Harry and Ron ate lunch in the Great Hall, looking dejected, while Hermione watched them contentedly.
"This is the punishment you deserve. It's just a Howler. At first, I thought Professor McGonagall would expel you, and Mrs. Weasley would come to take you home in tears."
Ron listlessly drank the pumpkin juice in his bowl.
"Professor McGonagall hasn't even given us our punishment yet, but Mum's Howler already embarrassed Harry and me enough this morning."
Although Harry also felt embarrassed, he felt most guilty that Mrs. Weasley's letter said that their flying car escapade might cause Mr. Weasley to lose his job at the Ministry of Magic. During the summer, the Weasley family had treated him like their own son, yet he had been so inconsiderate.
"What class do we have this afternoon?" He put down the knife and fork that had mangled the sausage but from which he hadn't eaten a single bite, and pulled out his second-year schedule from his robe pocket.
"Defence?"
Hermione looked at the time and also put down her utensils.
"Yes. I overheard some first-year students who had the class today saying that Professor Cavendish hates people who aren't on time, so we'd better hurry and not make a bad impression on him in the first class."
Harry and Ron exchanged a look.
"I think we already made a bad impression on him last night," Harry said glumly.
"My wand is still broken! I don't think I can perform well in class with a broken wand!" Ron said angrily, looking at his wand, which was barely held together with magical tape.
Hermione stood up.
"Then we still have to go. Hurry up, class starts in ten minutes."
The three of them hurried to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Soon, all the second-year students from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had arrived. (TN: It was Slytherin in canon.)
Sherlock walked into the classroom before the bell rang.
After lunch, he had gone to the professors' common room to rest for a while, but he ran into Professor Flitwick there. He was forced to discuss the improved application of the Summoning Charm for an entire afternoon, and now he was visibly tired.
But looking at the students who were already seated below the podium, he still braced himself and started calling names.
Second-year students basically didn't show up late anymore, so the afternoon's Defence class started very smoothly.
"I learned from Professor McGonagall that your performance in Defence last semester was very average."
Sherlock didn't stand on the podium the whole time, but walked back and forth between the students' desks, keeping his attention focused.
"Because I haven't met Professor Quirrell, who taught your Defence class last semester, I'm not qualified to judge whether his teaching was successful, but I can be sure that you didn't complete the learning goals you should have completed in the first year."
"Judging from your final exam scores last semester, you could mostly only use five of the seven spells required in the first-year textbook, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection."
"Among these five, Lumos, Nox, and the Red Sparks and Green Sparks spells are common. Once you master one of the two pairs, you can naturally learn the other."
"So, in a whole year of Defence Against the Dark Arts, you actually only mastered three spells: the Lighting Charm, the Spark Charm, and the Nose-Biting Curse. Few people learned the Smoke Screen Charm (Fumos) and the Knockback Jinx (Flipendo), which are the most practical in times of danger. This proves that your classes last semester were very superficial."
"Not to mention the theoretical knowledge of Dark creatures. I can only describe it in one word: appalling."
Hearing Sherlock say this, every student in the classroom lowered their heads in shame. They all knew that their Defence Against the Dark Arts scores were not good.
Even if Quirrell was partly to blame, it was mostly because they themselves had been perfunctory about the class.
"I know it's not entirely your fault, but I'm saying this to make it clear that because you fell behind a lot last semester, you need to be more attentive in Defence Against the Dark Arts this year."
Sherlock returned to the podium, his gaze calm but full of pressure as he looked at the students below.
"The spells you've fallen behind on—there will be time to make them up in the future. And in this semester's first class, you will mainly learn how to make good use of what you've already learned to deal with various emergencies."
"Having studied magic at Hogwarts for a year, you can now be considered wizards who have gained some insight. You have learned many spells, Transfiguration, and other magical knowledge."
"But although the knowledge is memorized in your brains, can you correctly use the most appropriate spell in the right situation?"
"Defence Against the Dark Arts does not teach you any specific type of spell, but combines what you have learned and truly applies it in actual combat. So, the core of Defence Against the Dark Arts lies in actual combat!"
His voice was cold, causing all the students in the classroom to focus involuntarily. No one dared to be distracted.
"The students in the first five rows, pull the desks back and clear the space, leaving only one."
Harry, who had been listening obediently to Sherlock's lecture, couldn't help but look excited when he heard this.
"Is Professor Cavendish planning to have us duel?" he whispered to Ron.
Ron was also excitedly looking around, as if searching for his next opponent.
"It's a pity that Malfoy didn't take this class with us, otherwise we could definitely take this opportunity to teach him a lesson!"
Hermione looked a little worried.
"Isn't it a bit too early? We're only in our second year, after all."
Most of the students in the classroom looked as eager as Harry and Ron. Their Defence Against the Dark Arts class last semester had indeed been boring. The entire semester had been spent listening to Quirrell reciting the textbook over and over again, without feeling that the real purpose of Defence Against the Dark Arts lay in actual combat.
The desks in the first five rows were cleared to the back, leaving only one, as Sherlock requested.
However, he didn't do what Harry and the others guessed and divide them into groups to duel each other.
Instead, he gently tapped the only remaining desk with his wand.
An amazing change took place. The desk's entire shape was reshaped and transformed, and at the same time, Sherlock's calm but oppressive voice rang out in the classroom.
"I don't think having you duel each other will give you enough pressure, so I've arranged a more powerful opponent for you."
As his voice fell, the transformation of the desk was completed, and a "brave" roar came from the mouth of the transformed object.
"Meow!"