Just a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor

England, the eastern coastal city of Norwich.

Nelson was humming a little tune, holding a can of beer in his hand, and was wandering back home.

It was completely dark, but he didn't have to worry about being scolded by his wife for coming home late.

Because Nelson was a bachelor, he had not yet married at the age of thirty-six.

The reason why I can't find a wife is actually very simple, it's just that I have no money.

Nelson also had a glorious period of time. When he was young, he seized an opportunity and made a small fortune by reselling car parts during the period of the worst economic downturn in the UK.

At that time, he even fantasized that maybe after he made a fortune and became a rich man, he could marry Marisa, the most beautiful girl in his hometown town.

Then he developed a gambling addiction.

All his family fortune was lost in gambling overnight, and he also owed a lot of foreign debt.

After that, he naturally lived in poverty, and he never gave up his gambling addiction. As soon as he had some money, his first thought was still to rush into the casino and win back all he had lost before.

But he has been trying for more than ten years and has never seen any hope of winning back.

Even once.

Nelson drunkenly drank the beer in one gulp, and then looked up at the dark night sky. It felt like the sky today was upside down like a black cauldron, and it was so dark that it was scary.

The cold wind blew over his body, making him wake up a little, and he wrapped his thin coat tightly.

He looked around erratically, feeling as if something strange was quietly following him.

His pace began to quicken, trying to hurry towards the direction of his shabby house.

But that uneasy feeling not only did not disappear, but became more and more serious, and finally completely occupied his heart.

Everything around seems to have disappeared!

The whole world turned completely black, darkness was everywhere, and he was the only one left.

Fear had completely enveloped him, and Nelson shouted uneasily.

"What's going on! What happened!"

No one responded to him, because something had appeared in front of him silently.

Nelson's face finally settled on that frightened expression, and he fell to the ground slowly and heavily.

"What's going on!" A roaring voice suddenly sounded, "What happened!"

It imitates the death words of the deceased, gradually disappearing, leaving only a withered yellow straw on the ground.

Everything returned to normal, and no one in the narrow alley noticed this scene.

After a long time, a sonic boom sounded like a whip lashing the air, and two Aurors wearing the standard robes of the British Ministry of Magic appeared next to Nelson's body.

Kingsley knelt down and checked Nelson's condition with a frown.

"Same as the previous two cases, the soul has been sucked, but the body is still alive."

His companion was a sturdy wizard named Williamson.

"Did the dementors do it again? Ever since Blake ran away from that island, they have gained the authority to go out and arrest him."

Kingsley tapped Nelson with his wand.

"It looks like it is indeed the case. In the magical world, except for the Dementor's kiss, there is nothing else that can do it to this extent."

"Should we report this matter again? It's already the third time!" Williamson said irritably.

"The ministry won't take it seriously. The most important thing now is that Black has escaped. Harry Potter's safety is the top priority. Even Minister Fudge has been having a headache about this matter."

Kingsley stood up, shaking his head and sighing.

"Forget it, let's report it again. I hope the ministry can restrain those dementors."

"Wait, what is that?"

They looked in the direction of Williamson's finger and found it was just an ordinary straw.

"Don't be so surprised. The dementors don't dare to attack us. Go back quickly and report this matter."

The two Aurors used Disapparation to leave, leaving only Nelson's dead but not dead body lying quietly on the spot.

A breeze blew by, blowing the straw away.

...

When Sherlock took Harry back to Devon, it was already July 29th.

They drove the flying car all the way from the sky. Except for landing on the ground a few times while refueling, they kept flying the rest of the time.

Harry came to his senses after getting completely different results from the previous test, and asked Sherlock why they were suddenly in such a hurry to go back.

"A letter came to me from the Ministry of Magic saying that a criminal had escaped from Azkaban."

Sherlock's face was heavy, while Harry's was baffled.

"What does that have to do with us going back?"

"The name of the escaped criminal is Sirius Black, a former loyal believer of the mysterious man. Some people heard him saying "Hogwarts" repeatedly in that prison some time ago. The Ministry of Magic speculated that he escaped because he wanted to Kill you to avenge his master."

Harry finally understood the whole process. He didn't show any fear, but muttered.

"Then why do we have to go back? If we wait abroad for him to be caught again, wouldn't it be safer for us to return to the UK?"

Sherlock told him seriously.

"Do you know why Dumbledore insisted that you live at your aunt's house?"

"Why?" Harry has been thinking about this question.

"Because you are the safest only there. The protective magic your mother gave you requires you to stay with your blood relatives."

Sherlock told him what he had learned from Dumbledore, soothing Harry's mood.

After two happy weeks of traveling with Sherlock, Harry was genuinely disgusted to return to the Dursleys.

Sherlock also noticed his emotion, but he had to send Harry back.

Although Harry was still very reluctant after hearing what Sherlock said, he showed no resistance later.

He knew that by staying at the Dursley's house honestly and safely, he not only avoided causing trouble for himself, but also avoided causing trouble for others.

Sherlock looked at Harry who fell silent and couldn't help but smile.

"I remember it's your birthday in two days?"

Harry said dullly.

"No birthdays. I never had any birthdays at Aunt Petunia's."

"How about I bring a gift and go to your aunt's house to congratulate you this year?"

"They won't welcome you and may even kick you out."

"Then come to my house on your birthday. It's only two streets away anyway. You can go back after your birthday."

After hearing what he said, Harry's eyes finally lit up.

"Can I stay at your house for a few days?"

He felt that now that Sherlock's crow's beak was useless, he no longer had to worry so much and could stay at Sherlock's house with peace of mind.

Sherlock didn't refuse, just reminded.

"There's nothing interesting in my house. It would be boring even if you came over."

"There's no worse life than living at Aunt Petunia's," Harry said with certainty.

His mood improved again, and for the first time in his history, he was even looking forward to his birthday.

They arrived at Privet Drive in the late afternoon.

Sherlock sent Harry back to the Dursleys' house. Petunia and Vernon didn't show any good looks towards him, not even a polite word of "Would you like to come in and sit down".

But Sherlock didn't care if he received the kind words or not.

After that, he did not return to his home immediately. Instead, he found the car rental company where he rented the car and directly bought the Ford car he rented.

This car has been transformed into a magic tool. If it is returned, there will probably be big trouble. Sherlock simply buys it directly, and maybe he will use it in daily life.

After returning home and resting for the night, he used Apparition directly to Diagon Alley early the next morning.

Most of the shops here had just opened, and Sherlock walked directly into Gringotts Bank and withdrew a large amount of money from his vault.

Then he walked straight to Ollivander's Wand Shop.

Every summer vacation is undoubtedly the busiest time for Oliver's wand shop. Young wizards who are preparing to enter school will come to his shop to buy their first wand in life.

This is not only because the craftsmanship of his wands is extremely good.

More importantly, he is the only one selling wands in the entire British wizarding world.

On summer vacation mornings, Ollivanders would deliberately open the store half an hour earlier than usual to prepare to welcome new students.

But the first person to enter his store today was a handsome young man.

"Are you..." Ollivander asked hesitantly as he looked at Sherlock who walked in the door.

Sherlock shrugged: "Does your shop sell anything else besides wands?"

"The original wand was accidentally damaged?" Ollivander frowned slightly. He was very sensitive to adult wizards coming to his shop to buy a second wand.

Sherlock said vaguely: "Absolutely."

At this time, a tape measure suddenly wrapped around his body as flexibly as a snake, measuring various data on his body.

"Name? And when did you enroll in Hogwarts?" Ollivander took out a thick notebook and asked.

Sherlock opened his arms so that the tape measure could be measured more easily.

"Sherlock Forrest, entered Hogwarts in 1982."

With the information provided by Sherlock, Ollivander quickly found his data for the year.

"The first wand you bought from me at that time was ebony, the heart nerve of the fire dragon, 12 inches. Do you want one of the same size according to this standard?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I want to choose a new combination."

Ollivander nodded.

"That's right, people will change, but wands will not, so sometimes wizards in different periods will be chosen by different wands."

As he spoke, he walked to the shelf filled with wand boxes and pulled out a box.

"Let's try this, pine wood with fire dragon heartstrings, 9 inches, a combination that should suit you very well."

Sherlock took it from his hand, waved it, and uttered a spell.

"Fluorescence."

Light lit up from the tip of the staff, but it seemed to light up a bit slowly.

"Oh, it seems that this combination is not suitable for you." Ollivander shook his head and took the wand from Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock also nodded.

"When I use it, it feels blocked and not very smooth."

"What about this one? Redwood with phoenix tail feathers, 11 inches. This is a hot seller. Wizards often come to my shop to ask if there are redwood wands. They always think that wands made of this wood will be good. Bring good luck to people.”

Sherlock also used the wand to cast the lighting spell once, but was still not satisfied.

"I'm not used to it, I always feel like something is missing when I use it."

Ollivander continued to search on his shelves, and then he pulled out another one, mumbling.

"Laurel wood, the heartstring of the fire dragon, 14 inches, come and try it. This is the most loyal wand. If someone tries to steal a wand made of laurel wood, the wand itself will release a lightning strike to repel it. thief."

Sherlock held the wand in his hand. This time, before using magic, he already felt the fit between himself and the wand.

"Fluorescence."

Another lighting spell, the magic was used extremely smoothly, without any sense of sluggishness.

Seeing the perfect fit between this wand and Sherlock, Ollivander nodded with satisfaction.

"It seems that you have been through a lot, and there are very different wands that have made your choice."

Sherlock twirled the laurel wand between his fingers for a long time. Silver light danced on his fingertips. He was very satisfied with the new wand.

"How many galleons does this wand cost?"

"Nine galleons."

The Ollivander family is still a conscientious company, monopolizing the entire wand industry in the British wizarding world, but they have not raised the price of wands to a higher level.

Although there must be reasons for the Ministry of Magic's price restrictions, the price of a wand of less than ten galleons is indeed affordable enough.

He readily took out a heavy money bag that was cast with a traceless stretching charm.

"Okay, give me a hundred!"

Ollivander nodded and was just about to take the money from Sherlock when he reacted.

He opened his mouth, wondering if he heard it wrong!

"How much do you want?"

Sherlock held out a finger and repeated it again.

"I'll take a hundred sticks first, and then I might ask for another hundred. The material must be exactly the same as the one in my hand. Even the length cannot be different."

Ollivander looked at Sherlock blankly, as if he was looking at a lunatic.

"I remember I saw a report about you in the Daily Prophet some time ago. Aren't you the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts now?"

Sherlock nodded.

"That's right."

"Then why do you want so many wands? Are you going to wholesale them from me, and then go to some small country's magic world to resell them second-hand?" Ollivander asked suspiciously.

Sherlock waved his hand.

"I don't have that spare time. I just want to buy a hundred sticks for my own use. Let me ask you if you can sell them. If not, I will go to the French Long Lane and ask Wenger's Wand Shop if they can make this order. Business."