, almost mesmerized, watching the smoke rise through the air. Then Professor Sarutobi stood up, leaving his pipe face up on the desk.
"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Who can tell me what this class is about?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air with her usual speed. The professor's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
"Ah, Miss Granger. Please, enlighten us."
"The purpose of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to familiarize us with the spells and curses used by Dark wizards and witches, and to teach us how they may be countered."
"That's not necessarily a bad answer," the professor said, "but it is only partially correct."
There was a muffled gasp from most of the Gryffindors, who were shocked at what was perhaps the first time they had ever witnessed Hermione Granger get a question wrong. Hermione herself at first looked stunned, and then determined. She opened her notebook with fire in her eyes, pen poised to copy down what the Professor said next.
"As most of you already know, I am not from Britain. The western tradition of magic is very different from my own, and Professor Dumbledore has given me the go-ahead to teach you according to my own principles. And I'm afraid that you have all been raised with a very skewed perception of the so-called Dark Arts. What do you think qualifies as Dark magic?"
The Gryffindor students looked around at one another nervously, unwilling to put themselves forward.
"All right," Professor Sarutobi said, "let me phrase this another way. What spells do you know? Can you give me an example?"
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron called out.
"Ah, the levitation spell. Right, Mr. Weasley, would you care to give us a demonstration?"
Ron looked intensely embarrassed that he'd volunteered, and raised his spello-taped wand apologetically.
"Ah, had a mishap with your wand, eh? What else can you expect when your abilities are all tied up in an external object, easy to break or to steal… but that's a discussion for another day. Are there any other volunteers?"
Harry raised his hand along with almost everyone else, wondering where the professor was going with this.
"Mr. Longbottom, if you would."
Harry cringed a little, but Neville managed to cast a very passable levitating charm. Professor Sarutobi's pipe rose a few feet in the air, and the slight wobble was barely noticeable.
"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, that will do."
Before the pipe could fall to the desk, the professor snatched it out of the air. "It's hard to imagine this simple spell used in another context, but I want you to try. Imagine I was using it not on a pipe, but on a human being. Imagine that I'm levitating him right off the edge of a cliff. Would you consider that Dark magic?"
The class sat in stunned silence. Professor Sarutobi puffed on his pipe contentedly, acting as if he hadn't said anything strange at all.
"Now think of other spells you know. I'm sure you can think of ways that they can be used for evil purposes. Not just spells, but plants, potions, anything you can think of. Magical or mundane, everything can be turned to a Dark purpose."
Sarutobi grinned at the students, who were at this point thoroughly traumatized. "Of course, it's not all bad. The reverse of this is that any spell, no matter what its nature, can be used in defense of the Light. That is what I will be teaching you this year: not just how to defend yourselves against Dark magic, but how to recognize when magic is being turned to a Dark purpose."
Hermione raised her hand high in the air.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"But Professor," Hermione began, "aren't there spells that can only be classified as Dark magic? Spells that could never be anything but evil?"
For a second Professor Sarutobi looked very old, and weary beyond anything Harry could imagine. "I will say that there are certain things which are unforgivable; things that no person can do and still be said to possess a soul. But many of those crimes aren't magical at all."
"What about the…" Hermione gulped, but continued. "What about the Unforgivable Curses?"
The professor brightened at this question, shaking off the memories that seemed to be playing behind his eyes.
"That is an excellent question. And for those of you who don't know, the Unforgiveable Curses are three spells that will land anyone who uses them in the Wizard prison, Azkaban. But I maintain that these three spells are not, in and of themselves, purely evil."
There was an outcry from several people in the room. To Harry's surprise Neville was one of them. The slightly chubby young Gryffindor was clenching his hands in his lap so hard the knuckles were turning white.
Professor Sarutobi raised his hands for silence.
"I know this is difficult for you to understand, because you were raised in a peaceful time. But murder is not the worst crime that a person may commit. Sometimes killing is necessary, and saves lives. Many of your parents lived through the last war against the Dark Wizard Voldemort-" there were a series of gasps at hearing the name. "And perhaps some of your parents didn't live through it. But do you think that they hesitated to kill to protect their loved ones? And if killing by magic is necessary, why wouldn't you choose the most efficient, painless method possible? Because that is all that Avada Kedavra, or the Killing Curse is: a swift, painless death. It is the person behind the wand who is evil, not the spell."
Neville rose his voice, sounding very upset. "And what about the C… Cruciatus curse?"
The professor looked into the young Gryffindor's eyes. "The Cruciatus curse is one of the cruelest spells in existence. It is used for no other purpose than to cause pain. Out of the three Unforgiveable Curses, it comes the closest to being pure Dark magic. But that is not because it is truly Unforgivable, only clumsy and inefficient. Torture during interrogation is never as valuable as truth serum or mind-reading. So the only people who actually use the Cruciatus curse are the ones who enjoy the pain of others. But those people would still enjoy causing pain, even if the Cruciatus curse didn't exist."
Professor Sarutobi broke eye contact with Neville, and regarded the room with a grave expression. "There is a reason that I'm telling you these things. The reason is that no matter what you might think, none of you are ever completely safe. There are always those willing to serve the Dark, and they will use anything they can to accomplish their goals. Which is why Defense Against the Dark Arts isn't just a class. It's a mindset, a commitment to protecting yourself and others. You must know the dangers, and be prepared to use every weapon in your arsenal to overcome them."
Harry was suddenly overtaken by a memory of the end of his freshman year. Quirrell stood in front of him, but turned away. And staring at him from the back of the professor's head was a face from Harry's worst nightmares.
Harry remembered that Voldemort was still out there, and he would be coming back.
Harry felt as though he understood what Professor Sarutobi was trying to say. Voldemort had given off an aura that was pure evil. If it had been in Harry's power to kill him, shouldn't he have taken the chance? Wouldn't that keep other people from suffering at Voldemort's hands in the future?
Professor Sarutobi was still talking, bringing Harry out of his reverie.
"…And that brings me to your homework assignment for the first week. I want to show you all that Defense Against the Dark Arts is not a separate class, but a way of using every different branch of magical knowledge to protect against those who use magic to accomplish evil. To teach this lesson, I want you to write down everything you learn in your other classes. For every charm, spell, potion, plant, or magical beast that you encounter, I want you to come up with one way that it could be used to harm others. Then I want you to come up with two ways to counter that threat, to neutralize the danger. Be creative, and don't be afraid to look up new spells in the library. I'll see you later this week: class dismissed."
As the students began picking up their books to leave, the professor called Neville up to his desk.
"I'd like to speak with you for a minute, Mr. Longbottom." Harry noticed Neville's face was pale, whether in anger or fear Harry couldn't tell.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited outside in the hall by unspoken agreement, wanting to make sure that Neville was ok. Some time later he came out, looking a little pale but very thoughtful.
"What was that about?" Ron asked curiously. Neville jerked his head up, startled out of his private thoughts.
"Oh, nothing much," Neville said unconvincingly. They started walking back to the common room, not saying much. Then Neville burst out, "I'm going to do well in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year!"
"Of course you will, Neville!" Hermione said encouragingly. "We'll work with you if you want, right guys?"
Harry and Ron nodded. Harry could tell there was something Neville wasn't telling them, but it wasn't any of their business. It seemed that Professor Sarutobi had made quite an impression on him. Then again, the professor had made quite an impression on everyone. He seemed so sure that evil was lurking right around the corner, and so determined to go to any lengths to stop it.
Harry would have thought the man was paranoid, if it hadn't been for what he knew about Voldemort.
"Kind of a morbid homework assignment, don't you think?" Hermione asked after a minute. "Coming up with ways to hurt people based off of what we learn in our other classes?"
"Come on, Hermione," Ron said bracingly, "think of it as an exercise in imagination. I already have my idea for Potions: I'm going to hit Professor Snape over the head with my cauldron. I don't think I want to come up with ways to counter that, though."
All four Gryffindors laughed, and returned to their common room after the strangest class they'd ever experienced. But even as Harry bantered back and forth with his friends, he couldn't help but feel as though there were storm clouds on the horizon. What evil was lurking out there in the world, and would he be ready for it when the time came?