The Dungeon Learns What Defense Actually Means
The dungeon classroom felt colder than usual.
Not magically—
emotionally.
Second-years from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor filed in, whispering nervously. Gone were Lockhart's glittering posters. Gone were mirrors. Gone were smiles.
In their place:
A clean blackboard.
Shelves of dark tomes.
And Severus Snape, standing motionless at the front, hands clasped behind his back like a judge awaiting criminals.
Keith took his seat calmly beside Rias and Susan.
Helena sat straighter than usual, her hands folded neatly.
Ron Weasley slid into a corner seat, avoiding all eye contact with reality.
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
Then—
"Sit."
Every student obeyed instantly.
Snape's black eyes swept the room.
"This," he said smoothly, "is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not storytelling hour. Not celebrity worship. And certainly not a venue for autobiographical delusions."
Ron visibly flinched.
Keith signed quietly.
Terror, Delivered with Precision
Snape turned to the board and flicked his wand.
DARK CURSES: IDENTIFICATION & SURVIVAL
"Today," Snape continued,
"you will learn what a curse actually does to a human body—and why most of you would not survive encountering one."
Hermione leaned forward, fascinated.
Susan swallowed.
Helena's heart raced.
Snape spoke without notes, without hesitation—each word sharp, exact, horrifyingly informative.
How muscle-lock curses rupture tendons How pain hexes rewrite nerve pathways Why shield charms fail under emotional instability
There was no exaggeration.
Only truth.
And it terrified them.
"This," Snape said quietly, "is why defense requires discipline—not applause."
Keith nodded approvingly.
Helena's POV — A Daughter's Pride
Helena dared a glance up.
Her father stood there—
Not the quiet man at home.
Not the stern professor of Potions.
But something else.
A warden.
A protector.
When Snape's gaze briefly passed over the class, it caught Helena's eyes.
For half a heartbeat—
She gave the smallest signal.
A subtle tilt of her head.
A look that said:
You're doing great.
Snape's expression did not change.
But—
His shoulders eased.
Just slightly.
Helena's chest warmed.
He's proud, she thought.
And so am I.
She took perfect notes after that.
Practical Demonstration (No Survivors… Hypothetically)
Snape raised his wand.
"Observe."
A training dummy rose from the floor.
Three spells later, it was:
Immobilized Disoriented And magically "bleeding"
Several students went pale.
"Any questions?" Snape asked silkily.
No one spoke.
"Excellent," he said. "You are learning."
Keith sighed softly in relief.
Finally. A real class.
After Class — The Ron Situation Explained
As students packed up, Ron lingered awkwardly near the door.
Keith noticed.
Snape noticed.
Unfortunately.
"Weasley," Snape said, voice dangerous.
"You have something to say."
Ron froze.
"…Sir, I—uh—"
Keith already regretted this.
Ron pulled out a thick, handwritten notebook.
"I went to see Lockhart," Ron blurted out, "to ask how to publish books."
Dead silence.
Snape stared.
Keith facepalmed internally.
Ron, encouraged by the silence, continued.
"I showed him my manuscript."
Snape's eye twitched.
"The title," Ron added proudly,
"is How I Defeated the Dark Lord at Eleven."
Keith signed.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.
"…Get out," Snape said quietly.
Ron fled.
The moment the door shut—
Keith and Snape exchanged a look.
Then—
Both sighed.
At the exact same time.
"Merlin help us," Snape muttered.
Keith nodded solemnly.
"Indeed."
Helena watched the exchange, stunned.
They understand each other, she realized.
And somehow—
That made her smile.