Harry quickly helped Neville to his feet.
At the same time, Draco also walked over, clutching his aching chest.
"You won."
His tone was a bit displeased, but his words were clear and forceful.
Even if he lost, he had to be a good loser.
Making a fuss after losing would be truly embarrassing.
But at the same time, he was also very confused as to how Neville had suddenly become so tough. This was completely inconsistent with the guy he remembered.
Of course, the one crying now was much more in line.
Harry handed the Dittany to Neville, while curiously asking what had just happened to Neville.
Soon, Neville recounted what had happened.
"An old man's voice… Have you heard it before? Are you sure it wasn't Professor Snape's voice?" Harry asked doubtfully.
"No, it wasn't." Neville shook his head. "He wasn't as excessive as Professor Snape."
"Indeed, most people can't be that venomous." Harry nodded. It seemed the person speaking in Neville's head was likely the one who had stood beside Uncle Howl earlier.
Aged, old, and seemingly very powerful.
Harry racked his brain for a while but couldn't figure out who that person was.
Uncle Howl's friend? Then why would he appear at Hogwarts? Why would he be connected to Neville?
Forget it, I won't think about it anymore.
"Crabbe, Goyle, you two want to practice?" Harry said.
"Okay." On the other side, two burly young men stood up.
On Monday, the first class was still Herbology Class.
Draco was still immersed in the dueling practice from before.
"I feel like my approach should be fine. To connect the spells immediately, I chose Transfiguration, but then the thorns I transfigured are very fragile. Harry, do you have a better idea? Or is it that my control over Transfiguration isn't good enough?"
In class, Draco quietly sought advice from Harry.
"If it were me, the first spell might be a feint, perhaps a simpler spell, and then I'd focus my energy on the second spell." Harry thought for a moment and gave his answer.
"But if the first spell hits, wouldn't that be a gain? Fifty percent probability, and the second spell is for backup." Draco explained his reasoning.
"Then you should have chosen to continue casting other spells instead of continuing to focus on controlling your Transfiguration thorns," Harry said helplessly. "And we still don't know the exact dueling arena for a real battle. If it's not on grass, then the difficulty of transfiguring thorns from stone slabs would increase too much."
"My suggestion is to choose your core spell," Hermione advised. "After Mr. Jones told me about the combat classifications of crowd control Wizards last time, I looked up some information. Basically, many powerful Wizards have their own Wizard combat system."
"For example, I found a fifteenth-century Wizard named Lancelot. What he was best at was frequently using Apparition, combined with various combat spells, always catching enemies off guard and achieving miraculous effects.
There's also the very famous Mr. Scamander, who came to Hogwarts a few days ago. It's said that he raises many powerful magical creatures, and at critical moments, he often relies on them to turn the tide of battle."
Harry agreed, saying, "Exactly. You might have to try to find a spell you're best at first, and then, based on that, establish your own combat style."
"Like how you used to rely on a bunch of auxiliary spells enchanted onto your sword?" Draco looked at Harry.
Harry nodded. "Hmm, something like that, but I don't intend to delve too much into that path. It could easily make me put the cart before the horse. In that regard, I just hope that if someone tries to get close to me, I can still remain calm."
Although he hadn't neglected his sword practice recently, it was more just a homework assignment.
In actual combat, he still couldn't forget the storm of flesh-gouging and bone-scraping wind that Uncle Howl had summoned on Christmas Eve.
That was what a Wizard should be like…
"Comparatively good at…" Draco muttered, falling into thought.
Beside him, Hermione carefully used a rubber band to secure the fruit of a Puffapod.
Puffapod fruits, when unripe, would easily burst open, like unstable little bombs.
Apart from being dangerous, they were useless.
But once mature, when they burst open and fell to the ground, they would quickly blossom and bear fruit, just like Jack's magic beans.
The fruit itself became an excellent healing potion and could even affect a person's mind, making them excited.
This work had to be done with extreme care, otherwise, it was easy to make the already sensitive pods explode.
At least, Hermione was very careful.
After finally securing one pod, she turned her head and happened to see Harry with his hand outstretched, holding several ferocious and terrifying centipedes.
He simply raised his hand slightly, and the centipedes crawled onto the pods one by one, quickly biting their tails.
The Transfiguration receded, and the centipedes became rubber rings, securely fastened to the pods.
"What's wrong?" Harry turned his head to look at Hermione, puzzled.
"No, nothing." Hermione's mouth twitched.
"I just wanted to ask, do You-Know-Who that person in the school was before? The one with Mr. Jones?" she asked instead.
As soon as this question was asked, many people immediately began to whisper curiously about this person.
It seemed more than one person had seen him.
"I always feel very familiar; I should have seen this person somewhere."
"He should be a very powerful Wizard."
Soon, someone from Slytherin remembered a previous piece of news.
"Marcus said before that he would be staying here for a while because there's a special class. Could it be this one?"
"I think it's completely unnecessary; Professor Jones's class is already good enough.
"Maybe it really is this, but who is he? Can he really teach this class well?"
Bang—
A pod Seamus was working on exploded, and an uninterrupted stream of beans shot out, starting a second round of small explosions.
Interrupting the noise in Greenhouse Three.
"I told you, you should focus." Sprout gave a helpless smile. "Now you should be quiet."
"Professor, do You-Know-Who that Mr. is?"
"I'm sorry, I really can't disclose that." Sprout gave a helpless smile.
"Worry." Draco said quietly.
"What?"
"It's worry! I saw worry on her face." Draco nodded. "It's a bit troublesome. It seems that old man is not someone to be trifled with."
The children's confusion deepened.
Time quickly came to the afternoon, and the first class was their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Harry and Draco jogged along. They had been delayed for some time in the abandoned training classroom, and it was now almost class time.
Just as they reached the classroom door, they saw Hermione, looking distraught.
"What's wrong?" Harry frowned. Why was Hermione also so late to class?
"Harry… I know who that person is." Hermione said, "I went to look up that person at noon. I'm very sure I've seen that face somewhere before."
"Who is it?" Draco was also a bit curious.
Hermione was about to speak, but then shook her head again. "Never mind, that might be a misunderstanding too, after all, that photo in the history book is already fifty years old."
Just as she was speaking, the class bell suddenly rang, and Hermione quickly walked into the classroom with her head down.
"Why is she so nervous? Could it be that the Dark Lord is coming to teach us?" Draco shrugged indifferently.
"I don't know." Harry shook his head and quickly walked into the classroom.
As soon as they entered the classroom, they suddenly felt the atmosphere was wrong.
The classroom was much wider than before, yet the crowdedness was far greater than in the past. Many upper-year students who had no classes had come here, and the entire classroom was very quiet.
For some reason, it reminded Harry of a palace.
Solemn, dignified, where no one dared to speak, waiting for the king above to give orders.
An inexplicable pressure enveloped the entire classroom.
The two quickly found seats and then had time to look towards the front of the classroom.
And the person at the front was not the familiar lazy figure.
An old man wearing complex black robes, with messy white hair, chiseled features, and deep-set eyes stood at the front.
And he was also carefully observing him.
Harry couldn't help but swallow, feeling an inexplicable malice clinging to him.
It even reminded him of the first time he saw Lord Voldemort.
Because of this, he did not avert his gaze. Instead, he continued to confront the old man.
A moment later, the old man above showed a faint smile, then shifted his gaze.
His gaze fell on Neville.
Neville was powerless to resist such a gaze and quickly lowered his head.
The old man moved his gaze away, feeling bored.
At this moment, Uncle Howl was at the back of the classroom, lazily leaning on a sofa.
"Hmm, this is my first time standing in this position, and honestly, it feels good.
There is only one reason why I am here: someone, because of their foolishness, made the wrong choice. So an old friend of mine found me, hoping to barely dispel your foolishness." The old man said.
"Now, let's start with the first thing—why are you raising your hand?"
Harry quickly turned his head and saw a Hufflepuff girl, Schmidt, raising her hand.
She was also the girl who had interrupted Uncle Howl in his class before.
"Professor, how should we address you?"
"Address?" The old man shook his neck. "I was active fifty years ago, I was a politician, living in a black Castle in Austria."
Harry felt Hermione's body tremble beside him, and she became very nervous.
"Who?"
"Fifty years ago? A politician?"
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