As the Acromantula struggled, Vison clapped enthusiastically.
"Very precise! The posture is very standard—but adjust the angle of your wand a little. Two points to Gryffindor for that courage!"
"Not precise…"
"Not courage…"
Harry heard soft murmurs from the students behind him.
Still, despite the awkward process, applause echoed in the classroom.
Hearing the commotion, Ron opened his eyes in disbelief. His breathing steadied, and his wand stopped shaking so violently.
"I did it!" he shouted to Hermione beside him.
The students then took turns casting spells on the unfortunate Acromantula.
When it was Hermione's turn, pity flashed across her face.
She bit her lip, her wand hesitating mid-air. "Professor, isn't it a bit cruel to treat it like this?"
"Cruel?" Ron widened his eyes behind her. "What nonsense are you talking about?"
But Hermione wasn't alone—several students looked uneasy.
"Let me explain," Vison said, clapping his hands to regain their attention. "Acromantulas are magical creatures known for their cruelty. Don't be fooled by its current size—not even as big as my head. These little fellows can grow to the size of a car in mere months. And more importantly…"
Vison paused, his gaze sweeping the classroom. His tone turned serious.
"On their menu, humans rank first—or rather, humans are their favorite food. Many wizards throughout history have died in their jaws."
A tense silence fell across the room.
As if to confirm his words, the spider opened its chelicerae and made a chilling scraping sound against the protective barrier.
Hermione took a deep breath, raised her wand, and no longer hesitated.
"Leg-Locker Curse!"
Her charm hit the Acromantula precisely—its legs stiffened at once.
"Excellent," Vison nodded in satisfaction. "Two points to Gryffindor."
As the students continued chanting "Leg-Locker Curse," Vison's first Defense Against the Dark Arts class came to an end.
Though the spell was relatively minor, it was challenging for first-year students. Besides Harry and Hermione, only a few managed to successfully cast it.
Ron could be counted as… half.
Vison awarded two points to every student who succeeded.
After class, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked along the corridor.
Ron swung his wand excitedly, nearly hitting a nearby portrait.
"Did you see my charm just now? I earned two points for Gryffindor! That charm was amazing!"
Hermione frowned, dodging Ron's enthusiastic wand.
"That was pure luck. A real charm requires precise control. I bet you can't cast a second Leg-Locker Curse right now."
"Of course I can!" Ron insisted. "I'll prove it. Harry, stand there and don't move."
Harry quickly sidestepped.
"Don't even think about it! I'm not volunteering to be your test subject!"
He was certain that if Ron's spell hit him, he'd end up in the hospital wing.
Ron pouted, then pointed his wand at a suit of armor in the corridor.
"Then let it be a—"
"Stop!" Hermione interrupted sharply. "We're not allowed to cast spells in the hallway!"
"Come on, you sound just like Professor McGonagall."
Ron shrugged and confidently aimed his wand at the armor.
"Leg-Locker Curse!"
Harry was sure Ron had mispronounced the spell.
A crooked red light shot from Ron's wand, splitting into several erratic beams mid-air. One struck the helmet of the armor with a loud bang.
"Oh my god!"
Hermione screamed and fell as the armor's left hand flew off, grazed her hair, and slammed into the wall behind her.
Seeing the scattered armor parts, Ron's face turned paper-white.
"I… I didn't do it on purpose…"
Hermione got up, furious.
"Tell that to the professors!"
But their problems were just beginning.
The explosion had attracted Filch and his ever-watchful cat.
"Who's there!?"
Filch's unmistakable voice echoed from the corridor corner. "What happened!?"
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances—there was only one smart move now: run.
Harry grabbed the stunned Ron.
"Let's go!"
They darted into a side corridor like startled rabbits, Ron's robe nearly tripping Harry.
"This way!"
After several flights of stairs, Harry hushed them and pulled them into an unused room.
Hermione leaned against the door, listening. Only when Filch's muttering faded did she exhale in relief.
She turned and saw Harry and Ron slumped against the wall, still in shock.
For a moment, they stared at each other in silence—until Harry burst out laughing.
"Feels familiar," he chuckled. "Let's just hope there's not a three-headed dog behind us this time."
The room was an old, unused classroom. Empty, except for one huge object in the center covered by a white cloth.
Ron rubbed his nose, gazing at the object.
"What is that?"
He stood, brushed the dust from his robe, and walked toward it.
"Don't touch it!" Hermione hissed. "You've caused enough trouble already. What if it's dangerous?"
But Ron had already pulled the cloth away.
"That is…" Harry murmured.
A huge, magnificent mirror stood before them.
Ron tilted his head, puzzled.
"A mirror? Who'd put something like this here?"
"A mirror is perfect," Hermione said, walking forward. "I think my hair's a mess."
She quickly began combing her curls with her fingers.
"She still cares about that…" Ron nudged Harry with a smirk.
Hermione's ears reddened—she'd clearly heard him.
She rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Some people should fix their robes before judging others!"
Ron looked down and realized the hem of his robe was caught in his belt, making it look like an old apron.
Panicking, he tried to straighten it—but only made it worse.
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