A few hours later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The rumors of Professor Prewett's intervention in the dungeons had already spread through the castle like wildfire.
"He stood up to Snape," Ron whispered, his eyes wide. "My uncle actually talked back to Snape and lived."
"He didn't just talk back," Hermione corrected, clutching her copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. "He actually made Professor Snape teach more diligently. It was brilliant."
The doors swung open. Unlike the other classrooms, there were no books on the desks. Richard Prewett was standing at the front, his wand tucked into a leather holster on his forearm. He looked at the group of eleven-year-olds with a steady, unsentimental gaze.
"Sit," Richard said. The class scrambled to their seats.
"As I told the older years, we meet twice a week. One session for Theory, one for Practical," Richard began, pacing the front of the room. "In this room, I do not care about your fame, your blood status, or who your parents were. I care about your ability to stay alive."
He tapped the blackboard, and a diagram appeared, showing the flow of magical energy from a wand tip to a target.
"Most people think Defense is about learning a list of spells," Richard continued, his eyes stopping on Harry. "It is not. It is about your reaction time and your ability to recognize a threat before it recognizes you. If you cannot identify a curse's signature or the dark creatures' characteristics, the best shield in the world won't save you."
He spent the hour explaining the concept of "The First Move." He didn't teach them a hex; he taught them how to stand. He taught them how to breathe. He showed them how to watch a person's shoulders and eyes rather than their wand hand.
"Class dismissed," Richard said, causing a stir of excitement. "Remember, we will be practicing the Flipendo knockback jinx next week. If you can hit the target while it is moving using the stance we discussed today, you receive an Outstanding. If you miss because you were too busy looking at your feet, you fail."
He leaned against his desk, looking at the class. "Harry Potter. A word."
The class filed out, Ron and Hermione lingering by the door until Richard gave them a pointed look. Harry walked up to the front, looking small against the high ceilings of the room.
"You did well in Potions today, Harry," Richard said, his tone shifting from the professional bark of a teacher to something more grounded. "But Snape is right about one thing: details matter. In the wizarding world, knowledge is the only shield that never breaks."
"I... I read the books, sir," Harry said. "But it's a lot to take in."
"I know," Richard said. He reached into his desk and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. "This is for you. It's blank. Every time you see a spell, a creature, or even a strange look from a teacher, write it down. Analyze it. Don't just react to the world, Harry. Learn to study it."
Harry took the notebook, his fingers brushing against the cool leather. "Thank you, Professor."
"Go on. You'll be late for Transfiguration," Richard said.
As Harry hurried out, Richard felt the familiar prickle of a gaze on his back. He didn't turn around. He knew Dumbledore was likely watching through one of the many portraits in the room. He simply picked up a piece of chalk and began to outline the strategy for the next lesson.
The first seeds had been planted. Now, he just had to make sure they grew before the shadow in the turban decided to strike—and before Molly Weasley's Howler arrived.
The following afternoon, the first-year Gryffindors entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. The word about Richard's "intervention" in the dungeons had spread like wildfire.
Richard stood at the front, his wand tucked into his belt. Unlike the other classrooms, there were no textbooks on the desks.
"In this room," Richard began, looking directly at Harry, who sat between Ron and a bushy-haired girl Richard recognized as Hermione Granger, "we do not hide from the truth. The world is not safe. It is filled with things that would hurt you if given the chance. My job is to ensure that never happens. Last week you learned to perceive your opponent's motives through body language and practiced with your classmates."
He walked to the center of the room.He tapped a large, iron-bound trunk in the corner.
"Today's Theory: The Flippendo Knockback Jinx. Most consider it a dueling toy. In a real encounter, it is the difference between having enough time to run and being caught. We will break down the kinetic flow—the way the magic must be 'pushed' from the core through the wand."
Richard spent the hour teaching them the mechanics of force. He didn't just show the wand movement; he explained the emotional and mental requirements for a successful cast. He watched as Hermione frantically scribbled notes, while Harry watched Richard's hands with an intensity that suggested he was trying to memorize the very air around the professor.
"On Thursday," Richard concluded as the bell rang, "we will have our Practical. I will bring in a series of animated target dummies. If you can knock them back five paces on your first try, you earn an Outstanding. If you need me to correct your wrist movement, you will not."
As the students filed out, Harry stopped by Richard's desk.
"Professor? What you said to Snape... about my mum. Thank you."
Richard looked at the boy, seeing the genuine, raw curiosity in his eyes. "Don't thank me, Harry. Just prove me right. Show this school that you are more than a name in a history book."
Harry nodded, a newfound determination settling on his young face. Richard watched him go, then turned his gaze toward the shadows of the doorway. He didn't need to be a seer to know that Dumbledore's magic was lingering nearby. The Headmaster was listening.
Richard smiled to himself and began erasing the board. Let him listen, he thought. The truth is the best cover I have.
The memory of the tense silence in the dungeons stayed with Richard as he prepared for his next set of classes. He had spoken those final, cutting words to Severus after the first-years had already filed out of the room, leaving the two men alone amidst the bubbling cauldrons and jars of pickled ingredients.
He didn't regret reminding Snape of the past. Someone needed to establish boundaries early on, especially if the Potions Master intended to use his position to settle old scores with a boy who had no idea why he was hated.