Chapter 6

<p>Desmond leaned back in his chair, watching as Professor Merrythought continued the lesson, her enthusiasm radiating through the classroom. She was a good teacher, sure, but Desmond couldn't help but think back to the man who was supposed to be in this position: a rugged, scarred veteran of the dark arts, Professor Oren. <br/><br/>Desmond remembered seeing him in the past few weeks, standing at the front of the class, his face weathered and lined with years of experience. This was a man who had clearly seen some things, with scars crisscrossing his hands and creeping up the side of his face, like a roadmap of battles fought and survived. He wasn't the typical Hogwarts professor—he looked more like a war hero, someone who'd spent years in the trenches and had the stories (and scars) to prove it. <br/><br/>But what made Professor Oren truly remarkable wasn't just the way he looked, but the way he taught. The guy had a knack for explaining the most complex spells and counter-curses, breaking them down in ways that made sense even to the densest students. His lessons were practical, hands-on, and he didn't waste time on pointless essays or busywork. Desmond actually found himself learning, like, *really* learning. <br/><br/>"I mean, who cares if you can write a ten-foot essay on the properties of a Stinging Hex if you can't cast a Shield Charm fast enough to block one?" Oren would say, pacing up and down the classroom, his voice a low, gruff rumble. "You need to be able to do it, not just talk about it."<br/><br/>Desmond had to admit, he respected that. Oren didn't treat the class like a bunch of kids who needed coddling—he treated them like people who might actually need to defend themselves someday. And with everything Desmond knew was coming, that was going to be more important than ever.<br/><br/>But the problem was, Desmond also knew something else. Professor Oren wasn't going to be here next year. Thanks to the curse dear old Tom Riddle had placed on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, no teacher could hold the job for more than a year without something terrible happening to them. The curse was a ticking time bomb, and it was only a matter of time before Oren had to pack his bags and leave, just like all the others before him. <br/><br/>"Typical Voldemort," Desmond thought, watching Oren demonstrate a particularly nasty curse with a flick of his wand. "You'd think a guy with all that power could find something better to do than mess with a school curriculum. But nooo, he has to be petty and curse the job just because he didn't get it. Drama queen."<br/><br/>Still, it was a shame. If there was ever a teacher who could whip this school into shape, it was Oren. And Desmond couldn't help but think it would be a massive waste if he left. He needed someone who could teach him how to survive, how to fight, how to do more than just throw a few flashy spells around. And Oren was the perfect person for that.<br/><br/>"Guess I'm going to have to do something about that curse," Desmond thought, a slow grin spreading across his face. "I'm not about to let one of the only decent teachers here get chased off just because Voldemort felt like being a jerk fifty years ago."<br/><br/>He glanced around the room, making sure no one was paying attention to him. Everyone was focused on Oren, who was currently demonstrating how to counteract a particularly stubborn Stunning Spell. Desmond leaned down, pretending to scribble a few notes, but really he was plotting. <br/><br/>The curse was tied to Tom Riddle, of course. From what Desmond remembered, it probably had something to do with one of his Horcruxes. Riddle had a habit of tying his magic to those little soul trinkets of his, and if Desmond could figure out which one was acting as the anchor for the curse, he might be able to neutralize it. <br/><br/>But that wasn't enough. No, Desmond was thinking bigger. What if he could find a way to not just break the curse, but actually use it to his advantage? What if he could find a ritual that would drain the magic and knowledge out of the Horcrux, siphoning it off and using it for himself?<br/><br/>The idea was insane, of course. Dangerous, reckless, and probably a one-way ticket to a very painful end if he messed it up. But it was also *brilliant*. <br/><br/>"Tommy boy has decades of magical knowledge locked up in that snake-like skull of his," Desmond thought, tapping his quill against his notebook. "Dark Arts, dueling, curses… if I could get even a fraction of that, I'd be set. I could actually stand a chance when everything goes to hell."<br/><br/>And who was he kidding? Desmond wasn't just thinking about self-defense. The thought of having Voldemort's power, his *knowledge*, at his fingertips was way too tempting to pass up. It was the ultimate cheat code, and Desmond had always been the kind of person who liked to find shortcuts. <br/><br/>"Okay," he thought, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "Step one: find out which Horcrux is anchoring the curse. Step two: figure out a ritual to drain it dry. Step three: profit."<br/><br/>He caught sight of himself in the reflection of the window, and he couldn't help but grin. It was the kind of grin that would've made people nervous if they'd seen it—sharp, sly, and just a little bit unhinged. <br/><br/>"Looks like the 'new and improved' Severus Snape is going to have a busy year," he thought, turning his attention back to Oren's lecture. "But hey, at least I won't be bored."<br/><br/>The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and Desmond gathered his things, already mentally drafting a list of books he needed to find in the library. As he made his way to the door, he caught a glimpse of Professor Oren, who gave him a brief nod and a knowing smile. <br/><br/>"Keep practicing, Mr. Snape," Oren said, his voice low but firm. "You've got potential. Don't waste it."<br/><br/>Desmond nodded back, trying to look serious, but inside he was practically buzzing with excitement. "Oh, don't worry, Professor," he thought. "I'm not planning on wasting *anything*." <br/><br/>As he walked out into the corridor, he couldn't help but chuckle. He had a plan, he had the ambition, and now he had a face that actually looked like it belonged to someone who wasn't living in a basement. <br/><br/>"Step one: become the most dangerous person in this school. Step two: steal Voldemort's secrets. Step three: take over the world... or, you know, just not die horribly. Whichever comes first."</p>