Translated Chapter
229. Attack Is Defense
The classroom for Defensive Magic Against the Dark Arts had undergone a dramatic transformation. Thick cushions now covered the floor, and all clutter along the walls had been cleared away—except for a single shelf stacked high with bandages and potions.
“I heard it was only after Madam Pomfrey’s fierce protests that they even added these,” Daphne said, running her fingers over the soft padding. “You’ve all seen Potter’s nose, haven’t you? I’m not about to end up looking like Professor Dumbledore with a crooked schnozzle.”
“Theo Nott added, “I heard that bloke challenged Professor Dumbledore multiple times before getting thoroughly beaten.”
“Smart move,” he continued, “if you admit defeat early, you’ll just walk away with a bruise.”
Malfoy’s pale face eased slightly, though his expression remained defiant.
After a round of mutual reassurance, the students managed to regain some confidence. Some even scouted out nearby cushions in advance, just in case they ended up crashing onto the floor.
Suddenly, the massive door slammed open.
A new professor strode in with decisive strides.
She marched straight to the front, raised her wand with a sharp flick, and—all the cushions flew upward.
Students scrambled out of the way as the soft piles tumbled and stacked neatly against the wall.
Professor Abigail turned to face them, her face devoid of any warmth.
“Madam Pomfrey believes you need these cushions to avoid injury. But in my class, only cowards and quitters are allowed to claim a bed.”
“Anyone want one?” she asked, raising her wand. “Raise your hand.”
No one dared admit to being a coward. Even those trembling with fear kept their hands down.
After a pause, Professor Abigail tapped her palm with her wand and said, “Good. At last, some courage.”
A few students straightened their backs slightly.
“I come from Ilvermorny in America,” she announced, sweeping her gaze across the room. “I’ve also studied at Wagadu Magic School in Africa. Many say Hogwarts is the finest magical school in the world. So I proactively approached Dumbledore and applied to be your substitute professor.”
Her eyes lingered on Daphne, whose skin was pale.
“You’re weak.”
They landed on Lisha, sharp and piercing.
“Clumsy.”
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged confused glances, meeting her stare with blank expressions.
“Hypocritical.”
Draco flushed crimson.
“You fumble your spells like you’ve never held a wand before—your magic feels like it belongs to some stray dog from the next village.”
She smirked coldly. “Honestly, are you even wizards? Or just a bunch of apes waving wands?”
She paused in front of Anthony, tilting her head.
“Do you think you’re a wizard?”
Anthony’s eyes blazed with fury. He clenched his jaw. “Of course I am!”
“What’s your name?”
“Anthony Goldstein!” he shouted.
“Goldstein,” she said, gesturing sharply. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She paused, then added, “If you’re scared, just admit it. Go sit on a cushion and sleep.”
Anthony tightened his lips, drew his wand, and stepped forward. The students parted to give him space.
“Wingardium—”
He hadn’t even finished the incantation when he was flung backward through the air.
“Too slow!” Abigail sneered. “Do you really expect your enemy to wait while you finish your preparation?”
She pointed at another student. “You.”
Michael took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Michael Conner.”
Ten seconds later, he followed Anthony’s path—sent flying in a tangled heap.
“Keep going,” Abigail drawled, unimpressed.
One by one, students stepped up—only to be launched into the air in increasingly bizarre, humiliating ways. Most couldn’t even finish their spells. Fueled by her earlier words, they gritted their teeth and refused to admit defeat.
When one student’s wand flew from his hand, she mocked him mercilessly. “If this were real combat, you’d already be dead.”
“But I’m not becoming an Auror,” Braith Zabini muttered, clearly annoyed. “Is it really necessary to treat every lesson like a battlefield?”
“Do you know,” she said, suddenly grabbing his head, “most people killed by Dark Wizards are just ordinary wizards like you—unskilled, unprepared, and unthinking.”
Zabini froze, staring into her dark green eyes—eyes that glinted like those of a predator. He couldn’t speak.
She released him and raised her voice. “Next!”
Wade stepped forward.
He was now the only student not yet called upon. Malfoy had already been hit two or three times.
Professor Abigail’s lips twitched—almost imperceptibly.
“What’s your name?”
“Wade Gray.”
“Oh… The Book of Friends—you’re the one who wrote it,” she said, her eyes brightening with interest. “I like your eyes. Are you ready?”
Wade didn’t waste words. He raised his wand and cast a Disarming Charm—then immediately darted sideways.
He’d seen her before. She didn’t care for dueling etiquette. She’d tricked opponents by distracting them with words, then struck without warning. Even against second-years far weaker than her, she held nothing back—she’d use deception, ambush, anything to win.
When students criticized her tactics, she’d only shrug and say: Real duels don’t follow rules. The gentleman dies. Only the ruthless survive.
Sure enough, as Wade dodged, a red streak of light whistled past where he’d stood—striking Crabbe square in the forehead.
The boy, still clutching his head, blinked once… then collapsed unconscious.
Professor Abigail wasn’t hit. Her eyes widened. “Wait—Silent Spell? Or did you sneak in a charm?”
Wade gave no answer.
He raised a shield, deflecting another bolt of light—then sent a stunning spell flying. It, too, bounced off an invisible barrier.
Thud.
A hole the size of an eye appeared in the wall.
Another rebounding spell struck Pansy, sending her tumbling backward into Draco. Students screamed and scrambled for cover.
In the center of the room, the two clashed—spells flashing in every direction, wild and unpredictable. Even they couldn’t tell where the magic would rebound. The rest of the class had no chance to dodge.
Terry, the third to be disarmed, crawled back to retrieve his wand, then cried out in despair, “It’s just them fighting—but we’re the ones getting hurt!”
“Run!” Someone shouted.
No one needed to be told twice.
The student nearest the door yanked it open—only to be caught by a Leg-Lock spell and crashed to the floor.
Malfoy shoved him aside and dragged Pansy after him, sprinting out. The rest of the class followed in a chaotic stampede.
Within seconds, only Wade and the new professor remained—along with a few unconscious bodies scattered across the floor.
“Your spellwork is decent,” Professor Abigail said, circling slowly, searching for an opening. “But I heard your first two Defense professors weren’t exactly top-tier.”
“I have a dedicated private tutor,” Wade replied.
“Would love to meet them someday,” she said, then snapped her wand upward.
Wade blocked the incoming spell—but suddenly tripped.
Crabbe’s arm had swung across the floor, an unexpected obstacle.
Wade staggered, barely upright—when a force like a sledgehammer hit his stomach. He flew backward, crashing hard onto the floor.
“In battle,” she said with a smile, “a single moment of carelessness can be fatal. Your tutor must’ve forgotten to teach you to watch your surroundings.”
“Same to you!” Wade gritted out, pain flaring.
A branch—unseen until now—snapped forward and whipped through the air. It struck Professor Abigail’s wand arm, sending her sprawling to the ground. She rolled twice before regaining her footing.
“Good lad!” she said, springing up on one knee, and fired another spell with flair—only to be met with a sudden, thunderous roar.
“Stop!”
She turned.
Madam Pomfrey stood in the open doorway, breathing heavily, her wand trembling in her grip. Her fury was palpable—so intense it made even Abigail flinch.
Several students peered over her shoulder, wide-eyed and tense, watching the chaos unfold.
Then, the fury exploded.
(End of Chapter)
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