Just a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor

October is here.

The weather is getting colder.

It has been raining heavily for the past two days, making the entire castle wet, and the change in temperature has also made many little wizards sick.

Sherlock's office had a warm fire at this time, and he was not alone in his office today.

There is also Harry, who was specially punished by Professor McGonagall to work here because of the use of flying cars at the beginning of the school year.

Harry had actually had a pretty good time being punished here at Sherlock.

Just copy the questions assigned to him from the previous year's O.W.L.s Defence Against the Dark Arts exam on the parchment, copy enough for three years, and then leave.

Harry didn't even feel it was a punishment compared to Ron being sent to the icy trophy room to clean Filch's trophy.

Sherlock's office had snacks for him to enjoy, and the Gryffindor common room was not as comfortable here.

After writing the last letter, Harry put down the quill in his hand, moved his sore wrist, and then handed the results of his busy morning to Sherlock for inspection.

"It's well written, and if you weren't being punished, maybe I'd give Gryffindor a few points for it."

Sherlock briefly glanced at the titles that Harry had copied, and then gave a faint compliment.

While he was talking, Harry slipped a milk toffee into his mouth from the snack tray on the table, and said vaguely.

"Then... can you go now? Call the beast, Wood and the others are still waiting for the Quidditch training."

Sherlock turned to look at the tight rain outside the window and asked.

"In such weather, do you also want to train?"

"Malfoy's dad replaced the Slytherin team with the latest broom. Wood is very nervous now. Our equipment is not as good as theirs. We can only work on tactics and skills."

Harry swallowed the toffee forcefully, and his answer became clear.

Sherlock waved that he could do whatever he wanted.

"Go ahead, I'll tell Professor McGonagall that your punishment is complete, be careful on the field, and good luck today."

Harry jumped out of his chair excitedly and bowed to Sherlock.

"Thank you, Professor Forrest."

Then he ran out of the office briskly, and he didn't forget to help close the door carefully before leaving.

Sherlock could only gently shake his head at the cloudy sky outside the window, sighed "it's so good to be young", and then continued to lean over to write the test materials for the senior year.

Harry came to the court in the rain, and Wood and the rest of the team were already waiting for him here.

"Hey, Professor Forrest, he's not embarrassing you, is he? Harry."

Seeing him come to the field, the Weasley twins swooped down from the sky on broomsticks and stopped in front of Harry.

Harry was picking up his broom, and said lightly as he lifted off into the air.

"No, Professor Forrest just asked me to copy the title for him, and Ron was miserable, he..."

Before he had finished speaking, a black iron ball suddenly rushed towards Harry with small wings and hit him directly in the abdomen!

The huge force generated by the Bludger's impact made Harry fly off the broom on the spot!

Then it fell to the ground like a kite with a broken string in the rain.

"Harry!"

The other Gryffindor players on the pitch exclaimed when they saw this scene.

Captain Wood, pursuer Katie, Angelia and Arya all came to Harry's side on broomsticks.

Harry was staggering up from the grass at this time,

Mud was all over him, and he retched while clutching his stomach.

"George! Fred! Look after your Bludgers! Fortunately, Harry didn't fly high enough, otherwise he would have to lie in the school hospital for at least half a month!"

Wood angrily taught the Weasley brothers.

They were the batsmen in the team, and they wanted to watch the Bludgers and not let them attack their teammates. As a result, they came down to greet Harry just now, and the Bludgers were left unattended.

George and Fred sneered and apologized to Harry. Harry, who had been relieved, waved his hand to indicate that he didn't care, and then rode back to the broom.

"Would you like to visit Madam Pomfrey, Harry?" George tried to make amends.

Harry, who re-launched on his broomstick, shook his head palely.

"It's okay, I'm fine now and can continue training."

However, in fact, his subsequent performance in training did not confirm what he said.

The Gryffindor players practiced from noon until it was almost dark in the evening. Arya and the Chasers had scored more than 30 Quaffles, but Harry still didn't see the Golden Snitch. .

This is less than an hour after the usual training, let alone catch, at least Harry has found the trace of the Snitch, but now he is still wandering in the sky, and he has not seen even the slightest gold.

Wood also saw that Harry was obviously out of shape, so he disappointedly announced the end of today's training before dark, and everyone went back to rest.

Harry put the broom back in the broom shed, clutching his stomach and walking towards the castle gloomily.

He didn't know what happened this afternoon, anyway, after walking out of Sherlock's office, he was in various states of absence.

Dragging his wet, muddy robes into the castle, before Harry could wipe the rain off his face, a rash figure knocked him to the ground.

"Ouch!"

Harry let out a pained cry, then complained as he looked at the back running up the stairs as if he was running away.

"Be careful Neville! There's no Snape chasing you."

Before he could stand up, the ghost of Gryffindor wandering in the castle - Nick, who was almost headless, passed by.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Nick."

Nick seemed to be worried about something, but he reminded Harry anyway.

"You'd better leave quickly. Filch is in the corridor not far away. He's not in a good mood with a cold. He'll punish you when he sees you dirty the floor."

Harry had already seen Filch's cat, Mrs Norris, staring at the corner of the hallway with two lantern-like yellow eyes.

"That's right, I have to go now," said Harry.

He backed away from Mrs. Norris' accusing gaze, but it was too late.

There must be some mysterious connection between Filch and his nasty cat.

He suddenly rushed from behind a tapestry to Harry's right, a long scarf around his neck, his nose was abnormally red, his eyes were terribly bulging, and the flesh on his double chin was quivering.

"Dirty! I'm fed up with Potter! Dirty everywhere! A mess everywhere! You have to come with me!"

Harry looked frustrated, and he followed Filch dejectedly, muttering softly.

"Today is unlucky."

Suddenly, a rustling voice sounded in Harry's ear.

"...starved...for a long time...killed them...eaten..."